Mitch smirked. “How nice. Lucky Mr. Pink.”
Elle was annoyed. She was doing her bit, why couldn’t Mitch? Maybe they should leave. Being at Tak’s place wasn’t a good idea. “Let’s chug these and bolt.”
“Alrighty.” Mitch started to put his mug to his lips, but set it down when he saw Kenji approach, carrying several cases of beer. “Do you need some help?”
“I okay!” Kenji tried a half bow, which caused the heavy cases to shift unsteadily in his arms.
“Here, let me help you.” Mitch stood and lifted a case of beer out of Kenji’s arms.
“Ah . . . thank you!”
Elle saw this as a perfect opportunity to leave Mitch and Kenji alone to talk. “I’m gonna go say good-bye to Tak, then we can go, okay?”
Mitch nodded. “Yeah, sure.”
Elle hoped getting his flirt on with Kenji would kill the bug up Mitch’s ass. If not, it was going to be a long night. She walked past the dance floor and up a long stairway to Tak’s office. As the room also had a futon and a small bathroom with a shower in it, her boyfriend often crashed there when he was too tired or too drunk to go home.
Elle was trying not to think about all the drunken girls Tak had likely entertained on his office futon when two young Japanese men suddenly bolted down the stairs past her, nearly knocking her over. WTF? She made a mental note to tell Tak; he would make sure it didn’t happen again. Elle reached the top of the stairs and Tak’s office. The door was closed. She knocked. When no one answered, she knocked again. “Tak, it’s me, Elle.”
Johnny opened the door, then quickly stepped into the hallway, shutting the door behind him. He bowed deferentially to Elle and asked her to wait a minute. As he spoke, his tongue protruded out from behind a broken front tooth. It reminded Elle of a snake preparing to strike. She wondered why he wouldn’t get this fixed. It wasn’t a good look. Maybe he thought it made him look tough.
Elle was irritated. “Let me in.”
“Hai. Hai.” Johnny nodded but stood in front of the door, blocking Elle’s entry.
“Seriously, Johnny. I’m not in the mood for this.” Elle was being bitchy and taking her frustration with Mitch out on Johnny, but she couldn’t help it. This was pissing her off. “I’m going in!” Elle pushed her way past Johnny and opened the door.
As she entered, there was a bit of commotion. Clearly, Elle had walked in on something; she just wasn’t sure what.
Tak hastily shut his desk drawer. “Blondie!”
This was another nickname Elle didn’t like—talk about uninspiring. Even worse, with Tak’s heavy accent, it came out sounding more like “Brondie,” but Elle chose not to complain—there were worse things than a stupid pet name. Her college boyfriend had referred to her as “babe,” which had been equally as clichéd.
“You are okay?” Tak seemed surprised, yet pleased, to see her. He turned to Mike and told him to leave—he would meet up with him and Johnny in a little bit. Mike nodded and bowed politely to Elle before exiting.
“Yeah, I’m fine. What’s going on?” Elle surveyed the room, looking for evidence of what she had interrupted.
“Nothing. Everything good.” Tak cupped Elle’s face gently in his hands. She loved it when he did this. It felt protective, like he would do anything to keep her safe.
Elle put her head against his shoulder. “I wish we could just go back to your place. I’m exhausted.”
“Ah so . . . we can.” Tak brushed his hands through Elle’s hair, pausing to admire it.
“No, I need to spend some time with Mitch. We haven’t hung out much lately. Besides, you have to work.”
“So . . . Maybe I have idea for you.”
Elle looked at him expectantly.
Tak backtracked. “Maybe you get angry?”
“Angry? Why would I get angry?”
Tak tilted his head to the side, like he was skeptical of saying more.
“Tell me! I won’t get angry, I promise.”
“Ah so, okay.” Tak walked behind his desk, opened the top drawer, and carefully took out a mirror with lines of white powder on it. “This help you, no more tired.”
Cocaine.
So that’s what they had been doing when she knocked on the door. The guys who raced past her on the stairs must have delivered the drug. Elle should have guessed as much. Tak was not much of a drinker; his cheeks would turn a bright red after a single beer and this embarrassed him. He probably used coke because it was a good way to hide being high.
