Chapter Eleven
“You’re pretty quiet. Is it because of nerves?”
Winnie looked up at him from her plate. He’d surprised her with takeout from Calachino’s, a popular pizzeria in Nelson County not far from town, and they’d spent the first part of dinner sneaking bites off each other’s plates. Winnie stirred around a bite of four-cheese cannelloni in its thick marinara before eating, not really paying attention to him now.
He felt guilty about it. The second he asked about the book illustrations, she set up her laptop for him to browse a slideshow while they ate. Not the best thing to do during a date, but he hadn’t planned to talk publishing all night. He wanted to get business out of the way and leave the rest of their time together for pleasure.
“Why do you say that?” She sat up straighter at this, as though attempting to hide something. She didn’t seem angry or annoyed, more like her head floated elsewhere. Anywhere but here.
Cory shrugged and closed the clamshell. “I don’t know. I guess it’s me looking at your drawings while you’re here. Some people get nervous while their work is evaluated in front of them. You might be that type.”
“Oh, no. You’re good.” Winnie smiled. “I’m sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind, with that party tomorrow and all this homecoming stuff. I usually skip the festivities, but the school committee wanted Marcy and me to set up a booth this year. I think Marcy’s bucking for the distinguished alumni award. Whatever gets her name remembered.”
“Right.” His parents kept him up to date on annual recipients, mostly doctors and military officers and other high-achievers. Naturally, he’d won the plaque after his rookie year of pro football, though he wasn’t the first athlete to get it. Coolidge had produced a fair number of Olympians who went on to coach their respective sports.
“Who’s getting it this time?” he asked, though he knew the alumni board had tapped Sherry Brueggemann for the honor. The woman owned her business and had earned several “Best Of” accolades in regional magazine polls. An obvious choice, some would argue, but as soon as Cory figured out how nominations worked he’d put in a good word for Winnie. A book illustrator deserved her name engraved on the main plaque at the school.
“Sherry, whose dessert we’ll be sharing soon.” Winnie raised her eyebrows, prompting him to laugh. Whatever worried her seemed to have left her mind. Cory reached for his wine.
“I’ll need my strength. Count on it. And I love the artwork for the book. The way you have it all laid out with the text, we could probably print out a copy now. You think?” he said.
“If you prefer to self-publish, sure. Find the printing solution you want, upload the materials, and you’re gold. I thought you were going with an agent, though.”
“We,” he corrected. “We’re a team on this. It’s not just my book. Also, I haven’t gotten that far yet. I didn’t think you’d have all this work done so quickly, you know, with your day job and all.”
Winnie’s cheeks pinked, and her attention went back to her pasta. “Well, I’ll admit I drew quite a bit in my spare time. Plus, what you have there can be improved upon with more detail. It depends on whether you want a minimal look for your story or something more, uh, full.” She gestured, fork still in hand, to emphasize the point.
“You’re the artist. You should have a vote. And I know what I like, and I’m not just saying it because I’m sleeping with the illustrator.” He winked.
She gave a short laugh, and silence fell on them again. After another bite and a large gulp of wine, she said, “I heard Patsy Oleson came out to the farm today.”
“Yeah.” Small town, flapping lips. She was bound to hear about Patsy being back in town. “Lisa’s visiting for homecoming, and Patsy came up to show off her engagement ring.”
“Oh.” Winnie sounded shocked, and Cory guessed not all the gossip flapped in her direction. He watched Winnie’s reaction and noticed she brightened significantly on learning Patsy would marry soon. It clicked quickly in his mind that whoever talked to Winnie had intimated something else.
Aaron got to her again, maybe? His friend couldn’t be that much of an asshole.
“Winnie.” He took her free hand and squeezed. “You really seemed upset about something, and I don’t think it was to do with face-painting or homecoming. Are you okay? Are we okay?” He hated the odd silences, the short sentences, food or no food. Winnie had acted strangely distant despite words to the contrary, and it gave him the impression a “Dear Cory” moment approached.
“I’m fine, Cory.” She squeezed back. “It’s not you, it’s me—”
“People say that when they’re about to end it.”
