by Nancy Star
Roy could understand. But he couldn’t speak.
“I know Nadine wants it too, Roy,” Gerri said. “I know she wants it bad. And I want you to know, I spoke to Winslow about it. Because he and I both think she’s got a lot of talent. Plus she’s been working so hard to move up. And not for nothing, you’ll be happy to know. Winslow told me she has an excellent chance of being picked for the team next year. A really excellent chance.”
“Next year,” Roy said.
“Obviously right now the Asteroids need her more than ever. And they also need a socca-rific coach. Frankly, Roy, I can’t think of anyone better than you.”
He figured with ten girls left on the team, he must be the tenth person she called.
“I got to go,” Roy said.
“Can you do it, Roy? Can you help me out here?”
“I got to go,” Roy said again, and he slammed down the phone.
Forty-nine
What?” Roy snapped when the phone rang again.
“Roy?” It was Vicki. “Is that you?”
He wondered how she had the nerve. “Yeah, it’s me.”
“Thank God,” Vicki said. “Roy, we’ve got an emergency at the Soccer-Plex.”
“Why don’t you call Gerri and see if she can help you out.”
Vicki didn’t understand. “It’s a plumbing problem, Roy.” Her tone turned frantic. “Look, I don’t know what to do. I told Winslow he should delay the opening. Between his foot and everything else, everyone would understand. I told him the world won’t end if we wait another week for the opening. But he won’t listen to me. He’s not himself, Roy,” she added quietly.
That got Roy’s attention. Vicki wasn’t the type to say a word against her husband. At least not to someone like him.
“He won’t listen to the doctor, either. The doctor told him he has to keep off his foot for one more week. But he won’t stay in bed. The doctor said I have to make him stay in bed. But what am I supposed to do? Tie him down?”
“What’s the problem?” Roy asked.
“You mean besides the fact that Winslow nearly got Dinah killed by lightning? Because it could have been her who got hit, you know. And the doctor said if it had been her, she’d be dead.”
“What’s the problem with the plumbing?”
“I don’t know. Parker called and said half of the toilets aren’t flushing. Parker thinks it’s not a big deal. He says we should go ahead with the opening anyway. He says half the toilets are enough. But when Winslow heard that, he freaked. Now Parker and Winslow aren’t talking, Winslow and I aren’t talking. I’m so mad at him,” she said. “The toilets, Roy. They’re not flushing.”
“I can fix them,” he said.
“Oh, my God. Thank you.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. You are so good,” Vicki said, and then very quietly she started to cry. “Winslow doesn’t deserve you,” she said sniffling back her tears. “You know what that bastard had the nerve to say?”
Roy stayed perfectly still. “No.”
“He said if you didn’t fix the toilets tonight he’d call every paper in town and tell them you are the worst plumber in the state of New Jersey. And possibly in the country.”
“He said that?”
“It’s not him talking really,” Vicki said, sensing that sharing this might have been a mistake. “It’s the painkillers talking. And the stress of the Soccer-Plex opening. And the toe. Did you know the toe he lost is on his kicking foot?”
“Yeah.”
“So don’t pay attention to what he said. He’s not himself.”
“Okay.”
“I can come over right now and bring you the keys to the Soccer-Plex,” Vicki offered. “That way you won’t even have to see him. Would that be okay?”
“Sure,” said Roy.
“Thanks, Roy. You’re the best. I’m leaving now.”
When Vicki came over, Maura was at the dining room table studying her real estate tear sheets. She didn’t even look up. But Vicki didn’t notice. She handed over the keys and left.
Maura started in on him again. “If we use this mover,” she waved one of the brochures, “they’ll pack and unpack everything for us. All we have to do is just show up in the new house and it will all be done. This one is cheaper.” She waved a brochure in front of his face. “But we’ll have to do all the packing ourselves.”
At least at the Soccer-Plex he’d get some peace.
