Off the Record (6 page)

The women all start screaming and tittering in excitement that one of them has made head-way with Linc. No pun intended.

My stomach flips and starts to burn at the thought of some woman giving Linc a blow job not but a few hours after he asked me out to dinner. My skin actually crawls imagining it. Not wanting to hear anymore, I decide to use the bathroom in Linc’s bedroom.

I head to a door that is partially opened with soft light coming out. I assume that is the master bedroom. Just as I get to the doorway, I look in and see two people kissing.

No, kissing it’s exactly right. The woman has her back against the wall. The man is standing in front of her, kissing her neck. Her arms are raised above her head and he has them pinned to the wall with one hand. I can feel the redness creeping up my neck when I notice where his other hand is. He has it under her short skirt and buried between her legs. The woman has her head thrown back and her eyes closed, soft moans coming out of her mouth. The man is softly kissing her neck while his hand moves against her.

I’m just about to turn away in embarrassment when I notice the man is wearing khaki shorts and a white t-shirt. Holy shit, it’s Linc.

I stumble backward from the doorway and spin around. Molten anger wells up inside of me and flashes brutally hot. All in one night, Linc asks me out on a date, gets a blow job from a stranger, and now it looks like he’s getting ready to bang some other woman.

Only one thing comes to my mind, and it practically screams at me...Linc Caldwell is the scummiest man-whore I’ve ever met.

I immediately think of Marc. Images of him and Kelli screwing on my bed flood my brain and I taste bile in the back of my mouth. What is it with men?

How did I miss Linc’s sliminess? He seemed so down to earth when we were talking. So genuine. He seemed interested in me, and that made me feel nice, particularly coming from someone as hot, rich and famous as Linc Caldwell.

As I wonder what in the hell is wrong with men, I also wonder what in the hell is wrong with me that I keep opening myself up to pretty words that fall from men’s mouths?

I leave the condo as my fury continues to build. I’m ashamed of myself that I could be fooled by someone like Linc. I should have known better, particularly after what Marc did to me. After what my father did to me and my mother. Plain and simple, men are not to be trusted. When am I going to finally learn that lesson?

All of the embarrassment, pain and humiliation I’ve seemed to have taken from men weighs heavily on me. It’s suffocating and I need something to relieve it. I cannot wait to get home and write this article.

I’m sitting at my desk, my laptop screen glowing brightly. I take a sip of the chai tea I had made for myself and think about what to write. My anger has diminished a bit but in its place is an unquenchable thirst for vengeance.

The folder that Linc’s agent gave me lies on the desk. I consider opening it up and flipping through it but I immediately give up on this idea. If I’m going to write an article about the true nature of Linc Caldwell, I need to be fully committed. No...this will not be a fluffy lifestyle piece that focuses on Linc’s charitable works or what styling product he uses for his hair. This will have a bit more grit to it.

I know it’s probably going to piss off some Rangers fans, but there are plenty of Islanders and Devils fans that will get a kick out of this.

I smile to myself in glee. Luckily, the lifestyle editor is a bit of a rebel herself and she’ll relish a spicy piece to put in the paper.

I start to type...

RANGERS’ GOALIE SCORES...A LOT!

By:  Ever Montgomery

Yes, goalies can score!

Line up, ladies. Apparently Linc Caldwell, the New York Rangers’ star goalie, can be yours for the low, low price of a few flirtatious words or a low cut dress. And this offer doesn’t seem to have an expiration date or a limitation to how much you can have.

You see, I had the pleasure of Mr. Caldwell’s company the other night to write a lifestyle piece on him. Instead, I was treated to a bit more than I really wanted to see.

Just a few minutes before meeting me, I watched as Mr. Caldwell kissed on a half-naked woman. Then just a mere half hour into our interview, he had the temerity to hit on me, which I politely shut down. Not to be deterred, he moved on to a third woman who claims they got pretty down and dirty with one another. I finally witnessed him finishing off the night with a fourth woman in a very compromising position.

Now, I know Mr. Caldwell is one of the NHL’s finest hockey players, and this opinion piece offers no assessment of his hockey abilities. I’ll leave that to our esteemed sports writers.

But for those of you who want to know the man behind the mask, don’t bother looking too hard. It’s quite a shallow pool you’d be gazing into.

When I asked Mr. Caldwell how he got so many dates, he proudly said all he had to do was flash his washboard abs and huge bank account, and the women just flock to him. I’m sorry, Mr. Caldwell...but some women do need more than muscles and money to make them happy.

I almost, at one point, felt sorry for Mr. Caldwell. I imagine his life of meaningless sex and one-night stands has got to leave a man feeling somewhat empty. But that sympathy was quickly diminished when he even admitted to pissing a woman off so bad, she threw a shoe at him, causing that renowned and much discussed scar on his chin. It seems the scoundrel doesn’t learn from his mistakes.

