Family Fortune

April left her desk and came to the door. “He’s worse than swamp crud, boss. But everyone’s worried about Margaret. Especially the old-timers.”

“Has anyone suggested where she might have gone?”

“No. All the guessing is what’s keeping the pot stirred.”

“I see.” But she didn’t really. She’d been telling herself that Margaret’s jaunt to...wherever was nothing to worry about. That it was her prerogative as a woman of stature and means. Crystal gnawed her lower lip. It just wasn’t like Margaret to worry her family—even if she’d been feeling smothered by their concern. “Has André or Gaby said anything in particular to put employees on edge?”

“Only that if Margaret calls, to let them know at once. You’ve got to admit it’s odd. People You’ve known her a long time say she dotes on André and his kids. Why would she go off without telling him?”

“She may dote on her son and grandkids, but Paul was the other half of her. Losing him dealt her a real blow. She said it was like having her heart tom in two.”

“I can’t imagine loving any man that much, can you, Crystal?”

“It’s possible. For instance—Andre and Gaby, Leslie and Michael, Nate and Jill, Sharlee and Dev. They’re all crazy in love.” She got a distant look in her eyes.

April screwed up her face. “Well, maybe they’ve found true love. My family, on the other hand, believes in supporting their local divorce courts.”

Crystal thought of her father and her ex-fiancé. They’d left footprints on her heart, her dad’s departure leaving the deepest depressions. “I’m not looking for love, April.”

“I hear that love strikes when you’re not looking. Hey, boss, weren’t you going somewhere?” April checked her watch. “We’ve been gabbing for ten minutes. I don’t know where you’re headed, but unless it’s a command performance with the IRS, I could be keeping you from meeting the love of your life.”

Crystal remembered her destination. Caleb Tanner. “I have a greater chance of being abducted by aliens,” she replied.

“Hey, if your love life sucks as much as mine does, I wouldn’t be so hasty to write those guys off. The little suckers are kinda cute, with their big eyes and all.”

Crystal walked away laughing. If April only knew how far off target Tanner was from her ideal lover. No one could be farther from it.

THE WEATHER HAD deteriorated. The sky was dark and with clouds. The monsoons were late, but it looked as if they’d finally struck. Crystal opened her umbrella at the first rumble of thunder. Sure enough, rain began to spatter from those ominous clouds. She debated returning to the office and charging a cab to André’s expense account. But before she could retrace her route, a streetcar arrived.

Laughter spewed from the car as the slanting rain chased her inside. Crystal vaulted aboard quickly and wedged herself in beside a group of German-speaking tourists. They also spoke French, so Crystal pointed out sights until it was time to disembark.

She waved goodbye. If she could have, she would have joined their tour of the Beauregard-Keyes House. Not that she hadn’t visited the historic cottage with its captivating gardens many times. It was more that she wanted to delay the inevitable.

“We’ll come hear you play at the jazz pub on Bourbon Street,” one of her new acquaintances promised just before she hopped out. “Friday night!”

Crystal waggled her saxophone case to let them know she’d heard. It doubled as a shield against the rain, which was falling in earnest now. Her red twill suit was wet through by the time she reached the lobby. She felt the soggy flop of her braid with every step she took. Outside Tanner’s room, Crystal spared the time to unbind the heavy strands. She almost never wore her hair loose. But she wasn’t here to impress Tanner. If André and Nate had hoped to do that, they should have come, instead.

She did, however, run a comb through her frizzy locks. Otherwise he’d take one look and head for the hills from whence he’d come. Are there hills in Texas? Skipper said Tanner had come to the Sinners from Dallas. That accounted for the difference in his drawl. His voice was rich and rough and slightly twangy.

Taking a deep breath, Crystal unearthed the envelope with the station’s offer. Then before she lost her nerve, she knocked.

“Stay out,” called the voice she’d been analyzing. It soared above a background murmur of several people talking.

Now what? Crystal weighed the order. If he had family visiting, she’d return another time. But if he was talking to his agent, she might slip inside and leave André and Nate’s offer with them.

The door gave easily under her hand. As she’d done yesterday, she tried to peer through the crack. No luck. She leaned around the door to see more clearly. Her hair slithered forward, obscuring her face.

“Well, hel-lo.” Cale clicked the remote and switched off the TV, which accounted for the voices Crystal had heard.

