Running to Stand Still

....Back at the hotel lobby in College Station, where the Rice track
team called home for 2 and a half days, Sherry Mitchum sat on a
barstool working on her fourth scotch of the evening.

To say that her day's work had been a failure would have been an
overstatement, but when she considered the stiff competition her team
was up against, the fact that Rice sat way down in 7th place after one
day's events all but eliminated them from having any shot at placing
in the top three after Sunday's finale.

There had been a few bright spots during the afternoon, but as Sherry
stared at the hypnotic allure of the ice cubes floating in her glass
of booze, all she could focus on was the painful reality of many lost
opportunities.

On so many levels, Sherry wanted desperately to do well at the final
meet of the season. It was the final meet in the coaching career of
her own mentor and coach, Gloria Monroe. There were four seniors on
the team that would competing in their last meet as well, and sending
them out on top was something Sherry bitterly wanted to see come to
fruition. And selfishly, it was also her last chance, in the heat of
battle, to show that she was a worthy candidate to replace Gloria
Monroe as the head coach after the season.

The list of mistakes, some real and some imagined, that bounced around
Sherry's head following the meet thankfully subsided slightly as she
soothed those voices with the alcohol.

"God..I hope nobody sees me in here," The guilty part of Sherry's
conscience whispered internally as she meekly surveyed her
surroundings.

Not wanting to sustain eye contact with anyone, Sherry only made a
couple of cursory scans over both shoulders, determining that
thankfully, there were no familiar faces closing in on her in the
smoky room.

Safe in the knowledge she was undetected, Sherry quickly finished off
Scotch #4 and gestured for the bartender to bring her #5.

Sherry wasn't an alcoholic. There was no way in the world that she
could be. She didn't drink everyday, barely even more than once or
twice a week. On the rare occasion when she did, she never caused a
ruckus or made the nightly news. The fact that she did tend to lose
large chunks of time to memory didn't phase her in the least, it was
merely a byproduct of all the stress she was under.

Ever since her college days, the clarity that came with losing herself
in a bottle of fermented escape had been a handy tool in dealing with
life's little setbacks. Without the support of her husband around to
talk her through it and not particularly keen on the idea of staying
up in her hotel room all night brooding over the day's failures,
Sherry felt she was right where she needed to be as her fingertips
clutched the cold side of the glass of her freshly delivered drink.

Being a reasonably attractive and fit young woman sitting on a plush
hotel lobby barstool, nursing her fifth glass of scotch all by
herself, Sherry Mitchum shouldn't have been surprised that she was a
sitting duck for the shark-like advances of several available men in
the room.

As she prepared to take her first sip of her new drink, Sherry felt
the shadowy presence of someone easing up on her left. Inhaling,
Sherry's nostrils started to twinge from the overwhelming odor of Brut
cologne filling her lungs.

Fighting off the urge to yell out "YUCK!", Sherry turned slightly
towards the approaching man just as he was asking if he could buy her
a drink.

Not even taking the time to make eye contact with the stranger, Sherry
subtly flashed the gold wedding band on her left hand upwards and
politely responded, "Thanks...but I already have one," to the kind
gentleman.

Watching out of the corner of her eye as the third guy of the night,
who had tried approaching her, crouched back to his buddies across the
bar, Sherry made a casual gesture to herself of shooting the fellow
down in his tracks as he sauntered away.

Taking a long, slow sip of her drink, Sherry felt her insides warmly
tingle as the smooth booze provided its desired effect.

"One more and I'll head back up to the room...I need to get some
sleep," Sherry mumbled internally.

As the bottom of the glass came into view for the fifth time of the
evening Sherry altered her stance slightly. "Maybe...just one more."

"Another Sir," Sherry belched out to the bartender as she tapped the
top of her empty glass.

"Here you go Ma'am," the blurry image of the young bartender offered
as he sat scotch #6 down in front of the drunk married woman.

"This one's on the house," he continued. "Guy over there paid for it."

Sherry grasped the glass of liquor tightly in her hand and savored the
comforting feel of the cold glass in her palm before looking across
the bar to see where the bartender was pointing. Her vanity over the
past year or so had prevented her from admitting that she needed to
look into the possibility of getting glasses or contacts.

