Chapter 2
Brad lies back down next to her, draping an arm over her shoulders.
"Listen," he murmurs, "I've got this thing I was supposed to go to."
"How's about I call up and say I can't make it, so you and I-"
"Wait, wait, wait," she says, opening her eyes, smiling. "I got work to do an' you got places to go an' thangs to do.
"Ah'm off all day tomorrah.
"You want, we can get togethah then."
"But-okay."
She's right, of course.
And he is amazed that he should have begun to propose what he was about to.
When has he ever elevated sex to an "either-or" situation.
Because to him, sex is, was, more like a "both- and" deal.
In other words, it interfered with nothing. He would not let it.
It could be scheduled conveniently or deferred until such time as it could.
And here he is, about to cancel a meeting with the boss, just so he could spend the day with the cleaning lady.
It makes no sense.
And yet, even as he tells himself this, he knows that, had she but said the word, that is exactly what would have transpired.
Even now, his cock barely detumesced from climax, he feels a stirring at its base, caused by the feel of her shoulders beneath the fabric of her smock.
All he would have to do is to reach down with that same hand and grasp a hefty buttock and he knows that "things" would start all over again down there.
Crazy, but there it is.
"I don't even know your name," he says. "Helen," she replies.
As in Helen of Troy, he thinks.
And suddenly, he sees how it might be actually possible for nations to go to war, their kings enamored of a single woman.
He remembers the lines of the Iliad from his college days.
"Is this the face that launched a thousand ships And burned the topless towers of Illium?"
You betcha, Ace!
Damn straight!
Of course, there's a big difference between going to war over a piece of ass and merely cancelling an appointment to be with one.
Still, the principle is the same, no question. Because if he would do that, what else would he do? Brad asks himself.
And does not know and does not want to think about the answer.
In the event, she has proven the more practical of the two of them.
Because yes, he can have his cake and eat it too. Like always.
She is willing to continue on that basis, obviously. So that there is not, there need be, no scheduling conflicts.
On impulse, he does slide the hand off her broad shoulders, down her back, touching, then grasping an ass cheek.
And sure enough, there comes a twinge low in his abdomen, at the base of his cock.
Magic! he grins to himself.
And gets back up.
And stands there, as she also gets up, careful to hold the bottom of her smock away from her lap. And looking, he thinks, sexy as hell doing it, too.
"Uh, you want the first shower?" he asks, at a loss as to what else to say.
"No thanks. You go 'haid. Ah'll jus' wash up real good."
They go into the bathroom.
Where she removes her smock, carefully unbuttoning the front.
She is naked beneath, a fact which causes him to stand there, transfixed, staring at the magnificence of her voluptuo-tan curves, now fully exposed to view She smiles at him, saying, "Will you get cho' white ass in de showah fo' you late fo' yo' `pointmint an' we gits all tangled up in sumthin' else?"
And he jerks his eyes away from her fabulous pontoons, forcing himself into the shower enclosure, reluctantly sliding, the glass door closed.' And turns the shower on and scrubs up by reflex, his eyes filled with the distorted view through the sheet of water cascading down the shower door, of Helen using a washcloth on herself, bending, squatting, spreading as she does so.
Too fucking much! Brad thinks. And what's with me, anyway?
Just what is so fascinating about her?
And he cannot say.
Just as he cannot determine whether it is just her or the way things came about.
Spontaneous, he was, it was, the sex, for the first time in longer than he can remember.
Nothing planned, nothing foreseen, nothing in the logic of the situation which would have indicated it as even likely to occur.
But there it is And this is somehow important, in fact vital, to him.
There is a heavy significance at work here, a deep meaning.
At least on his part, this is true, he knows. As for her, who can say?
But even that seems less important to him than the fact of the incident itself.
It was like a glimpse into another, a completely different world, where feeling, sensation holds sway and status and fame and football are unimportant, absurd, have no meaning.
How is it possible, he asks himself, that I should have been unaware of this, have completely overlooked it?
When all the time, he realizes, that is precisely what was missing from the equation of his life. Here is balm to his nagging, nervous dissatisfacwith himself, with his life.
Here is the filler for the void within his existence. Make that the void of his existence.
