This story is about male/male relationships and contains graphic descriptions of sex. You should not read this story if it is in any way illegal due to your age or residence.
This is a work of pure fiction. This story is the sole property of its author and may not be copied in whole or in part or posted on any website without the permission of the author.
Questions and commentary can be sent to djakeeba@aol.com
Please consider donating to keep Nifty going. Details at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html
TRAGEDY IN THE BLOOD by Steven H. Davis
Chapter 32
We arrived at Foxrun High School at around 2:45, greeted by the sight of dozens of other busses from around the state disgorging competitors all decked out in suits and nice dresses, debate teams carrying catalog cases full of evidence, speech teams rolling large stacked Extemp file boxes on metal carts, and the drama kids pantomiming their various characters.
All business, we hurried into the school and located the cafeteria, which was the epicenter of tournament activity. I saw a few kids from different areas whom I knew from middle school tournaments, and went over to renew our acquaintances, chatting amiably until I saw Mr. McRory gathering our team together, a stack of poop-books -- our slang for the booklets containing tournament schedules and sectioning -- in his arms.
He handed them out to us and I admired what a nice job Foxrun had done with their presentation. In middle school, the sectioning sheets had been a few pieces of ditto paper stapled together, but these were really nice volumes, spiral-bound with an embossed version of the school crest and "1981 Foxrun High School TFA-IQT" in a distinguished-looking cursive font on the cover.
TFA-IQT stood for Texas Forensic Association - Individual Qualifying Tournament. It took so long to say "tournament" (and "tourney" sounded impossibly posh), so we all generally called tournaments IQTs. I flipped to the list of schools to find our code so I could figure out the sectioning.
Polk was school 21 at this IQT, and I knew that I was assigned the letter G, with Robert and Robin being A & B, Kathy C, Carter D, Jim and Roger E & F, Mark H, Cindy I, Linda J, Pablo K, and so on. I was rather surprised to see that there were forty-eight high schools participating, some of them -- like Chamberlain -- with so many debate teams that they had competitors coded up to 14ZZ.
I flipped to the first day's scheduling, which read as follows:
Friday
3:00 - Deadline for late registration.
3:15 - LD, NCX, CX, CCX Rd. 1
4:15 - LD, NCX, CX, CCX Rd. 2
5:15 - LD, NCX, CX, CCX Rd. 3, DA Prelims.
6:15 - Extemp draw for ME & WE Prelims.
6:45 - DI, HI, OO, ME, WE Prelims
7:40 - Impromptu draw for first speakers in prelims.
7:45 - LD, NCX, CX, CCX Rd. 4, PR, PO, IMP Prelims
8:45 - CX Double-Octos, LD, NCX, CCX Octos.
9:45 - DA Quarters, CX Octos, LD, NCX, CCX Quarters
10:45 - DA Semis, CX Quarters.
The debaters began to hustle to their rounds, while I could relax a little, as Linda and I wouldn't be up with our Duet until 5:15. I saw that all the individual qualifying events had been crammed in at 6:40, and checked the sectioning to see if I would have time to get from one room to the next without running. Luckily, I was speaking first in the Oratory room and fifth in the Humorous room, so I wouldn't have to bolt.
I decided to go watch Pablo's first LD round to lend him support. He was going to need it. I raised my eyebrows as I saw his debate bracket.
Room 241 - 21K vs. 14A.
Holy shit! Pablo was going up against Chamberlain's best debater, Bobby Merman, who had stunned the tournament world the previous summer by winning Nationals as a sophomore. This was going to be brutal, I thought, as I raced upstairs to Room 241. He would need all the encouragement he could get.
When I slipped into the room and headed for a seat near the back, it was almost full. All of Chamberlain's non-debaters were crammed in, along with Bobby's legendary coach, Len Donovan and his wife T.C., who coached drama at the same school. I had obviously missed the coin-toss to determine sides, as I saw Pablo furiously scribbling at his table to the left -- my right -- of the podium, the side reserved for the Negative position. He would be the bleeding-heart liberal this round, letting Bobby play heartless prick.
Bobby was checking his evidence cards methodically, his wire-framed glasses sitting low on his aristocratic nose, his jet-black hair perfectly combed without a single stray to ruin the professional effect. His suit was Brooks Brothers, his shoes were Armani, and the glasses had to be some ridiculously expensive designer brand as well. Chamberlain was a very wealthy school, its students probably the most well-heeled public school kids in San Antonio, and Bobby was flaunting his wealth and class. There was no telling what kinds of things gave you an edge in public speaking, but appearance was definitely high on the list.