Peering about 20 feet through the murky, smoke-filled light of the
bar, Sherry could barely make out the face of the man that had bought
her the drink.

The fact that the scotch had made her pupils jump in their sockets as
if they were a vcr, that's tracking was broken, made it that much
harder for Sherry to make out the stranger's face as he started
towards her.

"The lighting in here sucks," Sherry drunkenly tried convincing
herself, not wanting to face the reality that her consumption was the
main culprit in her inability to see clearly.

As bad as her vision was, Sherry could still discern the vague
masculine blob that the bartender had pointed at, weaving his way
through the maze of patrons blocking the path to his prey.

Sherry hadn't spent a lot of time in bars since her binge days back in
college. The tried and true instinctual knowledge of what happened in
those alcohol infected meat markets never left her however.

Returning her gaze forwards, all Sherry needed was her nose once again
to tell her when the dapper middle-aged man, was about to brush up
against her left shoulder. As soon as the first whiff of his powerful
cologne registered in Sherry's brain, she turned slyly and flared a
castrating smile directly at the approaching gentleman.

"I couldn't help noticing you from across the way...you are a very
beautiful woman!" Sherry heard the kind man offer.

"Thank you," Sherry replied, feeling a strange sense of giddy
appreciation from the stranger's honest but forthright comment.

The two had made small talk for a few minutes when Sherry realized she
wasn't using any of her 'defense mechanisms' to ward off her suitor.
Looking down pensively at the gold band on her finger, Sherry
vacillated over whether or not to make the blatant gesture to show the
man to her left that she was married.

Sherry could distinctly feel her rational mind losing sway over her
actions with every drink she downed but she thankfully still had
enough fortitude in reserve to motion her arm upwards so that the
gentleman could clearly see her wedding band.

Subtly waving her left hand back and forth in front of the stranger's
face, Sherry stared at him, waiting for his expression to show that he
realized she was married. She clearly saw that his eyes had focused on
the rock resting on finger but Sherry's heartbeat nearly stopped when
the gentleman seemed to simply pay it no care.

Sensing the man didn't mind in the least she was married, Sherry
suddenly felt the butterflies in her belly start to flutter madly, her
nerves now on edge as the stakes of her little game of flirtation were
greatly raised. Squirming on the stool, Sherry started to jitterly pan
her vision across the room to scope out the available exits and
bathrooms around the bar in case she needed to make a break for it.

Still, the playful and empty part of Sherry's drunken side wanted to
soak up all the admiration it could. "So what do you do?" Sherry asked
with a curious gleam.

"I'm a doctor...vascular surgeon from Salt Lake City...I'm here for a
conference...my name is Steve...Steve Rinson," the slightly graying
older man answered with a broad, confident smile.

"Wow...a surgeon," Sherry quickly countered. "Then I bet you know the
quickest way to a woman's heart don't you."

Both Steve and Sherry giggled joyously for a few moments as their
gazes became more and more entrenched upon each other.

"So...what do you do?" Steve volleyed.

"OH...I'm just a lonely housewife," Sherry lied.

"With a body like that," Steve quickly answered," You must spend ever
minute of your free time at the gym."

"AAAHH...Thank you," Sherry blushed, suddenly feeling her panties heat
up.

"So are you staying here...at the hotel," the friendly older gentleman
asked with a hint of invitation.

"No," Sherry lied once again. "I'm just here waiting for a friend."

The doctor immediately started to see through Sherry's fibs,
especially the last one. He had spent the better part of 30 minutes
sitting across the bar watching her and had seen, with his own eyes,
that the only time Sherry had looked up from her drink was when she
wanted to order another one. "Not the behavior of a woman waiting for
someone," he confidently told himself.

Sensing Sherry was playfully leading him on and deciding that a more
attractive opportunity probably wasn't going to present itself for the
rest of the evening, the Salt Lake City vascular surgeon attempted to
make his move.

When he placed his left hand firmly down on the counter, both
symbolically and literally cutting off Sherry's route of escape, the
28 year old track coach suddenly felt as if her game of flirtatious
chicken had gotten out of hand.

Looking down at the surgeon's hand with her blurred pupils, Sherry
could see the tendons in Steve's hand rippling underneath his tanned
skin as if his blood was boiling with the expectation of sleeping with
her.

