Redemption (25 page)

She clicked on the attachments, which must have come from the store’s publicity department. She pursed her lips in silent approval.

The ax-grinding colleague was right. Claire Porter was a very classy-looking woman. An executive type. That was what was so unbelievable about the story. Matt Grayson didn’t usually hang out with financial types, unless it was his own accountant. But this woman was certainly a looker, Alicia thought, noting the slight resemblance to a younger Jaclyn Smith. And there was something else about her, something vaguely familiar…Kristen Stewart, maybe? No, that wasn’t it.

She frowned, saving the photo to her hard disk. She would come up with it later. She clicked on another photo. This shot of the storefront should accompany the title: “Hot Times in Philly: Matt Grayson lights a fire in the boardroom of Philadelphia’s staid department store.”

Too long? She’d give that some thought—she wanted plenty of room for the photos. Her readers especially liked visual aides to accompany their gossip.

Chapter Seventeen

“A H
INT
O
F
S
CANDAL
’
will be the promo,” Jackie announced to the gathered board, surveying their faces for reaction.

The slogan would draw them in, Claire agreed, sniffing the little packet of perfume Jackie had distributed.

Jackie was also handling plans for Mme. Bendel’s upcoming visit. It was the first time she had come to the U.S. in a decade, so the retail press would cover the event with all the aplomb of visiting royalty.

As Jackie outlined the details for the promotion campaign, Claire made a note to make sure the contractors had the renovations completed in time for the debut. It would cost more in overtime, but in the long run, the publicity would be worth it.

She glanced up as Joan tapped on her shoulder. One look at her worried face, and Claire jumped up, prepared to phone 9-1-1, or at least Labor and Delivery.

But it was Tripper. His school had just phoned, Joan said in a whisper.

Before she could finish, Claire had rushed out of the room.

Tripper had been involved in a fight, the secretary at school had explained as soon as Claire phoned. But as she drove out to Tripper’s school in the suburbs, she decided it must be a mistake.

Tripper wasn’t the sort of child to resort to violence. But, she remembered grimly, his new hero, Matt Grayson, was well known for his exploits with his fists, at least on the screen.

She edged above the speed limit, the thought of her son sitting in the principal’s office sending a wave of pity through her heart. Fortunately traffic was light at this time of day, and thirty minutes later, she was walking into the school’s office. Tripper slumped in a chair near the door, a bleak look on his face.

“What happened?” she asked, hoping her voice sounded nonjudgmental.

His face flooded with relief as he looked up, but then he lifted his shoulders in a shrug and returned to contemplating his sneakers. She didn’t know whether to interrogate him or hug him.

Mrs. Harper, the principal, came out of her office, followed by a stocky man in a brown suit and a boy holding an ice bag over one eye. Henry Kuntz glared as introductions were made, not lifting his hands from his son Justin’s shoulders.

The principal’s voice was brusque. “Why don’t you both come in my office while we get to the bottom of this?”

Claire listened in disbelief as Mrs. Harper explained. According to the teacher on duty, the boys had been playing basketball, when suddenly Tripper had fired the basketball at point blank range straight into Justin’s face.

“The kid’s a menace!” Mr. Kuntz stuffed his hands in his pockets and jangled his change aggressively. “He’s got no respect for authority. Just stared at me when I asked him to apologize to Justin.” He jabbed a finger toward Claire. “If Justin’s vision is affected, you’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”

Claire met his glare with a cool look. “I assure you my son is not a violent child, Mr. Kuntz. Whatever he did to your son was undoubtedly done with provocation.” Remembering the surly glower Justin had directed toward Tripper from under the icepack, she had no doubt that was true. “I’ll be happy to pay whatever medical bills result from this incident, but I warn you—stay away from my son. If Justin deserves an apology, I’ll be the one to extract it from Tripper, not you.”

She didn’t lower her gaze, and finally he blinked and looked away. Claire turned to the principal. “If that’s all, I’d like to take Tripper home now. Perhaps he’ll share more details with me later.” She offered a brief smile to the principal, then turned and left the room, firing a last warning glance at Justin’s father on her way out.

But at home, her son was no more forthcoming. “Tripper, I know he must have said something to upset you. Won’t you tell me what it was?” At his silence, Claire continued, determined to get to the bottom of it. “It must have been something that hurt you terribly. You must know whatever it was, it isn’t true.” At the risk of sounding cliché, she added, “‘Sticks and stones can break your bones’—and I might put basketballs in that category—but words are harmless. Whatever Justin said was—”

“Just leave me alone!” Tripper shouted, jumping up from the couch where she had pinned him down for questioning. “He deserved it, and his father’s a big fat idiot too. I’m not going to apologize, never. So just stop talking to me!” Two spots of color highlighted his cheekbones as he stood facing her.

Claire was completely at a loss. Tripper had never been prone to outbursts like this; normally he exhibited the same easy-going personality of his father. But she knew he also had inherited her sensitivity and hadn’t yet developed the hard shell necessary for protection.

Resisting the urge to give him a hug, she picked up his schoolbag and handed it to him. “I’d like you to go upstairs now and do your homework. When you’re ready to talk, I’ll be happy to listen, but you will not speak disrespectfully to adults.”

He took the bag, a look of relief relaxing his features. Sadie, who had been watching with ears raised throughout their exchange, followed him up the stairs, sensing her favorite playmate needed her protection.

When he was out of sight, Claire lowered herself onto the couch, surprised to notice she was shaking. This certainly couldn’t be classified as one of the joys of parenting.

She had an overwhelming urge to share the burden, get Matt’s take on Tripper’s outburst.

But Matt made his living knocking off villains and despots, though as far as she knew he had never employed sports equipment while exacting justice. There was little chance Tripper would be influenced to apologize after a talk with Matt.

