As Coach walked around the table, I slid out and stood to shake his hand.
As if he was following a script, he responded. “Hello, my name is Phillip McCoy.”
I was thrilled! When he introduced himself, my overly stimulated mind pulled up that distant memory of our very first meeting …
*****
… It was the Boys and Girls Club Annual Gala, years ago in Memphis. We had just eased into the huge ballroom at the Fairmont Hotel. It was our first time to attend the annual fundraising gala for the Boys and Girls Club. Most of the guests were part of the moneyed crowd in the area, and were in cliques talking among themselves, as if this was one of their weekly parties at the Club. We searched for a safe haven for nobodies, or at least for someone we knew. As we scanned the room, a tall friendly smile approached and extended his hand in greeting.
‘Hello, my name is Phillip McCoy,’ he had said.
Randle was startled and reacted nervously.
‘Oh … Hi! I’m Randle Brewster. And this is my wife Charlotte Brewster.’ Randle had extended his hand to shake, and I had a few moments to gather myself.
‘Did you say Phillip McCoy? I replied. “I mean the Memphis Grizzles Phillip McCoy? I mean, you sort of look like him … err … McCoy … err … Phillip McCoy?’ And in an embarrassment I will never live down, I blurted out. ‘Damn, you’re taller in person than on the Court … err … I mean … good to meet you Mr. McCoy.’
McCoy laughed. ‘Good to meet you, Mrs. Brewster, and yes to your question and your observation. Guilty on both accounts. I do play for the Grizzles and I have been told I was tall.’
In a serious tone, he whispered. ‘Do you guys feel as out of place as I do? I’m not used to this kind of attention.’
‘Neither are we,’ Randle answered. ‘But we love the work these guys do so we thought we would support them.’
The shared nervousness and similar interest had loosened the tension surrounding us. For the next ten minutes we talked basketball, the work of the Boys and Girls Club and about our interest in the Club’s work.
Randle interrupted us. ‘Charley, there’s Ralph Delmonico over there. I haven’t seen him in years. Do you mind if I excuse myself and go see him?’
‘Of, course not, honey, I’ll be okay.’
‘Great to meet you Phillip, see you later?’
‘Of course.’
Phillip and I settled back into conversation. ‘Did Randle call you Charley? I thought your name was Charlotte?’
‘Old nickname,’ I said. ‘Charlotte officially, but Charley in the real world.’
‘Oh …’
We continued talking. In a moment, he asked. ‘Charley, it’s getting stuffy in here. Why don’t we get some fresh air?’
With his hand firming on my waist, Phillip guided us through the crowd. I was twenty-five at the time, and the thought of the tall handsome athlete with his hand on my waist was thrilling. I had a wide smile as my youthful imagination kicked in. As we walked towards the balcony, I had to curb my enthusiasm. Was it my imagination, or was he really letting his hand slide lower on my hips? By the time we arrived on the balcony overlooking the hotel’s flower gardens, there was no mistake about it. His hand was on my butt! When we stopped at the railing, I felt his hand squeeze my butt a couple of times. That was no imagination! ‘What the hell are you doing? Get your hands off me.’ I was startled and reacted in a quiet but firm voice. ‘Who do you think you are?’
‘Charley, I’m sorry. I just thought …’
Phillip struggled to find the right words.
‘Thought what? That I would just fall into your arms, you jerk! I may be young and naïve, but I am not one of your bimbos. I’m married and happily so!’
I was fuming by now and stretched my five foot ten inch frame to be sure my hand would land fully and firmly across his face. Having delivered my blow, I turned and stormed back into the ballroom, leaving Phillip glancing around in squirming embarrassment.
After the Gala dinner and program, as we were leaving, a familiar tall body suddenly stopped us in the lobby.
‘Randle, Charley, I want to apologize! Randle, I got fresh with Charley earlier. That’s not who I am, I’m so sorry. You are a lucky man. Charley is decidedly the prettiest and sexiest woman here tonight! Please forgive me for being such an ass.’