Perfect. He was alone. No lights flashed wildly on his monitor today. Likewise, the ropes and pulleys that held him immobile looked solidly hooked. One thing was different, though—a smile that spread crookedly from ear to ear. The smile made him look like a totally different man and gave Crystal pause.

“You’re obviously new on the ward, sweetheart. In spite of what you’ve probably been told, I don’t bite.”

“Your alter ego snarled Stay out?” Crystal couldn’t rein in a laugh.

“That’s before I saw you were prettier than a bushel of roses. Where’d you come from? The morning nursing shift reminds me of a Packer defense line.” He pretended to shudder. “Come talk to me. I’m really a likable guy.”

Crystal snorted. “Modest, too,” she said, using her instrument case to shove her way into the room. “Let’s get a few things straight. I’m not a nurse and I am not your sweetheart. We met briefly yesterday, Mr. Tanner. My name is Crystal Jardin.”

“We met?” His gaze shifted from her hair to the worn instrument case. Almost immediately his eyes lit up. “You must be the musician who shakes down the rafters. I did ask an aide to have you stop by last night. Guess you didn’t have a chance.”

“You heard my music all the way here? Sorry. Next time I’ll shut the door and mute the sound.”

His smile slipped. “You’ve got it wrong. I’m not complaining. Quite the opposite. That Latin tune you played was incredible.”

She blushed. “You know about music? Jazz?” That threw her. She’d have to revise her first assessment of Cale Tanner. “I guess you mean Cannonball Adderly’s ‘Jive Samba.’ He’s the master. I was spang-a-langing his piece, is all.”

“Spang-a-who-ing? You lost me.”

Ah. So he didn’t know the language of jazz. “Spang-a-lang is the rhythmic feel of a sound. Like, messing around trying to hit a certain groove.” Grasping for ways to explain, she said, “It’s the process of finding the ultimate groove.”

“Yeah. Gotcha. You know when what you’ve done gels. It’s the same in football. A lot of times there’re too many men between me and the goal line to see the play I made. But when I’ve connected with a receiver, I know in my gut.”

Crystal’s brow puckered. She didn’t think football compared to music and was on the verge of saying so when his face broke out in a lopsided grin. “Grab a chair and knock back a few songs, why don’t you?”

“Now?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“It’s lunchtime. And it’s not visiting hours.” She almost said she was here for another purpose entirely, but Crystal held off on that. Maybe it had to do with the light she’d seen burning deep in his eyes when he got the drift of spang-a-langing. Whatever else Tanner was, he felt strongly attuned to his sport. She sensed he was a long way from severing that bond. Maybe the rumors of his retirement were way off base.

“For what my insurance company’s paying for this private room, I ought to be able to have an orgy in here twenty-four hours a day if I choose.”

That comment was exactly what Crystal would expect of a football player. She didn’t realize her face showed her distaste so plainly until Tanner narrowed his eyes.

“We have met. I’ve seen that look. Where?” He scrutinized her from beneath indecently thick eyelashes for so long that Crystal felt uncomfortable. So uncomfortable she jumped when he snapped his fingers.

“Yesterday! The reporter.” He scowled at her saxophone. “Do you really play that thing? Or is this another trick to get an interview? If it is, you have ten seconds to vamoose, babe.”

He looked so menacing when he frowned Crystal didn’t know where to begin or what would buy her time. She set her instrument case on his bedside table and opened it to give him a clear view of the gleaming brass alto sax.

“I’m not a reporter,” she said quietly.

He crossed his arms across a muscular chest. “They fired you since yesterday?”

“My purpose for being here yesterday was to get your autograph on a football for a young friend of mine. He’s down the hall in the children’s long-term orthopedic ward.” She plunged a hand into her large jute handbag and produced the ball. “Darn, I returned the permanent marker to the nursing station. You don’t happen to have a pen suitable for autographing leather, do you?”

“You mean I almost killed myself over an autograph?”

“Well, yes, and I’m sorry about that, Mr. Tanner.”

“Caleb. Salesmen call me Mr. Tanner. You wouldn’t be trying to sell me a bill of goods, would you, babe?”

Crystal dealt him a withering look. The kind she reserved for the Ray Lyons of the world. “No one calls me babe. You may call me Ms. Jardin.”

Caleb sidestepped her remark as neatly as he avoided a pileup of defensive linemen. “Uh-huh. Give me the damned football.” Leaning over, he yanked open the center drawer of his nightstand and pawed around until he found a marking pen. “I should’ve guessed you don’t play that horn,” he muttered. “A woman doesn’t have the lungs to make a saxophone whisper one minute, then hold the note so long it spits fire.”

