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The Chosen Ones

Page 23

by Lisa Luciano


  Outside, people wandered and whispered.

  “Somebody should see how he is,” Dale said.

  TJ resisted, then followed him into the locker room. It seemed like the right thing to do. It wasn’t something he worried about very often, but he figured it was worth a try.

  They found Robby sitting on the bench, mechanically wiping the blood from his blades just as he had done with ice shavings a thousand times before.

  “See? He’s fine. Come on. I’m no good at this emotional ‘my buddy’ stuff’,” TJ whispered.

  He fled before Dale could stop him. Dale slowly approached Robby who didn’t acknowledge his presence.

  “You saved his life,” Dale offered. “That’s all that’s important.”

  Without taking his eyes from his skates, Robby responded.

  “Then what the hell are we all doing here?”

  TJ reveled in the job of talking to reporters. Robby was equally happy that someone else was running interference because it allowed him to sneak out. He told Carol he wanted to rest, but went right to the compound entrance. His knees began to ache as he stood in the 30 degree weather, trying to look casual. After twenty minutes, he was ready to give up when a large car with dark windows pulled up beside him. The driver’s door opened. A strapping man in a uniform rushed over and grabbed him.

  This is it, Robby thought. I was set up.

  He struggled as the attacker wrenched his arm behind his back. Robby used all the power of his massive leg muscles to hold his ground, but he was no match for the much larger man. With a push from behind, he landed on his hands and knees in the back seat. He barely had time to think of a way to escape when he heard the ring of high-pitched laughter.

  “I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist the dramatic flair,” said a grinning Dimitri who was seated beside him.

  Robby dropped his head back against the seat and exhaled.

  “Oh, man. You scared the crap out of me.”

  Dimitri signaled to the driver and they pulled away.

  The black Lincoln Continental cruised past the city limits. Weather-beaten signs indicated the approaching countryside.

  “I heard about Bennett,” Dimitri said.

  “That was fast.”

  “You know how it is in our world. There are no secrets. At least not for very long.”

  Robby nodded. If Dimitri only knew.

  “I’m sorry. Was he a close friend?” Dimitri asked.

  “As much as you can be in this business.”

  “Will he be all right?”

  “They’re still working on him.”

  “I envy him.”

  “What?” Robby asked, startled.

  “At least for him, it’s over.”

  Dimitri looked beyond the hills. His eyes softened as if remembering a pleasant dream.

  “This reminds me of home,” he said.

  “You grew up on a farm?”

  “More like an oversized refrigerator. My parents and brother lived on a farm. I was allowed to visit once every six months… if I was skating well.”

  “Why didn’t they come to see you?”

  “They couldn’t afford the trip.”

  Money, Robby thought. Does everything come down to that?

  “I’ve been to Russia, but I’ve never had time to look around,” he said. “What’s it really like?”

  “Not very much different than here,” Dimitri answered, looking at an open field stretching into the distance.

  He called to the driver. The car stopped and he stepped out.

  “Come.”

  The driver sputtered a few ominous sounding phrases to which Dimitri calmly responded before closing the door. Robby had learned a little Spanish in school and wondered if in his travels he should’ve paid more attention. He suddenly felt very stupid and very arrogant. The car crept a few feet behind as they walked along a dirt road.

  “What did he say?” Robby asked.

  “He said he thinks we’d be safer back in the Olympic Village.”

  “A little pushy for a chauffeur.”

  “But not for a bodyguard.”

  They exchanged glances, then Robby suddenly stopped walking.

  “What’s that smell?” he asked.

  “This is where they keep the judges,” Dimitri said, pointing to a mountainous brown stack of manure before releasing his infectious laugh once again.

  “I guess I’ve always thought of Russia as a dark, unhappy place,” Robby said as he scanned the peaceful countryside now shadowed by threatening storm clouds.

  “Russia is beautiful and so are it’s people when we allow ourselves to come out from behind the masks.”

