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Chapter 23: Security Level Crimson
 By Jim Caple |
Previously at 24 College Avenue: Former State College sprinter Nicollette Mayle sold her eggs under the mistaken belief that they would go to an infertile couple – instead they went to the secret campus society Blood and Muscle as part of a plot to raise ultra athletes for future Red Devils teams (see the first season of 24 College). After that saga ended, she tested positive for a performance-enhancing drug at a summer track meet in Paris. While fighting a two-year competition ban from the Wide Wide World Anti-Steroid Police (WWWASP), she moved out of 24 College Avenue and into an apartment with her roommate Cheryl Bellamy. . . .Josh Williams had an enormous crush on Nicollette until meeting a woman named Magdalena in Prague while working as a guide for the tour gro up, “Europe in a Backpack.’’ He moved into Nicollette’s room in the fall. . . . Steve Hamilton is a photographer for the State College student paper. . . . Former housemate Katie Maynard is at a military hospital in Germany after losing several limbs during an insurgent attack in the war. . . . Meanwhile, the house has been condemned as part of an urban renewal project that will turn the neighborhood into a theme mall called “College World’’ . . .
“Cheryl and I had some great times in this room.’’
Startled, Josh looked up from his laptop and quickly turned to see Nicollette standing in the doorway, a beer can in her hand.
“Hey,’’ he said as his face broke into a broad smile. “How are you doing?’’
“I’ve been better,’’ Nicollette said. She took a gulp from the beer. “Steve just told me about Katie.’’
The smile disappeared from Josh’s face. “Yeah. They got a press release at The Daily saying she had been wounded. Didn’t say how badly or how it happened, though. Just that she had been hurt and was going through rehab. Steve says the release specifically said ‘rehab.’ That’s a good sign. It’s probably not that serious, otherwise it would have said ‘recovering’ or ‘being treated’ or something. Rehab is like when a pitcher goes to the minors to get his arm strength back before coming off the disabled list. So I guess that means she’s safe and wasn’t hurt that bad. A flesh wound probably. Maybe she’ll even be sent home for the summer. Though she won’t be able to live here.’’
Nicollette nodded. “Yeah, I heard about that. Are they really going to knock this place down?’’
“I hope not but it doesn’t look good. We got a letter this week saying we have to be out of here the week before finals. That’s right around the corner and I still don’t know where the hell I’m going to move.’’
Nicollette finished off her beer and gestured toward the bottle next to Josh’s laptop. “You got another one of those?’’ she asked. “I could really use one.’’
“Sure,’’ Josh said and reached down into his mini-fridge. He pulled out a bottle and Nicollette walked over and grabbed it.
“Mind if I sit for a bit?’’ she asked. “Or are you busy?’’
The truth of the matter was Josh had two essays due the next day on books he still hadn’t read. To make matters worse, not only had he not read one of the books, he had misplaced the class syllabus, and unbeknownst to him, he was reading the wrong book. The last thing in the world he had was time.
“Yeah, go ahead,’’ he said. “I’ve got plenty of time.’’
Nicollette opened the bottle and searched the room. There wasn’t a piece of furniture in it except for an unmade bed, the desk and the folding chair Josh sat in. She pulled a wool blanket with the Red Devil logo back over the bed and sat down on it.
“I see you’re still a great housekeeper,’ she said.
Josh smiled uncomfortably, embarrassed that the woman of his dreams had walked back into his life and his bed was unmade. Then again, he never made his bed so it was not exactly poor timing. He just hoped she didn’t notice the dirty sheets or the Maxim magazine.
“So,’’ he said, not knowing what else to say. He felt the old nervousness growing. Josh thought he had finally gotten over Nicollette after meeting Magdalena but this apparently was not the case. For one thing, he and Magdalena hadn’t seen each other since the previous summer, only exchanging emails, text messages and the occasional phone call – damn the U.S. cell phone system that was incompatible with those in Europe. For another, well, Nicollette was sitting on his bed at this very moment, and based on the way she was drinking, probably slightly intoxicated to boot.
“So,’’ he said again, trying to find his tongue. “How’s the fight against WWWASP?’’
“That’s kind of why I’m here,’’ Nicollette said. “I need to talk to someone about that.’’ She stared at Josh. He had the loyalty of a puppy -- and usually the expression of one as well. He had always been there for her, no matter what. When few others believed her, he always did. Sure, that was because he wanted to sleep with her, but at this point it still was something. She killed the last of the beer in a single gulp. She pointed to the min-fridge. “Got another?’’
Josh grabbed another beer and handed it to Niollette. “Sure you don’t need two?’’
She started laughing and then the laugh changed to a sob. “Oh Josh,’ she said. “Can I tell you something? I need to tell someone who will understand. I can’t tell Cheryl after the way she went nuts last year about Kenan when she thought he was on steroids. And I can’t tell Higgins because . . . well, I can’t tell him. Can I tell you? Can I trust you?’’
“Sure,’’ Josh said with a gulp. He was both touched by her words and worried (jealous as well) that she was about to tell him that she was pregnant. He moved his hair closer to the bed and took Nicollette’s right hand. “You now I’ll always understand.’’
Nicollette nodded and shut her eyes tight. She felt a huge lump in her throat and actual pain in her gut. She bit her lips together and stared out the window, the beautiful bay window through which she had watched so many wonderful sights – the leaves turning, the frost patterns forming, the snowflakes gently falling, the trees budding and bursting back into life. She squeezed Josh’s hand, hungry for support, desperate for the strength to speak the secret she had carried inside for so many months. “It’s like this,’’ she said at last. “That positive drug test I’ve been denying and fighting? . . .
