Sinners Football 01- Goals for a Sinner (5 page)

As for the cover curse, as a photographer I repudiate it utterly.”

“She repudiates it utterly. What you t’ink dat means,
 
mon ami
?” Joe Dean scratched his head and did his dumb Cajun routine.

“It means she thinks you are a stupid, superstitious coonass who doesn’t have a chance with her,” Connor interpreted happily for him. Joe could be very appealing to women when he played dumb.

Stevie laughed at them both, gave each a sisterly peck on the cheek and a shoulder hug, and wished them a victory before she headed off to bed.

They would be traveling to Dallas tomorrow and she would be watching the game on the enormous TV alone.

****

The game was an upset, a blowout, a tremendous victory for the supercharged Sinners.

Connor carried the ball for three of the four touchdowns scored by his team, the other being made on an interception by defensive player Jerrol Whitney who scooped the ball out of the air and ran for it. The Cowboys managed only one touchdown and two field goals. In the after game interviews, Joe Dean shouted AAAA-EEEE into the mike and punched the air in his elation.

“This one’s for Artie. I know you’re watching, Art. I couldn’t have beat them if you had still been on their team.”

A female sportscaster shoved the mike in Connor’s face. She asked who his game was for.

Connor Riley looked directly into the camera. The close-up was so sharp Stevie could see his summer sky blue eyes and his blond curls dark with sweat.

“This one’s for Stephanie,” he said and quickly stepped back behind Coach Marty Buck so that man had to field the next question.

All over America, women wanted to be Connor Riley’s Stephanie, she was sure. Sitting in his rec room, Stevie wished he hadn’t called her Stephanie.

Even so, her heart gave a small flutter in her bruised chest.

Chapter Five

The
 
Sports Illustrated
 
feature editor rarely missed a good story. Always being urged to increase readership with his selections, he knew Connor Riley was a guaranteed way to sell a few million newsstand copies to female readers who would never buy a subscription for themselves because they were offended by the swimsuit issue. He dispatched his most aggressive and fearless female reporter to request an interview with Riley at his luxurious home on Lake Ponchartrain outside of New Orleans.

Rita Fortunado always got her story. This time would be no exception.

The reporter caught Joe Dean Billodeaux leaving as she arrived for the interview. Stevie, who had gone to the door with him, ducked back and peered out the sidelight. Joe Dean went right up to the reporter and demanded, “What has Riley got that I don’t?”

Rita scraped a long, red varnished fingernail lightly down his cheek and promised, “Maybe I’ll do you later.”

“Maybe you will.” Joe Dean bit her fingertip lightly and went away happy.

Stevie raced to the guestroom to hide out. She had a slight acquaintance with the reporter and had no intention of becoming part of her story. Still, if a girl needed fresh air on this mild January day when the air conditioners weren’t running, the logical solution was to crack open a window. Not her idea to conduct the interview on the deck right outside of her bedroom.

Rita made herself at home on the cypress bench, asked Connor’s permission to record the conversation, dated and identified the subject of the tape. She began by giving Riley a white, toothy smile outlined in man-eating red lipstick. She fluffed her thick, black hair with her long nails and started the interview.

“There is no doubt that you are having the best season of your professional career after being a first draft pick right out of LSU by the Sinners five years ago. To what would you attribute your success?”

“Um, a great coach, hard work, keeping my mind on the game, maturity.”

“What about the rest of the Sinners?”

“We all do our part. We have a really strong defensive line this year, and Joe Dean Billodeaux and I work well together.”

“I hear you are the only one of the Sinners’

receivers who can catch his wild throws.”

“Not all of them are wild. Joe has a strong arm and he’s getting more control with experience. This is the first opportunity he’s really had to show his stuff. We were sorry to lose Art Golden, though. This could have been Art’s Super Bowl year.”

“All of the above are undoubtedly true, but I have heard rumors that Connor Riley has a secret formula for success.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.”

“I’ve heard you have remained celibate this entire season. No groupies for Connor Riley. Is this true?”

Through the sheer curtains fluttering at her window, Stevie saw Connor color up as if he had just run ninety yards for a touchdown. Her own mind echoed Rita’s question. Could this be true?

“Well, ah, yeah, it’s true, but just this season.” Connor seemed anxious not to appear to be some kind of freak.

“So, is this a religious thing or something else?

You are known on occasion to attend the church where Revelation Bullock’s father preaches. Have you found Jesus?”

“No, it’s not a religious thing, but it was the Rev’s idea. He’s had a great season, too, and is going to the Pro Bowl. Maybe you should ask him about this.”

“But we are here now. So tell me, what does celibacy have to do with great football?”

“Okay, the Rev says it’s a warrior thing. If you abstain from sex, all your aggression, all your concentration can be focused on winning. He says lots of societies have required their warriors to abstain from sex. In the Middle Ages, knights seeking the Holy Grail had to be pure, only in this case it’s the Super Bowl we’re seeking. Sounds weird when I say it out loud, but it works.”

“The Sinners have quite a reputation for carousing in the French Quarter. Are any of your teammates also practicing celibacy? Say Joe Dean Billodeaux?”

“Not Joe, definitely not Joe, and none of the others that I’ve noticed. Some of the guys are married and don’t fool around. I guess their wives wouldn’t appreciate them taking a celibacy vow. It’s only for the season though. Not afterwards, and the season is almost over, about five more weeks if we go all the way.”

Connor noticed the open window and turned his back to it as if to hide Stevie from Rita Fortunado.

“You dedicated your last game to someone named Stephanie. Who might Stephanie be?”

