the Big Time (2010) (9 page)

IT WASN'T HIS FATHER'S
orange Porsche but Seth's yellow H2 that was resting in the red clay patch in front of Troy's house. Beside it was a silver Cadillac sedan. On the porch, Seth stood talking to a man who wore a dark blue sweat suit, a baseball cap, and big glasses.

“Who is that?” Troy asked.

“Come on,” his mom said, pulling to a stop and getting out of the car. “Let me introduce you.”

Troy followed his mom up the front steps.

“Thank you so much for coming,” his mom said to the man who blinked curiously at Troy. “Troy, this is John Marchiano. Mr. Marchiano came all the way from Las Vegas to help us.”

Marchiano wore a big, friendly smile, and it seemed even brighter set in a face dark with razor stubble. His
hair was long enough to spill free from the back of the baseball cap. He looked nothing like Troy's father, not even in the same league. Not big time at all.

“Troy, nice to meet you,” Marchiano said, sticking out his hand so that Troy had to shake it. “Just call me John. You've got some mom, I'll tell you; and Seth has told me all about you. I'd love to help out.”

Despite the sinking feeling in his stomach, Troy had to admit that there was something very open and friendly about the man; in any other setting, he would have liked him. Still, Troy said, “Thanks for coming, Mr. Marchiano, but I've got someone to help me already.”

Marchiano blinked at Troy, then smiled uneasily and looked at Seth. Seth scowled and looked at Troy's mom. She glared at Troy.

“That is very rude, young man,” she said. “You apologize.”

“Tessa,” Marchiano said, holding up both hands, “he doesn't have to apologize to me. He's the client. The client's never wrong.”

Troy's mom curled her lips back off her teeth.

“I'm sorry,” Troy said, looking down at his feet. “It's just that I've got someone I want to represent me already.”

“What?” Seth said.

His mother gripped his upper arm and asked, “What are you talking about?”

Troy looked up at her, his eyes moist from the frustration and anger building inside him like a towering thunderstorm.

“My father,” he said, choking out the words.

“Troy, stop that right now,” his mother said, gripping his upper arm. “You don't even know the man.”

“He's my father,” Troy said. “What more do I have to know?”

Without another word, Troy tore open the front door and raced into the house. He dashed through the living room, around the corner, and into his own room, where he slammed the door shut. He slumped down on his bed, clenching two handfuls of hair. Through the door he could hear the voices of the adults as they entered the living room and talked among themselves. The sound of their voices rose and fell like the ocean surf. It went quiet for a minute. Troy heard a chickadee outside in the pines chattering away, then the rap of knuckles on his bedroom door.

“Go away,” Troy said.

“Troy? It's me, John. I'm going, but I did want to just say a couple quick things to you, if you don't mind. Honestly, I came all the way from Las Vegas, and I'm heading right back there, and that's fine; but if I could tell you a couple things, maybe it'll help you down the line somewhere.”

Troy got up, went to his door, and swung it open. John Marchiano stepped inside and looked around. His
eyes came to rest on a picture of Troy and his gramps holding up a huge catfish between them, both of them straining, both smiling.

“Some fish,” John said, stepping closer.

“That's my gramps,” Troy said. “He knows all the good spots.”

“I never had that,” John said, “someone to take me fishing.”

Troy nodded.

“Look,” John said, taking a business card from his jacket pocket and handing it to Troy, “you ever need some advice, you give me a call. Your mom told me the whole thing about you and your dad, and I told her he should represent you.”

“You did?” Troy said, searching the agent's eyes for a trick.

“
SURE,” JOHN SAID. “I
lost my own dad when I was six, so I know what it's like at the end of a ball game and he's not there. So, if I could've gotten him back? You better believe he'd have been my agent, not that I needed one. I didn't play past college.”

“You played?” Troy said.

