Streak - 48. Chapter 48

January 25, 2003

The Savoy Hotel

London, England

JJ

 

I stood by the bar, watching all the guests celebrate this wedding from hell. I was drinking some really good Champagne, so good that I’d downed the first glass a little too fast. After the second one, it was starting to go to my head and I was getting a little drunk, so I slowed my pace down. I wasn’t willing to lose control of myself in this place, surrounded by all these people, and give that bitch Mary Ellen an excuse to embarrass me.

Darius sauntered up and stood next to me. We all looked good in formal attire, but it seemed to look the most foreign on Darius. That was unusual, since he was so cool; he usually looked relaxed and at ease even in a suit, but wearing tails seemed to change that. “Where’s Will?” he asked.

“Dancing,” I said, and chuckled. “He’s waltzing with some Baroness.”

Darius laughed. “I’ll bet he’s ready to kill Marie for making him take those dancing lessons.”

“No shit,” I said, laughing with him at Will’s discomfort. As soon as all the old ladies had seen what a good dancer he was, he’d been all but mobbed by them.

Zach walked up and joined us. Damn, he looked amazing today, but like Darius, he seemed a little uncomfortable. “You lost your date,” Darius joked.

Zach laughed. “I took lots of pictures. I’m going to plaster them all over the walls at Menlo.”

“How do you like it there?” I asked.

“It’s good,” he said with a shrug. “I’ve been to so many schools, it’s not really a big deal to do one more. This one’s a lot harder, but I’m doing alright.”

“Cool,” Darius said. His eyes zeroed in on a really attractive woman. She had dark hair, and a thin, sleek body. “There’s someone I need to meet.” And with that, he was off.

“Dude, what a wolf,” Zach said with a strange combination of admiration and amusement.

“He’s always been that way,” I said. “I remember when we were little kids and had to meet with a social worker, I hardly talked at all, while Darius flirted with her the whole time.”

“He’s good at it,” Zach noted, as Darius led the hot brunette out onto the dance floor. “He doesn’t dance as well as Will though.”

“Maybe you should take lessons too,” I teased.

“I’m not seeing that,” he said dubiously. “Head’s up,” he cautioned, as we saw Mary Ellen walking toward us.

“JJ!” she said in that cheerful way that she had, the one that veiled the true bitch underneath. “You have to dance with the bride.”

I wanted to tell her that I’d rather chew on broken glass, but I smiled instead. “It would be my pleasure,” I said with a bow, and led her out onto the dance floor. It was a pretty basic foxtrot, but it would have been easier if she’d have just let me lead like she was supposed to.

“I’m so glad you were in the wedding party,” she lied.

“Me too,” I said, lying back.

“Alex is going back to Boston, and he’s going to spend the next semester there,” she said, telling me something I already knew. “I’m going back to Virginia to finish up my degree.”

“You’ll be done that fast?” I asked.

“I figured out a way to do it,” she said brusquely, clearly not wanting to talk about it. It was weird, because we were dancing in this sea of people that we knew, but it was like we were in a room all by ourselves.

“Good for you,” I said, even as I spun her slowly, just to mix things up.

“Then Alex is coming back to England in June, to be here when the baby is born,” she explained.

“I thought you weren’t due until July?”

“Yeah, but you never know, and besides, it’s not safe for me to travel so soon before the child is born,” she said.

“Makes sense,” I agreed, wondering why she was telling me all this.

“So I just wanted to lay things out for you.” Her tone had gotten serious when she said that, and the façade had fallen off.

“Go ahead,” I said.

“You and Alex can have this time together, and enjoy each other, and I’m fine with that, but when summer rolls around, it’s over,” she said.

“Excuse me?” I asked, stunned that she’d presume to tell me what to do.

“You heard me. When June rolls around, you two are over. I could have just sprung this on you then, but I’m trying to be nice, and to give you some warning.”

“What if that’s not what Alex wants?” I countered.

“It is what Alex wants, even if he doesn’t know it yet,” she said.

“What makes you think you get to make the call on that?” I asked her defiantly.

“I stood at that altar today and we said ‘I do’,” she said smugly. “That’s why I’m making the call.”

“I guess we’ll see,” I said, blowing her off.

“I’ve given you fair warning,” she said. “If you come back to England with Alex in June, you’d better be ready for one major shitstorm.”

