Binding Arbitration (17 page)

The sales girl didn’t hesitate making her way to the cash register, and I ignored Libby’s protests as they were rung up. Cass dropped his aluminum bat on the tile floor when he heard the total, clanging everyone’s attention to us. Libby helped him, while I signed the slip and took the bag. When she stood up I thrust the package in her empty hands.

“Happy birthday,” I said as I directed us through the revolving door and onto the Magnificent Mile.

All she could get out was a sputter, and she fumbled into another woman on the sidewalk. The woman’s face met mine as the good looking guy with her helped steady Libby. “Hello, Amanda.” She was as golden as I remembered her back during our on-again, off-again college relationship.

Amanda cleared her throat. “How are you?” She recovered quickly. “This is Marc Carson, my husband. Marc this is Aidan.”

Libby froze in place. The square parcel became a life preserver, and she was holding onto it for dear life.

I guided her by the elbow forward. “Amanda, Marc, this is my girlfriend, Elizabeth Tucker, and her son Cass.” I said meeting Amanda’s eyes as she examined first Cass and then me.

A broad smile erupted over Amanda’s face and cascaded over Libby. “It’s very nice to meet you, Elizabeth.”

Libby croaked out, “Likewise,” before she took Marc’s hand.

“Are you with Whitney, Brown and Rodgers?” he asked.

She stood a little straighter. “Yes, I am.”

“I saw your appeals brief on the Sullivan case. I’m a judge, and I was hoping to hear your arguments in my courtroom, but the case was assigned to someone else’s docket. Judge Foreman says your one of the best and the brightest; he’s a mentor of mine. I heard you have a perfect record and was hoping to see you in action.” He smiled broadly. “He didn’t exaggerate when he said you were the best looking defense attorney in the city, either.”

Libby flinched at the compliment; she’d never taken them easily. “Thank you. It’s a pleasure meeting you, too.”

Cass tugged on my hand, drawing my attention back to his. “We have a busy day.” I extended my hand to Marc. “It was nice seeing you again, Amanda. Congratulations.”

As we strolled away, Libby looked back over her shoulder as if to confirm what transpired. “He’s one of the best judges in Cook County. He’ll probably be the governor one day.”

“You’re on his radar now.” I narrowed my eyes. “And not because of your briefs.” I took the package from her. “Did he actually say you’re the hottest defense attorney in the city?”

“He only meant it as a compliment.”

“Just remember who your boyfriend is,” I said as I slammed her door shut behind her.

“Yeah, right, I think it might be time to go home.”

“Mom,” Cass said. “I want to go to Mr. Pole-ow-ski’s house and play his pinball machine.”

“All right,” she looked back at Cass who was working the DVD player. “We aren’t going to run into any reporters, are we?” She whispered under her breath.

“Melanie was trying to get a comment on the breakup. She doesn’t have a clue about...” I nodded my head toward Cass.

“What happens when everyone knows about Vanessa?”

“Reporters could camp out around the block, or they couldn’t care less. Depends on how much stink Vanessa puts up.”

She rolled her eyes as I pulled Tank around the corner. I had converted three story grey-stone into a single residence. The original nineteenth century facades on either side of the street seemed to wink at each other as we rolled down the avenue. I went down the potholed alley and parked the Hummer in the detached garage.

Cass peered through the backdoor window into the kitchen in awe. “This room is as big as our whole house.”

Libby helped him out of his coat, as we stepped in. “That might be a slight exaggeration.”

“At least half as big,” Cass retorted.

“Let’s go upstairs. I’ll show you the game room.” I tousled his hair. “You can come up, too,” I said to Libby.

Cass’ eyes glazed over at the sight of the Foosball and air hockey tables. But he went straight for the pinball machine, I gave him a handful of quarters and he smiled. He was barely able to see over the pinball machine, but he didn’t look up from the game. I grabbed a folding chair and stood him on it.

“This is really cool, Mr. Pole-ow-ski.”

“Yeah, but don’t beat my high score.” I turned to find Libby leaning in the doorway with her jacket pulled tight around her body. A beautiful smile lined her face. She looked relaxed and content, until she caught me staring at her. She dropped the smile, as she straightened out of the doorjamb.

