Chapter 36
George took Ron to the Arrow Bar that afternoon. It was a place that he worked on the weekends and Ron hadn’t ever been there before. It was a long dark narrow place with a mahogany bar and some round tables set off opposite it. There was a group of men sitting around one of the tables and George lit up when he saw them. He left Ron standing at the bar. Ron’s eyes instinctively searched for the juke box or the pinball machine but he couldn’t find either. What kind of a joint was this?
The bartender was an old guy who wore an apron that swelled out over a large stomach. His beefy arms were partially covered by a long sleeve shirt that was turned up at the cuffs. “Ain’t nothing for you in here, kid.”
Ron didn’t answer. He gestured over at George who had his back to him and said, “I’m with him.”
“You’re with Father George?”
“Who?”
“George Bombasco. Around here everyone calls him Father George.”
“Why?”
“Just a nickname.”
“What’s it mean?”
“You better ask him.”
Ron had no intentions of asking George anything that he didn’t have to ask him and decided to just let it go. The bartender saw an opportunity for a little fun.
“Hey, Father George, kid here wants to know how you got your nickname.”
GimmeTwo laughed, “Because he was always preaching to everybody about how bad gambling was while he’s making bets.”
George flushed. It wasn’t information that he wanted Ron to have. He knew that the kid would throw it up at him.
GimmeTwo waved Ron over. ‘Come on over kid, let’s get a look at you.”
Ron walked over hesitantly. There were four men at the table and George was standing facing them. He half turned as Ron walked over. “Everybody, this is my son, Ronald.”
The shock of the words hit Ron like ice water being thrown into his face. They immobilized him. He had never once thought of himself as George’s son and George had never said those words before. Then it hit him. It was for show. But if it was for show, did that mean that he was proud of him? He never acted in the least bit proud.
George said, “Ronald this is GimmeTwo,” he stopped and looked confused, “I mean this is Mr. Rossi.” Everyone at the table chuckled and George laughed with them.
Babootz said, “I want to see you remember my name.”
Everyone laughed again.
George said, “Lemme think.”
Babootz said, “Call me Babootz, Ronnie. These guys won’t know who you are talking about if you call me Mr. Bontafacio.”
“OK, Mr. Bontafacio,” said Ron.
George said, “I never would have remembered it.”
Ron thought that Babootz made him sound like some kind of monkey and wondered if his hairy body was the reason that he got the name. That wasn’t a good question to ask.
Jimmy the Gigolo said, “Nice to meet you Ronnie. So, you’re George’s son?”
Ron felt trapped. If he said no it would seem like he was contradicting George and instinctively he knew that contradiction was either ball busting or an insult. Now the table was staring at him, waiting for him to respond. Saying yes would be betraying his dad. For the first time in his life he said, “I’m his stepson.” He felt nausea sweep over him when he said it.
George said, “This is Jimmy the Gigolo.” He was smiling. Ron hadn’t let him down or said anything smart-assed.
“Good to meet you, Mr. Gigolo.”
The table burst out in raucous laughter. Ron didn’t know why.
“Just Jimmy will be fine, Ronnie.”
Now Ron was confused again. He had been taught that it was impolite to address adults by their first name. “OK.” It wasn’t like he was ever going to be seeing very much of these men.
Now they were all having fun with this little game. A man with diamond rings on each of his pinkies said, “My name is easy. I’m just Whitey.”
Ron smiled. “Like Whitey Ford.”
The table exploded again. Whitey had earned his name by betting a bundle against Ford twice during the 1955 World Series. He’d lost both times.
“Yeah,” said Whitey, shaking his head with a self-deprecating grin, “just like him.”
“You want a soda, Ronnie?”
George spoke up and said, “Nah, we got to go. His mother will be worried.”
“She afraid that you’re taking him to the track, Father George?”
Ron could have used the soda but he was happy that they were leaving.
Chapter 37
Ferry lectured endlessly and Ron could tell that that Artie was having a hard time staying awake. He drank soda after soda and kept wiping his face with his hands. Larry pretended to understand and took lots of notes so that he could parrot back Steve Ferry’s words and sound like he knew what he was talking about. Paul did understand. He’s been a quarterback who was fast and smart. He’s just been too short and slow to play college ball.
It was the second afternoon and Ferry was talking defense. He was really talking about reads. His belief was that you could only coach the first couple of steps of a play on defense. It was read and react. He didn’t have the talent for an attack defense, at least he didn’t think he did. Ferry was talking about the strong side safety in a four/four alignment. The middle defensive back would always shade to the opponent’s tight end side. “This man has an excellent view of the field and can see how the play is starting to develop. He watches the strong side guard and if he pulls to the right,” Steve stopped and positioned himself in front of them with his knees bent and his hands in front of him elbows crooked. He moved his left foot forward and gave his body a quarter turn. “This is his first step. Now, if he sees the wide receiver release towards the middle of the field, he squares up and plays football from here. If that receiver tries to come towards him, he needs to be ready to cover or deflect a block, but he can’t lose sight of what’s happening in the backfield. This man is our last line of defense and no one is to get in back of him.”
