Daddy's Game (21 page)

Hunter shook his head and looked from Carmen to Charmaine, then back to Natron. “Good luck to you, man. Be sure y’all clean this up once it’s cooled down.”

“Sure will, bro. Thanks.” Natron shook his hand and Sgt. Baldwin walked back to his truck and he and his crew drove away.

“Whew!” Charmaine laughed. “I thought he would never leave.”

Natron gave her a sharp look. “Charmaine, what are you thinking?”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she sneered. “I could ask you the same question.”

Natron turned to Carmen. “Baby, can we please talk?”

Feeling her lip begin to quiver, Carmen answered, “I don’t think so. Not right now.”

Charmaine draped an arm over Carmen’s shoulder and walked her back inside, leaving Natron to deal with the charred remains of his possessions.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The grey cloud that seemed permanently fixed over his head was firmly in place when Natron reported for practice Monday morning. The day before, Natron had watched the Vipers’ game with little more than a passing interest. No matter how much Jack had tried to snap him out of it, he was devastated about the situation with Carmen. She wouldn’t respond to his text messages or his phone calls. He’d finally sent her an e-mail explaining what had happened, but had received no response.

The Vipers had won their game on Sunday, which meant that they were heading to the National Football Conference Championship this next weekend. They were set to play the Portland Explorers, a team known for their high-flying offense with one or two superstars on defense.

Natron had only been in the Vipers’ building for two minutes before three different people told him Coach Morrison was looking for him. Nerves tickled the inside of his stomach. Maybe Coach was going to tell him he could play in the game this weekend. Natron balled his fists and walked faster.

When he got to Coach’s office, the man waved him in and motioned for him to take a seat in a chair across from his large mahogany desk. Coach Morrison was on his cellphone, listening to the speaker on the other end. He closed the door behind him, told the caller he had to go, pressed a button and sat behind his desk.

Coach leaned back in his chair and laced his hands behind his head. “Hey, Natron. How ya doin’?”

“Fine, Coach. How’re you?”

Coach ignored his question. “I mean, how’s the knee comin’?”

“It’s comin’ along good. I’m ready to go.”

Coach nodded thoughtfully. “Ready to go, huh, son?”

Natron flashed one of his money grins. “Sure, Coach. Been workin’ hard. Gettin’ back in shape. Killin’ it in the weight room. Know what I’m sayin’?”

“Oh, I know what you’re sayin’.” He paused, then leaned forward in his chair. “You know, Natron, you’ve always been an asset to this team, an important part of our success last year.”

Natron nodded. “Uh-huh. Thank you, sir.”

Coach set his elbows on the desk, steepling his fingers pensively. “So tell me, Natron, why’ve you got to go and be such a fuck-up?”

The question caught Natron by surprise. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I can’t stop the phones in here from ringing. I’ve got two PR people on this nonsense with you and this hooker, but that’s all the press wants to talk about.”

Natron’s jaw dropped. He had no idea that picture would trickle up to becoming a problem for the team. Sure, it looked bad, but… and this was the first he’d heard about the girl being a hooker. Great, when it rained, it fucking poured. “Coach, I’m sorry. I just…”

“You just can’t keep it in your pants. I know. But dammit, Natron, if you’re going to do that, don’t do it on camera. And don’t do it two days after you tell a reporter you’re madly in love and about to propose to your girlfriend, and for fuck’s sake don’t do it the week before the championship game!” As his tone became more heated, he rose in his chair so that by the time he was finished, he was towering over the seated Natron, his voice growing louder and louder until Natron cringed at the decibel level.

Coach sat back in his chair, lifted his reading glasses to his face, and began shuffling some papers. After he’d regained his composure he said, “You are to resume practice as usual, but this weekend you will be riding the bench.”

Then he stared Natron down. “You will get your house in order, son, if you want to play on my team.”

Stunned, Natron mumbled, “Yes, sir,” before getting up and slinking out the door.

In the hallway, he had to fight to hold it together. He wasn’t going to play, and all because of some stupid whore trying to get her fifteen minutes of fame.

