Chapter 6

ON WEDNESDAY, JERRY WILSON CALLED Ted at work.

"There's an emergency board meeting at eight, tonight, Ted. We'd like you to be there."

"It'll be tight, Jerry, but I'll make it. What's the problem?"

"Federation complaints about the Oakdale Junior Bantams. The federation president will be there."

"Anything serious?" Ted asked, knowing that Ron's tactics were at issue.

"Could be. They're questioning things like excessive injuries in games."

"The Raiders are pretty clean, Jerry. There haven't been any serious injuries in any of our games."

"You're winning, Ted. It may be hard to prove that no one's gotten hurt."

"I'll be there."

The seven elective officers of the Oakdale association were there when Ted arrived. Ron Demming came in right behind him and the federation president, eligibility director and rules chairman arrived together about ten minutes later. Ted had decided to bring Thompson's films and a projector, just in case and they were in the van.

The federation president lowered himself into the chair next to the association president's and suggested that the meeting get under way.

"You haven't all met me," he said. "I'm Don Beam. Mr. Yoshi is my eligibility director and Mr. Garcia is the federation rules chairman. Where are the Oakdale Junior Bantam coaches?"

"Here," chorused Ted and Ron.

Jerry Wilson introduced them. "Here are their schedules, Don. Ted has the Raiders and Ron, the Broncos."

"Hm. All right. What I'm here about is com plaints from other associations about Oakdale Junior Bantam roughness and player eligibility."

"Roughness?" asked Wilson. "It's a rough game, Don!"

Don Beam turned in his chair to stare at Jerry. "I know that, Wilson, I expect boys to get hurt from time to time."

"A coach is likely to yell when he thinks he's got a good team and he gets beat bad!" Jerry continued.

"Maybe."

"He'll yell about everything else, too. Crooked refs, a bad field, a bum timekeeper ..."

"... and player eligibility," Beam finished.

"Sour grapes," said Jerry.

"Wilson, how many of your top players have been put out of action this year by injury?" asked Beam.

"I'd have to check. How about your team, Ted?"

"None. I lost Timmy Gale with a broken ankle, but that happened in scrimmage and I wasn't ready to call him my top player."

"How about you, Ron?" asked Jerry.

"None."

"Have any injuries at all?" Beam inquired.

"Sure! Couple of pulled tendons ... a few bad bruises ... Nothing major, though."

"Lucky," commented Beam. "Some other associations didn't make out that well." He showed them a list. "Last Saturday, the Jets lost their number one man on the opening kick-off. That was in a game with Oakdale. Saturday before last, the Warhawks lost four men. It turned out they were their top four players. Two weeks before that, the Saints lost their top two. Always against Oakdale." He looked grimly from Ted to Ron. "Interesting."

Ron snorted. "Three teams. Coincidence."

Before Beam could reply, Wilson spoke up. "You're making a big thing of the fact these were outstanding players. Those three teams were strong teams, too, weren't they?"

Beam nodded. "Couldn't tell about the Saints. That was only their second league game. But they won their first and walked all over three pre-sea son opponents. Some of the federation people figured them to be the champions." He glanced down at the list. "The Warhawks and Jets were hot."

Jerry leaned back in his chair. "You've been around the game for a while. Get a kid this age who figures he's a star and put him on a winning team. What happens? He gets careless. Doesn't bother to keep in condition-makes the grand stand play-can't be bothered to stick with his blockers. Who else is as likely to get hurt?"

"You people have two undefeated teams in this age bracket. All of the bad injuries to top players in Junior Bantams this year happened in games against Oakdale. It doesn't feel like coincidence."

Ted exhaled an explosive breath. "Wait a minute!" he said. "Check those teams with injuries against the schedules Wilson gave you!"

Ron stiffened and glared at Ted. Beam looked from the list to the schedules. He found each of the complaining teams on a schedule and checked it off. Laying the list aside, he studied the Broncos' schedule, a line of white appearing at each corner of his mouth. At length, he looked up.

"Let me change the subject for a moment," he said. "I have a report that there are at least two in eligible players in the Oakdale Junior Bantams." He turned to Jerry. "You're the Oakdale player agent?"

Jerry nodded.

