Chapter 9: Dessert First

Tuesday September 27
When I returned from my run, I saw that Paul was already here. Chuck hadn’t figured out that if he came early, my mom would feed him breakfast. Both Paul and Fritz seemed to take full advantage of the arrangement. I found Mom making stuffed French toast, one of my favorites.

“Morning,” she said as she handed me a plate. “What’s your plan for the day?”

“After football, I’m going to Granny’s West and help Tracy shoot her video blog. I’ll grab dinner there.”

“I’ll tell your dad. It’ll save me from having to cook.”

“Where is Dad, anyway?” I asked, not seeing him.

“Jack Mass wanted to talk to your dad and Caryn before they had to get to work. He went into the office to do the conference call.”

For a second I thought I should be there, but I pushed that instinct down. If I wanted to normalize my life, I had to limit the time I spent dealing with business issues. I knew that meant I had to delegate more, and now was the right time to start.

Duke came bounding down the stairs to let us know Peggy was coming down with the boys. I got up and met her on the second floor to help her carry down Coby and Little David. They’d become a handful. She handed me Coby, and somehow I ended up with Little David as well.

When we got to the kitchen, I handed Coby to his grandma to put him in his high chair. Little David was busy telling me something, so I held him while I ate. I cut him some French toast pieces, and that was soon his whole focus.

“He’ll be bouncing off the walls by the time he gets to daycare,” Peggy warned.

“Better them than us,” I said as I stuffed bacon in my mouth.

“I have a cross-country meet this afternoon. Don’t forget that Angie’s picking up the boys from daycare and you must get them from her tonight,” Peggy told my mom.

Peggy had gotten a partial scholarship at State. She’d worked her way into the top five runners, so tonight was her first away meet. If she held onto the spot, she’d get a full scholarship for the spring semester.

Paul and I finished and left to pick up Brook.

“Honk to let her know we’re here,” I told Paul.

Paul honked the horn. I had a little grin because apparently Chuck hadn’t warned him. Ava stormed out the door with a wooden spoon in her hand.

“Stop her. It looks like she’s armed,” I suggested.

Paul turned around and glared at me. When she got to the door, I locked it. Ava’s glare was much scarier than Paul’s. My eyes went wide when he released the lock so she could open the door. What the hell was I paying him for?

“Young man, we talked about you honking your horn to pick up my daughter.”

“He did it,” I said, pointing at Paul.

Whack!

That stung. When Greg and I were younger, my mom had decided we both needed spankings. It’s still hard for me to believe we ever needed punishment, angels that we were, but somehow we’d gotten into trouble. Greg was in middle school, so we were older. Mom hadn’t spanked us in a couple of years, meaning she had to be super-mad to take it that far. We usually got the ‘wait until your father gets home’ routine.

We both laughed when she used her hand, so she’d gotten a belt. That hadn’t hurt, either. I still can’t believe that we were dumb enough to laugh at her second attempt at punishment. If we’d acted like we were sorry, it might not have gone further. She went to the kitchen and came back with a wooden spoon. That made believers out of us. Since then, we’d never needed another spanking. All she had to do was pull the spoon out now, and we quickly fell into line.

Ava saw she had my full attention.

“Do I have your word that you will come to the door next time?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She backed out of the car, and by the look on her face, I decided I’d better go get Brook. Ava went into the house and closed the door in my face. I was about to knock when Paul honked. I guess I was wrong; he and Chuck had talked. Brook burst out the door.

I could hear Ava as she came to use her spoon on me. I raced Brook to the car because I figured it was every man for themselves. We piled in and were all giggles. Paul had a satisfied look on his face. I vowed I would get even with him and Chuck.

Dad had arranged for me to call Mr. Morris at lunchtime. I quickly ate and then found an empty classroom so I had some privacy. I was amused when he answered his phone.

“I’ve never gotten you when I called,” I said.

“It’s lunchtime. My secretary went out today with some of the other staff. It’s one of the guys’ birthday.”

“Did you want to go?” I asked.

“No, not really. He irritates me. Let’s get down to business. I hear you’ve started your recruiting visits.”

