by Scott Pratt
“Great kid. Has a little family baggage, but I think we’re about to work past that.”
Rachel got up to use the restroom, and a lot of eyes followed her as she strutted across the spacious hall. Even in the dim light, she was an attention grabber.
“Gotta love those Charleston girls,” the other Tide fan said, raising his glass in tribute.
Billy wasn’t sure whether it was love or not, but he knew he wouldn’t be where he was today without Rachel. Or her father, Bradley King.
King was a third-generation developer on Isle of Palms and a huge sports fan. He had invested generously in Billy’s business at the beginning. The only condition, besides the occasional game tickets and signed memorabilia and such, was that his daughter would be part of the operation and well cared for.
Billy came from a fairly modest upbringing and welcomed the financial backing. He had been given an opportunity to take the ball and run. Now all he had to do was make sure Rachel was content, which was no simple chore.
But for the moment, things seemed to be going well.
“I could use another drink,” Rachel said as she returned to the table, bubbling with energy. “Are these small glasses or what?”
Right on cue, a waitress approached with another vodka tonic with a twist of lime and placed it in front of Rachel. She looked at Billy.
“You already ordered me one? Thanks,” she said. He shook his head.
“From the gentleman in the booth over there,” the waitress said, nodding toward the darkest corner in the joint.
They turned and strained to see, but the booth was empty. A waitress was already starting to wipe down the table for the next customer.
“He was there a minute ago,” the waitress said. “Long-haired guy with a beard. Said he thought you’d need one.”
“So some dude is hitting on you but can’t stick around long enough to see how things turn out,” Billy said. “Must have been an Alabama man. Not up to the task today.”
“I don’t care who he was,” Rachel said. “I’ll take the drink.”
The group enjoyed a couple more, and Billy’s friends called it quits. They were looking at a long, depressing ride home. Losing to the Vols was simply unacceptable to any Alabama fan.
“See you guys down the road, definitely at Bryant-Denny next year,” Billy said. “That’ll be two in a row.”
“Not without Jarvis it won’t,” said the one in the cap. “Better enjoy him while you can. Maybe he’ll even get you into the Viagra Bowl or something, while we try to get back in the national championship hunt.”
The receiver was probably waiting at the boat by now. Billy had spoken with him briefly, and Jarvis said he’d had enough celebrating with the masses.
He just wanted to get away for a while.
chapter sixteen
Eleven o’clock was approaching by the time Billy and Rachel reached the docks. On this starry night, euphoria continued to permeate the cool air. The Tide had been stemmed, finally, and the Vol Navy was going to savor every drunken moment. The massive football palace, beautifully lit, stood quiet in the distance as a half-moon hung overhead.
The path to Billy’s houseboat was especially precarious under the circumstances.
“Damn Vols,” said a crusty Navy regular sipping on a Budweiser as the couple passed his cruiser. “Been jerking us around all season ... who knew? That’s the kind of team that can drive a man crazy. I didn’t think I’d live long enough to see us beat ‘Bama again. Jarvis was awesome.”
“Enjoy it while you can, my friend,” Billy said. “Missouri will be in here next week, and we’ll probably be flatter than flat. We’re still a long way from where we need to be.”
“We’re at least closer than we were when I started drinking this morning,” the man said.
Billy laughed and jumped onto the deck of his boat. He extended a hand to Rachel, who stretched across and unlocked the cabin door. After a quick glance in the mirror, she flopped onto the couch and closed her eyes.
“Let me know when we arrive, captain,” she said.
“What? Too much fun, party girl?”
Rachel’s eyes opened quickly and a sultry expression came over her face. “You know better.”
Billy wondered where she got all that energy, but he had no reason to complain. In fact, he had every reason to get home as soon as possible.
Leaving from the docks could be challenging late on a Saturday night, and it didn’t take much of a mental lapse to cause problems with a big houseboat. They didn’t need any problems tonight.
“Where’s Jarvis?” Rachel asked.
Billy shrugged. “I thought he’d already be here. Probably got caught up in another crowd.”
As he checked his watch, Billy noticed the tall figure in the distance, near the Big Orange Country sign. He was wearing a hoodie and baggy jeans and talking on a cell phone; it was definitely Jarvis, and he had his roommate with him.
Brett Sterling was a hard-hitting safety from California, a finely sculpted young man with a distinctive West Coast flair. His signature look was the long blond hair that he usually kept in a ponytail when it wasn’t flowing freely from the back of his helmet. He could easily have passed for a model.
Despite vastly different backgrounds, he and Jarvis had been fast friends from the start at UT and were voted team co-captains before the season. They always set the right kind of examples.
Sterling was known to ride his bicycle everywhere – day or night, rain or shine, hot or cold – and was standing beside it now as he waited with Jarvis.
Billy held up a hand and called out. “Hey, ready to go?”
Jarvis squinted and stuck the phone in his pocket, and they began to walk Billy’s way. Even in the shadows, their smiles were easy to see.
