“Yeah. He’s going to be tough to stop. They all are. They came to play.”
Win was right. Kennedy’s success that season had been a Cinderella story: a team of football players who had picked up lacrosse to keep in shape during the off-season. Led by a young and inspiring coach, they had surprised the high school lacrosse community by beating teams with more experience and talent with their athleticism and sheer will.
Still, Elle was convinced Country Day would win. There had been the signs.
There was also the fair weather to consider. As Regina had noted, it was a lovely evening, clear and warm—perfect conditions for the Country Day players to display their superior stick skills, honed after years of attending the best camps money could buy. If it were raining or cold, Elle might be more concerned. It was when things got uncomfortable for Country Day kids that their weaknesses began to show. They would work hard, but there was a limit.
It wasn’t as if they were expected to get dirty in the muck of life with everyone else. At a certain level of discomfort, Country Day players decided it simply wasn’t worth it—why step in the mud and fight for a ground ball? They were somehow above it all, because they could be. The Kennedy students would expect life to be difficult, for things to be hard, and they would play as if every moment counted.
As the game had all the makings of a John Hughes 1980s movie—rich prep-school kids versus fledgling public-school program—there was more press in attendance than was usual for a high school game. Elle noticed a cameraman from a local TV station seemed to have his lens focused on Four. She could understand why. With his boyish good-looks, he was TV-ready.
Jimmy would have looked just like Four. Elle was sure of it. Would her brother have also played lacrosse? No, he wouldn’t have been into sports. He would have been artsy and musical. He would have started a band.
Elle wondered if Four was nervous. If so, he gave no indication of it. He appeared confident and wholly at ease, casually stretching with another player. Elle was excited for him, for this opportunity, yet she recognized he, too, was weak in the same way as all the other Country Day players.
What could she have done differently for Four? What should she do for him now?
Elle looked back toward the field and saw Ward pacing along the sidelines with two other dads, Charles and Westin.
The Three Wise Men. They epitomized the out-of-control competitiveness at Country Day Elle found so tiresome. They were the male equivalents to the women on the tennis court earlier that day.
Ward was a father living through his child. His chubby little sausage fingers had certainly never held a lacrosse stick, so it was imperative to him that his own son, Easton, excel. He pandered to the Country Day coaches like a desperate, sycophantic schoolboy jockeying for a spot at the cool kids’ table, shamelessly kissing ass to promote his son. Not only would Easton get all A’s, he’d also be the star of the team.
Charles was vested solely in the success of his own child, Cord, the only player he actively cheered for. Believing his experience as a high school football player qualified him to understand the subtleties of lacrosse better than anyone else, Charles was quick to point out the many mistakes he saw Country Day players make. But never Cord’s. Cord didn’t make mistakes—any penalties he received were all “bullshit calls,” while opponents who played with the same physicality were “hacks” and “cheap.” If the team lost it was never because of defensive mistakes, it was always blamed on a weak offense or bad reffing. There wasn’t a game where Charles didn’t exchange heated words with a parent on the opposing team.
Westin had been a standout lacrosse player at a small DIII school and couldn’t let go of his glory days. He knew the game and wouldn’t let you forget it. When his son didn’t make the best club team, he financed his own league. A firm believer in “daddy ball,” Westin never subbed his son out, padded his stats, and nominated him, over other more talented players, for the All-Star games. Because he was an expert, he also believed it was his responsibility to complain loudly and frequently to the referees about their calls. “C’mon, learn the game” was Westin’s go-to phrase as he shook his head and kicked the ground in disgust. If only everyone knew as much as he did.
Their wives were no better. They complained if their sons weren’t starting or didn’t get as many shifts as the other players. Some even used stopwatches to time how long their sons were on the field. (It was helpful to have supporting data when complaining to a coach.) A gaggle of menopausal-aged women mistaking themselves for high school cheerleaders, they fervently waved signs with enlarged pictures of their sons’ heads on them during games. In between shrieks of praise, they bragged about how talented and athletic their prodigies were and took plenty of pictures to post onto their Facebook pages. “Country Day wins again! Austin had 3 goals and 2 assists. SO proud of all his hard work.”
