Buddy Carruthers, Wide Receiver

by Jean C. Joachim

  Half an hour after the show was over, the troupe was installed in the tour bus, heading to the next city, Columbus, Ohio. Emmy studied some papers in the back while Stash spelled the driver off and took a turn at the wheel.

  “Love letters from the asshole jock?” he asked, glancing at her in the rearview mirror.

  “None of your business. Keep your eyes on the road, or you’ll get us all killed.”

  Emmy squelched Stash’s comments about Buddy by not responding, even though she seethed inside. By the time they reached Columbus, Stash had moved on to other topics, criticizing her energy level, her voice, the backup singers, and the band. She tuned him out, turning her attention to a stack of romance novels she’d picked up at their last stop. Positive energy fueled Emmy. Her books were like a shot of the most potent drug.

  The show went without a hitch. Emerald dazzled her audience like she did in every other city she played. Stan fixed a glitch with lighting, making Emmy appreciate having him there. She was looking forward to a good night’s sleep before she faced the next item on her mental to-do list.

  As they left Columbus Crew stadium, she turned to Stash, Lani, and Paula. “Goodnight. I’m staying in Columbus for a day or so. I mean, we’re staying. So find something to amuse yourselves.”

  Stash’s eyes narrowed. “This have something to do with that loser?”

  “You can call Buddy a lot of things, but loser isn’t one of them. None of your business. I’m taking a couple of days off before we hit Chicago. And I’m giving you all a couple of days too. Paid.” She swiveled and headed for the car.

  The women cheered, but Stash grabbed her shoulder and whirled her around. “You’re not seeing that asshole.”

  Emmy crouched a bit and maneuvered out from under his grip. “I already told you. That’s none of your business.”

  “Just because we’re not sleeping together anymore doesn’t mean I’m not watching over you, Emerald.” His black hair gleamed in the street lights.

  “Can it, Stash. Go get laid or something. Leave me alone. I’m an adult and don’t need you tagging along after me.”

  “Yes, you do. You need several bodyguards and someone with a brain.”

  Her mouth fell open, and she slapped him across the face. “Don’t ever say that to me again.”

  “What about Robert Carson?” he asked, rubbing his cheek. His dark eyes glittered with anger.

  “What about him? We haven’t heard from him. I assume the police scared him off.”

  “Don’t be so sure.”

  “Thanks for making me feel better.”

  “I’m just trying to keep you safe! Nothing I do is right.” Stash started to walk away.

  Emmy put her hand out. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’ve been edgy lately. Maybe that’s why. Do we know if the police are doing anything?”

  “I’ve contacted the police in New York, but they don’t know where he is. I’ll call Chicago. It’s a big city. Easy to hide there.”

  “Thanks, Stash. I appreciate all you do, really. Even if I don’t show it.”

  “I’m like a pair of old shoes, comfortable but expendable.”

  “That’s not true. You take good care of me.”

  “Damn right, I do.” He cupped her cheek.

  She kissed him.

  “Save it for Casanova.” He wiped his face. “The girls and I are taking the bus. You take the car. We’ll meet you in Chicago.”

  “But I don’t know where I’m going.”

  Stash laughed. “You need a keeper. The Stanton Hotel. Park in the lot there. Check in. I’ll find you. We’d rather have our off time in a big city. This little town sucks.” Paula and Lani followed him to the tour bus. Stash closed the door and pulled away. Paula waved from the window.

  Emmy waved back. “Who needs you anyway?”

  She got in the car and adjusted the seat and the mirrors. Several vans arrived at the stadium, stopping in front of the service entrance. At first, she was afraid Robert Carson was in one of them. But the drivers were met with uniformed, janitorial men carrying bag after bag of garbage. Getting the place ready for the game tomorrow. Good. She smiled as she eased the vehicle away from the curb and headed back to her hotel. While she drove, she plotted her revenge.

  * * * *

  Room service brought breakfast to Emmy at eight. She sat by the picture window on the top floor of the hotel, looking down on the city. She liked small towns. Not so cold and impersonal. The hotel staff had been friendly and went out of their way for her. She figured she was getting the star treatment, but suspected they did that for all their guests. She sipped coffee and gazed at the empty streets. No one was up this early on a Sunday, except to go to church.

