Driven

“Oh my God,” Cat breathed. “What the hell do you have on him?”

Dylan shook her head. “The less you know about that, the better off you’re gonna be, love. Let’s just say that Mac was able to dig up a couple of things that could have put our ex-owner in the pokey for a very long time. In exchange for my silence in the matter, he’s accepted my terms.”

“But that’s blackmail!”

Dylan’s grin was unrepentant. “You bet it is, darlin’. Blackmail for a blackmailer. He got hoist up by his own ass, and I’m the one holding the scissors. And he knows it. He’s through, Cat. Finished. And it couldn’t have happened to a bigger scum sucker.”

“And what about you?”

“He can do what he wants with me,” she replied, shrugging. “It doesn’t really matter.”

“He could ruin you, Dylan! He could spread things about you all over the place! Horrible things!”

“As long as your name and face is kept out of those ‘things’, Cat, then I’m not worried. My reputation will either speak for me, or it won’t. And either way,” she shrugged again, “it doesn’t matter.”

“But basketball is your life!”

“I’ve come to find that I’ve got other priorities now, my love.” So saying, she bent down to give Cat a soft kiss. “Something much more important to me than basketball could ever be.” She pulled away. “You, however….”

Cat frowned. Dylan looked alarmed. “Cat? What is it?”

“What would you think if I told you that…maybe…basketball isn’t what I want anymore, either?”

“Cat, you can’t mean that! You’re just starting out! You’ll be the star this league is looking for, love! You deserve that!”

“Dylan,” Cat said, sighing, “if tonight proved anything to me, it proved that this is not the basketball I fell in love with. It’s not a game anymore. It’s politics, it’s bullshit, and, tonight, it’s a joke. Why would I want to be the star of something that I detest? What does a whole room full of money mean when I can’t stand to do my job anymore?”

“Oh, Cat….”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll think differently about all this tomorrow, but for right now….” She shook her head. Then, for the first time tonight, a genuine smile curved her lips. “You told me I was free to follow my heart, right?”

Dylan nodded.

“Good,” she replied, pulling her lover in close, “because right now, my heart wants a big bowl of ice cream, a long soak in your Jacuzzi, and you, naked.”

“Ohhhh, darlin, your heart can have whatever it wants, any place, any time.”

“Good. Then let’s get changed and get the hell out of here.”

“Right behind you.”

Before they could leave, however, Dylan made a farewell speech to her team. “...and you should all be proud as Hell over what you managed to accomplish. Not just tonight, but through the entire season. You became more than what you started out as. You became a team, the best damn team in the league. You comported yourself with style and grace, flair and good sportsmanship. And when you look back on this night some day, years from now, you’ll see that it, more than any other, was the point that you went from being simple ballplayers to being champions.” She gave a fond smile to each member. “As a result of what happened here tonight, there are going to be some changes, changes that you’ll be hearing about shortly. Basically, this team is being dissolved and the owner is stepping down. Any one of you who want out of your contracts will be allowed out, free and clear. You’ll be back on the open market, and believe me, with what you showed everyone out there today, you’re all going to be fielding a lot of phone calls.”

“What about you, coach?” Chaney asked.

“That…remains up in the air. But I’m not worried about it, and none of you should be either, alright?”

There was some grumbling over this, but a look from ‘the Goddess’ quieted it instantly. “I just wanted to tell you all that I’ve been proud, damn proud, to be associated with each and every one of you. You’re a helluva team, and I wish you nothing but good luck and smooth sailing wherever your careers take you. Thanks for taking me on this trip with you.”

As one, the team stood and began to chant Dylan’s name. Even though they hadn’t won, champagne corks popped and they were soon dousing one another with the bubbly liquid, laughing and cheering as if they’d taken the whole thing.

Cat joined in the laughter as she watched her lover use her much vaunted defensive skills to stay, for the moment, out of the fracas. She was right, Cat thought with a sense of surprise. That jerk could keep us from winning, but he could never make us lose.

And with her spirits thusly buoyed, she waded into the fray, a freshly popped champagne bottle ready for dumping on the most beautiful woman she knew, inside and out. Screw you, Johnson, and screw you basketball. There’s finally something in my heart more important than the both of you could ever be.

And then, she pounced.

The END

EPILOGUE

“Dylan?”

“Mmn?”

