Game of Love (13 page)

“Out of the way,” someone commanded. The sea of bodies parted as her security staff closed around her, building a protective human shield. They marched her through fans, reporters, and paparazzi.

She was inundated by the voices, the inane questions…

–
Is it true? Are you quitting tennis?

…Odd requests…

–
Can you sign my car?

…Pleas for surprising details.

–
Is it true you and Johnny Flauto have rekindled your romance?

On that one she wanted to deliver a few choice words, but she kept her composure and maintained a steady gait until she slid into her waiting car. The locks engaged.

“Xavi, you didn’t have to pick me up.”

“I wanted to pick you up,” he said with a warm smile. “To welcome you home.”

“It’s lovely to be back.”

“The bastards got word about your flight hours ago.” His eyes hardened. Always her protector and guru.

With the help of her security team and airport police, the car rolled away.

“How’s Mari?” she asked.

“Now that you’re home, she is happy. She is preparing
Crema Catalana
for you.”

The mere mention of the Catalonian dessert made her salivate. “I can’t wait.”

“We will eat, then over coffee and dessert, we will talk.”

Finding Xavi and Mari three years earlier had been serendipitous. She had been searching for information on her birth parents when she’d met them. Like her birth father, they were also from Spain. They had been friends with her birth mother before the tragedy that left newborn Gemma an orphan. In no time, they became part of her extended family, and when Xavi and Mari’s son started college in Los Angeles, Gemma purchased a home in Malibu and transplanted them there. She trusted them with everything–home and soul. They offered unconditional love and respect. When she came to Malibu, she was home.

“Yes, there is plenty to talk about,” she said. But the urgency for visiting seemed to have vanished. After the French Open loss, she’d felt dizzy again and her insides churned, just like in Australia. She had wanted to curtail the anxiety before it spun out of control. Somehow, it was all but gone. Was that because of Andre? In so many ways, his story was her story. Had she found her kindred spirit?

She removed the napkin with Andre’s number from her purse and took a whiff, hoping the scent of his cologne was still detectable. She wanted–needed–to see him again.

Andre didn’t wait for Roger. He rushed off the plane and practically ran to the customs gate, beating the large crowd. He walked past the awaiting company car, toward the taxi station. He was in a great mood and didn’t want Roger to irritate him.

“Where to?” the taxi attendant asked.

“Santa Monica.”

He rolled down the window in the cab. The dry afternoon heat rushed in, practically choking him. And although the air-conditioner blew cool air, he needed real air. Each city had its distinctive smell, but all airports and the surrounding areas smelled the same: like fuel. He longed for the scent of the ocean.

He texted Roger. “
Sorry, had to run. Talk to you later.
” He hoped that would keep the man at bay.

Andre entered his condo with a singular goal in mind: get fresh ocean air. Fast. After a quick shower, he took Pacific Coast Highway. Convertible top down, he inhaled the warm rush of the air and exhaled slowly. The scent of the sea always took him back to his youth in Spain. His safe haven.

He parked his car at Zuma Beach, the north end of Malibu. It was early Sunday afternoon and beach-dwellers littered the coast, sunbathing and swimming. Farther north, a film crew marked off an area. A typical day at the beach.

He sat on the sand, absorbing everything around him. A large wave crashed, and the white wash came up to his feet, sinking his toes. Seagulls drifted overhead, their cries hoarse. After a few waves, his feet were completely submerged in the wet sand. One wave at a time, he was sinking deeper and deeper. In trouble, on many levels.

He wanted to spend more time with Gemma, but time with her meant time away from work, jeopardizing his contract, his bonus, his sanity. None of which he was willing to risk. Not after all this time. But she was different than all others. She understood him and his chaotic life.

He studied his cell phone. Five missed calls. One text message. All from Roger. Andre willed the phone to ring, willed her to call him. As if on cue, the phone rang. Not Roger, not Gemma, but a call he would gladly take.

“Hello, sir,” he said.

“After all these years, will you stop with the ‘sir’ business? Just Jeffrey,” the man said.

“Some habits are hard to break,” Andre said.

Since the passing of his uncle, this man had stepped in to fill the gap in Andre’s life. Jeffery was more than just a close family friend—he deserved all the respect Andre could give.

“I understand you were in Paris. Why didn’t you fly up to London to visit?”

“I apologize. Something happened that I couldn’t pass up.”

“Let me guess, another critical project that could not wait?”

“No, a personal break. I actually had fun.”

“Well, call the Pope and have the bells rung at the Sistine Chapels. This is fantastic news,” Jeffrey said. “Speaking of chapels, why haven’t you confirmed your attendance for my daughter’s engagement?”

