by Lisa Luciano
“Very nice,” his mother responded.
She glanced at her husband as he withdrew a cellular phone from his jacket.
“Do you think for once you could get that damn business off your mind and concentrate on our son?” she hissed.
“You spend enough energy on him for the both of us,” he said, dialing the number. “And just for the record, it’s that damn business that pays for all this.”
He walked away, searching for a quiet spot, as his son rushed to center ice to make the most of the time left. Freeman circled backwards, crossed one foot in front of the other and exploded, landing a perfect triple loop. He smothered a hint of a self-satisfied smile and set up one more jump. This time he took off, but pulled up short. He squeezed the back of his leg. He wanted to try it one last time, but the competitors were directed to leave the ice by the P.A. announcer.
Brody stood beside Willie Wasser who scrutinized each skater. His eyes followed Freeman as he disappeared into the tunnel.
“Go,” he said to Brody. “See what you can do.”
Freeman was thankful the training room was empty. One hand firmly gripped a wash basin as the other reached for his ankle. He pulled his face toward his knees. There was no sign of strain. Brody entered. The young man immediately stood up.
“How is it?” asked Brody.
“The leg’s better.”
“I meant you.”
He didn’t answer. Brody inched closer.
“Let me take a look.”
“It’s okay.”
“Will ya at least let me earn my paycheck?”
Freeman sat on the table with his legs hanging over the edge as Brody searched for the knotted muscle. His thigh was a mass of taut fibers. Brody continued to probe. Freeman winced.
“There?” Brody asked.
Freeman nodded.
“Yeah, I can feel it,” he said, massaging Freeman’s leg with his fingers.
They were both lying and they both knew it.
“You know, you’re cute, but I’d much rather be doing this to a luscious babe,” Brody said, feeling him relax slightly. “I know what’s bothering you.”
There was no response.
“You think you’re the only person to ever get scared?”
“I’m not scared,” Freeman protested.
“If you don’t admit it, you’ll never get past it.”
“I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about.”
We’ve come this far. Don’t fall apart on me now, DiNatale thought as he slurped the tepid water he hoped would be cold.
He stared at the metal fountain, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then slowly approached the training room. He paused briefly to read the printed sign that said ‘Competitors Only’. Looking down the length of the hallway at skaters going through their pre-performance rituals, some attempting to stay warm, others trying to contain a volcano of emotions, he felt like an accomplice to a crime. He took a deep breath and pushed open the door.
“Okay. I want to know right now. Can you go out there?”
“What the hell is going on around here?” Freeman said, yanking his leg out of Brody’s hands. “Do I have a sign that says ‘head case’ glued on my back or something?”
“Hey, come on. I know the look. I’ve been there. I fought guys like these tooth and nail for twelve years before I finally got out. There’s nothing you’re feeling that I haven’t known,” DiNatale said.
“You used to be black and had crazy parents?”
“You’re half right,” he joked. “My father worked construction all his life. Just like his father. How do you think it went over when he saw his only son tip-toeing across the ice? I screwed half the women in Boston just to prove to him I was straight. My mother wore out her rosary beads.” He clasped his fist to his chest. “Antony,” he said with a thick Italian accent. “You killin’ you fada, you little son-a-ma-bitch.” He shook his head. “I even got married just to please them. So don’t hand me that garbage about how your parents don’t understand you.”
DiNatale knew Freeman was a dam about to burst. Brody slowly backed away, though he doubted either man was aware of him at that moment anyway.
“I’ll make you a deal,” DiNatale said. “How about if I promise not to say a word? No comments. No judgments. I’ll just listen. I’ll even keep my hands behind my back.” He yanked his arms out of sight. “Then you know I can’t talk.”
Trust didn’t come easily to Freeman. In his world, friends were rivals. Judges were disguised assassins. Even his parents’ suspicions of everyone from the costume designer to the man behind the ticket counter wore on him. He had to take the chance. Before he could step on the ice again, he needed to know somebody would stay by his side not just because it was politically correct or there was something in it for him.
