Love in E Flat (10 page)

Lou narrowed her eyes. “You’ve been Googling again?” She was very aware Agata seemed more interested in the change of topics; she watched Lou with a curious eye.

“Well, kinda.”

“And what did you find out?” Agata asked, still watching Lou.

“Well, not too much. Just the basics.” Nick glanced back at Lou. “Ya don’t mind?”

“Would it matter?” Lou avoided Agata.

“Do not be so grumpy,” Agata said. “Go ahead, Nick. This is interesting.”

Lou raised an eyebrow and watched Agata, who avoided Lou and watched Nick as he drove.

“Well, and you correct me if I’m wrong, Lou. But your dad was a professional golfer, and your mom was a professional tennis player. Your mom still plays on the senior circuit, and your dad does the same on the Pro-Am circuit.”

“All of that on Google?” Lou asked dryly. “Wonderful.”

“And you played soccer?” Agata asked.

Lou opened her mouth…

“Yep. She played soccer. Pretty good from what I read,” Nick chimed in.

Suddenly, Lou didn’t want to continue with this conversation, but she changed her mind when Agata looked at her. Lou watched the inquisitive gaze as Agata searched her face, as if looking for an answer.

“So you really were good athlete?” Agata asked.

Lou wanted to give her patent dismissive shrug, but she found herself telling this relative stranger the truth. “Yes, I was. I suppose it came natural…”

“As music is natural to me.”

Their eyes met; Lou found it increasingly hard to swallow. Agata cocked her head and smiled. “It appears we have something in common.”

Lou returned the smile. “It does appear that way.”

They looked at Nick when he gently cleared his throat when he announced they were coming up to Ryan Field at Northwestern.

“Pull over there where it says press box, will you?” Lou pointed to the entrance.

He stopped at the entrance. “How long?”

“I’d say one o’clock. I’ll call you?”

“Sure thing. I’ll get lunch, pick up a few fares, but make sure I’m around then. I’ll wait for you.” He got out and opened the door. “Have fun.”

“Thank you, Nick,” Agata said, accepting his hand. “I hope I like footballer.”

Nick laughed and shook her hand. “I do, too. But if ya don’t, you still got Lou,” he whispered with a wink. “You have a good time.” When he turned to Lou, his gaze became serious. He spoke so only Lou could hear, pulling her away from Agata. “I’m sorry if I overstepped, ya know with your folks. It was none of my business…”

“It’s okay,” Lou assured him. “I’m just not used to talking about them.”

Nick searched her face, and Lou was petrified he would talk further on the subject. It was in that look Lou realized Nick knew it all. She suddenly felt small and insignificant and felt even worse when he smiled kindly and nodded. “You give me a call when you’re ready.”

“Thanks,” Lou said awkwardly. She hesitantly looked at Agata after Nick pulled away. “Well, let’s…”

“Go watch football?” Agata gently put her hand on Lou’s arm. “Do not blame Nick. I believe he is a good soul.”

Lou nodded and slipped the strap of her laptop bag onto her shoulder. Agata walked next to her in silence as they reached the field.

“I’d like to talk to a few of the alumni. Would you mind waiting? It won’t take long, the game is about to start.”

Agata looked at the people in the stands. “Of course not.”

“Thanks. You can sit close to the field.”

“There does not seem to be many people here.”

“It’s not televised or anything. It’s just a pickup-type game between alumni. It’s all for charity.”

“Why do you cover this if it is not televised?”

Lou looked around the sparsely filled stands and the players, old and young. “This is where the story is. Wherever the average person is, that’s the story.” She looked at Agata. “That’s my idea of it anyway. You don’t need ESPN or cameras all the time.”

Agata watched her for a moment. “I see. I do not mind standing. Should I wait here?”

“Please. You don’t mind?” Lou asked. “It’s not too cold?”

Agata shook her head as she wiped a lock of hair from her forehead. “This is not cold, remember?”

Lou laughed. “Yes, I remember. Thanks, I won’t be long at all.”

Agata watched Lou as she walked up to the players on the field. Lou showed them her press ID that she had clipped to her jacket. And the players were all smiles then. It still amazed Agata that Lou had no paper, no notes. She talked with the men as if they were all old friends, talking over old times.

Agata wondered what happened to Lou. When Nick mentioned her athletic prowess, Lou seemed to shrink back as if trying to hide. Why would she not be proud of her ability? Agata thought. Agata was proud of her musical abilities. She thought back to their conversation about…how did Lou put it? Agata smiled then, when she remembered—about telling them to piss up rope.

As she watched Lou, Agata felt someone beside her. She looked to see a younger woman standing next to her, watching Lou, as well, or perhaps watching the players. No, Agata instinctively knew this woman watched Lou.
 

“Excuse me,” the woman said. “I couldn’t help but see you with Lou.”

Agata smiled. “Yes, I am.” She stuck out her hand, which the woman took. “My name is Agata.”

“That’s a beautiful name. I’m Shelly, a friend of Lou’s.”

