Buddy Carruthers, Wide Receiver Page 18

  “I’m so glad you’re here, Buddy.”

  “Good to see you, too, Lauren. The little guy looks great.”

  “He’s wonderful. Such a happy baby.”

  “Maybe because you guys are.”

  “Did he eat yet?” Griff asked.

  “Yep. But I saved his fruit for you.”

  Griff glanced at his watch. “Six o’clock. Late for him. Let’s go.”

  “Whatcha drinkin’, Buddy?”

  “Got beer?”

  “Sure,” Lauren said, as she followed Griff into the kitchen. The quarterback placed Hank in his high chair, fastened on his bib, and then pulled up a chair.

  “You feed him often?” Buddy asked.

  “Whenever I can. It’s the fun part.”

  Buddy took a deep breath. Something smelled great. Stew. His stomach rumbled. Last time he’d had a home cooked meal, except for Gert taking pity on him, was when he’d visited his mother a month ago. He popped the top on the bottle of beer Lauren handed him and leaned against the wall, watching his friend.

  Lauren set the table, stopping to kiss Griff’s head whenever she passed him. Envy swirled through Buddy’s heart. I want this. With Emmy. Sadness settled into his heart. His legs felt heavy, so he sat down.

  “You don’t mind if we eat in the kitchen, do you?”

  “Of course not.”

  Lauren poured herself a glass of wine and joined him. Together, they watched Griff talk to little Hank while he shoveled in the baby’s peaches.

  “Peaches are his favorite. Just like his old man,” Griff snickered, with a glance at his wife’s chest.

  Hank kept his eyes trained on his father’s face. Buddy smiled as he watched the large hands of the amazing passer delicately hold a tiny spoon. Then, Griff took a cloth diaper and gently wiped the infant’s face.

  “He’s a cute kid,” Buddy said, before he took a slug of his drink.

  Lauren’s eyes filled. “I didn’t know we could be so blessed. We’re lucky to have him.”

  Buddy squeezed her hand as the envy in his heart dissolved, replaced by happiness for his friends. Somewhere in him, a new resolve was taking shape to have this in his life. The question of how to have it with Emmy without quitting football and moving to Europe spun like a merry-go-round in his head. “Would you do it again?”

  “Oh, yes. Griff wants more than one, and so do I. If I have to do two months of bed rest again, I will. Though with this guy, that’ll be a challenge.”

  Griff overheard their conversation. He poised with the spoon just out of the child’s reach, turned his head, and spoke, “We’ll figure it out, baby.” He smiled at his wife then delivered the food to his son.

  “You guys have it all,” Buddy said.

  “Jealous?” Griff asked.

  “Maybe. A little.”

  “You’ll get there.” Lauren ladled out the steaming, fragrant stew.

  After dinner, Lauren put the baby down, and Griff sifted quickly through the mail. Buddy sank down on the couch. An article in the local newspaper open on the coffee table caught his eye. He read the headline.

  Rock Star Theft Victim. May Cancel Benefit

  He looked closer and spied a photo of Emmy singing on stage. “Holy shit!” He picked up the paper and read.

  “What?” Griff looked up from an envelope he was tearing open.

  “Emmy’s in trouble.” Buddy whipped out his cell and dialed. When Griff joined him, the wide receiver pointed to the article.

  “Buddy?” The voice was shaky.

  “Emmy, baby. What happened?”

  She dissolved in tears on the other end. He couldn’t make out what she was saying.

  “Honey, I can’t understand you. Please stop crying. Just for a moment.”

  But the crying continued.

  “Take a breath. Breathe, Emmy. Tell me what happened.”

  He heard her blow her nose then silence. “Stash stole all my money.”

  “What?” Buddy shot up off the sofa and walked to the window.

  “He emptied out our big account, the business account. Then, he took all my personal money. He left a thousand in the big account and two thousand in mine. I’m broke. I have nothing. I’m supposed to do a benefit concert in a week, but I can’t pay the crew or the musicians. So, I’m finished. Finished. Over.” He heard her shudder then she started crying again.

