Susan Phillips - Hot Shot

"What do you think I want?" he asked, spinning around the only empty chair at the table and straddling it.

"Suppose you tell me."

"I want the best, babe. Just like always."

"You can't have him."

"Yank's a big boy. He should be able to make up his own mind."

"He has. He's staying here."

"SysVal's getting old and respectable. Yank likes new challenges."

Paige's eyes were going back and forth between the two of them as if she were watching a tennis match. Yank was regarding them thoughtfully.

Susannah threw down her napkin. "I heard you were making some personnel raids. I thought you'd have enough decency to know that Yank is off limits."

Sam turned to confront Yank. "Still letting other people do your talking for you?"

Yank gazed at him with those gentle, infuriating eyes. "I'm not the only person you want. Am I, Sam?"

For the first time, Sam hedged. "What are you talking about?"

"Susannah's been through enough," Yank replied. "When are you going to leave her alone?"

Sam propped his arm over the back of the chair, still keeping it casual. "I'm not trying to recruit her. I know Susannah won't leave SysVal."

"But that's not what you want from her, is it? You don't want her to work for your company. You want her back as your wife, your good luck charm."

Susannah pushed her plate away and stood up. "I want you to leave, Sam. We don't have anything more to say to each other."

But Sam barely heard her. All of his attention was focused on Yank. Yank, the nerd-the goofy genius. Yank, who forgot his socks and lost his women. How could Yank think-how could be even imagine that he had a chance-at a woman like Susannah?

Sam's lip curled. He wanted to be cruel, to slice them both to the quick. "If you think I'm going to play dead and leave the field clear for you, buddy, you'd better think again. All I need is one night in bed with her. One night in bed, and I'll have her back. Isn't that right, Suzie?"

Susannah tightened her hands around the back of the chair. "Get out of here right now."

"I'm afraid this can't go on any longer," Yank said abruptly. "Susannah, we have to put an end to Sam's delusions about you right now. He's obsessed with you, and it has to stop."

"The divorce will be final in a few weeks," she snapped. "That'll put a stop to it."

"A piece of paper doesn't mean shit." Sam knocked over the chair as he leaped to his feet. "Get a divorce! Get a million of them! I don't care. Marriage doesn't mean anything, and neither does divorce. I want you back with me. We belong together. That's the only thing that matters."

Susannah slapped her palms on the table. "That's enough! Get out."

"He isn't listening to you, Susannah," Yank said. "He refuses to listen. Sam doesn't understand about divorce papers. But he understands how to make a deal. Don't you, Sam?" Yank leaned slightly back in his chair.

Paige's eyes were huge in her face as she took in the scene these lunatics were playing out in front of her.

For a moment, Yank stared at a spot in the air directly in front of him, and then he said, "What about a contest? A contest and a deal."

Sam was poised, all his senses alert. "What kind of contest?"

"A contest between you and me. The winner gets Susannah. The loser steps aside forever."

"Are you out of your mind?" Susannah exclaimed. "Are both of you crazy!"

Sam laughed. "Wait a minute. Let me get this straight. You want the two of us to have a contest? If you lose, you'll stay away from her forever?"

Yank nodded slowly. "And if you lose, Sam, you leave her alone for the rest of your life."

Susannah made a choking noise, but neither of them paid any attention.

Sam immediately began to pace, hammering out the fine points. "You can't stay away from her if you're working with her every day. That means you'll have to get another job."

"Yes. All right. I won't sell out my partnership, but I'll get another job."

Susannah gasped.

Sam pressed his advantage. "With me."

"That's not part of the deal. The deal's about winning Susannah."

"I'm not a piece of property!" she exclaimed.

Sam ignored her. "And tell me exactly what you mean. The winner gets Susannah. What does gets mean?"

"You said you could have her back if you spent a night in bed with her," Yank replied. "Susannah will make love with whichever of us wins. Is that agreeable to you?"

"I will not!" Susannah cried. "Yank, I can't believe you're doing this!"

Yank gave her a stony look. "That's the agreement, Susannah. Do you understand it?"

She was starting to feel desperate. Yank was so serious, so determined. He was spooky when he was like this. She loved him, but she didn't desire him, and she wasn't going to go to bed with him. "No! No, I don't understand at all."

Yank turned toward Sam, who had stopped his pacing by the door. "Susannah will make love with whichever of us wins. The other one of us will leave her alone forever."

Sam's grin spread all over his face. Another challenge to face. Another barrier to smash. "Yeah. Yeah, I like this. Okay. I agree. What kind of contest?"

Yank looked at Sam as if he were the most thick-headed person left on earth. "Why, a video-game contest, of course. How else would we compete?"

"What?" Susannah shrieked.

"Oh, Jeezus." Sam began to laugh, collapsing against the doorjamb. "We're going to play a video game for her? Oh, Jeezus, I love this. The last buccaneers of the twentieth century fight a video game duel over their lady fair. What game? What game are we going to play?"

For the first time, Yank hesitated. "Why don't you chose?"

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Susannah knew what was going to happen. She told herself it didn't matter. It didn't matter because she wasn't going along with them anyway. But still, she took a quick step toward Yank. "No! No, Yank! He'll choose-"

"Victors," Sam said. "I choose Victors."

"Oh, God…" She sank back down into her chair. They were crazy. Both of them were crazy, and she was even crazier to sit here listening to them. Why should she care what game Sam chose? There was no reason for her stomach to have plummeted like that. Sam could beat Yank at Victors from now until doomsday, and she wouldn't get in bed with him. The game didn't matter. Sam's choice didn't matter. But what was Yank doing? Hadn't she gone through enough? Why was he putting her through this?

