“I’ve got some information from the CAA meeting,” he said, following the change in topic easily. Finn was nothing if not good at reading my moods. He knew when to push and when to let it go, and now that I’d moved on, so had he. “I think we can start setting up offices in LA and New York and hiring some clerical workers to get the ball rolling.”
“You wanna do that?” I asked.
“Not really; you know me, I’m not so good with the help,” he said, giving me a pointed look that stirred up my defenses.
“You’re a dick sometimes, you know?”
“Yeah, I know, but you also know you can trust me,” he said raising an eyebrow. I wanted to punch him.
“Fuck off, O’Brien,” I growled. “Get the hell out and leave me alone.”
“As you wish, boss,” he said tipping an imaginary hat and disappearing out the door.
I stood staring at the lake, watching the late afternoon sun sparkle on the surface and wondered what Payton was doing right now. I hated the fact that Finn knew exactly how to get into my head and create the kernel of doubt that would leave me feeling suspicious. I tried to convince myself that Payton wasn’t selling us out to her mother’s team, but the longer I stared at the lake, the less certain I became.
CONTRACT VOLUME IV
Chapter Thirty-Four
Payton
The cab dropped me off at the south end of the stadium and as I walked toward the ticket window, I ran into several security guards who had known me since I was a child. They high-fived me and told me that my mother had already arrived and was up in the skybox. One of the guy
s offered to walk me up, but I told them there was no need to leave their rounds. They radioed up to let the guys watching the skybox know I was on my way, and then told me to enjoy the game.
As a child, I absolutely loved coming to the stadium on opening game day. The crowds were always excited to be back at Soldier Field and the anticipation of a possible championship season like the legendary ’84 season ran through the stadium in an electric hum. The Bears flags had been raised alongside the American flags and today they fluttered gently in the summer breeze as I climbed the steps toward the skybox.
I waved at the concession workers who ran the beer and hot dog stands, and stopped to talk to Pete McEvoy who had run the stadium steps selling peanuts and cotton candy for more than 20 years. He told me he had a good feeling about today’s game and he was sure the Bears would beat the Eagles. I passed on his offer to place a bet, but laughed as I said I was glad he had such undying faith in the boys.
I climbed the last flight of stairs and stood marveling at the bright green turf covered with the Bears logo and the fresh markings of a new season of play. This was home to me. The place where all my favorite people gathered to cheer our boys on to victory or console them after defeat — though my grandfather would often kick them in the ass when he felt they had played badly. No one seemed to mind that his granddaughter would sit in the back corner of the locker room and listen to Coach Halas recount the game. By the time I was a teenager, I’d become as much a part of the tradition as everyone else who passed through the tunnel and took the field.
I sighed as I turned and headed for the skybox. I knew I couldn’t avoid my mother, but I certainly didn’t want to engage her before I absolutely had to. One of the guards opened the door and welcomed me to the skybox, and I saw my mother standing with her back to the door, surveying the field as she’d done every single time I’d ever been in this box.
“Hello, Mother,” I said trying to hide my contempt under a layer of good manners and calmness.
“Payton Gale, what on earth are you wearing?” she said as she spun around and took my outfit in from head to toe. “You look like you’re going to a funeral.”
“Well, if the shoe fits…” I muttered. She raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, letting me know she’d heard what I’d uttered. “I’m just trying to stay cool today.”
“You know how I hate the all-black look,” she said disapprovingly. She was dressed in a tight-fitting, yellow sheath dress that hugged her curves and made her look much younger than her actual age. She’d topped the dress with a string of large, black pearls my father had given her for Christmas the year after Jonathan died, and on her feet were her usual black stilettos with the red bottoms. She was way overdressed, but that was the point. She was in power, and power dressed the part, football game or not.
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” I offered, not knowing what else to say. “I’m here as you requested.”
“Why do you always have to be so difficult?” she asked as she ran a hand through her severe, dark bob. “Your brother would have—”
“My brother is dead,” I said, cutting her off. Her eyes widened and I could see the look of pain that quickly flashed across her face before she composed herself.
“You are such a rude and ungrateful child,” she hissed. “I have no idea what I’ve done to deserve this kind of treatment.”
“Oh really? No idea at all?” I said as I felt the anger and frustration rising in my chest. I’d come there because she’d ordered me to, and now she was berating me for something she’d done?
“Payton Gale, your father would be ashamed of the way you’re behaving,” she scolded as she crossed the room and stood staring at me from less than a foot away.
“No, actually, I don’t think he would be,” I retorted. She could try and reconstruct history, but I wasn’t buying any of it. “He would probably agree with me about the fact that you have become a cold, calculating, bossy bitch who can’t seem to keep her nose out of her daughter’s business!”
SLAP! The sound of my mother’s palm meeting my cheek sounded extra loud in the empty room. I gasped as I covered my cheek and stared at her.
“Don’t you ever talk to me that way again,” she hissed. “I will not have it.”