shake.
"They weren't ... He said they wasn't . . ."
"Who?" I said to Dwayne.
Dwayne shook his head some more.
"Goddamn it, Dwayne," Dixie said. "Think a bit. This man is trying to help you. I'm trying to help you. Now, goddamn it, how we going to help you if you won't tell us what's going on?"
Dwayne was still shaking his head. He wasn't looking at Dixie anymore. He was looking down.
"You got a responsibility, Dwayne," Dixie said.
Dwayne didn't raise his eyes. His head was still now, and he gazed steadfastly at the floor. "Dwayne, you got a responsibility to this program, to me, to the other guys on the team." Dwayne was motionless.
"You owe it to yourself, Dwayne."
Dwayne raised his head and looked at Dixie. "I can't, Coach," he said.
"Why not?" Dixie said.
The connection between Dwayne and Dixie was real and concentrated. I got a hint of why he was a great coach.
"I got other responsibilities," Dwayne said.
"Responsibilities? Who the Christ to?" Dixie was outraged.
Dwayne shook his head.
"More important than the program, Dwayne?"
Dwayne looked at the ground again. We were all quiet. In the outer office we could hear Vicki typing. I watched the quartz clock on the wall for a while. The second hand jerked around the dial in one-second increments.
"Dwayne," Dixie said, "I'm going to have to sit you down."
Dwayne's head raised slowly until his eyes were on Dixie's face.
Their eyes held each other. I was entirely extraneous.
"You got to help us to help you, or I can't play you," Dixie said.
"Tournament startin'," Dwayne mumbled.
"Yeah," Dixie said.
Dwayne looked at him some more. Then slowly he stood up. He looked down at Dixie, for a full breath cycle.
"I got to go," he said.
"You change your mind, Dwayne, you know where I am," Dixie said.
Dwayne nodded and turned slowly away. He carefully didn't look at me. He opened the door and went out and closed it carefully behind him. The silence in the room was majestic. Dixie slammed his open hand flat on his desktop.
"Damn," he said.
"Yeah," I said.
We sat some more.
"What's your chances in the NCAA Tournament without him?" I said.
"Slim and none," Dixie said.
"What are you going to tell the press?" I said.
"Nothing," Dixie said.
"They'll be all over you," I said.
"Like ticks on a bird dog," Dixie said.
22
WE were at my place. Susan was taking a bath and I was in bed reading Roger Angell's new book. It was ten o'clock on a Friday night. The door was locked, my gun was on the bed table, the television was playing with the sound off. All was peaceful. Susan came from the bathroom wearing a large blue towel and drying herself with it as she walked. "Is there a wonderful movie we can watch on cable?" she said.
"No," I said. "I think we'll have to make love."
"And have a late supper after?"
"We had supper," I said.
"No, we had dinner," Susan said.
"Of course," I said.
"Well, if 'tis to be done," Susan said, "better it be done quickly."
She dropped her towel and dove onto the bed. I dog-eared the page and put the book on the bed table beside the gun.
Susan made her bubbly little laugh, which, in a less stately woman, might have been construed as a giggle. She pulled the covers part way back and wiggled in under them.
"Oh good," she said. "The sheets are clean." She pressed against me.
"And," she said with her near-giggle lurking under the words, "I think you're glad to see me."
"You shrinks," I said, "you don't miss a thing."
"Some things are easier to miss than others," she said.
"I beg your pardon," I said, and she inched her body up a bit against mine and pressed her open mouth against mine.
All smiles ceased.
Susan's energy was limitless. She worked out every day, often twice a day. Her body was strong and very flexible. I was in pretty good shape myself.
When it was over we lay pressed together, our bodies wet with perspiration, our breaths coming in big heaves, our lips still touching. Susan's eyes were closed.
"I never remember how
"They weren't ... He said they wasn't . . ."
"Who?" I said to Dwayne.
Dwayne shook his head some more.
"Goddamn it, Dwayne," Dixie said. "Think a bit. This man is trying to help you. I'm trying to help you. Now, goddamn it, how we going to help you if you won't tell us what's going on?"
Dwayne was still shaking his head. He wasn't looking at Dixie anymore. He was looking down.
"You got a responsibility, Dwayne," Dixie said.
Dwayne didn't raise his eyes. His head was still now, and he gazed steadfastly at the floor. "Dwayne, you got a responsibility to this program, to me, to the other guys on the team." Dwayne was motionless.
"You owe it to yourself, Dwayne."
Dwayne raised his head and looked at Dixie. "I can't, Coach," he said.
"Why not?" Dixie said.
The connection between Dwayne and Dixie was real and concentrated. I got a hint of why he was a great coach.
"I got other responsibilities," Dwayne said.
"Responsibilities? Who the Christ to?" Dixie was outraged.
Dwayne shook his head.
"More important than the program, Dwayne?"
Dwayne looked at the ground again. We were all quiet. In the outer office we could hear Vicki typing. I watched the quartz clock on the wall for a while. The second hand jerked around the dial in one-second increments.
"Dwayne," Dixie said, "I'm going to have to sit you down."
Dwayne's head raised slowly until his eyes were on Dixie's face.
Their eyes held each other. I was entirely extraneous.
"You got to help us to help you, or I can't play you," Dixie said.
"Tournament startin'," Dwayne mumbled.
"Yeah," Dixie said.
Dwayne looked at him some more. Then slowly he stood up. He looked down at Dixie, for a full breath cycle.
"I got to go," he said.
"You change your mind, Dwayne, you know where I am," Dixie said.
Dwayne nodded and turned slowly away. He carefully didn't look at me. He opened the door and went out and closed it carefully behind him. The silence in the room was majestic. Dixie slammed his open hand flat on his desktop.
"Damn," he said.
"Yeah," I said.
We sat some more.
"What's your chances in the NCAA Tournament without him?" I said.
"Slim and none," Dixie said.
"What are you going to tell the press?" I said.
"Nothing," Dixie said.
"They'll be all over you," I said.
"Like ticks on a bird dog," Dixie said.
22
WE were at my place. Susan was taking a bath and I was in bed reading Roger Angell's new book. It was ten o'clock on a Friday night. The door was locked, my gun was on the bed table, the television was playing with the sound off. All was peaceful. Susan came from the bathroom wearing a large blue towel and drying herself with it as she walked. "Is there a wonderful movie we can watch on cable?" she said.
"No," I said. "I think we'll have to make love."
"And have a late supper after?"
"We had supper," I said.
"No, we had dinner," Susan said.
"Of course," I said.
"Well, if 'tis to be done," Susan said, "better it be done quickly."
She dropped her towel and dove onto the bed. I dog-eared the page and put the book on the bed table beside the gun.
Susan made her bubbly little laugh, which, in a less stately woman, might have been construed as a giggle. She pulled the covers part way back and wiggled in under them.
"Oh good," she said. "The sheets are clean." She pressed against me.
"And," she said with her near-giggle lurking under the words, "I think you're glad to see me."
"You shrinks," I said, "you don't miss a thing."
"Some things are easier to miss than others," she said.
"I beg your pardon," I said, and she inched her body up a bit against mine and pressed her open mouth against mine.
All smiles ceased.
Susan's energy was limitless. She worked out every day, often twice a day. Her body was strong and very flexible. I was in pretty good shape myself.
When it was over we lay pressed together, our bodies wet with perspiration, our breaths coming in big heaves, our lips still touching. Susan's eyes were closed.
"I never remember how
Similar Books
