

BIG CHIEF BROOKLYN

Phil Wohl

### Smashwords Edition

### Copyright 2009 Phil Wohl

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

### TABLE OF CONTENTS

Bototo Departure

Iyatiku Full circle

Gaoh Four winds

Chinigchinich Pining Away

Hakan Fire

Isotoq Chief

Estanatlehi Winded

First Scolder Trickster

Bidzil Strength

Rhpisunt Mother

Olelbis Creator

Ocasta Knowledge

Kaiti Bear and volcano

Lomasi Pretty flower

Yiska Night has passed

Nigan Ahead

# ONE BOTOTO DEPARTURE

### Rita Cohen walked out of the kitchen with a vat of sweet potatoes bathed in melted marshmallows. The Cohen family matriarch cleared a path between the oven and the middle of the table like she was backing a dump truck en route to the unloading zone. The sheer weight of the dish would have buckled the roots of a mature sequoia, but the aged wood dining table had been through the wars and was ready for the bricks of giving on this day.

### Life had taken on a whole new meaning for Gil Cohen since his then girlfriend was diagnosed with ALS, commonly known as Lou Gehrig's disease. It had been four years since Melanie Franklin was Melanie Franklin, the girl that Gil had unavoidably fallen in love with. They walked down the aisle a year later while she still could fully support her own weight and walk with her head held relatively high.

### In the early days there were long runs in Central Park and marathon tennis matches like they were playing for the U.S. Open title at Flushing Meadows. They were two years into the steamy courtship when a klutzy moment turned into an unstoppable inferno.

### Gil's sister, Nancy, walked to the table with a bowl of odiferous garlic green beans. She failed to see the incline between the wood floor of the kitchen and the carpeted living room and proceeded to deposit most of the beans on the floor. Luckily, the foresight of Rita Cohen to only fill the bowl half-way saved many from garlic overdose but propelled Gil into a painful flashback.

"Can you get me the parmesan cheese, please?" Gil asked as an audible grunt of frustration emanated from the couple's kitchen. The distance from the kitchen to the dining room in a Manhattan one-bedroom apartment is about the length of a hopscotch board.

### Melanie took two steps into the room and then awkwardly dropped the can of sprinkle cheese onto the floor.

### She yelled, "Fuck me!" as she scooped the can off the floor.

### The event within itself would have been laughable if it wasn't the third time she had dropped an item in the previous week. When she released a basket of fresh laundry onto the cold, concrete laundry room floor they just smiled and moved on. A few nights later, the crashing of a glass of water awakened Gil's senses like a violent car crash.

### Gil moved quickly to stand up and help, but Melanie shot him a look like, "If you move, I'll kill you." At age 30, she was starting to experience a series of connected involuntary events that were freaking her out. With retirement a distant 35 years away, she figured there would be time to be old and awkward but never weak.

### Thanksgiving lacked any meaning for Gil, especially now that his wife had passed on. He had always felt more apologetic than celebratory about the holiday in the years leading up to this day, but was always happy to spend the time with people he called family. Thoughts of abused Native Americans dancing in his head made a virtual mockery of the supposedly festive proceedings. Gil would rather have spent the day with red people—the people of the earth—than red-from-stress people, and vowed to run for the hills at the first smoke signal.

Back in kinder, gentler days, Gil's parents were avid Brooklyn Dodgers fans and their favorite player was first baseman Gil Hodges. The 1950s were a special time to live in Brooklyn and be a Dodgers fan, especially when the Boys of Summer became champions in 1955. Rita and Martin Cohen vowed from that point on that if they had a son, they would name him Gilbert Hodges Cohen. When the New York Mets and Gil were born in 1964, some of the sting of the Dodgers defection to Los Angeles was alleviated. Even more of that sadness was released when their hero, Gil Hodges played for the original Metropolitans and then later managed the Miracle Mets to a championship in 1969. This made five year-old Gil quite the popular student at his pre-school.

### Death was definitely a lot easier for Melanie than life. Everything was a struggle for a girl that had clouds following her even on sunny days. The afternoon she was diagnosed with ALS was also the same day she received a big promotion at work. The day she proudly brought home a straight "A" fourth-grade report card was also the very day she found out her parents were getting a divorce. This balance of elation and misery was the story of Melanie's life. She was fanatically-driven to succeed ever since the divorce, rarely ever stopping to smell the roses of her accomplishments.

While tryptophan was released into the collective blood streams of the holiday-goers, Gilbert Hodges Cohen was off in his own Melanie-induced world. He was drifting toward how they had met in college—Melanie was a soccer player who majored in the female fascination that was Women's Studies, and Gil played first base for the Hofstra University baseball team and majored in Management, Entrepreneurship & General Business. Both teenagers were full scholarship student-athletes, but that was where their similarities severed.

### They crossed paths a few times but every time Gil felt like he was advancing, Melanie quickly slapped him down. He finally gave up, figuring that there were many other fish in the collegiate sea. When their paths crossed five years later at an alumni function in New York City, Melanie had absorbed a few cocktails and was considerably more responsive than her usual judge and jury demeanor.

"Do you remember me?" an apprehensive Gil inquired.

### Melanie squinted and replied, "You're that baseball player that stalked me in college."

### Gil shook his head in disbelief, "Stalked? That's a pretty strong word for getting some exercise while walking a safe distance behind someone."

### He smiled and then she smiled back, thus breaking a thin layer of an ice glacier. The one thing Gil had learned over the years about New York women was: Their ego was about as ornery as a bear, especially if not fed constantly.

### Their relationship grew over the years to the point that Gil was able to last a full two minutes on the phone and take Melanie on a date.

### Gil is sitting on park bench in the middle of Central Park and talking to us, "I'm not sure why I couldn't live without her. At first I thought it was about my desire to be accepted and loved, but lately I have come to the realization that it was simply a train wreck that couldn't be avoided."

### The hardest part for Gil was falling in deep love with the person that had ALS and then having to let her go. After spending years as little more as a scratching post, he was finally needed by a woman that previously had as much warmth as winter in Minnesota. It was a wonder that Gil and Melanie even got married in the first place. About six months prior to her diagnosis, Gil found himself bunking at the Hyatt Regency for a few weeks while Melanie tried to sort out her plans for the future.

### We flash back to Gil in his hotel room, "That month alone wasn't so bad. I ate take-out Chinese, Italian, and anything else that would fit in a bag, and I got to watch anything and everything I wanted on TV. Come to think of it, I'm not really sure why I went back?"

### Melanie wasn't even in the apartment for most of the month. She jetted off to Cancun for a week and the spent another couple of weeks working on a case in Florida. Her behind-the-scenes nickname "The Cleaner" had made her law firm millions and saved their clients billions of dollars in either settled or victorious lawsuits. Actually, most men referred to her as that "fuckin' bitch" that gets companies off the hook.

### She kept a safe distance from most of her suitors throughout the years until she came across Lenny Margolis, one of the senior partners of the firm. Margolis was a real big shot in his own mind, and was even a bigger deal in Melanie's mind. The usually cool and collected Melanie was all leg-noodles and stomach-flips around Lenny. He, in turn, used his mental mastery to push Melanie to do just about anything at work the puppet-master desired.

### His dominance was purely mental for the first few years they worked together, but that all changed we they met by "chance" in Florida during those weeks she was away. It was obvious that married Lenny with three kids was there to close a deal that had nothing to do with the law. After a few cocktails they went at each other like a couple of lions battling over a piece of meat, until "Len the Quick" finished and left a sticky residue on Melanie's dress. He threw a hundred-dollar bill on the bed and said, "That should cover it," and then walked away.

### She then called upon every shred of her damaged being and used her iron balls to pick up the phone and dial her boyfriend.

"Hello," Gil said in a nonchalant voice, trying not to let on that he recognized the number on his cell phone Caller ID.

"Gilbert," she said in a slightly conciliatory tone.

### He paused for a moment, trying to soak in the rare spoils of victory, but quickly folded like a sweater placed in the cedar closet for the summer, "Is it time?"

"It's time," she said and then ended the call.

### Gil had an incredibly high tolerance for dysfunction. In fact, his attraction for a woman usually went up incrementally with the "wounded lamb" factor. The more damaged he perceived a woman to be, the more he wanted to nurture them. Melanie's explosive anger and generally nasty temperament scared away most people at first flame, but it became like an unavoidable attraction for Gil every time she rebuffed him. She, on the other hand, gained nothing the exchange other than the knowledge that he was a faithful dog that you didn't need to feed, walk, or pick up shit after.

### Marriage was a slippery slope for the couple, especially considering Melanie's weakening condition. She was still going to work, because her law firm wouldn't have dared fire her and suffer the ramifications of a wrongful termination lawsuit. Her resolve was incredible as her bones became brittle and her body succumbed to the disease. When she showed up one day in a power wheel chair, the partners shook their heads in disbelief and applauded her pride. They wanted nothing to do with showing her the door because they knew once the door swung open they would be done with her. Melanie would never return to work once she either decided that enough was enough, or she was carted out to an ambulance.

### Despite Gil's endless pleading, Melanie continued to go to work with the help of an aid, who did everything for her from pushing the wheel chair to swabbing the deck after she went to the bathroom. Melanie's productivity has slipped to that of a kindergarten student on her blanket after lunch. She was sitting at her desk one morning, trying to muster whatever control she had left over her body, when her head suddenly went into a free-fall with the hard wood desk as the landing site.

### While the aid to her sweet-ass time posing and reapplying make-up in the bathroom, Melanie's limp body attempted to choke off any remaining signs of life. The aid returned in horror and quickly called for an ambulance in an attempt to sustain life, or whatever was left of it. She used a portable oxygen unit once she propped Melanie's head back to its upright position, but the damage had already been done. For such a fragile person, the three-foot fall to the desk amounted to little less than blunt head trauma and an instant coma.

### Melanie barely clung to life the next four days without the use of resuscitation, as were her written orders. There were no dramatic goodbyes, no last-minute reconciliations over failed relationships, and no proclamations of undying love from either Melanie or Gil. Luckily, he was there to say goodbye on the morning she stopped breathing. Whether she technically continued with "the living" or not, he had decided to end his active participation in her life. He kissed her forehead and then kissed her hand and said, "It's time for me to let you go. I hope you move on to better things."

### With that, the heart monitor transitioned into a flat line and a long, unyielding tone. Although it was their last interaction as a couple, it probably was there most touching moment. Melanie had finally heard something that Gil said and decided to move on. Words could not express his relief in having his own life back, but the waves of sorrow and remorse continued to wash over him through the funeral and for weeks after she was laid to rest. It was time, however, for Gil to start anew.

# TWO IYATIKU FULL CIRCLE

### Gil worked as a sports agent, representing primarily basketball and football players. His client list started with a Hofstra wide receiver named James Colton, who was drafted by the Miami Dolphins in the fifth round and lasted in the NFL for 10 years before retiring.

His success with this initial Hofstra grad created a niche with a dozen other Pride student-athletes looking to test their skills at the next level. While he didn't fit the prototype of a sports agent—you know, fast talking, bullshit-spewing, Armani suit-wearing, slicked–back hair, soulless—he always got the most for his clients, which meant that he also maximized his own earnings potential.

### It was actually quite innocent how he got into the business in the first place...

### "Hey, JC! Are you going to the draft in New York on Saturday?" Gil asked a young James Colton.

### "I don't think I'm going to be drafted," Colton replied oozing a lack of confidence. He noticed a smile on Gil's face, "Why? Are you hearing something different?"

### Gil read all of the football magazines, listened to every sports talk show, and watched every TV show he could click to.

### "I've given it a lot of thought, and I think it could be the Seahawks, Dolphins, or Saints in rounds four through six."

### "Really?"

### A confident Gil replied, "Really."

### "Would you come with me?" a humble Colton asked.

### Gil reached into his pocket and pulled out two press passes to the draft. "I thought you'd never ask."

### The initial plan was for Gil to bring his cousin to the draft. Being a member of the Hofstra newspaper staff entitled him to press passes when an event came to the New York area. With only a couple of months to graduation, there were only a few more events he could apply for, so this stroke of luck came just in the nick of time. Gil didn't have a clue what he was going to do after graduation. His decent baseball career was good enough to earn him 34 wins as a college starting pitcher, but not good enough to further his career after graduation.

### Once at the draft, word sifted through the stands that James had attended the draft. As the rounds dragged on, the top picks had departed the green room and were on their way to the cities of the teams that had drafted them. James and Gil were ushered to a viewing room once the fourth round began. An NFL representative asked, "We need the phone number of your agent in case a team wants to contact you."

### James had no agent but he did have someone he could trust, "Gil, what's your cell phone number?"

### Once Gil gave his number, he asked, "What did you need my number for?"

### James extended his right hand, "Congratulations, you're my agent."

### Gil quickly shook James' hand and in an instant, everything made sense. It was a good thing that Gil's dad, Bert Cohen, was an attorney, because those initial contracts read like a foreign language primer for Gil. Dad was a bit hesitant at first, but was happily persuaded with a 1% retainer fee per client.

Gil's business, aptly called 14 Management for the late great Hodges' uniform number, had grown over the years to an office on 77th Street and Central Park West. While most New York-based sports agents resided on Park Avenue, Gill preferred the quiet, yet alive setting of the Upper Westside to stodgy, pristine Park Avenue any day. After 12 years in the business, he had accumulated a rolling list of 10 clients and had an annual income of about $4 million. Gil felt that taking on any more athletes would only serve to water down his representation. His predominantly Hofstra University football player-loaded roster also included a few Delaware Blue Hens football players.

### His first client, James Colton, had finished his playing career a few years earlier and had become Gil's right-hand man on a full-time basis. James and Gil went out to dinner one night and had the following conversation:

### "I think you're ready," Gil said to James as he buttered a roll.

### "Ready for what?" James replied as he took a drink of water.

### "You know what I'm talking about," Gil stated.

### James smiled, "If I knew what you were talking about, we'd already be talking about it. Are you all right? You've been somewhere else over the past few months."

### Gill picked up his head and asked, "What do you mean? Give me a few examples."

### James barely hesitated, "Do you remember when we had lunch the other day with that lineman from Delaware?"

### "Yeah," Gil replied.

### "What was his name?" Colton inquired.

### "Barnes. Ricky Barnes," Gil replied like he was proud of his memory.

### James looked into Gil's distant eyes, "Ricky Barnes was a lineman on my team at Hofstra, 12 years ago."

### Gil looked confused, "Son-of-a-bitch. What was that kid's name?"

### "Steve Austin."

### Gil thought for a moment, "Steve Austin! Bullshit! He was the Six Million Dollar Man!"

### "His parents watched the show every week. That's really the kid's name!" James insisted.

### "Why are we arguing about a guy with a bionic eye and legs that could churn a gallon of butter in seconds?" Gil jested.

### "Because you have that look in your eye. My cousin had that look before he left his wife," James stated and then continued to poke at his best friend, "If I remember correctly, that is the same look Rocky had on his face before knocking down Clubber Lang."

### "What was that Rocky III? Mr. T. was a mean son-of-bitch in that movie. I'll never get over Drago killing Apollo Creed, though. That just wasn't right," Gil shot back.

### "You know what I'm trying to say. If you think I'm ready that's one thing, but if you just need some time off..."

### Gil moved closer to his friend and shook his hand before they embraced. "It's time for me to move on, which means it's time for you to step up."

### The men shared a good, short cry, a manly-cry if you will. Just long enough to draw water but not too long to arouse suspicion of weakness. Once they finished dinner, they exchanged parting greetings and James asked as Gil walked away, "So, what are you going to do now?"

### Gil turned around, arms extended and palms facing the sky, "I don't know. I'm just going to let the wind guide me."

### Having that much responsibility over the future direction of your life would unnerve most people, but most people don't have a comfortable, multi-million dollar net worth and absolutely no responsibilities. Gil had the luxury of time on his side. Time to sort out his questionable personal decisions in his life, time to realign his professional energy after a dozen years of chasing the dream, and time to get some distance from his meddling family and give his mom a break from the strain it must be causing her to oversee every possible scenario that could potentially occur in his life.

### Gil knew a conventional vacation in the islands wouldn't begin to cover what he needed to address. All he could think about during Thanksgiving was Native Americans, so he sat up in his bed, opened his laptop, and typed "native american tours."

### Four days later he was in Arizona trying to reconnect with nature at a luxury hotel. It was a new beginning... albeit a tentative, pampered start.

### The Hyatt just outside of Sedona was everything a plush, well-appointed hotel should be. Gil flew in a day early so he could rest before embarking on his journey to the center of his self-exploration. He spent a few minutes at the pool, took a scalding whirlpool, and then crashed in his room for 12 hours, waking up the next morning in time for breakfast.

### The air was dry and so was Gil's throat, so he asked the waitress to bring him a vat of freshly squeezed orange juice and large glass of milk. He also ordered a bacon-and-cheddar omelet and a stack of pancakes to go along with the liquids. It was quite a feast for a man that had his last meal more than 24 hours ago. He was mentally and physically famished and there was no easy answer on how he would recharge his battery.

### Gil decided to revisit his room before heading out on his red journey. He located his complementary USA Today newspaper on the dresser and then camped out in the bathroom until ample room was cleared out for lunch. The idea of going on a planned tour with a group of people seemed like a good idea at first sight, but as the hours passed the likelihood of anything meaningful happening when surrounded by tourists seemed unlikely.

### The walk from his room on the fourth floor to the lobby seemed like forever. A crowd had gathered near the front door of the hotel, as if a giant had lifted the entire building and tilted the hotel toward the entrance. It took every fiber of Gil's being to resist walking the away and back to the bliss that denial and ignorance would bring.

### Unbeknownst to Gil, a tour guide had cast a net for all stragglers and snuck up behind him, "Are you with the Native American tour?" she asked in a tone of voice that could only be accompanied by already knowing the answer to a loaded question.

### He hesitated for a second as he looked back to elevator for possible daylight, "Yes. I am with the tour," he reluctantly replied.

### "Then it's time to get on the bus to visit our Native American friends."

### Gil looked back one more time, hoping to be saved from the indignity of having to wear a sticky nametag on his shirt. How he despised the sticky nametag on the shirt. He would often say, "Whatever happened to the days of a handshake, an exchange of names, and the steady routine of quickly misplacing the person's name in your mental Rolodex?"

### It was still fairly early in the morning and there was a chill in the air that the blazing desert sun would soon take away. The tour guide looked down at Gil's jacket, which was draped over his right arm, and said, "You might want to put that on."

### Gil quickly complied as he felt the cool wind brush over the exposed skin on his arms, causing goose pumps to be generated en masse. He then piled into the coach bus with the other people from the hotel, most of which were looking more for commercialized artifacts than the meaning of life. Gil was even ready to settle for some sage advice that would guide him away from all of the misery in his life. Just a little nudge away from all of the negativity that had followed him like rain clouds most of his personal life.

### He even daydreamt about a possible response by a Native American elder to his dilemma, "Rain cloud not always bad. Feed crops and bring us food." Gil had reached the end of the line in one section of his life and was curious to see what the next portion of life tracks would bring.

### The first day's activities focused on much of the background information needed to fully absorb the remainder of this cultural tour. One of the tour guides, aptly named Amanda Blank for her stunning personality, stood up in front of the bus once it stopped at the reservation entrance. The fifty-something, ex-hippy and flower child, peered over the group like they were a bunch of fourth-graders about to take a planetarium by storm.

### "Now keep in mind people, these are ancient, hallowed grounds that we are privileged to be able to grace. You must abide by all local customs and traditions and only act when instructed to do so."

### All Gil could think about was how and where he could go to the bathroom, so he imagined the woman saying, "If the urge to make a number one or number two comes up, we have an abundance of shovels under the bus for you to dig an ample hole in the ground. Our Native American friends welcome the addition of fresh feces to the already rich soil."

### Instead of asking the question, Gil looked to the back of the bus and the civilized bathroom location he would be depositing any and all bowel movements for the remainder of the tour.

### Gil walked down the stairs of the bus and stared into the blank eye of a whole lot of flat and dry nothing and muttered, "What the fuck?"

### At first glance, he couldn't believe that he paid a few thousand dollars to walk around an adult-sized sand box. People were amazed at what they were seeing and Gil wanted to either gouge his own eyes out, or get high off the second-hand fumes that he must have ignored on the bus. Hippies are famous for enhancing a relatively normal experience through the use of various narcotics, and previously drug-free Gil was quickly opening up to either natural or synthetic enhancement possibilities.

### The first morning was spent giving the tour members a background into Native American history. Gil was about as bored as a grade-schooler trying to digest a mid-afternoon grammar lesson. He went to the cell phone early and often, checking on anything he could find on the Internet. It was feelings, not facts that he was after. Being touched by the spirit of Geronimo would be more effective than hearing about his many heroic deeds and victorious battles.

### The day ended with a lengthy trip to the teepee turned gift shop, for some much-needed souvenirs. Gil decided to venture out on his own, all the while wondering what the allure of this endless panorama of land held. Water after water did nothing to quench his thirst and quell the overpowering dryness of his throat. The morning chill had given way to the relentless mid-afternoon sun, effectively causing the entire tour group to duck for cover. All except for Gilbert Hodges Cohen who decided to brave the elements with some SPF40 and his royal blue Brooklyn Dodgers hat, with the large white "B" announcing his birthright to the world.

### Gil sat baking in the sun for at least 45 minutes before one of the tour guides noticed him looking listless and leaning to his left side. As she approached him, she noticed that he had a stupid grin on his face.

### "Are you all right, Mr. Cohen?" she asked as she tried to slowly help him to his feet.

### His shirt was drenched with sweat and his skin was mostly clammy, signally that he was suffering from the middle stages of heat stroke.

### "It's not so bad?" he muttered as he struggled to stand straight up.

### "What not so bad, Mr. Cohen?" one of the tour guides asked.

### "Death," Gil stated in a glazed response.

### The guide looked at the heat-stricken man who appeared to have a moment of clarity amidst all of the sweat and dehydration. "Why is death not so bad?" she pressed on.

### Gil took a big swig of Gatorade and replied, "Because life wasn't so great."

### The guide was speechless for perhaps the first time in her life, temporarily preferring an agape mouth to the gift of gab. Many people had come out to the hallowed ground in search of a higher meaning to life, but left with little more than chafed thighs and mementos that took up space in the back of a drawer or closet.

### Gil boarded the bus before many of his fellow adventurers and quickly fell asleep before the bus even started rolling. His state of deep sleep opened the sky wide for a vivid dream that was a vast departure from his usual chase, lateness, or high school unconscious visions.

### Somebody must have held a dream catcher over Gil's head because all of his bad dreams skimmed through the net and only the fluffy marshmallow filling was left to filter through the feather. While the corporeal Gil was still asleep on the bus, his hallucinatory form woke up and looked around and the empty vehicle. He walked down the four bus steps and shielded his eyes from a fierce wind that was kicking up dirt and eliminating any potential visibility. Gil pulled down his baseball hat as far as it could go and extended his right arm to shield the potentially damaging impact from his eyes.

### After struggling to find his way, Gil looked back toward the bus but it was gone. "Why can't I see where I'm going?" he yelled in frustration.

### In an instant, the wind calmed and the abundance of dust settled back into the ground. Out of the landscape an ethereal Native American woman appeared wearing classic garb. Her very sight instantly captivating Gil and he tried to move closer but his legs were no longer capable of making progress.

### She smiled and said "Make sure you follow the right wind to my heart," as angel-like clouds surrounded her glowing face.

### "What does that mean? What wind?" he yelled as her image slowly faded into the cloud formation.

### He then turned around to see the bus reappear behind him. The tour guide said, "Please get back on the bus, Mr. Cohen.

### Gil yelled, "I don't want to get back on the bus! I want to follow the wind! I don't want to get back on the bus! I just want to follow her wind!"

### The bus was now parked in front of the hotel and all of the passengers had piled out except for Gil, who was muttering and then yelling, "Where is my wind?"

### One of the tour guides walked up and gently jostled his right shoulder, awakening him from his deep slumber.

### "Where am I?" he said in a moment of confusion.

### "We are back to the hotel, Mr. Cohen," the guide stated. "Are you feeling better?"

### Gil rubbed his eyes and looked up at the women, "Yes. I believe I am feeling better."

### "Did you find your wind yet?" the woman asked as she escorted Gil out of the bus.

### "You heard that?" Gil said feeling slightly embarrassed.

### The women nodded affirmatively and then he continued, "I think they heard you in Albuquerque."

### Gil dragged his weary body back to his room and took a long, soaking shower. He decided to pick up a sandwich and then watch the sun set from the terrace. In between the hotel lobby and the terrace, he spied a hammock gently swinging under some shade trees. Months of sleep deprivation and overflowing emotions had led Gil to complete physical and emotional bankruptcy. Any opportunity became a good opportunity to close his eyes and go away for a while.