Elle was embarrassed by their vulgar display of . . . of what? Superiority? Is that what it was? “Look at us! Look at out how wonderful we are!”
No wonder everyone loved to hate Country Day.
The one thing all three men and their wives had in common was their unwavering desire to have their sons recruited to play Division I lacrosse. This meant everything. The ultimate status symbol. The most impressive piece of news to casually drop at a cocktail party. “Well, coaches from all the top schools wanted him, but he finally settled on Dartmouth. He’ll probably start as a freshman.”
To this end, Country Day families spent thousands of dollars on club teams, camps, recruiting showcases, and private lessons. Most players had personal trainers, nutritionists, speed and agility coaches, sports psychologists, and chiropractors. And as extra insurance to get recruited, Country Day parents also routinely held their sons back in eighth grade so they would be bigger, stronger and faster than their contemporaries and the ones to catch the eyes of coaches. If players still didn’t get picked up by their junior year, another common strategy to get recruited was for students to commit to an extra year of high school as a “post-graduate” at prep school, thereby giving them one more year to compete against younger players. The $60,000 price tag for tuition at prep school wasn’t a hindrance for the Country Day set. Far from it—it was thought to be a reasonable sum to ensure a verbal commitment to a good DI school. It wasn’t cheating; it was a wise investment.
As such, almost all the Country Day players had either been held back or were headed to prep school after graduation. Ward’s son had employed both strategies. Easton was a nineteen-year-old senior with an additional PG year of high school ahead of him. Never mind that he would graduate from college as a twenty-four-year-old man. He was committed to Johns Hopkins. Johns Hopkins!
Elle couldn’t understand the hysteria around playing a sport for which there was limited scholarship money and little to no financial gain post-collegiately. It wasn’t equivalent to football, basketball, or baseball, where the best players could go on to earn millions in high-paying contracts and endorsements. Most professional lacrosse players needed second jobs and made far less than the annual tuition at the schools where post-grad years were spent.
Perhaps that was the point. Country Day players didn’t need to worry about expensive tuitions, getting into exclusive colleges, or ensuring financial security after graduation. Success was a given for people like them. When all your peers were expected to do well, being a good lacrosse player was the best way to distinguish yourself. To be better than.
Elle found it all exhausting.
Then there was Win. Elle hugged her husband close, reminding herself again what a good man he was. The kind of man who, rather than complain when his children didn’t share his love of basketball, happily learned to ice skate so he could play hockey with them.
Sure, Win was proud of both of his children’s athletic achievements—he was particularly pleased when the Navy lacrosse coach expressed interest in recruiting Four—yet he was perfectly content to stand by himself during games and observe the competiti
ons calmly and with remarkable perspective.
That was the kind of man her husband was.
Elle wrapped her arm around Win’s. She was lucky. She could be married to someone like Ward, or Charles, or Westin. Elle would make it work. She had to.
Warm-ups over, both teams stood along the sidelines. There was a palpable, electric energy in the air. The Country Day players huddled together, jumping up and down, firing themselves up for the biggest game of the year.
Elle was excited for Four. She was. Yet as she looked over at the Kennedy bench, then back to the Country Day players, and then to Ward, Charles, and Westin, a part of her—a rather large part—suddenly and unexpectedly wanted the Kennedy players to win the game.
It would mean more to them.
Win or lose, the Country Day players would go home to their sport courts, their media rooms, their finished basements with wine cellars, granite bars, pool tables, and sports memorabilia signed by professional athletes hanging on the walls. They would still attend expensive camps, get new gear, and go on to elite colleges. Sure, holding the state championship title would make them happy, proud even, but it was somehow expected.
Elle looked at the Three Wise Men again. They were complaining loudly about how unfair it was that Thatcher wasn’t allowed to play, about how the headmaster was bowing to pressure from the Director of Inclusivity because it was the politically correct thing to do. “You know it’s only because Jacinda’s a minority. The school just wants to cover its ass.”
