Play Dead
Page 80
For a moment, no one spoke. They all just glanced around the Garden, at the parquet floor, and at one another.
“There he is!” Gloria cried.
Laura looked behind them. Stan moved briskly down the stairs. He smiled at Gloria as if he had eyes only for her. What a slug, Laura thought, but she had to admit to herself that his lovesick-puppy act was good. Very good.
Heads swirled in the general direction of Stan as he continued his trip down the aisle. He was practically skipping, joy in his every step. He bounced down to their row and greeted Gloria with a quick kiss on the cheek. Gloria blushed and grabbed his hand.
“Mom, Dad, Aunt Judy,” she began, “I’d like you to meet Stan Baskin.”
Stan turned toward them, stuck out his hand and froze. His smile disappeared. The color in his face ebbed away. His mouth dropped open.
Mary and Judy stared back at him with looks that mirrored his own. Only James ignored Stan’s expression. Dr. Ayars stood and took the outstretched hand. “Nice to meet you, Stan,” he said.
Like a boxer who uses the standing-eight count to get his bearings back, Stan began to recover. His smile returned, though not to its original potency. He shook James’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you, sir.” He then greeted Judy and Mary cordially, not meeting their eyes and theirs not meeting his. Finally, he sat down.
“What the hell was that all about?” Serita whispered to Laura.
“Beats me,” Laura replied. “Weird, huh?”
“At the very least.”
Laura watched her mother visibly sag and now even Aunt Judy looked worn. What the hell was going on? An uncomfortable silence hung over them. The seat on Laura’s left was left open for T.C., who had told her he was going to be a little late. Laura wished he were here. She’d like to know what he would have made of Stan’s introduction to her family.
An uncomfortable silence circled around them until Laura turned toward Judy. “Tell us about Colin,” she said.
Judy seemed relieved at the break in tension. “He’s a geology professor at Colgate. Head of the department.”
“And?” Serita encouraged.
Judy smiled. “And he’s terrific.”
“That’s wonderful,” Gloria enthused.
“Yeah, well, enough about me,” Judy said. “I hear the Celtics got a great prospect in this Seidman kid.”
Mary Ayars tried her best to pretend that everything was normal, that everything was just fine. “You’re not still a basketball nut, are you, Judy?”
“Are you kidding?” Judy answered, also trying like hell to keep the mood upbeat. Between David’s memorial and Stan’s reaction to seeing them . . . “I have tickets to the Final Four already and I put in MSG so I’ll be able to see all the Knick games this year.”
Mary looked puzzled. “What is a Knick? And what on earth is an MSG?” she asked.
Judy chuckled. “Forget it.”
Their conversation came to a halt when the loud speaker blared, “Ladies and gentlemen, the nineteen eighty-nine and ninety Boston Celtics!”
A sudden roar blared out from all points, consuming the arena in waves of sound. Twelve men with green warm-ups jogged onto the court and the roar became impossibly louder. For a split second Laura looked for David on the familiar parquet floor. When she realized that he was not there, that he would never again be there, the familiar pain ripped into her heart.
The players circled the floor a few times and then some began to stretch out while others grabbed basketballs from the rack and took some shots. Laura spotted Earl standing under the basket. He half waved in their direction. Serita returned the wave by blowing him a kiss and winking suggestively. Laura scanned the other familiar faces. David’s teammates all caught her eye and smiled warmly, sadly. Timmy Daniels, Johnny Dennison, Mac Kevlin, Robert Frederickson . . . all except one.
Number thirty.
Number thirty was the only face Laura did not recognize. He was about six-five with curly blond hair. His body was well toned and defined—a nearly perfect physique. She watched as he took layups in a relaxed manner, flipping the ball casually onto the backboard without really looking, knowing it would hit on the precise angle and go in. Laura realized that this had to be the rookie Earl and Serita had talked about last week. What was his name again? Aunt Judy had just mentioned it. Seidman. Mark Seidman. The man from nowhere.
