The Chosen Ones

by Lisa Luciano

  Glenn checked his fly and made sure every gold button on his costume was in place. Confident that Dimitri’s marks had disappeared, he knew he should head for the ice, but couldn’t make his legs move. His feet were anchored to the damp carpet.

  “Ready?” Forsythe asked, mustering a semi-confident smile.

  Glenn shook out his arms and circled.

  “Second thoughts?” the distinguished looking man asked, fingering the pipe in the pocket of his jacket.

  “And third and fourth,” Glenn said, wanting desperately to laugh. “This is it. Whatever I do here is how they’ll remember me.”

  “If you believe that, don’t even bother taking the ice.”

  “What?”

  “You had your moment four years ago. It was real. It was forever. If you think winning tonight will give you some kind of immortality, you’re wrong. That’s inside of you and the people who’ve loved you and supported you all these years. That can’t ever disappear.”

  “Are you saying I’m not good enough to win?” Glenn asked, his mouth so dry he could barely talk.

  “I’m saying you can’t expect to. Think about how it was that first year after the Olympics when you were touring. You were tossing off one great performance after another. Then the second year, if you skated clean four out of five shows, you were happy. The next season, three out of five was good enough. By last year, you were grateful for one or two really good performances a week. That’s what happens. That’s what getting older is about. Losing control. No matter how much you might want it, it’s not there.”

  “Why are you doing this now?” said the young man, shaking with anger. “Because I want you to go on the ice with your eyes open. Maybe you’ll skate well. Maybe you’ll even win. Just don’t think beating these guys will solve all your problems. Sometimes the mark of a champion isn’t winning. It’s knowing when to stop trying.”

  Glenn received a rousing ovation from the capacity crowd. He drank it in, his arms raised to acknowledge the spectators as he took his opening position.

  “I can do this. I’ll show that son-of-a-bitch. I’ll show them all.”

  Forsythe smiled.

  “That’s it. Get angry. Hate me. Hate the whole damn world. But don’t give up.” Glenn completed the first few elements like a demonstration. Technically correct, but without passion.

  “I’m surprised,” Brigitta said. “Usually, Glenn is more involved with the audience. It’s almost as if his mind is somewhere else.”

  “He seems tight.”

  “Yes. He’s at a disadvantage.”

  “How?” the other commentator asked. “He’s the defending champion.”

  “Exactly. He has something to protect. He knows he has a less difficult combination than the others. And he knows Robby and Dimitri skated clean. He can’t afford a single mistake.”

  There wasn’t one. Glenn finished. It wasn’t his best performance, but considering his limbs were nearly paralyzed with lactic acid from the effort he put out, he would take it. The top scores of the night were posted.

  “I don’t get it,” the announcer declared. “He did less than Donovan, but got better marks. So did Polnikov. How do you explain that?”

  Brigitta smiled.

  “I don’t. I’m not a judge.”

  A few feet off the ice, TJ stood next to Conway, waiting for the crowd to settle. His mother was a short distance away, but he didn’t care and she knew it.

  “Say something. Anything,” he implored his coach.

  “Okay. Glenn’s got first place. What do you need to do?”

  “Call a cab?”

  “Oh no,” Conway said. “You’re not going to brush this off with some smartass joke. This time you don’t get off the hook. Come on! Show them! Show those bastards who’ve put you down. Who said you’re all flash and no substance. Who said you’ve got no guts. Show them you can beat them at their own game.”

  He raised his hand and TJ slapped it with such force that it stung long after the program was over.

  The two and a half minutes rushed by with an intensity that impressed even his coach. As a sizable Canadian contingent screamed its approval behind a mass of red and white flags, TJ jumped into Conway’s arms knowing he was in the lead. But the joy was fleeting as the reality suddenly kicked in.

  Oh my God, TJ thought. I am good. Maybe even the best. And I just showed everybody. Damn. I could win the Olympics. What have I done?

