Field of Schemes

by Coburn, Jennifer

  “Nancy, stop!” said Darcy.

  Uh oh. She’s here. My moment of reckoning.

  “Oh hi, Darcy,” Nancy said. “When did you get here?”

  “Just now. You’re not thinking of putting yourself in the middle of that cock fight, are you?”

  Nancy laughed. “No, I was going to suggest that—”

  “Do not disturb the animals!” Darcy warned. “Really, do yourself a favor and let them be.”

  Nancy laughed again. “That bad?”

  “Worse,” Darcy confirmed.

  “You’d know best,” she said, returning to her knitting bag.

  “Hey, Claire,” Darcy said. Funny, she didn’t seem at all upset with me. “Haven’t seen you in a while. Where’ve you been hiding?”

  Um, under a rock!

  “Oh, I’ve just been, I had to, we should—”

  “Wanna catch up over lunch tomorrow? There’s a new sushi place that’s supposed to be great.”

  I waited for her to add, “Oh, by the way, you presumptuous little twit—it was just a goldfish.” Instead she smiled expectantly.

  “Sounds good,” I replied.

  Nodding her head toward the dads, Darcy said, “Looks like it’s starting early this season.”

  “What’s starting early?”

  “The revolution,” Darcy laughed.

  “So this is normal?”

  “Like I told you, Claire, it’s club soccer,” Darcy said. Waiting a beat, she finished, “Nothing’s normal.”

  The familiar sound of my friend’s voice was soothing. Ron spared me the wedge that would have come from our misunderstanding, and for that I was grateful.

  Next came Dick’s booming male voice, which didn’t sound quite as comforting. “What the hell was that?! Give and go means go somewhere after the pass! It’s not give and go to sleep!” Turning to Bobby, he continued, “That girl sucks. How the hell’d she make the team?”

  Leo chimed in. “She got a little sister that’s supposed to be siviously good, so the club don’t want to piss off the family by cuttin’ the older girl.”

  Dick seemed outraged. “So we have to suffer so some little peewee team doesn’t lose a player?!”

  “It ain’t right, but you know how it is,” Leo said, nodding at the injustice of it all.

  “You said it, pal. Friggin’ soccer politics,” Dick huffed. “This deal stinks worse than shit.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Rachel had no trouble getting to sleep the night of her first practice. As Darcy promised, Rachel showed up at Diablo Field with her homework done and her hair in neat French braids she hadn’t left with that morning. Rachel said that Mimi even helped the girls with their geometry homework by showing them how angles relate to soccer. “She’s way cool, Mom,” Rachel told me as I tucked her in bed that night. “Cara’s nice too. She’s not stuck up at all even though they got like a bazillion dollars. Do you know they have four maids?” My daughter yawned and nestled her head in her favorite “mushy pillow.”

  “I’m glad,” I said.

  “Me too,” Rachel said, fading.

  And I was. Certainly, I’d prefer if the team manager didn’t think of me as her personal target for lipstick darts, but she was kind to Rachel, and that was all that mattered. It was as if Rachel had been initiated into a sorority at a time in her life when she desperately needed sisterhood. And for that I could take a little nastiness from Mimi. Okay, a lot, but still, it was worth it.

  After I heard the buzzing of Rachel asleep, I went to my computer to check email.

  MEMORANDUM

  TO: The Team

  FROM: Mimi Shasta

  DATE: April 11

  RE: Today’s practice!

  I’m blown away by the outpouring of support for my fitness trainings! Thank you so much for all of your calls and emails asking me to extend the fitness training to its full hour! It’s sweet of you to suggest that we make it an entire practice session, but Gunther has a great curriculum for the girls and we really need to get to that too! I really appreciated—

  Ding!

  What the?

  You have an instant message from RGreer4@hotmail.com. Will you accept?

  He would have an address at Hotmail!

