Take a Chance

by D. Jackson Leigh

  “No-o-o, you don’t say.” She cast a glance across the street where Jackson still had a shoulder propped against the porch support, watching them.

  “Yes.” Jamie straightened. “Her taunting you from across the street is just part of her CIA cover. She’s actually very nice. So, I’m asking you to respect a patriot. She’s already risking her life by inhaling those chemicals. She’ll risk it again without hesitation if nuclear war happens. She and the rest of her unit will be our front line.”

  Miss Clarice’s mouth was a perfect O. “Why, I had no idea.”

  “It’s okay. She understands. But this has to be kept secret. The CIA doesn’t like leaks. I’m only telling you so this doesn’t cause a fuss and compromise the project.”

  “I understand.” Miss Clarice crossed her heart and pantomimed twisting a key to seal her lips.

  Jamie grasped Miss Clarice’s forearm and gave it a squeeze. “I thank you, and our government thanks you.” She dropped her chin to her chest in a brief show of grateful acknowledgement of Miss Clarice’s sacrifice for her country. Then Miss Clarice turned her eyes skyward and, for a moment, Jamie thought she was humming “America, the Beautiful” while watching Old Glory wave in the rockets’ red glare as bombs burst in the air. When the humming stopped, Miss Clarice snapped to attention, looked across the street at her new shero, and snapped a salute that would make a five-star general proud.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The big fluffy Maine coon cat snuggled into Trip’s unbuttoned lab coat to leave another layer of hair on her dark green Beaumont Veterinary polo shirt in his journey to rub the scent glands in his cheeks against her chin. The breed was typically affectionate, but Romeo was aptly named. He had purred through his vaccinations, barely flinched and instantly forgave Michelle for taking his rectal temperature, but had to be distracted with a feather toy to make him stop purring long enough for Trip to listen to his heart and lungs.

  “I’d say you have a very healthy, handsome fellow here, Taylor.” Trip handed Romeo over to the eighteen-year-old waiting at the end of the exam table. “When do you head off to Emory?”

  The girl made a face. “I want to go to Georgia Southern so I’ll be closer to home.” She stroked the big cat and he raised up on his hind legs to rub his face on hers, too. “I just know one of my stupid brothers is going to leave the door open while I’m gone, and Romeo will get out in the street, or they’ll do something mean like tie a firecracker to his tail.”

  Trip could sympathize. Boys in their early teens could be careless, insensitive, subject to peer pressure and, well, just stupid. Not to mention they usually smelled really bad when they sweated or took their shoes off.

  “I’m sure your dad will keep an eye on Romeo. He says they like to watch those fishing shows together.”

  Taylor hugged Romeo to her. “What if he isn’t home when they do something stupid?”

  She propped against the exam table and studied Taylor. Blond and pretty, she was the type every Emory sorority would rush. And while Taylor might join one, Trip knew she would choose wisely. She’d look for the one that produced the highest number of undergrads that went on to medical school, law school, or other professional schools. Taylor had the grades and IQ to be accepted into any of those programs after three years of undergrad work, but she was most interested in environmental science and astrophysics. She wanted to be in the first group sent to establish the first colony on a new planet. Taylor had confided that her plan was to go to Emory her first year and transfer to MIT her second year when she was old enough to get an apartment and keep Romeo with her.

  “You tell your two brothers that if anything happens to Romeo, even if he’s okay later, they will have to deal with the three amigas. That means they’ll have to drive clear to Alabama to buy a decent hunting dog, once I put the word out on them. They can forget ever getting a tow from Clay when they end up in a ditch because they’re drag racing. And Grace will have her new deputy on their bumper every time they look in their rearview mirror. Officer Grant loves to write tickets. Already busted the Pine Cone record after only a few months.”

  Taylor smiled. “Thanks, Doc. I’ll tell them.”

  Trip nodded. “Tell your mama and daddy I said hello.”

  “I will.”

  Michelle appeared in the door the moment Taylor exited. “That’s it for today. It’s noon and I just put the ‘gone fishin’ sign on the door.”

  “Hallelujah.”