Elle had never done drugs before. Well, not really. She had once smoked pot from a large bong with her college boyfriend in his fraternity house but didn’t like it. Her lungs ached from the burn of the drug and she became paranoid, worried everyone would know what she had done. Having no desire to experience that type of paralyzing anxiety again, Elle had thereafter always politely declined when joints were handed out at parties. Many of her sorority sisters had encouraged her to experiment with ecstasy and mushrooms, but she always passed on those offers as well. Nancy Reagan’s “Just Say No” campaign had been effective; Elle was convinced drugs presented too much of a risk.
Perhaps sensing her hesitation, Tak put his arms around Elle and reassured her. “It’s very safe one, Blondie. No worry. Just little bit, you no more tired.”
Elle considered the choice before her. Many times in the past year she had made decisions which at other points in her life she would have never considered. To smoke cigarettes. To get drunk at work. To take a job as a hostess. To have sex with someone she had just met at a bar. Unfathomable actions in a different time and place, but it all seemed different while living in Tokyo. It wasn’t real. Elle was in a pretend life, one in which there were no consequences.
If Mitch knew she was flirting with the idea of doing coke, he would be livid. He had known too many people who abused the drug. The high was too good; once experienced, it was too hard to pass up. But Elle was so tired. And she needed to rally. Having a good night out with Mitch was necessary to get their friendship back on track. Elle looked at the white powder. It reminded her of snow. How bad can it be?
“Okay, I’ll do a little—but not too much.”
Tak smiled and led Elle to the desk. He picked up a rolled yen note and held it against the right side of his nose. Putting a finger against his left nostril, he leaned over the mirror and snorted. “Just breathing in, like this.”
Tak handed Elle the yen note and she mimicked his actions, bending her head over the mirror. Afterwards, she sniffled—it felt a little like she needed to blow her nose—but that was it. It wasn’t such a big deal.
Tak wiped his finger across the mirror and rubbed the residue along Elle’s lips. Her mouth tingled, similar to the first time she had smoked a clove cigarette. It was nice, a little daring and exciting.
Tak kissed her. It was a hard kiss. An urgent one. He pushed her back against the wall and put his hand up her skirt, deftly reaching under her pantyhose. He pulled her G-string to the side. Elle was glad she had finally taken Mitch’s advice and ditched her grannie panties in favor of sexy thongs. She moaned with pleasure and anticipation as Tak explored her with his fingers. She didn’t know if she was extra turned on from the coke, but this felt good. She wanted Tak.
He tried to move her toward the futon. Elle imagined all the girls he had brought up to his office. No, she wouldn’t go to the futon. They would do it right there, against the wall. Elle returned Tak’s kiss; her tongue was tingly now, too. She reached down to undo his belt and unzip his pants, wondering why she had been so afraid to try cocaine. She could handle it.
8:29 p.m.
Elle bounced down the stairs from Tak’s office. She was no longer tired—far from it. She was invigorated, alive. Sex with Tak had been incredible. She’d had such an intense orgasm, her toes had gone numb. It was insane. In the afterglow, the two had celebrated by doing another line. Why not? Tak was right. It wasn’t dangerous, and Elle felt great. Fucking incredible, actually.
&nbs
p; Up ahead at the bar, Elle saw Mitch and Kenji engaged in animated conversation. Mitch was gesticulating wildly and Kenji was smiling, nodding his head agreeably. This was good, very good. Elle almost hated to interrupt them but figured she could help as Mitch’s wingman. She approached the two of them and put her hand on Mitch’s shoulder. “Hi, guys.”
Mitch turned in his stool. “Why, hello there, doll.”
Nice. He was back in his happy place. Her plan had worked.
Mitch eyed Elle as she sat down next to him, as if studying her for clues. She panicked, worried he might correctly guess what she had been up to.
Mitch winked at her. “So, a quickie in the office—overrated/underrated?”
Phew! He didn’t know about the cocaine—only the sex. “Underrated. Most definitely underrated. How are things here?”
