And this weekend Terry would come down and they’d check out the clubs near Dana Point, maybe find some blond-haired surfer girls. Oh yeah... this was going to be a fine vacation.
Except Terry Dills didn’t make it down. He had a rewrite for a hot new writer/director named Jake Pyne. Pyne specialized in yuppie thrillers. This one was a story of not-so-nice yuppies being attacked by their own greed in the form of a satanic insurance salesman. Very upscale horror. Terry had a Thursday deadline and no time to party.
“But enjoy, Johnny. Everything’s good, right?”
“Oh yeah, great, bro,” Johnny said. “Love this place.”
But in truth, he was feeling a little bit lonely. After all, he wasn’t exactly freaking Siddhartha. A week or so was all he could take of examining his inner being. He had to face it, the inner guy wasn’t all that well developed anyway.
Sitting alone for a few more days might make him go into another nosedive, one even worse than when they’d tossed him off his own show. Christ — what the hell was he gonna do?
Then he remembered something... the basketball court, only a few minutes away. Yeah, he could get down there, shoot some hoops, nothing like the camaraderie of the ball game. Maybe he’d even make a few new friends. People not in the freaking business.
He ran into the bedroom and changed into his Nikes. He had that feeling inside... the one he’d had as a kid. He couldn’t wait, man. Let this old Baltimore East Coast boy show these O.C. guys how to jack it up.
A few minutes later he was running down the street, bouncing his ball. Just like a happy kid. Not a care in the world.
The court, which was only two blocks from the ocean, was just as cool as he’d imagined. The rims were new and they actually had fresh twine up there. When you played street ball back in N.Y.C. or Baltimore, you NEVER had a net up there. Well, that wasn’t quite true. You had one for about five minutes until one of the players decided to take it down and put it up somewhere closer to his ’hood.
Man, these ballers from Dana Point were polite.
But they could play. There were some big white boys, two who wore UCLA letter jackets, and another one — a Czech named Toni — who had started at Pepperdine. They could run and shoot, but they played a West Coast finesse ball. More about speed than rebounds, muscle, or trash talk. All three of the guys were in their late twenties, and in law school. In between plays and during water breaks they talked about making partner at Jones Gray as soon as possible. Turned out JG, as the blond guy Mark said, was paying, “$160,000 for first-year employees.” The other two guys nodded and Toni added, “Why I love America.” They all laughed at that.
All but the fourth guy, a big wide Italian guy named Eddie Ivarone. Eddie wore painter’s pants — not retro painter’s pants that you bought at Old Navy but real ones covered with real paint. This was because Eddie was a housepainter. He was working on a condo unit right nearby, he explained, down near the lighthouse. He didn’t live that close, though.
“My pad is over in Mission Viejo,” he said. “Drive over here to show these yuppies who is really the court king.”
The three law students laughed a little, and one of them, Joel, another blond guy with a space between his front two teeth, patted Eddie on his wide shoulders. “He’s a beast,” he said in a slightly patronizing way.
Right away Johnny liked Ivarone. Even just shooting around, he knew Eddie was the kind of guy who would be a workhorse under the basket, dig out the rebounds and pass to Johnny to pump it back up. Eddie had a friend with him too, a short guy with a bald head named Stenz. Stenz didn’t say much but Johnny recognized the type. Catholic kid who was fast and tough. Maybe the three of them could give the taller, sleeker lawyers a good game.
The first few games of three-on-three half-court ball didn’t start that way. The three ex — college players had obviously played together for a while. Their passing and teamwork were excellent. They played without any noticeable emotion, just efficiently, and effectively. In no time at all the first two half-court games of 15 were over, and the scores weren’t pretty. 15-5, 15-9, and 15–10.
Johnny, Eddie, and Stenz were improving, but not by that much. Then Johnny had an idea.
He called a time-out and brought his team over to the water fountain.
“We’re guarding the wrong guys,” he said. “Eddie should be on Toni. He’s their scorer but you can muscle him outside. If he drives, I’ll give you help. Stenz, you wait in the middle for the kick-out pass. When it comes, grab it.”
The two housepainters looked at one another and shrugged.
“What the fuck?” Stenz said. “I’m up for it.”
They went back on the court with their new defensive lineup, and the results were stunning. With Eddie’s big body on him, Toni couldn’t get underneath. He had to shoot outside, and just as Johnny had predicted he was mostly short with his shots. Without their driving attack the three lawyers started gunning from long range. They missed shot after shot, and lost 15-7.
Johnny felt good about the win, especially his part in figuring it out. But Eddie and Stenz were ecstatic. They trash talked the lawyers, who took it all with a grain of salt, or at least pretended to.
After gulping down some more water, the six guys played again. This time the three grad students worked harder, and came closer. But a beautiful pass from Eddie to Johnny under the bucket, threaded right through two other players, set up the winning score, and Johnny didn’t miss.
Once again, Eddie and Stenz carried their celebration to the extreme, but Johnny got a kick out of it. The lawyers seemed like the passionless guys who would probably end up working in property law or corporate tax write-offs.
So he was happy to win, and even felt better for Eddie and Stenz, working guys who probably spent most of their lives on the short end of the stick. It was nice to see them celebrating, even if Eddie was carrying it a bit over the top.
By the end of the long day, Johnny was happy he had come. It’d been a really good afternoon, and he felt fulfilled.
He started to say goodbye to everyone, when Eddie put his arm over his shoulder.
“Hey, man let’s not break up the team yet.”
Johnny was touched by the bigger man’s obvious affection.
“Sorry, I haven’t played for a while,” he replied. “Gotta watch the knees.”
“No, no, no,” Eddie said. “I’m played out too, but we oughta get us some beers. There’s a place not far away, off Harbor Drive. Called Minelli’s. Great subs, pizza, pasta. Let me and Stenz buy you a cold one.”
Johnny was going to say thanks but no thanks. As much as he’d enjoyed playing with these guys, he wasn’t sure he wanted to spend the evening with them. Still, he didn’t relish going back to Terry’s house and staring at the moon again.
“Okay, I’ll come down for a little while. Can’t stay out too late, though. Got work tomorrow.”
“Yeah, that’s fine, bud,” Eddie said. “A couple of brews and we’re on our way home. Leave your car here. We’ll get you back.”
Johnny was going to say no to that too. He wasn’t at all sure he wouldn’t feel trapped by these people... but what the hell, he didn’t want to be a snob. After all, they had been a great team.
“All right. Why not?’
“All fucking right!” Eddie said, scratching his five-o’clock shadow. “The team endures.”
“The Big Lebowski,” Johnny said. “You guys like that movie?”