Grinning, Cat fanned herself with her open copy of “Alabama Coaches Monthly”. Lowering her sunglasses just slightly, she turned her head to fully take in the view of the woman beside her. Lying on her belly in a seaside lounge chair, Dylan Lambert was the posterchild for clean living. Toned almost black by the constant sun, the white thong part of her bathing suit left nothing to the imagination, and Cat spent a good few minutes mapping every curve and valley of the long body stretched out before her. The tiny straps that held her top—what there was of it—up were, of course, untied to permit even tanning, and Cat found herself half-hoping that a loud noise or something would startle her somnolent lover enough to have her come up from her position.

Then she looked over that the small groups of men and women who continued to dart looks her dark lover’s way and nixed that hope for good and all. Mine, she thought to herself. Allll mine.

Turning her head toward Cat, Dylan cracked her sun sensitive eyes just the slightest bit open. “Did you need something?”

Cat smirked. “Oh, the many ways I could answer that particular question. However, since we’re in public right now, I just was wanting to tell you that I saw an ad here for a coach over at St. Catherine’s Girl’s High. The candidate has to have a teaching degree too. I think they want them doing the Health classes or something.”

Dylan chuckled. “Your mom will think she’s died and gone to heaven. You…teaching. In a Catholic girl’s school even.”

“Mm. You have a point there.”

“Is it something you’re considering?”

“I don’t know. Guess it’s good to keep my options open.”

“True.”

As Dylan’s eyes slipped closed, Cat thought back on the past three weeks of her life. True to her lover’s prediction, no more than two days had passed since the championship game when her phone began ringing off the hook. Seemed that every single coach and owner in the league wanted to talk to her. She’d even been surprised by the number of calls coming from outside the United States. Teams from Spain, France, Germany and Japan were hustling to beat the band. She was, it seemed, a very hot commodity.

Thus far, Horace Johnson had managed to keep his word. She received the letters releasing her from her contract, and there was, as Haley Locke put it, no muss and no fuss to go with them. The team’s owner—he hadn’t sold yet—refused to be interviewed in the aftermath of the last game of the season. Of course, it had helped that he’d just been released from the hospital after an attack of angina, and the press wasn’t all that inclined to push.

More surprisingly, he’d let Dylan go just as quietly as he’d let Cat, and most of the other Badgers go as well. Cat often wondered just what it was that Dylan dangled over his head, but realized that in this case, some secrets were best kept behind locked lips. At least until she’d determined her life’s path and couldn’t be hurt by them anymore.

Dylan had fielded more than her fair share of calls—she was the Goddess, after all, and number one in anybody’s eyes, be it as a player, a coach, or a combination of the two. She’d turned them all down with class and aplomb, leaving her many callers feeling better than any right to feel, considering she’d said ‘no’ to their offers.

Finally, when neither of them could take anymore, Dylan suggested a vacation on Antigua. Cat had jumped at the suggestion before it had even fully left her partner’s lips, kissing her soundly for her good judgment, then rushing off to pack. They’d both left their cell phones at home, and their destination with Mac, who was under orders not to breathe a word of it to anyone under penalty of a severe hurting. He’d gotten the message loud and clear.

So why, she mused, was Carlos, the admittedly hunky cabana boy, coming toward them with a tray in his hand? A tray that bore something that looked suspiciously like a phone atop its silvery elegance?

As he approached, Carlos flashed a toothy grin at them both while bowing at the waist. “Good afternoon to you Ms Cat and Ms Dylan,” he began in his lightly accented voice.

“That’d better not be a phone in your hand,” Dylan muttered from her place on the lounge.

The young man’s smile faltered slightly, then regained previous wattage as he bowed again. “Yes, Ms. Dylan, it is a phone.”

“I’m gonna kill Mac,” she grumbled, pressing her top to herself in deference to Cat, and reaching for the phone.

“No, Ma’am, it is not a Mac. He says his name is a….Thad Carter?”

Dylan and Cat exchanged glances. Thad Carter was the head coach of the Dallas Mavs, the men’s pro basketball team. Pressing the phone to her ear, Dylan said, “Thad? That you?”

“Dylan! Thank God. I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

“I’m on vacation, Thad.” Cat could see her lover’s jaws clamp hard on the invective that was just begging to come out.

“Oh.”

“So, what was so urgent that you had to call halfway around the world to speak to me? Is the sky falling? Stock market crash? Horace Johnson finally bit the big one while screwing his admin? What?”

Thad chuckled. “No, no, nothing like that. It’s just that…well….I…..”

“Spit it out, Thad. I’m beginning to tan unevenly here.”

Cat smothered her laughter with a hand to her mouth. Dylan turned and tipped her a wink.

“I’m waiting, Thad.”