Crystal rammed Skipper’s football into Cale Tanner’s diaphragm with enough force to make him blow out an oof but not hard enough to add to his injuries. “Trumpets, tubas and trombones are horns, Tanner. Saxophones are wind instruments. I play all four. Women have plenty of wind.”

Caleb’s right eyebrow disappeared beneath a shock of wheat-gold hair. “They do at that, Jardin. I stand corrected.” As he lowered his laughing gaze, Caleb scrawled his name across the ball. “Does the kid have a handle?” he asked.

“Skipper West. Uh...Skip. Just make it ‘to Skip,”’ Crystal said, giving Tanner points for not taking his irritation at her out on the boy.

Tanner handed her the signed ball. His eyes returned to the saxophone as he capped his pen.

“Thanks. Skip will be in seventh heaven.”

“You’re welcome. If you’re really a musician who wanted me to sign a kid’s football, why barge in here claiming to work for WDIX-TV?”

“I do. I’m their business manager.”

The same eyebrow shot up again. “Busy lady. Business manager. Ace musician. Messenger for sick kids. Does that about cover your titles? Or is there a main man in the wings waiting to make you a missus something or other?” Cale wasn’t very discreet in grabbing her left hand to check for a ring.

Crystal laughed as she pulled away and stowed the football. “In addition to my work, I play at the Jazz Pub in the Quarter a couple of weekends a month. And I’m more than a messenger for sick kids, as you put it. I entertain in children’s wards around the city when I can, Mr. Tanner. There’s no time in my life for a man.”

“I thought we agreed. It’s Caleb. And you’re Crystal. Pretty name. Pretty lady. So you’ve sworn off guys. Pity.”

The rough singsongy caress of Tanner’s voice spiked a shiver of caution in Crystal’s stomach. Caution—or longing. She shook off the feeling. “I haven’t sworn off guys. There are six of ’em in Skipper’s ward. The oldest is twelve. They all got hurt playing ball. You don’t happen to have five autographed photos hiding in that drawer, do you? I promised I’d ask.” She paused for a couple of seconds. “These boys aren’t as lucky as you, Tanner. Pablo lost a leg dashing off the field after a wildly kicked soccer ball. He collided with a delivery truck. Skipper slipped and fell on a wet football field. Then four kids—who didn’t know he’d twisted his spine—piled on top of him. His injury may be permanent. Randy went for a basketball layup and slammed into a wall, resulting in major nerve damage that affects his whole left side.” Crystal stopped because all color had leached from Tanner’s face. “Sorry. I guess you understand what they’re going through.”

“Yeah, and I’m real lucky, too.” He slapped the mess of ropes and pulleys. “It’s been six weeks since I took the hit, and I still can’t bear weight on my right leg. In case you were fishing, Ms. Jardin, that’s not for publication. I will heal.”

“I told you I’m not a reporter.”

“I know what you said. I also know what can happen if information like that gets to the media. I’ll be out of a job. I don’t think you want that on your conscience, Ms. Bleeding Heart.”

“Rumors are already floating around. Pablo heard the techs in physical therapy talking. Will you play for the Sinners this season?”

“Hell, yes!” He tried to sit forward.

“Stop.” Crystal held him against the pillows. “I don’t want a repeat of yesterday.”

“Who’s saying I’m washed up?” Caleb demanded, every muscle in his long body tensing.

“Are you?” Crystal gave him a penetrating look.

Cale shut his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger. “I’m lively as an electric fence. Give me one good reason I should discuss any of this with you.”

She let several silent seconds tick by, then reached for her handbag and pulled out the envelope. Since Cale paid no attention to the rustle of paper, she cleared her throat.

He threw her a wary glance. Crystal saw more than she wanted to see. More than he wanted her to see. The man was hurting, and not just on the outside. She doubted it had anything to do with his physical condition.

“What’s that?” Cale shifted his gaze to the neatly typed page she’d unfurled.

“An offer of employment from Lyon Broadcasting. One of our sportscasters took a job in L.A. Nate Fraser, the sports director at WDIX-TV, wants you to replace him. So does André Lyon, and Michael McKay, head of personnel. It’s all in this letter of intent.”

