Lights Out (16 page)

‘Great,’ Jake said, waiting for the guy to take the buck.

‘No charge for you, buddy,’ the guy said. ‘But how about you give me autograph?’

He held out a notepad and a Bic for Jake to sign with. Jake took the pen and scribbled his name.

‘Hey, thank you, buddy,’ the guy said, ‘I keep this forever. And wait . . .’ He took out a disposable camera and said, ‘For to hang up in store, okay? I take your picture?’

‘Go ahead,’ Jake said, rolling his eyes slightly, and then he managed a smile as the shutter snapped.

‘Thank you, buddy,’ the guy said. ‘I put this in frame and keep forever. And congratulations - may you have a beautiful baby boy.’

Jake had started out of the store, but now he turned back excitedly and started turning pages of the newspaper. ‘Where is it?’

‘Right here, buddy. I show you.’

The guy took the newspaper, folded it open to a page, and handed it back to Jake.

At first Jake was disappointed. He’d expected to see a big story with a booming headline, but it got only a sidebar, as part of the article about the block party last night. But at least the headline was there, ‘J.T. to Wed’, and there was a picture, taken last night, of him kissing Christina. Thank God the picture caught her only from the waist up.

Jake read the story, glad that most of his quotes had made it in, but he was still pissed off that the paper didn’t make a bigger deal about it. The front page headline was ‘Horror in the Bronx’, about a guy who’d shot his wife and three kids while they were asleep, then blown his brains out. Fathers were always doing things like that to their families, but how often did Jake Thomas announce a wedding date?

Then Jake turned back to the story about himself, deciding that at least he’d one-upped Marianna Fernandez. Now if she took her story public, the press would be so psyched about the wedding that no one would care about some statutory-rape claim by a fourteen-year-old Mexican girl from San Diego. Her story might not even make it into the papers at all.

The limo turned onto Eighty-first Street, and Jake was happy to see, among the crowd in front of his house, camera crews and guys with mikes. When the groupies and reporters noticed the limo they rushed into the street.

‘Do you have a location picked out for the wedding?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Where’re you going for your honeymoon?’

‘We’re keeping that private.’

‘You gonna have kids right away?’

‘You bet.’

‘Does this mean your partying days are behind you?’

‘Absolutely. I’m a family man now.’

There were more questions, and Jake answered them all patiently and politely, smiling the whole time as he signed autographs. A girl in the back yelled, ‘Dump her, Jake!’ and a very good-looking redhead up front begged, ‘Marry me instead -please!’

After a while Jake made his way to the stoop leading to his parents’ house. His mother had opened the door, waiting for him, and Jake waved good-bye to the cheering crowd.

‘Oh, my God, I’m so happy for you!’ Donna Thomas said, hugging Jake tightly.

Jake was lost for a few seconds, then realized she was talking about the wedding news.

‘Oh, thanks,’ he said. ‘Yeah, I’m really happy too.’

‘So is it true? It’s really going to be next December?’

‘That’s the plan,’ he said.

‘This is so wonderful. Reporters have been calling all morning.

It’s been so crazy, I just started letting the machine pick up.’

Jake’s cell started ringing.

‘We should celebrate tonight - have a special dinner.’

‘Sorry,’ Jake said. ‘Christina and I want to have a romantic thing tonight.’

‘Oh,’ Donna said, sounding disappointed. ‘Well, I guess I can understand that. How about breakfast tomorrow? Or brunch? Michelle and Roger want to see you again.’

‘Yeah, sounds great.’Jake headed up the stairs, flipping open his cell. ‘J.T.’

‘Good, didn’t wake you,’ Robert Henderson said. ‘So you see the paper yet?’

‘Didn’t make the front page, but gotta hand it to you - nice job, bro.’

‘That’s just the tip of the iceberg. Reuters and AP picked up the story and it’s all over the Net. It’s what, eight-something your time, and chat rooms are buzzing about it, and you have a record number of posts on the “J.T. Talk” message board. I got dozens of interview requests - we’re talking
USA Today, Extra, ET.
Everybody wants to know details. Can you give me some more info on Christina? What does she do for a living? When did you meet her? How did you meet? Can you get me some pics?’

Jake, now upstairs in the guest bedroom, put his phone’s hands-free earpiece in and said, ‘I don’t think that’s the right way to go.’

‘What’s not the right way to go?’

‘I mean, we got them coming after us now, right?’

