In Between Men

by Mary Castillo

  Large amounts of gray signify a person whose life force is leaking away to great unhappiness. Or you may have operated the camera incorrectly and need to try again.

  The rest of the week managed to float on untroubled waters. Thursday ended with the team receiving their uniforms, but no Alex for Isa, which was okay. Really, she told herself, it was.

  On Friday, twelve of Isa’s students turned in drafts of their presentations to the board and Carlos wasn’t on the radio. And then Isa remembered to recruit June to help her quarter oranges for today’s game.

  So far so good, she thought, smiling when her best friend, Tamara, walked across the street. All morning she’d been nervous for Andrew’s first game, especially with the way he’d acted with Alex that night. But Andrew had just eaten his breakfast this morning and asked if he could go to the Discovery Science Center next weekend.

  When Tamara showed up, Isa felt free to breathe. “You need to give your mother grandchildren,” she greeted. They’d been friends long enough to dispense with the pleasantries.

  Tamara stopped short of the curb and then lowered her sunglasses. “Why do you talk to that woman?”

  They hugged and it felt like wearing her favorite stretched-out sweater.

  “I love your hair,” Tamara exclaimed, fluffing it with her fingers. “And you look…” She tilted her head to the side. “Different. Confident.”

  Never comfortable with compliments, Isa pointed to the cooler. “Help me carry this up?”

  Tamara hiked her cute purse up on her shoulder and grabbed the other end of the cooler. Isa noted she still didn’t have a ring on her left finger. Susan had been hinting that she had “a feeling” all week.

  On the way up, Isa explained that Susan and John bought all the parents t-shirts in yellow and black with “Tigers” printed on the back over a giant paw print. They also erected a 12-foot-long banner with the boys’ names written in gold glitter.

  But none of that impressed Tamara. “So which one is he?” she asked when they got to the field.

  She’d been talking to her mother again, Isa thought. She tugged the cooler and Tamara nearly dislocated her arm. “Over there.”

  “Hmmm. Not bad,” Tamara assessed.

  “I’ll tell Will on you.”

  “Just making an observation. So? Anything you want to tell me?”

  “No,” Isa shot back.

  Tamara dropped her end of the cooler, glaring eerily like her mother, who hadn’t spotted them yet. Isa did a quick check over both shoulders. “I like him,” Isa hissed. “And I thought Andrew liked him but now I’m not sure.”

  A slippery sort of grin spread appeared on Tamara’s face.

  “It’s complicated,” Isa said.

  “Uncomplicate it,” Tamara insisted. “By the way, he’s looking at you.”

  Isa almost couldn’t move, couldn’t think; like someone snapped on the lights while she’d been sleeping.

  “Look, I know you hate advice,” Tamara started. “But take it from me, I know all about jumping in feet first and having no idea where you’ll end up. And if I’d done what everyone else had wanted I never would’ve left for L.A., which means I wouldn’t have a job I love, which means I wouldn’t have Will—”

  “And your point is?”

  Tamara’s eyes narrowed.

  “I should just go with my feelings?” Isa asked sarcastically.

  “Sometimes you don’t have a choice.”

  “M’ija!” Susan cried and ran over, holding onto her huge hat with one hand. Patty was close on her heels, holding her camera.

  Isa took two deliberate steps to her left while Susan and Patty attacked Tamara with hugs and comments about her hair, outfit, and makeup.

  “Patty wants to take your picture,” Susan said and Isa took more steps away.

  “Why?” Tamara asked, sniffing out a ruse.

  “Because it’s been so long since she’s seen you. Now stand right here.”

  Isa started thinking that maybe Tamara was right. Maybe she should uncomplicate things. Looking across the field to where Alex talked to the ref while the boys scampered like puppies on the loose, she felt his solidarity and the comfort that gave her. Why was she tied up in knots? The only, well not the only, but certainly the biggest complication was Andrew.

  “Oh God, you have to be kidding,” Tamara’s voice cut through Isa’s thinking and out of the corner of her eye she saw the shirt: I’M ROCK HARD.

