by BILL BARTON
Jake chuckled, wondering where in Springdale that All Sports Network had set up this interview with Sly and Dewayne. If he had known in time, he would have tried to finagle the interview in front of Hopper's Barbecue.
It wasn't until the commentator encouraged the viewers not to change the channel-when they returned from commercial, they would play highlights of Sly's and Dewayne's college football careers-and stated that the show was live from New York, home of the Heisman award ceremony, that Jake realized Springdale's only luminaries were now separated from him by several states. The grand opening of Hopper's Barbecue was no match for the publicity of national talk shows surrounding all things Heisman.
The reality came as a sucker punch to his empty gut. Instead of pouring milk into his cereal bowl, he unscrewed the pint bottle of whiskey he had neglected the night before and saturated the flakes in its intoxicating warmth. The phone began to ring. It rang as he ate his cereal and watched his boys exchange playful banter with the commentator. Had not the three of them had such an exchange just last night? How had they gotten to New York? The network television showed highlights from their college games, but for Jake it was a broadcast of personal humiliation for America's entertainment.
He dropped the bowl and spoon in the sink, put on his overcoat, and stepped outside. He looked into the bright blue sky. Perfect day to travel toward a horizon ... any horizon, he thought. He opened his trunk and retrieved a pint of whiskey from a cardboard case. As he eased his car onto the road, a convincing proposal occurred to him: maybe this was God's way of punishing him for being a murderer.
Had he answered the ringing phone instead of going out the door, he would have heard from Cherie that All Sports Network had flown them all last night on the company plane to do a live studio interview that morning from New York, put them up in a four-star hotel, and shuttled them to the studio the next morning in a stretch limo. Hopper's Barbecue could not compete with such superstar treatment.
Jake broke the seal off the bottle with a twist of his wrist. He began to sing an old hymn, "What can wash away my sins ... before he took a long pull from the fresh pint.
"Sly, you put on a clinic in the championship game against Tech," Robert Hickman, host of This Week in College Football, said. Hickman, a former college running back for Texas, was unable to contain his delight at being in the presence of the top two contenders for the Heisman Trophy.
"Sly brought Miami back from the brink," Dewayne said, grinning at his friend and slapping his large hand into Sly's open palm.
"I'll say he did," Hickman said. "With twenty-five of thirtyeight passes for four hundred thirty-two yards-"
"And no interceptions" Sly could not help himself and gave the camera a quick smile and wink.
"I was going to get to that," Hickman said. "In fact, I think you had the fewest interceptions of any quarterback in college football this season"
"What do you mean, you think?" Sly expanded his chest in mock indignation. "I thought the great Robert Hickman knew all things"
"I do. I most certainly do." Hickman pointed to the earpiece in his left ear. "And my little magic earpiece tells me that indeed I am correct about that stag"
"Yet another record for my man," Dewayne said, punching Sly's arm.
"Ah, yes, but hold your Heisman horses," Hickman said. "Because one Dewayne Jobe has conked out the college record for the number of touchdown catches, USC's record for the number of receiving yards, and the conference record for receiving yards. And when you add the jaw-dropping performance of his last game, three hundred twenty-seven yards, four touchdowns-"
"I'll tell you who's gonna get conked out," Sly said. "I'll tell you whose jaw is gonna drop, and that is my man here, when they announce my name as the winner."
Dewayne laughed and shook his head, knowing that when Hickman had laid down the gauntlet, there was no way Sly would ignore it.
"Rumor has it you were the best man at the D-man's wedding"
"I was the best man all right, and his poor wife knew it. It was the saddest day of my life ... and hers;' Sly said, hanging his head in mock sorrow and wiping a fake tear.
"Just for the record, Mr. Hickman, I had no best man at the wedding," Dewayne said, not willing to allow Sly's inane comment to obscure that special day. "If my father had been alive, he would have been my best man."
