Binding Arbitration (21 page)

Aidan arched an eyebrow. “You sure you want to do this?”

“I’ve confronted all sorts of people before.”

“People, no problem. Cameras, problem.”

We made our way through the massive doors and down the stone steps. I approached the group of women with a smile on my face. They all smiled in return, but they were looking at Band-Aid. “Good afternoon, ladies.”

“Aren’t you Band-Aid from the Cubs?” asked the curly-haired woman with the large nose and over-tweezed brows.

Aidan nodded yes in response to her.

The woman beamed back at him, and the others twittered.

I snapped my fingers to garner her attention. “You wouldn’t happen to be Paula, would you?”

“Yes, I am,” she looked at me for a brief second before honing in on Aidan. Her friends, Frick and Frack, were so enthralled they lowered their protest signs.

“Paula, I’m Ms. Tucker, the attorney representing the woman in the church. I want you to stop protesting out here.”

That drew her back to reality. “Excuse me?”

“I’m asking you to stop harassing my client. If you won’t do it voluntarily, I’ll get a court order.”

“We are not harassing her. This church is harboring an illegal alien, and we demand she be arrested and deported.”

“Don’t you think you’ve taken this far enough?”

Paula stuck her picket sign in my face. “We’re exercising our constitutional right to protest. We have a permit.”

I saw notebooks open and lens caps dropping. The media was picking up on the confrontation. “We all know you’re trying to intimidate a woman who got the better of you.”

“I know my rights, and I want that illegal bitch deported.”

“I was going to play nice with you, until you called her a bitch. Now I’m going to exercise my constitutional rights as an attorney and speak to the media on my client’s behalf. The big guy, who you can’t keep your eyes off, and I are going over to those reporters. They’re going to eagerly listen to whatever I have to say because I’m his girl, and what I’m going to tell them will shock them. You three ladies have all had illegal-workers working for you. Not only did they work for you, but you paid them in cash.” I paused for effect. “I can see by the looks on your faces that you failed to file any W-9’s. But that’s not the best part: your husband harassed my client while she was in your employ. Aidan, did I say sexually harass?”

“No, babe, but you just did now.” He smiled and winked.

“After the sexual harassment took place and was reported to you, her employer, you fired her and withheld her wages. And now you’re trying to further harass my client by bringing her status as an illegal to the attention of immigration officials, when before this incident occurred, none of you had any inclination to demonstrate for immigration reform. Furthermore, I understand your husband received a large shipment of condoms, which I can only assume he intended to use for nefarious purposes.” I paused giving them time for the information to sink in through the Botox. “Or maybe it proves he hits on a lot of women. A short conversation with the reporters will get this all aired out.”

The three women looked at each other. I tapped the frame of my sunglasses for emphasis and draped my free arm through Aidan’s before starting away. The cameras were snapping photos of us. I was about to speak when I heard Paula scampering behind me.

“Ms. Tucker? Oh, Ms. Tucker.”

Aidan leaned into me. “You’re scary like this.”

“It’s time for me to settle my debt.”

Before he could sputter, I had his lapels in my hands and was kissing him. Two seconds later, he took control of the kiss, and by then, the shutters were flashing away.

Paula cleared her throat. I pulled away momentarily to look at her. “We’ll be on our way, Ms. Tucker. If you wouldn’t mention this to the media, we won’t be back.”

“I’m happy you see things my way.”

Aidan’s arms slipped inside my coat and wrapped around me, and he was kissing me again. When he pulled away he said, “You used me, Ms. Tucker, for your own nefarious purposes.”

“Don’t try to tell me you mind.”

“This picture is going to be everywhere, let’s make it good.” And before I could protest his lips melded into mine.

When I finally maneuvered a break in the suction he chuckled. “Everyone’s going to know you’re mine.”

“A small price to pay to be rid of those idiots,” I grumbled. “I need to get the media attention off Evita.”

“So we’ll deflect it onto us? I thought you weren’t happy about the article this morning. What do you think is going to happen when these pictures come out?”

“You’ll handle it like you said you would.”

He pulled me against him tighter, smiling down at me, dimple and all. “What am I getting out of this deal?”

“What do you want?” I looked away hesitantly.

He straightened. “I need time to make a list.”