Roy was standing in the middle of the turf, just enjoying the quiet, when the door marked “Authorized Personnel Only” opened, and the two of them walked out.
Given what Vicki had told him, Roy wasn’t sure if Parker still counted as authorized. But he knew for sure the woman wasn’t.
He recognized her right away, the one whose shoes he’d stomped on in the bathroom a couple of weeks ago. Only this time she wasn’t lying down on any floor. This time she was standing up, walking toward him with an odd look on her face.
“Roy,” Parker said. “I didn’t expect you to get here so fast. Thank you so much for taking care of the toilets.”
Parker was polite, nervous, like he’d just been caught.
Roy took another look at the woman. Her cheeks were flushed. She made an effort to fix her hair, but it was in a knot and she couldn’t quite shift it back into place.
Roy felt a twinge of pity for her. He couldn’t even say why.
“Linda,” Parker said, “do you want to go freshen up? I can wait a minute for you if you do.”
Linda gave another try at patting down her hair, then turned and hurried toward the bathroom.
“Don’t flush the toilet,” Roy called after her.
“I have a little favor to ask you,” Parker said as soon as she was gone.
Suddenly, everyone wanted a favor. Roy couldn’t wait to hear what this one was.
“Could you keep it between the two of us that you saw me here tonight?”
“How come?” Roy asked. “Aren’t you allowed to be here anymore?”
Parker smiled. “Here, yes. With her, no. In there with her”— he pointed to the room they’d just exited—“never.”
“Why?” Roy asked. “What’s in there?”
“Nothing important,” Parker said, laughing. “Just the fans. Just the big blowers. Just what keeps the bubble inflated.” He laughed again.
Roy laughed too, but as he laughed he thought about Winslow dangling the team in front of him again and again, and then yanking it away every time.
“How big are the fans that keep up the bubble?” Roy asked, as if he were just curious.
“Huge,” Parker said. “They are mammoth, massive, noisy machines.”
“Can I see?” Roy knew there was no way Parker could say no to him now. “I always wondered what they looked like.”
“Certainly,” Parker said. “We’re friends, right?”
Roy nodded, and tried not to look as excited as he felt.
The alarm box was on the wall next to the steel door. Roy watched carefully as Parker pressed in the five numbers. The alarm beeped, disarmed, and Parker opened the door.
Roy followed him inside, repeating the numbers in his head until they were stuck in his brain.
Parker was filled with nervous energy and was happy to use it up giving Roy a tour.
“These two fans keep the vault inflated. These two backups are purely for emergencies. They have their own generator, over there. So if the primary blowers go down for any reason, the backup generator fires up and the backup blowers immediately kick in.”
“Mind my asking the appeal of using this place as a bachelor pad?” Roy asked. “It’s kind of noisy,” he yelled. “Isn’t it?”
Parker smiled and came closer to share his little secret. “It’s like a giant vibration chamber.” He gestured to the floor. “Try it. Lie down, right there, and you’ll see what I mean.” He winked. “I’ve got to go have a word with Linda. I think she was a bit upset you discovered us here. Would you mi
nd shutting the lights and the door? When you’re done, that is.”
“No problem,” Roy said.
Parker left and Roy stood perfectly still. The fans pulsed, sending tremors through his body. The blowers were huge, so loud and strong he didn’t have to touch the walls or lie on the floor to feel their power. The air vibrated. Or was it just his racing heart?
He took one last look at what he’d noticed right away, the way the blowers were connected to a complicated instrument panel with rows of gauges he knew Parker checked every day. But despite the complex system, it all boiled down to two switches and a couple of plugs in the wall. He was no electrician, but this was something even a plumber could figure out.
The door opened a crack. “All done?” Parker asked.
“Yup.”
“Would you mind bringing out my sleeping bag, then?”
Another favor. Roy scooped the sleeping bag off the floor.
“How did Winslow sound when he called about the toilets?” Parker asked.
