Field of Schemes

by Coburn, Jennifer

  “Who to? Who to, Violet?!” Raymond shouted.

  “Get to the ball!” belted Loud Bobby. “You first, you first!”

  “Savannah, you’re hesitating!” Leo cried.

  “You dented my new Fiat, you animal!” shouted Paulo. Or something like that. Did this guy even speak English?

  “What was that?!” Mimi snapped at Cara. She was one of them now. May she pack on pounds and sprout facial hair.

  The thing with club soccer parents was that they limited their public humiliation to their own kids. It was the unwritten code that no soccer dad should deny another his right to psychologically scar his own child. Still, there were plenty of mutterings. “How’d she make the team?” Raymond made the mistake of whispering about Tandy.

  “Zip it, pal!” Dick snapped back. For a moment I was touched at Dick’s loyalty. “You want to talk about sucky players, look no further than Debbie Does Defense. Or should I say doesn’t do defense?” The group cracked up at that one.

  “What about Sapphire?” said Loud Bobby.

  Shhhh, everyone can hear you!

  Nodding his head towards Gia, Bobby said, “Don’t tell me Adolf didn’t take that one so he can look at those tits on the sideline all season.” Mercifully, Gia was reading Cosmo and listening to tunes through her iPod.

  Did he just refer to our coach as Adolf?

  “I think Katie’s our weak link,” said Mimi. “She’s slow to the ball and can’t finish.”

  “I don’t even know which Katie you’re talkin’ about and I agree,” Raymond said. “I’m not impressed with any of the Katies. And I tell you who else I don’t like is Rachel. She don’t do shit ’cept hog the dang ball and run it down the middle like she thinks she’s bowling.” The negativity was like lava flowing from Mount Vesuvius.

  “Excuse me?” said Nancy. I admired her chutzpa.

  “Yeah?” Dick replied, puffing out his chest, a somewhat ridiculous gesture when one’s challenger is holding half of an angora scarf from a set of knitting needles.

  “Did you just refer to one of the girls as a weak link?”

  Um, actually, he referred to several as weak links. Plural. And yes, both of our kids were included in that.

  “It’s an expression. Don’t get your panties in a wad,” Dick huffed.

  “My panties in a wad?”

  “Also an expression.”

  “So is ‘shut up’!” Nancy said.

  Oh. My. God! You go girl to the nth degree.

  “These are children you are talking about!” Nancy continued. “Calling any one of them a weak link confirms what I’ve long suspected of you, Dick! You are the weak link of humanity.”

  Or the missing link, I wish I had the gumption to say.

  I was relieved that Mimi’s lofty goal of having the girls play in eight tournaments over the summer didn’t pan out. With family vacations and travel, parents could only come together for three weekends in the early summer: the Manchester United Memorial Day Cup in Santa Barbara, the Cooperstown Rebels’ “School’s Out for Summer” Cup, and the Patriots’ Cup on July Fourth weekend.

  As Rachel and I walked in the woods a few days before we left for Santa Barbara, I asked if she had any idea how much I loved her. She nodded, but I wanted more from the moment. “You are—”

  “I know, I know, I’m all you have,” Rachel said.

  “No, Rachel. You’re not all that I have. You’re everything I have. Big difference.”

  “I don’t really see the difference,” Rachel said.

  “You don’t?” I asked, slightly disappointed that my daughter hadn’t picked up the nuance.

  “No, either way, it’s like I’m it. I mean, I know you’re saying it to be nice and all, but it’s like I’m your basket with all the eggs in it, and what if I, um … ” Rachel groped for the words.

  “Crack them?” I offered.

  “Yeah! That’s it. What if I crack them?”

  I hardly ever told Rachel that she was everything I had. And on this occasion, she was the one who brought it up. Still, I remembered what our marriage counselor said when Steve and I would challenge each other’s feelings: “Do you want to be right, or do you want to do right?” I wanted to do right by Rachel, so I accepted that this was her way of broaching a difficult topic with me, something I said I wanted from these walks.

