by Mel Curtis
Trent ordered his eggs and waited for his star player to make headway into his coffee before broaching the subject of their meeting. “If you were coaching the team, what changes would you make?” The question really was, “Will you be on board with changes I want to make?”
Evan was as good as his reputation – distant, hard to read. “Jack didn’t hire me to coach.”
“No, but I’d be a fool to jump in and change everything on Day One. I know what I think is working and what’s dragging the team down. I’m interested in what you think.”
Evan didn’t ponder or hesitate. “Our Chaos offense works, but we need at least one more steady guard. High caliber, able to control the ball. Someone mature. A team player who won’t upset the balance of the team – no hot-heads, no felons. Antoine is good until he loses his cool.” And then his words slowed, tinged with a hint of reluctance. “Although Ren has come a long way in a year, he doesn’t have the weight to muscle some of the newer breed of seven-foot tall centers. It’s like pitting a gazelle against a rhinoceros.”
It was as if everyone involved with the Flash drank the same Kool-Aid. They all had the same short-term vision – shore up what hadn’t been working. Why not shake things up and come at the league with a few surprises?
They discussed different players. Evan was a straight-shooter in his assessments. He was fond of his teammates, but none more so than the big center.
“And how would you rate yourself?” Trent asked. “How can you improve?”
Evan’s brows drew together. “You think I have a weakness?”
“Not one you’d admit.”
“Not to a coach with a reputation for prioritizing winning over player safety.”
If there was one blemish on the Reverend’s record, it was his players’ sacrifices to win the Final Four. Randy was just the latest example of a kid willing to put it all on the line for a trophy. It made some wonder if the Reverend was as pure as he’d been made out to be.
“They shoot horses, don’t they?” It was Archie’s favorite comeback. Trent tossed it out like a grenade.
Evan considered him with icy, gray eyes. “I’ve got a workout in forty minutes. You’ve already decided what you’re going to change, with or without my support. Why don’t you get to the point?”
“Fair enough.” Trent set down his coffee cup. “Let’s start with bottom feeders. I don’t tolerate hangers-on, drug dealers, sycophants, and the like. There’ll be no team sex toys or yes-men whispering in players’ ears about how great they are.” The Reverend was pleased to see Evan nod. “And I don’t believe in empty words, like paying for the power of positive thinking. I believe in preparation and training. I believe in courage and balls-to-the-wall play.”
“Careful, careful. This may be Tinsel Town, but we still have some moral values. You can’t date my sister-in-law once and then expect my help jettisoning her.”
Trent must have looked confused, because Evan added, “Brunette? Smart ass? Able to hold her liquor?”
“I don’t – ”
Evan swore and reached for his cell phone.
“ – know what you’re talking about.”
Evan turned his phone display so that Trent could see.
“Holy bells.” There was Trent, a look of pure pleasure on his face as Cora kissed the hollow of his neck. He’d fallen into her trap in the bar last night. Years of a clean record and his first night in Beverly Hills resulted in this? “It’s not what you think.” Damn it! This was almost exactly what Evan and everyone else who read this gossip site thought.
“We’ll see.” Evan blanked his screen.
“Regardless, I’m going to recommend the Flash severs ties with the Dooley Foundation.” If for no other reason than Cora silenced the Reverend too easily.
Evan’s chilly demeanor dropped several more degrees. “The Dooley Foundation is an integral part of this team and the reason the Flash has made it to the playoffs two years running.”
“Weren’t you the key to their success last season?” The press had certainly made Evan out to be the hero. But the press could be manipulated.
Evan shook his head. “I came from the street ball circuit, where I played one-on-one. If it wasn’t for Amber getting my head on straight about what it means to be on a team, there’d have been no Flash post-season and I wouldn’t be sitting with you right now. Jack would have cut me loose.”
“I’ve met your wife. She seems sharp, but Cora – ”
“Is as ruthless as either of us. She may look like a piece of fluff – ”
Trent silently disagreed. There was nothing insubstantial and fluffy about Cora.
