The Legend of Jesse Smoke (9 page)

A waiter brought out our food. I went to the condiments bar to get some extra mustard and when I started back to the table Nate and Andy were talking quickly and quietly until they saw me.

I sat down and took a big bite of my burger. It was juicy, and charcoal-broiled, but I was so steamed I couldn’t enjoy it. All three of us chewed in silence. Both of them were staring at me. Finally, I said, “How much are you paying her?”

“Thirty thousand a year. Highest contract of any player in a women’s league that I know of.”

“Really.”

“That’s almost $4,000 a game.”

“Do the Divas even bring in that much?”

“They do okay. Paying customers, every game.”

“Andy, I can pay her over half a million dollars. That’s the minimum contract for an undrafted rookie in the NFL these days.”

“I knew it was a lot. I didn’t know it was that much.”

“You’d stand in the way of her making that kind of money? What the hell did you think I was working on here?”

Andy picked at his burger, removing bits of lettuce, but he didn’t take another bite of it until he’d completely swallowed what he was chewing. I could see his mind working.

Nate was silent. It wasn’t obvious whose side he was on.

Finally Andy said, “It’s like this. You’re having your fun—don’t get me wrong now. I’m grateful for your help and it’s been nice getting to know you, it really has. But you’re slumming with us—”

“I’m not slumming. I’m serious.”

“The Divas. They’re not exactly the NFL,” he said, flatly. “Are they?”

“No.”

“This little operation in the suburbs is not even NCAA, or high school, right?”

“It’s better than high school,” I said. “And maybe some colleges.”

“Whether you’re slumming or not, what happens if you get this chance for Jesse—if you manage to get them to really evaluate her as a player? No matter how good she is, she will never make it. You know that, and I know that. She’ll never make it. I mean, hell, man, this whole thing started out as a joke, didn’t it? So … what’s changed?”

“I’ve seen her play. So have you.”

“And you think she’ll make it,” Andy said. “You really think that?”

“If she
doesn’t
, it won’t be because of her talent.”

“But the odds are so brutal. And how much of her half a million dollars will she even collect if she’s laughed off the field the first day?”

“She’ll collect $9,900 dollars a week,” I said. I knew what I was talking about. “And there’s a $70,000 signing bonus. She’ll keep that.”

“Even if she gets by the first day, they could cut her the second week, or the third week.”

Now Nate was interested. “Yeah, and if she makes it through three weeks, that’s thirty thousand
more
than thirty.”

“Right, and don’t forget the $70,000 dollar signing bonus,” I said. “She gets that, no matter what.”

“But if they cut her,” Andy protested, “—and you and I both know they will—then she’s out of football. She’s violated her contract with the Divas, and—”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “You put a clause in her contract about playing for other teams?”

“
I
didn’t. The owners did. They
are
lawyers, you know.”

I shook my head.

“Well, I guess that settles it,” Nate said.

“Not necessarily,” I said. I didn’t want my hamburger anymore. It’s funny, up until that evening I’d been suffering from stage fright. Thinking about all the ways I could fail made me not want to try, but the knowledge of this technicality that might prevent me from doing what I was so nervous and sad about doing made me suddenly as determined as a turtle set on laying her eggs on the other side of an interstate highway.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Andy said. “The Divas need her and the owners weren’t about to risk losing her.”

“Did you tell them about me?” I asked.

Andy focused on his plate.

“I wonder how the other girls are going to feel when they find out how much Jesse is making?” I said.

“They’ll be okay with it. They like winning.”

“Well, I’m going to have a talk with her.”

“Feel free,” said Andy, finishing the last of the burger I’d just paid for.

Barely containing myself, I said, “I gotta tell you, I don’t appreciate you letting all this happen without telling me about it.”

“Well,” he said. “It’s my team, too. And, hell, I want to win just like the next guy, right?”

The three of us were quiet a while. Then I said to Nate, “I liked your idea.”

“Yeah,” he said. “How I would’ve liked to see Coach Engram’s face once he saw her throw a ball.”

“You still might. I’m gonna have a look at that contract.”

