Without Chase (8 page)

“Keep those kicks on, man.” Chris yelled after him. “They’re cool.”

“Yeah, I haven’t seen those before,” Sergei added.

“One of the last things the shoe company sent to my house---before I got cut,” Chase said. First thing that stays the same no matter where you are, he thought to himself. Basketball players were passionate shoe collectors.

When he came out, Chris gave him an apologetic look. “People dress up here a little more. I should have said something before.”

“Is that a Varvatos?” Sergei demanded.

Chase shrugged, but checked the label anyway. “Yeah---how’d you know?”

Sergei held the door open for them. “Not too many things come in our size. That’s a jacket I liked but I don’t have an NBA paycheck.”

“I guess the first round’s on me, then” Chase answered as they headed out into the balmy Spanish night.

The first difference Chase noticed between New York, or L.A. and Madrid was how convenient everything was. In L.A., you had to drive everywhere and traffic added an extra layer of hassle to any night out. Of course, when he and Jamie lived in Manhattan Beach, it was easy to just walk down to the Strand. But that was more of a local, casual place to grab a beer or Mexican food. In New York, he took a cab or hired a car to get anywhere. Which eliminated the need for parking, but not the weather issues or congestion.

Walking around Madrid was different. For one thing, the weather was nicer and the lack of cars in the Plaza Mayor gave the area a more tranquil feeling, despite the large crowds. Chris led them to a side street with stairs, and they walked into a smaller restaurant packed with people.

“You said the first rounds on you, right?” he asked, as he waved one of the bartenders over and spoke to them in rapid-fire Spanish. Chase reached into his wallet and realized all his money was still in dollars, so he handed a credit card over to Chris who passed it to the bartender just as he brought out three wine glasses covered with a small plate of food.

There was barely room to move, yet somehow, the people made room at a standing table for them. He wasn’t sure if it was because the people were just naturally friendly or if it was because Chris was obviously a regular.

Chase knew about tapas; one of Jamie’s favorite restaurants was a tapas bar in West Hollywood that was a celebrity hangout. But Chase was a big eater, and the food on the plate was gone before he even had a sip of wine. “I hope we don’t have to keep going back to the bar for food, man,” he said worriedly.

Sergei slapped him on the back. “Don’t worry, they’re sending us a bunch of plates.” Just as he said that, a waiter appeared with a serving tray filled with plates of cured ham, olives, chesses and tortas.

“See?” said Chris and turned to the waiter to slip him some pesos. It didn’t take long before the group of women next to them began a conversation in charmingly accented but fluent English. Their conversation was laid back and without purpose---at the bars in New York, interactions with beautiful women were an elaborate Kabuki dance of assessing and being assessed---the key was to figure out what the other person wanted as quickly as possible. Were they fame seekers hoping to make a quick buck from TMZ with a hookup? Were they looking for a way to leverage his fame into an introduction to someone or into business deal? Whatever it was, he learned that it was in his best interest to identify the goal, then see if he wanted to spend the next five, ten, or fifteen minutes being pitched on that goal. Because the other person would have nothing to say until they could get started on their goal and he may as well let them get to their point.

But that night, people didn’t seem to have a goal. The women were just as beautiful, but he got the sense that the conversation was the point. They wanted to know about him, the United States, or about basketball, but they seemed just as happy to talk about their studies at the University of Madrid, or their parents, or the cities where they grew up. Chase found it reminiscent of hanging out with the girls in his college; the simplicity of passing a warm night in a pleasant beer buzz with friends.

Like Cinderella, the men decided to return home at midnight. Sergei complained that even though they played in Europe, the coaches and managers acted like “the American military”, requiring early morning workouts where players were expected to be on time.

When Chase broke the news that a practice that started at nine in the morning would be considered an easy one even by college teams, Sergei nodded vigorously as if he had just proved his point. “Exactly! I mean---why? The coaches can keep you as long as they want. So, you come in a little later, you stay a little later. This is Europe, this is basketball in the 21st century. No one has to get up to feed the chickens!”