I wish I could report that there was more depth to this wayward soul, but sadly, I cannot. The most I can offer you is that he is a damn fine goalie for New York. If you’re looking for more than that, you might be a bit disappointed. I know I was.

I print the article and read through it to check for any errors. After a few minor tweaks, I know I have it perfect. I know this will do nothing to change Linc’s behavior, but if it embarrasses him even slightly, I’ll feel vindicated.

Attaching the article to an email, I pause before hitting the “Send” button to the lifestyle editor. For a brief moment, I again wonder if I’m overreacting. But no...I’m reporting the truth as I saw it. These are my opinions and I’m entitled to have them. I have my facts down straight.

And I get it. I know I’m lashing out. I was totally helpless when my father crushed me. I was unsuspecting and undeserving of what Marc did to me. I let both of those go without so much as batting an eye. And then Linc Caldwell so quickly lumps me into a category with those other women and that makes me beyond furious. Now, I finally feel like I’m able to make a bit of a stand for all of those hurts that have been pushed upon me.

I’m stepping off the elevator to my condo, having just finished my morning run. I freakin’ love Sundays. It’s the one day that I don’t feel compelled to really do anything. Today, I think I may just lounge on the couch and play Call of Duty on my Xbox.

As I juggle the keys to my door with the newspaper and coffee I’m holding, I glance up and see Nix standing there.  He offers me an uneasy smile.

“Morning, Sunshine. Just finish your run?”

“Yeah.  And not that I don’t enjoy seeing your handsome mug, but what are you doing here?”

Nix looks pointedly at the paper I’ve got tucked under my arm. “I assume you haven’t read the paper yet.”

I glance down at it. “I was just getting ready to enjoy a cup of java on the balcony with my paper. Anything good in it?”

He’s silent for a minute and I feel a slight foreboding. Then Nix says, “The article that Ever Montgomery did on you is in there. It’s not very nice.”

Not nice? Why wouldn’t it be nice?  We had a really nice interview and got along quite nicely. It should be a nice article!

The tone of Nix’s voice sets me on edge.

I hand Nix my coffee and unlock my door. He follows me in and I throw my keys on the table. Nix takes a sip of my coffee and groans with pleasure. I just give him the evil eye as I open the paper, flipping through it until I find what I’m looking for. I recognize the small picture of Ever that is at the beginning of the article, and damned if her blue eyes don’t pop even in black and white newsprint.

Tearing my eyes away from the beauty of Ever, I read the title out loud, “
RANGERS’ GOALIE SCORES...A LOT! 
What the fuck?”

“It gets worse, man.” I had forgotten Nix was standing there. I continue reading the article and after every line I finish, I can feel my blood pressure rising incrementally. When I get to the end, I stare dumbfounded at the words, not sure if this is some type of joke. I notice my hands are clenched and the paper is crumpled in my grip.

“Linc? Are you okay?”

“Did Emily know she was going to do this?” I know it sounds accusatory but I’m hurt by the fact that Emily introduced me to this she-devil.

“Of course she didn’t know. She’s just as upset as you are. She’s been trying to call Ever all morning but she’s not answering.”

I blow out a pent up breath of frustration. I could use some of Nix’s deep breathing exercises he practices to help calm my own racing heart rate. I throw the paper to the floor and grab my coffee out of Nix’s hand to take a sip. I realize my hand is shaking.

I can’t believe how much this fucking bothers me. I know I’m not a saint, but I am in no way a man-whore like she suggests. In fact, I’m pretty selective and limited on who I will take to my bed. The fact that she has published this bullshit for the entire world to see has me mortified. What about all of the kids that look up to me as a role model? What will they think?

And just thinking about that causes my fury to launch out of the stratosphere. Without thinking, I pull my phone out of my pocket and dial my lawyer. When he answers, I tell him to get me an appointment with the Senior Editor for The New York Post and I want to meet him within the next two hours. And I tell him Ever Montgomery needs to be there. When my lawyer tells me that it might be difficult to get an appointment on such short notice, I snarl at him that if they aren’t there at the appointed time, we will be filing a libel and slander lawsuit against The Post first thing on Monday. I hang up on my lawyer without giving him a chance to respond.

“What are you going to do,” Nix asks.

“I’m going to make her fucking pay for this,” I growl. “Where did she come up with that shit? She seemed so nice when we were talking. What a fucking bitch!”

I am so mad right now, I want to punch a hole in my wall, but I can’t do anything to hurt my glove hand. I start pacing the living room, subconsciously running my hand through my hair. Nix sits down on the couch and watches me with wary eyes.

“What in the world did you say during that interview?” Nix asks.

I look at him, my eyes wild. “Nothing. I mean, nothing that would have caused her to write that article. She makes me sound like a real douche-bag. What the hell are my fans going to think about that?  What is Kyle going to think?”