  It was a bit sloppy, but being the last skater and the fact that he completed all his elements, the judges will probably overlook it, Brigitta explained.

  “Is he the leader going into the long program?”

  “I wouldn’t bet against it.”

  Her words had barely escaped when the first place marks lit up the arena, followed moments later by the complete standings. TJ McNally—first. Glenn Chandler— second. Dimitri Polnikov—third. Robby Donovan—fourth. Dale Fisher—fifth. There was a mixed reaction from the audience.

  “Sounds like some booing. What’s that about?” the commentator asked Brigitta. She didn’t have to see it. She knew somewhere out there Ralph Ratner was smiling.

  “I think some people felt Glenn should be in the lead. Or perhaps that Robby should have been higher in the standings. But it’s really unimportant. Any of the top four can win.”

  “So Donovan still has a chance?”

  “Yes. It’s not over,” she said, her eyes failing to locate him as they desperately searched the sidelines.

  The warm water pelted Dale’s body that was stiff from exertion and stress. He turned in the cramped shower stall and opened his eyes. His normally sharp vision was clouded. He blinked and jerked backwards at the sight of a man standing before him with a six inch knife suspended over his head. The blade swiped at him. He dodged it. Again it came at him, just missing his chest. There was nowhere to run. His only chance was to disarm him. He tried to grab his wrist, but couldn’t. Suddenly, the attacker withdrew his arm and stepped back. The fluorescent lights revealed his face, a demonic grin curving his lips at the corners.

  “You bastard!” Dale shouted.

  TJ roared with laughter as he tossed the knife to Dale who juggled it, and then realized it was plastic. He stared at it for a moment before dropping it to the floor. Pushing past a still giggling TJ, Dale wrapped a towel around his waist.

  “I knew you could be stupid and thoughtless. But I didn’t think cruelty was in your bag of tricks.”

  “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

  “Neither have you,” Dale answered with a chilling finality. “Playing these sick games isn’t funny. It’s an escape. If you don’t get serious about something, you can’t fail at it, right?”

  “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  “I know one thing. Someday you’re going to come up against someone or something that shakes you to the core. Then maybe you’ll grow up.”

  Chapter 15

  “Sir, I’m sorry, but no one without a pass is permitted beyond this point,” said the security guard, dropping his arm like a border gate in front of a man of about forty.

  “I just wanna see my kid,” he said, watching the skaters spill out of the backstage door.

  Dale tried to shake TJ, but he continued to trail him like a faithful dog as they emerged.

  “Will you leave me alone?” Dale demanded.

  “Not till you let me apologize.”

  “And that’s supposed to make everything all right?”

  “What else can I do?”

  The man shuffled his white patent leather shoes nervously. He looked up as Dale and TJ passed by.

  “Hey, Tommy!” he shouted.

  TJ felt the earth crack beneath him, but he continued walking. Only one person he knew would call him by that name. The man’s plaid sport jacket flapped open as he hopped the railing and ran to catch up.

  “Tommy, it’s me.”

  TJ looked coldly into the stranger’s eyes. He had never heard th
e voice before and yet knew it as if it had reverberated in his mind a million times.

  “Sorry,” TJ said. “I don’t sign autographs.”

  The intruder’s dyed coal black hair and formidable tan suggested no resemblance, but the structure of the face was undeniably the same.

  “Your mother told me you had her mouth,” he said, popping a knuckle on each hand.

  Dale stood by, unintentionally eavesdropping on the conversation.

  “You’ve talked to her?” TJ asked.

  “She called me. Right after you were born.”

  “You forgot you had a kid twenty years ago, so I guess it’s not too hard to forget our phone number,” TJ said.

  “I worry about you.”

  “What happens to me suddenly means something to you? You get struck by lightning or something?”

  “Come on, Tommy,” the man smiled, displaying a set of pearly capped teeth. “You’ve always been important to me. You gotta understand. I was young. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

  “You didn’t need a manual to get laid.”

