by Lisa Luciano
“It’s okay,” she said, knowing it wasn’t.
“You’ll make it up in the long program,” she said without a hint of doubt.
Robby slid on his skate guards and waddled backstage.
When Glenn’s turn finally came, the arena erupted as if a thunderstorm had settled overhead. He could feel the energy flowing into him through the thin layer of scarlet fabric covering his compact body which was the only thing separating him from the world and its critical eyes.
Wasting no time, he glided into his all-important jump combination. Forsythe looked on calmly. The preparation was good as he took off and twisted furiously. Three and one half rotations. Down. Clean. Up for the second triple. The crowd waited. Forsythe dropped his head. He sensed immediately that Glenn would double the jump. He knew every movement he was capable of. Even the slightest twitch of his arm or leg spoke volumes.
Glenn carried on, his face betraying nothing, but the audience buzzed. They knew. Freeman had done a perfect combination. Robby allowed only the slightest glitch on his. What would the judges do with that?
Glenn finished to a rousing ovation, absolutely sure a watered down, but error-free performance would be enough. It was. 5.8’s and 5.9’s danced across the board, mimicking his performance. The numbers drew some boos. Then like a tidal wave, shouts of support built until the disgruntled fans were plowed under.
Ralph Ratner, who never once looked concerned, leaned over to an equally well-dressed man seated beside him in a sky box.
“Good job. Make sure you have the same group at the Olympics next month,” he instructed.
“How many seats?”
“I’ll check. See what you can get your hands on. If necessary, we’ll just bump some of the lesser sponsors and their butt-ugly wives and kids. Whatever it takes. Make sure you check the updated fan club membership list.”
The young man made a mental note.
“What about that other matter?” Ratner asked. “Any progress on that?”
“The network president assured me the announcement would be made on Monday. The head of their sports division will be out and replaced by our man before the Games.”
“Commentators?”
“All set. The usual guys with Besch doing color commentary.”
“Good work,” Ralph said with a satisfied grin as he tapped his hand against his jacket pocket.
Everything was in place.
Brody stood beside Wasser as he had for the entire afternoon, listening to his grunts and groans as if he was experiencing the agony himself. It was obvious he cared about these guys like they were his own children. He had none. Married twice, he never stayed in one place long enough to really settle down. Between competitions, clinics, and committee meetings, home was a hotel room.
“I don’t get it,” Brody said after looking at the short program’s final standings.
Chandler first. Bennett second. Donovan—a disastrous third.
“You will,” Wasser answered, looking very tired as he walked away.
Brody wondered if after so many years he didn’t care who won. Or maybe he’d just seen too much and knew the only way to survive was to pretend it didn’t really matter.
Half an hour later, Freeman had changed into street clothes, but remained in the locker room. He knew he should get going. His mother would be waiting at the hotel to continue the tongue lashing that had thankfully been delayed by his coach. But that’s not what kept him there.
Beside him on the bench sat a stuffed panda bear thrown onto the ice after his performance. He was still holding the note that had been clipped to it as Robby entered. They’d been through a lot over the years, coming up together through the ranks. Robby was the first one to offer anything even resembling friendship. He had never seen such a deep sadness on Freeman’s face before. Freeman handed him the paper. The scrawl read:
The only black and white baby we wanna see is this one.
Robby’s stomach turned, far more upset by it than Freeman appeared to be.
“Guess that’s what it means to be black in a very white sport,” Freeman said softly.
“Forget it,” Robby suggested, holding the paper away from his body as if it carried a deadly virus. “It’s just one narrow-minded jerk.”
“Come on, man. I know what everybody thinks of me. It’s been that way since I came to the seniors.”
“No way. Show me one skater who’s treated you different.”
“Okay, maybe not the skaters, but what about the audience?”
“If they don’t like you, maybe it’s just because they don’t like you. You could be plaid for all they care.”
“What about the judges? They’ve never given me a break.”
“Get in line,” Robby said, sitting beside him. “They’re just a bunch of frustrated old farts who never made it and spend their pathetic lives punishing anyone who does.”
“That’s real comforting.”
“Sometimes the truth is tough to swallow, so it’s easier to come up with an excuse, right?”
“Hey!” Freeman shouted, his eyes flaring. “You may know what you’re doing on the ice, but don’t pretend you have a clue about what it is to be me!”
As soon as the words escaped, he regretted the outburst. Robby was his friend. Maybe the only one he had in the sport. His tone softened to match his defeated expression.
“You don’t know what it’s like.”
Robby had given hundreds of interviews, answered the most challenging and ridiculous questions ever conceived, but at that moment he had nothing to say.
“What the hell do they want from me?” Freeman asked, not expecting an answer.
Outside, Brody patrolled the halls, not sure what he was waiting for, but like a good hunting dog, his instincts told him to sniff around a little longer. He spotted Glenn a few yards away holding court with the press.
“That boy’s gonna need a case of Chapstick before this is over,” he murmured.
