by Janet Walker
Chapter Forty-Two
TO KNOW HER
It was the best night of her life. Ever. Which is why she didn’t mind being crushed right now between the bodies of Dent and Pat and the cheerleaders, and somebody else was patting her approvingly on the back—without malice but still too hard—and someone else accidentally stepped on her foot, and she found her head wrapped in the long arms of Toni Christian. She felt inundated in warm soft bodies and damp sweaty arms and hot spurts of breath from nostrils and mouths, and while Tracy Sullivan rejoiced in the praise, she also longed to get away, out of the mass of happy ball players and cheerleaders and Beck fans who had run onto the floor to congratulate the Grace Girls on their first win of the season. Tracy Tracy Tracy Tracy! She turned her head this way and that. Everywhere she looked, her name rushed out of someone’s mouth. Good game, good game, good game! they all said. And she heard herself saying Thank you thank you thank you thank you.
And then she felt it. A caress, the plane of someone’s fingers, sliding between her legs, against her private area, before quickly retracting.
She looked around in surprise into the impish gray-green eyes of Eric Richardson. For a moment he just looked at her. And then, drawing away, he complimented her as everyone else was doing.
Good game, Miss Haines.
Tracy flung her gaze away from him, her cheeks afire, the ghost of a hand still against her groin, tickling warmly where the fingers had been. Had he just—? The crowd moved her along. Tracy Tracy Tracy good game good game good game! Tracy sobered and looked around. Eric had found Sheila Roundtree in the crowd and was embracing her. Sheila shook her burgundy and beige pom-poms and smiled. Tracy broke out of the midst of the crowd and began moving toward the sidelines—she needed to breathe. She was followed by Dent and Toni and a few others. On the way off the floor, she passed Eric and Sheila. They walked along slowly, matching steps, with Eric pressed against Sheila’s back, engulfing her in his arms. He wore a tan warm-up suit. Underneath was his black and burgundy basketball uniform; the boys’ game would begin soon. For the second time since their acquaintance, Sheila Roundtree caught Tracy Sullivan staring at her. This time, however, Sheila’s stare did not ask What the fuck is your problem? Rather, she smiled and her eyes asked something else, something laden with curiosity, something Tracy thought looked more like, What do you know that you’re not telling me? Behind Sheila’s head, Eric stared gravely at Tracy, and along with the gravity was another emotion, a daring, a challenging, or a pleading, which seemed to say, Don’t tell what you know. Tracy bowed her head and continued heading for the Beck bench.
In moments, five smiling teenage boys came up from behind Tracy and surrounded her. One hugged her around the shoulders, lifted her from the floor, and promptly returned her to earth.
“Hey, Tracy!”
Tracy turned. Her jaw dropped open with surprise and happiness.
“Scooby! Pretty Boy!” She looked around at Drexel and Patrick and Short Fat Bobbie. “All y’all! What y’all doing here?”
The guys laughed.
“Came to see you!” said Scooby. “Didn’t we say we’d be here?”
“Yeah,” said Drexel, who for a change wasn’t scowling but was looking at Tracy with large soft gentle eyes. “You tore it up out there, Trace.”
The other guys chimed in, agreeing. “Yep.” “Did good, girl.” “We knew you had it in you.”
“Thanks,” Tracy said, pleased that her boys had come to her first game. But there was someone standing beside Scooby. A short girl, clinging to his arm, smiling meekly up at Tracy. Right away, Tracy knew who the girl must be, although her presence was puzzling.
Scooby, seeing the exchanged look between the girls, gently touched the back of the girl beside him and said, “Uh, this Sheree. Sheree, this Tracy.”
Tracy responded pleasantly with a nod but could not produce a smile. “Hey,” she greeted and checked out Scooby’s mystery girl. Sheree was short and petite, with large eyes, a big forehead, and breasts too large for her body. Nothing fantastic to look at, Tracy concluded.
Sheree smiled warmly at Tracy. “Hey,” she said in a little-girl voice. “I enjoyed the game. You so good!” she cried, making the boys laugh.
“Thanks,” said Tracy and smiled. She cast Scooby a glance which both approved of Sheree and asked why she was there when he had told Tracy he and Sheree had broken up. Tracy directed her thoughts away from Scooby and remembered Dent and Toni. She looked around for them. They had gone ahead and were standing beside the Beck bench with the other team members and Miz Grace. Tracy looked at Scooby and the boys and asked, “Y’all wanna meet Jazz Nelson wife?”
