Football Hero (2008) (9 page)

“HELLO?” TY SAID.

“What happened?” Thane asked.

“Uncle Gus slipped,” Ty said. “He dropped the phone.”

“Well, we
signed
,” Thane said, his voice verging on a scream from excitement. “Are you sitting down?”

Ty flipped down the toilet seat, backed into the stall, and sat. Uncle Gus wiped his face with a handful of paper towels and scowled.

“Five years,” Thane said, almost losing his breath, “
thirty-two million dollars
with a seven-point-five-million-dollar signing bonus. Seven point five million! Today! I’m coming down there to sign it and they’ll give me a check! We’re rich, Ty! We’re really rich!”

Ty tried to get Aunt Virginia to let him wear the Nike sweat suit Thane bought for him, but she insisted he wear his church clothes along with an old polka-dotted tie from Uncle Gus’s closet.

“You don’t wear a jogging suit to a five-star restaurant,” Aunt Virginia said, primping her hair in the bathroom mirror and tucking it behind her ears.

“Thane won’t care,” Ty said from the narrow hallway, tugging at the stiff, itchy collar of the dress shirt.

“Well,
I
care,” Aunt Virginia said.

Her mouth curled into a snarl, and Ty retreated to the living room, where Charlotte sat on the couch listening to her iPod, the skirts of her pink dress ballooned around her so that she looked like an enormous frosting flower on a birthday cake. Ty sat down beside her. Charlotte looked over at him, then went back to staring straight ahead into space.

“You wonder why I don’t talk?” she asked, flicking off her iPod. “This is why.”

“What’s ‘this’?”

“This,” she said, puffing the folds of her dress without shifting her vacant stare. “I look ridiculous. When you don’t talk, it’s easy to pretend that you’re invisible.”

“That’s what you pretend to yourself?” Ty asked.

Charlotte nodded. “It works. After a while people stop trying to talk to you, and after that, they don’t even see you. You’re invisible, and in this family, that’s a good thing to be. With that crazy tie they’ve
got on you, you should try it, too.”

Ty looked down, smoothed the red tie with its white polka dots, and heaved a big sigh just as Uncle Gus stormed in from his bedroom, buttoning his shirt cuffs and yelling at Aunt Virginia to hurry up or they’d be late.

“You can’t be late for a business dinner,” Uncle Gus said, projecting his voice through the wall.

At the sound of the word “business,” Ty’s stomach got queasy. He wanted to ask Uncle Gus what he meant, but thought he already knew, and realized it wouldn’t make any difference anyway. Ty had heard snippets of Uncle Gus’s conversations with Aunt Virginia about his bar, the Tiger’s Lair, on and off since the NFL draft. Now, with seven and a half million dollars in the bank, Thane wouldn’t have the excuse of not wanting to spend money he didn’t have. Even though this dinner was supposed to be a contract-signing celebration, Ty feared it would melt down into an argument between Thane and Uncle Gus.

Aunt Virginia emerged in her yellow dress wearing white lace gloves and holding a small matching pocketbook, and they left through the front door, loading up into the truck. Ty got in first and wedged himself into the narrow space behind the front seat. Charlotte sat in between her parents, bobbing her head, listening to her iPod. From where Ty sat, he could see the
dark bush of hair sprouting from Uncle Gus’s ear. He tried not to look, but his face was so close that he couldn’t stop staring. Ty waited until they reached the smooth road of the highway before he cleared his throat and summoned up his courage.

“Uncle Gus?” he said quietly.

“What?”

“I was thinking about the Tiger’s Lair,” Ty said.

“Or, Tiger’s Place,” Uncle Gus said. “That’s up to him. Just because I like the Tiger’s Lair doesn’t mean that’s what it has to be. When you’re partners, you have to work together.”

“Maybe tonight isn’t such a good time to talk about it, though,” Ty said. “I’m just thinking.”

“Don’t think,” Uncle Gus said, “and don’t talk. You have no idea about this stuff.”

Ty looked to Aunt Virginia for help, but she was picking something out of her teeth and staring intently at the road.

When they arrived at Barelli’s, Uncle Gus hopped out and announced to the parking valet that they were there to see Tiger Lewis.

“Is he here yet?” Uncle Gus said, studying the parking lot on the side of the building. “Did he come in a limo?”

