Chapter 30
"Come on, Dad I feel fine! I want to go to the party!" Tempest knew he was whining like a five year old, but geez, everyone was getting all upset about a stupid broken nose.
Tempest picked Mart's shirt from off the bed and folded it with great precision in order to avoid his father's steely grey eyes. In a minute he spoke more calmly. "I can't sit around here all day. After a twenty hour nap, I don't need any more rest, I need fresh air and exercise.
His father didn't say anything, just raised his eyebrows. Ignoring these tactics, Tempest pulled a dainty blue cashmere sweater from the small pile of laundry he'd done in defiance of his father's orders to rest, and did a double take. It was very dainty, downright small in fact, he thought uneasily. Trixie was petite, but still....
He held it up. It looked like a doll's sweater. And the sequins around the collar were coming off. And it had rusty brown stains on it. It was ruined. He'd have to buy her a new one. He smiled at the sweater, wishing he'd been able to see better when she'd pulled it off to stop the bleeding. Then he scowled, remembering that on that occasion, she called him Jim.
"Tempest? Tempest!" His dad gently pulled the sweater from his hands.
Tempest woke up. "Sorry Dad, Did you say something?"
"I don't think this brings out the color in your eyes." his father said blandly.
Tempest stared a minute, then laughed and explained. "Trixie used this to stop the bleeding at the show. Why didn't the blood come out?"
"Next time wash it in cold water," his father advised dryly. "Not that there will be a next time. Tempest, I want you to be careful."
Love for his father warred with irritation. He'd never seen his dad so shaken as the other day, but that was over now. He spoke carefully.
"Dad, that was just..." he ran his hand through his hair in frustration. "It's all over now, OK? And I will be careful. There's nothing to worry about." He tossed Trixie's sweater onto the bed and quickly finished folding his T-shirts. "Well, I can give Mart his shirt back anyway. At the party." He added, firmly.
His father looked more stern that he had in years. He started to speak, then paused, possibly remembering that Tempest was not five, but twenty-five. "Well, I'll drive, I guess Ed will want to go too. I'll go change and then we better get going. You've got some cleaning up to do, too."
"Oh, right. OK." His father went to the hotel room door and paused with his hand on the knob. He watched Tempest gathering hastily shoving the folded clothes into drawers and gathering up all the newspapers scattered around his hotel room.
"That isn't exactly what I meant," There was a faint laugh in his father's voice, but he took the newspapers from Tempest and added, "I'll get rid of these," as he left Tempest's room.
Fine. He'd skimmed the articles, avoiding the photographs of Julie Summers under arrest. Tempest didn't want to think about Julie Summers ever again.
His stomach jumped a little. He could still her laughing, still feel the gun pressed so hard against his knee cap that he had a circular bruise there. But it was OK, he was fine. Happy Ending, he thought defiantly, shoving back the image of Jim carrying Trixie off the ice like a groom carrying a bride.
He'd see her today, in just about an hour; that was the important thing. Just the thought sent a pleasant shiver down his spine. They hadn't had much time to get to know each other, too much crisis and trauma. But today they could just have fun. Of course Jim would be there. He wondered if Jim had spoken to her about Jason. Deep in thought, he rubbed his jaw, his fingers encountering a bandage and two days growth of beard. He had his work cut out for him.
Ten minutes later he was swearing. If he'd looked in the mirror before he and Dad had argued, his father might have won the debate about the party. He looked awful. And not Romantic Wounded Hero awful, just seedy-awful; two black eyes, dark stubble he couldn't reach without pulling the bandage off and risking his father's further wrath, plus an additional bandage across his Marcia Brady-esque nose. At the best of times he was not that good looking and next to Jim he was going to look like a guy out on bail.
He tried one more time to get that patch of stubble next to his mouth, and cut himself. He winced, dropped the razor on the floor and yelled at it, "Fine! You can just stay there!"
He was embarrassed, no angry, to actually find tears close to the surface. What the heck was that? He'd gotten that all out of his system. It was just...creepy to him, the way Julie had looked up at him and he had to be honest, he was, well, uncomfortable that Trixie had witnessed it. She wouldn't think less of him, he knew that. But still, he'd like to look like he was back in control.
"Don't be an idiot," he said out loud fiercely. "Just get your butt to that party." He wondered why the overwrought words, "before it is too late" came to mind.
Because you are stupid, he told himself and he crossed his eyes at himself in the mirror, increasing his resemblance to Quasimodo, scooped up his razor and tossed it in the general direction of his shaving kit and got dressed.
