by Tim Green
"What do you mean?" Clay asked with another moan.
"Stomach cramps, nauseous, itchy skin, general shittiness," Max said.
"Yeah, how'd you know?"
"It happens."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," Max said, "but you kind of get used to it. I feel it, but it doesn't bother me as much as at first."
"God, man," Clay said, "I feel like I'm gonna die. It hit me all of a sudden."
"You'll be O. K. Coupla beers and you'll forget all about it."
Clay dressed in silence except for an occasional moan.
"You had a hell of game," Max said finally.
Clay pulled his shirt on and ran a brush through his wet hair. He looked around, then smiled. "I did,, huh?" he said.
"Damn straight," Max replied. "You like bein' in the land of the living, huh?"
"Damn straight," Clay said.
Monday was a light day for the team. They didn't have to be at the complex until noon, and got to sleep off their hangovers. At twelve was a team meeting where they watched the game film from the day before. When they won, it was a lighthearted, happy event. Their one loss against the Vikings had been like a funeral. After films there was running. Players would go outside with their positional group and run. Collins had the D-line run an easy mile and he ran along with them. After the run was lifting. That was mandatory. White insisted on having the best- conditioned team in the league. Part of that was continual weight workouts.
Since Tuesday was their one day off during the week, most of the players would meet at some bar to watch the Monday night game. They were usually able to find a place that would give free drinks to the team just for advertising, but the most times they got asked back was twice. Bar owners could get a lot of advertising for the dollars they used up on the Ruffians' bar tab.
Clay and Max arrived together at Sportex. It was the first time either of them had been to the bar.
"Damn," Max said, "I never seen so many hot bitches on a Monday night."
Clay gave a low whistle as a busty redhead strutted by them. "Let's get a beer," Max said, "I'm buying."
"Why is it you always buy on Monday nights?" Clay said, slapping Max on the shoulder. "You're a hell of a guy."
Before they could get to the bar, Davis Green handed them two cold ones.
"Sweet touch yesterday, Davey," Max said, slapping Green with a high five. "Thanks for the brew."
"Yeah, great play, Davey. Thanks," Clay said.
"No prob, boys. You the ones that did it. We didn't get that ball back, it was all over," Davis said with a sniffle.
"Hey, bud," Max said, "your eyes are a little shot." Davis grinned at Max and winked. "I'm just feeling good, babe," he said. "How 'bout you?"
"Nah," said Max, "I'll be up all night if I do, and I didn't go to bed until six last night."
"Oh, babe," Davis said, taking a swig of his beer, "you were workin' it last night, I know."
"Nah," Max said, "you ain't gonna believe this. I was readin' a damn book."
"Don't shit me, boy," Davis said.
"No shit, man, Catcher in the Rye" Max said.
Davis looked at him warily and said, "Don't bullshit me when I'm high, man."
"I'm not bullshittin'," Max said. "Clay, did you give me the book or not?"
Clay nodded.
Davis broke out laughing.
"Hey, Ralph," he called, "com'ere, my brother. Clayboy give Max a damn book and the crazy fucker tellin' me he was up till six this mornin' readin the motherfucker. Do you buy that?"
Ralph looked down at them all and smiled big. "People do read books," he said to Davis in his low baritone voice. Ralph had his degree from Cornell.
"Yeah, not Mad Max, though," Davis replied, poking the big man lightly in the chest. "You read books. Blackwell read books. Mad Max blow snow, lift weights, play football, and freak till his dick blue, but he don' read no books.
"I win the game for you," Davis said, turning to Max good-naturedly, "git you a beer, an' you fuck with me. Ain't that a bitch," he said and walked away into the crowd, shaking his head.
They all laughed.
There was a crowd around the main bar. Max was trying to tell Ralph what he'd learned from his reading, so Clay slipped away to see what was up. Ferrone was on the bar laying face up while Sick poured a pitcher into his mouth. When the pitcher was gone, the crowd cheered, and Ferrone hopped off the bar, grabbing the nearest pretty girl for a kiss. The crowd cheered even louder.