The time-keeper held up the "10" card, signalling the start of the debate and Bobby's ten-minute 1AC (first affirmative constructive) speech. He was, as usual, polished and poised, clearly outlining his case in support of the resolution, with each point perfectly supported by carefully-selected evidence cards. As the time-keeper flashed the 0:30 card, he brought all of his points together in a stirring, emotional conclusion, ending with another perfectly-suited quote.
Pablo's 1NC surprised me with its eloquence. I had never seen him speak before, and had to admit that he was extremely effective, making a strong counter-argument to Bobby's case. It was only during the 3-minute cross-examination period when Bobby began to show his true championship form, grilling Pablo relentlessly and pointedly about the ramifications of his position, that I began to worry.
Bobby's five-minute 1AR (first affirmative rebuttal) was ruthless, picking apart every point of Pablo's case, and astutely building on a couple of his nervous answers to the cross-examination to paint Pablo as just what he'd feared -- a bleeding-heart liberal whose "insistance on subsistance" would tax the country into ruin and create a permanent underclass.
Pablo's cross-examination of Bobby and subsequent rebuttal was not nearly as strong. In fact, I felt he was being overly-deferential to Bobby, perhaps a bit star-truck at debating the reigning National Champion to attack his arguments as strongly as Bobby had gone after his.
While Pablo's case -- that society needed a safety-net to prevent people from falling through the cracks and that supporting Bobby's position would create a "culture of cruelty" -- was okay, it's not the argument I would have used. It was too bleeding-heart and not pragmatic enough, and the judge was an older male who didn't look as if he was buying it at all.
It also surprised me, since Pablo seemed to be a staunch conservative. I knew he supported the resolution personally, and perhaps that led him to make a negative argument which was basically a collection of every bad stereotype about liberal thinking. Debaters had to be prepared to make strong arguments on either side of an issue, and I felt that Pablo was hurting his chances by not putting out more reasoned and substantial points.
After their second rebuttals, Bobby and Pablo shook hands and thanked the judges, ending the round. Bobby looked confident, Pablo looked whipped. I joined him at the Negative table, helping him put away his notepads and evidence files. Pablo seemed happy that I had attended, but as soon as we left the room, he looked at me ominously and shook his head.
"He kicked my ass right back to Polk," he muttered. "I hate this topic."
"Aw, you weren't that bad," I said. "I really like your speaking style, and your 1NC was really good. You also finished strong. That Jefferson quote is great."
"Yeah, not good enough."
He walked away dejectedly, trying to get psyched up for his next round, which was only a few minutes away. I decided to go outside for a cigarette, where I found Kathy and Mark smoking by the school flagpole.
"Well, hello, Little One," purred Kathy. "Come to join us in a life of vice and crime?"
"Too late." I lit a cigarette, grinning. "How was your round?"
"Dude," said Mark excitedly, "she kicked ass. She debated some little dipstick ROTC kid from FMA and wiped the floor with him."
FMA was Foxrun Military Academy, which had a reputation for being very good in team debate -- Novice Cross- Examination (NCX), Cross-Examination (CX) and Championship Cross-Examination (CCX) -- but pretty terrible in Lincoln- Douglas. While the CX events focused on hard facts and policy proposals, LD was more values-oriented, and there was a general belief that its more abstract, philosophical focus was antithetical to the military mind. No one ever worried about FMA or LMI (Lorrimar Military Institute) when it came to LD Debate.
"That's great," I said to Kathy. "You think you can go 4-0?"
Unlike the other events, debate had four rounds of pre-scheduled preliminaries, after which the best competitors, by record and qualitatively-assigned speaker points, would break into the single-elimination bracket. This tournament would break to octofinals, which meant that 16 debaters out of about 200 would make the cut. A 3-1 record would be risky, and 4-0 would be the standard.
"I'd better go 4-0," Kathy replied haughtily, French-inhaling her cigarette while pointing to the poop-book in her hand. "I am paired with some real turkeys."
As Kathy stubbed out her cigarette on the flagpole and prepared for her next debate, Mark gave me a sidelong look with a shy smile on his face.
"Can I come watch your Duet round later?" he asked.
"Sure you can," I said. "We'd love to have you there."
