Game On

by Barbara Oliverio

  Why couldn’t something nice happen? I was all dressed up, and I had a feeling I would still feel like the wallflower at the ball.

  We started to walk toward our table when Anthony said, “Mais! Look who’s here!”

  Oh, seriously, no. I really couldn’t take another surprise. Was it the priest from my church, perhaps?

  I looked in the direction he was pointing, and it was a priest, but I was happy to see this one. My oldest, best-est brother was walking toward me. The handsomest Valenti with the curliest hair and the bluest eyes.

  “Sammy!”

  Both Anthony and I fought for hugs from him.

  “What are the two of you delinquents doing at this elegant affair?” he laughed.

  Though all my brothers were virtually indistinguishable, Sammy was showing his age with graying at the temples much like what Pop had when he was Sammy’s age.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “I told you I was coming to a dinner, Maisie. I’m saying the opening prayer.”

  “Sammy, you said a dinner, not Denver’s most important gala of the year. And you didn’t say you were giving the blessing.”

  He shrugged. Of course. Father Samuel wouldn’t notice the difference between the glitz of this gala and any other dinner.

  Our dates stood by, and we quickly made introductions. After Sammy met both of them, Campbell escorted Addison to our table so that Anthony and I could talk to our brother for a moment.

  “Well, I guess dinner at home tomorrow will be interesting, as well,” Sammy said, gesturing toward our dates.

  “Uh, not on my end. I’m not bringing Campbell. I can’t speak for Casanova here.” I glared at Anthony.

  “What!” Anthony said innocently.

  “What do you mean ‘what’? You didn’t tell me you were coming to this gala.”

  “Because I didn’t expect you to be here, Maisie. Besides, I don’t run my social schedule past you every other weekend.”

  “Yes, but since you are here, in town, you probably are going to bring your new girlfriend home for dinner, right?”

  “So?”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Kids, kids, kids,” Sammy interjected.

  “We’re not kids!” Anthony and I replied.

  “Really?” Sammy raised an eyebrow.

  The three of us laughed.

  “Look. Before this breaks into a knockdown Valenti wrestling match, let’s pretend Ma is here and act like adults, hmm,” Sammy said.

  “Fine,” we begrudged.

  He kissed each of us.

  “Let’s chat after the meal, and definitely we’ll see each other tomorrow at which point, I’ll just let Ma referee.”

  He moved toward the head table.

  “Truce?” Anthony held out his pinky finger.

  “Truce.” I linked mine in his.

  We moved to our table.

  Whew. I was just glad that Helga had put extra hairpins in my updo because my hair surely would have been flying at all angles by then if she hadn’t.

  20

  As we neared our table, I hoped that the banquet was set up like most are, with big rounds of eight or even ten chairs. But oh no, of course not. The event planner was Denver’s most sought after and was using the unique plan of six people per table to make the evening less stuffy and more intimate. Darn you, Keira Graham, and your high-concept ideas.

  “There you are. We thought we lost you,” Calliope meowed.

  I opened my mouth to retort that of course she would be thrilled about that because then, seated between Campbell and Alek, she would have both of them to herself. But Addison jumped in before I had the chance.

  “Aren’t these centerpieces lovely?” she asked.

  Anthony guided me to my seat while everyone murmured their vague appreciation of the decorations. I glanced over at Addison, but she did not meet my eye. I knew, however, that she had calculated her comment to help me avoid a faux pas.

  Table talk was pleasantly dull for a few moments after that, as we made the normal comments about what a wonderful charity this is, how much money had been raised, and who the keynote speaker was. The emcee called us to attention and made a few remarks, then turned the microphone over for the blessing over the meal.

  I had always stood in awe of all my brothers, but particularly Sammy. And this evening, dressed in his priestly collar, I was even more in awe. I guess there was never a doubt that he was an extraordinary man, but he was so charismatic when he spoke passionately about faith that I just loved him that much more. He was funny and sharp, and the crowd loved him, too.

