Streak - 47. Chapter 47

January 18, 2003

American Airlines Center

Dallas, TX

JJ

“JJ, fourth place going into the finals isn’t bad,” Tiffany insisted, for the fiftieth time.

“Yes, it is,” I said to her acidly. “Anything but first place is bad.”

“These are the best skaters in the country,” she persisted. “We knew this would be tough.”

“Whatever,” I said, which should have been her clue to shut up, but she didn’t.

“If you stay focused, you’ll medal.”

“I know that,” I snapped. “Quit telling me shit I already know. You’re not helping.”

“Fine,” she said, and pouted. Christ. I did not need this.

I thought that I might seriously melt down, but then I heard his smooth voice, with that unmistakable English accent. “Did Savoie skate yet?” Alex asked.

“No,” I answered, smiling at Alex. “You made it in time.”

“That’s capital,” he said. “And how are you feeling?” he asked Tiffany.

“Unappreciated,” she said, and walked away. He looked at me and raised an eyebrow, while I just rolled my eyes.

“She’s mad because I don’t appreciate her being a mother hen,” I explained.

“It’s probably instinctive,” Alex said, but in a way that told me he thought I was being a dick.

“I’ll apologize later, alright?” I asked him, frustrated since that meant I was wrong again. God, I hated that.

“Alright,” he said, smiling at me. “In the interim, I’m going to grab something to eat. My objective is to see if they sell anything in this arena that isn’t toxic.”

“You don’t like American fast food?” I asked with a chuckle. “No one really knows what’s in the hot dogs. Try one of those. Maybe you can figure it out.”

“If I had to guess, I would think they are the remnants of the unfortunate animals slaughtered by the erratic driving techniques of your countrymen,” he said in his lofty way, the one that was so cute.

“We call it ‘road kill’,” I summarized, much as Will did to Grand when he pontificated. “You may be right.”

“I will find you shortly,” he said, and vanished, leaving me temporarily alone. That was fine with me. There was a really weird vibe in the air today, one that made me feel more nervous than normal about my program. I didn’t have as much difficulty in my free skate program as Goebel, who was in first place, but if I nailed it, I could pump out higher scores than him, because his style wasn’t as good as mine. Savoie was in third, and he was good. He tended to skate like me, without as many big moves and more élan. The biggest threat to me was in second place: Johnny Weir. When you saw him from a distance, he was really cute, and he had an unapologetically feminine manner about him that made it pretty likely he was gay. That would limit his career, or it should, but he was so fucking good, he seemed to be able to move beyond it. It was probably a good thing that Will wasn’t here: he’d try to fuck him.

I stood, watching the other skaters do nothing of consequence, until the Zamboni came out to clear off the ice for my group. Jahnke would go first, then Scott Smith, who was also from Boston. They were both nice enough guys, but even though they were only a slot or two below me after the short program, I really didn’t consider them to be a major challenge. “I’m betting you fall on your ass,” I heard that bitchy voice say. I turned to face Johnny Weir, who was attired in a hideous grey suit.

“Unlikely,” I said with disdain.

“You’ll collapse like the twin towers,” he said, being truly evil, clearly trying to bring that awful event back to fuck up my psyche. “‘Little JJ Schluter, he was just a flash in the pan’, that’s what they’ll say.” How typical of him to give me shit about being short at the same time.

“It’s Jeremy, not JJ,” I said through clenched teeth.

“Oh yes, that’s right,” he said in his snide way. “That was after your big makeover this season, when you tried to pull your career out of the toilet.”

I gave him an arrogant smile. “The makeover was good for me,” then I looked at his pathetic outfit with a sneer. “You should try it.” He glared at me, while I just raised an eyebrow. He stomped off, to the degree that you could do that when you had skates on.

“Johnny stopped to talk to you?” Tiffany asked.

“He’s trying to get in my head and fuck me up,” I told her. “Like I give a shit what he says.” Both of those things were true.

“Kick his ass,” she said with a grin. “That will shut him up.”

“I don’t think anything will shut him up,” I said, which made us both chuckle.

