The Day Steam Died Part 14

"What are you trying to do?" Jerry screamed at Sylvia, who was propped against her headboard with arms crossed. "Are you trying to break-up my marriage because you're sick with jealousy? You will apologize to Ann, and I don't ever want to hear you say anything else about Marilyn, do you understand?"

"Or what, you're going to put me in an old folk's home?. You're just like your father. He never loved me. When you were old enough to take care of yourself, he left. Now that you have your own family, you've left me too."

Taking slow, deep breaths, Jerry calmed down and sat on the edge of the bed. "I do love you, but you make it awful hard sometimes. I'll always love you and take care of you. Nothing is going to change that. That's why I wanted you to live here with us, so we can all be a family. You don't have to be alone anymore while I'm at work. You have a family who'll love you if you let them. Please, try to understand."

Chapter 30.

"After the war, Coastline Railway continued as Uncle Sam's workhorse, hauling more mail and freight than any other line in the country."

Basketball scandal The investigative pieces by Rick on alleged gambling and point shaving on the N.C. State basketball team had raised a firestorm of protest across the state. Players were being questioned internally by their athletic departments. As a result of his articles and Candi's photographs of players meeting with shady men of questionable character, the team's performance had been negatively affected.

The big four (N.C. State, North Carolina, Duke, and Wake Forest) were untouchable in their fans' eyes. They were the Atlantic Coast Conference premier teams that represented North Carolina on the national stage of college basketball. Loyal fans didn't like the newspaper digging up dirt on their basketball heroes who brought national recognition to tobacco road as the cradle of basketball civilization. Because of their dominance of the game, the four schools were able to recruit anywhere in the country. Often times they didn't have to recruit; outstanding high school players came to them because they wanted to play with the best. The slightest hint of scandal could hurt recruiting and their status in the national rankings.

Rick and the Raleigh Times Herald brought to light the questionable undercurrent that often flowed beneath the surface of highly-visible college basketball programs. Rick had received hate mail and threats on his life from some fanatics.

Candi wasn't immune to the outcry; she'd received her own share of hate mail. Her photos were graphic proof that something was going on.

Rick's series of articles raised enough concern with the NCAA that they conducted an investigation of their own. If the allegations were true, it would wreck the season for the Wolfpack and become a legal matter for the courts. They would be eliminated from the national champions.h.i.+p compet.i.tion where they were perennial contenders. More than the loss of the chance of a national champions.h.i.+p was the loss of revenue and scholars.h.i.+ps. It would derail the successful talent train that had run down tobacco road as long as anyone could remember.

"What's your threat count today?" Rick asked Candi over their regular morning cup of coffee in his office.

"I don't bother to count or read them. It's just the ranting of some idiots who think we're Communist conspirators," she replied, stirring her coffee. "I never thought I would ever be able to drink this stuff, but with enough sugar and cream, it isn't half bad."

"That rotgut coffee has kept me awake many a'night trying to finish a story on deadline. Speaking of story deadlines, I got some news from Wil. He's established a working relations.h.i.+p with a Sheriff's Deputy over in Forsyth County. It seems this deputy owed Wil a favor from back in their police academy days. He's willing to poke around on the 'qt' and see what he can find out about S & T Distributing Company. We may be able to blow Tank out of the water before he can win a second term if this deputy can find any evidence to tie Tank to what we believe is Sam's illegal business."

"You seem h.e.l.l-bent on ruining a lot of people's Christmas this year." Candi set her coffee down and leaned on his desk with both elbows and looked him in the eyes. "You're still carrying out that high school vendetta, aren't you?"

"Maybe," Rick said, and then turned his attention to some work on his desk. "What are we going to do during the holidays? You have plans to go to New York?"

"No, I thought I'd check out the Dixie Cla.s.sics basketball tournament and see what I can pick up there."

"Maybe we can combine a little pleasure with business."

"Like what?" Candi glared at Rick. "Are you ever going to take me out on a real date? You know, get dressed up, pick me up at my apartment, and go to dinner or a movie, a concert maybe. I hear the Raleigh Ballet and Symphony Orchestra put on a pretty cool Swan Lake performance around this time of year."

