Without Chase (3 page)

She lived in one of the new developments by Chelsea Piers, and it was big, by Manhattan standards. Amy didn’t bother turning on the lights---the floor to ceiling windows illuminated the room and afforded a view of the East River down below. Chase stood in front of them now, anticipating what was going to happen next. He didn’t let himself think about Jamie. That part of his life was gone, and it had been too long since he had had sex.

Amy came back into the room. She had stripped out of everything except a black lace bra and a matching string thong. Chase nodded in appreciation and began taking off his jacket. Amy led him gently to the sofa where he began kissing her without much passion. He needed release, nothing more. As if reading his mind, Amy slid down and began undoing first the button, then the zipper on his pants. “I’m good at this,” she said, as if reassuring him. “You’re going to want to fuck me before you know it.”

At the sensation of her mouth on him, Chase groaned. It had been too long. After a few minutes, he looked down at her, eyes half closed, her tongue running down the length of his shaft. He thought to himself, “shit, Amy Weatherby is blowing me right now” and quickly lost control.

He decided to spend the night just because he was tired, and because, if he were really being honest with himself, he wanted her to pleasure him again. The first time had been too quick, and he was curious to see if she was as good as she said she was. She seemed happy he was staying. He stripped down to his boxers and while he was in the bathroom brushing his teeth (“there’s a new toothbrush in the right-hand drawer” she instructed him) she hung up his tuxedo against the door.

“You looked good tonight,” she said to him possessively. “But you’re definitely going to do the walk of shame tomorrow morning wearing that.”

He noticed that she still kept her lingerie on as they got between the smooth silk sheets of her bed. “Isn’t that going to be uncomfortable to sleep in?” he asked, remembering what Jaime and had told him: lace was scratchy against your skin, and anything that hoisted your breasts up as if they were on a platter was not made for sleeping in. But instead, Amy shook her head. “I like feeling sexy,” she told him, and he thought of the phrase again: professional girlfriend.

Satisfied and drained, Chase was able to sleep the whole night through for the first time in weeks. When he woke up at six the next morning, he felt better than he had in a long time. Amy was already up, and when he turned to her, she knew exactly what he wanted. He lasted a lot longer this time, and Chase had to admit that she was talented. Amy Weatherby went beyond enthusiasm or even experience. As he watched her and felt her mouth and hands working him to draw out every last bit of desire from him, he wondered idly if learning how to give great oral was something you learned in acting school.

The doorman in Amy’s building didn’t blink as he came out of the elevators, greeting him with a cheerful “good morning, sir” as if a six foot, nine inch tall man coming out of the elevators wearing a tuxedo at 7 in the morning was a perfectly normal occurrence. But then again, given Amy’s skills, he had probably seen it all before. As Chase stood on the sidewalk hailing a cab, he noticed that someone was talking pictures of him across the street. This wasn’t that unusual---from the minute he stepped onto the basketball arena to the minute he got in his car, every moment of his life was captured by dozens of cell phones pointed his way. But for one, he wasn’t in a basketball arena and two, this wasn’t a cell phone, but a professional looking camera with a massively long lens attached to it. They must be waiting for some other guy, he thought to himself as the cab drove him home.

Chapter Five

Jamie

It seemed only fair to Jamie that if the only man who you ever loved was going to leave you, you would at least have some warning. Maybe you would start fighting about small, nonsensical things so that after he left you could say, “oh, he was trying to distance himself from me, I should have seen that coming.” That’s what happened to one of her friends.

Or maybe, like another friend, you would find unexplained phone numbers in his cell phone, and a girl would answer, “hey baby” in a sexy voice when you hit redial while he was taking a shower.

But to wake up one morning and have your boyfriend tell you he loved you over and over again while he made love to you, and then suddenly never hear from him again struck her as being just a little bit unfair. Most people had time to prepare, why couldn’t she?

Jamie wondered if this was the reason she woke up everyday feeling as if she had to crawl out of a deep, dark hole. The worst part was, in the split second before she woke up, she would still feel like she used to---happy and secure in the feeling that she was loved. But then, she would remember that Chase was gone, and that sharp feeling of pain would come over her. She’d want nothing more than to go back to sleep then, just to make that feeling go away.

She knew what happened, but she didn’t understand it. The day after Chase left her standing in his kitchen, his picture was all over the sports pages: point shaving scandal, it screamed. Her brother Luke, who had been Chase’s teammate in college had explained how serious the accusation was. “It could mean a lifetime ban from basketball,” he warned.

“Luke, he wouldn’t do anything like that,” she insisted. “Chase doesn’t even drink!” Luke nodded in agreement. “I know, it’s probably a big misunderstanding. Maybe they have him confused with another player.”

So, for that first week, she left him alone. He needs to focus on clearing his name, her friends and family said, and she accepted that if this was what he needed then she would be happy to give it to him. No matter how much it hurt.