  “Where are you?” He paced through the dining room and back.

  “Washington,” she blubbered.

  “Don’t do anything. I’m on my way. What hotel?”

  “The Regal Arms. Room 206.”

  “I’m coming. Don’t worry. We’ll fix this.”

  “The F.B.I was here. They can’t do much. What can you do?”

  “I don’t know, honey. But I can’t make it worse.”

  “Okay.”

  “Go to bed. I’ll be there in the morning.”

  “Buddy?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you still love me?”

  “Of course I do. That’ll never stop.”

  “I love you too.”

  “Sweet dreams, baby. We’ll figure this out.” Buddy closed his cell then opened it again. “Coach? I have a personal emergency. I’m going to be gone a couple of days.”

  “Okay, Buddy. Tell me about it tomorrow.”

  “Will do.” Buddy stood up, grabbed his coat, and faced Lauren and Griff, who stood by the door looking at him.

  “Is everything okay?” Griff asked.

  “No. I have to go to D.C. Emmy’s in trouble. Big trouble.” Buddy shrugged his jacket over his shoulders.

  “Good luck,” Lauren said.

  Griff patted his friend’s shoulder. “We’re here, if you need us.”

  “Thanks.” Buddy gave them a small smile as he opened the door.

  At home, Buddy retrieved his phone before slipping into bed. He dialed his mother.

  “Mom, Emmy’s in trouble.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t exactly know. I’m going down there tomorrow. Please stand by. I may need you to do something for me.”

  “I’m here, son. Give her my love. Good luck.”

  “Thanks.”

  Buddy clicked out the light and lay in bed, staring out the window. Wind bent the bare branches of a Linden tree, silhouetted against the moon. Jumbled ideas tumbled through his brain, as if powered by a tornado. He shook his head. I need to be clear-headed. Tomorrow. She’s counting on me.

  He closed his eyes and forced his thoughts back to a picnic on a sweltering day in June, by the lake in college. When the sun set, they had cooled off skinny-dipping and made love in the shadows of the leafy trees. The memory soothed him. His body relaxed. With his mind at ease, sleep came quickly.

  * * * *

  The doorman at the Regal hotel opened the door, and Buddy got out of the taxi. The plane ride on the Shuttle from New York had been a piece of cake. He had been diverted from disturbing thoughts by plenty of requests for autographs and a few fans intent on giving him their strategy for the next game.

  He punched “two” in the elevator and began to sweat. How could he help her? Maybe he couldn’t. His heart beat sped up. The pressure grew with each step that took him closer to her room. After he knocked, Emmy opened the door. Her eyes were puffy. She looked terrible, pale, drawn, and thin.

  “Buddy,” she whispered.

  He stepped inside, and she fell into his arms, sobbing. One glance around told him there was an army of people trying to solve this problem. Two geeky-looking guys were pounding on laptop keyboards set up on the coffee table in the bedroom. A man and a woman with cell phones glued to their ears paced in the other one.

  The room seemed full to overflowing with strangers. He picked out Paula’s tense face in the crowd. “No three-bedroom suite?” Buddy asked.

  “Can’t afford it. I only have an old, personal credit card. The business card is cut off for non-payment,” Emmy said, resting her forehead on his chest.
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  He held her to him and kissed her hair.

  “The two with phones are F.B.I. So are the guys with laptops.”

  “I’d better talk to them.” He eased Emmy back and stepped to the side.

  She curled her fingers around his biceps. “Wait. How did you find out? Paula call you?”

  “Saw it in the paper. Even in little Monroe, you were big news.”

  “Oh, Christ! What did it say?”

  Buddy reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out the piece he’d torn from Griff’s newspaper. He handed it to her then moved forward. Emmy took the article and sank down on the bed.

  “Who’s in charge here?” he asked.

  “Who are you?” a woman holding a cell phone asked, her voice tinged with a hint of suspicion.

  “A friend. I want to help. Can you tell me what happened?”

