“Yeah, Jonathan! You can do it!” Anne Marie shouted.
Jonathan inbounded the ball. The referee handed him the hot potato, and then blew the whistle as the kids shuffled on the floor. Jonathan hesitated, debating which of his teammates was most available. As the ref counted to four, Jonathan saw the best option, the new kid on the team—Kevin Malloy.
Kevin received the pass. A section in the crowd cheered. It was his family—his mother Laura, his sister Katie, and his father Trevor, who was wearing a plaid golf shirt and khakis.
“Yea, Kevin, go get ’em honey!” Laura yelled.
Kevin dribbled the ball toward his basket. He reached the three-point line before a swarm of red invaded his space. Kevin picked up his dribble, and then bounced the ball to his teammate, Jonathan. The younger Boise jumped and shot the ball in one fluid motion. It arced high in the air, and then swished.
Trevor, Laura, and Katie shouted with zest as Anne Marie and Helen followed their lead seven rows away.
“Brian is missing another great game,” Anne Marie said to her sister.
“Where is Brian, anyway?” Helen asked as she saw a muscular father walking her way.
“Working. Where else?”
“Are you sure he’s working? Men are sleazeballs. They cheat, steal, lie,” Helen replied as she locked eyes with the father and shared a smile.
“He’s a cop. That’s a demanding job.”
“He’s not a cop.”
“What do you mean? Are you saying that he’s been lying these past ten years?” Anne Marie said.
“I’m saying that he’s just pretending to be a cop after his—”
“After his father died, Brian changed. He changed so much that he became a cop himself. But losing a father is something that I dread one day. Don’t you?”
Helen got quiet. “Isn’t the ten year anniversary of his father’s death coming up?”
“Next week. I can’t believe it’s been ten years. Brian hasn’t brought it up, but I know it’s been tormenting him.”
“I get shivers whenever I think about what happened to his father, and even more so when I think that Brian saw it happen right in front of him. I would go mad.”
“It seems that Brian has been getting busier and busier with his job, maybe just to block it all out, but I know he’s doing it for us…at least, I hope he is.”
“He should be a banker. What cop has a math degree? You should have dumped him back when you met him,” Helen said.
“Well, you introduced him to me.”
Seven rows away, the Malloy family watched their son steal the ball from a red player, but then he lost control sending it out of bounds.
“Good hustle, Kevin!” Coach Wilson’s voice echoed through the gym.
“I’m so glad we decided to enroll him in youth basketball. He looks like he’s having so much fun,” Laura remarked to Trevor.
As the game engrossed the crowd, a mysterious signal, invisible to those around it, lurked through the air above the action. It traveled secretly, and while the humans in the gym did not see it, smell it, or even sense it, the signal snaked around them. But suddenly, it revealed itself not to the masses, but to one man sitting amongst his family—Trevor Malloy. His cell phone vibrated, possessed by the strange stream of binary digits. Trevor felt the pulsations rattle his waist. He peeked at the screen and saw the pixels identify the unidentifiable signal, “Unknown.”
Trevor removed the device from his belt. His mind left the gymnasium and entered darkness. He knew who it was even if the device didn’t. Trevor answered the phone as he stared straight at the painted concrete across from him. Swiftly, one of the kids on the red team tossed the ball from one side of the court to the other. The crowd collectively chased it. And there was Trevor with an evil glare, listening, the only one in the bleachers looking forward. Then as the spectators spectated, Trevor killed his phone and returned it to his belt.
“Work?” Laura asked as she looked up at her husband’s stone face.
“Yeah, another contract with a client. You’ll be okay with Katie.” Trevor looked at his carefree daughter. “You take care of Mom while I run an errand for work, okay?”
“Okay, Dad. See you later,” Katie replied, without taking her eyes off Kevin, who was trying to block the ball.
Trevor kissed his wife on the lips, just as he always did before he departed her. Laura felt indifferent, expecting work to take her husband away at any moment.
Trevor stood up and petted his daughter’s hair softly as he slid from his wedge. He stepped between some eager parents who looked around his movement.