This reduced Chris and Chase into what would become a familiar pattern of good-naturedly defending their country against Sergei’s somewhat outdated impression of what Americans were like. “Who the fuck has ever fed a chicken?” Chris asked him. “Why the fuck do you have to use farmer stories all the time? There’s no fucking farms where you’re from?” and on and on, their voices carrying down the hall.

Chase walked into his apartment and felt the first wave of homesickness wash over him as he turned on the television. His mother always had the TV on when he was growing up, and he got used to hearing it in the background. But when the voices he heard were in Spanish, the realization that he was far, far from home and would be for some time finally hit him. Willing himself not to fall into self-pity, Chase flipped through the channels until he found the only one in English---the BBC, then turned in for the night.

Chapter Eleven

Chase

At eight o’clock the next morning, Luis rapped forcefully on Chase’s door. Judging from his energetic bearing, Chase knew his coach probably didn’t share Sergei’s outlook about early morning practices. He thought of Steve Green and Matty back in New York. They were usually in the office, caffeinated and ready to go by 7:30 each morning.

“Good, good,” Luis said when he saw him. “I came early because I thought I would have to get you out of bed. Didn’t you go out last night?”

Chase shrugged. “Yeah but we called it an early night.”

“Good.” Luis repeated, then: “let’s go. You meet the front office people today.” This was typical; the usual meet-and-greet with owners and the upper management of the team’s organization was one of the first things a player did after being signed.

Luis drove away from the city until manufacturing plants lined the highway. There, in a simple building that looked more like a factory, was the FC Madrid Regal practice facilities. Chase was prepared to be disappointed, but when he saw the state-of-the-art facilities and equipment, he felt relieved.

The two men went upstairs to the executive offices. Wall sized, sepia tinted photos of past and present Regal players lined the walls. Luis began introducing him to the members of the various administrative, marketing and sales department---just as in any company.

They headed to the owners suite, where a little boy ran towards Chase as soon as the door was opened.

“Liam?!” he asked incredulously.

“Yes!” Rodrigo Betancourt answered for him, hugging Chase warmly. “We wanted to personally welcome you to Madrid Regal!”

Liam lifted his arms towards Chase, who scooped him up as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “I don’t understand,” he said. “You own the team?”

“Well, my father owns a 51% share of the team,” Rodrigo said modestly. Judging from the coach’s surprised expression, the fact that Rodrigo knew Chase was a surprise as well.

“So no introductions are necessary,” Luis said.

“No, Chase and I met---once---in New York,” Rodrigo told him. “My father didn’t even know we knew each other, so when he asked me if Liam would be interested in meeting a famous NBA player, we were more than happy to show up.”

As if on cue, a distinguished older man stepped up from behind the desk, his hand extended. “Chase Reston,” he said. “Pleasure to meet you. I am Sylvio Betancourt.” Shaking his hand, Chase remembered what Amy had told him---that the Betancourt’s were members of the Spanish royal family. At the time, he took it as just another way to say someone was wealthy. But in the dignity and bearing of Sylvio Betancourt, Chase felt that he was meeting a new kind of person for the first time. Someone who truly had… class.

“Nice to meet you, Don Betancourt.” Fully expecting a more casual response, Sylvio’s blue eyes twinkled with approval at the way Chase used the more respectful title of “Don” instead of “Senor” when addressing him.

“My son, and especially my grandson, are quite impressed with you, Chase.” he said. “To be honest, I am not much of a basketball fan, but I think I will be learning more about the game with you here.”

They continued talking pleasantly for a few minutes more before Luis brought Chase down to the gym to meet his new teammates. Keith Hatfield was the other American on the team, a powerfully built forward whose wary eyes telegraphed a ruthless competitive nature. The five Spaniards were easy to spot: while the others on the team spoke little because of the language barrier, Eduardo Fernandez, Martin Espinosa, Oscar Llamas, Diego Sanz and Antonio Alban kept up a constant stream of dialogue between them.

The rest of the team consisted of other international players; Henri Lambert from France, a Brazilian player named Oskar Weiss and Doruk Aydin, a seven foot Turk who would have fit in as the giant in a Grimm fairy tale.

