by M. E. Carter
“Umm . . . no. Didn’t interest me in high school. Doesn’t interest me now. But does that mean you’re free tonight?”
I furrow my brow, now that he has my mom hackles raised. “What do you mean by free? What’s going on?”
“My date for the gala cancelled at the last minute, and I was hoping you’d want to go with me.”
I stop dead in my tracks. This gala is a big deal. A really big deal. It’s not an event where you just grab a dress out of your closet and go. Most of the women are getting their hair done and mani-pedis. And I'm walking across campus in yoga pants and a sports bra, wondering when I can get to the salon so I can get my unruly hair under control. “The donors love it when the parents come, and I think you’d get a kick out of the whole thing. It’ll be fun.”
His unexpected statement pushes aside my anxiety momentarily.
“Wait just a minute,” I chide playfully. “Are you saying you’re ready to introduce your teammates to your mother . . . the nontraditional older student who studies among them?”
He laughs. “Yeah, I heard you’re in Brian’s study group. He seems to like you, so I figured . . . whatever, I’ll ask my mom. They’ll all be cool with it.”
A grin lights up my face. “I’m not sure if Brian likes me or my brownies, but I suppose if it doesn’t go well tonight, I could try to win the rest of your teammates over with some baking.”
“Does this mean you’ll go?”
I sigh and pick up my pace, knowing I’m running out of time. “Yeah. I’ll go.”
“Cool,” he says nonchalantly, having no idea I’m panicking on the inside as my mental checklist of what needs to be done continues to get longer. “I’ll pick you up at seven since it starts at eight. Is that okay?”
“Perfect. I’ll be ready.” At least I hope I will be.
“Awesome. Thanks, Mom. I’ll see you in a bit.”
We disconnect and I immediately dial Amanda’s number.
“Whatup?” she asks when she answers on the first ring.
“Amanda!” I practically yell. “I’m freaking out.”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“Isaac just called. Amanda, his date cancelled on him, and I have to go to the gala with him. Tonight.”
“Uh . . . the gala that starts in less than five hours?” she asks calmly. But I know she’s not actually calm. She’s switching into planning mode.
“Yes. That gala.”
“The one you have no dress, no shoes, and no plans for?”
“Amanda, I need your help, not a list of all the reasons why I’m stressing,” I assert, getting to my car and pulling out my car keys.
“Sorry. Okay. I have a couple dresses I wore to Jeff’s office parties in the back of my closet. I’ll grab them and head over to your place.” And planning-mode Amanda, who I love, comes out in full-force. “They might be a little big, but at least one of them fit me thirty pounds ago, so we might be able to work with it.”
“You know where my house key is?” I throw my backpack on the passenger seat and slam the car door behind me.
“Inside that weird fake rock thing you seem to think is inconspicuous but we all know is a burglar’s dream come true?”
“Har, har,” I respond. “Yes, there. And pull out my sewing machine while you’re at it!”
“Where is that?”
A quick check for traffic behind me, and I back out of the parking space, trying not to peel out of the lot. “In the spare room closet. Up on the shelf.”
“Oh lord,” Amanda complains. “If I drop that thing on my head and hemorrhage in my brain, tell Jeff I love him. And to learn how to pick up his dirty socks from the floor if he wants his next wife to stay with him.”
“Okay, Debbie Downer,” I say with a laugh. “I’ll let him know.”
“How long until you get here?”
“I just got on the road. It’ll be forty-five minutes at least.”
“Oh shit.” Amanda starts laughing, like she does when she’s feeling stressed. “You better book it. You have a forty-five-minute drive here and another forty-five minutes back. That only give us . . . oh hell . . . three hours to get you gala ready.”
“I know!” I take a deep breath as I roll to a red light. If I’m going to be ready on time, I need better luck and for all these lights to stay green. “I’m gonna let you go so I can concentrate.”
“I’ll be there with dresses and shoes laid out to try on and the sewing machine, well, on the table since I have no idea how to set it up.”