Helen watched the blue team steal the ball as Anne Marie clapped next to her, but then she felt a breeze brush her neck, a subtle sensation that prompted her to turn her head. She glanced at the step. Tan Burberry loafers filled her gaze. She followed them up, but a group of parents blocked the view of the man’s face.
A half hour later, the game continued with the scoreboard showing the red team with 19 points and the blue team with 18. Only eleven seconds remained on the clock—a flash for a NASCAR race, but an eternity for a basketball game. A chubby boy in blue stood out of bounds near half court next to the referee. Jonathan and Kevin hovered near their three-point line. They shared a look of eagerness, a look that bonded them together. The referee blew his whistle, and then handed the beefy boy the ball. He wavered as the ref counted with only one hand. Then, the chubby boy tossed the ball to a kid wearing glasses. He dribbled right, but saw red. He tried left, but red still invaded. Finally, he picked up his dribble and hunched over like a mother in the desert protecting her baby from vultures.
The crowd shouted the clock. “Eight…Seven…Six.”
The boy with glasses looked around as two red defenders blocked him. Then, he saw Jonathan run his way. “Here! I’m open!”
The youth wearing glasses hurled the ball to Jonathan. As the spectators huffed, Jonathan dribbled toward the side, but more defenders picked him up. Two red players trapped him, arms raised, bodies out. The crowd puffed as Jonathan tried to stay calm and to use his experience to guide him.
“Four…Three.”
Jonathan looked between the two invaders and saw a lone jersey underneath his basket—a jersey colored in blue. He passed the ball to his teammate, Kevin Malloy, the new addition. Kevin grabbed the ball with wide eyes.
Two…One.
Kevin jumped with all of his might, soaring in the air, and hooking the ball like Julius Erving, minus the afro and short shorts. The crowd gasped. The buzzer blared. The ball soared. It bounced off the glass, hung a while, and…swished.
Laura and Katie led the cheers as the blue bench poured onto the court. Kevin turned, stunned. Jonathan ran over and slapped Kevin’s hand. The duo embraced the mob of blue as their supporters filled the gymnasium with energy. Then, both teams lined up and tapped hands as family members looked for their kids. Coach Wilson collected his team at the base of their basket, the winning basket.
“Excellent game, guys,” he said with liveliness. Then, he looked at Kevin. “Especially our new addition. You’re very talented, Kevin. Keep it up!”
The curly-haired father joined his son. “Great game, you two. Are you two brothers?” he asked Kevin and Jonathan.
Both shook their heads.
“Well, you sure look like brothers.”
The action simmered down as the defeated red team moped away and the cheers calmed to chatter. Jonathan walked toward the bench as his mother and his aunt met him with open arms.
“Great job, honey. You did so good,” Anne Marie said as she massaged his back.
“Congratulations,” Helen offered, rubbing his head.
Nearby, Laura and Katie scurried toward the team’s hero, their hero.
“Excellent, baby. You scored the winning basket!” his mother said.
Laura and Anne Marie naturally glanced at each other, a glance facilitated by many chain events that had played out. If the probability of a glance sh
ared by two disjointed individuals, motivated by different principles, members of dissimilar social classes, and products of diverse upbringings, were random, then randomness had an eerie quality.
“Hi, I’m Laura Malloy, Kevin’s mother.”
“Anne Marie Boise,” Jonathan’s mother said as she shook her new acquaintance’s hand. “This is my sister, Helen.”
“Hi, nice to meet you,” Helen said, waving her hand.
“It’s nice to have Kevin on our team,” Anne Marie continued.
Kevin, Jonathan, and Katie ran on the court like three kids in a toy store. Helen focused on the kids, and then ran with them like an alcoholic in a liquor store. Laura and Anne Marie watched like two old maids in a jewelry store.
“We wanted him to get involved in a team sport, something where he could jump. He fell in love with a trampoline my husband bought for the kids,” Laura revealed.
“Oh, you’re married?” Anne Marie said.
