Red Shirt

by A. J. Stewart

  I was handed a beer and Colt said he was getting more lobster before they closed and asked if I wanted some, and I said yes to a lobster roll. I sat and opened my can of beer. I didn’t recognize the guy next to me. He was tall and thin and square-jawed, like a model off the front of a men’s magazine, and he had a short, neat haircut that the Midwest snowbirds favored. He smiled.

  “You don’t recognize me, do you?”

  I knew the voice, and I frowned. “Leo?”

  His smile grew wider. “How’s things?” he asked.

  “Leo Morris? What the hell happened to your hair?”

  “Cut it for a job.”

  “A job? What are you an insurance salesman now?” I turned to Dustin. “No offense.”

  Dustin shook his head. “I wish I was that good looking.”

  I looked back at Leo Morris. He had been the star wide receiver on our team. He was long and lean and fast as hell, and he had hands like clamps. All the girls swooned over Leo Morris, not only because he was a handsome guy, but he had the hair. It had been long and flowing like a Disney prince, golden in the Friday night lights.

  “You look different,” I said.

  “So do you,” he replied. “Same hair, more wrinkles.”

  “It’s that Florida sun.”

  Colt returned with a paper tray containing a roll bursting with fresh lobster, and a little cup of melted garlic butter on the side. He sat opposite me and launched into a large cracked lobster, dismembering it like he was a serial killer.

  “I heard you were like some kind of private eye?” said Leo.

  I nodded. “Yep. Private investigator, that’s me.”

  “Sounds exciting.”

  “Occasionally. Often it’s just taking pictures of guys cheating on their wives, and we get a lot of insurance fraud stuff, but I have a partner who handles most of that.”

  “Cool,” said Leo.

  “And you? What do you do now?”

  “Still acting.”

  “That’s right, you went to a New York school.”

  “Academy of Dramatic Arts.”

  “You got a scholarship offer from Penn State, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah, but I was done with football.”

  Colt snorted lobster. “Hear that? Done with football. More talent than the rest of us put together, well, except for Davis, of course.”

  “Don’t forget Redshirt,” said Davis.

  “Nah, he was lucky,” said Colt.

  “Thanks, pal,” I said.

  “You know I love you bro, but you were. You were always a baseball guy, even before you knew it.”

  I couldn’t argue that point.

  Colt turned his eye back to Leo. “But this guy? He could have played NFL, man. But he had to go and be Peter Pan.”

  Leo smiled. It was a hell of a smile. “Sorry I couldn’t live the life you always dreamed of, Colt.”

  Colt shrugged and bit into his lobster.

  “You’re still in the city?” I asked.

  “Yes,” said Leo. “I live in Brooklyn.”

  “Sorry about the hair,” I said with a smile.

  “Me, too. Only happened a month ago. But you gotta suffer for your art.”

  “It was for a part?”

  “Yes, I played a guest role as a cop on a drama series, Brother of Brothers. Have you seen it?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t own a television.”

  “You what?” asked Colt.

  “I watch the football and baseball at my local bar, and apart from that I prefer to sit and watch the water.”

  “Watch the water do what?” asked Colt.

  “Shine,” I said, sipping my beer.

  “You being cute because you live in sunny Florida, ain’t that right?” said Davis.

  “Something like that. How’s things with you, Davis?”

  “Can’t complain. Got a nice family, couple of kids.”

  “That is nice. You still live in town?”

  “Nah, man. I stayed in Mass after Boston College. We’re just down here for the holiday.”

  “How’s your mamma?”

  “She’s old, but she’s well. You know how it is.”

  He frowned after he said it, as the notion that I didn’t actually know how it was to have elderly parents sunk in.

  “Yeah, I know,” I said, before he could apologize.

  We drank some beers and told some war stories and I felt good inside. I hadn’t seen any of these guys in nigh on twenty years, but they were like old gloves, and they still fit just right. We were all different now, that was for sure, but we shared a bond and a time that nothing could change.