  “That is one handsome man,” Calliope remarked. “You know, he looks a little like you, Anthony.”

  “He’s our brother,” I reminded her. Did she forget that so soon?

  She looked back and forth at them, then at me, since I was seated next to Anthony. “Yes, I can definitely see the striking resemblance between the two men. But, Maisie, what happened to you?”

  “What?”

  “Well, they look so similar. And you, well, I guess you have your own look, don’t you?”

  “Calliope—” I began to rise, but Anthony’s hand on my knee stopped me.

  “I’m sure she means that they have blue eyes and you have violet, Maisie,” Alek interjected and stared at me across the table, willing me to calm down.

  “Yes, yes, that’s it.” Calliope smiled sweetly.

  Yeah. Sure.

  The silence was slightly uncomfortable, but Addison spoke, bringing decorum to the table once again.

  “Your eyes are very unique, Maisie. Did you inherit them from your father or mother?” She had met my parents and seen their eyes, so I knew she was aware that neither had my eye color. But I knew that in addition to maintaining civility, she was genuinely interested in where mine came from, so I forgave her question.

  “Neither, actually. They both have blue eyes, and all the boys do as well.”

  “All?” Campbell asked.

  “Six,” Anthony jumped in. “Sam, Angelo, John, Joey, Vinny, and me.”

  “Plus our Maisie here? Goodness, your mother must have been one haggard woman!” Calliope said.

  “Six boys and me.” I ignored her veiled criticism of my mother. “My grandmother, our mother’s mother, Maisie, is from Scotland. She had violet eyes, and I guess I got them along with my name from her. Pop always said that amethysts are the gem of fire, and only special people had eyes with that color.”

  Anthony grabbed my hand and kissed it. “You know he just said that to make you feel better when we picked on you?”

  “Which was always!” I used the same hand to punch him. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Alek watching us.

  “Are all of you so close?” Addison asked.

  I looked at her. She wasn’t just being polite. These weren’t questions to deflect awkward table talk. She wanted real answers.

  “Absolutely.” Our eyes met without further discussion, but I was beginning to see her in a new light. I didn’t give her credit for being a real person. I just thought she was so icy. Hmm. I needed to get to know her better.

  “Oh, here comes our food,” Calliope said. “I’m so glad I ordered a special meal. I’m gluten free as well as on a very specific vegan diet, you know.” She managed to pivot the discussion toward herself, and as the rest of us attempted to enjoy our prime rib, chicken, or salmon, we were regaled with the dangers of everything on our plates.

  Poor Alek. Was he subject to this speech every time they went out? He was uncharacteristically silent and kept his eyes on his own plate full of poisonous foods.

  I was never so thrilled to hear an emcee clink his glass for the beginning of the speeches. I couldn’t say what the keynote was about or what the awards were—I was just thrilled to have to turn my chair around to watch the head table.

  When all of that finally ended, since dancing was not part of the evening, people milled about and started leaving in small groups.

>   “Well. I guess this is good-bye. So nice to share a table.” Calliope air-kissed the rest of us, and then she and Alek were gone. Was it just me, or was Alek rushing to get out of the room?

  That left the four of us, but I didn’t want to chat about dinner at my parents’ house the next day since Campbell wouldn’t be a part of it. Luckily, he bailed me out.

  “Maisie, I need to catch an early flight, so we should leave, as well.”

  Whew.

  “No problem, Campbell. Anthony? See you tomorrow?”

  “Both of us,” he reminded me.

  “Right, right.” Addison and I nodded politely toward one another.

  I looked toward the head table, but couldn’t catch sight of Sammy. Oh well, I would see him the next day. Campbell and I took our leave and within an hour, he was dropping me off at my place.

  As I got ready for bed, I mused at how different the night had gone from my original thoughts. Instead of a lovely evening—possibly romantic—with a handsome man, I had a quasi family reunion, quasi work gathering, quasi whatever you call my encounter with Calliope.

