Play Dead

  She nodded again, her eyes stained with fear.

  'Good.' B Man looked down at Stan and shook his head. 'I'm not sure I understand what you see in this deadbeat. Frankly, I think you're being foolish.'

  He smiled at her. She moved farther into the corner.

  'Alas, life is full of choices,' B Man continued. 'You've made your bed, my dear, and repulsive as it might be, you have to sleep in it.' With a small bow (a custom he'd picked up in the Orient) B Man turned toward the door. 'I wish you both all the best. Goodbye for now, lovely lady.'

  As soon as the door closed, Gloria raced across the room and knelt by Stan's still form.

  'Stan?'

  He groaned.

  'Don't move. I'll call an ambulance.'

  His hand reached out and grabbed hers. 'No.'

  'But you're hurt.'

  'Just a few knocks,' he said, forcing a smile onto his face. 'They're experts on inflicting pain and messing people up without leaving any real damage. I'll be fine.'

  'What do you want me to do?'

  'Just help me up.'

  'Are you sure?'

  'Positive,' Stan grimaced. 'I'll stand under a hot shower for a while and clean myself off.' He smiled at her encouragingly. 'It looks worse than it is, believe me.' With a struggle, Gloria helped him to his feet. He looked at her solemnly. 'I'm going to pay you back. Every last cent.'

  'Don't worry about that now,' she replied.

  'I mean it. Every cent. I'm so sorry about all this, Gloria. I would understand if you wanted to stop seeing me.'

  'I don't want to stop seeing you,' she said.

  'You don't?'

  'No, of course not.'

  'I'm not going to gamble anymore. I promise.'

  'It won't be that easy, Stan. But I know you can stop if you really want to.'

  'I do. I promise. I'll never gamble again.'

  'Good,' Gloria answered. 'We're going to need a first-aid kit. Will you be okay while I run down to the front desk and get it?'

  'Sure,' he managed. 'I'll be in the shower when you get back.'

  She started toward the door. 'Gloria?' he called to her.

  'Yes?'

  'I love you,' he said.

  'I love you, too, Stan.'

  She closed the door. Stan listened to her footsteps echo down the hallway. He quickly moved toward the phone and dialed.

  'Hi, it's Stan,' he said, 'Put five hundred dollars on Broadway Lew in the third race.'

  Monday morning came to Brookline, Massachusetts. T.C. drove Mark through Brookline's town center on the way to the college's gymnasium. Mark had been silent for most of the trip, which was no surprise to T.C. After all, today was the big day. T.C. and Mark had spent nearly all the weekend going over the plan, trying to figure out a solution to every conceivable problem that could arise. T.C. thought that they had covered it all. The plan was actually very simple -- and completely dependent on Mark.

  Would he be able to pull it off?

  Up ahead was the school's gym. T.C. glanced at his companion. Mark was stone-faced, his blue eyes staring straight ahead, his curly blond hair pushed back. He remained silent as he stepped out of the car.

  'Thanks,' Mark said when he closed the door.

  'Good luck,' T.C. answered.

  T.C. watched Mark walk into the gym. The Boston cop realized that today was the biggest day in the life of Mark Seidman, that there was little room for mistakes. T.C. also knew that a few months ago, Mark's plan would have had no chance of failing. But a lot had happened in the last few months, things that had changed both of their perspectives and goals. A few months ago, Mark might have pulled this maneuver to bring happiness and joy into his life. But that was when things like happiness and joy meant something to him.

  Now, this plan was his only chance for survival.

  Chapter 12

  The intercom buzzed.

  'Yes?' Laura replied.

  'Gloria just arrived in her office,' Estelle announced.

  'Thank you.'

  Laura pushed back her chair. Gloria was back. With a deep sigh, Laura stood and made her way to the door. She walked past Estelle, who was typing a letter. Estelle did not look up. Her boss was in a mood this Monday morning -- something to do with her sister -- and when Laura was in a mood, it was best to be as inconspicuous as possible, lest one get in the way of her wrath.

  'I'll be back. I'm not taking any calls.'

