Blue Bloods of Bois D’Arc

by Brown,Dick

  Turning to look Rod straight in the eye, Jack said, “I see your situation as being a lot like ole Abe’s. You grew up on the wrong side of town and aren’t particularly well liked by Bois D’Arc’s old-money blue bloods. Old man Worthington made that pretty clear when he told Cass not to see you, not that it stopped you. But, you have usable talent. And they will use you . . . let you think you have become an equal until they are through with you. Then the game is over. Do you understand what I’m saying, son?”

  “I think so,” Rod said haltingly, “but what can I do for them?”

  “Power, prestige, they want to pull the strings when all the college coaches come courting you after this season. Football is bigger than religion in Texas, and that’s pretty big. You’ll see. If you win your first three games, even old man Worthington will come around. Might even acknowledge you are dating his granddaughter, and believe me, he knows it. Nothing happens in that town that he doesn’t know.”

  “I already know I’m going to A&M, thanks to you,” Rod said. “I don’t see how they can have anything to say about it.”

  “Don’t kid yourself. You can bet old man Worthington will have plenty to say. He will insist you go to SMU if you want to continue seeing his granddaughter. He carries a lot of weight at the Hilltop. That’s what the well-to-do alumni call their old stomping grounds at SMU. There’s a little ten-thousand-dollar bet with some of his Dallas Highland Park cronies over who can recruit the best high school football players for their dear old alma mater. Money is no object and they throw a lot of it around. I’m not in their league when it comes to putting players on salary. I’ve sponsored a lot of scholarships, but that’s where it stops. The player has to earn his slot and make his grades. No free rides on my money.” With that, Jack headed for the bathroom to get ready to hit the sack.

  Jack’s comment about Mr. Worthington allowing him to date Cass caught Rod by surprise and his heart was pounding just thinking about it. They had been caught taking a midnight skinny dip at the country club pool by Mr. Gardner. Mr. Worthington almost had a coronary when word leaked of the incident and made a belated effort to hush up what everybody in town already knew. Most people figured he and Cass would end up at SMU together because of old man Worthington, not in spite of him.

  What if I have to choose between A&M and Cass? The brief rush he felt quickly faded in light of Jack’s scenario. If he went to SMU and led them to a Cotton Bowl win on New Year’s Day, a future could be possible for him and Cass.

  The senior Worthington’s own son was a complete disappointment to him. Dominated by a headstrong woman of impeccable breeding, he was putty in her hands. Her genes had been passed on to their only child, Cassandra. Cass knew she could have whoever or whatever she wanted, with or without her grandfather’s blessing. He would just have to accept the fact that Rod grew up poor living with Mexican and black families in the Flats. His pedigree was in football, and that outweighed her grandfather’s prejudice against Rod, whose troubles were only beginning.

  “Well, sport,” Jack said, sauntering in from the bathroom, “I don’t know about you, but I need to be fresh for Colonel Norbeck tomorrow. The future of my business depends on it.”

  Rod sat quietly in the dark in a quandary about the life altering-decisions he would have to make soon.

  Chapter 11

  The next morning, Jack carefully picked his way through the maze of guarded doors at the Pentagon, greatly simplified by the special visitor’s pass Harry had gotten him. He located Col. Norbeck’s office only to find the outer reception area empty. He moved slowly about the professionally decorated room. Much too plush for a Colonel, he thought. Then he noticed, on the wall on the narrow end of the office, an almost life-size portrait of the President as a younger man, dressed in his Navy officer’s uniform. He cut an impressive figure.

  “Humph,” he said, “why would an Air Force man have a portrait of a Navy man hanging in his office, even if he is the President now?”

  “Sorry I’m late.” Col. Norbeck quietly slipped up on Jack while he gazed at the portrait of the young officer. Short and stocky, with tightly curled, gray hair, the colonel didn’t fit Jack’s image of a modern Air Force jet jockey. A guy that short in the old Army Air Corps couldn’t have seen over the instrument panel of a B-17, Jack mused, but would have made a good tail gunner. Dressed in a tailored Brooks Brothers suit, Robert Talbot tie, and Allen Edmonds Park Avenue shoes, the colonel was no typical government employee.