“ – but she knows the Rules and she knows basketball. If you hurt her...” Evan scowled. “Setting aside my family concerns, if you’re trying to garner my support in cutting loose the Dooley Foundation, you’re screwed. Think about it. Baseball players are superstitious. Basketball players have no lucky rabbit’s foot, no four leaf clover, no underwear that doesn’t get washed all season. I have to believe in me to play at this level.” He tapped the table with his forefinger. “But this team has something to hold onto. Here. Inside.” And then he tapped his chest, before signaling the waitress for more coffee. “Damn it, I sound like my wife.” His smile clearly showed he didn’t care.
“We’ll agree to disagree on that point.” There’d be no support to rid the team of the Dooley Foundation from Evan. “I run uptempo, but I play my men until they nearly drop.” An image of Randy writhing on the court in the final seconds of the championship game scrambled the eggs in his stomach.
“That explains why Jack hired you. He believes players are replaceable commodities.” Evan considered Trent. “Our guys work out together. Rookies and veterans alike. I don’t tolerate slackers. We watch game film four nights a week. When training camp begins a week from now, you’ll be happy. You won’t be burning through players because they’re out of shape.”
Trent must have looked doubtful, because Evan added, “Come in early Monday morning. You’ll see our workouts aren’t for sissies. And if you want to earn my respect, you’ll work out with us.”
“That’s against NBA regulations.” There were strict rules on when coaches could begin working with their teams.
“You’re not on the Flash’s payroll until the first day of training camp.” The first officially approved day of player-coach interaction.
A technicality. A risk. The Reverend would never cross that line.
After a moment’s consideration, Trent nodded. He needed Evan’s respect if he was going to claim a leadership role. If he couldn’t get it by attending some cream puff training session, he’d find another way.
“Now.” Evan sweetened his coffee. “You’ve been running an uptempo Triangle offense.” His ho-hum tone was a red flag taunting Trent’s pride. “To effectively run the Triangle, you need at least two future Hall-of-Famers and at least two potential All-Stars. You know our roster. Chaos – ”
“Is fast and sloppy, at least the way you run it.” He was losing his grip on patience. He’d run the Triangle at Holy Southern because he’d recruited for it. He didn’t have time or payroll to rebuild the Flash from scratch. He’d examined the locker room and come up with a different strategy.
“That was last season. Jack won’t pay for high quality ponies. Most of our starters didn’t make the second squad at the team that drafted them.” Again, Evan’s heartfelt honesty and tunnel vision rankled. It’d be nice if someone expected the Reverend to come in and shake things up. “It’s why we need the Dooley Foundation. They help these guys believe in themselves. If you’re going to come in and run players until their knees blow or their Achilles snap – ” Now Evan’s gloves were off, punching at Trent’s role in Randy’s injuries. “ – you won’t have a job come Christmas. Believe in this team and we’ll take you places.”
He was offering Trent a broken down school bus in a race against Formula One cars. The Flash had relied on luck and pluck for too long. The
Reverend needed more.
“Let’s be clear.” Anger sliced Trent’s words into hard, sharp pieces. “I’m open to running Chaos if the team can maintain an uptempo pace and run it crisply. But I’ll get rid of players who can’t perform.” He stood and tossed a twenty on the table. “Jack’s right. Players are a commodity. Even you.”
~*~
Cora sat in the conference room of the Dooley Foundation studying a picture her father had drawn, because it was easier than analyzing her instinctual sexual attraction to Trent Parker.
To the casual observer, the drawing looked like a psychedelic flower bed with a thick and twisted root system shown in a cut-away. The flowers were white, their twining vines loaded with leaves. One-third of the flower bed was cast in shadowy moonbeams, the rest in fading sunset.
In reality, this was one set of her father’s crib notes. He’d created at least a dozen drawings, each featuring a different flower. Daddy had been paranoid his secrets would be stolen – not just the secrets of his twisted coaching style, but the names on his client list as well. Hollywood paid top dollar to expose celebrity underbellies. And so he’d created a file system with delicate, colored pencil strokes. Brilliant.