I told him about the trips so far. He didn’t see anything amiss except for the man in Oklahoma that wanted to talk to me privately. He thought I’d handled that about as well as I could have. The fight was another matter.

“I’ll talk to Ms. Dixon. We need to get something in place that prevents him from suing you civilly in exchange for dropping the charges.”

“He attacked me,” I complained.

“And you hurt him and have money. That alone makes you a target.”

Sadly, he was right. I’d heard of more than one person suing someone when they got hurt committing a crime.

“Now, there are several items I have to go over with you, and I need you to pay close attention,” Mr. Morris said.

Oops...

“Do you recall the game where the young man was following you around as a part of the ‘Make a Wish’ endeavor, where he streamed the videos of you in the game and at halftime to your social media account?” he asked.

Damn, why did he have to sound like James Earl Jones doing Darth Vader?

“Yes, why?” I asked.

“Did you forget that you have to separate your sports from everything else so that the NCAA doesn’t get mad at us?”

I hadn’t really thought about that when I did the live streaming. These rules were so stupid, but I had to play their game if I wanted to play ball in college.

“How bad is it?”

“Before you worry too much about it, let me tell you what happened. Your friend Lily, who also now runs the Lincoln High sports website as a supervised student project, thought that site was too limited and came up with the idea of creating separate social media accounts for you.

“Before she did that, however, she did something you haven’t done yet, even though I work for you. She asked if it was okay,” Mr. Morris said, getting in his dig.

Sometimes lawyers were a pain in the backside.

“She talked to Frank and explained her concerns. He called me, and we thought her solution would work. I called the NCAA and got their blessing,” he prattled on.

I only had so much time to talk. I guess he thought he was billing me by the minute, which he was.

“What was the solution?” I asked to move the conversation along.

“You now have two accounts, one for David A. Dawson, the actor, model, and everything not related to sports. The other is for Dawson#11. In the future, if it involves a Lincoln High uniform, if it involves a picture of a sports arena, if it involves a football or a baseball, it had better be separate, it cannot involve ‘David A. Dawson’ or any promotional activities. Frank will monitor it, and if he has any questions, I told him to call me so we can discuss it.”

“I’m sure between Lily and Frank they’ll make sure I don’t do anything to upset the all-powerful NCAA,” I said.

“I talked to the NCAA about the sports photos you have displayed at your restaurants. They would prefer that you take them down until you graduate college.”

“Are they going to have a problem with anything I do to promote my businesses?” I complained.

“They understand that you have interests in several companies. You can help promote them as long as you don’t do it as David Dawson the quarterback or baseball player. I suggest that you do it under your stage name, David A. Dawson. That way everything is crystal clear,” Mr. Morris said.

“They’ll be okay with that?”

“Yes.”

“Even the videos I did for my mom’s real estate company?” I asked.

“They’re all good. Caryn told me that you received the money through your LLC and then donated it to charity. As long as you run it through your business, you’re okay. Just don’t accept money directly for promotional activities like that. I can justify that because it’s business-related,” he assured me.

“I understand, Mr. Morris. I have something else I agreed to do.”

I told him about helping Tracy with her video blog.

“It should be okay since it’s a class project. Just be sure to use your stage name. We don’t want there to be any confusion about that,” he reminded me.

Before I got off the phone, he told me he’d contacted the recruiting coordinator for Southwest Central State and had a talk with them about us not wanting any misunderstandings. Of course, the recruiter denied any knowledge of anything that might be an issue and would do everything in his power to make sure nothing improper occurred. Lawyers!

Mr. Morris explained that he needed to have the call logged so if the NCAA ever decided to give us a hard time, we could show we did our due diligence. Personally, I felt he was just running up his bill. I would probably be glad he’d done it if the NCAA decided to come after me, though.

Football practice was much better than last week. People were flying around with a purpose; they were much more mentally engaged. Our biggest rival, Eastside, was this week’s opponent. Their West Coast passing offense was hard to contain for high school teams. They counted on a short passing game to try to get their most skilled runners open in space. Their offense was designed to gain yardage after the catch, or YAC.