‘That’s okay Phillip. I told Randle and he just laughed. He said you couldn’t help yourself. I understand. You’re forgiven this time.’ I turned to Randle. ‘Okay, honey?’
‘Sure, Charley … but Phillip, it will cost you!’
‘Anything! What do you want?’
‘Well, tickets to a Grizzles game, and a signed picture would heal a lot of wounds.’
‘I’ll have the tickets for the next five home games for you at will call. I don’t have any pictures. Why don’t I sign the Gala’s program?’
‘Works for me, here you are on pages thirteen and fourteen.’
Phillip took the program and signed the two pictures. On one page he signed. To My Biggest Fans. Phillip #37. On the other page he signed. Til We Meet Again, Phillip McCoy …
*****
… “Ms. Howard, my name is Phillip McCoy. It’s so good to meet you.”
I shook my head and mentally recovered from my brief daydream while the memory of that first meeting pleasantly washed over me. I continued to play out our little charade. “I would be delighted, Coach, if you would have dinner with me.”
I motioned him to a seat beside me. As he sat down, we both laughed and I resumed the conversation. “Now that’s the way it was supposed to happen last night.”
“I know, sorry. I guess I had an attitude, didn’t I?”
“Well you knew what you wanted, and she looked like the answer, so you’re forgiven this time. I’m just glad you’re here now.”
I leaned over to him and kissed him on the cheek. Impulsively, I brushed his lips as I sat back.
“See what you missed?”
He was visibly surprised by my kiss.
“Charley, you are definitely not what I would expect from a bar owner!”
“I hope not!” I replied and snickered.
The ever present Ronnie, on cue, showed up before we could get too mushy. “Ms Howard, may I get you and Coach McCoy something?”
I replied. “I’ll take another Peach Sangria, and for you Coach?”
“I’ll take a glass of water … with a twist of lemon please,” Coach told Ronnie. He explained. “I’ve been sober for eleven months now; I can’t take a chance …”
He reached for my hand, looked directly into my eyes and with a silky tone, he spoke quietly. “Now that I’ve met you.”
“You smooth devil you. Keep talking like that and you may hit a home run tonight.”
Without taking my eyes off the handsome young athlete, I spoke back to Ronnie. “Ronnie, we would like some privacy. Could you have the staff finish setting it up, please? Oh, and bring us some appetizers too; perhaps some calamari, Coach?”
I could feel Ronnie grinning. “Yes, Ma’am.”
But Ronnie’s low monotone let me know he still didn’t approve of the privacy setting for this evening. Nevertheless, he did as I requested, and left to put in the drink orders and arrange for the privacy panels to be put in place.
“Charley, I must say, you seem to have the attitude of a bar owner but I could never tell it by looking at you.”
Coach’s face lit up with his smile, and I could see instantly why I was first attracted to him. I smiled back and prepared to hear some of that Midwestern charm.
He never skipped a beat.
“You’re beautiful and sexy. I love your long hair. It looks better dry and brushed than it did soaking wet. And the tan … do you lay out in the sun often?”
If you only knew, Coach. I might let you see there are no tan lines, if you are a good boy!
“I try to get to the tanning salon occasionally before summer comes. Then I lay out a bit.”
I l
ay out nude. I would like for you to join me.
“I love the chocolate pearls, they accent your skin.”
Yeah, and give you an excuse to look at my 34Ds.
I loved the attention. I hadn’t been flirted with like this in a long time. He smiled and continued talking. I heard the words, but I wasn’t listening. I was just drinking in his smile and his looks, and thinking about my sexy dreams with him. I couldn’t get the image of him in those soaking wet white shorts and what they revealed out of my mind.
Finally he unexpectedly asked a question that broke me from my trance. “Charley, how did you get into this business?”
Fortunately, Wilma arrived at the table with our drinks and appetizer. I was anxious to talk with Coach, but I wanted Wilma to meet him. “Wilma, this is Phillip McCoy. He’s here in town with the Coach’s Convention. Randle and I met him several years ago when he played for the Grizzles. Coach, meet Wilma, our assistant manager. She was with Jimmy’s when it first opened.”