“It’s true.’’
She felt Josh’s grip soften. It was just a brief softening and then the strength returned. She opened her eyes and saw him looking at her, his expression changed from that of a loyal puppy to a sympathetic friend.
“Go on,’’ he said. “Tell me all about it.’’
Now that the dam had burst, the words gushed out. Nicollette told him about how when she was involved in that whole egg donation/athlete cloning thing, the doctors had injected her with something that elevated her hormones beyond an acceptable level for competition. It wasn’t fair. She had always dreamed of running in the Olympics and she didn’t think it was right that she be kept from competing in the big meets over the summer because she had been injected with something illegal without her knowledge and against her will.
“Yeah,’’ Josh said. “That would explain the positive test.’’
“No, wait,’’ Nicollette said. “There’s more.’’
When she got to Europe and the track season began, she quickly realized that she was just too slow to compete at the world level, just a shade slow to ever make the U.S. team. She realized she would never make the Olympics.
“That’s when I decided to take HGH,’’ she said.
Again, Josh’s grip slackened, but only for the briefest moment before returning again.
“I figured if I ever get randomly tested, I’m going to get busted for that other $@#& so if I’m going to get busted, it might as well be for something that might actually help me run faster. I mean, I just didn’t want to be remembered as that sprinter who posed in her underwear but couldn’t hack it in the big leagues.
“I don’t know why everyone is so against HGH anyway. I mean, it’s prescribed all the time to help kids with growth deficiencies. So it can’t be THAT bad. And it makes you feel younger, improves eyesight, rejuvenates hair growth, makes you stronger – I mean, what’s the downside? Why isn’t this available to the public?’’
“Well,’’ Josh said, “I read somewhere it can lead to diabetes. And it makes your head grow.’’
“Does my head look any bigger to you?”
Josh took a long, loving look. No, she looked just as lovely as before.
“Besides,’’ she said, “If you take a limited amount under a doctor’s supervision for a short time period, it’s probably fine. The thing is, they just don’t know. They need to study it more but the government has everyone so hysterical about steroids that no one can get the research money. It’s like trying to get money to research whether heroin is really that bad. No one will fund research like that.
“Meanwhile, we KNOW obesity leads to diabetes and heart disease but does that keep the NFL from encouraging players to eat and eat to gain a weight advantage until 300 pounds is considered too small for the offensive line? We KNOW that chewing tobacco leads to cancer but do they ban that from baseball dugouts? We KNOW that alcoholism ruins lives but do they take the names of brewery companies off stadiums? And of course, we KNOW cigarettes kill but we pay farms to grow tobacco and allow cigarette sales and tax cigarette companies for needed revenue.
“Maybe if they figured out a way to tax steroids, athletes would be allowed to take them.’’
Nicollette took a breath.
“So, yeah, I took a performance enhancer. But I don’t feel bad about it. Everyone else does it – why should I be at a disadvantage? Sure, I’d rather there weren’t any steroids or crap in track. I’d rather compete on a level playing field. But to do that, to keep that field even – to fulfill my dream – I HAD to take something. And I’m not going to let any fans sitting home on their ass, guys who have no idea what really goes on in my sport or the sacrifices it requires, guys whose only personal workouts are with their hand and a Maxim magazine, make me feel guilty about it.’’
Josh was about to make a comment in his defense but didn’t get the chance. Nicollette was on a roll.
“And the bitch of it is – the stuff didn’t work. Or at least not quick enough or fast enough for me to win a race, I only got caught because I was randomly tested.
“The only thing I feel bad about – the only thing – is that I lied about it. I should have been honest right from the start.’’
She finally paused for air. She took a drink and looked at Josh.
“So,’’ she said, “do you think I’m a lying cheat like everyone else does?’’
“Of course not,’’ Josh said, the words bursting from the starting blocks. “I would never think that. I think you’re the most wonderful, extraordinary girl I’ve ever known.’’
Both delighted and relieved, Nicollette smiled, leaned forward and gave Josh a kiss. He pulled back in shock. They stared at each other for the briefest of seconds, just long enough for the moment to carry meaning. Then they leaned forward and kissed again, this time, a long, slow, wet, deep kiss straight out of Kevin Costner’s “Bull Durham’’ speech.
Perhaps it was the months of anxiety over the drug test results. Perhaps it was the simple support and loyalty Josh showed. Perhaps it was the long time since her last night of physical contact and comfort. Or, more likely, it was all the beer. But whatever it was, Nicollette sank into Josh’s arms and when he started pulling off her top, she did not resist. Nor did she when he unzipped her fly and slowly eased off her jeans. And even when she felt him pressing against her, she lay back without resistance. If truth be told, she also lay back without any real eagerness as well -- it was as if she wasn’t in command of her body anymore and just following directions.
“This just seems unreal,’’ Joel thought as he slipped out of his shorts.
“This is a huge mistake,’’ Nicollette thought as Josh fumbled with her job bra.
Just as Josh was about to slip off Nicollette’s underwear, an enormous BAMMM!!! rattled the house and shattered the moment.
“What the hell is that?’’ Nicollette shrieked.
“Not again,’’ Josh muttered. “Not $@#&ing again.’’
Nicollette squirmed from under Josh, sat up and peered out the bay window just in time to see a team of soldiers in black uniforms smash down the front door with a battering ram and rush inside.
“No one move! This is the Department of Homefront Protection!’ a commander shouted through a bullhorn. “This is a Security Level Crimson raid!’’
Next: University of Terror
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