  “My secretary will be back in a moment with fresh coffee. Won’t you please come in, Mr. Workman?” Col. Norbeck gestured toward his office door.

  This man’s Air Force has sure changed since the old days, Jack thought as he entered the inner office. Hand-rubbed wood paneling, original paintings, thick carpet, an executive desk bigger than the President’s, and satin drapes. Drapes! And he has a window in the Pentagon! This man is really well connected, he thought. Doing business with Col. Norbeck was going to be interesting.

  “This way,” the colonel motioned Jack to have a seat on the couch at the east end of the office away from the more formal desk and high-backed leather executive chair.

  “Colonel, I sure want to compliment your decorator. You have a beautiful office.” Jack gestured with a sweep of his arms around the room.

  “Thank you. I did most of it myself, Mr. Workman,” he said. “Our mutual friend, Senator Langtree, tells me you are interested in our set-aside program for small business.” Col. Norbeck curled his lower lip over his teeth and unconsciously chewed it. “I’ll have to be frank with you. Most of the set-asides are earmarked for minority businesses.” The lower lip rolled out with a smacking sound.

  “At last, here comes Aleisha with fresh coffee.” A tall, raven-haired young lady in her mid-twenties with a straight part down the center of her head appeared from the outer office. Her long, silky hair flowed over her shoulders down her back below her waist. She gracefully placed the tray of coffee and sweet rolls on the table separating the two men. Jack couldn’t help noticing that when she leaned over to pour their coffee, her low-cut blouse revealed a lot of cleavage. Jack felt his cheeks heat up when Col. Norbeck caught him staring.

  “Mr. Workman, what—”

  “Please, call me Jack,” he interrupted, recovering from his embarrassment.

  “What type of facility do you have, Mr. Workman?” Col. Norbeck asked.

  “I have a decommissioned World War II fighter base I picked up as surplus inventory after the war, and I operate a charter and air-freight service with a complete IRAN—Inspect and Repair As Needed—crew. My crew can handle anything from re-skinning to complete engine and air frame overhaul,” Jack said.

  “There are some light maintenance and overhaul programs budgeted in this fiscal budget. Fortunately for you, to my knowledge there are no minorities in that business. To be considered, you will be required to submit a lengthy evaluation application, pass an onsite inspection of your facility, and produce a certified line of credit for five million dollars.”

  “Is that all? How long does the qualification process take?”

  “Normally six months is sufficient. As soon as you file your application, the evaluation will be scheduled. We have an information packet that is very helpful in filling out the necessary forms properly and in triplicate.

  “Aleisha, will you bring Mr. Workman an SBSA-7642779 packet and be so kind as to explain the material to him? And make sure he has a property pass for his packet to get it out of the building.” Col. Norbeck rose from his chair. “Sorry, please excuse me,” he said, “I have a briefing in ten minutes.” He extended his hand. “A pleasure meeting you, Mr. Workman.” Then he circled behind his desk, picked up a file folder covered with a bright-red Secret sheet marked for cleared personnel only, and left the room without another word.

  “Personality of a rattlesnake,” Jack mutte
red after Col. Norbeck left the room.

  “Excuse me, were you speaking to me?” Aleisha asked in a soft, almost concealed southern accent as she entered the room.

  On his feet and halfway across the room to receive his packet, Jack said, “No, no, just thinking out loud. Thank you for all your help. If I can just take the packet, I’ll be on my way.”

  “But Colonel Norbeck instructed me to explain the packet information to you,” she said.

  “Don’t worry, young lady, I’ll figure the forms out, and I won’t tell the colonel if you won’t.” He tipped his Stetson and retraced his steps out of the Pentagon, tucking the packet firmly under his right arm. Surprisingly, he was only challenged once to reveal its contents. He flashed his property pass and was waved through. The last guard at the entrance collected his property pass when he exited the building. Once outside, Jack hailed a taxi for the Willard Hotel, where he hoped to study the forms before Rod returned from sightseeing.