“I’m not,” Winnie countered quickly. “Believe me, it’s just the opposite. I’ve let too many voices get in my head lately about you. Us. Instead of listening to what others think about us dating, it makes sense we should talk frankly about the future.” She set down her fork to lift the wine but set the glass back on the table without drinking. “Are we just having a good time, or is this serious and exclusive?”
“I hope it’s the latter,” Cory said. “I realized I may not have made it clear with you, Win, but I care deeply for you. I want to make up for lost time and see where this goes.” Hopefully, all the way to the picket fence.
“I’m glad you think there’s potential.” Winnie scraped up one last bite of her pasta, then dabbed her lips with a napkin. He loved the simple gesture, a ladylike pat on her mouth despite the lack of sauce. He’d have been happy to kiss away the marinara, too.
She picked at the remains of her side Caesar, stabbing at a crouton. “I will leave the publishing logistics to you,” she continued. “To be honest, I was expecting you’d want to negotiate a flat fee and then keep the royalties yourself, but if you’d rather do a partnership, I’m down with that.”
“Yeah?” Cory leaned in. “I was wondering why you didn’t mention why I hadn’t paid you yet. For the book, anyway. I’ve worked with people before, and they always wanted half up front.”
“Well, I know you’re good for it. You paid for the tat design, after all. I could also take your Super Bowl ring as collateral,” she teased.
Cory snatched back his ring hand and covered it with his other palm, casting her a look of mock horror. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Please.” She tsked. “That thing’s loose on my thumb.” When he finished his meal, she stood to clear the plates. “So what’s the movie tonight? I hope it’s something light and not dark-scary.”
Cory pulled out his phone to consult the app connected to his favorite streaming site. He would share the login with Winnie once they got settled in the living room. “We can watch ghost chasers, mutant superheroes, or meet-cute wedding planners.”
“Nothing with all three?”
“Not ’til next month.”
Winnie emerged from the kitchen with a chilled bottle of Chardonnay and grabbed her glass. “I suppose we can catch the end of Jeopardy while we decide.”
Snuggled with Winnie on the sofa, Cory spread out against the arm and scrolled the film choices on his phone while Winnie flipped channels. With her favorite game show at commercial, she moved to another channel where a popular gossip show, The Watercooler, was in progress.
“I hate this show.” Cory grimaced. “All they do is smirk and snark at famous people. Nothing’s sacred.”
“Eh.” Winnie shrugged. “I’d watch it more if I knew any of the people they’re talking about. Marcy lives for it. She quotes it practically every day.”
Cory thought anybody who could name more Kardashians than Supreme Court justices needed to change the channel. He tried to tune out the chatter among the so-called journalists seated in their war room, discussing fake boobs and salary disputes, while he tried to prove himself the exception.
Ginsburg, Thomas, Kennedy…Scalia. No, he’s dead. Damn.
Right when he opened his mouth to suggest trying the game show again, one of the Watercooler men stood up at the long table and leaned forward, fists pressed against the top and arms straight like he dictated the Watergate coverage. “Okay now, let’s talk about Cory Levane.”
Do what?
Quick camera cuts landed on various faces, some with raised eyebrows, the women with dreamy smiles. Cory grabbed for the remote but Winnie played keep-away.
“I don’t want to see this,” he groaned. “Whatever they’re gonna say, it’s probably bullshit.”
The Watercooler ladies cooed while the men high-fived. Winnie laughed at all the mugging. “Maybe, and if so you can sue. What are they gonna say? It’s not like they can threaten your career, and at least nobody’s gagging at the mention of your name.”
Cory relented, and sulked with Winnie pressed against him. Tabloids were but one bane of his existence as a football pro. Everywhere he went, socially or for work, at least one nosy reporter or pap wanted to know who he was dating or screwing, or if he was doping or cheating. It’s why he rarely went out, much to his agent’s chagrin.
“Well, you know Cory’s hardly been seen since he retired,” offered one women with blue and green streaks in her blonde hair. “It’s almost like he dropped off the planet.” The screen segued, as she talked, to stock footage of Cory in a tux, wincing against flashbulbs at some benefit.
“Where was this?” he murmured.
“You don’t even know?” Winnie sounded incredulous.
He shook his head. “It might have been a movie premiere.” No sooner had he said it, the footage jumped to include Charmaine, slinky in a glittering dress, at his side.
