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Welcome to the Church of The Reverend Cotton Mather.  This story is
the sole property of the author, and may not be copied or downloaded 
for the intent of profit. Permission is freely given for anyone to 
download or copy for their personal pleasure or use, as long as 
there is no intent to charge money or barter for the privilege of 
acquiring this material.

   (Copyright 2005, revisions c. 2007, R.C. Mather)

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THE COMPETITIVE EDGE:
PLAYING THE GAME III

A Novel

by R.C. Mather



- 36 -

JACK HAMMER'S



I got a hilarious letter from Jake the second week I was back. He
wrote about some of the fallout from our confrontation with T.J. at
Mike's. It turned out that Mr. Jorgenson really was a hotshot lawyer,
but he was a hotshot corporate lawyer for an underwear company. As
Jake put it, "When your business card reads Underoos or Maidenform or
some such, making threatening noises and ugly faces doesn't work very
well, does it?"

Anyway, according to Jake, T.J.'s father started making a big noise,
threatening lawsuits and recriminations. Jake's dad was a very well
respected member of the community, however, and he was not about to
be bowled over by a blowhard corporate lawyer. He sat both Jake and
Kayla down and got most of the story from them. As Jake wrote,
though, "...there were some things no kid should ever have to tell a
parent." Mr. Lehigh got the gist of it, and he could probably deduce
any of the rest if he put his efforts into it. Instead, he took a
proactive stance, and called Mr. Jorgenson at home. That call, and
another from Miko Gianelli, the owner of Mike's Pizza, apparently
convinced T.J.'s father to forget about the damage done to his son's
nose, car, and ego. It turned out Miko had had a talk with T.J. about
using his parking lot as his makeout place, and he was just as glad
to see the problem resolved without further involvement on his part.
The net result was that T.J. was pretty much grounded for the rest of
his natural life, he had to drop from the football team, and his
precious Mustang was taken away. In my opinion, it couldn't have
happened to a more deserving fellow.

I was also the happy recipient of several letters from Kayla. She
didn't mention anything about the fallout of our confrontation with
T.J., concentrating instead on simple stories about life back home.
Kyle's adventures in walking and learning to run featured prominently
in her letters, since she was spending a lot of time over at the
Jacks house, helping Jaimie pack for college.

Jaimie's parents were opposed to sending her to the University of
Iowa, but they did compromise with her by agreeing she could attend
Grinnell College, about an hour away from Iowa City. Mr. and Mrs.
Jacks knew they would find ways to spend many of their weekends
together, but they still felt going to different schools, and
spending some time away from each other, was a productive step.

Maybe it was. I was happy for Jake. His girlfriend was at least
going to be close, and he had a car at school. I had a car, but the
girl I really wanted was still a long way away for another year. And,
beyond that, she hadn't shared with me her college choices, so our
future was very cloudy. How could one letter, even one bit of news,
make you happy for your friends, and yet depressed for yourself, all
at the same time?



* * * * * * * * * *



Our first three games of the season were all away games. We spent a
lot of time in the bus, traveling to the University of Miami,
Mississippi State, and the University of Tennessee. The professors
had also been busy creating work for me, so I had a lot to do as we
motored around the Southeast. In addition, I kept on writing to
Kayla. I made sure I sent her a letter from each of our destinations.
I thought the different postmarks would be interesting for her.

When I was on campus, I managed to catch up with some of my friends.
Erin, Alex, and I got together when our schedules permitted for
lunch, usually twice a week, and I also ran into Westy one afternoon.
I was just coming out of GPA, which for some unknown reason campus
maps always listed as Turlington Hall, even though I never heard
anybody refer to it that way. Westy was just crossing Union from the
Plaza of the Americas, and we practically ran into each other before
we recognized each other.

'Figures,' I said to myself with a little disgust. 'A student
population of 40,000 and I get to run into one of the few people I
really, really dislike.'

But I stopped anyway.

"Westy. How you doing?"

"Hey, Porter. Doing okay. How's the team this year?"

"We're gonna do okay. How's the swim team looking?"

He grinned his shark grin. "Got a couple new freshman girls on the
team that are just looking ripe for picking," he said.

"You never change, do you?" I said, letting some of my disgust show.

It didn't bother him any more than it had when we lived together,
though. "Fuck, no," he said. His head was swiveling around while he
talked with me, checking out the array of coeds swirling around us as
if he was surveying the offerings at an all-you-can-eat buffet.
"Already nailed four bitches this semester. Looking for Number Five
right now."

