Lottery (4 page)

She liked him, Ling thought as she took off her sandals and pushed them back in line with her other shoes. Caleb was a little shy, yet warm and open. He was also very handsome. Good looks attracted her, but if there wasn’t more to someone than that, it had never been enough to keep Ling interested.

She plopped down on the couch, picked up the remote on the coffee table, and hugged it to her chest. Staring up at the ceiling fan, Ling thought about how she’d always been cautious about letting a man into her life. Maybe it was because she wanted to hold out for the kind of marriage that her parents had. To date, she had yet to find a man who was like her father—strong, yet with a heart of gold.

Although many of the women she knew didn’t have the desire to have a traditional marriage with children, Ling did. She wanted to teach her children the Chinese customs like her mother had taught her.

She was lucky and didn’t need a mate because of money. Graduating at the top of her class had landed a position with one of the top brokerage companies in the U.S. She made more than enough money to support herself and could still put away more than she spent.

Had she really gone to a strange place to meet a man she knew nothing about tonight? Ling had felt immediately comfortable with him; there was something about Caleb O’Toole that she trusted. Maybe her mother was right, and a woman knew the first time they met someone if there was a possibility they could be with them forever.

She brought her legs up underneath her and pulled the quilt that her grandmother had stitched by hand over her.

The only thing Ling knew was that when her eyes had locked with Caleb’s sky-blue eyes, she’d felt something she’d never felt before.

he crowds, the noise, and the ongoing commotion of tourists all disappeared when Caleb spotted her flying down the street on her bike.

A flashback blazed through Caleb’s mind. Caleb was ten when his old man made him watch as he destroyed Caleb’s new Huffy bike. Tears streaming down his freckled face, Caleb had been helpless to intervene. Running over the bike, backing up and running over it again and again, when the truck stopped abruptly, his father stepped out, slamming the door, his face a burnished red. “That’ll teach you to do what you’re told,” his dad spat angrily, pointing at the demolished bicycle, his meaty jowls shaking with anger. He bent over toward Caleb, a sickening smile on his face. “Are you crying, sissy boy?” Caleb’s father asked with a sarcastic smile. “Cry baby sissy boy, you’ll never amount to a tinker’s damn.”

God, Caleb hated his father. He’d hated him for as far back as he could remember. It was apparent that his father detested him just as much. Caleb couldn’t remember his old man ever telling
him he was proud of him—not for one damn thing. Caleb’s mother had tried to explain that Caleb was the oldest and fathers were always harder on their first born. Caleb had almost accepted her answer until he’d overheard his aunt talking to his mother, asking if Caleb’s father still believed Caleb wasn’t his.

“Hey,” Ling said out-of-breath and hopped off her bike next to him.

The sunlight washed over her flawless skin; her eyes were hidden by sunglasses. She took off the black plastic helmet embellished with a hot pink stripe, and shook out her hair.

“I thought you were a kid,” he said, admiring her.

“Only took me like twenty minutes to get here.”

He nodded at her city bike and then his eyes fell on the oversized, heavy-belted wheels that helped to shrug off city hazards such as broken glass and deep potholes. “You have a lock for that?” Caleb asked.

She reached inside the backpack on the back of the bike and pulled out a flexible tube. “Well … yeah.” She smiled. “Us biker girls have to take precautions.” She bent over, wrapped the snake-like coil around the bike, and snapped the lock closed. Wearing a black racer-back tank, her spandex shorts hugged her petite, yet muscular thighs.

Caleb pushed a thumb back over his shoulder. “Everyone’s starting to board.”

“Wait.” Ling flashed a mischievous grin. “I have to do something.”

Puzzled, he followed her through the crowded pier. The cloudless sky, the endless trail of boats trolling the bay, and the variety of street entertainers garbed in flamboyant attire all made for a picture-perfect San Francisco day. She stopped at a symphonic stairway like the one in the blockbuster movie
Big
.

The keyboard spanned almost five feet across, and every time a tourist stepped on one of the keys, a musical note rang out. On
most weekends, an off-key symphony would resound over Fisherman’s Wharf, through the streets of Nob Hill, and across the bay.

Arms crossed, Ling patiently waited for a time when the keyboard was devoid of any tourists. Quickly, she shot up to the third step, sending out a loud middle “C.” Swiftly hopping to the first step, and then bouncing up to the second that she stomped on twice. When the audience recognized the tune—
Old McDonald Had a Farm
—whistles and applause rang out, competing with the cries of the throng of seals in the bay.

Caleb watched her with adoration. “Pretty impressive,” he complimented as she walked toward him.

“Well.” Ling pushed the sunglasses down on her nose and glanced up at him. “I’m afraid that’s the extent of my musical talent.” She shoved the glasses back into place. “If I don’t practice, however,” she said and grinned, “I might lose my touch.”

He put a hand over his chest. “Well, I hate to brag, but I play a little guitar.”

“You know
my
song?”

“Is
Old McDonald Had a Farm
your song?”

She thumbed her chest. “I own it.”

Caleb laughed.

Walking down the pier, Ling nodded at the waiters and waitresses dressed in black shorts and skirts carrying large silver platters. “Wonder what’s going on?”

“They’re taking those to Weber’s boat,” Caleb said. “Fog Harbor Fish House caters his outings.”

“Really?” she asked. “Quite an important fella, huh?”

“Weber?” Jack said and paused. “His family money comes from oil, plus they own a number of restaurants. One of them is Fog Harbor.”