  What a night.

  No sooner was I bundled in my bed with the TV on than my phone chirped with “Vogue.”

  “Hey, Phyllis.”

  “Why are you answering your phone?”

  “Um, it’s this thing called custom? The phone rings, and people raise it to their ear to talk to whomever is on the other end of the line? Why are you calling me if you don’t want me to answer?”

  “Stop being so snarky. I mean, why aren’t you still at your party, or at an after party or something?”

  “It wasn’t the prom, Phyllis. It was a charity dinner.” I rolled my eyes.

  “What? Not a dinner dance? Who organizes a gala event that doesn’t include dancing? That’s ridiculous! Waltzing to the strains of a six-piece combo or even awkward throwback steps to a cheesy DJ?”

  I let her go on for a few moments before I broke in.

  “Phyl. Are you done critiquing the board of directors of the charity?”

  “I guess,” she sniffed.

  “Wouldn’t you like to hear about my night?”

  “Go on. Although, why didn’t you let your gorgeous date take you for an after-dinner drink somewhere?”

  “How do you know I’m not there now?”

  “Seriously? The fact that you answered your phone, that’s why. You are bundled up in your bed watching SportCenter or Sports Focus or some replay of some classic Super Bowl.”

  I quietly turned the TV off so the pause wouldn’t accidentally release and reveal the replay of Franco Harris making the amazing catch in the 1972 Steelers-Raiders playoff game. She knew me too well.

  “Well?” she continued.

  “Okay, so I am home. But he had to catch an early flight, so he dropped me off directly after the dinner.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “What? You know me better than to think he would be here in bed with me.”

  “Of course. But … dropped you off? No invitation to a nightcap? Not even an attempt to come inside so that you would have the opportunity to fend him off? You know, I just think there is no future with this guy.”

  I fell back on my pile of pillows and groaned. I agreed with her, but I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of letting her know that.

  “So, let me get this straight, Phyllis. You think there’s no future with a perfect gentleman?”

  “I think there’s more to it than that, Maisie.”

  “Oh my gosh, here comes another one of your convenient obscure theories. What is it this time?”

  She paused. I knew she was twirling her ponytail with her hand.

  “I don’t exactly know, but I’ll figure it out. In any case, go back to the beginning of the evening. All I know is that I saw the picture you texted. You were stunning! What happened after he picked you up? What did he look like? Tell me everything. Leave out nothing.”

  I laughed.“Oh, Phyllis. If you aren’t sitting down, you better sit. This is a doozy.”

  I recounted all the evening’s events for her, interrupted only by her occasional shrieks of “Are you kidding?” and “Nooo!”

  When I reached the point of me in my bedroom trading my Cinderella finery for comfy PJs and ridding myself of Helga’s handiwork, Phyllis took over the conversation.

  “There you have it.”

  This should be good, I thought. “There I have what, Phyl?”

  “Why ‘Thor’ was so quick to leave. Put yourself in his shoes. A person couldn’t script drama like that. Alek! Calliope! Anthony! Addison! Father Sam!”

  “Well, to be fair, Sammy wasn’t at the table.”

  “Not relevant. Look at all of the melodrama attached to you.”

  “Hey.”

  “No offense.”

  “None taken.” Sure.

  “I say this with love, but that was a horrible amount of baggage to bring to a first date.”

  “Gosh, how would that have sounded if you said it without love?” I murmured.

  “I bet he had a shocked look on his face the whole evening. No wonder he wanted to dash out and drop you off at your door and run screaming into the night.”

  “You paint such a lovely picture. He didn’t have a ‘shocked’ look, he didn’t ‘dash,’ and he didn’t ‘run screaming’ into the night.”