  Michelle followed Trip to her office. “Tell me again why Dani isn’t working today.”

  God, that girl was nosy. Trip shucked off her lab coat and tossed it into the laundry hamper in her office, then peeled off her hair-coated shirt. “Don’t know. Said she had to tend to something out of town and should be back tonight. I don’t pry into people’s personal stuff.” She had promised Grace that she’d stay out of it, and so she would. She still wasn’t sure she could trust Dani, but she had to trust Grace. She opened the closet in the corner of her office.

  “I wonder if Grace knows where Dani’s gone.”

  Crap. Empty hangers and nothing on the shelves. She hadn’t restocked her emergency supply of clean clothes. She pointed at Michelle. “Whether Grace knows where Dani has gone is their business. Stay out of it.”

  Trip glanced in the full-length mirror on the inside of the closet door. Her dark sports bra did have racing stripes. Maybe she’d start a new fashion trend. She trotted down the hall toward the back door. “Put me on pager, please. Today’s my volunteer day.”

  “Do you need some help?” If Michelle could have unbuttoned jeans with her eyes, Trip’s would have been around her ankles.

  “Nope.” Trip turned to her and grinned. “I’m expecting a new volunteer to help out today.”

  Michelle averted her gaze and her face flushed. “Oh, right. Okay.” She stared at the floor, refusing to look at Trip again. “I wasn’t…I mean, you’re my boss. I can’t help if I haven’t had a real date in a month and you’re running around here half dressed. I’m not dead, you know. But I wasn’t flirting. I was really offering to help because I don’t have any plans for tonight.”

  Trip put her hand on her shoulder. “Michelle. There are plenty of women more your age. If you’re looking for a party girl, go to the Savannah bars. If you’re looking for a serious girlfriend, go to the colleges and hang out in the student center or the library. Check their intramural sports calendar and look for softball, basketball, and rugby schedules.”

  Michelle’s smile was small and tentative. “I’m pretty good at softball.”

  “There you go. Go watch a few games in Statesboro or Savannah, and you’ll have them swarming around you like mosquitoes before you know it. It’s Saturday afternoon. I’ll bet the fields at Georgia Southern are humming right now.”

  Her smile broadened. “I think that’s exactly where I’ll go.” She grabbed her purse and followed Trip out.

  “Don’t go alone, and don’t drink and drive. If you do drink too much and don’t have the money for a motel room, go to a reputable hotel and have the desk clerk call me for a credit card number.”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  Trip pointed her middle finger toward the sky as she trotted toward the house and a change of clothes.

  * * *

  Millicent Williams, the Boys and Girls Club director, wasn’t a short woman. She just wasn’t tall like Trip. And what she lacked in height, she normally made up in bulk. But the cancer she’d been fighting had taken its toll. She looked weary and forty pounds lighter than the last time Trip had seen her.

  Trip bent to hug her. “You look like hell, Millicent.”

  When Millicent laughed, her face came alive and her whole body shook with it. She patted Trip’s arm. “The doctor says he’s done all he can do. My time has come. But I told him it’s not over until I hear the good Lord calling me home.” She peered up at Trip with that somebody’s misbehavin’ expression. “I don’t know why you’re out here, though. She’s inside wit
h the kids.”

  “I thought we’d play basketball.” Trip held up a bag of new basketballs. She’d called Millicent to find out which day Jamie was scheduled to volunteer. She’d been looking for a way to get Jamie on a court and remind her how well they fit together. But Millicent shook her head.

  “Our usual problem beat us to the court.”

  Trip followed Millicent’s gaze. The neighborhood small-time drug dealers and corner bullies were playing two-on-two, producing more profanity than they were points. She handed the bag of balls to Millicent. “Can you manage that?” Trip asked. “I’ll bring the shoes inside.”

  “I don’t know why you asked me for shoe sizes again. You know what happened last time.”

  “I think I have a solution for that.”

  She managed to gather up two tall stacks of boxes and balance them in both arms while Millicent held the door open. She barely made it inside when her boxes went flying as the children rushed past her with cries of “Miss M” and tussled over the ball bag to carry it in for her. Jamie turned from the computer where she and a girl were working and laughed when Trip stumbled over a small boy, lost her balance, and landed on the floor among the boxes. Petunia rushed over and licked her face.