  Two hours later, Rod burst through their hotel room door, dragging his feet in mock agony across the room, and collapsed onto the overstuffed chair. “I think I wore out the new shoes already. If I didn’t see it today, it ain’t worth seeing.”

  “Good,” Jack responded, “but don’t get too comfortable in that chair. After supper we have to pack up and head back to Texas.”

  “How come? I came along to caddy for you and we haven’t even seen a golf course.”

  “Yeah, I know. I had planned to spend a couple more days up here, but things have changed. I’ve got to go back and fill out a bunch of papers and get my facility ready for a government inspection, so I can start landing government contracts by the end of the year.”

  Chapter 12

  The Lakewood Country Club kitchen staff was enthralled by Rod’s animated description of his trip to D.C. “And there he was, Junior, big as life, the President of the United States! Can you believe that? He was shaking my hand and talking to me just like I was somebody.”

  “Guess you think you some big shot since you been to Washington and met the President. Well, you best be careful or your helmet won’t fit this year,” Junior said.

  “Yes, it will. What’s the matter with you?” Rod shot back. “You’ll like Washington, too. When we are making winners out of the Dallas Cowboys, we’ll go up there and kick ass against the Redskins. Can’t say that around Jack, though. He’s an old Redskin fan from way back. Sammy Baugh was his idol.”

  “You been listening to all his crazy talk. Now you startin’ to believe it. Like I said, just make sure your head don’t get too big for your helmet. We have ten games to win or there won’t be no college and there sure as hell won’t be no Dallas Cowboys,” Junior said. “I ain’t got time for talking, have to get busy raking and smoothing out sand traps,” he said over his shoulder, heading for the door.

  Have I gotten just a little bigheaded over my trip and meeting the President? Rod wondered. Things hadn’t been smooth with Junior all summer. And now this. Rod walked over to the members’ locker room to see if Jack was there. He hadn’t seen much of Jack since their return. Too busy getting ready for the government inspection to play golf, he guessed.

  Rod realized the trip had changed him as he walked toward the golf course to help Junior rake sand traps. He’d had a little taste of what he wanted a lot more of. Washington felt right, felt good, and he wasn’t overwhelmed by being in a senator’s office. Maybe a little when he shook hands with the President. He wasn’t too shocked at seeing the President with another woman who wasn’t his wife at the pool. He’d read a column in a Dallas Herald left in the club dining room that reported rumors of his womanizing.

  Growing up in the Flats, he had seen a lot. Life was different from the double standard of the pious and wealthy blue bloods of Bois D’Arc, especially those who lived at the Hilltop Estates, affectionately named after the Hilltop on the SMU’s campus. The Worthingtons and some of their selected rich friends, SMU alumni, lived on property old man Worthington had developed, a hundred acres on the south side of town toward Dallas, subdivided into family estates large enough for stables and riding trails. But there was an unwritten rule that no A&M graduates were allowed to own property there.

  “Rod . . . Rod?” the soft, lilting voice belonged to Cassandra Worthington and brought his attention back from his mechanical raking motion that had dug a hole in the sand trap. He and Junior were supposed to be giving the golf course a major spruce-up for the Labor Day Weekend tournament.

  “Hey, Cass, how was France?” Rod replied casually, trying not to show his surprise that she’d come home without telling him. Before she’d left, they’d argued about her being gone most of the summer.

  “Aren’t you the cool one? I heard all about your trip to Washington with Mr. Workman.” Cass beamed coyly at Rod. “Guess you already had an earful about it,” she said to Junior.

  “Yeah, more than I wanted to hear.” He turned to Rod. “I’m done here, man, you can finish up. I’ll see you later. Bye, Cass.”

  “What’s the matter with him?”

