Play Dead

9

Laura could not believe what she was seeing. ‘What is this supposed to mean?’

‘It’s a picture of Stan and your sister,’ T.C. said.

‘I can see that.’

‘Gloria spent last night with him.’

‘Jesus, you’re a nosy bastard. Have you been following me too?’

‘I’m not following Stan to be nosy. I’m following him because I know him.’

‘And what great plot has your investigation revealed?’

‘You’re not going to like it.’

Laura shook her head in disbelief. ‘You had the gall to criticize me for intimidating the guy at the bank and then you go around playing Peeping Tom with my sister? I can’t believe it.’

‘Are you ready to listen or do you want to keep calling me names?’

Laura looked at his eyes. A chill rushed through her. Suddenly, she was not so sure she wanted to hear what he had to say. ‘Go ahead.’

T.C. was not sure where to begin. He lit another cigar and considered his words.

Stan Baskin had been scum for most of his life. He was a high-school delinquent who was fortunate enough to possess an enormous amount of superficial style and charm. It always got him through. He was intensely lazy, always looking for the easy way out, always looking for the easy money. Stan would do anything for money. Except work. He preferred setting up scams and cons and he was good. Damn good. Good enough to pilfer big bucks from his unsuspecting victims. But then his Achille’s heel always took it away:

He gambled.

David tried to convince Stan to get help for his gambling problem. But Stan was like a drug addict or an alcoholic. He was sure he could stop any time he wanted. He just didn’t want to stop. Especially when the Redskins were such a sure thing against the Vikings or Rambling Shoe in the fourth race could not lose. Maybe David should have tried harder. Maybe he should have forced him to get help, but it probably would not have done any good. Stan was naturally jealous of his brother. To Stan’s way of seeing things, David had it all. His basketball talent was going to be his ticket to the easy money. Stan preferred to ignore the fact that David had worked hard and spent countless hours on his basketball and academics. But again, maybe that was understandable.

David and T.C. were freshmen when Stan got in over his head. Way over his head. It seemed that an especially large quantity of Stan’s ‘sure things’ had not been so sure. He owed some very bad people a lot of money. He needed a major scam and he came up with a beauty.

It was March. Their mother was in the hospital with ovarian cancer. The basketball season was coming to an end. Everyone on campus was excited because the University of Michigan had reached the NCAA Final Four for the first time in God knows how long. There were constant fraternity parties and all anyone talked about was the big game against U.C.L.A. If Michigan could beat them, they would be in the finals.

Michigan was favored to win by three points.

Laura interrupted him. ‘I don’t know anything about gambling. What do you mean Michigan was favored by three points?’

‘Let’s say you bet on Michigan. In order to win your bet, Michigan must win by more than three points. If Michigan wins by less than three points or if U.C.L.A. wins, you lose your bet. Got it?’

Stan came up with a plan on the day of the game, a plan that involved David. Stan reasoned his baby brother would welcome the opportunity to help him out. And he wasn’t asking much. All he wanted David to do was shave off a few points. What difference would it make to David if Michigan only won by two points instead of five? David didn’t have to throw the game. All he had to do was keep it close.

David of course did not see it that way. ‘I can’t believe you’re asking me this.’

‘But I need your help.’

‘No way, Stan. You got yourself into this. You get yourself out. Then do yourself a favor. Get some help.’

‘I will. I promise. Just do this one – ’

‘Bullshit. Get help and then we’ll talk.’

The conversation became nasty and David threw Stan out.

‘And that’s what happened between them?’ Laura asked.

T.C. shook his head. ‘That’s just the beginning.’

Stan had no money to gamble with. He had hoped to pay off his debt by convincing his rather unfriendly mob friends to bet on U.C.L.A. He had told them that David had promised to go along with his plan. Now Stan was in big trouble. He couldn’t go back and tell the mob that he had lied and his brother had refused to do it. They would have done a slam dance on his ribs with a crowbar.

As one might have guessed, Michigan won big. Nine points to be exact. The mob was really steamed. They had lost major dough in Stan’s scam and someone was going to pay for that. The word went out: find Stan Baskin.

