I went in and did a simple pattern toward the flat, then broke right. Trevor Grier, the cornerback, stayed with me. The ball went over both our heads. He gave me a shove and I went down.
''Punk.'' I got back up, walking away from him.
"Your mama."
"At least my mama washes under her arms. Yours got a garden growin' there." He was a born-again Christian who once, before he saw the light, got caught giving it to a 19-year-old beauty contestant in the men's bathroom of the Dallas airport. Damn hypocrite.
The second play was a run for Blake to see how their $10 million running back out of Texas A &M, Orlando Matthews, was doing. He got six yards before coughing up the ball. But he recovered, then looked nervously over at the sidelines. Blake had his arms folded, making his jaw work like he was tasting rotten meat.
On third and three, I beat Grier on a stutter step, turned my upper body, and easily caught the throw from Dillworth, the second-string QB. By then Grier had turned, and him and free safety Leroy Collierthe only white boy I knew named Leroy were coming for me. I faked left, but Grier was too quick. He got me, and tried to spin me around to throw me to the ground. I put my shoulder pads into his chest as Collier's arms locked around my legs. I went down on top of Grier, trying my best to make it as painful as possible for him.
"Back off." He slapped the side of my helmet.
Collier rolled off my legs. I laughed and gave Grier a jab with my elbow, close and tight. "That's what you get for being a pussy." I got up and trotted back to the huddle. I was on my J and everybody knew it. We had first down, and Blake and Cannon decided to keep the ball on the ground. On third and nine, Sistrunk, the second-string center, hiked. I pivoted left and went into motion, but before I could get fifteen yards, Grier came charging and upended me.
"Motherfuckah," I hollered. Cannon was blowing his whistle as I hit the turf. I jumped up, throwing off my helmet. Grier stood there like he was bad. I leaped on him and we started trading blows. Hands were on both of us, people yelling at us to stop.
As Grier was being pulled back I got a punch in under his chin strap. His head jerked back like he'd gotten whiplashed. Then Cannon got in my face.
"This isn't how I run my team, Raines."
"Tell him, he made the illegal tackle."
"Don't tell me how to deal with my men, Raines. You haven't earned your spot yet." His chest was rising and falling rapidly, and he was snorting air through his nose. "Go sit down."
"Hey, look"
"Go sit down." He pointed towards the bench. I was gonna argue, but I was in a weak position.
Blake was talking to Grier, who was glaring at me like I tripped his grandma going to the store. Walking over to the bench, I could see Stadanko had come out onto the field. He was talking to somebody with his back to me. I knew that funny hat. Fahrar.
I got close to them to show him he couldn't get to me and mess with my flow. Be like Clinton and deny everything. The cop shook hands with Stadanko and started to walk off, pretending like I wasn't there. I was about to call him but thought better of it. I sat down, stretching out my right leg. It seemed to be okay as long as I was moving, but once I rested, I didn't trust it not to lock up.
When scrimmage ended we ran some laps and hit the weight room. Cannon called me into his office.
"You've got some convincing to do with me, Raines." He sat behind one of those executive desks, the playbook open on it.
"I looked good, didn't I?"
"Attitude is a big part of how I see a team coming together."
In the old days I'd have made a crack, then walked out and found some honey to curl up with for a few hours while the front office argued about how much they had to pay me and how I was worth the hassle. Then some college boy would mention how much gate I brought in, how I delivered on clutch plays, and they'd shake their heads and get on with how'd they have to put up with me 'cause I put butts in the seats. But those days were behind me.
"I realize that, coach." I hoped that satisfied him.
"You realize what?"
"That it's your team and your rules." Like your ass can't get replaced anytime Stadanko thinks you're dragging his profits down, clown.
"You don't sound sincere to me." He put his hands together, leaning his elbows and hairy arms on the desk. He bored in on me, waiting for the right response.
"I'm for real about wanting to play ball again." Take it or shove me off, there's only so much ass I can stand to kiss.
Cannon pulled his big frame back from the desk, measuring me. "Go on and get your gym time in. We'll talk again in the next few days."
"Okay"
After my two full sets of weights and a whirlpool with me and Grier staying out of each other's way, but looking at each other like we molested somebody in the other's family I headed out into the parking lot. Grainger came up beside me.
"So what do you think, man?"
I wanted some crank, that's what I thought. "We'll see," I said.
"You was haulin' out there today"
I figured I was supposed to give him props too. "You looked good too, Grainger. Take it slow or any way you can get it."
"I'll see you tomorrow."
"Yeah." I got in my ride and away from that Cub Scout. Dude was all worked about being sportsmanlike. That wasn't my trip. You come on the field, it's dog eat motherfuckin' dog. You gotta do for yourself and get your thing in order. Only thing I was concentrating on was how bad I was gonna make Grier look when we hit the field again in the morning.
As I pulled out of the parking lot, Wilma's Phaeton was about to pull in. I almost drove past her, but she'd stopped and let down her window.
"'Zup?"
"You." She was wearing deep red lipstick, and when she smiled I got that feeling you know where. "How'd it go today?"
"All right."
"I talked to Napoleon today, he's doing better."
So she and Nap were talking to each other. Could they be bangin' a girlfriend or boyfriend together? Maybe that halo consultant queen Pablo. "He's too tough to stay down long." A car pulled behind me and honked. I didn't glance back.
"That's what I figure about you, Zelmont." She gave me a look to make a man forget his own name. "I'm sorry about what I said." She put her car back in gear. "But not about what I want to do.'' She drove into the lot as the car behind me went around. It was Grainger, and he looked pissed.
All the way to the pad I should have been reviewing the plays I was gonna have to run again tomorrow. Or maybe wondering about Fahrar talking to Stadanko. Instead, I couldn't get Wilma Wells off my brain. Damn.
By the next day I really was back in the groove. Even Stadanko had to nod as he stood on the sidelines, trying to be all that. I zagged on Grier, and though Pruitt was ten years younger than me, I got past him too. If I didn't at least make the exhibition season then God didn't make titty rings.
"How you like me now," I capped. Grier stood there, hands on his hips, tucking in his bottom lip. He had a four-year, $20 million package plus shoe and gear endorsements. I knew his agent had probably been on the phone to him yesterday soon as he heard about our set-to to let him know he had way more to lose than me if he wanted to act out.
Especially since that asshole Weems had his spies all over the place. Talk was Coach Blake was one of his brown nosers, had been forced into it. Weems was supposed to have fag files on the secret bungholers in pro ball. Nap had told me about playmates of his who'd spotted Blake tipping out to his share of gay spots.
Either' cause of his agent or Weems' jive, Grier played it cool this time. He didn't say anything much the rest of practice 'cept grunt now and then when we bumped.
My hip was twinging and moving in and out a little, but I did my best not to show any sign of pain. Cannon was the one I was worried about. He was watching me like a homeless dog eyeing a crippled cat, waiting for me to slip. I leaned against the wall leading to the gym after our sprints.