Break the Glass, page 11
“The lower lots?” Noel asked.
“The lots that have a lower athletic fund donation requirement.” Surprising myself, I heard the words come out of my mouth before I even registered that I knew the answer.
“Look at you, new kid on the block!” Graham teased.
“If I had a dollar for every time someone called and asked if they could get a special one-game-only pass to this lot, I could afford the donation price required for entry,” I quipped.
“Ha, good luck, the waiting list is years for this lot. Aren’t calls like that supposed to go to the general line?” Graham asked.
“In theory, I think. But somehow everyone who has donated more than one thousand dollars has Sal’s office number, and so they use it. I think he gave it out in a promo or something a few years ago, and people hung on to it. We get some really stupid questions, and I feel like an old-fashioned phone operator. I have to forward so many calls. I mean, not to brag, but I have every department’s extension memorized by this point.”
“Wow, too cool for school,” Noel said with an eye roll.
We watched in reverence for another thirty minutes as alumni hugged, reuniting for the first time in almost a year. Noel left us, branching off to head to a classmate’s house for a party, leaving Graham and me walking back to my apartment. Almost everyone we passed had a friendly word, especially when they found out that Graham and I worked for the athletic department. Only a few people mentioned Higgins or Nora, and they were quickly silenced by their comrades. Even still, their comments seemed mild compared to what I had heard on the phone. There must be something about being face-to-face that prevents a person from making rude comments. For the most part, it seemed like the RVers were just enjoying the high of the return of the football season.
The scene somehow made me feel calmer going into the game-day weekend. Maybe our fans weren’t as cruel as the ones I’d dealt with on the phone.
“Do you want to be one of them someday?” I asked Graham as we navigated through the packed streets. As we got farther away from the RV lot, the crowds thinned a little, but it was still obviously a game-day weekend.
“You mean an RVer?” He thought about this for a moment. “I don’t think so. I love their enthusiasm, but I prefer the magic behind the scenes. If I’m out there with them, sure, I’d get to tailgate and could have a chance of watching without being interrupted with work, but for me, the magic is knowing that I had a hand in helping make this all happen.” He gestured to the crowds of people around us.
“That’s one of the things I love about sports,” he continued. “It represents something special to everyone. To me, the magic is in the rules and logistics. For a wide receiver, the magic is catching a game-winning touchdown. For the RVers, the magic is gathering with friends you only see during the football season. For them, I think there’s something magical in seeing you’re not alone in your crazy love of a team. And it makes you feel young again.”
We walked in silence, taking in all the activity around us. It was magical.
I tried to channel that feeling on Saturday morning as I, with trembling hands, got dressed in my Griffons polo. I reminded myself that these were kindhearted people who loved their fall traditions. They weren’t as scary as I had built them up to be in my head.
Noel had left me a note on the kitchen counter as well as a bar of chocolate, just in case I needed a midday pick-me-up.
Since I didn’t have a parking pass, and because I had to leave my house so early, Graham had offered to pick me up so I didn’t have to walk. I felt relieved that I wouldn’t have to show up alone. Even if we worked in different departments, it still felt like I had an ally.
“So where are you going to watch the game?” he asked me as we slowly navigated through the morning’s congestion. For a town where getting stuck at one red light was considered heavy traffic, the fact that cars filled the roads at seven on a Saturday morning made it seem like we had entered an alternate universe.
“I hadn’t really thought about it.” I knew I was expected to work until halftime, but I hadn’t considered what I would do once I finished my shift. I was more focused on surviving the day. If anything, it was likely I’d go straight home and take the world’s longest power nap.
“You should watch the game from the press box. It has by far the best view, a lot of the staff go up there to watch once they’re done working.”
“Do you work until halftime as well?” I asked.
“No, I have to work the whole game. But normally things at least slow down during the third quarter. It really depends on the game.”
We pulled into the parking lot. I forced myself to let out a long breath. It was all going to be okay. I reminded myself that there was no way that anything could be more stressful than my first days on the job.
26.
ALEXIS
August 29, 2:00 p.m.
There was a longer line than usual to pick up my ticket at will call. I couldn’t help looking around, nervous, as if expecting to get caught. As if standing in line alone would somehow incriminate me.
I’d started going to games at the end of last season when Beau and I became exclusive.
I would get in the special will call line to pick up tickets left by a player or coach. I was used to the process; it was a part of my game-day routine. When he first started leaving me one of his tickets, I would wait in line worried that one of my students would see me. Like most paranoid fears, it had never happened. At least that I knew about.
We continued to keep our relationship a secret, and I kept waiting in the special will call line, awaiting the day we would be found out.
Since my first interview with the investigation team, things had been rocky with Beau. Most of the rockiness was my fault. I felt like I was on a boat in the middle of a calm lake, standing up, trying to create waves.