But Stan knew how to survive no matter what the cost to others. He was already hiding in the outskirts of South Dakota. He knew that the mob would track him down eventually, but by then he would have the money. The mob however has never been known for its patience. They wanted blood. They wanted to recoup their losses. And they wanted to do it in a hurry. The mob wanted a fall guy and Stan Baskin was not around.

So they chose David.

The championship game between Michigan and Notre Dame was to take place two nights after the U.C.L.A. game. Everyone agreed that the teams were even and hence the game would be too close to predict. If you wanted to bet on it, you bet straight up. If your team won, you won the bet. It was that simple. The media meanwhile spent most of its time building up the confrontation between the two freshmen sensations, Michigan’s David Baskin and Notre Dame’s Earl Roberts.

It would be three years before that confrontation took place.

The mob’s plan was simple. Get the money back by fixing the championship game. And how do you do that? Again, keep it simple. Bet on Notre Dame and then make sure Michigan’s superstar cannot play.

The night before the game, David was sleeping in his hotel room – or at least trying to sleep. Who would blame him for tossing and turning the night before the biggest game of his life? This was the game he had dreamed of all his life and so sleep would come only in small spurts.

Around three a.m., the lock on David’s door was jimmied open. Five men quickly entered.

David sat up. ‘What the…?’

Before he could move, four of the men pinned him down on the bed. David struggled but he was dealing with professionals who had done this kind of thing plenty of times before. He didn’t have a chance.

‘Cover his mouth,’ one whispered. ‘I don’t want anyone to hear him scream.’

David’s eyes widened with fright as someone pushed a pillow into his face. He flailed his head back and forth in panic, but it was a worthless maneuver. He felt one of the men grab his right foot, one hand by the toes, the other on the heel.

‘Hold him tight!’

The man twisted David’s foot all the way around until he heard the ankle snap. Then he twisted it a little farther for good measure. The bones in his foot grated against one another. David’s scream was lost in the pillow.

The men quickly left. They had never even turned on the lights so David had no chance of identifying them. His ankle was badly broken. He was in a cast for two months. That week, David had two of his worst head attacks. They were so bad that T. C. feared for his friend’s life.

Michigan lost to Notre Dame by fifteen points.

‘There’s more to this story, isn’t there?’

T.C. nodded.

Stan could not hide forever. He needed to pay back his debt in a hurry. And he figured out a foolproof way of doing it.

The details are not important. No one ever found out for certain how Stan did what he did. But there are a million different ways to go about it. Stan might have gotten power of attorney. Mrs Baskin might have signed something while on some hospital medication. Who knows? What was important was the end result:

Stan stole the money from his mother.

Imagine a son who would wipe out his cancer-stricken mother’s savings account to pay a gambling debt to the mob. Imagine a son who could leave his poor, sick mother penniless and without any way of paying off her medical bills while she lay dying in a hospital bed. It boggles the mind.

After that, David did his best to take care of her, but she was very ill and now she was also heartbroken over what her own son had done to her.

She died six months later. Stan never went to the funeral.

‘Now do you understand, Laura?’

Laura just sat there. She felt drained by just listening to the story. ‘But this all happened years ago. I’m not going to defend it, but supposed you just looked at Gloria’s past? What would you conclude? You’d say she’s trouble, right?’

‘Wrong. I may think she’s weak or self-destructive, but she never meant to hurt anybody but herself. And more important, her past is just that. The past.’

T.C. opened up his folder. ‘This is Stan’s record. He’s been arrested twice in the last three years for fraud. I called the arresting officer, a Lieutenant Robert Orian. He told me that Stan is well known for using his charm and good looks to seduce wealthy women. It’s hardly an original bit. He bilks them for as much as he can and then gambles it away. He does however add a strange twist to the old game.’

‘What?’

T.C. hesitated. ‘He doesn’t just walk away. He dumps them. He dumps them as cruelly as possible. Makes the woman feel like a worthless hunk of shit. One of his victims had a nervous breakdown. Another attempted suicide. Stan has been diagnosed as having a narcissistic personality disorder with a rather unhealthy hatred of the female sex. He knows how to hurt and degrade women, Laura, and he likes to do so.’

