casual.
My staff sensed the change in my demeanor, and gave me a wide berth as I settled back home. It only occurred to me a few hours later that they were likely expecting my publicist to have joined me for the trek, and so I knew that they realized things were amiss.
Behind the manor, I had contracted the installation of an enclosed football field. Since the rain had done absolutely nothing to let up, I took the accompanying underground passage out to the field. It was less than half a kilometer of walking, and it was blissfully dry. When I arrived, I switched on the industrial lighting and marveled at how the water roared against the glass ceiling and walls before retrieving the best looking football from my equipment room.
It was time to work a few things out the only way I knew how.
I spent well over an hour kicking the ball around, fighting imaginary opponents on the field. I remembered my first year of owning this place, I’d invite friends over for garden parties before taking on any and all challengers in the diminutive glass stadium.
But now, there was just me.
My arrival was less conspicuous than I had imagined. I was surprised to hear a buzzing as I knocked the football into the opposite goal once again, claiming another imaginary victory against my perceived opponents. Turning and panting, I spotted a small assortment of people on the opposite wall, shaking off umbrellas and standing in the covered foyer room outside.
Jogging over towards them, I realized that it was my usual group of friendly competitors – some amateur players from my schooling days, most of my National team, and a couple of members of the staff who were avid football fans and players.
There were a little less than two dozen of them… just enough to play a game. Jess must have been working a little magic. Maybe she hadn’t given up on me yet…
“What are you lot doing here?” I asked as I unlocked the entrance and let them all in. They hung their wet jackets in the nearby coatroom, smiling and clasping my hand in turn.
“What, you’re gonna come back and not tell us?” Jarvis MacNeil grinned, gripping me by the shoulder. He was one of the defenders on my team, and a rigorous force to deal with.
“My mind’s been a little preoccupied the last few days,” I confessed.
“Well, I can certainly see that!” Another chimed in. This one was Kil Humapoor, an old dormitory mate who had the gift, but was just too lazy to audition for teams. “You head straight onto the field to play alone after a sudden flight back? Not a person here that doesn’t know that means something’s wrong, man.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I muttered.
“No need to talk with words, bro,” Jarvis replied. “Do it with your feet. Let’s dance!”
The twenty of them changed into athletic attire in the equipment rooms. Afterwards, we split into two teams and set the stage for our match beneath the storm.
With Humapoor electing to play as referee to maintain the balance, we chose our sides and set the green battlefield for war. Above us, the rain pounded against the glass as we fought valiantly for the ball. The storm’s intensity was cheering us on.
Both teams were short a man, but we were able to work around that mutual handicap. I took my usual position as an offensive striker, dominating the ball and barking orders to my team as I led a vicious charge against the others.
Jarvis MacNeil had been nominated as captain of the opposition, and took a conservative, defensive approach. After years of playing together, he knew my weaknesses, and was able to hold us back time and time again… but he wasn’t prepared for the level of frustration and bitterness that I brought to the green.
I ran faster than ever.
My kicks were stronger than ever.
Fueled by hate and animosity, I channeled every last ounce of my blinding fury into my plays, unafraid to test the patience of our ref and to lash out if it meant gaining additional ground, crippling a tactical advantage of the opposing team, or smiting down one of their brief shots at temporary victory.
During a break, MacNeil and Humapoor approached me, tossing me a bottle of water as they downed their own.
“Dude, what the fuck is the matter with you?” MacNeil asked, giving me a fierce look as I squeezed the bottle into my mouth. “You’re playing like a wild fucking animal.”
“Nothing’s the matter,” I insisted gravely.
“You’re acting possessed out there, dude,” Humapoor added. “I’ve never seen you so unchained on the green. It’s like you’re on the bloody attack!”
“I said, everything is fine,” I hissed, letting my insipid glare fuel the emotion.
“What the hell happened in America?” He pressed me, simultaneously pushing his luck as well as my buttons.
I stood up from the bench, putting my nose inches from his as I glared him down. “It’s done. It’s finished. What happened there is over. And now I have to deal with that.”
