by Nancy Star
Freddy and his appendage trailed after him up the stairs, like a pair of potatoes with feet. No wonder Rose was so lacking in luster. The thing that irked him most of all was that he’d expected more from them. He knew Rose wasn’t going to be anything special, but he thought what she lacked in talent she’d make up for in family commitment.
There was no commitment. There was no interest. There wasn’t even a fleece. They were the only family on the team who refused to purchase it. It galled him to no end, seeing a squad of fifteen girls in green fleece and one in a sweatshirt the color of pink bubble gum, or whatever she happened to pull out of her drawer that day.
Not to mention the financial issue. The man drove a Jaguar, but he still hadn’t paid the second half of the yearly fee.
Yet here they were, snapped out of their coma, first in line for a conference. He despised them and all people like them. Selfish, slow, dull, dim.
When they got to his small gallery office, Winslow slid behind his desk and motioned for Freddy and the wife to sit down.
“You played Rose exactly nine minutes in the last game,” Freddy said, snapping Winslow to attention.
“Have a seat. Please,” Winslow said. That was another thing he despised. People lacking manners.
“I prefer to stand,” Freddy said.
His appendage looked unsure of what to do. Winslow motioned again to a seat. She sat down.
“I don’t remember seeing you at the last game,” Winslow said. He didn’t usually bother himself with who was or wasn’t at the games. His attention stayed where it belonged, on the field. But he had people who let him know.
“I was there. I don’t have to advertise when I’m there, do I? I can come and go when I please, right?”
“Of course, Freddy,” Winslow said. “Please. Sit down.”
Freddy sat. “Nine minutes at the last game and the game before”—he took a small piece of paper out of his pants pocket—“seven.”
“May I see that?”
Freddy handed over the crumpled paper. It had dates and times scribbled all over it. Winslow noted they were written by several different hands. Freddy had help.
“I don’t have my notes with me,” Winslow said, patting down his shirt, which had no pockets at all. “But I can assure you, the league rules are very specific on this matter. I am required to play each girl a certain percentage of the time that she’s present at the game, and that is exactly what I do.”
“Nine minutes, and then seven minutes,” Freddy said like a broken record. “Is that the required percentage? Because that’s what she played. I timed it.”
“I’m afraid I have to challenge your numbers.”
“How can you challenge a watch?” the appendage asked, meeting his eyes for the first time in her life. “What time is it now, Freddy?”
Freddy checked his watch. “Six thirty-five.”
The appendage pointed to the large electronic clock on the back wall of the Soccer-Plex. “Six thirty-five. Same as yours.”
Winslow noticed that the appendage’s cheeks were red. She was angry. Freddy was angry too. Some might even describe him as being in a rage.
Winslow wanted to smile but willed himself to keep a serious expression on his face. This was exactly what he’d been looking for. This might work out quite well.
For the next twenty minutes, he sat perfectly still as first Freddy and then the appendage spewed out their bilious rage. Of course, he only knew they were complaining by their tone. He’d stopped listening to their words almost at once.
He let the music of their anger wash over him as he thought about where to best position the new girl for her first game. He’d told Marilyn midfield, but Charlotte actually might be better suited as a forward.
There was a pause, and he realized they were done. He forced himself to remain seated as they stormed out of his office. He even tried to look a little shaken. This was going to work out just fine.
But why hadn’t the Fleming mother called? He picked up the phone. Why did nothing get done unless he did it himself?
Thirty-three
Rose carried the envelope into the small kitchen. “Mommy. What’s this?”
Lenore glanced up at the envelope in Rose’s hand. She turned back to Nicky and tried to force in another spoonful of spinach and rice. “I don’t know. Where did you find it?”
“It was on the floor near the front door,” Rose said. “Someone put it through the mail slot.”
Lenore tried to push the spoon into the baby’s mouth, but he clamped his mouth shut. “Leave it on the counter,” she said. She had no time to read every flyer someone stuck through the door.
It was still on the counter when Freddy came back from the car wash.
Rose had just toasted herself a set of frozen miniwaffles. Her father took one off her plate.
“Dad!” Rose complained, but she didn’t mean it.
It was when he went to get a paper towel to wipe his greasy fingers that Freddy saw the envelope. He opened it out of boredom more than anything else.
Halfway through reading it he stopped. “Where did this come from?”
“What?” Lenore looked up. “That’s junk mail Rose found. Where did you find it, Rose?”
“On the floor, by the front door,” Rose said.
“This is how he tells us?” Freddy said. “He slips a letter through the door slot in the middle of the night, for anyone to find?”
“Who did?” asked Lenore. “What kind of letter?”
Freddy shook his head quickly. He wasn’t going to discuss it. Not here, in front of the children.
“Rose,” Lenore said. “Watch Nicky for me.” She sat Nicky on the floor next to Rose and went off with Freddy to the living room.
She sat down next to him. “What is it?”
He handed her the letter. “Read it.”
Lenore glanced at the signature, then kept her voice low as she read the letter out loud. “Dear Freddy . . .” She looked up at her husband. “After all these years, he doesn’t even know my name.”
“Read it,” Freddy urged her.
