First Position

by Prescott Lane

  “Don’t talk to me that way, Son.”

  As the mountain lion lunged at a little cub, Mason shut off the television, hurling the remote towards the edge of the sofa. “Sorry, Mom. What you are saying is just very cynical.”

  “Is it really? I loved your father, and that got me heartbroken.” Kathleen cleared her throat. “Why do you think I never remarried?”

  “Because Steven and I would’ve tormented any man who came near you?”

  “You two were little devils. Still are,” she said, chuckling, and pausing to refill her glass. “The reason is I never wanted to let someone have power over me again, and when you love someone, they have the power to hurt you.”

  Mason swallowed hard, knowing she was right. I hurt the only woman I ever loved, and she paid a tremendous price. I did, too. But he refused to concede anything to his mother, unwilling to allow her bitterness to infect his life anymore. “What about Steven and Olivia? They love each other and are very happy.”

  “You want love? Love your wife!”

  “Too late, especially since Alexis is threatening to challenge the prenup. She’s only interested in the money.” Emory peeked her head out of the bathroom and yelled for Mason to bring her a pair of panties.

  Kathleen set down her wine glass, and stiffened her spine. “Daniel Evan Mason, who is that woman?”

  Mason darted towards the bathroom and put his finger over his mouth. “Sorry,” she mouthed, “I thought you were off the phone.” Emory retreated into the bathroom, and closed the door.

  “Who is that, Son?”

  Mason panicked, grabbing at his hair. “I think it was housekeeping.”

  “Asking you for underwear? I’m not stupid, Mason. What is going on?”

  Mason felt an urge to be honest, but decided he didn’t owe his mother a response -- not tonight, not ever. He was a grown man, living his own life, and didn’t need his mother’s approval for what he did or didn’t do. “Mom, this is really none of your business.”

  “You and Alexis have only been separated a few months, dear. This could look very bad in the divorce proceedings.”

  “I don’t care. It’s late. And I’m tired of how things may or may not look. I’m tired of what other people may think.”

  “I didn’t raise you to behave this way, Son. You are still married!”

  “Bye, Mom.” He hung up the phone, paused for a moment to gather himself, then walked to the bedroom. He opened Emory’s bag and rummaged through her clothes. He found a pair of black lace panties, and also a white cotton bra and underwear. He held both in his hands, admiring the black one, but he put it back in the bag, and walked towards the bathroom with the white. It’s only been a week, and my mother has ruined any chance tonight. He returned to the living room and turned on the television, hoping the mama bear had protected her young cubs.

  * * *

  Mason slept soundly for hours, his arm draped over Emory. It was the first night they’d actually slept together in the same bed in six years, but only sleeping was in the cards tonight. Slow. But he couldn’t control his dreams, free flowing and vivid, coming one after another. He dreamed of kissing every inch of her body, massaging her thighs while savoring the taste of her, Emory moaning and arching her back, as he caressed her with his tongue, feeling her body quiver in pleasure. “Mason!”

  “Mason! Mason! Mason!” The crowd in Bank of America Stadium screamed his name, as he charged out of the tunnel to start the regular season for the Panthers. He’d earned the starting quarterback job using pictures of his mother and Alexis as throwing targets, the faces of the two women who tested and pained him most. He plastered throw after throw at them in practice, improving his accuracy, their faces exploding with each powerful spiral.

  Emory’s face appeared before him, sliding down his naked body and kissing his chest and abs before engulfing him in her mouth, his hands gripping the headboard behind him. Her warm tongue licking him up and down, sliding him slowly in and out of her mouth, until he could take no more. “Yes!”

  “No!” Emory screamed, thrashing her arms and legs on the bed.

  Mason’s eyes flew open in the dark hotel room, as Emory flailed next to him. He quickly grabbed her arms to calm her. “Em, Em,” he cried, his heart racing, “wake up!” But she didn’t, Mason terrified with no idea what was going on. He looked around the room helplessly. What the fuck? He shook her. “Em!”

