Chapter 4: Sunglasses at Night
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Tapping his cane impatiently against the bleachers, Jonathan waited for Gina to take the ice. She was later than usual--but the rink had been packed for the hockey playoffs. Perhaps she was busy cleaning up the mess in the snack bar. He wondered if her day had been as long and as annoying as his had been......
First it had been the idiot rink manager. For some reason, Jake Swanson didn't seem to know that initiative was part of his job description. The man had stood in Jonathan's private office for almost minute before he'd even been able to speak. Jonathan had always had a flair for the dramatic, which now translated into a dimly lit windowless office in the basement of the rink. Well if Jake was going to insist upon coming to him whenever any little detail needed "owner approval," then he could just put up with the murkiness.
"What now?" He had given Jake his most intimidating stare.
Nervous or not, Jake at least had the integrity to look at him directly. "Just a couple of things. You need to sign off on the changes to the sound system, and the soundproofing for the contractors." He then handed Jonathan the specs.
Glancing down, Jonathan examined the professional work. Jake knew what he was doing when it came to getting expert bids. He made one change to the design--an opaque window to the sound and tech booths in both rinks-- and then scrawled his name across the bottom.
I don't have time to sign autographs today. Sorry.
The rink manager took the papers back and continued on down the list. "A local cable access station wants to film the Exhibition show for Grand Opening. Yes or no?"
"Ask the coaches, if they say yes, then go for it, but make sure all the skaters sign release forms. Oh and double check with Donna and Etienne's agents--they might have exclusivity deals which won't let them be filmed." Inwardly he had sighed. Useless details--Jake should be handling this on his own. That's what he was paid for.
Jake nodded, and then hesitated a moment.
"Now what?" Clearly something not good.
"Well, I was hoping that I wouldn't have to bring you into this, because I know how you hate dealing with the media, but," he dropped a newspaper on Jonathan's desk. "The latest National Enquirer."
For a moment he hadn't been able to look. Maybe it was a slow news week and some slime had decided to dig up his past. Carefully he flipped the paper over and then stared at it.
The photo showed Donna Delmonico and Etienne LeClerc returning to the rink after their 75-city tour. They looked tired and stressed. Not surprising considering the length of the tour. But the headline read, Ice Princess 'Prima Donna' Sexually Frustrated--Does Etienne Have a Limp Lutz?
"It's just a tabloid. No one will actually believe it. Besides, this is another thing their agents should deal with."
"Normally, I'd agree, but according to the story, the information came out of the rink snack bar." Jake picked up the story and read from it. "A rink insider said that Donna is always crunching on ice and often orders drinks with more ice than liquid. Unquote. At seven this morning I got a phone call from Miss Delmonico's agent. Apparently she is very distressed and displeased."
"Seven a.m.?" Jonathan said, trying to stall. "Did it wake you up?"
"No I was already up. Me and the Mrs. were..." he coughed. "Anyway what should I do about the leak?"
"It's not a leak, it was probably a misunderstood innocent comment. Write some kind of memo about privacy and make sure all the staff knows not to say ANYTHING to any reporters." Not that it would matter.... any chance word or phrase would be repeated, changed, insinuated--if not in the papers, then over the internet. He knew that from experience. "Anything else?"
"Two messages actually. Etienne is looking all over for you--he said you never return his phone calls. And Susan Ramsay of the Cincinnati Figure Skating Club wants you to call her."
Taking the post-it note from him, Jonathan nodded. "Consider the messages delivered.."
Sighing Jake turned to go. "That's it.... except.... I really think you should hire a secretary. It would make life easier on all of us."
Translation, Jake didn't want to come down here unless it was absolutely necessary. "I'll think about it."
Ah! Finally. She was here. Same dark unitard, another bright t-shirt on top, and the hair was braided today. She looked a little more tired than usual, but as soon as she stepped on the ice, even that attitude underwent a change. Even in the empty (to her) rink, she seemed to glow with an inner fire.
