Page 195 of Jocks

To The Point

To The Point 1

Gideon

“MynameisGideon Sullivan, I’m a junior at Stanford University. I appreciate you taking the time to hear my side of the story.” That’s how my introduction to Duckworth and Betina Bauder began. Being called to a prestigious Palo Alto estate that Sunday was not on my list of things that happen every day. When the president of your university tells you to be there, you show up.

Experts say, at my age, my brain isn’t fully formed. But even with my young male brain, I knew when I got the fencing scholarship to Stanford, it’d be a rush. What could be better than a scholarship that pays you to strike an opponent with a weapon while you avoid being hit yourself? What could be better than pretending to be a Musketeer for fun and education? After this weekend I’ve come to think fencing is a lot like love. Simple, absolute, and – if you get it right – triumphant.

“If you follow Stanford’s sports website, you may have heard of me,” I said, trying to make myself sound more legit. “I know the university president asked you to get the facts before he arrived, and that’s what I’m here to give you. I want you to know what happened from my perspective, but it wouldn’t be complete unless you talk to a few other people, like Bluto and Diana.” If gambling is the game, Bluto is your guy. Diana, on the other hand, is their daughter.

Duckworth Bauder sniffed, and I was immediately struck by the thought that his drug of choice was snuff, not cocaine. He was that uptight. “Very well, Mr. Sullivan, you may observe as we continue this inquiry.” I took a chair off to the side and tried to disappear into a very large areca palm.

Diana had a much more formal relationship with her parents than I’d ever had with mine. ‘Yes sir, and yes ma’am,’ for instance, were apparently required. That kinda got to me. I was astonished when she started by giving them a physiology lesson. “Did you know studies conducted on the prefrontal cortex, the part of the brain just behind the forehead, show that’s the area responsible for a lot of men's shortcomings?”

“It’s all very interesting, dear. What does that have to do with this situation?” Betina demanded.

“My psychology prof says that region of the brain controls cognitive analysis and abstract thought, as well as corrective behavior in social situations. I wonder if that’s what’s wrong with Duncan? What do you think?” She laughed charmingly and paused for their laugh or even a smile from the folks but got nothing. “So…after that class, I thought it was kismet that I sat through that discussion, discerning science from opinion. I didn’t know how much I’d need the info.”

Her mother sniffed. Her father harrumphed.

Diana carried on gamely. “On the subject of boneheads, I have nothing to say about Gideon Sullivan, not only about my side of this past weekend but his side too. The whole thing seems pretty obvious to me, but there are three sides to every story. There are people who could shed more light on the subject. You need to talk to Duncan and Bluto.”

If Diana ‘yes sir’ed and yes ma’am’ed’ her parents, Duncan, her twin, was the polar opposite. It didn’t take someone with a fully developed brain to know he was the hippy-dippy black sheep of the family. He sauntered in, flopped down, gulped some Coca-Cola, belched without apology, and began. “No way, man. I want to stay off that whole wavelength. What a mess. But, come to think of it, there was another witness, Gid’s water boy, Bluto. They call him that because he… well because he reminds everyone of that guy in Animal House. You know the guy who broke the liquor bottle over his head?” He waited for acknowledgment from the parental units which naturally never came. “Anyway, you need to speak to Bluto.”

I often wondered if Bluto had modeled his whole collegiate personality on his name’s sake from Animal House. He had the belligerence down, but never the guts, so he tended to go in, stir up the pot really well and leave someone else holding the spoon. This time it was me. “Yeah, I could tell you everything, you know, the whole truth.” Bluto slouched into the formal chair and drummed his fingers on the arms. “Not to snitch, but looks aside, I’m a standup guy.” He stuck a Camel in his mouth and then seemed to remember where he was and snatched it away. “Let me think now…” His bloodshot eyes narrowed as he focused on the large Takashi Murakami painting over the fireplace. It must have cost more than the Bentley in the circular drive. “Yah know? I don’t know anything…”

So, it was obvious everyone was scared shitless of the Bauders, even Diana. I guessed it was going to fall on me to mount my own defense. I accepted the offer of water, drained it, and began. “It started Thursday night, the last night of the California Women’s Invitational Fencing Tournament. A few of us on the men’s team rallied to follow the women to cheer them on. We didn’t consider it gambling. It was nothing formal, just some friendly bets between the guys.