The valet shook his head and pointed inside, saying Tiger had arrived ten minutes ago. Uncle Gus cursed and herded them up the stairs and into the restaurant.

The bar was on their right; men in suits and women in fancy dresses sat around it, sipping wine and amber drinks in big teardrop glasses. To the left was the hostess stand and the tables beyond that. Uncle Gus barged past the hostess, waving his arms.

“Tiger! Hey!” Uncle Gus shouted. “You multimillionaire, you!”

In the far corner of the restaurant, by the front window, Thane sat with Morty at a big round table. He wore a black sweat suit like the one Ty wanted to wear, and his face turned red at the sound of their uncle’s voice. Every person in the place turned to stare at Uncle Gus, but he seemed not to notice and proceeded across the floor, talking loudly about how lucky the Jets were to have his nephew and how he deserved every bit of his thirty-two-million-dollar contract.

Morty introduced himself, shaking hands with a forced smile. Thane’s embarrassment faded, and his own smile grew, when he saw Ty. He stood up and put Ty into a headlock, kissing the top of his head.

To Charlotte, he said, “Wow, look at this pretty girl.”

She blushed. Thane sat Ty down in the chair immediately to his right before shaking hands with Uncle Gus and nodding hello to Aunt Virginia.

“Thanks for this iPod, Tiger,” Charlotte said, holding up the tiny machine.

“Ty got it for you,” Thane said with a grin.

“Time for a drink,” Uncle Gus said, sitting down and signaling the waiter by snapping his fingers. “We need to make a toast.”

Thane and Morty both said they were fine with sparkling water, but Uncle Gus shrugged and said he’d have a bottle of whatever fancy Italian beer they could come up with fastest.

“When in Italy, drink beer like the Italians,” Uncle Gus said, nodding and winking at Morty.

When his beer came, Uncle Gus raised the bottle and said, “A toast to my nephew, a rich man, a football hero, and our success together in business.”

Thane nearly choked on his sparkling water. Morty set his drink down and licked his lips, taking a piece of bread and passing the basket before softly asking what business Uncle Gus was referring to.

Uncle Gus swigged his beer before he banged the bottle down on the table. When he spoke, he was impatient and he even sounded angry.

“THE TIGER’S LAIR,”
Uncle Gus said.

Aunt Virginia shot him a dark look, and his face and voice softened a bit.

“But we don’t have to call it that,” he said. “Tiger has to make the call on a lot of this, but the concept is basically a sports bar that Jets fans can go to. He doesn’t have to be there all the time or anything.”

Thane hung his head and his lower lip disappeared beneath his teeth. Morty puckered his lips. Ty took a piece of bread, biting into the thick, rich crust and handing the basket to Charlotte, who glanced at her father and shook her head apologetically at Ty.

“I mean,” Uncle Gus said, talking even faster, “it’ll help if he shows up every once in a while, randomly, to keep people guessing on when they might get to
bump into him, or some of his teammates. That would be ideal, kind of a Jets hangout where regular people can go. Maybe we even have a Jets night and we charge a cover at the door. I’ve got plenty of ideas like that.

“We’ll make a mint.”

“I’ll be honest,” Morty said. “I don’t recommend these things, bars.”

“This would be a
sports
bar,” Uncle Gus said. He swigged more beer, dampening his thick gray mustache with foam.

“Even sports bars,” Morty said, buttering his bread.

“It could be more like a nightclub,” Uncle Gus said.

“Or a restaurant that has a bar.”

“Anything like that,” Morty said, setting down his knife. “But you’re…family, and I understand how that can be.”

Uncle Gus smiled big, nodding his head so that a thick tuft of his hair fell in a clump, covering his forehead.

“But you need to know the standard terms,” Morty said, pointing at Uncle Gus with his piece of bread.

“The way these things work. Tiger gets ten percent of everything.”

“Ten?” Uncle Gus said, his smile growing so big that his crooked yellow teeth glowed in the candlelight. “I can do that. To be honest, I thought it’d be
more, not that I’m saying I’d do more. Standard terms, you know.”

“Ten percent is all you can expect when you’re not putting up any of the money,” Morty said, biting into the bread.

Uncle Gus looked confused. His mouth began to work itself back and forth underneath the eaves of his mustache.

Before he could say anything, the waiter asked if he could take their order. Ty asked for spaghetti with tomato sauce. When the waiter asked if he’d like something with it, like a veal chop, Ty swallowed and looked at Thane.