### The breeze under the trees felt much softer, almost caressing, than the whipping winds of the open plains. That blustery wind shredded with the dexterity of a thousand blades, using sand and dirt as its conduits of abrasion. Gil straddled the hammock and slowly leaned back and then moved his legs together until he was resting comfortably. His sandwich rested comfortably on the middle of his rib cage as the intoxicating sway of the hammock lulled him to rest within the time it takes to eat a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup.

### Dream catchers seemed to follow Gil in his every move while in Arizona. It was either faddish intention on the hotel and tour group's part, or just a connected, spiritual guide in his life journey. While Gil's body rested his mind continued to play an edgier version of his future. When he awoke in the spiritual world, he was munching on a sandwich and watching the intense sunset while sitting on the terrace.

"Beautiful isn't it," a female voice said from behind him.

### Gil was unable to turn his head around so he kept eating what seemed like an endless meatball sandwich, commonly named a hero in the New York area. "Do you ever get tired of eating that sandwich?" the woman asked.

### Gil smiled, "Never. I could eat these all day, every day."

### He then closed his eyes to take another bite but the sandwich disappeared. The women then walked in front of him.

"It's you again," Gil said to the familiar woman from his dream earlier in the day.

"Yes, it's me again," she said. This time she was wearing a coat made of buffalo hide. She continued, "I have a question to ask you and I want you to think about it before you give me an answer."

### Gil nodded in agreement, but he was a New Yorker and it was his undying duty to react quickly and spout out the first thing that came into mind.

"Is love the answer?" she asked.

### Gil joked, "What is the question?"

"Is love the answer?" she asked again without acknowledging the sarcastic response. Comic timing and dreams usually stay as separated as mice and snakes in a pet shop.

### The woman disappeared into a cloud and Gil was left muttering, "Is love the answer? What the hell does that mean?"

### Moments later, the dream continued as he awoke from his sleep and it was dark outside. There was no sandwich on his chest and he slowly rose to his feet. Gil looked down and noticed that had no shoes on, although he remembered leaving his room in a pair of shoes. When he picked his head up he was staring face to face with an angry coyote, or maybe it was a wolf, but he couldn't tell. He didn't know whether he should run or go directly at the beast, so he started singing a song he made up from an old popular song, "Do you know the way to Santa Fe, I've been away so long that I can't stay away."

The creature then morphed back into the familiar woman that had been visiting him in his dreams. "What is your answer, Gilbert? Is love the answer?"

Gil thought for a few seconds and replied, "Yes, love is the answer."

### She smiled and stated, "Very good. You're ready to move on to the next star." With that she faded off saying, "Love will complete the circle."

"The next star? What do you mean?" he said in desperation. "Complete the circle?" He then woke up as the last flickers of the sun set over the heat of the plains. The dreams seemed so real and so vivid, but he quickly came back to reality when he realized the sandwich on his chest in a container was filled with turkey instead of his favorite meatballs. The dryness of the turkey made him long for both the mouth-watering taste of the meatballs and the next time his eyes closed and his adventure continued.

# THREE GAOH FOUR WINDS

### The dreams occurred each time Gil closed his eyes and faded off to sleep. Many of the images presented to him over the next few days were largely muted and jumbled and provided very little insight. This lack of progress was starting to frustrate him until he got a more cohesive message in the morning before he woke up.

### Once again, his Native American lady friend came to him and said only, "Hear the song of the earth. Listen with the people."

### She faded away as quickly as she had appeared. Gil woke up and tried to put together the pieces of his latest Indian puzzle. He thought, "The red people are wise but they could use some guidance on simplifying the message."

### Gil sat with a few people from the group at breakfast but could have been miles away sitting at a table by himself. "Listen with the people?" kept ringing in his ears until he went into the bathroom to splash some cool water on his face. He looked at himself in the mirror, black circles under his stressed eyes. He had indeed seen too much and not enough at the same time in his life. There was still much to learn and experience, so he gained some clarity and did the first thing that came to his mind.

"Do you ever have anyone that wants to stay out there instead of in here?" Gil asked a tour guide as he gestured toward the out of doors.

"It doesn't happen very often, but we are happy to set up the introduction. To bring the horse to water, if you will."

### Gil laughed, "Does everyone out here talk this way?"

### She smiled and broke character momentarily, "Yeah, pretty much."

### Hearing stories about the Native Americans and their culture was a far stretch from actually experiencing it. Once Gil decoded the message, he knew that living the life the right way would be the only way to unearth some real meaning. While all of these dreams were interesting, being asleep definitely put a curb on maximizing potential enjoyment and appreciation.

A rigorous hike was scheduled for the fourth day. The collective fitness level of the group was about equal to people sitting in their cars waiting on the Krispy Kreme Doughnut drive-thru line late at night. Of the group of 30 people, only seven decided to go on the hike, with the remaining 23 people opting for the alternative plan that included making corn cakes and participating in Native American craft making.

### While Gil's fitness level was questionable, his heart and desire to complete the task were admirable. The group of seven also included a few tour guides and a Native American guide they called Yuma.

"My name means 'Son of a chief,' Yuma said as he began moving his long walking stick around in the red dirt beneath the hiker's feet. "The red dirt tells our story, sings a song for all to hear." He bent down and picked up a handful of the dirt. "You all bend down and pick up a piece of our life and listen for the chanting, the singing, the appreciation for all that is living."

### The members of the party each picked up a handful of dirt and then raised it to their ears. Yuma looked over at Gil and said, "I can see your earth is telling you something. You have the power of the winds on your side."

### Gil smiled as he listened to the earth. "What song do you hear?" Yuma asked him.

"Through the Fire. Yes, it's definitely Through the Fire."

### The reference evaded everyone and Gil was sure Yuma would pass over him to ask the next person, but he leaned over and whispered to Gil, "Chaka Khan is my favorite. Really like the older stuff she did with Rufus."

### The group was filled with experienced hikers and the guides pretty much knew the route by heart, so they took the lead while Yuma and Gil brought up the rear.

"I can tell by your eyes that you're hearing the voices," Yuma said to Gil.

### Gil turned to the elder gentlemen and replied, "I'm starting to decode the messages faster now, but I still feel so far away from any true meaning."

"You should try mixing Valium with a Budweiser chaser?" Yuma said half-jesting.

### He continued, "I heard you were thinking about roughing it for a few days."

"Yes. I was told in a dream to hear the song of the earth by listening with the people. Do you live on the reservation?"

### Yuma broke character briefly, "Yeah, but I have a house in the hills about a half-hour from here. I'm not much for outdoor living."

"Gil looked at Yuma and said, "You from around here?"

### Yuma laughed, "No, I'm from a little village just off the island of Manhattan. The natives call it Brooklyn."

Gil was both surprised and elated to make the connection with a fellow Brooklyn native. "I noticed your jacket a few days ago but I've seen a lot of that back in the day stuff around here, so I didn't think much of approaching you."

"Well I'm glad we got to talk," Gil stated. His entire demeanor changed from basically introverted and exhausted to extroverted and energized. A man that had existed in both plains would broker his entrée from his world to a world that he held in high esteem. The knowledge that comes from living amongst all types of people is more powerful than any insight gained from a book or a speech. Real-world experience makes men wise. It's more rewarding to blister the hands from planting flowers and vegetables than to push a cart around a supermarket and pick the products off the shelf.

### The two men talked all day and Yuma then invited Gil back to his house for dinner once the group finished the hike. It had been years since Yuma had invited a tourist back to his place and even longer since he opened up to a complete stranger. The Native American community was strong and tight, which left very little margin for genuine trust and consideration for the outside world.

"Why don't we pick up a pizza on the way to the cabin? I know a great spot down the road. The guy moved out here from New York and if you closed your eyes and drank a few beers, you would swear that it almost tasting like a New York slice." Yuma said as the two wayward souls enjoyed each other's company.

"I could use a good slice and a beer," Gil replied.

### The guys picked up the pizza, bullshitted with the owner, and then headed back to Yuma's cabin. The 30-minute drive fully exemplified Arizona's beauty at sundown. The fire of the orange-red sun cascading over the mountains could make you feel like you lived on the edge of heaven. For two men that had suffered loss, being in heaven still resembled hell at times. Destiny had brought them together in a way that neither one of them could have ever imagined. Being from two seemingly different worlds created a divide that narrowed through the Brooklyn Bridge and lives built on a foundation of understanding.

### Slice after pizza slice was devoured until there were scant crumbs and a half-a-piece of crust. Gil looked at Yuma and said, "That's some good pizza.

### Yuma nodded, "It's the best pizza this side of Flatbush Avenue."

"It is awfully quiet up here. How do you stand the silence?" Gil asked.

"It's an acquired taste. My wife definitely added a lot of life to this house, because I'm not much for entertaining," Yuma said.

### Gil had looked around the hallway leading up to the bathroom and had seen a few pictures on the wall of Yuma and a woman. Although he was curious who this woman was, he decided that he would not be the one to broach the subject.

### Gil treaded lightly, "How long has it been?"

"Two years," Yuma stated. "You?"

### Gil was somewhat surprised that he had put the pieces together so quickly, "A few months."

"Cancer."

"Lou Gehrig's Disease."

"Oooh! ALS is a tough one." Yuma said.

### Gil decided to keep the honesty fountain flowing, "Yuma?"

### Yuma smiled, "My real name is Nate Bernstein. My dad was a full Iroquois Indian and my mom was as Jewish as matzoh balls and latkes. I used my mom's maiden name because we thought it would be easier."

### Gil started laughing from pride and reached over to clank beers with Nate. "It's a pleasure to meet you, my brother."

"No, the pleasure is mine," the elder Bernstein replied.

### With only two days of the trip left, Gil decided to dig deep and check out a few spots that Nate "Yuma" Bernstein had recommended. It was nearly impossible to gain the full flavor of the Native American community without an "all access" pass. Nonetheless, Gil spent the next few days walking and walking and then walking some more. The pain in his legs, however, paled in comparison to the pain he was holding onto for dear life in his heart. He could have walked for weeks, or even months, without even acknowledging his personal redirected angst.

### Gil found a kindred spirit in Yuma, but this connection did little to detangle all of the crossed lines in his mind. After spending a second consecutive day outside the tour group, he decided to visit Yuma before heading out on his flight back to New York the next day. He knocked on Yuma's front door as the last flickers of the day quickly turned into the night.

### The door opened and Yuma said, "Brother. What brings you back to my ground?"

### Gil lowered his head and replied, "I don't know."

"Well, why don't you come in and maybe we can make sense of it," Yuma said.

### The fact was that Yuma liked the company, especially if it was someone he had genuine respect for. He even let Gil sleep over his place a few nights earlier marking the first time that someone else had slept in his house since his wife moved on. While tourists and passers-through looked at Yuma as a holy man, he saw himself as much less than that. At times he felt as if he was using his Native American heritage as a tool to earn a living, a task that sidetracked him from maintaining his spiritual journey. Educating the white man and a few black and yellow people too, was truly a journey that took him full circle in life.

### Growing up in New York and hearing names like "half-breed" were quite confusing for a pre-teen that was trying to simply fit in. Acceptance for a kid who looked like the Lone Ranger's sidekick Tonto and was named Nate Bernstein was a difficult task. His mother was unwavering in her desire to send him to Hebrew School at the local temple, so Nate was thrown in with a bunch of kids that questioned every square peg that didn't fit into each round hole.

### The ridiculing became so prevalent that the Bernstein's decided to leave the comfort of their Brooklyn apartment and head west to the acceptance of their people. Being a mixed couple always seemed to impede Onatah and Beth Bernstein. Onatah means "of the earth" in Iroquois, although his Americanized name was Nate and his father's last name was Thorpe. Nate's great grandfather was none other than multi-sport hero Jim Thorpe, and the weight of the name caused subsequent generations to veil their heritage with the last name of their spouses. While the public knew Yuma as Nate Bernstein, the government knew him as Onatah Eli Thorpe.

### "I'll drive you to the airport," a pensive Yuma said to Gil the morning after.

### Gil was having trouble leaving because his brain had been flooded with a catalogue of emotions and thoughts that all decided to test him at the same time.

### "Just give me a minute," Gil said as he walked out the front door of Yuma's house.

### He looked out on the dry plains and thought that there wasn't much to this part of the country, that it was more of a spiritual journey than just a relaxing stroll down the beach. In reality, Gil needed a lot more than watching the waves roll in, or sitting in a leather cushioned chair talking to an overpaid, pampered Park Avenue shrink. Words only seemed to diminish his potential impact on the community, and his future direction in life. He walked back into the house and said, "Yu, I think I'm gonna' stay."

### Yuma smiled and replied, "I'll prepare the guest room for your journey."

### Gil had barely scratched the surface in peeling off the layers of oppression that had bound him for years. Of course, his personal demons were only a fraction of what his Native American friends had endured. Even men like Yuma, who seemed to be mired in the middle of nowhere, had been discriminated against because they didn't fit the profile of a particular ethnic group or racial make-up. Gil shared this inability to fit in, although the color of his skin was never the first deterrent to having a basic conversation.

### Yuma had special plans for that day, and was quietly hoping that Gil would welcome the heat of the sun and follow the stars to exchange the chaos of many minds into the divine wisdom of just one. He had spent many days alone since the death of his wife and found neither comfort nor peace in the traffic jam of thoughts currently parked in his head. It took the raw energy of a pale-faced stranger to reignite the flame of the future inside of Yuma. He wasn't sure why this man, over all other that had crossed his path over the years, was truly special and worthy of taking the walk of the elders. Questioning fate was as far from the cultural norm as possible, with disrespecting the earth, the sea, the sky as spiritual impracticalities as well.

The Navajo people still comprise a "nation" in the United States, primarily in Arizona, Utah, and New Mexico. Yuma's acquaintances in the nearby tribe always played it very close to the vest and rarely ever let the white man into their every daily lives. The Navajo leaders were even luke-warm to Yuma in the early days, as they were wary to his white ways and non-reservation background.

"Let me give you a word of advice," Yuma said to Gil. "If you try too hard, these people will turn the other way. But, if you don't try hard enough, they won't respect you, either."

### Gil shot Yuma a "Thanks for nothing" look and replied, "I'll try to keep that in mind."

### Life on the reservation was about as far from the boardroom as Gil could imagine. There would be no handshakes and shallow greetings on this day. That would have to wait for another day, perhaps another life.

### Since no official schedule was in place, Yuma arranged for the eldest member of the tribe, Sani, to spend some time with them. The sun had weathered Sani's skin and his face resembled an old leather wallet that had been worn smooth by use. His watery eyes signaled that his strongest days were behind him but, perhaps, better days were to come. His wide-brimmed hat was designed to shield his eyes from the sun but did little more than frame a face that could have been dropped in the middle of a Native American postage stamp.

### Sani was sitting on a tree stump in the shade when Gil and Yuma approached him. Yuma nodded at Sani and he quickly glanced at the two men. He smiled and said, "Yuma. Bilagaana Niichad."

### English was a distant second language for Sani, so Yuma translated for Gil, "He just called you a swollen white person."

### Gil looked surprised and Yuma continued, "These people have a real dry sense of humor."

### Sani then went on to recount two life tales for Gil in Dine, the Navajo language. All Gil focused on was Yuma's translation:

"There is an ancient god named Gaoh. He is the giant in charge of the four winds." He points to his right, "The North is like the paws of the bear, blustery and rough." He gestures behind him, "The East is like a moose, all wet and dreary." He points straight ahead, "The West wind moves like a panther, not completely reliable." He then looks to his left and says, "But the South wind is gentle and soft like a fawn. Choosing direction will take wind and life."

### Sani had a sharp knife in his right hand and a stick in his left hand. He is honing the object with each passing word. He continues, "The ancients believed there were four worlds of the Navajo. The East is our direction of thought and houses the dawn. When the sun comes up we look to the East for a glimpse of the day. Before we do anything we should always think. The day is planned in the world of the South. This decides where we go and what we do. The sun sets in the West, a place where we do our living, a place where we act out the thoughts from our thinking in the South and East. North is the world of reflection, of making changes for the better, of seeing if we are on the right path."

### Sani continued to carve the piece of wood as he continued, "The cycle is repeated each day. There are lessons to be learned from each cycle. Each dawn is a new start, a new beginning. We may fall in the day, but then we stand back up and see what we can do differently the next day. Doesn't matter what you did yesterday, the sun starts life new again." He points to the ground and the sky, "Mother Earth and Father Sky love us. They give us the chance every morning to start anew. The Creator answers our prayers in the early morning, as we ask for guidance to help us through the day."

### He hands Gil the stick, which has the four directions carved into it. Gil accepts the stick and nods in thanks to Sani. "You can't move forward until you know where you've been and where you're going. The stick is just a stick unless you're open to its power, open to this power," he said pointing to his head, "open to the power of Mother Earth and Father Sky."

# FOUR CHINIGCHINICH PINING AWAY

### Gil was so impressed with Sani's ability to weave a story that he couldn't stop talking about it all night. His exuberance was met with temperance from Yuma, "You got to chill, bro'. I think you shot up from the earth to the sky too quickly."

"I'm just caught up in the moment," Gil replied. "It's not every day that you here such a clear vision of the future."

### Yuma muttered under his breath, "At least not for you. I was afraid that all of this information would have the Starbucks effect on you."

"The Starbucks effect?"

### Yuma rolled his eyes, "Like you've been injected with a few gallons of coffee." He was worried that Gil was looking for any grain of motivation in his life to act upon, and this rash decision-making could lead him down the wrong path, the wrong world, being guided by a mistaken wind.

"Are you upset that I'm happy?" Gil said it typically confrontational New York style.

"Easy there, Brooklyn!" Yuma stated with his hands up, signaling a passive retreat. "I'm saying that it's never as easy as an old tale or a story of the gods. You must clean up what is behind you first before you can expect to profit from that knowledge in the future."

### Gil nodded his head in comprehension and then Yuma continued, "Sani makes everything sound easy, but it is the struggle that led him to all of that understanding."

### While the two men had generally positive demeanors, it was easy to see that Yuma was still pining away for better days. The past ran through Gil's mind like a rerun of an old TV show, and was now fading in impact with each passing day. Yuma, on the other hand, had wallowed in the pain of losing his wife for years. Living in the house he and his wife packed with so many memories wasn't helping his cause, either.

"Do you still miss your wife?" Gil asked Yuma.

### Yuma smiled and then a tear rolled down the left side of his face.

"I'll take that as a 'yes,'" Gil stated.

"How about you?" a somber Yuma asked in return.

### Gil reflected for a brief moment and replied, "No, I'm good."

### Yuma thought he understood his younger charge until that moment when Gil dismissed his feelings. He then shot Gil a look that only a father could dispatch to a son.

### Gil had seen that look many times before and, as usual, had thought of a fire extinguishing response, "What? Why is that so hard to believe?"

"Because you seem to be a fairly genuine guy. Didn't you love your wife?"

### Gil smiled and then a tear sped down the side of his face, "What's love got to do with it? I loved her, but she was the meanest, least caring person I have ever met."

### Yuma stood up and literally scratched his head, "If that's the case then why are you so lost? I looked you up on the Internet the other night. Seems as though you were quite a successful business man."

### Gil approached the comments in order, "I'm questioning the personal choices I've made in life. You looked me up on the Internet? Why would you do that?"

### Yuma's initial question was merely to create an opening for what was really on his mind. His paranoia had finally got the best of him, "Do you know who I really am?"

### Gil was such a trusting soul. When someone spoke to him, he would take the words at face value unless actions and subsequent words through him completely off the trail. Nate "Yuma" Bernstein had a unique story, a story that was twisted enough to be believable. He backed up on the couch and sat up at attention so he would be in position to make a run for it if he had to.

"I would imagine that you're probably faster than me, so running from a defenseless old man would only get you cold and lost," Yuma said.

### Gil replied, "You're making my spidey-sense tingle. Why would you be someone different than you already said?"

"So, you really don't know anything about my family? Yuma pressed on.

"What family? The Bernstein's? Didn't you grow up in Brooklyn?"

### Yuma laughed, "Yes, all of that is true. I just have to know if you are here for work or a life mission."

### Gil laughed hysterically until his eyes filled with water. "What's so funny?" Yuma asked.

### Gil wiped the tears away and replied, "Are you thinking about turning pro? I hear there are many teams look for veteran's to sure up the locker room."

### With that, Yuma joined his friend in laughter, knowing that the continuous flow of agents and reporters sent to watch his nephew since he was 10 years old was a persistent source of irritation to the tribe. Being a descendent of the great Jim Thorpe was just as much a news story as a potential multi-million client, but this had absolutely nothing to do with Gil living in his house. Or did it?

### It was fall in Arizona and football season was in full swing. "Do you ever miss the change of seasons?" Gil asked Yuma one night as they sat on the porch.

"Yeah, but I don't miss the snow."

"I love New York in the fall," Gil said beginning to paint a pretty picture. "Walking out here in the plains is a lot different than walking down Columbus Avenue, turning left on 77th Street and then heading into Central Park. That place is definitely a freak of nature."

"I remember going to Central Park when I was really young and riding on the carousel," Yuma recounted.

"Was that before or after the advent of electricity?" Gil joked.

### Yuma shot back, "Just remember, funny man, coyotes make snacks out of people like you after dark."

### Gil started laughing and then noticed the serious look on Yuma's face. Yuma then burst out into laughter and a relieved Gil exploded from relief. The jest was definitely in his court now.

# FIVE HAKAN FIRE

### Yuma and Gil awoke early every morning and went for a multi-mile walk before the sun's powers were in full force. Yuma had been depressed for more than a year and had let his body get into a state of disrepair, which could be replicated by a tub of cottage cheese or a plate of jiggling Jell-O.

### After a week of grinding it out, Gil said to Yuma, "It feels good to be among the living again.

### Yuma smiled, "Oh, you think you're alive after only one week? Just wait to see what I have set up for you."

### Gil's curiosity was being slowly restored with his health, which meant that his normally healthy sex drive would soon be turning the coffin corner.

### "So, what do the good people of Arizona do for fun?" he asked in the most inconspicuous tone he could muster.

### Yuma was chugging a bottle of water and nearly chocked as a result of a wrong pipe flow through. After a few minutes and some well-placed slaps on the back, order and Yuma's equilibrium were restored.

### "What the fuck did you just say? What do a look like, a Native American pimp?" Yuma exclaimed in his usually sarcastic tone.

### Gil had quickly grown accustom to Yuma's prickly, yet harmless barbs. They were like two long-lost friends that never let anything pass without comment.

### Yuma smiled, "There's a bar about an hour from here that many of the locals go to. Our proud history has transformed us into drunks and gamblers," Yuma stated in a more subdued tone.

### All feelings of horniness drained from Gil's body like he had just been handed a naked picture of his mother.

### "No, that's all right. We should get out more and spend some time with the people, "Gil said trying to recover from being reduced to a little box turtle receding into its shell.

### "Yeah, that's what I thought," Yuma countered. "There's an interesting group that meets every Thursday night. I'll take you there this week, Casanova.

### Gil had been receiving text messages from Stanley, his protégé. In between glad tidings, the mentor sprinkled some sought-after advice such as:

### There's no such thing as closing a deal. The business is all about relationships, not convincing people to take you on as your agent.

### Always be available.

### Never lose sight that the five percent across the table is a person, not a paycheck.

### By smoothing out the business end of being an agent, Gil was able to fully leverage the relationships he established. Simply put, players trusted him. His last glint of wisdom was:

### Trust is 50% comfort, and 50% need... but people need to feel comfortable.

### Stanley rolled his eyes when that one flashed across his phone. Although he had been Gil's right-hand man for years, it was a different world having to step up and be the man. He was able to connect with his young charges but often had trouble closing the deal. The awkwardness of asking another human being to sign a contract still had not abated, but Stanley was fortunate to have a few graduating Hofstra players sign on the dotted line almost by default.

### "Let me prep you on this meeting," Yuma said to Gil on Thursday afternoon as they shot baskets at a local basketball court. Gil noticed that Yuma's one-handed push shot was a bit outdated, so he offered a "friendly" pointer.

### "Who taught you that shot, Bob Cousy?" Gil Continued, "Not that Bob wasn't one of the greatest players ever to walk this earth..."

### "Here," Gil said as he positioned Yuma's hands in a more caressing position on the seams of the leather ball. "Bring it up to your forehead and spin it," he added.

### Despite being the mentor of the duo, Yuma took to the instruction without hesitation. The ball spun through the dry Arizona air and nestled into the net, barreling tickling the rim on the way past. Yuma turned to Gil and beamed, "Not bad!" and then he stated, "You're a good teacher."

