Catching Colleen

It broke my heart. Poor Carol. What had happened in her life? I thought it a bad sign for the present at best, and possibly a bad omen. I was wrong. It was the worst omen.

I decided not to erase the recording. I made sure of the date and time on the recorded message, and went to bed.

The next day, Sunday, I checked my emails and surely enough, Carol had a message for me. There were lots of typing errors, improper capitalizations--mistakes I'd never seen from Carol. Just as I'd never expected a call of the type I'd received, the email was out of what I considered her character. Here's her message, with the spelling made better.

"Serge!! I'm married!! We're living in New York and he's putting it in my ass, right NOW. OMG. Hard to type. Just a... That's better. I'll bet I leak for hours. Call me sometime."

And she included her phone number. Not her husband's name. Maybe his name is just a detail. I was glad she lived in New York, far away. But I was worried about Carol, because she was not like this when I knew her. I do not think she ever spoke to anyone but me about any sex acts. She had...grace. I thought of her as a woman with dignity and almost saintliness: concerned, caring, gentle, and always good. I copied the email to a drive and took it with me to Joan's gathering.

It was a neat gathering. Ralph and I sat back and discussed the girls' offense and defense. He gave me a stack of diagrams of his plays. He'd taught them to use a 1-3-1 for full court and half court pressure; otherwise he relied on a man to man defense (girl to girl?). Offensively, they had a series of plays based on Dean Smith's old shuffle; he didn't think the girls would pick up the shuffle itself in only the month he had to prepare them, so he'd broken it down into separate plays. For a zone offense he relied on his own concoction, which tremendously overloaded the ball side of the court and probably left them vulnerable to backside rebounding--but they were so short he felt the added player would lead to fewer decent shots. I liked his 'well if they do that we're screwed' sort of reality check. It has long been my conviction that sometimes you win when the other team is better, and vice versa.

We talked about the individual players' strengths and weaknesses. I asked him what I could do to improve their confidence and success at the free throw line and he looked chagrined. I think he didn't want to say he had no idea. I guess in a month he just never got to it. Most coaches used to just say, "Ten minutes for free throws" and let the kids take turns, without any guidance. Things had changed, but sometimes you run out of time to teach all they need. I decided at the next practice, tomorrow, we'd concentrate on reviewing all plays and learning a new way to shoot free throws. We might not win, but we'd know what we were trying to do.

As he spoke, I thought of him laughing with the girls in huddles during time outs, tapping them on the head, and instructing constantly. Now it was as if he spoke of his own children, sitting in an easy chair and looking off into his memories. It was easy to see that he loved the girls and it was hurting him to have to give coaching up. When I said it would only be for a season, he looked at me and said he thought it might be longer. I knew he meant he was not going to win this contest. A good and brave and classy man.

Ralph's wife might be the most beautiful woman over 50 I've ever seen. Ralph is short and round and balding; Marge is tall, thin, and statuesque. Grey hair that had once been black, over bright blue eyes and smile wrinkles that attracted any sane man, a thin athletic body, a sophisticated wit: that was Marge on this Sunday and everyday I saw her. I could not imagine her in anything but a dress. Ralph and she had met when she played basketball for Xavier U in Cincinnati. Her team arrived at his school, the University of Kentucky, and he was the guy who showed them to their locker room. He said he couldn't get her off his mind. She said he was so ingenuous that when he said in private he'd like her number, she'd asked for his instead. And she called. She was from Cincinnati, so she managed weekends home often when the season was over.

They were a neat couple, facing his cancer, holding hands under the table, probably exchanging meaningful gestures as the conversation proceeded.

Joan and Art had two tables pushed together with tablecloths covering them. There were nine of us: Art, Joan, Penny, Maddy, Colleen, Renée, Ralph, Marge, and me. It was tight, but it was good brisket and beans and potatoes romanoff (incredible!) and an ice cream dessert. The talk was happy, despite the knowledge that Ralph was facing difficult health. Once the main dishes were cleared and the dishwasher mostly filled, dessert was distributed and coffee was given to those who desired it. Ralph tapped his spoon on his cup a few times and sought attention.