“I’m sorry, I won’t be able to make it to Emily’s engagement. I’ll be on a classified project during the same time.”

“Another classified project. Can’t you schedule a few days off? We are practically family. It would mean a lot to have you with us.”

“As much as I want to–”

“If you wanted to, you would. You are driven by the wrong motivational forces. You need to pace yourself. Take the foot off the accelerator.”

“The finish line is near.”

“That’s rubbish and you know it. The finish line is not real. Enjoy life. You’re young. Your uncle would have told you the same. I realize I’m not your uncle, no one is, but someone has to tell you.”

“Six more months and the worst will be over.”

“And then what happens? Does M&T actually let you walk away? Even if they do, how much of your life will you have forsaken in the process?”

“I need to see it through. I want my bonus.”

“Forget the bonus. It’s just money.”

“I’ve worked too hard to leave that on the table.”

“And if you burn out before that? I hear things, Andre. I worry about you.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I hope you’re right.”

A beat. “I do apologize.”

“Don’t apologize, use your brains to find a way to join us.”

How much more would he have to forfeit from life? How much had he lost already?

Thirty minutes later, he took the winding canyons through the Malibu hills to Agoura to his parents’ home. He didn’t visit them often, but felt the need today because his uncle was on his mind. He helped himself in. Good to see his key still worked. The house was silent, which meant they were in the yard.

He found his father on his knees, tending to his tomatoes.

“
Hola,
flaco
,” he said even though his father’s midsection hadn’t been
flaco
in more than a decade. But that was his nickname. The one his uncle had always used.

Gabriel straightened. “Your mom’s not home. Yoga or Pilates or something like that.” He rose slowly and turned to face Andre.

Typical. The dry business executive through and through.
Hi Dad, I missed you too.
He brushed it off. “Will she be long?”

“Don’t know,” he said as he tugged at his soiled gloves. “When did you arrive?”

“A couple of hours ago.”

“Came for Memorial Day?”

“Came to spend time with Linda. To be here for her.”

Gabriel was about to say something, then the significance of the weekend registered. His eyes dropped. “I’d forgotten. Tomorrow would’ve been their anniversary.”

“That’s right. Have you called your niece or sister-in-law lately?” Andre asked his dad.

Gabriel opened the outdoor fridge and got two bottles of beer, offering one to Andre. “Your mom has, I think.”

“I didn’t ask about Mom. I asked about you.”

Gabriel stared into Andre’s eyes. “I’m not going to get into this with you again.”

“This has nothing to do with me, Dad. It’s about you and your late brother. It’s about–”

“It was always about you, Andre. You can’t be so naive to not see the issues my brother and I had were always about you.”

“Your brother didn’t have any issues. You were the one with a chip.”

Gabriel guzzled half the bottle. “That’s right. He had no issues. He just felt it was okay to parent you and go against what we wanted for you.”

“He wanted me to choose.”

“You were too young to make good choices. A gift, Andre. You were born with a gift and he was trying to talk you out of using it.”

“He wanted me to be happy.”

A foreign concept for his dad. Happiness meant wealth. Andre had that, and what brought him joy was not his bank statement.

“That’s right, happiness. That’s what he called it. ‘He’s a kid, he needs to experience youth and be happy.’ What he was trying to create was division between us.”

No, they had done that all on their own
, he thought, but didn’t say.

“I didn’t come to argue about the past–”

“That’s exactly what you’re doing,” Gabriel said, then drained his bottle. He grabbed another one. Andre had yet to take a sip of his.

“It’s been five years since he passed. Almost six. You need to remember you still have one niece left and a sister-in-law. You need to get over yourself.”

The sliding door opened. They both turned. Andre’s mom. As fast as his dad seemed to be aging, she was somehow turning back the clock. She looked great.

“Andre, why didn’t you tell me you were coming? I would have prepared something.” Which actually meant she would have ordered delivery or made reservations somewhere.

He rose and kissed her cheek. “Didn’t want to create work,” he said.

“What’s wrong with your dad?”

He turned to face him. He wore a scowl, accented by a flushed forehead and cheeks.

“I pissed him off. Again.”

“You didn’t piss me off,” Gabriel mumbled.

“Well then I will definitely piss you off when I remind you Linda is your niece. You are her uncle. Consider acting like one.”

“Life is too short for bad coffee.”
~Author Unknown

ndre woke at 5:30 a.m., ready for some quality time with his friends. He hadn’t seen them in nearly two months and once Project Sunrise started, he wouldn’t be able to speak to them, much less see them, for months. They were his clan, his circle. The same kids he’d known since they were in diapers. The same ones who kept him sane and true no matter how much he wanted to withdraw from the world that wanted to poke and prod him.