Bets You Can Never Win
“Fifteen to twenty-one. An incredible basket by Kobe Bryant when there’s only nine minutes to the end of the game. Two more points and the Lakers will have managed a draw!” exults Brian after a play that almost gives him a stroke.
“It’s not over yet,” says Dave, reaching round him from behind and knocking the ball out of his hands with a sneaky move. “Heads up!” he scolds him while dribbling his way to the basket. It’s past midnight and they are still playing, trying to recreate the 2010 NBA final. Every time they feel like playing, they choose one of the best matches ever and decide to re-enact it, possibly changing the results as well. Neither of them remembers how all this started, but it’s became almost a sort of ritual. It’s almost like going back to their youth, when they both dreamt of becoming professional players.
They used to spend five days out of seven slaving away over their textbooks, trying hard to get a scholarship that would allow them to attend college, and when they didn’t have to study, they would drink beer in Brian’s father’s basement, shoot hoops in the pitch at the church and make desperate attempts to hit on Trisha O’Neal, who was a waitress at the Sunset, the bar where Dave used to work at weekends to earn money for a car. She didn’t notice them because they were way too young for her, but that didn’t stop them from trying. They kept chipping away at her, hoping that she would eventually be so worn down that she would give in and accept. Once Brian asked her if she would let him touch her for fifty dollars, but she wasn’t interested and so after that they decided to go back to their usual methods – in part because they didn’t actually know where to get those fifty dollars anyway.
“Paul Pierce darts forward looking for an opening. The Lakers are really putting the Celtic’s defence to the test tonight!” continues Brian enthusiastically while relentlessly marking Dave. Dave turns his back to defend the ball and is forced to go backwards not to lose it, moving outside the three second area. “Give it up, man – you’re too old for this!” Dave teases him while attempting to score. They both stop to watch the flight of the ball, which bounces off the rim of the basket and goes flying off to end up somewhere in the long grass outside the field. The outcome is still there for the taking.
“Ah crap!”
“You were unlucky,” chuckles Brian, putting his hands on his thighs while he catches his breath. “You owe me two hundred dollars.”
“What are you talking about? You can barely stand up!” replies Dave without looking at him while he runs over to fetch the ball.
“Yes, that’s because I don’t have six hours a day to waste at a gym trying to pump up my biceps. I have a family to take care of, in case you’d forgotten,” says Brian, not quite managing to hide a touch of envy. After high school, they had taken different directions. Dave was the only one who had managed to get a scholarship and go to college, while Brian had ended up working as an accountant for a department store and in less than three years he was married and had put on a stone. Yeah, he’s happy – he loves his wife, Katy, and has never regretted even one of the days he’s spent with her – but sometimes, when he looks at Dave, he can’t help wondering what his life would have been like if he’d had the chance to attend college. “Hey, it went further away,” he shouts to Dave while indicating a group of trees.
“Where? Oh, here it is,” Dave mumbles. The ball had landed amongst the bushes and in a hole near the fence, that’s why he hadn’t spotted it straight away.
Brian nods slightly and while waiting for his friend to come back looks at the street on the other side of the wall. There are trees that nobody ever trims and dumpsters covered in graffiti.
“They should really clean up this place, it’s just a hangout for addicts nowadays. You should write an article about it, maybe they would listen to you.”
It’s all changed since they were teenagers, but not even the real estate bubble has managed to force the pushers out of the area.
“Why the hell should anyone care about a neglected basketball pitch in the Mission?” Dave replies as he returns with the ball under his arm. He puts it down near their bags and bends down to get some water from his backpack.
“Hey, give me some of that,” says Brian, deciding to take a break too. He trudges wearily over towards the bleachers, his old Nikes dragging on the ground, and lets himself collapse amongst their coats.
“When the hell are you going to remember to bring some water with you?” protests Dave, throwing his bottle over to him.
“I’m just trying to give some meaning to the two decades of our friendship,” Brian jokes and drinks down the rest of the water. He dries his sweaty forehead with his t-shirt. “Did Tom kick you out in the end, by the way?” he asks, changing subjects.
