Текст книги "Native Affairs"
Автор книги: Doreen Malek Owens
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Текущая страница: 20 (всего у книги 37 страниц)
“Fine,” Jennifer said, escaping.
She drove back to the office in a daze, unable to believe that she had a date with the National Football League’s Most Valuable Player three years in a row, the Cawassa Comet, the Blackfoot Bullet, Bradley Beaufort Youngson.
* * * *
Jennifer changed three times for her dinner with Lee Youngson. He had telephoned on Thursday, asking if Chez Odette would be all right and saying that he would pick her up at eight.
Chez Odette was a fancy French restaurant on the outskirts of New Hope, very atmospheric, with a picturesque setting on the barge canal of the Delaware River. She didn’t have much that was suitable to wear to such a place, and she tortured herself with various combinations of clothes, jewelry, shoes, and handbags, until in desperation she went back to her first idea and settled on that.
She waited nervously for him to arrive, dressed in a pale blue linen suit with a sheer blouse designed to reveal a delicate, lacy camisole beneath. Milky pearls gleamed at her ears and in the hollow of her throat. She had teamed high-heeled pumps with a leather clutch bag and sprayed herself with her most expensive perfume. She was ready.
Jennifer listened for the low hum of Lee’s sports car, checking herself in the mirror again, patting her hair. It hung loose and shining to her shoulders. Her lipstick was fresh and her eye shadow properly muted.
She looked at her watch. It was 7:45.
She spent twelve agonizing minutes thinking about everything that could go wrong until the doorbell rang at three minutes to eight. She’d been so absorbed in her contemplation of doom that she hadn’t heard the car after all.
Jennifer opened the door, and they looked at each other. Lee was wearing a nubbly raw silk jacket, the color of sand, obviously tailor-made, that emphasized his imposing physique. The off-white shirt and figured tie perfectly complemented his coat and the brown, well-cut slacks. She recognized Gucci loafers. No expense spared when escorting Ms. Gardiner.
His eyes moved from Jennifer’s face, down her body, and then back to her face again. “You look lovely,” he said softly.
So do you, Jennifer thought, as he guided her down the path to his car and handed her into the passenger seat. She noticed again that fine apparel only seemed to underline his aspect of brooding, primal strength. Just below the surface was the magnificent leashed animal, latent, powerful. The window dressing only served to make him more of what he was. The effect was dynamite.
I’ll bet he knows it, too, Jennifer mused as she settled back for the ride. I have to keep my cool, she thought again. Whatever had made him ask her out and renew their relationship, she mustn’t read too much into it.
The drive to the restaurant was wonderful, cool and breezy, laden with the fragrance of late summer flowers. Lee asked her if she wanted him to leave the top down, and she said yes, thinking that she could repair whatever damage occurred when they got to the restaurant. The glorious feel of the wind in her hair was worth it. He offered her the choice of his collection of tapes, and she examined the stack. He had a collection of classical pieces, for which she wasn’t in the mood, and some jazz, which she didn’t like. At the bottom she found several vintage rock ‘n’ roll albums. She selected Buddy Holly, and the familiar sounds of “Peggy Sue” and “Not Fade Away” floated into the evening air.
They knew Lee Youngson at Chez Odette. Waiters came running from all directions when they entered, and the maitre d’ was obsequious. The main dining room was crowded, but they were shown immediately to the best table, out of the traffic pattern, with a view of the gardens below them. Jennifer wondered who Lee’s companions had been on his previous visits.
She glanced around her as they were seated. The whole restaurant was furnished in gold and white French provincial, with creamy damask tablecloths and patterned linen napkins at each table. There was a large vase of fresh flowers, roses and carnations, in the center of theirs, which complemented the color of the shell pink, delicate china and the heavy, gleaming silver. Chez Odette was rich in atmosphere. She was sure the patrons paid for it.
Jennifer excused herself to go to the powder room and tidy her hair. Heads turned as she passed, and she heard the murmur of muted comments. Lee’s date was a source of interest.
When she returned, she found that Lee had ordered wine, but there was only one glass, at her place. He stood to seat her, and she asked why he wasn’t having any.
“What’s the matter with you, Jennifer? You know Indians aren’t supposed to drink. Can’t handle demon firewater. Don’t you watch old movies?”
Her eyes flashed to his face. When he made a remark like this, she still didn’t know whether he was kidding or not.
