by Nancy Warren
He got through right away to Mrs. Gaynor, the woman who’d coached Harriet’s field hockey team. “Oh, yes,” she said cheerfully. “I remember Harriet. Excellent speed and great playmaking ability.”
“Did you know she wanted to be a cheerleader?” he said.
The ex-coach snorted. “This is off the record, but Harriet was too good an athlete to waste her talents leading cheers for boys.” The way she said the word boys made him feel like a small, unwashed varmint, as though he and the rest of his sex were unworthy.
His high school memories were getting fonder by the minute.
However, he wasn’t going to get the quote he wanted by arguing with his source, so he merely said, “But, according to Harriet, she tried out for the cheerleading squad and was never chosen.”
“She also led the girls’ field hockey team through their greatest season. We almost made the state playoffs.” She sighed noisily. “There aren’t many young women with Harriet’s focus and abilities.”
When Steve hung up, he had a couple of good quotes about Harriet’s dedication and athleticism. It was a great start.
He also had been reminded of a fact he’d forgotten. The cheerleading competition at Pasqualie High had been run by the students. Now, wouldn’t it be great to interview some of the women who’d been instrumental in keeping Harriet off the team? He’d love to get them eating crow in print.
12
HARRIET BLOTTED HER FACE with a cold, wet towel in what had become her sanctuary—the ladies’ room.
Since she’d suddenly become a gutsy go-girl type, she seemed to be spending an awful lot of time in here.
She sank back against the white tile walls, swallowing another surge of nausea, and glanced at her watch. She might as well just hang the darn thing from her bangs, all she did was glance at it every five seconds and calculate how much longer she had until her very first game as a Pasqualie Braves’ cheerleader. Six hours, twenty-eight minutes and…nine seconds.
She’d never been so nervous. She’d been too keyed up to eat breakfast or lunch, which she imagined was the only reason she hadn’t tossed her cookies.
She took a good hard look in the mirror. Who was she kidding? She was Harriet. Old weird Harriet. The girl who kicked butt at field hockey and could hit a baseball farther than most men.
But she wasn’t a cute little fluffball of a cheerleader, for goodness’ sake. She felt like a freak, an Amazonian ape-woman next to the Miss Almost Georgia Peach and Cecilia Briscoe, the nineteen-year-old dental hygienist with the sparkling teeth and cavity-free personality.
Harriet was overcome with dread. What if she stumbled? What if she fell?
This wasn’t field hockey where you could fall face-first into the mud, get up, run harder and play with more conviction and still score a goal.
This was cheerleading. Falling face-first into the mud was not an option.
What if she forgot the routines?
She felt like slapping herself. She wouldn’t forget the routines. She’d practiced and practiced until she could do them in her sleep.
She pulled the first one up in her mind and stared at herself in the mirror as her eyes went from blank to desperate. What was the first routine?
“Don’t panic,” she said to herself, swallowing nausea yet again.
If she assumed her first pose, imagined herself in her uniform, she’d be fine. She blew out a breath and moved to the center of the bathroom floor. She struck her pose, and pasted a bright smile on her white, terrified face.
The music. She needed music. She started humming their first number, snapping her fingers to the rhythm. Good. This was good. If she remembered the music, the moves couldn’t be far behind.
Her feet remembered before her mind. Run forward, smile at the crowd, bend at the waist, back up, turn and immediately into a layover. At first her muscles felt stiff and achy, almost as though she were coming down with the flu, but as she felt her confidence grow, she relaxed.
The crowd was roaring in her head. Back flip to handstand. And hold it…
She was so absorbed in her routine she didn’t notice the door open. There she was, upside down, with her skirt flipped over, her Jockeys For Her on display for the entire newsroom.
She heard the voices first and glanced up through her stiff arms to watch Cherise and Tess walk into the bathroom together. They were so surprised they stood there, holding the door wide open. Behind them, the others in the newsroom turned to see what Cherise’s scream was all about even as the interruption startled Harriet so much she was knocked off balance and tumbled in a heap of tartan skirt, red hair and classic-cut cotton panties. In pink.