She let go of Agata’s hand and seemed awkward as they stood side by side. Agata wasn’t sure what to say as Shelly continued to watch Lou.

“Do you work with Lou?” Agata asked.

“Oh, no. We’re just old friends. I haven’t seen her in ages. I’m here with my brother. He used to play for Northwestern. I’m just surprised to see her, I guess.” She turned to Agata then. “How well do you know Lou?”

“Not well at all. We just met last night. She’s doing an interview for her paper.” She smiled when Shelly offered a confused look. “I’m playing at Orchestra Hall for the holidays.”

“I see. I noticed your accent. Russian?” Shelly asked, and Agata nodded. “I thought Lou was still a sportswriter.”

“She is. She is helping Mrs. Trent, who was too busy to continue the interview.”

Shelly laughed. “And she took you to a football game?”

Agata laughed along. “I see your point.”

Silence fell once again, and Agata once again felt awkward.

“Well, I should get back to my brother. He’s in the stands. Would…would you tell Lou I said hello?”

“Of course,” Agata said kindly. She watched Shelly as she nodded her thanks.

“It was nice meeting you, Agata.” Shelly held out her hand.

“And you, as well,” Agata said, shaking her hand.

Without another word, Shelly smiled and walked away.
 
Agata watched her walk behind the players and into the seats with the other people.

“Okay, all set. Thanks for waiting,” Lou called out.

Agata turned to her. “A friend of yours was just here.”

Lou looked shocked. “Really? Who?”

“Her name was Shelly.” Agata saw Lou’s smile fade. “She is a friend?” she asked softly.

Lou swallowed and nodded. “Yes. An old friend.”

“She said to say hello. Her brother—”

“Yes. He played here several years ago.” Lou cleared her throat and took Agata by the arm. “Let’s get out of this cold air and into the press box. We’ll watch it from there.”

“That would be fine,” Agata said, watching her.

They climbed the stairs to the press box. Two men were already in there, huddled over their laptops. They looked less than thrilled.

“Hey, guys,” Lou said. She offered Agata a seat by the glass window overlooking the field.

“Lou, you got roped into this game, too?” one asked.

Lou laughed and set up her laptop. “Nah.”

“What a waste of time,” the other said. “No story here unless some old geezer collapses.”

“There’s always a story,” Lou said. “You just have to find it.”

“Who’s your friend?”

“Oh, hell. I’m sorry,” Lou said. “Agata Karetnikov, this is Tom Devin from the
Chicago Tribune
and Mike Kosick from the
Sun-Times
. Madam Karetnikov is visiting from Russia. She’s playing at Orchestra Hall for the holidays.”

“My wife and I have tickets for tomorrow’s show,” Mike said. “She’s going to be upset to hear I met you at a football game of all places. She loves your music.”

Agata smiled. “And you got roped into going with her?”

Mike turned bright red. Lou laughed and slapped his back. “Gotcha.”

“I hope you both enjoy it,” Agata said. “Please bring her backstage after the performance, if you like.”

“Really?” he asked. “Well, thanks. She’ll love it. Say, if she brings her CD, do you think…?”

“Of course I will sign it for her. So tell me about this American game.” Agata struggled out of her coat.

Tom and Mike nearly collided when they tried to assist her.

“Recede,” Lou said to both men, stepping in to help Agata out of her coat.

“Thank you.” Agata hid her grin. “So tell me about this game.”

“It’s too complicated.” Lou sat beside her. She opened her laptop and cracked her knuckles.

“For who?”

“Whom,” Lou corrected her while typing on the keyboard.

“Let me explain, Agata.” Tom slid his chair closer. “May I call you Agata?”

“If you must.”

Tom laughed nervously but plodded onward. For the next few minutes, he explained the intricacies of the game. Lou smiled as the game started.

After far too many minutes, Mike groaned; he took the field glasses away from his eyes. “You’re boring me, Tom. I can only imagine how Madam Karetnev feels.”

“Karetnikov,” Agata gently corrected him.

Lou nearly let out a guffaw when she saw the deep crimson spread across Mike’s face. “I’m sorry,” he said and watched the game once again through the glasses.

“It is nothing,” Agata assured him.

“Look who’s on the field,” Mike said.

Lou and Tom leaned out to see. “I didn’t think he’d show,” Tom said.

Lou grabbed her coat. “I didn’t, either. But Shelly is here.” She turned to Agata. “I’ll be right back.”

Agata nodded but didn’t get a chance to say a word as Lou ran out of the press box. “Who is down there?” She peered down at the field.

“See the guy in the wheelchair on the sidelines?” Mike pointed in the direction; Agata nodded. “He was injured a few years ago on a freak play. He tackled a player, led with his helmet. It was a stupid thing for him to do, and even though it was an accident, Brian blamed himself. Both players were injured badly, but Brian will get out of the wheelchair, the other player won’t be so lucky.” Mike took a deep sad breath, letting it out slowly. “Poor kid’ll never walk again.”