I put my face against his hard chest; I breathed in his clean soapy scent and listened to the accelerated beating of his heart. Me, little Libby Nobody, made baseball’s bad boy tremble.

I took in another clear deep breath before I looked up into his eyes. “Remember, I’m a seasoned negotiator.”

He took my hand and pulled me along the sidewalk. “And I might drag the contract out for so long it goes into binding arbitration.”

17

NANNY NEGIOATIONS

Next to religion, baseball has furnished a greater impact on American life than any other institution. Herbert Hoover

Aidan 1:30 p.m.

Pizza at Pizzeria Uno is cheese nirvana, and Cass worshiped at the cradle of the deep dish pan, devouring three slices. When we returned to Tank, I had an eye on the road, an eye on Cass in the rearview mirror, and a finger on the automatic window in case he turned green. He made it all the way to Evanston without tossing his cookies, so I assumed that we had cleared the tower.

The Sunny Sky Retirement Home was on Chicago Avenue in Evanston, anchored on either side by a VA building and a cleaners. The walkway was littered with cigarette butts and men with stringy ponytails and decrepit fatigues. Each wore a guarded expression from suspicion to culpability, but when they eyed our approach several of them high-fived Cass.

Sunny Sky was modern; the walls along corridor were dotted with children’s artwork. Cass raced ahead and pointed. “This is mine, and this one is Madi’s.” We sailed past the visitor’s desk with a bright smile from the receptionist. It seemed everyone knew Cass and Libby, and everyone perked up in their presence. Orderlies, nurses and other visitors greeted them. Every patient we encountered had a few words to say to them. The brief conversations ranged from Cass’ health to Libby’s love life. I raised my eyebrow a few times.

One wheelchair bound lady with a red fedora over her blue hair and a purple terrycloth robe poked me in the chest with her cane. “Are you the bloke who knocked Libby up?” Why she had a cane when she was in a wheelchair puzzled me.

Libby placed a hand on the ladies shoulder. “Mrs. J., you recall we decided not to discuss each other’s love lives. I promised not to ask about Mr. Zalinski or Mr. Tveter, and you promised not to continue to ask me who knocked me up.”

“But that was after I already told you I was carrying on with both of them. And you didn’t fess up to any liaisons.”

Libby twisted a piece of hair around her finger, as the old lady rolled away.

I cough laughed. “What exactly does ‘carrying on’ mean?”

She tilted her head coyly. “Homerun.”

As we continued down the hall, we passed a closed door, behind which there was huffing and puffing. I looked at Libby, wondering why she wasn’t inclined to stop and see what was going on.

“The nurses call that the boinking room. The Monroe’s are newlyweds.”

“Very funny, Miss Priss.” I turned her away from the scene.

Cass was in Mr. Rodgers room, before we stepped inside Libby stopped me. “He has Alzheimer’s, so he might remember me and he might not. I go along with whatever he says, okay?”

Mr. Rodgers was working over a stringy wedge of pizza. He hadn’t changed from his days at the Waffle House except he was a little more hunched and a lot more cantankerous. “You’re late, Missy. Don’t you hear that racket out there?” He smiled at Libby fondly, “Get your uniform on, we got customers to feed.”

“Grandpa Rodgers, this isn’t the Waffle House, and mommy is a lawyer, not a waitress no more.”

Mr. Rodgers looked up and Cass grinned, “I know you’re hungry, son. I’ll get a waitress to serve you in just a moment.”

Cass just smirked, shook his head, then he scrunched up his nose and put one hand on his belly and the other over his mouth.

Folks, it’s time to clear the stands.
The ump grumbled.

Before I could react, Libby grabbed a garbage can and had it under him. When he finished the first wave, she helped him into the bathroom. “Do you remember when Aidan said two pieces was enough for a boy your size?”

“Yes, mommy…” Before he could say more, another wave hit him. Libby closed the bathroom door.

I looked around the spacious room; it wasn’t as antiseptic as a hospital room, done up in warm hues of burgundy and hunter green. The man had one hell of a TV with a supersized remote.

I pulled the letters from my breast pocket; my fingertips caressed the envelopes that were etched with Libby’s name in my scrawled script. I wondered, and not for the first time, where life would have taken me if I had delivered these letters and the promises they held. I couldn’t bear to read them yet, so I replaced them and they reverberated, the collected pledges changing the rhythm of my heart.