“I’m not some over-the-hill quarterback you can dress in a monkey suit and slap behind a desk to talk about the game. I’m a player. A damn good one. I’ve got six more years in me if I’ve got a day.” He plucked the letter out of her hand and ripped it in two. As the pieces settled, he said venomously, “Tell Fraser to get the hell out of my face. Goes double for you, lady.”

Once again Crystal changed her opinion of the great Caleb Tanner. He was a spoiled brat. An egomaniac, too. She slammed the lid on her sax case as the outer door opened. In whisked the wiry man she’d seen leaving Tanner’s room yesterday.

“Cale? I heard you shouting all the way down the hall.” The newcomer trained his eyes on Crystal. “I don’t know the problem, so I can’t apologize for my client. I’m Cale’s agent, Leland Bergman.”

“It’s a case of killing the messenger. I could have brought Nate back a simple no just as easily.”

“Nate?” Leland rested his briefcase on Caleb’s bed.

Crystal hefted her sax and her handbag and started for the door, never glancing at Tanner. “I had the dubious honor of delivering Nate Fraser’s offer to hire Mr. Tanner as a WDIX-TV sportscaster.” She inclined her head toward the two halves of the letter. “I’m on my way now to relay Tanner’s refusal.”

“Hold on.” Leland loped across the floor. He tugged Crystal back into the room. After releasing her, he fitted the letter pieces together and read them.

Caleb sat through the whole ordeal without moving, as if carved from rock.

When Leland finished, he dropped the pieces into Cale’s lap and waited until he bad his client’s attention. “It’s a good offer,” Leland said with a catch in his voice. “I don’t mind saying, Cale, it’ll make my news a little easier to take. The Sinners won’t wait on another doctor’s opinion. They’ve given you the final sack, old buddy.”

Crystal had to turn away and blink her eyes. The last time she’d seen a man look so utterly devastated, she’d been eight. The news had been as bluntly delivered. A doctor had stridden into a waiting room where Crystal sat with her father and announced that her mother had died in recovery after a simple tonsillectomy. She’d hemorrhaged, and no one had been able to stop the bleeding. Crystal’s world—and her father’s—had shifted on its axis. Tanner’s had clearly just done the same.

Bergman was talking about a career change, not death. Still, Tanner obviously wasn’t going to do it. In her opinion, WDIX would be better off without him, although Nate and the others would be disappointed. She’d better go call them. Except that she still hadn’t fulfilled her promise to Skip’s friends.

“Mr. Bergman, there are five kids in a ward down the hall who’d love a signed photo of your client. They will always be his fans.”

Caleb rallied, emerging from his misery. “I forgot. Leland, are there any promo shots left in the bottom dresser drawer?”

Leland found them and shoved a stack at Crystal. “You want the little lady to hold off telling Fraser no—don’t you, Cale?”

“I want to play, Lee. Call Miami. They were sniffing around in the spring.”

“As soon as they hear the Sinners wire-brushed you due to injuries, nobody’ll be interested anymore. At least consider Fraser’s offer.”

Cale looked stubborn. “The money’s pocket change, Leland.”

Crystal almost swallowed her teeth.

The agent slicked a hand through thinning hair. “So ask for a hundred grand.”

“They’ll never pay it,” Crystal sputtered, fearing in her heart that they would.

Leland hustled her to the door. “Ask them, darlin’,” he whispered loudly. “Come back later with a counter. I’ll keep the Sinners from releasing a statement until Cale hammers out this deal.”

Crystal found herself outside in the hall staring at the closed door. A hundred thousand dollars to comment on a few games a year? They were out of their ever-loving gourds.

CHAPTER THREE

CRYSTAL DECIDED to grab some lunch and call André before going to see Skip and the other boys to give them their keepsakes. The crowded cafeteria pulsed with noisy chatter. Doctors and nurses who ordinarily ate in one of the hospital’s three open courtyards had been driven inside by the storm.

She chose a shrimp salad and a cup of coffee and settled into a corner table by a window. Fat raindrops beat steadily against the glass. Warming her hands on the cup, Crystal dreaded calling André. It was hard to gauge how he’d react. Probably he’d be upset. She ought to have explained to Tanner how generous the offer really was. But no, he wanted more. He wouldn’t have listened to reason. To top it off, he’d acted as if eighty-five thousand was a paltry amount.

