by Lisa Luciano
“We have to talk,” he said to Robby. “Alone.”
Brody eyed the two women suspiciously.
“It’s okay,” Robby said. “I have no secrets from them. I trust them with my life.”
“I hope you mean that, cause I did some checking. Juergen was murdered.”
Chapter 12
“They moved the damn buoys!”
Brody’s words bounced like a pinball inside Robby’s head as he, Carol, and Paige sat in the stands of the practice arena.
The old guy I talked to said Hub was too cheap to spend his own money. My guess is somebody offered to fix his dock for free. Those divers were a plant. They must’ve been hired to watch Juergen’s routine. Once they knew he’d be out there that day, they swam to the island, changed the position of the markers, then waited for him to ram head on into it.
“Why didn’t the police notice they’d been moved?” Paige asked.
“Maybe there was too much commotion or maybe… somebody got paid off to look the other way. Then once everybody was gone, they put ‘em back.”
They finally had the how, but the who and why still hung in the air. Glances were exchanged. Someone had to say it. Brody let Robby do it.
“They killed him to stop our tour.”
He fell back against the seat.
“Yup,” Brody agreed. “And there’s only one group of people I know with the smarts, money, and balls to do it.”
“Okay,” Carol said, wringing her hands together. “They got what they wanted. There’s nothing more to worry about, right?”
Brody shook his head.
“I’ve dealt with these scum before. It ain’t never enough. I’ll be honest with ya. I got a real bad feelin’ about this. I’d be willin’ to bet the farm they ain’t finished yet.”
“Screw the federation. Screw the whole freakin’ country!” TJ proclaimed as his mother trailed him through the Olympic Village processing area that was crawling with arriving athletes and coaches.
“They want to give you the honor of carrying our flag at the opening ceremonies, and you’re just tossing it back in their faces as if you couldn’t care less,” she said, trying to keep up with his defiant strides.
“By George, I think she’s got it.”
“Doesn’t representing your nation mean anything to you?”
“Tell me,” he said, turning on her. “The athletes are supposed to vote for the flag bearer after they all arrive. How do you know who they’re going to pick? ESP?”
“I… I…just know—”
“That you already pulled the strings to get me in.”
He smiled as he continued walking. She followed sheepishly, determined to work on him later. They reached the photo I.D. section.
“Take a seat, please,” said an exhausted looking man, indicating a chair facing a camera.
TJ ran his hand across the top of his head. He was still getting used to the new buzz cut he got out of pure boredom and a desire to infuriate any and all skating officials. His mother wasn’t too pleased with the goatee either, which was hardly in keeping with the prescribed look of a world class skater.
He mugged several times, then finally settled down to permit a usable picture to be taken. He examined the finished laminated pass.
“Boooooring,” he sang, as he snatched it up, twirled the neck chain around his index finger, and headed off.
“Forget it,” Dale said, offering a pleasant smile to the numerous athletes walking through the busy halls, looking as he was for their dorm rooms.
Andre put his arm around the smaller mans shoulder, but Dale shook it off.
“Can’t we discuss this?” Andre asked.
“No.”
“You’re being irrational.”
“Wanting to keep my private life private is irrational?”
“Not using an international forum like this to speak out is a crime.”
“So are same sex marriages in most of the world,” Dale countered.
He looked at the door. 105.
“This is it,” he said.
Andre grabbed Dale, pulled him into the room, then slammed the door shut.
“Listen, you stupid little bastard. I didn’t give up a thriving coaching position just for the honor of standing in your shadow when a self-righteous, homophobic establishment finally deigns to give you one of their ridiculous medals, which won’t be worth anything if you stay in the closet!” he sputtered, the artery in his neck throbbing as it bulged beneath his pale skin. “Our only chance is to step forward and force the world to acknowledge who we are. If you win, they’ll have to accept it.”
“You’re wrong,” Dale said.
“Well, let’s get that precious little hunk of gold in our hands and find out.”
“Don’t you understand? If I make who I am off the ice the focus, then the skating was all for nothing. I won’t be Dale Fisher, Olympic champion. I’ll be Dale Fisher, the gay Olympic champion.”
“And the problem is?”
Dale didn’t know this man who was practically wrenching his arm out of the socket and knew now for sure that he no longer wanted to.
“Let go,” Dale said calmly.
Andre wondered if he was referring to more than his fingers that were locked onto Dale’s arm like a vice. He released him.
“Andre, you’ve been in skating all your life. You know how it works. You try to force something like this on these people and they’ll dig their heels in even deeper.”
“So we just sit here like monks in a cloister with our thumbs up our asses and let them call the shots?”
“No. We do the best job we can. Nothing else really matters, does it?”
“You really believe that, don’t you?” Andre said, with a condescending shake of his head. “Poor boy.”
He began to walk away. Dale was concerned. He’d given in too easily.
“Where are you going?” Dale asked.
“To take care of some long overdue business.”
Skating was not well represented at the Opening Ceremonies. Dimitri wanted every minute he could have with his daughter back home. Robby hadn’t shown up yet either. He needed the time to put the finishing touches on his new programs and deferred to Brody’s opinion that he’d be safer in a familiar environment.