  “And I don’t need no bull now. I didn’t think you wanted anything to do with me. Your mother certainly didn’t. I can understand that. So I took off. Then years later, I saw a picture in a newspaper. There was my kid. A world famous athlete. I was here on business, so I just came to see how you’re doing. If you need anything. How are you set for money?” he said, reaching for the bulge in his back pocket.

  “Keep it,” TJ said.

  “Okay. Have it your way.”

  “I always do.”

  They stood silently.

  “Look, kid… is there anything I can do?”

  “Yeah. Turn and walk away. You already know how to do that.” His father chuckled, shook his head, then left.

  Paige finally found Robby sitting alone at a table in the corner across the large room being used as the competitor’s cafeteria. Enticing aromas from various international dishes filled her nostrils as she rushed over to him.

  “Where have you been?” she asked, noticing the food on his tray hadn’t been touched.

  “Funny. You don’t look like my mother.”

  “You disappear for an hour and we’re not supposed to worry?”

  He glared at her.

  “Okay,” she said, throwing up her hands in surrender. “I was just wondering if you wanted to talk about the short program.”

  He leaned back and folded his arms.

  “Sure. Let’s see. I skated great and got screwed. Next subject.”

  “You think this is funny?”

  “Am I laughing?” he said, glaring.

  She pulled out the metal folding chair beside him and dropped into it. “Can we discuss the long program?”

  “In a word? No.”

  “Don’t you care?”

  Robby began to laugh as he slapped his palms against the table top. Paige looked around, hoping no one had noticed.

  “Will you get a grip?” she begged softly as she leaned in.

  “Yeah, right,” he said, fingering a paper napkin. “Never mind winning a gold medal. The big question is, can you get out of the sport without ending up in the loony bin?”

  “Don’t be so dramatic. It’s not that bad.”

  “That’s funny coming from somebody who bailed as soon as the going got too tough.”

  “All I’m saying is, you’ve come this far. You might as well see it through. You can handle it.”

  “I’m sure that’s what Freeman thought too, until he got so screwed up that he landed in a hospital with his leg ripped apart.”

  Robby crushed the flimsy paper in his fist.

  “That’s one person,” Paige insisted.

  He wanted to tell her about Dimitri, but didn’t.

  “One here. One there. What does the body count have to be before we do something about it?”

  “Do you want to quit?”

  “No. But suddenly the five minutes I’ll spend on the ice tomorrow night doesn’t seem quite so important in the grand scheme of things,” he said, hurling the crumpled wad at his hamburger and fries.

  “So you’re going to let them win.”

  “Who?” he asked.

  “The bastards who run this sport.”

  “If I recall correctly, you’re the one who begged me not to take things so seriously. Well, congratulations. You got your wish.”

  Paige stared at him. Until that moment, it didn’t occur to her that in digging at the core of his being which had always been the skating, it would change the essence of who he was. She felt like an accomplice to a murder. She prayed it was not too late to breath life back into him, so he could once again become the man she loved.

  Before she could speak, Carol rushed over.

  “Where have you been?”

  “They should do something about the acoustics in this place. I could swear there’s an echo,” Robby said.

  He looked at her face. Her cheeks were pale and there was no life in her eyes. “What is it? Not Freeman.”

  “No. It looks like he’ll recover. It’s…”

  “What?” Robby demanded.

  “I just got a call from the States. It’s your father. He’s had a stroke.”

  He jumped to his feet.

  “How bad is it?”

  “They’re not sure yet. He can’t talk or move, but he seems to be able to understand people.”

  “I have to go home.”

  “No. Your mother asked me to tell you not to.”

  Robby’s thoughts went wild.

  Why is Carol lying to me? She’s afraid I won’t skate. I can’t believe she thinks that’s more important than…

  “She needs me,” he insisted. “He needs me.”