Jonathan both wanted and feared that fire. She warmed him. She made him remember what it had been like to feel something. He couldn't decide what to do though. He didn't want to leave the limbo that his life had become, but he couldn't stop himself from watching her when she skated.
Somehow, this girl was doing what Etienne, with all his coaxing and guilt prompted persuasion had been unable to do.
Not that Etienne showed any sign of giving up that tack....
"Voila!" Etienne stuck his head into the office. "I say to myself, I see Jake. Jake must know where Jonathan is, so I follow, and here.... I find you." He grinned widely, like, Jonathan thought, a dog that had learned a new trick.
"I'll get back to my office," Jake said as he left.
Etienne threw himself onto a soft looking chair in front of the desk. "Bonjour, mon ami."
Jonathan could retreat into moodiness, but Etienne would probably try to charm him out of it. Best to just be polite and get it over with. "Bonjour, Mr. Limp Lutz."
Etienne threw back his head and laughed. "There is a woman in Chicago and another one in San Jose who know differently. But the newspaper? Pah. No one cares."
"I heard Miss Delmonico was upset?"
"Donna, she is new, she does not understand the way of papers. She'll get over it." Unable to sit still, Etienne began taking the paperclips from Jonathan's desk and building a little statue of some sort. "But I come here to ask, how are you feeling?"
Jonathan followed Etienne's gaze to where it rested on the cane. "A miracle occurred, Etienne."
Etienne sat up and stared at him. "What?" he asked hopefully.
"I can tell that its going to rain at least THREE HOURS before the weatherman does." Etienne paled at the rough tone. "How do you think I feel? I'm a cripple. That is never going to change. Stop giving me your misplaced pity. I don't need it. What I do need is for you to stop reminding me that you can still skate because every time you waltz into this office and fling yourself into that chair, you do indeed remind me of that fact."
Sighing, Etienne got out of the chair. "Fine, I'll take my disgusting self out of your sight. You know where I live. Call me if---if you want to talk." He left, slamming the door on the way out.
Thud!
She'd crashed into the boards on a triple flip. Looked like she'd banged her elbow pretty hard as well. He watched her slowly get up and switch to the triple loop.
The flip was still giving her problems. And apparently, if the past week was anything to go by, she'd completely given up on the lutz.
No discipline.
She needs a good coach.
A coach would iron out the problems on the flip take-off. From where he was sitting, Jonathan could see it was simply a matter of a tilt on the take-off. If she picked behind her a little more instead of to the side, it would do her a world of good.
The lutz was another story. Jonathan thought back to what he'd discovered earlier in the day....
"CFSC, Susan speaking."
"Hello, Susan, this is Jonathan Griffin, returning your call."
"Oh, Jon" (Susan always had a bad habit of giving nicknames to everyone). "How are you.... er I mean, how is the new club coming?"
"On schedule." Then, out of politeness, "Enjoying coaching?"
"I love it.... and I'm still doing so pro competitions every once in a while. Nice that people remember an old lady like me."
At 35, Susan was only 6 years older than Jonathan was, but of course, she was a skating legend--and a healthy one at that. Jonathan ignored the opportunity to give her a polite compliment, even though she'd clearly hinted at it. There was a long pause.
"Anyway, the reason I called is that the Cincinnati FSC is getting together with the Charleston, WV club and having an interclub competition. Both of our clubs have a lot of novices who are really green. No real pressure.... just a chance for our younger ones to get some experience with a competition format. I was wondering if you have any skaters that would like to participate."
"I'll pass the word along to the coaches. I have no problem with it." And, as much as people kept trying to drag him into the day to day operations and politics of the figure skating club, he really wanted to stay in the background. He paused, taking a deep breath, and wondered if he should ask the question that was in the back of his mind.
Sensing a hesitation, Susan prompted, "Yes?"
"You've been with Cincinnati FSC all of your life, right?"