The facilities were different and the language was different, but once practice started Chase got the familiar feeling of being home. Feeling the ball in his hand, stretching to dunk a basket, sweating and running to exhaustion---these were the only things that mattered and the rest of the world fell away.

Chapter Twelve

Jamie

Jamie learned that Chase had left for Spain through her brother Luke. A lifelong basketball junkie, he followed hoop news as closely as their father tracked the stock market.

Across their kitchen counter, she looked at the video clip Luke showed her on his phone. It was taken at the airport, by a Spanish news agency. A crush of reporters had greeted Chase when he landed, and she smiled with pride at how he gave a statement in Spanish. Still as charming as ever, she thought, although she could see that the boyish charm that had won her over was gradually being replaced by a cooler and more media-savvy professional. There was a moment in the video when Chase looked directly into the camera and it was as if he had reached out and made eye contact with her directly. She recognized in the determined set of his eyes that he was in a fight to get his reputation back. It all made sense to her now: Amy Weatherby, the media coverage that he seemed to welcome, and now this move. He was no longer the carefree athlete, coasting by on his physical gifts both on and off the court. Chase had developed into a man with something to prove.

“Are you OK?” Luke interrupted her thoughts.

“I don’t understand,” she said, handing the phone back to her brother. “He’s---he just moved to Spain?”

Luke answered patiently, “He can’t play for a Spanish team without living in Spain, Jamie.”

“But for how long?” It was one thing for him to move to a different city even if it was five thousand miles away. New York was temporary and it was where people went to work---she even had an apartment there. But to move to another country… no matter what she told herself about the ease of international travel, there was still something so symbolic about it. Jamie could easily see him starting a new life there, and it filled her with a sense of dread.

“I guess as long as the season, so at least six months,” was Luke’s reply. “I think this is a great move for him---”

“But why?” her voice sounded more whiny than she meant it to, and Luke raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Why?” he said pointedly. “Are you asking why it’s a good move, or why he left? Because I think you’re asking me something I don’t have the answer to.”

Jamie felt her shoulders slump in defeat. “Thank god you’re family, Luke,” she told him. “I’d be embarrassed if anyone else saw me acting like this.” They both knew she meant Adam.

Diplomatically ignoring her outburst, Luke explained, “it’s a good move for him because it shows he wants to play, that he’s not going to go out and get in trouble or further fuck up his life. And it’s a good move because I know Chase and I know that all he wants to do is play ball. So this is a way to do that. Hell, it kinda makes me wish I had gone overseas.”

Jamie understood this, but it didn’t help her feel any better. Chase looked and acted differently now, while she was still the same girl hanging out at the beach. She was filled with jealousy at the thought that he was growing up without her.

When her brother left for work, Jamie did an online search and found out more about the move. There was nothing beyond the sports outlets so she did a search on Amy Weatherby. When she found out in an interview in a glossy lifestyle magazine that Amy was going to take her relationship with Chase, “one day at a time”, the feeling of dread returned. She could read between the lines that Chase had broken up with Amy, and she took it as a sign that he was done playing around and wanted to be free to fall in love again.

Jamie wished she could be happy for him, that she could take to heart all of those clichés about loving someone enough to let them go. But the truth was, even after he had abandoned her so cruelly, and even after she was in a relationship with someone else, she still loved him. He was her lover and her best friend all rolled up into one person, and the fact that she couldn’t look at a video of him without wanting him---those were things that didn’t go away easily.

In the meantime… she had to get ready to see Adam. They were going to Santa Barbara to attend yet another wedding of one his friends. This would be the third. Although she liked Adam’s close friends, large weddings inevitably brought out the douchebags he went to school with; smug men who took their education and income as a God-given sign that they were better than everyone else. They congratulated Adam (in front of her!) for “dating a model” as if she were something he had achieved, like running a marathon. Worse, the way they ran their eyes all over her when she was talking to them was more dehumanizing than any assessment an editor or photographer might have subjected her to. She had stood there and been told that her jaw was too wide, that her legs were too muscular; even that one breast was bigger than the other. (Chase had definitively told her that wasn’t true.) But even that had not made her feel as objectified as making small talk with Adam’s friends.