“I remember you.” Mr. Rodgers pointed his razor-sharp chin and knife at me. “You’re that baseball player who ruined Libby.”

The speech was hauntingly familiar. “Libby isn’t ruined, and Max already put me through the wash and rinse cycle. I have no intention of hurting anyone. You have my word.”

“What’s your word worth? I won’t be around”—he waved his hand over his head in a circle—“too much longer, but you won’t sleep another night through, if you hurt her. I’ll make your life hell all the way from the grave, if I have to.”

I’d hit an all time low. A death-bound man was planning retribution from the grave, if I didn’t do the right thing.

“You’ll do the right thing, all right, or you’ll be sorry for it for the rest of your days.” I jumped when he responded to my thoughts. I heard a sound and looked up, half expecting to see the Grim Reaper, scythe in hand.

Libby leaned over me with a concerned look on her face. “Are you okay? You look as white as a ghost. Are you sick, too?”

I got to my feet unsteadily; I glanced back at Mr. Rodgers, who was snoozing over his plate. Of course, I was sick. Sick with guilt for the way I treated them and with each reminder my shame crystallized until I could see through all its sharp points to my own pain. “No, I’m fine. How’s Cass?”

“I think the worst of it’s over, but would you mind taking us home? He could use a bath and a nap. He needs some down time; I can’t be sure if he ate too much, if it’s his meds, or just too much excitement. His clothes are a mess.”

“Let me see what I can do.” I stepped around her, “I’ll strip him out of his clothes and I can wrap him in my sports coat until we get him home.”

“Are you crazy? That’s an Armani jacket. Use my trench coat; it’s from Old Navy.”

“I’ll take care of it.” And I skirted by her to collect Cass. “You say your goodbyes to Mr. Rodgers.”

Neither of us spoke, as I helped Cass out of his clothes before washing his hands and face again. Then I wrapped my sports coat around his shoulders which brushed the top of his Nikes. “Do you want me to carry you?”

“Are you mad at me, Mister Pole-ow-ski?”

“Why would you think that?”

“Cause I didn’t listen, and now I made a big mess and we got to go home instead of going to the park.”

“I’m not mad, but next time you’ll listen to me when I say enough is enough.”

“Yes, sir, enough is enough, got it.”

“We can go to the park after school tomorrow, but you need to rest.” I tousled his hair. “We don’t want you to get sick.”

“I don’t know if we can play after school ‘cause I got to interview a nanny tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Mommy wants to hire someone to pick me up from school instead in going to Afterschool Club, that way I can take naps when I need my Chemoteruppy, and Dr. Seuss says I need the Chemoteruppy, so I can get all better with new bones.”

“Don’t worry.” I assured him. “I promise I’ll come and see you tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that, too.”

“You know what, Mr. Pole-ow-ski?” He looked up at me with eyes as pure as clover.

“What, Cass?” As I bundled him against my shoulder, he wrapped his arms around my neck and I struggled with my emotions. Instead of the noose tightening I felt I could breathe easier.

“We’re going to be best buds.”

“Best buds, got it.” I parroted him as I picked up the plastic bag with Cass’s clothes and found Libby securing the blankets around Mr. Rodgers, before kissing him on his forehead.

Cass fell asleep about five minutes into the ride, but I was able to wake him and give him a quick shower without a meltdown. It felt natural when I read a book and tucked him in; he was sound asleep before I closed the door.

I found Libby looking like she needed a tuck-in, herself. Her booted legs rested over the edge of the coffee table, her head dangled across the back of the cushions and papers were strewn around her.

She startled when I unzipped her boot and dropped it to the floor. I held her gaze, while I drew my finger down the inside of her leg to remove the second one. As soon as it was off, she jumped again to tuck her legs under herself protectively.

“You’re a nervous thing this afternoon.” I sat down.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

I put my feet up on the table and sank further into the cushions resting my linked hands across my abdomen before I gave her a smile. “I have somewhere I’d like to be, but you’d need to let me take off your clothes first.”

She flushed, before turning to look straight ahead. I knew she could only resist my heated glance for so long before she’d have to look to see what I was up to. My hand darted out to tug playfully on the cashmere belt of her dress.