Twelve Men in the Huddle, page 23
“How’s my favorite boy?” asked Chloe. “Ready for some action?” She went just a tad on her tiptoes to kiss Pete. It was a slow, light invitational kiss. She pulled back ever so slightly, awaiting a response.
Peter was on the precipice. Over the past week he felt his body returning back to normal, yet it was the testosterone pretext he proclaimed. She kissed him again, now initiating full coronal plane contact. The temptress sensed that her ex-fiance was about to succumb in a spectacular fashion.
“Don’t you have a plane to catch?” asked Pete. He stood rigidly still, knowing any move on his part would trigger an all out love fest. “It’s a bit of a drive to the airport.”
“We can be quick,” said Chloe. “Fast, real fast.” She put her arms around him. “Like the time at the country club.” Another long, sensual kiss followed.
“I’ve been accused of a lot of things in life,” said Pete as he released from the lip lock. “But fast was never one of them.” His attempt at humor failed to ward off the uninvited guest.
“C’mon Peter. Let’s make up again. You know I love you.” She kissed him again. The two were at the point of no return.
Surprisingly, despite the steadfast rule of the animal kingdom in which the propagation of the species is paramount, a visual flashed in his mind. Pete was convinced it was posttraumatic stress disorder, the reddened face of the cardiologist huffing and puffing over Chloe, as if performing his own stress test. She was wearing black as usual, doing her best to achieve his peak cardiac output, the two involved in a distorted anatomic twist. Despite his unannounced appearance, she maintained a sordid grin on her face, the heat of the moment outweighing the consequences. The recall suddenly triggered a rush of emotions inside Pete including anger, rejection and deceit. The flashback was sobering, and he stepped away from Chloe.
“C’mon, let’s get you on that plane. You don’t want to miss it.”
“Are you sure?” said Chloe, clearly disappointed.
“Yea. I’m sure,” said Pete while patting her on the hip. “I’m still a bit hormonal. Maybe when you get back.”
“All right honey,” said Chloe with a pout. “But, I’m ready when you are. O.K.?” She kissed him on the check, calling off the advance.
“Definitely,” responded Pete.
He dropped her off at the airport and left, being due back in clinic with Dr. Harper. While walking through the small airport, Chloe spotted Heather sitting across the lobby on a bench. She quickly diverted into a bathroom and fumbled through her purse, looking for the engagement ring. She slid it onto her finger, and returned to the lobby.
“Oh my god, Heather! What are you doing here?” asked Chloe. She stood before Heather, both hands on her cheeks in surprise.
“Oh, hi Chloe,” said Heather plainly. “I just got into town. I’m waiting for a ride.” She immediately noticed the gem and ignored it. “Are you coming or going?”
“Going,” said Chloe. “Up north to a funeral. My aunt.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Heather. “My condolences.”
“Thank you. Pete just dropped me off. If we had known you needed a ride, he could have taken you back.”
“Oh thanks,” responded Heather. The presence of Pete’s fiancée in front of her only added to her depression. She was too tired to hate.
“Do you want me to text him back?” asked Chloe. “You know Pete, he’ll turn back in an instant. He’s so considerate.”
“No, no. That’s all right. My ride is almost here.”
“We’ll I’m a bit late,” said Chloe. “Pete and I got delayed with some personal business. Have to run. Bye!”
Heather had no ride. She walked out and hailed a cab, which took her into town. The cabbie dropped her off at Big Jim’s. She needed some caffeine and knew Billy was coming off shift. He would give her a ride home. Upon entering the store, she noticed Billy leaning over a side counter, talking to a young woman. He had his back to her. Feeling a bit awkward, she diverted into the snack aisle and stood still.
“Oh Billy, you’re too modest. Everybody around here knows you. They say you were the best.” The young woman was wearing a tight delivery uniform and had a dolly in her right hand. On her back was the name Tarpon-T. She was a platinum blonde with a bodacious frame leaning over the opposite side of the counter, her face close to his. The store was otherwise empty.
“Somebody once called me ‘both ways Billy,’” laughed Billy Mo. “I like that nickname the best.”
“Hee-hee-hee,” cackled the young woman. Heather’s blood pressure began to rise. “Oh Billy.” She had a high-pitched voice. “I love talking to you. This has become my favorite stop.” By her dialect, Heather knew she was a local. “But I don’t understand why they would call you that? Unless, well… I guess my old boyfriend used to call me both ways …”
“Both ways, means I played the whole game,” laughed Billy. “Both offense and defense. What do you think it meant?”
“Hee-hee-hee,” laughed the Tarpon-T queen. “Hee-hee-hee.”
“Hey, let’s say you and I go to the big game together?” asked Billy, his voice turning more energetic and confident. “I can get both of us in for free.”
“Really? Oh Billy, you can do that?”
“Sure I can Bambi. Oh, I love that name. Is that your real name?”
“No,” said Bambi. “It’s my stage name. I’m a part time actress, you know, in order to pay the tuition bills.”
“Oh,” said Billy. “Well what do you say? Do you want to go to the big game with me? It’s the hottest ticket in town.”
