He felt hot already, and sweaty, and he’d only been out there ten minutes. The place was hot, but he needed to be better prepared for these conditions. He decided to add six miles to his weekly running routine starting tomorrow. He rubbed the sweat from his forehead with one forearm as he stared into the eyes of the man in front of him, controlling the ball with the other hand. The man reached in, lunging forward to attempt to steal the ball. Barry backed it away quicker than the reach and in one motion, swung his body around the other way. He bolted past the man, full force ahead. He jumped into the air, heaved the ball with one hand up and over his head and into the basket. He landed, ducking out of the way as the ball swished through the net.
It wasn’t until he bent to pick up the ball, intending to give the man another chance, that he saw her.
The first thing he saw was her legs, clad in pale stockings atop ivory heels. They were cut off at the knees by her skirt, but he would recognize those legs in any disguise. His pulse moved a bit faster. He slowly stood up and when he was erect, in more ways than one, he looked her in the face.
“In the neighborhood and thought you’d drop in?” he inquired.
She laughed. Her eyes sparkled with that familiar seductive twinkle that never failed to ratchet up his pulse.
“As a matter of fact, yes. I was in DC on business and I couldn’t resist coming to see you.”
“Couldn’t resist, eh? You keep making pregame appearances and my concentration level is going to go to hell.” His smile faded, replaced by a crease in his brow. She stood with her jacket slung over her arm and her hands on her hips and she appeared to be studying him. “Have you seen Lindy this week? The doctors tell me she’s doing okay.”
“I saw her yesterday. She’s making good progress. The skin grafts look like they’ll take about 70-80%. Maybe have to do two or three more. She’s in a lot of pain, still heavily drugged.” She paused. There was no accusation in her eyes, but the feeling pierced him before she ever spoke the words.
“She asks for you every time I see her without fail. She wants you, you know. More than that—she needs you.”
“Yeah, well maybe her mother was right about me.” He turned away.
“I know you don’t believe that, Mr. Bad.”
He turned back to see her teasing smile and laughed.
“Has Paris been in to see her?” He held his breath.
“Every day.”
“Fuck.”
She raised her brows and her eyes were back to mocking him. She had to be a bitch to enjoy seeing him squirm, but he couldn’t blame her.
“I’m doing the best I can. I know it’s not enough.” He paused. “It’ll get better.” He hoped the hell it was true.
She shook her head and gave him a calculated look and he hoped to God she’d change the subject. She had his weak spot pinned and seemed to take pleasure in holding him by the balls.
“So you’re having trouble concentrating these days are you?”
“Yeah. I’ve been restless.” He taunted her, then added so she wouldn’t get a big head, “Ever since we won the last title.”
“Right.”
“Look, I can’t stand here talking to you.” He turned to see a couple of his teammates watching them with unconcealed interest evident. He turned back to Roxanne and sighed, shaking his head.
“I shouldn’t be talking to some woman right now. Normally I’d be by myself psyching up for this game.” He looked down and bounced the ball on the floor, aware he’d turned too serious, too real, but he didn’t move from the spot. He wondered how she’d react.
“You do that. I’ll see you after the game.” She smiled at him in her wicked way, seemingly unperturbed by his admission. She flung her jacket over her shoulder and walked away. He watched her walk even as he told himself he should get going. But the sway of her hips and curve of her rear had him hypnotized. Until the pierce of cat calls and whistles split the air and he turned, losing his handle on the ball, to see his teammates laughing.
Deftly regaining control of the ball, and his mind, he did some tight dribbling and trotted over to where they stood, cursing himself under his breath.
“And we all thought you came out here early for some practice shooting.” Dave McCall grinned, slapping his buddy on the back. Barry looked at them all as they waited for him to explain.
“Shooting? You think I’m going to waste my time shooting when I can be making time with that babe?” He laughed at them, enjoying seeing their grins falter with uncertainty.
“Practice shooting a waste of time? Is this the real Barry Dennis?”