“I don’t know,” he began tentatively. “I feel so good when I first go out there. Really pumped. Then something happens. I’ll do a jump and it’ll just be right there! I mean, I nail it and then all of a sudden, it slips away. I want to show everybody I’m the best damn skater ever because that’s how I feel, but I can’t because they won’t let me.”
“Who?”
Freeman’s eyes searched the floor.
“You mean Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum? That’s a crock of you know what,” DiNatale said, freeing his hands from their self-made prison.
“So much for I’ll just listen,” Freeman said.
“That only applies when you’re being straight with me. Man, I thought you had more balls than that.”
“I do,” Freeman insisted, only half-believing it himself.
“Where are you hiding them? Under mommy’s skirt? Let’s turn on some music so you can tap dance to her tune.”
“Nobody tells me what to do.”
“Oh, then it’s not a matter of being intimidated. You’re just a run-of-the-mill coward.”
“I’m not scared,” Freeman said, squeezing his long fingers into sizable fists. “Then why the Hop-a-long Cassidy routine? If you don’t try, you can’t fail, right?”
“I’m really hurting.”
“Okay,” DiNatale said, unconvinced.
He scratched his forehead that was throbbing like the bass drum of a marching band.
“No. Not okay.”
He was watching Freeman suffocate and had to stop it.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
“A cure for AIDS.”
“Come on, man. Cut the crap. What’s going on inside your head?”
Freeman slowly slid off the table, his blade guards hitting the floor with a thud. DiNatale tried one last time to penetrate the smoke screen.
“Get rid of it. Wipe it out. They don’t belong there,” he said bitterly.
“I can’t. I can’t do it, man. I can’t go out there and blow it again,” Freeman said, finally dropping the pretense. “I never wanted to be number one. Maybe in the beginning, but when it didn’t come easy, I stopped trying. I stopped caring.”
“You chicken shit!” DiNatale shouted.
“Hey, man. Take it easy,” Brody said, forcing his body between DiNatale and Freeman.
Team trainer. Hell! They should’ve hired me as the team bouncer.
DiNatale shoved Brody out of the way with surprising force considering he was the smaller of the two by a good thirty pounds.
“Don’t push me,” Freeman warned, backing up a few steps.
“Why not? What’re you gonna do? Beat me up? Come on. Come on! For once in your life, have some guts. Come on! Hit me!” DiNatale taunted sticking out his chin.
Freeman swung blindly, connecting with DiNatale’s cheekbone. Reeling from the blow, he shook it off, stood straight, and prodded him again.
“That’s it? That’s the best you can do? The wimpiest guy in my old neighborhood would’ve kicked your ass. Maybe we should get Mommy to fight your battles for you.”
Freeman’s charged forward and plowed DiNatale into the wall. Th
e smaller man jammed his hands against Freeman’s chest to get some distance between them. DiNatale had not accounted for the amount of strength Freeman’s fury would unleash. All he could do was defend himself.
“This isn’t the first or last time I’m gonna get my lights dimmed. If it helps the kid, it’s worth it.”
He closed his eyes as he saw the roundhouse punch heading for his already twice-broken nose. But there was no contact. Brody had pounced on Freeman and held him in a headlock from behind.
“What the hell is goin on around here? Why are you all tryin’ to kill each other?” Brody yelled, as Freeman struggled to break free.
Freeman resisted for a few seconds more, then stopped. DiNatale slumped to the ground. Freeman joined him as Brody released his grip. The two men stared at each other.
“I’m sorry,” Freeman said.
“Why?” his coach asked.
“I had no right to take it out on you.”
DiNatale moaned as he slowly sat up.
“Better here than on the ice.”
“Thanks, man.”
“Don’t mention it,” his coach said, lightly pressing his fingers to his bruised cheek and wincing. “Just tell me one thing.”