“Opted for the game room, in lieu of a library?”

“We had fun in the library. Maybe I’ll look into getting one.” I pulled her down the hall. “Besides the game room, there are two bedrooms on this floor.” I towed her to the staircase at the end of the hall. The third floor housed the master suite.

Her lashes swept her cheeks. “Are the big boy’s toys up here?”

“Keep it up, and I’ll start playing with you.”

She stopped, and her rear was in my face, and it was no hardship admiring her snug jeans preceding me up the narrow staircase. When I looked up, she gave me a glare. “What?” I asked as innocently as a little leaguer caught stealing second.

“If this whole floor is your bedroom, I’m not going in.”

I impatiently pushed her hips with mine toward the landing. “This is the sitting room and dressing area.” I looked through the arched opening. “My bed is way over there, so relax.” I led her to a pair of plush chairs and coerced her into one, before I flicked on the TV and handed her the remote. “I’ve never had to compel anyone into it. Not even you.”

Closets ran down both sides of the walls, and the mirrored doors squeaked. My closet was full, but the closet across the span stood empty, on silent hinges. Libby was flipping through the channels as I stripped to my boxers when she turned back toward me, she took me in nonchalantly, glancing first at my face, then at my boxers then turning back, as if my body had no effect on her. But a red blush crept up her exposed neck, and stained her cheeks. She slipped out of her jacket.

I chuckled. “You need a fan?”

“Keep it up, and you might need a medic.”

“You’ve already seen me naked,” I said as I slid my boxers off. She never could resist a dare. It’s how I’d gotten her to do most of the things I wanted her to do in college.

She turned in the chair and stared me down. Not down, but directly in the eye. She refused to look lower. I felt my face light up with a cocky grin.

“If you’re trying to make me feel uncomfortable, don’t bother, I see Cass naked all the time.”

“This is hardly a six-year-old body.” I chuckled and turned toward the bathroom.

“Nice butt, Band-Aid.”

Libby was watching the news when I came out of the steam shower. I wandered over in my towel and took the chair alongside hers. She didn’t look at me until I put my feet up on the ottoman and nudged her. A channel five news reporter was interviewing a tall, elderly priest with thick black-framed glasses on the stairs of a church. I bent forward, recognizing him as the pastor at St. Ignatius, where I’d attended Mass every Sunday during my childhood. “What’s going on?”

She was so involved with the story that she barely glanced at me. “A Mexican immigrant and her son have begged the archdiocese for sanctuary, instead of turning herself over to INS. It’s a standoff. She won’t come out, and the police won’t go into a church to arrest her. The priest is speaking in response to the women with the signs.”

I took in the screen again where a few women were marching back and forth with signs that read: MOTHERS FOR DEPORTATION. “What are the protestors’ beefs?”

“They’re a group of right wingers who think the woman shouldn’t be given immunity just because her child is ill and can receive better medical care here than in Mexico. They’re insisting she’s a criminal.”

“How much you want to bet that among those protestors someone employs an illegal alien?”

“You’re probably right, but that won’t help get her out of trouble. She needs a legal representation.”

“You’re a lawyer.”

“I’m in criminal defense, not immigration.”

“They say she’s a criminal. If you do a little digging, you could make this whole business go away, I bet.”

“When did you become such a humanitarian?”

“I don’t like injustice. I know Father Schimkowski. Maybe we should pay him a visit and see what we can do.”

“Why would you want to get involved?”

“I’d think you’d want to. She has a sick kid. You have a sick kid. Besides, you could put your law school education to good use.” I looked at the TV for a few minutes. “Tell you what. I’ll pay you to represent her.”

“I have serious case overload, but this is the kind of
pro-bono
work I love.” She looked at me. “I’ll think it over.”

My cell phone rang, and I got up to get it. “Yeah, Fletch.”

“Did you buy a car this morning?”

“I’m fine. How are you?”

“Palowski, I don’t give a shit how you are. Did you buy a hundred thousand dollar car on your Amex this morning?”

“It was spur of the moment,” I answered. “I needed a bigger car, and Cass picked it out.”

“Cass Tucker?” He bellowed. “As in your kid?”

