by Allison Parr
My vocal cords hardened too much to correct his mistake, and I barely managed a brittle smile as I turned to face him. “Mr. Philip.”
His smile was smoother, but no more sincere. “I’m surprised you made it.”
I strove for flippant. “The weather’s not that bad.”
“Not outside.”
I pressed my lips together.
He followed up on his advantage, leaning forward until the gap behind us nearly closed. “Do you feel good about yourself, making mountains out of molehills? Costing these boys, this city, their future?”
I lifted my chin. “Why haven’t you cancelled the contract with Loft Athletics?”
He rocked slowly back. “You’re persistent.”
“When I care about people’s safety.” My gaze flickered past him, scanning the crowds for Abe. He stood against the wall, one amidst a circle of people, expressionless, eyes fixed on us.
Philip turned, as well, almost nonchalantly, hands tucked casually in his pockets. “Ah, the earnest Abraham Krasner. It’s his future you’re ruining, you know.”
The knot that had formed in my stomach as soon as Philip started speaking tightened. “Please don’t play games with me, Mr. Philip.”
He arched a brow. “Even though that’s what I do professionally?”
Game-masters never ended up in the healthiest positions. Not every berry contained antioxidants. “What I write shouldn’t affect him at all.”
Across the room, Abe turned to football socialite Lucinda Levine and leaned down so close that his lips brushed her cheek. My body, which had been numbed by cold, flushed hot.
Philip laughed. “Of course, maybe he’s moved on already. You’re not anyone’s favorite person right now, Ms. Rosenfeld.”
A movement alerted me to a new presence at my side. “Are you harassing my reporter, Philip?”
He smiled, and it looked slightly less like the awful mastermind expression he’d favored with. “Ah, Tanya. I’m thrilled.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Only when you’re making money or torturing souls.”
“And aren’t those your favorite entertainments too?”
She tossed him a disdainful look and steered me away. “Don’t listen to him,” she instructed in a low voice. “That man’s scum.”
Well, I hadn’t been going to say it, but yeah.
Abe was at my side in seconds, and I glared at him. “I told you to stay away.”
Tanya looked at him. “What are you doing here, Krasner?”
“Trying not to take a swing at the owner.” He tried to take my hand.
I took it away and frowned. “That’s like a fifty-thousand-dollar handhold.”
“I don’t care.”
Tanya shook her head. “You kids.” Then she frowned. “You get fined for talking to her? You two still together?”
“No,” I said quickly.
“Yes.” Abe remained staunch.
Tanya’s pencil-thin brows rose.
I shook my head. “No, you can’t print that. That’s not a story.”
“Come on. The Leopards trying to break up true love? People will eat that up like candy.”
“No, I don’t want to put Abe in the spotlight anymore.”
Her lips twitched. “Precious. Fine, I’ll hold for now. But I’m keeping it for when we really need to pull you out of the trenches. Look, there’s Jensen Clay. Go find out why he crashed his car two nights ago instead of studying the playbook.”
“Don’t let Clay be an ass to you,” Abe warned.
I wanted to kiss him lightly, but didn’t, of course. “I can handle Jensen.” I nodded at Tanya, and took off.
* * *
The rest of the evening went all right. I left twenty minutes after Abe and hurried down the frozen streets toward our meeting spot. Snow drifted down, silencing the city.
A hand reached out and caught mine. Abraham whirled me into his arms, kissing me softly. Snow melted down on our skin as his mouth explored mine. His gloved hands were rough against my cheeks, but he was warm, and he was safe. I leaned my head against his chest and sighed. “That was a horrible night.”
“I wanted to punch Philip.”
“Thank God you didn’t! As it is, you’re probably going to get fined.”
“I don’t care.”
“You should care.” I shook my head, indignant. “He couldn’t even be bothered to get my name right! Called me ‘Rosenberg.’”
Abe started laughing. “I don’t think that was a mistake.”
“Um, I think it was. It’s not my last name.”
