Kerri telephoned Billy Ray Vincent, an aging black linebacker and one of Brian's teammates. In happier times, Brian had introduced Vincent to her as his closest friend on the team. Vincent, a giant of a man, deeply religious and nondrinker, was happily married. He lived with his wife and four children in nearby Port Washington. "It's Kerri, Kerri Pyper," she announced, agonizing over making the call and revealing the details of a very personal and sensitive problem to an individual she barely knew.
"Hi, Kerri. How you doin'?" Vincent asked.
"I'm fine, but Brian isn't... That's why I called... I was hoping you would help him."
"Did that old dog hurt himself again?"
"No...It's much more serious than that... He's drinking heavily and if he doesn't stop, he's going to ruin his health and his career."
"I'm very sorry to hear that, Kerri. That must be hell for you. How can I help?"
"I would be grateful if you would try to get him to understand what he's doing to himself. He has an enormous amount of respect for you, and if anyone can do it, you can."
Brian rested the back of his head against the rim of the whirlpool, then closed his eyes and allowed the jets of hot water to massage and stimulate the circulation in his injured knee. Thoughts of Tina DeSouza and soon returning to Runway Thirty-eight danced in his brain.
"You sleeping it off?" Vincent asked, then placed his strong black hand on the top of Brian's head and pushed downward, completely submerging his head.
Hot water splashed in all directions as Brian hoisted himself to an upright position. He glared at Vincent. "What the hell was that for?"
"I'll tell you what the hell, Pyper. You're blowin' it. You're pissing away a once in a lifetime opportunity."
"What kind of bullshit is this? I don't know what you're talking about."
"I know you do, Pyper, and that's what I'm talkin' about. I've known a whole hell of a lot of guys with less than half your talent. They made it in this league because they were motivated and focused. They made it because they looked after their bodies and their minds. You know the history of this league is replete with the sad endings of super talented washed up drunks?"
"Where the hell do you get off, Vincent? What I choose to do with my mind and body is my business, not yours."
Vincent frowned and glared at Brian. "I'll tell you where I get off. Someone who loves you very much cared enough to call me last night. She was real upset, Pyper. She told me you're drinkin' your way into oblivion. You better smarten up or you're goin' to find yourself out on the street with all those other washed up million dollar hotshots who thought they were indestructible."
Vincent's confrontation succeeded only in alienating Brian, clouding his mind with contempt for another individual who had dared to invade his privacy. "You have no fucking right to tell me how to live my life! It's none of your business!" He jumped from the bath and headed for his locker.
Brian slurped a large and very dry martini as he paced his kitchen floor. "I'll put an end to this crap once and for all!" he vowed.
Kerri entered her apartment at seven fifteen, shivering from the cold and tired from a long work day. Her fatigue was forgotten when she saw Brian moving toward her as fast as he could hobble. She saw anger in his eyes. Before she could remove her coat, he seized her right shoulder with his left hand and slapped her face as hard as he could with his right. "That's for Billy Ray!" he shouted. "Next time you decide to tell someone how you think I should live my life, tell me first."
The stinging pain of the blow caused Kerri's knees to buckle. The shock and surprise of being hit by her husband for the first time brought tears to her her eyes. She trembled in fear of being hit again.
"Why?" Brian bellowed, his face contorted with rage.
The smell of alcohol turned Kerri's stomach. "You're hurting my arm," she screamed.
The moment Brian released her, she fell backward against the wall, then slowly sank to a fetal position. She buried her face in her hands. "All I wanted to do was help you," she sobbed, fighting an urge to criticize.
"Don't do me any more favors," Brian said, then opened the closet door beside Kerri. He removed his winter coat and left the apartment, slamming the door behind him.
Devastated and more alone than ever, Kerri remained on the floor for a long time, pondering her marriage and worrying about its future.