Then, it looked as if there were some substance to the accusation. The networks played a grainy video of him coming out of the elevators over and over again. There was nothing more to it than that, but apparently this was the same floor that the people under surveillance for gambling were on. With this evidence, Chase could no longer deny that he was involved, and the story took on a life of its own.

Chase’s friends were stunned and began to wonder if they had really known him at all. Jamie remained strong. “I don’t believe it,” she told anyone who would listen. “There’s more to this.” Swallowing her pride, she called him and tried not to cry when it repeatedly went to voicemail. He’s pushing you away because he’s embarrassed, was the new mantra. Jamie knew how proud Chase was, and this made some sense to her. So she waited another week for him to reach out to her. She imagined the conversation perfectly. “Hey, baby,” he would say when she answered. “I’m so sorry---” she would cut him off before he could finish apologizing for what he had put her through. “I don’t care about what happened,” she would tell him. “I promised you I would never leave you again, and I won’t---no matter what happened, or what happens next. Just come home.” But that phone call never came, and when she finally decided to take matters in her own hands and call him, she was stunned to discover that he had disconnected his number.

Frantic, she called his close friends. “Please,” she asked them. “Do you have his new number?” But they had been just as shocked as she was. A few called him on another phone while she was on the line just to make sure. “Sorry, Jamie,” they would then say quietly. “You’re right, that number doesn’t work. I haven’t heard from him, and he didn’t pick up my calls or return my messages either.”

Chase had cut them all out of his life.

When she read that the NBA league had closed their case against him with a one year suspension, Jamie began to allow herself some hope that Chase would reach out. The house she shared with her brother was only a few blocks away from his, and Jamie began using a route that would take her past his house every time she went out. Just in case she’d know if he had come back. She knew how much he loved his house. But one day a moving van was parked in front of the house, and she pulled her car up behind it. A man she had never seen before was directing a crew of people into packing Chase’s house.

“Stop!” she demanded. “Who are you? What are you doing?”

The man turned towards her with a smirk. “Who are
you
?”

“I’m…I’m the owner’s girlfriend. Jamie.” she stammered.

He nodded, apparently recognizing her from the tabloids. “Yeah, yeah. I know you. Dave.” They shook hands, and his eyes flicked over her body before it glanced back at his clipboard. “Well, Jamie, I can’t really tell you anything except what’s obvious. We’re packing everything up.”

“How do I know you aren’t robbing Chase’s house?” she asked with more force than she knew she had.

Dave laughed at her cruelly. “Seems to me your…
boyfriend
isn’t telling you much these days, is he?”

Refusing to show him how humiliated she felt, Jamie turned, and with her head held high, got in her car and drove away. Allowing herself a glance through her rear view mirror, she saw Dave sarcastically waving, “buh-bye” to her as she left.

Now here in front of her was another, final sign that Chase wasn’t coming back. She had set up her email accounts to alert her anytime Chase’s name was mentioned online, and this morning she saw one entitled, “Athletes behaving badly”. Clicking through, Jamie had gasped as she saw two side-by-side pictures. The first was of Chase and the actress Amy Weatherby posing for a picture together: Chase in a tuxedo, Amy in a low cut dress. The next picture was of Chase in the same tux, without the tie, flagging a cab down in the morning. The caption read, “Amy still loves the bad boys”, then in smaller print, “
According to guests at the event, sparks flew when Amy Weatherby, 31, and NBA player Chase Reston, 22, met at the Founder’s Ball. Now we can tell you: the sparks must have turned into something else, because here’s the erstwhile baller, leaving Amy’s apartment the next morning.
”

Jamie looked at the pictures closely, waves of jealousy washing over her. Chase loved women and he loved sex, so she knew he wouldn’t be alone for long. But she wasn’t prepared to see him in the society pages, or to be linked to as big an actress as Amy Weatherby. Chase hadn’t just left her, he had left her
behind
.

She wondered if there was something wrong with her that she felt the seeds of anger towards Chase. He wasn’t partying with strippers and blowing his money on $400 bottles of champagne, like someone who was hurting. No, he was cold-heartedly doing all the right things for himself and for his career. He was going to be all right. It was time for her to let him go.

Chapter Six

Chase’s new life was different in a way he didn’t like. He was living in a new city, sleeping with someone new and for the first time since he was six years old, he didn’t belong to a basketball team. There were also the little things; like finding a new gym to work out in. As good as it felt to sweat and lift, to feel that familiar ache, the environment also had to be right. This one was close to his apartment and the crowd was young and attractive, but it was so damn small…probably not by New York standards, but he couldn’t help but feel cramped when he could hear music coming through the headphones of the guy in the treadmill next to him.

Another change was that he gave up the house in L.A. Steve wanted him to sell it, but that was the one thing Chase stood firm on. “As long as I have enough left over to pay the mortgage every month, I’m keeping it.” His beautiful Spanish style house represented everything that had been good in his life. Words like cabana, bougainvillea, and even caulk entered his vocabulary now. He had people who worked for him, and helped him keep the house in shape.