The Zamboni finished cleaning off the ice, and then it was time for my warm up. I skated around the rink, focusing only on myself, practicing my moves, but more than that, working on my rhythm and my internal confidence. When practice was over, I felt pretty good. I skated off the ice and waited for this round to start.

Alex came back with some hideous looking nachos. “I’m not sure I made the best choice.”

“I don’t think it gets much better than that,” I said ruefully. We watched Jahnke and Smith turn in decent performances, but nothing that should catapult them into the top three. It was as if that was the whole vibe of this place today: mediocrity. I fought against my internal demons, determined not to be possessed by that feeling.

“You’re up,” Tiffany prompted.

“You will do great,” Alex said emphatically.

“Thanks,” I said, mostly to him, but ostensibly to both of them. I skated out onto the ice, and put aside all thoughts of other people except Alex. I appreciated the cheers, but somehow, they weren’t as intoxicating as they once were. I internally shook my head. What should be a rush for me was now just a blah event. That was the whole mood at the rink today.

I started my program and felt good, and really rolled along. I had my one quad later in the program, because I got extra points for that. That would be my toughest move. I felt strangely apprehensive when I started into it, and even though everything went well, something felt wrong. And then I landed and stepped out of it in a bumpy way, one that would cost me some serious points. I hid my internal agony, knowing that my one little slip-up there had probably cost me my chance at the championship. I skated on, wearing my best façade, pretending like I’d put in a stunning performance, until the damn thing was fortunately over. The applause was loud, but I couldn’t help but think they were clapping more out of courtesy than appreciation, since I’d fucked up that landing.

I finally managed to get off the ice and head to the kiss and cry with Tiffany. “You did well, JJ,” she said soothingly. Even her reassurance was bugging the shit out of me today.

“I fucked up the landing on the quad,” I said with a grimace.

“It was rough,” she agreed, “but the rest was really good.”

“Let’s hope the judges agree with you,” I said dubiously. We sat there and waited for the scores, and they were better than I thought they’d be, but not as good as I’d hoped going into this thing. That stumble had cost me.

“You’re in first place,” she said, smiling.

“I am,” I said, painting on a smile for her. “But the three toughest dudes still have to skate.”

“They do,” she agreed. We went back to the stands and sat with Alex, just as Matt Savoie came out. He was in third place going into this thing. If he nailed this, he’d beat me. He was about three minutes into his program, which was pretty lackluster, when one of his stirrups came loose.

“What’s that?” Alex asked.

“That’s a stirrup,” I explained. “They slide under your foot to keep your pants from catching on your skates.” The referee blew her whistle three times before Savoie heard her, and then he stopped and tore the damn thing off. But that was the kiss of death for his scores, and after they were posted, erroneously at first, he dropped down to fifth place, after even Smith and Jahnke.

“Tough luck,” Tiffany said. I felt bad for him, because that was a rough break, and he was a pretty nice guy, but not bad enough to wish things were different. “But the good news is that puts you in at least bronze.”

“Third place still isn’t first,” I grumbled, but I was pretty happy about it inside. To go from being all but washed up last year, to third place at Nationals was amazing. I mellowed and smiled at her. “All of our hard work paid off.”

“It did,” she agreed, and seemed happy that I wasn’t so cranky.

“And who is this?” Alex asked, as the next skater came out onto the ice.

“That’s Johnny Weir,” I said with a snarl. “The biggest douchebag on the ice.” His eyes scanned the stands and he caught mine, giving me a smarmy look.

“He does not appear to like you,” Alex said, cracking me up.

“Even if I don’t win, as long as he breaks his leg, it’s a good day for me,” I joked.

He got into position and I thought that I was probably as nervous as he was. Despite my bitching, he was talented, and a real threat. He was twenty seconds into his program when disaster struck him. He was skating backward, picking up speed for his first jump, when he crashed into the boards. The crowd went “Aaaah,” in sympathy, while I had to bite my lip to keep from smiling. “That’s not good,” Tiffany said. I thought it was awesome.

We watched him skate over to talk to the judges. “It’s good for me,” I said smugly. “That’s bound to get me a silver medal.” I was pretty stunned by that.

“I am so proud of you,” Alex said, propping me up.