  “Rachel, first of all, you could never crack my eggs,” I said. “Can we drop the whole egg thing?” She laughed. “I think what you’re saying is that one person can’t be another person’s whole world, right?” She nodded. “I bet it’s a lot of pressure to feel like my happiness depends entirely on you.”

  “Yeah, sort of,” Rachel said.

  “So basically, you’re telling me to get a life?”

  She laughed, slightly uncomfortable with my interpretation. “Sort of.”

  I sighed like an exasperated teen. “Okay, if I have to.”

  Rachel giggled. “I love you, too.”

  After several delays, Beadorable! finally opened its doors, which Rachel was more excited about than I. “Look, it’s open, Mom! Let’s go in! We can finally start beading again.” I smiled because she’d never strung a bead in her life except for the big plastic ones they give kids in preschool. Nonetheless, I decided not to set her straight, and let her enjoy our imaginary shared history. I had to admit, it was exhilarating once we got inside and started looking through the precious stones and divider beads in so many different patterns. We could do fun and trendy pieces with rhinestone-trimmed dividers and chunky hammered silver, or more understated and elegant necklaces. It was when I approached the charm display that I knew what our first project together would be. Under the glass tabletop were delicate little silver soccer balls. We bought fifteen of them, along with different beads to reflect the personality of each member of the team. For Kelly, we bought pink, soft-shell pearls and tiny silver dividers. For Deborah, we bought unfinished crystals and black stones that looked like we might have found them on a hike. We got Cara beautiful blown-glass beads with different funky patterns on each separated by clear glass and silver discs. And guess what we got for precious Sapphire.

  Rachel and I spent more than two hours picking beads for the team, and I wound up signing a MasterCard receipt promising to pay more than $300 for the beads and all of my new supplies like silver wire, crimping tools and a cutter. Oh well, I shrugged. I have money and this is what it’s for.

  For the next two nights, Rachel and stayed up late chatting, stringing beads at the kitchen table. She couldn’t wait to give her gifts to her teammates after they finished their first tournament.

  Before we hit the road for Rachel’s first soccer tournament, we attended a different tournament of sorts. It was the Suburban Mothers Classic. It was billed as a party—a light-sounding “spring fling” at that—but make no mistake, this was the championship round in the battle of the moms.

  As Rachel and I walked through the Johansen home, we passed a gauntlet of awards, framed certificates, and blue ribbons awarding Jinx for being the best mother ever. Of course, there were also the more subtle trophies like the framed photos with famous people and in front of well-known landmarks. Jinx definitely won the best-traveled family award, as I noticed shots of her in front of the pyramids, the Eiffel Tower and the Great Wall of China. We made our way to the backyard, where the first things I noticed were her topiary designs. There were bushes shaped like elephants, giraffes, and a gorilla. It looked like the entrance to the San Diego Zoo.

  I expected the kids to run off on their own, but was surprised by the gender segregation. The men stood holding beer bottles, shifting their weight and nodding their heads as they engaged in sparse conversation about sports scores and home improvements. The women sat in tight clusters from which treble-clef laughter burst out in fits. At the center of the biggest congregation of estrogen was Mimi, regaling the group with a story about how Marla Bennett hired a show-and-tell coach for her first grader. “I am not making this up!” she
defended against a playful accusation of exaggerating. “We were at the class publishing party when Marla gets up and starts making these crazy signals at Keiffer.” Mimi then started imitating the woman wearing a painfully anxious expression, moving a rigid hand beside her head. “So I said to her, what in heaven’s sake are you doing, loser?”

  “You did not!” several mothers challenged, laughing.

  “No, but that was my intonation. I asked what she was doing and she told me that she hired a show-and-tell coach for Keiffer to help him with volume, and get this, elocution.” The group burst into laughter.

  Jinx joined in as I passed the group and made my way to the snack table. “I can confirm this. Marla told me that when Keiffer got a ‘good’ on oral skills on his report card, she woke up in cold sweats with nightmares about her boy giving a presentation on his endocrinology research, but no one could hear him because he was mumbling.”

  “His endocrinology research?” a mom squealed.

  “In twenty years,” Jinx explained.