"Well, what do you know? Under that tough New York skin is a soft side of culture. You're on. When we get back from Winston-Salem, I'll get the tickets to Swan Lake and make reservations for dinner at The Farrington House. We can act like real people on a real date, and it might even be fun. Tell you what, I'll even spring for dinner at Liberonis, a really good Italian restaurant in Winston."

"You've got a date, Mr. Barnes. I can hardly wait."

The annual Dixie Cla.s.sics Basketball Tournament was in full swing at the Joel Coliseum. The tournament matched ACC teams with teams from other top conferences and drew thousands of fans every year from as far away as California, Michigan, and Georgetown. Parking was a nightmare, but Rick and Candi were able to get a good spot with their press badges.

Security and event personnel were everywhere. Neither Rick nor Candi thought anyone would risk being caught trying to rig a game in a national spotlight like the Dixie Cla.s.sics tournament, but it was worth a shot.

With good seats in the Press section, they would watch for any suspicious or uncharacteristic performances by players that might change the course of the game at a critical point.

Behind Rick and Candi sat a loud and obnoxious North Carolina fan who had too much to drink. He jumped to his feet, spilling his spiked drink down Rick's back when Carolina scored just before the halftime buzzer. Rick's jacket and s.h.i.+rt were soaked. Rick and Candi stood, stretched, and proceeded to follow the crowd up the long flight of stairs to the restrooms on the concourse level. Rick followed the man to the end of the line that snaked around the corner to the men's restroom. Candi joined the line for the women's restroom which was even longer than the men's.

"Meet you back here," Rick said to Candi.

Rick lined up behind the drunk and tapped him lightly on the shoulder. "Hi, my name's Rick."

The man turned and gave Rick a surprised look and replied, "Ronnie Gaines, pleased to meet you," he slurred, wobbling on his feet.

"Look, Ronnie, I'm enjoying the game too, but I would appreciate it if you wouldn't pour your drink on me every time the Tar Heels score, okay?"

"Well, h.e.l.l, mister . . ."

"Rick. The name is Rick."

"Okay, Rick, if you're so upset about it, I'll send your jacket to the cleaners. How does that suit you? Let's swap coats right now." Ronnie pulled his jacket off. "Here, take mine and I'll clean yours and send it to you. What's your address?"

Rick removed his wet coat and swapped with Ronnie and handed him a business card with his other hand. It was a pretty good deal for Rick. His was an old car coat leftover from college and Ronnie's was a chocolate brown leather coat with silk lining. It was a perfect fit on Rick.

After leaving the restroom, he avoided Ronnie, who was weaving his way back into the coliseum for the rest of the game.

Rick waited for Candi outside the overcrowded lady's room. When she finally came out, Rick said, "What do you say we get out of here? I haven't seen anything unusual at any of the games so far."

"Sounds good to me," Candi chirped.

They left the Coliseum and found the temperature had dropped and the wind was bitter cold. Rick revved the engine of his red Corvair to get some heat going while he related the story about the drunk and the jacket swap.

"You sure picked a drunk with good taste. He won't remember anything about tonight and will be wondering tomorrow morning where the h.e.l.l he got your booze-soaked coat and what happened to his fine leather jacket."

"I gave him my card. That'll jog his memory. Too bad, though. It's really nice. Ah, heat. Finally," Rick said, rubbing his hands together in front of the dash vent. "How about we get some dinner at Liberonis and warm up? My buddy Keith Devry at the Winston-Salem Journal guarantees you'll think you're back in New York."

"Great, I was getting tired of watching almost grown men running up and down the court, getting all sweaty just to try to put the ball through a basket. It's totally a waste of time and energy, if you ask me. It's more civilized than football, though. At least n.o.body deliberately runs into another player to get the ball back."

"Okay, okay, I get it. You don't like sports. I can't believe I'm working with someone who hates the two sports I love most. I hope we can find some food we both agree on at Liberonis."