Abe couldn’t stop laughing. “It’s the last name of famous traitors from World War II. Soviets.”
I stared at him. “Were they Jewish?”
“Yeah. Lived in New York, too.”
Well, that was awkward. “Oh my God. He called me a Soviet spy.” I paused. “Do you think he came up with that on the fly or has he’s been waiting to use it all week?”
Abe leaned his head against my shoulder. “I hope he’s been storing it up for months.”
“It’s not actually a bad pun. Rude. But not bad.”
But now Abe’s laughter dried up, and he lifted his head. “It was rude. In fact, you know what? I didn’t like anything about that. Not how they treated you. I didn’t like not defending you. We’re going to have to cut this secret stuff.”
“No, we’re not,” I said just as stubbornly. “Because then you’ll get in trouble.”
“I don’t care. Fuck them. I want to go out with my girlfriend, I’m going out.”
He knew that wasn’t an option. “Abe, we can’t be seen together.”
“They’re not running our lives. Dammit, it’s Christmas Eve tomorrow. We’re going to go to the movies and get Chinese food and to hell with the rest of them.”
My lips twitched. “What, are we going to go in disguise?”
He stopped pacing and stared at me, roguish light illuminating his face.
It must have been contagious, because laughter burbled out of me. “You know, I always wanted to be a redhead...”
Chapter Twenty-Five
We painted my hair red with twenty-four-hour dye and then blew it dry. The straightened length of my hair always shocked me; it flowed well below my shoulder blades. I liked the red, and kept staring in the mirror and giggling.
When I came out of the bathroom, I struck a pose. “Introducing the new locks of L’Oreal.”
Abraham grinned slowly. “I still think you should wear black leather. You know. Just to make sure no one will be able to recognize you.”
I laughed. “More like you should wear a beard.”
He tilted his head. “And maybe a Bisons’ jacket.”
“Ha! Then they wouldn’t let you back on the team, even without my help.”
To be truthful, we weren’t actually concerned that anyone would recognize us. I might be famous in the news, but certainly not to household name status—more like “that reporter girl who wrote about her NFL boyfriend’s concussions.” Even Abe didn’t rate household recognition, which was reserved for Carter, Lindsey and perhaps the new rookie QB. As long as we stayed away from the haunts of League staff, we’d be in the clear.
But it still leant the excursion an illicit thrill, and I’d been delighted for a reason to dye my hair, even if it would wash out next time I showered. We made up elaborate backstories for each other—I was a fugitive from Greece trying to escape an assassin after witnessing a politician’s murder, and Abe was WHO—and then buried our disguises in layers when we bundled up in all the layers necessary to face the bitter winter wind. We probably could have walked straight into the Leopards Stadium and no one would have recognized us, not with all the down jackets and scarves and hats.
We went to a cash-only restaurant in Chinatown for lunch and ordered mango bubble-tea and loads of food, just like all the other Jews who’d settled in for the day. After that, we headed to the movies for a double feature of Audrey Hepburn.
&nb
sp; We were in such a good mood afterward that Abe suggested heading over to the rink at Rockefeller Center. I raised my brow at him. “Can you even ice-skate?”
He looked affronted. “I can take down three-hundred-pound men. I think I can ice-skate.”
I tilted my head. “I don’t think those two have anything to do with each other.”
I’d ice-skated when I was little, in the pre-California days, and I’d been decent enough at it. I had trophies. I mean, everyone who took skating classes got trophies, but still. They were very exciting.
Once we’d moved to the Bay Area, there were a lot less chances. The city put a rink up in Union Square, and there was something delightful about skating underneath palm trees, but it was ridiculously expensive so I hadn’t gone very often.
But I was more than willing to go with Abe.
When we arrived, a long line curved outside the booth. Abe frowned at it. “Usually, I’d just cut to the front, but I’m guessing that wouldn’t go well with our supposed anonymity.”