  The group roared again. Jinx turned and saw me. “Oh, Claire. I’m glad you made it!” I was rather surprised when I received the invitation to her annual farewell to spring party, but Rachel insisted that we attend on the grounds that anyone who’s anyone would be at the Johansen Spring Fling. Jinx reached her arm out and motioned for me to join the women. “Do you know everyone? You know Mimi, of course.” We both smiled perfunctorily. “This is Kerrie, Gwenny, Olivia, Libby, Julia, and Wendy.” The time passed pleasantly enough, though I really wanted to get home, put on some comfy clothes and climb into bed with a good book. Sometimes making conversation can be such work when I don’t know people well.

  I watched Ron from the corner of my eye. I wanted to see if I still quivered when I saw him, and I was very sorry to find that my knees did, in fact, shake at the sight of Darcy’s husband. How could this be? I adored Darcy and would never do anything to hurt her. I also found Ron to be a jerk. So what gave? As I pondered the attraction, Mimi broke ranks with the moms and approached Ron. “You didn’t text me back,” she said playfully, but was clearly annoyed.

  Ron’s eyes shot around the garden as I began nodding absently at the story Libby was telling the group. “I was in surgery,” he explained.

  “I texted three days ago,” Mimi said. “That’s not very—” The gaggle of women began laughing at Libby’s story. I joined in, though I hoped the laughter would stop soon because I wanted to hear the rest of what Mimi was saying. This Libby person better not be a real card.

  “—now,” Ron told Mimi. “What’s so important?”

  “If you don’t care about Kelly’s—”

  The group of women burst into laughter again. “Oh my God, Libby, you are too hilarious!” Wendy cried. My sentiments exactly!

  “—the manager, you’ll handle it,” Ron said. “No one ever gets over on you, Meem.”

  Mimi purred a laugh. “You are such a—”

  “Lib-by!” shouted Darcy as she laughed hysterically. “There is no way this could have happened! I mean, it’s a funny story, but come on, you’re making it up! Claire, you don’t buy this story, do you?” I looked at her and shook my head. “See, Libby, this never could’ve happened. Claire, what’s the most you’d pay for that?”

  “Me?” I stammered. They all looked expectantly. “Not much.”

  “Come on, Claire, give us a number. What’s the most you’d ever pay for that?”

  “Oh, um,” I stammered. “Sure as hell not as much as Libby did.”

  With that the group exploded into laughter.

  Wendy invited me to join the group for their next girls’ night out. “We need someone like you to keep Libby in check,” she said, winking at her pal. It was the single most successful social interaction I’d had since moving to Santa Bella, and I had no idea what I’d said.

  Before Rachel and I left, Jinx said she wanted to have a word with me alone. Finally, her agenda would be revealed. We sat under a white canvas umbrella with sweating glasses of iced tea on a table before us. “I want to apologize for the way I acted that day at Party City,” she began. “I was the worst kind of nasty and I really regret how I acted. Do you think you can forgive me?”

  “Okay,” I said. “It was a stressful time for everyone.”

  “Tell me about it. Sissy was just cut, so I was freaking out, but now that I have a little distance, I’m back to my old self again.”

  “I hear you,” I said. “Been there, came back.” I extended my hand and we shook.

  “So how’s it going on Gunther’s dream team?” Jinx asked. “I hear he’s thinking about dumping a few of the girls before the regular season starts.”

  “Really?! Can he do that?” Not Rachel, not Rachel, please not Rachel! “I hadn’t heard that.”

  “Oh, probably just rumors. I mustn’t get my hopes up.”

  “Oh,” I said, squirming.

  “I mean, of course Rachel’s safe. I’m sure she’s doing beautifully, right?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Well, Gunther can make player changes anytime before the regular season starts, so Rachel will have all summer to shine. I’m sure her spot is secure.”

  “Oh, gee, thanks,” I replied, looking around to see the crowd thinning. “How’s Sissy doing? Is she enjoying her new team?”

