Susanne Novan: Driven

“Huh?” Catherine’s head came up with a snap, and she blinked as if coming out of a daze.

“The press is gonna be coming in soon, kid. I know you could use the exposure, but I don’t think this is exactly the sort you had in mind. Maybe some

clothes...?”

Hodge visibly drew herself together. “Uh..yeah. Right. Stall them for me, will you?”

“Sure, kid. And Hodge?”

“Yeah, Coach?”

“You were damn good out there. Way to go.”

Hodge’s smile threatened to split her face. “Thanks, Coach.”

*****

Dylan tossed her keys on the small table to the right of the door, shifting out of the way as her two dogs, Siegfried and Brunhilde, bounded past and chased each other around the large foyer. Rolling her eyes at their antics, she stooped to retrieve her mail, idly leafing through the envelopes as she made her way through the parlor and into the rarely used kitchen.

“Junk, junk, a nasty letter from Manny, junk, and more junk.” Tossing the mail down on the chef’s island, she looked down at the dogs who were sitting at attention, awaiting their nightly meal. “Haven’t I taught you to kill the mailman yet?”

The large Dobermans stared back at her, heads cocked. Dylan snorted. “Some guard dogs youare.”

After filling their bowls with kibble, Dylan exited the kitchen and walked into the large, tastefully appointed living room. Chrome, glass, and modern art dominated the room, but did little to detract from its almost sterile air. Grabbing the remote from one chrome and glass end table, she switched on the

large flat screen television which stood proudly between the two huge French doors facing the back of her property.

ESPN was replaying the closing seconds of the game she’d just seen, and she paused for a moment to watch Catherine Hodges sink the winning bucket as

time expired. “Oh yeah,” she said softly to herself. “She’ll do nicely.”

A glance down at the phone caused her smug grin to fade. “Twenty two messages. Christ.” One long finger flipped through the caller ID display, deleting messages and the phone numbers attached to them with impunity. It was only when she got to the fifth call from Manny Blum, a pain in the ass disguised

as her agent, that she pressed the “play” button, wincing as the whining voice came through the small speaker.

“Dylan, this is Manny. Remember me? The short, skinny guy who gets paid to represent you? We need to talk, sweetheart. Those Nike idiots aren’t

getting any younger, and if I show up empty handed one more time, sweets, they’re gonna shove a size 14 golf spike up my ass, understand? C’mon, D, just

call me, will ya?”

“Maybe I should call Nike and tell them to make it a size 16,” Dylan remarked to the air as her finger jabbed down on the “erase” button. She knew she’d eventually have to break down and call the little bastard, but she was deriving too much sadistic pleasure out of watching him twist in the wind to give in

to the inevitable just yet.

She scowled at the next number displayed and, just for perversity’s sake, played the message.

“Dylan? Hi, this is Hunter.”

“Oh goody. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dumb as a Rock.”

“I just wanted you to know that I had a great time last night.”

Dylan snorted. “That makes one of us.”

“And I was wondering if maybe we could do it again sometime.”

“When pigs fly.”

“I have a couple of passes to the premier of my new movie, Death by Desire. We could get together for that, if you want. Anyway, I guess that’s it. Justwanted to tell you I was thinking about you.”

“You can think without a brain. I’m impressed.”

“Night, Dylan. Sweet dreams.”

“Maybe, but not of you.” Shaking her head, she erased the message, chuckling softly to herself. “God, give me strength. I’d hate to have to hurt him.”

Brunhilde came bounding into the living room, followed close behind by her brother, and pressed her cold, wet nose into Dylan’s cloth covered belly. Dylan chuckled, giving both dogs a fond scratch behind the ear. “Alright, I get the picture. It’s 3 a.m. and you guys need your beauty sleep. Let’s get to bed.”

Upon hearing their favorite word, both dogs raced for the bedroom, leaving their mistress to turn off the television and lights, and follow behind.

Dylan’s bedroom was cool and calming, done up in various shades of blue. Her king sized bed beckoned invitingly, and she walked over to it, stepping over two sprawled canines as she stripped off her clothes before slipping, naked, between the soft cotton sheets.

Propping herself up on one elbow, she reached for the thick stack of dossiers laid atop her nightstand, and pulled them onto the bed. Sharp eyes danced

across the lines she’d read a thousand times before. These young women were the best of the best, each one possessing a particular skill which would

make her invaluable the team lucky enough to draft her.

And though she read each folio carefully, Dylan’s mind had been made up long before this night. She flipped to the last folder in the stack and smiled at the earnest green eyes staring back at her. She quickly scanned the already memorized statistics.

Five foot five, one thirty five, blonde hair, green eyes. Good health. Average student heading for a degree in elementary education. Mother, father, nine siblings all alive and living in Bridgeport Connecticut. Father a machinist in a textile plant. Mother a waitress in a greasy spoon. Supportive family. She didn’t smoke, she didn’t do drugs, she had no juvenile record. Good work ethic, glowing reports from all of her coaches. Her physical abilities spoke for themselves, but it was the person looking back at Dylan from behind those eyes that convinced the young coach that her decision was the right one.

Nodding with a sense of final satisfaction, Dylan closed the folder, replaced it on the stack, and moved the entire mess back onto her nightstand. A flick of a finger and the room was plunged into blackness.

A moment later, Dylan was asleep.

*******

Hodge did her absolute best to ignore the merciless teasing at her expense. As if it were somehow her fault that that her very own personal hero, Dylan

‘The Goddess’ Lambert had been in the crowd.

“Would you guys just knock it off? I’m sure she was only there as a fan.”

“Riiiight.” Kellie gave her friend a gentle punch to the arm. “Sure she was.”

Tonya nodded her agreement. “Yeah, like Dylan Lambert doesn’t have better things to do than watch college ball. I read last week that she’s dating Hunter Locke.”

The other girls ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed’. Several fanned their faces.

Tonya laughed. “You got that right, girlfriend. I just saw the promos for his new movie last week and if I had a choice between going to a stupid game and spending time with that wonderful hunk of man flesh, you knowwhich one I’dchoose.”

Laughter filled the air.

Hodge just shook her head. “Yeah.” She shouldered her backpack and continued toward the dorm. “Anyhow, I’m sure it was nothing.”

“Okay Miss Denial, this is where we part company. You are planning on going out with us tomorrow night to celebrate, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Kellie. I’ll catch you guys tomorrow.”

She watched as Tonya and Kellie split off and took another path across the quad. Once they were out of sight, she turned to continue her trek to her dorm.

Once in her room she tossed down her backpack and flipped on a small desk lamp. There was just enough light to cast the room in a warm glow and soft