"Here's a dream scenario for you," Hickman said, steering the conversation back to the topic of sports. "On the same NFL team, I'll give you Sly at quarterback. I'll give you the D-man as wide receiver-"
`And I'll give you a championship every year;' Sly said. "We would show the world who rules, plus I get the girl:"
"It'll take more than a championship, a Heisman, and some fast-talking fool to take her from me;" Dewayne said, and this time the punch to Sly's arm was less playful.
"My man, careful of the throwing arm." Sly rubbed the spot of contact before he cocked his arm and pretended to throw a pass. "The Heisman Trophy arm:"
"Do I detect a little tension here ... a little rivalry thing going on?" Hickman said, goading the possibility.
"Only in your mind, Mr. Hickman," Dewayne said.
"Well, there is plenty of room for a little rivalry. All the polls say this Heisman race is as tight as a Texas tick on a bull's rump." Hickman turned from Sly and Dewayne and looked into the camera. "But like all races, they must come to an end. And so it shall be tomorrow when the winner will be announced right here on All Sports Network with yours truly hosting the event. Many thanks to my two special guests, Sly Adams, quarterback for Miami, and Dewayne Jobe, wide receiver for USC, locked in a neck-and-neck race for the Heisman Trophy. Folks, the votes have been cast, the ballots have been counted, but no matter who goes home with the trophy or how their bowl games go in a couple of weeks, these two young men have a very bright future in professional football. For This Week in College Football I'm Robert Hickman. Be sure and join me tomorrow on ASN for full coverage of the Heisman ceremony."
After the theme music for the show was over and the bright lights in the studio were turned off, the handshakes and autograph requests began from the All Sports Network tech crew and staff. Everyone knew that the value of one autograph would skyrocket after tomorrow's ceremony, and no staffer would let Sly or Dewayne get away without securing both signatures.
When they did escape the building, Rosella was waiting for them in the limo. She had watched the whole program from the comfort of the car's backseat.
"So how'd we do on our first appearance with the Hick Man?" Sly said, leaping into the limo and throwing his arm around Rosella's shoulders. "Were we stars?"
"In your own eyes;" Rosella said, and she slipped out of Sly's loose hold and sat next to Dewayne in the seat opposite Sly.
"Oh, what coldness comes from the sister" Sly began to shake like his whole body was freezing.
After a short sightseeing drive, Dewayne and Rosella got out of the limo in Times Square and told Sly they preferred to walk back to the Hilton. They ate their New York kosher hot dog on a park bench with a steady cavalcade of pedestrians providing free entertainment. Drug dealers peddling escape; prostitutes peddling pleasure; preachers peddling paradise; bewildered, abandoned kids sliding along, their eyes glazed with loss; the confused homeless lurking in and out of corners; punks on Rollerblades flying by, oblivious to anything but speed-all passed in front of them, an exotic human stream.
"I can't stop thinking about Jesse;' Dewayne said, stretching out his long legs after finishing his hot dog. "I just let him go.
"I've been thinking about my sister and her kids. I don't know which is worse, dying once or dying every day."
"Jesse and your sister ... we can't do anything about, but maybe her kids"
"What are you saying?"
"I'm thinking out loud. I'm saying nothing. I'm saying everything. They're kids. They could have a future. Maybe we can do something."
Dewayne and Rosella ambled back to the hotel, holding on to each other in a reassuring embrace, aloof
and untouched by the world around them, seeing no one but each other, hearing no sound but the soft tones of solemn whispers and longings.
In their four-star room, Dewayne and Rosella could see the world as fruitful, inviting them to taste the sweet wine offered, and in the darkness, they came together-comfortably, slowly, in the pace of confident and permanent lovers. To this room and to this bed, they brought a mind and body intact like a sturdy vessel able to withstand any destructive power. The changing shapes of the world would flummox them. The people in their lives would reveal the riddles in their souls regarding human nature-those questions that would rise to challenge their beliefs and either inspire action or hamstring the best of intentions. But one thing remained certain-a love that was fluent in any language, a love that was solid and clear as transparent iron, and they would cleave to it and to each other as if they had been asked to write the final chapter of mankind.