“I’d love to,” replied the Tulsa Valley undergrad. “Oh my god, is that As the Universe Revolves on TV?” She was staring at the small television set tucked beneath the counter. “That’s my favorite soap.”
“Yea,” said Billy. “It just started. I watch it every day now.”
“Oh,” moaned Bambi. “I hope Sean doesn’t get hurt. He’s absolutely dreamy, and that Crystal, she’s a witch. Do you know she’s carrying on an affair with Todd? She was carrying his baby until a few months ago.”
It was too much for Heather. She needed air and quickly made her way outside, unnoticed. It was a hot afternoon in Tulsa with some ominous clouds swirling above. She started out towards the road with her travel bag in tow. The walk would be a couple miles she thought, but who cares, maybe a lightning strike would put her out of her misery. After about a half-mile, some heavy drops of rain started to hit the pavement, followed by a rumble of thunder.
“Honk, honk,” went the car horn behind Heather. Turning around she saw the smiling face of Dean Royce, wearing a corny grin and fedora hat, with a red feather.
“Miss Jackson, what are you doing out here? It’s about to downpour.”
“Oh, just walking home,” responded Heather. The painful blister on her heel was difficult to ignore.
“Hop in, I’ll give you a ride.”
She took up his offer.
“I just filled up at Big Jim’s,” said Royce. “I always stop there when Billy is working.” Dean Royce drove an old Ford sedan, strictly obeying the local speed limit of fifteen miles per hour. The steering wheel appeared comically large in reference to his slight frame.
“That’s nice.”
“Do you know he was one of my favorites?” continued the Dean.
“Yes,” said Heather. “Believe it or not Dean Royce, you’ve told me that in the past.”
“Well, let me tell you,” said the Dean. “After Billy graduated, he came to me asking how he can further his education…”
“What in god’s name is that?” interrupted Heather. She was staring at the parking lot just outside Tarpon Stadium where a battalion of people gathered. A steady swarm of activity surrounded the infrastructure, as a helicopter flew overhead. It appeared as if a rock concert was going on inside the football complex.
“Oh, that,” said Dean Royce with a smirk. “The press. They’ve invaded Tulsa.”
“How is the team going to get ready for the championship game Dean Royce? This can’t be good.”
“It isn’t Heather,” said Royce. “We’re trying to figure out how to handle the whole situation. I’m actually on my way to a meeting with President Sterling and Vern Foster. There’s been some recent news, which is really big.” A deluge of rain suddenly fell upon them.
Heather remained silent as they passed the venue. Over the past several days she was attending a Sports Information conference in Chicago, where she followed the story closely. Still, the visual magnitude of the event alarmed her. After being dropped off by the dean, she ran through the rain into her apartment.
Dean Royce continued onward, to the office of the school’s president. It was there he met Vern Foster, with a broad smile on his face.
“Good news everyone,” said Vern. “If you can believe that.” He was holding up a set of papers in his hand.
“That’s precisely what we need,” said Davis. “Some good news. Do you know a petition is being circulated among the students demanding that I resign? The thanks I get after all my years of service here.”
Dr. Harper walked into the room. “What’s so urgent?” asked the surgeon.
“Our football conference chairman called me this morning,” said Foster as he looked over a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose. “You all know George Brewster. He’s been the chair since the 1970s. Well, he called to inform me of the league’s random drug screening results from earlier in the year.”
“And…” asked President Davis. “How can this be good?”
“He felt it important that we know the results,” continued Foster. “Especially the results of sample number 319.”
“319 being which member of the team?”
“Connor ‘Cannonball’ Kelly,” said Foster.
“And…”
“His blood work was completely normal!” cried out Foster. “Specifically the T:E ratio. It was one to one, which to my understanding is the norm.”
“You’re kidding me,” said Harper. “Are you sure? When were the samples drawn?”
“Preseason,” said Foster. “I mapped out the time table. It was just a day before Connor injured his knee in practice, down in the Badlands.”
“I don’t understand?” asked Dean Royce. “How can the ratio be normal then, and abnormal just a week or so later?”
“The blood work from Pennsylvania must have been a false positive,” said Harper. “There’s no other explanation. It’s the league results that matter gentlemen, not some mom and pop lab in Scranton.”
“So that’s fantastic news?” asked President Davis.
“Of course,” said Harper. “We are out of the woods gentlemen! There can be no other reason for the discrepancy. Connor Kelly, by league standards, is not abusing steroids!”
A collective gasp of relief filled the room. Vern Foster handed the paperwork over to Dr. Harper, who agreed with his interpretation.
“When should we tell coach?” asked Foster.
“Good question,” said President Davis. “I must admit, he’s taken on a hunker down mentality. He demanded permission to take the team back down to the Badlands.”
“Why didn’t you let him?”
“It would fuel the conspiracy theory,” said Davis. “As you know, we hired a consulting firm this morning to help us with this crisis. They thought taking the team off campus would be detrimental. So let’s ask for their feedback on what to do with this information first. O.K?”
“Agreed,” was the unanimous response.
