The Manager (11 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY

T
urns out Jesse did make it back to Truro that night. We found him in the waiting room of the hospital, his head down and half a dozen empty coffee cups scattered beside him.

“Jesse!” said Tina, tossing her suitcase onto the nearest seat.

“Are you okay?” I asked him.

His head came up slowly. He had dried blood stuck to his forehead and cheeks. He said nothing.

“Your sister … is she …?” Tina couldn't find the words.

“She's all right.” He put his head down.

“Where's your mother?” I wondered.

“With my aunt. They sent her home.”

“Can they get your sister some kind of help?” asked Tina. “Counselling or something?”

“They will. I guess.”

“Well, then you should be at home asleep,” scolded Tina. “There's nothing you can do here.”

“I'm not leaving.” He looked over the empty cups to find one with something left in it; he tilted it up and drank the dregs. Then he tossed the keys to the Maserati to O'Shea. “Thanks, man,” he mumbled.

“Tina said you'd be stopped at the border,” said O'Shea. “What did you do? Bribe the guard?”

“Just told him the truth.” Jesse lowered his head again, then muttered something about the guy being a boxing fan.

“Mankiller,” said O'Shea, “you are one hell of a fighter. I mean that. Your manager here” – he gestured toward Tina – “now she isn't interested in my way of doing things. But if you ever change your mind….”

“He won't,” said Tina. “But listen, Mickey,” she added, “the three of us are really grateful for your help. I owe you big time.”

“Good luck,” he said, throwing his jacket over his shoulder and waving with his keys between his fingers.

Paul and Bonita walked through the door just as O'Shea was walking out. Paul recognized him and did a double take.

“Tina! Ellie!” Bonita gave us both a big hug. “You guys are amazing. I can't get over it.” She looked at Jesse. “Oh, but I'm sorry about your sister. Really, I am. I didn't mean to sound upbeat. But you did so well in Amherst and Portland. I can't believe it.” She put a hand on Jesse's shoulder. “And they say your sister is going to be just fine.”

“Bonita's right,” echoed Paul. “Meryl will be looked after. You can be sure of that.” He walked over to Tina. “That wasn't Mickey O'Shea, was it?”

“Yeah, he drove us back. It's a long story.”

Paul shrugged. “Well, you are a remarkable young lady.”

Tina changed the subject. “How are you, Paul? Will your doctors let you get back to being a manager?”

“No, unfortunately not. My days in boxing are over. It's back to teaching physical education for me.” He smiled at Jesse. “You've got a great career ahead of you, though.”

“I don't think so.” Jesse crushed his cup it in his hand.

“You are a fool,” said Tina. “An absolute fool. And I am sick and tired of having to give you pep talks. You know that if you return to Boston and you win that fight, you'll be in the world circuit. You will be able to buy your mom a house to live in and she won't have to be wheeled up a plywood plank.”

Jesse looked daggers at my sister.

“I'm sorry to be so blunt, but you're stubborn, and it's the only way to deal with you sometimes.”

“Most of the time,” said Paul.

Jesse looked daggers at him too.

“Even if you don't win,” added Bonita, “just stepping into the ring should bring you a fair bit of money.”

“Enough to help your mother and sisters.” Tina sat down next to Jesse. “Isn't it what your father would have wanted? Isn't it exactly what he would have done?” She folded both arms in front. “Okay, Mankiller. I'm done begging. The rest is up to you.”

Jesse lifted his head. One of his cuts had reopened, and my sister took some tissues from her purse and pressed them against it.

“Hand me the salve,” she told me. “It's in my luggage, in the zippered pocket.”

Tina fixed up his cuts.

Then Jesse looked her straight in the eye. “Why are you going to Boston?” he asked. “It's for some kind of operation, isn't it?”

Tina turned crimson red.

Bonita had the good sense to ask Paul if he'd like to join her for a coffee in the cafeteria, and I moved to the next row of seats and picked up a magazine to give my sister an opportunity to confide in Jesse.

“Yes, it is.”

“What for?”

“I don't like talking about it.”

“I don't like talking about my problems, either,” said Jesse, “but that doesn't stop you from … well, it doesn't stop you.”

Tina knew he was right. She took a deep breath, paused for a minute, then finally answered his question. “The Ilizarov procedure,” she said.

He squinted as if to say “what the hell is that?”

“It's to make me taller, okay?” I peered over the top of the magazine and saw that Tina was in tears. She wiped her eyes with the blood-soaked tissues she'd used on Jesse's cuts, smearing his blood across her face.

Jesse slid his hand over the top of Tina's. Then he leaned forward and hugged her.

—

We stayed a few days at Bonita's place while Jesse rested up and made sure his sister was being looked after. The head nurse encouraged Jesse to make the trip to Boston; she assured him that Meryl wouldn't be released until her physicians were certain she was stable and that social workers would be visiting her daily after that. Jesse knew that if he won, he wouldn't be fighting again until the fall, which would give him plenty of time to get his family into a better home and find himself a permanent manager.

Against Tina's wishes, I called home from Bonita's place. My sister warned me not to mention her operation, not to mention her involvement in Jesse's training, not to mention O'Shea and not to mention her name.