  I deliberated for a moment, but then decided that refusing his instant message would show Ron just how mortified I was over the birthday party incident. I was determined to show him just how unbothered I was by the whole thing by acting as normal as possible. Of course, acting natural never works. Like, a few days earlier, I saw Ron filling his gas tank at the Shell station near our block, so I pulled in beside him and starting fueling my minivan just to show him that I would not be avoiding him. The problem was that I forgot that my tank was already full, and looked like an absolute fool as I stood beside him oh-so-casually for exactly thirty seconds. He smirked when he saw my pump stop dead at a half gallon, making that clanking sound like the slam of a metal door. Compassionate fucker that he is, Ron made a snarky comment about how one can never be too careful about running low on fuel.

  RonGreer4: Claire, I need to apologize for what happened at Ronnie’s party.

  Exactly the conversation I never wanted to have. Why do people feel the need to rehash unpleasantness?

  CEmmett: Okay, no problem.

  RonGreer4: I embarrassed you and I didn’t mean to.

  And yet you continue to do so by bringing it up again!

  CEmmett: No big deal. Thanks for the message.

  RonGreer4: Did you say anything to Darcy?

  CEmmett: Oh yeah, I told her all about it. It was a real special moment for us.

  RonGreer4: LOL. Seriously, though, what happened was my fault and I’m very sorry.

  CEmmett: Your fault?

  RonGreer4: Sometimes my friendliness is misinterpreted and women think I’m flirting.

  CEmmett: So this has happened before?

  RonGreer4: Yes, and I regretted the misunderstanding just as much as I did at the party. I hope you’ll forgive me and let this pass.

  Somehow I did find this comforting. Idiocy loves company, I guess.

  CEmmett: Okay, well, thanks for clearing that up.

  RonGreer4: I want to make sure we’re on the same page about Darcy. There’s no need to hurt her feelings by telling her. Agreed?

  I stopped cold at the keyboard. This was no apology; it was damage control. He was simply covering his ass, which only made me wonder—from what?

  CEmmett: Sure thing. Good night.

  I signed off before he could reply.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I only heard from Ron once more after that. About a week later while I was catching up on email, he chimed in again with an Instant Message, telling me about some move Rachel had mastered at practice. He knew I was there to see it, but correctly assumed I didn’t understand what a great achievement this was. After the kitchen incident, Ron seemed determined to make a buddy of me, but how could I ever be pals with a guy who had to tell me that sometimes a goldfish was just a goldfish.

  RonGreer4: Hey there. Long time, no speak. What’s up?

  CEmmett: Oh hi. I’ve got to run. I’m super busy right now.

  RonGreer4: No prob. What are you working on? Nice to see Rachel really perfect her wall pass at practice today. That’s important for our mids.

  CEmmett: Can’t talk now. Rachel’s calling me.

  RonGreer4: Rachel’s here.

  It was interactions like these that made me want fewer of them with Ron Greer. As I contemplated crawling under my kicky new duvet with poppies spread across it, I found a flier for carpet cleaning service. I hadn’t given my thick, white carpet a good cleaning since Rachel and I moved in nearly a year ago. I must confess, in my effort to avoid dark, depressing colors like death black and mourning blue, I went the opposite extreme and decorated with too much white. My couch and love seat were fluffy white microfiber with tons of pillows strewn across them. The walls were crisp white; the entertainment center was birch wood w
ith glass. If I was trying to avoid thinking of Steve’s death, I might have considered something that looked less like the reception area of heaven. Last weekend I saw a duvet that sprang to life with its bright red flowers and knew I had to have it. From the moment I slipped it over my white down comforter, the whole room had vitality. Of course, one might comment that sleeping under a bed of flowers isn’t exactly the strongest affirmation of life either. But it made me happy.

  For the next several weeks, little happened that didn’t involve Rachel’s soccer team. The girls practiced twice a week with Mimi’s fitness trainings getting shorter and shorter each time. Her fuse did the same, and I feared this woman would explode sometime soon, with the very real possibility of her tackling Gunther to the ground and biting him.

