Playing the Game

by Stephanie Queen

  He got everyone’s attention, including the media who attended the practice session.

  “Hey Barry, what’s the problem? You injure yourself last night? Where’ve you been?” Kevin Moroni fired the questions at him.

  Barry shook his head. The trainer trotted over, brow furrowed. Barry figured the same questions were on his mind as he headed back into the trainer’s room. He hoisted himself onto the training table. The door burst open and team trainer Mike Lavola rushed to the table, grabbing Barry’s ankles and talking at the same time.

  “Where the hell have you been? What’s wrong? Show me.” Mike looked up and Barry pointed toward his own head.

  “Nothing you can do for me.” He flashed his grin as he watched the man’s mouth open and no words come out.

  “Listen, do me a favor and don’t say anything. Make something up to satisfy the media—a flu or something. But there really is nothing wrong with me—at least not physically,” Barry said.

  “You want to see a shrink or something?” Mike’s tone reinforced the disbelief in his words. “I don’t believe this. You’re the most together, tough-minded player I ever came across…Is it your little girl? Is she all right?” Mike’s brows furrowed deeper. Barry forced a casual tone.

  “I’m sure I’ll handle it. I promise. No shrink. But in the meantime, you need to help me keep the coach and the other guys, not to mention the media, off my back. I can’t listen to another speech about how perfect I’m supposed to be.” Barry tried to keep the disgust from his voice.

  Mike stood in front of him, tape frozen in mid-wrap. Barry watched the comprehension dawn on his face as he let out a sigh of relief.

  When he finished getting wrapped, Barry trotted out to the gym to hoots and hollers and some intermittent applause and backslapping as if he’d been gone for a month instead of being an hour and a half late. The teasing was so good-natured that he couldn’t help mentally lambasting himself for his lapse. The last thing he wanted to do was let them down.

  “You okay now?” was all the coach said after a short consultation with Mike. Lord only knows what he told the coach, but Barry felt a swell of appreciation for the man’s confidence.

  “Let’s play. You bastards are celebrating a little early in the season here.” Barry pushed his way through the huddle of men to a mixture of laughter and epithets.

  “Us celebrating? I think it’s you who went out and got yourself a woman last night,” Jason Alley said amid more laughter and hoots. Barry couldn’t help his head from snapping around to look at his teammate. He hoped the frozen grin on his face looked more genuine than it felt. He didn’t say anything as the team took the floor.

  But Barry caught Dave McCall’s eye before the ball was thrown up and Barry was not smiling then. The practice scrimmage was noisy. The coach had them play three twelve-minute sessions because they had a two-day layoff before the next game. The pace was fast, the mood light, and the play hard. It was just the way Barry liked it. He generally controlled the intensity with his own example, and today was no exception.

  Right from the tap-off he threw himself into the scrimmage with zest like old times, casting off all other thoughts or problems. He immersed himself in the world of basketball with its simple rules, attainable goals and easy thrills. There was nothing to beat the black and white of competitive sports; someone wins, someone else loses. And Barry was very good at being on the winning side.

  In the opening minutes he set the tone with a diving lunge to interrupt a pass to an opposing player. Getting quick control of the ball, he bolted down the floor way ahead of the field and dunked it to the appreciative whistles of his teammates.

  “Now who wants to accuse me of a late night celebration?” He yelled as the others caught up with him and took the ball for the inbounds pass. There was unanimous denial as he flashed his grin. He felt much better.

  The practice got more intense from then until the final buzzer. Everyone headed immediately to the locker room, sweating and breathing hard. Everyone except Barry. He stayed to do his usual practice shooting and not even the coach gave him a second glance. No one lingered except Dave McCall and the media.

  The media inundated Dave with questions as the coach slipped past. Barry was glad his friend was taking the press today instead of him. He filled a rack with balls and brought it out to the three-point arc and began his ritual. He squared up, sighted the basket, found the seams of the ball, then lifted his arms and flicked his wrist for a flawless release.