For a moment there was stunned silence. Tess pulled the door shut and the three women stared at each other.
Cherise spoke first.
“Go team!” she said, raising her fist in a rah-rah gesture.
Twenty minutes later, fed up with herself and her own humiliation, Harriet sucked it up as best she could, pulled her shoulders back and walked out of the bathroom.
It was one of the hardest things she’d ever done.
She eased open the door and slipped out into the newsroom. It had never seemed so huge, or so full of people.
She waited, already blushing fiercely for the teasing.
Nothing.
Everybody was busy on the phone, tapping away at a computer or away from their desks.
In fact, it was suspiciously quiet. She glanced left and right as she made her way to her desk, but it was as though no one had seen her practically mooning everyone, as though Cherise hadn’t spread the embarrassing story.
But Harriet wasn’t falling for the deceptive calm. There’d be something on her desk.
Sure enough there was something on her desk.
A teddy bear. A brown furry teddy bear wearing a child-size Braves’ T-shirt and holding a note. The note read, “Two, Four, Six, Eight, who do we appreciate? Harri-ate! Harri-ate! Rah, Rah, Rah!”
Even if she hadn’t recognized Steve’s handwriting, she’d have known the bear was from him. It had a round red mark on its neck.
Her teddy bear was sporting a hickey.
Her vision misted as she realized how much Steve’s support meant to her.
She vowed at that moment, as she picked up the teddy bear and hugged it to her, that she wouldn’t let down her team, she wouldn’t let down Steve Ackerman, who had helped her realize her dream. And she wouldn’t let herself down.
Her nerve-clenched muscles started to uncramp and her stomach settled.
Throughout the rest of the day she glanced at her bear whenever she felt nervous, and it helped.
Tess came by as she was getting ready to leave. “I wanted to wish you good luck. Mike and I will be at the game tonight. We can’t wait.”
“Thanks,” Harriet said breathlessly. “Sorry about the bathroom earlier.”
Tess twinkled at her. “That’s okay. You have great legs.”
“I can’t believe no one said anything.”
Tess looked as though she couldn’t decide about something then glanced at the bear and back at Harriet.
“It was Steve,” she said.
“Steve?”
“Uh-huh. He said if anybody said one single word to embarrass you, he’d personally kick their ass.”
Harriet’s jaw dropped. “Steve did that?”
“Yes. And he was holding a lethal teddy bear at the time so everyone believed him.”
Harriet hugged the bear to her once more. “I can’t believe he did that.”
Tess shook her head. “He’s got a major crush on you, Harriet. Get with the program.”
“Oh, he does not. He’s just being nice to me because I’m so hopeless.”
“Listen,” Tess said, leaning forward so she was right in Harriet’s face. “You get out there and show them all what you’ve got or I’m going to kick your ass. You got that?”
“You are?” Harriet couldn’t help grinning. She must have had three or four
inches of height and forty pounds on Tess and all of it was muscle.
“Well…” Tess hesitated, scanning Harriet from top to toe. “I’ll make Mike do it.”
STEVE COULDN’T SIT still. He couldn’t hang around and shoot the breeze in the press box with the other sports reporters and he couldn’t go out and hang with the crowds at the stadium as he sometimes did.
He was too nervous. This was Harriet’s first game and he wanted her to succeed so badly it hurt.
One part of him knew she was ready for this and he’d helped her make her dream come true at last.
The other part of him was worried sick she’d fall or trip the rest of the team up or do something that would humiliate her so much she’d never take a chance again.
So he paced.
Imagined the worst.
Dreamed of the best.
Paced some more.
He’d tried to see her before she left the office, to wish her well in person, but she’d gone early. He hoped she was all right. He wished his press pass would let him into the women’s dressing room. Well, he’d wished that many times, but this was the first time he’d wanted to go back there to help someone out. He remembered how he’d inadvertently helped her when she’d been so scared at the cheerleader trials. What if she needed him?