As it turned out, my father wasn't there when I called. Bonita phoned Azalea, so I asked her to let him know that I was thinking about him. She said she would, then reminded me that I had promised to bring Tina back in one piece.

I was happy that Jesse had agreed to fight, because I knew how much help it could bring his family, and I could see how happy it made Tina. I was glad, too, that Bonita and Paul were coming with us this time; his cardiologist had agreed to the trip providing he only watched the fight and did not take any active part in it. Louise wasn't too sure about the whole thing, but Bonita assured her that she wouldn't let him get stressed out. And Jesse needed to conserve his energy; having three drivers was going to make it easier on everyone involved.

“And besides,” Paul argued, “you can't keep me locked up forever. If I can't watch the occasional fight, you might as well kill me right now.”

So off we went. I was glad when Paul or Jesse was driving because Bonita sat in the back and we talked about things that had nothing to do with boxing and ate ice cream and listened to the radio and hung our feet out the window. But then I made the mistake of telling her all about the Valentines and when we were getting near their place, she insisted on meeting them.

“No way,” said Tina, giving me a look that meant “you and your big mouth.”

“Oh, come on,” Bonita said with a little whine. “I want to see this place. Besides, I have to pay that Walter fellow for the rad. Daddy would be mad at me if I didn't.”

“Send him a cheque,” suggested my sister.

It took several miles of arguing back and forth, then finally Bonita played the “it's my car so I say where we go” card and, yes, we ended up back at the Valentines.

We weaved our way down that long driveway, honking at the occasional chicken that strutted out. When the house came into sight and we could see the family sitting on that old car seat, I fully expected Ellwood or Dot to call out, “Look! Here come cousin Ellie and cousin Tina!”

They all dashed over when we pulled in. The kids ran around the car and screamed. Dar and Char headed straight for Jesse, Walter headed straight for Brandy and Dot headed straight for Tina. Ellwood starting opening beers. We had to unclamp Tina's hands from the door handle to get her out of the car.

Dot had supper on – it was stew again, and she'd made plenty of it – so she urged us to stay. Paul and Ellwood discussed the crops, the weather and which chickens were the best layers (Rhode Island Reds); Bonita and Walter discussed the life and times of Brandy; and while Tina sulked most of the time, I took some photographs. And when Dot asked Tina if she had that letter for Carson, and Tina lied and said she'd lost it again, and Dot came out with a third one, this time I kept it. Together with my photographs, it would be a way to remember.

Boston was a few hours from the Valentines' place and while we could have made it, Dot insisted we stay the night. This time, Paul slept in the barn with Jesse; Bonita and Tina took the guest room and I stayed on the couch. It meant that I couldn't get any sleep until after
The Tonight Show
was over, but I didn't mind – there were some interesting things stuck in the back of the sofa. I found a tractor manual (with a nude picture from
Playboy
magazine hidden inside), a fishbone, at least two dozen strands of embroidery thread and Dot's cameo brooch that, it turned out, had been missing for seven years.

I sat with Dot while she laughed and ate chips and worked on her needlepoint. It was almost done when she went to bed, so I did the last few stitches for her.

In the middle of the flowers and vines, where I figured there should be a birdhouse or maybe a watering can or something, there was another biblical verse, like the one on the wall. This time it was from the Twenty-third Psalm: “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures, He leadeth me beside still waters. He restoreth my soul.”

And although I never did see the Valentines again, every time I hear that verse, I think of Dot and her needlepoint – and Johnny Carson.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

J
esse was so focused on the fight, I didn't see much of him for a couple of days after we arrived in Boston. Paul wasn't supposed to be involved in his training whatsoever; he couldn't even remind him to keep his toes pointed in. But whenever Bonita turned her head, he tossed Jesse a piece of advice like bread crumbs to a duck. And if Tina breathed a word that even smelled like pugilism, Bonita cut her off mid sentence. Needless to say, Tina's ire was up to the roof after a few days.

I, on the other hand, loved having Bonita around, not only because she insisted that we stay in a nicer place than the seedy motels we'd been forced to endure, but also because she and I spent time window shopping and enjoying the sights of Boston. Before we left on our excursions, Bonita would make Tina promise not to involve Paul in any boxing-related activities. Making my sister promise anything, though, was like telling a four-year-old not to run her finger along a newly-frosted cake. So every time we headed out the door, Tina and Paul glanced at each other from under their eyelids and swore they wouldn't talk shop.

Boston is a wonderful city, and probably the most historic place in all of America. It's pretty, too. The downtown is located on a peninsula that juts into Boston Harbor, with the Charles River beginning at the north end and flowing past. From the time we arrived, Bonita and I never shut up about the Boston tea party and Paul Revere's ride; Tina and Paul never shut up about the Boston Garden, that famous venue that had hosted The Rolling Stones and The Beatles and Jimi Hendrix and just about every huge sports event in history. We were all excited to think that Jesse would be fighting at the Garden in the fall if he won this next fight.