"I..ah..I ah..can't," Sherry drunkenly babbled, butchering any attempt
to make a forceful stand for herself.

Sherry turned her nervous gaze to where the bartender had been
standing, hoping to find any friendly face that might help her out of
the jam she had put herself in. Her hopes were dashed however, when
the kind younger man, who had supplied her drinks all night, had
dropped anchor further down the bar with a young woman who wasn't
exactly playing hard to get.

Looking back at the older man over her left shoulder, Sherry could see
he was patiently waiting for her to submit to his advances. Tightly
clenching her thighs together on the barstool, Sherry prayed she could
just disappear.

Mustering the courage to raise her eyes to his so she could let him
have it verbally, just as she was about to open her mouth, Sherry saw
the surgeon freeze as if he had been stabbed. Recoiling back against
the cushioned seat behind her, Sherry saw a large white hand rise from
the darkness and take Steve Rinson by the shoulder, effectively
tearing his attention away from her.

Thankful someone, anyone, had interrupted the stranger before he was
about to invite Sherry up to his room, when Sherry saw who the person
was that had actually bailed her out however, she sunk back even
further into her seat from overwhelming embarrassment.

* * * * *

Around 45 minutes earlier, on the dare of several of the Seniors on
the track team, Pablo Sandivere took the fake ID he had purchased
earlier in the school year and successfully used it to gain entry into
the lobby bar of the hotel Rice's track team was staying at.

The four boys he was with all sat inconspicuously at one of the booths
in the far corner of the bar, resting their bones from a hard day of
competition.

While the five boys lapped up the attention of many of the older and
more elegant female barflies scattered around the bar, they were all
too tired to even think about making a connection. Any opportunity for
extracurricular hi-jinx was out of the question knowing they all had
to be back in their rooms by 10 p.m. for curfew and bedchecks.

The fact though, that they were five muscular and in-shape college
aged men did not prevent several of the women there from at least
trying.

"This could be like fishing in a barrel, if we wanted," Clyde, one of
the 22 year old Seniors on the team commented with a laugh as he
chugged his Coors Light.

Pablo, being the only one in the group that was in the bar illegally
and still not particularly comfortable in dealing with American women,
spent most of the evening following the leads of his older protégés
and only on occasion, stealing a glance or two at the inviting female
creatures that were deliciously eyeing him.

Midway through his second beer, Pablo felt his bladder start a slow
burn and decided he would get up to relieve himself. As he walked to
the men's room, the partially obstructed vision of a vaguely familiar
face caused him to curiously stop in his tracks. Turning his head
slightly to his left for a better angle, Pablo felt his insides start
to roll when he saw who it was.

"OH Shit," He bristled internally in his broken English. "That's coach
Mitchum over there...I better not let her see me."

* * * * *

Sinking back into her seat as far as she could, there was a cartoonish
expression of morose shock etched across Sherry's face as she
helplessly watched the next 60 seconds unfold.

When the hand that had grabbed Steve Rinson by the shoulder forcefully
swung the doctor's trim, lanky frame around to the side, Sherry was
finally able to see the person that had come to her rescue.

"Pa...Pa....Pablo, " Sherry voice cracked like a pubescent teenagers.

The already blinding lights and dense fog that filled the bar room
suddenly grew even more intense as Sherry sat there almost paralyzed,
her only movement being her lips hinging up and down, her hiccup like
breaths seeping out randomly into the heavy air.

The blood pumping rapidly through Sherry's ears combined with the loud
music piping out of the bar's sound system, preventing her from
hearing what the surgeon and Pablo were saying to one another,
although Sherry could clearly tell the exchange wasn't pleasant.

Watching as the veins strained in both men's neck, Sherry swiveled her
head across the bar and searched for the bartender, hoping he could
somehow diffuse the situation before it got out of hand.

Internally knowing it was one of her own student athletes involved in
the altercation, Sherry felt she was responsible for putting a stop to
the verbal fracas, but awash in drunken embarrassment and numb
paralysis, Sherry simply couldn't coax her body to action.

When the presence of two bouncers quickly rushed to the scene, their
muscles and flabby bellies stretching their ugly yellow shirts to the
max, it wasn't long before the doctor was escorted out one way and
Pablo was taken out the other.

