Chapter 9: Possibilities
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Now this was an unexpected snag. Jonathan had imagined seeing Gina perform to his program. But the silly child couldn't even get through a standard practice session. Couldn't she tell what she was doing wrong? He'd informed her about the toe-picking problem.
So why aren't you fixing it? Or were you too busy flirting with Cody Neill to concentrate on your skating career?
He hadn't believed what he was seeing when he watched Gina and Cody in the stands. That damned cowboy always was a ladies magnet. Of course, previously when he had heard about the time that the British Ladies Champion, the married Russian pairs champion, and the USA Today figure skating reporter had surprised each other in Cody's hotel room--while Cody was blissfully spending the night in bed with a Texas oil heiress--Jonathan had thought it was very funny. But now that the gigolo had his eyes on Gina, it was a different situation altogether.
He glared--invisible, and thus ineffectively--from the tinted glass in the technical booth when Gina handed the slime her phone number. Cody, how would you and Megan like to train in St. Petersburg? I'm sure I could arrange that.
From the flirting to the flip, all Gina was inspiring tonight was Jonathan's annoyance. Come on, Gina, I know you can work harder than that! And when she appeared to be giving up completely, Jonathan didn't even think. He flipped on the brand new PA system, and...
"Wait!"
Did I just say that?
His throat felt unnaturally dry as he watched Gina spin around and look up at the tech booth. For one moment he was afraid that she could actually see him. Taking a deep breath and using the relaxation technique that had stood him so well in his skating career, he reached for the microphone again. "Do a three turn into a back inside edge."
Although Gina first appeared startled to hear his voice come out of nowhere, she took his instructions at face value.
Face value... Ha!
Inwardly he winced at his own pun. He could laugh to himself about his appearance, but whenever he accidentally caught sight of his own reflection, all joking stopped. Etienne had once pointed out that he was lucky that he hadn't lost his eye when the shrapnel from the car had ripped his face open. But sometimes Jonathan wished he was blind. At least then, he wouldn't have to keep running into his own soul every time he passed a reflective surface.
He turned his attention back to the ice, where Gina was already getting more height on the double flip. With what must have been an inborn body consciousness, she understood every instruction he gave to her, quickly learning the exact point of positioning before the takeoff. Good girl, that's it exactly. She looked up to the booth with a look of complete joy on her expressive face. Breaking into a wide smile, she called to him.
But he couldn't hear her.
For one very brief moment, he considered leaving the anonymity of the booth to talk to her--it would certainly make coaching more convenient....
And see her expression change from joy to disgust or even pity? No!
The scrape of his foot sounded unnaturally loud in the booth, as he scrabbled back against the wall, afraid that even as he thought it, the glass had suddenly become transparent. Paranoia, of course, but the fear was strong enough to set off a moment of complete panic. He leaned against the wall breathing heavily.
And who is this tiny girl who can send you into such a state? You're scurrying away from your own shadow. Have you forgotten completely who you are? This is your rink, your ice, and your domain!
The echo of his arrogant younger self yanked him out of his current anxiety. Ridiculous to hide. Gina needed him. He returned to his post and saw that Gina was still standing in the center of the rink gazing up at the booth. Switching the microphone back on, he went on as if she hadn't said a word to him. "That was exactly right. Work on the flip a bit longer and then we can go on to the short program."
The term "short program" obviously startled her, but after a long moment, she nodded and returned to work. He was pleased that she was a quick study. Within an hour her triple flip had gone from 10 percent to fifty. Taking into consideration how tired she was looking, fifty percent was quite an accomplishment.
One down. Three to go. The loop combination, a triple-triple combination, and the triple lutz. Nationals are still eight months away. By then, she'll be unbeatable.
But right now... she looked exhausted. Tendrils of hair had escaped from the clip and were stuck to her neck with sweat. The Chopin would have to wait. He grabbed his cell phone and made a quick call to a cab company, and then spoke to her once more. "Gina, that's enough for today. There will be a taxi waiting outside the main entrance. I've already paid for it, and I insist you take it."
She flashed the booth a look of complete defiance. Far from being insulted, Jonathan was glad to see the show of spirit. She would need it later on, because Donna Delmonico would not be pleased to find another elite skater on her turf.
"I mean it, Gina. Take the cab."
The "or else" was unspoken. Gina gave a brief nod of acceptance and then skated off the ice.
He peered through the dusty slats of the blinds in Jake's office to make sure that she did indeed get into the cab. After the taxi's taillights had disappeared from view, Jonathan sat down at the desk and looked at the calendar. Jake had carefully recorded the dates of every competition and show from for the upcoming season.
Mentally, he created a workable schedule for Gina. The Grand Opening Gala was about a month a way--the Chopin, definitely, and perhaps the Sting piece? The summer was fairly empty: Donna was filming a television special in June, and Etienne was doing a Canadian tour in July. Fall was full of events, between the Grand Prix and the new Open Pro-Ams. Jonathan knew that it would not be possible to get Gina into the Grand Prix, even if he thought she would be ready for them. But maybe, just maybe, he could get her into the Grand Slam Open in September. With eight competitors in each division, perhaps there would be room for her.