And now, she is finished.
And he sees her distorted image as it puts the smock back on again. And he is amused at his own reaction.
Because he felt a deep sense of loss at the sight of all those goodies suddenly eclipsed by the mundane.
Ridiculous! he scoffs at himself.
But he finishes his shower quickly, anxious to once more put himself in close proximity to her, anxious also to procure address and phone number.
He towels off in haste, for some reason draping the towel around himself before he charges out of the bathroom Only to reverse his tracks at once.
What the fuck is happening to me? he wonders. He has not brushed his teeth.
He has not shaved: Get with it! he commands himself. And everybody, himself, listens, when Brad gives an order.
So that he is all business in the bathroom. And, emerging, is not alarmed that the bedroom is in perfect order.
She is cleaning another part of the apartment, obviously, leaving him free to dress and-shit!" He can't get dressed yet.
He hasn't even had breakfast.
Quickly, Brad hangs the towel neatly back in the bathroom, gets a robe from the closet, and goes into the kitchen where- His breakfast awaits him on the table.
Bacon and eggs, courtesy of Helen.
Who is not in the kitchen, either.
Quickly, he eats, reassured by the hum of the vacuum in the background.
He goes back to the bedroom, this time spying her in the living room, hard at work, flipping the vacuum cleaner cord vigorously out of the way as she moves around the floor.
He dresses quickly, casual in turtleneck and dark blue blazer over grey slacks. He finds his oxblood loafers in the closet and puts these on over black socks.
And he is ready.
Although hardly willing.
Quite the opposite, in fact.
Because he is reluctant to leave her, even though he knows that, as soon as she is finished here, she will have to go to her next job.
Still, as she pointed out, both of them have things to do.
The world will not stand still, not for Brad, not for anybody.
So it goes.
Ah, but he remembers.
Stepping over the vacuum cord to his writing desk, he finds a pad and pen.
He approaches her and she turns off the vacuum, reciting address and phone without his having to ask.
"Call you at, say, ten?"
"Whenever."
And she turns the vacuum cleaner on, ignoring him, and so fast that he has no chance to indulge in a goodbye embrace.
A ceremony he can do without, he tells himself. Better this way anyway.
Nothing as meaningless as these ceremonies of departure.
Unless it be the ceremony of -greeting.
And of speaking, eating, and, until just now, fucking.
Everything is a goddam ceremony! he reflects. And quietly leaves the condo.
"Brad, m'boy! Come in, come in, come in!"
"Randy," Brad replies, shaking the proffered hand.
"Cranston," he says, nodding to Buck's male private secretary, attired in a three-piece suit, even though it is a Saturday, in stark contast to the rather ratty-looking cardigan Buck has over his large, heavy frame.
"You look like you could use a little hot toddy, after that long ride up from the city," Buck observes. "No, I'm okay. Beer would be fine.""
"If you would, Cranston," Buck says. `And then join Brad and I in the study. "_ Brad follows Buck across the broad expanse of the main entrance hall of the mansion, their shoes clacking on the inlaid marble tile.
Buck opens the .ornately carved, heavy wooden door of the study and motions Brad in.
Brad seats himself in an overstuffed chair, a solid wall of books in their shelves behind him. Randy Buck takes the chair opposite.
"Y'scare me, Brad," Buck says, almost at once. "How's that, Randy?"
"I'm one deep in offensive quarterbacks," he says. "What about Ted?"
"What about Ted, Brad? Think he'll ever amount to anything other than a pale imitation of you? "Ted missed his calling, Brad. "Kid shoulda been an actor.
"They ever do the story of your life, he'd be perfect to play you.
"Good in the movies, Brad; bad on the football field."
"He gets sacked, he misses a pass, whatever, he only sings one song: It shoulda worked."
"You've seen 'im, Brad, and you know I speak the truth."
"He knows how to look like you, how to act like you; he does not know how to think like you."
He studies you so he's got your moves down pat.
"But."
"Let one fucking thing go wrong out there, and where are we?"
"No, Brad, it's my club and I say I want someone beside Ted to be one heartbeat away from the heart and soul of the offense."
"Which is why you asked me here today"
"Which is why I asked you here today.