“I spoke to Vicki,” Roy said. “Why?”
“No reason,” Parker said. “I was just wondering. He was a bit stressed when I spoke to him. Sounded like it wouldn’t take much to send him over the edge, if you know what I mean.” Parker winked.
Roy wasn’t a religious man, but he knew when he was being given a sign.
Fifty
The banners above the entrance to the Soccer-Plex snapped and buckled in the breeze.
One advertised a supermarket. Another touted a bank. Xavier, the physical therapist, had ponied up for one of his own, as had the real estate firm that had found Winslow the land on which he’d built his dream.
Winslow had tried to get a professional soccer team to hang a banner. But none of the blithering idiots he had gotten on the phone had the power to make a decision. Apparently none of them knew who he was.
But that was all right. That was going to change. It wouldn’t be long before every one of those idiots, whose names he’d written down and filed away, would regret every word that they’d said.
All that mattered now was that the opening go as planned—as it had been planned for years.
Of course small adjustments were to be expected. Like Parker’s role, for example. It had been Parker who was supposed to come tonight, to take the contractors on their final walk-through. But he and Parker weren’t speaking now. So here he was, as usual, doing everything himself.
That was all right. This was just a minor irritant. After all, it was best that he found out now about Parker’s insubordinate attitude. He didn’t need disloyal baggage weighing him down as he made his final ascent to the top.
He assembled the contractors in the lobby: the electrician, the tile man, the plumber, the landscape crew. He even got a fireman to show up, in uniform. Of course that wasn’t hard to accomplish. The fireman had been badgering him for months to start up a new team of Under Seven girls next year, when the fireman’s daughter would become eligible to play.
Actually, it wasn’t a bad idea to start a new team. He’d learned quite a bit from his experiment with the Power. But the girls had reached an age when they just weren’t working as hard as they used to. They were getting soft. Full of complaints. It was time to move on. Because imagine what he could accomplish if he took everything he’d learned from the girls on the Power and applied it to two dozen fresh legs.
Once the last of the contractors arrived, he greeted them all. After giving the promised tour, he singled out each workman in turn for praise, ticking off the list in his head as he went.
His limp was quite pronounced, and the pain more than a little intense, but everyone knew better than to mention it.
He checked the lights, the fans, and the toilets, smiling at Roy when they flushed hard and with immediate recovery. He checked the sound system, the scoreboard, the alarm, the heating system, the cooling system, the phones in the office, and the phones in the store. He even dragged his lame foot along the checkerboard café floor, to point out the tiles, the fresh paint on the walls, and the soda machines, which were fully stocked with sports drinks and vitamin water.
Sean, testing the deep fryer, offered the contractors some fries. He knew they had no idea the free food was not a sign of gratitude and generosity, but rather a way to make sure the oil wasn’t rancid, the fryer wasn’t broken, and the ketchup dispensers didn’t stick.
Tomorrow everything would be perfect.
Winslow waited a decent interval, giving the men enough time to sample a few fries, but not enough so that they’d settle comfortably into their seats at the small café tables. Then he called them to attention.
“Before I hand these out”—he waved a stack of checks in the air—“I want to personally thank each and every one of you, and to say that tomorrow’s opening doesn’t belong to me. It belongs to all of us.”
“What time does it start?” the tile guy asked.
“I will arrive at eight o’clock, as will the Power. Vicki will join us later.” He didn’t know what made him share that piece of wishful thinking. In fact, Vicki’s parting words when he left the house had been something to the effect that she’d never step into the Soccer-Plex as long as he was alive.
“I am expecting a good show from the media. I am very optimistic that channels four, seven, nine and eleven will all be here when the exhibition game begins.”
The toe that wasn’t there began throbbing again. He resisted the temptation to rip off his sock and check to be sure it hadn’t grown back. His hands squeezed the top of one of the plastic chairs until the wave of phantom pain had passed.