"Have you heard about this?" Beam asked.

"I got one report on a possible ineligible boy and checked it out. It wasn't true. We haven't any kids on either team who aren't eligible."

"Hmm." Beam glanced at Yoshi. "You haven't completed your investigation of these complaints, have you."

No, sir.

Beam turned to mild-mannered Jens Jensen, Oakdale association president. "Jens, we've come to you without bringing out the eligibility thing. We'd really rather you got to the bottom of it and took your own action than to get there ourselves and have to call you in."

"I understand that," Jens said. "I doubt that we have a problem, though. Jerry's been around the association for a long time. He knows most of these kids personally."

"I suppose so," Beam conceded. "You know that if you've used an ineligible boy, you forfeit every game he played in."

"Yes."

"I suggest you review all of the boys who are playing in Junior Bantams."

Jensen nodded. "We can do that."

"Good. Then let's get back to the injuries. I don't think Mr. Brown needs to stay."

Ted rose and glanced at Jens.

"Thanks for being here, Ted," Jens said.

"Oh! Before you go, Brown, let me make a suggestion on this eligibility thing. Usually, a coach knows more about his boys than anyone else. Why don't you take a look, yourself? You'll feel easier in your own mind-especially if you win these next two games."

"I'll do that," promised Ted. He left without looking at Wilson.

At home, he found the Rosses and Sharps waiting with Rita. From the ash trays, it appeared that they'd been there for hours. He glanced at his watch to find that it was only nine-thirty.

"Hi, boss coach," called Al. "Big pow-wow?"

Ted grinned. "Scalp expedition," he replied. "Seems that some braves cheat."

"Ugh! What's new?"

"The federation keeps forgetting we've got two Junior Bantam teams in the Oakdale association." Ted poured himself a cup of coffee and eased into his favorite chair.

Bill leaned forward. "What was the problem, Ted?"

"Two problems. Ron's kids have crippled seven star performers on three teams, so far this season. The federation thinks that's cutting it too thick. And they've had reports of ineligible players."

"Did they have names?" asked Bill.

"No." Ted sipped at his coffee. "They didn't even say which team."

Al paced the floor. "I keep thinking of Ron's team. But eligibility can clobber anyone!"

"It sure can," agreed Bill. "Someone could read the birth certificate wrong or miss the fact that a kid lived on the wrong side of a boundary street or ..."

"... or didn't get high enough grades last spring," Ted finished.

"Not only last spring," muttered Bill. "You signed Ted, Jr.'s report card a couple of weeks ago, didn't you?"

"Quarterly report? Come to think of it, I did,"

"Was it okay for eligibility?"

"I didn't even think about it. Let's see now ..." Ted stared at the ceiling. "Yeah, it was okay."

Al stopped pacing and faced Ted. "Looks to me like we'd better do some fast checking."

Ted nodded. "Let's break down the roster in thirds. That'll give us each eleven kids to ring out, including our own." He went to his desk for a roster and cut it into three pieces. "Here you are. We'd better call the parents for a report card check and birth certificates. I guess it's too late to start tonight."

"Quarter to ten?" Bill considered. "Yeah, I sup pose so. What about association boundaries?"

"We can do that right now," Ted said. "I'll get a map."

All addresses were safely inside the boundaries.

"When we make our calls, we can check to be sure the kid still lives at the address we have for him," remarked Bill.

Elsie sighed. "Have you solved all your football problems for tonight?" she asked.

Bill chuckled. "Ask old slave-driver," he said.

"Hey! That's no way to talk!" protested Ted. "I'm a soft-spoken, easy-going friend of the underdog!"

"All right, coach. Are you finished for tonight?" Elsie stretched as she waited for him to answer.

"Sure. There's nothing else we can do."

"Except lay out strategy for this Saturday's game," she retorted.

"That's done," Ted assured her. "Our only strategy is 'go out there and win!' Is there another way to plan?"

"I don't know," she said. "I hadn't thought about it. There is one aspect of the game I've been meaning to ask you about. Suppose you'd have time to explain it to me tonight?"

"Why not?"

She smiled sleepily at him. "It's awfully elementary, I'm afraid. I'd be terribly embarrassed to let everyone see how stupid I am." She glanced around at the others. "You wouldn't mind if I had Ted educate me in the den, would you?"