Moments later, at the sidelines, Tracy faced Miz Grace. Behind her stood Scooby and Pretty Boy and Short Fat Bobbie and Patrick and Drex. And Sheree. Tracy felt suddenly hesitant. Did she know Miz Grace well enough to introduce her to a crowd? Tracy’s cheeks warmed with a rush. Would Miz Grace react nicely to Scooby and the others, or would she embarrass Tracy in front of her friends?
The coach smiled and said warmly, “You did good, Sullivan.”
Tracy exhaled and smiled. Miz Grace was in a friendly mood. “Thanks.” She gestured quickly behind her. “These my friends from Area Place.”
Miz Grace looked at the six young people and—Tracy saw it—smiled with a niceness and politeness Tracy had never seen the coach exhibit before. “Oh!” the woman cried with interest. Tracy relaxed, feeling pleasure and gratitude, and in that moment she truly liked Miz Grace.
“This Scooby,” Tracy said proudly.
“Hi, Scooby,” said Miz Grace.
Tracy thought the childish nickname sounded odd—correct and proper and therefore absurd—coming out of Miz Grace’s mouth. She wondered if Scooby felt the same way.
“I’ve heard good things about you,” continued Miz Grace.
Scooby blushed, blinked as if startled. “Really?”
Tracy was surprised and pleased by Miz Grace’s comment; the good things to which the woman referred was the mention Tracy had made about Scooby during their conversation in Miz Grace’s office last Saturday.
“Um, I like your husband,” Scooby added shyly, smiling.
The group of young people chuckled.
“So do I,” said Miz Grace.
The group laughed.
“Nah, I mean I like the way he play,” Scooby quickly clarified.
Again, laughter. When they stopped, Tracy continued with the introductions.
“This Patrick and Drexel and Pret—D’Antonio and Short, uh, Bobbie. Oh—and that’s Sheree.”
Miz Grace acknowledged the introductions with a pleasant nod and smile. “Tracy tells me you all grew up playing ball together.”
“Yeah,” the boys murmured, nodding, blushing.
“We taught ’er everything she know!” declared Patrick with the braids, which made everyone laugh again and surprised his friends, because shy Patrick usually didn’t say much.
“I’m glad you did,” responded Miz Grace, and they laughed more. “It was nice meeting all of you,” she said after the laughter.
Tracy knew it was time to dismiss Scooby and the others, but being unpracticed in the art of etiquette, she did not know how to go about departing, so she stood a moment, awkwardly smiling and glancing around the gym. People were already streaming out, walking through the double doors that connected the Beck basketball gym with the adjacent Langston gym, where the boys’ game would be held. In a moment, Tracy was aware that Miz Grace was stepping close to her, and then she felt a hand against her back, between the shoulder blades. Miz Grace’s hand. The gesture startled Tracy and she realized why. It was the first touch ever passed between her and the coach.
“May I speak to you a minute?”
“Yeah,” Tracy said, nodding and feeling important in front of her friends. Miz Grace had just made it seem as if Tracy Sullivan was good friends with Jazz Nelson’s wife. She was sure Scooby and the others would go back to Area Place and tell everyb
ody what they had seen. Tracy looked at Scooby and asked, “You going over to the boys’ game?”
“Yeah,” answered Scooby.
“I’ll catch up with y’all, then,” said Tracy. “Save me a seat!”
Scooby agreed to do so, and the group moved away.
Tracy looked at Miz Grace curiously. Because of the woman’s unusual gesture, the teen’s heartbeat thumped in Tracy’s ears.
“You have plans for after the boys’ game?”
The thumping grew louder. Plans for after the game? “N-no, ma’am,” she stammered.
“You have a ride home?”
Tracy’s whole body began thumping. “Um, no—well, Dent was gonna drop me off. She taking Pat and Toni and Dana and Kisha home.”
“All those people in one car?” the woman asked critically. “Did you all get that approved through Tabitha and your parents?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, that’s still too many in one car. Why don’t you ride with me?”
Tracy inhaled sharply. Ride with Miz Grace? In her car? Was this night for real, or was she dreaming? For a moment Tracy could only look at Miz Grace, who returned the look with something bright behind her eyes. Through breathlessness, Tracy managed a reply. “Okay,” she said, accepting the offer.
“And Sullivan,” the woman added seriously, “if anyone asks why you’re riding with me, tell them I have to talk to your aunt about something.”
Tracy looked bewildered. “Oh. Okay.”
Grace studied the girl, hovering between uncertainty and amusement. “I’ll see you after the boys’ game.”
“Okay.” The girl bounded away to join her peers, surging inside with excitement.
