Isolation Play (Dev and Lee) (58 page)

But still, it wouldn’t have come up if someone hadn’t phoned them. I have a good idea who it was. My fingers play with the phone again. I could call them, give Mikhail a piece of my mind. I know it wouldn’t solve anything, and I know that in a couple hours, or a couple days, I’m going to want it more than anything else. I’m going to need to keep myself from calling, then.

I flip through other numbers. Kinnel. I’m not ready to call him yet. My father. Not yet. Salim. I pause on that one. He’d be a good one to talk to right now. I give him a try, but he’s probably at work, because he doesn’t pick up.

So I finish my latte and go out to a movie. When that finishes, I grab a fast food dinner and then go to another movie. On the way home, I realize that all I remember about the movies is their titles and some explosions.

Tuesday Dev’s in Hellentown. Practices are going well, he says, and Corey’s been assigned to the third team for the foreseeable future for his stunt with the running back. Coach said something to them about how personal grudges don’t get put ahead of the team. Dev says Colin looked at him when Coach said that, and I tell him not to read too much into it. Colin’s smart enough to know that his image isn’t good enough to handle being the homophobe in the locker room, and nobody else there seems inclined to take on that role.

When I think about it, it’s amazing how quickly that issue has faded into the background. Dev could’ve gotten sidetracked by interviews and endorsements, but he concentrated and is building himself a good football career. I’m so proud of him that I almost tell him so. He’d just laugh, though, and wonder why I’m proud that Colin’s giving him the stink-eye.

He tries to get me to come visit him again, to move in with him. How do I tell him that that feels like giving up to me, that I don’t want my life to be nothing but being his boyfriend? I have a life here, no matter how much it’s falling apart, and I can’t just pick up and leave. That’d be giving up, and as depressed as I am, I’m not ready to do that just yet. I might still visit him in Hellentown, but I want to wait and see if Morty turns up anyone I can talk to this weekend.

Tuesday evening, the anger kicks in. I’ve thrown it around in my head so many times that I know this isn’t fair, I know it shouldn’t have happened to me, and I want someone to pay for it. Twice I grab my phone and flip to Dev’s home number before stopping myself.

Wedenesday, Morty sends me two names and phone numbers. One is the guy in Yerba, the other one in—I have to laugh—New Kestle, of all places. About the New Kestle guy, he says, “They’re desperate to turn that team around, and Cael’s a good guy.” As far as Yerba goes, they’re already good, but he knows the director of college scouting, and besides, he says, “It’s Yerba, they don’t blink an eye at your lifestyle.”

“
When should I call?” I ask.

“
Give it a few days. I called ’em both to see if they need someone this season, but they’re covered. If they like you, though, they might bring you in to work with the team. I wouldn’t count on that with the Unicorns, though. They might all be gone after the season. That’s why I gave you Cael’s number. He’s the GM.”

“
Oh.” I scratch behind my ear. “Pity I couldn’t get in at Chevali. I don’t know if they’d like me dating another player in the division at New Kestle.”

“
I can call Chevali if you want.” He coughs. “Dunno anyone over there, but I can try.”

“
I’d appreciate it.”

“
So how you holdin’ up? You wanna do lunch?”

I start to say yes, then catch myself. “You’ve already done a lot for me, but thanks.”

He snorts. “Ain’t asking you to lunch to do somethin’ for you.”

“
Maybe tomorrow.”

“
Hey,” he says. “This ain’t because you ain’t a good scout. You are.”

“
I know,” I say. “I get my hard cast off today.”

“
Oh. You still on our insurance, right?”

“
Hell, yes.”

He coughs again. “Okay, then. See you tomorrow.”

When the cast comes off, my paw feels terrific and looks like shit. The first thing I want to do is soak it in cold water, which I’m not allowed to do yet, but the nurse does sponge it off, getting the fur unmatted and getting the worst of the crud out of it. Then there’s a small splint and some black bandages, which match my paw color well. Even though it’s barely more mobile than it was, it still feels tons better. And they give me the old cast, with all the signatures on it. Turning it over reminds me of all the guys on the team that afternoon, how good it felt to be one of the ‘wives.’ Despite being fired, by the time I walk out of the office, I’m smiling.

I go to see another action movie that night. Inspired by my paw’s release from its prison, I run through some aikido again. The moves are starting to come back pretty well. Even though I’m back at a beginner level, just the physical motion does me good. I should maybe go out and run.

Maybe Morty will want to toss a ball around tomorrow. There’s a gym near the office. I should stop by there and join it. But if I did, I’d have to make sure it has branches in other cities. What if I do end up moving to Yerba, or New Kestle, or Chevali? Then there’d be no tossing a ball around with Morty, or Alex. No lunchtime meetings, nothing. Of course, there’s also no job here, and it’s not like I can just go down the street to the next pro football team.

I hate not knowing where I’m going to be living in two months, or six months, or a year. I might turn up a job next month. Morty might get fired from the Dragons and bring me on at his next gig. The idea of living with Dev is really attractive, for obvious reasons, but what would it mean to my career?

My thoughts are not very good company. I want to call Dev again, but he’s going to be practicing until tonight. If I call Kinnel, he’s going to want to write it up. As attractive as that sounds, I have a vision of some tabloid shrieking about how I cried for an hour after being fired. I can’t admit to my father that I got fired. I call Salim Wednesday night and get fifteen minutes of sympathy before he has to go. When I hang up, my tail curls between my legs and my shoulders slump. Even though it’s only nine-thirty, I crawl up my ladder and into bed.