“I appreciate the warning,” I said, in a way that was the equivalent of saying ‘fuck you’.

The song ended and she stepped away from me and curtsied, prompting my innate manners to spur me into action to bow in return. “Thank you for the dance,” she said, and then she was off to bother someone else.

 

January 25, 2003

The Savoy Hotel

London, England

 

Wade

 

I stood off to the side, watching the interplay between the various people here. I hadn’t really been worried that the two groups, Americans and Britons, would get along, and as it turned out, so far I’d been right. This had been one of the more enjoyable wedding receptions I’d been to.

“Things seem to be going pretty well,” Matt said, as he walked up and stood next to me.

“Don’t say that,” I joked. “As soon as you do, something will go horribly wrong.” Visions of the nightmare I’d hosted at Thanksgiving popped into my head.

“I think we’ve got this one pretty much put to bed,” he said, since the party was winding down. I looked at my watch and saw that it was 2am, and while there was no prescribed ending, it seemed that most everyone was departing.

“I’ve been standing by the door, saying goodbye to people for an hour and a half now,” I grumbled. “I hope it’s almost over.”

“Who’s that talking to your mother?”

“You mean the rather tall, balding man, with the slight beer belly, and no muscle tone?” I asked jovially.

“Yeah, that guy,” Matt said.

“That is the Marquess of Preston, Alex’s father,” I explained.

“Wonder what he’s talking to your mother about,” Matt mused.

“From what Alex has said, his father is a pretty disreputable guy,” I explained. He’d been nice enough when I’d met him, but there was a sleaziness about him that made him seem dangerous.

“No wonder he’s talking to your mother,” Matt said.

“No wonder,” I agreed casually, even though those two, tied up in deep conversation, were a subject of pretty grave concern to me. God only knew what they were plotting. I watched them chatting, even as I surveyed the room. JJ left, escorting Susannah Calthorpe, although I wasn’t sure how significant that was. He’d been really closed up about their relationship, and even Will claimed JJ wouldn’t talk to him about it. Nana and the Duke had vanished long ago, along with the rest of the older crowd, using their advanced ages as a good excuse not to stay up all night drinking.

“Are you two up for an after party?” Alex said, as he almost stumbled up to us. He was pretty drunk, but still managed to seem in control of himself. “It’s in our suite.”

“Dude, aren’t you supposed to go consummate your marriage?” Matt joked.

“Consummating my marriage is what got me married in the first place,” he shot back, cracking us up. “Plenty of time for that.”

“We’d be delighted to attend,” I said formally, bowing for effect.

“Excellent. You’ll be on hand to interpret for my friends. It’s hard to understand half of what your people say with those Virginia accents,” he said.

“Right and understanding the Scotsmen here is a breeze,” I replied. The more they drank, the harder it was to understand them.

“I would say we both have our challenges,” Alex said. We were about to head out when his father walked up and joined us.

“What a delightful wedding,” he said, ostensibly to me.

“Thank you,” I said blandly. I was aware that Alex had tensed up considerably, so much that his inebriation seemed to have vanished.

“I hope that this union makes you happy,” he said to Alex.

“I think it will, and it will help me to fulfill my duty, to pass Bridgemont on to my son,” Alex said sharply.

“What is left of it, anyway,” the Marquess said, just as rudely.

“Have you spoken to Grandfather about that?” Alex asked.

“I have not spoken to him at all since I have been here,” he replied. “I think that has made both of us happier as a result.”

“Probably, especially if he’d have explained modern inheritance laws in the United Kingdom,” Alex said. It was extraordinary, because he’d actually raised his voice a bit.

“I have attorneys who have educated me on them, and on my rights, Alex,” the Marquess said, with just as much volume and venom.

“Then you will know that the only thing that is required to be conveyed to you is the title,” Alex said, shooting his father a smarmy smile.

“Along with the property that has been entailed to the title,” he said.

“Is that how it works in South Africa?” Alex asked sarcastically. “Because it doesn’t work that way here. Not anymore.”

“Fortunately for you, with this new marriage, you’ll have the resources to hire an army of lawyers to figure out that you could not be more wrong,” the Marquess said.

“Indeed?” Alex demanded, and quite loudly.

“Gentlemen, please allow me to make an observation,” I said, intervening. They both glared at me. “Regardless of how this conversation turns out, I would submit that this is not the venue for it.”