"Fuckin' QBs get it all," murmured a drunken voice next to Clay. He turned to see Doogie looking sourly at Ferrone, who was still locked up with the girl.
Clay put his hand on Doogie's shoulder and said, "Damn it, Doogie, you're right, and it's bullshit. A guy like you busts his ass all day yesterday in the trenches, makes a bunch of big hits, and what thanks does he get?"
"You ain't fuckin' kiddin'," said Doogie, draining his bottle 6f beer.
"Hey," Clay said, "You could do that shit man! You could down a pitcher like that. Get up there and down one of those pitchers, Doog!
Don't let Ferrone look like he's something special to all these people here!"
"Yeah, I could drink two of those flickers!" Doogie replied.
"Go on, man!" Clay said, gently shoving him from behind.
Doogie pushed his way through the crowd and got up on the bar. The crowd parted and Clay called for a pitcher while Doogie laid back, pulling his shin down over his gut, then putting his hands dramatically behind his head.
The crowd was watching. Even Ferrone came up for air.
uYou ain't the only big shot," Doogie announced, lifting himself up and pointing rudely at Ferrone. He lay back and Clay began to slowly pour the beer into his mouth.
The crowd began to chant, "Go Go Go Go . . ."
Doogie gulped down the beer. Clay poured a little faster. Doogie gulped and gulped.
"Go Go Go Go . . ."
Clay poured faster. Doogie worked his mouth frantically. Beer began to spray off his teeth as he gulped.
"Go Go Go Go . . ."
The beer now spilled over Doogie's face.
"Hey, you motherfucker!" he yelled, trying to get out from under the beer. But Clay quickly emptied the rest of the pitcher onto his head.
The crowded thundered with laughter. Girls screamed with delight, and the other players doubled over, slapping their thighs and each other. Clay dropped the pitcher and scrambled away through the crowd. Doogie got to his feet, swinging wildly at the laughter. Pike and McGuire put him in a headlock, and with the help of three bouncers carried him outside before he could hurt anyone.
"Mind if I park here and we walk up the hill?" Andrew Becker asked his daughter.
She shook her head. She didn't mind. He pulled up against the curb, shutting off the engine of his Lincoln Town Car. The cold bit into them as they got out of the warm comfort of the car, but despite the cold it was a pleasantly clear fall evening. They followed the winding road as it climbed up the hill to the dormitories.
"Thanks for having dinner with me. I hate to ruin your Saturday night," Andrew said.
"Oh, Daddy, don't be silly," Katie said quietly.
After a long silence Andrew said, "Wanna talk?"
"I thought that's what we've been doing for the past three hours," replied Katie, without any disrespect.
"I mean really talk," Andrew said. "That's why I'm here."
"I thought you had some business in the city," said Katie.
"Well, I did, but I usually let Mary Anne drive in for work like this. All I had to do was drop off a federal court deposition at a local attorney's home. He needs it for first thing Monday morning, and I didn't finish it until late last night."
"So why did you come?" Katie asked. "I know it wasn't just to take me to dinner."
"No, it wasn't just to take you to dinner. I promised I wouldn't run down here on a whim only because I missed you, although the though' has crossed my mind. It's just that I hate to be away from my girl f
or too long."
Andrew squeezed his daughter's hand in his own. She stopped suddenly and flung her arms around him, sobbing violently. He stood there simply holding her until her sobs became sniffles. He took a handkerchief from his pocket, and she blew her nose on it. She laughed nervously at the sound of her honking in the silence. A car crept slowly up the hill, and they stepped off to the side until it passed, then began walking again.
"How did you know?" Katie asked her father.
"Well, my first hint was the phone," Andrew said. "You've called less than usual. That means you've wanted to call more, but you wouldn't let yourself. The second hint was what you said--actually what you didn't say--when you did call. Oh, you sounded happy enough, almost too happy, but you stopped talking about Clay. Usually it's Clay did this and Clay said that, and you know that I like to talk about Clay too. So I figured I'd put you to the jury and come down for myself. I saw it in your eyes right away, but I knew if I brought it up at dinner there was no way you'd cry right there in the restaurant. I could tell you needed to cry."
