Hometown Favorite: A Novel (15 page)

"What do you mean, you think?" Sly expanded his chest
in mock indignation. "I thought the great Robert Hickman
knew all things"

"I do. I most certainly do." Hickman pointed to the earpiece
in his left ear. "And my little magic earpiece tells me that indeed
I am correct about that stag"

"Yet another record for my man," Dewayne said, punching
Sly's arm.

"Ah, yes, but hold your Heisman horses," Hickman said.
"Because one Dewayne Jobe has conked out the college record for the number of touchdown catches, USC's record for
the number of receiving yards, and the conference record for
receiving yards. And when you add the jaw-dropping performance of his last game, three hundred twenty-seven yards,
four touchdowns-"

"I'll tell you who's gonna get conked out," Sly said. "I'll tell
you whose jaw is gonna drop, and that is my man here, when
they announce my name as the winner."

Dewayne laughed and shook his head, knowing that when
Hickman had laid down the gauntlet, there was no way Sly
would ignore it.

"Rumor has it you were the best man at the D-man's wedding"

"I was the best man all right, and his poor wife knew it. It
was the saddest day of my life ... and hers;' Sly said, hanging
his head in mock sorrow and wiping a fake tear.

"Just for the record, Mr. Hickman, I had no best man at
the wedding," Dewayne said, not willing to allow Sly's inane
comment to obscure that special day. "If my father had been
alive, he would have been my best man."

"Here's a dream scenario for you," Hickman said, steering
the conversation back to the topic of sports. "On the same NFL
team, I'll give you Sly at quarterback. I'll give you the D-man
as wide receiver-"

`And I'll give you a championship every year;' Sly said. "We
would show the world who rules, plus I get the girl:"

"It'll take more than a championship, a Heisman, and some
fast-talking fool to take her from me;" Dewayne said, and this
time the punch to Sly's arm was less playful.

"My man, careful of the throwing arm." Sly rubbed the spot of contact before he cocked his arm and pretended to throw a
pass. "The Heisman Trophy arm:"

"Do I detect a little tension here ... a little rivalry thing
going on?" Hickman said, goading the possibility.

"Only in your mind, Mr. Hickman," Dewayne said.

"Well, there is plenty of room for a little rivalry. All the polls
say this Heisman race is as tight as a Texas tick on a bull's rump."
Hickman turned from Sly and Dewayne and looked into the
camera. "But like all races, they must come to an end. And so
it shall be tomorrow when the winner will be announced right
here on All Sports Network with yours truly hosting the event.
Many thanks to my two special guests, Sly Adams, quarterback
for Miami, and Dewayne Jobe, wide receiver for USC, locked in
a neck-and-neck race for the Heisman Trophy. Folks, the votes
have been cast, the ballots have been counted, but no matter
who goes home with the trophy or how their bowl games go
in a couple of weeks, these two young men have a very bright
future in professional football. For This Week in College Football
I'm Robert Hickman. Be sure and join me tomorrow on ASN
for full coverage of the Heisman ceremony."

After the theme music for the show was over and the bright
lights in the studio were turned off, the handshakes and autograph requests began from the All Sports Network tech crew
and staff. Everyone knew that the value of one autograph would
skyrocket after tomorrow's ceremony, and no staffer would let
Sly or Dewayne get away without securing both signatures.

When they did escape the building, Rosella was waiting for
them in the limo. She had watched the whole program from
the comfort of the car's backseat.

"So how'd we do on our first appearance with the Hick Man?"
Sly said, leaping into the limo and throwing his arm around
Rosella's shoulders. "Were we stars?"

"In your own eyes;" Rosella said, and she slipped out of Sly's
loose hold and sat next to Dewayne in the seat opposite Sly.

"Oh, what coldness comes from the sister" Sly began to
shake like his whole body was freezing.

After a short sightseeing drive, Dewayne and Rosella got out
of the limo in Times Square and told Sly they preferred to walk
back to the Hilton. They ate their New York kosher hot dog on
a park bench with a steady cavalcade of pedestrians providing
free entertainment. Drug dealers peddling escape; prostitutes
peddling pleasure; preachers peddling paradise; bewildered,
abandoned kids sliding along, their eyes glazed with loss; the
confused homeless lurking in and out of corners; punks on
Rollerblades flying by, oblivious to anything but speed-all
passed in front of them, an exotic human stream.

"I can't stop thinking about Jesse;' Dewayne said, stretching out his long legs after finishing his hot dog. "I just let him
go.

"I've been thinking about my sister and her kids. I don't
know which is worse, dying once or dying every day."

"Jesse and your sister ... we can't do anything about, but
maybe her kids"

"What are you saying?"

"I'm thinking out loud. I'm saying nothing. I'm saying everything. They're kids. They could have a future. Maybe we can
do something."

Dewayne and Rosella ambled back to the hotel, holding on to
each other in a reassuring embrace, aloof and untouched by the
world around them, seeing no one but each other, hearing no
sound but the soft tones of solemn whispers and longings.

