Twelve Men in the Huddle, page 27
“The resignation is effective immediately,” said Foster. “I believe the job is starting next week. I’m going to miss her.”
Pete just stared into the ground, speechless.
“A real shame,” said Foster. “We were grooming her to take my place in just a few years. She would have been the first female Athletic Director in school history.”
Pete looked back towards the horizon.
“I tried my best to talk her out of it, but she was firm in her decision.”
He didn’t respond.
“It’s a shame, a real shame. A woman like that doesn’t come around too often in life Dr. Wagner. I’m sure you recognized that. She is the complete package. Miss Jackson is one in a million.”
Chapter Twenty Eight
CASH IS KING
“Peter, pass me the applesauce,” said Mr. Wagner. He was seated across the table from his son. To his right was Mrs. Wagner and to his left, Dr. Harper. A chair sat empty next to Pete.
“You’re a very gracious host,” said Mrs. Wagner to Dr. Harper. “We can’t thank you enough for letting us stay in your house.”
“And a darn good cook,” added Mr. Wagner, his napkin tucked over his shirt collar.
“Thank you Mr. and Mrs. Wagner, but I’m no chef. For special occasions I have a local culinary apprentice come to the house. She prepares the meals.”
“Oh,” said Mrs. Wagner. “Are you married?”
Pete fired a laser stare across the table, directly into his mother’s skull. Earlier in the day he warned her not to bring up the subject of marriage. She frequently exhibited selective hearing loss.
“Mom, I don’t think…”
“That’s quite all right Pete,” said Harper while dabbing his lips with a napkin. “Unfortunately I’m in a bit of a transition period with Mrs. Harper. We are in the process of working a few things out, so she isn’t staying with me.”
“Oh,” said Mrs. Wagner. “Well I hope everything works out. Every man needs a woman. Isn’t that right Peter?”
“Yes, it is mom.”
“You know Dr. Harper, Peter was engaged until recently,” said Mrs. Wagner. “But then it was suddenly called off.” She raised her hands in the air. “For what reason, I’ll never know?”
“Mother,” said Pete sternly. He feared a bizarre scene about to unfold. His mother’s mouth had no filter.
“Peter, don’t be ashamed,” said his mother. “Unless you have something to tell us. I mean, who calls off a wedding?”
“I wonder where Chloe is?” asked Dr. Harper. “She should have been here by now. A wonderful young woman.” Harper had a playful smile on his face, as he glanced at Pete. “But I didn’t know your son was engaged Mrs. Wagner.”
“He was engaged to Chloe.”
“Oh really?”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Wagner. “They were supposed to get married this spring. Harold’s brother, Monsignor Frank, was going to perform the ceremony.” She waved her hand forward in disgust. “Oh, it still makes me sick. I had the most beautiful dress picked out.”
“We had the church reserved, along with the hall,” mumbled Mr. Wagner, with a mouth full of food. While speaking he stared down at his plate. “Lost the deposit on the hall. They’re gangsters without guns, those wedding planners.”
“Oh I’m sorry to hear that,” said Dr. Harper.
“They’re trying to put things back together,” said Mrs. Wagner with a smirk. She held her hands up in quotation fashion while enunciating – “put things back together.”
“O.K.,” said Pete. “Time to change the subject.”
At that moment the doorbell rang.
“Ah, what a coincidence,” said Harper. “It must be Chloe. How about I let her in?”
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” said Chloe as Dr. Harper hung her jacket on a hook. She wore a snug fuchsia skirt and high boots, allowing her knees to be exposed. A lightweight, long sleeved sweater hugged her frame, while a single circular medallion dangled on her chest. “I got lost.”
Pete immediately noticed her left fourth finger to be bare.
“No problem,” said Dr. Harper. “We were just discussing tomorrow’s game.”
“No we weren’t,” said Mrs. Wagner. “I was just telling…”
“Chloe, did you bring my mother’s blue scarf?” asked Pete.
“Oh, yes. Yes I did,” said Chloe. “I have it in the car Mrs. Wagner.”
“Thank you Chloe,” said Mrs. Wagner. “You look lovely tonight. How was the flight down?”