At that she stopped again and, hugging him with her face buried in his chest, began to cry again. "It's horrible," she said, her voice muffled by his coat. "Daddy, it's horrible. He was with someone else. I called and heard her. I never thought that Clay would ever do that. Ever." Her crying renewed.
Stroking her hair, he said softly, "I'm sorry, honey, I'm sorry. We don't have to talk about it. I just want you to feel better, that's all."
"Daddy, I still love him," she said, with an angry sob, her eyes shining with the tears as she looked up at him in the dim light.
Andrew Becker bit his lip. The night hid the redness in his face. "I imagine you do, honey," he said finally.
Silence followed, finally she said, "I thought you'd be mad at him. That was part of why I didn't want to tell you."
"Mad?" Andrew said as if it were the first time he had considered the word. "Yes, I guess I'm mad. Anything that hurts you makes me mad."
He was silent for a moment. He peered into the autumn night sky. "I think ... I think maybe you should use this to do some thinking, Katie. Maybe you should think about how you really feel about you and Clay, whether he's what you really want."
Katie threw her hands up in the air. Fresh tears flowed in her eyes. "I don't even know what I want," she said, looking to the sky in desperation.
They were both silent. Katie stared through the trees at the lights of the city. "He calls a lot," she said quietly. "But I don't talk to him. I just listen ... to his messages. I think he's sad. I know he is. He's really sad."
Andrew shut his eyes and said nothing. He knew what she wanted him to say, and pan of him wanted to say it, but the other part of him hurt for her, and wanted to prevent it from happening again.
"I don't know what to do, Dad," she said, looking at him for an answer.
"I can't tell you what to do with Clay, honey," he said. "You're the one who has to decide what to do about Clay."
He was trying to hold firm, then he looked into her eyes. She was begging him and he couldn't refuse. "I do think," he said, giving in, "it's always good to give someone a second chance. But I also think you might want to wait till the end of the semester, let Clay miss you, and you do some thinking on your own about what you really want. But take some time, Katie, don't just rush into it again."
"Wouldn't that be like asking him to go on seeing whoever it is he's with?"
"No, not really, Kate. Clay is going to do what he wants anyway, and if this is something that he just needs to get out of his system, then he'll do it whether you talk with him or not. The fact is, if he is going to change back into the person you and I both thought he was, then the fastest way for that to happen is for you to let him think about things a little bit. Don't make it easy for him."
"I can promise you I haven't done that," she said, then took her father's hand and turned to walk again.
They were almost to her dorm when she said, "I think you're right, Dad. I think I'll let Clay think about it for a while, and I'll do some thinking myself, but I probably will give him another chance."
Andrew smiled. "Good, honey, I think that's smart."
When they reached the door, Katie said, "If I ever got back with Clay, do you think people would call me a fool?"
"Some people might," Andrew finally replied. "But I think if you can live with what happened, then anyone who matters to you can also live with it."
"You won't tell Mom about this, will you?"
He shook his head no.
Katie was quiet, and Andrew knew she was very happy with what he had said.
Chapter SIXTEEN
MAX LEANED OVER and brushed some lint off Clay's lapel. They were both dressed in tuxedos and seated in the back of a limousine that Max had insisted they rent.
"I don't know why we need a damn limo to go to some fashion show," Clay had said. "I heard this thing was a real bore last year."
"That was last year," Max said. "Trust me. Will you trust me on this? This town is on fire; you know that. Everyone who's anyone in this town will be there, and you and me are gonna pull up in a limo with two hot bitches on our arms. Besides, it's for charity, so we can write it off.
"Clay," Max said in a tone that Clay knew was meant to change the subject, "I heard you on the phone before we left."
Clay looked out the window.
"It's not my business, but I gotta tell you that this bit with calling Katie is getting old, man," Max said in his friendliest manner.
Clay sighed.
"Hey," Max said, "you got the world by the balls, man! You got every-
thing! You're playing great football, you got more money than a bank, you got bitches throwing themselves at you like you're fuckin' Elvis or something. Look, I know how you feel about Katie, she's your college girlfriend, you'll always care about her, but you gotta start livin' in the here and now. Don't let this business with her bring you down. I hate to say it, but it's time to move on, Clayboy."