In their four-star room, Dewayne and Rosella could see
the world as fruitful, inviting them to taste the sweet wine offered, and in the darkness, they came together-comfortably, slowly, in the pace of confident and permanent lovers. To this
room and to this bed, they brought a mind and body intact
like a sturdy vessel able to withstand any destructive power.
The changing shapes of the world would flummox them. The
people in their lives would reveal the riddles in their souls
regarding human nature-those questions that would rise to
challenge their beliefs and either inspire action or hamstring
the best of intentions. But one thing remained certain-a love
that was fluent in any language, a love that was solid and clear
as transparent iron, and they would cleave to it and to each
other as if they had been asked to write the final chapter of
mankind.

Dewayne got out of bed and slipped from the room, leaving
his wife to stay in bed as long as sleep would keep her there.
The aroma of the breakfast buffet filled his nostrils as soon as
the elevator doors opened onto the mezzanine. A half-dozen
chefs and servers stood at their stations ready to serve Dewayne
and a handful of other early risers. When Dewayne passed the
juice bar, he saw Sly and another man in the corner of the room
almost concealed by a tall fern. The man finished scribbling
something on a piece of paper and then stood up, stuck his pen
in his suit pocket, gave Sly's hand a vigorous shake, and walked
toward Dewayne. A half smirk on his face, the man dressed in
a thousand-dollar suit left behind the heady scent of expensive
cologne after he disappeared around the corner.

Dewayne approached Sly's table, the breakfast dishes pushed
aside, leaving an open space for the papers left behind by the
man. Sly did not look at his friend. He kept his concentration
on the written figures and statements.

"You're up early this morning," Dewayne said.

Sly said nothing; his head remained lowered, eyes fixed in
their downward focus.

"Who was the suit? He looked familiar. Was he-"

"Why don't you pile your plate with some food, my man,
and sit down?"

"Was he an agent?"

"My man is getting into my business." Sly folded the papers
in a neat half fold and creased the middle with a slow swipe
of his thumb.

"You know we're not supposed to be talking to agents yet. I

"Are we going to eat breakfast together or not?"

Sly's challenging glare into his friend's eyes was now Dewayne's focal point.

"We've still got our bowl games to play. Agents aren't even
supposed to start sniffing around till after that:"

"We're not always in control of our lives." Sly raised his hands
in a gesture of helpless submission to life's whims.

Dewayne looked around the room, annoyed at Sly's disdain
for the rules and his cocksure attitude. The check in his gut
would not let him reply, and Sly took that to mean breakfast
together was not in order, so he slid around the table and stuffed
the papers into the inside of his coat pocket as he stood.

"My man, I got it covered." Sly laid his hand on Dewayne's
shoulder. "There's only me in this world to back me up. I don't
have a mama or a pretty wife looking after me."

"You've got a friend"

"I got a friend forever in you, my man, but I'm making new
friends;' Sly said, patting the papers inside his coat. He took
Dewayne's hand and placed it on his chest where he could feel
those papers. "You feel that? You're touching the promise of
the moon, my man. You are touching the brightest future this
boy has ever dreamed of."

"Just be careful"

"The Sly-man is always careful"

Sly's bright smile broke the mask of seriousness on his
face.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to write my Heisman
victory speech"

The complaining began the moment Rosella adjusted Dewayne's
tie and made him stand in front of the full-length mirror for
a final inspection. Everything was too tight, and no amount
of adjustments and tweaks would satisfy. The carping over the
ill-fitting monkey suit continued even when they were ushered
into the crowded ballroom and the cameras began their click
and flash and the reporters lobbed their questions. The complaints stopped when Rosella kissed him for luck and gave his
bottom one last smack before handing him over to the ushers
who would guide him to the row of nominees seated before
the beautiful Heisman statue.

Dewayne and Sly squeezed each other's head with macho
force and counted out three gentle head butts, the ritual they
performed before each high school game, the incident that
morning forgotten. Dewayne then shook hands with each candidate, praising each for his success. No matter who walked
out with the trophy, this moment would be a highlight in their
lives and put all of them in an advantageous position when it
was time for the draft.

The stage manager announced to the room they were about
to go live, and he began the final countdown like a NASA scientist. Robert Hickman got a final spritzing, took a last swallow
of bottled water before tossing it to an awaiting assistant, and
was all smiles ready to welcome folks in TV land tuned in to watch the Heisman ceremonies as soon as the red light blinked
on the camera and the theme music faded out.

Dewayne turned to look for Rosella, the very thing his
mother scolded him for when he would turn around in church
to look at the people behind him. He spotted her and she
blew him a kiss. Sly had to nudge him to refocus his attention. When he turned back, he saw himself on the monitor
stretched vertical, flying into the end zone in slow motion just
as the football sailed into his hands. These displays of virtuoso
performances of each contender lasted several minutes while
Hickman read a brief biography. But when Hickman was to
announce the winner, he was unable to finish saying the name
before Sly and Dewayne leaped from their seats and pressurized each other with their arms before a national television
audience. The other players stood on their feet and dutifully
applauded.

"You deserve it, buddy. I'm so proud of you. You totally deserve it"

Dewayne pulled Sly from his arms and gave him a slight
push toward the podium.

Sly reached out to shake Robert Hickman's hand, but eyed
the trophy like he wanted to grab it and start jumping up and
down.

Dewayne looked back for Rosella. It was more difficult to
spot her because people were scrambling for better positions
to see the newest Heisman winner. When he found her, she
was dabbing her eyes with a Kleenex. When he caught her eye,
it was his turn to blow her a kiss.