Borg wasn’t going anywhere.
“Oh, he’s all right,” said Nina, quietly, sipping her hot chocolate and waiting while warm moist dog-drool soaked its way through her skirt and turned cold, which she knew it would, upon contacting her skin.
“He’s a good dog.”
A big dog, she found herself thinking.
An exceptionally big dog to be an indoor dog.
But a good dog.
He owned her now, had taken possession of her, and would not let her move a step without planting his toad frog-sized front paw upon her brown leather pump.
“Yes, Borg’s a good dog.”
Pat pat pat along the back white fur.
Ecstasy, thought Borg, his eyes now tightly closed, his heart chugging along at perhaps two beats per half hour.
“I can’t believe,” Meg said, “that she wanted to close down the team.”
“It was that close, Meg.”
“All that work…”
“Well, it didn’t happen. That’s the main thing.”
“You saved us.”
“I was desperate.”
“And you really don’t know anything about basketball, Nina?”
“I like it.”
“Well, that’s something.”
“And I know…”
She paused.
The fire continued to crackle.
The wind continued to howl, rattling the window.
Borg continued to exist.
“…well, that’s all I know. I like it.”
“Okay. That’s something. You’ll be meeting the team for practice today?”
“I guess so. Three thirty, isn’t it?”
“That’s right. I’ve got a copy of the playbook I need to give you.”
“It probably won’t make much sense to me, Meg.”
“Still, I want you to have it. It’s got clear diagrams as well as a step-by-step narrative describing the various formations and plays. I’ve also got a practice schedule. First, we do laps, then bleachers, then layups, then free throw drills, then dribbling practice, then five on five, and finally wind sprints.”
“Okay, that’s clear.”
The two women sitting across from her smiled.
“The players,” Meg said, quietly, “should know this stuff by now. They won’t expect too much from you. Just be a calm presence.”
“That’s me all over.”
They sat for a time.
Finally, Jennifer asked:
“Nina, why did this woman fire Meg?”
“Because Meg’s gay.”
Nina was surprised at the forthrightness of her statement.
But there it was.
“If it had been any other coach, there would have been a reprimand.”
“So all of this story van Osdale told you about various disciplinary committees…”
“Bullshit.”
Jennifer and Meg looked at each other over the coffee table and smiled.
“You know that for sure?” asked Meg.
“No. I just like saying ‘bullshit.’ It relieves me.”
“Well,” said Jennifer, “if that’s the way of things, then it seems we’re all being covered by tons and tons of pure relief.”
They all laughed at this.
“What?” asked Borg, looking up.
They did not answer him.
By the time Nina had Vespa’ed back to the gym, the players had already changed into their practice jerseys and were doing shoot arounds on the south court. There was the pum-pum-pummeling of dribbled basketballs, the odor that is only found in gymnasiums and locker rooms and that cannot be described (it being the only smell of its kind in the world and thus comparable to nothing), the quiet banter of athletes going about their business, the rattle/whirr of huge ceiling fans in the high, vaguely transparent ceiling above, and the grim-visaged back and forth of one custodian and two male student helpers polishing the gym floor with six foot wide mops.
She stood in the gym door, watching.
She felt like she needed a ticket.
Where were the guys from the Rotary Club?
Why wasn’t it all light and bright and festive and aroma-filled and party-down?
Where was all that, huh?
Nowhere to be found, of course.
Because this was the nuts and bolts of sports. Gray dust floating in the soft-filtered light of a weekday afternoon. Empty stands. A jump shot from the corner; a jump shot from the free throw line; dribble with the left hand dribble with the left hand dribble with the left hand…
…now switch and…
dribble with the right hand dribble with the right hand dribble with the right hand …
NOW STOP AND SHOOT!
Clang.
So do it again.
“Way to look, Sonia!”
“You the girl, Alyssha!”
“Go, Amanda!”
“Haley Haley Haley HAY! Haley Haley Haley Hay!”
For possibly the first time in her adult life, Nina Bannister walked into a gymnasium without a ticket.
She walked to the bench area, took off her Land’s End dark red jacket, placed upon the flat surface beside her the playbook and practice schedule she’d been given, and looked out at the court.
The players had stopped; they were now standing stock still, all eleven of them, their faces glistening and sweat covered.
“Come on; huddle up!” she shouted.
Wow.
They did so!
Here they all were, circled tight around her.
She was a coach!
Damned straight!
“You probably all know I’m Nina Bannister.”
Nods.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“We know, Ms. Bannister.”
More nods.
Okay, so that went all right.
Probably need to say something more though.
So here goes.
“I’m going to be your coach for a while.”
More nods.
“We know that, too,” said Alyssha Bennett.
“Did Meg email you?”
Because Meg was now forbidden to have contact with any of the girls.