“Thanks,” I said. We watched as Johnny picked up his routine from where he’d fucked it up, and he was doing pretty well, but then disaster hit him again. He stepped out of his first triple axel, much as I’d done on my quad, but then on his second one he fell; only he didn’t just fall. He fell and it looked like he did the splits, like he was thrown on the ice in that position. I cringed, thinking about how much that would hurt, while he lay there on the ice for a few seconds, trying to get up and keep going. As much as I hated that guy, I had to admire his spunk in trying to still persevere.

“That’s it for Johnny Weir,” Tiffany said, and she was right. He skated over to the judges and talked to them, then they announced that he’d formally withdrawn.

“I can’t wait until I run into him,” I said, dying to rub this in.

“I would recommend that you be polite, and take the high road,” Alex said. I so didn’t want to do that, and I thought his British politeness was so out of place here. Sometimes he was so nice he was almost a Canadian.

“We’ll see,” I said. After Weir and his drama were cleared off the ice, the last contender skated out. Tim Goebel, known as ‘the Quad King’, was a really athletic skater. His legs must be as strong as Zach’s. I had just resigned myself to silver, telling myself how incredibly good that was, when Goebel’s program started to fuck up. I was so glad I was already done, because it seemed like the vibe infected everyone, and Goebel, who was normally so good, couldn’t land a single quad. When he was done, we all cheered loudly. The crowd was cheering for him, but I was cheering because by some miracle, it looked like I’d managed to win the US Nationals.

I wasn’t ready to celebrate completely. It was pretty unlikely he’d beat me, but anything was possible. With figure skating judging, you never knew what was going to happen, even though things had gotten cleaned up a bit after the scandal at the Salt Lake City Olympics. I sat there stoically, waiting for his scores to come up, and didn’t let myself relax until they were posted and I’d been proclaimed the winner.

“You deserve this,” Tiffany said to me earnestly, momentarily taking me aback. “You have survived some tough battles, and fought like a tiger to get here. Enjoy this moment.”

“Thanks,” I said modestly.

“I agree,” Alex chimed in. I gave him a warm smile, basking in the glow of his approval, and of this triumph. I’d won the US National Men’s gold. I’d beaten out all the other skaters in this country to do that. They’d put the best up against me: Goebel, Savoie, Weir, and I’d still managed to end up on top.

“We have to go deal with the press,” Tiffany prompted. I felt my mood soar, felt the adrenaline rush from victory, and this time, I shot out a genuine smile, not one that was painted on.

“If you have no objection, I will call and inform your family that you won,” Alex said.

“That’s fine,” I said. I was more than happy to let him interface with my relatives. I’d call Will and Darius later, and they’d tell me how awesome I was, and I’d pretend that they meant it. Then I’d talk to Stef, and feel so good when I heard the pride in his voice. My father would probably even manage to pull his dick out of Marc long enough to congratulate me, but the call I’d get from Aunt Claire would be even more motivating. Of course, in my usual fashion, I got all irritated, thinking that it was just so typical that they weren’t here to watch me. Then again, that had mostly been my call. They’d all made this big deal about how they’d try to get here, but I told them not to make the trip. I’d almost had to threaten Will to keep him from showing up, but the fucking wedding from hell was next weekend, and the entire family was flying to London for that. That would suck up a lot of their spare time. In the end, their absence didn’t really bother me all that much. I’d had Alex here, and I’d won.

I prepared myself for a typical press conference, talking about all the obstacles I’d had to overcome to rebuild my career, only this one was totally different. This one was a really big deal. It seemed like the lights were just a bit brighter. “Jeremy, how does it feel to be the youngest winner of the Men’s individual gold medal in recent memory?”

I blinked a bit, having forgotten that I was only 17. I guess hanging around with Tiffany, Alex, Wade, and Matt; I just mentally aged myself with them. “I didn’t know that,” I said lamely.

“There are only three guys who won it at a younger age than you did: Robin Lee in 1935, at age 15; Dick Button in 1946, at age 16; and Scotty Allen in 1964, when he was 15,” the reporter said, spinning those facts out impressively.

“Achieving something that Dick Button did, winning Nationals in my teens, is the biggest rush of my life,” I gushed genuinely.

