by Paul Bishop
I was getting into the rhythm of his play, anticipating his next move with absolute alacrity. I had no trouble handling his longshots, and I enjoyed the physical tussles which were the end result of his dribbling runs. All of this led to me being suckered as time ran out in the half.
Ridgeway gathered in the ball at midfield and started a dribbling run. He left Alan Hardacre tied up in a knot and faked Hank Decker out of his shorts. I came off of my line to challenge Ridgeway, as I had been doing all of the second period. I was sure of what he would do next. I was sure, but I wasn't right. As I committed myself to diving for the ball, Ridgeway flipped a soft pass off to the left—something he had not done all game—and his fellow Gulls striker, Clayton Mahoney, was there to drive the ball into the net. The period ended 2-1 in our favor, but the momentum was swinging to the Gulls.
During halftime, while we were trying to pull ourselves together and stuff orange slices down our gullets, the Acropolis announcer spread the news that the other semifinal game, which was being played that night, had been won by the New York Lights. The news meant that whoever won the game here tonight would meet the Lights in the Soccer Bowl on Sunday.
While all of this was going on, I caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned to look into the middle of the field, not at all sure what had attracted my attention. After a few seconds, I noticed that the huge electronic score cube was being telescoped up toward the ceiling. The cube had run into some kind of electronic glitch during the first half of the game and was not working properly. It was obvious that the Acropolis maintenance staff was trying to fix it before the game started again.
I was fascinated to see that part of the ceiling had been rolled back to expose the room that the score cube's long support pole telescoped into. It had never dawned on me that there had to be some way to service the cube. Also, the cube needed to be out of sight when the Acropolis hosted concerts or other nonsporting events. I found it fascinating to watch the heavy cube disappear. I began to think about the possibilities of other hidden rooms within the Acropolis providing hidden living quarters for Archer and the Hard-birds.
As the third period began, Pat Devlin began to show why he had been chosen as the league's most valuable player. Working in concert on the front line with Jackson Bopha and Chico Juarez, Devlin took the game to the Gulls and stole back the momentum they had begun to build. He directed his teammates like he was an army field general. He set up plays, organized attacks, and stole the ball away from Gulls and left them standing flat-footed. He alternately shot or passed off depending on what move had the best chance of resulting in a goal.
Devlin was a brilliant player. I was not too sure where his off-field politics stood, but on the soccer field he was a solid and powerful leader. Sticks kept substituting the other field players, but he left Devlin alone because he had obviously become the team's lynchpin. All of the other Ravens responded to him and began to raise their own levels of play. We'd started out the third period with a one goal lead, but by the end of the period we were up by five, the score standing at 6-1 in our favor.
On the bench during the short break before the fourth period, Sticks turned to Bekka. "Go check in with the referee. I'm taking Chapel out to save him for the final. You're on."
Bekka looked shocked. She didn't move from the bench.
"Get a move on, Ducane," Sticks growled at her. "Stavoros was an idiot not to give his other goalkeepers actual game experience. If Chapel gets injured, I don't want to have to put in a keeper who's a virgin to game conditions."
Bekka looked at me. I can't say I was pleased to be taken out, but I was very happy for her. "Good luck," I said to her. "And watch out for Ridgeway. He'll try to intimidate you if he gets the chance." She bounced up without another word and went to notify the referee of the change in keepers. I knew her heart must be in her mouth.
When the teams moved back on the field, the crowd went nuts when they saw Bekka in goal. Half of the crowd was cheering her, and the other half, not believing a woman belonged on a professional soccer team, jeered her. It didn't seem to make any difference to Bekka. She smiled and waved to the crowd, did a few stretches to warm up, and took up her position. Her face was full of color, and if her emotions ran any higher, I thought she might take off like a rocket.
The Gulls came out shooting, looking for a couple of quick goals off an inexperienced keeper to get them back in the game. They had taken the substitution of the second-string goalkeeper as an insult, as Sticks had known they would, and they threw everything but the kitchen sink at Bekka in an effort to get the ball by her. However, La Gata Bianca held her ground and kept her net inviolate.
After one particularly nice save, where Bekka took a rough roll at the hands of Kyle Ridgeway and came out on top, the crowd warmed to her and began to chant her nickname, which had been mentioned in the newspapers and program, in three distinct beats. "La! Gata! Bianca! La! Gata! Bianca!" If she became any more popular, I was going to find myself out of favor.
In the end, the Gulls pulled their own goalkeeper in order to put in a sixth offensive player. This is always a desperation move, and almost always ends in disaster for the team that initiates the move.
Knowing there was no trained goalkeeper in the Gulls net, Pat Devlin and Wagstaff went to work at a fever pitch. Together, they began running up the score like there was no tomorrow. When the full-time whistle blew, we had destroyed the Gulls by a score of 12-1. We were so charged up that if we could have continued on and played the New York Lights in the final right then and there, we would have slaughtered them as well. Hell, we were so ready we could have taken on the world. But for tonight, we had to be satisfied with the scalp of the Gulls under our belt and the promises of the future.
"I don't think I'm ever going to calm down enough to get to sleep," Bekka told me as we walked along the dock area near where Ethan Kelso's boat was kept.