My words had an immediate impact on both of them, suggesting that they were about to make a scene, something that was truly undignified. “Quite so,” the Marquess said. “I wish you well, Alex. As I am leaving tomorrow, I fear this is the only chance I have to tell you that.”

“Thank you,” Alex said rigidly. “Have a safe trip home.” And with that, the Marquess left the room. “What an asshole.”

“There is worse news,” I said, and waited for him to focus on me. “He spent a lot of time chatting with my mother.”

“That is bad news,” Alex said, then shook off all of our ruminations. “I think I had best find my bride and head upstairs to host the after-party.”

“I think that is a wise idea,” I said, smiling. We cleared the room out after that, in a nice way, then stayed up all night drinking with most of the crowd that was under 30.

 

February 16, 2003

San Francisco, CA

 

Will

 

“They say there were 200,000 people here,” I said to Grand with enthusiasm, as we walked away from the anti-war protests.

“I would say those are optimistic numbers,” he said. I’d been ranting and chanting, while he’d been much calmer, focusing on networking. It was funny to see him talking to these old hippies who still remembered him from the Vietnam anti-war protests.

“How come this protest wasn’t held yesterday, like they were everywhere else?” I asked. There had been protests around the world, with millions of people turning out to try and stop this upcoming war with Iraq.

“San Francisco postponed their demonstration until today, because yesterday conflicted with the Chinese New Year celebration,” he said. That made sense.

“When are they coming to pick us up?” I asked. Escorial would send a car up to get us. Neither one of us wanted to fight the traffic on a day with protesters everywhere.

“Not for a couple of hours,” he said. “I figured we could enjoy the City while traffic died down.”

“A good idea,” I said, as we walked up toward Union Square. “Let’s get something to eat.”

“What a surprising suggestion from you,” he said sarcastically, since I was always hungry.

“I’m a growing boy,” I said with a smile. I was trying to cheer him up, but it wasn’t working. There was an air of sadness about him these days, an inner melancholy that none of us could bust through.

We wandered through Union Square, and then through Chinatown, until we got to the restaurant Dad had taken us to the last time I’d been up here with him and Marc. “This does not look like the best establishment,” Grand said a bit disdainfully.

“This is the restaurant that Wade goes to with Sean, and where Dad gets his dates stolen,” I joked. That got a slight grin, but nothing more. We sat down and ordered, and were relatively quiet. My voice was hoarse from shouting, and Grand was being his typical, introspective self. “I was thinking that after dinner, maybe we could go over and see Dad and Marc.”

“Did you call them?” he asked.

“I told Dad we’d be up here,” I said.

“When did you talk to him?”

“On Friday,” I said. “I got the address, so I know where the condo is.”

“You haven’t seen it yet?” he asked, surprised.

“No, have you?”

“I have not,” he answered. “Do you talk to your father very often?”

“No,” I said crisply, to shut that topic down, but he looked at me, asking for me to go into detail, so I did. “I talked to him on New Year’s, I talked to him when JJ won Nationals, and I hung out with him for a little bit at the wedding in London.”

“I think Stefan is the only one of us who sees him on a regular basis,” Grand noted. “I sometimes think that is a blessing in disguise.”

I laughed, since he and my father could get into some pretty intense arguments. “In a way, I kind of feel like you do. He’s been such a big part of my life, so it feels weird to have him all but gone.”

“Yet the upside is that his tendency to try to control you must be significantly reduced as a result,” he said.

“That’s the upside,” I agreed. “So part of me feels like he completely deserted me, and the other part is happy for him because he’s happy.”

“It is entirely possible that this is just a phase in his relationship with Marc,” he said.

“You mean he’s obsessed because it’s new and exciting?”

“That is what I mean,” he replied.

“You know, the problem with that is that if you blow everyone off when you start going out with someone, they’re not just going to wait around until you want to hang out,” I said. “I saw Ryan do that with Shiloh. I mean, they’re still together, but if they ever break up, he’s not going to have anyone to just bum around with.”

“I suspect Ryan will adapt,” Grand said. “He is a personable young man, and quite able to make new friends.”

“You mean he’s hot,” I said, teasing him.

“That is also true,” he said with a grin, then got sad again.

“You seem grumpier than you normally do,” I prodded, getting a dirty look from him.

