“I’m not worried about that.” She looked up into his face, illuminated by an orange Miller light shining above the door. “I’m not wearing any underwear.”
He froze for a few seconds, then smiled. “Well, there you go. We have something in common. Neither am I.”
John followed Caroline Foster-Duffy through the entry hall of Virgil’s Bainbridge estate. Her blond hair was streaked with gray and fine lines had settled in the corners of her eyes. She was one of those women fortunate enough to mature with wisdom and grace. She had the wisdom not to fight her age with brassy hair dye or cosmetic surgery, and the grace to look beautiful despite her sixty-five years.
“He’s been expecting you,” she said as they passed the formal dining room. She paused at a set of double mahogany doors and looked up at John with concern shining in her pale blue eyes. “I’m going to have to ask you to keep your visit short. I know Virgil called you to meet with him tonight, but he’s been working harder than usual the past couple of days. He’s tired, but he won’t rest. I know something is wrong, but he won’t share it with me. Do you know what has happened to upset him? Is it business?”
“I don’t know,” John answered. He was into the second year of his three-year contract and didn’t have to worry about negotiations for another year, so he doubted Virgil had called him to discuss his contract. And besides, he didn’t handle negotiations personally, he paid a sports management corporation to take care of his professional interests. “I assumed he wanted to talk about his draft choices,” he said, although he did think Virgil’s request to talk to him in person was peculiar, especially at nine on a Friday night.
A frown wrinkled Caroline’s brow before she turned and opened the door behind her. “John’s here,” she announced as she walked into Virgil’s office. John followed her into a room filled with cherry wood and leather, sculptures of Japanese fishermen and Currier & Ives lithographs. The different textures blended and created an impression of wealth and taste. “But I’m only going to let him stay for half an hour,” she continued. “Then I’m going to make him leave so that you can get your rest.”
Virgil looked up from several papers scattered across the executive desk in front of him. “Shut the door on your way out,” was his response to his wife.
Her lips flattened into a thin line, but she said nothing and backed out of the room.
“Why don’t you have a seat?” Virgil motioned to a chair on the opposite side of his desk.
John looked into the older man’s face, and he knew why he’d been summoned. Bitterness and fatigue pulled at the little pouches beneath Virgil’s eyes. He looked every bit of his seventy-five years. John sat in a leather wing chair and waited.
“The other day you seemed genuinely surprised to see Georgeanne Howard on television.”
“I was.”
“You didn’t know she had her own program here in Seattle?”
“No.”
“How can that be, John? The two of you are quite close.”
“Obviously we’re not that close,” John answered, wondering exactly how much Virgil knew.
Virgil picked up a sheet of paper and handed it across the desk. “This says you are a liar.”
John took the document, and his gaze quickly scanned the copy of Lexie’s birth certificate. He was listed as Lexie’s father, which normally would have pleased him, but he didn’t appreciate anyone digging into his personal life. He tossed the paper back onto the desk and met Virgil’s stare. “Where did you get that?”
Virgil waved off John’s question with his hand. “Is it true?”
“Yes, it is. Where did you get it?”
Virgil shrugged. “I’ve had someone doing a little checking on Georgeanne, and imagine my surprise when I saw your name.” He held up several court documents along with John’s legal acknowledgment of paternity. Virgil didn’t hand them over, but he didn’t need to. John had his own copies at home. “Apparently you fathered a child with Georgeanne.”
“You know I did, so why not cut the bullshit and get to the point.”
Virgil set the papers back down. “That’s one thing I’ve always liked about you, John. You don’t pussyfoot around anything.” His gaze never wavered as he asked, “Did you have sex with my fianc?e before or after she left me standing in my own backyard looking like a ridiculous old fool?”
Even though John didn’t like anyone digging into his past, or appreciate the personal question, he did think it was fair. He respected Virgil enough to believe he deserved an answer. “I met Georgeanne for the first time after she left the wedding. I’d never seen her before she came running out of your house and asked me for a ride. She wasn’t wearing a wedding dress, and I didn’t know who she was.”
Virgil sat back in his chair. “But at some point you did know.”
“Yes.”
“When you found out who she was, you slept with her anyway.”
John frowned. “Obviously.” The way he saw things, he’d done Virgil a big favor by taking Georgeanne away from that wedding. She could get downright mean, and John didn’t think the older man could take being told he wasn’t memorable in bed. Not like John.
Virgil was better off without her. She could make a man hot and half-hard, then tell him that he was embarrassing himself. Then with that voice of hers dripping honey and daggers, remind of his second marriage to a stripper. She was vicious, no doubt about it.
“How long were you lovers?”