“I think I have the answer to that,” I heard myself saying.
“Who?” Rhino, Coach, and Dr. Fink all wanted to know.
Who? Why, Stephanie Greenwillow, of course. Who else?
She wasn’t ' exactly easy to persuade. “Why should I?” was her immediate reaction.
“Sisterhood,” I suggested. “Here's a sister in trouble. Pregnant. In need of help. This is how you can help her.”
“I don’t even know her.”
“I’ve heard it said that the women’s movement was too theoretical and had no real empathy for poor women beset by the realities of, the real world. Of course, I never believed it, but . . .”
“That’s nonsense! Terry Niemath isn’t a poor woman. On the contrary, her income is way above that of most working women.”
“She’s a symbol, an important symbol to women everywhere. Her breakthrough into pro football is a major step forward for women. Do you want her accomplishment obscured by the irrelevant facts of pregnancy and possible abortion if it comes out why she’s not at practice?”
“You really think I could pass for her?” Stephanie weakened.
“If we cut your hair short and dye it blonde, it shouldn’t be any problem.”
“What about the other members of the team?”
“Don’t worry about them. They’ll keep their mouths shut.”
“You mean because of their possible paternity?”
“Nope. I mean because they’re hungry for their shares of the Superbowl pot. Their only chance at the winning pie is if Terry plays. If it comes out that Terry’s been pregnant and had an abortion, there very likely would be an outcry that could keep her from playing. That would hit the rest of the team right smack in the pocketbook.”
“I’m not so sure it would be right for her to play myself.”
“Isn’t that her decision? I mean you’re always talking about how women should have control over their own bodies. Isn’t the overriding feminist policy that Terry should have the right to decide for herself whether or not to play?”
“I suppose so,” Stephanie granted reluctantly.
“Then you’ll do it? You’ll cover for her?”
“I have all kinds of reservations.” Stephanie took a deep breath. “But I’ll do it.”
In uniform and helmet, it was really impossible to tell Stephanie from Terry at a distance. The entire team cooperated in seeing that the sports press was kept at just that from Stephanie—a distance. In other ways, however, they weren’t so cooperative. Rhino, Coach Newtrokni, and I perceived this when we walked into the locker room after practice and faced a scene of violence and chaos.
Stephanie was backed against a locker with her jersey off and her proud breasts heaving and beckoning in naked splendor. She had half of a broken stool clutched in both hands and was waving it threateningly over her head. The three aisles converging on where she was standing were strewn with injured players.
“What the hell’s going on?” Coach Newtrokni demanded.
“They tried to rape me!”
“Who tried to rape you? Be specific.”
“I am being specific. They did. All of them.”
“What the hell’s the matter with you guys?” Coach was indignant.
“We didn’t try to rape her, Coach.” Linebacker Freck Foley was the first to speak up in the team’s defense.
“No, sir!” kicker Horseshoe Cohen chimed in. “All we did was party like always. You know, like with Terry.”
“They all took out their organs and went for me.” Stephanie was furious.
“Terry never minded,” Plowboy Palmer remembered.
“They were all stiff!”
“That was a compliment, Ma’am,” Grinder Meade told her. “Wasn’t no call for you to take on so.”
“Just look what she done to me, Coach!” Wide receiver Pete Gorgonzola held up his genitals. They were bruised and swollen. “Whacked ’em with that chair leg she’s swinging. Hell, you call that ladylike?”
“I am not a lady!” Stephanie snarled. “I’m a woman who’s not about to let herself be gang-banged!”
“How many injuries are there?” Coach was concerned.
“Eight down, sir.” The f.a.c. had computed rapidly.
“Jesus!” Coach Newtrokni was shocked. “What are you trying to do to me, lady? Don’t you know these men have to play in the Superbowl a week from Sunday? And why in the groin? Don’t you know groin injuries shake up their confidence worse than any other kind of injury?”
“They deserved it for attacking me!”
“We wasn’t attacking her! We was just being friendly like we always was with Terry!”
“I’m not Terry! I’m not friendly! I’m not available for sex!”
“Oh, yeah?” Nuke Outlaw was skeptical. “How about him?” His gargantuan finger was pointing at me.
“What about him?”
“You room with him just like Terry did. You trying to tell us you’re not balling him?”
“Not anymore, I'm not!” Stephanie assured him. “What’s past is past and, while I’m with this team, I’m not going to have sex with anyone! And that includes Steve!”
“I know you had to say that, Stephanie,” I told her when we were alone in our room later that night. “But, of course, you didn’t mean it. Right?”
“Wrong! I meant every word of it.”
“Now, Stephanie, let's not be rigid . . .”
“Let’s not you be rigid!” She waved a lamp in the general direction of the erection sticking out of my shorts. “I’m serious, Steve! One more step, and I’ll do to you what I did to those eight guys on the team this afternoon!”
I made the mistake of taking that one step more. The lamp zinged for my exposed and rigid penis like a missile homing in on its target. I had no choice but to take evasive action. This consisted of hightailing it from the room and closing the door between me and Stephanie’s deadly aim. I held onto the knob so she couldn't open it for another shot at my wanton wang.
“Mr. Victor!” the voice came from the hallway behind me. “I have to see you.”
I wheeled around and found myself facing Bubba Weaver, the gay defensive safety. His eyes were staring at my tumescent penis and his jaw was hanging open. “You are seeing me,” I pointed out to him. I did my best to tuck my equipment hack inside my shorts. No offense to gays anywhere, but it’s not smart to dangle a bone in front of a wolf.
“I mean privately.”
“I don’t swing that way, Bubba.” No point in leading him on.
“Then there’s no problem, Mr. Victor. See, you don’t appeal to me, anyway.”
I had a flash feeling of rejection but dismissed it immediately lest my manhood be imperiled. Straights like me, it seems, may have a few things to learn from gays. “We can’t go to my room for privacy,” I told him, understating. “My roommate’s in.”
“Mine’s out. Come on. It’s just down the hall.” Bubba led the way.
“What’s up?” I asked when he’d closed the door to his room behind us and we were alone.
“I figure I owe you a favor, Mr. Victor, because you fixed it so I didn’t have to room with Terry and be tempted by heterosexuality.”
“Forget it, Bubba. It was my pleasure,” I told him quite accurately.
“Well, I’m grateful. And I figure it’s only right I repay you.”
“Repay me how?”
“I know something I think you might want to know.”
“Oh? About what?”
“About the disappearance of Terry Niemath.”
“Go on.” Bubba had my full attention now.
“Well, Terry didn’t just take off on her own. She was snatched.”
“What do you mean 'snatched’?”
“Taken away. I saw it. Right after the game. Terry went into Doc Fink’s infirmary behind the locker room. I wanted to see Doc myself because I had this sprained thumb. But I didn’t want to go in while Terry was there. See, ever since you got me out of rooming with her, Mr. Victor, Terry would tease me. I mean she’d make remarks and she’d wiggle and that kind of thing. So I sort of hung back to wait until Doc was through with her. Where I was, I could see through that glass partition to the infirmary, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying.”