Nice. Just what he wanted to watch with his girlfriend—him on TV with another woman. “Is Jeopardy back on yet?”
“I’m sure it is.” Winnie was too riveted.
“Not exactly true,” piped in a guy with a shaved head and a full beard. “Follow the social media trail. There’s been Cory sightings in Central Virginia, where he’s from. It makes sense he wants to go home for a bit to rest while he ponders his next move.” He steepled thick, tattooed fingers and tapped his chin. “And I think we all know what that is.”
“No you don’t,” Cory barked at the TV. Winnie silenced him with a slap to the shoulder.
Heads nodded all over the screen.
“Matty and Milly Live,” said another woman.
“Matty and Milly Live,” echoed a third.
The scene cut to footage of the legendary pair’s talk show. Matty Rose, who’d looked close to a hundred since Cory was a child, joked with his young co-host, goofed off in a cooking segment, then pretended to be frightened of a hawk in a series of clips. “We always thought they’d carry Matty Rose out of his show in a box, but he’s voluntarily retired. Finally.” Back to Baldy. “We got word Cory’s the favorite to warm his seat on a permanent basis.”
“It’s getting to be a trend,” agreed the girl with the streaks. “What with Terry Bradshaw, Howie Long, and Michael Strahan all making the transition from football to throwing softball questions at celebrities. I think Cory could make a go of it.”
Winnie’s grip on the remote loosened, and Cory took advantage of her lapse in attention. He grabbed for the device and, with it firmly in hand, mashed the mute button. “This is bullshit,” he griped.
“You mean the network doesn’t want you to replace Matty Rose?” she asked.
“Well, they do. I talked to my agent earlier today.” Winnie sat up straight, moving away from him, and he quickly added, “I wasn’t interested in the job, though, and no way did I confirm I’d take over Live.”
She frowned, not necessarily angry but confused. “They certainly sound confident that you’re going to be a talk show host. You think anybody would break this news if it wasn’t true?”
“Win, it’s a tabloid show. Half the stuff talked about is speculation—”
“With some element of truth in it,” Winnie countered, folding her arms. Now her face registered disdain, as though miffed he’d kept a secret from her. He hadn’t. He thought the talk show was a non-issue since it wasn’t part of his future. No sense saying anything if he had no intention of pursuing the lead.
He turned toward the TV. Clips of a film actress walking along the beach with a swarthy man appearing several years her junior flashed onscreen. Good, the mob had moved on.
“These shows are tawdry, sure, but these reporters can’t blatantly make up stuff,” she continued. “Say the wrong thing, make an accusation, you get sued. The Watercooler might have deep pockets, but it’s not worth the risk.”
“This is Ray’s doing.” Cory shook his head, upset with the whole thing. “My agent wants me to stay in the spotlight so he still has a client. If I find out he planted this rumor, though, I’ll dump his ass.”
Winnie snorted. That seemed to relax her, and she leaned closer. “I’m sure that’s not necessary. You hire an agent to promote you. What else is he going to do?”
“Wait until I say yes to something. He knows about the book. Why isn’t he fishing for interest in that?”
“A kid’s book can’t compete with Matty and Milly Live, unless it’s Harry Potter or something with franchise potential.”
“I’ll write the next Harry Potter if you’ll illustrate it,” he said. Winnie smiled at him and came back to rest against his side. Turnabout was fair play, too, for she snatched back the remote when he slipped his arm around her.
“Hey! Can’t we just watch the movie now?”
She turned up the volume. “They’re not done talking about you,” she said.
“What’s left to say?” Odd to think he was still fresh in people’s minds following his retirement. Couldn’t The Watercooler pick on any current NFL players? Lord knew plenty of bad boys populated the sport.
Yet there he was, rather a picture of him…wait.
“That…looks recent,” he murmured, staring at a snapshot of him walking the grounds of the farmers market. A bluebird icon on the corner of the screen indicated somebody’s Twitter account as the source. Nice. Somebody in town must have snapped and uploaded it when he wasn’t looking.
“I want to get back to Cory Levane for a moment,” said an older man free of tats and metal adornments. By the way he stood over the group, his shirtsleeves rolled up and arms folded, he gave off a senior editor vibe. “You know he was a star at the University of Virginia, which isn’t far from his hometown of St. Florence.”