‘Jesus.’

‘I did a little more investigating,’ T.C. continued. ‘Stan owes again. He owes big bucks to some bookie with a propensity for breaking bones.’

Laura sat up. ‘His hand?’

‘Broken. Actually, it’s just his finger. Very mean break. Stan needs the money fast. You’re his new scam, Laura, but I’m not too worried about that. You can handle yourself.’

T.C. lifted the picture of Stan kissing Gloria and handed it to Laura. ‘But what about Gloria?’

The patient read Sunday’s Boston Globe. He had always loved Sunday papers. During his college years, he and his roommates would emerge noon time Sunday from the dormitory after a particularly rough Saturday night, grab some brunch, and spread out with a few Sunday papers. By dinner time, the newspapers resembled a floor covering.

It was a tradition he continued to maintain.

He put down the Parade Magazine section and rummaged through the different sections until he found Sports. Usually he skipped the sports section, and that surprised a lot of people. But lately, he had changed his thinking.

Section C. Page 1. An article by Mike Logan. The patient had always liked Mike Logan. He was a good reporter who had a genuine love for his job and the Boston Celtics

CELTS GEARING UP FOR ROUGH ROAD

by Mike Logan

My team – our team – is in trouble, folks. Big trouble. You may remember last season’s Eastern Conference play-offs. The Celtics barely squeaked by the Chicago Bulls and the Detroit Pistons. And I mean barely. No room to spare for mistakes.

Then the Boys from Beantown faced the Los Angeles Lakers for the NBA Championship. Let’s face it. They should have lost. Had it not been for a last-minute miracle by David Baskin, the Celtics would not be the defending champions today.

Yes, other NBA teams are rising. And yes, the Celtics are sinking. Sinking fast.

It’s not their fault. The David Baskin tragedy was not their doing. But excuses don’t win championships. Great players, coaches and organization do. The coaching is no problem. The same with Clip Arnstein’s organization.

Ah, but the players!

No one could argue about the talent of team center Earl Roberts or the outside shooting touch of Timmy Daniels or the ball-handling of Johnny Dennison. They’re great. No doubt about it. But without White Lightning, this is just a good team. Not a great one. They need a great forward.

But how do they get one?

In the past Clip Arnstein, alias ‘The Miracle Worker,’ came up with something. And why not this time? After all, the Celtics still have the best organization in basketball. The Miracle Worker thrives in these situations. Usually he digs up a surprise draft pick. But this year, even Clip admits the draft picks are mediocre at best. Maybe he’ll find a free agent. But no, the free agent camp has produced no superstars. Maybe he’ll make another great trade. Uh-uh. The other teams don’t want to help out the Celtics and most organizations are afraid of getting burned by Clip.

So what’s left?

You got me. I’m a reporter. It’s not my job, thank God. Clip Arnstein is the ageless genius and he doesn’t even know. But when you’ve watched the Celtics as long as I have you start to believe in miracles. Somebody will come along. Somebody will be the Celtics Savior.

The patient looked up. He had a pretty good idea who that somebody might be.

‘Stan Baskin is here to see you.’

Laura felt her leg begin to shake. ‘Send him in.’

A few seconds later, Stan opened the door. He smiled brightly. ‘Hi, Laura.’

She tried to keep an even tone. ‘Come in, Stan.’

He closed the door behind him and kissed Laura on the cheek. ‘You look as beautiful as always.’

‘Thank you. Won’t you sit down?’

He did so as the intercom buzzed.

‘Laura?’

‘Yes, Estelle?’

‘Is it okay if I go to lunch now?’

‘Go ahead.’

‘I’ll be back in an hour.’

Laura realized her leg was shaking more than usual. She made a conscious effort to stop it. ‘I wanted to speak to you about your mall idea.’

‘Yes?’

‘Can you give me a few details on it?’

‘Details?’

‘Yes. I’d like to hear more about it.’

Stan sensed something different in her voice. ‘Not much to tell. It will be gorgeous when it’s finished. I’d say there will be about two hundred stores.’

