thought you’d given up trying to intimidate me, Nathan.”
“Can’t help it if your mama didn’t train you right, white girl.”
Shaking her head, Crystal dropped into a chair. “Shall I phone Jill and tell her how you talk at work?” Nate’s brilliant and beautiful Creole wife currently served on the U.S. president’s council for the advancement of race relations. Nate doted on her.
He looked sheepish. “For a woman who detests sports, you play hardball, Miz Crystal. If you aren’t here to hassle me about greenbacks, what is on your mind?”
“Verifying a rumor that Caleb Tanner’s ending his football career.”
Nate catapulted from his chair. “Not our prize quarterback?”
Crystal nodded.
Nate’s eyes glittered with interest. Then he plopped back into the chair, crossed his arms and scowled. “You wouldn’t be jivin’ me, would you?”
“So you can’t confirm it? Shoot. That means I’ll have to brave Tanner’s room again to get Skipper’s football autographed.” She stood up and moved toward the door.
“Wait.” He rounded the desk fast for a big man. “This is no joke? You’ve been in Cale’s hospital room?”
“Yes, and I don’t relish going back. He’s obnoxious and—”
Nate stopped her midsentence. “Every sportscaster in town’s been trying to get past those battle-axes at the nurses’ station. The docs, Cale’s agent and the spokesperson for the Sinners all issued a standard no-comment.” Nate reached around her, shut the door and gently urged her back into her chair. “This is serious. Tell Papa Nate what gave you the wild idea Cale’s cashing in his cleats.”
She inspected her nails. “There’s probably not a shred of truth to the rumor.”
“Let me be the judge.” He listened intently as Crystal explained how she came to be at the hospital and ultimately in Tanner’s room.
“The skinny dude you saw Cale throw out on his ear sounds like Leland Bergman, his agent. So Cale’s in mega-pain? This kid—he’s sure the tech said Cale’s career is in the toilet?”
“Not quite in those delicate words,” Crystal drawled. “But that was the gist.”
“Well, well, well, well.” He rocked forward and back, singsonging the word. After a stretch during which neither of them spoke, Nate grabbed his phone. He made several calls, presumably to- sources, all the while indicating Crystal should stay seated.
“What did you find out?” she asked when at last he hung up and rubbed his palms together excitedly.
“My source believes the Sinners are quietly casting the waters in hopes of landing a new quarterback.”
“Then I guess that’s that.” Crystal got to her feet. “Don’t you. feel the slightest bit of compassion for Mr. Tanner? After all, an injury forced you out of pro sports.”
“Of course I sympathize with his situation.”
“Could’ve fooled me. You look delighted.”
“I am that. My top sportscaster, Jerry Davis, took a job in L.A. If we work fast, we might entice Cale to replace him.”
Crystal, who’d again started for the door, glanced over her shoulder. “An announcer? The man’s like a buffalo in a china shop. You can’t polish his rough edges enough to put him on camera. He wears a gold stud in one ear, for Pete’s sake.”
“The guy’s got a great voice.”
“He bellows.”
“He can charm the frogs off their lily pads.”
Crystal tapped her toe impatiently. “He has the manners of an orangutan.”
Nate smirked. “Yeah. He’ll fit right in. And since you, lovely lady, have access to the man, you’re going to hire him for us before a competitor hears he’s on the loose.”
“Me?” She tried to bolt, but Nate beat her to the door and held it shut with a ham-size palm. “Do your own dirty work,” she snapped. “I’ve got other shrimp to peel.”
“No one else in the media can get near the man,” he said, trying to wheedle.
“Yeah, well, he tossed me out and probably ruptured something doing it.”
“Didn’t you say that later on, he wanted you to stop by his room? I bet he intends to apologize. Cale’s got a rep for being real nice to the ladies. Tell you what. Give me an hour to put together an employment offer and get André’s okay. I’ll have to talk to Michael McKay in Human Resources, too.” He stroked his chin. “Ought to have it ready for you to run over to Tanner by eleven or so.”
“Only if André says I have to,” she said reluctantly. “But I’ll go after work. I’m summarizing a report for the board. Besides, I promised Skipper I’d visit him this evening. I’m not making two trips to the hospital in one day.”
Nate straightened away from the door. “I hate to drag our heels in case somebody else gets wind of this. Let’s see what André and Mike want to do.”
“Deal.” She stuck out her hand and they shook. “It’ll frost in the French Quarter before André gives sports precedence over company finances.”
CRYSTAL HAD A PENCIL stuck in her hair, one between her teeth, and reports strewn all over her desk when her door swung open. Looking up, she saw Nate, André and his son-in-law, Michael, bearing purposefully down on her. “Hey, you guys are causing a draft,” she shrieked, grabbing for a couple of pages that had skittered to the floor.
“Sorry.” Nate closed the door while André and Michael collected the spreadsheets that had landed beside her desk.
“Nate brought us up to snuff on the Tanner deal. Thanks for calling this to Nate’s attention, Crystal.” André tucked the loose papers under her elbow. “Did Cale indicate what salary he’d accept? Can he be had for eighty-five thou?”
Crystal’s chin almost hit the desk. “Eighty-five thousand, as in dollars?”
André tugged at his lower lip. “Probably peanuts to him, all right. But he must have a fortune socked away. We’ll go with eighty-five. If he scoffs or claims to have another deal pending, angle for his bottom line. We’ll try to match it.”
“Why?”
“Why what?” André pursed his lips; Michael merely shook his head.
Nate grinned at Crystal. “I think it just frosted in the French Quarter, kid.”
She stuck out her tongue at Nate, but appealed to André and Mike. “Tanner has no experience. That salary puts him on a par with our managers.”
“We can afford it, can’t we?” Michael asked.
“Yes, but—”
“His name alone will raise our ratings. That’s our offer.” André dug a sealed envelope from his suit jacket and pressed it into Crystal’s hand. “The three of us are going to K-Paul’s for lunch and to organize some plans. Michael has an idea for sending Tanner into the community—chanty stuff, you know, to enhance the station’s image. I’m taking my cellular. Phone us with his answer.”
Crystal watched them walk out, talking animatedly. It was Caleb this and Caleb that. She felt like throwing up. André used to be so levelheaded. Having a son late in life must have affected his brain. Andy-Paul was barely six, but Crystal should have remembered seeing André racing around the yard at Lyoncrest, tossing various balls to the kid. Footballs. Soccer. Softballs. And where was Gaby during all this? Right out there with them, Crystal recalled. Gaby claimed Andy-Paul, a change-of-life child, was a miracle that had