  “Why you back now?” asked Dustin.

  “Came to see Coach,” I said, not caring to get into the particulars.

  “He’s retired now,” said Colt. “You didn’t get to his retirement party, huh?”

  “No, I didn’t,” I said. “I’m sorry I missed it.”

  “Nah, man, you’re not,” said Davis.

  “I’m not?”

  “Nah, man. I came down, I was there. There wasn’t anything good about that party. I mean, it’s always a pleasure to see you boys,” he said the last part in a faux-English accent. “But you remember the big picture they had of him, up front on the stage?” Davis looked at each of the guys around the table. “You remember?”

  They all nodded.

  “It was like a damned funeral, man. This big photo of Coach, waving to the crowd at his last game. He looked a thousand years old, man. You remember?” More nods. “Now I’m not saying we ain’t all getting older, because we are. I just gotta look at Colt’s waistline and Redshirt’s forehead to know that.” There were some muted chuckles. “But I don’t want to remember Coach like that. I’m happy to see him, and I love the man, but I don’t want to remember him like that. I want to remember the guy who strutted across the gridiron and yelled so loud you would think he had a megaphone down his throat. Wasn’t he that loud?”

  Lots of nods. “Oh, yeah.” “Aha.” “Deafening.”

  “I want to remember the man who made me run suicide sprints in August heat until I threw up on the field. I want to remember him yelling at us in the locker room, ‘be proud, be men of honor.’ Do you remember that?”

  We remembered. We all nodded softly.

  “I know we’re all getting older,” continued Davis. “But that’s my today. Don’t get me wrong, I love my today. I am a lucky man. Every damned day is precious. But I want my memories to be of my prime. I want to remember Coach in his. Don’t you? Because without those suicides, I don’t get a scholarship to BC, I don’t meet my wife. I don’t get this life. None of you all do.”

  “You’re right.” “It’s true.” “Aha.”

  Davis looked at me. “You can be glad you weren’t at that party. I’ve never seen Coach so uncomfortable, you know. Like, what the hell do I do now?”

  “We all have to face it,” said Colt.

  “One day,” said Dustin. “Not today.”

  “What do you think about, Redshirt?” asked Davis. “When you think of Coach?”

  “Honestly Davis, I don’t think of him as often as I should. Because I agree with you. I like to remember him strutting across the field and yelling at us to give him ten more. I like to remember when I could actually do ten more.”

  Colt laughed. “Or ten at all.”

  “Yeah,” said Leo.

  “But I’ve realized over the last few days that when I remember him, I remember the times he wasn’t barking orders. I remember when he came to me after my mom died, and he told me it straight. He said it would hurt, and the hurt would fade but it would never go away, not completely. Because that’s the bond that a boy has with his momma. But it was my responsibility to make my life great, in her honor. He told me my dad was struggling and I had to stand up. I had to be a man, even though I was only a kid. He said that wasn’t fair but it was how it was. He said I would be joining the varsity football team at the high school. He did
n’t ask me, he told me. He said I’d have people I could lean on there. He said I could lean on him.”

  I looked around and saw more than a few bowed heads.

  “He said I’d have a team there.”

  A few of the guys slapped my back or rubbed my shoulder. Colt put his lobster down and spoke.

  “He said you boys are the biggest bunch of babies I’ve ever seen.”

  There was laughter, and a few sniffs.

  “He did say that.” “More than once.” “Hell man, we’re talking about him like he’s dead.”

  “Can I ask you boys something?” I said. “I heard something about after we left. Something about Coach hitting a student? Giving a kid a beating? You hear anything about that?”

  “That’s just talk,” said Colt. “There’s a kid who got kicked off the team, started a rumor.”

  Davis shook his head. “No, man. That wasn’t a rumor. He done that.”

  “He did?” I asked. “It’s true?”

  “It’s true,” said Davis. “Kid called Masterton. Pete Masterson. Played wide receiver, two years behind us.”

  “I remember him,” said Leo. “Fast. Good hands.”