  He made five out of his first six shots and headed to retrieve the balls. He stopped to wait for Mike to finish up and come out to rebound for him when Dave came over.

  “Hey, want a rebounder? I could use some practice.”

  “You’re not shitting. Grab those balls and we’ll see if we can improve your passing.” Barry smiled, pleased with this rare treat. Dave didn’t often stay anymore the way he used to before he was married. Barry darted out to the three-point line, pivoted, caught the crisp pass and shot the ball in one smooth motion for a swish through the hoop. He ran from corner to corner and they repeated the process, covering the entire arc. He started on his third time around when Dave called time.

  Only a few reporters were left watching and Barry nodded as he and Dave headed to the bleachers for a break. Kevin Moroni was still there and he handed Barry a large cup of ice water. Barry took a long gulp.

  “Hey, where’s mine?” Dave asked with a grin. Kevin laughed.

  “You can have what’s left when he’s done,” Kevin said.

  Barry laughed into the cup, spilling some water. Dave grabbed the cup from him.

  “Give me that before you spill the whole damned thing. That’s all I ever get is your leftovers.”

  Kevin and Barry both laughed as Dave drained the last drops from the cup.

  “Leftover everything from water to women,” Dave said. He crushed the cup with his massive hand and threw it on the floor.

  “That’s right. Barry introduced you to your wife,” Kevin said. “How’s that going anyway? You haven’t been married long.”

  “It’s going fine. What kind of article you writing here? A piece on the love life of a basketball player? Ask him the questions.” Dave nodded in Barry’s direction and slapped his back.

  “Not me. Why do you think I introduced you to Linda? I knew she was trouble. I stay away from that,” Barry said.

  “I thought you had a live-in girl—Susan was her name?” Kevin asked Barry.

  “Ancient history,” Dave said.

  Barry didn’t like the glint of mischief in his friend’s eyes.

  “Wait a second, Kevin. You here for a basketball interview or what? Cause my love life is about as interesting as a blank page.” Barry stood up to get ready to hit the showers and gave Dave a warning glance.

  “Yah, yah, yah. I get the picture. But I recall your ex-babe Susan was quite a stunner. Why don’t you throw your leftovers my way?” Kevin looked at Barry.

  Barry shook his head with his grin in place and determined to put an end to the problem.

  “What is your problem today? Coming to Celtics practice to find a woman? You gotta be fucking desperate.” Barry ripped the pen and notebook from Kevin’s hands and wrote Susan’s cell phone number in it.

  “I am as a matter of fact. I just broke up with a girl myself.” Kevin looked at the notebook.

  “Too bad, Kev. We’ll have to take you out hunting like old times.” Dave grinned and punched the reporter’s arm.

  “You are going nowhere. You’re married.” Barry took pleasure in pointing at Dave’s ring finger, shaking his head.

  “Fuck you. My wife trusts me since I stopped hanging out with you.”

  “Shows how much she knows.”

  “I don’t need you guys to help me, not much anyway.” Kevin chuckled and looked at Barry. “But if you can spare one more number, I’ll take the number of that gorgeous brunette you left the CMH golf tourney party with, Roxanne Monet. What a…”

>   “What makes you think I have her number?” Barry interrupted.

  “What are you playing coy for, Barry? Give him the number.” Dave challenged him.

  Barry stared him down.

  “I know you have her number—or maybe she has your number. You seeing her?” Kevin looked at Barry for an answer.

  “Yes. Now I’m hitting the showers. You missed your chance for an exclusive interview.” Barry started toward the door. Kevin and Dave got up to follow him.

  “That’s okay. I only had one question to ask,” Kevin said. Barry stopped at the gym door and turned, leaning against it.

  “Shit.”

  “Why were you late today?”

  “I don’t know. Ask the trainer.” Barry pushed himself off the door and turning, pushed it open and walked through toward the locker room.

  “Don’t give me that official bullshit. What’s the matter with you? Is your daughter okay? Is having her in the hospital disrupting your concentration? It’s understandable…”

  “Yeah. She’ll be all right. She’s getting the best medical treatment.” He felt guilty that Lindy’s condition wasn’t the reason for his recent lapse. He had to see Lindy again soon.