I patted what I could reach of his cheek through my glove and his scarf. Really, it was more like fabric bouncing off each other. “Welcome to how the other half lives.”
It took an hour to get onto the rink, and I’d never had so much fun waiting in line. We drank hot chocolate and made up stories about all the other skaters and people around us.
To my surprise, Abe could skate, and while I wouldn’t be going for the gold anytime soon, I managed not to fall down and to almost keep up. In time, we worked up such a sweat that we were able to discard our scarves, hats and jackets, leaving us both in bulky sweatshirts piled over other layers. We spun around and around, until I felt almost stable on my skates. I glanced over at Abe with a broad grin.
Which, of course, was when I managed to tangle my legs and jar my entire body to a stop. I started to trip forward, but Abe managed to swing back and catch me, spinning me safely into his arms. We clung to each other and laughed dizzily, our breath puffing white in the air. “Maybe enough for now.”
We’d returned the skates and started working on all our extra layers when I felt twitchy. Was it just me, or were an inordinate amount of people looking our way?
Of course they were. We’d taken off the scarves and hats that hid our features, and also landed ourselves in tourist central. Abraham might not usually be tabloid bait, but he certainly had been for the last few weeks.
The mutterings began to pick up, and a few people held up cell phones. Good God, seriously?
“Hey!” one woman called. “Aren’t you that football player?”
“Not today,” Abe said, and we grabbed the rest of our things and sprinted out to the street, where Abe hailed a cab by practically jumping into the street. We tumbled inside the taxi, gasping and staring at each other. My heart beat wildly.
“Where to?” the cabbie said, bored and monotone for only a heartbeat before he turned around and gaped at us. “Krasner, no shit? What the fuck, man?”
My mouth fell open, and Abe’s started shaking, and then we started laughing and didn’t stop until we made it home.
* * *
“All right,” Abe said later, as we lay in bed. “Guess that was a bad idea.”
“I’ll say.”
He dropped down on the bed. “This is amazing. I thought for sure we were safe.”
I mournfully plucked at one of my braids. “Now even my lovely red locks aren’t safe.”
He laughed. “I hope your mom sees those pictures and believes it’s real.”
“Oh, God.” I flopped back on the bed. “So much for going out on dates.”
He rolled over to face me. “Let’s get away.”
I propped myself up on my elbow. “What d’you mean?”
He gestured impatiently. “Leave. Take a vacation from all of this.”
“How? We both have jobs.”
He shot me an arch look. “Well, I don’t think anyone’s going to be in your office tomorrow, given that it’s Christmas.”
I shrugged. Good point. “Actually, no one’s really going to be in the office until after New Year’s. Though we’re all supposed to be working from home.”
He bounced upright. “And I don’t have to be anywhere until the second.”
“And where will we go?”
“Somewhere we can be anyone.”
I laughed.
He propped his head up. “I mean it. Let’s get out of here.”
“I don’t exactly have the cash.”
He shrugged. “I do.”
We hopped a metro-north train and took it until we hit Lake George. We tossed out the idea of Lake Placid, where our grandparents used to vacation, but it seemed filled with enough athletes to be risky. Besides, George (did they just do the name here, a la Tahoe?) was slightly closer.
We checked into our bed-and-breakfast at two o’clock. The yellow-with-red-shutters Victorian perched on top of a gently sloping hill, surrounded by evergreens and sky. Snow blanketed and softened everything, a pillowy white cushion atop the peaked roof, and weighing down green branches. Our breath puffed white in the cold air, and we had to stomp the snow off our feet before going inside.
Everything looked just like I’d hoped: wooden paneling and brocaded upright chairs, lines of bookshelves and a crackling fireplace.
The receptionist smiled at us widely. “Merry Christmas.”
Sure, why not. At least he was honest; if he said “Happy Holidays,” he’d be way late for anything except Christmas and New Year’s. “Merry Christmas.”
“Do you two have a reservation?”