"Y'don't fool me, Brad."
"I know the only reason you give a shit, about the team is because you're on it."
"They're all your supporting cast."
"It takes a team-"
"Please, please, please, Brad. Calm down. And save the team spirit crap for guys wearing helmets, okay?"
"This is just you and me talking here, and I know- oh, thanks, Cranston."
And Brad nods his thanks as Cranston sets the tray with the bottle and glass on the end of a table near him.
"No, don't go. Have a seat. I need for you to tell Brad-we'll get to that in a moment.
"Where was I?" Buck asks, rhetorically "Rationalizing," Brad says.
Buck looks at him, glaring, - then chuckles, looking down, shaking his head.
"God, what I'd love to do with you, if you just weren't so damned good!"
Brad and Buck laugh and Cranston manages a thin smile.
"As I was saying," Buck resumes, "you and I have different perspectives, Brad."
"You are concerned with the team as tool, as support, as augmentation to yourself."
"If you're not playing, you really don't 'care who wins. Has no meaning for you, if and when you're not the driving force."
"Whereas, and for admittedly equally selfish reasons, I must concern myself with the whole team. "Which is why-"
"Which is why you've made Gary Fisher an offer." Buck chuckles again.
"Cranston, is there nothing we can do to surprise this man?"
"Perhaps the terms of our understanding with Gary will do that, Randy," Cranston says, wrily. Buck laughs.` "Geez! I'm getting it from all sides today! Lucky I got a thick skin."
"Go ahead, tell 'im the deal."
"Three year contract, option to renew, one mil, one third acceleration annually, compounded and unconditional."
And it is clear from the tone of Cranston's voice that he personally disapproves.
"I'd say that'll do it," Brad says. "You got yourself a new sparkplug."
"Another sparkplug," Buck corrects. "I don't want you feeling threatened in any way."
"I don't," Brad says. "That it?"
"Not quite, Brad.. Brad, I know you. I watched you through the season. As I have watched you ithrough other seasons."
"And?"
"Brad, what's wrong? You are not a happy camper, has they say. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were suffering from an unhappy love life.
"But that can't be it, because, and I trust you'll see this as insight and not as criticism, since I myself am basically the same way, Brad is in love with Brad.
"And again, dorr't get me wrong, that is not a bad thing. Self esteem is important in this game. In any game."
"I'm all right," Brad shrugs.
"You by any chance suffering from that rare Hawaiian disease, Brad? Because, if you are, I can rustle up some prime snatch that'll-"
"No," Brad smiles, "my problem is not lackanookie."
"Aha! Then there is a problem of some kind!"
"There was," Brad admits, "but it recently got solved-I think."
"You mean you just met the love of your life?"
"Love? No. Not exactly. In a way. I don't know."
"That would seem to about cover all the options," Buck says, leaning back in his chair.
Brad smiles thinly.
"I'm into a... relationship. I-we-are still defining it."
"Now, that does sound serious.
"I was going to invite you to stay the night, but you probably have other plans."
"Uh, yes. Matter of fact, I do."
"Well then. We'll have to get you an early supper and send you on your way early. Long trip back to the city."
"I appreciate that."
"So. Tell me about her."
"I think it's a bit soon for that, Randy. I mean, we practically just met and there's just a. whole bunch of things to be checked out before uh, before whatever happens... happens.
"Uh-huh. You've got me really curious, though, I must say."
"Like to meet the woman who can get Brad thinking this heavily about something besides football."
And there is a note of warning beneath the casual amiability.
Meaning that this woman is a threat.
She is a menace to concentration, to singularity of purpose.
That is, assuming that she is something more than just the usual fluff that is out and about and available to the likes of Brad.
Perks.
Walking trophies.
Rewards on the hoof.
That, or the hometown sweetheart they marry.
But something else, some sophisticated barricuda in a Venus suit, that could mess a player's mind, impair his efficiency, cause inattention, injury, loss of games.
"Actually, Randy, I think this'll be good for me."
"I mean, you're right. I was beginning to feel a bit down."
"It all started not to make sense, you know?"
"I don't know. Go on."