Rick followed Keith's directions, cruising through West End to downtown. He spotted a green awning that extended from Liberoni's entrance to the curb.

A valet opened Candi's door and helped her out of the low-slung car. Rick exited the driver's side and handed his keys to the young man.

Rick checked Candi's coat but kept his jacket on to cover his wet s.h.i.+rt. They were greeted by a heavyset but handsome Italian Maitre d' with silver hair and matching mustache.

"Buonasera." He greeted them with a warm smile. "This way, please," he said in a thick Italian accent. With a slight bow, he extended his left arm with a starched napkin neatly draped over it, directing them to a dimly lit table with richly upholstered Victorian chairs.

"Your friend has good taste," Candi whispered to Rick. The candle in the center of the table was romantic, but she had to squint in the soft light to read the menu and wine list.

Rick deferred to her judgment on wine; he was a beer and bourbon guy. He laid his menu down and looked at Candi. Her eyes sparkled as she studied the menu.

A violin and accordion player strolled by their table, playing the theme song from the movie Romeo and Juliet.

"This is romantic," Candi purred, absorbing the music and period decorations surrounding them.

Rick leaned toward Candi so he wouldn't be heard by the couple at the table next to them. "Yeah, and really pricey too. What are you getting?"

"If Ben is paying for it, I'm getting something good." Candi smiled, scanning the menu.

"I think I'm just going with the spaghetti and meatb.a.l.l.s and a Bud."

"Come on, you have to be kidding. Look at all the good food here. Treat yourself, for G.o.d's sake. Here comes the waiter. Don't worry. I'll order for both of us."

Rick leaned back in his seat. "Fine."

"Good evening," the waiter said. "I'm Geno and will be your server. May I start you out with some appetizers? We have-"

"Naw, we'll just order dinner," Rick interrupted him.

Candi kicked him under the table. "Excuse my friend. He was kidding. We'll have the Eggplant Rollatini, please."

"And may I recommend a Cabernet Meritage? It is our most popular wine."

"Yes, that will be fine." Candi smiled at Rick.

"Very good choice. I will return with your appetizers and wine and take your order then."

"I think we're ready now, if you don't mind."

"Not at all, signora. What may I serve you this evening?"

"My friend will have the Veal Scaloppine Marsala and I will have the Chicken Marsala."

"Excellent choices. I will place your orders and bring your wine and appetizers."

"You almost cracked my s.h.i.+n bone," Rick said after the waiter left. "I hope we enjoy this. I doubt if Ben will cover it."

"Jeez, will you relax? If he won't, I'll pay for it, okay? I haven't had good Italian food since I left New York. This place is really nice," Candi said. Then she told Rick about all the great Italian restaurants in New York. She and her roommate saved their money and splurged once a month until they had eaten at all the ones near campus. "Oh, here he comes with our wine and appetizers."

In spite of his protest, Rick loved the Italian cuisine. He'd never eaten eggplant in his life. His mother was a good Southern cook, frying everything and drowning it in flour gravy. Whether it was the wine or the stuffed eggplant, he loosened up, which seemed to please Candi.

After the full-course meal and a second bottle of wine, it was time to head back to Raleigh.

The valet brought the car around and held the door for Candi. Rick climbed behind the wheel and didn't move the car. "Look, it's late, we've both had too much to drink, and Raleigh's a long drive. What do you say we stay here tonight?"

"One room or two?" Candi shot back, slurring her speech a little.

She'd caught him off guard by her quick response.

"Uh, your choice," Rick said. "Whatever you want."

"Are you propositioning me?" Candi teased.

"Nope, just a question," Rick said casually. He hadn't thought about any girl seriously since Ann.

"One room," she said. "And I'll go Dutch with you. Ben doesn't have to know we stayed over."

Embarra.s.sed by her offer to go Dutch, his face turned scarlet red. They both sat silently for a minute. He'd made the impression that he was a cheapskate in the restaurant, and now she offered to pay half for a room.

"This has gone all wrong," Rick said. "I'm a little out of practice. I'm sorry. We can drive back to Raleigh if you want to."

