Stealing Sunday Page 2

  *

  The crazy fans had finally gone too far, the man thought to himself, as he tried to roll over. What are they doing to me? He thought he heard them say something about keeping him sedated. Struggling to open his eyes (they felt like they were full of sand), light from passing streetlights and headlights flickered between his lashes like a film that had snapped and was whipping wildly around in circles, alternating light and broken filmstrip, light and broken filmstrip. He could sense that he was moving, his wrists and ankles bound. Two voices, a man and a woman, their speech sounded like he was submerged under water, but obviously he’d been drugged. He was unable to keep himself from sliding back into unconsciousness.

  “Look at him, Kim. The entire world stops and listens whenever this man opens his mouth to speak. Helicopters and camera crews risk their necks chasing after him just trying to capture his image. Wealthy businessmen, powerful politicians, famous actors, they all become little boys again in his presence. He has been on the cover of hundreds of magazines. He’s a living legend that freezes the public in its tracks, as if God had come down to walk among men. And all of that because of a game.”

  “I still can’t believe we did it, John.”

  “Well, believe it, because he’s right here. Look at his hands, hone. Look how big they are.” John recited the man’s litany with great reverence. “He was born October tenth, nineteen hundred and sixty nine years after the birth of our Lord in Gulfport, Mississippi. He was drafted by the NFL in 1991 in the second round by the Atlanta Falcons with the thirty third overall pick. But later, they mistakenly traded him to the Green Bay Packers where he became the legend, Brett Lorenzo Favre. Eleven Pro Bowl selections. Five times he was selected NFC Player of the Year. Three times he was voted the NFL’s most valuable player. He was the winning quarterback of Super Bowl XXXI. Plenty of other men have won more Super Bowls but there’s something different about this man. He leaves people in awe. We’ve got him, the greatest quarterback of all time, Kim.”

  A moment awake, something cold, wet, and soft, like a child’s hand holding an ice cube, touched his cheek. Two dark pools wrapped in golden velvet stared back at him. A baby Labrador brushed Brett’s face with his nose.

  “Leave him alone. Jonesy, you don’t lick a legend’s face,” Kim scolded from the front of the van.

  John gently picked up the puppy, leaned forward, and set him in the front passenger seat. She turned and looked back over her shoulder at the heavily sedated retired athlete.

  “This is my wife Kim, Brett. I hope you think she’s a peach because you’re going to get to know her pretty well over the next couple of weeks. Isn’t that right, hone?”

  Kim nodded. Brett never heard the last comment because he had drifted off again. Jonesy floated away and joined a blanket of stars overhead, a perfectly sensible thing for dogs in dreams to do.

  Brett’s body jostled when Kim avoided a corroded muffler orphaned by a rusty Jeep Wrangler, causing him to finally wake. He had no idea how long he’d been sleeping. The figure bending over him finally came into focus, holding a syringe in one hand and a taser in the other. It must’ve been what incapacitated him as he walked from the Kraft Legends of the Game Meet n Greet to his pickup truck.

  “I want you to understand, Brett, that we don’t want to harm you in any way, the farthest thing from our minds, but we know how strong you are and we intend to take every precaution to protect ourselves.” He emphasized this by holding up both of the weapons in his hands. We’re going to need you for a couple of weeks and then we’ll set you free, just like when those fellas on the Nature Channel catch a big buck, tag him, and then release him back into the wild. I think that’s a pretty good analogy for a big fella like you.”

  Kim kept her eyes trained forward, out the windshield, as she drove, still feeling a little bit uneasy about the radical plan she and her husband had undertaken. She loved John more than life itself but this plan had taken them the farthest from the beaten path of rational ideas. She was arguing internally, trying not to ask John to abandon the plan that they had set in motion. She kept her mouth shut and continued to drive home.

  The next time Brett opened his eyes, he was lying on a queen-size bed topped with a dark blue comforter covered in tiny Dallas Cowboy helmets, like the blanket had come down with a Dallas Cowboy rash. John sat in one corner with a rifle in his lap and Kim was sitting on the edge of the bed staring at him as she stroked Jonesy’s head.

  “Not real sure about how we’re going to do this, Brett. We haven’t really worked out all the particulars yet. We’re thinking that we’ll keep it simple and natural. We’re just going to have you perform the necessary function with my wife over and over until it takes – you know – a baby. We’ll check every morning with home pregnancy tests. I bought a whole case on line cheap because they’re getting close to out-of-date. We’ll keep the two of you fed real good and pumped full of vitamins. Even got some of that Super Milk for ya – ‘for super men that need super performances.’ Aint that how the commercial with you standing there in your underpants puts it?” They waited for Brett to finally say something.