"Well, if you have any trouble finding her, you can always fall back
on your old standby," I said as I started turning away. "Maureen's
probably still waiting for you in the john at Reitz."

I expected him to get pissed at me, but he just laughed. "Not a bad
idea," he said. "She's always good for a quick hummer. Got tired of
waiting for you to sweep her off her feet."

"I don't think I'm that strong," I said, but he had already turned
away. With a backwards wave, he strode off in pursuit of a lanky
blonde in cutoffs and a peasant blouse who was walking toward the
door of GPA.

I could only shake my head as I watched him catch up with her. He
reached out to grasp her elbow and bent down to say something in her
ear. I would have liked to warn her, but they were gone in moments.
'Maybe she carries Westy immunity. One could only hope.'

It was my turn to pick up a couple of Gator Tails for lunch and
bring them back to the Plaza for the girls and me. Erin and Alex were
already there when I arrived with the sandwiches, lounging on the
grass in our favorite spot. We tried to stay away from the Hare
Krishnas and their free vegetarian lunches, so we had picked out a
tree on the opposite side of the Plaza for our lunchtime location.
There were a couple of clumps of students interspersed among the
trees smoking dope, but we could ignore them easily enough. I handed
each girl her sandwich, and Alex handed me a can of Coke.

"So, world traveler, where are you off to this week?" Alex broke off
some of the edge of her roll and put it on the paper before taking a
delicate bite.

"Let's see... if it's Tuesday, it must be Knoxville."

"Really? The University of Tennessee?" Erin looked surprised and
pleased for some reason.

"Yeah. They're in the SEC, so it's a conference game. Why?"

"Oh, my brother goes there, that's all," she said.

"Oh," I said. "So how come you didn't go there too?"

She smiled. "Because my brother went there."

"You don't get along with your brother, I take it."

Alex chuckled. Erin just smiled and said, "No, we get along just
fine. He's an older brother, that's all. He's got his life, I've got
mine." She took a sip from her can of Green River. "I had to follow
him all through school, and I thought college should be my own
experience."

I shrugged. "You're probably right," I said. "My older brother tried
community college, didn't like it. He's working now instead. Him and
his girlfriend just moved in together, and my mom's having a cow
about it. But I think they'll get married pretty soon, if only to get
Mom off their case."

"You've got a younger brother, too, don't you?" asked Alex.

I couldn't help but smile. "Yeah, I do. If Michael and I turned my
dad's hair gray, Stephen made him pull it all out. He's sixteen,
going to be a junior this year, and he and his girlfriend have an
eighteen-month-old little boy."

"Oh, my God," exclaimed Erin. "That's right. I had forgotten that
story. A sixteen-year-old daddy."

"Well... yeah. He's a sixteen-year-old daddy. But he might not be a
sixteen-year-old father."

"Huh?" Alex looked puzzled.

"It's a long story," I said, looking down at my sandwich.

"We've got time," prompted Alex.

"Maybe some other time," I said. "Suffice it to say he's got his own
problems, and where he might go to college is the least of them."

"Boy, I'd say," declared Erin. She shook her head. "Well, at least
you're forging ahead and representing the Porter clan in college."

"Yeah," I said. "And I'm doing such a spectacular job of it."



* * * * * * * * * *



Our starting lineup gelled pretty quickly. Lightspeed picked up on
the advantages of our switching coverages and used it as an excuse to
run all over the field. I started to think of him more like Weasel in
the early days. He was losing the discipline and the structure that
made him such a standout in high school. Bryan, Dan, Jesse, and I
huddled on our bus trip to Knoxville to work on the problem.

"Maybe we should sit him down for a couple of games," I suggested.
"See if we can't get him to watch and learn."

"Not a good idea," said Bryan. "Pick brought him here because he's
fast and he's talented. Let's find a way to tap into his skills."

"You're right," agreed Jesse. "We've either got to get him working
within our system, or change the system to accommodate what he
brings."

Thinking about Lightspeed and Weasel gave me an idea. "Hold on a
sec," I said. I thought about it for a minute. "I've got an idea, and
it's such a new experience for me, I'd like to savor the moment."

"Savor away," said Bryan with a chuckle.

I got up and made my way up the aisle to where Spencer was sitting.
He and Luke were playing gin, something I didn't do with Spencer
anymore. I had learned my lesson.

