John Grisham - 2007 Playing for Pizza by John Grisham

Author:John Grisham [Grisham, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literary, Fiction
ISBN: 0440244714
Google: -M_2TvpqCmUC
Amazon: B003B02O00
Publisher: Dell
Published: 2010-03-16T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter

16

Mercifully, the Gazzetta di Parma did not mention the game. Sam read the sports page early Monday morning and for once was happy to be lost in the land of soccer. He flipped through the paper while parked on the curb outside the Hotel Palace Maria Luigia waiting for Hank and Claudelle Withers from Topeka. He’d spent last Saturday showing them the highlights of the Po valley, and now they wanted a full day seeing more.

He wished he could’ve spent Sunday with them as well, and skipped Milan.

His cell phone rang. “Hello.”

“Sam, it’s Rick.”

Sam skipped a beat, thought some terrible things, then said, “What’s up?”

“Where are you?”

“I’m a guide today. Why?”

“You gotta minute?”

“No, as I said, I’m working now.”

“Where are you?”

“Outside the Hotel Palace Maria Luigia.”

“Be there in five minutes.”

Minutes later Rick turned the corner, running hard and sweating as if he’d been at it for an hour. Sam slowly removed himself from the car and leaned against a fender.

Rick pulled alongside, stopped on the sidewalk, took a couple of deep breaths, and said, “Nice car.” He pretended to admire the black Mercedes.

Sam had little to say, so he said, “It’s a rental.”

Another deep breath, a step closer. “Sorry about yesterday,” Rick said, eyeball-to-eyeball with his coach.

“It might be a party for you,” Sam growled. “But it’s my job.”

“You have the right to be pissed.”

“Oh thank you.”

“It won’t happen again.”

“Damned right it won’t. You show up again in bad shape and I’ll bench your ass. I’d rather lose with Alberto and a little dignity than lose with some prima donna with a hangover. You were pretty disgusting.”

“Go ahead. Unload. I got it coming.”

“You lost more than a game yesterday. You lost your team.”

“They weren’t exactly ready to play.”

“True, but don’t pass the buck. You’re the key, whether you like it or not. They feed off you, or at least they did.”

Rick watched a few cars pass, then backed away. “I’m sorry, Sam. It won’t happen again.”

“We’ll see.”

Hank and Claudelle emerged from the hotel and said good morning to their guide. “Later,” Sam hissed at Rick, then got in the car.

· · ·

Gabriella’s Sunday had been as disastrous as Rick’s. In the final performance of Otello, she had been flat and uninspired, according to her own critique, and, evidently, according to the audience as well. She reluctantly explained things over a light lunch, and though Rick wanted to know if they had actually booed her again, he did not ask. She was cheerless and preoccupied, and Rick tried to lighten her mood by describing his pathetic game in Milan. Misery loves company, and he was certain his performance was much worse than hers.

It didn’t work. Halfway through the meal she informed him, sadly, that she was leaving in a few hours for Florence. She needed to go home, to get away from Parma and the pressure of the stage.

“You promised to stay another week,” he said, trying not to sound desperate.

“No, I must go.”

“I thought you wanted to see a football game.

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