"I don't know either, Randy. Not really. It's just, like, a man gets to a certain age. Or maybe he simply finds himself in a rut, doing the same things, over and over."
"Like winning the championship three years running, Brad?"
"No, no. That part's fine. Every game is a new challenge, no two are ever the same. Hell, no. two downs are ever the same, let alone games."
"But a man gets so he needs-I don't know-something... more."
"Guy can find it in sex for a while, I suppose."
"But then, even that begins to pall."
"Until it all looks, acts, sounds the same."
"Talking meat, as ungrateful, as jaded as that sounds.
"And then, along comes something that you react to before you know you are, and suddenly, it's, `Hey! This is new and different and fascinating-"
"My God, Cranston! He's discovered boys!"
Brad throws his head back, laughing at that one, at how far from the truth Buck is, Buck and Cranston join in the mirth, mostly out of relief that this should not be the case.
"No, no. Far from it, in fact. I think I have gained a fresh, new insight into the feminine."
And he resists the tendency to bite his bottom lip. Already, he has said too much.
He has whetted Buck's natural, avid curiosity still further.
Bad. Very bad.
Because, if Buck should press "Before, I frankly felt that the old creative juices were beginning to flow a little less freely, Randy. "But now, I feel the opposite."
"This, this... thing I've got going seems to have made it possible for me to see plays I've never before envisioned."
Not true, but it could be. Still, he has to say whatever is necessary to divert Buck from the scent of the trail up which he has inadvertently led him.
"Now that IS interesting!" Buck says, leaning forward in his chair."
And the steady glare of the overhead light in Cranston's glasses tells Brad that he has his attention as well.
So, in for a penny, in for a pound, as the English say.
"Yes, I somehow thought you would find it to be. "I was saving it as a surprise.
"Come to think of it, it still can be.
"After all, the playbook isn't due from me, not even preliminary, for another two months."
"So," Buck says, leaning back in his chair, "we are going to see fireworks out there next season."
Brad looks at him sharply.
"Not," Buck adds quickly, seeing that glance, holding his hands in front of himself, flapping them in protest, "not that we haven't been getting them right along. I mean, who should know that better than I?"
"I only meant that we're about to see something completely new under the sun."
"Yes, that's it. Totally new and different."
"Am I, ah, correct, Brad?"
"You certainly are, Randy."
"Cranston, why don't you go check with cook and see about the supper?"
"After all, we must not let the flow of digestive juices interfere with the flow of creative juices."
"And Brad here is telling us that next season will be very juicy indeed!"
Cranston leaves the room.
And Brad notes with satisfaction that he has successfully diverted Buck's attention from the cause of Brad's fresh outlook to the tentative effects of it.
"Can't you, uh, give me a hint?"
Brad sighs.
"I don't want to put you through this again, Randy."
"'This?"
"The controversy. The brouhaha. I mean, you -know what happens between me and Anderson every time I come up with something a bit too radical for his tastes."
"So let me work these things out with Andy and then we'll come to you with a unified strategy, all right?, "Fuck Anderson! Who the fuck is Andy, anyway, to tell you-"
"Please, please, please, Randy. He's your head coach and a good man. And my wild stuff makes him nervous for completely understandable reasons."
"Does that sumbitch know he's still on the payroll because of your strategies, your victories?"
"Does he?"
"Because if not-" And Buck, red-faced, picks up a telephone from the table, as though preparing to dial Anderson for a showdown.
"Don't uh, don't do that, Randy."
"We always end up achieving concensus, however reluctantly on Andy's part."
"And when it comes to drilling the troops, he's second to none."
"Well, all right, if you say so," Buck growls, putting the phone down.
Cranston reappears.
"Lobster bisque in half an hour," he announces.
"Excellent!" Buck exclaims.
"Drive carefully, now," Buck says, clapping Brad on the shoulder as he shakes his hand at the front door in farewell.
Buck stands there in the doorway, waving as Brad pulls away.
And watches him disappear down the straightaway on the other side of the fountain, Brad's car disappearing in the mist of the spray.
"I believe you know what's required here, Cranston," Buck says, turning to his secretary, who was standing there, watching the departure scene.
"I've already called Frenchy. Surveillance will be in place at Brad's condo within the half hour.