  “What the hell is going on?”

  “I’m afraid you’re being studded.”

  “Studded?”

  “Yeah, kind’a like how they breed horses to get the perfect race horse. Kim here has good family lines but all of the athletes from her clan are hockey players and we’re looking for a football star. The good part about Kim is that she’s actually almost six feet tall. You can’t really tell, though, on account that she always stoops so that we don’t look mismatched.”

  “Five ten and a half. And it’s not me that thinks I should stoop. I’m fine with your height. It’s you, John.”

  “Well, somehow we came to that decision.”

  “You came to that decision and if I don’t stoop down you stand like ten feet away all the time.”

  “Not ten feet.”

  “Yes, at least ten feet.”

  Jonesy played tug of war with the bottom of Brett’s t-shirt, digging his paws into the bedding for better traction. Brett nudged him lightly with his wrist, only making the puppy work harder.

  “That’s not even the point. I’m just trying to convince Brett that you’ll make a fine specimen to breed a quarterback with, hone. Do we really need to argue in front of him? He just got here and he’s our guest.”

  At this, Brett held up his wrists that were still bound.

  “We’re really sorry about that. We really do see you as an honored guest though,” Kim interjected, apologetically. “Jonesy, you quit biting his shirt, this minute.”

  Jonesy ignored her.

  “You know folks gotta be out looking for me. They’re probably special agents all over this neighborhood like a bunch of bloodhounds on your trail. If I were the two of you, I’d be as nervous as a couple of long tail cats in a room full of rockers. Let me out of here right now and I’ll forget the whole thing.”

  They sat quietly, smiling, and then, as if they’d never even heard what Brett had said, John went on. “There’s a way you can harvest sperm from a donor without compromising its purity but it’s kind of complicated and it includes the use of both a scalpel and a laser. We read about it on the Internet. Just safer to do it the old-fashioned way.”

  “You two can’t really be serious. You can’t use a person like they uses horses on a farm.”

  “You can. Works the same way. It’s not going to harm you any.”

  “It’s wrong. You can’t do this. This is my body.”

  “We’re just going to borrow it for a while.”

  “Hold on. Let’s all come to our senses before it’s too late.” He sat forward in the bed and gestured with his bound wrists. “Listen, if you contact my manager, Leonard Miller, he can get you a reasonable sum of money to release me. We’ll settle it among ourselves. We won’t bring the authorities into this. I can keep you out of prison and even offer you a little bit of money. That’s the best I can
offer you. If you continue with this…ridiculous plan, I’m not going to remain very reasonable. You’ll both be looking at prison sentences for kidnapping.”

  “I’m afraid that you’re not really included in the decision making in this household, Brett. This is my home and I make all of-”

  He suddenly noticed how Kim was looking at him.

  “We, my wife and I make the decisions under this roof. So you better just settle in for the long haul. We are going to get this done. We’re going to have a baby.”

  “Sorry it’s got to be that way, Brett,” Kim added, “but I’m going to have your child.”

  “I seriously can’t believe that this is happening.”

  “I’m afraid so, Brett.” John folded his arms like he’d seen men do in movies when they really meant business.

  “Hey! Somebody help me! Call 911!” Brett screamed and thrashed against his restraints. He started yelling loudly. “Help! Somebody out there help me! I’ve been kidnapped! Help! Anyone, help!”

  Won’t do you any good, Brett, Kim said, getting off the bed and taking position alongside her husband. “The house to our left is vacant and Mrs. Waterman next door never wears her hearing aid.”

  The couple sat and watched Brett for several hours while he brewed. Every once in a while they asked him whether he was ready to get started yet.

  Finally Brett sighed and said, “Okay. I’ll do what you want as long as you’ll let me go afterward.”

  “You have our word,” said John.

  “You’re going to have to be reasonable though. I’m not going to be able to…perform, until I’ve had a little rest and kind of settled in here. I need to recharge.”

  John looked over at Kim.

  “Come on, John! At least you could let me have a little time for myself before you force Kim on me!”

  “You don’t have to put it like that,” Kim objected.

  “What else is going on here? Did I miss something, Kim?”

  “The way you say it sounds seedy, Brett. It’s not like that at all. My wife’s not going to enjoy this any more than you are. It just needs to be done. Kim and I just want a child.”

