FOURTEEN
Andrea
The next day, he called me three times before I finally answered.
“What?” I asked. “I’m at work.”
“I want to make up for last night.”
“Yeah? How? Take me to your favorite strip club?”
“Ow,” he said. “You’re still mad?”
“A little bit. I’m not just a piece of meat.”
“No, you’re not. I told you that you’re special.”
“Words are easy. Actions are hard.”
“Let me take you to dinner again tonight.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m super busy.”
That wasn’t a lie. Scott had me working on five stupid stories plus the one on Tony.
“We can talk.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. About us.”
“Interesting.”
“I’ve been thinking about that story your boss wants you to run. What if I let you do it?”
“Let me do it?”
“You know what I mean.”
I sighed.
“Fine. We can have dinner and talk.”
“Sweet,” he said. “I’ll pick you up around six at your house. That work?”
“Perfect,” I said. “Would you please stop blowing up my phone now?”
He laughed.
“My mission is accomplished, so yes.”
“Talk to you later, Tony.”
“Bye.”
I ended the call then sat back in my office chair to stare up at the ceiling. My spirits boosted, I stood and walked over to Scott’s desk in the far corner. He glanced up at me and quickly closed the browser window as I stopped next to him.
He looked up at me, annoyed.
“What’s up, Andrea?”
“About that story on Tony Carlotti…”
“Is it done yet?” he interrupted.
“Not yet, but it’s going well. You need to give me a bit of time.”
“As long as it tears that smug bastard down a notch or two, it’s fine.”
“What do you have against him?” I asked.
He tilted his head as he stared at me.
“Why are you protecting him?”
“You think I’m protecting him?”
“You’ve been dragging your feet on this story long enough.”
“I do a good job, and that takes time.”
“Whatever,” he said. “It’s not like many people even read the newspaper anymore.”
You’re the problem with journalism
, I thought but kept my mouth shut.
“I’ll have it for you soon,” I said. “Anything else?”
“That’s it for now, I guess. Don’t sneak up on me anymore, either.”
“Excuse me?”
“You know what I mean. Walking up on me like you did.”
“Okay,” I said, not wanting to start a fight with him.
I returned to my desk and read the story on Tony I’d written so far. It lacked depth and any sense of objectivism, but it wouldn’t do too much damage to his career. I printed off a copy to show to him later that evening. Was Tony a better man than I realized? I was ready to find out.
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
Right at six o’clock, he picked me up in the Maserati again. I hated to admit it to myself, but I’d come to enjoy riding around in his luxury vehicles. They made me feel important, which scared me.
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going this time?” I asked after climbing in the passenger seat.
“Maybe,” he said, grinning at me. “What’s that?”
“The story I wrote. I tried to make it bad enough so I don’t get in trouble with Scott, but not bad enough that you hate me.”
“I don’t think I could ever hate you,” he said.
I smiled.
“You can read it at the restaurant.”
“Can’t wait. We’re going to this small Italian place I know.”
“House of Italy?”
“Yeah. You know it?”
“My favorite restaurant,” I said truthfully.
They were my go-to comfort food.
“Interesting,” he said as he pulled out of the driveway. “My parents own the place.”
“Get out of here,” I said. “Now that is something I should put in the story.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t know that,” he said. “Are you sure you’re a journalist?”
“Apparently not a good one,” I said. “Scott is always on my case.”
“You know about him, right?”
“What do you mean? I’ve not been working there a long time.”
“Oh, wow. You probably don’t know.”
“What?” I asked, more curious than ever.
“He got busted for watching porn on a work computer a few years ago. I’m surprised he’s still working at the paper.”
“Wow,” I said. “That’s crazy. I can’t believe I didn’t hear about it.”
“They kept it quiet.”
“Yeah, his uncle is the publisher, but I thought the stories were just rumors. You’re saying he actually did it?”
He nodded his head, not taking his eyes off the road ahead.
“I think that’s why he hates me. Whenever he tried to interview me, I brought it up. Some anonymous blogger wrote about the story when it happened.”
“Wow,” I said again. “I’m stunned.”
“He’s probably having you do the story on me to make it seem more believable or whatever. To be honest, I don’t care. What they say in the newspaper doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Tell me about it,” I said. “This explains earlier today.”
“What happened?”
“Well, I went to talk to him about the story on you, and he closed his browser and was acting shady.”
“Sounds like him. If his uncle wasn’t publisher, I doubt he would still have a job.”
I nodded, the information sinking in as he pulled into the parking lot next to House of Italy.
“Did you eat here a lot growing up?” I asked.
“More than I wanted, but I try to visit them a few times a month at least.”
“I would be here every day if they were my parents. Although you probably get tired of it if you have the same thing every day.”
“You nailed it,” he said. “With food and everything else in life.”
After he parked, we went into the restaurant. He took me back to the kitchen to meet his parents.
“This is Andrea.”
