by Lisa Luciano
He staggered as he ran out the door. His mother pulled money from her purse, dropped it on the table, and followed him out. He was already behind the wheel.
“You can’t drive in that condition,” she yelled through the closed window.
He started the engine.
“TJ, please,” she begged, pounding her hands against the glass. “I just want to talk.”
He lowered the window halfway. It was enough for her to reach in and pull the keys from the ignition.
“Give em back!” he shouted as he grabbed for them.
“Let me drive,” she said.
“No.”
“Then let me come with you.”
He considered her request, then unlocked the passenger side. She slid in beside him and held out the keys. He snatched them from her.
“Where are we going?” she asked as they headed down an unlit dirt road.
He jammed his foot into the gas peddle.
“Slow down,” she said as the speedometer climbed past seventy.
“I’m in control.”
“Yes, but if you’re stopped by the police…”
“Now that would be inconvenient,” he said with a nasty grin. “You’d have a lot of explaining to do before tomorrow night.”
A car approached from the opposite direction. Momentarily blinded by its headlights, TJ’s hands seized the steering wheel as the front tire dropped into a rutted shoulder. The car swerved violently and slammed into a pole, demolishing the front. TJ’s head bounced off the steering wheel as his mother’s forearm punched the windshield. A spider’s web of cracks displayed the point of impact.
“Are you all right?” she shrieked, cradling her wrist.
He leaned back and felt the dull sting of a large red bruise over his right eye. “Perfect. Now I have a matching set.”
She took his head in her hands and examined his face as he sat back, still dazed. She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek to his.
“Thank God.”
A siren pierced the night air. She looked around. There were no witnesses, but flashing lights were quickly approaching. She jumped out of the passenger side, ran around with amazing agility in her four inch heels, and tried to pry open his door. The crash had buckled it.
“Help me,” she said desperately.
Together, they forced it loose.
“Slide over.”
He stared at her.
“Move!” she shouted, pushing him across the seat as she slid in behind the wheel. She took a deep breath. The police car slowed and stopped behind them.
“Say nothing. I’ll handle it,” she commanded.
“What about your reputation?”
“To hell with my reputation.”
TJ marveled as his mother transformed herself from a resolute matriarch into a helpless woman who was frantic that she had nearly cost her and her son their lives by a careless misjudgment along a deserted road. One officer scribbled on a pad as the other headed for the two way radio, unaware that they were watching the greatest performance ever given by Sally Ann Tomasson, Olympic champion.
Barbara Donovan was dozing in the world’s most uncomfortable chair where she’d sat, ate, and slept for the last two days. The ringing phone startled her. She checked her husband who was sleeping peacefully. It hadn’t disturbed him.
“Hello?”
“Can I speak to Mr. Donovan?” requested the voice of a young woman she didn’t recognize.
“He’s not in any condition to take calls. Who is this?”
“It doesn’t matter. Can you give him a message?”
“What is it?”
“There’s something he needs to know about his son.”
Chapter 17
A cannon exploded inside TJ’s head as he dove into the cool water. The subsequent ringing in his ears was the only soundtrack to the movie playing over and over in his mind. He kicked and stroked, but couldn’t escape the memory of TV lights blasting him back into a small corner and the lenses that were mere inches from his face, sharing the limited space with microphones suspended from long-armed booms as their operators nestled at his feet trying to stay out of camera range.
A freakin’ side show, he thought. If that’s what winning means…
Coming quickly to the surface for a gasp of air, he looked around, saw he was alone, and submerged again.
“It ain’t worth it. I won’t sell my soul to those leeches for a medal. Not even for her.”
His chest pounded, forcing him up once more. He shook his head like a rain-soaked puppy, then groped for the edge of the pool, waiting for his vision to clear. Water cascaded from his body as he took hold of the metal rail and stepped up onto the deck.
“Here,” a voice called.
He gratefully grabbed the towel extended to him and pressed it against his face. “Thanks.”
A young woman dressed in a business suit stood before him. He could feel her large dark eyes running over the tight bulges of his body that were not covered by his Speedos. He was tempted to do the same to her, but the surprise of her unexpected appearance overtook any erotic thoughts.
“How did you get in here?” he asked, staring at the laminated press pass hanging from her neck.
“You’d have been proud of me,” she said, tossing back her shoulder-length silky brown hair. “It was so easy. I got a job at a local newspaper. All you need is a badge and a camera, and the guards’ll let you go anywhere. It’s not like a rock concert where you have to worry about groupies. Everybody knows skating fans are different.
He perused every corner of the room as casually as possible. The solitude that he enjoyed moments before now made him uneasy.
Oh, I get it, he thought. Dale. That son-of-a-bitch put her up to this to get back at me for the shower scene. Good one. He almost had me fooled.
“That was a nice thing you did with the flowers,” she said.
“What?”
“The ones I sent. I checked. They weren’t in your room.”
TJ had always delighted in shocking people. Now he didn’t find the idea of being caught off balance quite so amusing.
