by Lynn Shurr
“Sure did. Ancient Andy came through for us again,” Billodeaux answered for the tongue-tied Riley.
“Do you remember Kevin Riley?” Connor hinted.
“Of course, the first of my lying, cheating boyfriends. See, no brain damage from the fall,” Stevie answered glibly. Then, she put a hand to her mouth and took it away again. “Oh, no! You’re Kevin’s little brother. All this time following the Sinners and I never tied the names together. I guess I put everything to do with him out of my mind. We played football together once when you were just a high school kid.”
Connor sidled up to the bed, seized the only chair and presented his bouquet. “You said you liked daisies because they were simple and cheerful.”
“You remembered that? We only met the one time when he brought me home to meet your parents, but they were out of town. Your brother dumped me the next weekend because we’d dated three months and I hadn’t put out for him. But you remembered I liked daisies?” Stevie took the flowers and gave Connor a friendly smile.
“You were the most beautiful, most fun, most talented girl Kevin ever brought home, and he went back to Merrilee even though she cheated on him. I sacked you into a pile of leaves that afternoon.”
“I shoved pecan leaves down your shirt. We were supposed to be playing touch football.” It was all coming back to her now—a lovely home on Lake Pontchartrain with a big wooded lot and an open area to play football, the rewards Kevin’s father earned with his engineering company building bridges and bypasses across the Louisiana swamps. Kevin was supposed to get his degree in the same field and join the business. Stevie supposed he had. She knew he’d married Merrilee the following spring just before graduation.
“So how is Kevin doing?”
“Married, works with my dad, has four kids,” Connor recited.
Obviously, he did not want to talk about Kevin.
His brother had lured her to the house knowing his parents were away visiting an Aunt Helga who was recovering from surgery. The little brother who had decided to stay home put a snag in the planned seduction. Instead, they played touch football, ordered pizza, and watched a video. And so, she never did sleep with Connor’s brother.
“Oh my, four children, and Kevin only thirty.”
“The big family was Merrilee’s idea. They got an early start. She knows how to hang on to a man.”
“Well, I’m glad someone knew how to hang on to Kevin. Would you pour me a glass of water?”
“Sure.” Connor’s hand shook as he poured from the squat pink plastic pitcher on the bedside table.
Water dribbled from the bottom of the cup as he held it out for her and made splotches down the front of her white hospital gown. He pulled a wad of tissue from a handy box and was about to swab Stevie’s chest, but she waved him away.
“Bruised, very bruised, don’t touch. It will dry.”
“Do you want me to hold the cup while you drink?” Connor asked.
“No.” Stevie poked the bouquet of daisies into the water and set them by the Godiva chocolates.
“Another thing I like about daisies is they are tough and long-lasting, but even daisies need water.” Connor nodded as if she had said something very profound. “Where have you been all these years, Stephanie?”
At the foot of the bed, Joe Dean shifted uneasily and exchanged looks with the Rev. The man might as well have said, “Where have you been all my life?” It was an old pickup line, but said in that tone of voice, might have been a proposal rather than a proposition. Stevie ignored the glance and pretended to miss the point. Men, they just had to try.
“Let’s see. After Kevin, I did my senior year abroad in Italy. I liked it so much over there I stayed on for graduate work. I was doing serious black and whites of wrinkled old women and coloreds of the Tuscan landscape—nothing too original. Then, Marcello suggested we go to see the horse races in Siena, a once a year, no-holds-barred event. That was the first time I covered a sport.” Speaking enthusiastically about her profession, Stevie continued. “There was something about getting a split second shot at a critical moment that grabbed me. I sold a few of those pictures then started going to soccer games, bicycle races, anywhere action could be captured.” Connor said, “Marcello?”
“This guy I lived with for a year or so. Anyhow, I came back to the States with a nice sports portfolio, but found out it was quite a boy’s club—very hard for a woman to get a start. I got a few assignments to cover women’s sports, gymnastics, golf, that kind of thing, but never the big three, football, basketball, or baseball, unless I was willing to do it on spec.