“Sounds good.” I can breathe a little better, knowing Amanda is already hustling. We don’t have time to waste, and we’re going to cut it close, but we can pull this off. “I’ll see you as soon as I can.”
As I hang up the phone, my mental list keeps running through my head.
Dress, shoes, shower, Amanda can do my hair while I do my makeup, clutch, no need for a pedicure; I’ll wear heels.
The biggest problem is the dress. Fingers crossed we can make something work, even if we have to sew together a quick rig to get through the night.
My phone beeps with an incoming text. A quick glance shows Jack’s name on the screen. I really need to text him back and let him know about my change in plans tonight, but it’ll have to wait until I’m not driving, and I have time. Because time is something I’m short on right now.
I yank at the tie around my neck, wishing it would loosen up, but knowing my efforts are futile. I can’t take it off until this shindig is over, and that’s at least two hours from now. My only saving grace is the bottle of Shiner my fingers are wrapped around.
A hand claps me on the shoulder. “Looks like the donors are enjoying themselves,” Hank states, holding a beer as well. “As much as I hate getting all gussied up and shit, at least it wasn’t for nothing.”
I survey the room and sure enough, everyone is laughing and smiling. Apparently, they consider a swanky gig like this a good time. I don’t get it, but I don’t have to. As long as the people with the deep pockets are happy, that’s all that matters.
“A couple people have already said they plan to double their donation,” I remark.
“Good,” Hank says with a nod and a swig of his beer. “We need some new gear. I’d rather not rely on our chunk of ticket sales for that, since we’re hoping to update our uniforms next year. You know how stingy the university can be.”
“Especially since the box office is probably raising their cut next year.”
His eyes widen. “Where’d you hear that?”
“Radio. I heard something the other day about our third-party vendor raising costs across the board. Not just with us. Concert venues, amusement parks, all of it.”
Hank groans and rubs his face. “Shit. You know that means we’re gonna get screwed.”
I nod. “Either us or the ticket holders. They’ve gotta make up the loss somewhere. It’s a good thing we shook so many hands tonight. We may have to rely on them until it all stabilizes again.”
We both take a drink and watch the activities around us. Our scholarship recipients are doing a great job of hobnobbing. They’re all talking to patrons instead of hanging out together. No one has had too much to drink. They all seem comfortable making small talk. They are our elite, and tonight they’re once again proving why. I’m proud of them.
“Where’d Renee go?” I search the room trying to catch sight of the blue dress and giant hair she’s sporting tonight.
Hank seems unconcerned with her whereabouts. “Last I saw her, she was chatting up a group of eye candy.” The term sounds derogatory, but that’s how we refer to the new girlfriends that inevitably show up every year.
In the world of football money, there are two kinds of scholarship donor: the old money alumni who love the school, love the team, love the game; and the new money alumni who love being able to brag to their friends about how much money they’ve donated. They are easy to tell apart. The old money alumni have been around longer than we have. They never
miss the event, bringing their wives who have also been around longer than we have, shaking hands with the coaches and talking shop. The new money alumni bring whatever woman they’re dating or are married to at the time and ignore her, so they can compare dick and wallet sizes with other new money alumni the whole time.
Hank and I have seen some of these donors bring a different girlfriend all ten years we’ve been doing this. The men get older, but the eye candy stays the same age. Still, donors are donors, so while Hank and I are available to anyone who wants to shake our hand, Renee seeks out the women who may feel out of place and help them feel more comfortable. Women who have a good time make their men happy. And happy men make bigger donations.
Welcome to the wonderful hierarchy of Texas money.
“She did a great job tonight,” I say to Hank. “I’m glad she was able to hook us up with that party planner. It’s about damn time someone remembered to bring drinks for real men.”
I hold up my Shiner, and he clinks his bottle to mine, a gesture of solidarity. When I go to take a swig, I realize I’m empty.
Clapping him on the shoulder, I say, “I need to refresh. I’m gonna head to the bar. You good?”
