Gimme Everything You Got

by Iva-Marie Palmer

  “No, you’re not, you’re going to be fine,” Tina said. She was holding my shoulders and speaking her words slowly to calm me down. “We’ll help you.”

  “We’ll go to the high school, you can clean up in the girls’ locker room, and I’ll drive you to the wedding,” Bobby said. “I’ll explain that it’s my fault you’re late. Whatever you need.”

  Everyone looked at me with a mixture of astonishment and envy, as if Bobby’s offer was some kind of proclamation of his love and devotion. And who was I kidding? It felt kind of great.

  At the high school, I washed up quickly under the scorching locker room showers. As soon as I emerged, my teammates surrounded me, equipped with everything in my makeup and toiletry bags, plus some of their own add-ons.

  “Who’s got the hair dryer?” Tina said.

  “Got it,” Joanie said, holding it in the air and jogging over to stand at attention next to Tina. “And the hot rollers I keep in my locker. Every magazine says these are essential to go from day to night.”

  “Good, I need you first. Makeup, be ready.”

  “I’m on makeup,” Marie said, who’d found my new makeup bag and set it on the locker room bench next to me, along with a bag of her own.

  “I’ll help,” Arlene said. “I can do all the blending. I’m really good at that.”

  “Good,” Tina said. “Take her from don’t-mess-with-me-I’m-a-vandal to everything’s-under-control-I’m-the-maid-of-honor,” Tina said. She shook her head at the way Lisa rolled up a chunk of my hair. “No, don’t make the curls too tight. She needs a soft wave to fall over her black eye, if we can.” Finally, she looked at me. “See? You’re going to be fine.”

  “You’re going to be late for your dad,” I said. Tina’s dad was driving in from Wisconsin to take her to dinner downtown.

  She waved me off. “He can deal with some uncomfortable time sitting at my mom’s house.”

  “Thank you,” I said and, realizing how lucky I was, added, “You’re the best.”

  Tina shrugged. “I know.”

  Dana Miller tapped Tina on the shoulder, as if she were seeking an audience with me but needed Tina’s approval. She extended a bottle of Chanel No. 5 toward me, cupping it in both hands like it was a delicate baby bird. “It’s from Assistant Principal Lawler’s desk. She lets me put some on sometimes. Do you want to use it?”

  I took the bottle with a grateful nod. The glass felt thicker even than the bottle of Charlie perfume my dad had given me for Christmas, as if to prove the contents were more expensive and exclusive.

  “Thanks,” I said, spritzing it on, not sure if I liked the scent but touched by Dana’s generosity.

  Everyone worked fast, and then Tina and Dawn helped me step into my dress. Dawn used her Donna’s Bridal skills to make sure everything was fastened and lying smoothly. Franchesa handed me my dyed pumps.

  “Wait,” Sarah said, picking at my upper arm with her fingernails. She knocked off some chalk that had congealed. “Okay, you’re good.”

  I looked in the mirror. I was good, or at least good enough. No one was going to put me in a beauty pageant, but hopefully Polly and my dad would be so busy as the guests were arriving, they wouldn’t know how close I’d come to missing their big day. And hopefully Joe wouldn’t be too upset I was late once I told him the story.

  “You guys are the best teammates,” I told everyone, hoping the comment would cover everything, from getting me ready to painting the field to being willing to play the boys in the first place.

  Bobby was waiting for me at the front of the school, pacing with his head down. When I came out, he said, “All right, your chariot awaits.”

  Tina whispered in my ear, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” I tried not to let my imagination determine the details of what that could mean.

  We walked to Bobby’s car, and he opened the door for me so I could duck inside. “I’ll keep your gym bag so you don’t have to lug it with you,” he said, taking it to put in his trunk.

  “Are you mad . . . about earlier?” I asked as he slid into the driver’s seat.

  He paused for a second and squinted as if thinking about it. “You know, I shouldn’t tell you this, but they deserved it.”

  “They really did,” I said.

  “Their athletic director was a real piece of work,” he said. “He basically hung up on me. I should have tried the nuns.”