"It is too bad my health didn't hang on to the end of the season. Coaching you girls," he looked at Penny and Renée, "and your teammates and predecessors has been some of the most fun and greatest honor of my life. I've just really met Serge and he seems like a perfect choice to succeed me. I know he comes of a good family. I have only one piece of advice to give you, Serge: Love them. It isn't hard. Marge and I thank you for this impromptu dinner, which I think was a great way to gain some continuity for our girls and in some measure to honor me. And to bring Serge into our lives. Joan, Art, thank you." Marge squeezed his arm. Talk resumed, slowly.

After supper, about 7, Colleen and Renée made their way out, after Colleen stunned the crowd by kissing me on the cheek and asking me to call her tomorrow. I saw Renée smiling, and I shook her hand as they left. Then Ralph and Marge left, facing his first chemo in the morning. Penny and Maddy disappeared to talk on cell phones or do homework.

I asked Joan and Art to talk to me in private, where there was a computer with a disk drive. We went to the corner of the living room where there was a computer and printer on a desk. I said I did not want the girls to hear or see something.

"Carol called me and sent me an email last night," I said.

They looked surprised. Joan said, "So?"

"It's very strange. She left a message on my phone. In both messages, I think she was having sex with her new husband--she said they'd just gotten married and she wanted me to call her."

Art had the funniest expression on his face. I smiled. I brought out the zip drive and gave it to him. "If you'd put this on screen, and then I'll get into my phone recorder."

The audio came up right away. Joan was in an overstuffed chair. I sat on the arm of another loveseat, and Art was at the computer.They listened with astonishment, I think.

I pulled up the email then and they read it.

"This does not sound like the Carol I knew," Joan said. "Could she have changed that much?"

Art leaned the office chair back. "I wonder if there is some sort of threat involved here. I remember Carol as fun and chic, a little shy. I cannot imagine..."

"I don't want to call her," I said, "but I'm wondering if there is something wrong."

Joan said, "Why not call her parents?"

"Yeah, they were good people. They're still around, aren't they?" said Art.

"Far as I know they still live in Columbus," I said. "I'll give them a ring. Do you mind if I do it now?"

"No, no, go ahead. We'd like to know," Joan said. "And we'll listen in."

I remembered their old home line number, so I dialed it on my cell and heard it ringing. After about 6 Mrs. Berkin picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Lois. This is Serge. How are you? And Ron?"

"Serge! Great to hear from you. Fine, we're fine, both of us. And how are you?"

"Good, real good. You know I retired playing."

"Yeah, Ron mentioned it the other day. Can't imagine you without a ball uniform on or running to catch a plane."

"Yeah, I'm gonna miss it. Uh, the reason I called, I just got some unusual messages from Carol and I wondered if you knew anything."

"She called us yesterday afternoon from New York and said she just got married again," Lois said. She did not sound happy. "We met the guy once. Skip Lawrence. Guy from New Jersey. He's a lawyer too. They both work for the same firm."

"Yeah, she told me she was married, but it didn't sound normal. Wants me to call her."

"You? Why?"

"Don't know. Uh, Lois, it was weird. She said in the messages that they were having sex while she called or wrote. Weird. Not like the Carol I remember."

Lois sighed. "She's changed a lot, Serge. She's used some coke, I know. I don't know if she's addicted to anything. Last time we saw her, she had droopy eyes and seemed tired. The last two years have been hard. She hardly calls. Got married without telling us ahead of time. And Skip...well, he did not impress Ron."

"Okay, Lois, I never thought Carol would have trouble with drugs. Well, I'll call her later and see what she wants, okay? And I'll let you know as much as I can."

"That'd be great Serge. Call tonight. We're retired and don't need to sleep on a schedule."

I laughed. "Me too. I have about a two-hour drive from here and then I'll call her. So expect my call after 10 or later, okay?"

"Thanks, Serge."

"My best to Ron. Bye."

And I clicked out.

I turned to Art and Joan. "Apparently she's been using coke, maybe other drugs. They say her new husband is a lawyer named Skip Lawrence, a guy they don't really like. She works in the same law firm."

Art said, "It's just hard to believe Carol, drugs, and sexual license and..."

Joan nodded.

I said, "Well, I'll get on my way. I'll call her tonight. I'll get back to you after I get hold of the Berkins, if there is anything to report. Otherwise, I'll be up at school tomorrow, 11, right?"

"You better not miss that interview, Serge," warned my sister.

"Not to worry. I'm actually nervous--I feel like I'd let you and all these other people down if the principal doesn't like me."

