I headed straight for my boss’s office, looked J.J. in the eye, and said, “Is the NCAA on our campus?”
He leaned back in his desk chair and said, “Why? What have you heard?”
“Nothing,” I said. “But I saw that woman. She’s with the NCAA, isn’t she?”
J.J. nodded, looking grim.
“Are we in trouble?” I asked.
J.J. abandoned his usual punctilious ways and said, “I hope not, but that broad’s definitely out to get us.” He then gave me the scoop—that the NCAA had received reasonably substantial information indicating possible violations and was now conducting a preliminary investigation.
“Investigating us for what?”
J.J. shrugged. “You name it … Recruiting allegations, drug allegations, eligibility and academic allegations.”
“Where did these allegations come from? Someone in Austin, no doubt?”
“Exactly,” J.J. said. “Apparently the most pressing rumor is that some shady real estate guy in Cincinnati came down to Louisville a few weeks before Signing Day and took Rhodes and his friends out on a five-star bender.”
“Can a bender be five-star?” I asked.
“Good point. Maybe not. They went to steak houses and strip clubs. So what’s that? Three and a half stars?”
I smiled and said, “So? Since when are steaks and strippers against the rules?”
“Well, I guess that joker went to Walker for a year or two before dropping out. And he held himself out as a damn …” He searched for the right word.
I offered him a quote from Jerry Maguire, one of my favorite movies. “Ambassador of quan?”
J.J. laughed and said, “Yeah. And then, according to the NCAA, he showed Reggie the money.”
“Do you think it’s true?” I asked.
“I don’t know. But I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the accusations are flying this year,” J.J. said. “When we’re going to be really good.”
“Exactly.” I nodded. “Have you talked to Coach?”
J.J. shook his head. “Nope. Far as I know, nobody has discussed it with him yet. Not in depth, anyway.”
“Good. He has enough on his mind without worrying about this bullshit,” I said, thinking that there was no way that Coach was involved in anything shady.
Eleven
On the first weekend of August, right before practice began for the season, Lucy invited my mother and me to Lake LBJ with her, Neil, Caroline, Lawton, and Coach. The Carrs had a beautiful home there, high on a wooded bluff with gorgeous views of the blue-green water. Growing up, Lucy and I had gone there often, spending our summer days sunbathing on their private pier or tooling around in the pontoon boat or reading in the hammock on the screened-in back porch. But I hadn’t gone since Mrs. Carr got sick, and I was a little surprised to get the invite this year, thinking that their family would want to be alone.
But Lucy insisted that we were family, and then referenced football, making a comment about how she couldn’t speak her father’s language. Twice since her birthday she had asked me to give her the rundown of our roster, especially our recruits, whom she couldn’t seem to keep straight. I had offered to make her flash cards, and she said it wasn’t a bad idea, marveling over how her mother had managed to memorize every player. I wanted to tell her football wasn’t a chore, and it really wasn’t that hard, but she probably felt the same about my inability to keep track of her fashion or foodie parlance.
In any event, my mother and I drove up Saturday morning, giving the Carrs one night alone. When we arrived, Coach and Lawton were walking up from the water with their fishing poles. Wearing matching khaki shorts, Walker T-shirts, and flip-flops, they looked more like father and son than they usually did, Lawton favoring Connie’s side of the family with his fine bones, narrow face, and blond hair.
“Hey, girl! Hi, Marie!” Coach said. “Glad you could join us.” He looked relaxed and content, which was the way he usually was up here. He often said it was his favorite place, other than our football stadium, and I remember Connie once saying that it was the only spot on Earth where he managed to spend some waking hours not thinking about football. At least as far as she knew; I had my doubts about that, although it seemed clear he wasn’t troubled by the NCAA investigation, his voice chipper and light.
My mother and I said hello, and we gave Lawton, whom we hadn’t seen since the spring game, a big hug. Then we all went inside, where Neil was putting the finishing touches on lunch—his trademark tomato pie, along with a Bibb lettuce and radish salad, and strawberry shortcake.