‘You kiddin’ me? My phone’s ringing off the friggin’ hook. I got e-mails up the wazoo.’

‘That’s what I’m talking about,’Jake said, opening his garment bag, deciding what shirt to wear, the black linen Dolce & Gabbana or the rust silk Versace. ‘If a girl puts out on the first date, the guy never calls her again, right?’

‘I’m not following,’ Robert said.

‘We gotta play hard to get.’ Jake decided on the Dolce & Gabbana because he remembered he got laid the last time he wore it. ‘Tell them I’m spending some alone time with Christina and won’t be available for public comment until next week. It’ll make them wonder, What’s going on? Where’s the wedding gonna be? Who’s Christina Mercado? All that shit. Then we start leaking the info slowly, not giving them too much to chew on, you know? That way we keep the story in the news - it stays big.’

‘I hear what you’re saying,’ Robert said, ‘but I think that’s a mistake. The media’s fickle - they get on one story, then get on another. Something happens in the Middle East or Britney gets married again and it’s sayonara.’

‘I told you how I want to do it,’ Jake said, laying out the Dolce & Gabbana on the bed with beige Valentino slacks, loving the way they went together. ‘I’m not shooting my load with this baby today - no way.’

Robert didn’t say anything for a few seconds - Jake just heard deep breathing - then Robert said, ‘Throw me a bone, at least. What does she do for a living? What do her parents do?’

‘She’s a dental hygienist, her mother’s dead, and her father’s a degenerate gambler. Whoops, there’s my other line.’ Jake cut Robert off and took the other call. ‘J.T.’

‘Jake, Stu,’ Jake’s agent said.

‘You calling to congratulate me?’ Jake said.

‘I just saw it scroll across the bottom of the screen on E!,’ Stu said. ‘So when did this happen?’

‘Last night.’

‘Spur-of-the-moment thing?’

‘Kinda.’ Unbuttoning his shirt, Jake caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror on the back of the door and immediately furrowed his eyebrows.

‘Christina Mercado, huh?’ Stu said. ‘I don’t think I’ve heard you mention that name before.’

‘We’ve been engaged six years.’

‘That’s what it said - high school sweetheart. I didn’t know you were engaged, though.’

‘So what’s up?’ Jake took off his pants, still looking at himself.

‘I just wanted to congratulate you,’ Stu said, ‘and I wanted to give you some more good news. Spoke to Ken again late yesterday, and he okayed the PT in the clubhouse.’

‘What about the SUV limo?’

‘That’s gonna be a tough nut,’ Stu said, ‘and I really advise you to back off on that. Just play it cool, have a killer year next year; then the ball’s back in our court. We can go in there with whatever team we negotiate with, whether it’s the Dodgers or the Yankees or whoever, and ask for the world.’

‘I got a better idea,’ Jake said. ‘Call him back and tell him, “No limo, no Jake-O.”‘

‘Jake, I really—’

Jake ended the call and went down the hallway to the bathroom. He took a long shower, then was tweezing a few nearly microscopic hairs around his eyebrows when his cell rang. The display showed it was Christina, so he let his voice mail pick up. About ten minutes later, when he was finished tweezing, he listened to her message:

‘Jake, I don’t know why you’re not picking up. I just got to work and saw the article - I can’t believe you did this to me. I mean, we didn’t even discuss it. I’m so pissed off at you right now. I just can’t understand why—’

Jake deleted the message without listening to the rest of it. He had no idea what was going on in that chick’s head, why she was freaking so much about everything. This should’ve been the happiest day of her life. Her plans to marry Jake Thomas were announced in the
Daily News,
and the story was spreading across the country like the fucking West Nile virus. Other girls would’ve killed to be in her place right now, and here she was, finding something to bitch about.

Suddenly feeling a little down, Jake returned to the guest room and decided on the Ritmo Mvndo watch instead of the Charriol. After spending a few minutes putting on his Creme de la Mer face cream and styling his hair with Frederic Fekkai Texturizing Balm, he dabbed himself with some Acqua di Parma cologne and went downstairs.

Donna Thomas was in the kitchen, mixing batter in a bowl.

‘I’m making you pancakes.’

‘I don’t eat carbs,’ Jake said. ‘How about some scrambled egg whites?’

‘Oh . . . okay. Why don’t you sit down and relax? You’ve been home almost a whole day and we’ve hardly spent any time together.’

She started cracking eggs, and Jake sat at the kitchen table. Outside, fans were chanting his name.