Finally, finally…I get in on the ground to photograph the Sinners and I wind up in the hospital, thanks to my own carelessness.” She shrugged, then winced as her broken ribs shifted.
“Would any of you happen to know what became of my camera? There were some surefire cover shots in it.” “No worries. I gave it to one of the press people named Dexter Sykes and told him to get it to Sports Illustrated just the way you wanted. I said it better be your name on any shots they used or else he could deal with me.” Connor patted her hand.
“Ah, thanks, Connor. I was a little worried. Dex and I have a history, a bad history. He sent me a note saying he had my camera. I wasn’t sure if it was a nasty joke or the truth, but you’ve eased my mind. Dex wouldn’t cross anyone as big as you. Hell, he probably wouldn’t cross me again. I blacked his eye just before I threw him out.”
“You and Dexter have…been together, Stephanie?”
“Yes, I have no talent for finding honest men or keeping them. Okay? And about this Stephanie business: I have hated that name since the day I was born, and Steffie is even worse. Please call me Stevie. All the guys do.”
“Okay, Stevie, then.” But Connor’s expression was one of sorrow, as if he had a hard time thinking of her by any other name than Stephanie after all these years.
Joe Dean stirred with impatience like the hyperactive child he had once been. “Say Con, we ought to let Stevie get some rest and go and visit old Artie. He’s somewhere in this building, too. I need to see how he’s doing.”
“I suspect your motives, Joe. How about we pass through the children’s ward and spread a little sunshine while we’re here,” the Rev suggested in his deep preacher’s voice.
“Sure.” Connor Riley pushed reluctantly out of the room’s single chair. “I’ll come back to see you, Stephanie, ah…Stevie.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’m as tough as these daisies.”
“And just as sweet and pretty, too.” She laughed, shook her head “no” and instantly regretted the motion. “Go,” she said.
On their way out, the three big men collided with a stocky fireplug of a woman bearing a large white teddy bear. She gave them a slight nod as they stepped aside and lit up with a big grin when she saw Stevie.
“Stevie, baby doll, what have men done to you now?”
“Jackie! How did you know?”
Stevie watched the guys stop to listen in on their conversation. Joe Dean must’ve placed Stevie’s guest first because he said, “Jackie Haile, Ladies Professional Golf Tour, top money winner this year.” The Rev jabbed at Joe Dean with an elbow and Stevie almost laughed. “You follow women’s golf, do you? Kills the time while you warm the bench?”
“Rev, I take an interest in women, even the ones not likely to be interested in me,” the second-string quarterback retorted.
Jackie Haile, a blush pinking her cheeks, closed the door and sat in the chair. She snuggled the teddy bear under the covers next to Stevie. “Here’s someone to keep you company in bed since you won’t have none of me.”
“Stop it, Jackie. You’re a great friend, but that’s all. Live with it. Now tell me how you got here.”
“I was doing a charity tournament sponsored by one of the casinos down in Biloxi. Not a bad gig, great room, wonderful food, big-name entertainment as they say. I was having a cold one in the bar after my round, watching the Sinners’ game, and saw y
ou get sacked. Knew it was you by the blonde ponytail flying up in the air even before they announced your name in the replays. Figured that must have hurt.
So, I called around to a couple of New Orleans hospitals. When we got rained out, I rented a car, and here I am to cheer you up in your time of need.”
“Thanks for coming, but what I really need is another painkiller for this head. See if you can get a nurse for me. I buzzed a while ago.” Jackie strode off into the hall to strong-arm a passing nurse into the room. None too happy about the abduction, the nurse read Stevie’s chart. “Sorry, Miss Dowd, you’ll have to wait another half hour for medication. I’ll be back then.” Stevie remembered not to shrug and instead, gritted her teeth.
“Poor baby doll. Leave it to a pack of oversized boys to mess up the one photographer who ever took a pretty picture of me,” Jackie said sympathetically.
“It wasn’t a pretty picture. It showed your powerful swing. It showed your power as a woman,” Stevie declared.
“And the head shot showed my beautiful ears.