“Come on. The joke’s over.”
“What joke?” she said with no hint of amusement on her unremarkable, but pleasant face.
Holy crap. This chick’s for real.
“You were in my room?”
“Yes. I waited for the attendant to start cleaning one of the rooms down the hall and then I stole the sheets off her cart. She had to go get more and that’s when I snuck in. I figured since the flowers weren’t there, you must’ve donated them to a local hospital or something.”
His instinct was to scream at her. He felt violated. But something told him he had to think clearly. She was carrying a purse big enough to contain a gun or a knife.
“Yeah. I…”
“Did you really like them? I picked them because I thought they were your favorites,” she said, crossing her arms over the cream-colored silk shirt that was tucked beneath her wool jacket.
“Yeah, I like… carnations,” he said, taking a wild guess.
A smile broke across her face.
“I knew it,” she said.
He exhaled.
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” she began, following him as he tried to ease his way toward the locker room. “Why don’t you ever wear my earring? I know you got it. I’ve been looking at every picture of you since Nationals and haven’t seen it once.”
She was wearing a single diamond earring exactly like the one he had received. A matching set, TJ thought. Like two lovebirds.
“Oh. It was you?” he asked, summoning the most innocent expression he could produce.
“I told you about it a million times in my letters,” she said a bit more impatiently. “I get lots of letters.”
“Not like mine. I mean, I know you’re busy, but when you sent me that picture signed ‘Love, TJ’, I knew you understood.”
He clamped his eyes shut, almost
afraid to remember his conversation with Dale about a year ago.
“What are you doing?” Dale asked, frowning at TJ. who was sitting beside him on the plane signing glossy 8x10’s.
“Giving these frustrated little honeys a thrill.”
“You’d better not. Somebody might take that seriously.”
“Oh, come on. I ain’t Michael Douglas and these babes certainly ain’t Glen Close.”
“You don’t know what someone’s capable of.”
“Hey, if they want to wrap themselves around me, I ain’t gonna complain,” TJ answered.
“Don’t make a joke out of it.”
“Relax. Nobody’s creeping in the shadows waiting to jump me.”
“Maybe not, but be careful. Don’t mess with somebody’s life. You may not take it seriously, but they do.”
The woman stared at TJ with her mouth hanging open slightly. He squeezed the towel, twisting it like a noose around his neck.
“I have to change.”
“Wait. Don’t you notice anything?”
He froze.
“My outfit,” she said, pointing to her shirt. “I know it’s the color of the costume you’ll be wearing for the long program. I figured it’d make it easier for you to spot me in the crowd.”
“That’s… really nice,” he said, wondering if he sounded sufficiently appreciative. “I know next year will be hard for you, being the defending champion and all, so you’re going to need good friends around. But don’t worry. I’ll be at every competition. Even if I have to quit my job. You can count on me.”
TJ felt like someone had rammed an icicle down his spine.
“Look, you can’t just follow me around,” he argued.
“Don’t worry. I’ll protect your playboy image. I know you have to do that. I know that’s why you have all those girls around all the time. The press will never know about us.”
“Us?”
“We belong together. We’re so much alike. I know everything about you. And once you get to know me—”
“You have to understand. I don’t have time for a girlfriend.”
“I can wait,” she said eagerly. “I know we’re meant to be together. I’ve always known it. Since the first time I saw you. But when that psychic told me—”
“A psychic told you we were going to be together?”
“Yes. But I didn’t really need to hear it. I knew it all along in my heart.”
He posed, one hand at his waist, the other squeezing his forehead.
“Okay. Let me explain the facts of life to you,” he said, then caught himself. Wait a minute. Why am I letting this sicko scare me? ‘Ill just give her what she really wants.
He looked into her eyes with the fixed gaze of a soldier waiting for the command to attack.
“Are you going to stand there like the Venus De Milo all night?” he asked, impressed that he’d found a way to utilize one of Dale’s fancy-shmancy terms.
She didn’t move. TJ gently wrapped his fingers around her shoulders. Slowly, his hands slid down her arms, stopping at her tiny wrists. He pulled slightly and before she could resist she was leaning against him.
Forcing himself to kiss her lips that were rigid with fear, he noticed the heavy layer of make up she was wearing to cover the pimples dotting her face. As he drew her closer, she edged her hands around his waist and gripped the strong muscles in his back.
“You’re shaking. Are you cold?” he asked.
“No.”
“Relax. We’ll just generate a little body heat and you’ll feel much better.”
He tugged at the first button of her blouse.
“Stop!” she shouted as she slapped his hand away and took several steps back. “Hey. This is what you’ve been waiting for, isn’t it?” he said, moving toward her. “No!”
You’re not going to get a second chance,” he said.
As she stood considering his pronouncement, a sudden rage rose within TJ. He wanted to throw her to the ground and punish her until he saw terror in her eyes, but he was stopped by something that had haunted him since he was old enough to remember accidentally overhearing his mother tell a friend the story of how she was raped in the backseat of a convertible on a deserted road outside a small Canadian town twenty years ago.