I'll have to call in every favor I'm owed.... she'll be cannon fodder for the new professionals like Sandi Madison and Akiko Kikusawa .... she'll probably be chacked from the broadcast.
But she needed exposure, she needed experience in front of the cameras and the large crowds, and the Grand Slam was her only hope of that. He grabbed a pad of post-it notes and a pencil and started doodling. "Grand S: Chopin and something different for the long. Triple flip, Triple loop combo, triple toe, triple sal, footwork, lots." Would she have a lutz by then?
If she has any hope of making it to nationals, she must get the triple lutz. He hadn't paid a lot of attention to the ladies--not their skating anyway--but he was certain a lutz was needed now. She might possibly get through Regionals without one. Possibly. But not sectionals.
And he, as a coach needed to---
Coach?!
That thought made him snap the pencil in two. Coach? When had he started thinking of himself as her coach? He could repair her jumps, choreograph her programs, and arrange her schedule... but...
Sit with her in K & C? I can't possibly.
After years of hiding from cameras, he was not going to position himself in front of them on national television. But perhaps Mary Jo would. None of her skaters were at all ready for major competitions. He'd better make a note to discuss that with her... not that it would be a problem. Mary Jo was afraid of him. He hunted for another pencil and in the process managed to upend an entire stack of mail that Jake had yet to sort through. Letters, bills, and a small package went cascading to the floor. Damn it to hell! !
He was tempted to just leave it all where it fell, but then Jake would know that someone had been lurking in his office. Gripping the edge of the desk carefully in one hand and holding onto the desk chair with the other, he levered himself to the floor. As soon as most of his weight was on the chair, it rolled several inches to the left, leaving Jonathan to crumble to an inelegant heap.
As he stared up at the ceiling, Jonathan quickly listed every obscenity he knew. When he finished with the list, he went back and used them in creative combinations. Six years ago he was landing triple axel-triple toe loop combinations. Now, he couldn't even bend over and pick of a pile of papers. Not to mention the fact that he was in no small amount of pain. With great difficulty he pulled himself back up again, tossed the letter back on the desk and--
The Fed Ex package was for him. It looked like it had been a late delivery. He examined the label: Susan Ramsay, Cincinnati FSC. Probably information on the interclub, he assumed, but he opened it anyway. Yes, information, and... a video tape. Attached was a pink post it note: "Jon! After I hung up, I remembered I had this Junior Worlds, 1991 tape!! Its homemade, sorry about the quality!!!--Suz!!!!!"
Well.
As he dimmed the lights in his penthouse, closed the curtains, and popped the tape in the machine, he felt slightly like a pervert with an adult video. Jonathan was relieved at least to discover that the 14-year-old Gina didn't turn him on. That would have been just too pathetic for him to take. But even as young girl, her skating was exciting.
Her short program wasn't much to look at, he had to admit: it was basically element to element skating to the music from the LadyHawke soundtrack. Her sense of rhythm was nice and her jumps were crisp, but it was a badly choreographed program. He laughed to himself. Susan had claimed the choreographic honors to this program. Figures. Susan Ramsay never did have much of an imagination. The fact that the tracking was off didn't help matters either.
On the other hand, the long program showed off Gina's promise. Even with the ubiquitous ponytail, she managed to pull off a sense of elegance and style, as she skated to a Gershwin medley, I've Got Rhythm/Embraceable You/Fascinating Rhythm. Right on the beat, she was enthusiastic and polished. With five triples, it was a program that might even have done well on the Senior circuit, seven years ago.
The only problem Jonathan could see was, predictably, the triple lutz. She'd landed it, and fairly easily, but she was so close to the boards that he had caught his breath and almost spilled his drink. Too long a set up.... and if she were even an inch taller, she would have crashed. Very likely that was exactly what had happened to her later on. It would explain why the jump terrified her.
The tape continued after the routine, showing Gina's ecstatic hugs with her coach, a "Hi Susan!" to the camera, the focus then skimming across a row of spectators to film a short dark haired woman in an expensive looking suit. Her face held an expression of grim triumph as she made her way towards Kiss and Cry.
That must be the mother.
Except for her dark coloring, she didn't resemble Gina that much. Her features were too hard, her chin too sharp, her eyes too cold. Jonathan had known parents like her--men and women willing to sacrifice the souls of their children for the sake of fame and money.
Yet, Gina had survived. And she was a better skater for the experience.
The young Gina, talented as she appeared, had the child's "Hey, watch what I can do" attitude about performing. The Gina he... knew... was a woman who could communicate with the audience, not just to them. He remembered the look on her face when she had finally re-mastered the flip. She had smiled... and he had been included in that smile.
It was then, at the memory of Gina as she had looked tonight, that Jonathan's slacks began to feel uncomfortably tight around him.
What am I doing?
His guilt was immediate. He had once had talent, a life, and a future. In one evening, he had thrown all of that away. Who was he to think that he deserved anything now but his own loneliness. He had destroyed his life, and unless he were careful, he would destroy Gina's life too.
Show her to skate, but don't get involved.
Five years ago, he had thrust himself into darkness. There was no way out of it now. For too long, he had hidden from the world. There was nothing out there for him. There never would be. There was... only this...
He tossed back another scotch, and rewound the tape.
Text Copyright © 1999-2000 Karen Frank