  “If you’d come to the game in Washington last night you’d know what’s wrong with him,” Dave said and followed Barry into the locker room. Barry let out a long breath.

  “It’s a fucking good thing Kevin’s a friend or I’d whip your fucking ass right now,” Barry said to Dave, who only laughed in return.

  “I didn’t say anything he didn’t already know. You got something to hide all of a sudden?” Dave stopped smiling and looked at Barry as they both stripped down and headed for the showers.

  “No. Not particularly, but I don’t market my private life for public consumption.” Barry turned on the water and welcomed the warm spray on his straining muscles.

  “Don’t worry. Kevin knows where to draw the line. Besides, I think you’re full of crap,” Dave shouted over the noise of the spray.

  “What? What are you talking about?” Barry yelled back.

  “Roxanne Monet is the reason you were late today and you’re too fucking embarrassed to admit it.” Dave stopped shouting as they stepped out of the showers, grabbing their towels.

  “Embarrassed? What the hell—I’ll admit it. She stayed the night and I couldn’t handle early practice. I’m not embarrassed. I’m fucking disgusted. I’ve never done it before. I’ve always known when and where to draw the line and now I’m losing it.” Barry rigorously toweled himself off, taking care to dry every last drop on his chest, wondering what the hell was wrong with him. He worried that if he stopped mopping up with the towel he’d discover that he was shaking, he was so scared.

  “Must be some woman.”

  “No. It’s not her. She’s only a symptom of the problem. With Lindy in the hospital and her mother gone, I don’t know. It makes it hard to keep pushing. I’ve been restless for a while anyway, ever since we won the championship last June. How many championships and MVPs am I going to go after?” He stopped and looked at his friend, letting everything sink. The words had tumbled out of his mouth of their own volition. Dave frowned.

  “I don’t know. I’ll let you know after I get my first MVP award. If you keep this up they’ll have to find someone else to give it to anyway.”

  “You know what I mean. I feel like I’m losing my edge.”

  “No. I don’t know what it feels like to fall from the top. I’ve never been there. But one thing’s for sure—it ain’t a hell of a picnic to watch.” Dave plunked down on the bench.

  Barry knew his friend understood. Now that he’d voiced the fear that had been eating at the back of his mind, he felt no better. He felt worse because he saw in his friend’s face that it was real. It was happening and he felt powerless to stop it. The desire to win was leaving him.

  He could almost picture his father rolling in his grave and he shuddered. The excitement and thrill of his life was fading away and he had nothing to replace it with because it was his whole life—everything. His father had taught him well to shut out the distractions in his efforts to keep Barry straight and off the streets. He’d been headed down the wrong path, the path his father had watched his own brother taking with alcohol, drugs, gambling—and women. At a young age, Barry was literally yanked from the grips of the Queens ghetto gangs. At eleven years old Barry was taught a harsh lesson in reality when he went with his father to the morgue to identify his uncle’s body.

  From that day on, his father took control and Barry became a willing and very able student. His father’s obsession to make sure Barry had a better life was translated into basketball. Pouring all their combined energies into the sport had bolstered Barry’s evident talent. By the time Barry was a high school senior, he’d become as obsessed with basketball as his father had been with him.

  He didn’t want to give it up. He didn’t want to let go of his life’s obsession that he’d worked so hard for and dedicated so much of himself to.

  “I feel helpless to keep myself from falling. I don’t know what I can do.” Barry looked away and grabbed his shorts.

  “There’s nothing you can do about Lindy. She’s your daughter whether you like it or not.”

  Barry snapped his head up to look at his friend. The last thing he needed is Dave McCall to start playing conscience. His friend was undaunted.

  “But I know what I’d do for starters. I’d stay away from Roxanne Monet if I were you. She may only be a so-called symptom of your restlessness, but she’s a mighty tempting dish and there’s nothing good going to come of a relationship with her. No sense looking for trouble.” Dave got up and dressed.