“At our recent conference I was quite surprised to discover how dissatisfied you and your family are with Rose’s experience on the Power.”
“See?” Lenore said. “He doesn’t know my name.”
“Keep going,” Freddy told her.
“After giving this careful consideration, I have come to the conclusion that it is to no one’s benefit for Rose or your family to remain this unhappy. It is only because I have the utmost respect for your family’s strong feelings—” Lenore’s eyes skimmed ahead. “What?”
Freddy grabbed the letter back and read the rest, his voice dull and flat: “It is only because I have the utmost respect for your family’s strong feelings that I am willing to release Rose from her obligation to play on the Power, even though the season has not yet come to an end. Enclosed please find her player’s card.” Freddy turned the envelope upside down. A small laminated card with his daughter’s smiling face on it fell into his lap. “Gerri Picker, who coaches the Asteroids, will contact you shortly to see if Rose would be interested in joining her team. However, at this time, Rose is under no obligation to play for that or any other Mountain Ridge Travel Soccer Team this year. If you choose to move to an out-of-town team, please contact the Mountain Ridge Soccer Board for instructions regarding their policy about the refund of your travel team fee.”
Lenore started fanning herself with the empty envelope. “This can’t be.”
“It is with great regret that I bid good-bye to Rose. I have very much enjoyed working with Rose over the past three years, but I feel confident that this solution is best for all involved. Good Luck to One and All from Winslow West!!”
Freddy dropped the letter. He picked up his daughter’s player’s card and stared at her smiling face.
“Did you know,” Freddy said, “that the Power is the only team in New Jersey that has laminated cards?”
“Can h
e do this?” Lenore whispered.
Freddy picked up the letter and pointed to the bottom. “He sent a copy to Geoff MacGregor, the Mountain Ridge soccer commissioner. It’s a done deal.”
“Call the commissioner, then. Tell the commissioner what happened, because this is not right.”
“What do you mean, ‘call the commissioner’?” Freddy asked. “Don’t you think Winslow West and the commissioner are good friends? And what do you think the commissioner is going to say to me?”
“It’s not right,” Lenore said. “It’s not fair. You have to call.”
“You don’t understand how this works,” said Freddy.
“How it works is you call the commissioner and he’ll do what’s right. He’ll make Winslow keep Rose on the team for the rest of the year. In the spring, she’ll try out for next year. If she’s not good enough, she won’t make it. That’s fair. The commissioner will make sure it’s fair.”
“Is Rose suddenly your only child?” Freddy asked.
“What do you mean?” Lenore said.
“I mean, think about the boys. You know how much they love soccer.”
“Of course they love soccer. Little Freddy is the best on his team. All the parents say so. And how many kids Christopher’s age are already playing up an age group? I think Nicky is probably going to be the best of them all, once he learns to walk.” She was proud of every one of her kids.
“So think for a minute,” Freddy said. “If I complain, what do you think will happen? Next year, Little Freddy will be the best player on his team, but he’ll be on the worst team in his age group. Christopher—he’ll stay on the team where he is, but he’ll sit on the bench the whole season. As for Nicky, by the time Nicky is old enough to play with the big boys, you’ll be so sick of it all you’ll be begging me to let him play baseball.”
“Baseball? Have you lost your mind?”
“It’s politics. It’s how it is.”
“That’s not true,” Lenore insisted. “Winslow has to treat our children fair. It’s not right.”
“It’s how it is,” Freddy said again. And he went to the kitchen to break the bad news to his daughter.
Thirty-four
I thought you were kidding,” Gerri said.
Annie took her sweaty hand off the phone and wiped it on her pants. “I wasn’t. I’m sorry.”
“How the heck did Winslow get this through the soccer board?” Gerri asked.
“I have no idea,” Annie said. “You do know that Charlotte really likes you, right? She likes all the girls on the team too.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Gerri said. “Like I told you before, I wish the best for Charlotte. She’s a sweet kid. She deserves to move up. Tell her I said congratulations. And don’t worry. I’m not taking this personally. Believe me, all I’m thinking about right now is what I’m going to do to pacify the army of parents who will go into attack mode as soon as they hear this news.”
“Do you think it’s going to be hard to find someone to volunteer to manage the team?” Annie asked.
“That is the least of my worries,” Gerri said.
“I really am sorry.”
“Forget it,” Gerri told her. “There’s no one on the team who wouldn’t do the same thing if they got the chance.”
When Annie got off the phone, she saw Charlotte standing across the room watching her. She didn’t look happy.
“It’s fine,” Annie said. “Gerri was lovely. It’s totally fine.”
“She’s mad at me, isn’t she?”
“The furthest thing from it,” Annie said. “In fact Gerri asked me to tell you congratulations. She thinks you totally deserve this. She’s happy for you.”
“She’s a good coach,” Charlotte said. “I don’t think I should change teams.”
“Gerri said anyone on the team who got this chance would do the very same thing.”
“I don’t think I’m going to like it on the new team,” Charlotte said.
Annie didn’t want to admit it, but she wasn’t sure of this either. Still, they’d agreed to go for it. “Winslow’s worked very hard to arrange this,” Annie reminded her. “You said you’d give it a chance. How about it?”