With the two men removed, Sherry immediately felt every eye in the
room suddenly lock onto her, looking to see who the woman was that had
been at the epicenter of the testosterone laced display.

Feeling the booze in her stomach start to rapidly slosh around, rising
like lava jutting up the rocky chute of a volcano, Sherry flailed her
legs out onto the floor and made a break for the elevator to get
herself upstairs and away from the curious and mocking stares.

Sherry beat such a hasty retreat from the bar that she totally forgot
she didn't pay her tab. Finding the closest planter she could, Sherry
loudly threw up twice, right into the soil of the flowers that adorned
the hotel's posh lobby.

Once she had wiped away what evidence of her embarrassment that she
could, Sherry glided unsteadily towards the elevator as several
patrons curiously watched her.

Hitting the fourth floor button on the elevator's keypad, a vague
realization festered in Sherry's mind. When she frantically exploded
off the barstool to escape her Hellish ordeal, out of the corner of
her eye, Sherry swore she saw the glimpses of several familiar faces
in the far corner of the bar. "That can't be," Sherry pleaded to
herself, praying those familiar faces weren't more of the athletes
from her track team.

Pouncing out the elevator door as it opened and making a sloppy
beeline for her room, the myriad of consequences that could result
from her visit down to the bar started to hound Sherry Mitchum
relentlessly.

* * * * *

15 minutes later, Sherry was pacing from one end of her hotel suite to
the other, feeling as if she was on a witness stand with 10 different
prosecutors questioning her at the same time.

"How can I ever expect those kids to respect me after seeing me in
that kind of shape,"..."What if word gets back to Coach
Monroe,"..."God, this is gonna kill my chance at the
promotion,"...."How will I be able to look any of those guys in the
eye tomorrow,"..."How in the Hell am I going to be able to even drag
myself out of bed with the hangover I'm gonna have when I wake up,"
...."Oh Shit, What if word gets back to Mark that I was talking to
another man while I was away,"...."AND DAMN....I DIDN'T EVEN PAY THE
BAR TAB BEFORE I RAN UP HERE!!!"

Rocking side to side hesitantly in her 3 inch high heels, Sherry
walked back and forth across the carpet in a frenzy, mentally
surveying each of the questions until the last one caused her to stop
dead in her tracks. Standing in front of her crisply made bed, Sherry
slowly came to realize that not only had she been caught by several of
her team members, drunkenly flirting with a stranger, now she was also
a fugitive.

In a habit she had learned early in childhood, Sherry lifted her hand
up to her mouth, parting her lips slightly before nervously biting
down on her knuckle. Just then however, there was a loud knock at her
door causing the 28 year old woman to yelp out from irrational fright.

"GGEEZZUUSS...CHRIST," Sherry bellowed, feeling as if the walls of the
hotel room were starting to close in on her.

Standing with her back to the door, Sherry felt as if her feet were
stuck in concrete, preventing her from shifting her body around to see
who as at the door. Holding her breath for several moments, Sherry
closed her eyes hoping the visitor would just go away.

"I just know its the police...how in the fuck am I ever going to
explain this?" Sherry asked herself, on the verge of tears, as the
echoing sound of knocking filled her ears once again, this time louder
than before.

"Sherry...it's me...It's Gloria...are you in there...I just wanted to
see if you could come help me with the bedchecks...Sherry...." Coach
Monroe offered in a friendly tone after knocking for the third time.

For a brief instant, Sherry felt a wave of relief roll through her
entire body knowing it wasn't the cops at the door. As Gloria Monroe's
voice echoed in her head however, Sherry squirmed knowing she'd have
to explain her action in the bar to her boss and mentor. The fact that
Pablo was the one that had been forcefully removed from the bar for
underage drinking and causing a disturbance didn't even register.
Looking up into the mirror hanging on the wall, Sherry instantly
recoiled at the sight of herself, knowing that somehow the story was
going to end up being more about her than about the Freshman's
indiscretion.

"O...aahhh...O...K...OK..Gloria...I'm coming...I'll be right there,"
Sherry blurted, her body going through a series of spastic, nervous
twitches as she forced herself to move.