“I think they kidnapped the real Barry Dennis and gave us this lookalike imposter. And he ain’t all that good-looking at that,” Dave said and met Barry’s gaze with a frank smile.
Barry punched his arm.
“Got to admit. She’s a gorgeous woman. She’d turn any man’s head,” Barry said, looking at his three teammates. They stopped laughing.
“Oh, but Barry Dennis isn’t supposed to be just any man,” his center said. “Hey don’t you know? You’re not allowed to be distracted by the hordes of babes like the rest of us. What happened to your steady gal? Since when do you play the field?”
They were all smiling, but Barry sensed the question in their minds and mentally winced. He laughed a tight laugh. They all laughed and followed Dave, who’d started heading back to the dressing room. He was the only one who seemed genuinely amused.
Back in the dressing room, everyone on the team looked upbeat and joking as usual. Everyone except Barry. That was the second time this season he’d heard that he wasn’t supposed to be human like everyone else and he found it was beginning to grate on him. God damn it—I am a man.
He took his seat amidst the activity in the cramped quarters of the visitors’ locker room and put his head in his hands. Everything seemed to be on his mind tonight but the game ahead. He stood up.
“The hell with it,” he muttered. Dave glanced his way and met Barry’s eyes with a questioning look. Barry shrugged his shoulders. He looked away and proceeded to dress for the game without a further thought. He’d never skipped his meditation before.
The game.
Everything felt so familiar, too familiar. The coach’s talk, the pregame warm-ups, the procession to the bench. It was all the same. Only meaningless. His mind fluttered over the image of Lindy in that plastic tent, lying helpless. But he stopped that thought. He shut his mind down before the sight of the hideous burns came into focus.
Music blared. It all felt like a Groundhog’s Day experience to Barry. The procedure was so routine for him, he didn’t have to be there for real—only his shell made an appearance. The booming voice announced the visiting team first. They always announced the visiting team first.
“Celtics forward Dave McCall,” the man roared over the microphone to a smattering of boos and applause. Barry felt his hands clapping in response. He bent to stretch his hamstrings, letting the blood rush to his head. Please God, I have to get myself back into this. He felt his face getting warm and he heard the announcer as if from a long distance.
“…Celtics guard Barry … Dennis.” He slowly straightened up and trotted onto the court to slap his teammates’ hands. Then he started to become aware of the crowd. They were cheering. They were booing. They were loud. There was clapping and chants of “BARR-Y, BARR-Y.” He stood out there not moving, not running off right away as usual, but holding the starting five in a tight circle an extra few seconds instead. He looked at each one of their faces and was met with questioning stares by each one. Until he got to Dave and he saw alarm. He responded by yelling and exploding from the group in a run off the court to the bench.
“Let’s kick ass!”
The whole team looked rusty the first quarter, but they managed a tie score, largely on the strength of Barry’s outside shooting. Roxanne sighed and figured it was one of those nights. The second quarter was better. The team got into it more. Barry did a lot more passing out of the double t
eams and racked up more assists than points. By halftime, the Celtics held a twelve-point edge. Roxanne was pleased and not surprised that Barry didn’t start the third quarter since he didn’t sit down the entire first half. But even though Barry had been sent back in after five minutes, the lead had slipped to two points by the start of the fourth quarter.
The buzzer sounded and Roxanne frowned. Barry hadn’t seemed to get back into his rhythm, shooting or otherwise, after halftime. Time ticked off the clock and the lead seesawed back and forth, driving her crazy. The game seemed to go on forever.
She was counting on Barry’s good mood. She only hoped she hadn’t blown it earlier with her scolding. But she couldn’t help it. Lindy needed more from him. Maybe she needed more from him too. Heaven help her if she did. She scolded herself to forget about it and instead figure out how to approach Barry about being spokesperson for the Dr. Oki Research Fund.
