Naked Ambition. Dan Roberts

some practice I think Bill’s actually got a chance to do well. If he does, he’s got you to thank.”

      “Good,” said Nick in a rather dry, detached voice.

      Clarkson drove on for another few blocks without saying anything. From the corner of his eye he saw that Nick didn’t move. The young athlete’s body was rigid. His face was tense but his fingers were moving. They were restless, an indication that something was going on. Finally, Clarkson spoke up. “You okay, kid?”

      “Yup,” was the single word reply after which there was quiet once again. At least, for a few moments.

      “You worried about something, Nick?”

      “Naw,” Nick said with a shrug of his shoulders. “It’s nothing.”

      After several more blocks, Clarkson slowed his car and pulled into an empty parking space. Once the car was stopped, the coach turned the whole of his upper body toward Nick. “So, what’s with the silent treatment?”

      Nick felt compelled to answer. “Just thinking.”

      “About?”

      “Nothin’ much,” Nick said, still looking forward. Knowing the coach was probably going to ask him more questions, he added, “Everything’s cool, Coach. Nothing I can’t handle.”

      “Handle? What do you mean by that?”

      Again, silence pervaded the car’s interior.

      “Nick, I don’t know what’s going on, but if you need to talk about something I’m here for you. I’m not just a volleyball coach, you know. I can be a friend, too.”

      “Okay,” was the only response coming from Nick, who was still looking out through the windshield.

      Almost defensively, Clarkson pressed on. “Is it me? Is there something I’ve done? Something I’ve said?”

      “Naw, Coach, nothing like that.”

      Clarkson noticed that Nick’s fingers were still fidgeting. And now his right leg was jumpy—nervously bouncing up and down—yet another sign of anxiety. “So what is it?” asked the coach.

      Nick slowly turned his head toward the driver. “Well…” He intentionally left that word hang for a moment and then added, “…if you really wanna know.”

      “I do,” said Clarkson, with a tone of sincerity.

      The rigidity surrounding Nick’s eyes and mouth suddenly left. His face softened. “It’s my mom. I’m really worried about her.” Haltingly, he explained. “She’s had cancer for several years and now it’s gotten worse. She’s getting treatments but I don’t know what’s going to happen.” Nick’s words and expression were telling of his true emotions regarding his mother’s history with cancer. Her illness had, in fact, affected him significantly over the last couple of years.

      “Yeah, I know how that must be,” Clarkson said in a compassionate tone. “My mother died a few years ago from breast cancer. It was really difficult to see her suffer.”

      “Sorry to hear that,” said Nick in an almost whispered voice as he glanced toward the floor.

      “Thanks,” said Clarkson. “But I said that to let you know that I understand what you must be going through. It’s tough. I know. Especially, if you’re going through it alone.”

      Still looking at the floor, Nick said, “Well, I’m not really alone. I mean, I’ve got Brandon, my brother. Of course, he lives in Colorado. And there’s my dad. But he’s remarried and lives over near Hershey. My grandmother would like to be there for me. But, then, she’s kinda old and I have to look after her sometimes.” Nick suspended any further talk to let those words gain weight. Then, reflectively, he said, “Yeah, I guess I am kind of alone.”

      At that moment Clarkson lifted his right arm and placed his hand on Nick’s shoulder. Nick immediately felt an increase in tension. It took all the inner strength Nick could muster to not pull back from the coach’s touch. But he didn’t move. Eventually, he felt not only the weight of Clarkson’s hand but a follow-up squeeze and a pat. “It must be tough on you, buddy.”

      Nick cringed as he heard Clarkson use the word ‘buddy.’ Now calling upon more of his acting ability, Nick took a huge breath, encouraging his whole body to relax. It worked. As he exhaled it was as if his entire body melted into the seat. He wanted to cry—in fact, he tried to cry—but the tears didn’t come. He was too nervous. Stage fright, he thought to himself.

      Clarkson noticed the change in Nick’s posture. In response, the coach almost whispered, “I understand. I really do.” He then moved his hand onto Nick’s neck and began to massage it. Nick closed his eyes as the massaging continued for what seemed like several minutes. Although it felt very good, he didn’t like the fact that it was Clarkson doing it. Especially since he hadn’t asked Nick’s permission. But Nick let it go on for a brief time since he really didn’t know what to do. That is, until Clarkson unbuckled his seat belt and began moving closer. Fearing a hug—possibly more—coming from the coach, Nick opened his eyes, moved slightly away from Clarkson and said, abruptly, “I think we’d better get going, Coach.”

      Taking the hint, Clarkson’s hand dropped to his side as he backed off and, once again, settled back into the driver’s seat. “Yeah,” he said, a bit reluctantly, “I guess we should.”

      It was about ten minutes later that the Lexus pulled onto the driveway of the Baker residence. As Nick reached for the door handle, he said, “Thanks for the lift, Coach.” He was already holding his day pack in his left hand and was just ready to get out of the car when Clarkson said, “Nick, can I ask a favor?”

      “Sure. What is it?”

      Clarkson picked up an almost empty water bottle. “Looks like I’m in need of some water. I’m really thirsty. Do you mind if I come in and fill this up?” Nick was pretty sure what this meant, that Clarkson had a plan in mind. And it wasn’t only about getting water.

      As nonchalantly and naturally as possible, Nick said, “Well, yeah. No problem. But, tell you what, Coach. I’ll save you a trip.” Nick zipped open his daypack, pulled out a plastic water bottle, one he had pulled from the ice chest on the field, and thrust it in Clarkson’s direction. “Here you go. Never been opened. And it’s still cold.”

      “Oh,” said Clarkson, seemingly perplexed. “Thanks.”

      As Nick proceeded to get out of the car, he noted the look of disappointment on Clarkson’s face. It was when Nick was just about to close the door that Clarkson said, “Hey, Nick. You like to swim?”

      Nick grinned. “Sure. I love it.”

      “Well, you’ll have to come over to my place sometime. I’ve got a great pool in the backyard. It’s there for you anytime you want.”

      Nick forced a smile as he said, “Hey, thanks, Coach. I’ll have to remember to stuff my swimsuit into my pack. Never know when I might get the urge.”

      The next words from Clarkson were surprisingly bold, ones that actually stunned Nick. “That’s okay, Nick. No need of a suit if you come to my place.” Nick thought he saw the coach wink at that point. Seeing that Nick was taken aback by his statement, Clarkson followed with, “I’ve got extra swim suits at home.” And then, as if to tease, he added, “That is, if you decide to wear one.”

      It didn’t take a genius to understand what the coach was offering—a chance for Nick to swim naked in his pool. Not wanting to dwell on that for long, Nick said, “Well, I’m outta here,” and shut the door. But not before Clarkson said, “Good night, Nick.”

      As Nick walked to the Baker’s kitchen door, he thought about those parting words. His conclusion: it’s not a good night at all. At least, not with Clarkson on the loose.

      IT