Various States of Undress (25 page)

There was no way he was going to let his mother stay in Memphis—temporarily disabled—with only her unreliable neighbors and Buddy fucking Mambo to depend on. If nothing else, he and Joe had to convince her to give up the pretense that she didn't need help. If she couldn't see it now, though, when would she ever?

“Turn on the TV,” Margot said suddenly. “I want to see your interview.”

“It's not on for a little while, Mom,” Brett said. He stroked her hand gently.

“Don't care. Want to be ready,” she mumbled.

Brett suspected that she'd be asleep within minutes, but he picked up the remote and did as commanded, turning the channel to WHAP. Dave Burrows and Simone Flowers sat behind the anchor desk, all smiles. Soon Georgia would take Dave's place to introduce the interview. He fervently hoped it would go well because, no matter what had happened last night, Georgia had spent weeks pouring herself into that interview.

After watching a couple of national news segments, Brett realized that his mom had gone back to sleep. He slowly moved her hand onto the blanket and stood up to stretch. There were voices murmuring in the hall, and he peeked his head out to look. One of the floor nurses walked toward him, Joe beside her. The nurse gestured toward Brett and then left.

As Joe stood there, hesitating, Brett studied his brother's face—it was uncharacteristically grim. Tired. He was dressed in wrinkled jeans and a plain T-shirt. Aside from the fact that he was a pro athlete—a big man in top physical shape—there was nothing about the way Joe carried himself that screamed “entitled.”

Joe had always been unassuming and easygoing, though. Playing baseball came as naturally to him as waking up in the morning. But right now, Joe looked awkward—scared even. The skin around the edges of his trim beard was white. Brett hated seeing that, and his throat tightened. He walked into the hall and wrapped his arms around his brother.

“Hey, little shit,” Joe said. He pulled away and squeezed Brett's shoulders. “How is she?”

“She'll be all right.” Brett nodded, his throat too constricted to speak further.

“Okay. I'm here now.” Joe gave him a weary smile. “Congrats, by the way. Can't wait to play ball with you again.”

Brett's vision went blurry with tears and he nodded again. “Thanks. Uh . . . you want to see her?” He walked back into the hospital room and gestured lamely toward the bed.

Joe stood in the doorway for a few seconds, staring. He rubbed his forehead. Then he walked to the bed and leaned down, gently kissing Margot on the cheek. “Mom?”

Margot opened her eyes. “Hey, sweetheart. Don't look at me like that. I'm fine.”

“Sure, you are.” Joe stood by the bed, seemingly at a loss as to what to do. He glanced toward the TV. “Let's turn that off, okay? You need your rest.”

“No!” Margot grimaced and tried to turn over. “Brett's thing is coming on.”

“What's she talking about?” Joe asked.

“I'm being featured on WHAP.” Brett let out a sigh. “Just like you were.”

A familiar glint of amusement stole into Joe's eyes. “Oh yeah. You and the president's daughter. Are the rumors true?”

“She's in love with him,” Margot announced.

Joe chuckled. “All women are in love with him.”

“Not like this.” Margot shifted and tried to sit up. “Both of you come here and sit next to me. It'll be just like old times.”

Brett knew what she meant—when he and Joe had been kids, Margot had made a big deal out of movie nights, which had usually consisted of a watching a romantic comedy and eating a bag of chips. She'd tolerated their juvenile comments, and they'd tolerated her crying at the end. As a teenager, Brett had rolled his eyes at those movies, but he'd give his left nut to be watching one of them now instead of WHAP.

He wanted to see Georgia's work—he was proud of her—but it seemed like a strange time for everyone to be gathering around the Brett Knox show. Margot would make a huge fuss, though, so he did as asked and perched beside her. Joe sat on the opposite side, but his eyes weren't on the TV. He was watching Margot—and Brett was watching him, a sense of foreboding growing in his stomach. He needed to say something about Buddy. As soon as the interview was over, he'd take Joe out of the room and tell him.

“Mom,” Joe said. “I only have a few hours, and then I need to fly to Atlanta for a game. So I wanted to talk to you about leaving Memphis.” He glanced up at Brett. “I mean—since Brett is leaving too.”