  “I have a friend there who knows the nuns,” I said, wondering if Joe could pull some strings. “They do sound cool.”

  Bobby seemed to consider this. “Maybe. But I don’t think that team respects a woman’s opinion. Even a nun’s. It’s a shame.”

  “Well, then I’m extra glad we got them back,” I said. “For the nuns.”

  Bobby put the car into gear. As he backed out, he gave me an approving look. “I can barely tell I gave you a black eye. By the way, I still feel terrible about that.” he smiled. “You look really pretty.”

  “Thank you,” I replied, the words catching on my jumping, unsteady heartbeat. He’d called me pretty, and it was like tearing wrapping paper to see the gift you’d been wanting forever.

  I told him where to go: Chateau D’Amour, a big, white-pillared banquet hall on Ridgeland, not far from his apartment. When he pulled into the circular drive that led to the front steps, I saw Joe waiting for me. The spikes were gone—he’d combed his hair neatly across his forehead—and he was wearing a dark suit. He looked extremely cute. He also looked worried, but his face brightened when he saw me in the car window.

  “Your date?” Bobby said.

  “My friend,” I said. “Joe.”

  Bobby hopped out on his side and opened my door, helping me emerge in the long dress. His hand, callused from all the weight lifting he did, sent a chill up my arm. I felt faint, and I unintentionally squeezed his hand as I stood up.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to talk to your stepmom and dad?” he asked. “Give your cover story some help?”

  I hated the question for the way it reminded me that Bobby was my coach, not some lusty suitor. “No thanks, I think I’m okay.”

  “Have a good time tonight,” he said. “I’ll see you Monday.”

  I made my way toward Joe, conscious that both he and Bobby were watching me. When I reached him, he said, “Wait, your coach drove you?”

  “Bobby, yeah,” I said, trying to act like this was no big deal, and like I wasn’t still thinking about the ride. “Because I was late.”

  “Huh,” Joe said. “So . . . the game? Tell me everything!”

  I opened my mouth to answer as he started to pull open the door for me. Then he stopped suddenly, letting go of the door to look at my face. “Wait, what happened to your eye? Did those guys . . . ?”

  I shook my head at Joe’s horrified expression and touched the bottom of my bruised eye. I’d thought the makeup covered it pretty well, but Joe didn’t miss anything.

  “No, that’s from practice.” The Bobby-free truth. “We didn’t even play the game. They forfeited. Or, really, they showed up just to humiliate us,” I said. “And then we got them back, and then the cops came. . . . It’s a really long story.”

  Joe seemed to be having trouble deciphering what I’d said. “Wait, you didn’t play? And the cops? Are you okay? Fucking Ken.”

  “Yep, he was definitely the leader,” I said, but I was edgy about spending more time recounting the story than I already had. “I’ll tell you everything. But I should find Polly. I was supposed to be here an hour ago.”

  “You had me nervous,” Joe said. “But you look nice. Better than nice. Really pretty.” He grinned as he reached for the door handle a second time. “And the shiner with the fancy dress is pretty foxy.”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “Only if you’re really looking,” he said in a low voice. I shivered a little, not sure if it was from his tone or the light breeze on my bare shoulders. But, really, the night was uncharacteristically nice for November.


  He was holding the front door for me and standing very formally. We both seemed a little stilted compared to our normal selves, but maybe it was the special occasion.

  “You look nice too. Handsome. I like your hair better the other way, though.”

  Joe self-consciously touched his head. “Yeah, well, it’s a wedding.”

  I shook my head and smirked. “Not very punk rock of you.”

  “Hey, it’s a way of being!”

  Polly was easy to find. She was right inside the front doors, next to a tall potted plant. She had on her wedding dress and was smoking over a tall ashtray. I’d never seen her smoke before. She beamed when she saw me and quickly stubbed out her cigarette.

  “You’re here!” Polly reached out and smoothed my hair, very gently, like she wasn’t sure she could make such a gesture.

  “I’m so sorry I’m late, this is Joe,” I said all in a rush.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Joe.” She offered her hand for Joe to shake.