‘How many square feet?’

‘Uh, I’m not sure.’

‘Where is it going to be located?’

‘In Boston.’

‘Central Boston?’

‘Sure.’

Laura leaned back. ‘But there’s no room to build something that large in central Boston. And you’ll need a lot more than a million dollars to get started.’

‘Right but – ’

‘Who’s the contractor?’

‘Contractor?’

‘The builder.’

Stan’s smile was flicking like an old light bulb. ‘I forgot his name.’

‘And your lawyer has secured permission from city hall?’

‘Uh, just about…’

‘Well, don’t worry there. Teddy Hines at the mayor’s office is in charge of building permits. I’ll call him to make sure everything goes smoothly.’

His eyes darted around the room. ‘Don’t bother yourself with that, Laura.’

‘No bother.’ Laura started to feel more in control. ‘Tell me about your last deal in Michigan.’

‘To be honest it didn’t go very well.’

‘I see,’ Laura replied evenly.

‘I was operating a toy manufacturing company.’

‘Really? What kind of toys?’

‘Oh, standard stuff. I sold out.’

‘Who bought it?’

‘You wouldn’t know them.’

‘Try me.’

Stan realized that he was being cornered. He just wasn’t sure what to do about it. ‘Just a friend.’

‘I see. How’s your finger, Stan?’

‘Better thanks.’

‘Freak break, huh?’

Stan shrugged. ‘Not that unusual.’

‘Having a car door slam on just your middle finger, missing all the others completely? That’s hardly a normal injury.’

For a moment they both just stopped and watched one another. Then Stan broke the silence. ‘What’s going on, Laura? Why all the questions?’

Laura took a deep breath. ‘I had a talk with T.C. – ’

‘I told you he doesn’t like me.’

‘He told me what happened between you and David.’

Her words hit Stan like a splash of cold water. ‘T.C. is exaggerating. You can’t believe what he says.’

She lifted the file from her desk. ‘And how about your arrest record? Did he make that up too?’

Stan swallowed. It was all unraveling. He was so damn close and now the bitch was stabbing him in the back. ‘They were trumped-up charges. I haven’t been a saint when it comes to women. I admit that. But I never stole from them and I never meant to hurt any of them. It’s just that some women can’t let go. You know how spiteful an ex-lover can be.’

Laura stood and walked from around her desk. ‘Maybe that’s so, Stan, but I don’t want to take that chance. You’ve tried to take advantage of me and my family. And I’ve decided not to give you any of David’s money. I don’t think he’d want me to.’

Stan’s good hand clenched into a fist. He fought to maintain control, to keep his temper in check. ‘Fine, Laura. Like I said before, I don’t deserve it anyway.’

‘One other thing.’

‘Yes?’

‘I’d like you to leave me and my family alone.’

Stan was fighting off panic now. ‘You can’t mean that. If I’ve done something in the past, that’s one thing. As you yourself said, the past is the past. I am trying my best to make amends. Don’t take away the only family I have.’

‘I do mean it.’ Her hand reached into her top drawer and pulled out a photograph of Stan kissing her sister. ‘And I especially want you to leave Gloria alone.’

Stan glared down at the photograph. Anger finally nudged its way into his voice. ‘How did you get that?’

‘It’s not important.’

‘How did you get that?’ he repeated.

Laura put the picture back in her drawer. ‘Why not worry about other things, Stan? Like paying off the gentleman who broke your finger.’

Stan’s face turned red. He tried to think of something to say that might salvage this situation. But it was pointless. Laura was just another in a long line of women who wanted to possess him. To own him. This was simply her way of taking control. Well, Stan My Man was not about to let her get away with it. It was time to turn the tide. To teach her a lesson. ‘Okay, Laura, you win. I’m very sorry about everything. Please believe me.’

‘Whatever.’ She spun toward the window. ‘Now please leave.’

He stood and made his way to the door. ‘Laura?’

Laura turned to face him. Her eyes widened when she saw his fist heading toward her face. She ducked. His knuckles skimmed the side of her temple. She fell to her knees. Dizziness and pain seared through her skull.