I was glad that Tina had Jesse's fight to preoccupy her thoughts; I found that even with Bonita and Paul Revere around to take my mind off Count Ilizarov, just knowing the hospital was around the corner left a permanent knot in the centre of my stomach.

Bonita sensed it, and on our last day of sightseeing, when we were having supper alone (Tina was busy with Jesse, and Paul was pretending to rest), she asked me about Tina.

“She's hard-headed,” I told Bonita, as if she didn't know already. “I can't talk her out of it.”

“Maybe it's the right thing,” suggested Bonita.

“I like her the way she is.”

“So do I.” Bonita picked up a menu and looked it over. With everything looming the way it was – the fight, the hospital – the only thing I could manage was a bowl of soup.

“Did you ever get a hold of your daddy?” Bonita asked me.

“No, not yet.”

“Tina really takes after him, doesn't she?” She took a few sips of water. “They both love boxing so much.”

“Too much. Neither one of them can imagine life without it.”

“It must make her crazy to think about his hand,” said Bonita.

“Why?”

“Well, you know….”

“No, I don't know anything.”

“Oh. Oh, dear.”

I didn't understand what Bonita was getting at. Then I realized she had spilled the beans and was trying to change the topic.

“Are you sure you only want soup?” she hedged. “How about a nice dessert?”

She wasn't going to get around me with pie. Not even cheesecake would get her out of this one.

“Bonita, why would Tina care so much about my father's hand?” I stared her down. “Please, I have to know.”

“Oh, me and my great big mouth.”

“Come on, tell me.”

“I figured that by now you two would have known about it. It's been sixteen years, for heaven's sake.”

The waitress gave me my soup and placed a toasted sandwich and salad in front of Bonita. She asked us if we needed anything else, then left.

“So this was when I was a year old and Tina was two?”

“Yes.”

And then, realizing the jig was up, Bonita made me cross my heart and hope to die and not say one word to Tina.

When she told me what happened, I almost died anyway.

“He was getting ready for the fight. A couple of jerks made some pretty terrible comments about Tina. About her being a dwarf. I think they called her— well, you know.”

“Retarded?”

She looked away for a minute. “Yeah, something like that.”

“So my father was defending Tina? That's how he wrecked his fist?”

Bonita nodded. “She was such a pretty little girl. I don't know how they could be so cruel. I just don't.” She waved her finger. “But your daddy took them on. He had the two of them by the neck. I think he was going to kill them.”

“What happened?”

“Somebody stopped him. Reminded him he had two little girls to look after, and if he went to jail, there'd be no one to care for them.”

“So he threw his fist into the wall instead.”

“Exactly.”

—

I didn't have a chance to digest the news. It was almost time for the fight, so Bonita and I hurried back to the hotel. Jesse was already at the arena, and Paul and Tina were with the promoter. Bonita and I took showers and changed clothes and were ready to leave, when Paul and Tina came barrelling down the hallway.

“I really didn't need this,” cried my sister, crashing into our room and throwing herself into a chair.

“Mind if I come in?” asked Paul.

“Not at all,” said Bonita. “Come in, come in. What's going on? You're supposed to be resting,” she told Paul.

“We've got some, uh, interesting news,” he said.

“The guy who Jesse was supposed to fight tonight – the Canadian title holder – well, he's out with an injury, and guess who's taking his place?” hollered Tina.

I shrugged. Bonita shrugged.

“Go on, guess.” Tina hollered even louder.

“The Eastern Canadian champion,” said Paul. “Flyin' Ryan Byrne.”

“Oh, no,” I said.

“Oh, yes,” Tina said. “How the hell am I supposed to concentrate?”

“Concentrate?” I asked. “What? You're worried about your concentration? What about Dad?”

“Look, Ellie, in two short hours I have to coach Jesse. You're just going to have to keep off my back. This is important to me, okay?”

A tremendous surge of anger swelled up inside and I could hear blood rushing to my ears. I felt sick at my stomach.

How can she hate our father so much? How can she do this to him? Especially after everything he has sacrificed for her!

“Tina,” I blurted, “you can't do this to Dad. Don't you know…?”

I glanced at Bonita and she gave me a steely look.

“Don't I know what?” asked Tina.

“Well … well don't you care about him? How can you go on with the fight now? You can't. I won't let you.”

“Like hell I won't.”

“Well I won't be there. Dad is depending on Ryan's win. You can't do this.”

“Just watch me,” said Tina.

“I won't be your cut man,” I said sulkily.

“You're a lousy cut man anyway.”

Paul broke in. “Come on, girls,” he said, “let's let the best man win, shall we?” He smiled, but it didn't work.

“Well, you can coach Jesse then,” I said to Paul.

“No, he can't.” Bonita was firm.

“Shut up, Ellie,” said my sister, “and stay out of it.”

“How
can
you?”

She looked at me for a minute. Then she said that I would just have to trust her.

Trust her?

The frustration built up and I wanted to scream, “Dad gave up his whole boxing future for you and you won't even give up one fight for him?”

Instead I marched right over to my sister and hollered at her from less than a foot away.

“You don't have to worry about the Ilizarov procedure damaging your heart,” I said, wanting to hurt her. “You don't have one!”

Then I stormed out the door.