".. narrowly AVERTED at the BELEAGUERED Skate Connection ICE Rink in Sleepyside, as a suspect described as a "DISGRUNTLED employee" held a GUN for a short time on an Olympic bound figure SKATER."
The female newscaster had the annoying habit of giving every 5th word or so "punch." She must have watched William Hurt's character in Broadcast News too closely, Ed Duggat thought sourly. They were all giving it coverage, some more than others, even 2 days after the fact. And no doubt this was nothing compared to what was happening in Canada. He'd spent all day yesterday doing phone interviews.
"The SUSpect, identfied as Julie Summers of Sasketchewan was apparently unHAPPY with world CHAMPion, Tempest Smith. Fortunately she was disarmed and SMITH, who has been training for the OLYMPICS at the state of the art rink, was unhurt."
"Well more or less," Ed grumbled to the TV as there was a knock on the door. It was Bill Smith.
"How is he, Bill?" Ed asked, trying to conceal his anxiety.
Bill Smith ran his hands through his crisp grey hair in frustration. "Stubborn as heck, that's how he is!,” he burst out. “He insists on going to that damn party. Wish I hadn't told him about it."
Ed couldn't help laughing, "Yeah Bill, like you'd keep anything from Tempest. The party is probably no big deal, but he should have waited on doing interviews, no wonder he was so wiped out."
As Ed spoke, the Fox station was showing Tempest, looking tired and bruised but speaking gamely, ".... rough couple of days, but it's all over now and I can get back to training."
The two men stood watching for a moment and then Bill sighed, "Stubborn, but smart. He knew that the sooner he talked to the media, the sooner the whole thing would die down."
"He also knew he'd look worse today with that broken nose." Ed grunted, poured himself a stiff Johnny Walker and passed another to Bill, "God, Bill, that's the last thing he needs; an injury now! Nationals are next month!"
Bill nodded his thanks and laughed ruefully, "Right before he fell asleep the other day, he said, 'Tell Ed you don't skate on your nose.' He's quiet, but he's tough."
Ed heard both pride and concern in Bill's voice. He opened his mouth and then closed it again and took a swallow of his scotch. "What do you mean, quiet? He’s never been a what you call a babbling brook."
The reporter was asking, "But what about the report that she had a gun?" Tempest's flinch almost inperceptable, and he answered readily, "Well, that's true, Julie kind of lost it yesterday, almost like a nervous breakdown, I guess. She had me cornered but Trixie Belden and her brother Bob set off some special effects mist and that distracted her enough to let me get the heck out of Dodge."
Bill took a big swallow of scotch and spoke to himself. "I could have lost him. It was so close."
He sat down as if his knees had suddenly given out. Ed didn't know what to say. His guilt rose up in an overwelming wave, but before he could speak, Bill said more loudly, "He's talked a little. But he hasn't told me everything. He's keeping something back. Maybe a lot."
Ed stared at the screen a long minute. Trixie was now being interviewed. You didn't have to be straight to see what was so attractive about her. There was something about her; an energy and a vibrancy that made everyone turn to give her a second look. And yesterday she had been cradled in some other guy's arms while Tempest had watched.
He sighed, knowing Tempest would not thank him for butting in and anyway, he was hardly qualified to offer advice with his own life in a shambles. Tempest could be dead right now, he could be nursing a lot worse than a broken nose right now, and it was all Ed's fault. He didn't know how to say it, so he changed the channel on the TV, while he pondered a person apologizes to a man for almost crippling his son.Tempest spotted her right away. Trixie was already out on the frozen lake skating. She and Honey Wheeler were skating hand in hand, doing some kind of routine, not very well, but laughing and having a good time. His dad and Ed were talking with Mr. Lynch and some gray haired lady wearing sensible boots. Having greeted his hosts, The Wheelers, Tempest picked up his skates and walked swiftly down the path, past a roaring bonfire down to the frozen lake. The air was perfect, clean and fresh; he felt like he'd been let out of a cage. His spirits took a dive however, when Rosita, her eyes wide, said in a tragic (and amazingly carrying) voice, "Oh Tempest, what did that lady do to you?"
There was an embarrassing silence and Tempest felt like he was a strange specimen in a zoo as everyone stopped skating and turned to him. He was mumbling to Rosita that he was fine when a voice from behind him yelled, "Like run, Scoob! It's like the Tar Monster!" Tempest burst out laughing as Bob Belden walked past him doing the Shaggy walk.