“Lawyers drew it up, man,” Andy said. “It’s airtight.”

“We’ll see.” Jesse was the furthest thing from my mind at that moment. All I wanted to do was beat Andy at his own game.

In the car on the way back to Redskins Park, Andy said, “Hey, you have any luck getting me tickets?”

I couldn’t believe his nerve. “What tickets?”

“To a game?”

“You want to go to a Redskins game.”

“Remember? You said you could get me some tickets.”

“Well, maybe that’s one to negotiate,” I said. “What do you think?”

He fell silent, understanding the point I was making. I swear, some folks will stick a blade under your heart and ask you for a letter of recommendation. The only tickets I could imagine getting for Andy were traffic tickets.

When I asked Jesse if I could see the contract, she didn’t hesitate to show it to me. We were in her apartment, which was almost completely unfurnished, except for a fifteen-speed bike, a black lounge chair, a pile of books with no bookcase, and a portable TV. She wore a flannel shirt and sweatpants, with a gold chain around her neck and, as usual, her hair was a cute tangle of tight curls all over her head.

When I knocked on the door, she swung it open and stepped back behind it so only her head peeked around. “What are you doing here?” she said, not unhappy to see me, just surprised. I stood there on the doorstep a while, feeling slightly awkward for both of us. But then she backed away, saying, “Sorry—come on in.”

I’d never been to her apartment before, so it was kind of painful at first. We stood there silently a moment or two. “I’m not really settled in yet,” she said when she saw the way I was looking around at all the empty space. “I mean, I’ve been here for a few months now, but …
it’s all been so hectic. I was actually going out to buy some furniture this weekend.”

“Heard you signed a new contract.”

She motioned for me to have a seat in the lounge chair. “I did. They gave me a raise.”

“Really.”

“Thirty-seven fifty a game.”

“Unless you go into the postseason.”

“Well …” She wasn’t sure what I meant.

“Does the contract say anything about the postseason? For instance, what if you win the championship again?”

“Oh. I think it’s just a yearly salary. I’ll have to get a job, I guess, during the off-season.”

“Who’s going to hire you to work only forty-four weeks of the year?”

I sat in the lounge chair and leaned back. She perched on a stool she’d brought in from the kitchen. She said, “You can get that to recline, if you—”

“Can I see it—the contract?”

She went right into her bedroom and got it. I took it out of its little green folder and started looking it over. It was one of those standard contracts lawyers draw up, printed on impressive-looking paper, with two holes punched in the top and a metal binder holding it fast to the top edge of the folder. I had not read many of these word for word, but I was pretty used to looking for headings and clauses. She sat watching me. After a while, she asked me if I wanted something to drink. I told her a glass of water would be nice.

When she brought the water back, I noticed a look of worry on her face, so I said, “Did you have someplace you need to be?”

“Look, Skip, I appreciate all you’re trying to do for me—all you
have
done for me.” She paused. I took the glass from her and set it down on the floor next to the chair. She sat on the stool again—directly across from me. “I hope you don’t mind my asking, but why is it you wanted to see that? I mean—”

“I have a little experience with these things,” I said. “I’m just trying to see that you’re being treated right.” Instantly I realized the lie I was telling her. I don’t know about you, but that happens to a person sometimes, right? Your mouth just starts going off and what comes out is letter-perfect—and not at all accurate—as if your brain has been hardwired for dishonesty above all else. Something must have changed in my face when I realized what I was doing, because her eyes fixed on mine, stopping me cold. I didn’t allow what I’d said to hang between us long. “Look, Jesse. That’s not entirely true. I mean I
do
want to look out after your interests, but … I have other concerns here as well.”

“Wanting me to play for the Redskins?”

“Yes.”

And then this knowing smile settled over her face. I can’t tell you how old I felt right then—like a senile old man being humored by his lovely caretaker. “You’re not really serious about that, now
are
you?”

“What do I have to do to convince you people?”

“You people?”

“No, I’m serious. You think I’m slumming? Like Andy does?”