Ted saw Rita start. Hell! It was going to be another one of those times. But he looked more carefully at Elsie and a spark of excitement stirred in him. She looked just as poised as ever, but the thing she was wearing offered a challenge. He hated those goddamn sack dresses, ordinarily. They hung from the shoulders with no pretense at fitting. A woman could be eight and a half months pregnant and look the same in one as a nineteen year-old fashion model. True, if she moved around in it, there was some possibility of allure where her flesh touched the cloth, but even that was lacking with most women.

With Elsie, he knew what was underneath and the thought of peeling off that shapeless hull to ex pose her figure sort of made his mouth dry. There was a pleasant tingle in his groin and he glanced again at Rita. She shrugged. He thought her smile was a little late.

"Go ahead," Rita said. "He ought to be able to explain just about anything in there without running the risk of embarrassing you."

He sure as hell ought, he reflected. It was sound-proof and the door locked from the inside. No danger of one of the kids stumbling in at the wrong time.

"Okay," he said. "School's about to open." He got up and led the way to the den.

Elsie perched on the edge of the desk. "Is it really sound-proof in here?"

"You might hear a gun if someone fired it right outside, but if you got locked in, you'd never be able to yell loud enough to get help."

"That's good. Ted, why do you me put so much time into something that doesn't go anywhere?"

"Are you asking about me or Bill?"

"Bill, I guess."

"Well, I suppose it's the kids. Coaching gets ex citing; it's a challenge. But I'm damned if I'd do it if it weren't for Ted Jr."

"Is it a sense of obligation? The fact that if there weren't volunteers there'd be no program?"

"Naw. There'd always be someone who wanted to coach. With me, it's a way to be interested in at least one thing that Teddy's interested in."

"That's what Bill says. That football's the only thing he and Dana agree on."

"I don't understand that! What's there to disagree with the kids about?"

"Hell it's not that, Elsie. It's just that the kids don't really want to talk to us about anything they're doing. They live in their own world and we're not in it. It isn't really disagreement."

"It's sort of like that with men and women, isn't it? I mean, a husband lives in one world and his wife in a different one."

"Well, they overlap."

"A little, maybe. But they only talk to each other-or want to listen-about the part that does overlap."

"Maybe." He thought about it. By God, she was right! He wondered if all marriages were like that. And what was the overlap? Sex and kids and house and yards. Friends, if you had any. "I guess you're right," he said.

"Ted?"

"Yeah?"

"Bill and I ... well, we've been talking to each other more, since ... since you and Rita and Al and Cora. A lot more."

"Another area of overlap?"

"Not really that, so much. I guess we just work harder to be close. I don't know what that means."

"Neither do I."

"We ... I ... I've never felt so close to outsiders before as I do to you other four, Ted. I wonder if we'd ever have known each other as well if it hadn't been for swapping."

"It would have taken a hell of a lot longer," he said. He suspected they'd have drifted apart after the kids passed the football age and they'd not have gotten nearly as close by then as they already were. That much, their extra sex had brought them. Of course, it could wind up by bringing troubles, too.

Elsie turned up her face. "That's enough philosophy, darling. Kiss me."

He leaned down and let the warmth of her lips seep through him. He touched her tented dress, then rested his hand on the flesh underneath. A woman felt all kinds of different ways through cloth. Sometimes, there'd be so many layers she didn't feel like a woman at all. Other times, the material would cling to her and a guy's hand would feel the texture of the cloth instead of that of the woman. Tonight, Elsie's shift was the kind of stuff that stuck to his hand and when he stroked, it was like having a piece of cloth glued to his hand, feeling her skin through it.

A surge of excitement washed over him. He was feeling her skin through the shift! Not pants or slip, but skin! He stroked upward to her breasts. Sure as hell! For the first time since he'd been in a position to find out, Elsie had gone out with nothing under her dress but herself! Not a goddamn thing!

"Jesus!" He let out his breath. "Jesus, Elsie!"

"You like it that way?"

"I do!"

His fingers traveled over her form with loving attention. It was like discovering her again.

She twisted under his touch and pulled his face down for another kiss.

"Mmmm!" she crooned.