Mark wanted so much to stand up and hug the angry, frail-looking man who stood before him. “I guess so.”
Clip calmed down, the scarlet ebbing away from his complexion. His voice softened. “You’re already being compared to David,” he said. “You shoot like him, you move like him, and you’ve taken his position.” He stood and moved toward the door. “Get dressed now. We’ll go together.”
Mark nodded. Any further resistance would only draw attention to himself. He began to shiver uncontrollably, frightened of entering the Blades and Boards Club. His teammates would be there. T.C. would be there. But most of all, the row of people who had been sitting with T.C. would be there. He had managed to avoid even looking in that direction, not even catching the eye of T.C. for fear he would see someone else. And though he had not seen her, he knew that she had been there, could feel her from the moment she had entered the building. Now his body felt cold as he realized that like it or not, Mark Seidman would have to face her for the first time. The pit of his stomach contracted.
At long last, Mark Seidman would meet Laura Baskin.
21
LAURA stood with Earl and Serita. She had already greeted David’s old teammates with embraces and kind words. All of them were there, except for Clip and that mystery guy. Laura could still not believe what she had seen on the court. It was more than Mark Seidman’s play, fantastic as it had been. Now she understood what Earl had been talking about at his penthouse. There was something disquieting about Seidman. The way he played—so like David technically but without one slice of emotion. Emotion had always propelled David to play his best. He fed off his affection for his teammates and off his love for the game. His face showed it in every jump shot, every pass, every rebound. But Mark Seidman seemed motivated by something else, something abstract and impersonal. He looked like a reluctant warrior trying to survive the fiercest of battles so he could just go home.
But then again, he was so like David. Mark Seidman had taken David’s place in the lineup, played the same position, displayed the same unshakable concentration, but weirdest of all, he had that quick-release jump shot. Like David, Mark Seidman made the ball appear to float gently toward the basket, as though an invisible hand were guiding it in the air. Laura could not take her eyes off him. Every move Mark Seidman made on the court jabbed at her insides. So like David. So like her wonderful, beautiful David. Even now Laura felt herself trembling.
She stopped herself as Clip entered the room, shaking off her ridiculous thoughts about the Celtics rookie. Clip turned toward her. His smile reached his sad eyes. It was a soothing smile, the smile of an old friend who had come to help. She began to make her way to where he stood.
Then Mark Seidman walked in.
Laura froze. She did not glance at him just yet. She could not explain why she felt it necessary to avoid seeing him. But she did. Clip took Mark Seidman’s arm and began to whisk him about the room, introducing him to Laura’s parents, Serita, and T.C. Finally, Clip brought Mark Seidman over to where she stood.
“Laura, this is Mark Seidman,” he said. “Mark, this is Laura Baskin.”
She slowly lifted her head toward him. Without warning, her gaze locked onto his. A powerful blow struck her midsection. Her eyes dodged for cover from the onslaught while his did the same. She had looked at him for less than a split second, but there was no mistaking the unspeakable pain in his contorted eyes.
“Congratulations on a good game,” she managed.
“Thank you,” came his soft voice. “I’m sorry about your husband.” They shook hands. Mark’s face flushed with her touch. He quickly released his grip. “Please excuse me.”
Clip tried to keep hold of Mark’s arm by subtly locking him in place, but Mark slipped through and hurried to the other side of the room. Embarrassed, Clip raised his hands toward Laura and shrugged. “What can I tell you?” he said. “Mark is painfully shy.”
“Earl told me,” Laura replied.
“He’s a strange sort. Good player though.”
Laura nodded. Clip excused himself and made his way toward the Celtics’ coaching staff.
That was when Laura spotted Stan wobbling toward her.
After downing a good number of beers during the game, Stan had been hanging out near the fully stocked bar throughout the reception. Now Stan was most definitely drunk. Completely inebriated. He could barely stand. Laura scanned the room. Gloria was nowhere to be seen.
When Stan finally reached where she was standing, he threw his arm around her shoulders, leaned over, and quickly kissed her. “You’ve got some hot bod, Laura.”
“Bastard!” she hissed.
“Now, now, don’t make a scene,” Stan slurred, his arm still around her for support. “It was only a peck on the cheek.”
“What do you want, Stan?”
Stan teetered but steadied himself quickly. He kept his arm around Laura’s neck and pulled her closer to him. “God, you’re rude, sis. Has anyone ever told you that before?”
“You’re drunk.”
“No shit, Sherlock. I’m drunk. So what? Does that mean I can’t come over and say hello and see how you’re holding up? Can’t you at least be civil on a tragic occasion like this?”
Laura chortled. “You’d spit on David’s grave for a dollar.”
He pulled her closer and whispered, “Or even half that much.”
Laura considered slamming her fist into his groin, as she had done that day he attacked her in her office, but the thought of making a scene and then trying to explain her behavior kept her temper in check. Instead, she smiled as though nothing was wrong and said, “Get away from me, pig.”
“But, Laura, I have good news for you. The charade is about to end.”
“Where’s Gloria?”
“Powdering her nose. But listen to me. It’s over. Tonight.”
“What are you babbling about?”
His body swayed back and forth. “I don’t need you or your sister’s goddamn money anymore.”
“Stan, I don’t know what you’re talking about nor do I care. Just get the hell away from me.”
“All in good time,” he said. “But don’t you understand? It’s over. I’m leaving.”
“Great. Nice knowing you. Bye.”
Stan smiled, his red eyes trying to focus in on hers. “Aren’t you forgetting one small detail?”
“Such as?”