‘There they go again,’ Donna said. ‘You know a few of them were here all night?’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah, these three girls. They rang the bell after midnight, asking if you came home yet; then they were still here in the morning. So many people love you, Jake.’

Donna made the egg whites, and Jake was eating them with a glass of skim milk when Antowain entered and said, ‘There he is -my son the party animal.’

‘Here we go again,’ Jake said.

‘I’m surprised you’re awake,’ Antowain said. ‘I thought you’d be sleeping in till at least noon today.’

‘Come on,’ Donna said to her husband.

But Antowain continued, ‘So where’d you go? Clubbing? Hit the town hard? Get your picture on Page Six of the
Post?’

‘I was with Christina.’ ‘Oh, yeah, your bride to be. Funny, but I never heard you talk about her too much the past few years. Actually I didn’t know you two were engaged anymore.’

‘Please, Antowain,’ Donna said.

‘What, I’m just telling the truth,’ Antowain said. ‘How many times has he even seen her lately, and now he’s marrying her?’

‘You have no idea what you’re talking about,’ Jake said.

‘So why don’t you tell me the way it is?’ Antowain said. ‘You gonna tell me you’re in love with this girl? You’re Romeo and Juliet?’

‘Antowain,’ Donna said.

‘Actually, I am in love with her,’ Jake said.

Antowain smiled. ‘Who do you think you talkin’ to? You know nobody knows you better than me. You know I can see right through you. I don’t know why you’re marryin’ this girl, what you think it’s gonna get you, but it has to have something to do with you, because that’s all you ever think about.’

Jake got up and said, ‘I don’t gotta take this shit.’

‘That’s enough,’ Donna said. ‘Both of you just stop it.’

‘No, it’s okay, Mom, I’m used to it. He never gives me any respect.’

‘Want respect, earn some,’ Antowain said. ‘Take your damn life seriously for a change.’

Shaking his head, Jake went upstairs to the guest room and locked the door. His father was such an asshole. Jake didn’t know if Antowain was jealous because he couldn’t make it as a pro athlete and his son was living out his dream, but nothing was ever good enough for that prick. Even when Jake was a kid, in Little League, Antowain gave him hell. If Jake got a double, Antowain would ask, ‘How come you didn’t hit a home run?’ Jake thought Antowain would lay off in high school, when it was obvious Jake was on his way to becoming a superstar, but the badgering continued. In a game against Tilden, Jake hit a monstrous walk-off home run and hammed it up a little, taking his time rounding the bases, and Antowain gave him hell for it. He told Jake that he had no respect for the game and warned him that he’d never make it to the majors with that attitude. Now here it was, seven years later, and Antowain was still criticizing Jake every chance he got. But Jake was long past feeling bad, or even caring about anything his old man said to him. He knew there was nothing he could ever do to impress the old bastard, so what was the point in trying?

Jake sat on the edge of the bed and turned on the bullshit twenty-inch TV to ESPN. Tony Gwynn was giving his analysis about the latest National League Championship series game. Bored because the commentary had nothing to do with himself, Jake fell asleep. When he woke up he checked his watch, surprised to see he’d been out for a couple of hours. He started channel-surfing, stopping on some dumb cop movie on Showtime. After a couple of minutes, he realized he’d had sex with one of the actresses - Lara - no, Laura . . . yes Laura. He wondered if she still lived in New York and, if so, if she was in town this weekend.

A couple of minutes later his cell started ringing. He checked the caller ID and saw it was Christina. Figuring that if he didn’t pick up she’d keep calling, he clicked on and said, ‘Hey, baby, I was just thinking about you.’

‘Didn’t you get my message?’ Christina said, all bitchy.

Remembering the message, Jake wished he hadn’t picked up.

‘Yeah, just got it,’ Jake said, staring at the TV, at Laura’s bee-stung lips. ‘I was just about to call you back.’

‘Why couldn’t you at least tell me first?’ Christina said.

Man, Laura looked hot. Maybe he shouldn’t have stopped calling her.

‘Are you there?’ Christina asked.

‘Yeah, I’m here, I’m here.’

‘So?’

Staring at Laura’s breasts as she leaned over to interrogate a prisoner, Jake said, ‘I’m sorry, baby. I promise I’ll never let anything like that happen again.’

‘That’s not good enough. How could you do this to me?’

‘Holy shit.’

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Are you even paying attention to me?’