To run that kind of offense, you need a quarterback who sees the field well, makes quick decisions, and is accurate in his short throws. To stop it, you have to keep everything in front of you and somehow disrupt your opponent’s passes.

Coach Rector was hammering our defensive line to keep a clock in their head. He coached them to get their hands up at two seconds after the snap so they’d either force the quarterback to change his throw or swat the ball down. They also needed to stay in their lanes so if the pocket collapsed, the quarterback would have nowhere to run.

He coached the linebackers and secondary to close quickly once the football was out of the quarterback’s hand. They’d seen on film that Eastside worked the referees to get pass-interference calls. It had bailed them out several times.

He also wanted us to make sure they knew it when we tackled them. We focused on the proper way to tackle someone with force. He coached us not to hit them in the head or crush them if they were defenseless. Once they made a football move, after the catch, you could lower the boom.

Coach Rector also stressed that we shouldn’t lead with our head. Keeping your head up when making a tackle could mean the difference between getting hurt and not. If you hit someone with the top of your head, the impact would travel to your neck and spine. In high school, athletes aren’t as good as they are in college or the pros. Players try to make up for that lack of ability by lunging to make tackles instead of running to the ball. Lunging causes your head to drop.

We’d heard this before, but I was glad he reminded us. Coach Rector wanted us to be physical, but safe. Football was supposed to be fun at this level, not the blood sport it was at higher levels of competition.

I typically spent some time after practice with Coach Mason watching film, but I begged off tonight so I could go help Tracy. He seemed interested, so I invited him to come watch and said I would buy him dinner.

Paul drove me to Granny’s West, and it looked like they had a good crowd for a Tuesday night. When I looked around the dining room, I saw it filled with several of my classmates and their families. Jan, Yuri’s girlfriend, was working the hostess stand.

“Everyone’s in the back.”

I just nodded and went through to the kitchen. I saw that Marshal and Curtis, from my photography class, were setting up a camera tripod and lights. Someone turned a metal table sideways so we could show the desserts as we made them and still show the bustle of the kitchen in the background.

I let them set up and then had Marshal stand behind the metal table as a stand-in so we could see how the lighting looked. I filmed a short clip and then showed it to them.

“See the shadow?” I asked, pointing at his face.

We tried several different lighting arrangements. The other issue we had was the metal table reflecting the light. When everyone was finally happy, I saw Tracy and Granny come to find me.

“I think two of us on screen all the time is too much,” Tracy said.

“I’m fine if you want to do this all yourself,” I said, and meant it.

“No, that’s not what I want. I think you should do the portion in the kitchen when they make the dessert. I’ll talk to them about the restaurant and then interview customers.”

“Okay. I guess we’re starting in here, then,” I predicted.

“Yep. You’re up first,” Tracy confirmed.

I think she was just nervous and wanted me to start us off. I was happy to do so.

Our goal was to keep the video to no longer than four minutes; ideally, between two-and-a-half and three minutes. I directed my classmates to keep the camera running, and we would edit it down when we got back to class.

Tracy was smart in that she wanted to shoot two episodes today. After I made cinnamon rolls with Granny, Mary helped me make a caramel apple cake. Mary always tried to find fresh ingredients, and apples were being picked at the farm right now. Mary’s dessert would be paired with our upstairs restaurant, Our House, since we did the cinnamon rolls for Granny’s West.

We then took the cameras into the restaurant where Tracy first did a mini-commercial about Granny’s West and then interviewed people as they tried the desserts. I noticed that somehow Coach Mason and Brook ended up on camera. We then went upstairs and did it again, but this time Pam and her mom, Lacy, were the taste-testers.

“What do you think?” Tracy asked when we had finished with what she planned.

“You need an intro and wrap up for your video. Something you can use for all of them,” Marshal suggested.

“He’s right,” I said as an idea formed.

I wrote a quick dialogue and showed it to everyone. Tracy liked it, so we set it up.

“Hey, everybody, I’m Tracy Dole, and I’m with my good friend David A. Dawson. We’re looking for the area’s best desserts in Dessert First.”

“Cut! That looks good,” Curtis said.

We then shot the ending.

