She was no sooner seated than she was joined by a man so drunk she couldn’t believe he was standing on his feet He was tipping his drink, obviously the latest in a long line, to one side, and with every movement it sloshed onto his hand. He didn’t seem to notice.
Jennifer had difficulty understanding what he was saying, not that she wanted to in any case. The music and his intoxication combined to make him almost incomprehensible. She picked up that his name was George, and his intentions became clear when he got her arm in a viselike grip and wouldn’t let go.
Jennifer scanned the crowd desperately. If Marilyn didn’t return soon and rescue her from this creep she was going to scream.
As if in answer to her prayer, Marilyn emerged from the crowd, beaming. Her broad smile vanished when she saw Jennifer’s companion. She took in the situation at a glance, her face a mask of concern, and then froze, staring over Jennifer’s shoulder.
“Lee is here,” she said between her teeth, trying not to let George hear what she was saying.
Jennifer attempted, without success, to disentangle herself from her unwelcome admirer. “What do you mean?” she answered, preoccupied. “Lee can’t be here.”
“Well, if he isn’t, his clone just came through the door.”
Jennifer followed the direction of Marilyn’s gaze and her heart sank. Lee was making his way through the throng, accompanied by Joe Thornridge and Carl Danbury and two other players. The boys were in high good humor, out for a night on the town.
The two women stared at one another, mutually horrified.
“Let’s get out of here,” Jennifer hissed.
She got no argument from Marilyn, who added, “We’ll slip past him; with so many people here, he’ll never see you.”
This plan might have worked, except for the intervention of George, who divined their intentions and started creating a ruckus, still hanging onto Jennifer for dear life.
Jennifer mentally summoned a bouncer, who of course didn’t come. She concentrated on trying to shut George up and get away from him at the same time. He was amazingly strong for somebody who was almost unconscious.
“Whassa matter?” Romeo said querulously, breathing Scotch fumes in her face. “Whereya goin’?” He never relaxed his hold on her.
“Marilyn, get somebody,” Jennifer pleaded.
Marilyn, torn between leaving Jennifer with George and summoning help, stood uncertainly, unable to act George crashed into a chair and overturned it, dragging Jennifer in his wake. They were attracting attention, which was the last thing Jennifer wanted. Jennifer made a last superhuman effort to break free, and succeeded only in upsetting two glasses sitting on the table. They hit the floor with a splintering of glass. She closed her eyes, and opened them to see Lee.
He was wearing a fitted body shirt in very pale lavender, almost cream, and tight black jeans. He wore a glittering gold ornament which showed at his throat, at the opening of his shirt. He looked drawn, thinner, as if he hadn’t been eating or sleeping well, but it became him, as everything seemed to, making his strong cheekbones and the planes of his face more prominent.
Marilyn saw him at the same time and turned a stricken face to Jennifer.
“Hi, Jen,” Lee said in a dangerously calm voice. “This guy bothering you?”
“No, no,” Jennifer lied rapidly, as if George weren’t fixed to her arm at that very moment, like an appendage. “Actually, we were just leaving and…”
At this point, the drunk stuck his jaw out pugnaciously to interrupt. “Who’re you,” he asked blearily. “Her father?”
“I don’t think the lady wants your company, friend,” Lee said. “You’d better let go of her.”
Oh, God. Lee’s face was acquiring the same expression she’d seen at the Heart Fund picnic, and that was not good news.
“It really doesn’t matter,” Jennifer babbled, trying to get between the two men. Lee stretched out one long arm and detached her from amorous George, then swept her aside like a baccarat dealer clearing the table.
“Says who?” sneered Romeo, who had obviously seen too many John Wayne movies, and was also plastered enough to disregard Lee’s superior size and physical condition. He lunged wildly for Lee, who countered with a well-placed uppercut, and the fight began.
The rest of the patrons cleared a space for them, cheering them on. Several of the more enthusiastic onlookers jumped on chairs, chanting, “Fight, fight, fight” Jennifer fervently wished she could flip open a communicator and tell Spock to beam her up to the Enterprise. How wonderful to be able to vanish in a cloud of crystalline particles.
Marilyn’s friend Jim, who appeared to be a bit slow on the uptake, slipped away from the group, and she knew he was phoning the police.
Lee, meanwhile, was having a great time. He was too much of a sportsman to take advantage of his opponent’s debilitated condition, but his Marquees of Queensberry conscience did not prevent him from dancing around and jabbing at George, who swung erratically in all directions, never even coming close to his target Jennifer saw Joe and Carl at ringside, grinning hugely, enjoying the show. She wanted to box their ears.
It wasn’t long before two uniforms pushed their way through the crowd. Joe spotted them and darted forward, trying to pull Lee out of action before they reached the combatants, but to no avail. Lee shrugged his friend off like a pesky fly.
When the cops got closer, Jennifer was unpleasantly surprised to see that one of them was Harry Desautell, whom she knew from her days in private practice. She stepped behind Marilyn, trying to hide.
The police separated the two men and asked for an account of what had happened. Joe acted as spokesman, and when Jennifer’s name came up, Harry looked around for her, finally spotting her peering around Marilyn like a kid playing hide and seek.
“Ms. Gardiner,” Harry said in surprise. “What are you doing here? You know these two gladiators?”
Jennifer mumbled some inane reply, mortified.
Harry raised his eyebrows and pulled a note pad from his pocket. “Let me see here. We have disturbing the peace, inciting to riot, public drunkenness…”
“I’m not drunk,” Lee announced from the sidelines. Harry and Jennifer turned in unison and stared at him. He shrugged and dropped his eyes.
Harry paused to squint at Lee for a moment, and then he snapped his fingers.
“Wait a minute! Aren’t you that football player?”
Lee flashed his most dazzling grin and extended his hand like a candidate running for office. “That’s right, officer. Lee Youngson, Philadelphia Freedom. How do you do?”
Harry shook the proffered hand, looking awed. “Oh, well, Mr. Youngson, I’d like to hear your version of what happened here.”
Lee poured on his legendary charm, and by the time he was finished Officer Harry Desautell was eating out of his hand. The rookie with him was equally impressed, and Jennifer looked away, disgusted.
Harry agreed to let both men off with a warning, and the two cops got Lee’s autograph before they left, escorting a partially sobered George to the door.
Lee turned to Jennifer as the crowd drifted off and things got back to normal.
“It must be nice to get away with everything because you can catch a football,” Jennifer snarled.
Lee glared at her, offended. “I was trying to help you!” He held his right hand up before his face and flexed the fingers. “I think my hand is broken,” he mourned, winking at Marilyn.
“I think your head is broken,” Jennifer snapped.
Marilyn was watching this interchange with interest “Aren’t you going to introduce me?” she prompted Jennifer.
Jennifer waved her hand. “Marilyn, this is Lee Youngson. Lee, my friend, Marilyn Bennett.”
Lee smiled charmingly. “It’s a pleasure, ma’am,” he drawled, doing his Montana cowboy routine. Jennifer threw him a dirty look.