She had no response to that and averted her eyes, though only momentarily. Then she looked back at me. “I’ve studied the playbook. And I learned from all the drilling and practice. I really did. I even think for a while there,
I
believed it, too.”

“You
should
believe it.”

“I am grateful to you, Skip. But now it’s time to look at things clearly, you know? Logically.”

“I
am
being logical. I may be the only one who—”

“But it’s
not
logical,” she said. “What you’re thinking is crazy.”

“Goddamn,” I said. “Who’ve you been talking to, anyway? If they could just see you play. The Jesse
I
know …” But I didn’t finish the sentence, frozen again by the look she gave me—not stern so much as sad, disappointed that I had interrupted her.

“Will you just listen for a second?” she said.

I nodded.

“I had a dream a few days ago, okay? It was about my father. He was laughing and for the longest time I couldn’t figure out why. I couldn’t get him to tell me, or to stop laughing. We were in a grove of trees, and the sun was shining bright and warm through the leaves, and at first I was glad he was laughing. But then it got awful—you know, the way dreams do—and I couldn’t get him to talk to me. These awful black clouds started racing in front of the sun—not like they do in real life, but like, fast and mean, and right into the sun. I kept trying to get him to listen to me, you know, to stop laughing. I was afraid it would kill him, like he wouldn’t be able to breathe or something. And then it was like a horror film. I was screaming at him to stop laughing. He hadn’t laughed that much the whole time he was alive. I felt evil listening to it. Evil. Finally, I reached out to put my hand over his mouth and then I noticed I had a burgundy sleeve. Then there was a bar across my vision and I realized I was wearing a Washington Redskins uniform.” She paused, looking at me. “
That
was why my father was laughing.”

“It was just a dream,” I said.

“Except in dreams is where we find out sometimes what we really think, you know? I mean, it’s so crazy it’s kind of funny. You
know
they’ll just say I’m not big enough or strong enough.”

“Jesse, I’ve scouted thousands of players. I’ve seen most of the great, the good, and the not-so-good quarterbacks in the league for more than twenty years now—I watched the great ones when I was a quarterback myself. I’ve spent a lifetime studying the position and the folks who’ve tried to play it, and I’m telling you: You’re
as
good or better than all of them.”

“What about trying to call the signals? I know you think I don’t have the voice for it.”

“What?”

“Isn’t that what your little test was about the other day?”

“You did fine, Jesse. It’s not a baritone, but Christ, everyone would be able to hear it. You passed that test with flying colors.”

“You really
don’t
see how silly this is, do you?”

“The women heard you, didn’t they?”

“
I’m
not worried about it,” she said. “I know I can yell loud enough. But
they’ll
say I can’t …”

“Look, Jesse—how well you scream is the least of our problems.”

“I know,” she interrupted me. “Silent signals. I’ve studied them, too.”

“So what are you worried about then?”

“I don’t want to be a goddamn joke.”

“You’re not a joke,” I said. I leaned forward now and looked into those dazzling blue eyes to let her know I was serious. “It started out like that, Jess. Okay? Maybe it did. But it’s gone way beyond that now. I’ve seen you play.”

“Against women.”

“Sammy Baugh weighed exactly ten pounds more than you do and he was only an inch taller. Eddie LeBaron, who also played for the Redskins—my father saw him play as a boy—weighed ten pounds
less
and happened to be seven inches shorter. Jonathon Engram weighed exactly one hundred eighty pounds, and he’s an inch shorter than you are.”

She started shaking her head. “They were men.”

“So?”

“You’re just gonna get yourself in trouble. Both of us. I’ve been down this road.”

“What road?”

She waved her hand. “Nothing.”

“What do you mean you’ve been ‘down this road’?”

“This is just going to be trouble for you and—”

I held up the contract. “
Here’s
trouble. This.”

“What do you mean?”

“If this is as airtight as Andy says it is, we’re arguing over nothing. This contract here may very well put an end to the whole idea.”

“Why?”

“You may have given the Divas exclusive rights to you for the next four years.”

“I didn’t do that.”

“Really? Andy says you did. He says it’s right here in this contract.”

She reached for it, but I held it back. “At least let me finish looking at it.”