Gimme an O! (18 page)

“I hate to say it, but I told you so.”

Replacing the receiver, Anthony shrugged nonchalantly in response to Lecia’s comment. They were at the airport hoping to find a flight to New Orleans, but instead of going up to the various counters to check availability, they had both called a few airlines from a pay phone. As Lecia had suspected, there were no direct flights to New Orleans from El Paso.

“Let’s run down our options,” Lecia suggested. “America West has the earliest flight, but we’ll have to backtrack to Phoenix before we head on to New Orleans?”

“Right.”

“Didn’t I tell you? When we were driving through Phoenix, I said we ought to take a flight out of there. I knew we’d get something direct. And it’d be a much shorter drive back to L.A.”

“I blew it, okay?”

There was definitely tension between them now. They hadn’t spoken much on the way to the airport in El Paso, but Anthony had popped in the book on tape. As much of an Agatha Christie fan as Lecia was, she hadn’t paid attention to
the story. What had happened between her and Anthony in the motel room still weighed heavily on her mind.

Was that what Anthony was thinking about, too, why he seemed so serious, or was it his precious Ginger? He’d been in a foul mood ever since Donovan’s call and his proclamation that he wanted to get on with his life as he’d known it.

A life that included Ginger by his side.

Reminding herself that Ginger was the reason for this trip, Lecia looked down at her scribbled notes. “American and Southwest also have connections, through Houston, and even though there’s a layover, we’d get in a little quicker with either of those as opposed to America West. Really, it’s just a toss-up, because either way we won’t get into New Orleans until the evening.”

“We could have driven.”

“But then we’d have to drive back,” Lecia pointed out. “What do you want to do?”

“I’d rather fly something with first class,” Anthony replied. “Let’s go with American.”

“Fine with me. That’s who I fly with mostly, anyway.”

“You want to call in the reservation?”

“We’d still have to go to the counter. May as well head up there and get the tickets.”

The line was about a mile long, and by the time Lecia and Anthony got through, they were lucky to get the last two seats in first class.

They had worn their hats and dark sunglasses since entering the airport, hoping that no one would recognize them. No such luck. Three guys had approached Anthony for autographs; four women had approached her. They both obliged, then went to the waiting area at their gate as quickly as possi
ble. Now, with forty minutes before boarding, they sat near the floor-to-ceiling windows, their backs to passing traffic.

Anthony wasn’t saying much, and Lecia didn’t know what to say to him. That she thought he was an idiot if he expected his wife to take him back? Somehow she knew that wouldn’t go over well.

“Are you ever going to speak to me again?” she asked.

He stared straight ahead. “Yeah, of course.”

Lecia tapped a finger on her leg, waiting to see if he’d say more. When he didn’t, she did. “Will you tell me why you’re upset with me?”

“I’m not upset.”

“Then why are you acting different?”

“I’m not acting different.”

So this was going to be like pulling teeth. “If this is about what happened earlier—”

“Please, Doc—don’t psychoanalyze me. The last thing I need is a shrink.”

Lecia’s breath caught in her throat at his words. They stung. She was a therapist, yes, but did he think that all she did in her spare time was walk around grilling everyone about their feelings? She wanted to know what was on his mind only because she cared.

But she said, “Fine. You want to shut down, that’s your choice.”

“Christ,” he mumbled. “We’re not even married, yet we’re arguing like we’ve been together for years.”

Lecia turned in her seat to face him. “I am
not
arguing. I’m
trying
to have a discussion.”

Anthony stared ahead, stone-faced.

“Is this how you always are? Impossible to talk to?”

He faced her. “I hate fighting, okay? It drives me nuts.”

“Why do you think I’m fighting with you? I’m merely trying to—”

Anthony tuned her out as memories of his parents’ arguments recurred to him. His head was already pounding with thoughts of the nightmare that had become his life, which was only making Lecia’s grilling him harder to bear. Groaning, he leaned forward. If there was one thing he hated, it was fighting. Fighting only made everything worse. And it drained him.

“I can’t believe you’re dismissing me like this,” he heard Lecia say from behind him.

Anthony sat up straight. “Fine. I’m an ass. Let’s just drop this whole thing.” He had to spend at least the next couple days with her, and he didn’t want the constant bickering.

“I didn’t say you were an ass. Anthony. Look at me.”

Anthony was raising his eyes to meet hers when a high-pitched, giddy laugh sounded behind them. Lecia’s gaze flitted over her shoulder, then back to him. But when the laugh turned into a loud sob, both Lecia and Anthony glanced over, to see what was going on.