“Get it,” Thane said. “We’re celebrating.”

The waiter took everyone’s order, and they all sat quietly for a moment before Uncle Gus cleared his throat and asked Morty, “What do you mean Tiger’s not putting up any money?”

“He can’t,” Morty said.

“Why not?” Uncle Gus said. “I’m the one doing all the work. We need three hundred thousand to get started, build out the bar, inventory, kitchen, a big sign. He just puts up the money and watches it grow.”

“Maybe we should talk about it another time,” Morty said. “You can come into my office and we can go through it all. I’m his financial adviser, so I’ve got a fiduciary duty. It’s not up to Thane.”

“It’s his money, isn’t it?” Uncle Gus said, picking
viciously at the label on his beer bottle.

“Yes, but I’m managing it,” Morty said. “It’s a good way to do things.”

“So I could manage part of it, too,” Uncle Gus said.

“The sports bar part.”

“The NFL Players Association only recommends licensed financial consultants,” Morty said.

“Who are you? God or something?” Uncle Gus said in a loud voice. He slammed his hand down on the table, jarring the silverware and drawing the attention of everyone around them.

“Tiger,” Uncle Gus said, forcing a smile, “you can
tell
him to do this. It’s a
family
business.”

Thane held up his hands. “I don’t know enough about all this. It’s easier just to have Morty do it. I just need to focus on football. I already missed three weeks of camp.”

“Actually, he’s got to report right away, after this dinner,” Morty said.

“What about what I need to do?” Uncle Gus asked.

“Who do you think is taking care of—”

Uncle Gus stopped and shot a glance at Ty. Ty’s face burned.

Thane glared at their uncle and gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white.

“What does that mean?” Thane said, growling.

“Nothing,” Uncle Gus said with a whimper, wiping his mustache on his sleeve.

“Because,” Thane said, nearly choking on his words as he looked from Ty to his uncle, then to his aunt, and finally to Morty before the next words burst from his mouth. “Because Ty can come with me.”

“TIGER. EASY, EASY, EASY,”
Morty said. “He can’t go with you. You’ve got training camp, then the season. He needs a family, your aunt to cook and clean his clothes and all that. You’re barely out of college. You’re not ready for that. It wouldn’t be good for Ty.”

Thane clenched his teeth so that his jaw muscles rippled.

“Ty’s got nothing to do with this bar business anyway,” Morty said to Uncle Gus. “Right?”

“It’s just a family thing, that’s all,” Uncle Gus grumbled, looking into his lap. “You don’t even want him helping his family?”

Aunt Virginia put her hand on top of his and gave it a shake, whispering something softly to him. The corners of Uncle Gus’s eyes sagged. He looked suddenly tired and sad.

“When someone needs an operation to save their life but they can’t afford it,” Morty said in a soft voice, “that’s when you need to help your family. Believe me, I know.”

“I’m sorry,” Uncle Gus said, looking up at Thane. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I thought it would be good for everybody.”

“You’ll come to my office,” Morty said kindly. “We can talk about it. Let’s just have a nice meal. To celebrate. If camp food is as bad as they say, this’ll be Tiger’s last decent meal for a while.”

With his fast talking, and some harmless jokes, Morty had a way of making everyone forget about the discomfort of their conversation about money, and soon the talk turned to Tiger and how many touchdowns he’d score for the team in the upcoming season. Still, Ty kept an eye on his uncle and he could tell that the smile he wore beneath the thick mustache was strained and ready to fall the second they got out the door.

After dinner, on their way out, Thane grabbed Ty and pulled him back into the restaurant.

“You okay?” he asked.

Ty nodded his head. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Well, I do,” Thane said.

“I’m fine.”

“You let me know if you’re not,” Thane said. “I don’t care what Morty says.”

“Morty’s right,” Ty said. “I don’t want you to end up like the guys who play for ten years and they’re broke.”

“Not me,” Thane said, smiling and tousling Ty’s hair.

Thane looked around, then reached into his pocket and took out a hundred-dollar bill and slipped it into Ty’s hand.

“Hey, I want you to take this,” he said. “In case you ever need something.”

“I can’t,” Ty said, trying to give it back.

“It’s just a hundred,” Thane said. “Don’t insult me.”

