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"Warlord, how the hell are you?"
"Jumpin Jack Flash," Warren said loudly enough that people turned to stare. Recognition found its way onto a few older faces. The kids with bleached hair and nose rings moved on, uninterested.
Warren pulled Jack into a bear hug, then clapped an arm around his shoulder and guided him away from the gate. "God, its good to see you. " He kept up a steady stream of we-havent-seen-each-other-in-years-and-how-have-you-been-and-have-you-seen-the-
old-gang conversation as they strode through the terminal, got into Warrens red Viper, and roared onto the expressway.
It was a gray winters day. Clouds blanketed the expressway, sent a sputtering, drizzling sleet onto the windshield.
"Remember playing in this shit?" Warren said, honking his horn and swerving into the next lane to avoid hitting a Lexus SUV.
Jack grinned. He and Warren had been teammates at the University of Washington in Seattle. He was sure theyd played in the sun--they must have--but he couldnt remember it. What he remembered was playing in Husky Stadium on days when it seemed as if God himself were pissing on the field. "Elizabeth and Mary used to wear Hefty garbage bags to the games, remember?"
Warren laughed. "What I remember about Mary is her tits and that I never shoulda married her. "
Theyd been a foursome back then: Jack and Elizabeth-Warren and Mary. Theyd been inseparable at the UW; then the draft had sent Warren to Denver and Jack to Pittsburgh. After several years and more than a few transfers, he and Warren had been reunited in New York. By that time, Warren had been married to Phyllis, and both he and Jack were superstars in the hectic, crazy world of the NFL. Of them all, only Elizabeth had kept her wits about her in the golden years, when money had flowed through their home like water. Shed saved as much of it as she could, but Jack hadnt made it easy on her. Hed thought fame would last forever.
"How is Birdie?"
"Great. So are the girls. Theyre both at Georgetown now. Stephanie is still quiet and much too serious. Shes dating this whiz-kid who won the Westinghouse Award. Her grades are perfect. Shes graduating this June--with a degree in micro something or other. "
"Just like her mom, huh? Birdie was the only straight-A student I ever knew. "
Jack had forgotten how much his wife loved school. For years after graduation, shed talked about getting a masters in fine arts, but shed never done it. Elizabeth was like that; she talked about a lot of things.
"Jamies like me. If she werent one of the best swimmers in the country, shed be fighting like hell to make it through junior college. "
"Remember Callaghans Pub? Throwing back brewskis with the boys. "
And picking up girls. At least Warren hadnt said it out loud. Still, silence didnt change the past. Jack had spent a chunk of his youth in that bar, flirting with the endless stream of girls that followed football. Taking them to bed.
And all the while, Elizabeth had been in a ridiculously big house on Long Island, raising their children alone. When hed finally come home, smelling of booze and smoke and other womens perfume, shed always pretended not to notice.
How had they made it through those days? And how was it possible that theyd been happier then than they were now?
It was the kind of question that bugged the shit out of him.
"Theres the station," Warren said, cocking his head to the left. "Well meet the head honchos tomorrow for breakfast. Your audition is scheduled for ten-thirty. Ill read with you. "
Jack loosened his tie. "Any pointers for your old buddy?"
Warren pulled up in front of the hotel, then turned to Jack. "I saw your interview with that college girl. My only suggestion is to relax a little. You know the camera is like a woman--it can sense fear and desperation--and desperate guys never get blow jobs. "
Jack laughed. He couldnt remember the last time hed gotten a blow job. Maybe desperation had been his problem all along.
His door opened. A uniformed man smiled at him. "Welcome to the Carlyle, sir. "
Jack got out of the car and handed his bag to the bellman. "Thanks. "
Warren leaned across the empty passenger seat. "Do you want to come over for dinner tonight? Beth is a shitty cook, but she makes a dangerous martini. "
"Ill pass. I need to get my head on straight for tomorrow. "
"You always did go underground before a big game. Ill swing by around eight. Well have breakfast at the hotel. "
"Great. And, Warren--thanks for all of this. "
"Dont thank me until they offer you the job. Then Ill take cash. " The electric window rolled soundlessly upward.