“There are those who would say that you won, but only because the other skaters had mistakes in their performances,” she said, going in for the attack. Typical bitch reporter: Get me all excited with praise and euphoria, and then totally rain on my parade by making it sound like I just got lucky.

“They can say that if they want,” I said nonchalantly. “We all started with the same chances. We all make mistakes from time to time. When you make them at a place like this, it costs you. That’s the deal.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more,” she said, back into her syrupy sweet, sappy mode. She was probably trying to get me to lower my shields so she could poke me again. “Tell me how if felt when you stumbled after your quad?” Well that slam was right on schedule.

“It wasn’t the landing that I wanted, but I learned a long time ago that it was important to keep putting your best foot forward, to keep trying all the way through, and to never give up,” I said. That was a very thinly veiled slam at Johnny Weir, and one that she picked up on, of course.

“Do you think that Johnny Weir should have done that, should have kept on going?”

I smiled broadly. “Johnny is amazingly talented, and I’m sure that, for him to stop skating like he did, twice in fact, he must have been in some pretty serious pain.” Before she could interrupt me, I continued on. “I’m hoping that once he heals, and works his way through this, he’ll be competitive again.”

“That’s a very sportsmanlike attitude to have,” she said, which was hilarious since Johnny would get the digs I’d planted in that statement. Tiffany got it too, so I decided to let her spend some time chatting with this lady.

“Thanks. I learned that, and so much more, from my coach. If it weren’t for Tiffany’s help, I wouldn’t be here today,” I said. I wasn’t sure that was entirely true, but it made Tiffany happy, and it moved the reporter’s attention to her just like I’d hoped.

“This is a major achievement for you as well,” the reporter said, turning to Tiffany. “You are one of the youngest coaches ever, and you’ve brought Jeremy here to Nationals and helped him win a gold medal. The only thing left to achieve is a world championship.” That contest wasn’t until March. “And maybe Olympic gold in 2006.” That was so far off, it wasn’t even on my radar screen.

“I’m very proud of him, and it’s been a pleasure to work with him,” Tiffany replied. “But I won’t be able to go with him to the Worlds.”

I stared at her, momentarily stunned, and then plastered my smile back on, even as I was reeling internally. “You’re picking an odd time to retire,” the reporter probed, noting the same thing I was thinking.

Tiffany pointed to her swollen stomach. “In March, I’ll probably be in labor. And I’ve decided that after this baby is born, I need to devote myself to my family. I’ll have three children to raise.”

The reporter turned on me. “Won’t that make the world championships difficult, to break in a new coach in such a short period of time? Have you found someone to replace her yet?”

I was so pissed at Tiffany for dropping this on me now, in the middle of a press conference. She was no better than this reporter bitch, waiting until I was on a complete high, and then blasting my buzz completely apart. But as pissed off at her as I was, I knew better than to let the world see my real feelings. I shoved my evil and vengeful thoughts to the back of my brain and thought about how I was supposed to spin this. “Tiffany has been amazing. She’s helped me work through some tough challenges, and I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for her.” I didn’t entirely believe that, but this was for the public record. It didn’t have to be true. “I haven’t really had time to find someone new yet, but we’ll work on that in the next month.” The reporter offered us some congratulatory platitudes, and then we were able to escape from them, and from the rink. We were all quiet until we got into the limo.

“Everyone was effusive in sending their congratulations,” Alex said, breaking the silence.

I ignored him. “You quit on me, during a press conference?” I demanded of Tiffany.

“I’m sorry JJ. I have been thinking about it, and after you won, I made my decision, and it just sort of came out,” she said lamely.

“Is this because I was so bitchy? I mean, I’m sorry, but you know how stressful these things are.”

“I’m not that petty,” she snapped back. “I have to look at my own priorities. I’ve got two kids to raise, and a third one who will get here within the next few months. That’s what’s most important to me, and that’s what I have to focus on.”

“What about me? You’re leaving me high and dry, right before the Worlds!”

“I’ll help you find someone who can work with you,” she said lamely. “The talent is inside you. You don’t need me.”