The tension was broken. Everyone crowded around, telling him they were glad he could make it. In an effort to hide both his pleasure and his embarrassment, he chased Rosita, growling like the Tar monster, while she shrieked with laughter. He caught her, and she giggled as he swept her up and said, "She didn't do anything to me, I jumped nose first onto the cement. Do not try this at home!"
Rosita darted off and as he sat down and laced up his skates, out of the corner of his eye, he tried to see if Trixie was especially pleased to see him. To his delight, she skated right up to him. He took her hands gently.
“How are you?” he said at the same time she did and they both laughed, his heart lifting higher than the treetops.
“You first,” he insisted. “How is your hand?” She was wearing mittens, but judging by the lumpy appearance of the one on her right hand, she was pretty heavily bandaged. “Are you sure you’re ok?”
“Don’t forget I have a doctor on call 24 hours a day who says I’m fine. No permanent damage at all.”
He dropped a light kiss on the fuzzy blue wool mitten, feeling a weight drop off his shoulders. Studying her face (those freckles were too enchanting) he could see that she was indeed fine. In fact he hoped it wasn't his imagination that she seemed alight with happiness.
Before he could investigate further, Bob and Jerry grabbed him for their side of a hockey game. Dad would kill him, but the carefree play was intoxicating. Jim and Brian Belden were nowhere to be seen, but Dan, Jennifer, Mart, Bob, Jerry, Amelia, Heather, and Rosita joined in a very badly played hockey match.
Tempest wasn't entirely foolish however, and when Amelia, Bob and Jerry left the ice, he did too. The quick game had loosened up his sore muscles, his bruised back was just like any normal skating bruise, and he knew he could resume training tomorrow, and be jumping the next day. His spirits rose even higher as he and the others trooped up the path, teasing each other about their dismal hockey skills.
After they had warmed up at the bonfire they joined the older guests in the glassed in porch of the huge house called Manor House. There was plenty of food, much of which he could eat, grilled shrimp, fresh veggies and out of season strawberries and soon he was sitting on the floor, he and Heather telling Di Lynch and Trixie about costume mishaps.
"So of course we're all watching as this little tear on the seat of his pants is slowly getting longer, but he was OK, till the final sit spin, and we're like oh no, here it comes!" Heather covered her eyes dramatically.
Di was laughing, "What happened? What did he do?"
Tempest said merrily, "Well, the inevitable happened. Um, let's just say he couldn't take his bows at the end of his program or he would have mooned the entire audience."
Trixie finished her champagne and said, "I would have died dead! I am a horrible coward that way!"
Tempest sobered and he said quietly, "No, I think coward is the last word I'd use to describe you." Wishing Heather and Di had urgent business to attend to at the other end of the moon or at least the other side of the porch, he added, "I'm going to get another drink, could I get anyone anything?"
With a smile that wiped out any residual aches he was feeling, Trixie held her empty champagne flute out and he took it, their fingertips touching for a second. He strived for the manners his grandmother had drilled into him, "Anyone else? Heather? Di?"
They shook their heads and he went off, trying to think of a ruse to get Trixie alone. Behind him he heard Di say, "He is so cute!" and felt foolishly proud that the most beautiful woman in the room thought he was cute. (especially given his Tar Monster appearance)
He had just filled Trixie's glass and was crouching to pull a Diet Coke from the bottles on ice when his world fell apart.
"This is so fun, Honey." It was Jennifer, helping herself to some Krug. "So what's the deal with Trixie's gorgeous diamond ring? Is that really from Jim?"
Honey's voice was filled with happiness, "Oh Jennifer, I was so thrilled when I saw her take off her gloves and she was wearing it! You don't know how good it feels to see them together again!"
Still chattering excitedly, they moved off to sit down with Trixie. Trixie was holding out her hand so Jennifer could see the brilliant sparkles just above the bandage. It was probably shock that made him think something didn't look right. He looked down at the glass he held and could see the faint mark of Trixie's lipstick on the rim. That was strange, the fine crystal was trembling. He glanced around the room and was vaguely astonished to see that the walls were still standing, the sun was still bright in the winter sky, the fire in the fireplace was still crackling merrily. Jim was standing by it, talking with Bob and Brian Belden, and although he was listening politely, his eyes were on a certain bright head. His fiancée. Tempest forced the words to his mind. Trixie was going to marry Jim Frayne.To Be Continued