“Syracuse University,” John said with a grin. “Mostly a long snapper, but I wore the colors. Anyway, you keep that card. I'm not out running around looking for clients. Would I love to represent you? Sure. You got some special talent, and I'm betting this genius thing is only the beginning. From what Seth says, you'll be a player yourself if you stay healthy, but I don't recruit clients anymore. My law practice keeps me busy, and I get enough clients who come to me. I just came today
because of Seth. He's a great guy, and he cares a lot about you. You need some advice sometime, you just call me.”

John Marchiano turned to go.

“Mr. Marchiano,” Troy said before John got out the door. “Do you think it's a good idea? I mean, my dad represents some big-time people, so he'll be good at this, right?”

“Call me John. Your dad will be great,” John said, then his face became sober. “But you should never do business with family.”

Troy rumpled his brow and tilted his head. “That doesn't make sense. Which is it?”

“Both,” John said. “Your dad will do a great job with your deal. I have no doubt. You're right, G Money is in the big time, so your dad obviously knows his stuff. But, in the end, you'll regret it. Not because of the deal. I'm sorry. I can't lie to you. Agents make a lot of money, and a good one has to tell his client things the client doesn't like to hear. That's tough enough anyway, and family businesses are always a huge challenge. I've seen it before: a father representing his son. No, it never works out.”

Troy frowned.

“But maybe you'll be different, Troy,” John said cheerfully. “There's a first for everything, right?”

Troy studied John Marchiano's face, searching for the signs of the kind of trickster who would try to talk
him out of working with his dad. But try as he might, all Troy saw was a friendly smile, and he knew instinctively that John Marchiano was speaking the truth as he knew it. Still, Troy wasn't about to let go of his dream of having a dad fully involved in his life.

“You have to dare to be different, right?” Troy said.

John gave him a short nod and said, “If you're the daring type, then you're right.”

“I am,” Troy said. “That's part of being a quarterback, too. You have to take chances sometimes to win the really big games.”

“Yes, you do. Just don't throw an interception on the goal line. Good luck, Troy,” John said, and he turned to go.

Troy followed the agent out into the living room. His mom and Seth looked up from where they sat on the couch.

“It's settled,” Troy said. “Mr. Marchiano even says my dad's got what it takes to do this deal. If he represents G Money, he obviously knows his stuff.”

John stopped in the middle of the floor and said, “I also told you that it's tough to do business with family.”

Seth stood up and, with a pained expression, he said, “John, I'm really sorry I brought you out here.”

John held up his hand. “Don't be. I'm glad I got the chance to meet Troy and talk to him. And he's got my card now in case he changes his mind.”

Troy's mom stood, her back rigid, and said, “Troy's twelve, John, so this isn't necessarily the final word. He and I will be discussing this.”

“Honestly, Tessa?” John said. “I meant it when I said Troy's the client. I know he's only twelve, but he acts a lot older, and this really is about him. I'm not trying to stick my nose in, but you might want to listen to him. If he wants his father to represent him, it's not like the man isn't qualified. I'm sorry; I know that's not what you or Seth wanted to hear from me, but I just finished telling Troy that a good agent sometimes has to say things his clients don't want to hear. Seth, I'll call you.”

They all shook hands with John, thanking him before they followed him out. Troy got the door, pulling it open and gasping at the sight of a greasy-haired man with a pinched, angry face struggling up the final step. The man stood slouched over in a faded black suit coat, his age-spotted hands hanging at his sides.

The man wiped some sweat from his brow and narrowed his eyes, staring through the doorway at Troy's mom.

“Are you Tessa White?” he asked.

Troy's mom wrinkled her face and asked, “Who in the world are you?”

“
YOU
ARE
TESSA WHITE
?”
the man asked again, nodding to himself and reaching into the back pocket of his pants, from where he removed what looked like a religious pamphlet.

“Yes,” Troy's mom said, her eyes on the pamphlet that the man extended through the doorway.

The man shook the paper until she took it from him, then he gave her a curt nod, grunted, turned, and walked away. Troy watched the man climb into a faded blue compact car with a cracked windshield and a wire clothes hanger where the radio antenna should have been. The car sputtered to life and raced away, chomping up the gritty dirt track.

Troy turned his attention to the sound of his mother unfolding the paper.

