Hoops

by Patricia McLinn

  Fury burned his eyes blue-hot as they faced each other across the space of the coffee table.

  “You’re still the boy trying to be somebody so your father will approve and come back,” she said.

  “Who the hell are you to talk?”

  Color drained from her face. She saw her own pain reflected in his eyes. She knew with every fiber of her heart that it hurt him to hurt her, but he didn’t relent. Her easygoing C.J., she thought with a new twist of pain. So easygoing on the outside, so driven on the inside.

  “At least I know my parents are dead, C.J.,” she said very softly. “I never tried to win their approval so they’d come back. And now, with your help . . .” And your love, C.J. Dear heaven, I need your love. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth to control the tremor in it. “I’m learning to be the person I want to be and not guess what my parents might have wanted.”

  He was silent and still. She had to say this now, to try to make him see. There might not be another chance. “You’re talking about being caught just like your father did. You’re talking about getting away so that you can ‘be somebody’ just like he did.

  “You are somebody, C.J.” How could she make him see? Rake had said C.J.’s one blind spot was himself. How could he be so smart about everything else and so blind about himself? “You’re the coach. You’re the friend to all those guys on the team. This whole university admires you and likes you and respects you. They love you.”

  Her voice dropped. “You’re important to Ashton. You’re important to me, C.J.” She put out a hand to touch him on the arm, but he stood just out of reach. “Don’t you understand that?”

  Her fingertips, just inches short of him, fell to her side. He stood motionless, expressionless.

  “I’m going to that tournament,” he said flatly. “I’m going to find myself the best and biggest job there. I’m going to be on the cover of all the magazines. You may not see them over in England, but I’ll be there. I’m going to have a team that’s number one in the country. I’m going to win the national championship. I’m going to be somebody. Do you understand that?”

  He flung the last words at her and spun away. Then he grabbed his coat off the back of the chair, not bothering to put it on before slamming out the door and rattling down the outside stairway.

  Carolyn folded onto the couch. Her legs would no longer hold her. Her heart could hardly hold the pain. C.J. Draper was somebody; he was the man she loved.

  And he had just walked out of her life.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Carolyn had no chance to decide if her misery wanted company.

  Edgar Humbert called the next morning and asked her to take two of his classes because he didn’t feel well. That night Mary Rollins insisted she needed Carolyn to read over a fifty-page grant proposal she’d written. Helene recruited her for an alumni tea Friday afternoon. Stewart wanted her for a Friday evening panel discussion. And every one of the ten basketball players discovered a need for individual consultation.

  When Frank, Ellis, Brad and Thomas arrived at her doorstep on Saturday with bags of chips and cans of soft drinks just before the start of the national tournament’s first semifinal game, she didn’t know whether to laugh at their heavy-handed tactics or cry over the cause of their ministrations.

  Missing C.J. was a void that didn’t go away for all her busyness. Her heart pulsed pain with each beat. How would this hurt ever heal?

  “You were the only person we knew with a VCR,” Brad lied. “This way we can tape the game.”

  “I could tape it for you and give it to you later,” she countered with some halfhearted notion of ending the charade.

  “Yeah, but this way we can rewind and watch the best plays during commercials,” he improvised.

  She was no match for them. Especially not when they were trying to be on their best behavior.

  When she came in with a tray of ice-filled glasses, she found the four players carefully arranged around the television in her bedroom, sitting decorously on straight-backed chairs they’d brought in from the dining room. They reminded her of little boys who’d had their cowlicks plastered down for a church service.

  How C.J. would have enjoyed this performance! The grin would have fought to come out, his eyes would have gleamed with humor and his drawl would have slowed in an effort to control the chuckle in it.

  Carolyn blinked her eyes hard to push back that saltwater thought. There was no use thinking about that. Being weepy didn’t change a thing.

  Instead, she set her mind to making her guests relax. First, she slipped her shoes off and settled on the bed cross-legged. Halfway through the first half, the straight-backed chairs were pushed to the edge of the room and long bodies sprawled on the floor, the bed and the easy chair—when they weren’t jumping up to exclaim over a play or rewinding the tape for a quick review.

  The cowlicks were back standing on end the way they were meant to, she thought with an inward smile. Between games they ordered pizzas, and Brad and Thomas made a run for more soft drinks.

  At half-time of the second game, the camera found C.J. in the stands. Into the intense quiet of the room, the chattering voice of the announcer reported that the talented young coach who’d had such success with little Ashton University was the hottest commodity at the Final Four. Several programs seemed interested in the dynamic new force in college basketball, but the rumor was that he’d be taking the head coaching position at a major university in the Southwest. Not at liberty to say exactly where or for how much, the announcer could assure his listeners it was a big-money, big-program, big-conference job that would give C.J. Draper a real showcase for his talents.

  Strangely the words hardly touched Carolyn’s pain at all. The job itself seemed so immaterial compared to the reasons behind it. But it had to be different for the players, she thought as she looked at the faces of these manly boys.

  The players had become very dear to her, and the knowledge that the affection was reciprocated warmed her. But players such as Brad, Ellis and Frank hadn’t come to Ashton to study under her; they’d come because of C.J. What did his departure mean to them? A hurt? A disappointment? A betrayal?

