Crush (19 page)

Lucas was patient and oddly beautiful in his humility at being asked for his name on the strips and scraps of paper waved at him. He treated each person as though he or she were a friendly neighbor. Miranda recalled how Jordan would inflate like an African puff frog when someone, especially an attractive woman, asked for his autograph. He would strut around for hours afterward, referring back to the incident as if he had just bestowed the Holy Grail upon a tortured and desperate soul.

Miranda cringed when she thought of how Jordan had always expected her to stand in the shadows of his limelight when fans approached him. He’d once left her sitting alone at the end of a bar for two hours while he regaled a half-dozen Boston University coeds with his on-field exploits, and then had yelled at her in the parking lot for talking baseball for ten minutes with a man old enough to be her father. Back then, she had confused his possessiveness with genuine affection. With Lucas standing amidst a sea of adoring fans, his eyes searching her out and softening each time he found her, Miranda now knew what true affection was.

One of the boys slated to wrestle in the match Miranda had been sent to cover seemed to speak without breathing as he told Lucas all about his own musical pursuits, and then brought up Karmic Echo’s ill-fated opening night show in Boston.

“Me and the guys from my band, Black-Eyed Dog, camped out to get tickets,” the young grappler said, his dropped r’s and ing’s revealing his South Boston roots. “My brother saw you in Boston in October and he said the show was wicked good. The cancellation was a pisser, but the makeup show was too good, dude.”

“Speaking of performances,” Lucas said as he furiously scribbled his name on the back of a sweatshirt worn by a quivering young girl, “I hope to see some good wrestling here tonight. I’m told you’re quite talented.”

The boy’s blush of excitement swallowed his ruddy freckles as he passed a hand over the scruff of his fiery buzz cut. “Are you shi—” He caught himself. “Messin’ with me? You heard about
me
?”

“You’re Thomas Winsor, aren’t you?” Lucas said.

The kid put his hands on his head in disbelief. “What, are you psychic?”

Lucas gazed at Miranda. “See that woman over there by the water fountain? The woman in the white shirt and jeans?”

“The hottie?” the wrestler said casually.

Lucas fought back a laugh. “Yes. The hottie. Her name is Miranda Penney, and she’s here to report on your match.”

“From the
Herald-Star
? That’s Miranda Penney?” The champion wrestler’s words trailed after him as he zipped over to Miranda. Three of his teammates joined him, and a sea of maroon and gold warm-up suits soon surrounded Miranda.

“I read your column every day,” a larger teen said.

“I don’t have a column.” Miranda scarcely heard her own voice over the hard pounding of her heart.

“I have your picture on my wall,” a man-sized sophomore said, grinning through a mouthful of clear braces. “It was in the paper.”

“I got mine outta the
Herald-Star
, too,” stated another boy, who bore such a strong resemblance to Jordan that Miranda’s stomach jumped a little. “You’re much prettier in person, ma’am.”

Ma’am?
Miranda thought, horrified.
I’m not old enough to be a ma’am.

Miranda was ready to climb the water fountain to get away from her hormonally-challenged audience when a gaggle of petite young girls descended upon her en masse. The multicolored jewels of their eyes, bright with the shine of having first met Lucas, pinned her in place.

“Oh my God, you are so pretty!” one of the girls gushed. “I seen you in the papers and I was like, ‘Oh my God, she’s so pretty! She’s like, ten times prettier’n Penelope Cruz and Jennifer Lopez put together.
’
”

“Lucas is a wicked good kisser, I bet,” another girl said, the words ‘paypuhs,’ ‘wicket’ and ‘kissuh’ striking Lucas’s funny bone.

“No comment,” Miranda said, glaring at him. Lucas’s crowd had thinned while the one around her steadily deepened. He gave her an unassuming smile that made the overlapping chatter bearable.

Almost.

“Are you gonna marry Lucas Fletcher?” a gum-popping, Meg-in-training asked.

“If he won’t, I will,” said a suave senior who sidled up close to Miranda.

“Miss Penney?” Lucas called. “Will you be entertaining your fans much longer?”

The group of high schoolers, the girls in particular, pushed in closer to Miranda. “Can I have your autograph?” they each asked.

“You’re kidding, right?” Miranda asked, dumbfounded.