Brett nodded. “I mentioned it already.”

“Quiet, boys. I don't want to miss anything.” Margot stared at a cell phone commercial.

“But she won't listen,” Brett continued. “Maybe in a little while you and I can . . .”

“Yeah.” Joe took her hand.

“There's something else I want to talk to you about too,” Brett told him, his stomach tingling.

“About what?”

“Shh!” Margot wrestled her hand away from Joe's grasp and pointed at the TV. “There you are, Brett.”

Video footage of Brett running bases splashed across the top of the screen, and a logo appeared at the bottom. “Hometown Hero: A Special Report by Dave Burrows and Georgia Fulton,” Joe read aloud. “Sweet.”

Dave? Why was his name up there? Brett held his breath as the video faded to a studio shot and the news intro music played. When Brett saw Dave sitting behind the anchor desk alone, his stomach knotted.

“Where's Georgia?” Margot burst out. “Oh no! What if she didn't make it back to the studio in time?”

Brett didn't answer. He was pretty sure they'd find out in about ten seconds, and he found himself clenching the edge of the bed as Dave began to speak.

“Welcome back. I'm Dave Burrows for WHAP, Channel Nineteen News. As promised, we are pleased to present a special report on one of our own—a Memphis hometown hero, Brett Knox. As most of you are aware, he's the popular catcher for the Redbirds, and he was kind enough to make time for an interview with us. But before we get to that, I'm pleased to share some exclusive breaking news with you.”

Dave gave his usual sappy wide grin. “As much as we love Knox here in Memphis, we're sure that he will be just as popular in St. Louis, where he will begin playing baseball on Friday for the Cardinals. He will join another former Redbird—his brother, Joe Knox Jr. From all of us here at WHAP, best wishes, Brett.”

“That was nice,” Joe commented.

Brett let out a breath. “So far, so good.”

“But where's Georgia?” Margot asked.

“Uh . . .” Joe cleared his throat, and Brett saw his brother looking at the doorway. With a sinking feeling, Brett looked, too. Georgia stood there, her arms wrapped around her middle, staring at the TV.

Brett stood up immediately, but he didn't make a move. He'd known something was wrong, but from the look on her face, it was bad. Really bad.

“Georgia?” he asked softly.

“It's . . .” Georgia took a deep breath. “It's a taped interview. I thought I'd watch from here and . . .” She trailed off and glanced toward the bed. “Hey, you must be Joe.”

“Nice to meet you.” Joe smiled, but he didn't get up. “Would you like to come in?”

She shook her head. “I don't want to intrude.” She turned her attention back to the TV, and immediately her hands flew to her mouth.

Brett looked up, too, and found himself staring at the image of Buddy Mambo, inset into the top-right corner of the screen.

All the air went out of Brett's lungs, and a buzzing started somewhere in his head. He saw Dave Burrows lean forward on the anchor desk, his expression one of faux concern. He saw Dave's mouth moving, but he didn't hear anything that came out of it. The photo of a smiling Buddy got bigger and bigger until it filled the screen.

Dimly, Brett heard Joe say, “What the hell is this?” Brett didn't answer. Couldn't.

He just watched with horror as Dave's voice dropped into a dramatic, hushed tone. “The Knox brothers overcame great hardship to get where they are today. Raised by a single mother, they struggled and scrapped their way to the major leagues, even though all along their father was right here in Memphis. But Buddy Mambo, owner of a lucrative furniture chain, was not able to help his sons because he was completely unaware of their existence. Until now.”

Margot let out a small whimper. Georgia stood frozen in the doorway, and Joe grabbed the remote, turning the volume up. Brett watched him, not able to look away from his brother's face. Joe's expression shifted until his eyes were flat and his jaw clenched so tight that his neck muscles stood out.

On the screen, Dave continued to tear Brett's world apart with every smoothly enunciated word that came out of his mouth.

“And though the information has only recently come to light,” Dave continued, “we at WHAP were able to track down Mambo for an interview.”

“No,” Georgia whispered. “Oh my God.”

Brett grabbed for the remote to turn it off, but his brother held it out of reach. Joe frowned. “What does that weirdo furniture guy have to do with us? What kind of trick is he pulling?”