“Ok, listen, it’s like this. You probably haven’t heard the news, being on vacation and all, but I’ve been named the Head Coach of the USA Women’s Basketball team for this year’s Olympics. And, well, I’d like you and Catherine to consider playing for my team. Now I know that you’re both semi-retired, but you’re also the best female players in the damn world, and I want you and your talents on my side of the court. We’ll win the gold if you’re there, sure as shit sticks to a sheep’s ass.”

“Charming, Thad. Utterly charming.”

She could almost feel the man’s blush on the other end of the line. “Sorry. It’s just….”

“I know what it’s just, Thad.” She sighed, rolling over to one side so that she was facing Cat, who looked to be ready to go into convulsions unless she found out what they were talking about, and soon, too. “Listen, you’re right. We’re both semi-retired, and we took this vacation to get away from all the hounds and freaks and assorted other nutjobs wanting a piece of us. So I can’t give you our answer right now. We’ll have to discuss it between us.”

“I understand,” he replied quickly. “I am a little pressed for time, though. This was kinda sprung on me the last minute too.”

“Spreading the wealth around. I like that about you, Thad. But the fact is, we’ll take all the time we need to come to a decision. Neither of us is in the mood to be pushed right now. If that is too tough on you, go ahead and get someone else.”

“No, no. I want you two first. It’s a lot easier for top prospects to say yes if they know the top dogs are already in the pen.”

“Another brilliant analogy from a man full of…something.” But she grinned as she said it, and she knew he could hear the levity in her voice. “Give us a day or two to talk it over, alright? We’ll call you when we’ve made up our minds.”

“Either way?”

“Either way. I promise.”

“Alright. I’ll look forward to hearing from you, then. And I’m sorry about disturbing your vacation.”

“That’s fine. Talk to you later.”

Hanging up the phone, she waved Carlos away, then rolled to a sitting position on the lounge. Cat was all but buzzing with anticipation, gem green eyes sparkling in the strong sunshine. “Well?”

“That,” she teased, “was Thad Carter.”

“I know that.”

“He coaches the Mavs.”

Dylan could hear her lover’s teeth grinding. “I know that, too, dear.”

“Yes, I guess you do.” Hands over her head, she gave a leisurely stretch, showing off every deeply tanned and muscular ripple in her skin. A short distance away a man, too busy eyeing Dylan to know where he was going tripped over his wife, dumping her into the sand. Cat chuckled despite her frustration.

“C’mon, Dylan, stop teasing the tourists and give already.”

“The tourists?”

“No, you rat. What did Coach Carter say to you?”

Dylan gave an offhand shrug, then peered down at her fingernails. “Oh, he might have mentioned that he got suckered into taking the Olympic head coaching job and wants us to play for our country in the Olympics this summer.”

“You’re shitting me!”

“Nope.”

Cat tried hard to keep the joy flowing inside her deeply bottled. Without knowing how Dylan felt about the whole thing, she wanted to keep her reactions inside until she was sure, one way or the other.

Dylan, however, could easily read the happiness in her lover’s beautiful face, and it brought a smile to her own. “You did mention, once, that you would have liked to represent your country in the Olympics, right?”

“Well, yes,” she replied, trying to keep it casual. “I might have mentioned something like that once or twice.”

Dylan nodded carefully. “So…it’s something that you might want to consider?”

“It might be,” she replied slowly. “If it’s something you’re willing to consider as well. I know what happened last time, Dylan. It just about ruined your career.”

“But it didn’t. And the more I think about it, the more I think I’d like to try the whole experience again. With you.”

“Funny. That’s exactly what I was gonna say to you. Except for the ‘again’ part.”

“So, we’re in?”

“We’re in.”

And the two lovers kissed to seal the deal.

Seven months later, Cat grinned as she looked over the mantle in the house that they both shared. Inside a velvet lined, glass fronted box hung two gold medals, their rewards for taking the USA team to the very top of the Olympic world. She grazed her fingers very close to the glass, seeing the bright and shining memories of that heady, wonderful time in the medals hanging before her. She could almost hear the chants of “USA! USA! USA! USA!” when they’d been called to the top of the podium to receive their just rewards. A large framed shot held the place of honor next to the medals. It was a picture of the whole team standing atop the highest step of the podium. Dylan and Cat, in the center, were holding hands, eyes sparkling with tears of pride as they watched the flag being hoisted to the top of the arena, mouths frozen in the singing of the National Anthem.

“God,” she whispered, “what a time.” She could feel the goosebumps prickle across her skin and a warm, tingling flush of blood moving through her. “What a time.”