A group of men and women, all wearing purple shirts, were milling about only a few feet away. Some wore grins so wide, it seemed they were either high on alcohol or drugs, or were high on life. But the guy who had Anthony’s attention was the one holding his face in his hands, practically sobbing like a baby.

The crying made him think that someone had died, but if that was the case, why were others laughing like idiots? Despite their varying ages and mixed races, they had to be part of the same group, traveling together for some reason.

Anthony counted eight of them. They settled in, some sit
ting on chairs, others sitting on the floor. The four on the floor sat in a circle and held hands.

“What is this?” Lecia asked.

“Hell if I know.”

“Maybe a church group,” Lecia suggested.

As one of the younger women got up from her seat and jiggled on the spot, Lecia checked out the writing on her shirt. It read,
LOVE TO FLY
, but the woman wasn’t close enough for Lecia to read the smaller subtext. Though she was practically dancing on the spot, there was a nervous edge to her. A senior citizen was offering comfort to a man who was quite possibly her husband. A man in his thirties had his eyes closed and was doing a series of breathing exercises.

“It’s going to be okay,” a middle-aged, robust white woman said. “We’ll get through this.”

Shrugging, Lecia turned away, to again face the view of the airfield. She wanted to continue her conversation with Anthony, but now hardly seemed the time. Especially not with “Breathe, Amy, breathe” sounding behind her.

She had hoped for some quiet on the plane, but to her chagrin, the purple-shirted group filled up most of the seats in first class. Only when she and Anthony were seated did she get a good look at one of the shirts. Beneath
LOVE TO FLY
, she read,
School of No Fear.

“School of No Fear?” she said to Anthony. He shook his head, his expression as clueless as she felt, then settled against the window.

She didn’t say anything else to him until the plane was taxiing down the runway. “Anthony—”

“My mother calls me Anthony when she’s upset with me. Please call me Tony. Or better yet, call me T.”

“T,” Lecia said, trying the name on her tongue. She preferred Tony. “I’d like to resolve things.”

“I feel a little stressed, is all,” Anthony replied. Now, there was no angry edge to his voice. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“About what happened at the hotel—”

“Oh, God. I can’t do this!”

Lecia and Anthony both jerked their heads to the left at the outcry. The same white-haired gentleman who had been sobbing before looked like he was about to face a firing squad.

The black woman seated directly in front of him twisted around in her seat to talk to him. “Remember what we learned in class? Ascending just feels weird, but it will—” Horror-stricken, she closed her eyes and gripped the edges of her seat.

“It will pass,” a young blond guy with multiple ear piercings said from the seat behind the sobbing man. “Hang in there, Luther.”

Lecia met Anthony’s gaze. She wanted to talk about what had happened between them, but he cracked a smile. “School of No Fear,” he whispered, his voice saying he finally understood. “This is a friggin’ class trip.”

Lecia started to laugh. She couldn’t do anything else.

In Houston, they lost the purple-shirted clan. The flight with them had been beyond interesting. Through turbulence, Lecia and Anthony had endured the group’s audible panic attacks, then cheers of relief when the turbulence passed. The descent had been the worst part, with most of the group whimpering and praying for the last ten minutes of the flight. Once the plane landed, there was a deafening round of applause.

At least this group had forced her and Anthony to relax, given them a reason to smile.

“I need to use the bathroom,” Lecia told Anthony as they walked toward their connecting gate.

“I’ll wait for you.”

“You’d better.”

His warm smile lifted her heart. As she disappeared into the rest room, she was relieved that things between them were back to normal.

Whatever normal was.

There was a lineup, and as Lecia hugged the wall, she kept her gaze on the floor. She was aware that she must look like an idiot, wearing dark glasses in a rest room, but from experience she knew this was the worst place to be recognized. Once, in a restaurant bathroom in Beverly Hills, a woman had asked her advice about using a dildo for the first time. The question was shocking, but she’d been trapped in the line and ultimately had to answer the woman’s question.

When you were a public persona, people expected more from you because they felt that they knew you personally. It often led to them crossing the line in terms of boundaries.

Thankfully, no one recognized her here, and minutes later she made her way back out to Anthony. His cell phone in hand, he still looked relaxed.

She fell into step with him as he started to walk. “You checked messages?”

“Yeah. Kahari brought Donovan to Long Beach, so that’s a relief.”