Stan stood over her. His fingers reached down and closed around her blouse. Laura pulled away and the thin material ripped.

‘Oh, my God,’ he began. His eyes grew large with lust as he gazed upon her. ‘Oh sweet Jesus, your body is fantastic!’

Laura tried to roll away from him, but Stan followed. ‘Relax, Laura,’ he whispered. ‘I’m not going to hurt you. I’ve been dying to do this to you since the first day we met. And you’ve been dying for it too. David wasn’t a real man, Laura. Not by a long shot. But you’re about to be fucked by a real man for the first time in your life.’

He looked down and unfastened his belt. It was a mistake on his part.

Laura saw the opening. She slammed her fist into his groin. Stan’s eyes bulged. Laura scrambled to her feet, but she did not get far. His hand grabbed her ankle and tugged her back to the floor.

‘You bitch!’

‘Let go of me!’ she screamed.

He did as she asked, his expression switching instantly from lustful to that of a confused child. ‘But… but I thought you wanted me.’

She looked at him with horror in her eyes. He meant what he said. He really thought that she wanted him. ‘I’d rather make love to a St Bernard.’

‘You teasing little whore.’

She held the ripped parts of the blouse against her chest. ‘Get out of here, Stan. Get out before I have you thrown in jail.’

He smiled crazily. ‘You don’t mean that, Laura. You still want me, don’t you? Admit it. You’re just jealous of Gloria.’

She started to crawl away slowly. ‘You’re slime. Get out of here. And leave my sister alone.’

He shook his head. ‘Not until this is finished, Laura.’ Her eyes grew frightened. ‘It’s finished, Stan. Get out.’

Stan rose, his face pinched in confusion. He walked toward the door and opened it. ‘Finished, Laura?’ he repeated with a shake of his head. He turned to leave. ‘Not by a long shot.’

Stan sprinted out of the building and onto the street. What the hell had happened? One minute he had a million dollars and the next it was gone.

Damn that fuckin’ T. C.

But it was not just T.C.’s fault. It was that cold bitch sister-in-law who had truly betrayed him. And the reason was obvious. Laura did not care about his past. That was just an excuse. The real reason was jealousy. She was pissed off because he had fooled around with her sister and not with her. That was why she suddenly had a bug up her shapely ass. Oh yes, she wanted him. Craved him. And worse, her hubbie had just died so she could not blatantly come on to him. I mean, how would it look? Yes, Stan thought to himself, Laura was a bundle of frustrated cravings.

Cravings for him.

But right now, Stan was in big trouble. The B Man was after him and he had no way of paying him back. The million dollars was lost… for now anyway. He would have to hide, have to find a new scam, have to…

What the hell was he talking about?

He smiled. The game was not over. Not by a long shot. Stan My Man was still in control. He still held the winning ace:

Gloria Ayars, a.k.a. Miss Instability 1989.

He turned the corner and found a phone booth. He dropped a coin in the slot and dialed.

Gloria’s voice answered. ‘Hello?’

‘Hello, beautiful.’

Her tone held its normal nervous quiver. ‘Stan?’

‘Yes, my love. How are you feeling on this fine day?’

‘Fine. And you?’ she ventured.

‘Sinfully happy. I’m flying high.’

‘Really?’

‘Of course,’ Stan replied. ‘You’re the best thing to happen to me in years. I can’t wait to see you again.’

‘I’ll be off in a couple of hours,’ enthused Gloria.

‘Sorry. Can’t wait that long. Let’s meet right now.’

‘Stan,’ she said with a little laugh, ‘I’m working.’

‘Let’s disappear for a few days. Just you and me.’

‘That sounds wonderful.’

‘Then let’s do it. Let’s go to someplace secluded and romantic.’

‘I know just the place.’

‘Where?’

‘The Deerfield Inn. It’s a small country inn about an hour and a half from here.’

‘Sounds perfect.’

‘But, Stan, I can’t just take off from here. I have work to do.’

His voice was filled with disappointment. ‘I just thought it would be really special if we could share a few days alone together. I need to be alone with you so we can explore our feelings.’

