Pamela Yaye - Games of the Heart

Thankful she’d had the foresight to go to the World Mission office, she smiled inwardly. A quick trip downtown had put a small dent in her sign-Khari-Grant fund, but it was money well spent. The supervisor, Ms. Pittney, had beamed as she scooped up T-shirts, pens and other merchandise bearing the World Mission logo.

“I’m glad you stopped by. I’ve been thinking about doing something like this for a while, but never got around to it.”

Her eyes danced over his face. His skin was a rich, creamy shade of brown, and he had a strong, defined chin. Policing her thoughts, she blinked hard, and quickly regained focus. Enough lusting. It was time to make her move. She had done her good deed for the day, now it was time to do something for herself. And nothing would make her happier than signing Khari Grant. “Do you have any children, sir?”

“Sir?” Marshall shook his head in disapproval. “I know I’m old, but I’m not that old,” he teased, his tone rich with humor. “How old do you think I am?”

“I don’t know. Thirty?”

He rewarded her guess with a smile.

“You’re not going to tell me?” she asked, liking how quickly he had changed from the snarling homeowner to the grinning neighbor. Attractive in a long-sleeve, collared black sweater and slacks, he looked more relaxed than he had at Westchester Academy. But then again, he wasn’t trying to stop her from beating up on the school vending machine. Today, she was a humanitarian. Feeling flirtatious, and enjoying their playful banter, she cocked her head to the right. “If you tell me your age, I’ll tell you mine,” she promised.

“Only if you come inside for a quick drink.”

He didn’t have to ask her twice. “I’m right behind you, Mr. Grant.”

One look inside Marshall’s house and Sage knew he was a momma’s boy. Everything from the dainty glass tables, plush, luxurious rugs and frilly cushions was a doting mother’s handiwork. From the outside, the house was no showpiece, but the three-story home boasted lofty ceilings, gigantic picture windows and polished floors. The house felt lived-in and had obviously been decorated with tender, loving care.

“Would you like something to drink?”

“A glass of water would be great,” she said, holding her clipboard to her chest. “Walking around all day is exhausting.”

“I bet,” he agreed with a sympathetic nod. “Has there been a lot of interest in the sponsorship program?”

Remembering what Ms. Pittney said about last year’s Christmas campaign, Sage shook her head regretfully. “Not as many as we would have liked. More people sign up during the holidays. I guess it pacifies their guilt for buying things they don’t need, but by the time the New Year rolls around most sponsors have had a change of heart.”

“That’s terrible.”

The solemn expression on his face squeezed her heart. He really did care about the orphaned kids in Haiti. And there was no doubt in her mind that she’d be leaving with a financial contribution for World Mission International. An image of Ms. Pittney flashed in her mind, assuaging her guilt and bolstering her spirits. “It’s warm and toasty in here.” Glancing around, she rubbed her gloved hands together. “I’m from Las Vegas and not used to such cold weather.”

“What brought you all the way to Indianapolis?”

Caught off guard by his question, Sage racked her brain for a suitable answer. Snippets of her hour-long conversation with Ms. Pittney resurfaced. “World Mission has its headquarters here, and I felt it was important to make the trip out.” Marshall nodded, his eyes kind, and his expression sympathetic. Encouraged by his obvious interest, she went on. “I’m on a multicity tour to drum up more corporate donations. The AIDS treatment center in Haiti is desperately underfunded and on the verge of being closed.”

“Well, on behalf of Mayor Ballard and the entire city council, welcome to Indy.” Smiling, he motioned to the suede armchair to his left. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back with your drink.”

“Thank you,” she said, resisting the urge to do the cabbage patch in the middle of the area rug. Sage never imagined it would be this easy getting close to Marshall. Five minutes into the plan, and she was sitting inside the Grant house. By the end of the week, Khari Grant would be her newest client. Confident she’d be thousands of dollars richer, she settled into her seat with the grace of a queen.

The harsh, riveting sound of Marshall’s voice knocked the grin off Sage’s face. He was warning someone named Dale Williamson to stop calling his house. Occupied with her thoughts, she hadn’t even heard the telephone ring. Sage could tell by the hostility in his tone that he was pissed off. It was the same tone he’d unleashed on her when he caught her kicking the vending machine.

Intrigued, she stood and tiptoed across the living-room floor. Holding her breath, she pushed open the kitchen door and peeked inside. Marshall stood beside the stove, his teeth clenched and his fists tight.

“I don’t care what agency you’re from. My son’s future is not for sale. And if you call here again, I’ll have you charged with harassment.”

Sage gulped. Sweat dripped down her back and the knot in her stomach tightened. Those weren’t empty threats. Marshall meant business.

“No, I don’t want you to call me back next week. My answer isn’t going to change. Khari’s going to study medicine and that’s all there is to it. The NBA will not take care of my son in the way he needs. He needs an education first, not groupies and more money than he knows what to do with.”

Filing that piece of information away, she pushed open the door farther.

“I’d prefer if you left us the hell alone.”

Her shoulders sank. So much for a lead! News of Khari’s remarkable basketball skills had gotten out and now offers were rolling in. It was just a matter of time before sports agents from In the Know Management and Legends of Tomorrow and a host of other agencies descended on the city.

“Who are you spying on?”

Sage whipped around so fast, the door whacked her on the butt like a wooden paddle. Khari Grant dropped his backpack at his feet and sidled up beside her. Like most basketball players, he was lean, trim and over six feet tall. Imitating her posture, he bent down and pushed open the kitchen door. He listened for a few minutes before turning back to her. Shrugging his shoulders, he said, “That’s just Dad being Dad. He gets like that sometimes.” His lips expanded into a boyish smile. “What’s up? I’m Khari.”

“Hi, Khari,” she greeted, liking the teenager instantly. “I’m Sage.”

“Cool name.”

“Thanks. I like it.”

Khari chuckled. “So you work for World Mission, huh?”

“No, I’m a—” Sage caught herself before she unwittingly blew her cover. “Yes, I volunteer a few days a month. But I have a regular job there too.”

Bending down, he retrieved his backpack from the floor and slung it over his shoulder. “I gotta hit the books. Got a paper to write about Hamlet and his boy Horatio. Check you later.”

“About what you saw when you walked in,” she began, feeling the need to explain. “I wasn’t eavesdropping. Your dad sounded upset…I was going to go in the kitchen to see what was wrong, but I…I got scared,” she lied, praying he believed her.

His smirk told her he didn’t. “It’s all good, Sage.” He winked. “I do it too sometimes.”

The kitchen door swung open. When Marshall spotted Khari, his entire face came alive. “Khari, you’re home. How was study group?”

“All right, I guess. I’m starting to get the hang of this Shakespeare stuff.”

“Did you get back your physics test?”