“I’m glad that’s worked out,” Lecia said. “And I meant to say, I really admire your being a Big Brother. So many athletes talk about giving back, but it’s all for show. But you—you’re the real deal.”

“I try,” he said simply.

“Some of our youth are going through such troublesome
times. The lure of the streets, one-parent families. I always say it would make such a difference in a kid’s life if their role models gave back in some positive way, because they sure aren’t getting what they need from music videos. Athletes have so much power. It’s all fine and dandy to do Nike and Reebok commercials, but what about something to actually reach the kids, inspire them to believe in their dreams? You’re doing a great thing.”

“I wish there’d been something like that where I lived when I was a kid,” Anthony said. “I would have loved a big brother. My pops was hardly around.”

“No?”

“Naw.”

The plot thickened. Lecia had already sensed deep pain in him. Was it because of his father?

“And no,” he quickly added, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Lecia mimed running a zipper along her lips.

“I did have some other messages. My lawyer called. Said the police are concerned that I haven’t come in.”

“Are you gonna call him back?”

“Not until after we get to New Orleans. My agent also called, also expressed concern.” He shrugged. “But I’m not gonna worry about anything now. Nothing’s gonna change until I locate Ginger. And according to Kahari, there’s been no news about her.”

“There will be,” Lecia said. She touched his arm softly. “I’m sure of it.”

It seemed they’d been traveling for a week by the time they arrived in New Orleans. Though Lecia had slept during most of the flight from Houston, she still didn’t feel rested.

The last two days had been a roller coaster of emotions, and Lecia was physically and mentally drained. But thankfully, this whole ordeal would be over soon. Before long, Anthony and Ginger would be reunited and discussing their marriage. Not that the reality of it sat particularly well with her, but what business was it of hers? Her whole reason for being here was to help Anthony get his wife back, no matter how futile she thought the effort. She would facilitate a reconciliation in whatever way she could, then most likely catch a plane back to Los Angeles.

She glanced at Anthony, whose eyes were steadfast on the road ahead of them as he drove the rental car. Then her gaze wandered to the tree-lined streets of New Orleans. She tried to concentrate on the spectacular view of the large, gnarled branches covered with moss, but she couldn’t. Despite having known that her time with Anthony would be short, she was regretting the fact that she would be leaving him soon.

God, but she was a moron. She had to be. Why else would she feel sad over leaving another woman’s husband? Especially when she hadn’t wanted to be with him in the first place?

Except she knew that somewhere along the line that had changed, though she wasn’t sure exactly when. Perhaps around the time she found herself draped all over him on that motel bed?

Her stomach fluttered with the memory. Then disappointment gripped her as she remembered how she had pulled away. She suddenly wished that she’d let the moment continue and seen where it would lead.

Oh, it was foolish, she knew. A foolish thought born out of their crazy adventure together. Still, she couldn’t help feeling that not giving into her passion was something she would always regret.

Anthony made a series of turns, and Lecia paid attention to the view. They had now passed the old mansions in the garden district and were traveling in a more industrial area.

“This can’t be right,” Anthony muttered.

“Where are we going?”

He passed her the slip of paper with the address. Lecia looked at the street sign. They were on the right street.

“Maybe 1922 is behind us,” she said.

“I didn’t see it. But I’ll head back that way if I have to. No, wait. That’s 1886. And that plaza is 1892,” he added, pointing so Lecia could see. “We’re going the right way.”

Lecia’s lips pulled in a frown. The numbers were right, yes, but this certainly didn’t look like the right way. Unless Ginger’s sister lived on top of a store. Which was a distinct possibility, because Lecia didn’t for one minute believe that she was married to a doctor.

Anthony slowed the rental car to a crawl. Then slapped a palm against the steering wheel as he stared at the building.

“Damn,” he cursed, and Lecia felt his pain. After all this driving, after how far they’d come, the building before them wasn’t a house or an apartment. It was a Mail Boxes Etcetera.

“A mail box? She sent her sister’s wedding invitation to a friggin’
mail box
?”

Anthony had turned off the ignition, and Lecia listened as he let out a long string of expletives, wincing at some of the cruder ones.

“I can’t believe this.”

“Tony, I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”

His eyes flew to hers. “This is a nightmare. What else is there to say? I came all this way hoping to find my wife, only to find out I don’t know her at all.”

Lecia placed a hand on Anthony’s arm, but he pulled it away, instead dragging both hands over his short-cropped hair.

He faced her after several minutes of obvious agony. “So that story she told me, the one about the paraplegic mother, alcoholic father—that
was
from a soap opera.”