“That’s it for this edition of Dessert First. If you want to check out the recipes, go to my blog at Tracys Dessert First dot com. We’ll see you next time on Dessert First.”

Everyone thought we had what we needed, but there was something else I wanted to do.

“We have interior shots, but nothing outside. From what I’ve seen on other food shows like this, they want to help advertise the restaurant. We could say something like, ‘this time we’re at Granny’s West, where we’ll learn the secret of her famous cinnamon rolls,’” I suggested.

“Why don’t we have David do that part?” Tracy suggested.

They videoed me as I introduced each restaurant and what dish we would be showing. My classmates would come back tomorrow, when there was enough daylight, and film the front of the restaurants. We would use the sound from my intro and overlay on the video.

“Last, you need some theme music,” Marshal said.

“Where do I get that?” Tracy asked.

“Stop by after school, and I can show you the royalty-free music we have access to,” Marshal offered.

When we finished, I was happy. This had been fun.

Wednesday September 28
Picking up Brook wasn’t near as much drama when I went to the door to knock today. Chuck had dropped us off at school when I saw Tim and Wolf were arguing about something.

“Ask David,” Tim said as if I were King Solomon and would decide for them.

“What’s up, boys?” I asked, ready to pass judgment.

“Did you see that the San Francisco quarterback was kneeling during the National Anthem again?” Tim asked.

“Yeah, what about him?” I asked.

“I was taught that you stand for your country and you kneel for God,” Tim offered.

That sounded like an excellent idea for a t-shirt or a country song. I needed to write that down.

“I think he has a point. Black people in this country are treated differently by the police. He has a right to protest racism,” Wolf shot back.

“Before I tell you what I think, has anyone mistreated you because of your race?” I asked Wolf.

“I’ve had store security follow me around like I’m some kind of criminal,” Wolf complained.

Tim snorted.

“Tell him when,” Tim said.

Wolf gave his friend a dirty look, and suddenly, I knew. We’d all been in a sporting goods store buying t-shirts for our recruiting trips. Wolf had told us the security guard was watching him like a hawk and he wanted to leave. As we made our way to check out, the young woman had asked me for my autograph. Wolf still contended that she was a racist and had profiled him because he was black.

“You’re a dork,” I decided.

“David, that’s not nice,” Brook said to defend Wolf.

I made Wolf tell the story from his perspective and then let Tim share the rest. Brook didn’t say anything, but by her eye roll, Wolf knew she wasn’t buying his version of events.

“I think you’re both right,” I said weighing in. “I’m not a fan of doing something like this. Odds are you’re going to piss off a large part of your fan base. From a strictly business point of view, that’s just idiotic. People want to watch sporting events and forget about their troubles, not have someone’s political cause shoved into their face.

“I also can imagine what Coach Hope would think about one of us trying a stunt like that. Not only would he think it’s something that’ll distract us and reduce our focus on the game, but I would bet he would also take issue with disrespecting the flag.”

“Would you do it?” Brook asked me.

I could tell they wanted an honest answer, not just a quick quip.

“I would wager that the quarterback in San Francisco hasn’t thought this through. Last spring, I learned a valuable lesson about unintended consequences. His heart might be in the right place, but I bet that in the long run, he’ll personally regret doing it.”

“Why’s that?” Wolf asked.

“It’s already causing a media uproar.”

“Isn’t that what he wants, people talking about the issues he’s bringing up?” Wolf asked.

“What exactly is he protesting?” I asked.

“Doesn’t it have something to do with police brutality?” Brook asked.

“Are you sure?” I asked back.

“I think so,” Tim said.

“See, that right there is the problem. The issue has morphed. If you listen to the sportscasters, it’s about him kneeling, not what his cause is. I agree that racism is an important topic we need to talk about. That isn’t what this is turning into. It’s now about his right to protest and whether that includes disrespecting the national anthem and by extension, the country.”

“So why do you say he will ‘personally’ regret it?” Wolf asked.

“The National Football League is a business. What business owner wants an employee that’s a drain on income or gives your team negative press? Like I said. I love this country because you have the right to do and say what you want. Just remember, your actions have consequences. If an employee at one of my restaurants pissed off my patrons, he’d be out of a job.”