Coach stood up. “Glad to meet you Wilma.”
I watched carefully. I didn’t get a good gauge on Wilma, but she was polite.
“Good to meet you, Coach McCoy.”
Wilma paused a minute before turning to me. “Do you want to order now or wait?”
“Coach, how about you?”
“I think I’m ready. I’ll have the swordfish. We don’t get good seafood in my part of Ohio. And just water to drink please.”
I ordered my normal steak salad with dressing on the side.
When Wilma had gone, my attention shifted back. “Now what did you ask me? Oh yeah, you asked how I got into this business? I’ll try to make it short. The original owner was Jimmy Brewster. I married his son, Randle. You met him. He was good man, who stupidly got himself involved with a local crime boss. It cost him his life. He was killed shortly after the gang wars broke out in the late 1990’s. A short time later, the crime boss himself was killed in the Bar, in this very booth as a matter of fact.
“So Randle was killed? I am so sorry, Charley, I didn’t know. It must be painful for you to talk about it. Did they ever catch the killers?”
“Yes, I think about him often. No, they were never able to make an arrest. We all know who did it. When the crime boss was killed, Jimmy was the only one who got a good look at the killer. Jimmy was so furious about Randle’s murder he agreed to testify about the killer, as well as everything else he knew. He was placed in the Fed’s witness protection program. Jimmy’s wife had died, and next his son was taken from him, so he had no family left. He asked me to take care of the place until he got back, but he never made it back! He was killed less than three months after going under the Fed’s protection. The killers have never been publically identified, so the case remains officially unsolved. Jimmy left me the Bar in his will, and I’ve run it ever since.”
“That must have been a difficult time for you. So that’s the infamous past the hotel doorman up the street was telling me about.”
“That’s it in a nut shell.”
Coach had been on the edge of his seat as I told the story. He leaned back in the booth and exhaled.
“Whew, there is a lot more to you than just a pretty face. You’ve been through a lot. That explains the pictures at the bar I saw up front while I was waiting for you this afternoon. They’re of Jimmy and Randle?”
I could tell Coach was beginning to find the story intriguing. And he had more questions.
“Now what about this ‘privacy setting’ you asked the waiter to set up?”
“The privacy setting … that was Martin’s idea…”
“Who is Martin?”
“The crime boss, I mentioned. He started coming to the Bar and gradually made it his home. He ran his crime syndicate from this booth. Anyway, we’ve kept it even after the murders; it makes things interesting for the tourists. Whenever he held meetings with his crime council, he wanted privacy from the public, so he paid for a privacy system of folding insulated walls around the booth. Potted plants outside the walls make it blend with the décor to become almost invisible. There is a concealed door escape route leading from the booth, through to the kitchen. The booth and the table are adjustable to give a roughly nine by nine room, not big, but big enough. He actually had some good ideas for his booth office.”
“Sounds like a description written for a tour guide's explanation.”
“Actually it was. The tourist business is big for us in the summer months.”
Wilma knocked on the door and entered. “Dinner’s ready.”
Wilma was a little slower than usual. I knew she was taking her time to evaluate this man. When she finished, she winked at me and closed the door to our little cocoon. I knew now that she approved.
Chapter Eight
“Now where was I?”
I took a slow sip of my Peach Sangria. At some point, I am going to have to tell him why I was so anxious to see him again. But not while we were eating. Maybe later.
“Swordfish is good.”
Coach ate as I remembered he had played, deliberate and focused. He asked me a question, but I suspect it was to give him time to eat the swordfish. “Are you a basketball fan or was Randle?”
“We were both big basketball fans, and we would go into Memphis for some good barbecue, and then go see the Grizzles play. You were a joy to watch on the court. Your playing style was sweet; you didn’t play for your own stats; you were a real team player, and we liked that. You were always available to do charity work in the Memphis area, and even as far away as Nashville. And that was important to both of us. You were a great athlete who used your fame for others.”
“Stop it, you sound like my agent. Makes me blush.”