He looked as if he was trying to decide whether to answer me or not, then sighed. “I am very upset about this war, and I feel powerless because there is no way to stop it.”

“There were millions of people protesting around the world, and Russia and France have said they aren’t in for this fight,” I said. “Won’t that matter?”

“It will not,” he said authoritatively. “Condoleezza Rice stated that these demonstrations will not deter this country from its determination to confront Saddam Hussein and help the Iraqi people.”

“Maybe Colin Powell was right,” I said. He’d spoken to the UN last week.

Grand shook his head. “A four-star general sacrificed his honor to make the case for this war. He lied. That is how I know this is inevitable. When someone like him is willing to throw down his personal reputation and honor to justify war with Iraq, we are going to war with Iraq.”

“Won’t he look like an idiot if we don’t find any WMDs,” I said in a smarmy way, talking about the supposed Iraqi arsenal of weapons of mass destruction.

“How many people will have died before that point and then, what difference will it make?” he asked rhetorically.

“So why did we come up here, if it does no good?” I asked.

“I am not sure why you came up here, but I came up here to evaluate the situation,” he said, being bitchy.

“I came up here to support you,” I said in a pretty strong way, to let him know I wasn’t going to be his punching bag on this deal.

“I am sorry,” he said, and got sad again. “I have let this bother me to the point where I am having a difficult time even being civil to my grandson.”

“It’s a good thing your grandson loves you,” I said, and got a small smile from him.

“To more fully answer your question, I wanted to see how committed these protesters were, to compare them to the crowds I encountered during the Vietnam conflict.”

“And what did you decide?”

“They lack the militancy and violence,” he said. “They are unhappy, not enraged.”

“Maybe that will change,” I said.

“I think that is unlikely. The draft fueled the anti-war anger. With an all-volunteer military, that huge issue has been removed.”

We finished our dinner quietly, then left the restaurant and strolled over to Telegraph Hill. “That restaurant was a pleasant surprise,” he observed.

“You’ve been hanging around with Stef too long,” I teased. “You’re all into appearances and superficial shit.”

“I am certain that is not true,” he objected, but in such a strong way it was funny, and made me laugh.

“Nice building,” I said, as we walked up to Dad’s condo. I called my father to let him know we were here.

“Hey there,” he said, in his hurried, clipped way.

“Grand and I came by to see you,” I said.

“This isn’t the best time,” he said nervously. “We’re just about to go out to a gallery event.”

“Seriously?” I asked him, stunned that he’d say that, and that he wasn’t happy we were here.

“I’m just letting you know what my schedule is,” he said, backpedaling.

“We are standing out in front of your condo building,” I said through clenched teeth. “We will be here for five minutes. If you come down and get us, we’ll stay. Otherwise, we’re leaving.”

“I’ll be right there,” he said, then sighed and hung up the phone.

“He was not excited about our visit?” Grand asked, smiling to show he was joking.

“He was not,” I said. “Probably a good idea, based on how it’s going to go.”

“Let’s try and have a nice time,” he said, cautioning me to put my anger aside.

“I’ll do my best,” I grumbled.

Just then, Dad appeared and let us into the main lobby. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to make it sound like we didn’t want you to visit.”

“It was hard to hear how excited you were when you told me you were on your way out the door as soon as we got here,” I said snidely. He looked at me, as if trying to decide whether to fight or not, then he wisely said nothing.

Marc was at the door to greet us, looking as amazing as always. “Hey there!” he said, and gave me a nice hug, and Grand a less exuberant one. He led us into the main room, which was beautiful, and had spectacular views of the Bay.

“Dude, this is awesome!” I said, as I walked over to the windows and looked out at the busy city below us.

“I love it,” Marc said.

“Show me around,” I said. They gave us a tour, and it was really spacious and nicely done. When that was done, we went back to the main room and sat down, while Marc got us drinks. “So what’s your plan?”

“What do you mean?” Dad asked.

“Are you guys going to stay up here, or are you moving back to Escorial?”

“I think we’ll probably stay up here,” he said nervously.

“If you do that, it would be nice if you could make it back to Escorial for Sunday dinners,” I said. I was trying hard to be nice about this, and the suggestion that he make that effort seemed like a good idea to me. I thought I was giving him a way out, so he didn’t have to feel guilty. He didn’t take it that way.