  She watched her son run hell bent towards Carlos, who stood under the trees in baggy black pants, wraparound Oakleys, and a ball cap. He handed their son a matching shirt.

  Ruben Lopez walked over, barely recognizable with the extra twenty pounds he’d gained and a baby strapped to his chest.

  “Watch me put it on, Dad!” she heard Andrew shout when Carlos shook Ruben’s hand. He wiggled his head through the shirt, wearing it like a dress over his shiny new soccer uniform. He jumped up and down, so eager for his father’s attention. But Carlos gave none of it to Andrew.

  She knew that when she confronted Carlos it would be bad. Andrew might not forgive her, but she found herself walking across the field.

  “Let me,” Alex said, appearing beside her.

  “No, I can—”

  “Don’t worry. I can handle it.”

  She let him walk to her son, clipboard under one arm as his long legs carried him with authority.

  She flinched when Carlos yelled in their son’s face, “Shut up!”

  Andrew stopped and stumbled back. Alex appeared behind him, his hand steadying his shoulder.

  Reminding himself that this ass-munch was Andrew’s dad, Alex took a deep breath to keep from pummeling the guy for shouting in his kid’s face.

  “Hey, I’m Alex Lujon, Andrew’s coach.”

  Carlos stonewalled him with silence and reflective sunglasses.

  Alex detected some nasty vibes when he first saw Carlos walking to the field. Something told him without ever laying eyes on the guy since high school that this was Isa’s ex.

  “How’s it going?” he’d asked, holding his hand out.

  Carlos stared at it, stuffing his hands in his baggy cargo pants and rocking back on his heels. “Don’t mess up with my kid,” he replied. The guy with the baby didn’t say anything.

  Great. Alex’s favorite type of asshole.

  “He’s in good hands, man,” Alex said. To Andrew, “You ready to warm up?”

  The kid looked anything but, still shell shocked from the way his dad treated him.

  “Your coach is talking to you,” Carlos snapped. “Listen up!”

  Andrew trembled under Alex’s hand and Alex knew that one day, he was going to beat the shit out of this guy. But not now, not in front of a little boy who had been working so hard for his first soccer game.

  “Come on, little man,” Alex said, curling his hand over the boy’s shoulder. “Let’s go show ‘em what you got.”

  When they turned as a pair and walked towards the kids who’d gathered into a circle, Carlos burst out laughing. His friend said, “Hey man, why don’t you cool it with Andrew?”

  Andrew’s head fell forward. Alex stayed alongside him, right where he needed him. “You all right?”

  “Uh-huh.” Andrew held on but barely.

  So this was what Isa had to deal with? It was enough to make Alex almost dizzy with fury. “You know what you need to do, right? You need to get focused on the game. You know what professional athletes do before each game?”

  Andrew shook his head.

  “They get focused.” Alex made it up as he went along. “They imagine all the other stuff stays locked in an imaginary box. And then they filter all the extra stuff out, the people on the sidelines and the guys yelling stuff out at them. That’s what you have to do.”

  He grasped onto the back of Andrew’s neck and gave a gentle squeeze. “Andrew, you know I wouldn’t be saying this if I didn’t think you could do it, right?”

  “But my dad doesn’t—” H
is voice climbed and then broke under the weight of his humiliation.

  Alex stopped them short of the other kids. “You can do this. You can show everyone all the things we’ve been working on.”

  Andrew nodded, fighting his tears on the losing side. Hoping he’d said the magic words, Alex figured what the hell and hugged him.

  Isa’s jaw unhinged and her mouth fell open when Andrew clung to Alex, his face pressed into his stomach.

  Kill Carlos were the next words in her mind.

  “No, Isa,” John said, catching her before she took the first step towards justifiable homicide. “Alex’s got it.”

  Startled that it was John who spoke to her, Isa turned and saw Patty and Tamara restraining Susan.

  “Look.” John released her arm. “He’s okay.”

  Andrew wrestled the shirt over his head, gave it to Alex and then ran to the team, who were starting their side stretches.

  “Oh my,” Joan sighed romantically, standing beside Isa in a black and white suit wearing a hat with a brim that rivaled Susan’s. “There’s nothing like a man tending to a child.”