No one but you ever noticed my ears. I think they are my best feature.” Jackie Haile smoothed back her close-cropped dark hair. Tiny gold hoops pierced the lobes of each of the small, nicely formed ears lying close to her head. “I tell you, you are wasting yourself on men. Come over to the other side for some real lovin’, Stevie.”
“There hasn’t been a man in my life for more than a year. Speaking of which, Connor Riley gave my camera to Dexter Sykes to take care of it for me.”
“Why didn’t he just stamp on it with his big feet?” Jackie answered, knowing Stevie’s history with Dex. “Want me to beat up Sykes for you?”
“That’s the second offer I’ve had today. I can do my own fighting. I just hope any shots he submits end up with my name on them. The last time he sent in my photos, he got the credit line and offered to share the check with me.”
“And you blacked his eye and made him sign the check over to you, but I never did see your name on that cover of Smokey LeBlanc hitting the game-winning homer.”
“Dex claimed it was a labeling accident. They printed a tiny correction in the next issue, but I’m not sure anyone noticed. My past keeps repeating itself. Guess who Connor Riley is?”
“Lying, cheating Marcello’s American cousin?” Jackie guessed.
“Nope. Kevin the Rat’s brother. I met him once when he was seventeen and didn’t even recall his name. Can you believe he remembered I liked daisies? That was ten years ago.”
“Brought these, did he?” Jackie flicked the flowers with the short-cut unpolished nails of her thick fingers. “Sounds like a schoolboy crush to me.”
“I hope not. There is no way I want to be mixed up with Kevin Riley’s family again. Besides, I’ve given up on men. And I’m not ready to take up women,” Stevie added. Jackie grinned at her.
****
Connor, Joe Dean, and the Rev passed through the children’s ward autographing anything held out to them—paper napkins, coloring books, stuffed toys—and high-fiving hands so small and weak their slaps could barely be felt on the calloused palms of the athletes.
“Seeing little kids with IV’s in their arms and maybe dying depresses the hell out of me.” Joe Dean Billodeaux sighed as they rode the elevator up to Art Golden’s suite.
Connor nodded. Sure as hell awful. What sort of world was it where little kids were required to endure so much?
“It’s a blessing for your soul, brother. Makes you appreciate what the Lord gave you when you was a child—good health and good parents. From what I hear about your escapades, Joe Dean, you better be scoring a few points in heaven,” the Rev answered.
“I wish you’d just retire and take over your daddy’s church like you always say you’re going to do,” Joe Dean sulked. “Don’t you think it’s time he hung up his pads and followed his calling, Con? A lot of good would come from it. A much weaker Falcons defensive team for one thing. Right?” Connor Riley was not following their banter.
“You don’t really think Stephanie is a lesbian, do you?”
“Hell, no. She mentioned relationships with three men in the half hour we were in her room. Of course, she could swing both ways. Her and Jackie Haile, all sweaty, and doing it in a sand trap. That has its possibilities. I might have to check out our Stevie after she mends.”
Connor gave Joe Dean an ungentle elbow in the ribs. “She’s not your Stevie.”
“Hey, I’m still bruised there from the game.
Doesn’t sound like Stevie Dowd has been saving her virginity for you the last ten years, Con. She must be pushing thirty, too. The age thing makes them desperate. As far as I’m concerned, Stevie is a loose ball that anyone can jump on.”
“Stevie is twenty-nine. Her birthday is in November and mine is in February, so that makes her just two and a quarter years older than me, and she will never be desperate enough to sleep with you!”
Connor slammed the quarterback against the elevator’s control panel. The lights for several floors lit up, and the elevator slid to a stop three floors short of their goal. The door opened. A pretty student nurse with red curls bobbing stepped inside.
Joe Dean slipped out of Connor’s grasp and gave her his best smile. “Sugar, you sure are going to be the most beautiful nurse on this floor one of these days.”
The Rev stepped between Joe Dean and the blushing student nurse. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Joe. We need to talk about celibacy.”