"Spence? Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Sure." He slid out of the seat and put his hand facedown on his
seat. "No peeking," he said teasingly to Luke. Luke just looked
disgusted. 'Been there, done that, I could write the book,' I thought.
I had to run my summer clinics just to pay off my gin rummy debt to
Goldman.

I took Spencer back to our little meeting. He sat down in one of the
seats in front of us and leaned his elbow across the back so he could
face us.

"What's up, guys?"

"Little Head has an idea, and I think he's still savoring," said
Bryan with a smile.

"Come on, give me a break," I said in mock disgust. "I'm using the
big head this time." I stayed standing. "Spencer, remember the
championship game our senior year?"

"Will you never let me forget it?" Spencer tried to look angry, but
I knew he wasn't. It was old news.

"Never," I confirmed. "Actually, I want to be a little more
specific. We shut you down because we used Weasel to birddog you."

"I remember it well," he said.

"What would you think about using a friendlier version of that
technique to keep track of Lightspeed?"

"What do you mean?" he began, and then I saw the recognition dawn.
"Ah. We need to keep him from spiraling out of control. You need
somebody to keep him close so he's not running wild out there."

"Right."

"And you want me to do it."

"I'm asking if you would take it on," I said. "You're the logical
choice. You're lined up right next to him."

"And you'd like me to do it," he said. He looked steadily at me. "I
mean you, Boss. You want me to do it."

I took a deep breath. This should have been a request from the team
captains, but Spencer knew where it was coming from, and why. He was
only making sure everybody else knew, as well.

"Yeah," I said. "I'd like you to do it."

He smiled. "No problem," he said. "I think it's a workable plan.
We'll get him into the swing of things in no time."

"Okay," said Bryan. "When we get to Knoxville, we'll set up after
warm-ups and work on signals." He was back in control, now that the
decision had been made. "You guys go on back to your seats. Dan and I
need to talk about this."

Jesse, Spencer, and I all glanced around at each other. "Okay," I
said, and the three of us got up and left the two co-captains to
arrange the drills around our new plan.

"Don't worry about it," murmured Jesse in my ear as I sat down in my
customary seat. "You gotta give them that much."

"I know," I said quietly. "I'm not here to subvert them."

"They know that, just like they know who the team leader really is.
They'll take what you give them, and nothing will be said one way or
the other. It's a good thing to remember."

I looked up at him, leaning over toward me with a serious expression
on his face. "I will. You know I will."

Jesse smiled. "Yeah. I know, Boss."

"Not you too," I growled. It dismayed me that Spencer's offhanded
label might have impacted Jesse.

He shrugged, and then he smiled. "It is what it is," he said. He put
his hand on my shoulder, my friend and compatriot, and then he turned
to go to his own seat. He picked up the headphones to his Walkman,
pushed the button to start up the cassette, and he settled back in
his seat and picked up a magazine.



* * * * * * * * * *



We got another surprise when we arrived in Knoxville. There was a
reporter and a photographer for "Soccer Today" magazine waiting for us
at our hotel. After we checked in and dumped our luggage, we got back
on the bus and headed over to one of the practice fields. We spent
the next two hours working the kinks out of our muscles from the long
bus ride, and working on the Spencer-Lightspeed tandem trick. After
practice, the photographer had us line up, a few at a time, for
pictures. He had a bucket of mud he insisted on spattering us with,
telling us we didn't get grubby enough during our practice session on
the dry field. He ended up taking a couple of team photos, individual
shots, and then he grouped us by defense, offense, and middle. He
also took some seemingly random group shots, lying on the ground in
front of the groups he had posed, so he could get the sky and the
tops of the trees into his frame.

By the time we were done, we were wiped out. I was looking forward
to a long, hot shower and a big dinner. I had a letter to Kayla ready
for stamps, and I wanted to get it in the mail that night before I
went to bed.

We shuffled back onto the bus, which took us back to our hotel. I
was rooming with Sugar on this trip, and he let me take my shower
first, for which I was grateful. I got dressed while Sugar took his
time under the water, and I lay down to rest my eyes while I waited.

I was just getting my hand underneath Alex's blouse when Sugar shook
me awake. I had a momentary sense of confusion, not remembering where
I was and regretting the dissipation of my dream.

"Dinnertime," announced Sugar. "Time to get your butt out of the
sack."

"I like it here," I grumbled.