An hour later, Tracy found herself seated on the soft leather seat of her coach’s white Jaguar. To the girl, the car smelled like new shoes, with a trace of a sweet scent she recognized as the perfume Miz Grace wore in the gym. Even in the dark, Tracy could tell the car was clean. The windshield sparkled clearly, the glossy wood trim of the dashboard reflected the glare of the night’s light sources and revealed no smudges, and the colorful lights in the dash glowed through polished glass shields. This car was Miz Grace! Its smell, its cleanness, its classy and expensive look. And Tracy couldn’t believe she was sitting in it. With Miz Grace. What a night! First, the win against Napier and now this!
“Which way to your aunt’s house?”
Tracy snapped out of her daze and stared at the woman seated behind the wheel. It really was Miz Grace. “Um, she stay on DeJerinett Street.”
Grace waited for more directions, but when none came her eyes shone with amusement. “I don’t know where that is, Sullivan.”
“Oh!” said the teen, chuckling at her own shortcoming. She pointed. “Turn right there. And go all the way to the end of the street, then make another right.”
“Thank you,” said Grace. She moved the gear shift out of park and drove slowly. “You really did play a good game tonight, Tracy. Thank you.”
“You welcome. Thanks.”
“But remember, it’s not always going to be that easy. Napier isn’t one of the toughest teams we face, but they may be tougher next time. Some teams are like a colony of bugs. You might kill most of them the first time you spray, but the next time the survivors have built up immunity to your poison, so you have to figure out a new way to defeat them.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Grace found the girl’s response amusing, endearing, and so she took her eyes away from the road long enough to appraise Tracy Sullivan. Not a swift child, Sullivan, but so pretty and soft-spoken and talented and humble that she ended up next to your heart. The teen detected the woman’s gaze and shyly glanced over. They exchanged smiles, and Grace looked again at the road. They were at the end of the street now.
“Make a right,” Tracy said.
Grace obeyed.
After a moment, Tracy pointed at a house. “Right there.”
Grace did not pull into the driveway of the Porter home but parked at the curb in front of the house. She put the transmission in park and kept the engine running.
The gesture confused Tracy. She wasn’t sure if it meant Miz Grace wanted to talk before they went inside to see Aunt Madge, or if the coach expected Tracy to go inside and fetch her aunt. Uncertain about what to do, Tracy hesitantly reached for the door handle and said, “Thanks for the ride.”
“You have a moment to talk?”
Tracy stared at the woman. What a night this was! Wait until Scooby heard what happened after she left him! “Yeah,” she managed to answer.
For a moment the car was silent except for the hum of the Jag’s engine and the soft saxophone wails of mellow jazz music.
Grace looked out the windshield at the MacDonald Park houses. “This is a nice neighborhood.” She cast a look out the passenger window. “And your aunt and uncle have a lovely place.”
Tracy relaxed behind the compliment and smiled. “Thanks,” she said and felt suddenly proud of her aunt and uncle. Very proud of Uncle Ed for spending hours manicuring the lawn. Even now, in November, he raked and bagged leaves and branches that fell from trees in the back yard.
“It was good meeting your uncle tonight,” Grace said pleasantly.
The girl’s face was bright. “He crazy about you—and your husband. So I know he was glad to meet you.”
“I’m sorry your aunt wasn’t able to make it.” It was a question posing as a statement.
Some of the brightness left the girl’s face. “Yeah, she had to go to the, um, the meeting tonight—she a Jehovah Witness and they have meetings. She supposed to go tomorrow night, but they cancelled it ’cause it’s Thanksgiving and they didn’t wanna make them come out on a holiday, ’cause people drink and drive.”
Grace considered the convoluted answer, understood it, and proceeded. “So is your aunt having a big Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow?”
Tracy peered at the woman with a touch of impatience. Everyone knew—didn’t they?—that Jehovah’s Witnesses didn’t celebrate the holidays.
“She don’t celebrate it.”
Grace frowned, puzzled. “Why not?”
“She a Jehovah Witness.”
“Oh, yes, you just said that.”
They were quiet.
“I didn’t realize Jehovah’s Witnesses don’t celebrate Thanksgiving.”
“They don’t celebrate nothing,” Tracy said, looking glumly at the dashboard.
“And so you don’t, either?”
“Not when I’m with my aunt.”
“What about your mother?”
“She celebrate everything.” The girl thought a moment. “Give her a reason to get drunk.”
Grace opened her mouth to ask something but decided against it. Instead, she explained, “Well, Darrel and I won’t be having a conventional celebration. The Majestics play tomorrow at the Summit, and on game days he likes to rest. Normally, we spend Thanksgiving with his family in Alabama, but he’s not going there until Friday.”