  “Thanks for having me,” he said.

  “We had an issue after the game and—”

  “It’s okay,” Polly said. “We haven’t even started, and I’m out here hiding from my mother. You father’s probably worried about marrying me after seeing her in action.”

  I’d only met Polly’s mom once, in passing, at the last dress fitting. She was a small, pinched woman who had swept a finger over the boutique’s jewelry case, looking for dust. When Polly emerged in her dress, looking like an angel, her mother had said that the lace bodice was “awfully sheer” and wasn’t the cap sleeve inappropriate given a November wedding? The only time I’d seen Polly’s cheerful personality punctured was when her mother was around.

  “You don’t seem to have a lot in common with her,” I said. “I’m sure he’s not worried.”

  “They say that women become their mothers, but your dad is always reassuring me that I’m my own person,” she said, and I wondered who this reassuring version of my dad was. “Anyway, I’m relieved and happy to see you.” She squeezed my shoulder. “And you.” She smiled at Joe.

  “Can we do anything to help? Like, maid of honor stuff?”

  “No, everything is good as it’s going to get.” She sniffed the air. “I need to put on some perfume so I don’t smell like the Marlboro Man during the ceremony.”

  She gave me a hug that caught me by surprise and I made eye contact with Joe, who grinned at me as if to say, “You’ve gotta go with it.” I squeezed Polly back.

  “All I want is for you two to have fun,” she said, pulling away. “I’ll see you at the ceremony.”

  The ceremony was, predictably, short and sweet. Or at least short. Maybe because we barely attended church services, Trinity Lutheran had sent a minister who had all the enthusiasm of the DMV employee who’d half-heartedly conducted my driver’s test. But my dad looked happy, and his hazel eyes even shone with an appreciative tear when he said “I do.”

  As soon as he’d kissed the bride and they’d walked from the small chapel area to the reception, which was down the hall in the Sweetheart Ballroom, Dad waved me and Joe over to him and Polly. After I’d introduced Joe to my dad and it was only mildly awkward—my dad had noticed that their ties had similar patterns, and they talked about it for two full minutes—Dad turned to me.

  “Thank you for being here,” he said, taking me aside for a hug as Polly crouched to squeeze two of my stooped great-aunts and Joe struck up a conversation with my uncle Rich. “And for being so nice to Polly. It really means a lot to her. And me. Your mom did a great job raising you and your sister.”

  The invocation of my mom should have stung. It was the point when, in the standard parent-remarries part of a child-of-divorce story, I would have said, “Why didn’t you stay with her?” But I could see the difference in my dad now, with Polly, the same way I could see a difference in my mom. It wasn’t a crystal-clear one-eighty from his previous self, but he channeled something new, and more positive. As for me, it wasn’t so much I was above that standard response. It was that I could see how things could be sad and happy at the same time. If life was going to present surprises, wasn’t it best if you were both sad for what you lost and happy for what you gained?

  “So did you,” I told my dad, remembering a Father’s Day when he’d taken me and my sister to a White Sox game. Almost every other dad there was with sons, leaving me to wonder what other fathers with daughters were doing that day. The team had been really bad that year, but my dad had told us about the players who would get better over the next few years. Candace’s dad only ever took her brothers to baseball games.

  “Let’s get a beer,” Dad said, and headed toward the bar, where some of the guests were waiting to congratulate him and Polly. A bartender not much older than me slid two Old Style beers over the counter, and Dad folded a five and put it in a glass filled with tips.

  “Congratulations, sir,” the bartender said, and my dad tipped his bottle in gratitude before handing me mine and clinking with me. Now I’d had a drink with each of my parents in the last week. It was strange, in a good way.

  Polly had come into the room with her mother on her heels, and judging by Polly’s rigid walk, Mrs. Jeffries hadn’t let up on her nitpicking. Polly excused herself as she made her way to me and Dad and, with a grimace, said, “Apparently I’ve seated some cousins I barely recognize at a table that’s not good enough for them.”