  “But things are better now, aren’t they? You’re free.”

  “Yes. Free to figure out how to pay for what was given to us before. Free to find a way to fix our decaying training facilities and keep open the sports schools that used to be government funded. A lot has changed… and a lot hasn’t. If my coach knew I was here with you…”

  “What’s he afraid of?”

  “He’s not afraid,” Dimitri explained. “He’s simply a wise man. Sport was everything to my people. We excelled and it gave us something to be proud of. Now you’re a reminder of what we wish to, but somehow can’t manage to be. There are many who would consider me a traitor for even talking to you.”

  “So what are we doing here?”

  “Breathing,” the pensive young man said, filling his lungs.

  Robby kicked a small stone in his path.

  “It’s a pretty brave thing to do,” Robby suggested.

  “Courage is for fools and desperate men.”

  “You’re not a fool.”

  Dimitri leaned his face over to a dappled cow chewing near a weather-beaten wooden fence and did his best imitation. The seemingly indifferent animal bellowed a response. He patted her head to no further reaction. A gravel-faced man in baggy overalls joined them and emptied the cow’s bulging udder into a rusty bucket.

  “Mornin’, lads,” the man said with a wave of his rough-skinned hand.

  Dimitri nodded. Robby smiled. The car crept behind them like an impatient shark as the driver rested his cheek against one hand and guided the steering wheel with the other.

  “This is my last competition,” Dimitri declared.

  “What? Why?” Robby asked.

  Dimitri turned back and pointed to the farmer.

  “You see him? He’s very poor. A simple man who knows nothing of the world. But he’s happy because no one expects him to be anything more. When I skate, I carry the weight of millions on my back.”

  “That just goes with the territory,” Robby said, not really knowing what it meant to compete with the hopes and dreams of anyone but himself at stake.

  “But don’t you see? I can’t win. No matter what I do, I lose. Before all the changes, the government gave me anything I wanted, and my people resented me for it. Now I earn what I have from endorsements and sponsors, and they still hate me. Some even threaten my life and the life of my child.”

  He looked once more at the farmer.

  “I have more than he will see in his entire lifetime. But it is he who sleeps soundly at night.”

  “How does your wife feel about this?”

  “Ask her lover.”

  The frigid wind whipped around their ears, but Robby knew the chill running down his spine had nothing to do with the temperature. It was time to go back. To what, neither man knew or even dared to think about.

  DiNatale leaned against the wall as Mr. and Mrs. Bennett stared at him from across the corridor. He’d been in hospitals many times before, but usually he was the one being carried in. If he had his way he’d rewrite the dictionary listing pain as a synonym for athlete. But this was different. They’d stitch Freeman’s leg. It was his heart, his coach suspected, that was beyond repair.

  He inhaled. The smell of alcohol stung his nostrils, but at least it kept his mind from wandering. The youthful looking doctor whose face
still bore traces of acne emerged from Freeman’s room.

  Uh oh, DiNatale thought. Mama ain’t gonna go for Doogie Howser treating her baby.

  “Everything is reattached. He’s resting comfortably,” said the young man whose clipped British accent matched his crisp, white coat.

  “What about his skating?” Mr. Bennett asked.

  The doctor shook his head.

  “There was just too much damage. I’m dreadfully sorry.”

  He walked away.

  “He’s a child!” Solange Bennett yelled. “Isn’t there someone with more experience—”

  Her husband clamped his brawny hands on her shoulders. She searched his eyes for a solution.

  “It’s done,” he said.

  “No,” she insisted, shaking her head as if she could change things just by the sheer strength of her will as she had so many times before.

  “It’s my fault. I should have told you the truth sooner,” said DiNatale.

  “About what?” asked Mr. Bennett, still dazed by the doctor’s pronouncement. “Didn’t you see him cracking a little at a time? At Nationals. He wasn’t hurt. He was scared. He’s been hauling his entire race around with him since the day he was born.”

  “We all do. It comes with the territory,” she said.