### "Good students make good teachers," Gil replied.

### Yuma nodded, "Yes they do."

### They sat down on a bench and each chugged a big gulp of Gatorade.

### "So, what's the scoop on this meeting tonight?" Gil asked.

### "It's no big deal, just a bunch of people coming together to start a new Arian race."

### Gil picked up his head, but it took him a while to process the words in their entirety.

### "Ok, Adolph. Why don't you start that meeting without me. I need time to get a head start."

### Yuma smiled, "They're real serious at these meetings so, if I were you, I would wait a few weeks before you open your mouth."

### The phrase "if I were you" was often the spark that propelled most sane people to act rather than conform to conventional wisdom. Yuma even knew that his well-placed words would propel Gil to step forward and cause him to speak completely and inappropriately out of turn. But he thought this brash move would get Gil noticed.

### "What's the dress code for this event?" Gil asked as he stepped out of the shower back at the house.

### Yuma looked up to the sky for some divine wisdom and replied, "Reservation casual."

### Gil laughed because he brought one suitcase on the trip and all he had were "reservation casual" clothes.

### Once at the reservation, Yuma greeted a few locals and Gil followed him to a patch of open sand that was only a few feet from a huge bonfire setup. Once they sat down Yuma turned to Gil and whispered, "The heat from the fire extracts truth."

### Yuma was great at pulling coherent thoughts out of his ass whenever the occasion called for it. In actuality, the meeting attendees sat so close to the fire because they would be bitten alive by mosquitoes if they sat further away. The extreme heat of the fire kept any and all pests at bay.

### Gil watched as more than 100 mostly Native American people ringed the fire as an elderly man walked up to the pile of wood with a lit torch and said, "Let the fire that burned within our ancestors burn within us on this night."

### With that, he leaned the torch against the wood and both the blaze and the meeting were underway.

### Another man, who looked as old as time itself, started talking low in a Native American language. His words were not audible to the crowd, so a younger interpreter was his public voice.

### "Running Bear is worried about our future as a nation. He sees children ignoring the land, the sea, and the sky in favor of boxes of fantasy. How will they learn about our struggles and what we believe in? How will they learn the lessons of youth? Who among us can address this problem?

### Running Bear and his grandson, Silver Fish, looked around waiting for a reply.

### A middle-aged man stood up and said, "The answer is in our hearts, our souls."

### Several other people offered vague suggestions, so Gil leaned over and started whispering to Yuma.

### Silver Fish noticed Gil and yelled, "There are no secrets here, my friend!"

### Gil stood up slowly and said, "Why don't you take the game away."

### The circle grew quiet for a moment of reflection until Running Bear smiled and shook his head and uttered a few words and the crowd broke out in raucous laughter.

### Gil turned to Yuma and asked, "What did he say?"

### "You really want to know?"

### "Yeah!" Gil yelled, trying to be heard over the crowd.

### "The white man and his shortcuts."

### Gil was even more confused than if he heard the actual words come from Running Bear's mouth. His first instinct was to walk right over to Running Bear and seek clarification, but Yuma extended his arm across Gil's chest and stated, "Not today, big man. Not today. Your time will come."

### Indeed, the white man had a way of jumping to a solution without going through the necessary steps needed to complete the task. Gil picked up his head, but it took him a while to process the words in their entirety.

### Another week went by, but Gil had not spiritually left the meeting place. Being a white man, he had neither the patience nor the discipline to wrap his arms around a suitable solution to the "riddle" of the previous week. Yuma could sense that Gil was tense and tried to joke with him to no avail. Just before the bonfire was lit, Yuma leaned over and said to Gil, "Do not search for the answer, let it come to you."

### Gil was so frustrated that he didn't really hear what his friend said at first. His defenses were high and his mind looked like a tangled mess of wires in a box.

### The meeting started the same way as the previous one, and then the focus shifted to Running Bear whose words are translated into English as he speaks.

"Welcome, friends. As the sun sets and our ancestors dot the sky, I have experienced much reflection since our last gathering. First, I wanted to apologize to our new friend that joined us last week." He turned to Gil and nodded, and Gil nodded back as all of his tension and angst filtered from his body.

### Running Bear continued, "We must be more open to the contribution of others if we ever want to advance as a people, a nation." Everyone around the circle nodded in agreement and then nodded at Gil as a welcome.

"How do we reach our youth?" Running Bear posed the question to the group.

### Answer after answer was revealed to the general indifference of the group's leader. It was about 20 minutes of semi-Americanized campaigning, and Running Bear had heard enough. He looked over at Gil, nodded and said, "Take your best shot, Dolphin Surfer."

### Gil slowly unfolded his large frame and the answer came to him in an instant, as the blood redistributed through his body.

"Sports!" is what he proudly proclaimed.

### Yuma smiled as he saw Running Bear's aged face light up. "So it will be," Running Bear stated, and the meeting ended.

### Gil then made his way over to Running Bear with Yuma as his translator. He was quickly realizing that the answers would come to him without having to waste time asking pointless questions. Normally, he would have walked up to Running Bear and inquired, "Why Dolphin Surfer?" but instead waited for the obvious explanation.

"In the liquid life, dolphins are our greatest protectors. They are also the cleverest beings in the sea, but they have a playful side. When the surf is at its highest, the blue dolphin surfs the waves. They feel the tide and swim with the current, instead of against it." He then reached up, put his large, tanned hands on each side of Gil's face, much the same way Gil's grandfather would show his love.

"I see a greatness in love in you, Dolphin Surfer. You will bring great joy to the tribe," Running Bear said and then gave Gil a love tap on the side of his face, nodded at Yuma in appreciation, and then slowly walked away with Silver Fish by his side.

#  SIX ISOTOQ CHIEF

Running Bear was every bit of his 84 years on earth. So fresh were the stories of tyranny, oppression, and humiliation, and he would usually weave it into a conversation. His wife of 60 years, Golden Sunset, always knew when her husband had something on his mind.

"The white man surprised me today," Running Bear said as he sat down on the aged wood chair in front of a table he carved with his own hands.

"How so?" Golden Sunset replied as she set a large bowl on the table.

"Dolphin Surfer," he replied as he gently tapped his right fist to his chest.

"One who has heart of dolphin will surely be loyal to tribe," she countered."

"I see it in his eyes, his soul," Running Bear stated.

"Is he the right one?" Golden Sunset questioned.

### Running Bear nodded yes and replied, "I believe it is so."

### The couple sat at their kitchen table in relative silence for the rest of the meal, letting their clear thoughts fills up the room in place of words. After more than half-a-century, conversations were merely another bridge to the connection they had established. Golden Sunset knew by the calmness in her husband's voice that he had a good day, and Running Bear knew by the daily glow in his wife's eyes that they were joined spirits.

### On the wall behind Running Bear was a vibrant painting of an intense Arizona sunset with a faint rendering of his wife's eyes in the foreground. It was only one of hundreds of Native American-inspired paintings that he had completed in his life. Only a few of the paintings had been sold for charity over the years, so the chief was still a relatively undiscovered artist.

"I thought it went pretty well last night," Gil said as he and Yuma took their morning walk.

### Yuma smirked, "Don't get too full of yourself, superstar. The only way to succeed in this community is to stay humble."

"So, what's the deal with Running Bear? How long as he been chief?"

"He's been chief for the last 20 years. What makes him such a good leader is his ability to adapt and learn from his mistakes. The chief of old was an exalted warrior that fought and won many physical battles, while the chief of today has to be like a chess grandmaster capable of enduring mental dilemma after mental dilemma.

"Is that why he apologized to me?" Gil asked innocently.

### Yuma was faced with a quandary. On one hand, he knew the real reason why Running Bear issued a public apology. In fact, he was instrumental in orchestrating the act of sensitivity. On the other hand, however, revealing the truth to Gil would have interrupted a well-choreographed process that was still a few months away from completion.

### Yuma fought back a smile, "Yes, that was part of it," leaving the door open for further discussion.

"What was the other part of it?"

### Yuma countered, "You came back."

"What do you mean, I came back?"

"He admires strength and determination in people. Most outsiders are one-and-done in those meetings," Yuma pulled from his posterior.

### Gil wasn't buying it, "So, all you have to do is show up a couple of times and you can earn instant respect."

"It's more about who you are than what you say. Let's just leave it at that," Yuma countered knowing that Gil could only be led along so far before he discovered the relevance of his association with the tribe.

### He simply replied, "Okay," and then moved on until the next time his natural curiosity gets the best of him.

### Week after week passed as Gil developed his plan to inject sports into the youth of the tribe. Of course, baseball would be prominent in his plan, but he made a conscious decision to limit football to flag football until the kids got exposure in middle school. This would give their bodies a chance to more fully develop and alleviate the accumulated punishment associated with the game.

### Gil also threw in basketball, track, soccer, volleyball, field hockey, and lacrosse programs. Lacrosse being the obvious choice because Native Americans invented the game. He also made sure that there was little distinction between boys and girls programs. There had been many studies that lauded the advantages of mixing the sexes at an early age. This fostered a more cooperative and respectful interaction amongst kids as the years progressed.

### The keys for any successful sports program are time, structure, and adequate facilities and equipment. The time component of the equation was covered by the tribe's inhabitants, who were eager and willing to spend their time coaching the kids and planning to take care of the minutia of details associated with the leagues.

### Even though it had been several months since Gil was a practicing agent, he still had contacts in the sports world he could call on. He was never one to cash in favors, preferring to be a giver instead of a taker. He had a few contacts at Nike, Rawlings, STX, and he knew a guy at Umbro.

"So, what is this project going to cost?" Yuma asked Gil.

### Gil thought for a moment and replied, "$1.5 million, give or take a few hundred thousand."

"Do we have enough in sponsorships to bridge the gap?"

### Gil smirked, "We're close. I'll talk about it at the meeting tonight."

### Gil had become an important speaker at the Thursday night meetings, and his confidence was growing with each passing week.

"Where are we with the schedule for the athletics projects?" Silver Fish asked cutting right to the chase.

### Gil stood up and said, "We are on target to have everything up and running by the fall."

### The group clapped in excitement. Silver Fish then asked, "Have we been able to secure enough financing for the project?"

### The momentary euphoria was quickly replaced with a deafening silence - the kind of silence similar to crowds waiting to see the outcome of a big putt in golf or a last-second shot in basketball.

### Gil knew they were still at least a few hundred thousand dollars away from their funding requirements, but knew a thing or two about making things happen.

"It just so happens that an anonymous donor plans to make good on any costs we can't cover from donations, funding, and sponsorships. So, it's full steam ahead!" Gil exclaimed as he thrust his arms in the air to deafening applause and cheers.

### Yuma stood up to clap and nudged Gil with his elbow into Gil's rib cage.

"Can you get that kind of money to cover it?" Yuma asked.

### Gil smiled and replied, "Yeah, it's just sitting in the bank gathering dust."

### Before Yuma was fully able to process a thought, Gil added, "Oh, and by the way, I called your bank this morning and paid off your mortgage."

### Yuma's eyes widened and instantly filled with tears as he hugged his friend. Gil then walked around accepting congratulations, hugs, and handshakes.

### Silver Fish walked over to Yuma and asked, "Do you think he's trying to buy us off?"

"I don't know. All I know is that man is my brother. From what I hear, he's as straight as they come."

"Then let's enjoy the harvest we've been bestowed with," Silver Fish stated.

### Yuma added, "An abundant one at that."

### The construction of the facilities went along smoothly throughout the summer, to the point that completion was now in sight. Yuma couldn't help but notice that Gil had been working himself to the bone, so he approached his friend one morning.

"You need to get out and see the world, my friend," he said.

### Gil was halfway out the door before he absorbed what Yuma said. "Wow, I am locked in. Did you say something, Yu?"

### Yuma walked toward the door and gently grabbed Gil's arm, "I think it's time you see why the sun aligned with the moon and the stars when you walked on our hallowed ground."

### Gil was all set to resist and reply but he had learned to back up and think before he spoke. Although the New Yorker in him fought this battle every day, the Native American in him was starting to win the battle.

"They know you'll be at the site a little later. Let's take a drive," Yuma stated.

"Do you want to know where we're going?" Yuma asked.

"It doesn't matter as long as we're together," Gil diplomatically replied.

### Yuma was caught off-guard by his friend's reply. The two men had become inseparable in their months together. What started off as an assignment-of-sorts for Yuma had turned into a true friendship. A friendship that neither man could have neither expected, nor counted on to last. After all, Gil was only blowing through town for a few weeks, and Yuma was a simple tour guide that had made the strangest of discoveries.

### Yuma always got a hold of the incoming roster of tourists and was informally assigned to perform an Internet search to search for anomalies. He usually found little or no information aside from the occasional on-line recipe or obscure reference. One morning, however, he did a search for "Gilbert Cohen" and a few pages of information popped up, so he pressed on.

### The information was especially impactful, at least on the surface. The parade of sports agents that had come through in recent years resembled more of an insurance convention than a carnival. The tribe had a no-agent policy when it came to the handful of athletes that garnered attention.

### Yuma stopped in front of a small house and said, "We're here. Buckle up, superstar."

### Gil kidded, "Do you want me to get out or buckle up, oh wise one?"

"Make sure you eat everything on your plate," Yuma said. "Chief doesn't like people on the outside of the clean plate club."

### Gil muttered under his breath, "Chief? I hear he makes good omelets."

### Omelets were not on the menu, but bagels and cream cheese were.

"I hear this puts hair on your chest," Running Bear said as he put some lox on the top of the bagel.

"Salmon helped sustain us when I was young. Swimming against the current is hard but noble. Such a strong fish made our insides healthy," he stated.

"I could talk about fish all day, but that not why we're here. My great grandson has a scrimmage tonight. It would be a mikvah..."

### Yuma leaned over and whispered to Running Bear.

"It would be a mitzvah if you could go see him play," Running Bear repeated.

### Gil smiled, "It would be my pleasure, Running Bear." He then looked over at Yuma, who had a broad smile on his face.

### "Anything's possible," Yuma said as he nodded at Running Bear. Yuma then turned to Gil, "Anything's possible. Now eat your bagel."

# SEVEN ESTANATLEHI WINDED

Gil had spent much of this time over the past decade shuffling from one field to another. The majority of his clients were football players, but a few baseball clients had trickled in during the last year or so. Gil and his Brooklyn Dodger, royal blue hat and comfortable jacket were never far from his being at night. He would often receive comments from locals when he was out, and he and Yuma were always proud to share stories of their upbringing.

His head was so buried in work that he barely realized that the locals had football teams. In hindsight, it might have been prudent to see what level the kids were at before making sports plans for the future. Gil's assumptions tended to be right on the money... with one mega exemption.

There have only been a handful of great Native American athletes in the public eye over the last century. Among them were: Billy Mills – the Sioux Indian won the 10,000 meters race in the 1964 Olympics; perhaps the most famous Native American sports hero is James Francis Thorpe, known by most as Jim and others as Wathohuck or 'Bright Path.'

Thorpe not only won two Olympic medals in 1912, he also played professional baseball and football, and was a decent basketball player in his spare time. 'Bright Path' died in 1953 and left a lasting legacy on a Native American community that is known more for its team focus than its praise of individuals.

### Gil was looking for some statistics and asked Yuma, "Did you know that 40% of Native American teenagers drop out of high school.

Yuma sadly nodded his head as Gil asked, "What's the deal with that?"

"We don't have hope of getting ahead, because no matter what we do outside of the reservation, it is the reservation that defines us, that limits us."

Gil shook his head in disbelief, "It's a long way from Jim Thorpe."

Yuma could not believe his ears, "Not as long as you think," he muttered under his breath.

"What did you say?" Gil asked.

"I said, yeah that really stinks."

Gil finished eating and stood up from the table, stacking his plate on top of Yuma's. He then cleaned the plates, and the accompanying silverware, and stacked them in the dishwasher.

"You ready to go to the game?" Gil asked.

Yuma smirked, "The question is, are you ready my friend?"

"You might have grown up on Kyle Rote, Pat Summeral and Frank Gifford, but I was raised on Joe "Willie" Namath and the world champion New York Jets."

"So, what's your point?"

"Don't really have one. I just get excited every time I talk about number 12," Gil replied.

The state champs, Arizona Southern, agreed to play the local team, Red Hills Academy, in a controlled scrimmage. The coach of Arizona Southern High School, Tom Savage, made some derogatory comments the previous year, and the practice game was largely seen as a public relations move.

His statement, "The reds are always yellow," hit the Native American community's right between the eyes. "Yellow" translates into "chicken," and in days gone by would have likely sparked a rather large, and especially violent, confrontation.

On the way to the brand new pro-turf field, Yuma briefed Gil on the history and significance of the night.

"Sounds like fighting words to me," Gil stated.

Yuma thought for a moment and replied, "That's the quandary for us. If we do nothing, then we are backing down. But, if we pick up our hands, then we have learned nothing from our dealings with the white man."

"You gotta' leave it on the field," Gil said and then repeated, "You gotta' leave it on the field."

Gil often became rattled when violence crossed his path. Being exposed to heated arguments since he was a kid helped erode his inner calm and effectively destroyed his defenses against rampant insanity. Everyone in his family had an aversion for speaking in an elevated tone that was usually reserved for communicating with dogs and satellites in space. The smallest of issues became the biggest of deals in the Cohen bubble.

"I'll be right back," Gil said to Yuma as he walked into the school to find a bathroom. He took off his jacket and let his inner demons flush out all that was trapped inside. After a few minutes, Gil emerged and washed his hands vigorously (now all you germaphobes can relax). He then slipped his royal blue jacket back on and secured his "B" hat on his head. Gil turned to go back outside and walked through the back door of the gymnasium, which was open for exit but closed for entry. He walked a few hundred yards toward the football field when fate interrupted his path toward Yuma. Gil stood directly in the path of a tidal wave of players coming at him from both directions.

In the distance the Arizona Southern Cardinals, wearing their home black and gold uniforms, were gathering speed like an angry herd forming a stampede. Gil turned and was surprised to see the Red Hills Academy Buffalo's only a few feet from him. A tall, lanky kid wearing the number 12 emblazoned across his chest with red and gold accents led the team.

Gil extended his arms, looked back at the Arizona Southern team, and screamed "Woe!" You don't want to do that!" he said as the Red Hills players threatened to trample him. It took the team a few seconds to collectively stop only a couple of steps from Gil. Meanwhile the Arizona Southern team was closing ground like a lion tracking a zebra.

"You better move!" number 12 yelled. Gil was easily identifiable in his royal Brooklyn Dodgers hat and jacket. "Stay here!" Gil yelled and then turned and started running toward the Arizona Southern swarm.

This time Gil wasn't so lucky. Not only didn't the Cardinals stop, they ran him over like a squirrel trying to cross a main road. Gil was knocked unconscious but he did accomplish his goal: he stopped the brawl. Once the testosterone abated slightly the focus shifted to Gil, which gave time for coaches and administrators to move in and separate the teams.

Yuma ran over to Gil and pulled a red root out of his pocket, snapped it in half, and then quickly waved it under Gil's nose. Gil sat up quickly, acting startled as if an air horn had awoken him from a Rip Van Winkle-like slumber.

Gil, even semi-conscious, never was at a loss for a sense of humor, said "Did anyone get the number of that train?"

The laughter turned to applause as Gil was slowly helped to his feet. He looked around the crowd that circled him and exclaimed, "We settle this on the field, gentlemen!"

The players slowly dispersed, some patting Gil on the shoulders, others bumping fists with him. The Red Hills player, number 12, waited his turn.

### "Big Chief Brooklyn," the player said as he stuck out his right hand. The two men merged in an extended chest-bump greeting. "You might want to get your head checked."

Gil smiled, "Next time warn me before I turn into an oncoming bus."

Yuma, Running Bear and Silver Fish were standing together. Yuma said, "Everything's gonna' be all right."

"Yes," Silver Fish muttered.

Running Bear added, "Now I can die. I have seen everything."

As for the game, most of the drama was left in the pre-game festivities. "What was in that root?" Gil asked Yuma as he sat in the stands.

"A little bit of earth, a little bit of hell."

"So, that quarterback must be Running Bear's great grandson," Gil astutely stated.

"Yep," Yuma replied trying to temper much of the enthusiasm trapped below the surface.

"Anyone come around to check him out?" Gil questioned fully knowing the answer.

They looked each other eye-to-eye and Yuma replied, "There has been some interest."

"What is he, 15? It might be scary once he fills out. We should work on his technique a bit. He has a cannon arm, but he throws off his back foot too much. Kid runs like a deer."

"He also plays baseball, runs track, is the center on the basketball team, and dabbles in lacrosse," Yuma proudly stated.

Gil smiled, "Yeah, I can tell he's a smart kid, too, but does he cut the football field grass?"

"3.8 GPA and yes, he also cuts the turf in his spare time."

It all came to Gil in a flash, "This is why I came here, isn't it?"

Yuma put his left hand on Gil's back, "This is why we're all here, my friend. It's not every day that Jim Thorpe is reborn."

"You're not going to tell me that Kelly Thornton is really Kelly Thorpe?" Gil asked in disbelief. "Does the outside world now?"

Yuma smiled, "Not yet. Native American kids rarely attract much interest from colleges."

Gil shook his head, "The colleges are the least of your worries. It's going to take a village, or two."

Yuma smirked, "Yeah, there are a few other things we need to discuss."

Gil looked over at Yuma and replied, "After the game, my friend. After the game."

Before the game ended, a local doctor checked him out and made sure that there weren't any lingering effects from being knocked "the fuck" out.

"I should probably have my head checked more often," Gil quipped.

"You hungry?" Yuma asked.

"Yeah, I can always eat," Gil replied.

Gil picked up his head and tried to make eye contact with Yuma to no avail. Yuma walked ahead of Gil on the way from the field to the car, making him feel like a kid trailing his dad. Yuma was all set to get in the car and drive, but Gil was having none of it. He wanted answers before he was led to the slaughter.

"What's going on, Yu?"

Yuma popped his head up and replied, "Nothing, get in the car."

"I'm not getting in the car until you tell me what's going on," Gil said firmly.

"We don't have time for this! Get in the car and I'll explain on the way," Yuma pleaded with Gil.

### Gil reluctantly sat in the passenger seat and fastened his seat belt. He then looked at Yuma and said, "Spill it."

Yuma went right for the jugular, "I knew who you were before you came to Arizona."

A stunned Gil replied, "What do you mean?"

"Running Bear foretold about a man that would come from the outside and guide us from obscurity," Yuma stated and then continued, "It was my job to look over the trip rosters and see who was coming our way."

Gil had gotten over the initial shock but was still confused, "Why you?"

"Because that's what was foretold," Yuma replied.

Gil thought for a moment and then was struck with the realization that he was set up, "What the hell? Has any of this been true?"

Yuma tried not to dawdle, "No, not now," accidentally leaving enough doubt for despair to set in.

"But in the beginning you were full of crap? Is that what you're saying?"

"No," Yuma replied.

"Stop the car! Let me out! I don't need this, not after all the shit I've been through!"

Yuma wouldn't stop the car, knowing what was waiting for them at the local diner.

"Stop the car!" Gil yelled.

"I can't!"

Gil grew increasingly more agitated, "Stop the fuckin' car!"

Yuma slammed on the breaks and the car came to a screeching halt.

"You can't leave!" Yuma yelled.

Gil wasn't having it, "You can't make me do anything, anymore!" Gil screamed as he got out of the car and slammed the door.

"Three tribes! Three tribes!" Yuma said as he tried to get Gil's attention.

Gil kept walking a few more paces, stopped and sighed, and then walked back to the car. "Three tribes? What does that mean?"

"Over a century of three separate, neighboring tribes, and now they all want to meet with you, together," Yuma proudly stated.

"Why me?" Gil said apprehensively.

"The dream foretold of a white man in blue that would unite the men of the earth."

"Gil looked down at his jacket and then adjusted his Brooklyn Dodgers hat to the back of his head. He then jumped back in the car and said, "Step on it, Yu. We've wasted enough time."

Yuma pulled into the parking lot of the diner and was guided by police to park his car up front.

"What the..." Gil said as he was trying to process the rock star-like reception.

"This isn't for me?" Gil asked.

"No, but they certainly know who you are and what you mean to us."

Gil got out of the car and the crowd noise grew louder. He waved and then slapped a few hands on the way inside.

Spiro, the owner of the Socrates Diner, greeted Gil at the front desk and then he was quickly ushered to a group of tables in a private section located in the back of the heavily mirrored restaurant.

The specifics of this meeting were planned for weeks, although the very thought of such a happening had been bandied about for a century. Three tribes virtually separated at birth to comply with governmental zoning restrictions. Three tribes torn from the womb to lead separate yet connected existences only five miles apart in a geographical sphere. Their borders might have been connected but their hearts and thoughts were thoroughly disconnected.