Freeman had arrived claiming a reoccurrence of the injury he suffered at Nationals. As a result, his parents deemed it wiser for him not to spend hours standing on a cold, damp stadium field during the festivities, and though they knew better than to bring it up again, they had no burning desire to see him march behind the American flag.
Glenn was in no rush. He’d been down this road twice before and could manage no more than a meager smile as he made his way through the terminal with Ralph Ratner and Alex Forsythe by his side. Cameras followed him from the moment of his arrival at Heathrow Airport. He was on auto pilot as he politely accepted flowers and a peck on each cheek from a blonde, sallow-faced young woman. He appeared to have aged in the weeks since Nationals.
The last time the world saw Glenn, he was suspended from a golden cloud. Now the feet that danced what seemed like a foot above the ice, dug furrows in the carpet. His gaze darted past people just as his mind was looking beyond this week. He wanted it to be over as much as he feared what would follow.
“I heard Donovan made some changes. Should we be worried?” Ratner asked Forsythe.
“Hard to say. The judges won’t like it. They don’t appreciate surprises.”
“Then he’s screwed.”
“Not necessarily. Depends on how good the programs are.”
“Could he win?”
Forsythe enjoyed seeing a few beads of sweat forming on Ratner’s upper lip.
“We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?”
“I don’t think so,” Ratner said. “Because I don’t like surprises either.”
The first time all the top contenders were together was two days into the Games at the official draw ceremony to determine the
order of skating for the short program. Brody stood with Willie Wasser, only occasionally glancing at Robby who was flanked by Carol and Paige. All had agreed Brody should remain undercover until he found out something definite.
A man with a protruding belly pushing at the buttons of his expensive suit jacket held a black velvet bag aloft like the Sword of Damocles, ready to drop it on some unsuspecting necks.
“The numbers are inside. Let’s begin,” he said, addressing the assembly of competitors, coaches, and media crowded into the meeting room. “The skaters will draw in alphabetical order by country.”
One by one, each of the twenty-five skaters who qualified stepped forward, reached in, and withdrew a small folded piece of paper. Dale went first for Canada. The official adjusted his half-moon glasses a little lower on his nose.
“In the twelfth spot is Mr. Fisher.”
“Of course,” Andre sneered. “Throw him to the wolves. We know what that’s about, don’t we? Well, we’ll see who gets the last laugh.”
“It’s not that bad,” said Dale.
“Sure. If you don’t care about winning… And we do care, don’t we?”
Dale met Andres hard look, then turned his attention back to the action.
TJ sauntered up, pretended to sneak a look inside, then snatched a number from the bag and tossed it to the flustered and totally not amused official. Sally Ann Tomasson lowered her head in embarrassment.
“Mr. McNally has chosen the twenty fifth position.”
“Good, good, good,” TJ’s mother chanted, unwilling to hide her delight.
“Mr. Pedorov, please step forward.”
Dimitri took his turn.
“Russian champion, Dimitri Pedorov, will be twentieth.”
Dimitri smiled, but not because it was a good position. He had just checked his watch. By now little Sasha was fast asleep in her bed clutching her favorite doll, the one he gave her. The image of her serene face and the thought that he would be seeing it again soon was the only thing that could make the next two weeks bearable. His coach stood beside him and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Five from the end. Could be worse. He would take it.
“Now, the United States.”
Freeman came up and selected his number.
“Bennett will be skating fourth,” the official declared.
“I don’t believe this,” said Freeman’s mother, squeezing her folded arms together, practically strangling herself. “Well, it’s very clear what’s going on here.”
Freeman caught Leslie’s eye from across the room. They had been careful not to spend any time together in public since arriving at the Village. Now that he knew he had virtually no chance of winning because of such an early draw, he didn’t care what anyone thought. Slowly, they made their way out.
“Mr. Chandler?” the official called several times.
Heads began turning. Ralph Ratner glared at Alex Forsythe, then jerked his head, commanding Glenn’s coach to do the honors. The official cleared his throat, waiting for the buzz to die down.
“Now we will see who is in favor and who is not,” Wasser whispered to Brody.
“Former gold medalist, Glenn Chandler, has chosen the twenty-third position.
“Exactly,” Ratner said with a self-satisfied grin as he rushed from the room.
That left only one person. The official held out the bag for Robby, challenging him to have the courage to pull out the final number. As Robby went to dip his hand in the bag, it was yanked away.
“What are we doing?” the official laughed. “Of course, we know what’s in there. The only number that’s left. That means the first skater of the men’s competition will be Mr. Donovan.
He extended his palm toward Robby, then lead the crowd in stunned applause. Robby refused to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing him panic. He returned to Carol’s side. She wrapped her arm around his waist and held on for dear life, not sure who was holding who up. She closed her eyes, hoping this was a bad dream in response to what she knew was the equivalent of a death sentence for Robby. Paige clamped her hand to her mouth and shook her head in disbelief.
“Is that bad?” Brody asked.