A wave of high-pitched “Please’s” pierced Miranda’s eardrums. She scrawled her name beneath Lucas’s on the papers forced on her. She silently thanked God when the wrestlers were called into the gymnasium, and the students tore themselves away from her.

Lucas went to her and threaded his fingers through hers. “I shouldn’t have forced you to drag me along tonight. I didn’t mean to interfere with your job.”

“My work doesn’t start until those kids hit the mat. I’m worried that you’ll be bored. Although with you in the bleachers, those boys are going to wrestle their unitards off.”

Lucas cringed. “There’s a graphic I could do without.”

“How did you know that the red-headed kid was Thomas Winsor?”

“You told me about him this afternoon, when you were trying to talk me out of coming to this meet with you. You said that Winsor was an honor student, that he played in a band called Black-Eyed Dog and that he was having an undefeated season.” Lucas gave her a playful shove. “I listen, Miranda.”

Hiding a delighted smile, she said, “C’mon,” and took his hand to lead him to the gym doors. “We won’t get seats if we don’t get in there.”

He opened the door for her. “Is high school wrestling so very popular?”

“Only since you got here,” Miranda said, entering the gym. “Look.” She gave a subtle nod toward the bleachers, which seemed to writhe with overexcited wrestling fans clutching cell phones to their ears. “Even the teachers are calling their friends and family to tell them that Lucas Fletcher is at a Haverford-Parkington wrestling meet.”

“Perhaps I should leave,” Lucas said. “I don’t want to steal the attention from the athletes who came here to wrestle tonight.”

Miranda pulled him along to a bench on the gym floor. “You being here is the best thing that could happen to both of these teams. I just hope that when Meg’s photo rats show up, they have as much respect for these kids as you do.”

* * *

Miranda was glad that the walls of Hodge’s office were glass as she approached. He hadn’t told her why he’d summoned her to his office, but she saw a moment or two in advance that Meg and Rex had something to do with it, since they, too, were waiting in Hodge’s office.

“You wanted to see me?” Miranda said to Hodge as she closed the door behind her. She cast a guarded eye at Meg, who stood behind Rex’s chair like a demonic First Lady and looked as out of place in Hodge’s distinctively masculine office as a pickle in a pumpkin patch. Meg’s alien presence raised the fine hairs on the back of Miranda’s neck. “You know, Hodge, if you’re busy, I can come back later.”

“Miranda, please sit down.” Hodge’s use of her name made her shoulders tense. The last time he’d called her Miranda, it was because he’d gotten a complaint from a team owner who had been offended by a reference Miranda had made to his pitcher’s creative use of tube socks.

“Whatever it is, I probably did it, and I’m sorry,” Miranda said as she sank heavily into a swivel chair.

“Miranda,” Rex said, leaning toward her from the one cushioned wing chair in Hodge’s office. “I can’t allow you to cover high school sports any longer.” He took a
Herald-Star
off of Hodge’s desk. “It’s these photographs.” Rex handed her the issue. It had been folded open to her infamous “Bed Spread,” as the guys in sports had come to call it. “We got some complaints today, from Haverford and Parkington High parents who don’t think a woman of your character should have access to impressionable young people.”

Miranda spat a furious epithet. “I didn’t authorize or support these photos in any way,” she ranted. “You put my private life on display, without my permission or knowledge, and now—”

“You became a limited access public figure when you appeared on our cover and with every byline that appears in the paper,” Meg said coolly. “You’re fair game, Miranda.”

Miranda’s knuckles cracked as her hands clenched into fists and she faced down Rex. “You can’t punish me because a few uptight parents have the wrong idea about what I do in private.”

“So you aren’t engaging in premarital sex with Lucas Fletcher?” Meg said, her voice a slithery hiss.

“That’s uncalled for!” Hodge shouted, nearly startling Meg out of her chic Ann Taylor pumps.

“Rex,” Miranda started, straining to keep her tone calm, “Karmic Echo fans have been camping out in front of my building. The crowd shrank dramatically today, now that Lucas is on his way to Australia, but there are still enough fanatics out there to fill out an NFL roster. I can’t make a move without someone asking me for my autograph or a photo, or asking about Lucas. Your cover story, and your intrusion in my life, are the reasons why all these parents have burrs up their—”

Rex stopped her words with a wrinkled hand. “You’re not being punished for these photos, Miranda. You’re being promoted.”

Miranda’s head whipped around to look at Hodge. “What is he talking about?”