The Celtics took a time out with one minute to go in the game, down by two points. Roxanne could barely watch. Her heart pounded as if the weight of the world rested on the outcome. In a way, for her, it did. Barry had just missed an easy jumper and then let a man roll past him on a pick uncontested. It seemed as if he wasn’t paying attention.
The teams came back out on the floor and they let Barry inbound the ball. She stood and clasped her hands together, ready to block out the sight of something horrific that might take place. Barry got the ball to Dave who then passed it back to Barry behind half-court. Barry’s defender was right on him. The entire Bullets defense was in tight and tough. But Barry managed to catch the ball, swing away and dribble by the defender with lightning acceleration. He roared toward the basket.
At the moment when Roxanne thought he would have pulled up to shoot the ball, while he eyed the basket, he turned suddenly and passed it off. Who knew whom he was passing it to? The only one near the ball was a Washington man who caught the pass, turned his team around, and sprinted to the other end of the court for an easy two points against the astonished Celtics team.
Now they were down by four points with thirty-five seconds to play. Roxanne slapped her hand on her cheek. She knew the game was far from over yet. Barry brought the ball up the court once again and managed to set the offense, trying for a low post play to Dave McCall. Dave couldn’t get off a shot, so he passed the ball back out to Barry. The twenty-four second shot clock was running down and they needed to score on this possession. Barry caught the pass, dribbled out behind the three-point line, shot the ball and swished it through the net. The Celtics were down by one point with twelve seconds to go. Washington had the ball.
The Bullets called a time out so they could inbound the ball at half-court. All they had to do was hang onto the ball for the next twelve seconds and the game would be theirs. Roxanne was too tense to watch. She felt ridiculous, but she covered her eyes.
Barry had to steal the ball.
“Our best chance is to steal the inbounds pass, or block it for long enough to force a turnover. But if they manage to get it in, foul immediately no matter who has the ball.” The coach told them what everyone knew.
“McCall, you guard the inbounds pass. Dennis, you guard their best shooter. They’re most likely to try and get it to him. Go for the steal. When we get the ball, call an immediate time out, unless by some miracle you get a clear path to the basket.” The coach looked directly at him. Barry nodded. He’d been here before. This was as familiar as the rest of it, but it still caused his blood to pound through his veins with the thundering urgency that made it difficult for him to stand still. But he managed, until the buzzer sounded and the teams took the court.
Barry targeted his man. He was about five feet away from him. Their eyes met. Barry stared at the man without a blink, without expression, as if he weren’t even there. His man looked away. They both knew what they were supposed to do.
The ref gave the ball to the Bullets inbounder and the action began. Barry felt as if the lights suddenly illuminated a pitch black room. Dave McCall was up close on the inbounder, making it difficult for him to see the floor. Barry’s man ran around under the basket, dogged by Barry. Barry kept up the pressure, always between his man and the basket. The inbounder couldn’t get the ball to his teammate. Barry watched his eyes. In that split second he saw the inbounder make a decision. At the same instant the inbounder let the ball go, Barry bolted in the opposite direction of his man. The inbounder passed it toward another player, who stood almost at half-court, a good twenty feet from Barry. The pass got by Dave’s last-second swipe at it, in a quick, but not quick enough, reaction to the inbounder’s change of direction. Barry moved with thrusting speed, but his mind was working as if the scene were taking place in slow motion. He saw everything, he comprehended everything, and he made a clear decision. The man was wide open. The Celtics defender was on the other side of the court, behind the pass, still turning around. Barry would have to lunge his last few steps hard if he was going to reach the ball before the Bullets player’s outstretched hands snatched it out of the air.
The man didn’t see Barry coming. That was good. Maybe he wouldn’t take a step toward the ball, because if he did, then Barry would have to foul him. The man only reached his arms toward the ball. His feet remained planted. Barry took his last step, his right arm extended fully toward the ball. Their fingertips touched the ball at the same instant, but Barry’s forward momentum carried enough force to allow him to grab the ball and slam it into a running dribble toward the basket.