“Well, if I would have done that, you wouldn’t have been there,” he said in a snarky way.

“Really?” I asked sarcastically. “Then you didn’t actually have plans this evening?”

“You know, you can always come up here and visit if you want,” he said.

“Yeah, it’s real inviting,” I said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” And now it had gone from sarcasm to real anger.

“You have three bedrooms,” I said, holding back the fury I felt. “One is your master bedroom, another is an office, and another is a studio. What’s missing?” He looked at me blankly. “If you wanted people to visit, you would have made one into a guest room.”

“You can come visit and not stay over,” he said.

“So only short-term visits are allowed,” I summarized. I recognized all the typical warning signs that I was losing control of my emotions, so I stood up to leave. Grand said nothing, but mimicked my gestures.

“That’s not really fair,” Dad said, almost a yell.

I strode confidently toward the door with Grand and my father on my heels. “Thank you for showing us your condo,” Grand said. “It is a lovely property.”

“You’re welcome,” Dad said insincerely, even as he glared at me.

He still hadn’t dropped the extra ten pounds he’d put on, so I poked his tummy, just about making him completely lose it. “Instead of an office, you should think about putting in a gym.” And with that, I walked out of the condo and shut the door behind Grand and me.

We said nothing as we rode down the elevator. When we walked out of the condo building, Grand finally spoke. “That was perhaps not one of your more diplomatic encounters.”

“Perhaps,” I said, then chuckled with him as we made our way back to Union Square.

 

February 20, 2003

Boston, MA

JJ

 

“You must push yourself harder,” the coach said, with his heavy Russian accent. I didn’t like him. I didn’t like Russians. Johnny Weir thought Russians were so fucking wonderful, but if that were true, why did they lose the Cold War? I skated around the rink, whisking by him in a way that was rude at best, and heard him utter a string of Russian oaths. He wanted me to push myself? Fuck him. I’d show him what I could do.

I picked up speed, and then switched directions so I was skating backward, building up for my jump. I leapt into the air, twirling my body, feeling it twist just like I wanted it to. I’d show that Soviet son of a bitch. Four times I spun, making this a quad, then I landed. The landing should have been smooth, but it wasn’t. It felt like the ice gave way when I landed, like there was a hole or something. Whatever it was, it caught my skate, and then my body moved, my foot didn’t, and I felt this searing pain shoot up my leg. There was a loud “pop” that came from my knee, and that pain was so intense and so overwhelming, it blocked out the shock as my body crashed to the ice in a lump. The bruises I’d get from that were inconsequential compared to what had just happened to my leg. “JJ!” I heard Tiffany yell.

“He must skate it off,” the Russian asshole said. I was tempted to force myself to get up so I could go over there and beat the shit out of him, but just moving my knee was pretty tough. I was lying on my back, on the cold ice, staring up at the ceiling. I rolled over onto my knees, and when I put weight on the one that hurt, the pain was so intense I fell onto my back again.

“Help him out,” I heard Tiffany say. A couple of guys who worked there came over to me.

“Dude, you alright?” one of them asked.

“Help me out,” I said. They took my hand and pulled me up, letting me put all of my weight on my good leg, and then propped me up between them. “Thanks,” I said, as they escorted me over to the side of the rink.

“You took a wicked fall,” the other one said sympathetically.

“No shit,” I said, forcing a smile.

“Can you walk on it?” Tiffany asked, all concerned, acting like she gave a shit about me. If she’d just done her job, none of this would have happened. I wouldn’t have been here skating for this Russian asshole in the first place.

“No,” I said.

“We better get it checked out,” she said, and dialed a number, one that would take me to the doctor, or the hospital.

“You landed like you did at Nationals,” the Russian told me.

“There was something wrong with the ice,” I said to him rudely.

“There is nothing wrong with ice,” he said.

“Looks like there’s a hole where you fell,” one of the dudes who helped me said. He and his friend went out to look at it.

“Take a picture of it,” I said, for some reason.

“That is a waste of time,” the Russian said.

I looked at him firmly. “You’re fired.”

“You have not even hired me, yet,” he said.

“Then that makes this even easier,” I said, then continued much more rudely. “Now get the fuck out of here.”

“You will never win at Worlds,” he said with a sneer. “You have been coddled and babied, and you do not know the definition of hard work.”