“Only if he wants to win,” Wasser said pragmatically. “De judges always hold down de first skater’s marks to make room for those to come.”
“That’s nuts.”
“No. Dat’s skating.”
Freeman and Leslie huddled in a corner of the outer lobby. They knew as soon as the ceremony was over the entire skating community would be surging through the doors.
“How’s your… injury?” he asked, gazing down at her stomach.
“She s—”
“Or he.”
“It’s doing just fine,” Leslie said, beaming up at him.
“How about you?”
“Will you relax? I’m taking good care of myself. I quit, didn’t I?”
“And you’re all right with that?” he asked.
“As long as we’re together, I couldn’t care less about skating.”
“But we’re not together.”
“That’s not my fault,” she said, trying not to sound too accusing. “Neither was me getting pregnant.”
“Are you saying I planned this?” he snapped.
“No, I—”
Freeman took a step back. Leslie refused to relinquish her grip on his hand.
“Oh, I get it,” he said. “You think I’m jealous and I did this to keep you from racking up any more titles.”
“What’s the matter with you? I never said—”
“You think I’m afraid if you won the Olympics you’d be too good for me?”
“No,” Leslie insisted. “But apparently you do. How could you think anything could change the way I feel about you? Or is it your feelings that’ve changed… or been changed for you?”
He looked into her beautiful, trusting eyes. For once, Freeman was grateful for the dozens of people headed their way. He let go of Leslie’s hand and lost himself in the crowd.
Brody mingled as he continued to scan faces, not sure what he was searching for until one caught his attention. Alex Forsythe’s eyes were focused on the bag, now safely shoved under the official’s arm.
“Reverse de order and there are your medalists,” declared Wasser.
“Somethin’s up,” Brody said, not even hearing Wasser’s comment, noting instead the two men in front of him, one of whom was grinning like a glutton anticipating a hearty meal.
Upon closer examination, Brody saw they were wearing press passes. Both were from British newspapers. He leaned in to listen to their conversation.
“If the draw doesn’t finish Donovan, my article will.”
“You’re really going to out him?”
“Oh, don’t pretend to take the moral high ground. You’d kill to be able to do it.”
Oh crap, Brody thought. Just what the kid needs.
He interrupted them.
“Scuse me. Could we have a private chat?” he asked, anchoring his arm around the first man’s shoulder and leading him away.
He checked the name on the pass.
“Look here, Nigel, old buddy. If you want some advice, you’ll 86 that thing. Donovan ain’t gay.”
“Not that it’s any of your business,” he said, casting an indignant look back at him. “But can you prove it?”
Brody wanted desperately to tell him about Robby and Brigitta.
“No,” he said instead.
“Then it’s case closed, old chum.”
“No. It ain’t like that. It’s just that I’d be violatin’ a confidence.”
“Then I stand by my story. I have a very good source.”
“A source that has somethin’ to gain if Donovan is out of the picture?”
“I have no idea what his agenda is, but have you ever known anyone without one?”
Brody slapped him on the back a little harder than he had to and casually shrugged his shoulders.
“Hey. It’s your ass. But let me tell y
a, there’ll be lawyers back in the States linin’ up quicker ‘n you can say where’s the unemployment office, ready to sue everybody from your editor to your grandmama if you’re wrong.”
The haughty expression left the man’s face.
“You’re bluffing to protect him,” he said.
“Oh yeah? Then take your best shot. America’s waitin’ on ya. The land of life, liberty, and the pursuit of litigation.”
The man departed looking considerably more nervous than before his exchange with Brody.
“Gotcha,” Brody said, firing an invisible gun.
“What was that all about?” Robby asked as he came over.
“Nothin. Just do me a favor. Don’t kiss nobody with a penis in public.”
Ratner finally found Glenn in the lobby on a cellular phone.
“Kylie, I know you’re there. Pick up the damn phone! Please, baby. Don’t do this. I need you. The short program’s tomorrow night. Please come. I…I’m counting on you.”
Ratner tapped him on the shoulder.
“Good news. You got the next to last slot. You’re a shoe-in, bro.”
Glenn reluctantly turned off the phone and glared at Ratner.
“Ralph, I know this is the kind of thing your wet dreams are made of, but obviously you’ve mistaken me for someone who gives a crap.”
The first men’s practice was scheduled for the next day, but Freeman was late. He was holding his own private practice before the bathroom mirror. Swaggering statements of blustering braggadocio were hurled at his parents in a confrontation of epic proportions until a knock came at the door.
He walked over slowly, disheartened, but not surprised to be confronted by his mothers dispirited face. He wasn’t struck by her physical attractiveness as he imagined others were. She wore a brown leather skirt and jacket with matching stockings, shoes, hat, and purse. An attractive, but deceptive package since he knew that the person who dwelled beneath those wrappings would momentarily reduce him to a quaking adolescent. She rolled her eyes as she looked around the room that had been converted into a temporary dormitory for the athletes.
“Uh,” she said disgustedly. “This is worse than I thought. Your father was absolutely right. You can’t stay here.”