Freeman looked at him.
“Now this is really important,” DiNatale said as he stood and offered his hand.
“What?” Freeman asked, grabbing it and raising himself up.
“How’s the costume?”
Freeman dissolved into a pool of relieved laughter. DiNatale grinned like he’d won the lottery.
“Freakin’ nuts. You’re all freakin’ nuts,” Brody said as the three headed for the door.
Freeman and his coach strode toward the ice as if all was normal. Brody just kept shaking his head. He stopped when he found Willie Wasser sitting in a deserted corner.
“Aren’t you going to watch?” Brody asked.
“Why? I know what will happen. Bennett hasn’t got a chance. He’s not what dey want to represent dem. Even if he were, dey never forgive him for screwing der little darling. Dey let him go to de Olympics to keep his parents quiet, but dat’s all. All dey want is for him to be good enough so dey can place him ahead of Donovan.”
“Why would they want to do that?”
Wasser stared at him as if Brody had suddenly sprouted two extra heads.
“Because Donovan has to be punished.”
DiNatale wasn’t surprised to see Freeman’s limp reappear as he took the ice. It was a great performance, at least as far as the acting was concerned. Sympathy poured out of the audience for the wounded soldier bravely facing the enemy. He chuckled after Freeman landed a jump, knowing that he had in fact, simply forgotten to fall. At the end, Freeman managed a gallant smile, clearly favoring his bad leg as he acknowledged the warm applause.
Nice touch, DiNatale thought, gazing up at the scoreboard.
5.6., 5.7, 5.7, 5.6, 5.5, 5.8, 5.7, 5.8. 5.7
Oh crap, Freeman thought, unable to disguise his disappointment. I’m going to the Olympics.
“Did he deserve those scores?” Brody asked Wasser who had given in and watched the performance after all.
He smiled knowingly as he stroked his chin.
“No.”
“Then why’d he get ‘em?”
“Because as much as dey hate him, dey are more afraid.”
“Of what?”
Wasser cast his eyes toward the Bennett’s. Freeman’s mediocre effort garnered the most demonstrative display his parents had ever shown. They rushed to their son’s side.
“Darling, we’re so very proud of you,” his mother gushed, managing to hug him without wrinkling her outfit.
“How’s the leg?” DiNatale asked, playing his role to the hilt.
“Pretty bad,” Freeman replied, adding a few grimaces for good measure.
“Don’t worry. We’ll get you the best specialist,” Mr. Bennett said as if his son had scored the winning touchdown.
“No. I’ll be okay.”
As they helped Freeman backstage with DiNatale trailing behind, Brody felt sorry for all concerned and wondered when the truth would come crashing down on their heads. He knew better than anyone in the room that inevitably it would and how it would feel when it did. There was nothing he could do and the fact that he gave a moment’s thought to the mini-drama that had just unfolded bothered him.
Keep your distance, damn it. It’s not your problem.
Still, he had to admit that perhaps at least this time the illusion was better than the reality.
“Dey all dying,” Wasser said, snapping Brody’s attention back to the action.
“What?”
“Inside. Don’t you see it? It’s begun. Again.”
Backstage, Robby had found an empty space and was pacing as Carol looked on.
“Remember, one thing at a time,” she said as he passed.
He nodded and turned.
I should’ve asked my parents where they were sitting.
“Don’t rush the triple axel preparation,” she continued.
He retraced his steps.
I wonder if Paige changed her mind and came.
“Relax in the second section. Give yourself a chance to catch your breath,” she concluded.
He rubbed his hands together as he did just before he took the ice. Suddenly, he felt someone take hold of them. He looked up into Carol’s eyes.
“You didn’t come back to end up third. Don’t let them do it to you again.”
He felt her squeeze his fingers. The intensity matched the gaze they exchanged. She slowly released her grip and stepped back.