Tracy considered this bit of news with surprise. She had always imagined that Miz Grace, in her beautiful mansion Tracy had heard about, spent her holidays like people did on TV, playing hostess to beautiful black people who drove Rolls Royce and Mercedes cars and sat around sipping champagne and listening to jazz and laughing because they were happy and rich and fortunate enough to hang out with somebody like Jazz Nelson and Miz Grace.
“You don’t have a family?” the girl asked.
The woman’s expression wavered before smoothing into a placid smile. “No. No brothers and sisters. And my parents, well, died ten years ago.”
“Oh.” The girl was quiet a moment. “So you not going to do anything tomorrow?”
Grace smiled. “I’ve gotten a few invitations, but I’ll probably just rest.”
Tracy nodded, became quiet, and felt a stab of sadness, although she was not sure what the sadness was for.
Grace Gresham-Nelson looked out the windshield at the night and becam
e pensive. As she had done throughout the evening, she quickly scanned the recesses of her heart for an explanation, for a reason to explain why she was here, right now, with this girl, one of the students, one of her players, when it had always been her rule not to do something like this. She stumbled upon something that seemed like an answer, that could suffice as an explanation, even though she knew it was not the gold, the deep answer, she was seeking. That was yet to be found. However, the preliminary find told her that the reason she had Tracy Sullivan in her car at that moment, the reason she had not yet ushered the girl out of the car, was because Tracy was her MVP and had earned a private conversation for winning the game, and besides that, the unpretentious teen was easy to talk to, and the car was a warm haven against the cold night, and it felt nice, after all, to shed the role of grave administrator and engage, for a change, in a light and meaningless conversation with someone from the school. Besides, the dashboard lights provided a cozy glow to the interior, and earlier she had felt proud when Tracy settled onto the fresh leather seat and took in, with obvious awe, the beauty of the automobile.
“You know,” said Grace, “other than my husband, you are the only person who has ever ridden with me in this car.”
The girl’s eyes stretched wide with surprise. “For real?”
“For real,” Grace mocked playfully before gazing out at the night with bemusement.
Tracy looked at the woman, then at the dashboard, and again felt sadness. “What about your friends?” she asked.
Grace glanced at the girl with a pleasant expression but did not speak.
“Your friends never ride in your car with you?” the teen probed innocently.
Grace smiled. “I don’t have any friends, Tracy.” A blush crept behind the woman’s smile.
“What?” denied Tracy. “Yes, you do, Miz Grace. I know you got friends!”
Grace continued to smile with her mouth, but her eyes grew earnest. “No,” she insisted, “I don’t. Not girlfriends or people I’m really close to. No.”
They fell silent.
Tracy stared at the dashboard, frowning, and now understood that her sadness was actually sympathy—for Miz Grace. “Why not?” she asked.
Grace looked at the steering column, absently stroked it with the fingertips of one hand. “I’ve always been a loner,” she answered matter-of-factly. “As a child I didn’t—my father wouldn’t allow me to have friends. Later, the woman who…my mother…became my friend, my best friend. And then she died. And when I was in high school and college, I had a close friend. We were even roommates. But we didn’t…remain friends. And now I have Darrel. That’s been it, pretty much.”
“Wow,” said Tracy, looking at the woman sadly.
Grace saw the girl’s expression and chuckled. “It’s not a sad story, Tracy! I like my life.” The levity faded. “Women don’t tend to like me much, anyway.”
“Not like you? Everybody likes you, Miz Grace!”
“Not everybody,” the woman said knowingly.
“Why?” the girl asked. “’Cause they jealous!” she declared, answering her own question.
Grace chuckled. “Some of them, I guess. But it’s probably more that they don’t have much in common with me. Or I don’t have much in common with them. I would rather talk shop than shop.” She smiled at her own words but knew the teenager did not understand the pun. Momentarily, Grace slipped into uneasiness and stared thoughtfully at the dashboard. Tracy frowned at the dash, too, and longed to change the subject to something that didn’t make her sad.
“Miz Grace, I got a question. You’ll probably think it’s stupid.”
“I doubt that. What is it?”
“Um…how it feel to be famous?”
Grace laughed softly, surprised by the question and fascinated by it. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, my uncle knew you before you met him tonight. My aunt know you, and you never even met her. They go around calling you Amazing Grace Gresham. You in the encyclopedia. And my aunt got this old Ebony magazine with you in it, when you got married. And my uncle showed me this Sports Illustrated with you on the cover ’cause of how you coach. I just want to know how that feel.”