“You’re Lightning Lex,” MacNeil kicked in, stepping up to back up our friend. While MacNeil hadn’t encountered him during school, they’d gained a healthy respect for each other during our impromptu matches, and bonded over a shared love of premium cigars. “Whatever happened, you can fix it.”
“What part of it’s over didn’t you quite understand?” I snarled at him.
“The part where you got back on a plane like a yellow-bellied coward instead of taking care of your fucking business,” MacNeil spat back, fueling me into a rage. “I don’t know what’s got you set off, but I know it has nothing to do with the story in the rags. You want to hide away in your glass cage and beat the piss out of a ball? That’s your problem. You start taking it out on your friends during a friendly match? Ain’t fucking nothing friendly about what you’re doing out here. Either tone your shit down and accept whatever your fuck-up is, or get back out there and take care of your shit.”
I wanted to deck him, but I knew the others would be on me in a second. Of course, he made a compelling point.
I was Lighting Lex Lambert.
What the fuck was I doing out here?
“That’s the Lex I remember,” Humapoor told me, staring into my eyes. “Now, get back out here and show us all how a World Cup player really does it.”
That’s exactly what I did.
I played with precision, careful calculation, and tactical dominance. Instead of leading a crushing vendetta against the other team, I hung back, guiding the others towards victory, playing support and taking charge when the ranks broke or ownership if the ball became too ambiguous to my tastes.
This half of the game, we won by a devastating six goals.
Once we’d washed up in the showers and changed back into our regular clothes, I realized that the weather was finally letting up. I walked with them across the grounds instead of taking the underground passage, watching how the recent rainfall glistened off of the foliage and flora of my gardens.
I invited them all inside and requested that the staff put all hands on deck to whip up a small feast for us. I brought out some home-baked snacks to keep everyone satiated for the time being, and left them in the main gaming room to play pool, watch the big screen, toss darts, and help themselves to my liquor cabinet and bar.
“Aren’t you joining us?” One of the others asked as I turned to make my leave.
“I’ll be back in a short while, gentlemen,” I smiled. “I have a couple of affairs that demand my immediate attention… please, make yourselves comfortable until I return.”
I left them to their devices as I strolled down to the privacy of my foyer, whipping out my cell phone and dialing Jess.
She answered on the third ring.
“What do you want?”
I ignored the aggravation in her tone.
“Jess, I need to apologize for my behavior the last few days,” I told her. “I lost my cool in New Orleans… I know you meant the best for me and I’m sorry I cocked it all up. What you did here… Getting the guys together… I needed this.”
“Don’t mention it you da
mned fool. I’ve already forgiven you,” Jess chuckled. “Glad to see you came to your senses so quickly. I thought you might hole yourself up in your little stadium and play football for a week before anyone saw you again.”
“I might still take a couple more hours,” I smiled.
She laughed down the line.
“So come out with it. I know you didn’t just call me to say thanks.”
“Did you find the number I’m looking for?” I asked.
“You pay me for a reason, don’t you?” Jess laughed. “Of course I have the damn number.”
“In that case, put me through to Gloria Van Lark…”
Riley
When I came back down to the Pulliam Gallery, I had no idea what awaited me. It wasn’t every day the head curator summoned me down to speak with a possible buyer, and some of my largest and most expensive works were housed in the Pulliam… I was completely taken aback by whom my mystery admirer was.
“Oh, it’s you again,” I smiled at the lithe, old woman. She was dressed in a long, oversized coat and loafers, carefully regarding one of my biggest paintings. This one carried a price tag higher than most automobiles, and I never would have assumed she could have afforded it… “How are you doing?” I asked quietly.
“I’m a bit cold, but I think I’ll manage,” she responded warmly as I walked up. Her eyes remained on the artwork. “You know, most artists these days feel like they have to be so self-important… that they must reinvent the wheel… bring something completely new to the field. In some cases, it’s true. Most who try, fail. But you… I’ve given it some thought. I think you have some serious talent for your craft.”
I glanced nostalgically up at the painting.
“What do you think of it?” I asked.