  “I can’t believe you two.” Brett groaned. He realized that insulting them was going to get him nowhere. That wasn’t going to help him get free. “Listen, it’s just that the drug you put me out with is still making me a little weak and groggy. My stomach’s a little shaky, and my skin’s as cold to the touch as a well digger’s ass. I need to rest a while until I feel better and then we can sort out how we’re going to do this.”

  “Our apologies, Brett. We don’t want you to feel sick. Those were horse tranquilizers. We got a brother that breeds horses as a hobby and that’s really all we could get a hold of. We scaled it back some. He looked at us real funny when we asked him for it, didn’t he, hone?”

  Kim nodded. “Sure did.”

  “Brett, there’s another thing, and frankly it’s a little bit embarrassing. Even if I did have the size we’re looking for, you know – the height for a quarterback - the doctors did tests on me when we were unable to conceive and they told us that my sperm’s just no good, said that for me and Kim to get pregnant would be about a one in ten thousand shot – not very good odds, and even if we didn’t have a superstar quarterback for a son, I sure would love a child that came from Kim’s womb, boy or girl.”

  “There are places for that, John. They’re called sperm banks.”

  “But you don’t understand. You’re getting this all wrong. We’re some of your biggest fans – maybe the biggest – our daddy got a ninety inch plasma with eight forty inchers surrounding it so we can watch nine games at a time – Cowboys always in the center, of course. He’s got the money, big ol’ car dealership. We’d all get together and watch you play and when you’d come up with that special Favre magic to win the game in the final seconds, somebody’d always shout at the losing team – usually it’d be Bud, eh, hone - ‘you just got Favred!’ It’s that magic you’ve got, Brett. It’s not just about size and speed. It’s the intangibles – the way your brain works, your heart, the creativity, it’s all those things than go into the bowl to bake a legend. That’s what we need for our son. Is that really so much to ask? We know you’ve given to the fans all of your life, but for gosh sakes, share the wealth a little, Brett. Make a donation for future fans. Give us your sperm. Give us the chance for a baby that can grow up to give the same thing to football fans everywhere.”

  Kim nodded and clutched her hands together.

  “Well, I’ve said my piece, Brett, and I hope you understand.”

  John watched Brett for a moment before deciding that his request to rest a bit before they got started was reasonable.

  “Come on, Honey, let’s give him a little time to umm…recharge. Ain’t that how you put it, Brett?” John laughed politely as he said it. They pulled Jonesy loose from Brett’s t-shirt and left the room.

  They went down to the kitchen, fed Jonesy, and made sandwiches for themselves. They still hadn’t eaten since the abduction and the excitement of the whole affair had left them famished.

  “I really don’t know about this, John. Brett seems a little spooked by all of this.”

  “Well, that’s understandable, hone. It ain’t everyday somebody shoots you with a horse tranquilizer and drags you across state lines to stud a baby with his wife. I can see why the man would be a little freaked out. He’ll come around. You just watch and see. He’s a good man and he can tell that we’re basically good folks – his kind of folks.”

  “He does seem nice, doesn’t he? Jonesy sure seems to like him. That says a lot about a person.” Jonesy heard his name and momentarily looked up from his bowl before returning to scarfing his food down in big bites. “You know, Brett must be hungry, too. You think I should bring him up a couple of sandwiches and a glass of milk.”

  “We haven’t been very good hosts so far, have we? I don’t want to interrupt him while he’s trying to rest but we could bring some food up and leave it on the bedside table.”

  They grabbed the tranquilizer gun, a couple of sandwiches and a drink, and quietly went up to leave the food. When they entered the room, Brett was exiting the bedroom window. They opened the door just in time to see his size twelve sneaker slide across the window ledge.

  Kim dropped the sandwiches and the milk, which splashed across the Cowboys-blue carpeting. John followed Brett out the window with the gun. He reluctantly jumped from the second story in order not to lose the legendary athlete, twisting his ankle in the process, but thankfully, he was able to get to his feet and give pursuit. He wasn’t the fastest man in the world but he had had a short-lived but noteworthy high school track background and Brett, after all, was in his forties and the recipient of multiple knee surgeries.

  It was dark but he saw Brett flash across Mrs. Baumgartner’s garden two doors down, trampling over the roses that she took such good care of. John leapt into action, running through his neighbor’s back yards, ducking under Mrs. William’s clotheslines, narrowly avoiding a shot to the throat that probably would’ve ended his chances of catching the old grid iron great.

