by Janet Walker
* * *
After the game, Tracy and Jessica wended their way back up the long arena steps to the concourse, where they caught the elevator to the fourth floor. There, they found the Family Lounge stuffed with people who were talking, laughing, eating and drinking. Everyone was in a good mood because the Majestics had won and because they had won against the Pistons, who were notorious for playing dirty on court. Tracy spotted Grace, standing by the huge plate-glass window, chatting with an attractive black couple who held glasses of punch and smiled broadly. The teens approached. Tracy was pleasantly taken aback when Grace turned, saw her, brightened, and immediately slipped an arm around the girl’s waist as if such a gesture were their custom.
“Hi! You girls have fun?”
“Yeah,” said Tracy. She glanced shyly at the couple.
“Ted, Tina, this is Tracy. Tracy, this is Ted and Tina Miles, the Majestics’ attorneys, and you guys know Jessica, Jason’s niece.”
“Everybody knows Jessica!” teased Ted, and the group laughed. Jessica Mathers had a reputation for fluttering around the lounge in her friendly chattering way, unafraid to invade the conversations of anyone, from corporate CEOs to Tom Cruz, the Majestics team owner.
“Jessica, thank you so much for taking Tracy under your wing for me,” Grace said.
“My pleasure!” the tall girl announced, then she wrapped her long arms loosely around Tracy’s neck, embracing her. “Nice meeting you, Tray-see!” she sang, and then she left them, becoming lost in the crowd.
For Jessica’s embrace, Grace had removed her arm from Tracy’s waist. Now, she slipped a hand into Tracy’s and said, “You ready?”
Tracy nodded and at that moment someone called out, “Hey, guys!” The teenager, her coach, and the attorney couple, still mirthful, looked in the direction of the voice and a flash of light illuminated the area around them. Tracy blinked. Grace released Tracy’s hand. “Another one!” the voice said as a second flash pelted the four people. The cameraman lowered his 33-milimeter lens and smiled at his subjects. “The Throne,” he explained, and moved away. Grace somberly watched him disappear into the crowd, then snapped back into a smile and looked fondly at Tracy. The teen was flustered by the intimacy. This was not Miz Grace, her coach. This new woman who held one’s hand and wore split dresses was a sexycool stranger that Tracy felt privileged to know. She was Grace, this new woman, not Miz Grace, and Tracy marveled that two people could live in one body.
“Ted, Tina. See you next time,” Grace said pleasantly.
“Nice meeting you, Tracy,” the man and his wife said, and Tracy smiled and nodded and thanked them.
Tracy and Grace took the VIP route to the ground floor, using back doors and an elevator to the basement of the arena, where security guards led them down a long corridor. During their walk, Grace used her cell phone to call Darrel and coordinate their movements. Tracy and Grace entered the parking level reserved for Majestics players, Summit employees, and Majestics family members. As they strode to the woman’s car, Tracy could see through openings in the walls of the parking deck. It was dark outside now, close to 10 p.m., and Grace now wore the coat Tracy had earlier seen lying on the back seat of the Jag. It was not like any coat she had ever seen before. It was floor-length, like the knit ensemble it covered, and though it looked like brown leather it was soft like suede, with loops of the same material dangling from the sleeves and along the flank. Funky was the word that came to Tracy’s mind when she looked at the coat. Funky—a word the meaning of which she didn’t know until that moment. Tracy felt suddenly boyish in her own winter covering, the leather bomber jacket, and she made a silent promise to one day own a coat like the one Miz Grace had. A lady’s coat.
Inside the car, Grace turned on the engine and scanned the world outside her windshield—saw no one—so again prepared to use her phone. “Pardon me a moment, please, Tracy,” she said, then pressed a button on the cell and put the device to her ear. After a hesitation, she spoke in the calm, soft tone Tracy had become accustomed to hearing Miz Grace use when she wasn’t addressing a group.
“Where are you?”