  “You had no right to lay that on him. It’s not fair.”

  “Is it fair that beautiful little boys and girls grow up to sleep on the streets?” she questioned as her eyes flickered with a cinnamon flame. “Is it fair that children who don’t know anything but poverty and abuse think the only way out is to stick a needle in their arms? Is it fair that my son is lying there because none of us took the time to hear him cry for help? Fair? You tell me what’s fair, Mr. DiNatale.”

  “What’s not fair is that you’ve brainwashed him into thinking any of this is really important. It’s a damn sport. Not life and death. The people who work here are the ones we should be cheering,” he said, waving his arms in the air. “They have an off day and it’s sayonara to somebody’s mother or brother. We hold these kids hands and beg them to hang on for four minutes. Try doing brain surgery for six hours. Jesus! We don’t need coaches and choreographers. We need a freakin’ reality check!”

  “Finished?” she asked.

  “I think we all are,” he answered.

  Mrs. Bennett took a moment to dab her cheeks with a silk handkerchief. For the first time, her eyes met DiNatale’s, not in anger, but in shared grief. She took a deep breath and led them into Freeman’s room. His bandaged leg was hidden beneath the bed sheet. Leslie was by his side, her hand over his as it cradled her stomach.

  “How you doin’,” baby? Mrs. Bennett said, taking her stand directly across from Leslie on the other side of the bed.

  Freeman was still a little groggy from the anesthetic used during surgery, but he knew one thing. He wanted to be completely coherent and enjoy the moment when he told his parents that he and Leslie were getting married and that she was pregnant. It could wait. Instead, he stared at the ceiling and chuckled.

  “Free at last. Free at last. Thank God, Almighty. I’m free at last.”

  Chapter 14

  On her way to the arena Brigitta gazed out of the limousine window at people rushing to their countless destinations and suddenly she knew. Everything that had been so important would soon be forgotten. The titles. The moments. All she had worked for would fade. A new champion would be crowned. She thought she would be ready. She was wrong.

  Putting those thoughts away until the unavoidable moment of agony awaiting her, she eagerly made the rounds at rinkside like Miss America taking her final walk down the runway before assuming her position in the broadcast booth. She would talk to anyone to avoid going up there. The moment had been planned, but the actual acceptance of it was more difficult than she imagined.

  Her mind should have been on the performances at hand, but it wasn’t. All she could think about was that for a few more days she was still the best skater in the world. Now she would be made to watch her crown wrenched away without a chance to defend it. The finality of it was almost more than she could stand.

  Brigitta reluctantly stepped into the glass cage and took a seat beside a middle-aged man dressed in a tuxedo. She noted and enjoyed the fact that he was staring at her breasts, barely hidden by the low cut scooped neck of her simple, but elegant black evening dress.

  Welcome to Birmingham, England. With me is the newest member of our team, six-time Swiss national champion, two-time world champion and reigning Olympic gold medalist, Brigitta Besch, who’ll give us her perspective on the competition.

  Every muscle in Brigitta’s face tightened as her deep brown eyes locked onto the cameras glowing red light. She wasn’t sure she fully understood the lingo, but she’d repeat the speech as she’d memorized it.

  Skating is such an unpredictable sport, you can never count anyone out, but I really think it’s going to be a three way battle for the gold. The routines of the top skaters are so jam-packed with difficulty that there’s just not a lot of room for error. TJ McNally from Canada would have to be one of the odds on favorites to win. I talked to him earlier and he said he’s pumped and ready to go for it. I’ve never seen him look better. Because of the reoccurrence of an old injury, Glenn Chandler is a question mark at this point, but he’s the defending champion and has the most experience, so you can never count him out. Robby Donovan…

  Something seemed to catch in her throat.

  “Robby Donovan… looked good in practice… but the last time he faced Chandler for the title, he skated perfectly and it still wasn’t enough. The word is he put together two new programs just in the last month, so we’ll see.”

  “Isn’t that pretty risky to start over so late in the game?”