“Peter, pass me the pork,” said Mr. Wagner.
“That’s chicken Harold.”
“No it isn’t Sylvia, it’s pork! I know good pork when I taste it.”
“Well maybe they prepare it differently down here,” barked Mrs. Wagner. “It’s chicken. Don’t embarrass yourself.”
Pete rolled his eyes while looking at Dr. Harper, who was laughing. He sat back in defeat, allowing his mother to pontificate.
“Ahhh Sylvia,” growled Mr. Wagner. “What do you know?”
“You don’t think I know chicken from pork Harold?
“Well let’s ask Dr. Harper what it is!”
“It’s actually pork Mrs. Wagner,” said Harper in a gentle tone. “Perhaps the spices threw you off.”
“I told you so Sylvia,” said Mr. Wagner. “I know pork. We raised pigs back on the old homestead. Would butcher them every fall.
“Well then, maybe you should start cooking all the meals Harold! Since you’re the pork expert. We’ll see how long that lasts.” She flipped her wrists in the direction of her husband, dismissing his argument.
And so it went throughout dinner, as Pete continued to stare at Chloe’s bare ring finger. By the time dessert was over an inner ire built up inside him. How she made her way into Harper’s house he couldn’t understand, but certainly she was tenacious. Deep in his heart he accepted her apology, but something was different now. Their new foundation lacked trust, and without trust there was nothing. Sad, he thought. They could have been man and wife.
At that moment another dinner had just finished across town at the Benson estate, where Ganoga employee Wilt Stec sat opposite the host. Clint Benson was in a bad mood, sipping on some port wine.
“What do you mean by, a delay?” demanded Clint. “We were supposed to sign this goddamn contract two days ago!” In his hand he flipped up and down a forty page legal manuscript. “Look at how thick this is Wilt. For Christ’s sake, even the lawyers can’t suck any more money out of it!”
“It’s not my decision Mr. Benson,” replied Wilt. “I’m just the messenger.”
“What about all the signs in the stadium, the flags, the commercials? Tarpon-T is going to be a family name by Tuesday morning, and we have no contract! What about the governor, and his trucks unloading the goods all over the state? I’ve promised a lot of important people big things. Now what should I tell them?” Benson got up and began to walk across the room. He stared out a window, across the lawn. “What’s the problem Wilt? What the hell is the problem?”
“It’s the whole steroid mess,” moaned Wilt. His year-end bonus depended on the deal, which up until a few days ago was looking mighty fat. “I’m not going to beat around the bush Mr. Benson. The powers that be are afraid of the negative publicity associated with the team.”
“Negative publicity my ass!” howled Benson. “The whole thing has been put to rest Wilt. Didn’t you read the papers this morning? All the major news feeds ran the article. Some slipshod trainer is to blame. There is no problem. It’s that simple.”
“They just want to see how things play out Mr. Benson.”
“How long of a delay are we talking about?”
“Two weeks, perhaps three,” said Wilton. “However long it takes for the situation to clear.” Wilt nervously tapped his foot up and down on the rug. Up until this point, he’d never experienced the serious side of Benson. It wasn’t pleasant. “It is going to clear up Mr. Benson? Isn’t it?”
Clint Benson stared back at the salesman. He wanted so badly to ream the messenger inside out, the young punk with a penchant for women. He was like all the others, just coming back to “talk the talk.” He looked down at his watch impatiently.
“Listen Wilt, tell the boys at Ganoga that everything will be all right? Can you promise me that?”
“Yes Mr. Benson.”
“This whole little mess is going to vanish by next weekend, trust me. Once the Tarps are crowned national champions, it will all disappear.” Clint walked over to the salesman, now sitting before him. “Once this story is over, the buzzards will fly out of town to find another carcass to feast on. I mean, they have to justify their existence. Right?”
“Yes, I do believe that.”
“Then, when all returns to normal, we will ink that contract? Yes?”
“Yes sir.”
“I’ve no problem with the contract. Do you?”
“No sir Mr. Benson.”
“Then it’s a win-win situation for everyone involved. At least that’s the way I see it.” Clint downed the last of his port. “So let’s just let the dust settle, and move forward.”