He paced some more. At least she had the bear. She knew he was thinking of her.
It seemed about three ice ages had come and gone before the announcer started his patter. Steve scanned the stands. Had they ever been as packed with fans as tonight? Had the word gone out that there was a new cheerleader or what?
“And now,” the announcer boomed, “the ladies who put the Heart in our Braves, ple-ee-ease welcome your Bravehearts!”
Steve must have watched the cheerleaders hit the field a hundred times, but never before had the spectacle made his palms sweat or his mouth turn dry. Harriet was out there somewhere. Was she as nervous as he?
It didn’t take him half a minute to pick her out as the blue, sparkly lithe bodies bounced, skipped and danced their way onto the field all waving, shaking their blue-and-silver pom-poms, all smiling.
Harriet would have drawn his gaze even if he wasn’t looking for her, he was certain. Her smile, her bright hair, the sparkle of her personality were unmistakable.
He paced some more as the uniformed football players jogged out to applause. Their opponents also jogged out to lesser applause.
And for the first time since he’d been involved in sports, Steve couldn’t care less about the game. All his attention and focus were on the cheerleaders. On one cheerleader in particular.
He barely kept track of the plays, and realized with a pang of horror that he’d have to catch the late-night sports show on TV before he could file his own story.
But Harriet was out there and he was much too busy watching her smile and wave and cheer with the other gals to have an eye to spare for the team they were cheering on.
For the first two minutes he sat there white-knuckled, his stomach in knots. Then, miraculously, he realized it was going to be okay.
Once more, he’d underestimated Harriet, and, he suspected, she’d underestimated herself. She was incredible. As full of life as athleticism, her muscular body in utter harmony with the music, the other cheerleaders, but most important, with the crowd.
If ever there was a woman who was living her bliss, it was Harriet at this moment.
In a small way he was part of her success and so he clapped and hollered so loud when the cheerleaders performed that the other cynics in the press box eyed him askance.
Of course, the Braves won. It seemed to Steve that Rock was playing the best game of his life, no doubt to impress Harriet. After the game, he sprinted down the stands to hang around and congratulate her, but Rock had the home field advantage. In the time it took Steve to flash his press pass and walk onto the field, the uniformed giant had ambled over to the cheerleaders, beelined for Harriet and grabbed her for a kiss.
Steve slowed, though he was close enough to hear Harriet’s squeak of surprise. She laughed and he heard her congratulating Rock on a great game.
Despite one concussion too many, Steve could figure out that he wouldn’t appear to have an advantage over Rock on today of all days. When he congratulated Harriet, he intended for them to be alone.
HARRIET FELT HER PULSE start to calm for the first time since the game began. She was more elated than she’d been at the tryouts. This really was her dream come true, cheerleading in front of a stadium full of fans. She’d never had so much fun in her life.
Her teammates had helped her through a couple of tiny glitches, and congratulated her for doing such a great job her first time. And here was Rock, the big man himself, giving her a sweaty kiss and a hug.
But where was Steve? He’d been there all the way and she wanted to at least thank him. Over Rock’s shoulder she thought she saw him walking away. She felt an impulse to run after the man, but the idea of racing across the field in her flashy blue outfit to accost a man who might turn out to be a stranger was more than she could contemplate.
Besides, if it was Steve, why hadn’t he come over to talk to her?
“I’m sorry?” she asked Rock, realizing he’d said something to her and she hadn’t taken in a word.
“Earth to Harriet. What time do I have to be there on Sunday?”
The guy who’d looked like Steve had been swallowed by the crowds now, and her stomach felt hollow with disappointment. “Rock, it’s really nice of you to agree to come to tea, but please don’t think you have to. I’ll tell my aunts you have to practice.”
He smiled down at her, making her feel very much the little woman. “We don’t practice Sunday, Harriet.”