“I think people will respect him for taking a stand,” Wolf said.

“I’m sure that some people will. Personally, I’m all for his being passionate about righting wrongs. I just think he should have done it in another way. I think his message is lost in all this.”

“How would you go about it?” Brook asked.

“If I were thinking about doing something like this, I would call my publicist and figure out some other way I could help get that message out—a way that’s unifying rather than divisive and distasteful to a lot of people. As for the San Francisco quarterback, he has people he could talk to that are media-savvy. He’s a quarterback in the NFL. He has access to the media, and so he could get his message out another way. It might not get the same amount of attention he’s gotten with kneeling, but it wouldn’t have the negative aspects, either.”

Thankfully, the bell rang. I wanted to talk to Wolf more about his feelings on racism. If he felt uncomfortable about something, I wanted to know. I hadn’t realized the security person had made him feel as if he was being watched. I knew that Tim and I joked about it when it looked like the girl was watching me and wanted an autograph.

Racism wasn’t always some guy standing up and saying something ignorant like ‘we don’t want any of them around’—insert any variety of ‘them’ into the sentence. Racism had become much subtler. It hadn’t gone away. Not being black, I didn’t live it every day. If I were really one of Wolf’s best friends, I didn’t need to dismiss his feelings.

Friday September 30
My rift with Ava had been smoothed over. She’d told me I was welcome anytime. When Paul and I pulled up early to Brook’s to get her for school, I got out and just walked in the back door. I couldn’t find anyone, so I headed upstairs to Brook’s room. The door was shut, so I slowly opened it and peeked in. I didn’t see Brook, but I heard her in the walk-in closet, rooting around. I slipped in and quietly shut the door.

I quickly stripped, crawled onto her bed, and made a sexy pose.

“Okay, I’ll donate these ... David!” Ava screeched.

She had an armful of Brook’s clothes. Brook stuck her head out of her closet to see what her mom was complaining about. I quickly grabbed a pillow to cover myself.

Brook rolled her eyes, but Ava had gone an interesting shade of red. Her mouth opened and closed several times before she stormed out of the room.

“I thought she would never leave. Hurry up and get undressed. We don’t have much time,” I instructed.

“I think I better go stop her before she either calls the cops or your mom,” Brook said.

The last one grabbed my full attention. Brook followed her mom, and I heard raised voices. Even Mr. Happy knew this was a lost cause. I got dressed and joined them in the kitchen.

“David Allen Dawson,” Ava huffed.

How was it moms could get your undivided attention by saying your full name? I dropped my head in mock shame and gave her my newest move—the miserable-wet-puppy look. I tilted my head slightly to the right, made my bottom lip quiver and batted my eyes. I think the eye-bat was the problem because both Brook and Ava laughed at me.

“I’m not buying that for a second. What made you think you could just walk into my home and get naked in my daughter’s bed?” Ava asked.

“Oh, did I do something wrong? You said I was welcome anytime, and Brook always tells me I’m wearing too many clothes,” I said, going with the confused ten-year-old routine.

Brook tackled me and pushed me towards the back door. I winked at Ava as I was physically dragged out of the house.

“We will talk about this later,” Ava called as the back door was closing.

“Are you trying to piss off my mom?” Brook began as we settled into the back seat.

I tuned her out as she explained why I was a terrible boyfriend.

When we pulled up to school, Brook had finally wound down.

“We still have time. I can have Paul drive around while we get busy,” I suggested.

“Paul does not want to witness that,” Paul said, using the third person to describe himself.

For some reason, that made me want to do it more. I guess I should be thankful that my girlfriend was embarrassed for the both of us.

“What is your deal this morning?” Brook asked.

“Me so horny. You so sexy.”

Brook got out of the car, leaving me to deal with Mr. Happy who was ready to go.

“I guess you’re on your own. Welcome to the rest of the world,” Paul said.

It wasn’t the first time I wondered why I had a driver. I grabbed my book bag to strategically hide my arousal.

I found Brook with Cassidy who had her phone out, showing everyone pictures.