  Something freed up inside Isa. Joan, as usual, was right. Alex was her knight in shining Nikes. Watching him with her son was like feeling the sun’s warmth pushing through the clouds.

  “There he is, darling.” Joan turned, reflecting Isa and the park and the other parents in the lenses of her giant sunglasses. “Everything you’ve ever wanted is right before your eyes.”

  She dipped her chin down, looking over the rims of her sunglasses and added, “Make sure you wear something special tonight.”

  “Is he okay?” Susan asked Alex as he jogged over to them.

  Alex handed Isa the shirt. She could see the rows of thick eyelashes outlining his velvety eyes. “He’s cool. And you?”

  For once, someone other than Susan and Tamara stood up for her. Alex didn’t do it out of loyalty, he did it because he cared.

  “Thank you,” was all Isa could manage in that gauzy moment.

  The corner of his mouth quirked up. “For not kicking his ass?”

  She squeezed Andrew’s shirt in her hand. “Something like that.”

  22

  “Well hi there!” June said when Andrew opened the door. “Is your mama home?”

  He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “In there.”

  She smiled, seeing Isa in the shape of his eyes and eyebrows. “Don’t you worry. I’ll get her all fixed up.”

  Unconcerned he shouted, “Mom! Your friend is here.”

  Isa groaned, throwing a Mandarin dress on top of the pile of discarded outfits. “How many times do I have to tell you not to yell?” she yelled back.

  She had nothing to wear and only thirty minutes to get ready for the team’s pizza party. Why she decided this night would be the night she’d “go for” Alex, she’d never know. Suddenly, she felt possessed by the same anxiety that drove women to come to blows over G-strings at a post-Christmas Victoria’s Secret clearance sale.

  Her objective ruled out her typical outfit of jeans and a shirt, but then a skirt and heels at a soccer team’s pizza party advertised, “desperate single mom.” The black lace bra under the coat was obviously out of the question.

  “All right young lady,” June announced from behind a mountain of purses, heels and various clothing. “Get ready to be MILFed!”

  “Wow! It’s even worse than my room. What happened in here?” Andrew’s amazed voice called out through the curtain of clothes.

  Isa hadn’t seen him behind June. “Nothing!” she protested.

  He hitched the corner of his mouth, unfortunately, looking a lot like Isa did when she caught him doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing.

  “Why don’t you go play with your toys,” June grunted when she dumped her loot on the bed. “Oh, my poor back.”

  “Mom, it’s just a pizza party.”

  Assuming some parental authority, “Is there something you need, honey?”

  “No. But how come you didn’t ask for my help?”

  “Because sweetie pie,” June chimed in, “you’re a man and men don’t help ladies dress unless they’re ga—”

  “Need to get dressed themselves,” Isa interjected, giving June the look. And she didn’t think men had to be gay to help women dress. Maybe with more time in California, June would become more enlightened.

  Then again, Isa took another look at Andrew’s black soccer socks sticking up from the top of his Ugg boots, red board shorts, and his jersey. “Go get changed,” she told him.

  “But I am changed.”

  “Why don’t you put on some jeans and a clean shirt?”

  He pulled the jersey from his neck and sniffed. “But I don’t smell bad.”

  “Did you close the front door after June?”

  His eyes widened before he spun and sprinted out of the bedroom.

  “You got yourself a nice little boy there,” June remarked kindly. “Now. Let’s get you dressed.”

  “I was thinking—” Isa began, but June was in her zone.

  “I thought about that whole uh…” June’s eyes tick-tocked from side to side and then she lowered her voice. “Joan Collins thing and realized we need to create a new you.”

  Isa wasn’t following but she had to explain, “Joan isn’t a ghost.”

  “I know but I don’t want to talk disrespectful of her an—” Excited, she stepped forward and hissed, “She’s not here is she?”

  Feeling like an idiot, Isa shook her head but glanced over her shoulder just in case. She hadn’t seen Joan since the game. She winced. How much longer did she have before she had to be put on medication?

