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"Winners dont need luck. "
She stood there, arms crossed, until long after he was gone.
Somewhere in the house a beam settled; wood creaked. In the living room, the mantel clock chimed five oclock.
She tried not to think about the endless, narrow hallway of the day before her. It was early; she could go back to bed. But she wouldnt sleep.
She walked into the kitchen, opened her daily calendar, and began to plan her day. She was halfway through her To Do list when she realized it was Thursday.
Passionless women night.
Maybe shed go. It wasnt as if she had anything better to do.
Jack liked everything about first class: the impossibly short line at check-in, the roomy, comfortable gray seats, the clean white trays that held edible food, the drinks that never stopped coming.
Hot towels, sir? Can I get you a brandy for after dinner, Mr. Shore? Can I take your coat for you?
Service was something hed forgotten existed in air travel until recently. Their family vacations over the last few years had consisted of four people crammed into the el-cheapo package.
He reached under the seat in front for his briefcase. Noticing the scratches and scuffs on the black leather, he wondered if he should have splurged on a new one. He knew what Birdie would say. You dont get a second chance to make a first impression. Do it right the first time.
Suddenly he wished hed told her about the interview. She would have agonized over his clothes choices, matching the right tie with the right shirt. There would have been no question about the briefcase.
It was how shed helped him prepare for Albuquerque so long ago. Youre a star, shed said fiercely, squeezing his shoulders, and dont you forget it for a second. Channel 2 should fall on its knees at the chance to hire the great Jackson Shore.
"A star," he murmured, realizing a second too late that hed spoken aloud. He glanced around, but no one seemed to have noticed.
He could still remember how it felt; that was the hell of it, the thing that had haunted him. When you were on top, you glided rather than walked . . . doors magically opened for you long before you reached for the knob . . . and tables at the best restaurants were held for you. Most of all, he remembered how people looked at you.
"Mr. Shore? The captain has turned on the seat-belt sign. Were about to land. "
He shoved his briefcase back under the seat in front of him, then smiled up at the flight attendant. "Thanks. "
The plane touched down gently, shuddered a few times, and rolled easily toward the terminal. Within moments, the flight attendant reappeared, holding his garment bag. "Here you go, Mr. Shore. You didnt have a coat, did you?"
He flashed her a smile. "I forgot one. I havent been back east in a while. "
"How could anyone who played for the Jets forget a New York winter?"
She knew who he was. This wasnt ordinary first-class service; she was flirting with him.
"Im from Minneapolis, myself. Ive got a two-day layover here . . . at the Warwick Hotel. "
Jack heard the shuffling, banging sounds of people deplaning. It all seemed very far away.
All he had to do was nod, say, Ill be here for the night, too; what a coincidence, and ask for her name. They could spend tonight in the dark corners of a smoky cocktail lounge, with their legs pressed excitingly close together, making small talk until the time was right to stop talking altogether . . .
For a moment he wanted it--wanted her--so much he felt light-headed. Then he thought about Frank Gifford and took a deep breath. His equilibrium returned. Those days were behind him.
He reached for his garment bag, took it from her. "Thanks. Have a great time in New York. "
Her smile started to fall. She reinforced it quickly. "Have a good trip, Mr. Shore. "
"You, too. " He shouldered his bag and left the plane. At the gate, there was a crowd of people waiting for the next flight.
Warren stood out from the crowd like a two-hundred-year-old Douglas fir in a new-growth forest. He was tall and expensively dressed, but that wasnt what separated him from the others.
The crown of celebrity sat comfortably on Warrens head. He moved forward, grinning. The crowd parted to let him pass. They were pointing at him, whispering among themselves. Jack didnt think Warren even noticed.