  Brad muttered a long, low curse under his breath and the room came to life once more.

  “Boy, that’s the big time, isn’t it?” Thomas Abbott said in the tone of someone who understood giving way to such a temptation.

  Frank’s defense was immediate, “He’s gotta do what’s best for him.”

  “He’s made his opportunity and now he’s got to take it.”

  Brad’s voice was so low that Carolyn wondered if he even knew he’d spoken aloud.

  “There’s no denying that’s a better deal than he’s got here,” Thomas pointed out. “He’ll probably have five assistants, his own secretary and a whole suite of offices. Teams like that probably fly around in chartered jets, not old buses like us.”

  No private talks in a sleeping bus, no taping scouting games off the cable channel, no need for someone to spot numbers when he scouted a game. Carolyn found small solace in knowing that at least he wouldn’t be doing those things with anyone else.

  Ellis’s quiet voice slipped into the contemplation of unknown luxuries. “We haven’t done so badly for ourselves here. I know some guys from home who went to schools like that. It’s as if playing ball’s their job, and the school’s their boss. Even if they want to study, they hardly have time. The coach sure doesn’t make the time for studying. And when they get out, what do they have? Sure, a few go on to the pros, but what about the rest of them—most of them. No degree. No job. Nothing. Coach did all right by us bringing us here.”

  If the others disagreed, if anyone wanted to rail that C.J. could have, should have, given them more by sticking around, no one said it. Not one word of blame or disappointment.

  She wished she could be so philosophical.

  * * * *

  “C.J. stopped by the office before he left for the Final Four, Carolyn
.”

  She looked up at Stewart from the coffee cup she held with both hands. The cold air that came in when she’d opened the door for him Sunday afternoon seemed to have settled around her despite the bulk of her heavy sweater and jeans.

  At first she thought he was part of the keep-Carolyn-busy campaign. But she saw in his face that he’d come for something more.

  “He offered me his resignation. He said he wanted to be free and clear when he talked to other schools about coaching jobs.” He reached across the table and gripped one of her cold hands in his warm one. “I thought you should know.”

  “Thank you, Stewart. He told me, in his way, before he left.” Her words had come out steadily.

  She’d spent a whole sleepless night thinking things through, and she’d come to some conclusions. They didn’t stop the pain, but at least they gave it some meaning. And for the first time in her life she felt as if her mind and her feelings formed part of a whole, not conflicting halves.

  Stewart’s voice held genuine regret. “I thought you two really had something.”

  “We did.”

  “I’m so sorry, Carolyn. I know how much it hurts to lose someone you love . . .” She turned her hand over and gripped his. “I wouldn’t blame you if you held a grudge because I made you be academic adviser.”

  Admiration, respect, gratitude, affection—she’d always felt those things for the president of Ashton University. Now she felt a flow of love for the man who’d loved her and accepted her for seventeen years. He shared her pain. She’d never really seen that before.

  “Oh, Stewart. No. I don’t hold a grudge.” She reached across the wedge of table separating them to hug him. “I’m glad you did it. It’s opened my eyes—to a lot of things.”

  As she pulled back, she saw in his eyes a warm pleasure at her gesture, tinged with a little uncertainty. He needed some exuberant loving; the kind Helene could provide, Carolyn decided. Just as she’d needed the kind of love C.J. gave.

  “I don’t regret anything about it. I learned so much more than I taught. From the guys. And from C.J.”

  Hours into the night, as she watched the tapes of her parents, she’d examined the person she’d been and the person she was now. She welcomed the fun-loving, colorful and sensual sides so long shunted aside by Professor Trent.

  She would never shut them away again.

  And, perhaps to the amazement of Professor Trent, Carolyn was no less respected, no less accepted, no less taken seriously.

  You’re afraid if you’re not serious all the time, then everyone’ll find out you’re just like everybody else—still wondering when you’re going to grow up inside.

  She’d built walls around herself made up of all the things a professor should be so that she’d be loved and accepted—but the love and acceptance had been there all the time.

  It had taken a basketball team to knock enough holes in the walls to let some air in. And it had taken one special basketball coach to knock the walls down.

  “I just wish … I just wish …” If only she’d been able to help C.J. find the same freedom. Through a sheen of tears she looked up. “I love him, Stewart.”

  He encircled her with a father’s arms, and Wisconsin dusk turned to frigid dark as he listened to her.

  When he got up to leave, she realized she needed to tell Stewart one more thing. “I’m not going to England. I’ve written to the seminar, declining their very flattering offer,” she said with a small laugh at her self-quotation. “It would took great on a résumé, but I’ll be happier staying at Ashton for now.”

  Her eyes welled with tears again, both at the pleasure in Stewart’s face and the thought of how much happier she’d be if C.J., too, were at Ashton. She shook herself free of the thought. “Besides, I have some things I need to finish up—I’ve promised Frank Gordon the toughest summer of his life.”

  “You’re quite a woman, Carolyn,” Stewart said. “Your parents would be proud of you.”

  “I hope they’d also like me.”