He met her gaze intently for a moment, and then smiled slightly. “Relax, paleface. I’m in training. You go ahead, though.”
Jennifer sipped sparingly. She had no intention of getting giddy while he sat there observing her soberly. And she wasn’t sure she cared for his calling her “paleface.” There was an edge to his voice when he said it tonight that she didn’t like.
“You stick to the rules, don’t you?” she said pleasantly. “Daily workouts, no tobacco, no booze, no drugs.” Bob hadn’t had the same reverence for his body. His drunken bouts, and the fines which followed, had given him a reputation as a bad risk.
“It’s made me what I am today,” Lee said cynically.
“There’s no need to be snide,” Jennifer responded. “I meant it as a compliment.” She couldn’t understand his behavior. It was almost as if he wanted to punish her for the time of silence following the Heart Fund game. Was that the reason for this dinner invitation?
“Did you?” he said. “That’s a first.”
Why was he doing this? “I think your dedication is admirable,” she added, trying to smooth the waters.
He raised his water glass in a mock toast. “Coming from a paragon of self-discipline like you, that’s high praise indeed.”
“If you asked me out only because you wanted to needle me, you’re wasting your money. You could have done that on the job, where I would have been more disposed to tolerate it,” Jennifer said quietly. “This is not my idea of a good time.”
He dropped his eyes, avoiding looking at her for a moment. Then his brown hand covered hers on the immaculate tablecloth.
“Nor mine either,” he said softly. “I’m sorry, Jennifer.”
The touch of his slender fingers was electric, the sound of her name on his lips more intoxicating then the wine she was drinking. This one was a shaman like his great-grandfather, weaving spells to break your heart.
“Harold told me that your ex-husband was an athlete,” he said unexpectedly.
“Yes.” And here I am with you, Jennifer thought. Still running true to type.
“Football?” he asked, not letting the subject drop.
“Baseball. Bob Delaney. He used to play for the Phillies; he’s with the Chicago White Sox now.”
Lee nodded. “I know him. Very talented, but very wild. If he ever learns to control himself enough to develop, he could be really great.”
Jennifer smiled sadly. “He never will,” she said. She had to admire Lee’s perception. He had described Bob more accurately than she could have, and she had lived with Bob for years.
“Well,” Lee said, seeing her reflective expression, “Satchel Paige once said something that could be applied to thoughts about the past. ‘Don’t look back, something may be gaining on you.’” He paused. “In my case it’s usually true,” he added ruefully.
She knew that he was referring to his performance in football games. Despite the fact that she had been working for the team for a while, she still didn’t know much about the actual sport. From what she’d seen, Lee’s part in it seemed to be limited to dramatic leaps to snatch the ball out of the air, followed by headlong flight down the field, the ball tucked under his arm, with opposing players pummeling after him in mad pursuit, trying to catch him. Few did. He ran, as Coach Rankin said, like a quarterback’s dream, like a gazelle with a tiger on its tail.
Jennifer looked up from her reverie to see the waiter hovering at Lee’s elbow. “Shall we order?” she said brightly.
The menu Was in French on one side and in English on the other. Jennifer asked Lee to choose for her. He ordered the same for both: escargots in garlic butter, pate de foie gras, Chateaubriand, and a vinaigrette of vegetables.
Everything was delicious. The waiters served sherbet and lemon wedges between each course, to “cleanse the palate” and brought hot, moist cloths scented with mint to wash their hands at the end. Musicians strolled about the room, the violinist stopping for a solo at several tables. Jennifer was enchanted.
Lee suggested a walk outside before coffee and dessert. He said something to the waiter, and they left through the double doors, pausing once for Lee to sign a napkin for a fan who had recognized him.
“I like this place,” he said to Jennifer as they descended the wide stone steps to the garden below. “They leave me alone here. In some restaurants, I can’t even eat, I’m so mobbed by autograph seekers.”
“The price of fame,” Jennifer said dryly. “Of course, if they all lost interest in you and stopped buying tickets, you’d be out of a job. But you’d be able to dine anywhere in peace.”
He stopped short, looking down at her in the dim light from the lanterns on the footpath. “I guess I deserved that. You’re right.” He shook his head. “You certainly speak your mind, don’t you? I’ve tried that line on a few other girls, and they all murmured in deep sympathy.”
Jennifer smiled. “My father, who loves me, refers to my bluntness as ‘refreshing candor.’ My stepmother, who doesn’t, calls it ‘bad manners.’”