Dewayne got out of bed and slipped from the room, leaving his wife to stay in bed as long as sleep would keep her there. The aroma of the breakfast buffet filled his nostrils as soon as the elevator doors opened onto the mezzanine. A half-dozen chefs and servers stood at their stations ready to serve Dewayne and a handful of other early risers. When Dewayne passed the juice bar, he saw Sly and another man in the corner of the room almost concealed by a tall fern. The man finished scribbling something on a piece of paper and then stood up, stuck his pen in his suit pocket, gave Sly's hand a vigorous shake, and walked toward Dewayne. A half smirk on his face, the man dressed in a thousand-dollar suit left behind the heady scent of expensive cologne after he disappeared around the corner.
Dewayne approached Sly's table, the breakfast dishes pushed aside, leaving an open space for the papers left behind by the man. Sly did not look at his friend. He kept his concentration on the written figures and statements.
"You're up early this morning," Dewayne said.
Sly said nothing; his head remained lowered, eyes fixed in their downward focus.
"Who was the suit? He looked familiar. Was he-"
"Why don't you pile your plate with some food, my man, and sit down?"
"Was he an agent?"
"My man is getting into my business." Sly folded the papers in a neat half fold and creased the middle with a slow swipe of his thumb.
"You know we're not supposed to be talking to agents yet. I
"Are we going to eat breakfast together or not?"
Sly's challenging glare into his friend's eyes was now Dewayne's focal point.
"We've still got our bowl games to play. Agents aren't even supposed to start sniffing around till after that:"
"We're not always in control of our lives." Sly raised his hands in a gesture of helpless submission to life's whims.
Dewayne looked around the room, annoyed at Sly's disdain for the rules and his cocksure attitude. The check in his gut would not let him reply, and Sly took that to mean breakfast together was not in order, so he slid around the table and stuffed the papers into the inside of his coat pocket as he stood.
"My man, I got it covered." Sly laid his hand on Dewayne's shoulder. "There's only me in this world to back me up. I don't have a mama or a pretty wife looking after me."
"You've got a friend"
"I got a friend forever in you, my man, but I'm making new friends;' Sly said, patting the papers inside his coat. He took Dewayne's hand and placed it on his chest where he could feel those papers. "You feel that? You're touching the promise of the moon, my man. You are touching the brightest future this boy has ever dreamed of."
"Just be careful"
"The Sly-man is always careful"
Sly's bright smile broke the mask of seriousness on his face.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to write my Heisman victory speech"
The complaining began the moment Rosella adjusted Dewayne's tie and made him stand in front of the full-length mirror for a final inspection. Everything was too tight, and no amount of adjustments and tweaks would satisfy. The carping over the ill-fitting monkey suit continued even when they were ushered into the crowded ballroom and the cameras began their click and flash and the reporters lobbed their questions. The complaints stopped when Rosella kissed him for luck and gave his bottom one last smack before handing him over to the ushers who would guide him to the row of nominees seated before the beautiful Heisman statue.
Dewayne and Sly squeezed each other's head with macho force and counted out three gentle head butts, the ritual they performed before each high school game, the incident that morning forgotten. Dewayne then shook hands with each candidate, praising each for his success. No matter who walked out with the trophy, this moment would be a highlight in their lives and put all of them in an advantageous position when it was time for the draft.
The stage manager announced to the room they were about to go live, and he began the final countdown like a NASA scientist. Robert Hickman got a final spritzing, took a last swallow of bottled water before tossing it to an awaiting assistant, and was all smiles ready to welcome folks in TV land tuned in to watch the Heisman ceremonies as soon as the red light blinked on the camera and the theme music faded out.