Tracy watched her coach and wondered what it felt like to be Miz Grace, to be beautiful and rich and have immediate access to Jazz Nelson. She felt saddened by this thought, felt poor and assigned to the outside of the glamorous life—until she remembered that Miz Grace had chosen her, Tracy Sullivan, to share life with this evening. Tracy inhaled contentedly, still dazed by everything that had happened in the last twelve days. First, the conversation in Miz Grace’s office last Saturday, and then in the woman’s car last night, and now this. Tracy took a deep breath to assay her nervousness. In a few moments she would see Jazz Nelson up close, dry-skinned and dressed in street clothes. Would he be alone? And would he like her or be annoyed that she was cutting into the time he wanted to spend alone with his wife?
“All right, baby, we’re waiting,” Grace said and pressed the button on the phone. She was not smiling as she placed the phone on the console, but a soft smile tinted her features when she looked at her student. She turned on the car’s radio so that they sat, as they had the night before, in cozy warmth while soft jazz and the colorful cast from the dashboard filled the space around them.
“So you had a good time,” Grace observed.
Alone with Grace, Tracy no longer felt too shy to reveal her true emotions. “Oh, man, it was great!” she announced. The word great was accompanied by an emphatic gesture, a dramatic shake of open hands, which the teen held in that moment on either side of her head, palms facing backward. Grace was aware, as the teen was not, that it was a gesture Tracy had absorbed from watching her schoolmates—a peculiarly Beck girl gesture. “Thank you, Miz Grace! Thank you so much! I had a good time!”
The woman chuckled. “I’m glad,” she said, then sobered and gazed at the teen pensively. Tracy altered her own mood to match the woman’s.
“I know I mentioned this last night, Tracy, but I need to say it again. A team works best when there are no divisions among its members. No jealousies. So regardless of what goes on between you and me outside of Beck, while we’re in that gym I will treat you no differently than I treat the other girls. Do you understand?”
Tracy nodded obediently. Grace had retreated; Miz Grace had returned. “Yes, ma’am.”
“And as much as I know you’ll want to, try and not tell anyone at school about tonight, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Grace studied the girl. “You asked me what it’s like to be famous? This is what it’s like. People watch everything you do, so you have to make careful choices. All the time.”
They sat in silence a moment, looking out the windshield, and Tracy wondered if the lecture meant that Miz Grace was suddenly sorry she had taken the girl to the game.
Grace drummed her fingertips on the steering wheel with impatience. “Where is Darrel? I hate waiting after games.” She was somber, then refocused her attention on the teen and brightened with a new thought. “Tracy,” she said, chin resting on the heel of her palm, elbow resting on the steering wheel, “do you think that your aunt would let you”—she inhaled audibly—“spend the night at our place?”
Tracy’s jaw dropped open.
Grace laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes,” she said, and then added, “You’re going to catch a fly one of these days, Sullivan.”
Tracy recovered enough to ask, “Y-You mean spend the night with you?”
“No, with the security guard over there. Of course I mean me.”
Tracy giggled then heartily accepted. “Okay!” she said, nodding frantically. “Okay,” she repeated, and then sat still and gazed out the window, happily dazed.
“There he is,” Grace said.
Tracy looked. Approaching the car was a tall brown man wearing dress slacks, a turtleneck, a black leather coat, and a Kangol hat turned backwards on his head. Tracy’s lips parted in awe. It was her god! And he was dressed like a pimp.
“Come
on,” Grace said.
They got out of the car and walked over to Darrel, who met Grace by lightly holding her at the waist and kissing her on the cheek. “Hey, baby,” he said softly.
Tracy Sullivan stared up at Jazz Nelson. He was, she decided, not only the tallest man she had ever seen but also the most beautiful. Television had not shown the soft brown of his eyes, the long lashes, and the flawless complexion, which was to her the color of the caramel in a Snickers bar. His face and fingers looked clean—scrubbed—and when he stepped close to greet her, she weakened at the marvelous smell of men’s cologne. Jazz Nelson. Wow. Tracy watched him place a long arm around Miz Grace’s shoulders as they stood beside each other. Wow. She really was his wife.
“Congratulations,” the woman said to him, and the two beautiful people turned their attention on her. Tracy’s face burned.
“Honey, this is Tracy Sullivan. She’s the player I’ve been telling you about.”