“I hear it’s basically Mayberry with grapevines,” joked the bald one.
“I won’t fault Cory for taking a break, wanting to be with his family,” continued the senior dude, “but the locals are buzzing about him going around town with a new flame.”
Winnie sat up again. “Oh dear.” Cory hated losing the connection with her and reached for her hand. Her face creased with worry, and he had no words for her. Being paired with models and ingénues in the past, he never worried about such reactions. Those dates wanted to be seen. It had never occurred to him that a television show would breach Winnie’s privacy without her permission.
Suing them seemed like a good option right about now. Not that he had a problem with the public knowing they were linked romantically, but he preferred to share on his, and her, terms.
And it happened. Shaky phone footage of Cory escorting Winnie into Steam played on a loop while Senior Dude’s voice narrated. “According to our sources around town, the mystery lady is likely a family friend, definitely not a relative,” he said after Cory leaned over the menu to flirt, “and is a local artist. She’s known for running a face painting booth at the weekly farmers market.”
“Oh lord.” Winnie face-palmed.
“Are you serious?” snarked the streak-haired girl. “You sure that’s not a Hallmark movie you’re describing?”
“A face painter at a farmers market,” mused Baldy. “That must be what passes for slumming in the sticks.”
The phone clip ended, thank goodness, and the camera panned back and forth between faces in the war room. Everybody registered expressions of amusement or disbelief. Eyebrows pierced with curved bars raised, and one person bit her lip to stifle laughter. This wasn’t looking good. Cory tried for the remote again, but Winnie held it high, away from him. She watched the action, stony and unsmiling.
“Looks to me like that girl hasn’t passed up a donut in her life. Cory must like ’em thick.” The speaker was rewarded with a punch to the arm.
“Fuck you!” shouted the girl, the offending word coming out of her mouth as a bleep. No mistaking her enunciation, though. “Cory’s awesome! If he likes the woman, she obviously is, too.”
There’s a good moment to go out on. “Winnie, please,” he said, and mercifully she shut off the set.
The platitude from the girl with the semi-rainbow hair hardly appeased Winnie, however. She set her hands in her lap and looked down. Cory debated between pulling her closer and staying put. Why couldn’t he just commit to one gesture and make her feel better? The man who’d plowed through a collective thousand pounds of muscle and grr for a living had turned into an indecisive wimp, fearing his woman might shrug away his touch.
After what felt like an hour, Winnie looked up but not at him. “I suppose your agent arranged for that as well?”
“Winnie, I had nothing to do—”
“I’m not accusing you of anything, Cory.”
Ooh-kay. Her tone implied otherwise. She’d put him in the doghouse with that one sentence.
“You go out to a restaurant with a famous guy, it’s inevitable somebody’s going to take video for Twitter or whatever.” Her hands slapped her knees and she stood, letting out a labored huff as her bones creaked. “And I’m not mad at you, either. I’m just…well, you’d think I’d be used to people making crude remarks about me.”
“Winnie, that guy is an asshole.” He rose, too, but Winnie moved away, ostensibly to tidy a few stray things lying around the living room. Avoidance. She wanted to make work so he couldn’t come closer to comfort her. His anger simmered in his gut—it was bad enough the press hounded him while he played football, they had to disrupt him now he wanted out of the public eye. He longed to hunt down that smirking jackass disgrace of a journalist and yank his beard off in one pull.
“First thing tomorrow I’m calling Ray and firing his ass.” Hell, he might not wait that long. Ray lived in California, three hours behind. Probably settling down to dinner paid for by money made off his name. “Then I’ll find out who runs The Watercooler and tear them a new—”
“Cory!”
He stopped, his heart expanding on seeing the plea in her expression. No tears—Winnie was stronger than that. It occurred to him at that moment she was angrier with him than those bozos on TV.
“I don’t need you to fight any battles for me. I don’t care what a group of total strangers thinks about me.”
Right. “I’m sorry, Win. I’m sorry you had to see that, and it sucks that people are insensitive and feel they have to opine on everything.”
