“Oh, now I understand your sudden team spirit. Hillary, he’s a jock and you are on your way to being a brain surgeon. Don’t you see the irony in that?”
“Don’t you see his buns in those tight little pants when they’re running around the field?”
“Good point! Is that ‘wild’ guy going to be there?”
“You mean Wild Bill Hiccock. Yeah! He’s such a hunk a dory.”
“Hunk a what? When did you turn into ‘Gidget’ goes to college?’”
“When did you turn into my mom?”
“Okay what time?”
“It’s at 8, in the big gym. I’ll pass by at quarter to and we’ll walk over together.”
“Fine!” Janice replied reluctantly. As Hillary bounced off, Janice started to call after her. She managed to get her mouth open, but couldn’t utter the words, “On second thought.” Relaxing her stance, she attempted to persuade herself that she wasn’t going for any other reason than to show a modicum of school spirit. Oh God, what will I wear?
∞§∞
At 8:45 Janice sneaked into the back of the gym. The pageantry and theatrics of the band, the drill squad, and the cheerleaders having long since finished their routines, the rally turned into an unofficial social event. She took in the ambiance of the crepe-paper-and-cardboard-decorated gymnasium, enhanced by scratchy music coming from a tinny P.A. system. Soft drinks were being served. Pretzels and potato chips crushed under her feet into the hardwood floor as she searched for Hillary and finally spotted her. The young Ms. Tyler checked her sweater and shifted her skirt one last time before making the walk across the “gauntlet,” diagonally across the gym where she would be seen and noticed by everyone. As she crossed the circle in the middle of the floor that they used for hockey or basketball, or whatever, she once again agonized over whether she had made the right choice in shoes. Should she have stayed with the longer dress being a sure fire match to her sling back pumps? She decided on shorter over matching but only after an hour of “in front of the mirror” indecision. She smiled as she approached Hillary standing there with dopey Brad.
“What happened to you? I waited till five of,” Hillary said
“I was caught up with something and I got here as soon as I could. Hello, Brad.”
“Hi ya” was the double syllabic response which she was sure was a big step for him over the grunts that must pass for communications between Hillary and he. Then she looked at him again and realized this shortstop, linebacker, or whatever he was, was quite a male specimen. Maybe Hillary was on to something, she thought.
In the awkward silence that followed, Janice realized that Brad had noticed her looking at him and turned to scan the crowd. Small clutches and groups had partitioned off talking about this and that. Janice didn’t recognize anyone she particularly wanted to converse with. Then she saw “him,” his protuberant head and shoulders appearing above the four or five obviously “star struck” girls, their mouths open wide as he pontificated on the process of throwing a perfect slider to the catcher-guy. She burnt that image into her retinas for one second longer before forcing her eyes off the spectacle, and continued scanning the room. Her eyes focused back on Hillary who was in the midst of having a heaping helping of Brad’s tongue. God, how can she get her mouth open that wide? Once again, she pried herself away from an image she was riveted to. She found herself looking at Bill again, with his little cheerleaders hanging on every word he spoke. Wonder which one he’ll try to choke with his tongue, she thought as she fixed her gaze at the clock at the end of the gym. What am I doing here? I’ve got to get out of here! She pivoted towards Hillary and the Tongue Monster to say goodbye. It was evident at this point; they wouldn’t have stopped if she had set herself on fire.
Janice left vowing she would never, ever delude herself into going anywhere or doing anything that included Mr. William Hiccock again.
∞§∞
It wasn’t easy and she didn’t know what even possessed her to do it, but she sweet-talked the guy in the ticket booth something awful. The final negotiation to get a 50-yard line seat, right behind where the home team stood during the game, was complete when Janice agreed to relinquish her number. Another thing, out of character for Janice, was that she wore her politically correct school sweatshirt over her big sweater, cinched at the waist by her flared skirt making her appear more… ample. The stadium went crazy when Wild Bill Hiccock was announced over the loud speaker. As he trotted out of the tunnel and over to the sidelines in front of her, the roar of the crowd gave her goose bumps. The goose bumps led to a warm feeling that enveloped her body from head to toe, even on this very cold November day. She suddenly realized that out of the 80,000 people in the stands who were yelling their heads off, it was she who possessed a special, direct relationship with this man they adored.
He was, after all, her subservient worker bee. She was almost dizzy when she realized her mouth was open.
For the first two “innings,” she knew Bill had not seen her, even though she was only some 30 feet away. During the halftime break, as the marching band was finishing a tortured rendition of a song she used to like, Bill returned to the sideline. He glanced over her way and caught her eye. She was pleased when he smiled. She returned his smile and nodded back. Luckily, she started waving a split second after he turned toward the field. She pulled in her hand, reprimanding it for being silly and thankful that he hadn’t noticed. For the rest of the game, they exchanged glances, he to her after a play and she finding him when he came back to the side as Brad’s guys were sent out to stop the other team’s quarterback.
Janice figured it must have been an exciting game because the score was tied and the teams just stopped to rest with only two minutes left to play. People started shouting “Wild Bill.” The guy next to her, his face painted in school colors, said to his buddy, “It’s time for Wild Bill’s shoot out.”
