The Girl of His Dreams Read online

  “The officials are letting the race continue. The guards have given up trying to eject the mystery runner. They’re all watching and waiting. How long can he keep this up? This is an unfortunate event. I’m sure he’s upset the runners he’s with, but it isn’t affecting the front-runners. Up front, it’s still Robinson, then Bonner, then Hill on the inside, right on Bonner’s heels.

  “Behind them, Sanderson is moving up to a strong fourth position. It looks like a strong race. Would you believe that the mystery kid is still in fifth place? That’s right. He’s running stronger than Parsky and Ciotti. I have a feeling he could pass Sanderson if he moved to the inside, but then the officials could yank him out. He’s keeping to the middle of the track. I’ve never seen anything like this in all the years I’ve covered track events.

  “As we go into the backstretch of the third lap, Hill has moved up in front of Bonner. It’s Robinson in front, Aaron Hill second and Bonner third as we go into the bell lap. Sanderson is moving up. The mystery kid is right with him.

  “Somebody is running out onto the track again! One of the other athletes! He just tried to tackle the mystery kid! The kid ducked. He’s lost his hat! He’s still running. He just went past Sanderson. I can’t believe this. Holy cow! The kid is in fourth place. He’s just not going to be touched. I’ve never seen anything like this.

  “Aaron Hill has just taken the lead. He and Robinson are neck and neck. This is the race everyone predicted. I don’t think the lead runners are aware of the kid. Now Hill is pulling away and the mystery kid is still in there, folks. This is like a fairy tale. He’s going by Bonner! I can’t believe this. He’s going by Bonner! Holy cow! He’s in third place! It’s Hill, then Robinson, then the mystery kid. I tell you whoever he is, he can run.

  “Hill is opening up a couple of strides in front. The kid is right on Robinson’s heels. He’s passing him! I don’t believe this! I can’t believe what I’m seeing! These are the best runners in the East. Who is this kid? Somebody ought to recruit him. This is unbelievable.

  “They’re on the final stretch and it’s the kid and Aaron Hill. Robinson’s fading, but the kid is getting stronger. He’s giving Hill a run. This is great! But it’s Hill’s race. He’s taking charge now. He’s going for it. Pulling away. He’s all by himself. The kid is behind him. He’s trying. Whoever he is, he’s got guts. He’s running his heart out. He’s in there. He’s in the race. And he’s drawing up! He’s coming up on Hill. I don’t believe this! He’s coming up on Hill. A stride separates them. They’re on the last turn! They’re coming up on the line! He’s still fighting! It’s close, it’s close, it’s close …

  “It’s Hill’s race! He’s won! The mystery kid is second! He’s down. He’s on his back. He’s hurt. Officials are swarming all around him. I don’t envy him.

  “The cameramen are running. The guards have the kid. They’ve got him on his feet. He’s swinging his arms. Looks like he’s in pain. They’re holding him up. They’ve got his arms stretched out. Two guards have him. He must have been running on pure guts at the end, because right now, folks, he looks like he’s out of everything.

  “The guards are all around him. They’re pushing through the cameras and the reporters. They’re dragging him off. Holy cow, did you ever see a race like this before? Did I say Aaron Hill won the race? It’s not his best time. I don’t have the official time yet, but I don’t think he broke his record, but it’s damn good. He ran a good, strong race.

  “And now the women’s fifteen hundred meters is getting under way. Ginny Ozick of Villanova looks like the strongest contender in this race.…”

  Thirty-eight

  They dragged Willis off the track. Dragged him, yanked him, pulled him apart. He was crazy, crying, legs useless, lungs on fire, dying.

  They ran him, carried him mostly, to a room underground. A long, low, windowless room. A dressing room. They had him on a table. One guard was by the door. Two others were holding him down. He braced himself for a beating. They were going to work him over now. Talk. Who are you? Where are you from? What have you been drinking? Talk, jerk. It was the interrogation room. The room he’d seen a hundred times on TV, in the movies. The Gestapo, the KGB, the CIA.