Lee chuckled. “I prefer ‘refreshing candor,’ myself.” He took her hand and led her to a fountain in the midst of enclosing greenery. There was a wrought-iron bench there, surrounded by masses of brilliant geraniums and zinnias. They sat.
“This is beautiful,” Jennifer said. She pointed to the lush stand of maples and oaks along the river bank. “How pretty the trees are, so full.”
“Yeah” Lee sighed, following the direction of her gaze. “It kind of makes you realize what this country must have been like before progress ruined it.” He picked a scarlet blossom from a bush behind them and handed it to her. “You look like a blonde Nakomis. About two generations before Hiawatha arrived.”
Jennifer burst out laughing, and he grinned, pleased with himself. His teeth shone very white in the semidarkness.
“Think I’m a funny guy?” he said, teasing.
“I think you’re a...nice guy,” Jennifer said softly, before she could stop herself. “Even though you try to hide it.”
He turned to her abruptly and took her in his arms. Her head dropped to his shoulder, and he kissed her.
His lips were soft, a contrast to his hard, spare frame. The kiss began as a leisurely exploration, but soon escalated until Jennifer was clinging to him, the only stable object in a spinning universe. His hands dug into her shoulders, holding her fast against his body. She heard a noise as another couple passed them, and she broke away, startled and ashamed. She hadn’t necked in public since high school.
Lee didn’t seem to be bothered by the interruption. “I’ve missed you, Jennifer, these past few weeks,” he whispered, caressing her hair.
“We’d better go in,” Jennifer said. “They’re holding dessert for us.”
“Let them wait,” he said urgently, pulling her back against his chest.
“No,” Jennifer insisted, resisting him, struggling to her feet. She was frightened by the depth of her response to him. Not since Bob...no, she had to be honest with herself. Not even Bob had made her feel like this. It was like the Heart Fund picnic all over again.
“I want to go back,” she said unsteadily.
Lee followed her reluctantly, then trotted up the steps to hold the door for her.
The minute they arrived back at the table a silver pot of coffee appeared, and a busboy brought a dessert cart filled with delicate pastries. Jennifer selected two exquisite petit fours iced with pastel fondant and a miniature éclair. Lee shook his head, and the cart was rolled away.
The coffee was Indonesian, rich and aromatic. They drank it in silence, the passionate interlude in the garden not forgotten.
By the time Lee signed the check and called for his car, Jennifer had become tongue-tied again. From the encouragement she’d given him he would probably press his advantage when he brought her home, and she was not sure she could resist him. She had no desire to become another trophy to hang on his wall, but she wanted him. Badly. His very touch set her off like a match put to kindling. If he tried, it would not be easy to say no.
The drive back to her apartment was a quiet one, interrupted only by Lee’s comments on the scenery, and the click of the tape deck as it switched from the Everly Brothers to Jerry Lee Lewis. Lee’s long fingers tapped the steering wheel as he drove. Jennifer glanced across at him, and he caught her eye and smiled. She looked away again, her heart beating faster. He communicated without words, with an almost physical impact She felt kissed, by a smile.
When they turned onto Main Street and Dr. Mason’s house came into view, every nerve in Jennifer’s body tightened. Lee pulled into the driveway, turned off the motor, and got out to open her door. Jennifer emerged from the passenger side, and he stood in front of her, blocking her path. Her nose came to his collarbone.
He put one hand on her shoulder and tipped her chin up with the forefinger of the other. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
“I...don’t think that would be a good idea.” She fumbled in her purse for her keys.
“Please, Jennifer. Just for a minute. Please.”
She found her keys and he took them from her. She followed him upstairs, telling herself that she had to be firm. When he opened her door and ushered her into her apartment, she decided that she’d just make him coffee and then firmly send him home.
She went directly to the stove and put water on to boil.
“Would you like coffee, or would you prefer a drink?” she said, trying to keep her words even.
He didn’t answer.
Jennifer pulled cups and saucers out of the cabinet above, and then turned back to the room, directly into Lee’s arms. He held her for a moment, not saying anything, and she inhaled the heady fragrance of him, the starch of his shirt, the flax of his coat, the subtle warmth of his skin. Then his touch on her neck moved her face to his, and his lips found hers again.
