"You." She was wearing deep red lipstick, and when she smiled I got that feeling you know where. "How'd it go today?"

"All right."

"I talked to Napoleon today, he's doing better."

So she and Nap were talking to each other. Could they be bangin' a girlfriend or boyfriend together? Maybe that halo consultant queen Pablo. "He's too tough to stay down long." A car pulled behind me and honked. I didn't glance back.

"That's what I figure about you, Zelmont." She gave me a look to make a man forget his own name. "I'm sorry about what I said." She put her car back in gear. "But not about what I want to do.'' She drove into the lot as the car behind me went around. It was Grainger, and he looked pissed.

All the way to the pad I should have been reviewing the plays I was gonna have to run again tomorrow. Or maybe wondering about Fahrar talking to Stadanko. Instead, I couldn't get Wilma Wells off my brain. Damn.

By the next day I really was back in the groove. Even Stadanko had to nod as he stood on the sidelines, trying to be all that. I zagged on Grier, and though Pruitt was ten years younger than me, I got past him too. If I didn't at least make the exhibition season then God didn't make titty rings.

"How you like me now," I capped. Grier stood there, hands on his hips, tucking in his bottom lip. He had a four-year, $20 million package plus shoe and gear endorsements. I knew his agent had probably been on the phone to him yesterday soon as he heard about our set-to to let him know he had way more to lose than me if he wanted to act out.

Especially since that asshole Weems had his spies all over the place. Talk was Coach Blake was one of his brown nosers, had been forced into it. Weems was supposed to have fag files on the secret bungholers in pro ball. Nap had told me about playmates of his who'd spotted Blake tipping out to his share of gay spots.

Either' cause of his agent or Weems' jive, Grier played it cool this time. He didn't say anything much the rest of practice 'cept grunt now and then when we bumped.

My hip was twinging and moving in and out a little, but I did my best not to show any sign of pain. Cannon was the one I was worried about. He was watching me like a homeless dog eyeing a crippled cat, waiting for me to slip. I leaned against the wall leading to the gym after our sprints.

"Out of gas, old timer?" Grainger put a hand on my shoulder.

"I'm all right." I shook loose, straightening up and heading off to the gym.

"If you say so." He walked past me, his cleats blending in with the rest of the men stamping on the concrete.

I went easy on the leg lifts so as not to aggravate the hip. By the time I got in the shower, everything was smooth. I soaped up, trying to remember when Davida's funeral was. Tomorrow? Or was it Friday? I should have written it down when her moms told me the other day.

I was dressed and on my way out when I spotted that big bruiser Trace loitering around. That had to mean Weems was talking to Stadanko. I tried not to think if it was about me.

The flaming cross on the bodyguard's cheek looked funny in daylight. He was standing near the entrance to the locker room, tossing a football to himself in the air. He had hands like a line man kept dropping the pill.

Just to mess with him I said, "How come you ain't out there tryin' out, Trace?"

He caught the ball this time, then frowned at me as his tiny brain kicked in. "The question is, what are you doing here?"

"I belong here, baby. But you still ain't answered my question. You young and in shape."

"I have more serious work to pursue."

Posing nude for Weems, I imagined. "What's that?" Grier floated past, making like he had some place important to get to.

"You and these others have a responsibility, Raines. Children in the ghettos and barrios, even in the suburbs, follow what you do. They buy the obscenely overpriced shoes you sell for athletic companies. These sheep cut and shoot each other over these shoes or jackets with your signature on them."

"Them clothes and shoes are a reward for those kids, man. Ain't nobody spendin' the rent money on them things."

"Really, Raines, is that so?" He twirled the ball in his glovesized hands.

Enough of this chump. "You just happy being Weems' strongarm."

"It serves a purpose."

He tossed the ball to me, thinking he'd catch me off guard. I snatched it out of the air with one hand. "Then it must be righteous." I heard footsteps and turned to see Blake coming out of a door down the side of the building. He started to walk toward us, then changed his mind, taking off in the other direction.

Trace scratched at his cross with the back of his nails, not looking in Blake's direction.

"Raines, I'd like you to step in here." It was Cannon. He'd come out of a room down the hallway. I knew what was up.

I went over to where he stood holding the door open. Inside he had me pee into a bottle, and some dude with latex gloves on drew some of my blood.

"I'm not going to be surprised, am I?" Cannon fooled with his glasses, moving 'em this way and that on his large face.

"Nothing to be surprised about, coach. Only how good I'm doing."

He folded his arms but didn't say anything. Afterward, driving home, I got that old urge for a controlled substance boost. I guess it was something about my wiring that made me want to go out and get high right after taking a drug test. For more than a few moments, I considered going all the way east back to the 'hood to score some rock.

Instead I smiled at myself and got my ass back to the pad. There were two messages on the machine.

"You better had sent some money, Zelmont." Terri was all class. Then she put some sugar in her voice. "Why don't you come down here and spend some time with me and your son? You should make an effort." I was. I was trying to get my career going again.

The other message was from Alicia. "Don't be late for mija's funeral, Zelmont. It's at St. Benedict's at 10 this Saturday Don't forget, you understand."

I sank into the couch, sipping on a jolt of V.S.O.P, and nodded off. I woke to some knocking and got up slow, my hip having stiffened. I opened the door to see Fahrar's silly mug.

"Why don't you go roust some hoes on Spring Street?"

"There's always more fun at Zelmont's pad." He made to enter, but I didn't move out of the way "May I come in?"

"You think you like Dracula, don't you? Ask some moron to let you in and that way you say later in court you was just talkin' to me, like I voluntarily asked you inside my house." I'd had enough dealing with the law to know what was what. "If you ain't here to arrest me, then you best get to steppin'."

He fooled with his hat. "Why'd you bring up court, you got something you need to tell me?"

"Tell you like you deaf, home. I got shit I got to do."

"Like work on your alibi?"

"Work on my chill. See ya." I closed the door and sat down again. He was letting me know he was gonna stay on my jock like a bad rash. But there wasn't nothing he could really do to me. He didn't have anything 'cept his own hard-on about me being a player and him not.

I took a long drink of my brandy and put my head back. On the ceiling a daddy longlegs made his way across, looking for grub. Being that size, the world must have seemed like this endless place with no way out. But if he found an ant or fly, he was the man. That spider would show 'em who was the eater and who was the eaten.

I knew exactly how he felt. It was feast time.