Mitch raised his eyebrows and nodded. “I’ve got to go underrated as well. Very pleasantly, surprisingly underrated.”
Elle smiled. God, she felt good. Clearheaded in a way she had never experienced before. Everything made sense. Elle had the best, the most interesting ideas running through her head. She couldn’t wait to get them all out. To share them with Mitch. And she had so much energy. She needed to dance. Elle turned toward Kenji.
“You gotta do a shot with us. I think we’re in for an epic night.”
It was going to be a good night. She and Mitch would have a blast together, just like old times. Definitely, for sure. And then there was Kenji. She could help Mitch with him, follow through on her Halloween promise to hook him up. Wouldn’t that be something! Once they were both in romantic relationships, all would be well again. Maybe they could even double date. Try all those restaurants they wanted to. They could even go skiing. She had always wanted to ski. Or to Hong Kong! She could buy some clothes made of silk. That would be awesome.
Yes, after tonight, order would be restored to Elle’s universe. She could feel it.
Chapter Sixteen
The Who: “Behind Blue Eyes”
May 18, 2017
8:40 p.m.
At the end of regulation, the game was tied, 11–11. As Win predicted, the Kennedy players had come out determined, like they had something to prove. They played physically, sending a message with each hit that they weren’t going to go down without a fight. Kennedy also had the support of a partisan crowd, thoroughly on the side of the underdogs. Fans cheered wildly every time #21 ran through the Country Day players unimpeded, warding them off like they were nothing more than annoying little pests. He didn’t need to repeat a grade to look impressive.
For their part, the Country Day team played with discipline and patience, their advanced stick skills on full display. The JV goalie was exceeding everyone’s expectations, and the offense took advantage of Kennedy penalties and scored on man-up opportunities. It had been a close game all along, and throughout the first four quarters there was never more than a one-point differential.
Elle was conflicted. She was happy for the Kennedy players; they were playing out of their heads, beyond their abilities. The Country Day parents and players were duly humbled, which was satisfying. Yet each time Four was hit—and it had been often that game: big, tough, punishing hits—Elle’s enthusiasm for a Kennedy win waned.
Now, with the game tied and going into overtime, maternal love ruled. Elle decided she did, in fact, want Four’s team to win. She gripped Win’s arm tightly—despite all the signs pointing to a Country Day victory, she was still nervous for Four.
The crowd cheered wildly as the players ran onto the field and lined up for the face-off. It was sudden death. The first team to score would win.
The referee dropped the ball and two face-off middies crouched down and fought for its possession. An intense battle ensued, with the Kennedy player losing his footing and the ball popping loose. In one swift, impressive movement, Cord ran in and scooped the ground ball into his long stick.
“That’s my boy! Ya!” Charles fist pumped into the air.
Cord quickly ran down the field and passed the ball to Easton.
“Take him Easton!” Ward yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth in the shape of a megaphone.
Easton tried a quick dodge to the right but couldn’t get past the large and intimidating defender covering him. Undeterred, he turned rapidly in a quick half circle and fired a low, hockey-style shot. It wasn’t a strong shot, and the Kennedy goalie made an easy save.
“That’s a great shot, E! Lucky save.” Ward kicked his foot into the ground.
The Kennedy sideline burst in excitement as their goalie looked for a player to pass the ball to. Under pressure, he rushed and made a high, looping throw to a defender covered by Four. Seeing the bad pass, Four moved in front of the goalie’s intended target, jumped in the air and intercepted the ball. Within seconds, he was in front of the net and the startled goalie. Four lifted his stick high above the goalie’s head, then swiftly moved it down low, and then back up again, shooting the ball in the corner of the net before the Kennedy goalie had time to react.
GOAL!
Country Day had won the state championship.
There was a loud roar in the stadium. Elle realized she had been holding her breath. She exhaled and allowed herself to feel joy. The signs had been right, as they always were. Why, after all these years, had Elle bothered to question them? She knew better.
Elle and Win joined the celebration of players, students, and parents on the field, congratulating other fans along the way.
Ward held his hand out to Win. “What a great game! I can’t believe the goalie made that save on Easton. I think he was so surprised, that’s why he made that terrible clear. Lucky break for Four.”