He looked at his watch. Robby had been in the locker room a good fifteen minutes. Freeman, even longer. He imagined one of two possible scenarios. Either they were at each other’s throats, or together, they were plotting Glenn’s demise. He entered casually, innocently. No violence had been perpetrated, but he immediately sensed the tension. He’d been in enough angry locker rooms to know. Robby and Freeman stared up at him like two boys caught smoking in the school bathroom.
“Everything okay in here?”
Robby handed Brody the note, happy to be rid of it.
“No!” Freeman yelled, jumping to his feet.
“It’s okay,” Robby assured him. “He’s cool.”
Brody’s first thought was that Robby was either incredibly naive or just plain stupid to offer his trust so easily. He felt sorry for him.
No wonder he gets screwed over.
Then he remembered Robby’s warning in the elevator. Don’t trust anybody.
Maybe he’s not as tough as he wants everybody to think.
Brody read the note, but wasn’t shocked, reluctantly admitting to himself that any one of his friends or good neighbors back home could easily have been the author.
“Hey, if they don’t like you cause you’re black, screw ‘em!” he said, crushing the paper in his fist and tossing it in a trash can. “It just proves how good you are. Otherwise, they wouldn’t care.”
He and Robby exchanged a concerned look over the stone cold expression on Freeman’s face.
“You have plans for tonight?” Robby asked, completely forgetting Paige’s invitation.
“Yeah. I figured I’d break into a few houses. Slash a few tires. You know. The usual,” Freeman answered.
“You want company?”
“No.”
Freeman grabbed the nylon strap of his duffel bag, threw it over his hunched shoulder, and strode out the door. Robby stood, circling like a caged rat, then seized his water bottle and hurled it across the room. The thud echoed as it smashed against the wall. The plastic cont
ainer rolled along the tile floor, coming to a halt at his feet. He stared at it. He wanted it to splinter into a million pieces, but there it was, defiantly intact.
That’s it. Case closed, Brody thought. Freeman’s the one they’re after.
He didn’t have to play games anymore. He’d tell Robby who he was, get a quick interview, talk to Freeman and his coach, and then start writing the story.
“Hey, look. I have to tell you something. I’m not—”
He was interrupted by the muffled sound of angry voices. Robby and Brody rushed outside. A huge brute of a man with blond peach fuzz covering his scalp had Freeman pinned up against the wall.
“You keep your freakin’ hands off my sister or I’ll kick your black ass back to the jungle you came from,” he said, his meaty forearm crushing Freeman’s throat.
“Hey, man,” Freeman gasped, trying to take in air. “She’s a big girl. She can make her own decisions.”
“Just stay away. I ain’t kidding. We’ll kill you.”
Brody clamped a hand on the young man’s shoulder and yanked him back. Releasing Freeman, the attacker spun around, ready to fight. Brody threw up his arms.
“Easy there, partner. Nobody wants any trouble.”
“Stay outta this, dickhead,” he said, digging his finger into Brody’s chest.
“Come on, man. I’m just tryin’ to do my job. I’m supposed to keep these guys in one piece. They ain’t jigsaw puzzles, y’know. You rip off an arm or a leg, I can’t just Crazy Glue it back on.”
The attacker eased his threatening stance slightly.
“Now nobody here wants to cause you any grief,” Brody continued with a placating smile. “So why don’t you and your friends grab your white sheets ‘n ropes and head on home?”
A confused look crossed the young man’s face.
Damn, Brody thought. I worked with cows smarter’n this guy.
Satisfied that he’d made his point, the intruder cast one last deadly look at Freeman, then left.
“Now what the hell was that all about?” Brody asked, scanning Freeman’s body to see if it was intact.
Freeman dashed down the long corridor. He had nothing to say. Not yet. He had to think. More questions would be coming. The secret was out and now everything would change.
He ran past Glenn who was finishing up an interview. Kylie looked on, her bare arms crossed, wondering if he noticed she was wearing her tightest, shortest dress.
“I expected the biggest threat to come from Robby. He really gave me a run for my money. I don’t know if I’ll be as lucky in the long program,” Glenn said to the reporter.
“Do you think he deserved to be in third place or is he being punished by the judges?” the man asked, forcing his hand-held recorder closer to Glenn’s face.
“I think they were just throwing the old man a bone. Tomorrow night, if they’re on, it’ll be a different story.”
Kylie looked away, hugging herself even tighter. Suddenly, she was cold. She’d seen Glenn use the false modesty routine countless times before. He didn’t believe it for a minute, but if it made the others ease up even a little, he figured it was worth it.
He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and gave her a quick kiss. Camera shutters clicked. Glenn thanked the reporters one last time, hesitated long enough for a few more pictures to be taken, then led Kylie away.
Robby and Brody watched them depart. Robby’s thoughts immediately turned to Paige. He didn’t want to think about skating tonight and needed to be with someone who felt the same way.
“You were about to say something back in the locker room,” he said.
Not yet, Brody thought. Cool your jets. This is too easy. You have to be sure. You’re not gonna get a second chance.