His mouth clung to hers with a fierceness that robbed her of breath. Her breasts were crushed against his chest by the force of one powerful hand splayed in the small of her back. She responded, helpless, and his lips moved to her cheek, her ear, and traveled down her throat. With one impatient gesture he removed her suit jacket.
His eyes devoured her, and then with a small sound deep in his throat he embraced her again. His hands sank into her thick hair, running the gossamer strands through his fingers, as if he loved the feel of it. With one arm across her he turned her back to him and fitted himself against her. She whimpered at the intimate contact. He drew her hair back and mouthed the nape of her neck, his hands moving up from her waist to enclose her breasts, sheathed only by the flimsy camisole.
“Where’s the bedroom?” he said, his voice low and husky in her ear.
His words brought her back to reality. She was one step away from an irrevocable act, and she panicked. He was holding her loosely, ready to move, and she slipped out of his grasp.
She faced him, her skin burning, knowing that she had teased him unfairly, without meaning to. “I can’t,” she said.
He stared at her, breathing hard, hands on hips, much as she had seen him the day she found him exercising. But there was another reason for his breathlessness now. She looked at him, so handsome, so desirable…And more than that He was courageous, sensitive, witty...Stop it! she instructed herself. I will not become involved with another athlete. Remember the last time, the hurt, the pain? The endless road trips, the losing streaks, the injuries, the groupies? Oh, no, don’t do it again.
“Why not?” he asked, agonized.
“I just can’t do it,” she said, realizing how unsatisfactory an answer that was, but unable to explain to him that she was afraid to let him get too close to her, that she didn’t want to be hurt again, that she thought he would have the power to hurt her even more than Bob Delaney.
He saw her struggle, and held up his hand. “Forget it. If the answer is no, it’s no. I won’t bother you again.”
I believe you, Jennifer thought miserably.
Her extreme unhappiness must have shown in her face, because his look suddenly softened. He almost smiled.
“Don’t look so tragic, paleface. Believe it or not, it’s not the first time I’ve been turned down. I think I’ll survive it.”
“I had a lovely time,” she said in a small voice.
His mouth twisted. “Ever the soul of graciousness,” he responded. “I think if you were about to be executed you’d be thanking the headsman for the use of his ax.” He inclined his head slightly. “Good night.”
Jennifer met his eyes quickly and then looked away. “Good night.”
She heard the sound of his footsteps on the stairs, followed by the roar of the car’s motor. Then all was silence.
The kettle began to whistle. She automatically shut it off, feeling more alone than she had for a long time.
Chapter 5
Weeks passed, during which Jennifer kept herself busy. This was not difficult, considering the volume of work she had to complete before the season began. When Lee did come into her mind, she dismissed him abruptly, refusing to entertain disturbing thoughts.
But she knew she would have to deal with her feelings on Labor Day, when she would see him again. His presence always brought everything she was trying to bury to the surface, so she began constructing an elaborate defense several days before they would have to meet. She would be polite, but distant. She would be friendly, but reserved. There was nothing to worry about; it was very simple. Right.
The holiday morning was warm and sunny, but without the crushing humidity Jennifer found so difficult to bear. She dressed in lightweight, dark blue slacks and a nautical top with a square collar and tie bib. When the limousine arrived to get her, her palms were wet and her mouth was dry. Calm down, she advised herself sternly, annoyed with her inability to control her autonomic responses.
When they got to Lee’s house, he was not outside, ready, as he had been the last time. Jennifer told the driver to wait and went up the steps to ring the bell.
Lee’s voice hailed her from the depths of the house, telling her to come in, the door was open.
Jennifer found him in the kitchen, leaning against the stainless steel sink, legs crossed at the ankles. He was sipping coffee from an earthenware mug. Bruce Springsteen sang throatily in the background.
“Hi,” he said. “Want some coffee? According to the timetable which management so thoughtfully provided, we’ve got a few minutes.” He gestured to another mug sitting on the counter.
His ability to dismiss their previous encounters and start afresh left her at a loss. Didn’t he remember what had happened the last time they saw each other? Jennifer certainly did.
But he regarded her impassively over the rim of the cup. “My instructions were to dress casually,” he added. He jerked a thumb at himself. “This is it.”
He was wearing white jeans and a blood red shirt. Jennifer had always envied people who were able to wear scarlet and carry it off. The same shade dulled Jennifer’s hair to insignificance and drained her skin to chalk white. His striking hair and eyes were needed to complement it. In that color, most people would look three days dead.