Mark Seidman.
As though hypnotized, Laura watched the new Celtic weave through the layup drill: waiting on line, shooting, waiting on line, rebounding. Mark Seidman moved smoothly and without hesitation. He seemed loose, incredibly loose for a first-game rookie the press had built up as the Celtic’s new savior.
T.C. arrived as the referee tossed the ball in the air to begin the game. He said hello to everybody (except Stan) and gently slid past them (except Stan—T.C. purposely stepped on his foot). “Sorry about that, Stan, ol’boy,” he said with deep regret. “It was an accident.”
T.C. ignored Stan’s angry glare and collapsed heavily into the empty seat next to Laura. “How’s it going, champ?”
“Not bad,” Laura said.
“Sorry about being late.”
“You only missed the opening tap.”
They turned their attention toward the game. Johnny Dennison passed the ball to Timmy Daniels. Timmy looked around before tossing it inside to Big Mac Kevlin. Mac was double-teamed. He passed it out to Mark Seidman. Seidman was trapped in the corner.
“He’s going to have to shoot,” T.C. remarked. “The shot clock is ticking down.”
As if on cue, Mark Seidman leaped in the air, twisted, and took a fade-away jump shot. The ball touched the backboard and fell in. Laura felt the breath shoot out of her. Her stomach coiled in pain. That jump shot. That damn fade-away jump shot—no wonder they call him White Lightning II.
“Jesus, T.C., did you see that?”
T.C. nodded. “Hell of a good shot.”
“Unbelievable,” Judy uttered from their left, her voice cracking.
Mary did not pay attention to the game. Her eyes darted about, sneaking glances in Stan’s general direction. Stan’s concentration also wandered away from the parquet floor and toward those with whom he was seated. He gripped Gloria’s hand tightly, his face frighteningly pale.
“You know anything about him?” Laura asked.
“Seidman?” T.C. replied with a shake of his head. “Just what I read in the papers. Earl mentioned him to me a couple of times. He said he’s quiet, keeps to himself.”
“There he is!” Gloria cried.
Laura looked behind them. Stan moved briskly down the stairs. He smiled at Gloria as if he had eyes only for her. What a slug, Laura thought, but she had to admit to herself that his lovesick-puppy act was good. Very good.
Heads swirled in the general direction of Stan as he continued his trip down the aisle. He was practically skipping, joy in his every step. He bounced down to their row and greeted Gloria with a quick kiss on the cheek. Gloria blushed and grabbed his hand.
“Mom, Dad, Aunt Judy,” she began, “I’d like you to meet Stan Baskin.”
Stan turned toward them, stuck out his hand and froze. His smile disappeared. The color in his face ebbed away. His mouth dropped open.
Mary and Judy stared back at him with looks that mirrored his own. Only James ignored Stan’s expression. Dr. Ayars stood and took the outstretched hand. “Nice to meet you, Stan,” he said.
Like a boxer who uses the standing-eight count to get his bearings back, Stan began to recover. His smile returned, though not to its original potency. He shook James’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you, sir.” He then greeted Judy and Mary cordially, not meeting their eyes and theirs not meeting his. Finally, he sat down.
“What the hell was that all about?” Serita whispered to Laura.
“Beats me,” Laura replied. “Weird, huh?”
“At the very least.”
Laura watched her mother visibly sag and now even Aunt Judy looked worn. What the hell was going on? An uncomfortable silence hung over them. The seat on Laura’s left was left open for T.C., who had told her he was going to be a little late. Laura wished he were here. She’d like to know what he would have made of Stan’s introduction to her family.
An uncomfortable silence circled around them until Laura turned toward Judy. “Tell us about Colin,” she said.
Judy seemed relieved at the break in tension. “He’s a geology professor at Colgate. Head of the department.”
“And?” Serita encouraged.
Judy smiled. “And he’s terrific.”
“That’s wonderful,” Gloria enthused.
