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Teenage cousins seduce middle-aged godmother.
"No! My flight doesn't leave until two. I think I'll just lie down for a while." He plodded away like a zombie, leaving Dawn to clean up the mess. She always cleaned up the messes--at least she tried to.
Dawn glanced at the scoreboard, thirty minutes until kickoff. She waded through a sea of humanity, flashing the field pass strung around her neck any time security regarded her with an inquisitive eye. Both teams were strewn across the field, contorting themselves with stretches and calisthenics. The Choteau Knights were adorned in their home colors: scarlet jerseys with pewter pants and helmets, while the Northern Tech Cowboys dressed all in white.
Jeff wasn't hard to find. She followed the trail of television and audio cables to the spot where he tossed guided missiles in the direction of his receivers. A halo of journalists and pro scouts looked on with interest. She had never seen so many cameras in one place; every one was trained on Jeff. She hoped they'd brought wide angled lenses, it was the only way his swelled head would ever fit into frame.
Phrases like "exceptional vision" and "outstanding arm-strength" were bandied about by the newspapermen as they scribbled into little notebooks. The pro scouts were a paranoid lot, all whispers and murmurs. They held most of their hushed conversations with cell phones and tape recorders, occasionally chatting with reporters and coaches but not with each other.
He put on an impressive show. One positive that could always be said of Jeff was that he never disappointed. The veins in his hand and wrist tightened as he squeezed the pimpled brown football. He cocked his arm and launched a tight spiral forty yards to a receiver.
Dawn watched her brother, not where she was going, and as a result bumped into a man holding a notepad. "Pardon me, Miss," he paused to read her pass. "Miss Kramer, hey you wouldn't be related---"
"Yes he's my brother." Her voice sounded no less mechanical than the whirring cameras focused on Jeff.
The reporter exhaled. "Look at all those cameras." She did. There had to be at least two dozen video cameras and twice as many still cameras. "It's not every day that someone breaks the passing record. Heck of an accomplishment. Has he been acting different lately?" Different? "Has he been more anxious than usual?"
She chuckled. The thought of her brother sweating or trembling or doing any of the things a normal human being would do under the same circumstances was silly. "Jeff doesn't get nervous about anything."
The man scribbled in his notepad. "Everyone gets nervous. Some are better at hiding it." The nattily dressed man tucked the disposable pen behind his ear. He watched Jeff make another perfect throw. The blue plastic pen stood out against the slicked back salt and pepper of his hair. "He really is spectacular. You must be proud. Your dad must be proud too."
What's not to be proud of, Dawn thought.
"I knew your father pretty well when I worked in St. Paul. He invited a bunch of us reporters and our families over for a barbecue every summer. Our boys used to play Ninja Turtles, and you, I don't even think you were born yet. Vinnie Kramer was a heck of a ballplayer, probably could have been better if he'd sacrificed more. He never went down south for winter ball and he wasn't the type who stayed in the gym night and day. Family always came first with Vinnie. You kids and your mom were more important to him than anything else.
"Too bad he only made the big league team that one year. He could have been something special." He gave Dawn a friendly pat on the shoulder. "Where is old Vinnie? I haven't seen the goat in ages."
Her chest ached. "He couldn't make it, other commitments."
"It's a shame he has to miss all the hoopla. Junior must be pretty disappointed without Dad around." She nodded. "Well, he still has you to cheer him on."
Dawn excused herself.
The cameramen, reporters and scouts scattered as Jeff's warm up came to an end.