Free The Legend of Jesse Smoke by Robert Bausch

deeper I got into it, and by the time I got to insurance policies and injury clauses, I realized I was driving myself nuts. I took several deep breaths every morning for a while, concentrated on only the good things: Jesse’s form, her footwork, that quick release. By the time I got to work I’d feel a little better. And nothing had happened yet. That, too, was one of the good things.
    A week or so after the championship I asked Jesse to meet me at the practice field where we had run all those drills. I asked Andy and Nate to join us. I was going to tell everyone what I was planning. Also, I wanted to see what Jesse sounded like when she called signals. That was the thing that had got me all discouraged and panicky about things, and I’d never actually paid any attention to it or listened for it.
    I told Jesse what I was worried about, then asked her to call some signals. “Do it as loud as you can make it,” I said.
    She was embarrassed. “You didn’t hear me in the games?”
    “I guess I did, but I never paid any attention to it.”
    She was reluctant, but she bent over like she was behind center and started barking signals. It wasn’t that bad. She sounded a little likeNeil Young, belting out a high note and, at the very top of her voice, it crackled a bit, and I thought it must be awfully painful. But she said it was nothing. It was how she always called signals.
    “That’s not bad,” I said.
    “I can make it louder, too, if I have to.”
    “No, that’s fine. We use a silent count if it’s too noisy in the stadium. For most situations you’re plenty loud enough.”
    I can’t describe how relieved I was. I was still worried about what might happen and all—I mean it still felt pretty crazy to even think about what I was trying to do—but it was easier to ignore it for some reason. We practiced a while with the footballs—I lobbed them at her while she stood there ignoring them and throwing the ball—and then we called it quits. As we were leaving, Jesse looked at me then said in a low voice to Nate, “I wish I knew what he’s got up his sleeve.”

    Another week went by and I was so busy at the Park I didn’t have time for much of anything else. But I’d lay in bed all night thinking about the problem. How was I going to get her into camp? I’d watched so much Redskins film that week and slept so little, my eyes felt as if somebody had sliced them and then slapped them back together in the sockets. I didn’t go anywhere on Sunday. I told Coach Engram I had a wedding to go to, but I just stayed home and slept most of the day. And that’s how I discovered the answer. In a dream.
    The next morning I called Andy and Nate and asked if they could meet me for a late dinner. I still had plenty to do with the team, and I knew I’d be all day at it, but they agreed to come by the practice facility around seven. I promised to give them a tour before we went out to eat.
    Everyone was gone when they got there that night, except Coach Engram, who was working, as usual, in the film room. I gave them a quick tour, insisting that they be quiet throughout.
    “Man that was something,” Nate said, when we got back to the parking lot outside.
    “Yeah. It’s one of the best facilities in the league,” I said.
    “Imagine if the Divas had something like that ,” Andy said.
    “Yeah,” I said. “Imagine.”
    “I’d sure love to work on one of those machines in that weight room,” Nate said.
    “Well,” I said, “I got a way where I think you can, actually.”
    In all my recent anxiety about Jesse, what always ran through the back of my mind was the certain knowledge that if I could only get her enough time out on the field with the men, they would see what I had seen. I just had to get her to the place where she could perform against the men long enough that the men could not only see her play but find themselves challenged by her. She wouldn’t be throwing to Michelle and Brenda—good as those girls