Sugar laughed. "I'm sure you do, Head. You'll prob'ly like it at the
dinner table, too."

My stomach let it be known it would also like me to be at the dinner
table, so I got up and looked around for my sandals. Sugar picked
them up from the floor at the foot of the bed and tossed them down
next to me. "You want me to pound you in the chest to make sure your
heart's beating, too?"

"Not necessary," I said. "I don't have a heart."

"I hear ya, friend," he commiserated. "No heart, no gettin' it
broke. I'm with ya on that one."

It had been hot in Florida when we left, and it was hot in
Tennessee. When we got to the restaurant, I was glad to see giant
pitchers of icy water on the tables. I drained one glass and refilled
it right away. I needed to stay hydrated for our game the next day,
and I was feeling dried out.

I was still feeling a little dragged out after dinner. I dropped
Kayla's letter in the mail slot by the front desk. I sat with some of
my teammates in the lounge and watched the Knicks take on the Celtics
in a preseason game. It was a snoozer; Boston and Bird were all over
the Knicks. I began to idly wonder why Boston decided to pronounce
their team name with an S sound, instead of a K, or hard C, the way
it was supposed to be pronounced. I couldn't come up with a reason,
and tired of the mental game quickly. I got up and headed upstairs to
bed.

I ended up sleeping for over ten hours, but I woke up feeling great.
I met up with the team at the breakfast table, and then Jesse,
Spencer, and I walked around campus for a while, doing a little
exploring. Our game wasn't until mid-afternoon, so we had some time
to kill.

After lunch, we got in the bus and rode over to the Tennessee soccer
facility. We changed into our game uniforms and trotted out to one of
the practice fields to loosen up. We went through our warm-up drills
in the sunshine, and then Pick called us over to the sidelines.

"Now, normally I'd let you boys work up a sweat before the game," he
announced. "Today, though, with it bein' so bright and warm, I'm
gonna suggest y'all take a breather and grab yourself a spot of
shade. Gatorade is in the cooler, so he'p yourselves. I don't want to
see none of you without a cup o' juice in your hands from now until
game time. Okay?"

And so that's what we did. In retrospect he should have kept us
moving, though. The referees and line judges were late getting to the
field, having gone to the football stadium instead of the soccer
stadium, and so the game started nearly thirty minutes late. By then
we were pretty lethargic. In fact, I felt like I was waterlogged from
drinking so much. I could almost hear myself sloshing as I trotted
out onto the field. I really hoped I didn't have to call a bathroom
break because of all the Gatorade I consumed.

We took the opening kickoff and began a desultory attack. When the
Vols took the ball away from us, we just backed off and let them take
control. It wasn't until at about the eight-minute mark, when they
were in the middle and attacking hard, that we finally woke up. By
then Dan was scrambling to keep the ball out of the box, Frenchy was
elbowing the Tennessee forward on his side trying to keep him to the
outside, and I found myself double-teamed and boxed out of the action.

"This ain't right," I said under my breath. I mentally grabbed
myself by my lapels and gave myself a good nonverbal lashing. I
muscled my way through my double-team and angled toward the middle.
By then Dan had gotten the ball back to Stan, our keeper, and he was
about to launch the ball toward midfield. I signaled him to hold for
just a second as the Vols began to fall back.

"Danny! Move up with me, okay?" I called out to Ortega to follow me
into the midfield. A simple wave moved Spencer back, and he took
Lightspeed with him to take up Dan's and my positions. Stan kicked
the ball upfield, and Dan and Jeremy took off after it. I crossed
behind Dan and signaled for Jesse, on the left, to fall back. Jesse
trotted backwards to cover the middle territory, and I took over his
position. Jeremy and one of the Tennessee midfielders had a brief
tussle for the ball, giving Dan the opportunity to come in and pick
their pockets. He took over and saw me trotting ahead on the left,
being shadowed by the Vols defender. He threw a pass up and a little
behind me, so that it passed across my shoulder. I had to speed up to
catch it before it crossed out of bounds, but I got it and settled
it. In the meantime, the defender closed on me. He stuck his foot out
and managed to push the ball out of bounds, and I ran over, picked it
up, and quickly heaved it across, into the middle. Dan took it, gave
it back to me, and I threaded it up to Bryan, who had been patrolling
just in front of the box. My defender made the error of following the
pass for a couple of steps, and that was all the room we needed.
Bryan one-touched it back ahead of me, knowing I was going to be
moving toward the near post. I had three steps on my defender, and I
was moving hard. He couldn't catch me, so the keeper had no choice
but to come out and cut off my shooting angles. That was just what I
was hoping for, because then the defender on the far side had no
choice but to move in and cover for a crossing pass. Instead, I
lofted a pass over Bryan's head toward a wide-open Luke, on the right
side, and he took the pass on his chest, let the ball drop to his
feet, and then he took two steps and fired a shot.