"Great!" he exclaimed joyfully, and followed Kathy off to her round.
I finished my cigarette and wandered back into the cafeteria, where I sat next to Linda and Carter.
"Are you ready, Rick?" Linda asked.
"I'm ready," I said. "We're gonna blow them away. Who are we up against?"
Linda checked the poop-book for our section. It looked like this:
Room 136 - Section XIX
-
31C & 31D
-
5A & 5L
-
36C & 36 H
-
21G & 21J
-
3F & 3H
-
19A & 19E
"So there's a couple of A's in there," I said. "What school is 5?"
"5 is Brookwood and 19 is Cartwright," said Carter. "19A is Bill Miles, but you don't have to worry about him, because he's mostly a speech guy. And Brookwood is mostly ODBAs."
"What's ODBA?" I asked.
Linda laughed. "ODBA means Over-Dramatic Black Actors. Brookwood always does these really over-the-top Gospel-type plays with these really ridiculous intros. It's like something you'd see at a black church in Alabama."
"That's true," Carter added, "but don't get cocky. The judges seem to eat their shit up."
"How many teams break?" I asked.
Middle school tournaments tended to be much smaller than this one, with usually only four sections of teams in prelims, breaking three teams to semis, then three to finals from each of the two semifinal sections. This tournament had twenty- four sections of teams in the prelims, which meant 144 teams.
"They're breaking two teams to quarters, three to semis, two to finals," said Linda. "Not too bad. I'm glad they're having quarters. Otherwise they'd just be breaking one, and then two to finals. I hate hate hate tournaments like that. One false move and you're screwed."
"Well," Carter pointed out, "have you looked at Humorous?"
We did. All thirty-six sections of it, breaking one to semis and one to finals.
"Damn," I said. "We're good, but are we that good?"
"I guess we're going to find out," said Linda, looking out the window of the cafeteria nervously. "And guess who's going to watch us?"
I turned around to follow her gaze, and there, in the parking lot, was a dilapidated black Dodge Charger, with its driver nowhere to be seen.
Chapter 33
*They say the neon lights are bright/
On Broadway/
They say there's always magic in the air*
Linda and I came out of our Duet room feeling pretty good. As Carter had predicted, the Cartwright team -- performing a scene from Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? -- had been flat and it was obvious that Bill Miles was a debater and not an actor. The Brookwood team, also as predicted, had performed a broad, Gospel-tinged scene from A Raisin in the Sun which was melodramatic even by ODBA standards. Linda and I got some laughs and warm applause for our Same Time, Next Year scene, and I felt as if we had done a good job.
I was hustling to my Oratory room upstairs when I was stopped in the hallway by Eric Chase. I had no idea that Eric even knew I existed. He was to Drama what Bobby Merman was to Debate, placing in three events at State last year. This year, he had already picked up a whopping five trophies at the Chamberlain tournament for his Van Ark High School team, qualifying for State with first-place wins in both Humorous and Dramatic and a third in Oratory. Handsome and muscular, Eric reminded me of a young Brando in A Streetcar Named Desire. He was hot, talented as Hell, and made it all seem easy.
Eric grabbed me by the arm and hustled me to the corner of the stairway landing, his characteristic intensity coming through even off-stage as his big brown eyes burned into me.
"Rick!" he exclaimed. "I just wanted to tell you that you were really, really good in that Duet round! You have great timing, and I really believed you, even when you did the part where you're in your forties!"
"Wow," I said, genuinely flattered, "that's really nice of you to say. Thanks, Eric! I can't wait to see your Humorous... I've heard so many great things."
"Thanks," he grinned, and then turned serious again. "But listen, I don't know how to say this..."
"What, Eric? I'm always willing to take notes, especially from you." I meant it. One would have to be a fool not to listen to Eric Chase when it came to acting advice.
"Well," he began, "when I said you were really good, I just meant you. You really need a new Duet partner. She's an amateur, and she's holding you back."
*But when you're walking down that street/
And you ain't had enough to eat/
The glitter rubs right off and you're nowhere*
My heart sank. He didn't think we were going to advance, and he thought that would be because of Linda. I loved Linda like a sister, and wanted to defend her, but I was intimidated by both Eric's status in the forensics community and by his intensity. I looked at him, confused and upset, but realized that I was going to be late for my next round, so I thanked him again, promised that I would think about it, and hurried upstairs.