‘Can’t you wait a few hours?’

He hesitated. ‘I guess so. I shouldn’t have pushed you like that. I’m sorry. I got a little excited because last night was so special for me. I understand if you don’t feel the same way.’

‘But I do feel the same way,’ she assured him. Gloria thought for a moment, her hand wrapping the telephone chord around her fingers. ‘Oh, why not? Let’s do it.’

He almost laughed at her gullibility. ‘Do you mean it?’ She smiled, feeling good about her decision. ‘Sure. I’ll just go tell Laura – ’

‘No,’ he interrupted. ‘Can’t we just keep it our little secret? It makes it all the more spontaneous and secluded.’

‘But she’ll worry if I just disappear.’

‘Leave her a note that you’re going away for a few days. Just don’t give her any details.’

There was a pause. ‘I guess that’ll be okay. But – ’

‘Great. I’ll meet you downstairs in ten minutes. And Gloria?’

‘Yes?’

‘I feel really good about this.’

‘So do I, Stan.’

Laura locked her office door. She moved toward her private bathroom, stripped out of her clothes and stepped into the shower. She was still dazed, still not sure she believed what had happened. The whole experience had a dream-like quality to it. Now she wondered if Stan had really attacked her or if her imagination was running rampant.

No. It had happened. Laura’s imagination had never been that good.

She finished showering, stepped out and dried herself off. Tears began to swell in her eyes as the numbness subsided. Her shoulders heaved. She threw the torn clothes into a wastepaper basket and put on some fresh ones she kept in the closet. She sat on the bathroom stool, her arms wrapped around her in a self-hug. Her leg was shaking.

Help me, David. I need you so badly. Please come back and tell me what to do.

She continued to cry. She had handled Stan all wrong and now she was not sure what her next step should be.

Gloria.

Gloria was going to be devastated. What could Laura tell her?

‘Gloria?’

‘Yes, Laura?’

‘The man you slept with last night was by far the largest piece of scum on the planet Earth. He makes your past boyfriends seem like Gandhi.’

There was no way she could do that. A few weeks ago it had seemed that Gloria would never trust a man again. Her past experiences had made her conclude that all men were out to destroy her. Gloria must have very deep feelings for Stan Baskin if she had let him break down that wall of suspicion and fear.

What was Laura going to do?

The answer came to her. She would call Gloria’s psychiatrist Dr Jennifer Harris. Dr Harris would know what to do. Though psychiatry had a strict rule protecting patient confidentiality, Gloria had insisted from the beginning that Laura be involved in her treatment. After seeing the two sisters together, Dr Harris had agreed.

Laura sat down at her desk and made the call. They exchanged pleasantries and then Laura told Jennifer Harris the entire story. She started with Stan’s first visit at the funeral and ended with him storming out of her office.

When she was finished, Dr Harris was silent for a moment. ‘Gloria has mentioned Stan Baskin to me. You’re right. I think she is somewhat infatuated with him.’

‘What should I do?’ Laura asked.

‘Gloria has not come close to risking a relationship with a man since her breakdown,’ Dr Harris explained. ‘If she finally did sleep with someone, it was by no means a quick decision. She’s probably very scared right now, wondering if she made the right choice. But understand this, Laura: if she thought there was the slightest chance that Stan Baskin did not have strong feelings for her, she would have never risked it. In other words, there was no risk in her mind. Deep down, she was sure he cared about her.’

‘But he’s scum, Doctor.’

‘Not exactly a medical term but I get your meaning. You have to tread very gently here, Laura. You can’t just burst into Gloria’s office and tell her that the man she cares about is a louse.’

‘But I can’t just sit back and let her keep falling for him either. I have to tell her the truth.’

Again a pause. ‘Yes and no.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘You might want to try subtle disapproval but I wouldn’t go into too many specifics right away.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because if Gloria really has fallen for this man, then she won’t listen to you. She’ll get defensive and isolate herself from your words. You may actually end up pushing her toward Stan rather than away from him.’

‘So what am I supposed to do?’