The first fight she and Adam had gotten into was when she said something to him about it. After the last wedding they attended, she broached the subject on their drive home and was disappointed that he didn’t immediately agree with her. Instead, Adam looked puzzled. “But, I would think you’d be used to that kind of behavior---I mean, you can’t tell me a hedge fund manager is ruder than some NBA player.”

Jamie took a deep breath to control herself before answering. “’Some NBA player?” she asked coldly.

“No, I don’t mean your ex boyfriend,” he said, as if that explained everything. “I mean his teammates. You can’t tell me they didn’t make you feel like a piece of meat.”

“I didn’t for a minute think you were talking about Chase,” she shot back, strangely relishing saying his name in front of Adam. “First of all, no one said anything about being treated like a piece of meat. And second of all, no, as a matter of fact, they didn’t treat me like that. Those guys actually LIKED women. Maybe a little too many and maybe a little too much,” she remembered with a smile. “But your friends---” and she waved off his protest, “as politically correct as they are and as supposedly well educated as they are, clearly have an issue with women.”

Adam gave her hand a conciliatory squeeze. “Come on. Now they have an issue with women?” Jamie recalled how these men wouldn’t even make eye contact with their wives or dates, and of the veiled contempt in their voices when they did talk to them. She nodded her head firmly. “Absolutely.”

Once he saw this was important to her, Jamie saw him trying to understand. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, Jamie,” he began. “If I had known, I would have said something. But, I like having you with me at these weddings so I hope those jerks won’t keep you from going to another one with me.” Adam turned to her, his expression pleading. “Because there’s another one in two weeks.”

“Nooo!” Jamie put her hands to her face in mock horror. “Not another wedding!”

Adam’s exhaled in relief to see that their argument was over. “Come on, I really want you to go,” he said. “I went to prep school with the bride---Erica---and she’s one of my oldest friends.”

“What does Erica’s fiancé do for a living?” she asked cagily.

Caught, Adam gave her his best shit-eating grin. “Umm…Kyle works with nice people in technology?” Before she could answer, he continued. “Truth is, I really like going to these weddings because I want all my friends to meet you. And I know that we might run into some jerks, but I don’t really care because I’m there to hang out with you.” He leaned closer. “OK?”

“OK.” She gave him a peck on the cheek. “Now keep your eye on the road.” Instead, Adam lifted her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist.

Jamie’s heart raced a little at the intimacy of that one act. They hadn’t slept together---yet Adam had a way of making her feel as if they were long time lovers. Now she blinked to clear her head and bring herself back to the present. There were two hours until Adam was going to pick her up and she had to pack for a twenty-seven year old Internet multi- millionaire’s wedding.

Jamie had almost put Chase out of her mind by the time she and Adam were heading north on the Pacific Coast Highway, the waves flipping surfers’ upside down under their boards. They were surrounded by postcard perfect images of a perfect California day, and it was Chase’s loss that he decided to walk away from all of it.

The wedding was going to be held on the grounds of a private vineyard owned by the bride’s uncle. A few members of the wedding party, including Adam, had been invited to stay with the family. As they drove down the one lane road, Adam and Jamie rolled down their windows just to take in the warm, rich air. The smell of eucalyptus, lavender and the roses that grew on the trellises lining the road enveloped the car. Adam stuck his head out and breathed deeply. “Forget the beaches,” he told her. “This is the best part of California.”

Erica was waiting in the driveway when they got there. Petite and cheerful, her dark hair styled in a pixie cut, Jamie liked her immediately.

“Hi there!” Somehow, she was able to envelope both of them in a hug. “I’m Erica---you must be Jamie.” She hooked her arms through both of them. “Oh my god, you are gorgeous, Jamie! OK, I’ve put you guys up in the guest house.” She steered them towards a large wooden structure that looked like an oversized log cabin. “There’s four bedrooms there, and you’ll be sharing it with some of the bridesmaids and groomsmen. I really hope it doesn’t turn into a frat party.” She stopped as if imagining the possibility, then shrugged the thought away. “My parents and Kyle’s parents are staying in the main house.” She pointed behind some distance away where a pool shimmered on a green lawn. “The sibling units are going to stay in the cabana.” She giggled. “They all have young kids; like really young, so my uncle just thought we could bunk them in the cabana because there’s nothing in there to break.”