  Talk.… Your ass is mud. We’re going to break your legs.

  He shook. He was falling apart. His shoulders, his stomach, his whole body shook. His lungs felt like they’d been cracked open. He couldn’t stop shaking. He heard someone moaning. It was him. He was moaning and crying. What had he done? All he felt was pain and fear.

  Someone handed him a towel. A white-haired guard said, “What’s your name, son?”

  He shook his head. He couldn’t talk. His throat was scraped raw. He felt around for his cap, but it was gone.

  Someone was banging on the door. “Channel Eight News. Open up. You got no right to keep us out. The public has a right to know. Open up.”

  The white-haired guard went to the door and opened it a crack. “Get back from there,” he ordered. “Nobody’s coming in here.”

  There was a little scuffle and then the cameramen and the reporters pushed in. They rushed at Willis. Flashbulbs went off. Mikes were thrust at him.

  “Who are you? What’s your name? What’d you do it for? Did you think you were going to beat Hill?”

  Willis kept his head down. He wished he had his cap. Had he done it? Caught Aaron Hill? Run against the champion? Run equal with him?

  “What happened? Did you run out of steam? Do you realize what you did? Do you know you came in second? Come on, fella, don’t you want to say anything?”

  Came in second? Had he done it? Passed Robinson, passed Bonner? Passed them. He had done it. It was the dream. He’d run with Aaron Hill. Did it, did it, the moment he’d dreamed of, never believed would be, step for step, shoulder to shoulder, breath for breath, his step and Hill’s step.

  The reporters kept throwing questions at him. “When did you get the idea to do this? You have a bet with somebody? You almost beat him, man. Do you think you could have taken him?”

  He was numb. He couldn’t talk. He was still in the race, still running, still on the track, still looking into Aaron Hill’s eye, that one eye, that huge, investigating, noncommittal eye. Aaron Hill seeing him, taking him in for the first time, seeing Willis, Willis Pierce, seeing him at his shoulder, the challenger, the newcomer, the stranger, the mystery runner.

  And at that moment Willis had seen his hero real. Uneasiness crossed that princely face. Lines of strain. It was a moment, a second, less than a second, but in that moment Willis had seen fear on Aaron Hill’s face.

  And then the real race began. Aaron Hill kicked. He lengthened his stride and pulled away, but not far. Willis clung to him. Willis was spent, finished, everything had been burned out of him, the air sucked dry, his lungs turned to ashes, muscles dead. And still he ran.

  Aaron and Willis. Now it was a race for blood and oxygen. He wanted to put a hand on Hill’s shoulder, hang on to him. He was like a boxer blindly clinging to his opponent, trying to stay in the fight. Hanging on, counting, eyes closed, space collapsing.

  “Were you scared? Are you scared now? Do you know what they’re going to do to you? Come on, this is your chance to tell your story on TV.”

  Willis sat with his head forward, his mouth open, spit slowly drooling to the floor. The finish line, cinders biting into his palms, tasting dust, half rising, blind and insane with pain, flinging out his arms and falling across the finish line.

  He lifted his head, shielding his face from the cameras. “Aaron Hill”—his voice cracked—“Aaron Hill is the greatest.” And then it all came swirling in on him again. The race and what he’d done. Aaron Hill. Sophie. And who he was. He felt something break in him, his heart tear loose. And then he was crying again.

  Thirty-nine

  There was a picture of Willis on the front page of the sports section. The caption read: “Police attempt to run agile youth off track.” The picture showed Willis on the track with
his cap coming off, leaping away from the guard.

  Willis studied the picture. He didn’t recognize himself. He looked older. His mouth was open and there were hollows in his cheeks. He carefully cut the picture out of the newspaper and pinned it to the Aaron Hill poster. Then he read the article.

  NEW TRACK RECORD SET IN BIZARRE RACE LOCAL RESIDENT MARS HILL WIN

  In a race marred by the bizarre entry of a spectator onto the track, Aaron Hill set a new indoor record at the Eastern Regional Indoor Track Meet, barely improving his former time by two tenths of a second. The intruder may have influenced the outcome. He entered the race only moments after it began, wearing track clothes, cleats and a white cap. He ran the entire race, eluding all attempts to remove him from the track. At the end, he was still in the race, challenging Hill, the clear leader, and coming within a hairbreadth of winning.

