Hostile Makeover (38 page)
Scanning the crowd for a glimpse of Rob, she caught Brooke Mackenzie, Hap Mackenzie’s dewy-skinned trophy wife, assessing her with interest. Amanda’s heart lurched as she realized that this was probably what that Tiffany business looked like—all pampered and polished. Amanda’s eyes teared up, and she dropped her gaze, unwilling to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing her falter. As Tom Hanks said in
A League of Their Own
, and as she’d often reminded Wyatt, there was no crying in baseball.
Swiping the moisture from her cheek, Amanda checked her watch and then did what she hoped was another casual scan for Rob. She caught Wyatt’s attention and sent him a thumbs-up. Wyatt smiled briefly but then his gaze moved past her toward the parking lot. He flinched and turned away.
Unable to stop herself, Amanda turned to glance over her shoulder. Rob was crossing from the parking lot and heading toward the field, his gaze locked on his son. She watched him bypass the stands altogether—he didn’t even bother to check for her presence—and trip happily down the concrete steps toward the dugout.
He looked like Rob, but not. He had the same blond hair, the same even features, the same lanky build, but the hip-hugging bell-bottomed blue jeans, the spotless white T-shirt, and the red sweater knotted around his neck were new. And so was the skip in his step.
The heat rose to her face and her hands clenched at her sides. The rush of blood to her brain was so loud she barely heard her own gasp of shock or the sudden silence that now surrounded her. Because trailing along behind him was what could only be the new Z-3 in all her tight-chassised, glove leather glory.
Speechless, Amanda watched them go by. The girl—calling her a woman would have been a stretch—actually looked like she’d stepped off the cover of a magazine. In this case, probably
Teen People
.
She had a cloud of blond hair that moved with her as she walked and a body that made you look even when you didn’t want to.
She had perfectly sculpted limbs, high jutting breasts, and an absurdly tiny waist. Her stomach was unfairly flat over her low-slung jeans; it had never been stretched by childbirth and then expected to snap back. Her silk blouse was white and the burgundy leather blazer was beautifully tailored, but it was her face that sucked all the breath out of Amanda’s lungs as she passed. It was the most perfect face Amanda had ever seen.
“Holy shit!” The expletive left the mouths of the group of women seated around Amanda; it was torn from their lips and infused with both wonder and horror. Several made the sign of the cross. In their sweats and sneakers, wrapped in their blankets, and bedraggled from an afternoon of shuttling their children all over creation, they were a set of serviceable pearls, chipped and unpolished; Tiffany was a four-carat diamond in an antique platinum setting sparkling in the sun.
The theme song from
Jaws
began to play in Amanda’s head. “Da dum . . . da dum . . .”
The appropriately named Tiffany grabbed Rob’s arm as they reached the dugout. Stopping at the chain-link fence, Rob leaned forward to say something to Wyatt and the hot flame of anger ignited in Amanda’s stomach.
Leaving them had been unconscionable, but showing up here with this . . .
child
. . . was beyond belief. Amanda’s anger built; every move they made, Rob’s laugh, Tiffany’s flick of her hair, the fact that they were
breathing
when she could not, stoked that flame into a billowing inferno.
How could he do this? How
dare
he do this? No longer caring what kind of show they put on for those assembled, Amanda rose and walked down the steps and directly toward her husband. It was hard to see him, what with the red haze before her eyes and all, but she continued to move forward as if some unseen hand pushed from behind. She could not let this travesty continue.
Suddenly understanding the concept of second-degree murder, Amanda imagined the headlines if she were to give in to the bloodlust she felt right now: DISCARDED WIFE GOES BERSERK AT BALL FIELD. BASEBALL MOM BATS CHEATING HUSBAND OVER LEFT-FIELD FENCE. No jury with a married woman over thirty-five on it would convict her.
Every eye in the stands was focused on Amanda’s back, but she told herself it didn’t matter because this couldn’t possibly be happening. As she reached the ground and began to move toward the dugout, the whole situation turned surreal; this was not just her facing down Rob, but WonderWife facing down every dastardly husband who had dared to spit in the face of his family.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she hissed when she reached them. “How could you bring her here?”
Tiffany flushed with surprise and Amanda wondered exactly what the girl had expected.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Wyatt swivel around on the dugout bench to watch them. His face was white, the freckles across the bridge of his nose stood out in stark relief.
“It’s OK, Wy,” she said, though of course it wasn’t. “You just focus on your game, you hear? We’re going to work this out.”
The coach stepped up next to Wyatt. He placed a hand on her son’s shoulder and gave Rob a steely look. Thank God for Dan Donovan. “You all right, Amanda?”
“Yes, thanks.”
Donovan led Wyatt to the other end of the dugout, out of earshot. She looked Tiffany in the eye.
“You’re dating a married man and you come to a place where his wife and child will be?”
“Oh, Robbie’s going to. . . .”
She stepped closer, needing to invade their personal space in the same way they’d invaded hers. “Shame on you!” Amanda said, angered anew by the inadequacy of her words. “Shame on both of you!”
“But, Robbie, you said—” the girl began.
“It’s not
Robbie.
” Amanda put every ounce of disdain she was feeling into the nickname. “His name is Rob, and at the moment he’s still married to me. He and I need to have a conversation. We’re not going to have that conversation here in front of an audience. You can go sit down until we’re done, or you can go play on the slide, I don’t care which. But if I see your face again tonight, I’m going to rip every one of those blond hairs out of your head and stuff them in your mouth.”
Tiffany gasped and stalked off. Without looking to see if Rob followed, Amanda marched off in the other direction. She walked until she reached a tree beyond the stands and out of the others’ line of sight. When she turned around Rob was standing in front of her.
HOSTILE MAKEOVER
A Bantam Book / November 2005
Published by Bantam Dell
A Division of Random House, Inc.
New York, New York
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved
Copyright © 2005 by Wendy Wax
Bantam Books and the rooster colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
eISBN: 0-553-90202-4
v1.0