“What about ‘get the fuck out of here’ didn’t you understand?” I asked. He gave me a foul look, then skated off the ice, and stalked down the tunnel to the locker rooms.

“They’ll be here for you in a bit,” Tiffany said, returning to the side of the rink. “Let’s get your skates off.”

“Good idea,” I said. Between the two of us, we managed to get them off without killing my knee.

“Where did Vladimir go?” she asked, referring to the Russian.

“I told him he was fired, and told him to get the fuck out of here,” I said.

“He’s one of the best coaches in the world,” Tiffany objected.

“He’s a flaming douchebag,” I said. “This is his fault. He pushed me when he didn’t have to, and now my knee is all fucked up.”

I waited for her to say something, but she didn’t, because she probably knew I was about five seconds away from explaining to her that it was actually her fault. I was still stunned that she’d dumped me to spend time with those whining brats she called kids, and that there would be a new baby here shortly, one that would all but latch itself onto her boobs and turn her into a milk cow. More crying. More annoyance. If it were up to me, the human race would probably die out, because I sure as fuck didn’t want to deal with kids.

The ambulance got there pretty fast, and they hoisted me gently onto a gurney, pelting me with questions, most of which seemed totally useless. “I’ll go with you,” Tiffany offered.

“I can take care of myself,” I snapped. “Just go home.” She nodded, and walked off, while I was whisked off to the hospital in an ambulance, one that bumped pretty badly over the Boston streets. Surely there was a vehicle with better suspension they could have used?

“Mass General?” the driver asked the paramedic.

“Harvard,” she corrected. “Just got a call.”

“Fine,” he said, and made a pretty sharp turn. I got to the hospital and they had me whisked straight to a room.

“Pretty fast service,” the ambulance driver said. “You’d still be in the waiting room at Mass General.”

“Thanks for your help,” I said, remembering my manners. He shrugged, smiled, and then left me alone, but only for a few minutes. A nurse came in and pelted me with questions, the same damn questions I’d answered in the fucking ambulance. Couldn’t these people talk to each other? No wonder our medical system was so fucked up.

She left, and the doctor appeared, a specialist in knee injuries. I was pretty sure it was my knee, but even if I hadn’t been, one look at the swollen monstrosity on my right leg, compared to my healthy left knee, would have convinced me. “I just want to see how much stability you have,” he said, and moved my leg.

I screamed out in pain, and then glared at him when the pain subsided. “That hurt,” I said sarcastically.

“I think we’ll get an MRI,” he said, then left. I longed to be back in California, at Stanford, where my Uncle Jack could watch out for me. Here I had no one. I let myself sulk about that, having a fun pity party, when the door opened slowly and Matt came in.

“Heard you took a fall,” he said, then looked at my knee. “Fuck.”

“Looks pretty bad,” I said, and a tear fell down my cheek, pissing me off.

“They’ll run some tests, and we’ll find out what the problem is,” he said as he sat down next to me and held my hand.

And then I wasn’t alone, and the absolute worst thing I could imagine was that he would leave. “Will you stay here with me?”

“Duh,” he said, sounding like Will, and making me chuckle. He stayed with me for two and a half hours, while they did the MRI, and then we waited for the doctor to come in and tell me what the deal was.

“Mr. Schluter,” he said officiously, then looked at Matt questioningly.

“Yes,” I said. “This is my brother. You can talk to me in front of him.”

“You tore your ACL,” he said, then went into a lengthy description of what that was, and how bad my particular injury was.

I finally cut off his diatribe. “So how do I fix it?”

“In your situation, as a renowned skater, we recommend surgery to repair it,” he said. It was really flattering that he called me a renowned skater. I got a lot less bitchy.

“I’m supposed to go to St. Petersburg in a few days, but I can probably miss that,” I mused. “But I have Worlds in March. I have to be back by then.”

He shook his head ruefully. “This will heal gradually. You will be lucky to be on the ice in six months.”

“Six months!?” I asked, horrified. “Isn’t there anything else you can do?”

He shook his head some more. “There isn’t. It takes surgery, time to heal, then physical therapy.”

“There’s nothing I can do?” I asked, even as I started to panic. “I won Nationals. This is my big chance! I have to go to Worlds!”

“There’s nothing that will heal you up in time for that,” he said. “Nothing.”

“Nothing,” I repeated morosely. That just summed up my career.