"Yep. All of my long, long life."
"Ever heard of someone named Gina Logan?" As soon as the words left his mouth, he hated himself for asking.
"Actually, I remember her quite well, because she was one of the first students I got to choreograph. Why do you ask? Do you know where she is?"
Sensing that Gina would be as insistent upon her privacy as he was, he said quickly, "No. Toby mentioned the other day that one of the little girls reminded him of Gina Logan. And since I'd never heard of her, I was wondering if that's a good thing or a bad thing."
Susan laughed, as he had hoped she would. "It's neither, and I'm surprised Toby would say that about a new skater. It's such a typical story. Gina was good--really good for her age, Junior World Champion, expected to do well in Seniors. Anyway, right after she won, she started growing.... not much, but enough to throw her off."
"You're right, it is the typical story." Jonathan was almost disappointed. He'd expected there was more to it than that. "So she couldn't hack puberty and burned out.
"I don't think that was it.... I mean it was certainly part of it but... let me back up. Gina had great technique, great mental confidence, plus you could tell she really was going to be one of the artistic ones.... she was immature.... but she had something.... she would "get" choreography really easily. She also had, a mother. Capital M. So when Gina started to lose her jumps, Mrs. Logan freaked out. Personally, I think Gina would have pulled through it, but her Mom was blaming the coaches. She yanked Gina out of CFSC and dragged out to Alfredi in Sun Valley."
"Alfredi is a good coach."
"Yeah, and he's fair, but he couldn't handle Mrs. Logan the way Fritz could. Anyway--at her first senior competition, Gina crashed on a triple lutz and then completely froze. Like she forgot the rest of her program. And that was it. You know when you're a little kid, you have total confidence.... and then when you finally start to mature, it all goes away and you have to figure out who you are all over again? I think that's what was happening to Gina, but she didn't have anyone to support her. After that, she kind of disappeared. Someone said her parents got a divorce and she went to live with her father." She took a deep breath. "So, anyway, lesson for the day. Be careful of the teen angst skaters. They're fragile."
She babbled on about other gossip from there, but Jonathan wasn't listening anymore. He was too busy trying to get a picture of teenage Gina in his mind. What she'd been thinking, what it had been like for her. After some more small talk, Susan hung up, saying, "We've got to talk like this more often."
Not if I can avoid it.
By now, he'd gotten to know the patterns to her evening practices. Fifty minutes working on jumps and spins. Then a short break followed by fifty minutes where she played around with choreography. The Sting piece (Fragile from an album called Nothing Like the Sun, he had discovered after logging onto Amazon.com and downloading a few audio files) had given way to a piano medley of As Time Goes By/I'll Be Seeing You. He hadn't much liked that number. Clearly she had an affinity for jazz music, but the piano music was a bit insipid for him. He thought it was the arrangement that was giving him the problems. It sounded like lounge music.
Now, she'd switched again, to something more recognizable, though its awkward cuts made it difficult for a moment to place.
Chopin. Piano Concerto Number Two. He remembered now... he'd almost used that music himself, but had later decided to go with another Chopin Piece, The Revolutionary Etude.
It had been part of his Gold Medal long program.
He watched for a while as the program took shape. It was nice music to show off her spins, and as she favored edge jumps, could probably show them off as well.
In fact, cut another 20 seconds, and it could be a very decent short program.
She needs a good coach. Not Alfredi. Not Toby....
He left the thought unfinished. She was known basket case. Under the pressure of competition, would she crack again? She seemed happy now, content to simply make up programs for the fun of it. Perhaps that was enough....
It wouldn't be enough for me. Its not for her either, but she doesn't realize that yet.
The whir of the zamboni interrupted his thoughts and the music. Time to go. And, as he had done every night for the past few weeks, Jonathan got into his car and followed to ensure that she got home safely.
Except, this time... someone else wanted to make sure that she didn't.
Text Copyright © 1999-2000 Karen Frank