“Yeah, my husband, Trevor, was here, but he had to run out for his consulting job. I hope he can come to all of Kevin’s games when he’s in town. What about Jonathan’s dad?”
“My husband, Brian, is so busy with his job. I’ve been pestering him to come to at least one game.”
“What does he do?” Laura asked.
“He’s a police detective.”
Laura’s pupils dilated. “Oh, very respectable.”
“I want him to quit and push papers,” Anne Marie chuckled.
Laura laughed. She saw Jonathan walk up to his mom and give her a hug. Then, Laura felt four hands grab her waist. She knew it was her own kids without even looking.
“You have a natural ability out there,” Laura said as she smiled at Jonathan.
“I have every basketball game for the new Nintendo,” Jonathan said shyly.
“Whatever works, keep it up,” Laura offered.
“Well, it was very nice meeting you. I’m sure I’ll see you at the next game. Hopefully, my husband will make it. I’m sure he and Trevor would enjoy meeting,” Anne Marie said.
“Yes. I’m sure they’ll meet soon enough… Bye,” Laura replied.
“Come on, kiddo,” Anne Marie said to her son.
Then like that, the Boise family, minus their keystone, skipped out of the gymnasium toward the front doors. The Malloy family, lacking their breadwinner, shifted toward the back exit. As two custodial members swept the gym over the murmur of the scattered crowd, a breeze blew in, a cold breeze.
Chapter 12
The cold wind blew a soda can across a downtown sidewalk. Cars flowed through the streets like rats through the intestines of a subway. It was still early enough for shoppers to fill the downtown businesses, not afraid of the creatures that the shadows had vomited. Nestled at the corner of empty cross streets, a sign ignited the night sky—“Al’s Natural Foods.” The store was a place for the healthiest of healthy people to shop, especially those trying to rid their bodies of unnatural components that could cause premature death.
The door opened. A chime filled the night air. Out strolled a woman in her thirties, a future cougar wearing a fabulous white coat. She was a bubbly black-haired lady, the kind with the French manicure, whitened teeth, and sculpted eyebrows that tickled the attention of men no matter what their class. Her name was Janice Davis, but the storeowner inside “Al’s Natural Foods” knew her only as Janice.
“Thanks. I’ll see you next week,” Janice said as she used her butt to prop open the door.
“Wait. You forgot your Kombucha,” Al, the gray-haired owner, said.
Janice scurried back in. “Oh, thank you. I’m always forgetting something.”
The owner dropped the bottle into her bag. “No worries, dear. How do you like the taste of it?”
“It’s an acquired taste to say the least.”
“It promotes long life. Drink it with a positive state of mind.”
Janice smiled, and then fought to open the door, the bags weighing her down. “Thanks again.”
“You okay, dear?”
“I’ll be fine. Thanks,” Janice said with a smile as she juggled both sacks.
The woman in white entered the brisk air as it flowed through her business suit and touched her moisturized skin. She set the bags down, and then bundled up, sealing off the invading air. She picked the bags back up, and then embarked on her walk through the night. Janice slinked with a repetitive rhythm, a pitter-patter as the concrete cried from her kitten heels.
As she walked, she thought of Al’s use of the word “dear” when helping her at his store. She liked hearing that word, those four letters pronounced by his vocal cords. She always wondered how old he was, his gray hair tricking her age radar. Whatever his age, she thought he was handsome, definite, firm yet soft. Although she had only used the store for organic purchases for less than six months, she knew that she kept going back because of the owner’s interest in her. She pictured herself next to him at a dinner table at Sage or The Artisan, two of the city’s finest restaurants. She pictured fucking him. But then she thought about her parents, who would probably have more in common with Al than she would, except for the common interest of fucking. She deduced that the desire to fuck would far outweigh a conversation about a generation’s music or movies. Therefore, she figured, fucking would be the biggest and best thing in common with Al.