Everything he had, everything he loved was slipping away.

He stumbled toward the practice field, steeling himself for the jokes, the bullshit he’d take from the other players. With great effort, he put on his game face, cocky and confident as ever on the outside.

Only he knew that cloud over his head had just turned from grey to black.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Carmen arrived at Gustav’s gallery a few minutes early. She had recently signed a deal to work with the popular local photographer, Niho, creating portraits for high-end clients.

Today she was supposed to meet Niho to go over some of their new clients’ proposals. The marriage of their two businesses could possibly double Carmen’s commissions, and she’d also be able to charge more based on the wealth of most of Niho’s clients. Soon she’d be hobnobbing with the wealthy on her own, and she wouldn’t have to rely on Natron for those kinds of contacts.

Carmen wasn’t sure where things stood with Natron. He’d sent her a long e-mail in which he insisted that he’d never had anything to do with the woman in the photograph. He swore that he was at a party with Clarence and some of Clarence’s friends, minding his own business, in a hot tub, when that girl took off her top and slid against him.

His story was that he said, “Excuse me” to her and that was the end of it. He said he didn’t remember seeing any photos being taken, but these days when everyone had a phone with a camera on it, pictures could be snapped anytime, anywhere.

The whole thing sounded farfetched and Carmen thought she’d be a fool to believe him, setting herself up for the whole thing to happen again. She needed to accept that he was a cheater. Most professional athletes were; the temptations were too great and too numerous.

But her heart ached. She loved Natron Dakers with everything she had. He’d opened her heart and shown her a love she hadn’t known was possible. He cared for her so sincerely, so tenderly, so completely… that it broke her to know he’d never be hers and hers alone.

The sound of her name being called jarred her from her thoughts and she looked up to find Niho approaching.

“Niho! Good to see you,” she said, trying not to breathe as he hugged her tightly. The man refused to wear deodorant, and it always amazed Carmen that his fancy clients never seemed to notice the putrid stench that surrounded him. It was as though his eccentricities made him more exotic and therefore his portraits became even more of a status symbol.

She frowned, hoping her jeans and t-shirt look wasn’t going to stop his clientele from commissioning her. Compared to Niho, dressed in a sapphire-blue velvet suit with purple suede cowboy boots, she looked like a conservative teenager. Hmm. Note to self—jazz up the wardrobe a bit. She could always get Charmaine to take her shopping. Or Nellie. Those two were always shopping.

Niho took her hands in his. “
Cherie
, before we get down to business I must tell you how sorry I am to hear of all this trouble with Natron.” He pursed his lips in a funky-looking pout.

She brushed a hand in front of her face. “Oh, it’s nothing.”

“
Cher
, you do not fool me. I know how attached you are to zee football player.”

Niho’s concern made her uncomfortable, like he was overstepping. She and Niho socialized sometimes, but she wouldn’t say he was a close friend who knew her intimate business. Yet, somehow, whenever you were talking about celebrities, people tended to insert themselves. She’d learned that with Charmaine as well as Natron.

People wanted a piece of their fame, even if it was a distant piece. It didn’t make sense to Carmen. Fame had never been important to her, but she’d learned that it was a tendency of most people to chase fame. Or famous people.

“Yes, well, can we get down to business?” Carmen asked, exuding a cheerfulness she did not feel.

“But of course, but first I have some news for you.” The little man was so excited it looked like he might bust the shiny blue buttons off his suit.

“You do? What news?”

He drew close to her and whispered in a conspiratorial tone, “I know who took the picture.”

She nodded. In Carmen’s mind they had moved on to portraits, pictures of wealthy socialites and politicians willing to put groceries in her cupboard.

He turned his protruding eyes to hers. “
The
picture.” When she still didn’t seem to get it, he nudged her with his elbow. “Of Natron with the hooker.”

Carmen felt the blood rush from her face and she found the nearest chair and slumped down into it.

“Oh, dear,” Niho cried, hovering over her. “Are you okay? Let me get you some water,
Cher
.”