“That’s the one.”

“What the hell’s going on?”

“I’m taking care of it.”

“Is Libby with you?”

“Of course she is.”

“Don’t tell me you spent the night with her.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“You were supposed to keep her close enough to take care of the kid and business. Not close enough to form an attachment. This is why Vanderhoff’s attorney is on my ass.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, but you’re well paid, and I have a lot to do this afternoon. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Listen to me Palowski I have enough of your kicked-to- the-curb broads causing me heartache. Don’t add Tucker to the mix. Get in, give her what she wants, and get out.”

“Have a great day, Fletch. Tell Tricia I said hi.” I hung up and went back to sit alongside Libby.

“I hope you’re not involving Cass in any of your schemes.”

“Speaking of Cass, he seems pretty at ease with me. Have you had him around a lot of men?”

She glanced at my towel. “No unclothed client consults.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“Being a lawyer, I stand up to physical manipulation now. And a bare chest isn’t all that jarring.”

“I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable. I usually sit in that chair”—I pointed to where she was sitting—“to cool down before I get dressed. It’s a habit. I can sit with you, if you prefer.”

Her eyes traveled over my shoulders, before she reached out, her fingertips tracing the length of the puckered scar there.

“What happened?” she asked.

I forced myself to concentrate on the words, rather than on her fingertips. “I had surgery.”

“I never heard a word about it.”

“Doc says I’ve got two, maybe three years, before its shot to kingdom come.” I put my hand over her soft fragile ones feeling her warmth run through me.

“Are you upset?” She was still staring at small round scars where pins had been. “Does the club know?”

“It’s not like I thought I could pitch forever. The media doesn’t know, and I’d like it if it stayed that way.” I gave her a soft smile. “But everything might come out anyway.”

“If we stay away from each other, nothing will come out.”

“That’s not an option. I want to get to know Cass, and if that costs me other things, well, then, that’s the way it is.”

“I thought you didn’t sign a longer deal because you wanted to be traded.”

“Chicago is my home. I want to finish here. I’ve learned a few things over the years. Baseball is a business. And in business, if you’re not honest, you usually get eaten by the competition. I’ll play one year at a time.”

“You could have gotten millions more out of this deal?”

“What do I need millions more for? It’s like you said, money doesn’t buy everything.” In that silent moment I held her gaze. “How many other guys have there been?”

She smiled like a canary feasting over crow stew. “How many other women have there been?”

I met her eye squarely. “Too many to count.”

She flinched, but then composed herself. “Why are we having this conversation? I don’t need to know your deepest secrets, in order for you to get to know Cass.”

“But you need to know them if I ever want you to trust me again. So I’ll tell you things I’m not proud of, and you can let it help you decide what kind of man I’ve become.”

“Your sex life has nothing to do with trust.”

“I’m curious about yours.” I raised my eyebrow. “It wouldn’t be fair to find out, without trading information.”

She put her hands over her ears. “I don’t want to know, and I certainly don’t want to trade.”

“Then I’ll give you insider’s info.” I looked at the TV before I went on. “After the night we spent together, I wasn’t with anyone for a long time.”

She pulled her head up taking me in, but didn’t speak.

“I couldn’t bring myself to want anyone else.”

Containing my own anxiety was like trying to get a baseball down my throat. “The first time I felt anything physical for anyone was graduation day, when I saw you and I wanted...” I swallowed trying to choose the right words. “You were five months pregnant, and the sight of you… well, my body reacted, and I couldn’t stay in my seat.”

“I don’t want to hear this.”

I crouched on my knees in front of her and forced her to look at me. “I was celibate all that time, thinking you would come back to me, and then I could say I’d been faithful to you.”

A tear slid down her face and she smoothed it away with the back of her hand. “I thought it was all a game to you.”

“It was a game until I realized that I was playing with feelings, my own included. I continued waiting, but when I got those Dissolution of Parental Rights papers, I thought you were giving away the last thing that bound us together. After a year of celibacy, I went off the deep end. I binged for about two years before I was so dead inside that my pitching started to suffer. By then I had exhausted myself trying to find some sort of challenge in anything, and I moved on to extreme sports.”