Simply Irresistible (33 page)

“Who else are you looking at?”

Virgil hit the fast-forward button and together the three men reviewed other prospects. The team trainer brought in a stack of paper and sat across from Nystrom. While the video played, the two men went over each sheet.

“Your body fat is less than twelve percent, Kowalsky,” the coach commented without looking up.

John wasn’t surprised. He couldn’t afford to let weight slow him down anymore, and he’d worked hard to keep it off. “What about Corbet?” he inquired of his teammate. The Chinooks right winger had reported to training camp looking as if he’d spent his summer rooting around an all-you-can-eat barbecue pit.

“Good God!” Nystrom swore. “He’s twenty percent fat!”

“Who is?” Virgil asked, and hit the stop button. The tape ejected and a local station flashed a Pampers commercial on the screen.

“That damn Corbet,” the trainer answered.

“I’m going to have to light a fire under his lard ass,” the coach threatened. “I’ll have to suspend him or send him to Jenny Craig.”

“Get him a trainer,” John suggested.

“Get him on one of Caroline’s diets,” Virgil suggested. “When she goes on one of her diets, she gets real cranky.” Caroline was Virgil’s wife of four years, and only a decade younger than her husband. As far as John could tell, she was a nice woman, and they seemed happy together. “Give him a cup of white rice and two ounces of dry chicken before each game, then sit back and watch him kick ass.”

The Pampers commercial ended and a voice John hadn’t heard in almost two months spoke to him from the television. “You made it back just in time,” Georgeanne said from the twelve-inch screen. “I’m about to add a shot of sin, and y’all don’t want to miss this.”

“What the hell...” John muttered, and sat forward.

Georgeanne picked up a bottle of Grand Marnier and poured about a shot into a bowl. “Now, if you have children, y’all will want to set aside a bit of the mousse before you add the liqueur, or liquid sin as my grandmother used to refer to all alcoholic beverages.” Her tilty green eyes looked into the camera and she smiled. “If you must abstain from alcohol for religious reasons, are under the age of twenty-one, or if you prefer your sin served straight up, you can choose to forgo the Grand Marnier altogether and add a little grated orange peel instead.”

He stared at her, like a dumb mesmerized rodent, remembering the night he’d served her a big dose of straight-up sin. Then the next morning, she’d whacked him with a stupid little doll and had accused him of using her. She was a lunatic. A vindictive crazy woman.

She wore a white blouse with a big embroidered collar and a dark blue apron that tied around her neck. Her hair was pulled back from her face, and little pearls dotted her earlobes. Someone had made an effort to subdue her overblown sexuality, but it didn’t matter. It was all there. It was there in her seductive eyes and full red mouth. Surely he wasn’t the only one who could see it. She looked ridiculous, like a
Bay Watch
babe playing at a cooking show. He watched her spoon mousse into little porcelain pots and keep up a steady stream of chatter at the same time. When she finished, she raised her hand, parted her lips, and sucked chocolate from her knuckles. He scoffed because he knew,
he just knew
, she was doing that shit for ratings. She was a mother, for God’s sake. Mothers of a young daughters shouldn’t behave like sex kittens on television.

The television suddenly went black, and John became aware of Virgil for the first time since Georgeanne’s face had flashed on the screen. The owner looked stunned and a little white beneath his tan. But other than shock, his face gave nothing away. Not anger, nor rage. Not love, nor a sense of betrayal, for the woman who’d left him at the altar. Virgil stood, tossed the remote on the couch, and without a word, walked out the door.

John watched him go, then turned his attention to the other men. They were still in a discussion about body fat. They hadn’t seen Georgeanne, but even if they had, John wasn’t sure they would realize who she was. Who she was to him. Who she was to Virgil.

* * *

Georgeanne felt as if she were falling. She’d taped six shows, and the feelings got only slightly better each time. She told herself to relax and have fun. She wasn’t on live television, and if she messed up, she could stop and start over. But still, her nerves churned in her stomach as she looked into the camera and confessed, “I don’t know if y’all know this, but I’m from Dallas— the land of big hats and big hair. I’ve studied cuisine from all over the world, but I earned my spurs cooking Tex-Mex. When most people think of Tex-Mex, they think tacos. Well, I’m going to show you something a little different.”