“I did need you, and I do need you,” I spat. “Shows me where I am in your list of priorities.”

“JJ…” she said, in a pleading way.

“This is the best I’ve ever done. I’ve achieved a goal that you and I only dreamed I’d be able to make. There was no way, going into this, that we’d have thought I’d beat Goebel and Weir. Not this time around. Not when I’m only 17. I’m the best men’s skater in the US. Period. We just proved that. That’s amazing,” I said, ranting on.

“I know that JJ, and I’m proud of you…” she said, but I cut her off, refusing to let her interrupt me.

“So just when I’m on top of the world, when we’re standing there at the pinnacle, you pull the rug out from under me? You ruin the biggest victory of my career, that I may ever have? You decide to tell me this shit that you’re bailing on me, during a fucking press conference?”

“I’m really sorry,” she said, realizing how badly she’d fucked up, only that didn’t do me any good.

“Just leave me alone,” I said bitterly. We got back to the hotel and I got Alex to fuck me, but even that wasn’t enough to bring me out of my funk over this bombshell.

January 25, 2003

The Savoy Hotel

London, England

Wade

“Mr. Danfield, I’m here to help you get ready,” the valet said. He was an elderly guy, but pleasant enough. I didn’t wear formal morning attire very often, and Matt wore it even less, so I’d engaged him to come over and make sure we looked presentable.

“Thank you,” I said. We were wearing a dark grey cut-away jacket with lighter grey pants. The pants had an obligatory black stripe down the side, but no cuffs, of course. That part had been easy enough to navigate, as had the white shirt. Then it got a bit more complicated. The tie, or cravat, as our valet insisted on calling it, had to be tied just a certain way, and then my double-breasted cream waistcoat had to be put on over it. All of it was pretty routine until it came to the accessories.

“We’ve got some gold cufflinks for your shirt,” the valet said.

“I’ll be wearing these instead,” I said, and took out the slightly battered pair from my travel case.

“They are interesting,” he said, with a bit of disdain.

“They were worn by one of my ancestors, Colonel Erasmus Danfield, at the Battle of Yorktown,” I told him.

“Perhaps you can show them to one of Lord Cornwallis’ descendents, sir,” he said, only I’d actually been worried about that, and I’d checked it out.

“Actually, Lord Cornwallis had no surviving descendents,” I said, trying not to sound smug.

“Of course not,” he said, getting a bit flustered. The next item to mildly stymie him was my pocket watch, but he looked at that with interest. “This is a fine time piece.”

“It is,” I agreed. “It is one of the oldest heirlooms in our family. This was one of the first pocket watches ever crafted. My relatives brought it over from Europe with them when they first came to America.”

“Just splendid,” he said. I let him spend a few seconds fondling it, and then I put it into my pocket. “And now for the boutonnieres.” I handed him the two green carnations, causing him to raise an eyebrow. “White is usually more appropriate.”

“Not in our situation,” I said with a smile.

“You’re aware, sir, that green carnations are the color used to indicate that the wearer is a homosexual,” he said stiffly.

“I’m very aware of that,” I said. “That’s why we’re wearing green carnations.”

“Of course,” he said hastily. He pinned mine on, and then focused on helping Matt get ready.

“I need to go check on Mary Ellen,” I told him. “I’ll see you at the church.”

“I’ll be there,” he promised. That was something I didn’t even question. He’d been an absolute rock during this entire thing, and he’d been a blast on the flight over here. I think that between him and Trevor, they’d kept everyone on the plane partying for damn near the entire trip.

I went down the hall to Mary Ellen’s suite and knocked gently. There was an usher there to let me in and guide me to where she was getting ready. My mother was there, off to the side, looking annoyed, while Nana stood on the other side of the room looking much happier. “Wade!” Mary Ellen said enthusiastically.

“You look beautiful,” I said sincerely, because she did. Her light coloring and blond hair (helped with a little extra bleach) looked perfect with her white dress. That had been one of the funnier topics on the plane, the speculation as to whether Mary Ellen would acknowledge her past and wear ivory instead of white. When that topic had come up in the wedding planning, I’d been adamant, because to not wear white would be embarrassing for posterity. I’d explained to Alex that it was customary in America for women to wear white, whether they were virtuous or not, and I’d won the argument. She seemed genuinely happy, and even though her personality was glittering, it wasn’t glittering as brightly as her body was. Mary Ellen was wearing the Garrett diamonds. They’d been shipped here by way of an insured courier, to ensure they weren’t lost or stolen.