“I don’t want to be a mooch,” Ty said.

“What did I tell you about that?” Thane said. “You didn’t ask. It’ll make me feel better to know you’ve got something socked away, for an emergency. Don’t tell them.”

“I won’t,” Ty said, cramming the bill into the bottom of his pants pocket.

Thane gave him a hug that Ty didn’t want to end, but it did when Aunt Virginia stuck her head back inside the restaurant and said they were waiting. Ty bit the inside of his cheek and told his brother good-bye.

When they arrived at Lucy’s the next day, they found Mike in the kitchen hunched over a big frying pan of eggs. He grinned so hard when he saw Ty that the end of his cigarette popped up into the air, sprinkling
ashes into the pan. Mike squinted at the eggs and tilted the pan toward Ty.

“Looks kind of like pepper, don’t it?” Mike asked.

Uncle Gus laughed out loud.

“Hey,” Mike said to Ty’s uncle, “you want a donut? I can whip some up.”

“Great,” Uncle Gus said. “Is Lucy in?”

“Check his office,” Mike said. “I’ll have a batch of powdered sugar ones done before you leave.”

Uncle Gus grinned at the big former football player and told Ty and Charlotte to get going. Ty dragged his supplies into the bathroom while Uncle Gus stood outside Lucy’s office, quietly knocking on the red door.

Ty filled his bucket, poured in some cleaner, and went right into the stall to get that over with. He was scrubbing the underside of the seat when he caught sight of the rusty air vent from the corner of his eye. He couldn’t help wondering what Uncle Gus might be saying to the bar owner. After a quick look at the door, he knelt down in the corner and put his ear to the vent.

Ty heard the sound of Lucy’s TV playing. It blurred the words of the conversation, but he could just make them out.

“Stop crying, will you?” Lucy said. “You can’t run a bar anyway; you’d drink all the profits. You want to make some extra money? I’ll tell you how.”

Lucy’s voice softened, and Ty could no longer hear
what was being said over the sound of the TV. He thought he heard Tiger’s name once or twice, but he couldn’t be sure. Finally, he gave up and got back to work. He was scooping cigarette butts out of the urinal when Lucy raised his voice so loud Ty could almost hear it through the wall. He scrambled back to his place in the stall.

“Do you know what kind of opportunity this is?” Lucy said. “Don’t worry about the kid. If I ask him, he’ll do it.”

Ty’s stomach knotted up. Whatever it was they were going to ask, he didn’t want to know, let alone do whatever it was. The thought of that, or maybe something else, made him dizzy. He stood up and stumbled out of the stall, grabbing for the sink to steady himself.

Ty and Thane walked out into the dark, snowy evening, leaving the warmth and popcorn smell of the movie theater behind for the cold, stiff seats of Thane’s rusty old Subaru wagon. It was the day before Christmas Eve. Thane was home for the holiday. On their way out of the theater, an old neighbor who was a big SU football fan recognized Thane. While Thane signed a napkin for his son, the man asked if speed was the thing that made Thane the player that he was.

After Thane scraped the car window free from ice and snow and climbed in next to him, Ty asked, “Why
did you tell that guy speed wasn’t the most important thing? Everyone says that’s why you’re great but you.”

“And what did I say?” Thane asked, blowing into his hands before he started up the car.

“Instincts,” Ty said.

“That’s right,” Thane said, looking over at him with a serious face, “because speed without instincts is useless. When you catch that ball downfield, there are plenty of people trying to knock you out and keep you from the end zone. I can’t explain it, but you have to ‘feel’ where everyone is and in that same instant to know where they’re all going to be when they start to chase you. Then your legs have to take you to wherever that opening is, without even thinking about it. That’s instinct. It’s knowing what to do, where to go, without even thinking.”

“How can you know without thinking?” Ty asked.

Thane grinned at him and said, “Trust yourself. If you feel something, follow it. That’s instincts. That’s what makes a good player great. That’s what makes you win.”

Uncle Gus banged open the bathroom door, startling Ty from his daydream and sending his heart off on a gallop.

“I wanna talk to you,” Uncle Gus said. “Me and Lucy.”

Ty knew they were going to ask him for something,
a favor. And he knew he’d have an opening to ask for something back. His instincts told him that.

He only hoped that when he saw Lucy’s face and that boiling red scar, he wouldn’t be too scared to ask.