The door to the guest house was open and Jamie drew her breath in sharply at the interior. Last year she had done a photo shoot in an Alaskan hunting lodge and she marveled at the similarities. “Everyone else is flying in, so no one’s here yet,” she informed them. “So you get to pick which bedroom you want. The larger two have their own bathrooms.” Her phone beeped.. “Oh my god, that’s the caterer.” Erica placed a finger on the answer button and began finishing in a rush. “OK, we’re going to have the rehearsal in the church at 4, so you guys can just hang out, take a walk, whatever until then. Love you, thanks for coming.” She blew them a kiss as she answered her call.

Jamie and Adam were left alone in the large upstairs hallway. “Let’s pick the one furthest away from everyone else,” Adam said. They settled on one of the smaller bedrooms, but one with its own bathroom and set on a landing away from the other bedrooms. From the built in bookshelves throughout, it looked as if it had been used as a study years before.

Adam looked around nervously. “I’ll go get our suitcases, and then, um, do you want to go for a walk?”

Minutes later they were walking in between the rows of grapevines, the bustle of a house being prepared for a wedding carrying dimly out to them.

Taking it all in, all Jamie could say way, “this is amazing.” She knew she had been fortunate in the way she had been brought up. Her father was well educated and successful, her mother came from a long line of genteel Southerners, and although no one in her family ever talked about it, she knew that they were considered well-off by most people. But she had also gone to enough black tie events to know that there were whole swaths of people who spent in one night what her father earned in a month, and what everyone else earned in a year. But after spending time with Adam and his friends, she also knew that there was a group of people who had both family and money---an American aristocracy. These were people who had families had known each other for generations, who had senators and CEO’s and ambassadors in their lineage. People who owned vineyards that had could host a wedding for two hundred people.

“Jamie---” Adam cleared his throat. “Can I, uh, talk to you about something?”

Thinking that no good ever came from a conversation that began this way, she could only nod wordlessly, and let him proceed.

“I really like spending time with you,” he started. “I want to spend more time with you---but I guess you may be wondering why we haven’t, um, been together yet.”

Jamie shrugged. “Well, sure, I wondered, if only because most guys wanted to have sex right away.” She hurried on to add, “but that doesn’t mean I think it’s a problem, or anything. I mean, I’ve only been with one guy, and it took about eight months before I was ready, so---”

“Well, then I guess you’d understand my reason.”

It took Jamie a moment to realize what he was saying. Reading her face, he answered her unspoken question. “I’ve never been with anyone before. But there’s something else,” he said, and Jamie noticed that his nervousness was gone. “Because of my faith, I don’t plan on being with anyone before marriage.”

Jamie tried to hide her surprise. Adam wore his faith lightly for someone who was apparently so devout. The only clue she had was that among the Hollywood junior agents, she heard that his reputation was of being a little bit naïve. In other words, he didn’t party and wasn’t cut throat enough. She thought this was because he was hyper-aware of being in the public eye because of his mother. Now she saw that his behavior came too naturally for it to be anything than a man adhering to a strict moral code.

“I probably would have chosen that path---abstinence---as well,” she told him. “Except I fell in love, and it felt like I would be with this person for the rest of my life.” They reached the end of the field and headed towards a path cut among the black oak trees. In hindsight, it all made sense. She had wondered why he hadn’t wanted a sexual relationship, but chalked that up to him wanting to take it slow and a sign that he was thinking long term. Then there were his mysterious absences on Sunday mornings, including when she had spent the weekend at his house in Georgetown. Church, she realized. Adam had been going to church.

“Are you wondering why I’m telling you?” he asked her.

She took his hand. “No, I can figure some things out you know,” she said. “It seems that the people at this wedding will be people who’ve known you a long time, so maybe you wanted to prepare me.”