Clay nodded. "I know, and I'm trying to do it. But I guess I just want to keep trying . . . until I can at least talk to her. I just want to talk to her. I don't know, I can't go on like this forever either, this whoring- around bit. It's fun, but someday I'd like to get back with her."
"Well, my man," Max said cheerfully, "you got time for all that, but right now I'd just keep doin' what you're doin'. You know, grabbing these dumb bimbos and bangin' their fuckin' brains in. You need to stop thinkin' about her. At least until the season's over. When you get back up there, then you can talk."
The car stopped and they picked up Denise and a girl named Linda. The two of them climbed in and began twittering between themselves in the seats across from Clay and Max.
Max leaned over to Clay and whispered in his ear, "This is just what I'm talking about, fuckin' gorgeous, and dumb as two birds."
Twenty minutes later the long black car rolled up to Sammy's, the biggest, swankiest nightclub in Birmingham. A doorman opened the car door. There were hundreds of people waiting in line. They were a festive crowd and cheered as Clay and Max stepped from the limosine.
Cameras appeared from nowhere, their lights blinding them. The girls, excited about the cameras, clung tightly to their dates. After answering a few questions about the evening and the upcoming game, Clay and Max led the girls into Sammy's through the VIP entrance. The people inside were all elegantly dressed. The men all wore tuxedos. Many of the women were in sequined dresses. Sammy's was packed.
Clay whistled. "Two hundred bucks a pop's a lot of money. Can you believe all these people?"
"I told ya," Max said. "They're here 'cause of us. Are you kiddin'? This town would follow this team to the gates of hell. You win football games in Alabama, you're there, buddy.
"Hey, I'll get us some drinks," he said and disappeared.
Clay looked around while the two girls talked. He noticed Ferrone and his two sidekicks had set up in a corner booth and were entertaining some girls and so
me of the general crowd with a game of quarters. He saw Ralph Scott with his wife and waved at them. Doogie and Sky walked in with their wives. Neither of them were particularly attractive. Doogie looked smart despite his gut, but Sky's pants were too short. Clay turned his head, pretending not to see them. Max reappeared, drinks in hand.
"Hey, Clay, you're not gonna believe this!" he said. "I'm at the bar ordering, and this guy comes up to me an' asks if I'm Mad Max. I say sure and the guy says he wants to give me this vacation to St. Thomas. No shit! The guy owns a travel agency and he says he loves the way I play and he wants me to have this free trip he's got. It's for a week and everything's first-class. I figure the guy wants something, but he says no. He just hands me his card and this envelope here. Can you believe it, man? We're gonna go to St. fuckin' Thomas for free! I told you we were big time!"
"Let me see that," Clay said, taking the envelope. "Hmmm, yeah, it looks like the guy was for real. I'll be damned."
"Of course," Max said with a sarcastic wink, "we'll have to buy two more tickets for you lovely girls. We certainly couldn't go away to some exotic place without our best girls, could we, Clayboy?"
Denise's and Linda's eyes brightened at the thought. Clay rolled his eyes in his head.
"Ladies and gentlemen," came the voice of the M. C. from the main stage, "the Birmingham Children's Hospital would like to thank you all for coming here this evening to help what we all know is a very special cause."
The crowd clapped politely.
"And most especially, let's all give a big welcome to the man who made it all happen, the owner of the first-place Birmingham Ruffians . . . Mr. Humphry Lyles!"
The crowd cheered as Lyles strode importantly out onto the stage. His smile was enormous and he held his arms open to receive the applause.
"Give me a break," Clay said, leaning close to Max's ear as he clapped along with the rest of the place.
Lyles soaked up every last clap before he began to speak. "Thank you, thank you," he said. "This is a wonderful cause we have here, and I want to thank you all for coming tonight. I'm sure you'll all have a very enjoyable time mingling with my players and seeing some very exciting new fashions for you ladies. I had a dream a short time ago, and that dream was to bring an NFL franchise to this great city." Applause.