Hail Mary

by C. C. Galloway

  She was bent over some notes on her desk when he entered her classroom and announced himself with a simple knock and “Hey.”

  Mary looked up and her smile sent a jolt of warmth to his heart along with a shot of lust to his groin.

  “Michael. Thank you for doing this. Come in, come in,” she proclaimed, straightening up and ushering him in. When he’d first appeared, Mary started making her way over to him while he hung back in the doorway, waiting, as though he was unsure what to do.

  Michael dropped his eyes to the right, fiddled with his blue-flecked tie, and swung his eyes back to Mary’s. “Are we in here?” he asked, taking in the details of Mary’s cramped classroom.

  “Oh no. We’ll be in the gym.”

  “What’s the format?”

  “I’ll introduce you first, then you’ll do your thing. If you have time, it’d be great if you took some questions afterwards from the audience. If not, we understand.” Mary’s eyes telegraphed her hope that he could hang around and answer questions. Nothing had ever seemed as important as pleasing her.

  “I can probably do that. I’m not sure how long my remarks are, but I can hang around for awhile. I cleared my schedule and Coach doesn’t expect me back today.” This was true, although Michael planned on high-tailing it back to Tide headquarters as soon as he was finished.

  “Great. Again, I cannot thank you enough for doing this, Michael.”

  For once, he was doing the right thing for the right reason.

  “Let’s go. Even though you’re not speaking for awhile, it’ll be good for you to see the gym, familiarize yourself with the layout and meet some of the other teachers and staff before you begin,” Mary suggested as they exited her classroom.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  By the end of College Career Day, Mary was convinced if Michael ever traded his cleats and pads for chalk and mid-terms, all of Walker would make it to higher education. All the boys wanted to be him. He’d apparently convinced enough of them that college actually was important. All the girls seemed to have serious crushes on him. Not even her fellow teachers or administrators were immune to his quiet charm. Afterwards, Dr. Boxer, Walker’s fifty-three- year-old principal, had practically cooed when she thanked him for speaking.

  After the students were seated in the bleachers and had suppressed their chatter to a manageable whisper, Mary had introduced him. He launched into his story, supplying details that were news to Mary, lending a glimpse to added dimensions. He attended Catholic Central High School in Dallas, Texas, before he was recruited by the University of Wisconsin-Madison. There, he earned his bachelor of science in Electrical Engineering in four years.

  Michael had started out awkward. He was visibly uncomfortable, fidgeting with his tie, tapping his hands on the side of the podium. Not making eye contact with the audience and looking down at his notes. Walker’s student body swiftly grew restless and let him know it. While they might have been excited at first to have a professional athlete in their midst, the cell phones, sidekicks, and other PDAs had soon come out and were put to quick use, filling each others’ in boxes and text folders.

  It was as if the restlessness of the crowd awakened Michael. He quit looking at his notes and started speaking from his heart. His deep voice was as rich as maple sugar but slightly raspy, as though from lack of use. The audience had been hooked.

  Eventually the inevitable question had come from one of the junior boys. “Isn’t it a little bogus for you to tell us to go to college when you get paid to play football? I mean, do you even use your college degree?”

  “It’s a fair question.” Michael had taken the microphone out of the podium stand and walked the length of the bleachers. “Does the name Bruce Vianes mean anything to you?” Michael asked the junior and by extension, the rest of the audience.

  “No, sir.”

  “I’m not surprised. You don’t know about Bruce because he never made it to the NFL draft. Fourth game of our senior season, we were playing Michigan State. Vianes, a wide-receiver, took a big hit while going up for a sixty yard pass. He broke his neck when he came down after the tackle. He’s paralyzed from the neck down. Because Vianes was a hot shot prospect both in high school and in the Big Ten, he made no plans if his professional career didn’t work out. He never worked towards any degree. He didn’t graduate and last I knew, he was living with his parents and selling stereos at Best Buy.”

  Letting his message sink in, Michael took a drink of water before he finished. “Bottom line? Nothing’s certain in this life and you can’t count on anyone or anything except yourself and hard work. Hard work will get you an education and it will land you a job. Now, for me, I don’t know when my NFL days will be over, but when they are, I intend to put my degree to good use.”