Bekka had become an instant star during the last period of the game, and the hustle and bustle of the postgame revelry revolved around her. All the news hounds, who had more often than not taken a very lackadaisical approach to anything having to do with the Ravens, swarmed around her yelling questions and demanding more of her than she could possibly give. However, like she had handled Ridgeway and the Gulls on the field, Bekka took all of the attention in her stride. She gave witty, intelligent answers to all the questions that deserved them, and she came up with devastating put-downs to all the questions that didn't. The press ate it up and came back for more.
Eventually, Sticks had to shove the reporters out of the locker room so he could have his own say about the evening. He kept his comments short and sweet, basically telling us we'd played a hell of a game, but there was still the final to come. He set a practice session for the following afternoon. Sick bay report, for anyone with aches and pains, would be at ten in the morning.
Nina Brisbane also put in her two cents worth. She was vibrating with pleasure at the team having made it to the finals and promised a modest bonus to everyone if we beat New York. Her smoky, sensual voice purred like a cat's. I knew she had to be gratified by the coverage Bekka had brought the team as well as by the night's gate receipts. She might stand a chance against her sister yet.
When all was said and done, Bekka came over and grabbed my arm. "Let's get out of here," she'd whispered urgently in my ear. "Take me somewhere quiet before I jump out of my skin."
Taking her car, we'd escaped and driven to the Santa Monica Bay Marina. I still had the key to Ethan's boat. I wanted to be somewhere where Bekka and I could have privacy, but Ethan could get in touch with me. On the drive down, I'd brought her up to date on everything that had happened over the last few days, including the reasoning behind Ethan's questioning of Nick and Stavoros.
Now, we were walking along the docks trying to wind down as the clock ticked close to one in the morning.
"We'll all have plenty of time to sleep when we're dead," I told her. "So, don't worry about the
sandman now. Enjoy what you're feeling and be thankful that you've become one of the few to experience it."
'Mmmm ..." Bekka hugged herself against the cool breeze that was coming in off the ocean. She did a dancer's twirl. "I can't believe I've actually played in a professional game."
"You didn't just play in a game," I told her. "You made the start of a legend for yourself while damn near putting me out of a job."
"Oh, Ian," she said, suddenly nervous and apprehensive. She put her arms around my waist and hugged me tightly against her. "I'm so sorry, I've only been thinking of myself.... How stupid of me..."
I laughed. "Don't be ridiculous, woman. I couldn't be happier for you. I never thought I'd hear myself say this, but I've had my fifteen minutes of fame. I'll still take the limelight when I can get it, but I've come to accept how fleeting the feeling is. Enjoy it while you can and savor the memory when it's gone. It's all you can do in the long run."
"Wow," said Bekka. "You go into solitary for three days as Ian Chapel and you come out as Socrates."
I grabbed her by the waist and started to tickle her while growling fake anger deep in my throat. She pushed away from me, laughing, and started to run down the deserted dock and out onto the sand.
I gave chase and we eventually ended up in the wet sand in an out-of-breath heap. Bekka had maneuvered herself on top of me, with her hands pushing my shoulders down into the sand. With deliberation she brought her mouth down on mine and kissed me deeply. Small waves made shushing noises in the background as they peaked and tumbled.
"I was so worried about you. ..." she said softly when she relinquished my lips.
"Don't talk," I said, and putting my hand behind her neck, I brought her lips down to meet mine again.
We held the kiss for a long time, our tongues darting and entwining. There was the sound of a larger wave breaking and then water flooded over us. Taking her mouth from mine, Bekka started to laugh, and water poured down my throat and up my nose. I rolled over, retching and choking. The water was freezing.
We dragged ourselves back to the boat in fits of giggles that must have irritated even the deepest sleepers amongst our marina neighbors.
When we were inside, I dug out a couple of thick white towels. "Next time I run into Burt Lancaster, I'll have to ask him for a few tips. He didn't seem to have any problems making love along the water's edge in From Here to Eternity."
"You are some piece of work, Ian Chapel. I've never met another man who makes me laugh like you do, or who makes my emotions do flip-flops like you do."
The cabin was dark except for the moonlight that poured through the portholes. Throwing her towel aside, Bekka slid into my arms again. My hands moved of their own accord under the cotton top she was wearing and up to caress the swells of her breasts. Bekka moaned into my mouth.
Her nipples were cold and hard against my palms and she raised her arms for me to slip her blouse and bra over her head. I tasted her skin with my tongue, and the salt residue left behind by the ocean that had flooded around us was tangy and full of enticement.
Her skin was beginning to heat, and she arched her body against me in a demand for response. Somehow, she had shed the jeans she had been wearing, and as my hand slipped down over the taut muscles of her belly she shuddered deeply. She placed her own hand on mine and guided it swiftly to the center of her heat. There was a soft growling in the back of her throat, and I felt myself start to ache with wanting her.
I guided her gently from the main cabin into the stateroom, and we lowered ourselves onto the bed. As she lay on top of me, she tore open my shirt and we laughed as the buttons popped away all over the room.