“Not having any, thanks. Or rather, I’m getting plenty and would like some more.” Joe peered around the Rev at the student nurse who scurried out when the elevator door opened again. “Guess I scared her.”
“I expect you to be a gentleman about this. Connor here has an interest in Miss Stevie. You let him court her. If she turns him down, then you get a chance, understood?”
“Court her? Count me out.” Billodeaux waited, tapping his foot for the doors to open on their floor.
Connor Riley relaxed.
In Art Golden’s hospital suite, a black vase of red roses—identical to the one in Stevie’s room—
sent by the Sinners’ management adorned the coffee table. The quarterback’s right leg hung strung up in traction and at the other end from the wires and pulleys, Art’s weathered face looked up at the ceiling from its nest of pillows. He lay in his own blue silk pajamas, shorties to accommodate his cast. The bump from a previous break of his collarbone protruded at the V neckline of his top, and the scars from elbow surgery showed just below his right sleeve. He looked none too happy to see Joe Dean come into view. “Guess you guys heard the news already,” he said, looking miserable.
“We’ve been in the hospital most of the afternoon visiting the photographer I sacked and the children’s ward,” Connor told him.
“Looks like my football days are over. The doctors tell me if I smash this leg up again, I could lose it or walk with a permanent limp for the rest of my life. Brenda is happy at last. She’s been mad ever since the Cowboys released me and I signed that three-year deal with the Sinners. Wouldn’t move here to the Big Easy. She stays on the ranch with the kids. Says it’s a healthier environment and when I am ready to admit that thirty-eight is too old to play pro ball, she’ll put out the welcome mat. I guess my wife got her wish.”
“There will be life after football, Art,” the Rev said as if he were visiting a hospice.
“Yeah, I should spend more time with my boys.
Daniel’s got a good arm, and Austin has speed.
Guess you got your wish, too, Billodeaux. You’ll be the one taking the team to the playoffs. Hope you make it past the first game,” said Art without enthusiasm.
“Connor and me have that all worked out. I pass. He catches. Easy,” Joe Dean joked.
“Look, I saw the replays on the news. You were gambling Riley would be there when the ball came down ’cause he wasn’t anywhere in the area when you threw that pass. That’s a dangerous thing to do in the playoffs.”
“But it worked this time and we had nothing to lose but the game if I didn’t try.”
“I’m saying you better work on your short passes and try running a few yourself or you’ll end up getting Connor hurt if you go to him too often. Just take the advice from the old war horse and say thank you.”
“Merci beaucoup, then,” Joe Dean answered giving him a punch on the bicep.
“So, what now?” Connor asked trying to take conversation in another direction.
“Oh, some ranching. I raise quarter horses for a hobby. I’ve always wanted to open up a barbecue place. Free meals for any of my old teammates. You know, the usual thing washed-up football players do.” “You are done playing, not washed-up,” counseled the Rev.
“Never made it to the Super Bowl. Got no ring to show for it,” Art Golden said with real regret.
“You’re still on the team, and me and Riley are going to get you that ring for sure,” Joe Dean swore. Art gave his visitors a melancholy smile. “I guess it will be easier than doing it myself.”
Chapter Three
The Rev cautioned Connor to be careful what he wished for, not to get too greedy with God’s blessings. But, what was wrong with wanting it all?
He and Joe Dean could win the Super Bowl even from the wild card spot in the playoffs, he was sure.
Then, Art Golden could retire with a ring and some dignity. Brenda Golden would be thrilled to have him home permanently. Joe Dean Billodeaux was a little wild, sure, but he’d settle down as the starting quarterback for the New Orleans Sinners. Stevie Dowd’s picture of the spectacular catch made the cover of Sports Illustrated, complete with her photo credit. He’d made that possible, and it gave him an opening with the woman he had been looking for the past ten years.
Connor brought Stevie a stack of magazines bearing her cover shot. He hefted the bundle still bound by plastic strapping as easily as if he were swinging a lunch bucket. He caught her admiring his biceps before she thanked him for going to the trouble.
“No trouble. I bought out the first newsstand I passed on my way over here. I kept the loose ones.