“Lucky?!” What a jerk. Ward couldn’t even give Four any credit for his interception or his shot? If Easton had been the one to score, Ward would have arranged a parade in his honor.
“You’re right, it was a great break for the team.” Unfailingly gracious, Win shook Ward’s hand.
How can he be so nice?
Ward turned to Elle. “Can you believe that whack-a-doodle Regina? I can’t believe she gave Easton a C on that paper. I know that was an A paper. You know why? Because I wrote it! Easton didn’t have time with the game coming up. He got a C because she’s a feminist cow and didn’t agree with my argument that Title IX is no longer necessary.” Ward waved his fat fingers dismissively. “Unbelievable!”
For the third time that day, Elle was uncomfortable and wanted to run away. She was considering how she could best excuse herself when Four approached, a beaming Tabby wrapped around his arm.
“Congratulations, honey. What a great game!” Elle hugged Four. She was genuinely happy for him. Jimmy would have been so excited, he would have lifted him up the air and twirled him around.
Win put his arm around Four and shook his hand. “Great job, my man. I knew you had him beat after the second fake.”
“Thanks. I wasn’t so sure. He was so good up high all game.”
Elle observed her son and husband and their obvious love for one another. Yes, she was lucky. Very lucky.
Tabby turned to Elle, the 4 on her cheek smeared from tears of joy. “Oh my gosh! I totally thought I was going to throw up! I was sooo nervous!” Face with gritted teeth.
“Nice work, bro!” Brynnie arrived on the field.
Registering the 4 on Brynnie’s cheek with surprise and then gratitude, Four extended his arms toward his sister. “Thanks so much for coming.”
Elle’s children hugged. It was a nice and genuine moment, like something taken straight out of an after-school special on TV. Elle was grateful for this, for her family, yet . . . why didn’t she feel happier?
What’s wrong with me?
“Excuse me. Neil Burton—I’m with Channel 9 News. I’m wondering if I could have a word with this young man.”
“Yes, of course.” Win stepped aside to make room for the reporter and the cameraman accompanying him.
Tabby’s eyes widened in a
combination of astonishment and pride. “My boyfriend. Being interviewed for TV. OMG!” Smiley face, smiley face, smiley face! #howcoolisthis?
Tabby grabbed Elle’s arm. “Did you know he had four goals? Four, #4, four goals! Isn’t that so awesome?” A whole row of smiley faces, a thumbs-up, and several pink hearts.
Elle watched Four as he was interviewed on camera. He was incredibly poised and confident, like he understood that this was what was expected of someone like him and he was prepared for it.
Elle was filled with a surge of pride, yet something about the scene made her uncomfortable. Was she confusing her son’s calm demeanor with what she hoped it wasn’t—an innate sense of superiority?
Is my son one of them?
Elle saw Ward and Kit behind Four. They were talking with Aubrey and their attention appeared directed toward the Martin family. Aubrey waved to Elle and then turned to Kit, her hand covering her mouth conspiratorially as she spoke to her.
And . . . BOOM!
There it was. Little Miss Schadenfreude busy at work.
Elle knew exactly what Aubrey had whispered to Kit. She was giving life to the hushed talk, the whispers and innuendo regarding Brynnie’s sexual preferences. Elle should have known better. She should have apologized for her and Brynnie’s behavior. Aubrey would not cede her position as Queen Bee.
No, Aubrey would go after Elle with everything she had. She would make it personal. She would make sure it hurt.
And so what if Brynnie is a lesbian? Much the same as the karate lessons, the short haircut, and attending Reed over Brown, it wouldn’t be what Elle would choose for her daughter. But still, in that moment of Aubrey’s abject cruelty, Elle knew without a doubt she loved Brynnie unconditionally. Gay or straight, it didn’t matter. Elle cared more about her daughter’s happiness than she cared about what others thought. She only regretted her inability to protect Brynnie from the vicious insinuations, the snickers, and the disapproval. Brown acceptance, state lacrosse title, international business deal—so what? Brynnie is a lesbian; things aren’t so perfect for the Martins after all.
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