Ron thought you could draw things up this way, but when you were on the field, you had to let your instincts take over. Sometimes you just knew what was going to happen. You couldn’t stop and think about all these things. You’d be standing there when the play flew by you.
Ferry looked at Ron’s face like he was reading his mind. “We have to train his instincts by doing it over and over in practice so that he no longer thinks about it.”
Ron and Paul nodded. Larry wrote down …train his instincts. Artie yawned and said, “I gotta take a leak.”
Ron stood up. He wanted a cigarette. Steve said, “I think we’re about done. Tomorrow, Ron, you take shoulder pads,”
Ron nodded.
“Artie, you handle girdles.”
“Paul, you and I will do helmets.”
“You got it,” said Paul.
Steve said, “I want you to lay aside about ten of the new ones. I don’t want the bench riders who are seniors to gobble them up. When we’re all done we’ll see what we have left and swap out some of the better helmets to the younger kids who will be on the field.”
All of the coaches nodded. They were interested again. This endless lecture was actually coming to an end.
“Larry, you handle pants and practice jerseys. Make sure they fit tight. Nothing looks worse that a football player with a saggy ass.”
Larry beamed. He didn’t realize that Ferry had given him the one area that did not include any real equipment. It had the least to do with football aside from the entertainment factor when the new players sometimes put in their thigh pads upside down. Everyone was sure that Larry had learned the correct way to insert a thigh-pad by now.
Out in the parking lot, Ron talked with Paul Pamenteri. “How’s married life?” said Ron.
Paul beamed. “Paula is pregnant. It’s a boy.”
“How do you know?”
“There’s this test.”
Ron grinned. He liked Paul and his reputation among the students was that Mr. Pamenteri was ok. He didn’t rat kids out unnecessarily like it was a search and destroy mission, but he was smart enough to define boundaries. Ron was in the process of doing that but this was just his second year.
Perpetual Hope was a strange school in an affluent area of a wealthy county that was a combination bedroom community for New York City and wealthy people who had made small fortunes in New Jersey. If they were Catholic, they enjoyed the status of sending their sons to private school. It was would be necessary that the level of education at the private school be above average. There had to be some success with sports. The tuition was not a factor, unless expectations weren’t met.
Paul was from Paterson. Now he lived in Totowa. He was a history teacher who Ron had been told took it seriously and tried to get his students to see concepts in history, not just dates and names.
Ron said, “They gave me an honors class.”
“Hey Ron?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I tell you something without you saying anything before the announcement?”
“Sure.”
“They’re expanding the Guidance Department, and I’m in.”
“Is that what you wanted?”
“Yeah, I’m taking classes at William Paterson and getting my guidance certificate and now I’ll have the credentials and the experience to move over to a public school.”
“That’s what you want?”
“Ron, I got a wife and a kid on the way. I can’t work for peanuts anymore.”
“That makes sense,” said Ron. His brain was grasping at it. “So how many games do you think we win this year?”
Paul laughed. “Maybe three.”
Chapter 38
The apartment building where George, Marjorie and Ron lived was shaped like a U with a center court entrance. There were shrubs that grew on a dirt island and along the inner sides of the building. There was a backyard but it was dingy and littered with broken glass and very little grew there. But next door was a vacant lot where someone had planted grass at one time.
Then a Baptist Church bought it and mowed the grass. Now it was a perfect football field. Ron played with guys that he met from the Boys Club. It was before he had ever experienced an injury and the game showed him at his best. He played with abandon and fury. They would have games until it was too dark to see and then they would wander home tired, spent and dirty.
Tina Poleski used to watch them from the window in her room and when she saw that the game was breaking up, she would comb her hair out and run downstairs to be sitting on the steps when Ron came home.
“Hi, Ronnie.”
“Hi, Tina.”
“Was it a good game?”
“Yeah.”
“Ronnie, would you do me a favor?”
“Sure, if I can.”
“There’s a place in the backyard that frightens me. Would you take me there?”
“Why?”
“So I won’t be frightened of it anymore.”
They got up and walked around the side of the building and then opened the low chain link fence that led into the backyard. Tina reached out for Ron’s hand and he took it. As they were walking along the concrete pathway, a window opened.
“Tina Poleski, I told you that the next time that I caught you back here with a boy after dark that I was telling your mother. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
Tina whispered, “Oh shit” to Ron and then called up. “Mrs. Kresge, we weren’t doing anything. We were just going in the back way.”
“Don’t give me that nonsense. Tina you’re a little liar. Does that boy even live in this building?”
“Hello, Mrs. Kresge. It’s Ronald Tuck.”
“Ronald, your mother is going to hear about this!”
“Hear about what? Tina asked me if I would show her something.”
“I’ll bet she did.”
Tina whispered, “I’d love to see it.”
Ron blushed. “We’re leaving Mrs. Kresge. Nothing to worry about.”
They both heard the window slam down.