  “You don’t have to do this, Brett,” he called after the man as he jumped up on an empty doghouse in the Sullivan’s back yard. He steadied himself and took a deep breath, held it, and then took what would be his only available shot, as Brett hurdled the hedges that separated Mrs Wanaboo’s back yard from old widow Johnson’s. The dart found its target in Brett’s left buttock and his strides across the Johnson’s yard slowed, as if he were suddenly running through taffy. He closed his eyes and crumbled to the ground. John threw his fist over his head in celebration, much the same way Brett had celebrated dozens of touchdown passes over his long career.

  When he reached Brett, his wife was pulling up in the alley with their van. She jumped out, dragging a large gunny sack, which they immediately began pulling over their catch. The back porch light went on, causing them to rush to close the sack. Mrs. Johnson wa
lked out on her porch.

  “What’s going on out here?”

  “Hi, Mrs. Johnson. It’s just us, John and Kim, from down the block”

  “What are you doing in my yard?”

  “You had a cougar roaming around back here but don’t you worry, we got ‘em.”

  “A cougar? Oh my!”

  “It’s okay. We got ‘em.”

  “Should I go in and call the police or something?”

  “No. We already called them,” Kim interjected. “They’re going to meet us at our house and take the animal with them.”

  “Oh.” Mrs. Johnson watched them drag the heavy-looking sack toward the van. “That must be one big cougar,”

  “Yeah, kind’a big,” yelled John as he grunted and pulled the sack into the van, Kim failing to catch Brett’s head, as it bounced against the gate. “Good night, Mrs. Johnson,” Kim called to her, as she jumped into the driver’s seat and John jumped in on the other side. Mrs. Johnson looked puzzled as they drove away.

  “Do you think she’s going to call anyone?” Kim asked nervously.

  “I sure hope not.”

  “John, maybe this was the wrong thing to do. I know how much you want a baby and all but maybe we’ve gone too far.”

  “Everything’s going to work out, Kim. I’m not particularly proud of myself right now but it’s for the greater good. Brett will understand after it’s over.”

  The next morning Brett woke up in their bed once again. Jonesy was dressed in a miniature Emmitt Smith jersey, their faces nearly touching. Brett startled, and jerked his head back.

  “We certainly didn’t appreciate that breach of trust last night, Brett.”

  John and Kim sat across from the bed in chairs.

  Brett rolled over and groaned, burying his head in the pillow, realizing that the whole thing wasn’t just a strange nightmare.

  “Breach of trust? Is this how you guys establish trust?” Brett said, holding up his bound wrists again. “You drug me and bring me somewhere against my will and you guys want to talk about trust.” He put his head down and groaned again. “Let me go. This is ridiculous. You don’t breed athletes. They just happen. And good quarterbacks are as scarce as hen’s teeth. Lots of things are involved in the development of an athlete, none of which are getting started by abducting an innocent man.”

  John and Kim looked at each other and shame dug it’s claws into their consciences again.

  “I can’t help, John, that you were born short. Sure as a cat’s got a climbing gear, there’s gonna be short folks and tall folks in this world and God’s the one that sorts all that out.”

  “Well. I wouldn’t exactly say I was short. I’m nearly five foot eight.”

  “You don’t look five eight. Maybe five six if you’re leaning up on your toes.”

  “I’m five eight. And I believe that’s the national average.”

  “Five foot eight? It couldn’t be.”

  “I’m average height. Normal.”

  “Okay, fine. I can’t help that you were born average height, completely normal. That’s not my fault. I wish you were born taller so you could get the athlete you want but it’s not my fault and I shouldn’t be penalized for it. If you really think doin this is the answer, then you’ve got less sense than God gave a gopher.”

  “I really like the way you talk. It’s so…Mississippi.” Kim leaned forward and smiled.

  “We’re not trying to hurt you. We’re just asking for a little favor. Do you find my wife so hideous that you can’t procreate with her a few times?”

  Kim looked over at her husband, angrily.

  “I don’t think that, honey. It’s Brett.”

  “I don’t think that either. Kim’s pretty as a speckled pup – a bit aggressive for me – but real fine.”

  Kim smiled again.

  “It’s just that this is not the answer. I’ve got a wife to think about, too, you know. She might not think that my breeding with another woman was such a fine idea, either. Take a look at yourselves. Is this who you two want to be? The two of you have become as crooked as Jonesy’s hind leg.” He held his wrists out. “Just untie me, John. Come on, Kim. Let me go. You know this isn’t right.”