“What is it?” Seth asked.

“Well, Troy,” his mom said, rattling the paper with a sigh, “you got your wish; it's a lawsuit.”

“What?” Troy asked.

“That was a process server,” she said, nodding toward the dusty cloud in the driveway. “I'm being sued for custody, by your father.”

Seth and John Marchiano both glanced at Troy, and he felt his face go warm.

“It's what you said he had to do,” Troy said, angry that he felt ashamed.

She sighed and said, “Yes, I did.”

“Well,” John Marchiano said, “I'm off.”

They all said good-bye. The agent offered a final, sad look, as if he knew something they didn't. Then he climbed into the rented Cadillac and followed the process server's trail of dust.

“So, I can see him?” Troy said as the dust settled, excitement creeping into his voice.

“I gave you my word,” his mom said, sounding disappointed.

“Now?” Troy asked. “Can I call him? Can I see him?”

“Of course,” his mom said quietly. She reached for Seth's hand, and they twined their fingers together. “But you tell him to knock it off now with the lawsuit.”

The hopeless look she gave to Seth barely registered with Troy. He raced into the house and scooped up his
mom's cell phone from the coffee table. Troy headed straight to his bedroom, where he could talk in private. Trembling, he took the card from its place beneath his mattress and dialed his father.

“Hello,” Troy said, hesitant at the sound of his father's voice.

“Hey, Troy!” his father said, washing away all doubt with his enthusiasm. “She got it?”

“Yes, and I can see you.”

“That's great,” his father said. “You ready? I thought we'd get a big fat steak at Chops, but first I got a surprise that's going to knock you off your feet.”

“Speaking of knocking,” Troy said, “she wants you to knock it off with the lawsuit.”

“Whatever it takes,” he said.

“What surprise anyway?” Troy asked.

“If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise, would it?” his father asked. “I'll be by to get you in about twenty minutes. You got a bathing suit, right?”

“Sure,” Troy said, now truly mystified.

“Okay,” his father said, “bring it.”

TROY CLUTCHED HIS ROLLED-UP
bathing suit and pulled back the curtain to watch and wait. A heavy beam of late-day sun spilled through the glass, warming his cheek.

“You're not just running out there and taking off like a rocket, mister,” his mom said. “He can come in and say hello and talk about some ground rules. This isn't a train station; it's our home.”

Troy rolled his eyes. “Mom, please don't start with the ground rules.”

“Don't
you
start, Troy,” she said from her spot on the couch next to Seth. “You're twelve.”

“How could I forget,” Troy said, grumbling and turning his attention back to the window.

Over his shoulder, the clock on the wall wouldn't seem to move its hands. When the orange Porsche finally purred into the dirt patch, Troy swept aside the curtain. He pressed his face and hand against the warm glass. Troy's dad didn't even hesitate. He hopped out and vaulted up the steps in jeans, cowboy boots, and a silky button-down shirt. He pounded the door with three short, heavy knocks and stood there with his hair a wild tangle from the windy ride in the convertible.

“I'll get it,” his mom said, pushing past Troy and swinging open the door.

“Drew,” she said sarcastically, “what a surprise.”

Troy's dad stepped inside, smoothed his hair, and wiped his feet.

“Good to see you, Tessa,” he said, shaking her hand before he waved to Seth on the couch. “Seth.”

He clasped Troy by the hand like a gladiator—instead of offering a formal shake—and pulled into a one-armed hug, clapping him on the back like a team-mate.

“My man,” his father said, and Troy beamed with pride.

“Drew,” Troy's mom said, her hands going to her hips, “your ‘man' has school tomorrow. I know you want to get to know each other a little, but he needs to be home by ten and—”

“Ten?” Troy said, raising his voice.

Drew held up a hand, silencing Troy. Then, in a somber voice, he said, “Of course, Tessa. I appreciate the opportunity here. You've obviously done a great job raising Troy. I'm happy to play by your rules.”

Troy watched his mom's face relax. She nodded and said, “Thank you.”