A strand of hair fell across her face, but she didn’t want to swipe it away for fear she would lose eye contact with him.
“Okay?”
“Okay,” he answered.
They would know very soon. If there was any justice at all, he would make the Olympic team. He was good enough. But he had to be better than good. They would use anything they could to deny him. It forced Carol to do something she hated. She had to lie to him. She’d told Robby to treat this like a practice. Just do what he’s done a thousand times before. No difference. But it was different. There’d be no second chances. It had to be now or not at all.
How incredibly unfair, she thought. Baseball players get three strikes. In football there are four downs. Why is it the only thing the judges and audience will remember of a wonderful skating performance is the one time you screwed up? Because it is.
She had spent enough time debating yet another injustice among many in her life. Only one thought remained.
We’ve come this far. Don’t fall apart on me now.
“Watch,” Wasser explained to Brody as they stood at rinkside. “Dis is what will happen. Donovan will skate better dan anyone else tonight and he will still come in third. Dey have to put him on de team. He’s too popular not to. But dey will send him a message. Dey de ones in charge. It will also devalue him in de eyes of de international judges. Dey have to make sure he don’t win there neither. Being third here will demoralize him and guarantee lower scores at the Olympics.”
“Are you tellin’ me they’ve got this all planned and they’re just gonna move these guys around like chess pieces?”
“Exactly. Always been dis way. Always will be.”
“And everybody just puts up with this garbage?”
“Oh, once in a while someone comes along who thinks dey can do something about it. But eventually, dey are crushed or pushed out. De only way to survive is to give in.”
Glenn looked resolute as he marched back and forth backstage. Kylie stood quietly a discreet distance away. She knew better than to violate his space if she wanted her head to still be attached to her shoulders when the night was over.
The pressure of fighting off hungry young men for years had begun to forge deep lines in Glenn’s forehead. He had sacrificed the morning to insatiable interviewers, but now the cameras were gone and no one dared encroach. There were no friendly commen
ts, no jokes. Only the goal.
He had been hanging back in the far end of the tunnel like he had countless times before. But tonight wasn’t like any other. It was the last time he would skate at Nationals and the last time he’d try to win a title he had dreamed of as a child and was proud to carry four times before. His mind should’ve been looking forward to the performance that was only minutes away. Instead, it veered off into territory he hadn’t explored in a very long time.
He wanted to feel fearless as he once did. He wanted to go out there with the I’ve got nothing to lose attitude of the younger, hungrier skaters he knew were hovering close by, ready to pounce on any mistake. But that wasn’t who he was anymore and he was enraged that he was mourning the loss prematurely.
In the moment, in the moment, he repeated, desperately trying to drive the words into his brain.
Someone offered his hand.
“Congratulations. Looks like you’ve got another one locked up. Bet you’ll be glad to have this one over with.”
Yeah, he thought. And then what do I do with the rest of my life?
“Honey, can I get you some water?” Kylie asked.
Glenn sprinted past her into the locker room, taking long, gangly steps like a frightened duck. Rushing to a shower stall, he turned the knob, then pulled back his arm before the sleeve of his handmade costume got wet. Slowly, he fell against the wall and slid down into a not particularly comfortable sitting position, with his legs bent in front of him and the back ends of his skate blades jammed into the floor. He focused on the rush of the water in order to block out the cheers and groans. That way he wouldn’t know how Robby did. Five minutes should do it. He counted in his head. One hundred one. One hundred two…
John Donovan shifted in the hard wooden seat as he rubbed his thick-knuckled hands together until he felt a satisfying warmth.
“Is it always this cold?” he asked, scanning the massive crowd.
“Don’t start,” answered his wife, nervously twisting her program into a tight funnel.
“I hope Nick remembers to double lock the back door.”
“Good God! Our son’s going to the Olympics and all you can think about is that damn business.”
“He’s been there before. Besides, without that damn business, he wouldn’t be going anywhere… and he ain’t there yet.”