For over an hour, Georgeanne chopped mangoes, chilies, and tomatoes. When she was finished, she pulled an already-prepared, simple yet elegant dinner with a Texas theme out of the oven. “Next week,” she said, standing beside a vase of black-eyed Susans, “We’re going to take a break from the kitchen, and I’m going to show you how to personalize your picture frames. It’s real easy to do and a lot of fun. See y’all then.”

The light on top of the camera blinked off, and Georgeanne let out a deep breath. Today’s taping hadn’t gone too badly. She’d only dropped the pork loin once and read the words wrong three times. Not like the first show. The first show had taken seven hours to tape. It had already aired a few days ago, and she was so positive that her chocolate mousse had bombed with the viewers that she hadn’t the nerve to watch it herself. Charles had seen the show, of course, and had insisted that she wasn’t boring and didn’t look fat and stupid. She didn’t trust him not to humor her.

Lexie stepped over several cables taped to the floor and walked toward Georgeanne. “I gotta go to the bathroom,” she announced.

Georgeanne reached behind her back and untied her apron. She was wired with a portable microphone.

“Give me a few minutes and I’ll take you.”

“I can go by myself.”

“I’ll take her,” a young production assistant offered.

Georgeanne smiled her gratitude.

Lexie frowned and took the assistant’s hand. “I’m not five anymore,” she grumbled.

Georgeanne watched her daughter go and pulled the apron over her head. One of the conditions to her doing the show was that she be allowed to bring Lexie to the tapings. Charles had agreed and had given Lexie the title of “creative consultant.” Lexie helped with ideas, and she came to the studio and helped Georgeanne prepare the finished dishes beforehand.

“You were great today,” Charles greeted her as he emerged from the back of the studio. He waited until her microphone was taken away before he put his arm around her shoulders. “Viewer response from the first show looks real good.”

Georgeanne gave a sigh of relief and looked up at him. She didn’t want him to keep her show because of their personal relationship. “Are you sure you’re not just saying that to be nice to me?”

He placed his mouth at her temple. “I’m sure.” She felt his smile when he said, “If your numbers stink, I promise I’ll fire you.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He kissed the side of her head, then pulled back. “Why don’t you and Lexie have dinner with me and Amber?”

Georgeanne grabbed her purse from behind the kitchen counter that served as part of the studio set. “Can’t. John is picking up Lexie tonight for their first visit.”

Charles’s brows drew together over his gray eyes. “Do you want me to be there with you?”

Georgeanne shook her head. “I’ll be okay,” she said, but she didn’t think she would. She was afraid that after Lexie left, she’d fall apart, and she wanted to be alone if she did. Charles had been a very good friend, but he couldn’t help her now, not this time.

Three days after her return from Cannon Beach, she’d told Charles about the trip. She’d told him everything except the part about the sex. He hadn’t been happy to hear she’d spent time with John, but he hadn’t asked a lot of questions either. Instead, he’d given her the name of his ex-wife’s attorney and reoffered the half-hour television show. She’d needed the money and had accepted with the conditions that the shows be taped instead of live and that Lexie be welcome to accompany her.

A week later, she’d signed a contract.

“What does Lexie think about spending time with her father?”

Georgeanne hooked her leather bag over her shoulder. “I don’t really know. I know she’s a little confused about her last name now that it’s Kowalsky. She has a hard time spelling it, but other than that, she doesn’t say much.”

“She doesn’t talk about him?”

For several weeks after Lexie had learned that John was her father, she’d been cold and distant toward Georgeanne. Georgeanne had tried to explain why she’d lied, and Lexie had listened quietly. Then she’d directed all of her anger at her mother, hurting them both before letting it go. Their lives would never be the same. But for the most part, she was the same little girl now that she’d been before she’d learned of John. Although there were also times when she was unusually quiet. Georgeanne didn’t have to ask her what she was thinking, she just knew. “I’ve told her John was coming to pick her up for a visit tonight. She didn’t say much about it, just asked when he’d bring her back home.”

Lexie returned from the bathroom and the three of them walked from the studio toward the front entrance of the building. “Guess what, Charles.”

“What?”