Dewayne turned to look for Rosella, the very thing his mother scolded him for when he would turn around in church to look at the people behind him. He spotted her and she blew him a kiss. Sly had to nudge him to refocus his attention. When he turned back, he saw himself on the monitor stretched vertical, flying into the end zone in slow motion just as the football sailed into his hands. These displays of virtuoso performances of each contender lasted several minutes while Hickman read a brief biography. But when Hickman was to announce the winner, he was unable to finish saying the name before Sly and Dewayne leaped from their seats and pressurized each other with their arms before a national television audience. The other players stood on their feet and dutifully applauded.
"You deserve it, buddy. I'm so proud of you. You totally deserve it"
Dewayne pulled Sly from his arms and gave him a slight push toward the podium.
Sly reached out to shake Robert Hickman's hand, but eyed the trophy like he wanted to grab it and start jumping up and down.
Dewayne looked back for Rosella. It was more difficult to spot her because people were scrambling for better positions to see the newest Heisman winner. When he found her, she was dabbing her eyes with a Kleenex. When he caught her eye, it was his turn to blow her a kiss.
"When Mr. Hickman announced my name, my best friend gave me a big hug and said that I deserved this. Well, now that I've got this beautiful trophy in my hands, I kind of have to agree with you, my man. This does look good on me"
Sly took the pause for polite laughter, more forced than spontaneous.
"I'll start by thanking my teammates and the coaching staff at Miami. All props to you for giving me the opportunities I needed to make the plays. I thank my hometown of Springdale, Mississippi. The Springdale Tigers rock! And I thank my best friend, Dewayne Jobe. I felt the East Coast guys have been supporting me this whole season. They've given the team and me some great coverage and early on were holding me up for this award. Props to them all around. I knew the West Coast would go to my man here on the front row with me, and he deserves every vote he got. So my thanks especially go to the sportswriters in Middle America for swinging their votes my way. Thank you for honoring this small-town boy who always had big dreams. You have made one of his biggest dreams come true today."
Dewayne and Rosella could not get to each other fast enough. By the time the ceremony was over and Robert Hickman had signed off the air, Rosella was happy to be held in the strong arms of her husband. They were unmindful of the cameras flashing all around them, snapping their strobe light pictures as if they were some celebrity couple.
"Stop this now. You're hogging my camera time," Sly said.
He stepped in between them, giving Rosella a kiss on the cheek and slapping Dewayne's arm.
The cameras continued to click and brighte
n the room with their constant blaze. Rosella wanted to flee, but Dewayne scooted around Sly and locked his arm around her waist.
Sly kept pumping the air with his trophy and muttering under his breath, "This is my night."
Reporters began to ask their questions.
"You two say you are best friends, but you're both pretty competitive. Does that have any effect on your friendship?"
"There is nothing wrong with healthy competition," Sly said.
"Not at all, but it has never hurt our friendship," Dewayne said. "Remember, we grew up together. That's where the bond grew strong, and nothing will change that."
"You two looking forward to the combines and the draft?" another reporter asked.
"Bring it on;' Sly said.
"Yeah, I'm looking forward to both, but I've got a bowl game coming up and that's my focus;' Dewayne said. "We'll cross those bridges when we come to them."
"Dewayne, are you disappointed not to win?"
Dewayne could feel Rosella grow tense, and he just pulled her closer to him.
"It is always nice to be honored with awards and especially to receive college football's highest honor like Sly here. But my friend will go home tonight with a hard, cold bronze statue, and I will go home with a warm, loving wife. Now, you tell me who the real winner is"
This time the laughter from the crowd was authentic and unprompted, nothing polite or forced because of a lame comment, but genuine and sustained for several seconds with some reporters punctuating the laughter with applause. Before departing, Dewayne threw his arm around Sly and kissed him on the side of the head, then let him go. He and Rosella began to move toward the banquet room, giving Sly time with the press to revel in his night alone.
Bruce stared into the flame of the candle on the coffee table. He had closed the blinds and drawn the curtains so the tiny flame was the only light holding back the darkness in the filthy living room congested with trash, half-eaten food, and beer bottles. He had complained of stomach cramps and parlayed this into an excused absence from school.