  “That was graceful,” Jamie said.

  Trip started to rise, only to be pounced upon by a bright-eyed eight-year-old.

  “Doc, are you going to show us how to faint today?”

  She rolled onto her back and tickled Jamal’s ribs. “No, but I might show you how to fake when you’re coming down court.”

  Darius—probably around twelve but at the age when his attitude was growing faster than his body—drew a new basketball out of the bag Trip had brought. “Ain’t you got eyes? We can’t play today. Jubal’s boys is playing.” He threw the ball hard at the younger boy’s face and Trip put up a hand to block it. But the ball never met its target.

  Jamie snatched it midair and spun the ball on one finger. Then she tossed it up to spin it on the index finger of her left hand. “Don’t you have eyes? Jubal’s boys are playing.”

  “My brother says that’s white talk,” a girl said, then glanced at Trip. “Sorry, Doc.”

  “Then I must speak brown talk,” Jamie said in Spanish.

  Jamal eyed her. “Are you from Mexico?”

  “No,” Jamie answered in English. “I’m from Atlanta. I grew up in the projects there with black kids and brown kids.” She put some more spin on the ball, executed a few lunges to pass it under her thigh or bounce it on her knee, and caught it again on her fingertip. “And a few white kids, too. My mother is from Central America.”

  The children drifted over, mesmerized by Jamie’s ball work, so Trip grabbed a second ball and spun it. They tossed the spinning balls between them, each catching the other’s on fingertips. For their closing trick, Trip took both balls, and Jamie turned her back, closed her eyes, and pointed index fingers shoulder high toward the ceiling. The children gasped, then applauded when Trip tossed the balls and they landed neatly onto Jamie’s fingers and continued to spin.

  Trip wanted to applaud, too. The little display was a show they’d sometimes treat the crowd to during pregame warm-ups. It took precision and trust, but they still had it. The precision, at least.

  She pointed to the bench that ran the length of the room. “Okay. Everybody have a seat and Miss M will hand out your new basketball shoes.” She caught Jamie’s eye and nodded toward the door. “Let’s go do a little reconnaissance.”

  Jamie followed without question, and they stood against the building to watch Jubal and his friends play. Jubal was the star of his high school team, but was thrown off his college team for selling drugs out of his dorm room before his freshman season even started. Neither his grades nor his game was good enough for any other college to invest the time needed to straighten him out. Trip’s grandfather had tried, too. He got Jubal to enlist in the army, but drugs washed Jubal out of the military after two years.

  “Think we can take them?” she asked Jamie.

  Jamie snorted. “You and me against those guys? Sure. They’re all mouth and no finesse. But you’ve been in the heat too long if you think they’ll be honorable enough to just walk away after we embarrass them in front of their hombres.”

  “I might have another card up my sleeve. Come on.” Yep. Just like old times.

  Trip strode onto the court, right on the edge of their play. “Hey, Jubal.”

  Jubal ignored her and laid in a jump shot when the other three paused to look at her. Jubal got his own rebound and slammed the ball into the stomach of another guy. “Play ball.”

  “Your dyke sister wants to talk to you, man,” a guy shouted from the sideline, and the others laughed.

  “She ain’t my sister.”

  “I thought we were friends, Jubal.”

  Jubal stared at the ground. “This ain’t your neighborhood, Trip. Things are different down here.”

  “You’re wrong. The rules for honorable men are the same no matter where you are. Right now, we’re on public property that’s currently leased to the Boys and Girls Club. You should be showing the children how to play, not running them off their court.”

  “What do you want, Trip?”

  “I want to play for the court. Me and Jamie against you and your next best guy. Full court, first team to reach twenty-six points.”

  Jubal’s boys hooted. Trip knew Jubal couldn’t back down now without losing face in front of his guys. “What do we get when you lose?”

  “The court,” Jamie said. “But we won’t lose.”

  Jubal laughed. “We already have the court.”