“Well, that’s life. A reporter wants to act like he knows my health history, he can go right ahead. It doesn’t make him right if he’s on TV. I know I’m okay, and that matters to me.” Winnie sighed, her posture sagging, and she glanced around the living room until her gaze fell on the clock shining out of her Blu-Ray player. “Cory, I’m not up for a movie anymore tonight…or anything else.”
No. “Winnie, please don’t shut me out.” He moved closer, happy when she didn’t push him away. He took her into his arms and held her tight against his chest. He loved the feel of her, her softness, the way her backside filled his hands. He reached down to cup her ample ass and squeezed, prompting some laughter from her.
Come on, change your mind. They didn’t have to make love tonight, but silent hours lying next to her to bed appealed to him as well.
When he thought he had her defenses down, he nudged her a step backward. Then another, and another until they worked a slow cadence down her hallway.
“What are you doing?” She lifted her face from the crook of his neck and craned to watch their trek.
“Not gonna pressure you into anything, but it’s been a rough evening and we need some rest. I don’t see any reason we can’t rest together.”
She turned back and regarded him with amused suspicion, her arms loose around his neck. “What if I’m not tired?” she challenged. “What if all that crap riled me up and I just want to flip tables and angrily pace the carpet?”
“You really want to go all Wreck-It Ralph on your furniture? It’s nice.”
Winnie considered the question and, after a few seconds, nodded. “You’re right. I’ll tamp it down, but I’m still not sleepy.”
“Neither am I.”
And he guided her into the bedroom.
***
They lay in the dark, a few hours having passed since they shut off The Watercooler. Cory was on his side facing her, asleep and buzzing like a distant saw. He hadn’t tried any sexy business with her, just set her on the bed and spooned her. Winnie spent the time from when he dropped off to this moment overanalyzing his motives.
Was he giving her space, so to speak, and had the TV spoiled the mood for him as well? Winnie assumed men could fuck through just about anything—hurricane warnings, a favorite team losing the World Series—but Cory had acted the gentlemen. She wasn’t sure if she should feel grateful for having a considerate man watch over her, or worried he no longer found her attractive.
She shifted in place, the mattress dipping and sagging under her weight. Cory had only removed his shoes and belt before joining her in bed. Hadn’t even suggested she slip into something high-cut and transparent. As such, the elastic waistband of her polka dot leggings cut into her belly, leaving deep red marks like she had a bad rash. At this rate they’d eventually fade away by morning, right when she needed to prepare for that party.
She waved a hand in Cory’s face and, failing to wake him, smiled and rolled to her feet. She tiptoed to the bathroom and quickly washed and brushed then changed into the nightgown she kept on a door hook. The AC kicked on when she returned to bed and gave her a slight chill. If she turned up the covers on the bed, she might wake Cory. Hell, she’d have to at this point. One glance in that direction revealed he’d sprawled out, taking up valuable real estate.
“Sleep well, my prince,” she said and blew him a kiss. Might as well wait out the insomnia with a glass of water.
Zeppo snoozed in his bed in the living room, and as long as Winnie refrained from ripping a candy bar wrapper or opening a can, he’d sleep through the night. She sipped from her water glass and settled on the sofa with the fleece blanket, picked up the remote, but thought better of channel surfing. Too much on her mind, particularly The Watercooler.
It had nothing to do with the reporters’ remarks about her weight. “Haters gonna hate,” as Marcy would say if she were here. Actually, Marcy loomed large in her mind, connected to all this business.
Winnie couldn’t stop the general public from tweeting photos of her alone or with Cory, and as her memory called up the show, she focused on the one thing Cory likely hadn’t noticed.
The Twitter icon logo associated with the brief video of her and Cory at Steam belonged to Marcy.
She couldn’t recall seeing her cousin at the restaurant that night, not that it mattered.
The real question was, had somebody from the show appropriated Marcy’s video tweet for their own gain, or had her cousin volunteered it?
Why would Marcy have uploaded that footage in the first place?
***
He reached out, and his fingers landed on a cool spot, all sheet and no flesh. Cory woke abruptly and let his eyes adjust to the dark. No trappings of a high school football hero met his line of vision, which didn’t disappoint him. He hadn’t been dreaming. He was still at Winnie’s, enjoying the view from her bed.
Well, almost. He lay alone, and no light streamed from the master bathroom. A knot formed in his gut as he thought about what might be keeping her awake.