“Agree Mr. Benson.” Wilt was relieved with the new tone of the conversation.
“I tell you what Wilt, I’m sure that despite the delay, Coach Hayes will still put the Tarpon-T bottle in front of him during the post-game interview. I’ll make sure of it. Wouldn’t that be nice? I’m sure the suits back at corporate would like that?”
“They sure would! And let me reassure you Mr. Benson, the Ganoga Corporation is still behind this product one hundred and ten percent. All of our marketing resources are standing by to launch this offering into the stratosphere – once the contract is signed.”
“O.K. young man,” said the host as Wilton stood up to shake his hand. “All right then, how about we both get a good night sleep? Tomorrow’s the big day. We’ve been waiting a long time for another shot at the title. So make yourself at home down at the cottage. If I’m not mistaken, I thought I saw Miss Daisy down by the cabana earlier today. She was asking about you.”
“Thank you Mr. Benson. I’ll give everyone back at corporate the good news. Good night.”
After the salesman left, Clint walked behind his desk and sat down. He checked his watch. Nine o’clock. A final meeting was scheduled in fifteen minutes. The last client arrived ten minutes early.
“Sit down Lance. Please, make yourself at home. Can I pour you a drink?”
“No thank you Mr. Benson,” said the trainer. He sat in the chair previously occupied by Wilton. It was still warm.
“Lance, I can’t thank you enough for coming out with such a courageous story this morning. Hell, the whole Tulsa Valley nation thanks you.” Clint rocked back and forth on his leather chair, his hands folded across his waist. “It was absolutely magnificent.”
“You’re welcome Mr. Benson. I’d lay down my life for this team. So it was no problem to take the fall.”
“It was a fabulous story Lance,” said Clint while shaking his head. “I mean it sounded so… so darn believable. Heck, even I believed it!”
“I know,” replied Lance with a smile. “It makes sense. How Piper came up with the idea, I’ll never know? Maybe it had to do something with her doctorate. I know she was working on some sort of a project involving anabolic medications. Regardless, it’s the perfect explanation.”
“It was brilliant on her part,” said Clint. “Absolutely brilliant. She’s a creative young woman.”
“She wanted to be the source but you know, with her name and all, it would be too close to the coach. Red flags would go off.”
“I fully agree Lance. We’re all doing the right thing. I’m convinced of that. Who knows how Connor got some testosterone in his blood stream? Certainly it wasn’t intentional. We all know he’s the All-American boy.”
“Definitely. It had to be accidental, or maybe a lab error.”
“I mean he has a normal test one week and then a few days later, one is abnormal. As far as I’m concerned it means nothing. We’re just reacting to outsiders trying to make a big deal over nothing. In a few months, all will be forgotten.”
“Agree,” replied Lance. “I’ve been around this team too long to see a shot at the title slip away. Without the Cannonball, we’re nothing.”
“Lance, do you have any financial interest in Doc Harper’s GameChanger?”
“Uh, no sir,” hesitated Lance, surprised by the question. “I mean I’ve been a big part in developing it, but he has never offered me any monetary reward. Is that what you are asking?”
“That’s exactly what I’m asking young man,” said Benson. “I mean, with all you’ve done for the Tarpons, I’m sure doc wouldn’t mind letting you in on the deal. I’ll talk to him after the game. How does that sound to you?”
“Wow! That would be very nice of you Mr. Benson. Thank you.”
“Thank you Lance,” said Clint as he stood up and walked over to an oak cabinet. He opened the door and reached inside, pulling out a large, brown paper bag. “Lance, in these parts, cash is king.” The entrepreneur handed the trainer the bag, stuffed with one hundred dollar bills. “As discussed, here is a little token of our appreciation for the story in today’s Tulsa Eagle. Don’t lose it son, it’s a small fortune.”
“Thank you Mr. Benson,” said the trainer as he stood up to accept the payment. “It was the right thing to do, with or without your generous offer.”
“No doubt,” said Benson with a hearty laugh as he patted the trainer on his back. “I wouldn’t leave that bag lying around. You may want to invest in a large safe.”