  Laura disappeared around the corner, her back straight, her mind fighting off the mounting anger. She reminded herself of what Dr Harris had said about treading gently with Gloria. It was not going to be easy. Her sister had been missing all weekend, had just up and left without telling anyone where she was going. Of course, Laura told herself, it would be wrong for her to jump to any conclusions. She didn't even know for sure that her sister had spent the weekend with Stan.

  Bullshit.

  Laura fumed. To think she had been taken in by that demented psychopath . . . True, she had been vulnerable, but it frightened her that she could be so easily conned.

  Laura entered the marketing department and knocked on a door that read Gloria Ayars.

  A cheerful voice chirped, 'Come in.'

  Laura peeked her head into the doorway. 'Hey, sis.'

  Gloria crossed the room, her face bright. 'Laura! Come on in.'

  'Thanks. How's it going?'

  'Great,' Gloria replied. 'I'm sorry about running out on Friday.'

  'No problem,' Laura said, plastering a fake smile onto her face. 'You've been working hard lately. You deserved a little time off.'

  'Still, I feel bad about just leaving.'

  'Forget it. Mind if I sit down?'

  'Of course not.'

  The two sisters sat down and faced one another, both smiling pleasantly like a couple of game-show hosts. Laura felt ridiculous. 'So did you have a good time on your mystery weekend?'

  'The best!'

  Laura tried to maintain the smile. 'Oh? Where did you go?'

  'Up to the Deerfield Inn. Remember when we used to go there as kids?'

  Laura remembered. 'Sounds like fun.'

  'It was. Laura?'

  'Yes?'

  'I'm in love.'

  Laura felt her heart sink, but she locked her smile onto autopilot. 'Really? Who's the lucky guy?'

  'Stan!' Gloria enthused. 'Can you believe it? Isn't it great?'

  Laura nodded mechanically. 'So when did all this start?'

  'Last week. I know I haven't known him for long but he's so wonderful. He's so warm, caring, funny . . . well, you know him! He's just like David.'

  Laura winced at the comparison. 'You should forget about David,' she said. 'You should judge Stan like you would any other man.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'Nothing really,' Laura ventured. 'I'm just saying that you should treat Stan Baskin the same as you would any other man you've only been seeing for a week. Don't behave differently just because he's David's brother.'

  Gloria's puzzlement turned into a smile. 'Oh, I get it. You know about his past. You're worried about it.'

  'Well maybe a little . . .'

  'He told me all about it,' Gloria continued. 'I know all about his gambling problem. He's going to get help.'

  Bullshit, Laura thought yet again. Dr Harris had told her not to push too hard so there was no way she could tell Gloria about all the wonderful things that warm, caring Stan had done to his family. She bit down on her tongue for a moment. 'Still, Gloria, you should keep both eyes open.'

  'The past is the past, Laura. You said so yourself when he first came to Boston.'

  'Yes, I know I did. I just want you to be careful, okay?'

  'Careful?' Gloria repeated, her smile fleeing off her face. 'Stan and I are in love.'

  'I'm not denying that,' Laura said, trying her best to sound diplomatic, 'but didn't you think the same thing in the past? What about that guy in California?'

  Gloria's eyes narrowed. 'I'm not the same person I was back th
en.'

  'I know,' Laura assured her, 'but maybe you shouldn't rush into anything.'

  'Laura, what are you trying to say?'

  'Nothing.'

  'Come off it, Laura. It's his past that's bothering you, isn't it? I thought you said that the past was not important.'

  'It's not. Really. But you shouldn't completely ignore it either.'

  'Oh, now I see,' Gloria said slowly, her voice growing loud with anger. 'The past does matter! You're wondering why Stan would want someone with my past . . .'

  'No, not at all!'

  'A drugged-out slut! A no-good whore . . .'

  'That's not true! That's not what I'm saying at all! The man who wins your heart will be the luckiest man in the world. I'm just not sure Stan Baskin is the right man.'

  'And what makes you say that?' Gloria asked.

  'I . . . nothing, Gloria. I just have a feeling, that's all.' Gloria stood. 'Laura, you know how much I love you. I owe you my life.'

  'You don't owe me anything. We're sisters. You've helped me. I've helped you.'

  'Fine, but you want me to stop seeing Stan, right?' Laura hesitated. 'I'm not exactly saying -- '

  'You don't fully approve,' Gloria tried.