  Loath as I was to admit it, Mimi’s fitness trainings looked phenomenal. Of course, I didn’t know anything about soccer, but she really seemed to have her program finely tuned. She set up obstacle courses that helped the girls develop different skills while keeping the activity fun. In the few weeks that Rachel had been working out with Mimi, I noticed that she looked faster and had more endurance. All of the girls seemed more muscular and sleek than they had at tryouts. Maybe it was the soccer practices. But to me, it appeared as though fitness training was quite effective.

  Gunther, on the other hand, was less than positive about Mimi’s sessions. He looked at his watch impatiently before blowing the whistle and announcing, “We are starting the real practicing now.” By mid-May, we were down to eight-minute sessions.

  Despite Mimi’s claims that she’d received “overwhelming support” for her trainings, none of the parents seemed particularly outraged that Mimi’s role as fitness trainer was diminishing as the season progressed. Her only real ally was Ron, who consoled her as they walked a few laps around the field whenever he was at practice. Her arms would flail in the air with exasperation, and he would gesture with his hands that she needed to take it down a notch. How I would have loved to have been a bird flying overhead so I could listen in on those conversations. Unfortunately for the general, Ron was in surgery more often than at soccer practice.

  I also hated to concede that Rachel’s homework never looked better. She did an impressive amount of work at Mimi’s. Mimi even taught the girls to meditate and visualize their goals every morning. Mimi, the Zen general. I wished it was someone else—anyone else—but Mimi was turning out to be an incredibly positive influence in Rachel’s life.

  In mid-May, I received a note from Lil, which made my heart pause with guilt. When was I going to call that woman?! This seemed to be her question as well, though she phrased it in her usual tactful fashion.

  Dearest Claire,

  You and Rachel are always in my thoughts and prayers. I do hope you’ll call me soon. I’d love to see you both.

  With much love and deep affection,

  Lil

  It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see Lil. I did. More than that, I wanted her to see Rachel. But every time I looked at my mother-in-law, I saw Steve. And as long as I could never see Steve again, I couldn’t bear to see him in her eyes, her cheekbones and her mouth. They even had the same laugh.

  At practice two weeks before our first tournament, Gunther blew his whistle right as Mimi arrived at the field with the girls. “Bring in, girls,” he shouted.

  “Gunther,” Mimi wailed, “We haven’t even started.”

  “You run mile to get here,” Gunther reminded her.

  “That’s nothing!” Mimi protested. “I brought—”

  “Fitness training is finish. We have tournament soon and girls need to get serious.”

  I unfolded my chair, noticing the fragrance of spring blossoms in the air. I waved at Rachel, who smiled to say hello. How was school? I mouthed. She gave me two thumbs up.

  “Fitness is serious, Gunther!” Mimi said with both hands on her hips. Parents began trickling in, mumbling about how they were at it again.

  “You two oughta get married, you fight so much,” Dick heckled from the sideline. Adjusting his umbrella, he turned his back to the coach and manager and began amusing Raymond, Bobby and Leo.

  “Sivious, that’s love if I ever seen it,” Leo added.

  Not one to be left out, Bobby shouted, “Get a room, you two.”

  The Normals sat quietly and took out their books, magazines, and running shoes as they waited for today’s drama to resolve itself. Mimi and Gunther walked toward each other and came within inches of each other’s face. Maybe they were in love. It certainly looked like they were moments away from a passionate kiss. It happened in movies all the time. The guy and the girl hate each other. They scream at each other, then suddenly they lock lips and hold a pose that looks like the movie poster for Casablanca.

  “What are they fighting about now?” Nancy asked.

  “What else? Fitness training. He cut it down to nothing today,” I explained.

  “For good or just for today?” Darcy chimed in.

  “Don’t know. He just told her that the girls need to get serious before the tournament, and she looked supremely insulted by that comment.”

  “Shhh, he’s going to say something,” Darcy said as we all watched Gunther grope for words.

  “We have tournament soon!” Gunther said. “Girls need to play soccer.”

  Nancy, Darcy and I relaxed into our seats again, disappointed with Gunther’s reply. “He already said that,” Nancy noted.

  “Well, I think it sucks in a major way,” Gia piped in. “He promised her an assistant coaching position and he’s so not keeping that promise. Mimi puts a lot of prep work into these trainings and cutting them is a total slap in the face.”