Like father, like son, he thought.
Then all at once, the anger turned inward. He loathed himself for even considering it.
“Get out of here,” he said, staring coldly at the confused young woman. “Please let me stay,” she said, running to him and grasping his arm. “I’ll do anything you want.”
“I know.”
“Then why don’t you want me? What did I do wrong?” she asked.
“You fell for an asshole.”
He eased her toward the door, but she viciously threw his hand off her shoulder. “You can’t come into my life, turn everything upside down, and then just blow me off!” she screamed. “I know what you want. I’ve watched you looking at every woman in every rink. And you always pick the same ones. The sluts. The whores. If that’s what you want… I can be that for you.”
Oh my God. She’s a Looney Tune. Think fast.
“Do you know why it’s always that kind of girl?” he asked with his sweetest smile.
“Isn’t it obvious? They’ll give you anything you want.”
He shook his head.
“It’s a cover. I’m…”
“What?” she said, her rage dissolving into motherly concern.
“You said you watch every move I make. All those years at the rink, who did I spend most of my time with?”
“Your coach.”
“And who else?”
“Dale, but…”
He stared at her and nodded.
“And what does the skating grapevine have to say about him?”
She hesitated.
“Go ahead. Say it.”
“He’s gay,” she muttered.
“Right. And we’re real good friends.”
Her brain wanted to explode. This wasn’t possible. She knew everything about him. Why wouldn’t she have figured that out?
“I’m sorry,” he said.
TJ was so proud of himself. He had pulled it off. Now all that was left was a wistful wave as she sailed into the sunset. Instead, her eyes lit up.
“I can do anything Dale can.”
Oh, great. She’s gonna fight for me.
“No, you can’t,” he said coldly.
“What do you mean?”
His lewd grin told her all she needed to know. She wouldn’t share him. Not that way.
“I’m counting on you,” he said with a heart-wrenchingly helpless look.
“I understand,” she answered, pulling her shoulders erect. “I’ll keep your secret.” She shyly pecked at his cheek. “I almost forgot,” she whispered as she dug into her purse and withdrew a small plastic bag. “This is for you.”
He hesitated, then took it.
“I paid off the regular guy to let me bring it to you.”
TJ examined the contents, then dipped his finger into the white mixture and tasted it.
“Good stuff.”
He held it out.
“Want some?”
She shook her head. He shrugged.
“Yeah…well… thanks.”
“Good luck,” she said as she watched him walk into the locker room.
Willie Wasser entered the hotel lounge. It wasn’t the kind of place he had frequented in a very long time. He left those days behind in the rubble of his first marriage to the girl of his dreams who didn’t believe in happy endings. Glenn sat at the end of the bar with a cigarette in one hand and a Scotch in the other. Wasser eased his tall frame into the seat beside him. He winced slightly. His knees ached with arthritis earned from a lifetime in the sport he still loved.
“I hear you’re going to quit,” he said, gazing into the mirror behind the bartender at the image of two very tired men, one of whom was scared stiff by the knowledge of whe
re the other was headed because he’d been there himself.
Glenn took a large swig, then coughed as the bitter tasting substance slid down his throat. Wasser snatched a stale peanut from a plastic dish and tossed it in his mouth.
“So, it’s not enough to just throw your skating career away. You’re going to put your life in the garbage too.”
“Why waste time when I can kill myself twice as fast?” Glenn said without a hint of humor.
“You think you got nothing to live for? What about dat wonderful little girl who’s so crazy about you?”
“She found out what a phony I am.”
“And dat means she don’t love you no more?”
“I wouldn’t blame her.”
“You got dat backwards. You’re not mad cause she don’t love you. You’re ready to spit nails cause you just figured out that you don’t love you.”
“When did you get a degree in psychology?”
“I learn more dan any head shrinker just hanging around watching you guys.” Glenn pushed his empty glass away and signaled for a refill.
“Don’t tell me what to do. You’re not my father.”
Wasser slower pivoted his seat to face the young man who was hunched over the bar top, ready to fall asleep.
“Too bad. Den I could kick your ass around the room and knock some sense into you.”
Glenn didn’t want to hear anymore. He reached into his pocket and realized he wasn’t carrying any money. He never did at these events. Ratner or his coach always took care of everything. He asked the bartender to put it on his bill and gave him the room number. Then he used what little strength he had to stand. He wobbled as he took a step. With surprising agility, Wasser jumped up and pulled him back onto his seat.
“Hold on. You’re right. I’m not your father, but I think I know what he’d say if he were here now. He’d want you to be happy. De day your parents were killed…”
“Don’t go there,” Glenn said, raising his hand as a shield.
“Dey were going to that competition because dey wanted to see de look on your face when you won. Dey wanted to share your joy. Look at you. You’re miserable. Do you think dat’s what dey wanted for you? The greatest tribute anyone can pay their parents is to be happy.”
A mixture of liquor and bile climbed up Glenn’s esophagus, finally lodging at the base of his throat.