  'I'm not sure, that's all.'

  'But you won't tell me why you feel this way.'

  Silence.

  'Look, Laura, I'm over thirty. Hard to believe, isn't it? Stan is just about forty. We're not children anymore. I love him, Laura. I love him very much.'

  'I don't mean to try -- '

  'I really hoped you of all people would be happy for me,' Gloria interrupted. 'But if you're not, it doesn't change a thing. I'm in love and I'm going to keep on seeing him.'

  'You don't know what you're saying,' Laura snapped. 'He's wrong for you.'

  'Who the hell do you think you are?'

  'He's crazy, Gloria! He hurts people! He's even -- '

  'I don't have to listen to this! You're not my keeper!'

  Gloria stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind her.

  Laura fell back in her chair. Good going, Laura. Way to be. Keep your cool. She sighed. Her whole body felt drained by the encounter. What was she supposed to do now?

  She went over their conversation in her head. Something kept gnawing at Laura's subconscious, something her sister had said. Laura thought for a moment. When she realized what it was, her whole body went cold. Gloria's words of defense . . . they rang so familiar in Laura's ears. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that Gloria was, after all, right. When you thought about it, what right did Laura have to interfere in Gloria's love life? Her sister was an adult. She had the right to do as she pleased. Laura replayed her conversation with Gloria in her mind one more time. The whole scenario reminded Laura of . . .

  . . . of her and David.

  Her throat clenched. The parallel dug painfully into her. Oh, God, hadn't her mother said the same thing to her about David? Hadn't she warned Laura to stay away from David, warned her without any discernible reason?

  'Please, Laura, trust me. Stop seeing him.'

  'But why?'

  'I beg you. He's not right for you.'

  Laura had not uttered a word to her mother since David's death. What had she been trying to say back then?

  'We may get married.'

  'Never, Laura. I will not let you marry that man under any conditions.'

  But she had defied her mother. She had run off to Australia and married him anyway and now Laura understood something else: her words alone could never stop Gloria from seeing Stan, just as her mother had been powerless to stop her from seeing David.

  Laura stared out the window. She wanted to sprint down the hallway, corner her sister, and force her to hear the awful truth. But she knew she could not. Had her mother been in a similar position? Was there something terrible she had wanted to tell Laura about David but for some reason couldn't? And now a crucial question poked at Laura's heart with a finger of bone, a question that finally had to be answered: What had her mother been hiding about David?

  Mark Seidman took his usual seat on the uncomfortable wooden benches. He spotted Timmy Daniels practicing his jumpshot. It was an impressive spectacle. Orange rainbow after orange rainbow ended with the ball dropping through the metal circle. Mark's eyes slid away from the basket and toward Clip Arnstein and the media who were standing off to the side admiring Timmy's flawless performance.

  Mark continued to watch Clip Arnstein. The older man's arms were folded across his chest. He wore a floppy white hat, shorts and a green Celtics shirt. He looked more like an American tourist than a basketball legend.

  'Nice shooting, kid,' Clip called out.

  Timmy stopped and sprinted over to where Clip was holding the press conference. 'Thanks.'

  The reporters crowded in. 'Are the Celtics going to repeat as champions, Clip?'

  'I hope so.'

  'Hope?'

  'Doesn't pay to be too cocky,' Clip explained.

  'Do you think you can pull it off without David Baskin?'

  'Look, fellas, no team can lose a player like David and not feel it. A guy like White Lightning doesn't come around very often. Will we be contenders? Yeah, sure, of course we will. Will we be the champions? That, my friends, only time will tell. There are so many factors that come into making a champion. Healthy players and luck, to name just two.'

  Mike Logan, the reporter from the Boston Globe who had covered the Celtics for the last decade, stood up. 'Clip, last year you told us that David Baskin was the world's best outside shooter and Timmy Daniels was second.'

  'And I was right, wasn't I, Mike? The three-point contest proved it.'

  'No argument there,' Mike Logan agreed. 'My question is this: now that David is dead, is Timmy the world's best shooter?'

  Before Clip could answer, a loud voice from the stands shouted, 'No!'