"I'll set him up, you have nothing to worry about," she said.

Art shook his head. "Big sis is gonna take care of you. Hopefully she won't talk her way out of her own job."

*

The drive home was long and I wondered if the idea of moving to Sky Grey made sense, especially if I got the coaching job. It was a long way to go to see Colleen. I wondered how long it would be before it was appropriate for me to talk to her of love, to make that commitment, which seemed easier each moment I spent with her.

I made it to my apartment around 8:30 and checked for messages from Carol. I felt relieved there were none on either phone or email. I took a breath and called.

"Hello?" Carol's voice said. It sounded normal.

"Hi, Carol, it's Serge." I waited.

"Serge! Great to hear from you! Have you heard I got married yesterday?" she said, excitedly.

I thought, Perhaps it's best she doesn't remember. So should I hang up?

"Uh, yeah, that's why I'm calling. I heard from you, Carol. You sent me an email and left a message on my phone telling me. And you asked me to call you," I said. I hoped she heard the concern in my tone.

I heard...crying. Light crying.

"Are you sure? I called you, too? Oh my God."

"Uh, would you like me to play back the phone message? You can probably find the email in your Sent file."

"Yeah, if you could Serge, I'm so sorry, could you play it for me." So I did, and I heard louder crying.

"I'm so sorry. Skip used something on me..." I heard a click.

I tried calling back, but it went to message. I left one, but I think she was just overwhelmed.

I called the Berkins.

"Hi, Serge here, Ron. Carol didn't remember calling or emailing me. She was surprised when I played the recording. She said something about Skip did something to her, but she just hung up and wouldn't take my call anymore."

Ron exhaled loudly, which I remembered of him whenever he faced some stressful situation. "We were afraid of that. Serge, uh, we don't know what to do, and... Well, we need to think and talk this over. You've done enough. This is our family problem."

"Ron?" I asked.

"Yeah?"

"I still...There is someone else in my life now, but I still have feelings for Carol. Our breakup was as amicable as could be, considering its negatives. Whatever you decide, let me know what happens. Is it alright if I call you to see what's up?"

"Of course, Serge. We never blamed the break up on you or her. It was just sad. You have always been in our thoughts."

"You guys too. I'll call if you don't call me."

"Sounds good, Serge. Bye." Click.

I put the phone down and thought for a moment. It was 10:20, still early enough to call Joan.

"Hi, Serge."

"Hi, Joan. I reached Carol. She had no memory of the call to me or the email. I played her the message and she broke down crying. She said Skip did something to her, and then she hung up and wouldn't take my call anymore. I called her parents, and they are worried he's giving her drugs; I think this might be a date rape drug or something. I think he's on some power thing getting her to message me during sex. She sounded mortified. I wonder if she's addicted."

Joan was quiet. "Not much we can do to help her. Let her parents know when she contacts you. She's grown up--she needs to get help. And get away from Skip, I think."

"Should I tell Colleen?" I thought about my own question. "Yeah, I should. I'll tell her tomorrow, play her the messages, you know. I don't think I'll do us any favors by keeping secrets from her."

Joan said, "You don't need me here, I guess, but I think you should tell her. We're none of us without baggage. Well, maybe me. But she'll understand your ex has gone crazy. Carol was my friend, you know."

"Thanks Joan See you. Big day tomorrow." Click.

*

I had trouble sleeping, not because of the Carol situation but the interview to coach 13-year-old girls basketball. Mr. Kilpatrick was friendly and actually grateful. He said that my experience in baseball would quell some doubts as to whether I knew enough about sports. He asked if I had anything on my record--I'd have to get a background check asap. The Athletic Director would make sure I got all the paperwork in. He shook my hand and sent me to the secretary to get a visitor tag, then to the AD, who was in class and would see me at noon.

So I took out a little notebook and wrote out a plan for practice, minute by minute. I doubted I'd be able to follow it, or even should, but it got me thinking in that vein and it felt good. Practice was an hour and a half usually, and I had no problem thinking of stuff to do. I didn't know the girls' drills, so I hoped Ralph would hang around for one or two. I checked the papers he'd given me and sure enough, he'd listed drills and the names he used for them. He said which ones the kids would just need me to call out the title and they could start with my whistle.