“No, ma’am. We haven’t heard anything from co—from Me—from…”
“…we haven’t heard anything that’s, like, official or anything.”
“So where did you hear that I was going to be your coach?”
“The Coffee Niche.”
“McDonalds.”
“My boyfriend told me.”
“That’s all right,” Nina said. “I get it.”
She took a deep breath.
Haley Stephens, young, fresh-faced, hair pulled back––
––of course, they were all young and fresh-faced and hair pulled back, so why bother even to mention that?
––asked:
“Is Coach Brennan really fired?”
Nina nodded.
She knew, of course, that there would be this moment.
So why not just get it over with?
“Meg has been administratively suspended for the time being.”
“So, fired?
“Yes.”
“That sucks.”
“Yes.”
Questions were coming from all the players now, while what had been youthful expressions of joyous exuberance only moments ago were growing into the dark, threatening, and ultimately dangerous scowls that would mark their passage into adulthood.
“What did she do?”
“Is this really about that dinner at Dee Tee’s?”
“We went back on the bus…so what?”
“Is that really the reason she was fired?”
Have to put a stop to this, obviously.
“Ladies…”
Nina held up a palm. The ladies quietened.
“Ladies, I know you have questions about what happened to Meg.”
“Just one thing, Ms. Bannister…”
This from Alyssha Bennett:
/> “Did this new administrative some thing or other, this Dr. van Osdale fire Meg?”
“Yes.”
“Can we kill her?”
“No.”
“Can anybody kill her?”
“No. And this really isn’t very funny.”
“We didn’t,” said Haley, or Stephanie, or Megan, or Taylor—or maybe all of them at once:
“….mean it to be funny.”
And they didn’t.
Nina’s first practice session went surprisingly well, probably due to the fact that she had to do nothing at all more than sit in the stands and watch it. The players knew that they were supposed to do laps, then bleachers, then layups, then free throw drills, then dribbling practice, then five on five, and finally wind sprints.
By the time they’d done all of these things it was precisely five PM.
So there would have been nothing left to do except be sure no belongings had been left in the locker room, but that was a chore handled routinely by the student manager, Clancy Gail, or be sure the gym was locked, but it wasn’t and didn’t need to be, because the men’s team had begun arriving at five o’clock, since this was one of the days when they practiced late.
No, there would have been nothing to do except go home and fix dinner.
Except that Moon Rivard had arrived.
She saw him as he appeared in the doorway.
He waved at her, all gray uniformed an unkempt and hair sprouting out of everywhere on him and blue eyes a twinkle.
She waved him up to the spot in the stands she’d singled out for her coach’s lair, and she watched him approach while she watched the players disappear into the locker room.
“Ms. Bannister!”
“Hey, Moon!”
“Our new coach!”
“Looks like it!”
“How’s it going?”
She gestured for him to sit down, and he did so, looking at the papers spread out beside her.
“It’s going well. We just finished the first practice.”
He beamed.
“Wonderful! Is that your play book?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Know anything about it?”
“No, I don’t.”
He laughed.
“Well, it’ll be all right. You just tell them to put the ball in the basket.”
“I think I can do that.”
“Bet you can! Bet you can!”
He watched the court below them, as it began to fill with slender, gawky, gangling, guffawing young men.
Finally he said:
“Nina, this thing yesterday. I was real sorry to hear about it.”
“Well. It wasn’t handled very well.”
“The State Patrol…I don’t know how that could have happened.”
Nina shrugged:
“There were a lot of committees meeting in Jackson, I guess. Somebody decided that Meg had to be removed quickly, before an incident took place. And so an incident happened.”
“I know. I feel like it was my fault somehow.”
“I don’t see how it could be your fault, Moon.”
“If I could have been there first, I could have broken it to her easier, gotten her out of there by a back way or something.”
“Well, don’t beat yourself up.”
“Anyway, a lot of people are upset by it.”
“Yes, they are. That and a lot of other things. The players just asked me if they could kill April van Osdale.”
Nina smiled as she said this.
Moon Rivard did not.
They sat for a time.
The men’s team began its layups.
“Is there,” Nina finally said, “something I should know?”
“Yes, ma’am. You probably should know it.”
“Okay. What is it?”
“The town is very upset. Up until two weeks ago they didn’t even know this what’s her name woman existed. Now apparently people are worried about losing our money for the school. Kids are getting told they’re retarded. The coach gets fired…”
“And?”
“Well, this van Osdale woman came to see me a couple of hours ago.”
“Why?”
“She’s been getting some letters. Bad words. Even a few threats.”
And so there it was again.
The old semi-nauseated feeling in the pit of her stomach.
She had it upon meeting Eve Ivory for the first time; she had it upon seeing Helen Reddington slapped viciously by her husband.
Someone is going to get hurt, it warned her.
Someone is going to get killed.
And they come in threes, don’t they?