Each bundle of the five roots in the picture had at its heart a naked woman of different shapes and sizes. Yeah, that was Daddy, all right. He’d loved women.
These women lay arching on their bellies, legs bent and raised, arms extended behind to clasp ankles – a bow yoga pose. If you looked closely, you could make out one large letter along the lines and curves of each feminine root. The letters spelled Trust. Stalks thrust above ground from their feet and ankles. On every stalk, on every branching vine, Daddy had carefully etched in the names of his programs to help his clients trust – Free Falling, No Proof, The Chain. There were many more. Hollywood wasn’t a trusting place.
Names were written in tiny strokes to represent the veins on the leaves. One large, healthy green leaf had Cora’s name on it. The stalk was titled Safe Circle. One of the crumpled leaves also had her name on it. The vine that held that leaf was titled Truth or Dare. She’d passed one test and not the other. And that’s where her admiration of her father’s brilliance ended.
When she was a junior in high school, her friend, Lucy, had dared her to steal a blouse from the mall. At first, Cora refused. She had Daddy’s credit card in her wallet. She could buy whatever she wanted. As they continued to shop, Lucy wouldn’t let up about how cool Elyssa was because she stole things all the time. Cora was the coolest girl at school, not Elyssa. To prove it, she stole a blouse, wrapping it around her chest and buttoning up her leather jacket. Cora’s pulse had pounded with fear, and then triumph as she pushed through the mall doors to the parking lot. She’d nearly fainted to find her father and the mall police waiting for them outside.
“You paid Lucy to set me up?” Cora shrieked when her father told her the entire afternoon was a test of her character. “What kind of father are you?”
“The kind who points out to you that friendship can’t be bought or stolen.” He pointed at Lucy. “What kind of friend sells you out for money? You need to learn who you can trust and who you can’t.”
She and Lucy had to do community service for a week. Lucy never spoke to her again, despite Cora trying to explain it was just as much her fault as it was Cora’s. How could Cora be to blame when it was all her father’s doing?
His lesson failed. Instead of making her choosier about who she trusted. She trusted no one.
Cora wondered if those yet to be named additional Rule siblings had gone through the same hell she had. Not that it mattered. She was only studying the picture to find ideas on how to build trust between Trent and the Flash players. She’d talked herself off the ledge in terms of sabotaging her inheritance. She’d stay at the Dooley Foundation until she made her sales quota. Then she’d move on and let Amber deal with whatever siblings came out of the woodwork.
“I thought we agreed Coach Parker wasn’t to be touched.” Amber entered the conference room holding a stack of colorful folders and wearing a lime green sheath and the latest Marc Jacob black cutaway pumps. “Looks like there was a lot of touching going on last night.”
“I can’t take part in this conversation.” Blue followed her in. “It breaks the brother code.”
It’d been too much to hope for that they hadn’t checked the L.A. Happenings column this morning. It was a must-read for Hollywood. Lyle Lincoln had a network the CIA envied. He’d posted two pictures of Cora from the night before – one with Archie, one with Trent. She had to admit, the photo with Trent was smokin’ hot. He looked about to combust.
“There was a situation,” Cora began cryptically, rushing on when Amber opened her mouth. “Which you’ll be happy to know I resolved.” She took in Blue’s skeptical expression. “That picture was more a test of wills.” Cora versus the Reverend. She’d chalk yesterday’s match up to herself. He’d kissed her. He’d cussed. What else was Trent hiding under the guise of the Reverend?
Not that she planned to find out. He was a nice guy. He’d waited up for his father and warned a potential Jezebel away. He’d resisted a second kiss when he clearly wanted to submit. Back when she didn’t know any better, she’d eaten guys like him for breakfast.
“No more drinks with Flash coaches,” Amber warned. “And no more pictures.”
“Hey, I signed Trent as a client.” Cora’s chin came up. “I would’ve told you last night, but you were on the no-sex lecture as if that’s the only way I interact with men.”