The AD was a half-time special ed teacher, and she met me by the gym. She handed me a paper with instructions, addresses, and phone numbers. "Mr. Kowalsh, I'm glad you're willing to do this job. You need to get a background check, fill out this for taxes, and these others. ASAP. You'll need to get a certificate for CPR, another for the online course on concussions--it's listed on the page. The concussion thing takes an hour. Tomorrow, if you can."

So in five minutes I'd been given hours of busywork, mainly because the AD had to teach again at 12:15. She was half-time, and I'd come in the middle of it. I wondered how closely I'd be working with her. I looked through all the papers and looked for a place to work. I had several hours until practice, so I decided to go to Colleen's store.

Catching Colleen Ch. 04 Stepping up to the Plate

"Serge!" She called out when she saw me in line. It was a long line.

"Quite a line, here, Babe, you need help?" I said.

"Nope, got everyone working and no more room," she said. She came around the end of the counter, stood on tiptoes and kissed my cheek, much to the amusement of everyone there. Then she headed back behind the counter.

"Okay, but you know I'm quite the javaslinger."

She was pulling stuff out of the microwave, wrapping it and handing it out, then helping the kid on the register, smiling all the while. I was behind several guys, one in business attire, one who looked like a college math teacher retired, another who was a worker in some uniform. The uniformed guy turned to me. He was about 45, I guessed.

"Are you Serge Kowalsh?" he asked.

"I am," I said. I held out my hand. "And you are?"

"Al Menken. Heard you retired."

"Yep. Got tired of playing in the dirt."

The other guys were listening in now.

"Kowalsh, the guy on the Reds?" The guy in the suit said.

"Yeah. And you?"

And that was how it went. Everyone introduced himself, and I said I wouldn't remember all the names so just reintroduce whenever they saw me.

The first guy said, "What are you doing in Sky Grey? Passing through?'

"Nah, every time I come in this Starbuck's Colleen kisses me so I keep coming back. Actually I'm going to coach the 8th grade girls basketball team. The coach is ill and my sister sort of got me the job."

"Your sister?"

"Yeah, she teaches at the middle school. Joan McManiss."

"Hell, we know Joan. Art's wife. Your sister? Never knew."

"The family doesn't talk about me much..." I thought I'd be using that line a lot in Sky Grey.

Eventually it came to my turn. "Venti, bold, room." Colleen walked in from the back. I said, "Oh, I got the job. Tough interview, but I came through."

She shook her head and said, "Good. Always helps when they're almost desperate."

"Oh, I need to talk to you in private sometime today. After practice?"

She was busy. "Yeah, we'll work it out."

At 4, Ralph and I met with the girls in the bleachers, everyone dressed for practice.

Ralph spoke. "Ladies, I know you all know that I have cancer and need to focus on chemotherapy and radiation treatments. I'll be missing school, and I won't be in good enough shape to coach you. You've all seen Penny's uncle Serge at some of our practice games. He's agreed to take over for me, and to give me frequent reports about how you are all doing. If I'm up to it, I'll come see you play or visit your practice. Until then, give Mr. Kowalsh your respect and the team will be okay. Now I'm gonna leave, and Mr. Kowalsh will run you through your opening drills. Help him out because he doesn't know how we do things." He went to each girl and shook her hand; one or two hugged him, and then he said, "Good luck, Serge," and left.

"Hi, Ladies. I'm happy to be here even if it's kind of sad about the coach. In a minute we'll start our drills. Today we're going to run through your plays, offense and defense, in-bounds, your press break, and then we're going to change the way you shoot free throws, because some of you don't feel confident they'll go in. If we still have time, we'll do an easy shooting drill that I can teach you quickly. Okay? Any questions?"

A hand went up. "Bobbi?"

"Yeah, Mr. Kowalsh, if Mr. Wilton gets better will he come back and replace you?"

"I don't know, but that would seem fair to me. I wouldn't mind finishing the season as his assistant."

Another hand came up.

"Um, Chrissy?"

"Is it true you played for the Reds?"

"Yeah, it was a lot of fun. But my arm's been sore for twenty years, to tell you the truth." They laughed as I flexed my right arm.

"Okay, 11 Girl Drill to start. Go to your positions..." And so it went. The drills got them running and warm, shooting lots of shots--and not badly. I wondered if they were a good team. I had no means to compare but for the two practice games.