“Would you show it to me, sometime, Ronnie?” Ron blushed again. “I’ll bet it gets really hard and big.”
“We’d better go inside,” said Ron.
That night Ron lay in bed masturbating to Tina’s words over and over again. He would hear them in his head like a record that was stuck in a grove saying, “I’ll bet it gets really hard and big.” It was the first time a girl had ever said anything like that to him before.
Chapter 39
The first day of real practice was a scorcher. They baked in the sun and Ferry ended the practice session early when he saw that some of his players were starting to wobble on their feet. There would be a two hour break before they would start again. Ferry reminded them that they had to shower, they had to drink a lot of fluids but they should try not to gulp mass quantities down.
When they got into the coaches’ office, Artie peeled off his outer shirt revealing a Mizuna that was made of a rubberized material that didn’t breathe. He lifted it and several ounces of gathered perspiration splashed down onto the floor.
“That’s disgusting Artie,” said Paul.
Artie laughed.
Ferry gave him a disapproving look and said, “Either do that outside or in the shower room. Artie pulled the shirt up over his head and several more ounces of sweat splashed down onto the floor. Ferry raised his tone. “I’m not fucking around Artie. Do that again and I won’t allow you back in here.”
Artie Ferris slunk away.
Larry said, “Someone should tell Brother Ward about how disgusting that man is.”
The room grew silent. Larry Viola was actually saying that he was going to do it and they all understood that immediately.
Steve Ferry said, “It won’t be you. I’ll speak to Artie. Housebreak him a little better but coaches don’t squeal on each other Larry. There’s a code. And nobody works better with the grunts up front than he does.”
Paul added, “Artie’s alright. He just doesn’t have any manners.”
“He lives in a cave,” said Larry.
Steve said, “Ron, this afternoon, I want you to take the d-backs under those trees at the other end of the field and work the reaction to ball drill when we break off into groups.”
“Shorts and helmets?” said Ron.
“Yeah, I think so. It’s just too damn hot. Paul, how’s the wing?”
“It’s fine, said Paul. He rotated his arm up over his head and stretched it until he could touch the center of his back.
“Do some throwing with the qb’s and the ends. We’re going to be running a lot of crossing patterns and they have to learn how to lead the receiver and not telegraph where the ball is going.”
Paul nodded but he knew that it was probably beyond the quarterbacks that they had to be doing this kind of work this soon.
“I want you to set up the slap drill, Larry. Wait. We can’t run that one in shorts and helmets. Nevermind. Let me think about it and we’ll save that for tomorrow.”
“Whatever you want, coach.”
“I’m going to have the team report at 8 am. Maybe we should scrap the afternoon practice and try to do one long session that starts before it gets so miserable out.”
The coaches grinned.
Steve Ferry could do whatever he wanted to do with their schedules, but this sounded like an unexpected afternoon off in the precious dwindling days before classes started. Artie was waddling back into the offices naked. “Put something on,” shouted Ferry. “Anyone can come down here.”
Chapter 40
Ron drove home late. He was too tired to eat. He just wanted to peel off his clothes and crawl into bed in his tiny air conditioned bedroom that had a folding door to separate it from the living room and a sheet that was tacked over the entry to the living room to keep the cool air consolidated.
He’d wanted to run and tried to tell himself that he would gain energy from a run, but his body had whimpered back its response. He needed to call it a day. He stripped and climbed into bed and brought the phone with him for company. He dialed her number and closed his eyes.
“Hello?”
“Hi.”
They felt the mutual smile through the connection. “Did you have dinner?” said Celeste.
“I’ll have breakfast,” said Ron. He felt her wanting to feed him through the phone. “I was surprised. Ferry said we were going to send the kids home today after one session, then he sprung on us that we needed this marathon film session.”
“Are you exhausted?”
“Yeah. Listen I want to talk to you about something.”
“OK.”
“We’re going to need more money to live than we have.”
“I need to go to work,” said Celeste.
“What about Angel?”
“If I could get something part-time, there’s a day care center at the Community College.”
“How is that news going to be received?”
“Things are going to change,” said Celeste.
“That’s an understatement,” said Ron.
They giggled a mutual laugh that was more of a coo. Ron felt himself relax into the feel of her. The silence was warm as the night air.
He added. “After football, I’m going to take on a Forensics Team and between that and tutoring, I’ll make more.”
“We’ll have enough,” said Celeste. “We don’t need that much.”
Ron wasn’t sure that he liked the sound of that completely. He hadn’t given a lot of thought to money since he had worked at Our Lady of the Forlorn that first year and that summer had to live on Swiss cheese and pasta. He’d drunk tap water because he couldn’t afford coffee. He’d even tried flavoring it with condiments that he’d picked up at his mother’s house. He hadn’t liked feeling poor. It brought back hot memories that he needed to push away.
“I wish that I was there with you,” he said.
There was silence.
Celeste answered, “If you spent the night here, you’d be closer to work in the morning.
Energy that he didn’t know that he had, surged in him. “You think it would be ok?”
“I’ll make it ok,” said Celeste.