I think my jaw is dislocated,” Tate said, his fingers gingerly probing the lower half of his face.
“Oh, it is not, you big sissy,” Gina countered. “You wouldn’t be able to talk if that were the case.”
She shifted the bag of ice on her right hand to reveal a bruise roughly the size, shape, and color of a plum forming across her knuckles.
“See what you did?” She held out the hand so he could see the severity of her injury. “It hurts like the dickens. How am I gonna tape a show with my hand like this?”
“What I did?” he sputtered. “You attacked me. It’s a clear case of aggravated assault.”
“I was aggravated, all right,” Gina said. “You deliberately provoked me.”
“Shut up, you two,” Val ordered. She opened a bottle of aspirin, poured out a handful of tablets and gave half to Tate and half to Regina. She looked around the trainer’s room. “Has anybody got a bottle of water?”
“How about some orange juice?” Lisa asked, offering the carton she’d fetched from the women’s locker room.
A half smile flitted across Tate’s bruised face. “Is this the orange juice?”
“Afraid so,” Gina said, trying to suppress her own amusement.
“Might as well,” Tate said. He swallowed the aspirin with a few ounces and handed the carton over to Gina, who did the same.
The door to the trainer’s room opened. Deborah and Scott walked in, their faces glum.
“What now?” Gina asked.
“Well…” Deborah said, giving Scott a sideways glance.
He sat down on the trainer’s table beside Gina. “How’s the hand? Is it broken?”
She wiggled her fingers, wincing. “I’m not going to lie. It hurts,” Gina said. “But tell me what happened. Something’s wrong.”
“Just worried about you,” Scott said, patting her leg awkwardly.
“Barry just left,” Deborah said abruptly.
“What? He just walked out? Did he say anything?” Val asked.
Deborah tossed her hair. “After these two finished their exhibition match, and while they were getting doctored, Barry finished his conference call, and then he told Zeke to call the hotel and cancel their reservation and book seats on the next flight back to New York. Other than that, no, he didn’t say anything. But he didn’t have to. You should have seen the look on his face. He was obviously appalled. As was I,” she added, with a shake of her head. “What a fiasco.”
“I’m sorry,” Gina said. “I blew it. There’s no excuse for the way I acted.”
Deborah fixed Tate with a cold stare. “I have an idea you were provoked. So it wasn’t all your fault.”
“Screw you, lady,” Tate said, jumping up off the table. “This whole boxing match thing was your idea. You engineered the whole thing. The gym, the stupid outfits, all of it. And that photographer. You heard him. He was egging us on. We just gave you what you asked for. I’ve got no apologies.” He jerked his head in Gina’s direction. “And neither should she.”
Gina looked up and smiled wanly. “Still. I’m sorry I hit you so hard.”
He shrugged. “I’ll get over it. See you around.” He turned to his producer. “Let’s roll.”
An awkward silence fell over the trainer’s room after Tate and Val left.
Finally, Lisa cleared her throat. “I’m, uh, gonna go get our stuff,” she told her sister. “Guess I’ll drive us home so you can leave the ice pack on your hand.”
“Good idea,” Scott said.
Cell phone in hand, Deborah started for the door too. “I’ve got to get started doing some damage control,” she said. “I overheard Zeke saying their flight won’t leave for another hour. I’m going to call Barry and try to put a positive spin on things. Joel did show me some of the shots on his digital camera. They’re actually not bad.” She smirked. “I especially like the one of Moody flat on his ass. With a little luck, I think I can still salvage this thing.”
Now it was just the two of them. Scott and Gina.
“Guess I blew it,” Gina said. “For both of us.”
Scott shrugged. “Leave it to Deborah. She’s a pro. She’ll figure a way to make lemonade out of this lemon.” He stood with his hands clasped behind his back. “All this time, I was worried about the other Foxton girl ripping me a new one. You’ve got quite a haymaker on you, Gina. Remind me not to get on your bad side again.”
She shifted the ice pack. “Tate Moody is a redneck jerk. But I shouldn’t have let him get under my skin. I wasn’t raised like that. If my mama saw what I did out there today, she would be having conniptions.”
“You really cleaned his clock,” Scott repeated. “The look on your face. I could see he was getting under your skin. What exactly did he say to set you off like that?”
Dick-whipped, Gina thought. What an ugly phrase. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, repeat it, not to anybody. Anyway, she had stood up for what she believed in. Hadn’t she refused to be photographed in those hideous shorts?
“I don’t even remember,” Gina said finally. “It was all just a blur.”
When Lisa slid behind the wheel of the Honda, Gina gave her a searching look. “Are you sure you’re okay to drive? How much of that vodka did you have?”
“Not that much,” Lisa assured her. “Hardly any. I’m actually more of a Natty Lite girl. Anyway, I only brought the vodka ’cause I thought you might need a little pick-me-up.”
“If you’re sure,” Gina said, leaning back against the headrest. “All I need is for us to get a DUI to make this the hands-down worst day of my life.”
“Hands down,” Lisa chortled, pulling carefully out of the parking lot. “That’s pretty funny. Hands down.”
“Not funny at all,” Gina said, closing her eyes.
“What did the asshole say after I left?” Lisa asked.
“He thinks Deborah can salvage the mess I made. Doesn’t matter. I ruined everything.” She turned and gave Lisa a sad smile. “Sorry about your short-lived showbiz career.”
“Screw it,” Lisa said succinctly. “You can get a new producer. And a new show. Anyway, it was fun while it lasted. I can’t wait till everybody at home sees the Thanksgiving show. You think I should start looking for an agent?”
“That vodka of yours is making me really woozy,” Gina said, avoiding the subject. “I just want to go home, take some painkillers, and go to bed.”
“Tell me one thing before you nod off?”
“Shoot.”
“What did the Tatester say to make you deck him?”
Gina yawned dramatically. “It was nothing.”
“Then tell me.”
She blushed. “It’s too crude to repeat. And it’s not true.”
Lisa guffawed. “Rude, crude, and socially unacceptable? I live for that kind of stuff. Come on. Tell.”
“He said…”
“What? He said you looked pretty damned hot in that robe?”
“No. I mean, well, yeah, he did say it looked good on me.”
“But that’s not why you socked him in the jaw.”
“Can we just drop this? I’m tired. My hand is throbbing.”
“Tell me what he said and I won’t say another word.”
“He accused me of being dick-whipped. Okay? He said I shouldn’t have let them talk me into putting on that outfit if I didn’t want to do it. And that’s when I punched him. He asked for it. End of story.”
Lisa nodded her approval. “Good ending. Especially since the rest of the morning was such a letdown.”
“How was it a letdown for you?”
“Helloooo?” Lisa said. “You think I got up at the butt-crack of dawn and drove all this way just to watch you nut up over some tight pants? No offense, but I came because I was promised a chance to see Tate Moody up close and personal. Without a shirt.”
She sighed and held up her camera phone. “I didn’t get a single shot.”