  The leaves were changing. It wouldn’t be long before even this cozy town would look cold and barren as winter blew in. Emmy hated winter. She longed for a trip to the Caribbean, but there were no places to draw a decent crowd there, so it didn’t pay to go. Or so Stash said. The thought of a vacation lingered in her mind. While she’d been asleep next to Buddy, she’d dreamt of them playing in the clear waters of St. Thomas, eating dinner al fresco, and making love to the swish of palm leaves in a warm, gentle wind.

  Stash told her she’d have plenty of time to rest when her career crashed. She could lie on the beach and count her millions when someone else replaced her. But now, she had to get out there, perform, sing, write new songs, while there were people who wanted to listen. She couldn’t argue with his logic. She had wanted this career, wanted to break away from her controlling stepmother who’d pretended to like her when her father was alive. But when he’d died, the woman’s true feelings had come out. She was jealous of Emmy, sweet, talented Emmy.

  So, at the tender age of twenty-two, Emmy Meacham had set off with Stash Mullins to make her fortune in the music business. Five years later, she was rolling in money, a huge success. Yet, happiness always seemed to be one more performance away.

  “When I get three standing ovations, I’ll have made it, and I can stop.”

  “When I get four sold-out gigs in a row, it’ll be enough, and I can quit.”

  There was always another hurdle to jump for Emmy. She loved performing and writing and singing and playing her guitar. Still, she hungered for something else. Something more. The reappearance of Buddy Carruthers bothered her. He was the symbol of what she was missing, her one true love. She needed the one she had believed in when she couldn’t even trust her own father to be supportive.

  In love with success, in love with Buddy, in love with the rich lifestyle, and hungering for more, Emmy had grown more confused each year. She questioned her trust in Stash Mullins, who never understood her, didn’t know the little girl inside, cowering, insecure, searching for love. Yet, she loved the way he believed in her talent and drove her on and on to more and more fame and money. She was Emerald—looked up to, admired, envied, sought after, lusted after by thousands, and stalked by the likes of that one, sick dude, Robert Carson.

  These thoughts whirled through her mind as she sat quietly, watching the small rivulets running through downtown Columbus. How strange to have little rivers running through the middle of a city. Emmy finished eating and showered. She wanted to look her best when she confronted Buddy. She wondered what hotel he was staying at. Could it even be the one she was in? She shook her head. Coincidences like that don’t happen in real life.

  She strolled outside and took a deep breath. Columbus was a lovely city, a few skyscrapers, but not enough to choke you, like in New York. The fresh air filled her lungs, and a sense of peace calmed her. She was alone, no one to take care of her, pack for her, order food or drinks for her, chauffeur her, and she was surprised to find she liked the independence. I can take care of myself just fine. Her step lightened under the lifting of the weight of Stash’s controlling eye. She grinned at the sense of freedom in her heart.

  She drove back to the stadium at noon, was shown to V.I.P. parking, bought a box seat ticket to see the Columbus
Bobcats play the Connecticut Kings, and made her way to the stands. Before finding her spot, she stopped to load up on food. A hot dog, fries, and a Coke were a good beginning. Taking her seat in the second row, she munched and drank while watching the last minute preparations.

  A knot of men in suits on the field, yelling at each other, looking at watches and rubbing their necks or their faces caught her attention. Crap goes wrong at football games too. She smiled. Before a concert, the jitters and monumental apprehension that something major was going to break down filled her. Only when she went on stage and started singing did her pulse slow from hyper-drive to fast.

  She wore a baseball cap to hide the distinctive, emerald green streak in her hair, to avoid being recognized. Now, she was just any other pretty, young woman. The sun bore down. Sweat gathered at the back of her neck and on her head. Eventually, she removed the hat to cool off, forgetting about being incognito. A few murmurs ran through the crowd, reminding her about the bright green now showing. Too late. She shrugged and trained her gaze on the field, where a band was gathering. The stands were filling up. Football fans squeezed past her.