  “Robby, listen to me,” she said, grabbing him by the arms and squeezing as hard as she could, hoping the pain would make him focus. “He doesn’t want you there.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “Your mother told him she was going to call and ask you to come home and he got very agitated. The doctors are afraid that any stress at this point could be dangerous.”

  “Can I at least talk to him?”

  “They don’t think it’s a good idea for you to have any contact.”

  “Wipe that sick look off your face,” TJ said to Dale. “I’m fine. Come on. I know a good bar near here.”

  TJ led Dale into a small club. The sweet scent of marijuana carried them to a long bar adjacent to a dance floor where people gathered in front of the stage awaiting the appearance of the live band. A huge video screen hung above the audience. Dale winced at the volume of the music. TJ signaled the bartender to bring two drinks.

  “How could you talk that way to your father?” Dale asked.

  TJ spun around, dug his elbows into the edge of the bar, and squinted at the apocalyptic video being projected for the crowd that numbered about two hundred.

  “That loser wasn’t my father. My father would’ve been there for me. Back then when I needed him. I don’t need him now and I don’t want him in my life.”

  “They why did you try so hard to find him?”

  TJ wasn’t sure if he was angry or embarrassed, but he knew he didn’t like feeling so exposed.

  “You think I didn’t notice that you disappeared every time we were in a new city? Where did you go?” Dale asked.

  “Freakin’ Sherlock Holmes,” TJ said, shaking his head. “I’ve been placing ads in the local papers, inviting him to come to the show. Told him to meet me at the stage door.”

  “Did you know the odds of him seeing that and responding?”

  “About the same as me becoming an Olympic champion. But hell, I’m a gambler. Besides, what else do I have to do with my lousy life?”

  “Are you satisfied now?”

  “Totally. He turned out to be the jerk I thought he was. Damn nice of him not to blow the image. Saves me a fortune in Father’s Day cards,” TJ said, eying a pair of obviously underage girls.

  “You�
�re such an asshole.”

  “Okay, college boy. How would you handle it?”

  “With my brain. Cogito ergo sum. I think, therefore I am,” Dale pronounced proudly.

  “How about this? Copulatum enjoyatus. I screw, therefore I smile.”

  Two glasses were set down in front of them by a busty waitress.

  “What’s this?” Dale asked.

  “Coke with a kick,” TJ answered.

  He watched TJ take several swigs, then cautiously sipped his. It seemed to go down easily, so he took a large gulp. The liquid fire raced down his throat and into his empty stomach.

  “I feel like I swallowed the Olympic torch,” he gasped.

  The room was completely filled by the time the band took the stage. Performers and spectators alike were clad in leather and jeans. Hair fell past the shoulders of some, others heads were shaved.

  TJ drummed his fingers to the almost indiscernible beat. Dale stared blankly at him hoping he would grow bored as he did with most things and want to leave.

  “Come on,” TJ shouted as he pulled Dale into the crowd.

  Instinctively, Dale resisted, but TJ dragged him further in. They banged into a young man whose unfocused eyes had grown into large black circles. He gave Dale an open-mouthed, demonic grin. His breath was heavy with the smell of beer. Dale squeezed past him and fought to stay with TJ despite the pushing and shoving.

  What little self-control TJ possessed had been stripped away by liquor and frustration. Dale yelled, but the music was too loud for his pleas to be heard. As bodies flew at them from the stage, Dale realized there was nowhere to run. They were wedged in on all sides.

  TJ took the slamming as a challenge and tried to retaliate, but he was smaller than most of the others. Dale tried to stop him, but was buffeted like a sailboat in a hurricane. He slipped to the floor and landed on his shoulder. TJ snapped out of his stupor and reached down. He could see sneakers and boots on top of Dale who had curled into a ball to protect himself. With strength he didn’t know he had, TJ yanked Dale to his feet and pushed him to the exit, punching and slapping as they went. Dale gripped his arm and cringed in pain.