Taking her tea, she moved to sit in the butter-soft couch that lined the back wall of the den. Dylan was off getting her face plastered on Wheeties boxes from here to Peoria. Cat herself had just returned from a relatively tame Nike shoot. All of her clothes had stayed on, at any rate. And right here, right now, she was perfectly content. The past was unchangeable, the future not yet set in stone, and she could, for once in her life, live completely in this moment.

Unfortunately, this particular moment wasn’t exactly the most exciting of its genre, and she soon found her lids grow heavy. Listening to her body, she placed the tea mug on the table beside the couch, and slipped more comfortably into its warm embrace. She was asleep more quickly than she ever realized.

In his opulent office, Horace Johnson mopped the sweat from his brow with a slightly yellowed handkerchief, then looked back down at the latest offer sheet. It was a blind offer, and it irked him no end not to know who was behind this thing. But as his daddy had been prone to say in similar circumstances, beggars can’t be choosers, and it’s best not to look a gift horse in the mouth. The Platitude King was Johnson’s father, currently residing in the hottest pits of Hell, if his son’s prayers had any effect on the thing.

He looked at the final numbers again, and scowled. The offer was much, much less than his asking price. He was getting scammed by a pro. A pro too chickenshit to show his face. “Shit.”

“It’s a viable offer,” his lawyer informed him, as if he was blind to that fact. “Less than you wanted, of course, but more than anyone else has put on the table. Of course, we could give it more time.”

Time. That blasted thing that Johnson seemed to be accumulating less and less of as the months went by. He could all but feel the combined nooses of the IRS and the SEC tightening around his neck as every hour passed. Most of his legitimate businesses had had to be shut down to conserve rapidly diminishing capital. What he needed, and quickly, was a chunk of cold, hard cash that he could use to buy the best lawyer in town, and let him slide an easy judge a bribe he couldn’t refuse. Barring that, a good bit of grease would get him far away from here, perhaps to a place where there was no extradition back to this cesspit of a country who wouldn’t rest until they saw him trying to pick up the soap in a shower-room filled with degenerates.

“Alright,” he grumbled, finally. “Alright, I’ll sign the damned thing. You’re sure the payout’s in cash, right?”

“That’s part of the deal, yes.”

“Alright, then. Let’s get this over with.” He signed page after page after page after page with his usual flourish, realizing with a sense of almost relief that he was slowly, but surely, taking himself out from beneath that dyke bitch Lambert’s unnatural thumb. Oh yes, he would pay her back for what she’d done to him. Pay her back in spades. And his life would once again be sweet. Heck, it might be that the new owner of the Badgers would be willing to go in on it with him. It was a well known fact that the league owners hated queers every bit as much as he did. Some even more so. Yes, he thought, smiling, life turns out good after all.

He pushed the stack of papers to his lawyer, his customary smirk, which had been absent lo these past several months, returned in all its force. “Now that we got this out of the way, think the new owner will meet me now? I think we might have a few things to talk about.” His smirk broadened, then lost some of its steam as his own lawyer supplied the same expression in return.

“Oh,” he remarked, “I have no doubt that can be arranged. Stay here for a moment and I’ll check with them to make sure everything’s acceptable. Then you can meet, ok?”

“Perfect.”

Feeling every inch a fat, satisfied cat, Horace put his feet up on his shiny desk, pulled a cigar from his pocket, and lit it with a flourish. He eyed the bottle of cognac sitting on an antique table nearby, and began to laugh.

Several minutes later, his lawyer stuck his head in through the door. “The new owner’s ready to meet with you now.”

“Send him in,” Horace replied expansively, round face flushed with joy. “Send him right the hell in.”

The lawyer’s head disappeared, and the heavy door slid open.

Horace choked on his cigar as the new owner of the Badgers strode into the room, briefcase stuffed with cash in one hand, an insufferable smirk on her stunningly beautiful face. “Hello, Horace,” came the low purr.

“N—” He choked again. “No! Nooooooo!!!! It can’t—you can’t---I won’t---”

“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong. It can, you will, and I just did. Enjoy your blood money, maggot. The Badgers are mine.”

Wide, bulging eyes turned to his lawyer, who shrugged, but didn’t look all that unhappy.

“Signed, sealed and delivered boss, just like you ordered.”

With a grin, Dylan Lambert tossed the heavily laden briefcase across the table, where it landed against the chest of the former owner of her team. “There ya go, scumbag.”

“You can’t! I protest! I didn’t…..”

Dylan strode across the room to the other side of his desk. Placing both palms flat against it, she leaned over until their faces were mere inches apart. “Game over, Horace. You lose.”

“Noooooooooo!”

“Mac?” Dylan tossed over her shoulder.