  John and Kim went out into the hallway while Jonesy sat on the bed staring at Brett. The old worn out quarterback and the brand new puppy could hear a heated exchange that eventually worked its way to apologies and statements about how much they both loved each other, and about shame, and what was going to happen to them after everyone found out what they had done, and ultimately about doing the right thing. The two of them came back into the room.

  “You’re right. I don’t know what happened. We just got crazy trying to figure out how we could have a baby that would impress my father and my brothers. Things just went way too far. We’re very sorry, Brett. I don’t what else we can say to you.” John hung his head.

  “We won’t blame you if you go and turn us in to the law,” Kim added. “We should’ve never done this. You probably hate us right now.” They untied him and Brett sat up on the bed rubbing his wrists.

  Strangely, he didn’t hate them. He actually felt kind of sorry for them. “Hell of a good tie job the second time.”

  “That was Kim.”

  Brett nodded.

  “Listen, John, Kim. I know you said that the doctors didn’t give you much chance of conceiving a son but where there’s a chance there’s a chance. It’s like I said to Frankie ‘Bag of Doughnuts’ Winters once when there was under two minutes on the clock, and we were struggling all game against a real tough Viking defense in that horrible Metrodome – where it’s so loud your ears practically bleed. We were pinned on our own five yard line, and I told him, I told Frankie, when you’ve got a chance, you’ve got a chance.”

  “Did you win that game?”

  “No. I got sacked by John Randle and the Vikings took over on our three yard line, but that’s not the point. The point is that sometimes you’ve just got to take your opportunity and do the best with it. Have sex twelve times a day if that’s what it takes until the two of you score, but don’t ever give up. At least if it doesn’t happen, you know you both went after it whole hog.”

  With that, Brett got up, patted Jonesy on the head, and left. They heard the front door shut behind him before they went down to their living room and waited. They figured at any moment the police would be at their door and the entire world would know what they did. John brought his dog next door and asked his neighbor if he could watch him for a couple of days while he and his wife worked a problem out. When he came back, they waited and they waited, too nervous to even speak to each other, and then there was a knock at the door. John looked at Kim with despair and went to answer the police, but when he opened the door, it was Brett.

  “Okay. Let’s go,” Brett said, walking back into their living room. “You guys have one shot to make it count so Kim better be on her game today.” They went upstairs to the bedroom and Kim went inside and waited for Brett while he paused to talk to John in the hall. He clapped John on the shoulder. “When I met ya, I thought your front porch light was burned out, but once I was in a cab headed out of here, I realized that you convinced me. Sometimes we all need a teammate and I’m honored on this day to be yours and Kim’s. And I’m sorry about the whole comment about you being short. I guess I was a little sore about being tranquilized again.”

  “Understandable,” John said.

  Brett shrugged. “Well, I guess this is it. You sure that you want me to go in there and have sex with your wife?”

  John nodded.

  Brett was in the room for about a half hour before he came out. He shook John’s hand and said, “Good luck,” before jogging down the stairs and out of their lives.

  Later that week, the home pregnancy test that Kim took showed that she was pregnant and the two of them were ecstatic, celebrating most of the night, Kim, avoiding anything she thought might possibly be harmful to the baby. Then there was the gender of t
he baby to consider, and when they had their doctor perform an ultrasound months later, again they celebrated when they saw they were having a boy.

  Their baby, Favre Jonathon Newton, was born a whopping eleven pounds. They brought him to all of the Sunday football parties where his uncles passed him around, commenting on the size of his hands and girth of his baby shoulders. Kim dressed him in a little Cowboys Jersey but with Favre’s number 4 and Favre across the back. It didn’t sit well with Bud or some of the diehard Aikman fans at first but they got over it.

  John and Kim followed their son as he rose from one level of play to the next, a star from Pop Warner to Washington High School where he was the starting quarterback, all six foot three and two hundred twenty pounds of him. Against Bud’s wishes Favre got a Scholarship to UCLA and took it. He became the starting quarterback half way through his freshman year when the player that started the season at the position suffered a career ending knee injury. In his second year, UCLA earned a berth in the Rose Bowl and a shot at a national title.

  The stadium was filled with a fairly even amount of Bruins wearing true blue and Wisconsin Badgers wearing red. Both John and Kim wore light blue jerseys with their son’s number 4 in gold.