There were a few familiar faces in the collective. Running Bear, Silver Fish and Kelly Thorpe motioned over to Gil to join them. He bowed to Running Bear and then hugged the other two guys. Everyone sat down and one by one, hats were removed. Gil hesitated until he heard an elderly gentlemen across the table speak to him. Silver Fish leaned over toward Gil and translated, "It's okay, we all have hat-hair."

Gil laughed and nodded as he removed his Brooklyn Dodgers hat. Yuma was standing and proceeded with the introductions.

"Welcome all to a night expected but no less gratifying. We have been separated by lines on a map not stars in the sky." He returned everyone's warm nods.

Gil looked into the eyes of the man across from him and bathed in the warmth of the man's gratification at seeing a lifelong dream being realized. As long as he could remember, Soaring Eagle heard stories of cousins separated by geography—that it was best to stay within the family and not stray beyond the imaginary borders, because man does not own the earth but does travel his own path.

The chiefs of the three tribes were Running Bear, Soaring Eagle and Diving Whale, with Running Bear being the eldest of the trio. Diving Whale was the smallest of the three, despite his name; he was given the name for his ability as a youth to hold his breath for long periods of time when searching for fish. Running Bear looked just like that when he ran, and Soaring Eagle was a great climbed and diver.

Once Yuma finished the introductions, Silver Fish took over. "Thank you, Yuma, for all of your efforts. Although you are not an original member of this tribe, we wanted to take this occasion to name you as the official triangle, the president, of our three-tribe family. We also name you Seeing Owl on this day. The men pounded their fists on the table and then yelped out loud.

Yuma was speechless, for he had no knowledge of the honors bestowed on him. He looked at Gil with tears in his eyes and all of the hope of future generations. He was finally home.

Silver Fish, who once had a silver fish attached to his right index finger as a young boy, continued. "We have an outsider in our midst that will be opening the door." He looked at Gil, "Dolphin Surfer, or Big Chief Brooklyn as my grandson calls him, has given his life for this tribe. We salute his tireless efforts."

Once again, the collective pounded the table and yelped out loud. Gil pounds his chest with his right fist and says, "Team." Everyone repeats after him, "Team."

Silver Fish continued, "When word got out about our efforts with the sports programs, members of our neighboring tribes started to inquire about putting their own structure in place. Soon they realized that it takes a Gil to unite a nation, so the informal talks began." He turns to Gil, "We have received some additional funding and can expect vast participation from the two tribes. What do you think?"

Gil looked around the table and smiled, "Family. We can do anything together."

It was the happiest any of these men had been in their difficult lives. Although they realized the dangers of placing too much emphasis on the stars that shined on the field, they also knew the benefits of a united nation would far outweigh the spotlight on the accomplishments of the few.

So it was that the three Native American villages would petition for, and be ratified to, become one the following school year. A local bond issue, proceeds from a local casino, and some smart politicking, produced connected, state-of-the-art schools that would give the three-village kids a fighting chance to succeed.

The first order of business was to change the name of the schools from "three village" to just "tribe." Tribe Elementary, Middle and High School students all arrived at the same time to cut down on bus and gas usage, a Gil recommendation. A 10% increase in the bus fleet produced a 35% cost savings over the course of the school year. Students were dropped off into the central hallway with elementary students turning left, middle-schooler's turning right, and high school students walking the straight path.

Generation after generation of Native Americans had dropped out of school due to the hopelessness of ever making a difference.

"We have to give them a reason to come back," Gil said at another informal gathering afternoon at the Socrates Diner. Silver Fish took offense to that statement and replied, "What do you mean? This isn't good enough?"

Gil was quick to put out the potential fire, "No, no. That's not what I meant. Kids see more than you think. Their future choices currently include school teacher – which isn't bad – food bagger, tour guide – no offense Yu – or casino worker.

Yuma waved to Gil and said, "That was just my cover."

Gil laughed, "I was wondering why you kept getting lost."

Everyone laughed.

Silver Fish pondered, "So, what do you suggest?"

Gil looked at the seven men at the table and replied, "Technology. We have to bring jobs other than gambling and food service to the area. You know higher-level, higher-paying jobs. This will also improve the tax base."

Yuma threw it out there, "How about sports technology?"

"You got it, Yu. In an era of rampant steroid use, we build a state-of-the-art sports technology center aimed at naturally enhancing performance and health. People will come from all around the world to learn from the melding of technology with generations of Native American wisdom.

The men were excited and talked up the idea until Silver Fish, the ultimate prodder, needed closure. "You got a name for this place?"

Gil thought for a moment and then replied as the men literally moved to the edge of their seats. "My knee-jerk was 'Earth, Sea and Sky Center' but we need a name that will be both concise and recognizable." In an instant, the name came to Gil like a bright flash of light. "The Thorpe Center."

Gil looked at Yuma and the two men smiled as the men applauded and then stood up to shake hands.

Yuma reached over and hugged Gil, "You're unbelievable," he whispered.

Gil replied, "Now, all we have to do is find the money."

By the time the sports complex was ready to open, Gil needed a few days to get some genuine rest and relaxation from his extended vacation. His first thought was to visit his family in New York, but that idea quickly went into the recycling bin when he realized that he would need a vacation to recover from that brief "holiday."

Fall was coming into its own and Gil needed to get a little cool air in his lungs. Needing a little New York, Gil opted for the East End of Long Island. By the end of September, all of the bees and wanna'-bees had cleared out and there was little to obscure the view from dune to open water.

Yuma drove Gil to the airport, "You're coming back, right?" as he pulled up to the drop-off curb.

Gil smiled, "It's just a long weekend. I'll be back on site on Monday. You wanna' come?"

Yuma almost giggled, "Are you kidding? I got the place to myself for a few days."

Gil replied jokingly, "You got a hot date this weekend?"

In an instant, Yuma's secret rendezvous was revealed in his eyes. If his face weren't so tan, it also would have been evident by his blushing cheeks.

Gil shook his head in disbelief, "We'll talk when I get back."

It seemed that Gil had been taken all of his life cues from his best friend Yuma. He had seen Yuma become a bit flirtier in more recent months, and it was obvious that he had rediscovered his passion for the opposite sex.

"Yu would often say, "Everything in time. Everything in time."

Before boarding the plane, Gil took one last look to make sure that his Native American friends weren't tracking him like a deer grazing innocently in the woods. This was the first moment he had to really reflect on the fact that almost everything he experienced had been a result of a set-up. But, he was willing to look past the planning aspect of his new life, and trade it all in for the wonderful things he and the tribes were reaching to accomplish.

Gil initially thought of staying out in Montauk, but it took too damn long to get there and sit in thick layers of fog all day. He settled on a hotel on Dune Road in Southampton. He tipped the bellhop and walked straight to the room's window, gazing at the rolling surf caressing the sand on the shore before rolling away.

"Not half bad."

There was a sizable Native American population in the Hampton's that had been relegated to many of the same occupations of Gil's brethren in Arizona. In fact, the hotel he was staying at had a shuttle into town that was driven by a man named Bruce.

Gil extended his hand, "Gil, but my friends in the tribe call me Dolphin Surfer."

The 54 year-old man had aged before his years, largely from his liberal abuse of Jack Daniels and Marlboro cigarettes. The lines on his face and around his eyes were a testament to the hard life he led.

"Climbing Bear. It's nice to meet you."

He then recounted the story of being a teenager and encountering his first bear. Bruce was a bit near-sighted, but he didn't know that at the time. He saw a bear in the distance and thought his only recourse was to climb a nearby tree and wait it out. A few minutes later, a couple of his friends came looking for him and he said, "I'm up here!"

"Why are you up there?" one of the boys said.

"I thought I saw a bear, so I climbed up here."

Once he scaled down the tree, Bruce squinted and said, "There it is, over there."

The other boys exclaimed, "That's not a bear! It's a tree!"

As the boys walked closer to the object in question, a tree came into focus but the name 'Climbing Bear' never left him.

Can you suggest a good restaurant in town?" Gil asked.

"Yes. I'll drop you at The Broken Arrow. A woman I know runs it – her name is Maya."

The Broken Arrow wasn't your typical downtown destination spot. There was no long, dark, wooden bar. In fact, customers sat on a recycled grass floor and there was a wood-burning flame in the center of the restaurant where all hot food was cooked. The fire-pit was protected on all sides by volcanic rock, which absorbed much of the heat enabling diners to sit within a safe distance.

Petrified wood stumps provided seating for patrons, because there were no tables in the place.

"How many will it be tonight?" a late-teen Native American kid asked Gil.

"It's just one," he answered. "Do you know if Maya is working tonight?" he asked as he was being escorted to his stump.

The boy smiled, "Maya is always here. We couldn't run this place without her."

The seating-in-a-circle configuration promoted community and fostered an atmosphere of conversation, not separatism. By the looks of things, Gil figured that this cookout would include more than just the hot dogs and hamburgers he experienced growing up.

"You look like a meat and potatoes kind of guy," an upbeat female voice from behind Gil. "Might I suggest the Happy Meal?" she said with the level of sarcasm usually reserved for New Yorkers and comedians standing at a roast dais.

Gil tried to turn his head to the right, but his limited head-swivel caused him to spin 45 degrees in his seat. He smiled and then replied, "You must be Maya. Your reputation definitely has preceded you."

Maya replied, "Is that Bruce talking junk about me again?" She was shaped like a fire hydrant with dark hair and a killer tan.

Gil was about to answer as straight as a white man dancing the "bop" to Billy Idol's "Dancing With Myself" but he nodded and tried to reload. "Does the Happy Meal come with a prize?" he said with a naughty grin usually reserved for troublemaking kids and married men entering a strip club.

Maya was always ready for a good brawl and she shot back, "It all depends if you super-size?"

Gil smirked, nodded like "I got this," and then stood up, straddling the stump. As he unfolded and easily elevated past Maya, her eyes lit up. "One super-size coming up," she said as she quickly walked away.

Maya's dating life had been library-like-quiet since her husband up-and-left with all their money two years earlier. Once she realized what had happened, she got a quickie divorce, sold their house, changed her name, and took a job managing The Broken Arrow. She had enough money to open her own restaurant but decided to take the easier road, at least for now.

Her husband returned 18 months later looking to get another piece of the pie, and he had been hassling her ever since. Shinnecock men always had a higher standing than the women, even if the woman was as beloved as Maya.

She delivered Gil's meat and roasted potatoes meal in a large wooden bowl with a significantly-sized fork.

"One Happy Meal for the weary traveler," Maya said with a smile on her face.

"Thank you. How did you know I was a traveler?" Gil asked.

"Aren't you?" Maya replied with an edge in her voice.

Gil abruptly retreated into his meal and meekly nodded in agreement with her question. Little did Gil know that Maya's drunken ex-husband had confronted her in the back a few minutes earlier. It was a daily occurrence and it was starting to wear her down. Her life had been relatively peaceful for a year-and-a-half, but the past six months had been pure torture. Her ties with the Shinnecock tribe had been loosened to the point that she would have to grow some wings, or risk be grounded for life.

Meanwhile, Gil dove into his delicious meal like he hadn't eaten since birth. Maya was having trouble focusing, but she was able to keep an eye on the handsome stranger with the whip marks that she delivered to his back.

He managed to strike up a conversation between bites with a couple to his left.

"So, where are you from?" the 50-something, ultra-conservative husband asked.

"I'm originally from New York, but I live in Arizona now," he replied as Maya heard the word "Arizona" and continued to intently eavesdrop behind the action.

"Oh, did you retire there?" the dim-witted, Mary Kay Cosmetics-selling wife said.

Gil smirked, "Do I look that old?"

Maya chortled audibly and Gil turned and smiled at her. Fifteen minutes later, the couple was gone, undoubtedly driving back to their overpriced, cheaply-adorned motel before heading back to paradise-misplaced in the Midwest. Maya came over and Gil handed his empty bowl to her.

"You enjoy that?" she asked for the 50th time that day.

"It was awful," he replied, trying to see if she was listening.

She picked up her head quickly and short-lived outrage quickly turned to humor.

"I'll get you a bowl of vanilla ice cream and some hot apple pie. You're gonna' get hungry later, and all that fancy hotel you're staying at has is overpriced deserts."

Gil laughed, "The pie ala-mode sounds great. Can I get that in a big wooden bowl with a large spoon?"

Maya chuckled, "I think I can arrange that," and then disappeared into the darkness of the kitchen door. Bruce, the driver from the hotel, was at the bar so Gil figured he was supplying most of his personal information.

A drunken man, Maya's ex-husband, came out on the floor and was shoving anyone and everyone in the path between him and his wife. Gil instinctively stood up as the man came closer.

The man looked at Maya and yelled, "You have sex with this guy, too?" He staggered and continued his assault, "You've slept with half-the-town by now, you stupid slut!"

He took a big, looping swing at Maya that caused him to fall backward toward the open flame. Gil reached over Maya and grabbed her unconscious ex-husband by the hood of his red sweatshirt and then dropped him on the padded floor. The bearded man's eyes rolled to the back of his head and Gil quickly reached into his pocket and pulled out a red root, broke it in half, and then bent down and waved it under the guy's nose.

The ex-husband jumped off the floor, awake but embarrassed. Maya looked at Gil in astonishment, "Where did you get that root?"

Gil smiled, "Wouldn't you like to know."

# EIGHT FIRST SCOLDER TRICKSTER

Romance and intrigue are two separate, but cosmically-intertwined concepts. Maya was very much intrigued when it came to her thoughts about Gil, but she wasn't in the right point in her life to pursue a romance. Gil, on the other hand, saw the kind of depth in Maya's soul to be interested, but he was completely out of practice. Attempting to make a move the first shot out of the box could have caused severe physical and mental scars that would leave a permanent mark.

Gil went to a different restaurant just outside of town on his second night in Southampton. He then settled for the overpriced, undersized desert he ordered from room service at his hotel. Maya was right, the food was lacking that loving touch. Her food was so flavorful and well cooked that he was thinking about it on the entire flight home. Airport and airplane food are so inadequate – it leaves you dreaming of any food you actually enjoyed in recent memory.

Home for Gil was now Arizona. He realized it when the plane took off and he didn't feel homesick. Of course, New York would always be his identity – the NY shield he wore proudly across his chest – but it was no longer the place he felt he belonged. That was why he went outside of the Big Apple in the first place.

The only thing Gil missed about New York was his relationship with his father. The two men had been inseparable when during Gil's formidable years, but had grown apart in recent years as the time demands of marriage and career replaced Saturday afternoon Mets games and Sunday morning softball with the guys.

Julius Cohen had become so disillusioned with Gil's move that he basically decided to write his obituary. Burying a son when he is more alive than he has been in years was more confusing for the son than the father. Gil initially romanticized that he could walk through the door of his parent's house, the planets would align and the relationship would be whole again... but neither Humpty Dumpty nor Cohen-Cohen could be put back together again and he knew it.

Despite this Grand Canyon-like void, Gil still missed his dad. Men in their inner circle would great each other with a kiss in a gesture that is probably the ultimate respect for two men – especially two heterosexual men. Many of Gil's friends would call him "gay" because he would greet his dad after games with a kiss. The teenage boys were so uncomfortable with the gesture that eye gauging would have been more settling as an alternative to watching two men outwardly display affection.

It was time for Gil to venture on his own and discover some unchartered territory for a change. Jews had roamed the deserts for generations, so a few more decades in the arid climate would be a tiny blip on the historical radar screen.

A smiling Yuma was waiting for Gil when his plane landed. Gil initially thought the good tidings were directed at him, but then he realized that Yuma probably had "gotten lucky" over the weekend.

"That's the biggest shit-eating grin that I've ever seen!" Gil said as he hugged his old friend.

Yuma beamed, "Guilty as charged. You have a good trip?"

Gil hesitated, "All I can say is that it's good to be home."

Yuma broke out into an even wider smile and patted his friend on the back, "Well partner, it's good to have you home."

The two men walked out of the main airport exit and disappeared into the heat of the afternoon. It was all systems go for the sports project once Gil was back on terra firma. There were a few modifications that needed to be incorporated since the three-tribe merge, but those adjustments were purely cosmetic in nature. The name "Tribe" was plastered everywhere from center-court of the lit, outdoor basketball court with glass backboards, to the scoreboard adjacent to the baseball field, to mid-field of the multi-purpose field being used for football, soccer, field hockey and lacrosse.

October 15th was the day that was slated for the ribbon-cutting opening ceremony, which was less than a month away. Gil and his growing band of helpers were busy like bees circling the hive.

"Who are you going to get to cater the party after the ceremony?" the always-inquisitive Silver Fish asked Gil as they shared a kasha knish at Manny's Deli.

"I like this one a lot better than the potato," Gil replied.

"Yeah, that's too greasy," Silver Fish countered.

Gil got back on topic, "I would like to capture the spirit of the event, but I don't think Manny's will do it."

He could see the little boy charging out of the senior citizen when he said, "Even if we get him to throw in a few of those black-and-white cookies?"

Gil laughed, "Maybe next time. My objective is to give the real cooks, the townspeople, a day to celebrate not slave over a hot fire."

Silver Fish pondered, "Have you had any great cooking lately?"

Gil looked up toward the ceiling, perhaps looking for some kind of clarity, "I know the perfect person for the job."

It had been nearly two months since Gil returned from his long weekend in the Hampton's, but he was still having trouble shaking The Broken Arrow and the eyes of the endless soul that put love in a bowl.

"Good afternoon, The Broken Arrow."

"Hi, is Maya there?" Gil asked as his voice slightly wavering from nerves.

The man hesitated, "I'm sorry. Maya doesn't work here anymore. She quit last week."

"Quit? Gil questioned. "I thought she ran the place. What happened?"

"Her ex-husband happened, over and over again. We were losing customers."

Gil hung up and felt as bad as he could from across the country. If he had the time, a plane-ride back to New York would almost have been a certainty.

That night, Gil and Yuma went for Chinese food. The steamed dumplings and chicken and cashews were consistently good, as were the tasty almond and fortune cookies. There were two fortune cookies on the plate and Yuma waited for Gil to make the ultimate decision.

Gil let the vibrations guide him toward selecting the cookie on the right for Yuma, because the cookie was wide and smaller, just like Yuma. That meant the cookie on the left would be snapped open and dispensed its message to Gil.

"What's you got?" Gil asked Yuma.

"You will get lucky again before the next sunset," Yuma said and then smirked. "I do have someone coming over tonight, so would you mind clearing out for a while?"

"No problem. I was going to finish setting up the batting cage," Gil replied. He read his fortune and then read it again to make sure he wasn't seeing things."

"What?" Yuma asked.

Gil shook his head in disbelief, "Do not chase what is certain to come your way."

"And?"

"I'll tell you about it tomorrow, after you come down off your cloud."

Gil spent the next few hours spreading netting around the poles of the batting cage with a few volunteers. The Chinese food was dancing around in his stomach, so Gil decided that it was time for his first shvitz at the reservation's sweat lodge. It was actually Steve Thorpe, Kelly Thorpe's father that made the suggestion. The dry heat helped loosen up his son's golden left arm and it also helped refocus his occasionally-jumbled thoughts.

"First time?" a man asked Gil as the men entered the dimly lit hut. Gil thought, "Was it that obvious?" He had an apprehensive look on his face, like a child on line for his first roller coaster ride. Gil heard tales about the visionary power of the sweat lodge.

"These dreams are more powerful than anything you've experienced before," Steve said as they exchanged their clothes for towels. "If you speak about what you see, then it will all remain a dream."

The men sat around the fire in the middle of the hut that was dug into the ground. The images of the flames danced around the inside of the structure until another man chanted for a few seconds before covering the fire. The hut went pitch black and the heat instantly intensified. Within 30 seconds, sweat rolled down Gil's body and onto the ground beneath him. Just as he was going to turn and locate the other people, they were gone and he could see a light streaming through outside of the hut. He opened the flap and shielded his eyes from the blinding light. A few seconds passed and it was night – Gil had crossed over, passing through the dimension he knew to one that was not yet familiar.

"Hey, Gil! The caterer has arrived!" a voice exclaimed from behind him.

Gil could hear himself say, "Maya's here?" but she wasn't speaking.

Yuma stepped in front of Gil and said, "Who's this Maya you keep talking about. I'm starting to think she doesn't exist."

Gil was disturbed, "She does exist!"

"Anyone call for a caterer?" a familiar voice was asking.

Gil could faintly see someone he thought was Maya, "Maya is that you?"

Her voice became faint, "Anyone ask for a caterer?"

Gil yelled, "Me! Me! I asked for a caterer!"

"What are you yelling for?" a zaftig, grey-bearded Manny Shapiro, of Manny's Deli, questioned. "I'm right in front of you!"

"Manny? What are you doing here? I don't think you were supposed to cater this event," Gil replied.

Manny shook his head in disappointment, "To think, I was going to name a sandwich after you, The Dolphin Surfer."

Gil felt bad, "What was in it?"

"A kasha knish on rye bread with a smear of chopped liver," Manny stated proudly.

Gil thought for a moment and then imagined riding the waves of flavors surfing his mouth. Manny disappeared so Gil kept walking into a large bathroom. The mirrors were steamed up, so he couldn't see who was taking a shower.

"Hello," he said apprehensively.

"Hello, yourself. Come on in before I use up all of the hot water."

"I gotta' look into that solar energy," Gil muttered to himself.

He looked down and all of his clothes were gone and he was sporting his best birthday suit.

Maya, looking all beautifully-naked and wet, greeted Gil in the shower with a long, passionate kiss. She then stepped back and said, "Crossing the streams is forbidden in the tribe. You must find a disciple of Abraham instead."

"Why?" Gil asked with all the confusion of a third-grader being told that he couldn't have popcorn at the movies.

"Because it is so!" Maya exclaimed as her form became distorted and liquefied, and then oozed down the drain.

"You don't see that every day," Gil said as he felt a hand on his back, pulling him into the darkness from the light in which he came.

"You need to get some liquids in you," the familiar voice of Steve Thorpe explained. "Nothing that a little Gatorade can't do."

Gil got up slowly and tried to regain his footing, both literally and figuratively.

"That was some shvitz," Gil muttered.

Steve put his arm around Gil, "It's a long way from Coney Island, my brother."

Gil patted Steve on the back, "Yes it is, my friend."

### A few days passed and Gil begrudgingly found himself in Manny's Deli talking shop with Manny Shapiro.

"So buballa, have you found a caterer for your grand opening?" the 60-something, former rabbinical student asked.

"I don't know, Manny? I was hoping for some divine intervention," Gil replied.

Manny had a story for every occasion, and almost all of his stories were injected with a whole-lot of Manny.

"Like the one time I was all set to take my vows as a rabbi."

Gil interjected, "Don't priest take vows, MS?" Gil corrected, but his question went on deaf ears.

"Whatever, the point is that I looked up to the sky because my parents had pushed me into rabbinical school and I loved bacon and eggs too much to give up."

"So, what did you do?"

Manny nodded his head like he head all of the answers in the universe lining up on his tongue to inform the world.

"What? What do you think I did?" he replied in true Jewish, 'you ask me a question and I will reply in question form.'

He continued, "I excused myself, ran out of the Flatbush Jewish Center, and then raced to the nearest luncheonette for some bacon and eggs and a chocolate egg cream."

"What did your parents say?" Gila asked.

"They didn't say much. By the time I got home the news of my departure spread, so my father stood in front of my packed bags at the door of our apartment. He said, either you go back tomorrow, or you find another place to live! He wasn't one to mince words. I couldn't go back, so I had to find another place to live. I took odd jobs at restaurants and quickly found a place to live. Five years later, I was an assistant chef and decided to move to Arizona for a job offer in a restaurant out here. Another seven years went by before I opened Manny's Deli."

Of course, Gil heard this story at least a half-a-dozen times in his short time in Arizona. This time, the number of years between stops was longer and he hadn't hopped on an Amtrak train until it stopped in Arizona.

Manny gave Gil a price for catering the event and Gil said he would be in touch first thing in the morning. "The event is only five days away but I want to give it one more night," Gil explained as he shook Manny's hand.

Gil was almost at the door as Manny waddled after him. "I was thinking of naming a sandwich after you."

Gil stopped in his tracks, "Holy shit," he muttered.

Manny was from the sales school that let no sale walk out the door. "You give me the sale and I'll let you create your own sandwich."

"What would you call it?" Gil asked testing the cheesy waters.

"Manny thought and replied, "What is it they call you?"

Gil shook his head in disbelief, "Dolphin Surfer."

"Then you call it the Dolphin Surfer."

"Might as well just put a kasha knish between two pieces of rye bread and finish it up with a smear of chopped liver spread on both sides."