There was an uncomfortable silence, the kind where Cora realized – again – that her image of herself and her siblings’ image of her didn’t jibe. Despite Blue’s having been a serial dater, they didn’t approve of Cora’s having friends with benefits. They didn’t believe her when she claimed that guys came with too much baggage. They didn’t believe she’d sworn off men.
“Coach Parker can’t be your client.” Amber tapped her cell phone before Cora could modulate a protest. “Evan met him for coffee this morning and texted me that Trent doesn’t believe in the Rules.”
Cora’s inner bitch drew a calming breath. “He doesn’t. But he didn’t speak fast enough and Jack said he’d pay his retainer.”
“Nicely done.” Blue gestured that they should move along. “Can we finish this staff meeting? My calendar is packed today.”
Amber ignored Blue. “You need to tell me as soon as you sign a client of Coach Parker’s caliber. We need full disclosure between us.”
“Like you tell me anything,” Cora muttered.
Amber pretended not to hear. “We’ll need to think of ways we can make Coach Parker realize that running players until they drop with career-ending injuries isn’t the way to manage this team.” Worry creased her brow, making Cora suspect her sister was concerned her husband would be another in a long string of player sacrifices laid at the altar of Trent’s success.
Blue’s teacup poodle, Mr. Jiggles, raced Brutus down the hallway, creating the delicately-thunderous pitter-patter of tiny feet.
A moment later, Gemma entered the conference room. “This just came via messenger.” She slid a check onto the table.
Cora leaned forward and read the signature. “Vivian Gordon. Are we double dipping?”
Amber flipped the check over and pushed it to the side of the table as Gemma clomped out.
“Oh, look,” Blue said with forced cheer. “The first item on our agenda is Vivian Gordon. Piece of cake. Here are my notes.” Blue passed Cora a sheet of paper with Viv’s name on it. “Get her a dog. Make her see things as if she was in Jack’s shoes. Introduce her to some really great men.”
Cora didn’t bother reading her brother’s notes. “A dog won’t work for her. She loves Jack.”
“But Viv’s not a nun. Let’s introduce her to someone she can’t resist.” Amber used that perky smile of hers that set Cora’s teeth on edge. “Coach Parker is perfect. Strong enough to handle Viv.”
The wo
rds, “hell, no,” came to mind. Cora shelved the thought. So she’d kissed Trent. So she’d massaged his feet and snuck glances at his impressive package, the hard length of which had been imprinted between her hips. So she’d taunted him with a finger blowy. She was taking time out from fucking to focus on her role at the Dooley Foundation. “Forget for a moment that Trent Parker is the party-pooping Reverend.”
“Ironic given last night’s photo opp,” Amber quipped.
“Viv loves Jack,” Cora repeated stubbornly, trying to ignore the fact that she’d broken the girl code by sleeping with him. If she’d known their estrangement involved feelings on Viv’s part, she’d never have accepted his overtures. “Viv tries not to show it, but she does. And that check – ”
“Jack doesn’t love Viv, at least not enough to make it work.” Amber patted Cora’s hand as if it was Cora’s heart that was broken.
“About Viv and Jack,” Blue said slowly. “There’s still plenty of spark between them. I saw them together back when we were filming my reality show’s pilot. Jack reached for Viv like he needed her more than money.”
“Break up sex.” Cora shrugged, having been on the end of Jack’s sexual hunger more than a few times.
“No.” Blue shook his head. “This was more than lust. It was love. He looked into her eyes as if he couldn’t live without her.”
Jack had never looked Cora in the eyes. He had skills as a lover, but he was a shit person. Who did the deed and didn’t look his partner in the eyes?
“He must have been drunk,” Amber said.
“He only drinks heavy at Flash games.” Cora ignored the shocked double-takes from her siblings. Men could be stubborn and obtuse when it came to matters of the heart. Was she the only person in the room who realized love sometimes needed a helping hand? “It’s not Vivian who needs life coaching. It’s Jack.”
Amber sat back in her chair. “We’re not touching Jack.” The way she said it scraped along Cora’s spine like nails on a clean chalkboard. “Besides, did you see him yesterday? He looks exhausted.”
