The Jock

Tampa Florida, ten years earlier

Her
heart was breaking.

Gwenyth
Jones had been in love with Sam Trevianni for as long as she could remember.
And now he was getting married.

At
the tender age of five, little Gwen's heart had been lassoed and claimed by her
elder brother Harry's best boyhood friend, the then thirteen-year-old Sam. A
double-decker scoop of strawberry and banana flavored ice cream from
Mrs.
Hampton's Frozen Haven
was all it had taken. Heedless of the creamy
confection dripping from its cone and making a mess of her tiny fingers and
starched pinafore dress, Gwenyth had gazed up into Sam's bright blue eyes and
given her love to him then and there. He had given her a napkin in return with
strict instructions to "watch it, Cupcake".

At
the age of eight, Gwenyth cheered from the bleachers with all of her girlish
enthusiasm as she witnessed Sam slam home the run that would take him and his
high school baseball team to the state finals. After the game, Sam had thrown
her his #33 jersey with a wink and a grin. Before going to bed that night,
Gwenyth had inhaled his sweaty scent dreamily, closing her eyes and wishing the
wishes of an enamored eight-year-old girl. She had kept the shirt.

On
her thirteenth birthday, Gwenyth watched breathlessly as Sam swung his bat with
all he had in him and hit the ball clean out of the park. The bases had been loaded.
Two strikes and two balls had been called against him. Sam soared to the
heights of infamy that day. It was the same dramatic homerun that made a boy
into a man and a man into a sports legend. It brought him a multi-million
dollar contract with the New England Crusaders, prestige and commercial
endorsements, and more women than any one man had a right to lay claim to.

Sam
didn't throw his #15 jersey to Gwenyth that day. He threw that one to Wendy
Patterson, his then girlfriend. Yet Gwenyth still loved him.

Gwenyth
saw little of Sam after that. He moved to Boston and embarked on his new,
fast-paced career as baseball hero and his new, heady status as every woman's
fantasy come true. Men wanted to be in his confidence. Women wanted to be in
his bed. Everyone wanted to be his friend. And through it all, Gwenyth still
loved him.

On
her sixteenth birthday, Gwenyth was overcome with excitement when Sam pulled up
in his bright red Ferrari and flashed her the winsome, million-dollar grin that
endorsers from Nike to Wheaties couldn't get enough of. His pearly white smile
highlighted his tanned skin, dark hair, and true blue eyes. The fact that Sam
showed up at the family house with a gallon of strawberry and banana flavored
ice cream in tow only added to the exuberance of the occasion. "Happy
birthday, Cupcake." He smiled as he alighted from the inside of the sports
car. "How've you been?"

Gwenyth
gazed up and smiled nervously. "F-fine, Sam. I'm sixteen now, you
know."

He
grinned. "Uh huh. And as purdy as a picture you are, Cupcake."

Gwenyth's
heart raced. She knew she wasn't pretty. She was too pudgy to be pretty. But it
was the sweetest moment of her young life, hearing Sam say those words. She
smiled tremulously up at him as he reeled her in for a hug. At five feet and
six inches, the top of Gwenyth's head barely met the shoulders of Sam's
six-foot three-inch frame. She breathed in the scent of him and basked in the
feel of his muscled body enveloping hers.

This
was better than winning the photography contest she'd entered in at school.
Better even than strawberry and banana ice cream. This was Sam.

"Sam,
darling, who is that delightful little cherub you're hugging?"

Startled,
Gwenyth dropped her arms from around Sam's waist and watched as a drop-dead
gorgeous blonde with small, pert breasts and an aerobisized figure sauntered
from the Ferrari and into her worst nightmare. Gwenyth's dreamy lassitude gave
way to embarrassment as she remembered that the beautiful woman had called her
a cherub. A nice way of saying she was fat. Her cheeks flooded scarlet as she
pulled away from Sam and cast her eyes to the ground.

Sam
glared at Stacy from over Gwenyth's head. Stacy gave him a negligent shrug and
continued her promenade toward them. A superficial smile plastered on, the
bombshell held out her hand and offered it to Gwenyth. "Hi there. I'm
Stacy, Sam's fiancee. You must be Gwenyth."

Gwenyth
swallowed—painfully. Fiancée? Sam was getting married?

Her
heart breaking, she somehow found the strength to whip up a superficial smile
of her own. Gwenyth accepted Stacy's hand and shook it, the knot in her belly
twisting as painfully as the knife in her heart was wrenching. She wanted to
scratch the beautiful woman's eyes out. She wanted to call her names. But in
the end, she decided that discretion was the better part of valor. "Yes,
I'm Gwenyth. It's a pleasure to meet you," she murmured.