Every time we saw each other, I felt like I was committing a felony. It felt like somehow our relationship was unethical. But ending it wasn’t an option. For many reasons. Ending it would imply that one of us had something to hide. I had admitted to the investigation team, on the record, that I loved him and that we were in fact dating. And it was true. If I broke things off, I knew it would raise more questions. When we’d had to surrender documents that showed the timeline of our relationship, it felt like handing over my diary for the school principal to read. I felt exposed. And so, I rocked the boat. As if causing chaos would make things any easier.
We were in love. I had no reason to break up with him except some weird, deep-rooted anxiety that we’d done something wrong. And that together we’d cause the other’s demise. Either way, we were in hot water together. And I was learning to be okay with that.
So there I stood on another sunny Saturday, waiting in a slow-moving line to get my ticket. To prove to the investigation team that we were ethical. That although our relationship was, at least for now, a secret, we did things normal couples did. Even though the longer I stood in the line, the more I felt like I might be on the verge of a mental breakdown. I wanted to run away. I hated football. I loved Beau, but I didn’t want to spend my Saturday at the game.
But, for the sake of love, there I stood.
On Wednesday night we’d had the talk. The “do we announce our relationship to the world” talk. I said that the middle of an investigation didn’t feel like the right time for a grand romantic gesture. Beau disagreed. He thought keeping it a secret made us look more guilty.
He was right, of course.
I could hear my mother telling me, reminding me, that I had a fear of commitment. That my reflex was always to run. No matter what, if I got scared, I ran. But today, I wasn’t running. After the game, I was going to march myself down to the sideline and stand with Beau. It was the best thing for him, for me, for our relationship, and for our innocence.
It didn’t matter how many times I reminded myself that I wanted to be with Beau, I still felt anxious.
“Oh my gosh, Alexis!” An overly eager voice instantly snapped me out of my anxious train of thought. I turned to see Talia. Of course, today was the day that I’d run into someone I knew.
“Hey, Talia!” I tried to sound friendly and not seem disappointed to see one of my closest friends.
“What are you doing here? Just last week you were cursing the very existence of the athletic program.” I hated that she had such a good memory.
“Well, someone left me a ticket, so I figured that I shouldn’t let it go to waste.” I felt instantly bad about lying. I was incriminating myself. In a few hours, she’d know the truth anyway. I’d done nothing wrong by having a relationship with Beau, I reminded myself. I was being dramatic. I needed to get used to people knowing. Telling Talia was a good first step.
I let out a long breath.
“Actually, in all honesty, I’m dating one of the coaches, and he left me a ticket.” I hated how quickly I rushed to get the words out. I’d done nothing wrong. Beau and I were adults. And Talia was a safe person to tell. She was always a supportive friend.
“Wait, what!” Her jaw was almost on the ground. “How long, who, I want all the details.”
“Beau Kennedy, we’ve been dating for a while now, but we weren’t ready to go public, just with small-town politics and everything. We didn’t really tell anyone, but now with the investigation and everything, we figured it looks more suspicious keeping it a secret.”
“You. Are. Kidding. Me.” She made each word a sentence of its own. “How in the world did you not tell me this?”
“I didn’t really tell anyone except my family,” I said sheepishly. “Why are you here?” I quickly tried to change the subject before she could make me feel more guilty than I already did.
“One of my friends left me a ticket. The assistant to the athletic director, Helen Markus.”
I forced a smile. Of all the people, of course, she knew Helen. “I don’t know if I know her. How did y’all meet?” I tried to keep my voice steady, underplay how much I knew about the personnel working in the department.
“Oh gosh, I’ve known Helen forever! We actually went to college together, and then when I took my job here, we reconnected! I’m sure I’ve talked to you about her. Anyways, a couple of times a year she leaves me a ticket. Most of the time she can’t actually watch the game with me, but it’s fun! I’d never say no to a free ticket! Where are your seats? If we’re close enough together, we should try to move next to each other.”
“Yeah, that sounds great,” I responded, on autopilot. I was trying to calculate the potential ramifications of Talia knowing, and apparently being good friends with, Helen.
The line continued to move at an excruciatingly slow pace. I imagined the poor student workers on the other side of the glass, most likely at their first day of work, trying desperately not to mess up. I heard the man in front of us in line, sounding drunk, yelling at a student about his tickets.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t give you your tickets unless you can present a valid ID.” The student’s voice trembled. I imagined she was doing everything in her power not to cry.
“Do you know who I am? If you don’t give me my ticket, I will call Sal Higgins right now and he will have you fired so fast your head will spin. Now give me my ticket.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at his arrogance. Waiting in line brought out the worst in some people.
“Do you have a problem?” I said. The man jarred, spinning to look at me. His breath reeked of alcohol and cigarettes.
“Sir, Mr. Higgins is no longer associated with this university, so a call to him would be useless,” I said calmly. From behind the protective glass, the student shot me a grateful look.
“What do you know, lady? Do you really think he simply walked away and has no more influence? He’s still calling the shots, you’d better believe it.” His drunken words slurred together.