Thank goodness it wasn’t her problem. She coordinated all department budgets and gave input into spending patterns. The decision to spend an obscene amount of money to hire a name—and to Crystal Caleb Tanner’s name was the only thing he had of any worth—belonged to the company principals, mainly André and Gaby. Margaret always backed them. Charles had almost ceased participating, and as for his sons...well, Alain and Raymond opposed everything André put on the table. Jason rarely attended meetings. Scott avoided all family politics. But spending money always caused major bickering.

Still, she couldn’t sit here procrastinating forever. Swallowing a bite of salad, Crystal took her cell phone out of her handbag and quickly punched in André’s number. “Hi, it’s me,” she said inanely in response to his greeting. “Tanner tore up our offer, André. I hope you don’t fall off your chair, but get this. His bottom line is one hundred thousand. Plus benefits, I’m sure. I let him know the figure was preposterous.”

She held the phone away from her ear as André responded.

“You’re telling me to go for it? Do you know how much of a slice that takes out of the sports budget? We paid Jerry Davis half that and he came to WDIX an experienced broadcaster. For all you know, Tanner might freeze in front of the camera.”

Crystal cradled the phone on her shoulder while she poked at the shrimp among her salad greens. The more determination she heard in André’s voice, the less hungry she became. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll concede that might be far-fetched. I realize you’ve seen him field sports interviews. Of course Lyon Broadcasting is solvent. Yes, we have money in the discretionary fund. André, maybe it’d be better if you and Nate came and talked to Tanner. I’ll go back to the office and adjust the short- and long-term planning figures to reflect your decision.”

She shoved her salad away. “I know you want him. It just seemed such an absurd request I didn’t seriously imagine you’d go that high.”

Sighing, Crystal massaged her forehead. “Okay. Will you print another letter of intent with the new dollar amounts and run it over here? Two copies. You sign both and I’ll have Tanner do the same—maybe. If he goes for it. You might want to include a list of benefits. I have a feeling he’ll ask what all we’re offering. Buzz me when you’re a couple of blocks from the hospital. I’ll come out to the curb and collect the envelope so you don’t have to fight for parking.”

After she hung up, she drank her cold coffee and contemplated what quirk in male brains made them elevate sports figures to the top of the salary pyramid. Well, top salary for an independent TV station, anyway. And from Tanner’s remarks it wasn’t even close to what he made throwing a stupid ball around a cow pasture. But then, rock stars pulled down indecent money compared to most jazz musicians she knew. More of life’s unfairness, she supposed.

The cafeteria had begun to empty. Rather than visit the boys while she waited for André’s call, Crystal refilled her coffee cup. Better to sew up this deal with Tanner and get it out of her system. Kids were so perceptive. Skipper, especially, because of the stream of foster families he’d lived with could pick up moods easily. Crystal didn’t want him worrying about her little snit.

Ultimately she downed three cups of coffee before André called. Her teeth might be on edge from an overdose of caffeine, but at least the storm had blown over and the rain had stopped. The sun had popped out and steam rose off the sidewalks by the time Crystal jogged out to the street to meet André’s car. He wasn’t alone. Nate and Michael were with him.

“Sure you won’t handle this, André?” she pleaded again as he shoved the manila envelope into her hand. “I’ll smuggle you past the nurses’ station.”

Nate leaned across André. “Pro athletes can be superstitious as heu, Crystal. We don’t know that Tanner is, but no sense rocking the canoe, if you know what I mean. He’s talking to you, and that suits me fine. Say, André forgot to ask—did Cale mention how long it’d be before we can expect him to come on board?”

“We, uh, didn’t get to the particulars. I doubt we’d have progressed beyond him ripping up our letter if his agent hadn’t shown up.”

André frowned. “Is Bergman involved in our negotiations? If so, the tab may go even higher.”

Crystal flattened herself against the car as an SUV plowed through a puddle and water sprayed from beneath its big wheels. “Mr. Bergman’s the one who urged Tanner to reconsider taking the job. I gathered he’s only just found out for sure that the Sinners aren’t going to renew Caleb’s contract.”

“So it’s official?” Nate played drumbeats on André’s dash. “I’m glad you beefed up the benefits, André. We’ll hit him while he’s still reeling. Stay with him until he signs, Crystal. And be nice. Tell him what he wants to hear. That he’ll have a generous travel allowance and his own expense account.”

“What?” Crystal bent down and thrust her head into the car. “Am I going to have to fight with him over road expenses the way I do with you, Nate? You can’t give an employee an unlimited expense account. It’s financial suicide. Tell him, Michael.”