“Joined the navy?” he asked, indicating her outfit, smiling slightly.
Jennifer picked up the other mug and filled it from the pot on the stove. “Joined the palace guard?” she countered, pointing to his shirt.
He choked on his coffee, sputtering with laughter. He set the cup down and shook his head, regarding her with a grin. “Touché. You give back as good as you get, every time.”
She smiled back at him, caught in the spell once again. “Part of my charm,” she said negligently.
He sobered, watching her. “Yes, it is,” he said quietly.
Jennifer dropped her eyes, unsure of how to respond. He frequently turned the tables on her like this. Just when she was sure she was on safe ground, bantering, where she could hold her own with anybody, he would suddenly turn serious and leave her nonplussed. It made conversation with him a constant challenge.
“Want some cream?” he asked, going to the refrigerator.
“Thanks.”
He took a fresh pint from a shelf and pried the cap off with his teeth.
“Good heavens, Lee, your dentist would have a heart attack if he saw that,” she said.
“Nah,” he answered, adding a dollop to her cup, “these Indian choppers are indestructible. They may not be perfectly straight, we didn’t go in much for orthodontics on the reservation, but they’re strong as iron.” He cast her a sidelong glance. “Comes from chewing buffalo hides.”
He was teasing, as usual. “I may not be that well versed in the practices of your culture,” Jennifer said archly, “but even I know that only women did that work.”
Lee shrugged. “That was before the ERA hit the tribe. Now we all do it.”
Jennifer kept a straight face. “Sounds like a sensible plan.”
His eyes twinkled. “Actually, the Blackfeet were always a pretty liberated bunch. The teepee belonged to the wife, you know, and if she and her husband had a fight, she could throw him out and leave him homeless.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Jennifer said, and did so.
“And,” Lee went on, “the wife kept her maiden name all her life. She was not regarded as her husband’s property, but his partner.”
Jennifer set down her cup and applauded.
He grinned. “I thought you’d like that.”
Jennifer looked at her watch. “Don’t you think we’d better get started?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he responded, putting the cups in the sink. He walked around and switched off the stereo just as the record was going into the title cut, “Born to Run.”
“My theme song,” Lee said. He looked back at her. “In more ways than one.”
What exactly did that mean? He was talking on two levels, and Jennifer had a suspicion that the hidden meaning had something to do with her.
As they walked into the hall she pointed to one of the photographs on the mantelpiece. “Is that your father?”
Lee nodded.
“He must be very proud of you.”
Lee’s eyes became distant, focused elsewhere. “Yes, he is. I think he’s living his life over again, through me. The reservation mined him, took away his ambition, initiative, everything. He wanted to see that the same thing didn’t happen to me, so when sports gave me the chance to break free of that life, he made sure I took it.”
Jennifer was silent.
“Of course,” Lee continued, “getting off the reservation isn’t always the answer. Take my sister. Please.”
Jennifer waited for what was to come. The old joke was stated in a bitter tone that signified more.
“Her name,” Lee said, “is Spring Flower, except now she’s changed it to ‘Reur.’ She says it sounds more sophisticated, but what she really means is that it sounds French, which is okay, as opposed to Indian, which is not.”
His voice was filled with rancor. “She won a scholarship to college, like me, except once she got there she forgot where she came from. She hasn’t been back to see my parents in six years.”
Jennifer didn’t know what to say.
“She’s a research chemist for some big laboratory in New Jersey. It’s not that far from here, actually, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to go see her. She acts like she has no past, that her life began at eighteen when she left home. I’m sure none of the people she works with know about her background. She’s careful to conceal it That doesn’t explain her looks, though, so I understand the guy she’s engaged to tells everybody that her mother is Greek.”
Jennifer couldn’t imagine why he was telling her all this. Her innocent question about the picture had prompted this outpouring of personal information.
“Well,” Lee added, “I’m sure they’ll be very happy. The only successful marriages I’ve ever seen between Indians and non-Indians occur when the Indian is totally absorbed in WASP culture. And my sister is well on her way to becoming an imitation WASP. Something,” he said with precision, “that I will never be.”
Jennifer was sure of that. If the transformation hadn’t occurred by now, it never would.
“Your sister doesn’t mean to hurt anyone, Lee,” Jennifer said soothingly. “She’s probably just confused.”
“I’m not,” Lee said firmly. “I don’t know how people can just dismiss their heritage like that, no matter what it could gain them or how much they loved someone. I could never do it.”