  The police have identified the intruder as Willis Pierce, a local resident, who graduated North Side High and is currently employed at the Spring Street Consolidated Conveyor plant. The city has no plans to prosecute, according to Chief of Police Otto Miller.

  Miller said, “It’s out of our jurisdiction. This is a case of trespassing, which the university can take care of.”

  University officials said they were considering legal action. “Pierce,” Chancellor Garlen said, “not only interfered with the race, but he endangered the other athletes as well. This isn’t the kind of thing we’re going to smile about and forget. Athletes could have been hurt. Whether the record will be considered official is in some question. Athletes who’ve worked all year for this event had their performances marred. Their concentration was affected. This is not a laughing matter.”

  The athletes themselves had mixed reactions. Aaron Hill, the winner, wants the results to stand. “My race wasn’t affected. I don’t feel he hurt me. I didn’t even know he was on the track till he was on my heels. I thought it was Bonner coming up behind me.”

  Ivor Sanderson, when asked if he had any sympathy for the intruder, said, “No. They ought to throw the book at him. He messed up my race. He jumped in front of me, he affected my timing and my concentration. He threw my race off.”

  Forty

  Willis was lying on the mattress, reading the newspaper article again. If Sophie had been here, they would be talking over everything. That moment when it was him and Aaron Hill. Could he have won? She’d say yes. If he’d started with the others. If he’d had expert training. If he’d run other races. Yes, it could have been you, Willis, crossing the finish line first.

  There was a knock at the door. He sat up. Sophie? His face flushed, he felt the heat in his eyes. He scrambled up. He hurt everywhere, his legs and chest, every breath he took hurt.

  Zola grabbed the paper and dragged it across the room. “Zola! My article!” Willis got the newspaper away from her, then Willis tucked in his shirt and went to the door barefoot.

  It was sour Don from downstairs with a woman. “Pierce!” Don smiled. “I brought this reporter to talk to you.” Don gestured and bowed. “Bunny Fried, I want to introduce my neighbor.”

  The reporter held out her hand. “Sorry to barge in on you. I tried to call you, but you’re not in the phone book. I’m a reporter for the Herald. Can I ask you a few questions?”

  “About the race?”

  She nodded.

  He thought about Sophie reading the story about him. “Is this a story that’s going into the paper?”

  “Definitely, Willis. Can we talk now?”

  Don lingered. “So, how’s the dog, Willis?”

  “She’s okay,” Willis said, and held the door open for him.

  “If you need anything else, Bunny,” Don said, “I’ll be downstairs.”

  “Sure. Thanks.” Bunny Fried perched on the window-sill and opened a notebook. “Well, Willis, what I’ve heard about the race makes you sound like a crazy sort of publicity-happy kid.”

  “I’m not a nut! Running is my life.”

  “You didn’t strike me that way.”

  He pointed to his picture on the wall. “Did you take that picture?”

  “That’s not my paper. I work for the afternoon paper, Willis. I see you have Hill’s picture. Is he your hero?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t you think what you did hurt him?”

  “No.”

  “That’s what people are saying, that he would have run a better race. What do you say? I want to hear your side of the story.”

  “I made him run. He had to run hard to win. I didn’t hurt anybody’s race. All I wanted to do was race against Aaron Hill.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Because Aaron Hill’s the best.”

  “That’s the only reason? You didn’t want anything else? Publicity?”

  “No. What do I care about publicity? I’m a runner. I’ve been training for this race. I run every day.”

  “So do I,” she said. “Not that I’m putting myself in your class.” She smiled at him. “You must have done a lot of training, but did you really think you could beat Hill?”

  “I almost did.”

  “How do you account for that? Are you as good as he is?”

  He shrugged. “He must have had an off day.”