“An old friend who was sick in the hospital for awhile, that’s all. Could we talk about football?” Rita had sunk her teeth in the subject and was not about to let go. “Just a guess, but are we talking about the photographer who goes by the name of Stevie Dowd, the woman you tackled a few weeks ago in the last of the regular season games? Stevie is an old friend of mine, too.”

“No kidding?”

“Yes, I’ve been trying to reach her for days, but she isn’t at her studio.”

“She’s, ah…maybe, she’s recovering with family or friends. She was injured in the fall, concussion, cracked ribs, you know. And I didn’t tackle her. I just sort of ran into her and fell on top of her with the Rev wrapped around my knees. Your magazine had a small article on it.”

In the bedroom, Stevie breathed out quietly.

Nice save, Connor, she thought. No way were she and Rita old friends. Mainly, they were two women trying to make it in a man’s world, and Rita was doing better than her. She did not particularly like Rita, who sometimes traded sex for scoops.

“If you should see Stevie, tell her I hope she gets well soon.” Rita looked pointedly over Connor’s shoulder. Stevie stepped away from the window.

“Tell me, Connor, why are you still with the Sinners when you could have gone out as a free agent a couple of years ago? You’ve been playing good ball on a formerly losing team.”

“Good ball, not great ball. This year I’m playing closer to my full potential, I think for the first time.

Maybe a salary re-negotiation is in the future, but I grew up on this lake. I’d like to stay here and help the Sinners to another winning season. I want our victories to be part of the rebirth of New Orleans from the storm.”

“Very noble of you with your yardage going up each week and your phenomenal number of touchdowns this season.”

Relieved they’d returned to the subject of the game, Connor Riley sat back and appeared to enjoy the rest of the interview. ****

Naturally, Joe Dean brought the bad news. He arrived clutching the latest
 
Sports Illustrated,
 
flashing its cover at Stevie and rejoicing that the star receiver on the next team the Sinners were to meet graced the cover.

“Cursed, Kamal Mohammed is definitely cursed.”

He tossed the magazine to Stevie who glanced at the teasers for the other feature articles. One of the bars read,
 
A Saint Among the Sinners?
 
She flipped through the contents. “Oh, no!” There it was, Dexter Sykes’ photo of her sprawled out on the ground with Connor Riley kneeling beside her like a knight in black armor.

The layout was a full page bleed that made the legs of the medics and spectators fuzzy and vague like trees on a misty island. The picture had not been cropped and her nipples poked up visibly under her damp white T-shirt. To Connor’s credit, his eyes appeared to be gazing raptly at her face. With her lips parted and her eyes half open, Stevie thought she looked as if she were recovering from a particularly good orgasm.

Joe Dean looked over her shoulder, his breath warm on her neck. “Hot shot, Stevie,” he whispered in her ear. He raised his voice to get Connor’s attention. “But Riley looks like a love-starved sap.

Or maybe that should be sex-starved.” Connor crossed the room to take a look. “I’m sorry, Stevie. I know this must embarrass you.”

“The camera does not lie. It’s the article that worries me for your sake, not mine.” Connor leaned over Stevie and skimmed the article with her. It started out well enough with a short history of his career with the Sinners and his phenomenal season with new personal and team records set. Then came the celibacy issue, making that seem like the sole reason for his success, not hard work or experience.

Rita pointed out Connor did little drinking and was known for going home alone to his place on Lake Pontchartrain after victory celebrations with the team. She pumped up his work with Habitat for Humanity and his visits to the children’s ward while visiting Stevie. The reporter ended by saying a good source had told her Connor insisted on giving the female photographer he had injured a place to convalesce at his home.

According to Rita, Connor Riley lived alongside that woman like a pure warrior-knight, true to his vows. The woman’s name was Stevie, short for Stephanie, Dowd, the woman to whom he had dedicated his last game. Yes, Connor Riley, truly a saint among the Sinners.

Joe Dean continued reading over Stevie’s other shoulder. “Kind of makes you want to gag, huh?

There will be letters to the editor next week about printing this chick stuff in a sports magazine, I guarantee you, me.”

Stevie’s cell phone rang. The gadget had remained fairly silent with the exception of a call or two from concerned friends once she cancelled her assignments for the next six weeks. She had not told anyone where she was recovering except her sister Michelle who had been sworn to secrecy. Stevie handed the magazine to Connor and moved a few feet away to take the call.

“Oh, hi, Mom. Well, I asked Michelle not to tell you I was injured. I didn’t want you to worry… I’m sorry you had to find out about it in a national magazine. I didn’t know you read
 
Sports Illustrated.

Thank my dear brother-in-law for showing you the picture… No, no, don’t get on the bus. I’m well taken care of, feeling fine. I’m not shacked up, Mom. I’m recuperating… Yes, he is a nice boy, much nicer than Dex. No, you can’t talk to him. He’s not here. I swear I’ll keep you up to date on my life from now on… Love you too, Mom. Bye.”

Joe Dean’s background snickers turned into a huge laugh. Pitching his voice high, he mocked, “Connor Riley is such a nice boy. A saint among the Sinners.”

“I don’t suppose it was you who gave Rita her information about Stevie?” Connor asked, showing remarkable restraint.

Joe Dean looked down shamefaced. “She already knew or guessed. She came on to me real strong, and you know I’m not one to turn down a good offer. Hey, I’m the guy who said you weren’t sleeping together.

Don’t I get some credit?”

“Let’s go over the game tapes and forget it.

Stevie, I’m sorry about this dick-head talking to Rita about you.”

“Not your fault. I think I’ll take a soak in the tub. You guys study your tapes. Big game coming up.” Stevie left the room and Connor tried to get back to business. He cued up a tape of their next opponents’ last game, the one that moved them up in playoffs to meet the Sinners.

“Strong defense, hard hitters, fast runners. I think you should consider going to the short pass just over their line.”