Manny tried to process the combination in his head before pre-judging. "Yeah, that could work," he responded diplomatically.

Gil turned toward the door and said to himself, "Freaky" as he walked into the parking lot and waved goodbye.

Gil had instructions to keep the coast clear because Yuma was 'entertaining' again. That was the third time he 'entertained' in the past week and Gil was started to grow weary. As much as he cared for Yuma, big boys needed their own space. These were his initial thoughts to getting his own place.

Gil was an avid golfer, and that was part of the reason he decided to vacation in Arizona in the first place. After grabbing a bite to eat, Gil was off to the local driving range.

Arizona had some of the most beautiful gold courses in the world. The southwestern location also sports some of the most advanced driving ranges on the planet. Gil loved the "Swing for the Fences" range because it had two levels, air conditioning, cool classic rock playing, and automatic tees that brought balls from underground to the hitting zone. Large buckets were simply 100-ball lots, medium's produced 75, and small's yielded 50.

By the end of the first large lot, Gil was ready for a break. He slid two dollars into a machine and an ice-cold Sprite plastic bottle spat out. He then walked over to a bench, sat down, twisted the top off and started gulping some liquid refreshments. He exhaled and felt rejuvenated from the endorphins produced by the physical exertion.

"I thought golf was easier than that?" a familiar, yet unfamiliar voice asked in a mocking tone.

Gil swiveled his head to the right and was both surprised and completely aware that Maya would be standing there.

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes!" Gil exclaimed.

He stood up and walked toward Maya until they both met in a hug.

"You don't look surprised to see me," she said as she hugged him.

They broke the hug and he replied, "Let's just say that I had faith that you would follow me here."

From the beginning of their second encounter, it became painfully obvious that the attraction was anything but physical. She talked to Gil while he finished hitting balls.

"I'm still not sure what propelled me to drive here?"

Gil whacked a seven iron and replied, "You drove all the way here?"

"Well, I wasn't going to leave my car back there. I'm not going back," she admitted as she started sobbing.

Gil gathered his clubs together and walked toward Maya, 'I think there's a sign over there that says, no crying allowed, so we better get out of here."

Maya's laugh helped her achieve the vaunted laugh-cry, mostly achieved by people transitioning from various emotional states.

"My roommate has been entertaining a lot lately. I'm in the process of looking for my own place," Gil said as they sat down for a cup of coffee at a local diner. "I bet you don't have a place to stay yet?"

Maya looked defeated. Not only had her ex-husband let her emotionally bankrupt, he had also cleaned out most of her savings, thanks to a friend he had at the local bank. All Maya had left was $5,000 and a safe deposit box of heartache.

"I wasn't really thinking about reality when I was driving here," she said. Maya picked up her head slowly until she eventually looked deep into Gil's eyes, "But somehow I knew you would take care of me. Just like you did that night at The Broken Arrow."

Gil nodded and replied, "I haven't stopped thinking about you since that night. I knew we had a connection, but you were too emotional to see it last night."

She nodded in agreement as the 50-something waitress with the inflatable hair and a waistline that had peaked decades earlier, asked, "What can I get you two?"

"Can we get a couple of decafs and..." Gil looked at Maya and tested the connection, "cheesecake."

"Cheesecake it is. Two spoons?" the waitress replied.

Gil interjected, "Why don't you bring the lady a Caesar Salad to start and then bring the cheesecake," he said knowing Maya must be famished from picking at road food.

She rolled her eyes, "No more plastic food."

The waitress went away and Gil went after the conversation like he did everything else.

"I have a business proposition for you."

Gil had an innate eye for talent and he saw a can't-miss opportunity in Maya. After Gil laid out his abbreviated business plan he casually continued like he hadn't just dropped the bomb, "So, why was the restaurant called The Broken Arrow?"

Maya play-slapped herself in the face, "Wait a minute! Did you just offer me half of the restaurant and all I have to do is show up every day?"

Gil pressed on, "Yeah, we'll make it all official and everything. I know some lawyers in town that can get some paperwork together. Okay?"

"Yeah!" Maya exclaimed.

"I didn't think you had this side to you. It's so soft and gooey, like the inside of that chocolate lava cake you made in New York."

She woke up, "Soft and gooey?" I'm not soft and gooey!" she said as she playfully slapped his right arm with her left hand.

"So, you're a lefty! I should've known!" he exclaimed.

"Why? What's wrong with lefties?"

He replied, "They're a bit off-centered. I always wanted to be a lefty."

She smiled, "Well then, you can live through me."

Maya was so hungry that she shifted primarily to listen-only mode while working her way through the huge salad.

"That's interesting. So you're saying that the elders decided to engage the youth through a sports program?" she replied after Gil explained the series of events leading up to that day.

Gil had a confused look on his face, "Why? What's wrong with that?"

The grin on her face widened as she stated, "That Thorpe kid must be as good as they say."

Gil was flabbergasted, "Thorpe kid? How did you know about him?"

"There isn't one of us that don't know about Kelly Thorpe. He's the next red hope," she proudly stated.

"But Yuma said..." Gil stated before being cut off at the pass.

"Yuma? You know Yuma? Fifty-something, charming personality, talent scout," she said. "He came by a year ago but only stayed for a week. Left town real quick when he got the call about the Thorpe kid."

Gil motioned to the waitress to come over, "Can I have my own piece of cheesecake with a tall glass of milk? Keep it coming until I pick up the white napkin."

"Just tell me you didn't sleep with him..." Gil pleaded.

Maya was brutally honest, "If he stayed a few more days, there could have been trouble, but keep in mind that I wasn't officially divorced yet. Why, what's wrong?"

"Yuma's my roommate. I also paid for his house," Gil said losing emotional steam with each word. "So, his wife didn't pass away?"

Maya replied, "No, that part is actually true. His wife and kid died 10 years ago in a freak car accident."

Timing was everything as the front door of the diner swung open to reveal a beaming Yuma. He talked to the owner's wife, asking if Gil had come in, and then took three upbeat strides toward Gil before seeing Maya.

"Oh, shit," he said before gauging whether to run full-speed out of the diner. If it had been a few seconds earlier, before Maya told Gil about Yuma's tragedy, the race definitely would have been on. Instead, Gil motioned for Yuma to join them at the table. Maya moved over and Yuma sat next to her. The two Native Americans were like kids in the principal's office.

"Now, if you tell me you planned this whole thing, I'm going to be on the next plane out of here," Gil explained.

Maya and Yuma looked at each other like they had planned it and said, "Nah!"

Actually, the idea wasn't so far-fetched. Yuma had thoughts of roping Maya into his master plan before he was unexpectedly summoned to Arizona. As much as Yuma truly admired and liked Gil, he was there to do a job, to complete a job. Payment for completion of the job was $100,000, and once the ribbon-cutting ceremony was complete, the money was has. He already booked a flight out of Arizona the night of the ceremony. A few weeks in Hawaii to recharge would do the trick before moving on to the next undetermined assignment.

Yuma was a modern-day carpetbagger, moving from city to city in search of talented young athletes to pawn off on high schools and universities. He hit the mother-load with the Arizona job, however. His usual fee of $5,000 for a high school prospect and $15,000 for a college prospect were greatly enhanced by his Native American origin. Since he was the only scout of "red" origin, he was able to jack up his price measurably.

He knew of Gil from his dealings with various sports agents. In fact, the two men met briefly at Hofstra when Gil held a workout with pro scouts. A few of Gil's Hofstra clients were trying to improve their draft position and were going through the paces in front of about a dozen scouts and Yuma. In those days, he went by the name of Henry Clarke, although he looked as much like Henry Clarke as Gil looked like a guy named Yuma.

Gil looked across the table at Yuma and it sparked a memory of a dark man wearing a Yankees cap. Pieces of Gil's shattered memory were starting to be recovered, and he could barely control the regularity and depth of the images. At first, he thought the slight concussion he suffered at the football game was the catalyst, but the more he thought about it, the more he attributed it to the trauma he suffered during his wife's ordeal.

Memory loss aside, Gil was pretty tired of playing the part of the unknowing fool, so he decided to do a little research of his own. Each time he thought the soup wouldn't get any thicker, another handful of vegetables were thrown into the pot and were left to simmer and stew in his thoughts.

It was early in the morning and the library was empty. It could have been mid-afternoon or early evening and the library still would have been a ghost town. In the back, behind the rows of books were two computers that were wired to the Internet. Gil had a wireless laptop back at the house but he figured that Yuma was probably watching everything he did. Gil thought he probably took some notes on the porn sites he was surfing with increasing regularity, so it wasn't a total loss.

Since there is no active database for illegal high school and college scouts, Gil had to get a little creative. His initial thought was to call his protégé Stanley, but rampant paranoia put the brakes on any of those thoughts.

The image of Yuma wearing a Yankees hat flashed through Gil's brain with the speed and energy of a sugared-up first-grader. Where had he seen Yuma before? Could it be that their paths had crossed on more than one occasion? Was Yuma the Native American guide just one of the many roles he had played in his life? Gil came up short in the answer department, but he wouldn't sleep comfortably again until he reached a point of clarity.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, there was a celebration to plan.

"That Yuma is quite charming, isn't he?" Gil said as he helped Maya cut some carrots for one of the many dishes she was preparing. He was only one of a dozen helpers that volunteered to help Maya get ready.

She was preoccupied, "Yeah, he is something else."

Gil rubbed his right eye and replied, "I got something in my eye, Could you come over here and help me?"

She barely moved and he was getting more agitated by the moment, "Maya, did you hear me?"

"What? I'm sorry, what did you say?"

Gil repeated, "I got something in my eye, can you help and get it out?"

"Oh, I'll be right there," she replied as she walked around the steel prep table and located a step stool. The diminutive Maya propped herself upon the stool so she could be slightly above Gil's sight line.

"Stand still so I can get a good luck," Maya said.

"I just have to know now if you're in or if you're out?" Gil asked.

Maya swept away an eyelash from the side of Gil's eye and replied, "There, I got it." She still stood on the stool but straightened her back, "In or out of what?"

Gil knew he had to be delicate in his response, so he soft-tossed it, "I just want to know if you're still into my restaurant partnership idea?"

She was confused, "Why would you ask me that? Of course I'm still in, where else would I be?"

Gil thought, "The same place I was, in Yuma's back pocket."

The ribbon-cutting ceremony was scheduled for the next day and Gil had mixed emotions. The joy of the event was being dampened by the series of events that had crumpled his bridge from the past to the present.

Gil gathered his things and checked into a hotel for a while to clear his head. It was the same hotel that he originally checked into when he first arrived in Arizona. Perhaps he was hoping for lightning to strike twice - perhaps he wanted to rewind the experience to the beginning - perhaps he was just tired of all the bullshit amidst real progress... perhaps.

The Hyatt hotel seemed so different than the first time Gil stayed there. He had come a long way in the months he was in Arizona. At first, he was just trying to regain his balance and now, well, he was stronger but still trying to find his equilibrium.

He wasn't so fearful of the lobby and being spotted by the nosey tour guides and their task to keep everybody with the herd. It had been a while since Gil was in the range of a dream catcher and its subconscious pull. He was tired and the hammock in the shade near the vacant outdoor bar was the perfect spot to reacquaint himself with the inside of his head.

All it took was a few swings of the hammock to send Gil rolling into Sleepy Time Station. As soon as he crossed over, Yuma was there to greet him in his dreams:

"That's what you get for trusting people," Yuma said as he quickly transformed into Gil's preachy mother, "I told you, you shouldn't trust people. You never listen to me."

Then Maya appeared, "Don't listen to them. They're just bitter. You can trust me... can't you?

Gil then appeared next to Maya, "Can I trust you?"

Maya laughed, "You can trust me!"

"Yeah, you can trust me, too!" Yuma chimed in.

"Us, too!" the crowd of tribe members added.

Gil didn't like the tone of the dream and somehow got himself out of there, and woke up feeling slightly disturbed. It was a good thing the outdoor bartender was in range, because Gil was definitely in line for a series of mind-numbing drinks. All of this thinking made him tired, and it was possible that being overworked was starting to have an adverse effect on his already fragile state of mind. It was time for him to look for clarity through blatant inebriation.

Sometimes the clearest thoughts come out of the most clouded minds. Sadly, this wasn't one of those instances. Getting sauced only gave Gil momentary peace before the heaviness of alcohol-related depression took over.

While Gil was at the hotel floating a steady stream of beer down his throat, Yuma took the opportunity to pack up his stuff. He walked over to the wall and removed an actual picture of him and his wife Carly in happier days.

Yuma became a virtual orphan when his Carly took her last breath. Drawn between the line of Native Americans and Caucasians, the Broadleaf's were happiest when they were alone, when the bias and distaste of everyone and their grandmother wasn't upon them. When their front door was closed and society was left to judge and conclude and make character judgments based solely on pedigree.

Maya was told the same story as everyone else – that wife and son were killed in a freak accident. Gil discovered through much research that mother was seven months pregnant with their first child. A white congressman's drunken son killed her while cruising through a green light. Mother and son died en route to the hospital, as the paramedics were unable to sustain life. The kid got off with probation and a soft fine. Yuma, whose real name is James Thorpe Broadleaf, started running the day the kid was set free and hadn't stopped in over ten years.

Yuma was the name of his grandfather, which seemed to stick like the remnants of cotton candy. He moved from town to town with little more than a duffle bag full of clothes and the picture of him and his wife on their happiest day, the day she found out she was pregnant. The receptionist at the doctor's office was nice enough to preserve the moment – to preserve the last moment in life that he cared to remember.

Gil crashed early and woke up early. He drank enough to forget for the night, but not enough to dismiss the significance of the day ahead. He figured that Yuma was set to run again, and that was part of the reason why he decided to vacate the house.

He thought about driving past Yuma's house on the way to the ceremony, but the house was not on the way to the ceremony. So he just hoped to be able to get a few words before Yuma took flight. Once Gil discovered that Yuma's non-malicious, deceptive ways merely served to guide him towards his destiny, his plan of action was set.

"We are here today to open what we hope will be the start of a fruitful cooperation," Running Bear said after several other local dignitaries pitched in their sage words.

"Gilbert Cohen, do you have something to say?" Silver Fish asked.

Before Gil could step up the microphone, the crowd broke out into joyous, appreciative applause. Gil looked over at Yuma, who was doing his best to keep his emotions in check.

"My friend once told me that only the strongest survive. I am here today to open my arms and say that survival is not enough! We have proven over and over again that we can endure the most heart breaking of tragedies! But don't we deserve more than just survival? Don't we all deserve to live together as one? To pool our collective experiences and give the next generation a boost – a chance of achieving more than just survival." He turned toward the sports fields, "This is our first step. Let's take it together!"

The crowd applauded wildly, and then the heads of the three tribes were escorted over to cut a huge red ribbon affixed to the entrance of the Village Sports Complex. Their collective age exceeded the age of the country, at least in the white man's tally.

For some reason, Gil's path to Yuma was obscured and he could not get to him. Waves of well-wishers descended on Gil, thanking him for all of his good efforts on behalf of the community. He was happy to be surrounded by so much warmth but kept one eye on the whereabouts of Yuma, who he was sure was only moments from exiting stage left.

# NINE BIDZIL STRENGTH

"Are you Gil Cohen?" an unfamiliar female voice asked him as he felt a light tap on his shoulder.

Gil turned around and was face-to-face with Leslie Howard, the co-host of a new prime time CBS News program.

"Yes, I am Gil Cohen."

"Do you have a few minutes to talk to us?" she asked as she acknowledged her crew.

Gil again had one eye on the reporter and the other, more attentive eye on Yuma's whereabouts. Escape without the hope of retribution was not an option mapped out in Gil's mental playbook.

He looked back at the reporter, "Would it be possible to do this later? I have to go save a friend's life," he said without even thinking about his words.

Howard looked at Gil and then looked back in disbelief at her cameraman who said, "Is this guy for real?"

She cynically thought to herself, "Probably not. Everybody keeps a secret stash of bullshit handy in case the need arises."

Leslie Howard moved up the ranks over the past six years, from summer intern to weather girl to field reporter to local news anchor to national features reporter. At 34, she looked 27 or 28 but had the maturity and poise of a much older woman.

Born and raised in Huntington, Long Island, Leslie Diane Howerstein always had ambitions of performing on the big stage. She tried chorus and then theatre in high school, but her drama teacher, Mr. Aaronson bluntly told her after agonizing through Grease's "Hopelessly Devoted to You," "I'm sorry to tell you that you are completely tone deaf."

Her parents weren't the most sensitive of duos, but god bless them, they had a real sense of humor. Hell, they would have to have a lighter side after being exposed to near glass-shattering counter-melodies.

Leslie came home that day completely destroyed, but still confident that her parents would set the record straight and reinstate her certain Broadway career. At the dinner table that night, she asked with all of the innocence of a baby chick, "Mr. Aaronson told me something today that I wasn't expecting."

Ralph Howerstein optimistically thought, "The drama program is cancelled?"

Susan Howerstein thought, "This year's production of 'West Side Story' has been cancelled due to a rampant case of the chicken pox?"

Leslie's little brother David always let his thoughts escape, knowing it would find the target. He bluntly stated, "You really suck at singing."

If there were large boulders in the corners of the kitchen, mom and dad would have crawled behind them. As parents, their obvious responsibility was to be supportive and nurturing. However, Ralph started laughing and then tried to conceal his insensitivity by coughing like his food went down the wrong pipe. Susan patted him on the back and then he got up and said, "Excuse me, honey, I just need to get a little air." Ralph's laughter could still be heard even though he escaped to the back porch.

The family listened to his massive giggle-dominated breakdown until Susan yelled, "We can still hear you, honey! Why don't you take a lap around the block?"

Ralph grunted and then his laughter slowly trailed off. It was obviously time for a mother-daughter talk, so Susan said to David, "Why don't you take your food into the den, David."

He was about to say "No way, I wouldn't miss this for the world," but he saw the look of death in his mother's eyes and quickly bolted.

"So, am I tone deaf?" Leslie asked her mom, looking for compassion more than honesty.

"The arts are so subjective, honey..."

Leslie was running out of room and became desperate, "Mom! Am I tone deaf?"

It was one of those instances when mom had to weigh the benefits to her daughter, versus the obvious detriments to society. She didn't want to break her daughter's heart, but would rather have gone through childbirth again than sit through another blackboard-scratching, chill-inducing performance.

She looked Leslie in the eyes and stated flat-out, "Honey, I don't think singing is for you."

Leslie went into a crying and screaming fit befitting of a five year-old being denied anything these days. She yelled between sobs, "Why didn't you tell me?" and "You people are all deaf!"

Once Leslie calmed down her mother suggested, "Have you ever thought about working behind the scenes?"

The light went on in Leslie's head and the next day Mr. Aaronson gladly named her backstage goddess, where she would be responsible for overseeing set and costume design. Leslie also had a tremendous memory, so actors would be able to look toward her of they forgot a line.

After high school, she went to N.Y.U. as a theatre major and worked on Broadway as a Producer's Assistant on various shows during her four years of college. After school, she easily transitioned to full-time positions behind the scenes on a couple of major Broadway shows, but never lost her desire to be on center stage.

Near the end of her time on Broadway, she managed to complete a summer internship on CBS-TV in New York, which was only a few blocks from her full-time gig. She worked on the CBS Morning Show and had to be in at 5:00 a.m. to prepare cue cards and set up the green room for daily guests. Many nights she was at the theater, or out with co-workers, until 1:00 a.m. Her day on Broadway generally started at 3:00 p.m. and her day at CBS usually ended at noon. This gave Leslie a maximum of seven hours of free time, of which she slept maybe three or four hours a day.

After two months of this grind, Leslie slept the better part of a week and barely left her tiny studio apartment. Near the end of her quiet slumber, she got a frantic phone call from her CBS Producer.

"Hello," a fuzzy Leslie said as she picked up the phone.

"Leslie? Thank god you're there! Everyone else is out of town for the Labor Day weekend!"

"Margo? Is that you?" Leslie replied, still half-asleep and thinking she was dreaming.

"Can you get down to the station within the next hour?" Margo Blumenthal asked somewhat hopefully.

Leslie realized that she wasn't dreaming and quickly sat up in bed, "Why, what's going on?"

Margo rolled her eyes, "Gail Storm had some complications from her latest cosmetic surgery."

"Freda Hankenson's boob job went wrong?"

Margo laughed, "Yeah, Freda's not going to be in for a while..."

"So what does all of this have to do with me?" Leslie asked as she stood up and walked toward the bathroom. Her long, white CBS Morning Show t-shirt barely covered her bare bottom.

"I need you to go on air," Margo stated with the degree of confidence befitting a weekend, major market producer.

"On air?" Leslie questioned as she sat down on the toilet.

"Every time we went out you said you could do Freda's job blindfolded. Well, here's your chance."

Leslie pondered her immediate future while swabbing the deck. "As long as I get full hair, wardrobe and makeup."

"Deal! Margo yelled. Be down here in 20 minutes. It's hurricane season."

Leslie took a quick shower and then breezed through her first broadcast, even with Hurricane Zelda looming off the Florida coast. Calls flooded the CBS switchboard later that morning, on what were usually quiet phone lines. Leslie's dirty-blond hair, blue eyes, bright smile and engaging personality were a natural for an on-air personality. Over time, her hair became blonder, her teeth became whiter, her skin became smoother, bet her 5'9" frame remained fit and she was young enough to avoid the pressure to have cosmetic surgery.

She spent a year and-a-half as weather person, and then earned her keep as a field reporter in order to be groomed for a local anchor position. She was so proficient as a field reporter that the network left her out in the wild for three years. Margo was now the producer of the daily morning show and was waiting for Barbara Boone, the New York CBS Morning Show anchor, to retire after 20 years in the position.

Once Boone retired, or was sent out to pasture – depends on which side of the cow pasture you're sitting on – Margo slotted Leslie into the anchor position. She enjoyed her year-plus as anchor of the least-watched morning newscast of the local networks, but she wanted more. Leslie and Margo talked often about Leslie's glory days as a field reporter. The two women shot the shit one day after the show:

"I got some news today," Margo stated.

"Frank's getting a new hairpiece?" Leslie replied sarcastically.

"No, it's better than that," Leslie plowed on.

"Is Chip the weather man coming out of the closet?"

"No, Chip is already in the middle of the room. Put your sarcasm aside for a minute and try adopting listening as a new skill," Margo panned. "You're gonna' need it in your new position."

Leslie perked up as she straightened her bent frame on the couch.

"I've been in discussions over the past few months with the producer of 60 Minutes."

Leslie quickly felt intimidated by the name 60 Minutes and what it meant.

Margo continued, "They've been looking to extend their franchise beyond Sunday night, so they came up with a weekly, half-hour show called CBS 360 that will air Wednesday night at 10 o'clock. The format of the show will include three, eight-minute segments each week, so they expect to hire three anchors/reporters that will be out-of-studio hosts."

Leslie beamed, "Is it a done deal?"

Margo was named the Executive Producer of the show, "I'll need you here tomorrow morning for a meeting."

Leslie jumped off the couch and hugged Margo, who was becoming a network "go-to" producer in her mid-40s.

"Don't you want to know who the other hosts are?"

Leslie could care less but guessed, "It's probably an older guy and a younger guy."

"We got a 50-plus comedian that will do lighter pieces, a 20-something Indian kid just out of college that will talk about new-age tech topics, and our own Leslie Howerstein, alias Leslie Howard, who will be giving her own spin on a wide variety of human interest stories."

"Is this investigative reporting?" Leslie cynically asked.

Margo rolled her eyes, "No, it's more like CBS Sunday Morning. We thought about calling it CBS Wednesday Night, but CBS 360 sounded a lot more progressive.

Leslie was unrelenting, "Will I get a raise?"

Margo stood up and smiled, "We're national, baby! We'll both get a big raise."

The show became so successful that it won an Emmy in its first year, beating out network stalwarts such as 20/20 and Dateline. Leslie did a lot more traveling in her second year on the show and had become the de-facto anchor, introducing each report and opening and closing the show.

Margo received some e-mails from an unidentified source in the weeks leading up to the tribe ribbon-cutting ceremony. This gave the behind-the-scenes team time to compile statistics related to Native Americans and their difficulties in making an impact on a modern-day society.

The CBS 360 show had done so well that a mini-spin-off called 360: In Depth was added in the form of five half-hour specials. The first of these specials was slated to be called "Native Americans: A People on the Brink" before Leslie went on assignment.

"You're going to Arizona," Margo said to Leslie as they sat in the spacious office one afternoon.

"What's in Arizona?" Leslie replied as she answered e-mails on her Blackberry.

"The red people."

Leslie was as sarcastic as usual, "Martians?"