  “Anyway, Joan is your sexual self speaking out against your more uh, uptight self.”

  Uptight was better than crazy.

  June held up her hands, anticipation shooting out her French-manicured tips. “Be prepared,” she announced.

  She whipped around and like magic was holding up a black-sequined halter top and a black leather mini skirt that doubled as a napkin.

  “We’re going to Napoleano’s not White Lotus,” Isa reminded her.

  “Oh, right. Okay.” She flung that down and then clapped her hands. “What do you think about this?”

  Isa looked at the denim mini-dress and thought, “Daisy Duke Does Dallas.”

  Several outfits went into the reject pile until they had nothing left to work with. Isa fell dejected on the edge of her crowded bed.

  “We can do this,” June said, fanning herself with both hands. “Men are very basic. And I know Joan won’t leave us in our moment of need.”

  “Will you quit,” Isa muttered. “Joan is just…just a figment of my imagination.”

  “Don’t say that! You’ll hurt her feelings.”

  Isa stood up, realizing she was becoming her mother: desperate for a man and willing to do everything but be herself in pursuit of one. “This whole girl thing isn’t me.” Defiantly, she rammed her foot into the leg of her favorite pair of jeans.

  “Isa, what are you doing?”

  “I’m just going to be me. Clearly I’m not cut out for this.”

  “Put the jeans down. Now!”

  “I’m going like this.”

  June took a threatening step forward. “Don’t make me go over there and pull them off! You can do this and you’re going to do this right!”

  “I’m sorry but—”

  June lunged forward and caught her jeans by the back pocket. “Off!”

  “Let go!”

  “The perfect outfit is here! I can feel it,” she cried, tugging them down. “Joan is with us.”

  Clutching onto them for dear life, Isa batted at June’s hand. “No, she’s not. Hey, let go!”

  “So help me I’ll rip these jeans off you.” June’s eyes had an evangelical glow.

  They looked like Alexis and Krystal duking it out, or worse, the stars of a porno.

  The pocket made a tiny rip and Isa gasped. June released the jeans.
Isa leapt back. “Okay, okay!”

  “I have a compromise,” June declared.

  Isa twisted around to try to see the damage.

  “What about those jeans—” June fished through the pile and yanked out a vivid blue top with a sheer overlay embroidered with lace. “This and these shoes?” She held up a pair of heels with turquoise stones threaded through invisible straps.

  Isa felt the glory of the immaculate outfit flow through her. Her jeans were casual, but the top was sexily romantic but not too sexy. And the shoes…She looked down at her feet. Uh-oh.

  “It won’t work. I have to paint my toenails.”

  “No worries. I have polish!”

  Damn, the girl had everything.

  “So?” June asked expectantly.

  Isa only had to nod. They were five minutes late by the time they painted her nails, redid her lipstick, and debated over earrings. At the end, June ceremoniously made her stop one last time in front of the mirror.

  “Look here honey, you’re a real girl.”

  And once again, Isa felt like one.

  The sound of crashing cars, firing guns, and cops warning everyone to “Get down! Get down!” competed with the parents laughing over pitchers of beer and margaritas. When the video games ended, kids groaned and begged parents for additional quarters.

  But there was a noticeable pause in the noise and confusion of Napoleano’s when Isa walked through the door.

  Some women’s eyes scanned then narrowed with envy; a few widened when they recognized her. The men surveyed Isa’s geography and wondered if her cleavage was smoke and mirrors or the real thing. The only man who didn’t notice was Alex because he was in the bar with the fathers, ordering beer. Andrew disengaged from her side, running off with his friends. With a dispirited sigh, Isa watched the restaurant resume as normal.

  Napoleano’s looked very much the way it did in 1946 when Grandpa Nico was discharged from the army and opened the place with his wife’s tomato sauce recipe and all their savings in the pizza oven. The checkerboard floor was scarred, and sticky red and white checkered tablecloths were stapled to the undersides of the tables. Nico Sr. refused to let Nico Jr. install air conditioning, claiming it would ruin the dough, so tired ceiling fans twirled the scent of oregano and baking dough over the sweating crowd.