I stopped by my Humorous round first, writing in chalk on the blackboard: "Speaker #5 - 21G - is X-entered in O.O." This was just so the judge would know that I was not going to be there until I had spoken in my other event. Then I raced to the Oratory round with moments to spare. The judge and timekeeper were already waiting, so I dropped my tournament folder on an empty desk, composed myself for a moment, and strode confidently to the front of the room.
It went... okay.
I admit that I was slightly distracted by what Eric had said about Linda, and I was already making the mistake which many high school novices committed when cross-entered: I was thinking ahead to my Humorous round. I felt that Humorous was my best event, and even as I was reciting my oration, I was churning through Titanic in my mind, hoping I would get it right. As soon as I finished, I informed the judge that I had to go to another round, thanked her for her time, and bolted from the room.
I had to wait outside the Humorous round until the third speaker, Foxrun's own Brandy Rockford, had finished her performance. I watched through the small glass window in the classroom door, noting how few laughs she was getting, until the spectators began applauding, then slipped in and erased my message from the chalkboard, taking a seat at the side of the room.
Only one of the six speakers in this round would break to the semifinals, so I had to be perfect. I ran through all my character changes, gestures and timing in my head as the fourth speaker -- Victor Carroll from Chester Arthur High School -- performed his cutting from Blithe Spirit. Then it was my turn. Waiting for his applause to end, I clapped politely, straightened my necktie, and headed for the front of the room.
I was surprised to see Cindy sitting in the front row, and she gave me a big, sexy smile before I began. She had come to see me! If I wasn't already in a relationship, this information would have elated me. As it was, it just made me feel supported and encouraged. I put my head down, then raised it in character, and began.
I killed. I slayed. I had them rolling in the aisles. The judge was laughing so hard that he was blinking back tears. When it was over, I bowed to what seemed like thunderous applause -- even though there were only about fifteen people in the room other than the judge and timekeeper -- and took my seat. Cindy flashed me another smile and a big thumbs-up as she snuck from the room before the sixth and final performer, Taylor High's 13A, Karen Rios, began her cutting from Tom Eyen's Women Behind Bars.
Karen was fantastic, playing up the campy naughtiness of the play, a spoof of the women's prison films of the 1970s, and making the spectators roar with laughter, which I believed was even louder than my response. This was unfortunate scheduling, I thought. Both of our pieces were the same kind of humor -- bawdy, campy and raucous -- and I preferred to be placed between more gentle cuttings in order to highlight mine. With Karen taking "my crowd" over the top with an even wilder script, I felt as if I had been relegated to being her warm-up act.
She brought it home, and even I was doubled over with laughter by the time she was done. I applauded with everyone else, and even complimented Karen on her performance before leaving the room. As soon as I was on the stairs on my way back to the cafeteria, however, my mood turned sour. Only one person would break to semifinals, and it was going to be Karen Rios. I just knew it.
*They say the women treat you fine/
On Broadway/
But looking at them just gives me the blues*
By the time I had wound my way back into the cafeteria at 7:35 pm, the tournament staff was bringing out the break sheet for Duet Acting. Like most break sheets, it was a huge piece of poster paper about three feet across and four feet long, taped to the cafeteria wall by a smug-looking Foxrun freshman, and it had the quarterfinal sectioning neatly lettered in large blue magic marker.
I ran to join the eager crowd of well-dressed kids swarming around the poster, some cheering, some pumping their fists and high-fiving, others looking stricken and dejected. Girls were tearily comforting other girls, boys were strutting around looking like they had just won an Oscar, and Linda was right behind me, her hand on my arm as she leaned around me to see. I scanned the sections. Eight sections of six teams in the quarters... were we one of those lucky teams?
We were not. Linda slumped against my shoulder. In Section III, we saw 5A & 5L... the Brookwood team. In Section VI was 31C & 31D, the team from Washington. What? Washington? They sucked!
"That judge was out of his damn mind," I muttered, but Linda and I moved forward to congratulate Kevin Ellison and Maureen Rodriguez regardless.
I looked for 22A & 22E, the Van Ark team of Eric Chase and Marilyn Fenneman. They had advanced, predictably, and were squaring off against the ODBA team of Tyrone Washington and Lucille St. Hawkins. I saw Eric scanning the sheet for our numbers, then he shot me a sympathetic smirk as if to say "I told you so." If he wasn't so hot, I might have hated him for a minute.
