Now Buckley insisted on continuing the torture in the off-season. Roper had every right to be pissed. He didn’t need Buckley riling up the fans against him in his daily tirades.
“Are you sure Buckley doesn’t have a personal grudge?” Yank asked.
Roper rose to his feet, looming large over Yank. “I screwed his ex-girlfriend. She just didn’t see fit to mention she was no longer his ex on the night in question.”
Yank chuckled. “He oughta let it go.”
“She’s his wife now,” Roper said.
“Shit.”
“Yeah,” Roper agreed. “You do realize that if this was a lesser market, nobody would pay attention to anything Buckley said?”
Yank shook his head. “But it isn’t a lesser market. It’s New York.” And that said it all.
Athletes were like movie stars here, back-and front-page news and fodder for gossip. “You used to love the attention,” Yank reminded him.
Prior to his funk, Roper had been known for being a high-maintenance outfielder. ESports TV, Magazine and Radio named Roper among the top metrosexual athletes of the year. Yank didn’t get why grown men like Roper spent good money on the best clubs, gyms and hairdressers. What normal man had his back waxed? Yank had no idea. But Roper’s good-looking mug had made them both a boatload of money, so Yank wasn’t about to complain.
“I did love the attention,” Roper said. “Until my talent went south.” Roper leaned forward on the bench, elbows on his knees, and stared ahead at nothing in particular. “So what are you really doing here?” Roper asked.
“I came to cheer you up. I don’t want the media to see you down and I sure as hell don’t need you taking a swing at one of them, no matter how much they provoke you.”
“That sounds like a message from Micki.”
Yank’s niece, Michelle, was Roper’s close friend, as well as his publicist. She was the resident expert at the Hot Zone for keeping her high-maintenance client out of trouble and out of the press.
Then again, maybe some good press was exactly what Roper needed. “I have a present for you. Here’s a gift certificate.” Yank pulled a piece of paper from his back pocket. “Go get yourself a massage and a manicure.”
“Not in the mood.”
Yank didn’t know what else to do in order to help his dejected client. “Don’t you want to look your best for the annual Hot Zone New Year’s party?”
“I’m not going.”
Yank smacked him upside the head. “You sure as hell are. You’re going to hold yourself up and make like life’s grand. Attitude is everything and right now yours sucks.”
Yank couldn’t see well but he figured Roper was scowling at him about now. “I’m sure you’re having a rough time after the series, but obviously something more has you bent out of shape. The happy-go-lucky guy I know wouldn’t be sulking like a pansy.”
Roper rose and Yank felt the other man’s height close beside him.
“You want to know what’s bothering me? Where should I start? I could live with last year’s disaster if I thought I was definitely coming back, but we both know the shoulder’s not healing the way it should. That means my career may be shorter than we’d anticipated. Not a financial problem given my huge contract, right?”
“Unless you pissed it away…” Yank said, not at all serious.
“You know me better than that. But my family’s working hard at doing it for me.”
Yank blinked. “Ever hear just say no?”
“You try telling them that.”
Yank wasn’t worried about Roper’s future. The younger man had come to him for investment advice and Yank knew he’d diversified wisely. But if his career was shortened due to injury and his family was going through his money like water, Yank could understand the man’s distress. “Slow ’em down, then,” Yank suggest
ed.
“Yeah, I’m trying,” Roper muttered. “Do me a favor? Tell Micki I need time to myself. If she doesn’t quit worrying and sending you around to check on me, I’m going to let the Hot Zone go. Who knows? If I can’t play this season, I may not need a PR firm at all.”
Yank frowned. “Micki’s not worried about you as a client, you ass. She’s worried about you as a friend.”