  My dad kissed her cheek and asked, “Do I need to handle something?”

  Polly waved him off. “Whatever we do at this point, my mother is going to find fault, so just order me a gin and tonic.”

  I took a sip of the cold beer in my hand and felt like I was floating as it hit my empty stomach. The laughter and conversation in the room rolled over me in a soft wave. I caught Joe’s eye and he gave me a cute grin, even though my uncle Rich’s meaty hand was clutching his shoulder.

  Polly and my dad pointed out my seat at the head table and Joe’s at the date table right next to it, then went off to greet more of their guests. When I put the bottle down, the bartender slid a Coke across the bar with a wink. “Hope you like rum,” he said.

  I took a sip, noticing how the rum’s warmth spread through my body differently from the burn of the whiskey I’d had with Mom.

  I made my way toward Joe and tapped his shoulder. “Hey,” he said. “So, your uncle Rich is . . . nice.”

  “You mean weird.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t think I should say that.”

  I gave him my glass. “Have some,” I said and watched him sip and taste the rum in it.

  He peered at me. “I like it,” he said. Maybe it was the booze, but I was already feeling less formal around him.

  Then, before I had time to talk myself out of it, I slipped my hand into his and said, “Let’s get another one.”

  Joe gave me the kind of look he might have if we’d stepped outside and his beat-up Nova had been given a surprise paint job in his favorite color. “Sounds good to me,” he said. We shared the second rum and Coke and were still holding hands when waiters began setting down plates at each table. I didn’t know how or if I should address the hand-holding, but as I was doing it, I knew it was what I wanted to be doing.

  “That’s my cue to go to the head table,” I said. “But save me a dance later?”

  “I’m basically here to do whatever you want and eat some chicken,” Joe said as we broke apart to go to our tables. His smile made me feel better than the drinks had.

  As I crossed the room, someone tapped my shoulder. I spun around to see Mrs. Trillo, with Mr. Trillo standing behind her. Mrs. Trillo’s enormous boobs had somehow been hoisted into a dress with spaghetti straps, and she wore a stronger perfume than her usual Jean Naté.

  She drew back slightly at my black eye, and I knew I should go reapply my eye makeup. I moved my hair shield back into place. “Susan, honey, how are you doing?” She said it so gravely, you’d have thought I was at one of my parents’ funerals, no
t a wedding.

  “Things are good,” I said, trying to hit the right note. If I sounded too chipper, it might seem snotty. I didn’t want to seem like I didn’t miss her, or Candace, because I did.

  “We haven’t seen you much lately,” she said, looking so sad I wondered what Candace had told her. Or maybe Candace hadn’t said anything and I was just missed.

  “I know. Soccer and school and Candace is . . . busy,” I said, assembling an awkward attempt at a sentence. “I have to get to the head table now but . . . I’ll see you later.”

  “Bye, honey,” Mrs. Trillo said, as Mr. Trillo gave me a distracted but fatherly smile.

  I replayed the conversation in my head, thinking that if that was the thorniest moment at my dad’s wedding, I would count myself lucky.

  With dinner came wine, but I stuck to sips of the rum drink. Joe and I caught each other’s eyes a few times. Maybe Tina had been right about taking a chance on him. If she hadn’t been with her dad—she’d left right after she got me ready—I would have found a pay phone and called to ask what I should do. But she’d probably tell me to go with it, and given the way Joe and I couldn’t stop smiling at each other . . . maybe she’d be right.

  The day’s collection of unforeseen events—the game that wasn’t one, the reckless thrill of chalking the field, the team’s rush to get me ready, Bobby’s compliment, hand-holding, and now trading these looks with Joe, like we weren’t just friends—put an extra sparkle on my buzz. I was happy, and it surprised me, especially when I compared the feeling to how I’d reacted when Polly first told me about the wedding. I felt important at the main table, seated next to my dad, who slung a proud arm around me every time someone came up to congratulate him. When they’d comment on what a beautiful woman I was becoming, Dad would mention how I was quite an athlete, too. He must have been a little buzzed, like me. But his pride was genuine.