  She finally opened her eyes, blinking several times to orient herself, her forehead and hair soaked from tears and sweat. “Mason?” she asked, looking around the room, dazed, then held her knees to her chest.

  Mason reached for the lamp next to the bed and flicked on the light. “You were having one hell of a nightmare.” Didn’t Wesley say something about this? He placed his hand on her back, but she abruptly pulled away, getting out of bed and pacing around the suite, with no apparent direction. Mason rose quickly and caught her by the arm. “Baby, where are you going?”

  Emory pulled away again. “I need to go dance for a little while,” she said, shaking slightly. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Dance? What?” Mason looked at her curiously and gently took her quivering cheeks in his hands. “Em, we are in Atlanta, remember? No dance studio here.” He placed his arm around her, trying to lead her back to bed, but she again pulled away, then crouched down by her suitcase.

  She dug through it frantically. “I have to do something. Go for a swim or walk.”

  Mason calmly approached from behind and hugged her tightly. “Em, baby, it’s the middle of the night. You can’t go out, and you have no swimsuit. Please come back to bed.”

  She forcefully pushed his arms away. “I can’t!” she screamed, tears flowing down her face. Mason backed away, running his hands through his hair, with no idea what she needed or what he should do. He looked around the bedroom, desperately searching for something that possibly could calm her. TV? Wine? Food? Hot bath? He spotted his phone across the room and ran to it.

  “You need to dance?” He quickly pressed some buttons, finding a classical music station, then grabbed her, holding her so tightly she couldn’t resist, and swayed slowly to the music. Emory struggled to get away, her body filled with tension, but Mason maintained his strong hold, her hair, wet from tears, sticking to her face, while her night shirt, drenched with sweat, stuck against his chest. He gently rocked her side to side, careful not to step on her feet. After a few songs, Mason felt her body soften and relax, Emory resting her head on his chest, allowing him to relax his grip. He pushed her hair out of her face. “It’s just a dream, Em,” he whispered, still swaying.

  “No,” she said, her lips trembling, “it really happened.”

  “What?”

  “Not now,” she said, shaking her head. “Maybe one day.”

  Was it something I did? Did someone hurt her? Mason had never seen Emory, or anybody, act like this. He felt he needed to know. He felt he should know. But now was not the time to push her. He moved her back and forth to the music, until she stopped moving and yawned, closing her eyes. When she was still, Mason picked her up and carried her to bed, gently placing her down. “Sleep, baby.” He kissed her forehead. “Nothing bad is going to happen.”

  Nearly asleep, she heard his words, but they provided little comfort. It already happened.

  * * *

  Sleep was difficult, and as night turned into day, the ringing of Mason’s phone made it impossible. Someone was calling, and calling again -- at least five times in five minutes. They tried to ignore it, but that was impossible, too.

  “Who the fuck keeps calling me?” Mason groaned, throwing a pillow over his face.

  “Good morning, baby,” Emory said sweetly, stretching her arms in the air. “It’s nice to wake up next to you.”

  Mason emerged from under the pillow and planted a kiss on her cheek. Emory smiled and reached for Mason’s phone on the night stand, handing it to him. It had stopped ringing. He tossed the phone on the sheets and pounced on top of
her. Emory giggled, wrapping her arms around him. Good, I’d rather make out than talk about last night.She ran her hands down the bulging muscles of his back. He leaned forward, kissing her slowly, and parted her lips. Their tongues met, a wave of heat rising between her legs. Mason felt it, too, as he pushed himself against her, hard. Her breath caught, Mason grabbing her thigh and pulling her leg up, grinding into her again. Emory let out a loud moan.Ring! Mason pulled back, his blue eyes burning into her, looking for direction.

  “You better answer that.” Emory pulled herself up.

  Mason frowned, reaching for the phone in the sheets. “Steven! That guy has the worst timing.” Ring!

  “Do you think anything happened to the baby?” she asked, concerned.

  “I can’t imagine.”

  “The contract maybe?”