With their manicured hands, they leaned against lacrosse sticks of their own, as if they might be called in to play. In their bespoke suits and Ferragamo shoes—they hadn’t gone to the gym first—they seemed entirely out of place standing near the raw and athletic Kennedy players.
Yes, Elle wanted Kennedy to win. To absolutely crush the Three Wise Men’s massive egos. Could she really feel this way? Wasn’t it wrong to root against her own son? And what about all the signs pointing to a Country Day victory?
As the whistle blew and the game began, Elle was confused. Had she somehow misinterpreted the signs?
Chapter Fifteen
B∅RNS: “Electric Love”
January 28, 1994
6:45 p.m.
“I would think your boyfriend could have come up with a more original name for his club. ‘Samantha’s’ is a bit uninspired, wouldn’t you agree?” Mitch swirled around in the white leather and chrome barstool at Tak’s nightclub while Elle helped herself to a beer behind the bar. Opening time wasn’t until nine o’clock, so save a bartender who had gone to the stockroom to check inventory, they were the only two there.
“Not for someone whose first exposure to American culture was the TV show Bewitched. And c’mon, everyone loved Samantha. Even I had a crush on her.” Elle tried to be positive even though Mitch was being disingenuous—before meeting Tak, Samantha’s had been one of his favorite clubs. The drinks were cheap, good dance music was played, and—in another nod to Tak’s infatuation with American TV—it had been fashioned in the mold of Miami Vice: pastels, fake palm trees, and bouncers dressed like Sonny and Rico. Mitch loved how over-the-top cheesy it was and had originally been thrilled to learn Tak was the club’s owner. “He has a big dick, and owns a nightclub where we can drink for free. Score!”
Mitch’s initial enthusiasm for Tak had waned, however, once his status with Elle had progressed from that of an occasional hookup to boyfriend. A few booty calls now and again were one thing, but Elle’s relationship with Tak was beginning to interfere with the routine the two had developed, and that was not okay.
Elle got it. She didn’t blame Mitch. She’d probably be just as jealous if he suddenly had a boyfriend around, too. They had a good thing going, and the introduction of Tak into the equation altered their balance. Elle didn’t want things with Mitch to change. She was trying hard to maintain both relationships, but it was becoming more and more difficult.
The problem was, as much as Elle loved Mitch and valued their friendship, she had never been as physically attracted to a man as she was to Tak. He was so confident, always in charge, always in control. His overt masculinity turned her on. And Tak was the first man who had ever put Elle on a pedestal. He showered her with compliments and gave her thoughtful gifts every few days: a U2 bootleg cassette; a box of chocolates; a bouquet of her favorite flowers, yellow Gerber daisies. Who wouldn’t like that?
Mitch remained unimpressed. What did they even talk about? Tak could barely speak English and the only thing he ever seemed interested in discussing was soccer. He was increasingly territorial over Elle, had no sense of humor, and no real friends. His only companions, Mike and Johnny, were paid employees—bodyguards for a little rich kid pretending to be a tough guy. Mitch worried he was trouble.
It was true that Elle and Tak didn’t engage in much deep and meaningful discussion. He could understand most of what she said; that was enough. She found the quiet a welcome break from all the inane babbling at the Big YAC. Elle could always speak to Tak in Japanese if she needed to, but she had kept her knowledge of the language a secret. Being privy to conversations others believed she couldn’t understand had its benefits.
Yes, things suited Elle just fine the way they were and she wished Mitch could be more supportive. To appease him, she teased, “Well, Captain Nelson was also pretty easy on the eyes. We could always call it by that name.”
“Meh. I still say he could have done better.” Mitch looked around the bar. “Where is Mr. Pink, anyway?”