  “Aren’t you…” a woman said, pointing.

  “Come on, Mabel. I’m sure she’s just a lookalike. Famous people don’t come to Columbus.”

  Emmy chuckled behind her hand. A few brave souls approached her for autographs, which she gave gladly. Before she could cover up again, she heard someone shout, “There she is!” Emmy looked around. A man was gesturing to her.

  She quickly slammed her cap on her head and slouched down in her seat. But the man kept his eye on her as he ran over. “Please, Miss Emerald. You gotta help us.” He was out of breath.

  “What’s the problem?”

  “The guy who was supposed to do the National Anthem got laryngitis. He can’t say a word. Would you sing it for us? Please?” His eyebrows knit in the most imploring way. The fat on his belly jiggled under his suit. He mopped sweat from his face and neck with a large handkerchief. “Please. We’re stuck. We’ll give you all the hot dogs, popcorn, and ice cream you can eat.”

  She laughed. “That won’t be necessary. Okay. You got me.”

  “Thank God!” The chubby man took her hand and kissed it. He turned and waved at his cohorts and waited for her to pick her way through the thick crowd. He marched her to the front, where the band was tuning up. The bandleader shook her hand then went back to helping his people get organized. The teams ran out on the field.

  The local fans cheered for the Bobcats and booed the Kings. Emmy searched the uniformed men for Buddy. Number fifteen. She saw him whispering with his quarterback. He’d better shut up when I start to sing. The man who had convinced her to help out took the microphone and introduced her. A huge roar went up from the spectators at her unexpected appearance. She kept her gaze on Buddy for a split second and grinned at his surprise. Squirm you little worm, squirm.

  The man handed her the mic. A young woman offered her a glass of water. Emmy took a sip then swiveled to stare directly at Buddy, who lifted his hand in a weak wave. She smiled, cleared her throat, and nodded at the band leader, who raised his baton. They took their cue from her. Her voice rang out clear and sweet. She watched people rise to their feet and place their hands over their hearts as they sang along.

  When she returned to her seat, the people around her applauded again, and she was deluged with requests for autographs.

  “Are you here to see your boyfriend play?” one woman asked.

  “What boyfriend?”

  “Wide receiver, Buddy Carruthers, of course.”

  Emmy’s face grew hot, and all she could do was smile at the woman, who grinned back.

  Chapter Seven

  Fifteen minutes earlier

  In the locker room, Buddy jumped up and down to get his blood circulating.

  Coach Bass gave the team a pep talk. “The Bobcats are big. The guy they call ‘Horse’ is six six and two fifty. They play rough, so watch it. And watch each other. They may be bigger, but we’re smarter. Protect Griff. Play smart and be safe.”

  The team put their hands in the circle, gave the team cheer, and headed for the field. Energy coursed through Buddy’s veins. They may be bigger, but I’m faster. He stood next to Griff with his helmet in his left hand and his right over his heart, waiting for the National Anthem. When a woman walked to the center of the field, he rubbed his eyes, squinted, then rubbed again. He turned to Griff. “Who’s that gonna sing?”

  “Holy hell. It’s Emerald.”

  “Shit. That’s what I thought. What the hell is she doing here?”

  “Must have come to see you.”

  Buddy shook his head. “I doubt it.”

  “Come on. What else would she be doing in Columbus?”

  “She played here last night. It was one of the places I was hoping we could hook up. Before she blew me off in front of fifty million people.”

  “I didn’t believe her. Doubt anyone else did either.”

  “You know how irresistible I am. The rest of the world doesn’t.” Buddy chuckled.

  Griff snickered. “Keep telling yourself that.”

  When the band hit the first note, the players clammed up. Buddy smiled. At the sound of her voice, warmth traveled through his body. It took him back to their college days when she would practice a song while he did his schoolwork. Her singing soothed him. Today was no different. Although he kept up a good front, love for Emmy still lived in his heart.

  He watched her return to the stands amid a roar of applause. The world loves her.