"You southern guys kill me. Chivalry is dead, Rick, and you're drunk. You don't have to do the Sir Walter Raleigh thing. I've wanted to get you in bed ever since we started working together. So, relax, enjoy the glow. It's going to be fine. Let's find a hotel. We've worked enough tonight."

Chapter 31.

"But times were changing. New technology put on hold until after the war produced machinery that changed our way of life."

Night to remember The Marriott Hotel loomed tall in the city's skyline. Perched on the highest hill in the center of town, it was a grand hotel built to accommodate the many businessmen traveling to the Mecca of the tobacco and cigarette producing world.

The still, cold night air didn't stifle the smell of cured tobacco that crept uphill from the tobacco warehouses to add flavor to the air of downtown that embodied Winston-Salem. It was a pleasant odor more p.r.o.nounced to out-of-towners who weren't accustomed to the aroma. No one objected, because it meant prosperity for their city.

There was a bank on every corner with top-floor offices filled with lawyers that surrounded the court house. The grandest of them all was built in 1909 by R.J. Reynolds. It was the first high-rise building in the city and was still the tallest. The R.J. Reynolds Tower looked over the thriving city with its tobacco warehouses and cigarette plant entwined with railroad tracks threading their way through the maze of buildings.

"I never realized Winston-Salem was so small," Rick said as they left the warehouse district and headed toward the Marriott. Rick was stalling for the eventual moment he would be alone in a room with Candi. He pulled into the portico of the Marriott and went in to get them a room.

He came jogging back to the car and leaned down to speak with Candi through her open window. "They're pretty full. Lots of people here for the Dixie Cla.s.sics. Is the fifth floor okay?"

"Heights don't bother me."

The doorman whistled for the valet to park their car. Rick shot an awkward glance at Candi then looked to watch the valet drive away.

"I feel kind of funny going into a hotel without a suitcase and smelling like a winery," Rick said.

"I don't have one either, and I like the smell of a winery. Look, couples rent rooms by the night all the time. Let's check our room out. I'm kinda tired."

Rick was almost relieved at hearing that. He wasn't sure he was ready for a s.e.xual relations.h.i.+p, especially with a bra.s.sy New Yorker. Maybe they would just go to sleep; after all, it had been a long day and they had consumed a lot of wine.

The elevator ride to the fifth floor was in total silence. They quietly left the elevator and opened the door to room 515, just around the corner from the ice machine.

"Wow!" Candi exclaimed when they walked into the large room with a king size bed. Burgundy silk drapes were drawn closed. An over-stuffed chair and ottoman were arranged opposite a desk in the far corner. In the bathroom she found stacks of monogrammed towels, terry cloth robes, a roomy walk-in shower, and a marble vanity with double sinks backed by mirror that covered the entire wall.

"This is really nice, Rick," she called out to him. "You really know how to treat a girl. I should get you drunk more often. Relax on that big bed in there while I freshen up a bit."

Candi closed the bathroom door. Rick walked around the room to the closet and to hang Ronnie's leather jacket. When he slipped a hanger into its sleeves, he noticed an oversized label on the inside lining of the jacket. It read: Employee of the Year 1962, Ronnie Gaines, presented by Sam Johnson for S & T Distributing Co.

He couldn't wait to tell Candi about his discovery. But it would have to wait-she told him no more shoptalk back at the restaurant. He hung the coat like it was a piece of evidence in a crime lab then removed his wet s.h.i.+rt and hung it on the doork.n.o.b of the closet to dry. After turning on the TV, Rick kicked off his shoes and dove into the middle of the giant bed. The last thirty seconds of North Carolina's game with Kentucky was on. Coach Rupp was shown full-frame, ranting at the officials over a non-call of a foul on a blocked lay-up that would have tied the game. The Tar Heels took possession of the ball and ran the clock out. Players ran around the floor hugging each other and celebrated with fans that poured onto the court at the final buzzer. They would play N.C. State tomorrow night for the champions.h.i.+p, a tough game he would love to watch in person.