Mitch was really gunning for a fight now; he knew Elle didn’t like it when he referred to Tak with this nickname. (He had taken it from the name of a character in a movie they had recently seen together—Reservoir Dogs. Whereas Tak loved the movie, Mitch found it distasteful, too gratuitous in its violence and a perfect metaphor for everything he disliked about Tak, hence the nickname.)
Still, Elle refused to take the bait. She didn’t have it in her to argue. The late nights drinking at the Big YAC and then the after-partying at Samantha’s were taking a toll on her. She wanted nothing more than a mellow, drama-free evening. “He’s upstairs, in his office. He had some work to do. Why don’t we call it a night and go back to the apartment and veg out? I went to Blockbuster yesterday; we could get caught up on Twin Peaks.”
“Umm, how about ‘Things I don’t want to hear for two hundred dollars.’” Mitch shook his head. “Seriously, Elle, that’s weak. It’s been ages since we’ve had a proper adventure.”
Although it went against every fiber in her being, Elle knew she had to rally. Mitch was her best friend. If a night out with her would make him feel better, she would do it. If only she weren’t so tired . . .
“You’re right, I’m in!” Elle tried to sound excited. She pointed to the stacks of alcohol on the shelves behind her in the bar. “What’s your pleasure? A brewski? Perhaps a shot?”
“I’d take another Kirin.”
“You got it!” As Elle drew Kirin from a tap, she had a flash of her mom doing the exact same thing in the dark bar from her childhood. Elle shivered uncomfortably and got goose bumps, but rationalized what she was doing was different. It’s not like she was going to spend the rest of her life working at a bar. Elle was just having fun. She and Mitch were smart. They were going to do cool, interesting things. This was simply a little pause before hitting play on their real lives.
Elle didn’t often think of her mom. Their last contact had been in December when Elle had sent her a Christmas card with two 10,000-yen notes inside. It was as impractical a gesture as it was impersonal. What would Bobbie do with Japanese yen? Maybe it was Elle’s subconscious way of proving her success; she could toss around $200, no problem.
In return, her mom had sent a tiny red bear. Like Elle would want a stuffed animal called a Beanie Baby. It was a lame gift, but she didn’t expect anything more. Bobbie simply didn’t get her, nor had she ever tried to.
Whatever.
Elle didn’t want to think about her mo
m. It would inevitably lead to thoughts of Jimmy. No, she needed to focus on having fun with Mitch and she could sense from his body language he was still in a pissy mood. She should change it up. “So where should we go? Do you want to try someplace new?”
Mitch ignored her question. “What exactly is it that Johnny and Mike do for Mr. Pink, anyway? I mean, don’t you think it’s odd the way they follow him around like two lost little puppy dogs?”
“I don’t know,” Elle answered truthfully. She hadn’t ever given it much thought. Maybe their relationship with Tak was strange, but who cared? If the evening was going to be saved, Elle needed to get Mitch out of his funk. She tried another approach, asking, “What do you think about the bartender, Kenji—he’s cute, no?”
Elle had noticed the way Mitch lingered around the bar when Kenji was working and suspected there was something there. Kenji was his type—lithe and pretty—and he seemed flattered by Mitch’s attention.
“He’s sweet, but I don’t think he plays for my team.”
“You don’t think so? I get the feeling he kind of likes you.”
“Well, maybe, but I’m not so sure this would be the right place to test the theory. I don’t think your boyfriend would approve.”
Oh, so that’s what this is all about. Mitch was upset she hadn’t told Tak he was gay. Maybe he had a right to be. “I’m going to tell him. Really. It just hasn’t come up yet, that’s all. I can go tell him right now if you want.”
Mitch shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt his . . . working.” He emphasized the word working, putting quotation marks with his hands around it. “Seriously, why would a guy with an MBA from the University of Tokyo own a nightclub? Shouldn’t he have some big-time job?”
Elle sighed. She really didn’t want to fight. “Tak’s dad is high up at Sony, so he has a ton of pressure on him. He just wants to take some time off before starting an office job.” Elle wanted to add “kind of like us” but thought better of it.
Grannie Panties Are UnderRated Page 12