  The woman looked over at Emmy, who nodded. “Cathy Hicks,” she said, extending her hand.

  He took it. “Buddy Carruthers.”

  “Say, don’t you play football for the Kings?” Bob asked.

  “Yep. Now, bring me up to speed on what happened to Emmy.”

  Buddy sat down with Bob and Cathy while they filled him in.

  “And these two guys are tracing the money trail,” Cathy finished.

  Emmy had come up behind Buddy, placing her hands on his shoulders. He folded his fingers over hers. When the agents completed briefing him, he stood up.

  “What am I going to do, Buddy? I can’t cancel this concert. It’s for breast cancer. But I don’t have enough to pay everyone.”

  “How much do you need?”

  “Thirty thousand.”

  “Let me make a call.” He went to a corner and dialed. When he was through, he wore a small smile. “It’s only a temporary measure. But you have to do this concert. Come with me. We’re going to open a new bank account for you with a bank here, and my mom’s going to wire you thirty five grand from mine.”

  “Buddy, I can’t. I can’t take your money.”

  “You can, and you will. Do you want to cancel?”

  She shook her head as her eyes teared up.

  “Then you’re taking it. Let’s get through this concert first. How many others do you have set up?”

  “Let’s see.” She counted on her fingers. “Atlanta, Miami, New Orleans and, hmm, that’s it.”

  “What about Europe?”

  “If you’d read the million texts I sent you, there is no Europe. Stash forged my signature on those contracts. I canceled them all. I never intended to go.”

  “You didn’t?” His tone was tinged with disbelief.

  “I can’t leave you. After finding you again? Damn. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, you stubborn angel.”

  Buddy drew her into his embrace and whispered in her ear, “I love you, honey. Always have. Always will.”

  “I’ll pay you back. I promise I will.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  They conferred with the F.B.I agents then went downstairs to find a local bank. Buddy’s mom set up the transfer, and Emmy opened the account with the second to last twenty-dollar bill she had in her purse. The next day, the money would be there, and Emmy could write the checks she needed for the crew and musicians.

  Buddy took her to The Gordon James, an Irish restaurant on Dupont Circle. They got a quiet table in the back. He ordered a bottle of wine, and they sipped in silence for a few moments.

  “What about Paula? Can you trust her?”

  “I think so. Time will tell. But I’ll never give my password to anyone ever again.”

  “Good idea. Mom wants to come down and help you.”

  “That’s sweet, but what can she do?”

  “Fill in for Lani.”

  “That two-faced bitch. Probably making it with Stash behind my back the whole time.”

  “Do you care?’

  “What do you mean?”

  “Did you love him?”

  “No.”

  “So? Who cares who he was sleeping with, if you didn’t want him?”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  “You’re mine now, Emmy. So, lay off other guys, you hear?” He wagged a finger at her, but couldn’t suppress a smile.

  When the waiter came to take their order, Emmy shook her head. “I can’t eat. My stomach is in knots.”

  “You’ve got to have something. Soup? A salad?”

  Emmy relented and picked soup and a side salad. Buddy chose corned beef and cabbage. He held her hand while they waited for the food.

  “Will you stay with me tonight?” she asked.

  “Of course. I think we should get married.”

  “What?” Her eyes widened, and her mouth fell open.

  “You heard me. Married. And stop crapping around. We belong together.”

  “Stop crapping around and marry me. That’s real romantic.” She drew the corners of her mouth down.

  “I’m sorry, but it’s how I feel.”

  “I can’t marry you when my life is like this. How can I come crawling to you, broke, needy, a mess?”

  “I’m here for you, baby.”

  “I know. And I love you for it. But I need to find a way to get back on my feet, Buddy. Then, we can talk.”

  “Talk? Talk to a minister, a judge, or whoever. Say ‘I do’.”

  “Give me some time. Help me stand up straight again.”

  He made a face. “I want you with me. I hate living like this.” He stared into her eyes. “Do you love me, Emmy?”