“I’m in the first grade. My teacher’s name is Mrs. Berger. Like hamburger without the ham. I like her ‘cause she’s nice and ’cause she gots a gerbil in our classroom. He’s brown and white and has little tiny ears. Everyone named him Stimpy. I wanted to name him Pongo, but I didn’t get to.” She kept up a steady stream of chatter all the way through the building and out into the parking lot. But in the car on the drive home, she was very quiet. Georgeanne tried to talk to her, but she was clearly distracted.

From a block away, Georgeanne noticed John’s Range Rover parked in front of her house. She saw him sitting on her front porch, his feet apart and his forearms resting on his thighs. She pulled her car into the driveway and glanced over at the passenger seat. Lexie stared straight ahead at the garage door and sucked her top lip between her teeth. Her little hands tightly gripped the clipboard Charles had given her so she could write down her ideas for future shows. On the paper she’d drawn several misshaped cats and dogs and had written the words “pet sho.”

“Are you nervous?” she asked her daughter, feeling her own butterflies take flight.

Lexie shrugged.

“If you don’t want to go, I don’t think he’ll make you,” Georgeanne said, hoping she spoke the truth.

Lexie was silent for a while before she asked, “Do you think he likes me?”

Georgeanne’s throat constricted. Lexie, who was always so sure of herself, always so sure that everyone just automatically loved her, wasn’t so sure of her daddy. “Of course he likes you. He liked you the very first time he saw you.”

“Oh,” was all she said.

Together they got out of the car and moved up the sidewalk. From behind her big black sunglasses, Georgeanne watched him stand. He looked casual and at ease in a pair of beige twill pants, white T-shirt, and plaid dress shirt left unbuttoned and untucked. His dark hair had been cut shorter than the last time she’d seen him; the front fell in spikes over his forehead. His gaze was riveted on his daughter.

“Hey there, Lexie.”

She looked down at her clipboard, suddenly engrossed. “Hi.”

“What have you been up to since the last time I saw you?”

“Nothin‘.”

“How’s first grade?”

She wouldn’t look at him. “Okay.”

“Do you like your teacher?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What’s her name?”

“Mrs. Berger.”

The tension was almost tangible. Lexie was friendlier to the mailman than she was to her own father, and they both knew it. John lifted his gaze to Georgeanne, his blue eyes accusing. Georgeanne bristled. She might not like him, but she hadn’t said one word against him—well, not within Lexie’s hearing anyway. Just because she wasn’t willing to lie down and let him walk all over her anymore didn’t mean she would try to influence Lexie in any way. She was surprised by Lexie’s uncharacteristic bout of shyness, but she knew the reason. The cause for her reserve stood in front of her like a big, muscular giant, and she didn’t know how to behave around him now.

“Why don’t you tell John about your gerbil,” she suggested, introducing the subject of Lexie’s most recent fixation.

“We gots a gerbil.”

“Where?”

“School.”

John couldn’t believe this was the same little girl he’d first met in June. He looked down at her and wondered where the chatterbox had gone.

“Would you like to come inside?” Georgeanne asked.

He would have preferred to shake her and demand to know what she’d done to his daughter. “No. We need to get going.”

“Where?”

He looked into those big sunglasses of hers and thought about telling her it was none of her damn business. “I want to show Lexie where I live.” He reached for the clipboard and slid it from Lexie’s grasp. “I’ll have her back at nine,” he said, and handed the clipboard to Georgeanne.

“‘Bye, Mommy. I love you.”

Georgeanne looked down and pasted on one of those fake smiles of hers. “Give me some sugar, precious darlin‘.”

Lexie stood on her tiptoes and kissed her mother good-bye. As John watched, he knew that he wanted what Georgeanne had. He wanted his child’s love and affection. He wanted her to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him and tell him she loved him. He wanted to hear her call him daddy.

He was sure that once he got Lexie to his house and she relaxed, once she was away from Georgeanne’s influence, she would turn back into the little girl he’d come to know.

But it didn’t happen. The little girl he picked up at seven was the same girl he took back home at nine. Talking to her was like skating across soft ice—slow and as aggravating as hell. She hadn’t had much to say about his houseboat, and she hadn’t immediately wanted to know where all the bathrooms were located, which surprised him because in Cannon Beach, bathroom locations had seemed like serious business to her.