Billy reached out with an enthusiastic high five for each of the players as they approached the boat, and Jarvis climbed aboard. He tossed his black backpack with the orange number eleven stitching into the cabin.
“What a crazy day,” he said. “So we gonna take a boat ride?”
“Getting ready to leave right now. Why don’t you just stay over and I’ll drive you back to your place in the morning. Did you ever hear from your mother?”
“I was just talking to her; she’s still down in Florida. Said she didn’t feel like traveling. No big surprise.”
Billy didn’t bother to respond, or mention the earlier phone call from Clarise. He figured it was best to let sleeping dogs lie, so to speak.
“How are you doing, Brett?” he said. “Want to go with us?”
“I better not. Already had a couple of beers up at Calhoun’s and probably need to pedal on home. I’ve got things to take care of.” He turned to his teammate. “Great game, Jarvis. Let’s do it again next week.”
“We’re gonna make a run,” Jarvis said. “Everybody around here better get ready. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The receiver bounced into the cabin, and Rachel hopped up off the couch to give him a hug. “You played great,” she said. “Want a beer?”
“Sure.”
“Remember what I said about leaving a legacy?” Billy said. “You did that today. People around these parts will never forget you. You’ll be able to come back and drink free beer for the rest of your life.”
“Yeah, I got that impression tonight. Might even get a free meal or two.”
“You know you can’t be satisfied. This is a process, and there’s still a lot of football to be played before you start doing commercials and shopping for sports cars. All in good time.”
“Yessir, I hear you. Remember, I want a red one.”
Billy cranked the engine, turned on the running lights and surveyed his exit route while Jarvis started freeing the boat from its Navy ties. The coast was clear. Billy eased it into gear and Agent Orange lumbered away into the darkness.
chapter seventeen
It would be a smooth ride downriver, assuming they could avoid the water cops that kept a close eye on the area. Billy’s brother, John, was supposed to be at the house waiting for them.
Billy took the wheel and pulled a celebratory cigar from the glove box. It had been waiting in there for a while. The sweet smoke wafted through the cabin as he drove.
“Jarvis, do you remember the first time we went out on this thing?” he said. “You didn’t want to go.”
“Hell, I’m scared of water, Billy. You know I can’t swim. Still want a boat, though. Women like boats.”
“Women like all kinds of expensive toys. Right, Rachel?”
She smiled.
“Seems odd for a strapping young man from the Gulf Coast to be afraid of the water,” Billy said. “There’s water everywhere down there.”
“Yeah, but you don’t want to be in a lot of it. There’s some dangerous stuff in Florida water, alligators and snakes.”
The houseboat purred along on the tranquil river, under the old railroad trestle with the blue lights and around the bend. It was a spectacular night, and there wouldn’t be a more triumphant one this year in Vol Nation.
For the star player and his mentor, time was moving fast.
Jarvis would be a pro soon, on to bigger and better things in an NFL city somewhere. Billy would be making serious strides, too, maybe looking down on his man from some owner’s luxury box. They would be a formidable combination for many years to come.
Still, Billy could never forget his father’s words when he first broke the news that he was walking away from a lucrative legal career: “Counting on twenty-year-olds for much of anything is foolish. It sounds risky to me.”
Coming from the Sevierville police chief, a man who had dodged a few bullets in his day, that had struck Billy as funny. But he knew it was true.
Courting college kids who had big dreams and the skills to match would always be dicey. Career decisions worth millions were often made on a whim – which way the wind, or cash, happened to be blowing on a given day. The agents were in charge, until they weren’t.
Billy had learned to enjoy the intrigue of the chase, trying to close the deal, and his confidence had only grown in the last year with the prospects of Jarvis and some other SEC stars coming into the fold. In the sports business, one good signing often led to another. And a transcendent star could do wonders.
Once Jarvis was officially committed, the sky was the limit for Team Beckett.
“I hope we can do this some more,” Billy said as the houseboat came into the home stretch. “It’s been nice having you here the last couple of years.”
“You know I’ll be back,” Jarvis said, “because I really like Rachel.”
They all laughed.
Billy’s house had a distinctive shine at night, with its tall, arching windows and stained-glass trim, the vaulted ceilings and the subtle lighting of the pool area reflecting off the stone walls. Amber landscaping lanterns ran down the steep hill to the water and accented the dock.
It was a million-dollar property in a neighborhood with much more expensive homes – one of the nicest belonged to the Vols’ head coach – and Billy had to dig deep on the financing. He figured he’d grow into it.
The house was coming into view now, and Billy feathered back the throttle and pulled out his phone. “John, come down and catch us.”
That drew a worrisome glance from Jarvis.
“John’s here?” he said. “Does he know I’m with you?”
Chapter eighteen
John Beckett was not a happy man.
He had been part of the Billy Beckett Enterprises team from the start, and the whole routine was wearing thin. Nights like this didn’t help.
“What took you so long?” he said as he got a hand on the railing and eased the big boat to its berth. “I’ve been sitting around here forever. Must have been a hellacious party.”
“Oh, it’s still going on,” Billy said. “We could have stayed all night; definitely had plenty of company. I tried to get you to come with us.”