  “She’s trouble all right. I used to be able to avoid trouble so easily. I’d just say to myself ‘Barry, don’t go near that woman’ and I wouldn’t. And it was no big deal. This time I didn’t even bother warning myself. I just plunged right in, consequences be damned.”

  “What you need is a good scare to get your heart to start pumping again. I just hope it doesn’t cost the team too much in the standings,” Dave said. He added a smile.

  Barry yanked his sweater over his head and picked up his gym bag. “Speaking of food—let’s have lunch. I’m buying,” Barry said.

  Dave grabbed his bag and grinned. “I’m in. Even if we weren’t talking about food—unless you mean the dishy Roxanne. I will say—if you have to go down, buddy, at least you’re going with a beauty and having fun along the way.” He slapped Barry’s back.

  “Yes, I did rather enjoy myself after the game last night. About as much as I enjoyed playing the game. Can’t say that I recall that happening too often.” Barry looked at his friend, who shook his head in disbelief.

  “I don’t know why we’re worried. You still have a long way to fall before you get back to earth.” Barry sighed to himself, partly with relief and partly with discomfort.

  Kevin was out in the parking lot, entering something on the screen of his electronic tablet while he talked with the coach. Barry waved to him and he steered Dave in the direction of the pair. Dave looked at Barry with raised brows. Barry reached in his back pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. He handed it to Kevin.

  “Here’s that number you wanted. Take care of yourself now.”

  Chapter 11

  ROXANNE STOPPED short at the door of Lindy’s room. The BCNU was empty. She turned on her heel and called for the nurse. Her heart pounded. She struggled to keep the shrillness of panic from her voice.

  “Nurse, where’s Lindy Dennis?”

  “Oh, you must be Ms. Monet. We tried to phone you earlier when we moved Lindy to another room.”

  Roxanne took a deep breath and blew it out. She felt like hugging this young woman for the good news. “Thank you for that news.” She dug in her bag and checked her cell phone to find that she had two messages waiting. She didn’t bother listening now.

  “Mr. Paris told us you’d be concerned and to let you know she was being move
d.”

  “How thoughtful. I’ll have to give Paul a call and thank him.” She cringed at the thought that it was Paul and not Barry who seemed to be in control of the situation.

  “I suppose I shouldn’t say, but I heard talk that Lindy’s real father, Barry Dennis, hasn’t been to visit in a week. I don’t know if it’s true, but I haven’t seen him and believe me, I’ve watched for him. I know he’s busy and all, with all the traveling, but it seems a shame.” The nurse’s frown was genuine.

  Roxanne could see the young woman torn between concern for her patient and the excitement of a good juicy piece of gossip.

  She sped to Lindy’s new room as soon as she found out where it was, bursting through the door to greet the child. Lindy looked up with her small features cast in a smile, causing tears to form in Roxanne’s eyes. The moment she realized she might cry, Roxanne forced a smile in return and tightened the grip on her emotions. They ran entirely too free for her welfare lately.

  “Roxy! I’m so glad you found me. I was so worried you wouldn’t know where I was when they moved me. I made Daddy promise to tell you.” Lindy reached out for her.

  Roxanne moved toward the child. She cringed again with the knowledge that it was Paul Paris that Lindy referred to as her Daddy.

  “Don’t worry. I would have found you no matter what.” Even the nurse looked up at the gravity in Roxanne’s voice. She forced herself to speak in a lighter tone.

  “I went to Washington D.C. yesterday and I brought you a surprise.” Lindy’s eyes lit up when she saw the Martha Washington doll Roxanne pulled from behind her back. She’d searched the shops for anything that might interest a little girl until she’d finally spotted the doll.

  “It’s so pretty. Daddy’s right. He says you’re too good to me.”

  Roxanne wasn’t sure which daddy she was referring to now. Lindy seemed to be constantly quoting one of them. She thought of her own girlhood, but when the cold picture of her distant book-minded father came into her head, she decided that was a bad idea.