  Hmm. As a matter of fact, he was annoyingly calm throughout the whole evening. Was it because I come from an ethnic family with a low boiling point that I don’t understand normal, placid people? Come to think of it, he didn’t react at all! At least Alek shot me warning glances across the table when I was about to take the bait and respond to those to smirky remarks. Addison participated by deflecting Raggedy Ann’s, er, Calliope’s comments. Campbell seemed to just ignore the whole thing. I shared that observation with Phyllis.

  “Ah.”

  “Ah? That’s all you have, Phyllis? Ah?”

  She paused.

  “Yeah, actually. I got nothin’.”

  We burst into laughter.

  “Look, Phyllis. It’s late. I don’t have the energy to pick this apart. I have to get to Mass in the morning, then over to Ma’s for what is sure to be an angst-filled afternoon. I need to reenergize.”

  “Tell everyone I love them!”

  “Will do.”

  We hung up, and I went back to my bag of Swedish Fish and my classic football game, rewinding it to watch all the great plays in the fourth quarter. At least I could always be comforted by sugar and the rhythm and orderliness of sports.

  21

  Pulling into my parents’ wide driveway was always a treat for me. When they had moved to Denver, they didn’t need a house to accommodate all seven of us children since some of the older boys were either already out on their own or nearly ready to leave the nest. But Ma had insisted on a house that could reasonably hold us and have room at the holidays to accommodate the growing families she wished for.

  They found a lovely two-story brick home that fit the bill just outside of town on a piece of property covered with trees. It had enough of a flat lawn in the back to make a decent football or baseball field or any other sports competition site that my brothers and I could dream up.

  The front drive curved lazily, and although only two cars fit into the garage, at any time there could be twice or three times as many parked on the side, threatening my mother’s landscaping. Her floral efforts were in full view from the front wraparound porch decorated with a squeaky swing and a number of mismatched rockers and chairs. My favorite seat was my Nana’s well-worn rocker, originally painted a violent red but now mellowed to a dusty rose. Rocking in it always reminded me so much of her.

  I climbed the three steps to the porch on this post-gala Sunday and plunked myself down, planning to enjoy a moment of rocking in the quiet breeze before entering the house. Since the driveway was empty, I knew that I was the first to arrive—well, the second since Sammy had flown in the day before and was now somewhe
re in the house.

  The man himself walked out the front door, barefoot, dressed in jeans and an ancient World Cup soccer jersey bearing the number of his hero, Pele.

  “Yo, Padre,” I said.

  “Maisie!” His eyes crinkled at the sides when he smiled. He leaned down to give me a kiss on my cheek, then settled himself on the swing.

  “You left before I could say good-bye, little sister. Did you go straight home?” He gave me a mock stern look.

  “You’ll be happy to know that my date deposited me at my door without even so much as a kiss on the cheek.” I know. What was up with THAT in today’s day and age?

  “Really?” Sammy’s brow furrowed. “I mean, don’t get me wrong—”

  “I know, I know. I thought it was odd, too.”

  Sammy sensed that I would rather discuss anything else, so he asked me about my new job. I perked up, able to share that with him.

  “It sounds like you are doing well.”

  “I guess.”

  “But?” He took on that tone that combined big brother and priest. A deadly combination. I stayed silent, kicking off my shoes and tucking one foot under my knee.

  “Stop that. It’s bad for your hip socket.” He nudged me with his bare toe.

  I groaned. One of the annoyances about being in a family of athletes is that everyone knows everything about correct movement, posture, and exercise and always shares it. I stuck out my tongue and defiantly tucked both feet under my hip.

  “Fine.” He shook his head. “But getting back to the subject you are avoiding … ?”

  I took a deep breath, and it spilled out.

  “Well. I know I’m doing a good job. I just feel that my suggestions aren’t being taken seriously sometimes, and the station owner thinks I’m odd, and I went to lunch with Campbell Casey and the guys probably think I’m trying to sleep my way to the top, and you know that’s not remotely true, and—”