I continued deliberately. “You signed a program for me once. It said. ‘Til we meet again’. I was a young woman, all full of myself, and I thought you meant it just for me!”
“Who’s to say I didn’t?” Coach replied, teasingly.
“When you left the Grizzles, we followed your career in coaching. Randle always admired you as a man because of your playing, your attitude and your charitable work. I’ll have to admit, I admired you as a man but for a different reason. You’re a good looking sexy man, and I developed a serious crush on you.”
Coach stopped in mid-bite and tilted his head to one side and formed a tight smile. “Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously!”
Now the hard part begins.
“I’ve got to tell you something. I was insulted when you hit on me that evening, but deep down, you really turned me on big time. I got over it of course. But when I found that program a year ago and opened to the photos you signed, those feelings started again. I even started having fantasy dreams about you.”
“No way.”
“Yes every way. I had to see you again and find out what kind of man you’ve become. To tell you the truth, I really wanted to see if the dreams I had been having about you come close to reality. So when the Chamber of Commerce secured the Coach’s Convention, I decided this would be my opportunity to finally meet you again. So I arranged for you to be directed to Jimmy’s and to my table.”
“So Roberto and your maître d' are both your henchmen in this scheme?”
“Yes both.”
“And I screwed it up! I wondered why Roberto tried so hard to get me to come down here every night. Damn it, Charley. I am flattered to say the least. Tell me, why did you want to see me again? Young women get crushes on athletes all the time. Most get over it. You seemed to have carried it for all these years. I bet you don’t want another picture. Tell me, what do you really want?”
This is it. Do I dare go ahead or back down? The door’s open, so do I jump through it? Get a hold of yourself, girl, he’s just a man. I know what I want, but can I tell him?
The handsome young coach looked at me with an expectant stare. He’d placed the situation squarely in my lap, and my body was reacting to the tension. My face was getting a bit flushed and my palms started to
get a little clammy. I tried some deep breathing, but that didn’t help. I was having second thoughts, and was unsure how to respond. When this meeting was in the future, sex with Coach Mac was so obvious and easy to plan, but now he’s here and what was obvious and easy before, is a lot less obvious and, for sure, not easy anymore.
What have I done? I really don’t know the man; after this afternoon, what I do know is not too good. But, I’m committed to it now, I can’t back out. Do I really want to have sex with this man? Hell yes and I hope he’s as good as I think he is. I haven’t had good sex in years. Damn, I said I would do anything to get him. I can’t stop now.
I tried to be confident. “Coach, I’ll be direct and to the point.”
This is harder than I thought it would be.
“I don’t want an autograph or a picture. Coach, you’re right; I do want something from you.”
“What?”
“You really are not making this easy.”
“I’m sorry, maybe you should wait until some other time to tell me.”
“No, I’m okay … I told you, I’ve occasionally had sexy dreams of us. Lately, they’ve been more frequent, and more intense. I can’t explain them, but I can’t seem to stop them either, and I don’t really want to stop them.”
He’s going to think I’m a common whore. Here goes.
“I wanted to see, once and for all, if you’re as sexy in reality as you are in my dreams. I need … I think I want…No, I know. I want to have sex with you. There, I said it!”
I could feel my forehead burning up, my hands were clammy and I had a silly grin on my face.
God, I hope he doesn’t laugh; can’t back out now. Don’t think I really want to back out, I’m ready…
“Huh?” was his only response. He dipped his head to one side. A small wrinkle developed between his eyes. He closed one eye and I could see his mouth silently forming. “What the hell?”
He couldn’t have been more surprised.
Slowly his head rose to look me directly in the eyes. The biggest smile I have ever seen crept across his face. “Charley, you want to have sex with me? After this afternoon, are you crazy? You’re a beautiful and sexy young woman. Any idiot would jump at a chance to sleep with you. Are you sure about this? You don’t know anything about me, really. Well, except that I haven’t had sex for a few years now. I’m probably horrible at it. We met a few times, but that was a long time ago. And this afternoon, I screwed up pretty bad.”
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