Hodge sat back in his chair, his distaste for what he was about to say plain on his face. He tossed a pencil onto his desk the way a trainer would toss a towel into the ring to stop a fight. “No more wrestling for you, Miranda,” Hodge said on a frustrated sigh. “As of today, you’re on baseball and basketball.” He shot a dirty look at Meg.

Rex delivered the deathblow. “You’re interviewing Jordan Duquette at one tomorrow afternoon. His contract is being renegotiated, and things could get pretty tense. We haven’t featured him in the paper since the season ended, and it’s time we changed that.”

The wide-eyed shock Miranda showed Hodge became blind fury by the time she turned to face Meg and Rex. Their motives couldn’t have been any plainer.
Lucas left for Australia this morning
, she thought,
and they know it. That’s the only reason they want me to meet with Jordan.
“Shouldn’t I be interviewing Alec Henderson, too? He’s the team captain, and I’m sure he’ll have an opinion on what the team should do.”

Meg’s shifty gaze lit on Miranda. “Is there a problem with the Duquette interview, Miranda?”

Miranda shot to her feet, jabbing a finger at Meg. “Since when do you sit in on sports assignment meetings?” She took an angry step toward Rex. “Why are you letting this obnoxious gossip hound dictate the content of the sports section?”

“Because our focus groups say that they’re buying my papers because they want to know what happens next with Lucas Fletcher and Miranda Penney,” Rex said.

“It’s not everyday that a world renowned tomcat settles for a saucy little tomboy,” Meg piped in.

“I like that,” Rex said, turning to look up at Meg. “The Tomcat and The Tomboy. What can you do with that? You’re brilliant, Meg.”

“Oh, get a room for God’s sake!” Hodge shouted. He stood and, at six-foot-five, he had the immediate attention of everyone in the room. “I’ve had enough of this, Rex. This is my department, and I say who does what.” He left his desk and set a gentle hand on Miranda’s shoulder. “If you don’t want to sit with Duquette, you sure as hell don’t have to. It’s your call, Miranda.”

“The only thing sadder than an old jock throwing his weight around is an old jock standing in an unemployment line,” Rex said as he slowly stood.

“Mr. Wrentham, is that a threat?” Hodge’s half step in their direction made Rex and Meg recoil. “How would you like to see this old jock on a witness stand, testifying to your harassment of my reporter?”

“Harrassment?” Rex tittered, the chalky sound making Miranda’s skin crawl. “I’m merely expecting
my
reporter to do her job.”

Hodge’s forearm muscles flexed as he crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re pimping Miranda’s past association with Jordan Duquette and her present one with Lucas Fletcher to sell this rag. Your motives are as transparent as the walls of this office. I’m sure the union’s lawyers will see it just as clearly.”

“I can’t help but notice how vigorously you’ve come to Miranda’s defense,” Meg said. “It makes me wonder just how close you two have become over the years, especially in light of the fact that Miranda is the only woman in your department.”

“Don’t be sordid, Meg,” Hodge said.

“Don’t stand in my way, Jed,” Rex warned. “Or have you forgotten that your contract is up for renewal in two months?”

Miranda moved with the lethal grace of a truly pissed off cobra as she put herself between Hodge and Rex. “I’ll meet with Jordan,” she said. “At the ballpark.”

Meg started to speak, but Rex stopped her with a firm touch. “The photographer is expecting you and Jordan at Le Fin,” he said.

Miranda bit her tongue to hold back the chain of swear words in English and Portuguese she wanted to spit at Rex. Le Fin was one of Boston’s coziest and most romantic restaurants. It specialized in seductive, gourmet desserts that tantalized the senses. It was the sort of place where couples went on first dates and returned to, months or years later, to stage proposals. “My interviews have never included photographs of me and my subjects,” Miranda said. “And I’ve never conducted one at a place like Le Fin. I won’t start now.”
Not with Lucas half a world away
, she thought with a pinch of anguish. “If you want me to interview Jordan, he and your photographer had better be in the press room at the ballpark.”

Miranda knew that she had the upper hand after Meg and Rex exchanged a shady look before agreeing to her terms.
They need me way more than I need them
, Miranda realized. The thought gave her a small measure of security, even as she saw that it didn’t do a thing to protect Hodge.

“You’re on administrative leave for two weeks,” Rex glowered at Hodge as he started for the door. “Effective immediately.”