  “The puppy they wouldn’t let you adopt from the shelter last week.”

  Jubal stopped laughing and stared at Trip. “How do you know about that?”

  “The director told me when I went by to look at another dog for them. You get the puppy or we get the court. Go pick your other player.”

  While Jubal huddled with his guys, Trip discussed strategy with Jamie, and the kids crept out of the building and sat along the brick wall on the sidelines.

  Jamie and Trip stretched while Trip talked. “Let them score first, then we’ll match them point for point unless they come on strong. They’re already warmed up, and we aren’t. But they’re also tired and we aren’t. So I don’t mind giving them a little early lead, then winning it back when they tire. After we see how good they are and how quickly they tire, we’ll decide whether we can risk letting them lose by just one point. I don’t think we’ll gain any ground in the neighborhood by embarrassing them today.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Jamie said.

  Jubal won the coin toss, and brought the ball in from under Trip’s basket. His fake was easy to read when he reached half-court, but Trip took it anyway and let him lumber past her and muscle Jamie out of the way to score. He would have been called for the offensive foul of charging if they’d had a referee, but Trip was okay with letting it go.

  Jamie grabbed the rebound, and the men trotted downcourt to wait for her and Trip to cross the half-court line.

  “Your pal is slow. I could have easily blocked that.”

  “He’s put on a few extra pounds since high school.”

  Trip picked up speed to join Jubal under the basket. Jubal had chosen wisely from his ranks. Blueberry, dubbed that after he was sent to juvie for stealing blueberry pies from the neighborhood convenience store, bested Jamie’s height by a few inches and was fast and lean. But while he had a physical advantage, Jamie had better game skills. She gave up a few turnovers, testing his reach and quickness, but Trip or Jamie would recover the ball each time until Trip gave a nod and Jamie let Blueberry past her for a showy dunk that brought cheers from Jubal’s gang and groans from the children.

  “Time out.” Trip walked Jamie to the end of the court where the children sat, ignoring the wide smiles from Jubal and Blueberry. She noticed they didn’t protest the timeout and shooed a few guys from the bench so they could sit
and wipe the sweat pouring from their faces. “What do you think?” she asked Jamie.

  “I think you’re toast.” Darius crossed his arms over his slim chest. “I think we’re never going to play basketball on this court again.”

  Trip grinned at him. “Remind me to take you down to the river, young man, and show you how to tickle the bait to lure the big fish before you set the hook to haul him in.” She turned to Jamie. The point guard always ran the game.

  “Blueberry is fast, but easy to read. Jubal’s skills are good under the basket, but he has no shot outside the arc. All he knows how to do is dunk or hook. I say we lay back like we’re tired and let them get ten ahead, then turn it into a running game and light up this dog and pony show.”

  “You got it.”

  Darius’s frown indicated he was skeptical, but the game unfolded exactly as Jamie planned.

  The catcalls from Jubal’s gang turned to groans when Jamie swished in one almost from half-court. Then they fell silent when Trip streaked along the sideline toward her goal as Blueberry dribbled into his offensive half-court. Her movement distracted Blueberry a millisecond, which was long enough for Jamie to cleanly swipe the ball from his hands and fling a pass that Trip leapt up to intercept and dunk into the basket. The children were on their feet cheering until a glowering look from Jubal silenced them.

  The next twenty minutes was filled with behind-the-back, no-look passes, hook shots, fast breaks, reverse layups, and fakes that left the guys staring at empty air. Jamie and Trip flowed up and down the court like they were one brain operating two bodies. In the end, they won twenty-seven to twenty-five.

  Jubal doubled over to catch his breath, hands on his knees and sweat dripping onto the pavement.

  Trip went to him and offered a handshake. “Good game, Jubal.”

  He swatted it away. “Fuck you.” He headed for the street and his guys gathered to follow.

  Trip followed, too, and touched his shoulder. He whirled on her, and she backed up a step, her hands up, palms out. Jamie and a growling Petunia were instantly at her side. Jubal’s gang surrounded them, but Trip touched Jamie’s arm while she held Jubal’s angry gaze. “Jubal and I are just talking.”