“They sent me pictures of the cubs,” Cassidy told me.

The tigers were getting big, and looked like they liked their new digs. I wouldn’t have wanted to hold them now. I was sure that Precious didn’t have anything on these cubs, and she half-scared me.

“I also received an invitation from a sanctuary called Lions Tigers & Bears in Alpine, California. They were the ones that transported the cubs to their new home. They would like for us to visit them when we go to California,” Cassidy said.

This was the first I’d heard that Cassidy was going to LA with me. She forwarded me the email from the rescue organization. It was one of the top-ten accredited exotic animal sanctuaries in the western hemisphere and one of the few that had the capability to do long distance rescues of fully grown big cats and bears. I also saw that they worked with the Wounded Warrior Battalion. Veterans volunteered their time to work with the animals. Those were two causes I was completely behind.

I forwarded the email to my mom and Caryn. I was sure Mom would want to see the pictures. I asked Caryn to check out Lions Tigers & Bears as a possible charity. If all was good, I would make plans to visit, donate money as a thank you for getting the cubs safely to Busch Gardens, and help them get some positive press. I made a point that if I did visit, I would want one of the veterans to show me around. That way both groups would get publicity.

A caravan of buses left Lincoln High for our contest with Eastside. Our marching band was going, and they planned a big halftime show with Eastside’s band. The Booster Club had also funded two buses for students who wanted to attend. Eastside expected a monster crowd for the rivalry game.

I was listening to my music when I noticed Wolf lean across the aisle and start to tease Johan. I quietly pulled one earbud away so I could hear them. This should be fun!

“Are you listening to both that country and western music?”

“Do I need to pray for you again?” Johan shot back.

Johan believed that the Devil had taken up residence in Wolf because Wolf was fascinated with his country-music-loving Mennonite friend. Wolf ignored Johan’s barb and plowed forward.

“Let me listen.”

Johan handed him his headphones and Wolf began to sing off-key with a drawl.

“Kickin’ back and drinkin’ whiskey ... Drivin’ my pick-’em-up truck is risky. Hey, we might get a bit crazy tonight ... Hey, girl, that’s alright ... It’s our farm boy Mennonite roots ... It’s just what we do.”

I was impressed that he made the lyrics up on the fly.

“Brothers! Join me in driving out the evil that is within this child. I beseech thee ... begone, demon!” Johan said to exorcise Wolf.

I’d found a new song for football, Here Comes the Boom. I put my phone on speaker and let it play.

Here comes the
Here comes the
Here comes the
Y’all don’t really want it now (BOOM!)
Here comes the (BOOM!)
Here comes the (BOOM!)

That got my friends to focus on something else, and everyone on the bus began to get fired up for the game. We were bouncing around and ready to go once we pulled into Eastside’s parking lot.

As we got off the bus, I saw Jeff Delahey. The documentary, aka reality TV series, aired its first episode on Wednesday. Jeff was a man of his word, and they’d eliminated all the artificial drama. I was glad to see that it wasn’t all about me. There’d been other nationally ranked quarterbacks at the camp, and they spent time getting their stories.

Michigan was another storyline. Jeff had interviewed other Big Ten coaches to get their take on the camp being held at Lincoln High. Ohio State didn’t disappoint when they all but called them cheats. The consensus was that it was within the rules and it was something the others would probably do in the future. Most colleges have a pipeline they like to keep open at some high schools. Having a camp would help solidify the relationship.

I thought Michigan’s coach was a genius. He planned to have three spring-practice days in Rome. While I was sure that the other schools would be jealous, it was a great marketing ploy for recruits. Who wouldn’t want to go to Rome?

Cassidy received some face time as she ran us through sixty minutes of hell. Coach Hope had also been featured, and they talked about his military service. He explained the origins of our exercise routine. Jeff told me he planned to spend a large portion of one episode on our training staff and Connor Fletcher, the strength and conditioning coach they’d hired for the team. Cassidy would also be featured in that segment. I felt they all deserved the recognition for what they’d done to get us ready. Jeff assured me that I would get a chance to share my thoughts about what they’d done for us.