  She leaned forward and kissed him. “I do love you, babe. But this isn’t the right time.”

  “You’re not going to Europe, right? Not going to disappear on me again?”

  The server brought their meals.

  “No to Europe. And I want you in my life too. We’ll find a way.”

  “Damn well better,” he muttered, cutting a piece of corned beef.

  “That looks good,” she said, stabbing a small piece with her fork. “I guess even crappy marriage proposals bring my appetite back.” She smiled.

  Buddy flagged down the waiter and ordered the same dish for her. “I have to go back tomorrow. Coach gave me two days off practice, but that’s all. I don’t want to get fined.”

  “I understand.”

  “Mom’s coming tomorrow morning.”

  “Is she mad at me?”

  “Of course not. You didn’t do anything but trust your manager. She’s real practical. She’ll be good.”

  “I go on in a couple of days. I don’t know how I can stand up in front of an audience. I’m a front page scandal. Dead broke. Who will come to see me?”

  “Your fans. Your tons and tons of fans.”

  “Wish you could be there with me.”

  “Wish I could too, honey.” He shoveled a piece of potato into his mouth.

  Emmy’s plate of corned beef arrived. “God, I’m starved,” she said, digging into her dish.

  When they got back, Paula was in her room, and everyone else had gone. Buddy drew Emmy down into his lap and kissed her. He stroked her hair then curled his hand around her neck. Her skin was soft and warm. Touching her made him smile. He closed the fingers of his other hand around her thigh.

  “Come on, baby. Let’s make the bed shake so bad we wake the neighbors.”

  She turned shy eyes to him. He stood with her in his arms and eased her down until she was standing on her own. Taking her hand, he led her to the bedroom and closed the door. This would be one night they’d never forget. Buddy made sure it had a happy ending.

  The next morning, Emmy walked Buddy to a taxi. She shivered in the winterish, November wind. He rubbed his hands up and down her arms to warm her through her coat.

  “Stay warm. Be safe. This’ll be okay. You’ll see.”

  He turned to look as the cab drove away. Emmy, on the sidewalk waving, looked smaller than ever. His heart ached. I lied to her. First time. When she was out of site, Buddy peere
d out the window, watching D.C. disappear as they headed for National Airport. Everything’s not going to be all right. Far from it. This could be the end of Emerald. How do you dig yourself out of a hole this deep?

  Chapter Fourteen

  A chill penetrated Emmy to the bone. It wasn’t the weather, but the fact that Buddy was no longer there. The F.B.I people returned at ten. Emmy ordered a big pot of coffee and some Danish. At noon, there was a knock on the door.

  Waiting in the hall was Verna Carruthers.

  “Mrs. Carruthers, I…” Emmy began, but tears choked off her words.

  Verna took the young woman in her arms for a hug. “Now, now, Emmy. No worries. We’ll get this straightened out.”

  The rock singer grabbed her coat and joined Verna on a walk to the bank. Deep breathing was the only thing that kept the young woman calm. She fished a small notebook out of her purse and took notes. Verna was all business, double-checking that the account was set up and that Buddy’s thirty-five thousand was available. Then, she made them provide checks right away.

  Emmy ordered up lunch for everyone then sat by the window with Verna. Together, they made a list of everything that had to be done. Emmy wrote down several items for Paula.

  “Are you sure you trust me to do this?”

  “I have no choice.”

  The assistant bit her lip. “You don’t owe me anything. And seeing how my brother stole everything from you…”

  “Not everything. I still have Buddy, his mom…and you. Right? And my fans.” Emmy sounded stronger than she felt. Inside, her stomach was queasy, and her pulse was racing.

  “There’s so much to do. I’ll stay as long as you want me to. I love you Emerald.” She hugged the singer.

  “Thanks. I need you.” Emmy silently thanked God for Paula.

  Verna called her over, and they put their heads together, discussing estimated expenses and setting up financial records and systems.

  “Buddy says you must do this concert. When is it?”

  “This weekend. The guy at the site said they needed checks.”