Darrel playfully extended a hand in greeting and pointed at Tracy with the other. “The superstar?” he asked. They laughed, and Tracy realized Jazz Nelson had dimples. “Nice to meet you, Tracy Sullivan,” he said sincerely.
Tracy’s mouth felt heavy and inoperable. “Uh, n-nice to meet you,” she returned softly, placing her hand in his and noticing that her hand seemed suddenly small and lady-ish in his giant man’s paw. His grip was firm, but his palm was soft and warm. Tracy’s heart pounded. She had watched Jazz Nelson on TV since she was ten years old.
“Honey, I have never met anyone so shy,” Grace told Darrel.
The NBA star looked at Tracy and playfully confided, “Believe it or not, she’s shy, too, Tracy.”
“I am not,” Grace objected.
“Lotta people don’t know that because Grace has this certain way about her. But she’s one of the shyest people you’ll ever meet. Ain’t that right?”
A smile hovered behind Grace’s features but she refused to answer.
“See there?” Darrel pointed out to Tracy. “She can’t say anything. Shy,” he accused.
Tracy chuckled.
“You enjoy the game?” Darrel asked the teen.
“Yes, sir.”
“Jessica, Jason’s niece, brought her down to the seats on the floor. They had a great time.”
“Yeah, I saw them. I was wondering who she was and where you were.”
“Tracy’s a big fan of yours.”
“Is that right?” Darrel asked, smiling broadly at the teen. He patted the breast of his jacket, feeling for a pen. “We’re gonna have to give you an autograph, then.”
“There’ll be time for that,” interrupted Grace. “Besides,” she added pleasantly, “if you had come to speak to my girls last month, you would have met her already.”
Darrel looked at Tracy with a sheepish grin. “Sorry ’bout that, Tracy. Busy schedule this year.”
Tracy smiled in return but did not know what to say.
“Tracy, wait for me in the car?”
Tracy nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Nice meeting you, Tracy,” Darrel said.
Tracy gazed up at him in awe. “Nice meeting you, too.”
The grownups laughed at her awe, and Tracy walked back to the Jag, which was parked several slots away with the engine running.
Left alone, the married couple’s mood changed abruptly from flirtatious levity to somberness. For a moment they looked at each other without speaking. And then:
“When are you leaving for Alabama?”
“Tonight.”
Grace sighed deeply and averted her eyes.
“What?” he asked.
She looked at him. “I’m not going with you.”
“Why not?” he demanded.
“I’m not—” she began, then tried again. “I don’t have anything against your family—because I know that’s the first thing you’ll think. I’m just not in the mood to socialize. I’m exhausted from training and I just want to rest.”
“The hell am I supposed to tell my mother, Grace?”
“Tell them the truth: I’m tired. They’re coming here for Christmas. Tell them I look forward to seeing them then.”
Darrel looked at her with bitter disappointment. She looked at him without expression. They both knew that her real reason for refusing to take the trip with him had nothing to do with fatigue. Darrel thought the reason for his wife’s coolness lay in the fact that he had not visited her players, as he had promised to do. Grace knew that the reason did not begin there—that it originated four weeks ago, during their last argument, when he made the belittling remark about the economic insignificance of her career. Since then, his insulting words had grown within her every day until they were now a stiff and obstinate mass that prevented forgiveness from flowing to her heart.
“That’s fucked up, Grace,” Darrel said softly.
“As fucked up as you not keeping your word?” she returned softly.
In the Jag, Tracy peered through the windshield and watched Miz Grace and Jazz Nelson talk to each other. They were the most handsome, beautiful couple she had ever seen! Her heart pounded. She was an Area Place girl who had grown up with roaches and raggedy furniture and a crazy mama—and yet, here she was, sitting in a sparkling Jaguar that belonged to Jazz Nelson and Miz Grace, famous people who at that moment stood not far away, dressed like models and talking about married-people things, and preparing to take her with them to their house! Tracy took in a deep breath, released it, and felt lightheaded. She was—had to be—the happiest teenager in the world.
Darrel scoffed. “Fine, Grace. You wanna spend the holiday alone? Fine,” he repeated bitterly.
She looked at him pointedly. “I won’t be alone,” she said.
Darrel looked stunned. “The hell does that mean?” he demanded.
She walked away.