  “I know they would,” he said with conviction. He turned to leave, but her voice stopped him. “Stewart. I think they’d like Helene, too.”

  He looked at her, puzzled for a moment, then smiled with a trace of self-consciousness.

  “She’s very special,” Carolyn added. “I like her a lot.”

  His smile lost some of its self-consciousness and deepened. “Me, too.”

  * * * *

  “You know our program, C.J. Our facilities are among the finest in the country.” The athletic director didn’t have to brag; he just told the truth.

  “We’re confident that with our facilities and your talent we could have the finest basketball program in the country. You’d have your choice of assistants, of course. And office support staff. We can arrange special financing if you’re interested in buying a house. And we provide a new car every other year. You’ll want your lawyer to look this over, but with performance bonuses, you’d be looking at something around . . .”

  C.J. listened to his dream being detailed, luxury by luxury, bonus by bonus. A sparkling new field house instead of Ashton’s anachronism. A flotilla of assistants instead of Dolph Reems and a team manager. An office staff instead of a shared receptionist and battered filing cabinets. A house, a car, a bonus. Everything he wanted. Everything it took to be somebody.

  Then why did he find it so damn hard to concentrate on what the man sitting across the table in this posh hotel suite was saying? C.J. blinked away the image of a laughing face framed by glowing golden brown hair.

  Have his lawyer look at it, wasn’t that what the man had said? With Stewart it had all been done on a handshake. Submitting a resignation hadn’t even been necessary. He’d just wanted to make it seem more real to himself. He was free—with no obligations, no commitments.

  Sure, they’d had a good thing going, but things like that ended. Brown eyes, low-lidded with passion, invited him to come nearer.

  She walks in beauty, like the night

  Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

  And all that’s best of dark and bright

  Meet in her aspect and her eyes . . .

  C.J. shifted his long legs in the easy chair, completely unaware that the movement caused the man across from him to raise the bonus for winning a conference tournament by several thousand dollars.

  Ashton. He was thinking of Ashton. And the basketball team.

  It had been a hell of a season. C.J.’s cheek creased into the beginning of a grin. The weeks of studying tapes, the months of searching for players, the days of practices, the hours of straining on the sidelines all seemed rather fun from this short distance. That one-point victory in the second round of the tournament over Bracken State had made it all worthwhile.

  He needed no tape to again see those final seconds. To see Brad move in to knock back Bracken State’s open shot from the corner; Ellis adjust the defense; Frank rise to stop the pass; the players hug one another in the middle of the court with the exuberance of victory.

  Their faces flashed in front of him, a season compressed into a moment. He saw the upperclassmen, who could so easily have resented a new coach and a new program, accepting lesser roles and contributing to the best of their abilities. He saw Brad learning to tone down his razzle-dazzle to a constant glow. He saw Ellis gaining the confidence to wield the leadership he was born for. He saw Frank grow until he was willing to expose his weaknesses in order to improve his strengths.

  The time-lapse clicked off and he saw himself.

  The one-point victory wasn’t what had made all the months that had gone before worthwhile; it was all those individual moments of effort, triumph and failure that gave meaning to the victory.

  The athletic director sitting across from him was still talking about his offer. But the remembered thunder of Rake’s voice dimmed the athletic director’s words. In my book the biggest win of all is the one you’ve got wrapped up in your arm right this second. Don’t let go of that on
e, C.J.

  Carolyn.

  He nearly said the name aloud.

  You are somebody . . . You’re important to Ashton. You’re important to me, C.J.

  Carolyn . . . . Carolyn laughing. Looking down her nose at him. Fiercely fighting any interference with the players’ studies. Carolyn at the basketball games. Reaching out to touch him in comfort. Dancing so close that their bodies moved together. Storming at him across a basketball court. Releasing her passion. Carolyn in his arms, kissing him awake in the morning, leaning back against him in the kitchen. Loving him. I love you, C.J.

  Then how the hell can you leave me?

  The question was a bayonet in his chest.

  A real, physical injury he could deal with. He could meet it straight on and defeat it. He could do the exercises, grit his teeth through the therapies, withstand the physical pain. But this was a wound to the heart.

  How do you cope with that, Coach Draper?

  Sometimes you just have to give it time, to see if it’s going to heal or if it needs more attention.

  Helene hadn’t been talking about burns from any imaginary spilled coffee, and they both had known it. She’d been telling him he might need patience with Carolyn. Maybe a lot of patience. He’d thought the waiting was all over when she’d opened her heart to him. But it wasn’t. And it wouldn’t be until he had her head, too.

  Right now her head told her to take that job in England. But that wasn’t really Carolyn. That was just a leftover reaction from the marble mask she’d sculpted because she thought it would please the world. If he gave her time, she’d realize what was best for her.

  Who the hell are you kidding? his honesty demanded.

  Sure, she’d be happier at Ashton, but it’s yourself you’re worried about. You’ve grown to need her. You love her . . .

  I love her.

  His heart spoke with authority: then why the hell did you give up?

  The athletic director’s voice was insistent enough to break through his thoughts. From the edge to his words, he’d clearly said them before. Maybe several times.