  Jinx leaned in conspiratorially. “No one was more upset than I was about Sissy being cut from the top team, but I have to tell you, it’s been a real blessing. Sissy is a star! She’s becoming so confident on the field. I have a feeling you may be seeing her again very soon, if you know what I mean. Gunther’s been visiting our scrimmages, and I can see he’s impressed with Sissy’s progress.”

  “That’s great,” I faked. If Gunther was considering taking Sissy back on the team, would he then have to drop a girl from the existing roster?

  “It would be wonderful. You never know what will happen. The Lord works in mysterious ways.”

  God is involved in kids’ soccer now? I thought he only answered the prayers of NFL players.

  Jinx’s young son, McKendrick, ran up to us and started a panicked series of questions. The mother inhaled deeply to remind McKendrick to do this himself. “Calm down, count backwards and let’s get to your peaceful place,” she sang.

  “We’re gonna win the food drive this year, right, Mom?” he asked, breathing like he’d just finished a marathon—under water.

  “Of course we are,” she replied, Stepfordesque. Turning to me, Jinx explained, “Our Lady of Forgiveness has a food drive every year, and the class that brings in the most food wins a pizza party.”

  “Wrangler says his mom’s bringing six hundred packages of Ramen noodles this year,” McKendrick reported.

  Jinx’s back straightened in alarm. “Why would he say that? Did you tell him I plan to bring five hundred?” His eyes welled with tears and he nodded affirmatively. “McKendrick, I told you not to talk about how much food I’m bringing. The last thing I need is some crazy mother trying to outdo me.”

  “I’m sorry,” he burst into tears.

  Jinx hugged her son and in a moment of sheer maternal beauty, she added, “You’re forgiven, but I hope you’ve learned a lesson from this. Mommy has a strategy. I bring in the food on the last hour of the last day when no one can run out and buy more.” Turning to me, “Because believe me they would. Ramen noodles are a dime each at Costco.” Directing her attention back to her fragile offspring, Jinx concluded, “McKendrick, you did the right thing by telling Mommy. I’ll buy some more noodles on Monday, but do not breathe a word of this, do you hear me?”

  “Okay,” he sniffed, wiping his nose with his hand. “Now the poor people will get even more food!”

  Handing him a napkin, Jinx asked, “What poor people?”

  “I think the school probably gives the food to poor people,” I told Jinx.

  “Right, of course!”

  “Thanks, Mommy. You’re the best.”

  Smiling placidly, as if
she were delivering the final line of a 1950s sitcom, Jinx said, “We’re all the best in our own special way, McKendrick.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Memorial Day weekend finally arrived and Rachel’s team was ready for its first tournament. At least I thought they were ready, but the consensus among the malcontents was that we were prepared only for complete annihilation. Mimi told the four angry fathers that she’d try to do something to help the girls. I sincerely hoped it wouldn’t be hiking up her pigtails and putting on a Kix jersey. I mean, she looked great for a thirty-five-year-old, but there was no way she’d pass for twelve. Her actions certainly were those of a spoiled adolescent, but like the rest of us, the years had chiseled their way onto Mimi’s face.

  As we pulled into the Crowne Plaza hotel in Santa Barbara, we saw dozens of minivans with team names painted on the back windows. “How totally exciting is this?! Rachel exclaimed, grabbing Kelly’s arm. I volunteered to drive Kelly the night before so Darcy wouldn’t have to schlep her whole crew for an overnight stay. I couldn’t imagine how starting her day on the road at 5:30 a.m. was any easier, but she said it was. I figured since we had to spend Saturday and possibly Sunday night, we may as well make the hotel room our new home for a stint.

  When we checked in, the man at the front desk seemed on edge. “It’s like kid city here tonight,” he said to no one. “Super planning, Pete.” He shook his head and began tapping his keyboard. I guess he didn’t like children.

  “This is so awesome!” Rachel said to Kelly, ignoring the snub. A team of older girls from Turf walked through the sliding glass door in perfect cadence. In their red nylon sweat suits and soccer backpacks, they looked like a force to be reckoned with. As they passed, we all read the backs of their nylon jackets: Turf Soccer Club—California State Champions. “They won—” Rachel paused as if the words were too powerful for her to handle.