  “I’m really curious, Willis. I’ve never heard of you. Nobody ever heard of you before. Where do you train? What club do you belong to? Who do you run with?”

  He tapped himself on the chest. “I’m a running club of one.”

  “You run alone? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Yes.”

  “What other races have you run in?”

  He shook his head.

  “None? You mean to say this is the first race you were ever in? Coach Wright seems to know you.”

  “Who’s he?”

  “Willis, he’s the track coach here at the college. You must know him. He knows you. I can’t believe he doesn’t want you on his team.”

  “You mean the bald-headed guy? I ran for him a couple of times. That’s the university. I don’t belong there.”

  “Oh, yes, you work in a factory, don’t you? What do you do?”

  “I’m in the shipping department. I box stuff.”

  “That’s really interesting.” She was scribbling. “Did you know you were this good? Who’s your trainer?”

  “I train myself.” He thought of Sophie. “And a friend works with me. She’s helped me a lot.”

  “She? Is she a runner, too?”

  He looked down at his bare feet. “No.” He got a glass of water. He’d been drinking water all morning.

  “One more question, Willis. When you were in high school, didn’t anyone scout you?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t understand that.”

  “I wasn’t on the squad.”

  “It’s such an amazing story. What’re your plans now, Willis?”

  He squatted down and pulled Zola against him. “No plans.”

  “Are you going to continue running?”

  “Running is what I do. I’m a runner. Like Aaron Hill says, I was born to run. That’s me.”

  “Are you going to do this again?”

  “You mean another race against Aaron Hill?” He hadn’t thought about it. Maybe he’d go everywhere Aaron Hill went and race against him. Follow him all over the country. People would be expecting him. The kid who jumped into the race.

  “Aaron Hill’s a great runner. I still don’t believe I was in the same race with him.”

  After the interview, he went down to the Laundromat and called his parents. They didn’t seem to follow what had happened. Willis on TV? Stories about him in the newspapers? What had he done? “Are you in trouble?”

  At work the next day, he was a hero. Everyone wanted to talk to him about the race. Wolpe had his arm around Willis. “I was sitting in front of the TV and I see this crazy idiot. I said, Who’s that jerk running out there? Then I saw that white cap. I yelled for my wife. I told her, That kid, I work with him. It w
as like that movie where Charlie Chaplin, or Harold Lloyd or somebody, is locked out of his house and he’s on the street in his underwear, looking for a barrel to hide in, and these runners come by and they’re all wearing underwear, just like him, so he jumps in with them. Is that the way you did it, Willis?”

  Vinnie pushed in. “You had that race, Pierce. You had it dead to rights. What’d he do, trip you? They should have disqualified him. I saw him. He gave you the shoulder, didn’t he?”

  “Willis is famous,” Wolpe said. “Hey, you guys, we got a celebrity here in the shipping department.”

  Someone made a crown out of a paper bag and popped it onto Willis’s head. He pulled it off and held it in his hand. Then a couple of guys from the paint department, who were musicians and played at weddings, talked to him about joining them. They showed him their card:

  ARCHY AND BINOCCI, GUITAR AND ACCORDION. LIVE, AFFORDABLE MUSIC FOR YOUR BIRTHDAYS, WEDDINGS AND BAR MITZVAHS.

  “I don’t play an instrument,” Willis said.

  “We’ll show you. It’s easy.”

  There was a lot of kidding till work started. Even then some guys were still hanging around, looking at him, until Miholic came out of his office. But even Miholic was curious. “Where’d they take you? The TV station?”

  Benny didn’t say anything to Willis, but all morning he kept looking at him. Finally, he said, “I can’t believe you’re a TV celebrity. Lee and I were watching the TV when we saw you.”

  “She was with you?” Willis said.

  “You should have heard her scream. ‘That’s Willis!’ Hey, man, I was screaming, too. I wanted you to win that race. Oh, did I want you to beat that guy. That would have made my day. You know those kids in college, everything’s handed to them. I still don’t know how you did it. That was fantastic. That was the most beautiful thing I ever saw.”