‘You can help her, Laura, but in the end Gloria has to come through this by herself. We can’t force her to see what she doesn’t want to.’

Laura considered Dr Harris’s words. ‘Gloria can be stubborn,’ she agreed.

‘Yes, she can.’

‘But I have to do something.’

‘Agreed. But talk to her gently, Laura. Don’t hit her with all of this at once. Don’t force it on her. Help her see the truth on her own. And bring her in to my office as soon as you can.’

‘Okay,’ she replied. ‘Thank you, Doctor.’

‘Laura?’

‘Yes?’

‘How have you been lately?’

‘Just fine.’

‘No problems you want to discuss?’

‘None. I’m doing just great.’

An uncomfortable silence traveled across the phone line. ‘I have a free hour at noon,’ Dr Harris finally said. ‘How about coming down to my office for a little chat?’

‘I don’t think…’ Laura stopped, swallowed. Her hands were shaking. ‘That would be nice, Jennifer. Thank you.’

‘I’ll see you at noon. Goodbye, Laura.’

Laura replaced the receiver and headed down the hallway to Gloria’s office. When she reached the door, a voice called out to her.

‘Laura?’

It was Gloria’s secretary. ‘Yes?’

‘Gloria’s not here.’

‘Where is she?’

The secretary shrugged and smiled. ‘She just ran out of here with a beaming face. She left this note for you.’

Laura opened the envelope and read the note:

Laura,

I’ve gone away until Monday. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. I’ll call you when I get back. I love you.

Gloria

The man shaded his eyes from the harsh glare of the sun and watched the patient pace off twenty-three feet from the basket. The patient drew a line with chalk. Yeah, the man thought, that was about the spot where the three-point line was. Only the best shooters would dare launch a shot from that far away.

The patient began to shoot the ball, rebound, shoot the ball, rebound, shoot the ball. He moved effortlessly, his shooting motion almost a poetic flow. Shot after shot found its way through the metallic hoop with a swish. The ball hardly ever touched the rim.

‘Looking good, Mark,’ the man called out.

The patient stopped. His curly blond hair was getting long now. His eyes were ice blue. His nose was pointed, his cheekbones set high. His face was unusually handsome in a pretty-boy sort of way. He stood about six feet five and his build was rock solid. The patient had never tried weightlifting before but the effects were both enormous and immediate. His body was slimmer, his muscles more defined. He felt strong. ‘Thanks.’

‘Mind if I rebound a few?’

‘I’d appreciate it.’

The patient named Mark shot. The man rebounded and tossed the ball out to him. ‘Let me ask you something, ’ the man began.

‘Go ahead.’

‘How are you going to get a try-out?’ he asked. ‘You’re a complete unknown.’

‘I know.’

‘So how are you going to do it?’

‘I’m playing around with a few ideas,’ the patient answered as he moved in for a hook shot.

‘Like?’

Mark shrugged. ‘Can you get me press credentials?’ ‘Sure. What do you need them for?’

‘I’m working on it. I’ll let you know.’

‘Okay. One set of press credentials. Anything else?’

The patient continued to shoot, trying hard to look casual. ‘How is everyone?’

‘Everyone?’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘No, Mark, I really don’t know.’

Mark did not take his eyes off the rim. ‘You’re right. Forget it.’

‘It’s forgotten.’

‘The rules have to be followed.’

‘Right,’ the man agreed.

The patient continued shooting. The man continued rebounding. ‘Mark?’

The patient stopped shooting.

‘Everyone is doing badly.’

Mark’s face caved in. ‘Badly?’

The man nodded.

‘I want to know – ’

The man shook his head and began to walk back toward the house. ‘I shouldn’t have even said that.’

Mark clutched the ball to his chest like a child with a teddy bear. His large frame bent over. He collapsed heavily onto the asphalt surface. An awful mix of emotions whirled painfully through his head like a sharp propeller.

The man continued to walk away.

‘T.C.?’ Mark cried out.

The man stopped and turned around.

‘Make sure nothing bad happens to them.’

The man called T.C. took out a cigar. ‘I’ll do my best,’ he replied, even though he knew that he was powerless to do anything.