His tone sounded threatening. What did I know? Way more than I cared to admit, truthfully. But I hadn’t considered that Higgins might still have influence within the department. It honestly wouldn’t have surprised me. In fact, I was shocked that I hadn’t thought about that earlier. Beau had made it clear that Sal wasn’t the type of person to walk away quickly or quietly from a fight. If he was still in control, then any peace I had started to feel in the last two weeks had been in vain, and I was not as safe as I believed myself to be.
“Sir,” a new voice called out from behind the protective glass of the will call booth. “My name’s Tucker, and I’m the ticket manager. Amber said that there’s an issue?”
The drunken man swung himself around to face the window. “Yes, this kid here has informed me that I can’t have my ticket unless I show my ID, and I tried to tell her that I’ve never had to show my ID before now, I was always just allowed in. Sal Higgins and I go way back, and I was personally informed that nothing would change with his departure.” His tone completely shifted when he addressed the manager, someone who he assumed had authority.
“Unfortunately, sir, that’s our policy. Even when Sal was the athletic director, that was our policy. I’m not sure who you spoke to, but I’m afraid in order to give you your ticket, I’ll need to see your ID. We still have some tickets for sale, if you’d like to purchase one instead.”
His body language made it clear that he didn’t want to purchase a ticket.
“Tucker, why don’t you call Mr. Higgins, and I assure you that he’ll quickly straighten things out.”
“Unfortunately, sir, I don’t have Mr. Higgins’s number. He also has no authority over our ticket office anymore. If you’d like to pick up a ticket that was left for you by a member of our staff or a player, you’ll need to show ID. If that isn’t an option, you can purchase a ticket, or leave. I’m afraid that if you continue to hold up this line, I’m going to have to call security.”
I wanted to applaud Tucker. I welled up with pride that he was standing up to the mess that Higgins had left behind. Things were going to be different. There was hope.
The man stormed off, assuring Tucker and everyone within earshot that they would be sorry. When it was finally my turn at the counter, I happily handed over my ID, and in return I was handed a ticket and a field pass.
“Wow, a field pass?” Talia remarked when she saw the large packet. “He must really love you.”
27.
NORA
August 29, 2:35 p.m.
The whole day had been a blur. One moment, I was lying in bed, hoping—willing myself—to fall asleep, and the next I was sprinting around the athletic complex managing nonstop meet and greets, smiling and shaking hands with donors.
When my alarm had gone off, I tried to trick myself into believing I’d actually slept. I clicked into my email and was greeted by more messages than I realized my inbox could hold. Hundreds of people requesting tickets or making sure their tickets would be at will call. I scanned the list to make sure that I didn’t need to follow up with anyone personally and then forwarded the 99 percent that remained to Helen and Anne.
It had taken all of my self-control to remain in my desk chair and not curl up on the couch in my office. It sat there across the room, daring me to take a nap. I sneaked a peek at my watch.
I’d been at the facilities since six. There had been really no point in lying in bed wishing for sleep. At least at work I could do something productive without waking up Margo or Nathan. Nathan had called me around six thirty, so I probably hadn’t been as quiet as I imagined when I left.
“Sorry, I know it’s early, I didn’t mean to wake you up when I left.” I doubted he was calling to complain, but I wanted to at least acknowledge that I’d most likely woken him up.
“Don’t worry about it, you know I don’t mind the mornings. Hey, I don’t mean to bother you so last minute, especially on a game day, but I was wondering if you had room in your box?”
I mentally scanned the list I had approved.
“It depends, Nathan.” I felt my body tense, as if preparing for an argument. As much as I loved my husband, I didn’t have energy for a last-minute favor if one of his friends wanted a ticket.
“Well, let me rephrase, do you have room in your box for Margo and her daddy?” At this, my heart melted. “Margo crawled in bed shortly after you left and asked if we could go. I hadn’t thought to ask earlier because I know Margo normally couldn’t care less. But I think she wants to be there to support you, and I think it would be really good publicity.”
I hated that he thought of using our daughter for publicity. But I hated myself more for knowing that he was right.
“Of course there’s room for you guys. I’ll call Helen right now. Will you be okay to stay with her during the game? I honestly have no idea what my day will look like.”
“Yes, done, I’ll be Dad on duty!” he said proudly. “You’re going to do great today, I’m so proud of you, Nora.” I could feel the warmth in his voice.
“I couldn’t do this without you.” I really meant it.
In the last few weeks, I’d received a lot of unsolicited advice from people around the country, all of them assuming that they knew how to do my job or, more aptly, that I didn’t. Most of the advice I tossed out. But the only other female Division I athletic director, Kelsie Moore, had called me earlier that week to say she was rooting for me. Not our team, she’d quickly assured me with a laugh, just me as a person. She couldn’t betray her own school.
“But the one thing I would advise you to do, I know you have probably received so much advice this week, but this is the most important, woman to woman: make sure you wear the most comfortable shoes you own. Whatever you do, don’t try to wear heels or anything cute. Only tennis shoes, your favorite Nikes. Trust me on this.”