Grace watched the girl with an amused expression before sobering into thoughtfulness.
“No one’s ever asked me that.” She hesitated, gazing again at the glowing dash. “But let me try…” She hesitated, thinking, before deciding upon a response. “All right. Sometimes, I actually forget how other people view me or that they even know me. But inevitably something happens that reminds me that no matter how quietly I live my life, I can’t erase people’s knowledge.”
Grace hesitated. She intended that to be the full explanation, but Tracy watched her intently, wanting more. Grace tried to resist the teen’s expectation but yielded.
“It would be great, Tracy, to wake up and move about in a world where nobody knows me. Strangers on the street. People in stores. People in newsrooms in obscure parts of the country. That would be great. But that’s not the way it is.”
The teen was surprised. “You don’t like being famous?”
“No.”
The girl thought about this and then innocently suggested, “Then you shouldn’t have won the Olympics.”
Grace hesitated and then couldn’t help smiling, and then chuckling, at the teen’s untactful counsel. “You’re right, baby,” she agreed. “But don’t misunderstand,” she added seriously, “I’m proud of my achievements. And it would be great if the only thing people were interested in is my stats. But reporters aren’t satisfied with just your performance on the track or court. They want to know more, and the public wants to know more. But when I was running, I didn’t like people knowing me without my permission. Knowing things about me that I didn’t share with them. And what was worse was having half-truths and outright lies written about me. It got to the point that I dreaded seeing my name or face on a magazine or newspaper because I knew there would be inaccuracies inside, and I hate inaccuracies. I’m very careful about what I do, so I don’t like people distorting who I am.” Grace sighed. “When my parents died, the fact that I was adopted became a big deal to reporters. They wanted to investigate my background and all of that. Well, I figured that if the reason they were so interested in my life is because I was famous, then I was simply going to stop doing the thing that made me famous. And so I quit running, stopped everything, and just tried to become a regular person living a quiet life. I relocated—came here—and pretty much accomplished my goal. I became non-famous—at least, in my own mind. And I was happy that way.” She hesitated thoughtfully, then chuckled softly. “And then I went and married one of the most famous people on the planet.” She chuckled again; the girl smiled.
For a moment, both occupants of the car stared out the windshield. And then Grace spoke again, a playful glint in her eyes.
“You better get inside before your aunt wonders who’s in front of her house.”
“Don’t you wanna talk to her?” Tracy asked, removing her seat belt.
Grace hesitated, confused, then remembered her own ruse and regarded Tracy with a pitying smile. “No, Sullivan, I don’t need to speak to her. I only told you to say that,” she explained soberly, “because I didn’t want any of the other girls to feel jealous if they found out I was bringing you home. It’s important to me as a coach not to display favoritism.” Grace narrowed her eyes and, on the verge of a smile, looked with scrutiny at Tracy. “Do you understand, Sullivan?”
“Yeah,” Tracy answered, nodding.
“Do you? Because I don’t know, Sullivan, sometimes I think you and your brain aren’t always in the same room.”
The teen laughed. “I understand!” she insisted. “If somebody ask me why you brought me home, I’ll tell them you had to talk to my aunt about my grades.”
Grace looked impressed. “Oh! So you do think off the court!”
The teen laughed, then reached back and grabbed her duffel bag from the back seat
.
“Oh, and,” the woman said, “what are you doing tomorrow?”
Tracy froze, hand on the passenger door’s handle. Soft thumping began in her ears. “Huh?”
“Are you free tomorrow?”
Tracy gazed at the woman, lips parted in stunned anticipation. In response, all she could do was nod yes.
A smile hovered behind Grace’s features. “Would you like to come with me to Darrel’s game?”
Tracy’s jaw dropped open in astonishment.
Grace laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes,” she said.
Tracy chuckled and nodded vigorously. “It is!” And then something quickly poured into her excitement, momentarily diluting it. “Um…you…want me to go with you?”
“Yes. I’d be delighted if you did. Especially since you think I’m some lonely old woman who doesn’t have any friends.”
“I don’t think you old!” Tracy objected sincerely.
Grace chuckled heartily, then became serious. “Ask your aunt if it’s okay. I’ll call her in the morning.”
“Okay,” Tracy said breathlessly.
Grace smiled. “Now, go,” she ordered gently.
“Yes, ma’am. G’night!” Tracy opened the car door.
“Goodnight, Sullivan.”
Moments later, when she saw the door beneath the Porter carport open for Tracy to enter, Grace drove away.
Part IV
NOT EVERYTHING THAT GLITTERS