Still she debated calling him. Maybe this was one of those situations where a man’s perspective was needed. She refused to use the word “father”; as far as Tripper knew, Matt was nothing more than a family friend. One he obviously respected, though. Perhaps she
should
call him…

In the end, the decision was made for her when she answered the phone to hear Matt’s voice. “Hey, I just called your office. They said you had to pick Tripper up at school. He’s not sick, is he?”

“No, it’s worse than that. He was in a fight on the playground, and he hit another boy in the eye with a basketball—deliberately. Apparently they were having some kind of argument.”

Matt gave a reassuring chuckle. “Boys get in fights all the time. This will probably blow over—”

“Don’t give me that ‘boys will be boys’ garbage!” she blurted. “The other boy has a black eye, and his father is threatening to sue. And worst of all, Tripper won’t apologize or even give a reason for his behavior. It’s just not like him.”

“Calm down, Claire,” Matt said, his voice reassuring. “My attorney will eat him alive in court, no contest—”

“Matt!”

“Sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood.”

Claire clutched the phone. “Actually, I was hoping you could try talking to him—to Tripper, I mean. He’s not communicating with me at the moment.”

“Sure. As a matter of fact, I was calling to see if I could come out. I had Heather pick up another bag of dog food—I noticed you were low the other day. How about if I drop by—” he paused, then added “—in an hour or so?”

Claire agreed, hoping Matt would be more successful than she had been in dealing with a recalcitrant nine-year-old.

Matt called Jackson and put off the meeting they had scheduled to go over the next days’ shooting schedule. Handling his first crisis as a parent was more important, he figured. From the sound of Claire’s voice, she was more than a little worried. Plus, he had to shamefully admit, he wasn’t above racking up a few points with the normally self-sufficient Claire by offering support and comfort. She obviously didn’t realize playground fights were a guy thing.

When he arrived at her home, neither Tripper nor Sadie showed up at the door to greet him. Claire opened the door alone, the smell of a high-class bordello clinging to her.

He wrinkled his nose. “What on earth is that?”

“It’s called
Scandal
,” she said, a little smile slipping onto her lips, despite the worry that shadowed her eyes. “We’re launching it in a major promotion, starting next week.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “You’re promoting scandal? Here I thought you did your damnedest to avoid it.”

“At least it smells better than the last one I was involved in.” Then she nodded toward the stairs. “I hope you can get more out of him than I did. I promised Justin’s father he’d have an apology.”

“I’ll give it a shot,” he promised, then went upstairs.

A poster of bats decorated Tripper’s door, along with a “No Trespassing” sign. Matt rapped his knuckles on the wood and, at Tripper’s listless bidding, entered the room.

He was sitting on the bed, twirling a red-and-blue basketball on the tip of his finger.

“Hey, sport,” Matt said. “What’s up? Your mom said you had a little trouble at school.”

Tripper glanced at Matt, lifted his shoulders in a small shrug, then returned his gaze to the ball.

The gesture struck a familiar chord in Matt. In his own youth, he had often been called on the carpet for similar misdeeds. He joined Tripper on the bed, then took the ball from his hands. “Maybe I should teach you how to use this thing. Normally you aim it at the hoop, not someone’s face.”

Tripper frowned, not appreciating the joke.

Matt eyed the ball, signed by several of the players for the Sixers. “So what really happened?” He waited patiently.

“I just wanted him to shut up,” Tripper said at last.

“Why?”

Stubborn silence greeted the question. Matt probed a little deeper. “He wasn’t dissing your hook shot, was he?”

Tripper’s eyes met his briefly, and Matt could see he was tempted. Whatever the kid had said, Tripper had obviously felt it justified a bouncer in the face.

Matt was inclined to go with Tripper’s judgment.

“You want to get it off your chest? I can keep a secret, you know.”

“He’s just a jerk, that’s all.”

“There’re better ways of dealing with jerks. Your mom probably has a few pointers there. I’ve seen her in action, and believe me, it’s not a pretty sight!”

Tripper raised a curious gaze, his green eyes almost a carbon copy of his own. He seemed to weigh his words. Finally he said, “Matt, can I ask you something? About my mom, I mean?”

Matt hesitated, not sure where Tripper was heading. “What is it you want to know about your mom?”

“Do you think she’s…well, do you like her?”

Matt was startled at the turn the conversation was taking, but he replied gamely, “Sure, I like her. You know that. Your mom and I are friends.”

“If somebody said something bad about her, would you hit them?”

Matt almost choked. “What has someone said about your mom?” he asked, ready to punch whoever had planted any ideas in Tripper’s head.

“They said I was lying about you coming over here. They said I just made it up because I don’t have a dad or anything.”

“But you do have a dad,” Matt felt compelled to point out.

“Yeah, I know, but he’s one of those deadhead dads, the ones you see on TV who don’t pay their child support.” Matt suppressed a grin, but Tripper’s next words erased all desire to smile. “I’m glad he doesn’t come around. I think my mom’s afraid of him. She gets a funny look on her face when I ask her about him, and she even keeps a gun in her closet. I saw it once, when I was playing hide-and-seek in there.”

“Jesus Christ,” Matt muttered. “Listen, Tripper, I think we ought to talk to your mom about this. She could probably set you straight—”

“No! She told me I shouldn’t talk about you coming over here to the other kids at school.” Tripper’s face registered alarm. “She said other people wouldn’t understand. She was right.”

“It’s true some people get all weird about celebrities. I told you that, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but all I did was tell them you took me to the basketball game.”

“Well, there’s the proof of that.” He nodded toward the basketball in his hands. “Why don’t you take that to school and show them?”