Janice turned the corner on her way to her city condominium. A late-model BMW crept down the road as its Xeon headlights glistened off Janice’s exfoliated face. The car moved slowly as its driver watched the sway of the lady in white. As the car neared her, its headlights shifted and caught something else behind her, silhouetting it on the side of a building. It was not the shadow of something inanimate or something small, but rather the silhouette of something cunning. It was a man wrapped in a trench coat, holding a briefcase; it was Trevor.
The car drove by as Janice focused on the prattle of a passing couple. Even though she didn’t see the tail behind her, she sensed it. The couple shifted by as Janice heard her footsteps change tone. At first, she thought it was a heel ready to break, but then she realized it was the sound of a second set of footsteps. They were hard and much more powerful, a lion to her kitten. She turned slightly and saw the man lurking behind her some twenty yards back. Her heart rate escalated as curious thoughts of the shadow behind her clogged her mind. But as her body reacted, she breathed a sigh of relief as her condo building glistened off her dilated pupils. Janice scurried toward the lights where a trench coat surprised her, the familiar trench coat of her doorman, also wearing a smile.
“Oh, let me help you, Miss Davis,” the portly man offered as he dashed to the reflecting door, opening it.
“Thank you, Bob.”
“In a hurry?” he asked as she hit her sack against the door.
“Just cold.”
The doorman watched her move into the warmth as the screech of a cab turned his focus. He darted toward the yellow taxi and opened the door for the arriving residents.
Trevor’s favorite charcoal gray shoes clomped on the sidewalk. They moved quickly, steadily. A couple exited the polished glass doors of the condo as Trevor slithered past them.
At that exact moment, the doorman turned his head toward his post, an instinct ingrained into him ever since opening his first door. He saw the couple exiting, but also the blur of black sneaking past them. He was told to keep the vagrants off the sidewalk, but the unrecognizable man with dark gray shoes who he saw entering, looked as if he owned the place. Just as quickly, his focus shifted to his right hand. The doorman saw the picture of Andrew Jackson, a gratuity from the arriving residents.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
A few moments later, Janice stood at the bank of elevators in the lobby. The 72-degree air surrounded her, filling her lungs and warming her soul. She felt safe, protected by the sanctity of familiarity. Janice scanned a newspaper stand nearby as she waited with the up arrow illuminated. She read the top half of the free city newspaper—�
��Annual Crime Survey Finds….” But the fold hid the end of the phrase. Janice set down one of her bags to flip the paper, but the ding in front of her changed her focus.
The metal doors opened and Janice stepped into the box. She pressed the button labeled “7” with her pinky finger, and then waited for the doors to close. She looked down at the one-inch gap between the elevator and the floor. She wondered how far she hovered above the void below. Then the door closed, but the image of a shoe stole her gaze from the gap. It was charcoal gray with a white patch accenting it. Janice watched as it stopped the metal doors and reopened them. She followed the shoes up and saw the slacks, the trench coat, the briefcase, and then the face of the individual invading her space. It was a handsome specimen of a male Homo sapiens. Her eyes locked with his as the two humans shared a smile.
Janice watched as Trevor slid into the elevator and pressed the number eight on the list. She stepped back as his masculine cologne swirled around the elevator and drugged her. The doors closed. The lift ascended toward the roof. Janice wondered who this man was and if he were married. She stole a glimpse of his left hand, but his black leather glove shielded any evidence. Even though a void of silence filled the elevator, a list of questions filled her mind, a list that traversed from her brain down to her vagina. Her aroused mind consumed her senses, and without even noticing the sacks anymore, the right one fell from her hand. Organic apples and oranges rolled around.
“Oh, how clumsy,” she said with embarrassment.
“Here, let me help you,” Trevor offered as he grabbed the rolling fruit.
Janice returned some to her bag.
Trevor handed her an orange. “It’s never a good idea to shop alone, you know. An extra set of hands always comes in handy.” Trevor smiled.
“You’re right.” The elevator dinged. “Here’s my floor. Thank you, sir.”
“The name’s Trevor.”
“I’m Janice. It’s a pleasure.”
Janice tried to shake hands, but realized her bags prevented it.
A Smudge of Gray: A Novel Page 6