"No, Native Americans, and one very large, unrelenting white man," Margo stated as she held up a copy of an article from a local Arizona newspaper. The headline read:

LOCAL LEADERS SET TO CUT RIBBON

Dolphin Surfer says, "It's time to play ball!"

"Dolphin surfer? I like dolphins!" Leslie said in an excited tone.

Margo smiled "Yeah, I know."

"Is there a picture of this guy? What's his name?" Leslie questioned.

Margo handed Leslie the article and replied, "His name is Gil Cohen and here is the picture." She also handed Leslie a picture of Gil sent by the "unnamed source."

"Have we confirmed this unconfirmed source?" Leslie asked.

Margo smirked, "He said he will only talk to you."

Leslie was edgy, "Well, give me his number," she said with all of the confidence of a charging bull.

Leslie went back to her bright, windowed office, dialed the Arizona number, and sat back in her brown leather office chair. She slipped her black, two-inch heeled shoes off and let them slip to the floor.

"Hello."

Leslie replied, "Hello, this is Leslie Howard from CBS 360."

"Yes, Miss Howard. Thank you for calling me," the mature male voice replied.

"May I ask who I am talking to? Of course, I will maintain your anonymity," she countered.

The man hesitated and the finally replied, "Just know that I am a friend of the tribe and a friend of Gilbert Cohen. If I need to make my identity known, I will. Just know that I am Yu."

Leslie was puzzled, "You are me? Am I having a Mel Brooks flashback?"

"I think it was Barbara Streisand and Ryan O'Neil in What's Up, Doc?"

Leslie digressed, "I loved those movies in the '70s and '80s."

"What hump?" the man said as Leslie laughed.

"My favorite line from that Young Frankenstein was "Nice Knockers," and then Terri Garr replied, "Oh sank you, doctor," Leslie said in her best Transylvania accent.

They both laughed as the man asked, "Is there anything specific you want to know?"

Leslie reflected and then fired, "What's going on with this guy, Gil Cohen?"

"Do you mean, is he for real?" The man settled back in his leather tub chair and nestled his bare feet on a matching ottoman.

"Yes," Leslie replied as her natural curiosity was getting the best of her.

"He is the most real person you will ever meet," the man stated without hesitation.

Leslie put the phone against her chest and took a deep, cleansing breath. "Why him?" she asked for a variety of reasons.

"Because it was foretold," he replied.

Leslie was on the road to clarity but took a wrong turn and was now wandering aimlessly on the highway of ambiguous statements. "Foretold by whom?"

The man sternly replied, "Look, we could go back and forth all day, exchanging open-ended statements that put clarity just out of reach, or you can hop on a plane and see this with your own two eyes. Miss Howerstein, there is a real Native American renaissance going on here. It was nice talking to you, but I have to go. Good luck to you," he said and hung up quickly.

Gil ran through the crowd, stopping every few yards to talk to families that wanted to thank him for his contribution. Leslie saw this and signaled for the cameraman and sound man to roll tape. The two guys followed Gil and stayed a safe distance behind him like a police car trailing a perp.

Gil finally saw Yuma in the distance, walking to his car. He yelled, "Yu, stop!"

Leslie heard this and muttered, "I am you." She then said out loud, "Jim, go get the van."

Leslie and her crew followed Gil and Yuma until she told them to stop taping.

Gil yelled, "Where are you going?"

Yuma thought about jumping in his car and taking off, but he was prepared for such a confrontation.

"My work here is done!" he yelled back.

Gil moved within a few feet of his friend, as Leslie left the guys in the van so she could move within earshot.

"Weren't you going to say goodbye?" Gil asked.

Yuma replied, "I find it's best to leave without further severing ties."

"Oh, that's nice! I know all about your big payoff and your life of hopping from city to city," Gil said with no real point or sense of direction.

"You don't know anything about my life..." Yuma countered.

Gil's eyes widened and he charged, "That's where you're wrong my friend. I know everything about your life!"

That was way too close for Yuma's comfort, so he opened his car door, jumped into the car and drove off. Gil was flabbergasted and didn't know what to do or say. He wasn't going to yell because of the venue. He wasn't going to run after the car because he wasn't even fast enough to catch a kid on a tricycle.

Gil's car was parked clear across the field, so he watched Yuma speed away for another few seconds and then turned to walk back to the celebration.

"Thanks, get out," Leslie said as she urged her crew, Jim and Ryan, to exit the van. It had been a while since she had driven, preferring to let other people drive while she studied up for her interviews. She located the shifter and the van jumped back and then lurched forward when she jerked the shifter to 'D.'

Leslie was afraid to push the gas pedal down for fear she would mow down the elated crowd. Gil started walking back and could see she was having difficulty moving the vehicle once he picked up his heavy head from the ground.

He stood outside the window of the passenger side of the white van and said, "Hi! Do you need any help?"

Leslie had a line all ready and ripped it off anyway even though she thought it was iffy, "Hop in, I can catch him."

Gil looked down the road and replied, "Unless you're gonna freeze time, I don't think we can catch him at this pace? Why don't you put it in park and I'll drive."

She slid the shifter into park and opened the door, only to be met by Gil's outstretched right hand offering her an easy exit out of the van. She momentarily tossed her professional integrity and complete independence as a dynamic woman aside, and extended her delicate left hand and clasped as she was guided to her feet.

Leslie's legs felt a little wobbly, and Gil could see she was unsteady, "Are you all right, Miss Howard?"

She smiled and stared deeply into his brown eyes, "Yeah, I'm just fine."

"Do you think we could get a bigger gas-guzzler?" he said jokingly. "Why don't we drive over to my car. I know where he's going and what time he's taking off."

Gil picked up Leslie's crew and then proceeded to become more familiar with his new acquaintances. A few minutes later, he pulled the van next to his Toyota Prius and said, "I'll have her back before curfew guys. When you get food, tell Maya that I sent you. She will take care of you."

"How do you fit in this car?" Leslie asked as she looked at his car.

Gil opened the passenger-side door for her and replied, "It's surprisingly roomy."

She touched his arm and said, "Thanks."

"So, how long have you been living here?" she asked as she buckled up for safety.

"About a year," he replied as he focused on negotiating their exit from the crowded parking lot.

"I have a few questions for you," he said as he finally turned into open space. "First off, why did you give up your weatherwoman gig? Because I never left the house on the weekend before I saw Leslie Howerstein tell me if I needed sun block or an umbrella."

She turned red and replied, "Okay, Mr. Big Shot what is your other question?"

"I'll give you an interview, but you have to sing for me."

She laughed and then asked, "You're not serious, are you?" She was about to get angry but waited for a response.

"I read your bio years ago and it said you were tone deaf, but loved to sing in the shower. Is that true?"

Her demeanor changed, "I don't really discuss that."

He looked over and realized that maybe it wasn't possible to heal the whole world. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you. I used to be in chorus in high school and my teacher, Mr. Bolden, could teach anyone to sign in tune."

Leslie came back to life, "Really? Because I've had Broadway singers and vocal coaches tell me there was no cure for what I had."

Gil was undaunted, "Okay. First thing, hold my hand."

She reached out her left hand and clasped his right hand.

"How does that help?" she asked.

"I'm not sure, I just wanted to hold your hand," he said as they both smiled.

Gil continued, "Next I want you to scream obscenities at the top of your lungs."

She looked at him waiting for the punch line. When it wasn't forthcoming, she took a deep breath and yelled, "MOTHER-FUCKER, SHIT BAG, COCK SUCKER, BITCH WHORE!"

He was impressed, "Nice! That was in tune!"

She clapped and was laughing so hard that tears streamed out of her eyes and down her cheeks. "It's your turn."

Gil stopped laughing long enough to hurl "SCUM BAG-CARRYING, JOCK-ITCHING, BALL-SCRATCHING, BASTARD!"

She continued to laugh, "Who's got issues now?"

"Okay. Now moan like you're about to have an orgasm," making sure her guard was fully down.

She was alarmed, "Is your teacher still in jail?"

"I've made slight modifications. Keep moaning and I'll stop you when you've hit the mark."

She started slow but then got into it until he yelled, "That's it! Keep at that moan!"

She was saying "Ahhhhh..." and he joined in with a matching note, "Ahhhhh," as they stopped at a light with the windows open. An older couple in a Lincoln Town Car pulled up next to them and the older couple looked shocked as the light changed and the husband sped off at 25 miles per hour, leaving the slower-rolling Prius behind.

"I sang in tune! How did you do it?" Leslie exclaimed.

Gil smirked and replied, "I've learned a lot about my inner beast lately."

Gil continued to cruise toward the airport and parked in an hourly lot adjacent to the departure area.

"Do you want me to wait for you in the car?" Leslie asked.

"Of course, but why don't you come with me into the airport," Gil slyly replied.

What Gil knew of Yuma, he knew he would stop and get a few slices of pizza at Brooklyn Pizza in the airport. That was all Yuma talked about after he picked Gil following his trip to Southampton.

"In the mood for a slice of New York pizza?" Gil asked Leslie.

She replied, "Sure, is the pizza any good, here?"

"No, but if you close your eyes real tight and drink a few beers, then... nah, it's still not close."

Leslie giggled and Gil added, "One piece wouldn't kill us."

They walked until they saw the bright white and red sign for Brooklyn Pizza. Two brothers, Dom and Bruno Mastiglia, moved from New York to Arizona 20 years earlier and had been serving faux New York pizza to locals and weary travelers with dulled taste buds ever since.

"We'll take a couple of slices and I'll have a Sprite," Gil said as he looked over at Leslie.

She said, "Do you have root beer?"

Bruno replied, "Do we have root beer?" and his brother yelled "Ohhhhhhh!"

Gil looked back at Yuma and he said, "Now that's Brooklyn."

Gil and Leslie sat down with their pizza and drinks and joined Yuma, who had already consumed a slice and was already a fold and a few bites into piece number two.

"You must be Yu," a smiling Leslie said.

"Yes, I am Yuma," he replied as he shook her hand. He looked at Gil, "I think the name is going to stick this time."

"Whatever you say, JTB," which was short for James Thorpe Broadleaf.

Yuma looked at Gil in acknowledgement of finally doing his homework. They talked and talked for the next 40 minutes until Yuma announced that it was time for him to go to his gate.

They got up from the table and headed toward the garbage to throw their plates and paper cups away. Gil leaned over to Leslie and said, "Could you give me a few minutes? Leslie places her left hand on Gil's left arm, signaling that she would warmly comply with his request.

"Well, I am going to check out this Sharper Image store I saw on the way in." She looked back at both men with and winked, "Could be time for a new back massager, if you know what I mean."

Normally Leslie would merely shake hands with people she met on assignment, but she and Yuma both went in for a hug. It gave her a chance to whisper, "Thanks for the call."

Leslie walked away and Gil and Yuma strolled toward the baggage check area. "I'm just trying to figure out how she found out about us?" Gil sarcastically asked.

Yuma countered, "There's a lot of information out there on the Internet these days."

Gil playfully slapped him on the back and said, "I bet."

"Do you think you'll ever stop running?" Gil asked.

Yuma stopped walking and turned toward Gil, "I'm not sure. It really hasn't gotten any easier."

"I thought you told me that it does get easier?"

"Yes, the man-woman thing, but staying in one place thing seems to be more elusive."

"Did you try to get Maya to go with you?" Gil asked as they started walking again.

Yuma smiled, "Yeah, I really like that one... She wouldn't go with me, but said she would think about giving me the right time of day if I decided to come back."

They reached the end of the line and non-passengers had to say their goodbyes. Gil extended his right hand and Yuma grabbed his hand, "So, you're coming back? Coming home?"

Yuma pulled Gil into a hug and replied, "I don't know? They broke the hug and Yuma continued, "But I'm confident that my friends will understand either way."

Gil replied, "Friend?"

Yuma slapped his hand, "Friends."

Yuma handed the guard his ticket and dropped his luggage on the belt. "Oh, and by the way, the house is all yours. You paid for it."

"Who owned it before?" Gil asked.

"The tribe!" Yuma replied.

"Then it will stay with the tribe," Gil stated having being fully integrated as one of the many.

Gil pulled his phone out of his pocket and quickly typed a text message as he walked away.

Yuma slipped his backpack over his shoulder and then pulled his buzzing cell phone out of his right pants pocket. The text message from Gil red, "I could use a Director of Scouting. Runner required."

Yuma smiled and typed as he walked toward the gate, "I'll sleep on it. Don't leave that weather girl waiting."

Gil replied, "Thanks, Yu."

# TEN RHPISUNT MOTHER

Leslie slipped back into professional broadcaster about halfway through their trip back from the airport.

"So, why did you come to Arizona?"

Gil replied, "So, this is the formal interview portion of the drive?" He was trying to recall the fun Leslie – the moaning, singing, hand-on-his-arm Leslie.

"I did come here to do a job," she replied.

"I didn't."

"I heard you were here on vacation," Leslie said trying to press on.

"If that's what you want to call it." Before Leslie was allowed to continue, Gil let his conscience do the talking. "I'll only agree to this interview if fun Leslie Howerstein does it. I really don't want to talk to Leslie Howard anymore."

Leslie didn't know how to react at first, other than to let her inner-Howerstein do the talking.

"Let's just have a conversation like two adults, not reporter and subject," Gil stated.

She quickly mulled it over and defiantly replied, "Okay, Cohen. I talked to your mother last night and she said you haven't called her in months."

Gil ripped his head around, "You didn't call my mom! Did you?"

Leslie serious face turned soft as her smile melted away the layers of stiff. "No! I don't even call my mom anymore. She never stops gloating about my sister's kids."

"She bugs you about getting married?" Gil asked.

"No doubt! She probably tells her friends that I'm a lesbian."

Gil looked at her curiously as she countered, "Not a lesbian, but I do have a lot of gay friends."

"The truth is that I haven't called my mom since I've been here," Gil flatly stated.

"What kind of Jewish guy doesn't call his mother?" Leslie asked.

Gil switched lanes and then replied, "A smart one."

Leslie couldn't argue with that, "Did you have a fight with your family?"

"No, I just got tired of the non-stop questions and lack of peace in my life," he explained.

Leslie felt comfortable enough to go for it, "Did you watch her die?"

Gil's reflex was to say "Who?" but he knew who she was referring to. "Yeah," he simply replied.

"My grandma' dropped dead right in front of me."

Gil couldn't stand the somber discussion, so he quickly changed the mood.

"I don't dwell on the valley of the shadow of death anymore, but I'm sorry to hear about your grandma'. Hopefully you weren't singing at the time."

Leslie picked up her head, "If I wasn't moaning, I must have been off key."

"We should work on a few more notes later."

She replied, "I'm flying out tomorrow."

"That's too bad," Gil replied, feeling that Leslie was using her job as a shield toward prospective suitors.

Leslie absorbed the comment and looked at the straight road ahead. It was always a race for Leslie to get her story by the end of the week and then race home to edit and prepare tape for the air. She had no time for a social life, or an addiction, or even to develop thoughts about anything going on outside of her tight little world. It was work out, work, sleep, every day of the week.

Leslie and her crew walked around most of the day, talking to people in the tribe and getting shots of the sports complex and the reservation. She wanted to focus on shots of the old schools and the new school being built. She focused on government-funded programs being subsidized and often replaced by private funding. She highlighted the white man in the middle of the red man's world.

"I'm thinking about calling my special, 'Big Chief Brooklyn'," Leslie said while eating some of Maya's cooking. "Wow, the flavor is unbelievable."

"Maya recently came to us from the Shinnecock tribe in Southampton," Gil said. "While I'm flattered that you would name the piece after me, I have to respectfully ask you to take the light off me."

He gestured toward the crowd of Native Americans, "These are the people that deserve all of the credit. They are the ones that deserve the day. It's been a long time coming."

"What has?"

He thought and then replied, "One tribe."

She nodded her head in understanding and appreciation. "One tribe."

This was Leslie's first half-hour special and she definitely felt the pressure before she left. Once she met Gil, however, she could have easily done an hour-long special.

Later that night, Gil sat with Maya at the bonfire as members of the tribe performed traditional ritual dances and chants. He wasn't sure whether Leslie would stay around, but it was always fun to spend time with Maya. They were at the same site that the weekly meetings took place, so Gil felt quite comfortable with his surroundings.

"You having a good time?" Gil asked.

Maya beamed, "I never thought I could have this much fun again. These people are so much different than what I am used to."

"It's the constant presence of the sun. It gives us all strength," Gil stated.

"What's going on with that CBS crew?"

Gil replied, "Yuma tipped them off."

"That girl is nice. She has a good spirit,' Maya said looking for a reaction.

"Uh-huh," Gil said trying to conceal his thoughts. "What's up with you and Yuma?"

Maya sharply elbowed Gil in the ribs, "Nice topic change. Don't think I'm gonna' stray too far from that tall, blonde drink of water until the end of the night."

"I followed Yuma to the airport," Gil stated.

Maya sat up, "Yeah, so what happened?"

"We left on good terms. I offered him a job as my Director of Scouting and he didn't say no." Gil waited a few seconds and then added. "I know you two have an intense connection."

Maya gulped and then replied, "I have to be honest with you. Half of the reason I came here was because I knew good things would happen to me if I were around you. The other half was because I knew Yuma was here."

"Wow. Does he know that?" Gil asked.

"You know Yuma. It's hard to know what he's thinking. Do you think he'll come back?" Maya said with all of the innocence of a schoolgirl holding on to dear life of a crush.

It was hard for Gil to give a completely honest answer in the face of impacting a woman's feelings, but he gave it his best shot. "He's got to stop running at some point. I think he's got enough people that love him here that if it doesn't happen here, it won't happen anywhere."

She came back down to earth, "Well, I'm not counting on it and I'm not going to chase him again."

Gil clasped Maya's arm and said softly, "Well, call me Nancy and stick me on the space shuttle."

Maya was confused, "What?"

"Look up," Gil replied.

Standing above them in a hooded TRIBE sweatshirt was Yuma.

"What happened? Did the check bounce?" Gil said trying to poke fun at his friend.

"Yuma don't accept checks no more. Direct deposit only." He changed subjects, "Job offer still stand?"

"Did the airport close down?" Gil said as Maya elbowed him again in the ribs.

Gil stood up and shook Yuma's hand, "You got the job, Broadleaf." They hugged as Gil said, "Thanks for coming back, Yu."

Yuma replied, "This one's gonna' nail my feet to the ground again. She can cook."

Gil waved goodbye to Maya and Yuma, and Yuma took his spot in the circle.

She folded her arms and looked straight into the fire. Maya was inwardly elated to see Yuma, but she was also hurt that he could even consider leaving, if only for a few hours.

Yuma knew he was in the shit, so he wasted no time trying to paddle out, "I'm sorry."

She turned toward him and replied, "You talk too much," and kissed him firmly on the lips.

There was a reason that Gil never saw the woman that Yuma "entertained" for several nights—there never was a woman that is a woman besides Maya. It was Yuma's way of separating himself from Gil and the tribe. It was a rarity that he thought of spending so much time with one person, and he liked the feeling. Seeing Maya again stripped away most of the apprehensive he had about commitment and sent him to Brooklyn Pizza, which just happened to be in the airport, to think things over.

When he got to the gate and announcement went over the loud speaker that pushed him back for good, "This flight is oversold. If anyone would like to give up their spot on this flight, we are willing to offer a round-trip voucher for two in exchange."

Yuma couldn't get to the desk fast enough.

That was the only sign he needed to see to know that his place was with the tribe – his place was with Maya. Yuma knew when he fled the ceremony that Gil would follow him to the airport. He made sure of it by telling Gil about the pizza place when he picked him up after his New York trip.

The constant battle between broken heart and healing self-raged on inside of Yuma for 10 years. In all of that time, he had only been with a few women in a few small towns, the names of which he could barely remember. Yuma was starting to lose hope until he got the call from the Thorpe family. They knew his name was James Thorpe Broadleaf and that he would be both passionate about the project and loyal to the tribe.

As Running Bear put it, "Trust where you came from and squat away from the leaves with brown tips – they make you itch a lot."

Gil texted Yuma and he retrieved it when he sat down for a moment, "You keep the house. I need to make my own path."

Yuma smiled and sent a message back, "Loyalty knows no boundaries. We are now one tribe."

ELEVEN OLEBIS CREATOR

Gil filmed some footage with Leslie and her crew near the bonfire and could feel the night winding down. He had thrown himself completely into work over the past nine months and he was exhausted. He turned to the crew and said, "I'm gonna' head back to the hotel now. It's been a long day."

Leslie didn't have an immediate response, but that wasn't the way she imagined the day would end.

"What hotel are you staying at?" Bryan the sound guy asked.

Gil replied, "I'm at the Hyatt. At least until I get my own place."

"Yeah, that's where we're staying," Bryan said as he nudged Jim the cameraman.

"Hey Bry, you want to start dumping some of this stuff onto our feed?"

"Ugh, yeah Jimbo. Hey Gil, can you do us a favor and drive Leslie back to the hotel?" Bryan asked.

Gil looked at Leslie - who nodded in agreement – and then said, "Sure."

The guys turned and walked away. Bryan said, "We all have to get laid, and the only way to do that is to keep the boss-lady occupied."

"Muchos gracias. That hotel bar was crawling with ladies," Jim replied.

Leslie never let the line between business and pleasure be blurred by her judgment. That is why she had an iron-clad "don't sleep where you work" policy. That was also why she was left to endure a 15-month dry streak. There was no motivation for a quickie and even less desire to maintain a relationship.

She always had "the speech" ready in case a man, or the occasional woman, stepped up and tried to advance their case. Although she never had to use the dialogue in its entirety, the words were always stacked in a tight cue nonetheless.

"I'm sorry, but I neither have the time nor the interest to pursue this matter," was the first derivation of the rebuff. Later versions packaged the words "too busy" and "it's not you," and exiled the aforementioned impersonal words such as "neither," "nor" or "matter."

She sat in the passenger seat of Gil's Prius and was having trouble locating the words for a change.

Gil took the initiative and turned to Leslie, "Why don't we..."

"No!" she blurted out like she was besieged by a chronic case of turrets.

Gil laughed, "It's a good thing I didn't finish my thought. Ten minutes from now you could have been splashing around in a bubble bath drinking champagne."

Leslie waited to laugh because she wasn't sure if Gil was kidding.

"That's usually the part where people laugh. You might want to fill the awkward silence before I drive off the road."

"I'm sorry. I usually don't make it a habit of mixing business and pleasure," she stated.

Gil was still on the loose, "What if your business was pleasure?"

Leslie's brain was processing at the computer version of an ancient 386, so she offered little in the version of a reply.

"Are you feeling, okay?" Gil asked.

Leslie nodded in the affirmative, "Yeah, I'm great."

"Listen. I'm going to be keeping it in my pants because it hasn't been out of my pants in, by the looks of it, about as long as you." He continued, "Why don't we go back to my room, order some ice cream, watch a movie, and keep my pleasure and your business as far away from each other as possible. Take a deep breath for god's sake."

Leslie finally laughed on cue and replied, "I would like that."

Gil dropped Leslie off in front of the hotel, "I'll meet you up in your room number 244 in 10 minutes," and then closed the car door. He parked the car and then walked through the automatic sliding door located in the front of the hotel. Gil nodded at the woman standing behind the front desk and she said, "Hello, Mr. Cohen. I have a message for you."

The message was in the form of a big plate-full of apple pie, courtesy of Maya.

"Could you please have room service heat this up in a couple of large bowls, heap some vanilla ice cream on top, and then deliver to my room in about 20 minutes?"

Gil knew 10 minutes to Leslie would mean at least 15 minutes in the real world. Punctual in business, usually a few minutes late when it didn't count, he figured.

He bought a couple of cold bottled waters from the hotel lobby gift shop and looked at the display of prophylactics behind the counter against the wall.

"Can I get you anything else?" the woman asked.

A thousand thoughts shot through Gil's mind, but he settled in, "No, just the water."

Buying the rubbers certainly would have out the kibosh on any potential action. Besides, it would have been a miracle if he were able to hold out that long.

Gil grabbed the water off the counter and strolled into the elevator. He then reached toward the number three button and then realized he had a piece of yellow paper, which looked like a folded Post-it, in his right hand. The note read,

Gil,

I am glad I had faith in you and faith in me.

Thanks for believing in me.

Love,

Maya

He smiled and slid the note into the right pocket of his gray dress slacks, which he slid off the moment he entered his room. It had been quite some time since he dressed for a special occasion, being used to reservation casual dress and all.

Pants were hung up and the light blue dress shirt was folded in a bag for dry cleaning. He slid on a pair of jean shorts and a Mitchell & Ness throwback New York Mets t-shirt. He then washed his face and quickly gargled with some mouthwash.

He was headed toward the TV when he heard a knock at the door. Room service and that delicious pie ala-mode were on his mind as he opened the door.

