seemed to connect his shoulders directly to his head without need of a neck, Nightlife would have resembled a teenage camper headed for the bunkhouse showers.
'That's not it,' Bobby said, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him toward an adjacent room where the offensive unit held its meetings. The room resembled a lecture hall with writing-desk chairs, a raised stage and a blackboard covered with 'x's' and 'o's.'
'I'm here about Janet Petty.'
'Never heard of her. She want an autograph?'
'She says you already tattooed her.'
Nightlife's features were expressionless, his eyes bored.
'Last night, your room,' Bobby said. 'She claims you raped her.'
'Hey, lawyer man, do I look like I gotta force 'em?' He cocked his head, pointed with both index fingers to his presumably innocent face and showed a smile that was more of a wink, a nudge in the ribs.
'You tell me. This is the second time around.'
'Shee-it! Old story, 'Meanor. Bitch complaining 'cause I tossed her out, didn't ask her number. She was moaning and groaning last night but feels used and abused in the morning.'
'Jackson, don't bullshit me. I'm your lawyer. The woman has a black eye, a split lip, two broken ribs, and contusions on her inner thighs.'
'Nightlife got a tool like an anaconda. Maybe she got bruised trying to ride it.'
'I said, don't bullshit me! We went through this before with the perfume counter clerk.'
'Right. How much is this one gonna cost me?'
'How about five to ten in Huntsville?'
'That ain't funny.'
'Neither is rape.' Bobby's headache had spread down his neck and he hunched his shoulders like a bear. 'I should never have gotten you off the first time.'
'What!' Nightlife jammed the heel of his hand into Bobby's chest. It was the same move he used to separate himself from a defensive back, a short push that disguises the power behind it. Bobby winced and took a step backward.
'Your job is to get me off!'
'No, my job is to make the state prove its case.'
'If it's her word against mine, how she gonna prove it?'
'Did you rape her?' Bobby shouted. His legs felt unsteady and he knew his face was reddening. 'Did you rape Janet Petty?'
'I did that 'ho better than she ever been done, then I came out here today and won the game. People pay good money to see me catch the ball and boogie in the end zone. They don't care who I fucked or how I fucked her.'
'Did you rape her!'
The player's shrug seemed to say, what's the big deal. His mouth was twisted into a mask of scornful derision. 'Maybe she said to stop, but Nightlife was past the point of no return.'
'You ought to be put away.' Saying it with more sadness than anger.
'And who's gonna do it? You, 'Meanor? Your wife's got bigger balls than you.'
'I'm going to talk to Kingsley.'
He turned, but Nightlife grabbed his shoulder. 'You do that, lawyer man! You tell the King. He knows who totes the mail, and it ain't you. I pay your salary! I am the main attraction and you're just an usher for the show.'
'You have an inflated opinion of your own worth.'
'Mr. K. thinks my worth is eleven million dollars a year plus performance bonuses.'
'When I talk to him, he may decide you're more trouble than you're worth.'
'If you had eyes up your ass, lawyer man, you still couldn't see shit! You don't have the power to touch me. You're a bitch just like that 'ho from last night.'
Bobby stepped close to Nightlife, invading what trial lawyers call the personal zone. He'd never lean over the rail and breathe on a juror this way, but just now, Bobby ached to get in Nightlife's face, and they stood nose-to- nose. Bobby knew the athlete could flatten him with one punch, but it didn't matter.
'Okay tough guy!' Bobby yelled. 'We know you can beat up cocktail waitresses and perfume clerks. What about me? You want some of me?'
'Shee-it!' Nightlife said, mocking him. 'Aren't you the guy who gives the lectures to the team every year? 'Some night you're gonna be in a bar, and some fool's gonna jack you up, challenge your manhood. But men, you gotta be the ones to back down, you gotta be the ones to say no.'' He cackled with laughter. 'So, 'Meanor, I'm saying 'no' to sticking my Nikes so far up your ass, you're gonna have swooshes coming out your ears. I did my job today. Now you go do yours!'
Holding onto his towel with one hand, Nightlife turned and walked back to the locker room.
On his way to the parking lot, Bobby concluded that his client was right.
Nightlife knows my job better than I do. My job is to protect the corporate assets. To wheedle and cajole judges, to obfuscate, confuse and muddy the issues. To warp illusion into truth and polish dung into gold. His job was to set Nightlife free so he could abuse some starry-eyed young woman all over again.
He felt untethered, floating free in a dark cold space like a lost astronaut, caught between what he knew was right and what he was paid so handsomely to do. For years, he'd longed to cleanse his soul. How low had he fallen? He wanted to change, but how? Did he even have the courage to take on his father-in-law? In the battle for his soul, had he already surrendered the prize?
'Have you a criminal lawyer in this burg?'
'We think so but we haven't been able to prove it on him yet. '
— Carl Sandburg, 'The People, Yes'
8
As sensitive as a swallow to a change in the wind, Christine had been concerned about Bobby's shifting moods for the past several months. But as hard as she tried, she still couldn't figure him out. Did he hate his job or hate her father? Was he insecure when measuring himself against Daddy?
Oh Bobby, don't you know I love you just the way you are?
She sat at the vanity mirror in her dressing area, brushing her blond hair, now loosened from its clips. She wore a peach-colored silk bathrobe and her knee was throbbing. The pain pills made her groggy, but she forced herself to focus on what Bobby was saying. She sensed that the tides of change were about to sweep Bobby in some new, uncharted direction, and it frightened her. He had always been so dependable. No drinking bouts with the guys from the office. No affairs. Now he seemed lost and needed her support more than ever.
Listening to his mournful monologue, Christine quickly realized he wasn't just having a case of mid-career blues. When he came out of the locker room, there was something different about him. A seething anger, seemingly directed at himself.
'I'm responsible,' he had told her, pacing in their bedroom after midnight. 'If I hadn't gotten Nightlife off, he'd have gone to jail, and this never would have happened. Now he thinks he can get away with anything, but why shouldn't he? I'm the one who enabled him.'
She measured her words like a baker with the sugar. 'You're too hard on yourself, Bobby. You keep looking for perfection in the world and in yourself.'
She'd always accepted Daddy's explanations about the players' antics. They were easy pickings for the media and for women setting them up for lawsuits and extortion. At heart, the players were just a bunch of fun-loving, God-fearing, hard-working boys. But Daddy had fiddled with the truth, she knew.