  “And a big mouth,” said Davis. “I heard he spent the whole time bad-mouthing Coach, second guessing him, back-chatting him, cussing him.”

  “No excuse to hit a kid,” said Dustin.

  “Not offering an excuse,” said Davis. “Just telling what I heard.”

  “Is it true that he nearly killed the kid?” I asked.

  “Who told you that?” asked Colt.

  “It’s just what I heard.”

  “Nah, that’s blown out of proportion,” said Davis. “Word is the kid got into a full-on argument with Coach during the state semis. Halftime it blew up. Masterton took a shot at Coach and he lost it and punched the kid. One punch and done. The kid walked away.”

  “How did this never get out?” I asked.

  “It wasn’t all social media and video phones back then,” said Davis. “You know how tight a locker room can be.”

  Dustin shook his head. “But even the kid never said anything.”

  “Didn’t he leave, soon after?” asked Colt.

  “Yeah, story was his dad got transferred to Chicago,” said Leo.

  “Well, I know I never saw Coach do something like that,” said Davis. “But any man is capable of it. Every man has his limits.”

  Leo turned to me. “Why did you ask about that?”

  I shrugged. “I just heard about it. I never knew. And I’ve spent some time with Coach. I think now that he’s done, he’s thinking back on his life, and maybe it’s eating him up a little, what he did to this kid.”

  “He did a lot of good, too,” said Colt.

  “Mostly good,” said Davis. “You know it’s true.” He looked at me.

  “I do. But I suspect a thousand good deeds don’t outweigh one bad one. At least in your own mind.”

  “Can I just say,” said Colt, wiping his hands with a moist towel, “that this was not the direction that I expected this night to go.”

  I laughed. Everyone laughed. Perhaps we needed to laugh.

  “I think we need another round,” Colt said, pulling a six pack from a cooler at his feet.

  “Amen to that.” “I’m in.” “You’re the man.”

  We drank some more and talked a little longer about old times and new. Some of the guys showed photos of their families on their phones. The shack closed up for the night and for the season. They pulled out the umbrellas from the center of the picnic tables and tossed them in the shack, and they told us we could stay as long as we liked if we trucked out our trash with us, which we were happy to do.

  But once the shack closed I felt like a stranger in a strange land, as if I had no business being by the dark river out of season. It made me think of Longboard’s, and how the umbrellas were closed nightly but never packed away, except in the face of a hurricane, but never for the end of a season.

  I think that all the guys felt the same way, because everyone sat on their beers, even Colt. All the same, we didn’t really want to leave. There’s a feeling of finality about the end of the season in New England. Folks who live in Florida or California or such places simply don’t understand. Those places have busy times and less busy times, but they never shut up shop the way folks do in the Northeast. Stores draw their shutters, hotels turn off their neon signs and sometimes entire villages close up. It’s a mysterious and hollow time, and even though it’s often only for a few months over the heaviest of the winter, it has the feeling like it’s the end of an era every time.

  Eventually Davis said he needed to get going or he wouldn’t be good to drive, which was a smart call for everyone. I swapped a few phone numbers and emails. I didn’t expect to look any of the guys up later because I didn’t expect to be back any time soon, but I did live in the vacation capital of the country, so I would be happy to host anyone who came to visit the sunshine state. These boys were like brothers, and even when brothers were thousands of miles apart and decades between visits, they were always able to pick up where they left off.

  I hugged each of the guys as we walked away from the tables, and the headlights lit the parking lot and the dock beyond. I got a bear hug from Colt and I thanked Dustin for inviting me along. I told Davis I’d love to see him and his family in Florida if they ever came down for the theme parks.

  I walked over to my rental with Leo. We shook hands.

  “It’s been too long,” he said. I got the sense that he didn’t mean just since we had seen each other.

  “I know.”

  “Listen,” he said as cars started pulling out of the lot. “It’s not a coincidence you’re here, is it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My mom heard something. Something about Coach, maybe losing some money? His pension? Is that why you’re here?”