  “He’s just a little jealous of the attention Jack shows me,” Rod responded. “By the way, who told you about the trip? I was hoping to tell you myself when you got back. Maybe if you could come out later for a swim or something, I’ll tell you all about it. I’ll be through with my jobs for Mr. Gardner by seven. Your granddaddy will have had his nightly toddy, watched The Lawrence Welk Show, and gone to bed so you can sneak out without him knowing. I don’t know how you and your family can stand living with him, even if it is the biggest house in Bois D’Arc.”

  “Don’t be mean. Beneath all that thick skin he wants everybody to think he has, there really is a kind old man. He honestly respects your abilities. He just doesn’t like any boy who wants to date me,” Cass added with a smile. “See you around eight.”

  She turned toward the clubhouse, took a few steps, stopped, and pivoted to face Rod again, who was still leaning on his rake. “I’ve missed you this summer. Gramps sent me to France so we couldn’t be together out here. I . . . just want you to know I didn’t enjoy one minute of it and I’m sorry we argued.” She whirled quickly and ran toward the clubhouse.

  “Yeah, me, too,” Rod said softly, watching her until she was out of sight.

  Chapter 13

  All Rod could think about during his long cool shower after raking sand traps in the hot sun all day was what Cass said about missing him this summer and not enjoying the time she was away in Paris.

  “Hey, Rod, you’re going to turn into a prune if you don’t get out of that shower.” Jack Workman stuck his head into the employees’ locker-room door. “Heard Mr. Gardner has been on your back ever since our trip to Washington. Sorry about that, and I’ll talk to him. Been kind of busy, but I’ve got everything pretty much ready for the government inspection. How’ve you been? Sorry, I haven’t been free to play golf lately. Hurry up and get dressed, I’ll buy us some supper so we can catch up on things.”

  “That’d be great, I’ve got a date with Cass in about an hour. She just got home from France and we’ve got a lot of catching up to do, too,” Rod said, hopping out of the shower and drying himself.

  “You don’t say. Well, what do you know about that? Old man Worthington getting soft or just putting out a little bait?”

  “Don’t know. Cass said she would meet me here at the club tonight. I don’t ask questions I can’t stand the answer to.”

  “Smart. Why don’t you take my car and go somewhere a little more private than this place? Stay as long as you like. I can get a ride home.”

  “Are you serious? You know I don’t have a driver’s license,” Rod said, catching the set of keys Jack tossed across the locker room.

  “Don’t worry about it. This may be your last chance for a late date before two-a-days start next week. Besides, I’m curious about wh
at old man Worthington’s up to.”

  Jack had eaten his usual steak, baked potato, and downed his favorite beer. Rod caught Jack up on things since their trip while he devoured his cheeseburger, fries, and vanilla shake.

  “My mother, little brother, and sister listened for hours to me describing Washington, complete with picture postcards and color brochures from every monument and building I toured.” He laughed. “You won’t believe it, but every time I told them about shaking the President’s hand, they had to shake the hand that shook the hand of the President.”

  Switching to football, Rod said, “I’ve already got my play book and Coach Haskins has put in a new offense to take advantage of Junior’s talent as a deep threat receiver. In fact, the whole offense is built around us. It’s called the shotgun. It’s really crazy. I’m the only one in the backfield and all the other backs are spread out as receivers. It’s a new pro formation Coach saw the San Francisco 49ers use a couple of years ago and thought it would be perfect for our talent this season. I line up about six or seven yards back so I can see all five receivers and . . .” Rod’s description of the new formation stopped in mid-sentence when Cass entered the dining room and approached their table.

  Her blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she was stunning in a dark blue, strapless tube top with white shorts and white sandals. “Hi, Rod. Good evening, Mr. Workman,” Cass flashed a smile of perfectly aligned white teeth, the prettiest money could buy from her Dallas orthodontist.

  “Good evening, young lady,” Jack said as Rod swallowed the last of his cheeseburger. “How is your grandfather?”

  “He’s fine, still trying to keep his reputation as the crankiest man in Bois D’Arc,” Cass said, smiling.