Nobody answered.

A second later, a new shot filled the screen. It was Buddy sitting in front of a backdrop, Dave opposite him. In between was the same small table arranged with Redbirds souvenirs that had been there for Brett's interview.

“Mr. Mambo,” Dave asked in a grave tone, “How does it feel to have your world turned upside down?”

Buddy shifted in his seat and grinned arrogantly—looking for all the world like he owned the place. “I'm still getting used to the idea.”

“How does it make you feel to find out that the sons you never knew about are, in fact, Major League Baseball players?” Dave asked.

“Great. I wish I'd known sooner so I could have watched them grow up, but it's all water under the bridge now.”

“Water under the bridge? That's bullshit,” Brett retorted. His voice sounded far away even to himself—hollow and unsteady.

“I hope all of this is bullshit,” Joe said. “Mom? What's going on?”

Margot closed her eyes.

“Turn it off,” Brett commanded. He walked around the bed and reached for the remote. “Turn it
off
.”

Joe increased the volume. “Shut up, Brett.”

“And do you intend to get to know them?” Dave asked, his eyes wide with interest.

“That's up to them,” Buddy answered. “I'd be happy to, though. Maybe . . .”

“Yes?”

“Maybe they could even be in one of my furniture commercials. Make it a family thing.”

“Indeed.” Dave turned to the camera with a wistful smile. “Viewers, what do you think? Should the Knox brothers reconcile with their father? Weigh in on WHAP's Facebook page and stay tuned for local weather, followed by Georgia Fulton's interview with Brett Knox. I'm Dave Burrows for WHAP. We're Memphis to the bone.”

The screen faded. A second later, the happy music of an antianxiety drug commercial blared from the TV. Margot whimpered again. Joe stood motionless, as did Georgia, but Brett walked across the room and yanked the TV plug from the wall. The only sound in the room was his rapid breathing.

“I'm sorry,” Georgia said, breaking the silence. “I take responsibility for this.”

Brett turned to her, his face incredulous. “Why?”

“Because I should have gone back to the studio last night. I should have stopped Joan,” she answered.

“How? Georgia, there was no way you could have prevented this.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “Why aren't you mad at me?” She took a couple of steps forward and looked around. “If I hadn't been involved, none of this would have happened,” she said, her voice breaking. “Don't you see? Because of who I am, WHAP used me to get to you and . . . I let them.”

“You were doing your job,” Brett insisted. “And I refuse to even entertain the thought that you had anything to do with that shit. You love me.”

Georgia didn't say anything for a moment. When she looked up at Brett, her eyes were full of pain. “I do love you.”

Joe stared at her. He took a deep breath. “Excuse me for a minute, okay?”

Brett watched his brother walk out of the room, knowing that he ought to go after him, but he turned to Georgia and took her hands. She pulled them away.

“No,” she said. “You told me a month ago that you didn't want to be interviewed, and I didn't listen. See how it turned out? Now you and your family are hurt, Buddy looks like the victim, WHAP's ratings are probably through the roof, and I'm . . .” She shook her head.

“You're what?”

“I'm not going to graduate because I can't finish my internship. Look, you need family time. I need to leave.”

Brett felt a surge of panic well up inside of him. He grabbed her hands again—she was the best thing in his life, and he didn't want to let her go. “You can work something out. You can—”

“I quit. Last night when I went back into the station. I quit.” She stared at the floor.

She quit? Oh God. Brett gathered her into his arms, trying to soothe the stiffness in her shoulders.

Margot began coughing. Brett glanced toward the bed where she lay, a shimmer of tears in her eyes. “Don't,” she said in a wheezing voice. “Don't leave my son. That's what you're doing, isn't it?”

Georgia didn't say anything.

“There's always hope,” Margot continued. “There's always a way to—”

“Your family is what's most important right now. And with who I am—with all the baggage I'm carrying—I'd be doing a lot more harm than good by staying. I'm sorry for everything, for not being stronger,” Georgia said. She swayed forward and leaned her head against Brett's chest for a moment but then straightened up and took a deep breath. “My agents are waiting for me.”