Naked together, she poured herself over me like warm honey. Her hair was still damp, smelling of the sea and the faint traces of her perfume that hadn't been washed away. It tickled against my chest as she nipped at me gently with her teeth. I ran my hands the length of her back and then down to the taut cheeks of her buttocks.
Her body was elegant and strong, hungry for me. I rolled on top of her, and she opened her arms and herself to me with a gasp of joy and pleasure. We seemed to fit perfectly together like two halves of a whole, intimately complete and perfectly right.
Lying motionless, for fear of disturbing the unbelievable sweetness of our symmetry, we stared for a long time into each other’s eyes in the moon-pierced darkness. And then the hunger and need overtook us, and we began to move to the beating of an inner metronome that drove us deeper into each other, past all physical barriers, and into the heart of passion.
Chapter 21
At first light the following morning, still tangled in each other's arms, we were rudely awakened by Ethan. He came on board as loudly as a drunken sailor—his polite way of making sure everyone was decent before handshakes were exchanged. He looked tired and haggard-eyed, but if he disapproved of the sleeping arrangements currently on board his boat, he didn't let it show.
He dumped the morning's newspapers down on the small table in the main cabin alongside a bagful of doughnuts and six Styrofoam cups of coffee.
"I know you would probably prefer tea," he said to me by way of greeting. "But I also know how picky the English are about the way it's brewed. Trust me. You're better off with coffee while you're in America."
"Good morning to you, too," I said. I felt groggy from lack of sleep. "Did you sleep well?" I asked nastily.
I was peeved at having my beauty rest disturbed, however I was interested in what news Ethan had brought with him about Nick and Stavoros.
Ethan yawned dramatically. "Is sarcasm a strong suit of yours in the morning?" he asked. "I feel like I haven't seen a bed since sometime last month."
"What happened with Nick and Stavoros?"
"In a while," he said. He flapped his hands toward the coffee and doughnuts. "I want to put the Corrienearn through her paces first. I need to be rejuvenated by the smell of the salt air and the touch of sea spray at speed."
"Great," said Bekka as she came out of the small forward stateroom. "Can I help? I used to sail with my father when I was younger." After less than three hours' sleep, she looked bright and alive, and I saw the first glitch in our relationship appearing on the horizon. She was a morning person and I was a night owl. I was having trouble getting the lid off my first cup of coffee, and she was ready to take on the world.
"I'd be glad to have you lend a hand," Ethan told her. "But I'm sure you'll want to see these first." He opened the two daily papers he'd brought with him to the sports pages.
The coverage was good. Bekka's smiling face was plastered all over the front of one sports section, and it made page two of the other. Together, we ate doughnuts and read the articles about the semifinal games out loud to each other.
Nina Brisbane's publicity machine had obviously been in action again, and Bekka was providing them with a good hook. Such was the current local awareness of indoor soccer that the removal of Nick and Stavoros from the Ravens lineup didn't even cause a single comment. In any other American sport, if a head coach and one of the players had been replaced right before a play-off game, sparks would have flown in the press. However, indoor soccer was only now beginning to come into its own, and the players and coaches were hardly household names, even to the press.
When we'd finished basking in the reflected glory from the newsprint, Ethan and Bekka disappeared out of the cabin hatch with the intention of getting us into open water. I know very little about boats. I understand what makes them float only a little less vaguely than I understand what makes planes fly. I simply accept boats floating and planes flying based on the Emperor's New Clothes theory of science...you don't want to ask too many questions in case you destroy the illusion.
Ethan and Bekka, however, seemed to have no problems with all the little rituals and operations required for casting off, motoring out of the marina, hoisting the single sail, and setting the Corrienearn running before the wind.
The sea was calm and colored with opaque blues, grays, and g
reens that split into a foamy white as the sloop's hull sliced through them. I'd initially worried that I might get seasick, but when no symptoms appeared, I made my way up on deck. It was quite cold, and both Bekka and I were wearing extra bits and pieces of Ethan's on-board wardrobe for warmth.
Ethan, already looking refreshed, was alternately puffing on a stubby burlwood pipe and sipping from his second container of coffee. He was somehow managing to handle both activities with one hand while the other steadied the tiller. Sitting next to him, Bekka had her head back and her eyes closed in enjoyment of the moment. Her hair was pulled back again into a tight ponytail that streamed away behind her.
I was quickly finding my sea legs and didn't make too much of a fool out of myself as I crossed the deck and sat down on the opposite side of the tiller to Ethan.
"Do you want to take her?" he asked.
"I don't think I have a license that covers this type of activity."
"Don't be silly." Ethan reached over and put my hand on the tiller, and suddenly I was sailing a boat for the first time.
"What do I do now?" I asked.
"Keep the wind in her sails and relax," Ethan told me. "It's not like you're going to have to battle rush-hour traffic out here."
He seemed content enough to trust my abilities, so I settled back to try and enjoy myself.
After a minute, Ethan refilled his pipe and began to unfold his tale.
"Your little shenanigans have put me in Dutch with my bosses," he said to start.
"Really? In that case I'll try not to get kidnapped again."
"Just sail the boat, landlubber. I can tell this story without any help from the peanut gallery."