Movie stars die in threes.
Sports figures die in threes.
There had been two murders in Bay St. Lucy…
…but no.
No, that was crazy.
The Eve Ivory affair involved huge sums of money, and the very existence of the town was threatened; and besides, Eve Ivory was killed by the sins of a horrid and violent past. Helen Reddington’s murder involved passion, affairs of the heart, cruelty and villainy and morbid passion.
This was school.
This was just school!
Tests and records and a basketball team.
School for God’s sakes!
Nobody was murdered because of school!
“So, Moon…what should we do about these letters?”
He shook his head and rose.
“Just keep your eyes open, Ms. Bannister.”
“Okay. I will.”
“I know you will. And good luck with your play book!”
He laughed.
She laughed.
He left.
“It’s school,” she found herself whispering to the play clock, which hung inert and lifeless across the court in front of her.
“Nobody gets murdered because of school.”
So saying, she rose and left the building.
CHAPTER 14: A TOUCH OF JANE AUSTEN, A TOUCH OF ALFRED HITCHCOCK
“You intend to kiss me and yet you are going to all this damn trouble about it.”
––William Faulkner
The following evening was a special one in The Little Hobbit House by the Sea, which was the name Nina had invented for the place where she lived, Tolkien’s term being so much friendlier and so much more poetic than ‘the old shack where Nina lived.’
She’d awakened early to do her chores, but had included as one of those tasks the insertion of a pot roast—along with quartered new potatoes—into her crock pot.
The meat had been cooking all day, simmering in two cans of French onion soup.
So that when she arrived home at a quarter until six, rejoicing inwardly that for an entire school day no outraged parents had stormed the main office, no storm troopers had invaded the cafeteria, no athletic teams had been eliminated, no teachers had been fired, no new standardized testing ultimatums had been handed down, Max Lirpa had not started the French Revolution, and April van Osdale had neither been seen nor heard from…
…when she arrived with her mind filled only with these reveries, and opened the door, she was greeted, in fact engulfed, by succulent aromas and the prospect of an excellent dinner.
“Yes!”
Just what she needed!
“Hi, Furl.”
“Rrrggggh,” answered Furl, rubbing against her leg to re-establish territoriality.
“Anything bad happen today?”
“Rrrgggh.”
“Good. Any interesting national news?”
“Rrrggh.”
“I didn’t think so. What about domestic news?”
“Rrrgggh.”
“Well, that’s just the Republicans and Democrats for you. Smell the roast?”
“Rrrrrggh.”
“I thought so. We’ll make this a special meal.”
And she set about doing so. She took off her winter clothes and hung them up, lay her school papers on the desk that sat just insid
e the bedroom door, walked into the kitchen, turned on the light—for it was already growing dark outside—and flipped on the Boze radio/cd player.
What should she listen to?
An Evening with the Boston Pops
Hello, Arthur Fiedler!
And so, while she busied herself inserting the corkscrew into a bottle of Pinot Noir—she was going to have two glasses of red wine tonight despite her vows that she would not do so on a school night—the lush tones of Rimsky-Korsakov danced around her.
She turned the corkscrew, withdrew the cork, smelled it, tossed it on the counter, poured herself a large glass of Lindemann’s (the world’s most elegant bottle of wine for under five dollars), and sat at the kitchen table.
Furl curled (she liked the phrase ‘Furlcurled’) into an orange and white ball on the chair next to her.
Outside the sliding window, the lights in the offshore drilling rig had just begun to sparkle; a pale half-moon hung low over the ocean, and the great breakers roiled and crashed a quarter of a mile seaward before dissipating in eddying currents and frothing ashore as white tracery.
So what the hell was she to do?
How was she going to take arms against the sea of troubles that, like the sea that was The Gulf of Mexico, seemed to be rushing up to engulf her?
Well…
…the first thing to do was coach the Lady Mariners. Tomorrow night they were to go to Donaldsonville. Her first outing. But Donaldsonville was not that tough. The Mariners had won by twenty-three a month ago.
The girls knew what to do.
She would sit primly on the bench and watch. All she had to do was not run off to New Mexico and get married, and not let Jackson Bennett escort the girls home to Bay St. Lucy and then into Dee Tees, and not buy them dinner, and not tell April van Osdale that she had done these things, and not subsequently be fired and then led from the building by state troopers.
These were all things that she could pretty easily not do.
Couldn’t she? Not?
Of course she could not.
But then there were the other things.
There was the fact that she had pretty much promised to use the MOCKMACES to help get the school’s scores up.
One MOCKMACE per week.
The students would be MOCKMACED to death.
And there would be more MOCKMACES, and more still, until the school became ‘exemplary.’
A better idea? Why not just cheat?
How might it work?
Game Change: A Nina Bannister Mystery (The Nina Bannister Mysteries Book 3) Page 14