“Stanford is seen as a west-coast powerhouse, even in women’s fencing. But their rival, Miller College, a girl’s school, is elite, and even richer per student than Stanford.” I waited for an acknowledgment but got icy stares. “Their coach is a three-time world fencing champion of the Fédération Internationale d'Escrime. I mean, they have to be fluent in French as a prerequisite to join the team.” I shrugged. “I thought there was money to be made betting on them. The Dueling Papillons, that’s their team’s name, just looked better to me.

“I’m on scholarship, you know, I work at an apartment complex when I’m not in class, and I’m not gonna bet just outta team loyalty. I sunk half my food allowance into five boxes on the betting pool grid, and I won fifteen hundred dollars in twenties. For me, that’s nothing to sneeze at, but it was flashy enough for me to pay for beers.” I rubbed between my eyes. “Lots of beers.” The memory of the hangover still lingered.

“It was nine on Friday morning and I was breakfasting on a bottle of aspirin and tomato juice. Nothing helped.” Duckworth actually looked sympathetic about the hangover, so I laid it on thick. “Every sound was exaggerated. By the time I got dressed and left my hotel room all I had was three twenties and a few quarters. I had no idea where all my money was. I needed caffeine. I headed down to the pool to chill with a huge mug of iced coffee.

“There she was again, your daughter.” I could see Diana peeking around the door, listening. “At least, I thought it was her. The night before she’d caught my eye as the long cool woman in a black dress. That morning she filled out a bright red bikini. She broke through my Bond-girl-fantasy when she splashed across the shallow end, waving, and calling, “Hey, Gid…” She knew my name. I didn’t know how she knew my name.

Diana

When Duncan first started razzing Gideon, I didn’t know who he was talking about. It was “Gid is such a control freak, man, he never gets high…blah, blah, blah. One day I was in my required phys ed class, and our coach was called away. We bitched and looked at our manicures for about five minutes while we listened to an argument outside the room.

“I’m supposed to teach them everything about foil fencing in forty-five minutes? You insult me. It’s taken me eight years to get to tournament-level fencing. What’s the point”? That guy was steamed. The TA let him rant and then blew his whistle. “Sonnofabitch, are you trying to deafen me?”

“No, Gideon, I just need you to do this. Remember when you are up for scholarship review, they look at you being agreeable…”

Well, he wasn’t exactly Mr. Agreeable when he stalked into our class. What was he? He was hot, that’s for sure. He was also Mr. Confidence in tight white fencer’s gear. What a sight once he got in the door. We got the best instruction on a subject we’d never use again in our lives. As he talked about the history and the boring stuff, he gracefully shadow-fenced an opponent. We watched in rapt attention.

So, last night when I heard his growling about how hard his English Lit professor graded and he said his editor bounced on him. I thought… I could help. You bet, I helped myself to a comical evening with a beer-infused Gideon Sullivan. That made me hungry for more.

Gideon

Gideon continued to plead his case. “I was in the shade with dark sunglasses on, and my eyes still locked shut. The sound of her voice dragged over me like daggers.” Duckworth nodded in commiseration, but Betina only sniffed. I was beginning to think these people had allergies, or black mold or something. “So, I’m sitting there feeling like blood is gonna run outta my ears any minute, and I asked, nicely, you know, “You… can you dial it back a few decibels?

“She glared at me.” Duckworth side-eyed toward Betina, and I thought I knew where Diana had gotten that look.” She said, ‘You do know who I am, right? You know from last night?’

“I said, yeah.” I scratched as she swayed slowly toward me, drying herself. I didn’t describe to her folks what I saw of that tight, muscular, tanned body with a kiss of red spandex in minimal places.

“‘Did you just get up?" Her tone was absurdly accusing. Again, in my mind, I was seeing Diana’s damp hair dripping on the half-moons of her breasts. I drew down my baseball cap. Between the hat and my sunglasses, she couldn’t watch me watch her.

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