Abe glanced at me and smiled. “We do. Mr. and Mrs.—Rosenfeld.”
My eyebrows shot up and I smiled at him. The idea of play-acting a married couple was silly but fun, and my name definitely provided more anonymity than Abe’s.
The receptionist typed away and then handed us two keys. “Second floor and down the hall. Breakfast starts at eight and goes until ten.”
Our room was tucked under the eaves. Out the windows, tall, snow-draped trees spread out in every direction. I felt a rush of tension drain out of me and my shoulders relaxed. Abe came over behind me and began kneading the knots in my neck. I groaned in appreciation and leaned my head forward. “This is perfect.”
“The inn or the massage?”
“I meant the trees,” I murmured. “But the other two are pretty wonderful, too. I’d turn and kiss you, but I don’t want the massage to stop.”
He laughed and kissed the top of my head. “Greedy little thing.”
“Mm.” My bones slowly turned to water. “I’ll give you a massage later.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” he murmured into my ear.
Later that afternoon, we went for a walk on the trails behind the bed-and-breakfast. The woods were wrapped in fog, wisps of white that curled and twined through the red-brown trunks of century-old pines. Compared to the terrible temperatures of the past few weeks, the forty-degree weather felt pleasant and fresh, like spring in December. I’d pulled on a knit hat and hung a scarf around my neck, but loosely, and I didn’t have to hide my face from the wind.
Instead, I looked around with pleasure. Despite the faded quality that the mist wrought, of ghosted-out trees and short tunnels of vision, the nature close to us looked bright in comparison. Green moss on trees shone like summer ponds, and the few dead leaves that clung to spindly branches looked more red than brown.
And the white of the day-old snow was so bright and endless, like a paper without depth or end, interrupted only by the sharp green of evergreen shrubs.
My hand was warm in Abraham’s, and I kept sneaking looks at him.
He smiled at me. “What?”
“Thank you for bringing me here.”
We slowed to a stop behind a majestic weeping willow, whose branches swept the snow gracefully. Abe slid his hand around my cheek, his palm heated against my chilled flesh.
He kissed me.
And with the mist billowing around us,
I started to believe in magic again.
* * *
In the morning, we rolled out of bed past ten and joined the other desultory guests in the breakfast area, a large room with larger windows. We ate fresh waffles and strawberry compote and maple syrup and mimosas. The fire crackled before us, all charred logs that somehow resisted crumbling to pieces. Orange-white flames licked the air, while between the logs, coals glowed deep umber. Christmas carols played softly, and poinsettias sat on either side of the mantel.
I snuggled into Abe’s side, and the woman sitting at the nearest table smiled at us. “Newlyweds?”
Abe grinned back at her. “Yes, ma’am.”
I kissed his cheek and felt undeservedly proud.
Later, I told Abe that the woman had had to guess that we were newlyweds. The question could conveniently be asked with one word, as opposed to “Are you dating?” which also hardly had any oomph. Besides, asking if people were newlyweds implied love and sweetness and so was almost universally flattering, whether to a new couple on vacation or a married one.
But it still made me happy.
“What do you want to do this afternoon?” I asked as we lay in bed, naked and sated. “I think there’s a little theater nearby that might be fun.”
“Sounds fun,” Abe agreed. “But I actually had something else planned. A surprise.”
I rolled over to see him better. “A good surprise?”
He regarded me for so long, and with such an odd spark, that I started to feel uneasy. Then he leaned forward to kiss me. “An interesting surprise.”
I smoothed my hand over the hard contours of his back. “Do we have a few minutes before this surprise?”
His eyes glinted wickedly. “Oh, more than a few, I’m sure.”
* * *
When we stepped out of the car two hours later, we were greeted by a field of bright panels of color.
When I saw them rising high before me, my stomach took off in the same direction, but with greater velocity and rougher turbulence. “That’s a balloon.”
Abe cut the engine and smiled at me with a quiet watchfulness. “Yes.”
“A giant balloon.”