“What do you mean by that?” she asked.
“Lady, if we’re lucky, we are going to see a master of the two-minute drill. This guy calls the plays with no huddles. He’s won four games in the last two minutes like that.”
“Sounds impressive,” was all she could think of to say.
At one point, Bill got the ball and the other team started coming aggressively toward him. The players were being thrown and pushed. Helmets were clacking as the skulls inside of them must surely have been cracked. That would explain Brad’s cognitive skills challenge, she thought. Then one of the biggest, meanest guys from the other team got a hold of Bill and spun him around; Bill almost danced around him and caused the big guy to fall right on his face. Bill then scampered around to the other side of the field and threw the ball from mid-air while he was jumping over a player who had been wrestled to the ground. Bill then turned to the stands where Janice stood. He looked right at her and smiled a big, goofy grin like a little boy who just caught a big fish. Janice was touched. He was showing off to her.
Suddenly, he became a blur as two “tackle men” slammed him to the ground. She winced as she heard the noise that the bodies made as they pummeled him into the dirt. A whistle was blown by one of the judges as he threw out his hankie again. Bill got up really slowly.
It amazed Janice that in this mindless contest of testosterone based violence, which pitted one color shirt against another, the man in black and white stripes was chiding them all for “unnecessary roughness!” As if any of this really necessary at all.
Bill made his way to the sideline, as his team was now downfield without him, preparing to kick the ball through the goal post. Then another whistle was blown and both teams rested once again.
During the time out, Bill walked over to the edge of the stands where Janice was seated.
“Are you okay?” Janice asked, catching herself just before reaching over to brush dirt off his shoulder-padded uniform.
“Yeah, I’m okay.”
“What did you say to those guys?”
Bill just looked at her and laughed. She lau
ghed, not really knowing why.
“You disappeared last night,” he said nonchalantly.
“Oh, were you there?” she said in a lame attempt to appear aloof.
“Yeah, as unreasonable as it may seem, they kind of make you go to the football rally when you’re the starting quarterback. Nice shoes, I remember thinking.”
“You noticed my shoes?”
“Hey, if I can see a receiver’s hands 75 yards downfield, you bet I won’t miss your, “catch-me-kiss-me” pumps from across a gym!”
“They weren’t “catch-me-kiss-me” pumps, and that’s not even the right terminology, Mr. Football.”
“I know, but I didn’t figure you for the other terminology type,” he said as the whistle blew summoning him back to his team to watch the ball get kicked through the goal post.
She didn’t know whether to be insulted or complimented. Did he just scratch me off his list, or decide to take me home to mother?
The crowd went crazy; fans and security people swallowed up Bill and his teammates as they hustled off to their locker rooms.
∞§∞
One of the reasons Janice had been awarded the grant for her research was her sense of commitment. She gave her all to the subject. That was especially hard to do here in California. The entire state was almost one giant distraction for anyone under 30. If you were looking for a reason not to do anything, California delivered it. So her dogmatic approach to further her studies stood out amongst those who allowed the Golden State to modulate their biorhythms.
It was Monday night, the day after the big game. Janice hadn’t seen or heard from Bill, not that she should have. He had been assigned from Tuesday night to Friday afternoons and Saturday mornings only on the weekends when he had a home game. He, otherwise, had to fit his classes and commitments around her project. It was working out well. His job was to make sure the scientific accuracy of her study remained beyond reproach. Far too many scientists, who had actually done good work, were frustrated in the end by some scientific committee or board finding a non-scientific method used in either the accumulation or handling of data. For her it was like being handed a winning lottery ticket, living like a millionaire, then finding out there was an audit at the end where every cent and every reason for spending the money was scrutinized under penalty of having to pay it back. So there she was, well past 7 p.m., in her office reviewing the questionnaires the volunteer students from five participating universities had mailed in. She was surprised when Hillary, eyes swollen and bloodshot, entered her office. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Why are men so childish?” she said with a slightly quivering bottom lip.
“Because they think it will increase their chances of us nursing them.”
“Be serious.”
How come everyone comes to me with their man problems? Hello, do you see a ring on my finger?
“Want to tell me about it?”
“It’s Brad.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“Last night after the game, we spent the whole night together.”
“Oh, I see. And he hasn’t called you yet today?”
“No, that’s the problem. He did call and told me he was going to Santa Clara, tonight.”
“What’s in Santa Clara?”
“Some sluts from Santa Clara lost a bet on the game and are throwing an orgy to have sex with all the players,” she said starting to hyperventilate.
“Wow, their parents must be so proud, a whole football team. Why don’t you tell the dean? I’m sure that would get the whole team expelled. They’d certainly think twice about going…”
“Are you crazy? Then Brad would hate me forever!”
Janice was dumbfounded. She immediately foresaw all kinds of problems for Hillary. The poor girl was conflicted and had esteem issues in proportions usually found in Greek tragedy.
“Well, I don’t know what to tell you then, except Brad is a dick head and you better get your head out from between his legs or you are going to get pissed on!”