“No worries Mr. Benson. I’ll find a very secure place for it. Again, thank you very much.”
“Well, get along now,” said Benson. “I’m sure you’ve got a lot of work ahead of you tonight. Is the team ready? Are they healthy?”
“Yes sir Mr. Benson,” responded Lance as he headed towards the door. “They couldn’t be more ready. No pun intended, but we’ve got this one in the bag.”
“Go Tarps!”
“Good night Mr. Benson. Go Tarps.”
Clint Benson strolled back around his desk and picked up the phone. He had one more person to thank.
The phone in Hal Green’s flat was set on vibrate, so not to wake up Brianna. She was snuggled next to Green, who was sitting up in bed watching some television. The so-called experts were picking Tulsa Valley by three points over Southern State. He reached to his left to pick up the call.
“Hal,” said Clint Benson. “Wonderful article, thank you for all your help.”
“It was no problem,” said Green. “Just doing my job, with a little assist from you of course. I think it read quite well.”
“Agree, and most importantly it makes sense. Even the idiots on the major networks understood it.”
“How did you get Tucker to come over and talk to me?” asked Green, now watching a panel of sportscasters just outside Tarpon Stadium. His eye caught the blonde sitting between two former jocks, trying to make them sound half intelligent.
“Lance first reported the story to Coach Hayes, a bit hesitant I might add. But after explaining his medical need for the cream and the team’s inadvertent exposure, the ball started to move forward. Especially when Coach Hayes knew it would clear up the whole mess.”
“And that’s where I came in?”
“Yes. Coach asked me to get the story out quickly. So I got Dr. Harper involved, along with the administration, and we decided to go through you. It couldn’t have turned out better. Thanks for standing by to assist.”
“You’re welcome. Thanks for keeping me in the loop.”
“Remember, we did this all for Connor,” said Clint. “Everything was done in the young man’s best interest.”
“Everybody loves him.”
“And Lance Tucker, what can I say? He is a true professional, a credit to his occupation.”
“I agree,” said Green. “A courageous young man to disclose such personal information to the public.”
“He loves Tulsa Valley,” said Benson. “We all do. I’m sure you understand that Mr. Green. This is Tarpon territory, we all bleed Tarpon blue.”
“I can’t wait for tomorrow’s game. Who you got?”
“Tulsa Valley by ten,” said Benson. “The Cannonball is going to run wild. Look for a big game from Derrick, he’s been throwing the ball awful good.”
“Go Tarps.”
“Thank you again Mr. Green. It’s been a pleasure having you spend time in Tulsa, Louisiana.”
“You’re welcome Mr. Benson. The pleasure has been all mine.”
After ending the call, Hal Green placed the phone back on the side table. He carefully reached his hand under the bed and pulled out a black, .40-caliber Glock pistol. With a flick of the wrist he popped the loaded magazine in and out of the grip and slowly lifted the gun up towards the TV, directly at the blonde sportscaster, who gave her final prediction. Her call was Tulsa Valley by three, claiming things would never be the same in these parts of Louisiana. For once she was right thought Green. He slowly pulled the trigger, which produced a soft, audible click.
Chapter Twenty Nine
KICKOFF
“Ladies and gentlemen,” cried out a voice from the field’s public address system. “It gives me great pleasure to introduce to you today, the tri-captains from the 1966 Tulsa Valley Tarpons and Southern State Cottonmouth football teams!”
On the count of three, Percy, Bubba and Grady held hands, and put on their game faces. Each man was dressed in a suit and tie, Bubba with white socks on. A coordinator from the television network was signaling for the trio to move forward, towards midfield. As they stepped onto the gridiron a tremendous applause rang out from the sold out crowd. A cameraman walked alongside them, transmitting their images across the nation to an estimated forty-five million households. From the opposite sideline approached three more senior citizens.
The warriors continued their walk towards the fifty-yard line and ceremonial coin toss. “First from the home team Tulsa Valley Tarpons… Bubba Tubbs, Percy Brown and Grady Gray.” The applause escalated as Bubba waved to the crowd, in appreciation. “And from the Southern State Cottonmouths…”
