My Fair Gentleman

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

“Is there a pool?” Allie loved to swim.

“There’s a lap pool nearby…for adults only.” He could see her busy little mind working. “But the tennis courts are open to anyone,” she added hopefully.

Allie loved all sports. She’d be a natural at tennis. “If I did this, my daughter, Allie, would be living with me.”

“How old is she?”

He didn’t like the way she was biting her lip. “Twelve. Is that a problem? I mean, are there restrictions against children at this place?”

“No.”

“You don’t sound too sure of that.”

“No,” she said more forcefully. “In fact, the management loves children.”

He searched her face, reassured by the honest conviction he saw there. “I must be crazy,” he muttered to himself.

“You mean you’ll do it?”

“I have to tie up some loose ends in the next couple of days, and I can’t commit before then, but if everything falls into place—”

The impact of her lithe body hitting his chest whooshed the air from his lungs. Slim arms circled his neck and squeezed. He registered soft skin, silky hair, a flowery scent—and then Catherine drew back.

“Thank you, Joe! I promise you won’t regret your decision.”

Watching her smile light up the dingy pool hall, Joe had a sick feeling he already did.

“I WONT GO!” Allie slammed the door hard enough to rattle her row of softball trophies.

Stalking to her dresser, she moved the tallest trophy a fraction to the left and rubbed the brass-plate inscription: Allison Tucker, Most Valuable Player. Instead of feeling her usual burst of pride, she blinked back the horrible sting of tears.

The doorknob rattled. “C’mon Allie, it’s only for a month. It’ll be fun.”

Fun. Joe’s solution to everything from her earliest memory, from the time she’d actually believed in magic. She glared at the door. “You go on, then. I’ll stay here with Norman.”

“You can’t, honey. Norman needs time alone since Doris kicked him out. Besides, I’d miss you too much. You’re my best pal, remember?” His deep voice was sentimental, wheedling.

She closed her eyes against the images crowding her mind. Making ice-cream sundaes for dinner on Gram’s bingo night, playing hooky from school to share popcorn at a movie—saving a place at her team awards banquet for a father who never showed up.

“Allie, please open the door.”

The ache in her chest moved higher, swelling her throat. Her stomach churned worse than before a big game. She wanted to fling the door open and throw herself into Joe’s strong arms. She wanted to fling the door open and scream the bitter words clogging her windpipe.

“Allie?”

She wanted to be a little kid again, too dumb to know anything about anything.

The silence stretched. Joe sighed, then walked away.

Released, Allie dove for the top of her bed and buried her face in a pillow. The tears she’d been holding back burst free. Why had Gram married that snowbird and moved to Minnesota? Didn’t she know her granddaughter needed her? Depended on her, if not for love and approval, at least for adult common sense?

Now Joe wanted to pack up and move to some place Allie’d never heard of, away from her friends, away from Tommy Burton in apartment 34C. And for what? Some stupid plan some stupid lady’d made that might help Joe get some stupid job. He wasn’t a Houston Astros player anymore, he’d told her, and she would bet her MVP trophy Gram didn’t know. If she did, she never would’ve left two days ago. Allie clenched her soaked pillowcase and gave in to a fresh surge of tears. Why couldn’t things stay the same?

Stretching out her arm, she groped blindly, connected with a soft shape and dragged it close. The stuffed monkey was the closest she’d come to having a pet. Joe had won it for her last year at her softball team’s annual carnival.

Yesterday, when she’d practiced face painting on his arm, he’d promised to win her another animal at this year’s fund-raiser. It was one promise she believed. After all, hadn’t he wiped out the tower of bottles on his first throw last year? Her friends had said later what a cool father he was. And they were half-right. He was strong and cute and a super athlete and way cool about blowing off rules and making people laugh.

But he was no father. At least, not like her friends had.

Flipping onto her back, Allie sniffed hard and gritted her teeth. She hated crying. Only wusses cried. But lately she was out of control. A real loser.

Like when Tommy’d smiled at her by the pool twenty-six hours and forty minutes ago, and she’d giggled like a demented hyena. If he hadn’t already thought she wasn’t worth his super-fine smile, he sure did now. Sarah Sokol had whispered something to him behind her hand, and they’d both laughed. Allie wanted to die just thinking about it.

Lifting the hem of her T-shirt, she scrubbed her face and frowned at the Boyz II Men poster on her wall. Joe’d said his teacher lady friend was real classy. That she’d show him how to act like he’d grown up in a mansion, instead of a run-down shack behind Big Joe’s filling station. Anyone who could teach a guy all that fancy stuff probably knew a lot about girl stuff, too.

Allie lay quietly, feeling more like herself by the minute. She would quit being a baby and face facts. Joe was Joe. She was old enough to take care of herself—and him, too. He needed her.

Swinging her legs to the stained beige carpet, she walked to the door and stood finger-combing her snarled hair, instead of brushing it. Gram would’ve thrown a hissy fit, but Joe wouldn’t notice. Pulling her door open, she moved down the hall and stopped short of the den entrance.

Just like every morning, Joe sat reading the sports page in his old recliner, his bare feet sticking out well past the footrest. He’d dragged his favorite cutoffs and tank top out of the dirty clothes hamper. Again. She’d have to sneak them into the wash before the neighbors complained.

From the looks of the teddy bears on his arm, he hadn’t showered after getting home last night. A bowl of soggy cereal sat on one chair arm. The other supported his tightly clutched beer. He looked scruffy, tired and…sad.

She’d hurt him, Allie realized with a start. Both of him. The playmate she adored and the man who’d disappointed her so many times over the years. Her wonderful impossible dad.

He glanced up and noticed her in the doorway. “Hi there.”

“Hi.”

“Feeling a little better?”

She nodded, hating this awkward politeness.

“Good.” His gaze sharpened. “Then who was named most valuable player for the 1974 World Series? There’s a hamburger in it for the winner.”

It was a game they’d played for years, familiar and safe. She crossed her arms and waited for him to up the ante.

He sighed. “Okay, with fries.”

“Finley with the Oakland A’s. Piece’a cake.”

“I’ll get you one of these days,” he promised, ruining the threat by grinning proudly.

“In your dreams. Can I have a milk shake, too?”

“Not for that no-brainer. Now go do something with that rat’s nest on your head while I get my shoes.” He pushed down on the footrest and sat straight.