Instead, I hugged Linda, who was beginning to get teary. Holding her close to me, I murmured into her ear.
"We'll get 'em next time," I said. "There's plenty of more tournaments."
I was done for the day, but Linda still had to go to Poetry Reading, so I went to watch Kathy's fourth debate round, pitting her against a tall, handsome junior from Bellaire High School in Richland. Peter Altand had never been very successful in LD Debate, but he came out and wiped the floor with Kathy as if she wasn't there. When the round was over, she raced from the room in tears, and I followed her to the door of the girls' bathroom.
Kathy stayed in there for a long time, and when she finally emerged, her face was flushed and her eyes were wet and bloodshot. In that moment, all of her haughtiness was gone and she looked like a sad, bereft little girl. I took her in my arms and hugged her tight, and she let me, resting her head against my chest and sighing heavily.
"So much for Foxrun," she finally hissed, her voice full of anger and self-loathing.
*'Cause how you gonna make some time/
When all you got is one thin dime/
And one thin dime won't even shine your shoes*
I threw my arm around her shoulder and we returned to the cafeteria, Kathy leaning against me in misery as I carried her debate file. Kathy's mood improved almost instantly, as a Foxrun kid came out of the tabulation room with the break sheet for Women's Extemporaneous Speaking. Kathy regained her composure when she saw her number -- 21C -- among the semifinalists.
Robin, Robert and Pablo all advanced in Men's Extemp, and Robert advanced in Dramatic and Oratory as well. I did not advance in Oratory, but I didn't expect to. Carter, Linda and the rest of us had been shut out so far, and although Linda was competing in Poetry and Carter in Prose, all three of us were really hoping for Humorous, the sole qualifying event which we had remaining in the tournament. Otherwise, we'd be sitting around tomorrow watching everyone else.
And, I thought to myself, Taine and Sly couldn't see me in the finals if I didn't even break to semis. I would have to call them soon, I suspected, because I was sure Karen Rios would be the one to advance from my section and I didn't want Sly to drive all the way here if he didn't have to.
*They say that I won't last too long/
On Broadway/
I'll catch a Greyhound bus for home, they all say*
Finally, I saw movement through the window of the tabulation room, and a kid came out with a large, rolled up piece of poster paper. Was this it? No, it was the posting for NCX Debate. A few long, agonizing minutes later, another piece went up on the wall. CX. And another long wait. LD. Robin and Robert broke, Kathy and Pablo did not.
Finally, there was another posting. I was sure it was CCX, but when seemingly half the cafeteria rushed to the wall, I knew that this was the moment of truth. I saw the poster heading: "HUMOROUS INTERP - Quarters" and felt my heart skip a beat.
For some reason, I found Karen Rios by my side, clutching my hand in camaraderie and mutual nerves.
The poster began to unfold, and we scanned it as it rolled down the wall. I heard Carter exclaim "YES!!!" and broke from Karen to go hug him. Linda saw the number of someone in her section and shrugged, hugging both Carter and me.
We were too far behind the crowd for me to see the bottom of the poster, so I was watching Karen Rios. She nodded sadly and went back to the Taylor High table, giving me a faint smile and nod on her way.
My eyes shot open in shock. Surely this didn't mean...
I raced forward, trying to see over the crowd, through the crowd, wherever I could sneak a peek at the bottom of that poster. And then I saw it.
Section VII - Room 206
-
18C
-
32A
-
10A
-
15B
-
21G
-
7A
I felt Carter's and Linda's hands slapping my back, heard their cheers and exclamations of elation, and my world went bright with excitement and adrenaline. My vision seemed to narrow into a tunnel, and all I saw was "21G" and the blood was pounding in my ears like a freight train, and I pumped my fist in the air with joy.
"Oh... fucking... YES!!!"
Then I turned around and fell into the loving arms of my friends, feeling like I had conquered the world.
*But they're dead wrong, I know they are/
'Cause I can play this here guitar/
And I won't quit till I'm a star/
On Broadway*
Thank you for reading Chapter 32 & 33. To be continued...
"On Broadway" written by Barry Mann, Cynthia Weil, Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller. Performed by George Benson. c 1978 by Warner Bros. Records.
Once again, I'm always happy to hear from readers at DJAkeeba@aol.com. You have all been so supportive and encouraging, and I thank you all for your e-mails.
If you're enjoying this story and others on Nifty, please consider making a donation to the site. Details at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html