“Can he unarrange it?” Charlotte asked. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“You won’t know though, unless you give it a try,” Annie said, because that was the truth. She checked her watch. “Are you ready? You don’t want to be late for practice.”
“Okay,” Charlotte said. She retied her shoelaces and picked up her water bottle. “I’ll give it a try. But just so you know, if it doesn’t work out I won’t ever be able to go back to my old team. I’ll have to quit soccer.”
They rode to the park in silence. Charlotte walked to the field like a soldier conscripted to play. Annie reminded herself of all the reasons this was a good decision. Charlotte had a lot of talent. Talent shouldn’t be wasted. Gerri didn’t know what to do with a kid like Charlotte. Winslow would.
Winslow, spotting them, rushed right over. He smiled widely. “It’s the Flemings,” he cheered. “Welcome to the Power.”
“Thanks,” Charlotte said, staring at her shoes.
“I imagine you’re quite eager to get on the field so you can show the girls exactly why you belong on this team,” Winslow said. “Am I right?”
Charlotte nodded but didn’t look up.
“Great. Now, there are several options for positions today. But first let me ask you this. What position do you most enjoy playing?
Charlotte shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“What position did you play for Gerri, then? Midfield? Forward? Some secret combination I’ve never heard of?”
“She’s very flexible,” Annie said. “I’m sure wherever you put her is fine. Right, Charlotte?”
Charlotte nodded unconvincingly.
“All right. I do like what I’ve seen of you in midfield,” Winslow said. “Shall we try that today? Does midfield sound all right to you?”
“Yes,” Charlotte said.
“Good,” Winslow said. “All right. The girls have finished the field check, which I will explain to you later. They are about to start their stretches. Would you care to join them? I’ll be there in a moment.”
Charlotte ran as fast as she could to where the girls were lying on the grass, stretching their legs.
Winslow walked closer to Annie. He narrowed his eyes. “Is there something wrong?”
“No,” Annie said. “She’s just a little shy.”
“Yes. Well. We’re all very excited about Charlotte’s joining the team. However, if there is something she’s unhappy about, it would be better if I knew. I can only help if I know what’s wrong.”
“I think she just feels a little bad about abandoning her old team,” Annie admitted.
Winslow nodded and forced a smile. “Well, that’s understandable. However, real competitors can’t afford to waste time feeling bad, can they? Is this going to be an ongoing problem?”
“No. Absolutely not,” Annie said.
“Because if Charlotte doesn’t really want to play with us, if she doesn’t like the girls or if she doesn’t like me, it’s fine. I have no ego involved here. But I do need to know, before damage is done to the team.”
“She likes the team,” Annie said. “And the girls. And you. There’s no problem. It’s going to be fine.”
“Fine,” Winslow said. “Well then, all right. Thank you.
“Damn,” he said under his breath as he strode toward his players. He’d concentrated so hard on how to get the new girl he’d never sufficiently considered the possibility that she might not want to be got.
He glanced over at the Power parents, all of whom immediately looked away, as if then he wouldn’t notice they’d been watching his every move.
Damn. He hadn’t figured the girl for high maintenance. She had been completely enthusiastic during the training session. He’d have to see, that’s all. If it wasn’t going to work out, he�
�d know by the end of the day.
“Problem?” Vicki asked when he joined her.
“No,” Winslow said, shaking off the question. He turned his thoughts to a girl he’d seen at a tournament in Fruitvale. Her footwork wasn’t polished, but she had powerful legs and attacked the ball with almost frightening intensity. Best of all, her family had made a point of walking over and saying hello. Kinsey was her name.
He’d better have Marilyn get Kinsey’s phone number so he could give the parents a friendly call. He wouldn’t make any promises, of course. He’d just explore a bit. Find out their thoughts on how she liked her current team, and ask what her dreams were for her future.
He felt better just thinking about it.
“All right,” he called out. He clapped his hands and the girls gathered round him, arms crossed, awaiting instruction.
“On the field,” he said. “Hustle! Hustle! Hustle!”
All of them, Charlotte included, immediately obeyed.
Thirty-five
Twice, Maura came down to ask Roy if he was coming up to bed.
“Soon,” he said twice—and didn’t move.
He wasn’t going to move. Not until he could shut his eyes without seeing Winslow West’s face painted on the inside of his eyelids.
He hadn’t meant for anyone to get hurt. He had meant to shake them up, sure. But he hadn’t meant for them to sprain their ankles and twist their knees. He hadn’t wanted them to end up on crutches.
He shouldn’t have stopped at the game. It hadn’t helped, seeing the three girls on the bench with their ankles and knees wrapped, and Dinah with her crutch. That’s not what he’d wanted.
He sat for another half hour in the Barcalounger, spinning the events of the week around and around in his brain. When he couldn’t stand it anymore, he moved to the computer.
In the soccer forum it was the usual stuff. People making predictions. People bashing people making predictions. Bellyaching, speculating, interrogating. Pages upon pages of complaints about how bad the linesmen were, how bad the coaches were, how bad the parents were, how bad the trainers were.