  “Please,” Jennifer said. I wasn’t even aware that she was listening to us as she laced up her running shoes a few feet away. “Gunther’s the coach and he gets to set the agenda for the team.”

  “Hear, hear,” Nancy said.

  Gia looked around curiously. I could just see the thought bubble over her head wondering, where, where?

  Mimi shouted, “Gunther, we agreed—”

  “We have tournament soon. Girls need to play soccer.”

  “Not exactly a candidate for the debating team, is he?” Darcy said.

  “Darcy Greer, you’re bad,” Jennifer teased before setting off on her run.

  After a few minutes, Mimi gestured like she was throwing something to the ground, though her hands were empty. “Fine,” she snapped, then stormed off to the sideline. When she joined the fat four and the Italian, it was a defining moment for our team.

  In the first minutes of Gunther’s drill, the wall of noise began.

  “What the hell was that?!” Dick muttered just loud enough for the parents to hear.

  “Time-wasting bullshit’s what it is. He ain’t sivious spending the last practices before the tourney doing this kind of crap,” yelled Leo.

  “Move, move, move it, Violet!” shouted Raymond. “No mercy, no mercy, girl!”

  Paulo muttered unhappily in Italian.

  “He’s completely incompetent,” Mimi added.

  Loud Bobby just sighed. Loudly. Then he turned to Mimi, who stood watching with her hands on her hips and her eyes narrowed. “You played in college. They ever do drills like these with you?”

  “No they did not,” Mimi said, repeating the response while oscillating her head like a fan. Everyone needed to hear that during Mimi’s glory days at Dartmouth, her precious time wasn’t wasted with inferior Guntherian drills. “Of course, we were in better shape on my college team so we could do more advanced exercises!”

  Darcy nudged me and laughed. “Aren’t you mortified that our fifth graders don’t measure up to Mimi’s college soccer team? I could just die of shame.”

  No, but I am mortified that despite the fact that your husband is an absolute ass, I still have wildly inappropriate dreams about him.

  At the next practice, I watched Mimi pacing the sideline like an old-school father waiting in the maternit
y ward. “Mimi’s getting wacky,” I whispered to Darcy. “Rachel said that when she was at her place on Tuesday, Mimi was pushing these homemade Girl Power bars, saying that since fitness training was canceled they needed to make up for it with good nutrition.”

  “Is it canceled for good, or just before the tournament?” she asked.

  “For good,” I told her, my lips pressed together as if to say, how do you like them apples?

  “Do tell,” Darcy urged.

  “Nothing to tell. I had to call Gunther about something, and while I had him on the line, I asked if he was just suspending fitness training or ending it altogether.”

  “You had to call him about something else?” Darcy asked suspiciously. “You little gossip whore,” she teased.

  “I did! Really. I needed to get Rachel new cleats and wanted to see if he recommended a certain brand or style.”

  “Oh,” Darcy shrugged. “Well, does he?”

  “He told me to get cleats that are comfortable and fit well.”

  “There’s a hot tip.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “He seems to communicate well with the girls, though. Anyway, he told me fitness training was a waste of time and that Mimi wasn’t qualified to teach the girls how to use the equipment properly, blah, blah, blah.”

  “Really? Gosh, ’cause I heard somewhere that she played in college,” Darcy said.

  “Well, she didn’t take very good notes because Gunther said Mimi was completely wasting their time, tiring them out for nothing. In any event, Rachel said Mimi was like June Cleaver Freakazoid, making them all eat her special high-octane cookies she baked.”

  “Kelly says they’re quite tasty,” Darcy said. “I guess when you make homemade treats, you can get pretty pushy about everyone trying them.”

  “I guess we should be thankful that she cares so much about their health,” I said.

  “Puh-lease!” Darcy snapped. “I’d believe Mother Earth over there cares about their health. Mimi cares about their performance on the soccer field. She cares about taking some sort of credit for their success. If she can’t claim she made them the fittest team in Cal South, she’ll say they win because of their superior nutrition.”