Barry had gotten two steps on the Bullets player and that was all he needed. He pounded the ball nearer to the basket, realizing he had to stay ahead of the man so he wouldn’t get fouled or demolished on the play. He didn’t have to look over his shoulder to see where the guy was. He knew how much distance separated them and he gauged it exactly as he moved in toward the basket. With the ball in both hands as he left the floor, he swung it up in front of him and over the rim for a dunk.
Barry was still in midair when the man came crashing into him. But he’d known it would happen and he prepared himself for the jolt as he hit the floor. The other man fell on top of him. It wasn’t the best fall Barry had ever taken, but then it wasn’t the worse. The buzzer had sounded. The game was over. Barry stared unblinking for a second before he brushed himself off and ran to meet his teammates headed for the locker room doing high fives along the way.
Roxanne had peeked through her hands to watch, but then covered her eyes again when she saw the collision under the basket. When she took her hands away, Barry was up and heading to the locker room. The game was over. Barry was okay and the Celtics had won. Thank God. She didn’t want to contemplate the sour mood she would encounter on the flight home had he lost this one.
Leave it to Barry to give them a spectacular finish. She didn’t dwell on the fact that it had been his own mistake that had almost allowed the Bullets to win it. She hoped to hell he wasn’t going to dwell on it either. She considered heading toward the visitors’ locker room, but then she decided to surprise him on the plane and left for the airport instead.
Chapter 9
ROXANNE GOT to the airport ahead of the team and waited for them to board the plane. She was in first class, but she was the last person to board the plane and took a good look around. After she took her seat, she got a piece of paper from her bag and scribbled a note. Once they were in flight and the seat belt lights went out, she flagged the flight attendant.
“Could you do me a favor and give this note to Dave McCall?” she asked the attractive woman. The flight attendant smiled and took the note.
“I suppose it can’t do any harm, but you do realize he’s a married man?” The earnest look of concern in the woman’s eyes could have been her undoing. She held her amusement because the plane wasn’t that big and she knew Barry would recognize her laugh if he heard it.
“No need for concern. Please, go ahead and read the note.” Roxanne took it from the woman’s hand and unfolded it for her. After reading it o
ver quickly, she nodded with a smile.
“Aha. I see. It’s still against my better judgment, but I guess they’re grown men and they can take care of themselves,” she said.
“My sentiments exactly,” Roxanne said.
“I’ll give it to him, but I can’t guarantee anything.” The woman looked skeptical.
“Of course not. Let’s just wait and see what he says.” Roxanne smiled, suppressing another laugh.
The flight attendant walked back to where Dave and Barry were sitting together in business class and delivered the message. Roxanne watched while Dave read the note. His head popped up and he looked right at her in surprise. It was lucky he was sitting in the aisle seat. She could see from her vantage point that Barry was lying back with his eyes closed.
Dave looked back at the note, glanced once at Barry, then stood up. Barry never moved and Roxanne wondered if maybe he was sleeping already. But she decided it didn’t matter. She would wake him. Dave walked toward her with the flight attendant following behind.
Roxanne stood in the aisle when he got there. “Thanks a lot, Dave. I owe you one. The seat’s all yours.”
“My pleasure.” He went to sit down and then stopped. “Look, I don’t know what you have in mind here, but I think it’s only fair to warn you that he’s not real pleased with himself right now. God only knows why. He played a hell of a game.” He paused. “Lindy’s okay, right?”
She nodded. Dave sat in the spacious seat and spread out. Roxanne smiled, bent toward him and kissed him on the cheek.
“Thanks for the warning. If my mission goes as planned, he’ll be a new man in the morning.” Roxanne winked. As she walked back down the aisle, Dave’s baritone chuckle followed her.
She slipped into the seat next to Barry as quietly as she could, but when she turned to him his eyes opened instantly to meet hers.
Playing the Game Page 14