"Leslie!" was all he could muster, sounding slightly surprised.

She walked in, "Were you expecting someone else?"

He looked at her gray sweatshirt and sweatpants and said, "No, just room service. You look sporty."

"Thanks! It's a good thing you're not a Yankees fan, or I would have been going to sleep early," she panned.

"Come in and make yourself comfortable," he said suffering amnesia on how to react around the opposite sex.

She plopped on the left side of the bed as room service knocked on the door. He picked up the television clicker and tossed it to her like it was the front-end of a 4-6-3 double play. She caught it and they both smiled as he headed toward the door. The room service guy wheeled in two rather generous bowls of apple pie ala-mode and a couple of glasses of milk. Gil signed for the bill and the guy walked out saying, "Have a good night, Mr. Cohen.

"I took a leap of faith with the milk, "Gil said as he ordered the milk once he thought about it in his room.

Her eyes widened, "No, I am completely lactose intolerant." She nodded at him in jest and said, "Thanks."

Gil handed her a bowl and set her glass on the nightstand next to her.

"This isn't Maya's apple pie, is it?" she glowed.

"Yeah, how did you know?"

"I ate a few pieces this afternoon. How did you get it?"

Gil replied, "It was waiting for me when I got back."

"That was nice of her. And you ordered the ice cream from room service. Good call on the vanilla bean, by the way."

Before Gil joined Leslie in the bed and propped himself up on the headboard, she handed him the remote and then reached for her bowl.

"Find us something good to watch. I have some work to do here."

Instead of flicking aimlessly around the channels and making Leslie dizzy, he looked at the channel guide and said, "It's either Pretty Woman, Last Samurai, or Naughty Stewardesses 7."

She quickly realized he was kidding and started giggling, as the transition from professional to personal demeanor was effectively completed. Leslie took a huge spoonful of desert and then reached for her milk to wash down the orchard.

"Well, I've already seen NS7 and I thought five and six were much better."

Milk nearly shot from Gil's nose and a spit-take was narrowly averted. The apple pie ala-mode must have been some type of aphrodisiac, because it was having quite a loosening effect on Leslie.

"So, it's between Julia and Richard – alias Princess Vivian and Edward Lewis – or Tom Cruise getting his chi on?"

Gil knew he couldn't go wrong with Pretty Woman, so he took a big gulp and put on Last Samurai. He had seen both movies countless times and figured the conversation would be better during a movie that wasn't dependent on its dialogue.

The movie was three hours long as so was the conversation. Tom Cruise would have been pissed if he knew how much of his hard work was being ignored.

Leslie asked Gil, "Do you miss your wife?"

"I miss the thought of her," he replied.

"Do you think you'll marry again?"

He responded, "If I can find love that I can't live without." Then he turned the tables, "What about you?" he asked from the tub chair next to the bed.

She was on her stomach lying diagonally across the bed. All Gil could think about was reaching over and kissing the hell out of her, but he was rusty as kids' peddle fire engine left out in the rain.

"Do I want to get married?" she asked.

He smiled and replied, "Yeah."

It was always difficult for Leslie to commit to a relationship before that moment, but as she looked into Gil's deep brown eyes she happily replied, "Yes," and all of the emotions she had pent-up inside of her threatened to make a run for it.

She nimbly rolled off the bed and said, "Thanks for the pie and the excellent conversation." She then blurted awkwardly, "Don't get up, because that will probably cause me to do something completely irrational."

Leslie walked toward the door, thinking that there was nothing but hall lights and carpets between her and her room. She opened the door and turned back to wave goodbye.

Gil had always lived his life down the straight line of rationality, and all it got him was alone. In one swift motion, he slammed the door closed and backed Leslie into the door, all the while kissing her as passionately as he envisioned only moments earlier. It was true then, that visualization definitely enhanced actual results.

The action slowed after about a good five minutes of making out.

"I like irrational," Leslie purred.

### Gil could barely stay on his feet from the standing ovation his body was giving him. He instantly knew that the madly-passionate exchange was better than any sex he had ever had.

"That definitely takes the edge off it," Leslie said as he opened the door. "I'll call for room service in the morning."

### Gil smiled, "I'll bring the maple syrup," he replied as the door closed.

### As Leslie floated to the elevator and down a floor to her room, thoughts of maple syrup being licked from every orifice of their bodies caused her to miss her floor and ride the elevator to the ground floor.

### The next morning, Gil expected to be awoken by a gentle knock on the door and Leslie bursting through the door, but the phone rang instead. He struggled to find the phone and then picked it up, "Hello."

"I tried to call your cell phone but you must have turned it off," Leslie said.

"I was expecting to see you this morning. What time is it?" Gil replied.

"It's 7:15 and I'm on my way to the airport. I got a call this morning about an urgent story and had to race back to New York to cover it for next week's show."

"Well, that's disappointing," he stated in a highly personal tone.

### She was already well into the transition back to her professional demeanor, "I had fun last night. I'll call you early in the week," she said in her best, distracted white-lady tone.

### Gil hung up the phone, still half-dazed but looking to see if she left some cash on the night table as she blew through town.

### A few days became a week, albeit a long, checking his cell phone for messages every 10 minutes, kind of week.

"She'll call," Maya said as she made Gil some lunch the following weekend at Yuma's house.

"What makes you so sure?" a dejected Gil asked.

Maya put a grilled cheese with bacon in front of Gil and replied, "Because I could see it in her eyes. She's got it bad for you. Now eat up before Yu comes back from the grocery store and steals it."

### Gil had all but lost his appetite for everything but Maya's cooking.

"Did you find a place yet?"

"Yeah, but the tribe agreed to sell me a vacant, five-acre lot about five miles from the sports complex. I'm gonna' stay in a two-bedroom townhouse until I can figure out what I want to do with it."

### Maya knew that Gil would wait to make a decision until "they" could decide together. She figured that maybe it wasn't the most prudent way to live, but love tends to clear all boundaries between possible and impossible.

### TWELVE OCASTA KNOWLEDGE

### Gil sat down on the couch and opened his Apple computer to review his financial status. In nearly 20 years as a sports agent, he made about $100 million, of which he was able to save about $15 million in investments and real estate.

### While in Arizona, he sold his three-bedroom apartment on Central Park South for $5 million – quite a profit after paying $750,000 for its ten years earlier.

### Paying for what he thought for Yuma's house was no big deal. He paid $1.5 million to the tribe for the five-acres of vacant land – the land was appraised for $500,000, and he also donated another $750,000 to a general scholarship fund for worthy students to go to college. The details of this transaction remained firmly confidential at Gil's request meaning that Leslie had no knowledge of the benefactor that anonymously donated the money to start the scholarship fund.

### Gil's impact went beyond being a funding source. Everyone in the tribe knew where the money came from, but they accepted him more for being one of them – for rolling up his sleeves and sacrificing himself for the betterment of the tribe, and deciding to become a true tribe member and not leave like so many men of various colors before him.

### Gil also received a check for $1 million from the insurance proceeds from his wife's death. The day he received the check, he walked up to the New York City headquarters of the ALS Foundation and signed the check over to them, again, anonymously. He walked out of the front of the building angrily muttering, "I don't need blood money."

### It had been almost two weeks since Leslie blew through town and Gil was almost over it. Almost.

"Why don't you call her?" Maya asked Gil as he patiently waited for one of her bacon, cheddar cheese, and basil omelets.

### She put the plate in front of him with some healthy seven-grain toast and a delicious drink blended with oranges, bananas, strawberries and a few cubes of ice. Gil took a bite of the omelet perched atop of some buttered toast, and then took a drink.

"Mmm! Did you take a look at that location I told you about?" Gil asked Maya.

### She grabbed a rag and started cleaning the countertop.

"Nah, I sent Yu over there. I was too nervous to look."

### Yuma, sitting across the oval table from Gil, took the feedbag off long enough to interject, "

"I'll take you over there today," Gil stated. "Yu, you up for a little excursion?"

"You buying dinner?" Yuma asked.

Gil shifted gears, "Don't I always. Why do people always say that Jews are cheap?"

"Every Jew I've ever met has been generous," Yuma replied.

### Maya nodded, "Yeah, me too. But they do tend to send things back at an alarming rate."

### Gil couldn't argue with that. His Aunt Sophie was a notorious restaurant returner. Her meal never seemed to be cooked just right even if it was prepared exactly the way she asked for it.

"We'll have to get more of my brotha's and sista's out here," Gil said.

### Maya added, "You better start with that tall blonde with those long spider legs."

### Gil wasn't about to chase, but he also wasn't about to let it go easy, either. He found a lens cap that for a camera that one of Leslie's guys was using. He dropped it in a FedEx package and tossed in the following note:

### Jim,

### You and Bryan must have dropped this in all the confusion.

### Those girls from the bar were talking about you guys at the brunch on the next day. You must have thought ahead and given them an alias, because they were making plans to visit you in California!

### Regards,

### Gil

### Jim and Bryan sat in the control room one afternoon as a secretary walked in and handed Bryan the FedEx package.

"Dude, you got a FedEx," Bryan said as he flipped the package to Jim.

Jim tore open the tab and removed its contents, a tightly wrapped square of tissue paper with a note taped to the outside.

"I didn't know it was your birthday?" Bryan joked.

"It's not," Jim said as he unraveled the paper. "It's my lens."

Jim's eyes widened as he read the note. He looked at Bryan like he wasn't sure whether he should say who the package was from. Leslie picked up her head and started questioning like a good reporter.

"You lost your lens cap? Where did you lose it?"

### Jim was doing his best to stall, "One of our recent shoots."

### Leslie motioned to him, "Let me see the note."

"It's personal," Jim said trying to keep the truth to himself.

### She grabbed the box off the top of the editing console and quickly looked for the sender's name.

"Oh, shit," she said in a surprised tone.

### Bryan whispered to Jim, "Lunch," and then stood up slowly trying to make a clean exit.

### Leslie picked up her head, "Where are you guys going?"

"Lunch," Jim replied.

### She looked at her watch, "It's 9:30 a.m.?"

"I'm an early riser," Bryan shot back.

### Then it hit her, "You guys think I blew it, don't you?"

### Since there was nowhere left to run, Jim replied, "Do you?"

"I don't know?" Leslie stated and then said, "Why don't you guys take lunch. Here's twenty dollars."

They said thanks and then Leslie started her manhunt. She had misplaced his number but still had the receipt from the hotel, because she had to submit an expense report that afternoon. The trail went from hotel to sports complex to Gil's cell phone voice mail. Gil made it a habit of never answering called from 212, preferring to get the message and then prepare himself before talking to New York.

She said, "Gil, it's Leslie. Leslie Howard, ugh, Howerstein. I got busy, but not too busy to do what I should have done weeks ago. Thanks for the lens cap."

### Gil listened to the message a few minutes later and was filled to the brim with conflicting emotions. On the one hand, he obviously wanted to call because he sent the package to her office. But, he wondered if she would have ever called if he hadn't taken the first step.

### After much internal debating, he felt angry that he always had to do most of the work with women. Was he so pathetic and weak that women were able to bat him around like a defenseless mouse, or was his taste in women permanently off?

### "I wouldn't give up so fast," Maya stated. "It's only been a couple of weeks and you're starting to act a little needy."

### It was like telling a kid in a candy shop that he was allergic to sugar and couldn't eat anything. Gil decided to send Leslie a text message instead:

### L,

### I'll get back to you within a few days.

### G

### Bryan and Jim returned from an early lunch/late breakfast and instantly noticed through the glass the somber look of regret on Leslie's face.

### They looked at each other and said, "Therapy session."

### "You have the fudge?" Bryan asked.

Jim replied, "Yeah, do you want to give it to her?"

### "I don't want to give it to her!" Bryan replied. "The last time I stuck my hand through the bars she almost bit it off! Just put it in front of her and sit down. She'll easily detect the natural scent of the fudge block."

### Jim casually set the saran-wrapped, two-inch square in front of Leslie without her noticing. Then they sat in chairs on either side of her. Leslie was reading Gil's text message as she said, "I don't understand? Hey, is that fudge?"

### The guys looked at each other and smiled.

### "When did you guys get back?" Leslie inquired.

### "We got back just after the fudge," Bryan replied with a warm smile.

### Leslie broke down, "You guys are so nice to me."

### They moved closer once she took a bite and they realized it was safe.

"Gil texted me after I left him a voicemail," she said as she held her phone up for the guys to read.

### "Wow, that's cold," Jim said.

### Bryan followed, "Thought for sure he would call right away."

### "What are you guys mumbling about?" she flailed. "Why do I always do this? I like someone and then I show them absolutely no interest."

### "You're frigid?" Jim guessed.

### "You have daddy issues?" Bryan added.

### "What? What the hell are you guys talking about? I'm not frigid and I loved my cheating-with-his-secretary father!"

### Jim quickly got up and dashed out of the control room door and out of the building in search of additional sweets.

Leslie was crashing before his eyes and her survival depended on whether he could find the magical healing powers of the Reece's Peanut Butter Cup. He scanned the shelves of the candy aisle at Duane Reed and saw Reece's Pieces and mumbled, "She's not E fuckin' T."

He then located the familiar orange and brown, two-pack rectangular wrapper and grabbed as many as he could carry and brought them back to the office. The journey was rough and fraught with danger on the unforgiving New York City streets, so he had to keep the load down on his saturated fat-consuming frame and make sure his communications device was close by In case he veered off course.

### Sixty-three seconds later, Jim used his last ounce of compartmentalized energy and crashed through the control room door, sweaty and slightly out of breath.

### Bryan looked him up and down and said, "Dude, you have to get back in the gym with me."

### Jim nodded in agreement and then walked the peanut butter delicacies over to Leslie, who scarfed down the last bite of the fudge.

### "You guys think I'm pathetic," she said.

### "I don't think you're pathetic, but Jim here has a few Issues with you," Bryan deadpanned.

### "I've never outwardly admitted that, at least not in your presence," Jim stated.

### Leslie was unfazed as she plowed into the bag of cups, "When was the last time you guys think I had sex?"

### "Wow, that's awkward," Jim said.

"I'm not sure if this would qualify as sexual harassment? Bryan piled on.

### Leslie threw a cup down her throat like a seagull swallowing a fish. "You guys should take that shit on the road, you're so funny. I would laugh but the jokes are about me and they're coming from cake and the fat man."

### The two bloated men looked at each other and Bryan said, "I want to be cake."

### "Why do I always have to be the fat man?" Jim whined.

"Because you walked two doors down to Duane Reed and came back blotchy and sweaty."

### Jim agreed, "Good point."

### "It's been a few years," Leslie mumbled.

### Bryan looked at Jim with amazement and Jim reached into his pocket and handed him five bucks.

### "Why do I always underestimate her?" Jim exclaimed.

"Did you guys bet on that?" Leslie asked in amazement.

### Jim replied, "Yeah, we bet on all sorts of things on the road."

### Bryan sounded pissed, "Why did you tell her? Now we're going to have to cut her in on the action."

### Jim said, "We once bet on whether you would eat the cherry on top of that hot fudge sundae you ordered when we were in Vermont."

### "Yeah, I won that one," Bryan bragged.

### Jim continued, "And then there was the time I thought for sure that your nipples would show when we were doing that shoot in Alaska."

### Bryan said, "Yeah, those things never stood at attention and there was a real chill in the air. What, do you have puffy nipples or something?"

### If Leslie wasn't drowning in the comfort of mainstream chocolate, she might have lunged at Jim and scratched his eyes out.

### "If you must know, I was wearing an ace bandage to hold them down. I do that often."

### Jim and Bryan were even more curious and stared directly at Leslie's chest.

### "So, what are you packin' there?" Jim asked.

### Bryan started saying, "I bet..." when Leslie stood up and quickly picked up her shirt revealing a pair of lovely 38D breasts barely constrained by a white lace bra.

### "Didn't you have a bet?" she said.

### "Yeah, but I didn't have those," Bryan said as he pointed at her chest.

### She looked at Jim and he said, "No. Those should be in a museum."

### She stuck out both of her hands and both men quickly deposited a five-dollar bill in each palm.

"The answer to the next three questions are, "Yes, battery-operated, and on top, as far as I can remember."

### The guys absorbed the titillating revelations and then Bryan said, "Gil was the one, boss."

### Jim chimed in, "Yeah, that pale-face could give you the ride of your life."

### "We saw him in the shower, and let me just tell you..." Bryan said.

### "Huge!" Jim finished.

### They all laughed as Leslie threw balled paper at them and they fired back.

### THIRTEEN KAITA BEAR AND VOLCANO

### Leslie's first solo special happened to air on the same day as she started therapy.

"A TRIBE OF ONE" the special was titled and all of the tribe gathered at a local drive-in to watch together on the huge outdoor screen. Tears streamed down Gil's tanned face as Leslie spoke the words, "It is a special place, inhabited by special people. I hope to return there one day to discover my own piece of understanding."

### Gil took out his phone and sent a text message to Leslie:

### "The door is always open."

### Leslie got the message after receiving layers of praise from co-workers and network brass. She was on her way to stardom and an even bigger network job, which meant that any hopes of a personal life would most likely be flushed out with the tide.

### She had trouble finding a quiet corner, so she escaped to the bathroom.

### "Is it the real thing?" she texted Gil.

### He quickly answered, "We have been reborn."

### Leslie thought back to her often-rocky childhood. "I always wished I was someone else," she said to Dr. Linda Murray.

### "Do you still have those same feelings?" Dr. Murray asked.

### Leslie bowed her head and then picked it up to answer,

"Personally, yes. Professionally, no."

### "Can you act on those feelings?"

### "I'm not sure?" Leslie replied.

### "What would make you sure?"

### Just then it hit Leslie, a week later, after coming up big with her television special that was replayed due to popular demand - it was time. She stood up and stuck out her hand to Dr. Murray after only a few minutes of their session.

"Who says therapy doesn't work?!" as the surprised doctor shook Leslie's hand and then watched her walk out of the office door. Leslie had done much research about Gil since they met and realized that he gave up everything he had worked for to reach for everything he lived for.

Back at the office, there were loud rumblings - like a Ford Mustang Cobra was driving through \- that Leslie would be offered the big network job, but her response was still a work-in-process. She sat in relative calm one Friday night in her office as her cell phone vibrated.

### "Hello."

"Hello, yourself!" and elder female voice with an edge to it replied.

### Leslie often wondered how her mother could be so irritated even before the conversation had begun.

### "Don't forget to drop that tape off from the show," Marilyn Howerstein, turned Berger, demanded.

### Leslie's first instinct was to smash her phone into unrecognizable pieces, but she hung in there, "Mom. Why don't you use that Tivo I got you?"

### "Tivo, schmimo. You know I don't know how to work that thing!"

### Leslie kept at it, "It does all the work for you."

### "I just figured out how to use the VHS machine," Marilyn stated.

### Leslie mumbled, "Another 20 years and you'll get the hang of using a laptop."

### "What? Are you mumbling again? You know I can't hear so well out of my right ear! It's a wonder anyone can understand you on TV!"

### Leslie quickly hit her annoyance quotient for the day and was ready to move on, but her mom continued, "Are you going to stop by this weekend? Ed would like to see you."

### Leslie thought, "Of course that mother-fucker would like to see me! He hasn't inappropriately fondled me this week!"

### That was the final push that Leslie needed, hearing that her groping

Pedophile of a stepfather had lonely hands.

### "No. I think I'm going out of town this weekend."

### "Where are you going now? You should get a steadier job and settle down in one place already," Marilyn the nag pronounced like she had the answer to all of the world's problems.

### Need a cure for cancer? Give Marilyn a call! Your blood pressure to low? Just pick up the phone and Marilyn will light an Instant fire under it!

### "I'm going to Arizona," Leslie replied.

### "Who can stand the heat there? When will you be back?"

### Leslie sat back in her chair and gazed toward the ceiling of her office, "I'm not sure."

### But she was sure. Just as she knew when she escaped her mom's house when she went to college that she would never return. Just like she knew when she first stepped in front of the camera. Just like she knew when she first met Gil. She walked up to the ticket counter of Southwest Airlines with no luggage, and bought a one-way, first-class ticket to Arizona with her enormous frequent-flyer miles.

### She sat in her comfortable seat on the half-empty, last flight out of New York's LaGuardia Airport for the night. Leslie then reached in her purse and pulled out her phone.

### "Flight 695" was all she typed before sending the message.

### Gil almost jumped out of his shoes, literally, because he was wearing sandals when he received the message. He had to quickly adjust his schedule once he surfed and retrieved - shows would have to be recorded and his grilled chicken and pasta dinner would have to occupy space in the fridge for another day instead of his stomach.

Leslie was sitting in the window seat of the third row of the plane. She looked out of the scratched-up, oval window as the plane sped down the runway and climbed into the nighttime sky. She picked up her right hand and waved goodbye to the city that reared her, that raised her, that ultimately caused her to seek more meaning in life. The thought never crossed her mind of how disappointing life would be if it didn't have more meaning than just a good job and a matching 401k plan. How disappointing it would be if the pool of life was actually that shallow.

### Gil had almost three hours once he showered and changed. Although he had spent the better part of the past 20 years in constant planning mode, he found this personal spur-of- the-moment a little more difficult to plan. But, after a lukewarm-to-cool shower and a clean shave, his mind was excitedly-relaxed and surprisingly focused.

### In the years leading up to this day, Gil realized that while money couldn't stop grave Illness or death, it nonetheless made life's big problems seem a lot smaller most of the time. He found that once money was no longer a factor, almost anything could be accomplished.

### Flashbacks were the order of the evening as Leslie made her way through the air - and Gil via the ground - to the airport. Leslie flashed back to a day when her parents were getting along. In her half-awake state, she remembered a day when the three of them spent the day at the Coney Island Aquarium. She must have been no more than seven years old at the time. Whenever Leslie feared that she would never marry, the aquarium flashback would pop into her head as proof that marriage could work. For her, it was enough momentum to guide her to the airport.

The sun was setting on Gil's ride to the airport. It was mid fall, but the sun still blazed from dawn to dusk. His flashback was one that he had never re-experienced, other than the first time it happened. He was lying on the bed watching TV In what looked like a hotel. Gil was able to see himself from a view looking down on the bed. His cell phone rang and he answered it while watching the news in a hotel. He viewed the blank stare on his face and then looked at the TV, realizing he was watching Leslie in her early years. While he was told to "come home," he secretly wondered what it would be like to "come home" to someone like Leslie Howard.

### The flashback closed and Gil opened his window and yelled, "Schmuck!"

### The breeze whispered back, "Better late than never, putz..."

### FOURTEEN LOMASI PRETTY FLOWER

### Leslie walked off the plane with her purse slung over her right shoulder and all of the hopes and dreams of a seven year-old girl. During prime travel times, a line of car service people would line up in the baggage claim area, but on this night there was only a lone representative waiting in a motorized cart with a small white sign that read "HOWARD."

She did a double take and then signaled to the elderly black gentleman that she was indeed "Howard."

### The man escorted Leslie into the two-seat vehicle and proceeded to ask,

### "Did you have a nice flight, Miss Howard?"

### She replied, "Yes, thank you. And you are?"

### "My name is Miles," he said as he shook her hand, "and that is all I am liberty to discuss with you, Miss Howard."

### He turned the corner and was guided down the corridor by bright white pizza boxes with red lettering that read, "Brooklyn Pizza" and the slogan "A Slice of the Neighborhood."

### The airport was essentially empty except for the few people on Leslie's flight, but those people bolted in the opposite direction for baggage claim and ground transportation. Leslie hoped she had left most of her baggage behind, preferring to start this experience with a clean slate.

### Miles followed the trail of boxes until he turned slightly right into the mouth of Brooklyn Pizza. The place was dimly lit by a series of candles that led Leslie to a table located in the back. Miles smiles as he turned his vehicle around and headed on his way to his wife of 43 years... it was the best part of his day.

### As Leslie drew closer she could vaguely make out the image of a smiling Gil in the shadows. Her steps came one after the other in the kind of slow-motion only reserved for lifelong memories. Gil threw together the plan at the last minute, but he had no idea what would happen next until he locked eyes with Leslie. He stood up slowly and could feel the heat of the lioness gain intensity with every breath.

### Gil inhaled and drew Leslie closer as they met in a passionate embrace that lips only dream about when they're not eating or avoiding sucker-punches. The pizza was getting cold but not a word was spoken during the 15-minute grope-fest, unless you consider moans and heavy sighs as the fluent dialogue of passion.