“I was hoping it wasn’t.”

“She didn’t just lie to me, she played me.” The woman he thought he’d be able to trust forever had sold him prime Florida swampland. “God, I’ve been such a fool.”

“You couldn’t know.”

“Easy for you to say. You didn’t marry Ginger.”

Lecia didn’t respond, just looked down, and Anthony knew that she thought him the world’s biggest idiot. How could she not? He
knew
he was.

In his mind, he replayed all the objections his mother had
voiced to his marrying Ginger. Why hadn’t he listened to her? Because Ginger had portrayed herself as the epitome of loyalty, especially with that story of how she’d never abandoned her ailing mother. And he’d wanted someone who was loyal above all else when it came to building a future. He hadn’t cared about passion. Many a good marriage had been built on mutual respect.

Ginger hadn’t hounded him the way some groupies did. In fact, when he’d met her at the restaurant where she worked, she sounded down to earth. According to her, it was her mother’s dream that she pursue an acting career, which was why, she told him, she’d moved to L.A. The sad twist was that her mother had died before she would ever see her succeed.

Anthony chuckled mirthlessly. What a load of bull. Thanks to some soap opera, he had been conned big-time. The real Ginger wasn’t a loyal, doting daughter. She was some bitch who had set out to ruin his life.

“All right. This was a dead end,” Lecia said. “But there’s got to be another lead. We still have Ginger’s cell phone bill. I say we start calling the numbers.”

Anthony met her gaze, slowly shaking his head with disbelief. Here he was, wallowing in misery, and Lecia was offering him a light, a way out of this mess. “I forgot all about Ginger’s cell phone bill.”

“That’s because you’re upset right now. Understandably.”

“God, I don’t know.” This dead end was a wrenching blow. “What’s the point?”

“I know this isn’t how you are on the field. If your team is down twenty to seven, do you just throw in the towel?”

He shook his head. “No, of course not.”

“Then why would you throw in the towel now, about something so much more important? You started this expedi
tion because you wanted to find Ginger—alive—so you could prove to the world that you didn’t hurt her.”

“I know.”

“Remember Agatha Christie’s
The Clocks
?”

“Of course.”

“There was the dead guy no one could identify. And no one was who they seemed to be.”

“Uh-huh?”

“That’s got to be what’s going on with Ginger. I mean, why bother going to the trouble of giving a fake address for her sister? And not only that, but an elaborate concocted story about her family? She didn’t only want to marry you, she wanted you to think she was someone else. The question is, why?”

God, she was right. Anthony didn’t know what it meant, but she was right. Something else was up with Ginger. Something he didn’t understand.

“I think I ought to call her cell again. See if she answers.” He retrieved his phone and punched in Ginger’s number. “Who knows? Maybe she decided to go to Palm Springs for the weekend and the media is blowing everything out of proportion.”

Lecia started to speak, but Anthony held up a finger to quiet her as he listened to Ginger’s cell phone ring. He waited, and Lecia watched him wait. Then Anthony shook his head and disconnected the call.

“No answer,” he told her.

“All right, so she’s still incommunicado.”

“Or missing,” Anthony said. “Who knows what kind of trouble she’s in? Maybe someone
is
out to get her. It just wasn’t me.”

“There’s so much we don’t know. Anything’s possible.” Lecia paused. “How do you want to go about calling the num
bers on her cellular bill? I’d be happy to do it, if you’d rather not have anyone hear your voice.”

“You’re a doll, Doc.”

“Just trying to help,” Lecia said, smiling.

“And I appreciate it. But…” He glanced at the digital clock. It was minutes after seven o’clock. “We may as well find somewhere to settle first. Then you can make the calls from the hotel room.”

Lecia drew in a slow breath, her nerves tingling at the prospect of making the calls. She was nervous, but she was also excited. Never in her wildest dreams would she have believed that she’d be on an adventure with one of the most popular sports figures in America, trying to solve what was becoming a more complicated mystery by the minute. Especially considering how little excitement she’d actually experienced in her thirty-three years.

“You have any idea where you want to stay?” Lecia asked.

“In the heart of N’Awlins, baby. The French Quarter. If this is my last trip before I spend my life in jail, I may as well enjoy it.”

Lecia knew she should have been thinking about Anthony’s dismal sentiment. Instead, she was thinking of the way he’d called her
baby
. Surprisingly, the simple word made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside, as if he’d intended the word in a literal sense.