  I could have told a story but Leo was too smart for that, and more than smart, he was empathetic. He had been the one teammate to sit and talk about my mom and my dad, the only one to offer more than a slap on the back. I didn’t blame other guys for that. We were boys, hardly men, and none of us knew what to do, what to say, other than to keep moving forward. In many ways just moving forward as we always had was exactly what I needed. But Leo was different. Maybe that was why he had become an actor, because of his empathetic nature, his ability to understand the roles he inhabited.

  “Yeah, that’s why I’m here. But don’t worry, he hasn’t lost his pension. There’s an investment gone bad, that’s all.”

  Leo nodded. “Brett Pickering?”

  “How did you . . .”

  “My mom told me a while back he was getting some sort of fund together, his own thing. He offered to get me in on it, but I’m an actor, not a movie star. I don’t have cash I am prepared to lose, so I gave it a miss. But I heard Coach went in.”

  “He did, but don’t worry. I deal with this sort of thing all the time.”

  “I figured as much. But if I can help at all, just ask. You’re not the only one who owes him.”

  “I guess we all do, in our way.”

  “Yes, but some more than others. When I came out, a lot of people turned their backs on me. I think even a few of our teammates might have been thinking it, at the time. But not Coach. He stood by me. He told a lot of people to take a good look at themselves before they cast a stone at me. I still have some friendships here because guys took the time to realize that I was still the same person, and they took that time because of Coach.”

  “The man has hidden depths, it’s true.”

  “So, anything.”

  “You bet.” I gave him a hug and he stepped over to his convertible Mustang, which seemed a thoroughly inappropriate car to drive in Northeast winters. I had driven one for a while in Florida, and was struck by how often it was just too damned hot to put the top town.

  I watched Leo pull around and head out of the lot, and then he honked as he reached the ro
ad and took off, back towards Brooklyn.

  The parking lot fell dark again. I could hear the sounds of water sloshing against the hulls of boats, and the distant hum of the freeway. The clouds were filling in over the Sound. I shivered but stood there anyway, breathing the air in. It was fresh but smelled completely different from Florida, as if the brine had a shot of something added to it. I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply, in through the nose, out through the mouth.

  Then my phone rang. I fished it from my pocket. The screen was black but still glowed in the darkness. It told me Sally Mondavi was calling.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “How are the Jets going?” I asked.

  “You’re not watching?”

  “Why would I be watching?”

  “What else would you be doing? It’s dark, it’s damned cold, and it’s starting to rain.”

  I looked up at the sky but only saw the canopy of trees.

  “It’s starting to rain in Jersey?”

  “No, genius, it’s starting to rain in Queens.”

  “How on earth do you know it’s starting to rain in Queens?”

  “Because there’s rain drops on the windshield, how do you think?”

  “What? Where are you?”

  “I’m in a town car coming out of JFK.”

  “What are you doing at JFK?”

  “It’s an airport, planes land here.”

  “Sal.”

  “Whatever, I’m coming to you. Don’t go anywhere.”

  I did go somewhere. I got in my rental car and drove back to the Dunbars’. I sat down with Coach and Kerry and watched the football. The Jets were winning, which explained Sal’s cheeky mood. Kerry gave me a look that asked a thousand questions, and I gave her my knowing pouty face that answered none.

  The afternoon games had finished and the late game was halfway through by the time Sal arrived in New Haven. I saw the headlights flash across the window as the car pulled into the driveway, so I stepped out onto the porch.

  The driver got out and opened the door and Sal slowly unfurled himself from the back of the town car. It was a sight to behold. I had known Sally Mondavi a long time, but like most things, we had context for our relationship. It was, first and foremost, a Florida relationship. That meant many things, but usually it meant that we were both in short sleeves and sweating to some degree. Although we were both from the tristate area originally, and that fact flavored the way we had always interacted, neither of us had ever seen the other in the old environment. So watching Sally get out of a town car into the cold evening was something else.