Thursday afternoon, lunch with Morty is great. For one thing, Jeffrey’s makes incredible greasy burgers. You can’t feel sorry for yourself while eating one. You just can’t. (Afterwards—that’s a different story.) For another, it gets me out of the apartment and out into the day, and the weather is surprisingly nice for Hilltown in the fall. You can actually tell there’s a sun behind the clouds.

And for a third, Morty’s incredibly encouraging about my future in scouting. “Emmanuel over at Yerba, he’s a good guy, and a fox too. He as much as said he wanted to talk to you in a month or so, when the college season winds down, thinks you could do some work with the community there, too. He says they been talking about trying to trade for Miski in the off-season anyway. Great community opportunities, and they could use a good outside linebacker.”

“
Dev could use another year with Marvell and Samuelson,” I say, but the prospect of working in the same city is enticing.

“
Chevali, they ain’t interested. But there’s a couple schools down thataway. Some big, some small, but they all go for guys with pro scouting experience. Could work there ’til something opens up in Chevali maybe.”

I nod. “You really think they’d take me?”

He laughs and lights up a cigarette, careful to keep the smoke away from me. I cover my nose in exaggerated pain anyway. “Hell, I’m thinkin’ I might want you to go work at a college so you’ll be available when I move on.” He winks at me. “You’re a damn sight better’n Brad, and in another year you’ll be better’n Alex. You and Paul are about the only ones I’d take with me.”

“
Thanks.” I look at the smoke-colored muzzle where the fur used to be white, the rough eyes that always look tired, except when he’s talking football, the lashing of his tail like a whip cracking, as if the tip is lagging and has to catch up to the base. I think about the crude ethnic jokes, the wealth of knowledge, the rough, sincere friendship. “I’d work with you again in a heartbeat.”

“
These things come around,” he says. “Even Paul was sayin’ today that he misses ya. So you never know.”

My ears lift. “Really?”

He nods. “Said you’re a pain in the ass, but you know your shit.”

That gets a grin out of me. “He’s kind of an ass, but he’s a good guy.”

“
Hell, I’m kind of an ass, come right down to it.” Morty puffs a cloud of smoke into the air. It tickles my nose. “But you’re okay. You don’t take any shit.”

“
I give it. Bam.” I punch the air in front of me. Morty raises an eyebrow, so I explain. “Been going to a lot of action movies. I think. Don’t really remember.”

“
Hey. I know when I got fired, I lived in the bar for a week. You get over it.” He points a finger. “You want my advice? You should do something.”

“
Besides spend ten bucks a pop going to movies I ignore?”

“
You go to the Champion on Mulberry, it’s only five bucks.”

“
For crappy second-run films in a smelly room with a sticky floor.”

He taps his nose. “Advantages of killin’ your nose with smoke.”

“
Thanks.” I wave my paw in front of my nose, though he’s being good about blowing the smoke in the other direction. “I’ll keep my sense of smell.”

“
Spend time with family, maybe. Practice golf. Play tennis. I dunno, what do you do for fun? Video games?”

“
Mess with reporters.” I smooth my whiskers back. “Movies, too. Back in college I used to hang with friends at coffee shops and diners. Don’t really do much of that anymore. I think I spend most of my time on planes these days.”

“
Go somewhere nice. Relax.” He takes a drag of the cigarette and stubs it out. “Hell, chances are we’re gonna all be joining ya on the dole come January. Fuckin’ Hochsfeld.”

Hochsfeld is the bear the Dragons took with their number three pick in the draft, who was supposed to anchor the defensive line. He played the first three games and allowed a team-record fifteen sacks in those games. He’s now drawing a huge contract on the bench. When management criticizes the scouting team now, they say, “Don’t pull another Hochsfeld.”

“
Just wait,” I say. “Trade him in the off-season and he’ll get motivated and start performing.”

He coughs. “Goddamn kids. Never know how good they got it.” He checks his phone. “Ah, I should get back.”

“
Give my best to the gang.” A wave of gloom lowers my ears. Morty’s going back to his job; me, I’m sitting in a greasy burger joint starting to wonder if I can stomach seeing the same movie I saw three days ago. At least I have a phone call with Dev to look forward to.

Do something, Morty says. I could fly down to Hellentown, get a cheap motel, hang around Dev all the time and try to help him. But he’s doing well on his own. I’d probably be more of a disruption than anything else.

One thing I could be doing is watching as many college and pro games as I can, compiling scouting reports to prepare for future interviews. Which fills up my weekends nicely, and the occasional Thursday night when college games are on, but leaves giant gaping holes in the rest of the week.

I walk back slowly through the sunshine, eyeing the clouds on the horizon and thinking that not even a sunny day lasts long in Hilltown. It’s warm in Hellentown now; it’s warm in Chevali. I fluff up my fur and pull my coat tight against the wind.

Spend time with family. Hah. If I call my father, he won’t be able to keep the “I told you so” out of his voice. Dropped out of college, risked it all on this job, and now I don’t even have that. Dev’s the only real family I have.

Once again my mind drifts back to Mikhail and the vague idea I had about talking to him. The idea fades out in a surge of anger over his casual phone call that cost me my job. No matter what Morty says, I can’t be sure I’ll ever get something back. I dropped out of college for this. I didn’t know if it would ever pay, but I had faith in myself. That was my decision. This was forced on me.

I could go back to college, I guess. See if Forester will take me for the spring term, make up a class, get my degree. Maybe I could apply to a school in Chevali for the spring term, live with Dev for a bit. The prospect isn’t as frightening if I actually have a life to live, if I’m not just being a kept fox in his apartment.

Even so, that still leaves me two months to stew. In front of my apartment door, I reach for the handle and then turn away, down the street to a coffee shop. I don’t want to sit up there with nothing to do again. My paws are itching for activity. Especially the left one, under the bandages.