“Yeah, boss?” the giant man responded, stepping into the office. “Something you wanted?”

“Yeah. Get this pig outta my office before I call the cops and have him arrested for trespassing.”

Mac grinned. “With pleasure, boss. C’mon, you. You’re outta here.”

Pale and trembling, Johnson didn’t even put up a fight as Mac dragged him from his chair and across the room. “I’ll get you for this, you dyke bitch. If it takes every last penny I have, I will get you.”

“Don’t ever make a promise you can’t keep, little man. Now get out, before I forget what a gentlewoman I am and kick your ass from here to the first floor.”

“You’re going to regret this, Lambert! Count on it!!”

“Oh, I’m countin on something alright. Now get the hell outta here. You’re stinking up my space.”

Very soon, the door was closed, leaving Dylan to survey her new empire. Chuckling, she moved to the other side of the desk, sank down into the leather office chair, and picked up the phone, dialing the number by heart. “Hello, my love,” she purred into the speaker.

“Dylan? Where are you? I expected you home a couple of hours ago! How’d the shoot go!”

“Fine,” she replied, grinning. “Just fine.”

“Then why aren’t you here?”

“Oh,” she said, “just stopped to take care of a little business.”

“What kind of business.” The voice, rife with suspicion, came back over the phone. “Dylan, what did you do?”

Leaning back in the chair, Dylan propped her feet atop the desk. “Well, after our time in the Olympics, I realized that I still loved the game. It made me realize all over again just what is so special about it to me. And I figured that this league, if it’s gonna have a chance in hell of recapturing that magic, has to undergo some real changes. So….”

A pregnant silence on the other end of the line.

“I bought the Badgers.”

“You bou…you b…you bought the Badgers?!?”

“Yup. I installed myself as player-owner, with Diana Caulley as head coach. She’s paid her dues, and she deserves this chance to prove herself. I’m willing to give that to her.”

“Oh. My. God. You fucking bought the Badgers!”

“Sure did. And, you know, I could use a really outstanding point guard who knows how the game should be played and who can set an example for all those young kids coming up through High School and College.”

“You’re asking me to join you?”

“Well, yeah. But, Cat, it’s called ‘asking’ for a reason. I’ll not force you into anything you don’t want to do. If teaching ball to schoolkids is what fulfills you and makes you happy, then you have my full love and support. I did this for us, and for those kids out there who need to know that there’s someone other than the Horace Johnsons out there who just want to make a buck, no matter how. But you can do the exact same thing by teaching those kids when they’re young and just beginning to dream of making it to this level. The choice is yours.”

Cat thought about that for a moment. She remembered the look of absolute joy on her mother’s face when she told her she’d been considering taking the coaching spot at St. Catherine’s. The woman almost broke down and wept, for goodness’ sake!

But she couldn’t hide the fact that her time in the Olympics brought that competitive spark back so strong that it was with her still, many months after the event had ended. She was honest enough to admit to herself that what would truly fulfill her, profession-wise at least—was another shot at playing at the professional level. There would still be gobs of schoolgirls waiting for her wisdom once she retired from the game. She had too much to do and to learn first, though. Another thought popped into her head. “What…what if I decided to accept an offer from another team?”

“Well, of course I’d be disappointed, Cat, but I’ve always told you to do what makes you happy. An unhappy Cat makes for an unhappy Dylan, and I really don’t want it to be that way.”

“Well, I’d be happiest playing for you. I know that. But there’d be talk.”

“Screw the talk. I’ve been given carte blanche to clean this league up, and that’s what I intend to do. People either get their heads out of their asses and watch the game for what it’s supposed to represent…entertainment…or they can go find another hobby. No more politics. No more bullshit. A good league, run a good way, and we might just have something.” She fiddled with one of Horace’s pens. “So, you just think about things, Cat. Have Haley represent you at contract signing, no matter who you decide to play for. You won’t get a penny more or a penny less than what you deserve.”

There was only a moment of silence before Cat came back on the line. “There’s really no choice for me, Dylan. Loyalty means something to me. And you’ve always told me to follow my heart. My heart, Ms. Pallas Dylan Lambert, is with you. I’d come back to the Badgers even if you put me on the lowest rookie salary on the books.”

Dylan laughed. “I don’t think there’s a chance in hell of that happening, love.” She looked around the office once again. “So, why don’t you throw on some clothes and meet me up here. I think I can promise you an evening to remember.”

“I’ll be holding you to that.”

“Good. Now hurry up.”

Cat laughed. “I love you, Dylan. With all my heart.”

“And I love you, Catherine. Forever.”

The End