Paydirt

2

Poor Bobby, Christine thought. He didn't understand business. He didn't understand what it took for a man like her father to build from the ground up. Sometimes, she felt she had to mother Bobby even more than their son Lovable as a floppy-eared puppy, her husband was a grown man who still needed protection from the world.

And from Daddy.

Daddy mistook Bobby's decency for weakness, and Bobby considered Daddy's ambition to be rapacious greed. Both men were far more complicated, she knew, and both had extraordinary qualities.

How can I make peace between them?

Lately she'd been charting Bobby's moods like a meteorologist watching tropical storms. Something was bothering him, and he wasn't talking.

She headed down the flagstone steps to the field where the guests dipped corn chips into smoked tomato salsa and nibbled pickled jalapenos while sloshing icy rivers of margaritas. Her co-workers greeted her with a dozen "Howdys," and "Hidys," as she glided by, avoiding the cocktail party chatter about the big win over the Eagles yesterday. Several players and their wives stopped her momentarily to wish Happy Thanksgiving. White-uniformed waiters skated by with platters of hor d'oeuvres. Inside a huge tent of Dallas silver and blue, other servers were preparing tables for the coming feast. Christine approached the tent, heard a commotion inside, and stopped in the open entranceway.

What she saw froze her. Nightlife Jackson, the team's All-Pro wide receiver, was angrily shouting at a young woman, wagging a finger under her nose. Her face twisted in terror, the woman lurched backward — one step, two steps, three shaky steps — but he pressed forward, staying in her grill. Staying in her face, screaming. "Fuck you want, woman! Fuck you want!"

Nightlife's dark round, cherubic face usually was composed in a playful smile, but now, unaware of Christine's presence, he was snarling, the veins on his neck thick as cables and throbbing with every heartbeat.

"I don't want you! I'm goin' home."

Christine recognized the woman as Nightlife's girlfriend, a flight attendant named Shaina.

"You ain't going nowhere, bitch!" Nightlife yelled.

"I'm goin' home and don't bother callin'!"

She turned and Nightlife grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around, his biceps straining against the sleeve of his silver Mustangs t-shirt. "Give me those car keys, 'ho!"

"Lemme go!"

Changing tactics, he lowered his voice to a seductive whisper. "C'mon now, sweet meat. Do what Daddy says."

He tried to pry open her hand, but she resisted, screaming as Nightlife bent a finger backward.

"Wilbur!" Christine shouted, using Nightlife's given name and moving toward him. "Let her go!"

Nightlife spun around, startled. "This don't concern you, Ms. Gallagher. Me and Shaina's just jaw jacking. It ain't nothing."

"Help me! He's breaking my bones!" Shaina yelled, her voice keening into a high-pitched wail, her beaded corn rows flailing as she tossed her head. Her eye make-up was streaked over her cheeks tinging her cinnamon skin a sooty charcoal.

"Shut up, Miss Thang!" Nightlife yelled.

"Let her go!" Christine ordered.

"Bitch shamed me in front of the team, and she's-"

"His whore's here!" Shaina bawled. "He had Tyrone Wheatley bring her, but I know Nightlife's doing her when I'm off flying."

"Don't be stupid!" Nightlife hollered.

"You're stupid!" she screamed back. "You're so stupid you leave your fly open just to count to eleven."

She tried to twist away but Nightlife grabbed her arm and yanked it behind her back, then wrenched hard, pressing the back of her hand against her shoulder blade.

"Ow!"

"Give me those car keys!"

Christine moved closer. "You do not lift a hand to a woman, Wilbur Jackson. You do not hurt a woman, ever!"

Nightlife turned to Christine, his eyes flaring with such fury that she staggered back a step on wobbly legs.

"The fuck you doing, woman! This ain't your fight!"

"If you don't let her go right now, I'll have my father suspend you.

"Fuck that! I'm your meal ticket, rich girl and this 'ho ain't nothing."

Nightlife's face was a searing mask of violence. For a moment, Christine was sure he would hit her. Her vision blurred, and his features mutated into something barely human. He became a horned beast, a goat-man, and then finally something else altogether. Something — someone — from her past. As Nightlife balled his fist and glared at her with eyes as hard as steel spikes, she saw the face that still haunted her nightmares. She girded herself and chased away the memory.

"Don't be a fool, Wilbur. I can end your career."

"The fuck you can, woman. You're just the team bling and don't even know it."

"Try me."

With a look of utter disgust, he released Shaina and turned to leave. "Shee-it, you women stick together like flies on shit."

Christine put her arms around the young woman and let her sob. "He's not worth the tears, Shaina," Christine told her, remembering her own past, "but someday you'll find someone who is."