“I think you will both look wonderful walking down that aisle,” Nana said approvingly.

I took that as my cue to greet her. “Good morning,” I said, and gave her an affectionate hug. Then I turned to my mother. “And good morning to you.” We gave each other frosty faux kisses on the cheek.

“I feel like I’m just a statue here on display,” she complained. She was mad that she’d been completely shut out of all the wedding plans.

“That matches your warm personality,” I said sarcastically, but with a smile, getting a frown from her, and a laugh from Mary Ellen.

“Very funny, Wade,” she snapped.

“I’ve been looking forward to this day my entire life, the day we finally get rid of Mary Ellen,” I joked. “Not even you can ruin it.”

“Perhaps,” she said in a sinister way, that was actually funny, and made all of us laugh. Beau and Ethan stopped by to see Mary Ellen before they went to the church and that made things even more fun.

“Have you spoken to Alex this morning?” I asked of the room in general.

“He’s just a bit stressed out,” Mary Ellen said with a smirk.

“Stressed out?” I asked. That even she would notice his moods was disturbing; something must have really gotten to him. Surely he wasn’t that upset about this wedding?

“His father and step-mother decided to show up for the wedding,” Mary Ellen said. “I’m not the only one with a disreputable parent.”

“On that very rude note, I will leave you,” Mother snapped. “Good luck.” And with that, she flounced out of the room in her smooth way.

“That was very effective,” I teased, then got back to the topic at hand. “The Marquess of Preston is here, along with his Marchioness, and no one knew he was coming?”

“One would expect that a marquess would have better manners,” Mary Ellen joked. It was easy to see why she was usually surrounded by people. Her money, wit, and charm were seemingly enough to overcome her total lack of loyalty to her friends.

“Albert isn’t very happy about it either,” Nana said, referring to the Duke. “But we’ll make the best of it.”

“I’m sure it will be interesting to meet him,” I said. But then the time had arrived for us to depart. Mary Ellen escorted everyone out of her room, and then the two of us descended to the ground floor where we caught our limo to the church.

“Thank you for everything, Wade,” she said sincerely.

“Like I said, I’m just doing my job,” I told her with a smile. “But for the record, it’s good to see you happy, and I do wish you the best.”

“We were having dinner - Alex, Nana, the Duke, and I – and I told them how sad I was that Daddy isn’t here to walk me down the aisle,” she said.

“He left big shoes to fill,” I said, even as I felt my emotions churning with this reminder that my father was dead, and I was filling in for him.

“His Grace said that, while he certainly respected Daddy, he doubted that he was as honorable as you are,” she said. I stared at her, dumbfounded by that huge compliment.

“I don’t know what to say to that,” I said finally.

“I would think you would just be flattered,” she said coquettishly, making me roll my eyes.

We drove up to the church and the limo stopped. The driver opened the door, but before we got out, I stopped and made her look me squarely in the eyes. “You’re sure about this, right? You want to do this?”

“It’s a little late to back out now, don’t you think?” she asked me, being bitchy.

I shrugged. “It’s not too late until you pledge your troth,” I joked, using antiquated language.

“I’m sure,” she said, as she pushed past me to exit the vehicle. “Me and my troth are getting married.”

“Excellent,” I said, laughing.

The ceremony itself was like a strange movie for me, one that was both slow and fast at the same time. Things seemed to take a long time, like walking Mary Ellen down the aisle to the strains of the ‘Prince of Denmark’s March’. Alex had requested that we eschew the more traditional wedding march, since the Duke found Wagner to be annoying and tedious. The ceremony itself was quite involved, and reminded me more of a Catholic wedding than an Episcopalian service, but it was beautiful. Yet despite all that, it seemed that we had just started and then it was over. In the end, the thing went off without a hitch, and Mary Ellen had officially become the Countess of Bridgemont.