The ball hit the post and caromed off in a loopy, spinning arc. The
Vols keeper, scrambling back into position, leapt up to grab the
ball, but there was just enough spin on it to make it slide just off
his fingertips. His glancing touch shifted the ball's direction to
Bryan's shin. His reaction, to bring his knee up, lifted the ball
into the air. The Vols keeper was on the ground by now, but the left
defender was at the post, trying to guard against a rebound, but he
was looking in the wrong direction. When the ball went up, we had
three attackers in the box against one defender mixing it up with us,
the defender on the post, and the keeper just scrambling back up.

He was too late. I leapt up as high as I could and snapped my head
forward at the precise instant the ball was coming down to make
contact with my forehead. I hit it with the flat part of my head, the
best spot for being able to aim the ball with some degree of
accuracy, and I was able to put it in the back of the net, high and
away from the defender at the post.

I landed in a heap on the ground, and was almost immediately covered
by my teammates. We loved making our opponents play catch-up, and I
was really glad to have that first goal when we started out so
sluggishly. As I trotted back toward the centerline, with Jesse, Dan,
Bryan, and Luke beside me, I was also happy to see Lightspeed had
kept to his spot. We reset, with Spencer and Lightspeed walking side-
by-side back into their positions for the restart, and Spencer gave
me a thumbs-up.

"Nice goal, Boss," he said.

"Thanks," I replied.

"Yeah, dude, awesome header," said Lightspeed.

"It's always good to find yourself in the right spot at the right
time," I said.

"True," said Lightspeed. "But then you've got a tendency to
manufacture quite a bit of luck, don't you? That's why you're the
boss."

'Uh-oh,' I thought, but Lightspeed was smiling and relaxed. 'Just 
don't forget he's one of those hungry freshmen Pick warned me about,' 
I reminded myself.

For the rest of the half Lightspeed stayed tethered to Goldman. In
fact, he seemed happy to have a sense of direction. Spencer and I
adjusted our positioning of players to accommodate the double move he
and Harlan had to make, but it actually worked to our benefit. It got
everybody paying attention to what was going on, and the lethargy we
started the game with became merely a temporary problem.

By the second half Lightspeed was a lot more comfortable in our
swirling coverages, and the rest of our team was playing with
fluidity now that they didn't have to worry about where the speedster
was off to next.

After our third goal, an own-goal from a shot by Jesse that
ricocheted off the crossbar and caught the keeper on the shoulder, we
changed things around a little more. I was up in the forward position
on the right, but the ball had just been cleared back to our side.
Dan and Frenchy were working a two-man game to move the ball back up
and reset our offense, and Lightspeed was in the midfield with
Spencer to his right. Spencer trotted over to him and switched
positions with him, giving him a few words of instruction as he gave
Frenchy a hand signal. Lightspeed trotted over toward the sidelines,
shadowed by the Tennessee midfielder assigned to that position.
Suddenly he swiveled and took off diagonally, cutting across the
middle and headed over toward the left sideline. The misdirection and
sudden switch caught the Tennessee defense off-guard, and they didn't
know how to react to Lightspeed running such an odd pattern. Frenchy
led him with a long, looping pass down the line, and Lightspeed
scooped it up, already behind the defender on that side, who was
caught watching our shift. Harlan angled in on the goal, tempting the
stopper and the keeper to come out. The stopper challenged, but the
keeper stayed in the net, waiting to see what would develop. I
stepped in front of the defender on my side to keep him out of the
play as Lightspeed blistered a crossing pass into traffic. Bryan was
just able to get his foot on it enough to angle it back to Harlan,
who one-touched it just under the keeper's outstretched leg, and into
the back of the net, for his first collegiate goal.

He leapt up in the air and pulled his jersey off over his head in
triumph, waving it around like a banner as he ran up the sidelines
toward our bench. He was overrun by his teammates, and I was happy to
leap onto the pile to help him celebrate. I knew from experience it
would be a memory he would carry with him forever.