  “I doubt it.” Were the details of my contract leaked? The ringing stopped. Now worried himself, Mason suggested Emory order room service in the living room while he returned the call, not wanting her to hear any conversation with Steven involving his contract, or his divorce from Alexis, or any other unpleasant topic. There was nothing to be gained from having her present. Emory agreed to order -- she was starving anyway -- so long as Mason agreed to ask about the baby. Mason called his brother, immediately answering in his car.

  “It’s about fucking time,” Steven said.

  “Good morning to you, too.” Mason rolled on his back, trying to recover from his sleepless night and morning arousal.

  “Good morning? It’s lunchtime.”

  Mason glanced at the clock. “I had no idea.”

  “You football guys live in an alternate universe.”

  Mason was in no mood for a lecture. “So what’s up?”

  “I’m driving to get donuts for Olivia. She wants donuts for lunch.”

  “You woke me up to tell me that.”

  “No. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “Is everything OK with the baby?” Mason asked. “Emory was concerned.”

  “Yes, of course,” Steven assured, swerving across two lanes of traffic into the parking lot of the donut shop.

  “Well, good. So why the hell are you calling? I’m busy here.”

  Steven pulled into the drive-thru lane behind a handful of other cars. “I can imagine what you’re busy doing.”

  “I wish.” Mason leaned across the bed to sneak a peek at Emory on the hotel phone in the living room. She caught him spying and smiled.

  Steven gripped the wheel tightly. Why the long line? “I thought I told you yesterday that I didn’t want to be in the middle of your shit.”

  “What shit?”

  “Mom called me about half dozen times last night and this morning, wanting to know about the new woman.” Steven pulled up in the line, almost able to see the donut menu.

  “I told her it was housekeeping.”

  “That’s so fucking lame. Asking you to bring her underwear?”

  “It’s not her business.”

  Steven again pulled up, then surveyed the menu intently. “Hold on.” Olivia had provided strict instructions that Steven get her an assortment of cream-filled donuts -- not jelly, only cream. He ordered several different kinds, then pulled up to the window to pay. “OK, I’m done.”

  “Sorry I didn’t give you a heads-up about my housekeeper. What did you tell Mom?”

  “Nothing about Emory.”

  “Good, thanks.”

  “But she thinks I know who the new woman is.”

  “Why? How?”

  “I don’t know. She seems to always know everything. She’s like a fucking wizard.” Steven took the box of donuts from the cashier and placed it on the passenger seat. “And she kept going on and on about how this would look in the press, and how Alexis might use this to say you were cheating on her.”

  “Jesus Christ, she is ridiculous!” Mason rose from the bed and waved to Emory in the living room, watching television, then shut the bedroom door. “I’m sorry you got caught in the middle.”

  “You know, Mason, she’s not totally wrong.” Steven drove out of the parking lot, and came to a red light at a main intersection.

  “What do you mean?” Mason put on a shirt and shorts.

  “Alexis could make this look very bad for you,” he said, fingering the box of donuts, “and for Emory.” He took one for himself. “She could drag you into court and make all kinds of accusations. Ruin Emory’s reputation. Fuck up your fresh start with the Panthers.”

  Steven examined the thick donut in his hand, cream oozing out of the side, as if the donut was begging him to bite down. Olivia had a great idea! He took a large bite, cream falling onto his chin. The light turned green, but before hitting the gas, he wiped his chin with his finger, licking it clean, then tossed the rest of the donut in his mouth.

  “Well, just settle this with Alexis,” Mason demanded, “and we can all move on.”

  Steven tried to speak, the thick donut occupying his mouth. “I know. I’m trying,” he mumbled.

  “Are you eating a fucking donut?”

  “Yeah, I am. You have a problem with that?”

  “Not really,” Mason said, covering a laugh. “Look, I’m hungry myself. I’ll deal with Mom at some point.”

  “You do that,” Steven said firmly. “By the way, I might eat another fucking donut on the way home, if that’s OK with you.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Mason collapsed on the bed, rubbing his eyes, then heard pop music coming through the television in the living room. He glanced at the messy white sheets on the bed, running his hand over them, a faint smile coming over his face. He vowed not to allow nightmares, his mother, or Steven to steal the joy he felt waking up next to Emory. He’d waited six years for that privilege, and no one was going to spoil it.