“Ah, this is your woman-friend?” the old man asked.
His wife elbowed him.
“We’re good friends,” I said with a smile.
As his father laughed, his big belly covered by a white apron shook.
“You have room for us tonight?” Tony asked.
“For you, always,” his mom said, walking over and pinching his cheeks.
He hugged her briefly before taking me back out to the dining room. I was impressed when he pulled out my chair for me again.
“So you can be a gentleman,” I teased.
“It’s hard around you,” he said as he sat down across from me at the square table covered with a black and white checkered table cloth.
I stared at his face partially covered by the bouquet of flowers in middle of the table.
“Yeah?” I asked softly.
He nodded.
“I’m glad we’re getting a chance to talk tonight. You’ve been on my mind since…”
“The parmesan chicken is the special tonight,” his mother said, cutting him off. “I highly recommend it.”
“Sounds great,” I said, smiling politely.
“I’ll take the same. Thanks, mama.”
“Aww, how cute,” I teased after she walked away.
“I love that woman,” he said.
“That’s a good sign. I’ve been thinking a lot about us lately. And not just the story.”
“It’s not just physical. I mean, you’re hot as hell, but there’s something about the way you talk to me, like you’re not going to let me get away with being an asshole.”
“That’s right. And I’d expect you to be honest with me too.” I lifted the printed copy of my story on him. “You ready to read this?”
“I don’t care about the story. You make the call. I trust your judgement.”
“Wow,” I said, a bit stunned.
His mother returned with a basket of buttery breadsticks with a bowl of marinara. She smiled then hurried away to give us our privacy.
“They’re not very busy tonight,” I noted then took one of the breadsticks and bit off the end.
He frowned.
“There’s a boycott going around on Facebook and Twitter. It’s hurting them bad.”
“What? That’s crazy. This place has been around forever.”
“I know. It’s not fair, but your boss and his buddies have been starting trouble for them because of me.”
“That’s got to stop. I’ll go talk to the publisher.”
“No. I don’t want you to get into trouble over it. This is my problem.”
“Maybe I’ll sneak something into the article about this place.”
I glanced around the warm and comfortable dining room.
“Just don’t get in trouble.”
“Trouble is my middle name,” I said, turning back to him with a grin.
“Maybe that’s what attracts me to you.”
“That would be a first. Most men hate my honesty and attitude. They do, however, love my body.”
“It’s a fine body,” he said.
I took another bite of the heavenly breadstick.
“Mmm. This is so good.”
He smiled. The rest of the dinner went wonderfully, both of us opening up to each other. At the end, his mother insisted we share a plate of her famous Tiramisu. I would need to exercise an extra hour or two to make up for it, but I wasn’t able to resist an Italian mother trying to feed me.
FIFTEEN
Tony
After dinner, I did not want the night to end.
“Can I show you something?” I asked.
She laughed.
“I’ve already seen it. Thumbs up.”
“Glad to hear, but I meant a place.”
“Oh? A good place for me to pay you back?”
“While that would be great, I’ll take a raincheck. It’s somewhere important to me.”
Her face became more serious.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
“Great.”
I drove across the city to Lincoln High School, where I’d been a hero on the field and off for four years. Whenever I got down on myself, I liked to go there to look at the field. Memories would flash back in waves. They were some of the best moments in my life.
Before the money and fame, I’d played the game for the sake of sportsmanship. There was a purity about playing high school football that I found hard to put into words. I wanted to show Andrea where I’d come from originally. She meant a lot to me, even beyond the physical.
“You’re quiet tonight,” she said, breaking me out of my thoughts.
“Jocks think sometimes too.”
“I know, I meant…”
“It’s fine,” I interrupted. “I know what you meant.”
I glanced over at her a moment, loving the way she had curled her hair that evening.
“Watch the road, not me,” she said as if we’d been married for years already.
“Yes, ma’am.”
A few silent minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot of Lincoln High School. They usually locked the stadium at night, but me and a few of the other superstars had keys to get in whenever we wanted.
“Lincoln High School, huh?” she asked, looking out the window.
“I come here when I need to think. It’s a special place for me.”
“You know, I actually followed you in high school.”
“Get out of here,” I said. “You went here too?”
“No, I went to St. Mary’s Catholic School for Girls, but my girlfriends and I always came here to watch your games.”
“I would’ve never guessed.”
I stopped the Escalade and put it into park.
“How are we going to get in?” she asked.
While opening the door, I turned to her and smiled.
“I have a key. You can put that in the story if you want.”
A frown fell over her face as her brow furrowed.
“What?” I asked. “You’re not doing the story anymore?”
“I am, but…it’s complicated. I’ll tell you later, okay? I don’t want to ruin this.”
“Fair enough. Let’s go.”
I stepped down out of the cab, walking around the front. She had already gotten out on her own. We walked side by side to a door on the backside of the stands that faced the field. I unlocked and opened it, holding the grey, metal door for her.