  Griff knocked him in the ribs. “Let’s go. Mind on the game.”

  Buddy nodded and loped over to the Kings’ bench. They won the toss and elected to kick off, so the wide receiver was on the sidelines. He kept looking over at Emmy and wondered where Stash was.

  “Watch the game, asshole,” Bullhorn Brodsky hissed.

  “I am, I am.”

  “You’re watching Emerald. Don’t be a jerk. These guys’ll flatten you.”

  Buddy turned his gaze to the field. His focus kicked in as he studied the linebackers. The Bobcats were stopped on the King’s forty yard line and forced to punt. Now, Buddy’s attention cranked up, as he saw the Bobcat defense take the field. His eyes widened when he saw Horse Jackson. The man was huge. The ball went to the Kings’ running back, Marquel Johnson. Horse was on him in seconds, taking him down hard. Johnson was left writhing in pain, holding his knee.

  Coach Bass signaled for Buddy to go in, along with Homer Calloway, who replaced Caleb Turner. Homer was bigger, more of a match for Horse. Nerves tingled inside Buddy. Adrenaline flowed, putting his body on high alert. Griff faked to the left. The defense was all over Calloway, ignoring Buddy. The quarterback rifled a bullet pass straight to Buddy, who chested the ball and took off like a shot.

  He was all alone for a few seconds before the defense headed in his direction. Bullhorn ran interference for the wide receiver, creating a hole that Buddy slipped through, increasing his speed and making it just over the goal line before being taken down.

  Bull gave him a hand up. Buddy was almost face-to-face with Horse. He curled his lip and hissed. “Next time, it’ll be me. And I won’t be so nice.”

  A twinge of fear shot through Buddy, but he widened his stance to face the bully. “Bring it on, asshole.” He raised his eyes to lock with the big man’s, ignoring his dread at a helmet-to-helmet confrontation.

  “Come on, Buddy.” Bull tugged on his teammate’s jersey.

  They left the field while Robbie Anthony trotted out to do his stuff. His kick for the extra point was good. Buddy plopped down on the bench.

  “Don’t worry about that dickwad. We’ve got your back,” Bull said, while Buddy took a gulp from a bottle of water.

  But he did worry. The man was almost twice his size. In a confrontation, Buddy was sure to come out the loser. I need to be fast. Faster than he is. Keep away from him. He moseyed over to the bench, where he was hailed a hero and patte
d and chest-bumped by his teammates. The cheer from the crowd was minimal, since this wasn’t the Kings’ home.

  Buddy pushed worries about Horse out of his mind and watched the game. Trunk Mahoney sacked the Bobcats’ quarterback, and it looked like the King’s offense would be up again real soon. Two more plays, and the Bobcats were punting.

  The wide receiver ran back out onto the field with the rest of the offensive team. They set, the center hiked the ball, and Griff gave it to Homer to run. He got seven yards before being taken down. Horse Jackson ambled over to Buddy. “You’re next.”

  The evil gleam in his eyes made Buddy’s blood run cold. Be calm.

  The Kings took the line again. Griff got good protection as he scanned the field to find an open man. Buddy kept an eye on Horse, who moved away from him. Turning his attention back to Griff, the wide receiver raced forward just in time to meet the ball. Gripping it with both hands, he headed for the sidelines to stop the clock, as there was only one minute left until halftime.

  He had a clear field until something came out of nowhere. It was like a bulldozer at sixty miles an hour, hitting him with enough force to carry him for several feet. Buddy’s head bounced on the ground. The wicked machine that was Horse Jackson plowed into him again, knocking him into a heater just beyond the sidelines, before the man landed on Buddy’s helmet. Unnecessary roughness.

  He heard the sound of the whistle before everything went black.

  * * * *

  Three yellow flags were tossed in the air. Another whistle was blown when the Kings’ bench cleared as the players went for Horse. The Bobcats defended their teammate. The referees waded into the brawl, separating the men and allowing the team medics to sprint across the turf. The stadium became silent, even the fighting stopped, as all eyes turned to the still figure of Buddy Carruthers, lying crumpled on the sidelines.