We kept up the rhythm and walked away with our third win of the
season, 5-1. We felt really good as we showered and prepared for the
long trip back to Gainesville. We felt like we had sent a message to
the entire Southeastern Conference with our first three games that
the Gators were the team to beat. That attitude was reinforced two
weeks later, when the newest issue of "Soccer Today" came out. On the
cover, in a photograph taken from the ground in Tennessee, were
members of the University of Florida Gators men's team. In the
picture Jesse and Bryan were standing, and I was kneeling with one
knee on a soccer ball in front of them. We looked mud-splattered and
sweaty, as if we had just come through a war, with serious
expressions on our faces. Underneath us was the caption: "The Crushing
Jaws of the Gators: Is Florida Really That Good?"



* * * * * * * * * *



When I met up with Erin and Alex on Tuesday for lunch, they were
planning something.

"Are you ever going to spend a weekend here?" asked Alex piquantly.

"As a matter of fact, this is a bye week for us," I said.

"Good," said Erin.

"Why? What's up?"

"We're going to a party on Saturday night," said Alex.

"We? As in all of us?"

"Of course, all of us," she replied with a smile.

"Okay, you've got my attention," I said. "Where's the party?"

"It's at a place over on Eighth Avenue called Jack Hammer's. They're
having a pajama party."

"A pajama party? What if I don't own any pajamas?"

Alex chuckled. "The patrons over at Jack Hammer's will like that,"
she said.

"Why?" I asked suspiciously.

"Oh, nothing," said Alex, way too innocently. "Just wear your gym
shorts and a t-shirt if you don't have any pajamas."

"Okay," I agreed, though I was a little doubtful.

"And we'll be wearing our nighties," said Alex with a gleam in her
eye.

"And not much else," I heard Erin murmur. She glanced out of the
corner of her eye at me. I got the impression I wasn't supposed to
hear it, but I did, and it made me a little weak in the knees
thinking about it.



* * * * * * * * * *



Eddie and I were still going over film of our games each week and
submitting reports to Pick. In addition, Pick had us looking at film
he was receiving from high school coaches from around the country. He
prioritized these clips based on what his scouts were reporting, and
he viewed them before he turned them over to us. He wanted as much
information and as many concurring opinions as he could get on
prospects for his team.

One film clip that really caught my eye was from a kid from
Brownsville, Texas. He looked like he was Mexican, or at least
Hispanic, and he played defense like a demon. He had very quick feet,
and could use his right foot and his left foot equally well. He had
strong legs that could propel him high into the air, and he used
leverage at every opportunity. He used his hands and arms to
advantage, which meant he was double-teamed by every opponent, and
still impacted the game beyond his position. What it meant to us was
he was already playing at the college level, where the play was much
more physical. His name was Rico Montenegro, and he was Pick's top
priority for recruiting.

Eddie and I sat back in our chairs after watching the third reel of
Rico's games from his junior year. I whistled low, very impressed by
what I had seen.

"He's something, isn't he?" asked Eddie.

I reached over and flipped the lights back on. "Pick wants him for
Frenchy's spot, I would imagine," I said.

"Yeah. He thinks the kid could be our freshman starter next year."

"No question," I agreed. "The kid is scary good."

Eddie looked over at me. "I want to show you something," he said. He
got up and rummaged through one of the cabinets where we kept
videocassettes and reels of film. He pulled out a reel and began
threading it into the projector.

"That looks like an older film," I said. "What's up?"

Eddie didn't say anything. He switched the projector on, and the
film began to rattle through the ratchets. A fuzzy picture emerged on
the screen and quickly resolved itself into a muddy field with a game
in progress. I turned off the fluorescents overhead so I could see
the film better.

Something familiar tugged at my memory. 'That game on film... I've
seen it before. From a different angle, though... A different
perspective...'

I sat up, shocked. I watched the play on the field, and I could see,
in a calculating way, the similarities between that film and the ones
we had just watched of Rico Montenegro.

"You can shut it off," I said to Eddie.

He obligingly reached over and shut down the projector. We sat there
in the darkness together while I digested what he had just shown me.

"Interesting, isn't it?" he asked quietly.

I had nothing to say. What he had shown me was film of a player with
striking similarities to Rico's game. There was a reason why it
seemed familiar. It was a film of one of my own high school games,
from my senior year.

Damn.



