Chapter Fourteen

Dean got to training on time, but he should have arrived earlier. With one foot in an orthopedic boot and the other ankle wrapped tight, Prince had hobbled in on a pair of crutches an hour before, possibly the only time he’d been the first to arrive for a workout. He’d told quite a tale about being with “his woman” when Dean barged in and knocked him down a flight of stairs in a jealous rage. Didn’t everyone know how their quarterback acted at Mariah’s and in the gym yesterday? There should be fines, big ones, penalties and punishments. The team doctors took over where the emergency room left off. Diagnosis: a broken bone in one foot and a high ankle sprain in the other leg, numerous bruises, a small scalp wound, some deep facial scratches, and a slight concussion. They placed the wide receiver on the injured reserve list despite his protests that he’d be good as new in a few weeks.

Coach told Dean the general manager and his crew waited to hear his side of the story, not the best way to start a day. Marty Buck sent him off with a pat on the back. The GM, Mitchell Michener, was a distinguished man with a permanent crease in his forehead and an ulcer in his belly that had him tossing down antacids like malted milk balls. He asked Dean to be seated upon his arrival at the office.

Sitting quietly to one side, Dr. Edmund Funk, team shrink for going on thirty years, held a pen poised above a paper notebook, very old school. The man Dean’s dad called Dr. Mind Fuck, usually following that up with “Sex addiction my sweet Cajun ass”, had gone completely bald only increasing his egghead identity. The public relations director, Acton Jackson, better known as Action, filled another chair. With one leg crossed over the other, Action’s foot jumped nervously as if he would have preferred to be pacing the room. No sign of the legal team yet.

After listening to a recording of the accusations and marveling at how Prince’s grammar and respectful attitude had improved, Dean admitted, “Partly true. He attacked my cousin, Stacy Polasky—and she’s not his woman. Stace broke his foot and raked his face defending herself, but I did throw him down the stairs. Probably got the sprain and concussion then.”

“You rip his hair out?” Action thumped a folded newspaper against his thigh.

Dean placed the bag containing the braids on the desk.

“You brought breakfast to this meeting?”

Dean suppressed a grin. Last evening, Tom mistook the evidence for a sack of hamburgers when he came home hungry as always. The sight of the weave with its particle of skin attached grossed him out big time. “Some of Prince’s braids, though they do smell a little like french fries now. They caught on a nail on his way down. I didn’t pull them out. He’s welcome to have them back. I’ll bet the blond streaks cost extra.”

Not a single person smiled. Mitch Michener wagged a finger at him. “We gave away three years worth of early draft picks to get you on our team, Billodeaux. Hell, we had to take a kicker the next year we fell so low.”

“Tom worked out great for you, right?”

“Yes, but this isn’t about Tommy the Toe. We expected you to set a shining example of what a quarterback should be, and up until recently you did. Prince Dobbs wouldn’t be on our roster if we’d had any better choices this past year. We counted on you to work with him.”

“I’ve tried. When he drops a pass, it’s my fault, he says. When Stacy didn’t want to go out with him, he hit her, left bruises on her body, and tried to rape her. With Prince, it’s always some else’s fault. I have pictures of him leaving her place still unzipped. A tourist snapped it. Here’s more of Stacy’s injuries.” Glad Xochi had foresight to take those pictures after he’d left, Dean passed his phone around the group. Dr. Funk said, “Hmmm,” and the PR man made a small whimper deep in his throat.

“How much do you think she’ll want?” Action asked. “We have to keep this quiet.”

“No money and certainly not notoriety. I talked to her late last night. I needed to be sure she was okay. Stacy wants Prince Dobbs gone from New Orleans and for any other team that takes him to be made aware of his problems. She says he needs mental help. If you can’t do that for her, she’ll report this to the police and take out a restraining order on him. You know that will make the press.”

Mitch appeared pleased with the deal but still dug several antacids tablets out of the jar on his desk. “Anyone else?” he offered. The PR man took one. Dr. Funk shook his head.

“I’d expect someone raised by Joe Dean Billodeaux to be a team player. Sounds like Stacy is. Most women would milk this for every cent.”

Dean kept his hands gripped tightly to the armrests of his chair to prevent himself from committing his own assault on the GM. To his right, Dr, Funk stated mildly, “I will see the recordings of both these meetings are transcribed and append copies of those pictures to the Dobbs file. I have observed none of his father’s proclivities for sexual dalliance in Dean and would take his word in most situations. Prince, however, is a raging egomaniac of the worst kind. While he is unable to train, I’ll schedule some mandatory sessions with him to discuss anger management and sexual harassment, but unlike Joe Billodeaux, most men don’t change because they have no desire to try. Dump Dobbs as soon as you can.”

“He won’t be traveling with the team any more. We’ll put out a statement that he injured himself in an off the field accident and will be out at least six weeks,” the PR man stated.