He shakes his beer. “I’ll go with you. I’m about out.” We make our way through the sea of people to the nearest drink station, smiling and nodding at people along the way. “Don’t look now . . .” Hank pretends to whisper, but does a terrible job of it, “but I think Matthews didn’t learn his lesson the first time.”
He gestures with his head and I glance to the left. Sure enough, Matthews has just arrived, a blonde bombshell attached to his arm. He has a huge smile on his face, obviously proud to be escorting her around. She has . . . well, she has stars in her eyes. They all have the same look when they come to the wrong conclusion . . . big, wide smiles as their big, wide eyes take in all the lights and glitter around the room. Hell, I can practically see her brain thinking this is the kind of lifestyle Matthews will be able to provide her. And she has it wrong. So damn wrong.
Sure, Hank makes a lot of money. But he’s the head coach. All the responsibility falls on him. Me? I don’t come close to what Hank makes, and I’m his right-hand man. So, I know for a fact what she thinks Matthews can provide and the reality of what he can provide are not the same.
“That man will never learn.” Hank shakes his head before tapping the bar twice, holding his bottle up so the bartender knows what we’re drinking. “How quickly do you think until he has to make her cry?”
“Oh no. That’s not a stage-five clinger,” I disagree. “As soon as she goes back to his place and realizes he lives in a one-bedroom apartment, she’ll be off to find the sugar daddy she really wants.”
He snorts a laugh. “I suppose it could be worse. She could be showing up with picnic lunches and pledging her undying love.”
“Poor guy. I guess we’ll need to be a little nicer to him on Sunday after she’s gone and he’s trying to figure out where he went wrong.”
Hank snickers and pats me on the back. “I’m heading over to try and drag my wife away from her new circle of friends. You gonna be okay?”
I flash him a thumbs up while I swallow my beer. “I need to make another circle around the room. I’ll catch you later.”
He walks away, and I turn to leave my mostly full bottle on the bar. I have more hands to shake and I’d rather not be toasted while I do it. Just as I turn to walk away, I run into a body behind me.
“Oof,” we both say and instinctively I grab at the woman’s arms to keep her from falling. Then I realize who it is. “Joie?” She gives me a sheepish smile.
At first, I’m happy to see her. But then her beauty takes my breath away. I’ve only seen her on campus or in jeans. I’ve always thought she was beautiful. But this . . . this is completely different. She’s stunning in a simple red dress, cut just low enough for my imagination to run wild. Her thick hair is dark and wavy, part of it pulled back in some fancy, glittery clip.
But then I realize she’s here. At the gala. Uninvited. How the hell did she get in without an invitation? These things are monitored by security, and she’s not on our donor list.
Surely there’s a simple explanation though, right? I don’t see stars in her eyes. I never did. She only saw me as Jack. Right?
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Matthews and his date walk by, and all the woman trouble he’s run into comes to the forefront of my mind. He didn’t see it either. He’s a seasoned dater, has dealt with a clinger more than once, and he still doesn’t see it. I haven’t dated in twenty years. Which means I wouldn’t see it either.
I need to nip this in the bud quickly. The ability to provide these kids with updated gear could very well ride on this night, and no donor is going to dig deep if she goes ape-shit on me like that stage-five clinger did on Matthews.
Which is too bad because I really thought she was an amazing person. I guess I’ve been out of the game for so long, I’m not as good of a judge of character as I thought I was.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I growl in her ear, trying not to make a scene.
The smile immediately drops from her face. “I’m sorry. I meant to tell you . . .”
“You weren’t invited, so why are you here?” I know I sound harsh, but I need to make it clear that this is not okay. “We went on one date, Joie.”
“Excuse me?” She pulls away from me, acting startled and maybe a bit hurt. “What are you implying, Jack?”
“I didn’t invite you, Joie. This is a big boundary problem.”