* * * * * * * * * *



I was in the back of Alex's car. Erin and Alex were in the front
seat, chattering away. They both wore light cloaks in an attempt at
modesty on the way to the party at Jack Hammer's. I had on a pair of
satin gym shorts, a Gold's Gym sleeveless tee, and sandals. I
considered it dark humor to wear that particular shirt, since my
physique had no resemblance at all to a weightlifter's, but Erin told
me she thought it was kind of sexy to see me in it. So I wore it.

Jack Hammer's was in a dingy, old building. There was a small
parking lot next door, but it was jammed full of cars. We had to park
about a block away and walk back to the bar. Inside it was a modern
nightclub, all glitter and pulsating lights and powerful speakers. We
paid our cover charges and squeezed in.

"Man," I said. I practically had to shout into Alex's ear to be
heard. "This is a jumpin' joint."

Alex actually laughed out loud. "You got that right," she yelled
back. I held her hand as she led the way through the crowd, and Erin
held on tightly to my other hand to keep from being separated. The
crowd was heaviest by the door and by the bar, so we threaded our way
deeper into the building, until we found enough room for the three of
us to squeeze into some bar seats that were set up along the back
wall, with a long shelf for placing drinks and ash trays. I worked my
way up to the bar and got us some beer, all the while gawking at the
various states of dress and undress of this pajama party.

I carried our drinks back on a tray and settled down. Their sound
system was huge, and the dance music had a heavy baseline that was
almost a physical thing in the atmosphere. I handed Alex and Erin
their drinks and leaned in so I could talk with them.

"It's the strangest thing," I said. "All these half-dressed people
here, and yet it almost seems like a junior-high sock hop. The boys
and the girls are clumped together, and there isn't a lot of
mingling."

Alex laughed, and Erin grinned. "Welcome to Jack Hammer's," said Alex.

"So this is typical for here?" I asked.

Alex just shrugged. The girls had taken off their cloaks. Erin's
nightie was quite sheer. I could see the shadow of her nipples
through the thin material. Alex, on the other hand, was wearing an
old Winnie-the-Pooh nightshirt that reached her knees. She, too, was
braless, and her nipples were prominently sticking out. I couldn't
decide which chest to concentrate on, so I divided my time between
them until the girls finally got tired of my stares.

"C'mon, Erin, let's dance," said Alex as she got up and held out her
hand. Erin took it and glided from her bar chair, and they made their
way toward the mass of people I could see gyrating in the pulsing,
swirling light.

We drank a lot, we danced a lot. Me and Alex, me and Erin, Alex and
Erin, all three of us together. The oddity of it all didn't strike me
in this place, where there were a lot of people mixing it up on the
dance floor. There were very few slow songs, but the girls still
found lots of occasions to rub up against me or against each other. I
discovered first-hand that Alex was completely naked underneath her
nightshirt, when she backed into me on the dance floor, grinding her
ass against my crotch, and she took my hands and ran them up her
thighs, beneath her nightshirt, to the juncture. I felt her pussy
lips with my fingertips as she looked coyly over her shoulder at me.
Erin, wearing panties under her short nightie, still managed to get
my blood boiling as she pressed up against me seductively as we
danced together.

I was concentrating on the girls so much, it was only in the
periphery that my mind assimilated my surroundings. Toward the end of
the party it suddenly occurred to me there were a lot of girls
dancing with girls, and guys dancing with guys. 

We were on the dance floor, grinding together as a threesome, when
it finally occurred to me.

"This is a gay bar, isn't it?" I said.

Alex threw her head back and laughed. Erin looked at me with a fond
expression and smiled.

"Of course," she said. "Jack Hammer's? What else could it be?"

"But... I'm not gay," I said. "And you both are... well, bi, I guess."

Alex grabbed my ear and kissed me. "It's okay, they don't mind if
breeders come in to have a good time," she said.

"Breeders?"

"Sure. Breeders. Straights. You're here with us, it's all okay."

I gave in. "Okay," I said, and went back to concentrating on having
a good time with the girls.

Much later, the crowd had thinned out a little. As the three of us
huddled together, touching each other's bodies in what could only
loosely be called a dance, I happened to glance over toward a couple
of faces that stood out in the melee on the dance floor. I'm sure
what I saw was a mirror of the expression of surprise that I was
certain was on my own face. Staring back at me, dancing with a guy
with long hair and a straggly beard, was my roommate, Spencer Goldman.






(Continued in Chapter 37)


  
CE36