Weber’s hundred-foot yacht was an eye-stopper. The body of the boat and hull painted in a subtle warm beige tone was accented with wide, bold stripes of burgundy and black. Growing up in Nebraska, Caleb had never known anyone with this kind of wealth.

Caleb hopped on board and held out his hand to Ling. She put her small hand in his, sending another tingle though him.

People chatted in small groups, while hired help unveiled platters of shrimp, fried calamari, steamed clams, and fresh warm French bread. Port windows had been dropped, merging the outside with the inside.

Caleb put his hand in the small of Ling’s back. “Come on, I’ll give you the tour.”

Cushy lounge chairs, wrap-around bars, and informal dining areas speckled all three levels of the ship. On the upper deck, bright colored cushions covered chaise lounges that surrounded a swimming pool complete with a diving board.

The hot tub was already filled with sun worshippers toasting with champagne and high ball glasses held above the bubbling water. Women in skimpy bikinis were clustered together while men in Speedos, their six-packs sculptured by Gold’s Gym, vied for their attention.

“Wow,” Ling said, placing a hand over her chest. “This is unbelievable. Everyone looks so … model-like.”

“O’Toole.” Caleb turned to saw Weber walking toward them. Wearing a perfectly pressed blue and yellow striped cotton polo shirt, Weber’s shiny, dark hair was slicked back. Weber lowered his sunglasses and parted his lips slightly, staring at Ling. “And who might you be?”

“Ling,” she said confidently, thrusting her hand toward Weber. “And you are?”

Caleb forced himself not to smile. Ling knew full well who he was. He prayed he was right about her, and that she wouldn’t be attracted to Weber because of his money.

“Your host,” Weber said. “Jack Weber.” He took her hand and put his other hand over hers. “What a beautiful addition to our family,” he flirted.

Ling slowly pulled her hand from his grip. “You have a very large family.”

“There’s always room for one more,” Weber said, and then added, “Can I get you something. Glass of wine? Margarita?”

“Water would be great,” she said.

Weber flagged down one of the servers. “Get my beautiful new friend here a Fuji.”

Beautiful new friend.
Caleb pushed his hair back off his forehead and glanced around the deck. Weber was a sleaze with no boundaries when it came to what he wanted.

“Yes, sir,” the attendant answered.

“Quite a ship,” Ling said, glancing around.

“Yacht,” Weber corrected.

Ling briefly gave Caleb a look and grinned.

“I’ll see you in a bit.” Weber turned and started to walk away. “Need to get the crew moving so we can enjoy this awesome day.”

“He’s full of himself,” Ling said under her breath.

“Ya think?” Caleb put his arm around her.

The yacht drifted on San Francisco Bay for hours. Caleb and Ling talked by the pool, with Weber interrupting occasionally to introduce Ling to some of the other guests.

When they were alone again, Ling nodded at a frail woman, her strawberry-blonde hair blowing the wind. “Who’s that? She doesn’t look like she belongs here.”

“I can’t remember her name.” Caleb leaned closer to Ling’s ear and whispered, “I think she’s Weber’s contact.”

Ling wrinkled up her nose. “Contact?”

“Drugs.”

“I’m going to go talk to her.” Ling stood. “She looks lonely.”

Caleb put a hand on her arm. “Bad news, Ling.”

She nodded. “You’re probably right,” she agreed and sat back down.

No matter how many times Caleb toured the bay, each time it felt like the first; the seagulls circling gracefully overhead, the impressive Golden Gate Bridge that led to the Pacific, the hush that ensued when the yacht circled Alcatraz. One day he’d have his own boat; that is, if the bookie didn’t kill him first. He wasn’t going to think about that now. He’d talk to Weber about it tomorrow. Today he wanted to focus on the beautiful woman who’d consented to spend the day with him.

It was almost ten when the boat slowly made its way back to the dock. A slit of the moon overhead, Caleb heard the white caps gently slapping the sides of the yacht.

Weber tapped Caleb on the shoulder and glanced at Ling. “Can I steal your man for a sec?”

Ling smiled at Caleb. “Just for a sec.”

When the two men reached the railing, Weber leaned into Caleb. “I won,” he whispered.

“Won?” Caleb asked, confused.

“The fucking lottery.”

“Come on.” Caleb rolled his eyes. “Cut the crap.”

Noticing that there was no sign of amusement in Weber’s expression, Caleb felt the blood drain from his face.

Weber patted the pocket in his shorts. “Haven’t turned it in yet. Gonna wait for a day or two.”

“You’re not kidding?” Caleb’s mouth dropped open and he slapped his hand on top of his head. “736 mil?”

“Why the hell would I lie about something like that?”

“Oh, my God,” Caleb gushed, feeling light-headed. “I cannot believe this is really hap—”

“You act like
you
won.” Weber took a sip of his drink.

Caleb’s heart started to race. “We’re splitting, remember?”

“Splitting?” Weber smirked. “Forget it, man, you picked up the tickets so I’ll give you a couple of bucks.” He turned and started to walk away.

“You’re not serious … right?”

Not turning back around, Weber held up his hand, dismissing Caleb.

Caleb felt like he’d been punched it the stomach. Jesus. He had to somehow curb his anger and fight off the urge to beat the shit out of Weber. Feeling ill, he turned around, leaned over the side of the railing and drew in a deep breath. He felt his left eye twitch.
Son-of-a-bitch.

“You okay?” Ling asked when Caleb reached her. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”