That damned gossip show. A million movie and TV stars in the world and they had nothing better to do than to pick on him. A retired football player at that. He was supposed to spend the rest of his life under the radar, hitting bogeys at celebrity golf tournaments and cutting ribbons at sporting goods stores. The idea anybody gave a damn who he dated, much less the whole country, amused him.
Winnie said the show hadn’t bothered her, but the fact she wasn’t lying here in blissful slumber said something.
He heard voices in the distance. Not a TV show—Winnie was talking, and not to herself. He slipped out of bed and crept to the door, listening. Mention of Marcy’s name confirmed one suspicion, and he opened the door far enough to see Winnie perched on her sofa, speaking into the end of her mobile. With one foot tucked under her seat and her hair mussed from sleep, she presented a lovely picture of late-night shabby.
“I know what time it is,” she was saying, “and I don’t care who you were dreaming about fucking. I got a bone to pick.”
Cory held in a laugh, but after a few seconds his smile disappeared.
“You ever watch The Watercooler?” she asked. “Did you watch it tonight? Well, you missed me on TV, is what. They got a phone clip you uploaded to Twitter of me—Marce, don’t bother denying it. They flashed up your handle as the source of the video.”
Winnie looked his way, presumably to make sure her near screech didn’t carry over and wake him. He ducked back and held his breath, all the while trying to recall if Marcy had been at Steam that night. He remembered more than a few phones held up as they walked to their table—lots of diners, ostensibly pretending to check messages and other apps. Of course, he’d been too enamored of Winnie to care who took their picture.
“Okay, okay. Marce, let me—”
Cory’s head dipped out into the hallway again. Winnie held the phone away for a moment and rolled her eyes. A high-pitched buzzing indicated some rapid vocal tap dancing on Marcy’s end. “Marcy, I believe you. Marcy!” she seethed. “All I want to know is what possessed you to share that video on the Internet in the first place. Uh-huh. Yeah, but…really?”
Not being on a landline, Winnie gave no opportunity for him to eavesdrop on another phone and get Marcy’s side of the story. Whatever the reason for uploading their private moment, Cory thought it wrong. You want to film him making a touchdown or speaking at a sports event, fine. Don’t broadcast a date.
“I don’t know,” Winnie said, and his attention perked up again. “Yeah, I get that you’re trying to help, but ultimately it’s his decision.”
Okay. He stopped breathing to hear better.
“He says he’s going to hang around, and we really haven’t talked about the future. I mean, I enjoy being with him and all…but anything can happen.” Winnie’s free arms came around her waist and hugged tight. She looked uncomfortable, unsure of herself as she talked. “He’s got money and probably doesn’t have to work anymore, but think about it. What’s keeping him in St. Florence? Besides family. Even if he moved to Virginia Beach, he’d come up every other weekend to visit. They said on TV he’s being courted to co-host a talk show. What if the offer’s too good for him to turn down?”
Damn it. He wanted to pound the wall. Scream. Barge into the living room and convince her she was worth staying in St. Florence for. He’d meant it when he told Ray to forget about TV gigs. Why did Winnie not believe or trust him?
Winnie shook her head, listening to Marcy, who was hopefully knocking some sense into her cousin’s head. “No, she was there to visit Lisa. He said so. I have no reason not to believe him.”
Heh. Take that.
“Of course I want him to stay.”
He smiled.
“Am I enough, though?”
Yes, damn it!
“Well, Aaron Oleson seemed to think differently. He’s not the only one. A bunch of assholes on TV align with Team Anybody But Me.”
And Winnie should know better. Cory had heard enough. He slipped back into the bedroom and onto the mattress, curling to face the window. He ought to sit up, wide awake, and wait for Winnie to return to bed so they could have a heart to heart, but he worried she might stay in the living room until morning.
He should go out there, hang up the phone for her, and carry her back here for some marathon hot jungle sex.
He should tell her he loved her.
They’d made love before, though, and it wasn’t enough to convince her of his intentions. Whatever their classmates had said to her back in school—hell, anybody with an axe to grind about her weight—surely influenced her skepticism as much as she’d deny it.
He could tell her directly, but the message needed to get through.
He closed his eyes, devising a plan to make it happen.