Mitch crunched his tablets before saying, “Once he’s healthy again, we’ll try to work out a trade, maybe for Little Joe Bullock up in Cleveland.”

Dean no longer felt he had to suppress a grin. “That would be great! There’s no better lineman, and Little Joe hates Cleveland winters and Ohio food.” He’d grown up with Little Joe, son of the great cornerback, Revelation Bullock. The Rev and his offspring shared the same massive build and appetite.

Action Jackson thumped that paper in his hand one more time before he unfolded it. “I’d save the happy for later Billodeaux. You seen this?”

Dean opened another of the scandal sheets that filled the news racks. This one featured a very clear photo of Prince and Dean facing off in Mariah’s. Stacy appeared as a slightly blurred blonde harder to identify and for that Dean felt grateful. She was named within the article. The headline read Dean and Dobbs Collide over Cute Cousin.

“No, I hadn’t seen this. I apologize for my unprofessional behavior in a public place.”

“Never heard that one from his daddy,” Dr. Funk remarked.

“But I’d toss Prince down a staircase again if I had to. What I stopped was a rape about to happen. This only amounted to a little push and shove. I left as soon as Mariah sent her bouncers to break it up.”

Unable to restrain himself any longer, Action Jackson began to pace. “We’ll need the girl to give a statement and sign an agreement not to press charges or hold the Sinners’ organization liable. The press and the public will put two and two together when they see this and figure out how Prince came by his injuries, but we don’t need to confirm anything. Meanwhile, stay away from the young woman. Prince has his orders, too.”

“She’s my cousin, part of our family. We see each other all the time.”

“Not now you don’t. Cool it with her and stay clear of Dobbs.”

“Is that all, sir?”

The GM leaned back in his chair, one hand on his flat aching belly. “We’re fining both you and Dobbs the same amount for this debacle.” He named a sum that would have made a player less well paid than the quarterback wince.

Dean merely nodded. “May I go now?”

“Get out on the practice field. Let’s see how you manage against Minnesota on Sunday without Dobbs as a receiver,” Mitch said with a flick of his hand.

“Oh, I’ll manage just fine, sir, just fine.” Dean held in his burning desire to hit something all the way to the field. There he got the anger out of his system with sweat and hard work, but who were they to tell him he couldn’t see his own cousin whenever he wanted?

****

He’d called after she got home for the day. Stacy had kept her phone on for a change hoping to hear Dean’s voice telling her everything went fine and maybe something more personal. Instead, she’d been asked by a man named Acton Jackson to come to Sinners headquarters and fill in some paperwork regarding the incident with Prince Dobbs. Busy with a client for the day, she’d set an appointment for the following morning and debated trying to get in touch with Dean, but he’d be at practice. Bad form to call him at work and worse form to hound a guy by phone after a night of sex. Though the clock said seven p.m., evidently Dean Billodeaux was the one man in the world who did call the next day. She didn’t like what he had to say.

“I’m so sorry about this mess, Stacy. Sorry you’ll have to go in and sign papers clearing the Sinners organization. Just tell them what really happened between you and Prince, no more and no less. The lawyers will be there.”

“Did you say we made love afterwards?”

“Had sex? No, that’s none of their business, but maybe I took advantage of you in a weak moment.”

“Believe me, I am not weak, Dean.”

“I didn’t mean it in that way. Anyhow, the GM and the PR guy don’t want us to see each other for a while, especially not out in public. Does anyone else know that we did it last night?”

She guessed she’d been fortunate he hadn’t said “hooked up” or “bumped uglies”, but what they’d done amounted to far more than having sex in her opinion. They’d broken through a barrier separating them for years, and he only showed concern about who knew it.

“Xochi figured it out,” she replied tersely. “If she knows, so does Tom, they’re that close.” Actually, Xo had asked for all the details, and she’d supplied them while getting weepy again over his tenderness. “Did Tom say anything to you?”

“Not so far. I think he knew something was up. Said I seemed pretty relaxed and happy for a man about to be chewed out by the brass. I’ll ask him not to say anything to anybody, especially the rest of the family. Would you ask the same of Xochi? Dad told me to proceed with caution. You know I didn’t. We should cool it for a while.”

Stacy imagined Dean tugging on that same curl on his forehead he’d inherited from his father as he sometimes did when stressed. She wished she could rip it out by the roots right now like that piece of Prince’s weave.

“If that’s the way you want it, you big lout,” she said, putting some sting into her words.

“Don’t get up on your high throne, Princess. This isn’t the way I want it. It’s for your own good. I never want to see your name or face in the tabloids again. After this blows over we can…”

“I think I know what’s best for me!”

“Like flirting with Prince Dobbs?”

“Sure, throw that at me, too.”

“Just a reminder to be careful while I’m on the road and not around to protect you.”

“Oh, go protect yourself—and use a condom next time.” She disconnected. They were right back where they’d started from. Stacy punched one of her silver cushions in frustration.