She smiled at him, keeping her lips closed so he wouldn’t notice that her teeth were clamped together, and gave herself a moment to let the irritation pass before she spoke. “I know, Rock. I’m suggesting a small white lie.”
He looked at her in concern. “You can’t lie to a pair of little old ladies. It isn’t nice.”
Much as she appreciated the sentiment, calling her aunts “little old ladies” was like suggesting a diamond was coal that had passed its prime.
Her argument fell on deaf ears until she gave up.
Rock wanted to come. She was puzzled until he explained why. “Honey, coach likes us to put in our hours of community service. If I can spend a couple of hours bringing joy to a pair of elderly women, then I’ve done my bit. And I can claim the hours and get out of that charity pitch-and-putt tourney with the Boy Scouts.” He shuddered.
She was momentarily diverted from his total misunderstanding of her aunts. “Don’t you like Boy Scouts?”
“Oh, yeah. Don’t get me wrong. I like them fine. But they all try to prove something. Like they’re almost as big and tough as me. It’s kind of like that big guy that gets all the little guys running after him.”
“You mean Gulliver and the Lilliputians?”
“No. I was thinking of Shaq O’Neal.”
Harriet stifled her smile. “I’m not sure the Scouts wouldn’t be easier on you. My aunts are lovely, but they…”
“Don’t you worry. I even got them presents. We’ll do fine.”
She’d done her best to keep him away and failed. He really wanted to come to tea.
It wasn’t that she didn’t like Rock. She did. He was a nice man and he’d flattered her senseless with his attention. But he wasn’t the man she wanted in her life.
As far as she was concerned, the “game” Rock and Steve had supposedly been playing was over. But—and it was no surprise to Harriet—now that the prize had been won, the victor seemed to have lost interest in claiming her.
13
THE DOORBELL RANG and Harriet was able to put one worry away. At least Rock was prompt. It was two minutes past three according to the clock in the hall, which kept perfect time. Harriet always suspected it knew it would be punished if it became sloppy and unpunctual so it never dared d
isobey.
“He’s here,” she called with what she hoped was casual ease even though her stomach was quaking.
She waited for her aunts to breeze into the hallway and then she opened the door to Rock.
He walked in and said hi to Harriet.
She’d warned him to dress nicely, and he was in clean khakis and a golf shirt.
“How ya doing, ladies?” he said to the aunts in a loud voice.
Aunt Lavinia extended her hand, but quickly pulled it back and the three women stared at Rock’s huge ham hands. They held bright blue Nerf footballs dotted with sparkly stars. “These are honorary Braves’ footballs.”
He held them up as though they were dumbbells and began squishing them rhythmically. “Great for squeezing,” he bellowed in a voice so loud all three women winced. “Helps prevent arthritis.”
He must think all old people are deaf, Harriet thought in horror as the afternoon began to look like one giant shouting match.
“He’s the sort of person who shouts at foreigners, no doubt,” Aunt Lavinia said quietly behind Harriet, who was very much afraid she was right.
He presented each of the aunts with her blue Nerf football, beaming when they politely thanked him. “No, no. You try it.” And he stood there expectantly until Aunt Elspeth, who hated to hurt anyone’s feelings, obligingly gave the blue foam a few quick squeezes.
“That’s great!” said Rock, and he grabbed her upper arm and pumped as though he were a human blood pressure cuff. “Good muscle tone,” he said heartily, and winked.
He turned to Lavinia and Harriet hastily stepped between them before her aunt’s sarcastic tongue carved him into blue-and-silver ribbons.
“Shall we go in for tea?” she trilled like a society hostess on fast forward, pushing Rock through the dark oak double doors with their leaded glass panes into the elegant living room.
Well, the aunts called it the living room. It was a parlor, really. With dainty velvet settees, small occasional chairs and round footstools—each lovingly embroidered by Aunt Elspeth—the room reminded Harriet of something from Victorian England. The settee and chairbacks were protected by starched linen antimacassars, also embroidered by her industrious aunt.