“Yeah, well, enough about me,” Judy said. “I hear the Celtics got a great prospect in this Seidman kid.”
Mary Ayars tried her best to pretend that everything was normal, that everything was just fine. “You’re not still a basketball nut, are you, Judy?”
“Are you kidding?” Judy answered, also trying like hell to keep the mood upbeat. Between David’s memorial and Stan’s reaction to seeing them . . . “I have tickets to the Final Four already and I put in MSG so I’ll be able to see all the Knick games this year.”
Mary looked puzzled. “What is a Knick? And what on earth is an MSG?” she asked.
Judy chuckled. “Forget it.”
Their conversation came to a halt when the loud speaker blared, “Ladies and gentlemen, the nineteen eighty-nine and ninety Boston Celtics!”
A sudden roar blared out from all points, consuming the arena in waves of sound. Twelve men with green warm-ups jogged onto the court and the roar became impossibly louder. For a split second Laura looked for David on the familiar parquet floor. When she realized that he was not there, that he would never again be there, the familiar pain ripped into her heart.
The players circled the floor a few times and then some began to stretch out while others grabbed basketballs from the rack and took some shots. Laura spotted Earl standing under the basket. He half waved in their direction. Serita returned the wave by blowing him a kiss and winking suggestively. Laura scanned the other familiar faces. David’s teammates all caught her eye and smiled warmly, sadly. Timmy Daniels, Johnny Dennison, Mac Kevlin, Robert Frederickson . . . all except one.
Number thirty.
Number thirty was the only face Laura did not recognize. He was about six-five with curly blond hair. His body was well toned and defined—a nearly perfect physique. She watched as he took layups in a relaxed manner, flipping the ball casually onto the backboard without really looking, knowing it would hit on the precise angle and go in. Laura realized that this had to be the rookie Earl and Serita had talked about last week. What was his name again? Aunt Judy had just mentioned it. Seidman. Mark Seidman. The man from nowhere.
Mark Seidman.
As though hypnotized, Laura watched the new Celtic weave through the layup drill: waiting on line, shooting, waiting on line, rebounding. Mark Seidman moved smoothly and without hesitation. He seemed loose, incredibly loose for a first-game rookie the press had built up as the Celtic’s new savior.
T.C. arrived as the referee tossed the ball in the air to begin the game. He said hello to everybody (except Stan) and gently slid past them (except Stan—T.C. purposely stepped on his foot). “Sorry about that, Stan, ol’boy,” he said with deep regret. “It was an accident.”
T.C. ignored Stan’s angry glare and collapsed heavily into the empty seat next to Laura. “How’s it going, champ?”
“Not bad,” Laura said.
“Sorry about being late.”
“You only missed the opening tap.”
They turned their attention toward the game. Johnny Dennison passed the ball to Timmy Daniels. Timmy looked around before tossing it inside to Big Mac Kevlin. Mac was double-teamed. He passed it out to Mark Seidman. Seidman was trapped in the corner.
“He’s going to have to shoot,” T.C. remarked. “The shot clock is ticking down.”
As if on cue, Mark Seidman leaped in the air, twisted, and took a fade-away jump shot. The ball touched the backboard and fell in. Laura felt the breath shoot out of her. Her stomach coiled in pain. That jump shot. That damn fade-away jump shot—no wonder they call him White Lightning II.
“Jesus, T.C., did you see that?”
T.C. nodded. “Hell of a good shot.”
“Unbelievable,” Judy uttered from their left, her voice cracking.
Mary did not pay attention to the game. Her eyes darted about, sneaking glances in Stan’s general direction. Stan’s concentration also wandered away from the parquet floor and toward those with whom he was seated. He gripped Gloria’s hand tightly, his face frighteningly pale.
“You know anything about him?” Laura asked.
“Seidman?” T.C. replied with a shake of his head. “Just what I read in the papers. Earl mentioned him to me a couple of times. He said he’s quiet, keeps to himself.”