  Mason opened the bedroom door to find Emory placing the room service tray on the coffee table. He paused in the doorway, leaning his head against the frame, watching Emory dance to “Summer of ’69,” as she lifted the lid off of each plate, taking a nibble from each and continuing on to the next. Mason stifled a laugh. Her skin glowed, and her eyes sparkled, with no evidence of any nightmare, other than tousled hair. She dipped a spoon in some yogurt, placed it in her mouth, and did a spin. Emory again caught Mason spying and removed the spoon slowly. “What are you smiling at?”

  He walked towards her. “Your hair,” he said, straightening it with his fingers. “It looks like we just fucked.” He rubbed her waist and back.

  I wish. She shook her head slightly to remove the thought, then tugged at his shirt. “I prefer you without this.”

  He smiled, tugging at her boxer shorts. “I prefer you without these.”

  “I guess we’ll both have to live with disappointment.” She kissed him quickly on the lips and led him to the sofa, turning off the television music.

  “I love that song, by the way,” Mason said, grinning. “Almost as much as 69 itself.”

  Emory giggled. “What are you talking about?”

  “That song -- it’s about 69. It’s called ‘Summer of ’69.’”

  “That’s not what it’s about. It’s about summer love. It’s about when Bryan Adams got his first guitar -- his ‘first real six-string.’”

  “Oh, right. And it just happens to be in 1969.”

  “You are so crazy, Mason.”

  “The guitar is a symbol for his dick.”

  “What? The song is not about sex. Bryan Adams was like 10 years old in 1969.”

  “I don’t know how old the dude was. And I don’t care really.” Mason took her in his arms. “We can play the song when we’re in 69, hopefully soon.”

  She pushed him away, blushing. “Our food is getting cold.” They scooted close to the coffee table. “Everything OK with the baby?”

  “Yeah, fine.” Mason removed the lids from the eggs and bacon, cheeseburger, chicken noodle soup, granola with yogurt, chicken caesar salad, and french fries. “Did you order the whole menu?”

 
“It all sounded so good. I got overwhelmed.”

  “Steven got Olivia donuts for lunch.” He grabbed a piece of bacon. “Said she’s very demanding about her food.”

  “I understand,” she said, reaching for the cheeseburger.

  He dunked a fry in catsup. “God help us when you’re pregnant.”

  Emory put down the cheeseburger, and Mason offered her the fry. Faking a smile, she took it, then asked why Steven had called so many times. Mason didn’t want to keep any more secrets, so he explained his mother had heard a woman’s voice and was concerned how that could look in the divorce if Alexis got wind of it. And Steven thought she had a point.

  But Emory was unfazed. “If any of that happens, we’ll deal with it together.” She took a sip of soup and added in some crackers.

  “Together?” He held her hand. I can get used to that.

  “Yes, together.”

  “Can we be together when we get back to Charlotte tonight?”

  “I can’t.” She slurped up two floating crackers. “I promised Wesley I’d hang with him. He’s having a hard time with Tomás and his own family.”

  Mason scooped up some eggs and reached for the yogurt. “I could come over late?”

  She kissed him tenderly on the lips. “I have to photograph a baptism in the morning at St. Peter’s downtown.” She put aside the soup and picked two tiny pieces of chicken out of the salad.

  “Damn, OK,” he said, taking a bite of the yogurt. “You know, I think I wandered into that church a few days ago.”

  “It’s so pretty in there. Such good lighting.” She popped the chicken in her mouth.

  “I was thinking I should probably start going to mass again.”

  “I usually go there myself. Father Tony is great.”

  “He encouraged me to sign with the Panthers.”

  “He’s a big Panthers fan.” She chased down the chicken with some water. “He’s like my booking agent, too. I swear he gives my business card to every pregnant couple he sees.”

  “Maybe we could start going to mass together? I need it.”

  “I’d like that,” she said. “I’d like that a lot.”