Stacy
smiled knowingly. As if she not only understood her anguish, but also welcomed
it—a fact that confused Gwenyth mightily. "Sam has told me so much about
you. May I call you Gwen?"

Gwenyth's
eyes narrowed. Only family and close friends called her by the shortened
"Gwen" rather than by "Gwenyth". She decided things should
stay that way. Valor only cut so deep after all. "No," she said
pointedly, "I prefer for
you
to call me
Gwenyth
."

Blushing,
Stacy dropped Gwen's hand and turned to Sam. He cleared his throat and grinned.
"Why don't you show us inside, Cupcake." He held up the gallon of
strawberry and banana ice cream, shaking the bag it was contained in as if he
expected her to start panting like a puppy that had just been tossed a bone
from the dinner table. "Wouldn't want this to melt."

Gwenyth
looked at the bag with the ice cream inside of it and then at her thighs.
Stacy's thighs were infinitely smaller. She stared at the paper bag container
again, then glanced down at her breasts. Stacy's were smaller and perkier. Hers
were big and bouncy. Gwenyth turned to Sam and glowered at him. "I'm on a
diet," she sniffed.

Before
he could respond to that assertion, Gwenyth announced that Harry was inside
waiting for him. "It was nice to see you again, Sam," she said as she
began to back away. "And it was nice to meet you, Stacy. If you'll excuse
me, I was on my way to the bay to take some pictures for photography
class." She whirled on her heel and ran all the way to the one place where
she was consistently able to find comfort.

Gwenyth
cried inconsolably for the better part of two hours, her teardrops falling from
her eyes and becoming one with the soothing, glistening waters of the bay.
Every dream that Sam would one day notice her came crashing down to reality.
Every fantasy that Sam would one day fall in love with her and marry her died
along with Stacy's announcement that she was his fiancee.

Harry
later found Gwenyth that way, crying and broken, but spoke not a word. He knew.
He understood. And terrific brother that he was, he said nothing that would
make it seem as though her adolescent heartbreak was a childish, trivial
matter. He rubbed her shoulders and sighed instead, waiting for her to finish
with her cry. And when she did, she rose to her feet and threw herself into her
brother's outstretched arms.

During
the walk back home that night, Gwenyth arrived at a conclusion that would
unconsciously guide her for many years to come. She would no longer place her
hopes and dreams in someone else's hands just to have them snatched back again.
She would no longer waste precious years or even hours of her life dreaming
about what could never be. Instead, Gwenyth would concentrate on what she could
have. She would carve out a formidable destiny for herself.

And
she'd never, ever dream about Sam Trevianni again.

Riverview Florida, Present Day

The
circle of men were naked. Butt naked. And beating on drums.

Good
Lord.

Gwenyth
Jones shook her head with an air of incredulous disbelief. When she had agreed
to shoot the photographs for her best friend Candy Crawford's expose piece on
the conservative National Association of Men, or
NAM
as they
referred to themselves, she had never expected to encounter
this
. What
the hell kind of conservatives rally in the buff? Of course, she quickly
reminded herself, the men of NAM
had no notion that their private party
was about to become very public.

Gwenyth
scanned the clearing of the forest with the keen eye of a trained photographer
accustomed to getting the picture. There were a total of twelve men, all of
them naked, all of them beating on their drums, NAM placards propped up behind
them against nearby tree trunks. A glimmer of excitement sparked in her eyes as
she considered for the first time not only what this would mean to Candy's
desire to join the leagues of the paparazzi, but the ramifications this event
would also have on her brother Harry.

They
would both win this battle. Gwenyth would see to it that the incumbent senator
looked as foolish as possible in tomorrow's early morning editions of the
Florida newspapers. And her brother would take his place in Washington DC.

Grinning
triumphantly, Gwenyth turned to Candy and nudged her. "Is Senator Green
here yet?" she whispered, not wanting the naked protesters to notice their
presence just yet.

Candy
smiled owlishly, her gum smacking as she chewed and talked simultaneously.
Gwenyth couldn't understand her best friend's desire to leave her lucrative
career in romance novel writing behind for a low paying job in the tabloids,
but that was Candy's decision. "Uh huh. That's him and his aide right over
there." She pointed toward the NAM round that was conspicuously propped
against one of the taller trees. "Take the picture, Gwen. It's a perfect
shot," she murmured.

Gwenyth
wasted no time. Candy was right. An ace in the hole photograph like this one
didn't come along every day. Senator Green and his aide were standing with the NAM
rounds visibly adjacent to them, naked men beating on drums everywhere within
their vicinity. She crouched down low on her knees, held the camera at an
angle, adjusted the zoom lens, and snapped away.