“Yeah…uh… just that I thought you were great today. No matter what happens, those bastards can’t take that away.”
Robby wanted to believe that.
“We’ll see,” he said.
Chapter 5
Knowing they would be on display, most of the skaters still settled for the hotel restaurant after the competition. Only the heartiest souls were willing to brave the frigid Vermont night in order to look for cheaper or more private dining accommodations. No matter where they went, they would be spotted. Why waste the energy running around town?
There were polite smiles as their eyes met those of curious onlookers making their way to their tables, as well as countless interruptions for autographs.
Glenn allowed himself a celebratory glass of Chardonnay—after he looked around for judges and journalists. Kylies hand tightened around her glass. With the index finger of the other, she traced patterns on the orange table cloth, wondering why she threw away good money on a manicure Glenn would never notice.
As she swirled the golden liquid until it almost leapt over the rim, she pictured the glass shattering with one shard flying across the table and lodging right between Glenn’s eyes.
If he dies, make sure to wipe the glass clean of fingerprints, she thought, stifling a chuckle at the fantasy she regularly allowed herself. Forget about it. He’s yours, at least for a hour or two. Enjoy it while you can.
“You think they’ll print what I said about Robby?” he asked.
“I think… we should forget about skating and just relax,” she said, leaning closer.
He didn’t flinch.
“Whatever you want,” he said.
She wanted him to kiss her. Or to slip his hand under the table and between her thighs. Instead, he opened the menu and pretended to read it. Why he bothered, she didn’t know. He always ordered the same thing. Chicken. No skin. Boiled vegetables. Diet Coke.
She needed another drink. He wouldn’t like it, but she was tired of worrying about how everything looked. Scanning the large room for their waiter, she caught sight of Ralph Ratner coming toward them.
“Jesus Christ!” she said, pressing her fingers to her temples. “Can’t we have one night alone?”
“Lower your voice,” Glenn begged. “We’ll have plenty of them once I stop skating.”
“Yeah, but by then we’ll be too old to care.”
“Look, you know I’m going through a lot right now.”
“You’re always going through something. Competitions, tours, TV specials, commercials. When does it end? When are you going to love me as much as you love skating?”
Glenn looked deeply into her eyes. Not an ounce of warmth emanated from him. The silence frightened her.
“Kylie, don’t make me choose.”
“Looks like you already have,” she said, gulping down the last of her wine.
“There he is. Mr. Gold Medal,” Ratner said, patting Glenn on the shoulder, then quickly slipping into the chair beside him. “Great job. How about that crowd reaction? They love you. That should really help with the sponsors. You take home another gold medal next month and I think we’re talking the cover of the Wheaties box.”
“Excuse me,” Kylie said, grabbing her purse. “I know you two must have something important to discuss and it couldn’t possibly involve me.”
Glenn clenched his teeth, his eyes following her as she disappeared into the bathroom.
A few yards away, Freeman sat squeezed between his parents in a booth that had more than enough room for them, even though his mother appeared to be suffocating. He’d endured her complaints about the seating for ten full minutes. Reminding her that they came late and didn’t have a reservation didn’t even make a dent. At first, he was glad when she finally let it drop short of claiming it was a government conspiracy, but now wished she’d stayed on that subject.
“All I’m saying is the United States is not the only country in the world. If they don’t want you or can’t appreciate your talent, you can skate somewhere else,” she said, straightening her napkin for the third time.
“That’s right, his father added. Better to be a big fish in a little pond.”
“If I skate for another country, I’ll be admitting I wasn’t
good enough to make it here,” Freeman said, fingering a fork he hoped she wouldn’t notice had water spots.
“The end result is all that counts. Thank God I had the foresight to maintain your dual citizenship,” she continued.
“You mean last summer when we vacationed on Lake Turkana—”
“All you have to do is establish that you’ve lived in a particular place for a specified amount of time. Now we petition the Kenyan federation and enter you in their national competition. Considering they have no one else of world class quality, they aren’t in a position to say no.”
“Suppose I win U.S. Nationals?” he said, sitting up straighter.
“Let’s be realistic, darling.”
“You don’t think I can do it. You don’t think I’m good enough,” Freeman said, his whole body tensing.
“We didn’t say that,” his father insisted, unconvincingly.
Freeman jumped to his feet, rattling the place settings as his thighs jammed against the table.
“Where are you going?” his mother asked.
“To brush up on my Swahili. Looks like I’m going to need it.”
Robby was on his way through the lobby when Freeman rushed past him without a word. He didn’t have much time to think about his friend’s problem, whatever it was, because he now had one of his own.
“Surprise!”
Frozen in place as his mother threw her arms around him, Robby leaned over so she wouldn’t have to stand on the tips of her toes to kiss him.
“Mom. Dad. I thought you couldn’t—”
“We had to be here since it’s the last time,” she said, licking her thumb and wiping a lipstick stain from his cheek.
“It is, isn’t it?” his father asked.
“Yeah,” Robby responded.
His mother hooked her arm around his waist.