“I just didn’t feel like fooling with it.”
“Well, too bad for you. The Vols pulled off the impossible, and our man here had a game for the ages. I’m predicting he’ll be the national player of the week.”
John barely gave the receiver a second look.
“With that kind of talent, seems like the team should be better,” he said. “Must not be rubbing off.”
“We’ve been scoring points,” Jarvis said. “I can’t play defense, too.”
The exchange had a familiar edge. John and Jarvis had never been close, and the tension tended to flare easily.
“Have another beer and chill out, John,” Rachel said as she headed up the walkway to the house. “This was a great day all around.”
Chill out? That wasn’t likely to happen. John’s life had been in a tailspin for years and there was no relief in sight.
He was supposed to be pitching in some major-league ballpark, a big left-hander still in his prime. But he ran into arm trouble early in his junior year at Florida State, went through two surgeries and never made it back. John dropped out of school with no real backup plan, hardened by a new reality: the dream was over.
A bold FSU tattoo on his left bicep was a constant reminder a decade later. He often said, only half-kidding, it stood for Forgotten Screw-Up. Drug and alcohol problems had become more difficult to conceal, and the best John could do most days was run errands for Billy and try to stay out of trouble. Haunted by what might have been, he brooded constantly. Nothing could fill the void of being out there on the mound, in total command.
One thing was for sure: catering to these young studs on their way up was getting harder to do.
“Did you chart what all those SEC guys did today?” Billy said. “It was a big weekend and we need to stay on them. I’m probably going down to Florida next week for some meetings. I need you to handle a few things here, so be prepared.”
John gritted his teeth. “I’ll take care of it.”
Big brother had thrown him a lifeline years ago, after John’s career was ruined and everything was going to hell. He didn’t have anywhere else to turn. He had moved in with his father, working odd jobs in Pigeon Forge and partying a little later every night. Cocaine was starting to creep into the mix.
If anybody could save him, it was Billy. He gave John a job and a new direction, a reason to stay clean, but the psychological damage had already been done in Tallahassee. Billy couldn’t fix that.
“I saw where the ‘Noles lost again today,” Billy said. “There’s some serious talent being wasted down there for sure. How many of those guys will be playing on Sundays next year? Six? Seven? I’m still hoping we’ll end up with one or two of them.”
“Tough times in Tallahassee,” John said. “Imagine that.”
There wasn’t much that John wanted to remember about Florida State these days, and that included Jarvis Thompson. He had grown resentful of his brother’s budding relationship with the receiver. And there was no turning back now.
“Jarvis, let’s have a beer,” he said, pulling a couple of deck chairs from a storage locker. “Better yet, a shot of tequila and then a beer. To hell with Alabama, we’ll just throw a little NFL welcoming party right here under the stars. Let’s see what the All-American is really made of.”
John knew Jarvis wasn’t much of a drinker and could tell the receiver had a good buzz going. That gave him the upper hand.
“Maybe for an hour or so,” Jarvis said. “It’s late and I gotta get back to work tomorrow, finish the season right. If we beat Missouri, we’ll be close to making a bowl. That’s important for Coach and the team.”
“You boys still got Vandy and Kentucky left,” John said. “That’s always the beauty of November at UT; you
’ve got two late wins built in there every year. You damn sure better make a bowl.”
John looked over at Billy, who shook his head and walked toward the house.
“You guys carry on,” he said. “I’ve got a date with Rachel that starts in about ten minutes. See you in the morning.”
That brought a sly smile to John’s face. Rachel had probably been through a gram of his coke by now, and she surely had plenty of energy to burn.
Another line or two and he wouldn’t be feeling too bad himself.
Chapter nineteen
The phone was ringing off in the distance, and Billy gathered himself and rolled out of bed.
Lance Edwards, the UT receivers coach, was on the other end. He said Jarvis was supposed to meet him that morning for a sandwich and a film session in the Anderson Training Center, but he didn’t show.
“Have you seen him?” Edwards asked.
“Not since last night. What’s wrong?”
“He’s not answering his phone, and his roommate said he didn’t come home last night. Jarvis has never missed a meeting with me. How concerned should I be?”
“He probably stayed up late and wasn’t moving too well this morning,” Billy said. “Maybe he just forgot. I’ll check around and see what I can find out.”
Billy had always walked a fine line with the Vols’ coaching staff. There was an understanding: he wouldn’t get them into any trouble with the NCAA, and they wouldn’t ask a lot of questions.
Jack Stratton, the head coach, was grateful that Jarvis was steered to Knoxville to begin with. He knew this would be their last season together and just wanted Billy to stay in the background until the appropriate time.
Like most coaches at major programs, Stratton understood agents were a necessary evil if you recruited players with designs on getting to the NFL. And if you weren’t recruiting those players, you wouldn’t be coaching long in the Southeastern Conference.
Billy wondered why Jarvis hadn’t gotten him up earlier as he threw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Rachel was still lying in bed, the sheets twisting around her body, and she pressed the pillow to her aching head.