“Of course the Mountain Ridge Times will be here, and it is my intention to ask the photographer to take a group shot of all of you, the best workmen in America.”
There were smiles, and handshakes, wishes of good luck, and the handing out of checks. Then he sent them on their happy way. The only one who lingered was—no surprise—the plumber.
“Not now, Roy,” Winslow said, waving him off. And then, too quietly to be heard, he muttered, “Not ever.”
The cleanup crew arrived on time to give the Plex its preopening cleaning. At eleven the cleaners left. Finally, Wins- low was alone.
He took one last foot-dragging walk around his creation and smiled, thinking about tomorrow, when he would introduce his empire to the world. Then he turned off the lights, closed the door, limped to the car, and drove himself home. Thankfully, the missing toe was on his left foot. At least he could still drive.
As soon as he walked in the house he saw that Vicki had made up the couch for him to sleep on. The couch—tonight—the night before the biggest day of his life. Damn her.
He started up the stairs to claim his rightful place but his foot began to throb so he changed his mind. He couldn’t risk irritating it now.
He was too tired to change, so he climbed under the thin blanket fully dressed and fell asleep while rehearsing the welcome speech he had written for this occasion well over a decade ago.
Fifty-one
It wasn’t yet dawn when Roy arrived at the Soccer-Plex. He had plenty of time, but still he worked fast, just in case.
It took less than half a minute to disable the alarm. A few minutes more and both blowers were shut down. It took longer than he expected for the backup generator to click on. But as soon as it did, he quickly disconnected that too.
He estimated that with the power cut, and both emergency exit doors open, deflation would still take too long. So to hasten things, he’d brought along insurance—three extension cords, a ladder, and his trusty electric saw.
The white fabric that covered the bubble was like a thick tough skin, but the electric saw sliced through it like it was air. Roy had planned it all beforehand, and he’d worked it out just right. Ten three-foot slits at even intervals did the trick.
At first, the escaping air leaked out in a gentle hiss, but by the time he cut the last slit in the white skin the hiss had turned into a low roar.
He did no
t rush. Mistakes happened to people who worked too fast. He packed up his tools, took a careful look around to make sure he hadn’t left anything behind, and only then, once he was sure that all his belongings were put away, did he finally run as fast as he could to his car.
By the time he pulled into his driveway his damp palms had turned the steering wheel wet. He wiped his hands on his pants as he walked into the house. Then he crept up to his room, got out of his clothes, and slipped into bed.
His alarm went off at seven. He let the radio wake Maura so that she would think she was the one who had gotten up first.
“Clouds with a chance of rain,” the weatherman said.
Maura grumbled, rolled over, turned off the alarm, and gave him a shove. “Roy. Get up.”
“Huh?” He made sure to sound groggy.
“It’s time to get up,” Maura said. She checked the clock. “We got to get to the Soccer-Plex soon. Come on, Roy. Get up.”
“I’m up. I’m up.” He swung his legs around to the floor. “I was just in the middle of a dream.” He rubbed his eyes as if they were sticky with sleep.
“What kind of dream?” Maura took dreams very seriously.
“I dreamed we moved to Chestnut Heights.”
Maura nodded. “See? It’s a sign that it’s meant to be. I’m telling you, Roy, we could be very happy in Chestnut Heights.”
“I got to admit it,” Roy said. “I think you’re right.”
Maura shot him a loving smile. Roy shuffled off to the shower to get ready for the day.
When they arrived at the Soccer-Plex, a little after nine, there were four police cars, six fire engines, news crews from three major networks, and over a hundred people, craning their necks from behind police tape, for a good look at the ragged remains of Winslow West’s deflated dream.
Fifty-two
The first hint that it wasn’t a casual business lunch was the restaurant Roxanne picked. Like all PC&B muckety-mucks, Roxanne usually ate lunch at the Italian place on the corner, where the owner greeted her by name and gave her the best table.