  The reporters, the Celtics players, and Clip Arnstein turned toward the blonde heckler in the stands. 'Then who is?' Logan called back.

  Mark stood. 'You're looking at him.'

  Mary Ayars heard the doorbell chime. The sound echoed through the house, finding Mary in the kitchen with a glass of wine in her hand. Lately, Mary had been drinking a tad more than usual, a tad more than she should. She knew that she was dangerously close to having a drinking problem, that she should really cut back. But the pain of both her guilt and Laura's continuous rejection gnawed at the back of her brain until she craved just one more glass of white wine. Spanish white wine. Rioja was her favorite.

  Mary glanced at the clock. Eleven a.m. Not even noon and she was already on her first glass.

  The doorbell sounded again. Mary put down her drink, checked her face in the mirror, and headed toward the front door. She opened it and gasped.

  'Laura!'

  'Hello, Mother,' Laura replied politely. Her mother looked worn but still her beauty was dazzling. Laura noted that she still looked a good fifteen years younger than her true age of fifty.

  Mary tried to gather herself. Her daughter had not uttered one word to her in months, not since she had eloped with . . . 'Your father isn't here.'

  'I didn't come to see him. I came to see you.'

  'Me?'

  'I think we should talk.'

  Mary stepped back and let her daughter enter. They moved into the den and sat down in chairs facing one another. Neither one spoke for several moments.

  'I'm so sorry about David,' Mary began uneasily. She pressed her palms against her skirt. 'I've been so worried about you.'

  'I'm doing okay.'

  She reached out and took her daughter's hand. Tears started to gather in Mary's eyes. 'Please forgive me, Laura. I never meant to hurt you. You know I love you. You know I only want what's best for you.'

  Laura kneeled forward and took her mother in her arms. 'It's okay, Mom,' she said softly. 'I know you were trying to help.'

  'I love you so much, honey.'

  'I love you, too,' Laura replied, feeling t
remendous guilt for what she had put her mother through. 'I'm sorry I was so unforgiving.'

  'No. You had every right to be.' Mary looked up hopefully. 'Oh, Laura, do you really forgive me? Is it really all behind us?'

  Laura nodded. 'Mom?'

  'Yes, honey.'

  'I want to ask you something important.'

  Mary dabbed her eyes with a tissue. 'What is it, baby?'

  'Why didn't you like David?'

  Mary felt her chest tighten. 'Oh, Laura, that's all in the past now.'

  'I'd like to know.'

  Mary's eyes darted around the room as though looking for a safe haven. 'It's not important now.'

  'Mother . . .'

  'You loved him, honey. I was wrong to interfere.'

  'But you must have had a reason.'

  'I guess I did at the time.'

  'You guess?'

  'You . . . you know how mothers are,' Mary said, her voice cracking. 'No man is good enough for my precious baby.'

  'I dated men before David. You never interfered before.'

  'But you were never serious about them,' Mary answered. 'Please, can't we talk about something else?'

  Laura ignored her request. 'But that doesn't make any sense. You disliked David right away, the first time I mentioned his name to you. Why, Mother?'

  A nervous shrug came off of Mary's beautiful shoulders. 'I never trusted athletes, I guess. But I was wrong, honey. He was a wonderful man. I'm sure he loved you very much.'

  'What makes you say that now?'

  'I . . . I don't know. I guess I just realized I was wrong.'

  'When did this fact dawn on you, Mother?' Laura demanded. 'When he died?'

  'No . . . I mean . . . Laura, please, I made a mistake. Can't we just put it behind us?'

  'How can I, Mother?' Laura shouted. 'I lost the only man I ever loved. We were forced to secretly elope, and do you know why?'

  'The press must have been hassling -- '

  'No, Mother! We were both used to handling the press. We eloped because my own mother swore the wedding would only take place over her dead body! That's why we took off for Australia and didn't tell you!'

  Mary started to sob.

  'And now David is dead.'

  Mary's head snapped up. 'You can't blame me! I was just . . .'

  'Just what, Mother? Don't you understand what happened? Because of some goddamn whim of yours, David and I felt shunned by my own mother. We ran away to Australia because of you!'

  'Stop! Please!'

  'And he drowned there, Mother. The man I loved perished there because you didn't like athletes, because -- '