“In a way I think the whole affair has brought focus to the team,” added Foster. “It’s them against the world. In less than two weeks Coach Hayes is going to unleash a category five hurricane on Southern State. I pity the opposing team.”
A collective round of handshakes occurred, with each member of the team confident in their game plan. The conference quickly adjourned, prompting Dr. Harper to head back towards his office. While crossing the road, he ran into Hal Green, who was patrolling the campus.
“Doctor Harper,” said Green. “A moment of your time please?”
“I have nothing much to say Mr. Green,” said Harper, as he continued to walk away from the reporter.
“I’d like to ask a few questions about your head trainer, and his possible roll in the steroid scandal here at Valley.”
Harper kept walking.
“Don’t try to ignore it Dr. Harper,” said Green while keeping pace with the physician. “The national press is in a feeding frenzy, so no one will be spared. It’s that simple. It would be better for the administration to take control of the story, as opposed to silence.”
“Listen,” said Harper as he stopped. “This whole mess started because some chump writing for a newspaper up in Pennsylvania leaked some personal medical information. Information I may add, that has damaged the reputation of one of our most beloved athletes. How you journalists sleep at night, I don’t know.” Harper just stared at Green.
“Are you aware that Lance Tucker was arrested twenty years ago for participating in an illegal drug scheme, involving anabolic steroids?”
Harper continued to stare at the reporter.
“I didn’t think so,” said Green. “Nobody around here seems to know. Your school’s vetting process needs some attention doctor.”
Harper remained silent, knowing this was a moot point. But why hadn’t he ever heard about Lance’s checkered past? Could it be true?
“Dr. Harper, what I’m saying is that you and the administration have a real tragedy unfolding. I’ve seen it time after time, as part of my job.”
“So why do you care?”
“I care about Connor Kelly,” said Green sincerely. “Maybe even a little bit about Tulsa Valley. I’ve come to appreciate the quirkiness of the area and its maniacal love of football.”
“So what do you recommend, based on your experience Mr. Green?”
“I recommend you get ahead of the story. Control the media. Otherwise they are going to feast on your carcass like a school of piranhas. In the end, nothing will be left.”
Harper didn’t respond. He also didn’t trust the reporter. Lance was entrenched at Tulsa Valley from the moment he arrived. He knew nothing of his past.
“Do you have time to talk?” asked Green. “Off the record?”
“No,” said Harper. “But thanks for the information. I’ll look into it.” He walked away.
“Please do doctor,” shouted Green. “And keep in touch. Time is of the essence!”
Green now walked over towards the stadium, making a conscious effort to stay away from the national press mob. Instead he concentrated on the grass root contacts he had already established. He found Percy Brown, the head groundskeeper, in his office.
“What luck!” said Percy. “Seven years ago they randomly chose our stadium as the site for the title game, and here we are in the game this year.”
“This school needs some luck Percy,” said Green. “By the way, the playing field looks fantastic.”
Over the next thirty minutes the two talked about the upcoming game and what it meant to the town of Tulsa. Fifty years had passed since the last championship when Percy and Bubba were team captains, and this game would be Percy’s last before he retired.
“I’m going to dig up that nickel after the game,” said Percy. “It’s been there for half a century. I promised not to dig it up until we won another title. Never thought it would take so long.”
“So we’re going to win Percy?”
“No doubt. The Cannonball is going to run wild.”
“What’s your thought on the current controversy?”
“Hogwash,” said Percy. “Connor is a good boy. Everybody knows that.”
“I agree,” said Green. “He’s clean.”
Later that evening after watering the turf and just prior to locking the perimeter gate, Percy spotted a shadowy figure walking across the field. The person stayed close to a concrete wall along the south bleachers while moving in a rapid fashion towards him, as if trying not to be detected. A hood covered their head. Briefly, he thought it was the grim reaper, but his cataract made any recognition difficult. The groundskeeper suddenly feared not being around to see the big game.
“Percy! Wait!” shouted the familiar voice of the intruder. “Don’t lock the gate!”
“Well what do we have going on here?” asked Percy. “Mr. Connor Kelly? A late night practice?”
“Nah Percy,” said Connor while taking the hood off his head. “Just following orders from Coach Hayes. He’s messing with the press.”
“How so?”
“He found a couple of school kids who look like me, and has them roaming around the campus. Some of them were out on the practice field in full gear, and others are just walking around with my jersey on.”
“With your number?”
“Yep,” said Connor. “The press is all messed up. There’s even a look-alike living in my dorm room.”
“Oh, that’s our coach!”
“He’s calling it ‘Where’s Connor?’”
“Ha, ha,” laughed Percy. “The one and only Coach Hayes.”
“Anyway, he rerouted me through the stadium. He doesn’t want me sleeping in the dorms, where all the reporters are camped out. It’s crazy over there.”
“No problem,” said Percy as he let Connor slip through the cast iron gate. “Where you headed?”
“It’s a secret Percy, but thanks.”
“Good night Connor,” said the groundskeeper.
Connor took a few steps away, but then stopped and turned back towards the elderly man.