Mascara was running down her cheeks as Hillary laughed and looked at Janice in a sisterly way. “I know I am being silly and unreasonable; it’s just that I love him so.”
Janice grabbed Hillary by the shoulders. “Hillary, listen to me. While you were making love last night, he was getting laid. Got that? You: love; him: sex. Why do you think they call it getting fucked! You had sex with the guy. That’s all! Love comes from somewhere else. Don’t ask me where, …damned if I know.”
“But I know Brad loves me.” She protested through heaving breaths.
“Listen to me! Oxytosin.”
“What?”
“Oxytosin. It is an enzyme that is released in a female during sex affecting her brain. Its purpose is to produce a nesting urge. Prehistorically speaking it was ‘necessary’ to keep women in the dark cave while the men went out in the sunshine, to hunt and kill food. Get it. You don’t love him. You are just being drugged by a million years of non-evolution.”
Talking about the brain suddenly brought back the medical student inside Hillary. “You’re saying a chemical imbalance in my brain is causing feelings of need and intimacy. Where?”
“The cerebral cortex. There is a gland that…” she stopped dead in her pathology as she caught sight of Bill standing in the doorway.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I heard we got a lot of questionnaires in, and I finished my paper on chaos theory and its relevance to applied physics. Thought I’d come here and have some real fun with…” his words trailed off as he recognized the person Janice had been addressing, “Oh hi, Hill.” Please don’t ask me where Brad is.
“Hi, Bill; surprised to see you here,” Hillary said as she dabbed at her nose with her hankie.
“Really? Oh. Anyway I didn’t mean to interrupt, just let me grab a pile of these and I’ll go down the hall…”
“No, Hillary was just leaving…”
Hillary turned to her, surprised, then catching up. “I’m going to de-tox my brain. Happy researching, you two. Thanks, Janice, for being a real friend. Bye, Bill.”
“Have you gone through these yet?” Bill said as he reached for a ream of questionnaires.
Janice stared at him with a mixture of wonder and caution. He couldn’t decide which, but it prompted him to ask, “What?”
“Nothing; it’s just that you are here.”
“Well, you know, you’ve got that whole location specific awareness thing down pretty well. I am here; you are there; we are both here. That about covers it.”
“How come you aren’t in Santa Clara?” she asked instantly making him the poster boy for irresponsible males everywhere.
“Do you know how I got to this school?”
“No, how?”
“Well it wasn’t on a subway driver’s income. I won a football scholarship. I could have gone to Notre Dame, but the science program here is the best of all the schools who wanted me.”
“Can we get back to the Santa Clara tar pits?”
“Those guys played a great game; they want to let off a little steam. Let ‘em. I’ve got work to do.”
“Oh, is that it? The work. But aren’t you their General? Shouldn’t you be with your men as they go into battle?”
“It’s Captain, and that’s only on the football field. Santa Clara is an extracurricular activity. Look, are you perturbed that I am here? Am I interrupting your plans for the evening?”
Just then, Janice noticed that when Bill grabbed the pile of papers, he had uncovered the book she bought that day. Suddenly feeling stupid, she wanted to hide that book from Bill’s eyes.
Bill took her temporary distraction to mean that she didn’t want to see him at that moment. “Well, I’ll go. I’ll take these back to my room and bring them back tomorrow.”
And he was off!
Janice sat stunned, as she had no idea what had just happened. She was so happy to see him. What had she done to make him angry? W
hy did he leave? She plopped herself in her chair and mindlessly thumbed the page edges of a new copy of The Football Widow’s Guide to Football.
∞§∞
Tonight was Hiccock’s attempt at Fettuccine Alfredo. With candles on his table and Geraldo on TV in the background, the former college sweethearts now sat in his “bachelor” apartment as a snapshot of what they used to be.
“This is really good,” Janice said after two mouthfuls.
“Yeah, it came out pretty good. Must be the cream cheese.”
His words stopped her cold, right in the middle of her fork twirl. She almost spit out her pasta. “Cream cheese?”
“Yeah, I went all-out and got the Philly instead of the no-frills stuff.”
“I watch a lot of those cooking shows on cable, but this sounds like a recipe from the Cartoon Channel.”
“You just said it was really good.”
“And you just told me you made it with cream cheese. Alfredo must be spinning in his grave!”
“Want more?”
“Definitely.”
Bill gave her another serving. “You know what I was just thinking about?”
“No, what?” she asked after swallowing a fork full of the Ronzoni Number 14 and cream cheese based culinary masterwork.
“When we first met.”
Janice smiled and her eyes met his the same way they had that night when he showed up in her office, “You mean our first fight?”
“No, I was wondering what ever happened to Brad?”
Janice’s mind recoiled. “Brad? What made you think of him out of the blue?”
“It wasn’t a fight. I thought you were meeting some other guy there and I was in the way.”
“You know, you didn’t know anything about women then and you don’t know anything about them now?”
“Where did that come from?”
“You were the smartest dumb jerk in the world. It took you a year to realize how crazy I was for you.”
“Oh yeah? Well, I came to you that night because I decided I had enough of the wildcatting and partying. I realized all I wanted was to see you.”
The Eighth Day Page 8