When she got back to L.A., maybe
she
would have to book an appointment with a therapist. It was so unlike her to react to a man the way she was reacting to Anthony. Not even Allen had been able to arouse her with one word, or a look, or an accidental touch.

So what was wrong with her now?

The answer came almost immediately, and it was so simple
that it flooded her with relief. When had she spent this much time with a man? Not since she’d dated Marlon-the-Ultimate-Bore in Florida. She could spend hours with Marlon during the course of an evening and not even feel a little buzz in her nether region. It was the reason she’d ended their relationship.

None of the men she’d dated in L.A. had done it for her, either. Lawrence at Nora’s Café was the only decent man she conversed with these days, and while she knew he was interested in her, he wasn’t her type.

And then there was Anthony. Tall and muscular, he was gorgeous as sin. He exuded raw sexuality even sitting in a car brooding. How could she
not
feel something for him? But it was all based on this unique situation, not on anything real.

“Lecia?”

“Huh?” she said, whipping her head up to face him.

“I said, unless you have any objections. Which I can’t help thinking you might, since you got all quiet.”

“Objections?”

“To heading to a hotel now.”

“Oh. Um, no. I don’t.” What a lie! She had no clue how she would handle spending another night with him.

“All right, then.” Anthony stuck the key in the ignition.

“Wait!” Lecia suddenly cried.

Anthony looked at her. “What is it?”

“I…I guess I’m thinking…wondering…what are we going to do about the sleeping arrangements?”

Anthony’s eyebrows shot together in question. “Same as we did last night, why?”

“Well, that’s a fine plan, but…”
But what?
“But what if people see us together? It’d be one more negative thing in the media where you’re concerned. I can see the headline now, ‘Football Player Gallivanting While Wife Is Missing. Duh, Do
You Think He Killed Her?’ It’s probably wise just to get separate rooms.”

“You weren’t exactly concerned about being seen together when you suggested we fly here.”

Shit, good point
. “And I was wrong. People
did
recognize us, despite our attempts to obscure our faces.”

“If you go in and rent two rooms, you’ll just attract attention.” Anthony shrugged. “Besides, people have already seen us together. The
Daily Blab
could be writing their feature story about us as we speak.”

What a horrible thought. “It’s just that the French Quarter is much busier than where we stopped last night, and certainly busier than either of the airports. There’s a greater chance of being recognized.”

“Have you been there before?”

“No.”

“No?” Anthony repeated, his tone relaying his shock. “Well, let me tell you, when it comes to Bourbon Street, people don’t see anything except the signs for cheap booze and the barely dressed women.”

Which meant she’d stand out like a sore thumb. “I can just imagine.”

“You haven’t sampled New Orleans until you’ve had a Hurricane at Pat O’Brien’s. That drink will knock you flat on your—”

“Let me guess,” Lecia said, pasting a syrupy smile on her face. “You’ve been here for Mardi Gras.”

“Once. And I’ve been back for football…. What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Lecia
tsk
ed softly as she shook her head. “I can only imagine what those trips were like.”

“I’m not gonna lie—”

“Here we go.”

“Hold up. Hear me out. Yeah, it can be pretty crazy. Groupies always know where we’ll be staying, and let me tell you, they show up in droves.”

“And you athletes just can’t help yourselves, right?”

“
Some
players.”

Lecia looked away, unable to bear the sight of Anthony a moment longer. She was disgusted with herself for even feeling a smidgen of jealousy, but that’s exactly what was making her stomach clench. “Are we gonna head off?”

“Not until you look at me.”

Like a spoiled child, Lecia stubbornly refused to look his way.

“Lecia…”

“God, I’m acting like an idiot,” she said after a moment. “Like whatever you or any of your teammates do matters one lick to me.”

“You think that when I stay at hotels, I have some hedonistic orgy in my room? Damn, I hate it when you roll your eyes like that, like you think I won’t notice.”

“I didn’t roll my eyes.”

“You’ve been with me for a good forty-eight hours. Have I given you any reason to believe that I can’t control myself around a woman?”

“I, Mr. Beals, am not throwing myself at you.”

“What do you call flattening me on my back this morning? If I didn’t have any self-control, we’d still be in that hotel room, going on round thirty.”

Oh, man.
What a thought that was. To think she’d missed out on something so spectacular.

No, no, no. You did
not
miss out.
“Um, nice try with the revisionist history, but
you
pulled me onto your body.”

Anthony laughed. “Oh, I did, did I?”

Lecia wanted to wipe that smirk off his face—with her lips. “You…you ball players.”