“No, he didn’t fire me,” answers Dave, looking off into the distance with a tense expression on his face. “I’m still The Chronicle’s deputy editor.”
“For how much longer? Two days? Come on, don’t tell me you’re actually going through with it… He basically grounded you for three whole months!”
“I didn’t have a choice,” Dave confesses. He doesn’t really want to talk about it, but that discussion has been all he’s been able to think about since he left the newsroom that day. He can’t stomach the idea that someone is trying to use all his hard work to get themselves a handful of votes, and most of all he can’t stand the fact that they’ve made a fool of him in public without even giving him the chance to defend himself.
“Well, I must say that you could have picked an easier enemy,” ponders Brian after regaining some breath. “What the hell were you thinking of, taking on Hoffman? And all this just three months from the elections! You’re the deputy editor now, you should leave the dirty work to other people.”
“It’s nothing to do with me,” says Dave defensively, “there are pictures, tapes and documents that speak for themselves.”
“But it’s cost you three months of sitting at home in the evenings,” Brian reminds him. “You need to be more careful from now on. You can’t be seen with any woman or you’ll end up out on your ass – you know that, right?”
“I have no intention of breaking the rules,” Dave points out. “I promised Tom that I would stay out of the game for three months, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
“Yeah, right, sure you are…”
“What, you don’t think I can do it?”
“It’s not that – I know for certain you can’t do it.”
Dave opens his eyes wide. “Are you kidding me?”
“Never been more serious.”
“Jesus, Brian, I’m not some horny teenager any more!” Dave yells. “I’m thirty-six years old, I think I can manage my hormones for a few weeks. But thank you very much for all your faith in me.” He kicks a stone and turns his back on his friend, feeling offended. Brian is unmoved by his reaction, though – he knows Dave too well and isn’t going to be fooled by him.
“You’ll have to prove to me that you can. So when are you going to start this new regime, then?”
“I already have.”
“When?”
“As a matter of fact, today. Immediately after Tom asked me to temporarily give up my social life.” He checks his watch. “I started this morning at exactly eight.”
“Do you mean you haven’t touched a woman for over twelve hours?” Brian asks, giving him an incredulous look. “A whole twelve hours?”
“Brian, this is really starting to piss me off. How long are you planning on keeping it up, exactly?”
Brian has no intention of easing off though, and he reaches out and grabs Dave’s arm to take his pulse. “Are you ok?” he asks, feigning concern. “I mean, you’re not feeling dizzy, are you?”
“Will you cut it out?” Dave begs him while he picks up the ball. “I’m fine, I’m fantastic. I’m just going to stay out of the spotlight for a while, that’s all,” he says quietly.
“If you say so… But I still think that… Wait a minute,” Brian checks himself all of a sudden and lifts his hand up to attract Dave’s attention.
“What is it now?”
“Hold on a minute. Isn’t San Francisco Fashion Week about to start?” Brian asks while he tries to remember.
“What? How would I…” stammers Dave.
“Yes, I saw some posters for it this morning,” Brian remembers. “The whole town is full of billboards about it.”
“So what?”
“Don’t you get it? It’s Fashion Week! And it’s going to start in less than twenty days! And that means that there will be dinners, interviews, presentations and, most importantly, models. Models everywhere! For Christ’s sake, Dave! There are gonna be hordes of Wonderbras wandering around in search of a bit of visibility and then there’ll be you, the deputy editor of the biggest selling newspaper on the west coast!” He suddenly bursts out laughing and slaps his thigh. “I’ll bet you fifty dollars that you won’t make it even half way through!”
Dave remains immobile. “Well, I’m not going to take your dumb bet.”
“Ok then, let’s make it a hundred dollars,” says Brian, raising the stakes. “I bet that you are going to fail miserably and give in way before the elections!”
“Do I really need to remind you that I don’t do the fashion section?”
“And you actually want me to believe that you won’t even be attending the opening ceremony? Come on, Dave, half of the city is going to be there, and someone like you can never resist an opportunity like that!”