  “Robby’s full of surprises and the most determined man I’ve ever known. If anyone can pull it off, he can.”

  “Well, you should know.”

  Brigitta felt a twinge in her stomach. She hoped her face didn’t betray her feelings.

  “You were… partners,” the announcer added, hoping she would elaborate.

  “Yes. We were, she responded with a look that clearly indicated it was time for a commercial.”

  Carol was rinkside, surveying the condition of the ice as the resurfacing machine laid its final coat of water on it, so she could report any possible areas of trouble to Robby.

  “Well, this is it. Now or never,” came a voice from behind that had been making Carol’s skin crawl since she was a skater herself.

  Jocelyn Bailey-Whittaker. Thirty years as a judge; an accomplishment the American Skating Federation recently celebrated and every eligible skater secretly mourned.

  “We assume that the reason your boy hasn’t shown his programs in practice is all part of some elaborate strategy, but honestly my dear, is all this subterfuge really necessary? We’re here to help you.”

  Carol scanned her chunky body that was squeezed into a size-too-small peach-colored dress that should have covered the skin over her wrinkled knees, but didn’t.

  “Help us? Like you did at Nationals?” Carol asked as sweetly as possible.

  “My advice worked, didn’t it?”

  “Robby came in third.”

  “Which is a lot better than he might have. Now why don’t you just tell me what he’s going to be doing?” she suggested, her diamond bracelet rattling as she laid her hand on Carol’s arm.

  “The best he can,” Carol said, silently slapping the hand away with her eyes. “Your attitude certainly won’t help him.”

  “Neither does your advice.”

  “Have it your way,” the woman said, indignantly lifting her ample bust up a bit higher. “I just hope he’s not foolish enough to overextend himself. His programs are always far too ambitious. All those jumps may impress the audience, but it will go harder on him should he fail to complete every element… since all he has is his technical ability to rely on. Much better to do less and skate clean. Remember,
Olympic champions don’t go down.”

  Go to hell, Carol thought as she watched the woman march haughtily toward another coach.

  Fool, Bailey-Whittaker declared silently as she headed for her next victim. Paige waited outside the men’s room for Robby. He didn’t need a guard or a babysitter. The simple fact was that she and Carol had nothing to say to each other, and she didn’t feel like playing the ‘Oh, it’s been so long. You look wonderful. Kiss. Kiss.’ game with the few people she knew.

  Robby stood before the mirror, smoothing out the foundation make up he hated wearing, but knew was necessary to avoid looking washed out under the camera lights. The scent of disinfectant ground into the floor tiles irritated his sinuses, but he was relieved to be away from the hysteria building outside.

  He thought he was alone until the muffled strains of music lured him toward one of the stalls. Slowly, he approached and peered beneath the closed door. He recognized the costume. It was one he had seen before. He debated as to whether he should make his presence known when suddenly the door swung open. He and Dimitri were face to face. The dour young man pulled off his headphones, and though he was glad to see Robby, could not manage a smile.

  “Guess this is it,” Robby offered.

  “For me, anyway.”

  “Are you really going to do it? You’re going to quit?”

  Robby didn’t intend to sound so judgmental.

  “You couldn’t possibly understand,” Dimitri said as he started to walk past. Robby grasped his arm.

  “I want to.”

  He released him and hoped for a response.

  “I hate my country,” Dimitri said, as if all the emotion inside him had been scraped away, leaving an empty shell.

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “All my life I’ve been told what to do. Don’t you tell me what to feel!” Thoughts that could not be spoken aloud in his country came pouring out of Dimitri.

  “We were heroes. And we were happy to make our people proud. Why did they take everything away?”

  “I don’t know. I…”

  “When I go home, the same people who gave me bouquets now spit on me. They rob my house. Vandalize my car. What have I done? I was a boy who dreamed of being a champion, and through hard work, I did it. For that I’m ridiculed and hated.” He took a long pause. “I can’t go back.”

 

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