you heard anything from the top yet?”
Xander pointed to the phones, which were all unplugged—every
set in the house had been maxed out on messages before they"d even
returned home that night. No phones for them.
“I thought so. Now, see, if we can get in an interview—abig
interview—that gets public sentiment on your side… no, no, don"t look
like that, Xander. You can"t pull that anymore.” Xander had started
226 Amy Lane
hunching his shoulders and looking away shyly, in his usual “Cave Man”
pose. “You can"t. The whole world heard you tell poor Angie Robinson
that “Chris Edwards was your heart”—man, it"s one of the most fucking
romantic things I"ve ever heard. Swear to Christ, I almost shed a tear in
my Scotch. That"s good shit. You two—you go on television, you do the
interview thing, and you beabsofuckinglutelyhonest. Third home game
of the month? Do it. Spill it. Xander"s little harem—talk about them.
Chris"s DUI—come-the-fuck clean. Get it out. Tell the world what it"s
cost you. I"m betting on the world thinking you"ve paid your dues.”
Xander looked at Chris in a world of embarrassment. Oh God.
Really?
Chris looked back at him, and through the pain and the exhaustion,
there was some anticipation, some excitement, and that made up
Xander"s mind.
“Yeah, fine. Who wants us?”
And now Leo"s expression became positively diabolical. “Who do
you want? Bryant Gumble, or Barbara Walters?”
Chris"s voice got positively dreamy. “Barbawa Wawa? She asked
for us?”
And that decided it too.
They"d done the interview the day before, from their front room.
They"d put Chris in the wheelchair, with a throw over his legs, and