The truth is that Brian isn’t completely wrong – Dave shouldn’t miss the event, because he’s not just a reporter any more, and his presence will not just be required at the inauguration. Before he assigns the whole job to Margaret, he’ll still have to arrange interviews and photographers, call press offices and so on, and that means he will have to meet representatives from the sponsors of the event and… dammit! It hadn’t occurred to him about Madeleine. She’s the model for Ralph Lauren this year… She must be expecting the newspaper to mention her at least, especially after that game with cream they played… So what now?
“We should fly post the whole city with leaflets saying ‘Children! If you have green eyes and lots of hair, we know who your father is’,” proposes Brian, almost crying with laughter.
“Yeah, har har, laugh it up,” says Dave, mimicking him and trying to think of a good reason not to punch him on the nose.
He can’t stand this, it’s really pissing him off. Is it actually possible that nobody thinks that he’s capable of keeping it in his pants for three months? Who the hell do they think he is? And anyway he really doesn’t want to lie to Tom, after all Tom’s done to save him. No, he’s made up his mind and he’s resolute: no women. Nothing at all. Nada de nada. It’s easy, all he needs to do is organise his time properly. First of all, tomorrow morning he’s going to talk to Madeleine. That is the absolute first thing to do, because there’s no way that their relationship can continue after that article appeared in the New York Times. He’s sure that she will agree once he’s explained the situation. And anyway they were never meant to be together forever, right? They both knew they would split up eventually.
No, Madeleine isn’t a problem: all that it is going to take is a bit of heartfelt apologising and she’ll be out of his life in five minutes flat. The San Francisco Fashion Week opening ceremony is the real issue. There’s a gala dinner and he will have to dedicate two or three days to the event. He will have to find a way to steer clear of catwalks and changing rooms. Easier said than done, though, how will he manage it? The only thing he can think of is having someone to go with him. Ok, but who?
He thinks for a moment.
Which of the newsroom staff would be suitable?
He goes through all of them, one by one, in his mind, but none of them seem appropriate. Jane? Too nosy. Albert? He has delusions of grandeur and anyway he likes the Chicago Bulls. Carmen? No, it has to be someone the office can do without for a while. So who’s left? Tiffany, the new girl.
He smiles to himself.
No!
No, Tiffany is not suitable at all for this task. He needs someone less showy – someone harmless and asexual, but at the same time he needs someone he can rely on. Someone serious and professional… What an idiot! How could I forget about her?
“Did you say a hundred?” he asks raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah – why, are you afraid of losing?”
“Who? Me?” asks Dave, jabbing himself in the chest with his thumb. “I don’t think so,” he replies while leaning down to come closer to his friend, a sympathetic expression on his face. “I’m just worried for you.”
“Are you now? And why?”
“Because you already owe me two hundred dollars and I don’t know if you’re going to be able to keep up with the instalments on your car if you continue throwing all your money away in these ridiculous attempts to beat me.”
“Since when do I owe you two hundred bucks?” protests Brian, standing up from the bench “I don’t remember losing any bets to you!”
“Don’t you? I seem to remember almost winning the match just a moment ago.”
“What? You couldn’t even score a basket!” replies Brian, indicating the field.
“To be fair, the score was fifteen to fifteen,” Dave reminds him, throwing the ball at his chest. “After the time out requested by Doc Rivers, the referee’s whistle blows and the players are back on the field. The game is almost over, we’re about to enter the last five minutes after Gasol failed his free throw for the Lakers. The scoreboard is still showing a draw, but will Phil Jackson’s boys be able to beat the Boston Celtics?” he says, challenging Brian and walking backwards without breaking eye contact.
Brian has been waiting for this moment. He takes Dave by surprise, running to the three point line and dodging his defence. “The Lakers now have a chance to beat off their opponents with Gasol, who’s back on the field and trying to break through. This game isn’t over yet, and these last few minutes are going to be decisive.”
After a couple more passes they are completely caught up in the game, ignoring the time, the damp and the shouts of locals protesting at the noise they’re making. Tom, The Chronicle, deputy Hoffman… all Dave’s problems evaporate in the light of those old street lamps in that overgrown basketball court behind the small parish church. The clock has gone back to the 2010 NBA final, and who’s to say that the Lakers won’t win the championship this time round?