The anger flashes in her eyes, and for a split second I wonder if I’m in the wrong, but I push the thought away. “You think I showed up here for you? Like you take me for pizza one time and suddenly I can’t be away from you? Can’t be without you because you’re such an amazing catch?”
“Well, didn’t you?” I challenge. I don’t have time for these games. I need to get her out of here quickly before this escalates any more.
“No,” she says incredulously. “My being here has nothing to do with you. But it’s good to know you think so highly of yourself before I committed to that second date.”
I scoff. “Then what the hell are you doing here, Joie? This is a closed event.”
An arm wraps around her shoulders and I look up to see Stevens, drink in hand, huge smile on his face. “There you are, Mom. I’ve been trying to find you. I see you met my coach.”
Mom? Stevens is her son? My heart drops as I put it all together. Joie Stevens. Her son’s name is Isaac. Isaac Stevens. I have no idea how I missed this connection before or why she didn’t tell me. But right now, it doesn’t matter. All I know is I just made some huge assumptions without asking her first, and if the fury in her eyes is any indication, I royally fucked this one up.
“I did,” Joie says, plastering a fake smile on her face. I know it’s fake because it’s not reaching her eyes. Those are still shooting daggers. Until she peers up at her son. Then her pride is evident. “Isaac speaks very highly of you, Coach Pride. He’s always talking about how much you’re helping him with his game. How much you’ve taught him about never jumping the gun until you have all the information in place so you don’t mess up a play. How you encourage the boys to be strong men. To be respectful, both on and off the field.”
I wince. Not only did I insult her, but she’s driving home what a dick I was and how she expected better of me. Frankly, I expect better of myself. Damn that Matthews for putting me on edge. Okay, that’s not fair. Matthews didn’t do anything except be an idiot. This one is all on me.
I clear my throat. “Well, he has great potential. You’ve done an amazing job raising him. Most of our players aren’t as respectful.”
“Most people in general are stuck in their own self-absorbed bubble,” she says, directing her glare back at me.
Ouch. I deserve that. “Yeah, um . . . about that . . .” I begin, rubbing my chin as I try to figure out how to apologize without tipping Stevens off.
Instead, she cuts me off. “Anyway, I’m really glad Isaac has such a good coach. And thanks for the scholarship. Now, if you’ll excuse us, I know there are quite a few people Isaac would like me to meet.”
Stevens seems confused but doesn’t argue. “Um, yeah. Nice to see you, Coach.”
I nod in acknowledgement and try to catch Joie’s eye, hoping she’ll see my apology, but she completely ignores me as they walk away.
“Who was that?” I don’t even have to check to know Hank is standing next to me again.
“I thought you went to search for your wife.”
He taps the bar and gestures to the bartender for service. “I found her. She sent me back for more booze. Apparently the older she gets, the more she needs to drink her way through the conversations with eye candy.” I snort a laugh, my eyes still on Joie, who is charming some of the donors. Damn, she’s beautiful. I wish I’d told her that before I fucked everything up. “Two Shiners and a Lemon Drop,” he tells the bartender before turning back to me. “Like I said, who is she?”
“Hmm?” I pretend not to know who he’s talking about.
He gestures Joie’s direction. “Red dress. Hanging with Stevens. He never struck me as the kind to go for a cougar, so I’m guessing she’s not his girlfriend. You were talking to her a few seconds ago and now you look like she kicked your puppy. What gives?”
I sigh and decide it’s better to just fess up. “That’s Joie.” His expression doesn’t change at all. “The nontraditional student I went out with a couple times.”
His head whips over in their direction, and he whistles. “She’s good looking, man. But that still doesn’t answer the question of what the hell she’s doing with Stevens.”
He hands me another beer, and I take a swig before answering. I wasn’t going to drink anymore, but after the shit-show that just went down, I need the alcohol. “Apparently, he’s her son.”
“And he didn’t beat your ass or make a scene? Smart kid.”
“I’m guessing she hasn’t told him. And I’m guessing she never will now that I accused her of being a stage-five clinger.”