Next to her at the table, Paige sat stunned.

Both men headed for the door, Sam charged with energy, Yank moving at his customary deliberate pace. An old Victor's game had been put away in one of the small storage rooms. It was a dinosaur now. Its graphics were stone age, its sound primitive. But it was still a classic-right up there with Space Invaders and Pac Man. Victors was a classic. And Yank Yankowski had never played a single game in his life.

The men wrestled the Victors game into an office near the storage room, then plugged it in and checked the controls to make certain it still worked. As Paige walked into the office, she saw that Susannah was already there. She had positioned herself as far away from the men as she could get and still be in the room with them. She looked shaken, as if these men really were deciding her future.

They said nobody could die of a broken heart, but as Paige looked from her sister to Yank, she didn't believe it. She was dying. And because she loved them both, she had to find the strength not to let either of them see it. The outcome of the video game might be meaningless as far as Susannah was concerned, but the fact that it was taking place at all had sent the dream world Paige had been building around herself crashing down.

For these past six weeks, ever since the night Susannah had almost died, Paige had been praying that she would fall out of love with Yank, but her heart continued to soar with joy whenever she looked at him. She was happy merely being in the same room with him, breathing his air and drinking in the sight of his gentle, dear face. She wanted to live every second of the rest of her life with him. Have his babies, wash his clothes, take care of him when he got sick. She wanted to sit next to him in a rocking chair when they were both old and hold his hand. She wanted to die with him and be buried next to him and believe in eternal life so she could be certain their spirits would live together forever. He was the only person who made her feel at peace in the deepest, most secret part of her soul.

Now, regardless of the outcome of this stupid video game, she had to accept the fact that she could never have him. Yank wanted her sister, and Paige had to get out of their way. The terror of knowing Susannah had almost been murdered was something Paige would never forget, and the guilt she felt for having placed so much trust in Cal had become a crushing burden. Since that night, Susannah had become even more precious to her. More precious to them all, Paige realized. Yank hovered at her side like a guard dog. Mitch had a haunted look in his eyes whenever Susannah was around. Poor Mitch. The tragedy had made him more serious than ever. He seldom smiled. He hadn't stopped by the house for weeks. All he did was work.

As Paige approached, Susannah gave her a wan smile. "I thought you'd gone home."

"No. No, I'm still here," Paige replied.

"This is crazy, isn't it? They're both crazy."

"Then why are you watching?"

"It's Yank. I can't-I can't understand why he's doing this."

"Because he loves you." The words stuck like great chunks of bread in Paige's throat.

Susannah shook her head. "That's not true. And he knows Sam will win. Why is he trying to push me back to Sam? I won't go, Paige. I don't care what Yank says or what he does. This time he won't get his way. I'm not going back to Sam."

Paige nodded numbly, unable to imagine any woman preferring a macho stud like Sam Gamble to a wonderful man like Yank.

The Victors game began to emit cheerful little beeps. Sam had unbuttoned his cuffs and was rolling up his white shirt-sleeves. "You'd better play a practice game, partner. I don't want you to say I didn't give you a chance."

Yank gazed at the game controls with distaste. "I don't think so. I don't like playing this game, Sam."

Sam slapped him on the back. "Tough shit, hombre. This was your idea."

Victors was the most complex of the early target games. It provided a miniature history of the development of weaponry, from the stone age to the atomic age. On the first screen, primitively shaped men threw stones at small four-legged creatures and dodged lightning bolts from the sky. On the second and third screens, they shot arrows at running men and then fired guns at a platoon of soldiers while they avoided return fire. The final screen featured a moving city skyline. The players controlled an airplane that dropped bombs down onto small targets as skyborne missiles moving in erratic patterns tried to blow up the plane. If the player survived all the screens, a mushroom cloud appeared with the final score and a message:

CONGRATULATIONS.

YOU HAVE SUCCESSFULLY WIPED OUT

CIVILIZATION.

NOW WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO?

That message had knocked everybody out.

Sam had none of Yank's reluctance about playing a practice game. As he stood in front of the machine in a white shirt and trousers, with his necktie pulled loosely down from his open collar, Susannah remembered all those nights at Mom & Pop's. Mom & Pop's was now a vegetarian restaurant called Happy Sprouts. They hadn't been there in years.

"Okay, I'm ready," Sam said. "High score wins. Let's toss to see who goes first."

"Go ahead," Yank said gloomily. "You're ready. You might as well play."

Sam limbered his fingers and gave Susannah a cocky grin. Then he turned back to the machine. "Come on, baby. Don't let me down."

Paige couldn't help it. She stepped forward to watch. Susannah seemed certain that Sam was going to win. Maybe when that happened, it would trigger something inside of Yank. Maybe he would fall out of love with Susannah and in love with her. Maybe they would get married and live at Falcon Hill…

And maybe cows would fly over their wedding.

Sam Gamble was a superb video-game player, she'd give him that. He concentrated so intently on the screen and the controls moving beneath his hands that she doubted if anything could distract him. A lock of straight black hair tumbled down over his forehead as he moved through the first three screens with a ruthless efficiency. The machine beeped. The beeps got faster and faster. He hit the final screen. The muscles in his forearms spasmed as he maneuvered the controls. Missiles flew, bombs dropped. His face blazed with excitement.