Carmen nodded. Why did this have to happen? She’d been hoping to escape her personal problems and focus on work today.

Moments later Niho returned with a bottle of water and Gustav, who brought several pieces of paper which he fanned her with.

“Are you okay, Carmen? You don’t look so good,” Gustav said, fussing over her.

“I’m fine. I just don’t want to talk about the thing with Natron. That’s all.”

“Oh, but honey, you do. You need to meet with this man who took the picture. He was there.” Niho patted her on the shoulder.

“Why do I need to talk to him?”

“Because it’s not what it looks like.” Niho shook his head.

“How do you know? Who is this guy?”

“Let’s just say he’s a friend of mine. Going through a divorce, poor guy. He goes to some of the same meetings I go to.”

“Meetings?”

“Yeah, you know, honey, the confidential kind.” Niho gestured himself tipping a bottle to his mouth, and Carmen realized he meant Alcoholics Anonymous meetings.

“So… what do you know?” she asked.

“I don’t know the whole story, but he said he sold the photo to the tabloids for some money to get a place to live, and that he feels bad because he knows it didn’t really represent the true situation.”

Carmen forgot all about her work. “How can I get in touch with him?”

Niho handed her his bedazzled cellphone. “His name is Nicholas Marinovich.”

Seeing the number, she pressed the call button.

* * *

The Vipers won their game against the Portland Explorers. Monday morning Natron showed up for practice thirty minutes early. His team was going to the Super Bowl and he planned on doing everything possible to play in that game. This was his last chance and he was going to do everything in his power to show everyone that he was back.

Later in the week, he had a meeting with the team doctor who would either approve him to play or leave him benched. But between now and then Natron would be working overtime with Jack to get him in the best shape possible for his potential return.

Practice that day went well, the coaches integrating him in with the other receivers. When he’d first come back, he’d been given the newest additions to the playbook during the time he’d been gone. He’d made sure to learn every detail of every play and now he was showing it on the practice field.

His abilities to juke around the defender and make quick cuts were still not where they used to be, but he had improved in other areas. His quarterback even commented on it. “Damn, Natron. You’ve bulked up. What the hell have you been doing in rehab? Maybe I need to get hurt, see if I can come back with guns like that.”

“Hell, no, Clay. I don’t recommend it. Don’t you be doin’ nothin’ to get hurt. I’ve been working too hard and too long to get back so you can toss me that ball.”

They laughed and clapped each other on the back as they headed into the locker room.

“Really, Natron. I’m hoping you get to play,” Clay said.

“From your lips to Coach’s ears,” Natron said.

“I know I can count on you in certain situations. Stalcup is good, but he’s not you.”

Natron beamed. “Thanks, man.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Carmen had arranged to meet the photographer at a diner. It seemed like the kind of place people met private eyes in movies, and that was as close as she could get to these strange circumstances she found herself in.

Sitting in the booth, she knew Marinovich from the moment he walked in. He looked every bit the part of the down-on-his-luck guy who’d been kicked to the curb by his wife and was trying to make sense of the cruelties life often doles out to the already downtrodden.

The five o’ clock shadow that covered the lower half of his face had turned into more of a two a.m. last-call kind of shadow. His eyes were bloodshot, and he had the lethargic air about him of a man who had given up.

He scanned the handful of customers in the restaurant before his eyes rested on her. Carmen lifted a hand in greeting and he approached her table.

“Hi. Mr. Marinovich?” Carmen asked extending her hand.

He took it, offering the limpest of handshakes.

“Have a seat,” Carmen offered.

“Alright,” he said.

“Thank you so much for meeting me. Niho said you know the real story behind that photograph of Natron Dakers.”

Before he could speak, the waitress came over and they each ordered a cup of coffee. Carmen felt like she might jump out of her chair and strangle the woman for interrupting them. But since the woman was only doing her job, she refrained.

The instant the waitress was out of earshot, Carmen leaned across the table. “Tell me, what happened? The real story.”