There was Yoji, the gardener who came twice a month. He patiently explained to Chase the plants and flowers on his property, and Chase grew to appreciate the bougainvillea that Yoji was training to grow around the front of the house, and the two different types of lemon trees (one in the front yard, the other in the back) he had. Pawpaw was the pool man; a self-described failed actor who expected Chase to fire him when he forgot to remove the pool cover before Chase returned from a road trip.

There was Augusta his housekeeper, a quiet woman with sad eyes. Chase understood that the way she kept his house clean, did his laundry and organized the food was the way she would have taken care of the son she left back in her native country. Augusta, unlike his own mother, always made sure his clothes were pressed, there was food that he liked in the pantry and the house was spotless.

They were also one of the reasons he didn’t want to sell his house. He knew the economy was tough; Yoji told him he only had four customers now when he used to have ten. Chase knew Augusta sent most of her money back home and kept very little for herself. He knew this because of the way she would ask if he was going to throw out the day-old bread from the bakery that Jamie liked, or his takeout from the night before. When he said yes, she would nod gratefully and put them in her tote bag before heading home. Chase recognized the pattern ---as a child he learned to watch for things that other people didn’t want and ask for them. It may have been a pair of shoes that a friend’s mom considered too worn, or a desk that some college students were dragging to the curb. They filled the need when Evelyn’s checks weren’t enough. He wasn’t going to take that away from Augusta---who knew what what would happen to her?

He couldn’t explain all of this to Steve, so he simply said, “I’m not selling my house.”

Steve shook his head. “But why? You said you don’t want to go back there, and it’s costing you a lot of money just sitting there. You could sell it, take the equity and be a little more liquid.”

“I said I didn’t want to go back there yet. But that’s the first thing I’ve owned, and I can see myself going back there…someday.”

In the end, Steve came up with a good solution: they would rent it out for a year, then see where Chase was going to play. Even better, Chase had wisely put down such a large deposit on the house that the amount of money they could rent it for was more than his mortgage payments. A condition of the rental was that Yoji, Pawpaw and Augusta were to be retained by the renters.

This didn’t really explain why he was still in New York, though. While they were dealing with the charges, it was important to be in town for last minute meetings with Steve and the lawyers. But there wasn’t any need for that anymore. The answer, Chase decided, was that New York kept him from feeling too lonely. There were a few different guys from the league he could always hang out with, and they were all on the VIP lists of the hot clubs. He wasn’t normally into that scene, but it felt like the thing to do here.

Growing up in Florida, he was used to warm weather year round, and he knew he didn’t want to stick around for the winter. But L.A. held too many memories for him; too many people he knew who were connected to Jamie and his old life. New York, at least, was anonymous. He knew a few people here and it seemed as good a place as any to wait out the next stage in his life.

His phone buzzed: it was Amy. Chase sighed. It had only been two days since they met, and there was already more about him on the celebrity blogs than there ever had been about his playing basketball.

Do you want to get together tonight? the text read.

Chase put more weight on the bar as he considered. This hurt that he was carrying around was growing everyday, and he didn’t like it. He could feel it threatening to engulf him, this sadness. He knew that if he allowed it, he could lose even more than he already had. Two years ago, he didn’t think this much about how he was going to spend his time. Some girls lasted longer than the others, but he never thought beyond that night. Now here was Amy fucking Weatherby asking HIM out and he was acting like a little punk about it. Yeah, he really had to get himself together.

What are we doing? he wrote back.

Within seconds she answered:
come over and find out
. Chase wasn’t sure if Helene had coached Amy, but on his way back from the gym, Helene called.

“So how did it go the other night?” she asked when he answered.

Feeling like a contest on some kind of bachelor show, he said, “I’m not sure how to answer that, why don’t you tell me?”

“Amy likes you,” Helene told him.

“Yeah, I got that.” There was a pause on the other end, and Chase worried he had gone too far. Helene would have been paid no matter what---this thing with Amy was a bonus, and it wasn’t her fault he wasn’t feeling it. He told Helene this, and she softened her tone.

“Listen, I respect you, Chase, I really do. You got a bad break that would make men twice your age fold up.” She paused, and got to her point. “So, if you’re ok with Amy, I think you should keep going with this. It gets everyone’s mind off seeing you as a gambler---” Helene corrected herself before Chase could interrupt. “---
accused
gambler, and more as a celebrity. And who knows, you might even get to like her.”

“Why would that matter?” Chase was suddenly worried that he was going to get trapped in a relationship.

Helene made clicked her tongue. “Because you’re heartbroken. And no one thinks straight when they’re heartbroken.”

Admitting to himself that she was right, he told her they were seeing each other that night. As if Helene didn’t already know.