Jennifer felt a chill. Was he trying to tell her something? But his expression was abstracted, as if he had forgotten she was there and he were talking to himself.
“Surely it doesn’t always have to be like that,” Jennifer said softly, “with one person selling out for the other. I’m certain that sometimes both people can accept what they are and love each other while still keeping their identities intact.”
“I’ve never seen it,” Lee answered.
Jennifer had nothing to add to that. After all, he was in a position to know.
He turned his head and seemed to remember the reason for her presence.
“Let’s go, counselor,” he said, sighing. “Our chariot awaits.”
* * * *
The parade route began at the Museum of Art and traveled through downtown Philadelphia, winding up at Independence Hall. Lee rode a float with several other athletes, including Joe Thornridge, while Jennifer used the interim time to advantage talking to the newspaper and television people about Lee’s visit to the children’s hospital, scheduled for that afternoon. It was a great human interest story, and Jennifer planned to get a lot of mileage out of it.
After the parade there was a short press conference, and Jennifer waited for Lee in the background. She was looking over her notes when she felt a touch on her shoulder and jumped.
“Hi,” Lee said.
She had been so absorbed that she hadn’t realized he was already finished.
“Don’t creep up on me like that,” she said breathlessly. “How’d it go?”
“Fine. I waved at everybody and looked appropriately macho. The crowd seemed suitably impressed.”
His tone was dry. Obviously, being on display was not his favorite thing.
“Well, you have a couple of hours before you’re due at the hospital,” Jennifer said. “The driver can take you home if you like.”
“Are you going home, too?” he quizzed.
“I guess so. I have to change.”
“All right. You can drop me off on the way.” He folded his arms and surveyed the impressive facade of Independence Hall over her shoulder. She turned to follow his gaze, taking in the colonial brick structure with the gleaming white bell tower.
“Look at this place,” he said. “You ever been inside?”
“I took the tour once, a while ago.”
“The walls speak to you, don’t they? You can almost imagine old Patrick Henry making that speech: ‘Give me liberty, or give me death.’ Great stuff. Them’s fightin’ words. Quite a phrase to echo down through the generations. You have to admire those people. They risked everything, and I mean everything, for what they thought was right I remember some history teacher talking about that comment John Hancock made when he signed the Declaration of Independence. You know, ‘I’ll write this big enough for King George to see without his glasses on.’”
“Yes, I remember.”
“Well, this teacher said that people repeat it today as though it were a joke or something, but they forget that Hancock thought he might have been signing his death warrant What courage that took. When I saw the original, preserved, the way they have it, there was John’s signature, three times as large as the others, and I couldn’t believe it You hear about something all your life, and it becomes almost a myth, as though it doesn’t really exist anywhere but in your mind. It was a kick to finally see the real thing.”
Jennifer stared at him. Here he was expressing admiration for the colonial patriots, the forerunners of those who had eventually enslaved his people.
He saw her look, and knew its meaning. He shrugged. “Great Britain was wrong,” he said. “It’s my country, too,” he added quietly. Then he cupped her chin in the palm of one large hand and turned her face up to his. “In fact, it was my country before it was yours.”
That was certainly true. She locked eyes with him for a few seconds, and then stepped back, saying briskly, “I’ll go inside and call Max to pick us up.”
Lee leaned gracefully against a lamppost and said, “I’ll be here.”
As Jennifer walked away she thought about what he had said Upon closer examination, his enthusiasm for the Founding Fathers was more understandable. She could see how their actions would appeal to his sense of style. He had a flair for the dramatic himself. She had seen him pause in the end zone after making a touchdown and hold the ball aloft, like a lady’s favor in a joust, to the vocal delight of the fans. Then he would bend from the waist in a sweeping, courtly bow. She had thought at first that the other players might resent these histrionics, and think him a hot dog, but he really wasn’t one, and they apparently knew it In interviews, he never failed to give credit to his defense people, the blockers and tackles who cleared the way for his flashy footwork, and he always praised Joe Thornridge for his magic arm.
On the way back he was quiet and merely nodded when she reminded him of the time she would return for him. She watched him walk up the path to his house, admiring, as always, the broad shoulders and narrow waist, the perfect proportions of his athlete’s body. The sun made a shining black helmet of his hair. Then she tore her eyes away and ordered Max, in a firmer tone than was necessary, to take her back to her apartment.