“And I don't want a free ride on this either,” Drew said to her with serious eyes. “I expect that part of our arrangement will mean me helping support Troy—food, clothes, college when it's time, including the expenses you've already had.”

Troy's mom opened her mouth to speak, but her eyes flickered at him and she closed it instead. Troy couldn't keep from grinning.

“Well,” Drew said, rubbing his hands together as if warming them at a fire, “lots to do and not much time. Let me get him going and—”

“Going where, by the way?” Troy's mom asked.

“Chops for a steak,” Drew said.

“But the bathing suit?” Troy's mom said.

“For a swim.”

“Drew, I know it's warm out for November, but you're not jumping off any railroad bridges or anything crazy like that, right?” his mom asked.

“Me?” he said.

“Like the old days, remember?” she asked with one eyebrow raised.

She turned to Troy and said, “If there was water, your father would be in it, even if he had to jump off a bridge to get there. If we were at the beach in Biloxi, he'd swim out a mile and back just to prove he could. Once he jumped out of a raft down the Alabama River and met us at the dock.”

“No rapids,” he said, laughing lightly. “Strictly indoor swimming, but I want to surprise him about where. Okay?”

“Sure,” Troy's mom said, and he thought she might have even smiled a bit. “And, Drew, I know you and Troy have spoken about having you represent him, but I want you to work through me on that.”

“Mom,” Troy said, “Mr. Marchiano said—”

“I'm your mom,” she said, cutting him off. “If you want Drew to work on this deal, he'll be working on it through me or not at all.”

Troy grumbled until his father said, “That makes perfect sense.”

“It does?” Troy asked, looking up at him.

“Hey,” Drew said, his smile flashing, “I'm your dad, but she's your mom, Troy. You gotta listen to her.”

Troy's mom tilted her head, gazed at his father, and said, “Thank you, Drew.”

“You sound surprised, Tessa,” Drew said. “If I was so bad, Troy wouldn't even be here, would he?”

Troy's mom shrugged and said, “I guess not. You two have fun.”

Troy and his dad waved good-bye to Seth. Troy kissed his mom, and they were off, with the top down.

Wind screamed past Troy's ears as his father sped down Route 400 against the grain of the commuters all leaving the city at the end of the workday.

“It's fast!” Troy shouted.

“You like it?” his father asked, glancing at him, downshifting, swerving into another lane, and surging ahead with even more power and speed.

“I liked the way you handled my mom,” Troy shouted.

His father nodded and grinned and said, “Plenty of practice.”

“How long did you guys go out?”

“Two years,” his father said, his voice cutting through the wind.

“Pretty serious, huh?” Troy said.

“Serious enough to know how to work right around her,” Drew said.

“What do you mean?” Troy shouted, a feeling of uncertainty creeping into the thrill of the wind and speed.

“She says I work through her,” his dad said with a shrug. “That's fine. She can say what she likes, but you and I know that I'm running this deal. I already
got Seth Cole lined up to interview you. You know who that is?”

“Seth Cole? The owner of the Jets?” Troy said. “Everyone knows him; he's superrich.”

“The perfect team for you,” Drew said. “Seth Cole knows how to win, and he doesn't care how much it costs.”

“An interview?” Troy asked.

“To show him what you can do,” Drew said, still shouting. “When he sees what you can do, we might have a deal before we leave New York.”

“New York?” Troy said, his heart skipping all over the place.

His dad nodded and said, “The big time, for real. New York is the center of the world.”

“How do we get there?” Troy asked.

“Seth Cole's got a Global 5000. A big private jet. It'll be here for us in the morning.”

“But school,” Troy said.

His dad waved a hand as if dismissing the question.

Troy digested that in silence until his dad exited the highway and pulled to a stop on the street beside the Georgia Aquarium. The sun had disappeared behind the buildings, and the early evening air had begun to cool.

“This is it,” his dad said, slipping out of the car. “Bring your suit.”

“What?” Troy said, fumbling with the handle. “You can't swim in an aquarium.”

“Most people can't,” his father said. “But we aren't most people, are we?”