### "I'd take you right here on the table if this wasn't an airport restaurant," Gil said.

### "Yeah, we need to get a room," Leslie uttered in a desperate tone.

### "I have one of those."

### "Get the pizza to go," Leslie said as Gil stuffed the pizza in a box as they held hands and shuffled off to his car. They almost didn't make it to Gil's townhome, as the 20-minute drive did little to reduce the heat. The petting and stroking made the word 'foreplay' feel good about its underutilized self for a change. Married couple's idea of foreplay is usually the effort it takes to remove some clothing.

### Speaking of clothing, it was flying everywhere even before Gil unlocked the door to his townhouse.

### "This is my place," Gil said as he licked Leslie's neck as they went down to the carpet in the front hallway.

### "Nice, real nice," she said as he moved on top of her and easily entered the afterworld.

### The neighbors must have thought the space shuttle was reentering the earth's atmosphere by the sound of the sonic boom exploding from Gil's place. The 34 seconds of hypnotic thrusting and gyrating seemed to produce wave after wave after glorious wave of pleasure that both cleansed its participants and left them famished from the activity.

### "You still have that pizza?" Leslie asked.

### Gil had rolled on his back and looked around, "I think it's under you."

She laughed and then they dined on the finest smashed pizza this side of Brooklyn. Fifteen minutes later, pizza crust was flying and they were going at it again. Gil started the 10-minute session on top and then Leslie finished them both off by taking the car for a ride.

### "Why don't I show you the rest of this place," Gil said as they had not progressed past the front foyer. "The shower is upstairs."

They walked nakedly, but in full comfort, into the bathroom. Leslie was usually quite timid about revealing her body to other people, except her cameraman and sound guy, but this was different.

### "I have this dream about building a waterfall shower," Gil said as he turned on the glass-enclosed shower.

### Leslie was surprised, "In here?"

### "No, no. I have another place in mind."

### They showered in the small space and then Leslie walked into the bedroom, where Gil was lying on the bed, and stated, "I'm going to need to get some clothes tomorrow."

### It was a clothing optional evening and Gil was wearing nothing but a huge smile when she snuggled close to him in the king-sized bed. Her body melted into his as she rested her head on his chest. Gil clicked the TV on and the reached over to his right and turned off the lights.

### "It's been a long day," a fully relaxed Leslie stated as she slowly faded out.

### "It's been one of my best," Gil replied as Leslie nodded in agreement and then snuggled closer.

Gil felt Leslie's breathing become more regular as she transitioned into a deep sleep. He clicked on SportsCenter and then felt her jump, undoubtedly in the early stages of a bad dream. He stroked her hair and she settled back into a more delicate sleeping pattern. After a few more minutes, Gil turned off the TV and drifted from dreams come true to dreams yet to be... the dream-catcher above his bed made sure of that.

### Maya hadn't heard from Gil in the morning, so she decided to make breakfast and deliver it herself. Gil had given her a key initially as a backup, but then realized that she was dropping off food every day. Once through the door, Maya walked straight into the kitchen and her eyes widened when she saw and long-legged woman wearing only a New York Jets, Joe Namath jersey.

### Leslie was making coffee and expected to see Gil when she heard some rustling.

"Leslie!" Maya excitedly yelled, and then Leslie returned the favor, "Maya!"

### The two women hugged as Maya felt elation and then embarrassment for intruding on what was surely a blessed event.

### "I'm sorry!" Maya said.

### Leslie brushed it off, "No worries. Hey, I'm gonna' need to get some clothes later. Do you want to go with me?"

### "Is noon good for you?" Maya asked as she handed the still-warm plate to Leslie.

### Leslie took a peak under the tin foil and said, "Wow! That looks great. Thanks!"

Gil came down and Maya's faced turn bright red. He was barely wearing a light robe.

### Maya moved quickly toward the door and said, "I'll swing by at noon."

### Gil waved goodbye and yelled, "Thanks, Maya!"

### Maya backed out of the small driveway and quickly called Yuma, "You're not going to believe what I just saw..."

A few hours later, Maya and Yuma stopped by and the girls quickly made their way out the car.

### "Nice outfit," Maya said as she looked at Leslie's baggy gray sweatpants and royal blue Mets t-shirt.

### "It's the best I could do with such short notice."

### They got into the car and Maya replied, "Are you telling me that you came here with nothing more than that killer body and a smile?"

### Leslie laughed, "I had to be out of my mind... but it was the smartest, most rational thing I have ever done \- aside from the lack of clothing, makeup and hair products."

### Maya pulled up to a red light and looked over at Leslie, "That's quite a guy you have there."

### The light turned green and she put her foot on the gas, "I would have kept him for myself but I'm kinda' into dark-skinned guys."

### Maya looked over and smiled, effectively breaking any hint of competitive tension between them.

### "Thanks for the leftovers," Leslie joked.

### Meanwhile, back at the townhouse, Yuma and Gil were on familiar recent ground. Ever since Yuma came back, he and Gil hadn't talked like old friends. Gil was still hurt and generally kept their conversations on a professional level.

### Yuma looked around at the place and said, "Looks like you had a good time last night."

### Gil blankly replied, "Yeah, It was fun."

### Yuma had enough, "You gonna' give me shit for the rest of our journey, amigo?"

### Gil quickly got his 'Irish' up and replied, "Fuck you, man! You would have screwed me real hard If not for Maya!"

### Yuma tried to lighten up the mood, "I never was into you that way, bro'. Although there was this one time when you were sleeping on your stomach..."

### Gil yelled, "Whoa! Keep your sick fantasies to yourself, Sybil!"

### The two men laughed and without another word spoken, the rift expired like a bottle of old cough syrup that was sitting in the back of the medicine cabinet too long.

### FIFTEEN YISKA NIGHT HAS PASSED

### The sports program was merely a building block for the tribe. Sometimes the largest of fires begins with a small spark, but that wasn't the case with this controlled blaze.

### Within the first year of existence, the Tribe Sports Complex had become as competitive and productive as any league before it. The level of competition was ramped up so fast, in fact, that scouts were now filtering through what was previously a barren wasteland.

### Initially, most of the attention was on Kelly Thorpe and his golden left arm. Kelly relied heavily on Gil to keep him grounded and focused as he transitioned from football to basketball to baseball, and then summer lacrosse.

### "I got a call today from someone who says he knows you," Kelly said to Gil as Gil threw some batting practice to the slugger with a .670 batting average.

### Gil fired an 85 mile-per-hour fastball and Kelly turned on it and hit it into the right centerfield gap - the ball took one hop and then caromed off the 325-foot signed at the top of the six-foot wall.

### He grabbed another baseball and said to himself, "Let it go, meat," and then asked Kelly, "What was his name?"

### Gil moved into his wind-up and Kelly replied before he released the ball, "Stanley Wilson."

Gil lost a good five miles off his fastball and Kelly effortlessly deposited the meatball parmigiana offering over the right field fence. Gil then walked toward Kelly, who met him halfway between the pitcher's mound and home plate.

### "What else did he say?"

### "He told me he could help me get a scholarship to a good college," Kelly said with a cocky smile on his face.

### Gil rolled his eyes, "Like you need him. What is rule number one?"

### Kelly got serious, "We work clean."

### "If you start taking money or favors from anyone, then the NCAA will take you down. People will ride you to the top and then get off way before you crash. You also have this entire community counting on you - you are the great red hope for people all over the world."

### Kelly looked down to the grass and then picked his head up, "No pressure there."

### Gil didn't want to hear it, "The only pressure you have is between the lines." He pointed to Kelly's head and then touched his hat, "The only thing you should be focusing on doing the best that you can. The rest of these insignificant details will take care of itself."

### While Kelly was an extraordinary athlete, he was still a teenage boy that was basically being promised the world. And what teenager has the presence of mind to resist 'free' things?

It didn't take Leslie long to assimilate into the tribe. Within a week of landing in Arizona and buying enough clothes until her stuff arrived, she walked into the high school and was handed the keys to the new communications program. A donation from an 'anonymous' donor made the program possible. The salary was a fraction of what she was offered on the same day by CBS network, which flew the president of news out to convince her to come home. Little did he know that she was already home.

### Leslie told Larry Sherman she would sleep on his generous offer. She wasn't so indecisive with Principal Seabrook, however:

### "I'll take it!" were her exact words, like she was hungry to get to work.

Gil stretched his legs at the local Marshall's while Leslie and her new boss high-browed it at Starbucks. The cookie-cutter strip mall could have been located in any upscale area around the country, save for the arid temperatures and natives indigenous to the area.

### Leslie stretched her legs once she was done with the meeting, and instinctively walked into Marshalls and straight through the women's section to the intimate's area. Gil had grown tired of sorting through racks of forgetful XXL clothing and walked into the main aisle until he was stopped in his tracks by the sight of a beautiful woman thumbing through lacy bras. It was one of those moments he wished he could have been instantly transported to the confines of his own bedroom, because he would have taken here right there.

### Gil stood still as Leslie picked up her head for an instant like a deer hearing a branch snap in the distance. She looked over to her left and spotted Gil, who was smiling from ear to ear. Her smile became equally as wide as she knew it was time to take her hands off unused bras and unhook her own three clip fortress in mere minutes.

### They sped home and 20 minutes later, fireworks were exploding all over the bedroom.

### "You hungry?" Gil said as he pulled Leslie close.

### "I just want to make one stop before we go out to eat," Gil stated as they rolled off the bed and showered.

### Gil drove his dark gray Prius toward the high school and Leslie commented, "Are we going to the high school?" thinking for a moment that he might try to persuade her.

### "No, just a little further," he said as the intense sun made its assent on the rocky landscape. He pulled off the main road and the terrain got a little more uneven for a few hundred yards until the car rolled quietly to a standstill.

### "This is it," Gil said as he got out of the car.

Leslie followed suit and also exited the car. The couple stood in a vast, dirt field with a single yellow flower blooming in a barren pitch.

### Gil walked in front of the car and said, "After I met you, I started thinking about a lot of things. And after I fantasized about the fun stuff, I pondered on the impact a relationship would have on my life."

### "The answers to your questions are no and yes. No, I didn't bring you here to propose to you and yes, I do love you."

### They kissed and she replied, "The answers to your questions are yes, I love you, too, and yes, I took the job at the high school over the network job in New York.

They kissed again and Gil said, "I bought this three and-a-half acre property the week you left. I thought we could build our house here together. The tribe made me an offer I couldn't refuse for the land."

### Leslie looked around the peaceful surroundings and then jumped into Gil's arms.

### "This is all so surreal," Leslie said.

### "Tell me about it. But, I think I like surreal."

### She rested her head on his shoulder and smiled, "Yeah, me too."

### As time progressed, the courtship of Kelly Thorpe went from a soft zone to a full-court press. Gil and Yuma constantly talked about what the right decision would be for Kelly, who was now 6'5" and 225 pounds. It was hard to tell, at least athletically, whether a baseball contract with a pro team or a football scholarship at a college would be the right move.

### "I think he could turn pro in both sports tomorrow," Yuma stated.

### "But what kind of message would that send to the next generation?" Gil replied. "We're trying to send the right message... the staying in school message."

### "Is this a literacy campaign or a kid's life?" Yuma countered.

Gil thought for a moment and then responded, "We both know that kids like this come along once in a lifetime. Maybe twice if you really live a long time. He can always play in the majors after college. There will always be interest in a lefty that can throw 98 and also changes speeds."

### Yuma pondered the fate of a nation, "What does the kid think?"

### "He wants to speak to a few agents to see what they have to say."

### Yuma's eyes grew wide, "Just make sure there is no pen in the room. We don't want to repeat the Jim Thorpe nightmare."

### "Yeah, having you're amateur status revoked, including having to give back Olympic gold medals, because you signed a pro contract, is not the path we want to follow. The kid knows the history... he just wants to explore his options."

### "Why wouldn't he let you be his agent?" Yuma asked as prompted by the 800-pound gorilla in the room.

"Have patience, Yu. Have patience," Gil confidently countered.

### With the approval of the NCAA, the sanctioning body for college athletics, Kelly was allowed to talk with three agents. In fact, since Kelly was such a high-profile recruit, the NCAA sent a representative from Kansas City to Arizona to monitor the discussions. It appeared that no one wanted the mistakes of the great Jim Thorpe to be repeated.

### Gil and Leslie decided to take in a movie while the interviews commenced. He was as protective as if Kelly was his own son. It had been months since Stanley Wilson and Gil had spoken. Ever since Kelly Thorpe came on the full radar, the relationship between the two men had grown conspicuously quiet. Gil expected his protégé to go all-out for the client of the century, even though he knew Gil was sitting in the kid's backyard.

### To Stanley's credit, he had grown Gil's comfortable little shop into a full-blown athletics and entertainment talent agency in only three years. Revenues had grown 300%, from the $30 million Gil generated in his last year to $120 million in the current fiscal year. Stanley gladly traded in Gil's more organic, grass-roots style for all of the creature comforts of corporate America. Not that he had ever spent a day of his life in corporate America, going from Uniondale High School to nearby Hofstra University to the National Football League to being Gil's shadow.

### In all of the years that Stanley competed in the brutal world of the NFL, he always dreamed of a kinder, gentler life that his father envisioned for him as an accountant. Sure, it would be crazy busy leading up to April 15 every year, but that surely had two-a-day practices in the middle of summer beat. Don't let anyone tell you that the grass is greener on the other side, because the grass on the other side has a lot of brown spots and Is Infested with grub worms, whatever they are.

Stanley bought a team of agents and other tag-alongs with him to the meeting with Kelly Thorpe and the NCAA representative in Arizona. The bespeckled NCAA guy shadowed Kelly everywhere he went, even monitoring the whereabouts of people when Kelly went to the bathroom. You'd hope the government is that thorough when issues of national security are on the line? All that fuss for a kid with a strong left arm, albeit a really, really, strong left arm!

Kelly and the NCAA's Bill Parkinson walked into the sports facility's conference/media room. The eight seats surrounded the unique, oval distressed wood table where the talking heads were ready to pitch their shallow, phony heads off. Parkinson looked around the table and then looked at Stanley in disgust.

"You got five minutes to clear this room out. Only one person is allowed to remain."

### In the world of custom-made suits and handkerchiefs that cost more than most people's car payment, the blatant misuse of human resources would be written off as a "corporate retreat" or "talent acquisition expenses."

### Kelly went out into the hallway and fired off a text message to Gil, who was about mid-way through his chick flick. He felt a vibration in his pocket and initially thought that Leslie was getting a little frisky, before he realized that it was his phone that was stimulating his loins.

### The text read, "He brought an army."

### Gil replied, "It's gonna' take a village."

### He slid his phone back in his pants and comforted Leslie as the main character was losing her battle with an incurable disease, while the love of her life jumped off a bridge and was intensive care only a few days after they had to put their dog to sleep. They all met in heaven at the end of the movie, though...

### Kelly looked at Gil's reply and smiled as he was ushered into the room by Parkinson.

### Stanley was a tall, well-built black man who obviously maintained his gym membership. He greeted Kelly with a big handshake and even bigger smile.

### "We have prepared a little movie for you, Kelly," Stanley said as he kept the pitch going.

### The lights dimmed and a five-minute presentation titled, "The Kelly Thorpe Story" rumbled through like a Hollywood movie preview. When the lights were turned back on, Kelly looked at Bill Parkinson and wondered if he had to sit through the whole presentation.

### Just then, Stanley said, "I know you have become close with Gil Cohen. I was Gil's first client when he became an agent. Now that he's no longer an agent, I am the closest thing you're going to get to Gil."

### He smiled and looked at Parkinson, "That is, if you're going to get the representation you need to turn pro in baseball."

### Stanley pulled out a full-color chart, "We project that you will be the first pick in the Major League baseball Amateur Draft, with a signing bonus in excess of 15 million dollars."

### He looked at Parkinson and added, "Of course, that number could be as low as five million."

### Parkinson shot Stanley a fatherly look. "I would venture to say that depending on the Collective Bargaining Agreement, you might not receive compensation in the form of a bonus."

### Parkinson nodded in approval.

### Kelly played along like he did for the other two agents.

### "So, you're really not sure how much I'll make if I turn pro?"

### Stanley wished that Parkinson wasn't sitting in the room, because he would have scooped up the vault of cash sitting in front of him in human form. "No" he replied, albeit in silent protest.

### "What about football?" Kelly asked knowing that he had already narrowed his choice down to three potential schools.

### Stanley looked deeply into Kelly's light brown eyes, giving the appearance of searching deep into his soul for the answer. Maybe the maize and gold colors of the University of Michigan had bled, or a University of Florida gator was on the loose?

### Stanley stated, "Only you know that answer, but if I was advising you..."

### "He didn't say Hofstra, did he?" Gil asked as he and Kelly sat in the park.

### Kelly laughed as he took a sip of his soda. "No, sorry."

### "Then he definitely went with Florida," Gil stated.

### Kelly laughed again and then turned serious. While he had a strong relationship with Gil, it was more of an uncle-nephew vibe than a mentor-mentee tip. But on this day, Kelly finally decided to cut through all of the bullshit and set his future on the right track.

### "If you were advising me, what would you say?"

### Gil was still in a casual mood, "I would have said Hofstra."

### Kelly playfully tapped on the arm with the back of his hand and replied, "No, seriously."

### Gil looked at Kelly for conformation and said, "Seriously?"

### "Seriously," Kelly firmly countered, putting any remnants of a casual conversation into extended hibernation.

### Gil sat back on the bench and crossed his legs. Kelly knew he was serious, because this was Gil's thinking position. Gil clasped his hands behind his head and school was now in session. A few seconds later he began.

### "You know that you have to go to college? Right?"

### Kelly replied, "Right. Knowledge is the only way."

### "Now, that doesn't mean that you can't play baseball and football in college if you want to, but you'll gain much more visibility by playing major college football. Last time I checked you had narrowed it down to three schools: Michigan, Florida, and USC. Have you ever been to Michigan?"

### Kelly replied, "No."

### "Good school, cold winter, infinite sea of blonde, white people."

### Kelly replied, "I don't do snow."

### Gil jabbed back, "You will when you play in the NFL."

### "Then I'll wait until then," Kelly shot back.

Gil continued, "I know you've already visited Florida. What did you think?"

### The teenager beamed, "Great parties, hot women, great program."

"Yeah, that's out. Your grades are too good to settle for the football-only route."

### Kelly took a deep breath, "So, I'm going to USC?"

### Gil tilted his head to the right and replied, "Not necessarily."

### Kelly looked confused and was frustrated.

### "Just give me a minute to explain," Gil said. "USC's a decent school and you've seen those cheerleaders up close when you visited the school, but I think you can do better."

### "Better than USC?" Kelly questioned.

### Gil nodded confidently, "Better than USC."

### The truth was that Gil's second client after he graduated from Hofstra was Gary Koenig, the school's all-time leading passer. Koenig played 10 years in the NFL, mostly as a back-up quarterback, but he developed a reputation as a brilliant game planner before his playing days ended.

The year Gary retired from the NFL, his pro coach decided to return to his college alma mater, Stanford University. Bringing Gary along as his offensive coordinator was a no-brainer - in their first year, the team averaged 30 points per game employing Gary's version of the spread offense. The team lost to USC on a late field goal as the final gun sounded. After that game, head coach Mack Lewis suffered a heart attack and then stepped down a week later from the head coaching position. Koenig was named interim coach on the spot and then was promoted to permanent head coach after the team's victory over South Carolina in the Liberty Bowl.

### Gil and Gary Spoke often over the years and happened to talk the week before Gil sat down with Kelly.

### "College is a lot different than pro, Bert," Gary said referring to Gil by his nickname "Bert" after his full given name Gilbert.

### "You think the program can be turned around?" Gil asked.

### "We got a bunch of really smart kids that soak up all of the plays like they have them written on the back of their hands," Gary stated.

### Gil asked, "Any quarterbacks as good as you?"

### "We have a few kids but nobody I can count on to really stretch the field." Gary took his shot, "How's the kid you got over there?"

### "Are you telling me you haven't seen him play?"

### "I've seen enough to know he's probably gonna' wave on his way to USC."

### "Did you know that he could get into Stanford purely on his grades?" Gil asked.

Gary sat up, "What's his major going to be?"

### Gil smiled, "Quantum physics."

### "Yeah, we have that," Gary excitedly replied.

### Gil countered, "Yeah, I know."

"Any chance we could get the kid out here for a visit?"

### Gil nodded, "I'll get back to you on that one. I'm trying not to influence his decision too much, but I have my instructions from the elders."

### Gary asked, "They give you instructions?"

### Gil smirked, "I'll get back to you in a week, or so."

### Kelly scheduled a trip to Stanford University the next weekend. While his visits usually began with a tour of the practice facility of being handed a number '12' jersey with the name "THORPE" on the back, this one was noticeably different. By the time Kelly toured the practice facility with his parents, he had already spent four hours talking to professors and students in the physics lab. His parents went ahead to the practice facility after 15 minutes of watching their son light up like the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree.

### Kelly walked into the facility with a smile from ear to ear, "Sorry, coach, I got carried away."

Gary replied, "Most of our student-athletes do. Students first, athletics second."

### It was the easiest pitch Gary Koenig had to make in his first off-season as head coach. He showed Kelly five minutes of his spread offense and he was sold.

### "I just have one request," Kelly said as he pulled a DVD out of his pocket and handed it to the coach.

### "I recorded a few clips of my favorite receiver. He's got an even better GPA than me."

### Koenig was skeptical at first, not having seen any players from the tribe. He slid the disc in as pass after long pass was thrown by Kelly of at least 60 yards and his friend, Billy "The Roadrunner" Sampson, appeared out of nowhere and nestled under the ball each time without breaking stride.

### Gary rubbed his eyes and said, "How fast is that kid?"

### Kelly smiled, "I've seen him run a 4.29 without shoes."

### "You have any other players in that pocket?"

### "Maybe you'll come visit us some time," Kelly replied.

### So Kelly, "The Roadrunner" and three other players from the tribe were headed to Stanford. Three of the players received athletic scholarships, two academic scholarships, and one scooped up government aid to pay his way.

### SIXTEEN NIGAN AHEAD

### Kelly spent four years in college despite the pull of the NFL, graduating with degrees in Quantum Physics and Film Study. He shattered all of John Elway's passing records while at Stanford, and then was drafted with the first pick In the NFL draft by his hometown Arizona Cardinals. That same year, he pitched Stanford into the College World Series and sported a nasty 15-1 record with a 1.21 ERA. He lost the last game he pitched that season, a 1-0 heartbreaker to Oklahoma State on an error in the last inning.

### It just so happened, that Kelly was drafted in the first round of the Major League Baseball draft that same year by the Arizona Diamondbacks. Despite assurances that Kelly would try his hand at football before hitting the baseball diamond, the Diamondbacks couldn't pass up such a 'can't miss' prospect.

### Kelly's first two years with the Cardinals were record-breaking years for a first- and a second-year player. In the preseason of his third year, he was hit awkwardly in a game against the New York Giants. The crowd grew eerily silent and the players circled in prayer as Kelly was carted off the field, suffering from paralysis from the neck-down. He was rushed to Arizona General Hospital in an ambulance as paramedics frantically tried to keep him breathing.

### The next day, Kelly was breathing on his own but remained in the Intensive Care Unit as his eyes remained shut. It was late in the day when he opened his eyes and wondered what all of these people were doing standing over him. Doctors were not sure of Kelly's prognosis, and told the family that the next 24 to 48 hours would be critical.

### Kelly looked around and picked up casually picked up his left hand to rub the crust away from his eyes. Gil and Kelly's parents were there and let out a collective gasp from relief.

### "Looks like we're playing baseball next year," Kelly said as he slowly sat up on his own.

### There wasn't a dry eye in the room and, within a few days, Gil was on the phone to both Arizona clubs delivery the good and bad news.

### Kelly played 15 years for the Diamondbacks and won an incredible 307 games, while only losing 152. He won more than 15 games every year of his career - won 20 games eight times - and his best season, his first of four Cy Young Awards, he was 25-4.

### Kelly Thorpe's prolonged success in his home state started a stream of successful college and professional athletes, and business people. Gil became the manager of Kelly and successive tribe athletes, and started a talent agency with

### Leslie called the LG Agency. While Gil's side handled the athletes, Leslie's dealt with professional business and communications talent.

### When Gil and Leslie were both in their mid-40s, a local husband and wife were involved in a tragic car accident. Before the Native American wife died, doctors were able to perform a C-section and save the expectant mother's baby. Silver Fish and others were present at the hospital when the baby was brought from intensive care to the nursery. Gil and Leslie were also there, as the parents were both clients. The nurse picked up the baby girl, swathed in a pink blanket, and showed her to the small crowd waiting by the glass.

### On the baby's pink hat was a piece of tape with the name "BROOKLYN" prominently displayed. Silver Fish looked at Gil and Leslie, and they looked at each other and cried. The 'Big Chief' and his wife would once again have their lives begun anew in Brooklyn.