  Afterwards, Michael had been flooded with interested students and smitten teachers, including Calleigh whose brief introduction was interrupted by clamoring spectators. He’d shot a look at Mary that screamed “help” and she’d run interference for the next three hours--keeping the lines flowing, making sure no one person monopolized his time and no one said anything inappropriate.

  “You’ve got to be bushed. I’m used to these guys and even I’m exhausted,” Mary remarked on a long exhale as she and Michael walked through Walker’s halls on their return to her classroom.

  Michael looked down at his shoes as they made their way through the halls and chuckled softly. “They’re something else.”

  “I owe you for this, Michael. You taking the time to do this meant a lot to me.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” They were quickly approaching Mary’s classroom and Michael was disappointed to realize their time was coming to an end. Remembering he’d initially rejected the request, he felt guilty. This had been…surprisingly easy. Kids were nice. Teachers had been pleasant. After graduation, the thought of returning to high school--any high school--stopped the air in his lungs. Completely compressed it.

  But today had been different.

  And the time working with Mary was terrific. They’d operated as a team in tandem--communicating with glances and body language as though they’d been together for years and understood each other’s subtle nuances of expression.

  Who knew partnering up with a woman could be so easy? Or feel so natural?

  “Well, if you’d like, I’d like to have you over for dinner sometime. Weeknights are kind of busy for me and I’m sure weekends are busy for you with the games, but I’d love to have you over if you’re available.”

  Michael turned to look at her while she extended the offer, her eyes never quite meeting his while her hands twisted the bottom part of her sweater. As his mind was screaming “no,” there must have been a short circuit between his brain and his mouth. His mouth won. “Yes. I’d like that.”

  Chapter 3

  The following Friday, Michael cranked up Trent and the boys on his iPod as he began working his delts following the Tide’s brutal practice in preparation for Sunday’s game against the Eagles. Until Tamar had entered the scene, he’d always worked out without any music other than what blasted through the gym’s speakers.

  Ever since training camp, Tamar had steadily worked his way under his skin with his constant wisecracks and goading. Michael gave in, drove to Target, and bought himself an iPod Nano, loaded it up with a mix of classic rock, alternative, new rock, and rap so when he worked out by himself, he could be alone, ignoring everyone and everything around him. Specifically, Tamar. Tamar hadn’t yet figured out about his post-practice and post-game ritual. If Tamar knew he continued his workouts long after the team finished, no doubt he’d be all up in his business, commenting on his age, his hits that week, the Pro-Bowl selections and what Michael could do on the bench once Tamar took over as the Tide’s starting right defensive end.

  Yeah, like he was ever going to let that happen.

  They’d have to cart his ass out on a fucking stretcher with both legs broken before he’d let Tamar start.

  Or trade his
ass.

  Neither of which was a viable option.

  As his delts tightened and released with each pull on the bar, he berated himself for accepting Mary’s dinner invitation. What the fuck had he been thinking? The disconnect between his brain and his chops was unexplainable. Completely unlike him. He didn’t interact with women and couldn’t remember the last time he’d done anything resembling social with any member of the opposite sex.

  It was just that she’d looked happy. Hopeful. Her hope had been broadcast all over her freckle-kissed face. If for one second, Mary had acted less than enthusiastic, or as though she was only doing it out of a sense of obligation, he would have reacted accordingly and declined. But she’d seemed genuine. As though spending time with him sounded like a good time to her. How attractive was that? A smart woman who wanted to spend time with Michael Santiago. And not because of his football career. How long had it been since any woman, let alone one like Mary, was interested in him and not his position with the Tide? Since Tracey? He certainly couldn’t credit Tracey with any altruistic motives. Of course, dating hadn’t been a priority for him since his days with Tracey, long before he was the Tide’s first round draft-pick. Even before Tracey, he’d never given a thought to having any kind of family life. Wasn’t in the cards for him. It hadn’t been since the day Sue Ellen brought him into the world.

  He wouldn’t cripple a woman by tying her to him and his family’s history. He was a dick, but he wasn’t a complete dick. Besides, no woman in her right mind would have anything to do with him in the long-term. Good for a tumble in the sack. Not good for long-term planning. God help any woman who wanted to sign him up for fatherhood. That would last about as long as it took to Google him.

  He planned to head over to Mary’s once he completed his last set of reps. His clean jeans and t-shirt were in his locker. He’d considered bringing something to her house. Wasn’t that what you did when you were invited for dinner? He’d never accepted any of the dinner offers extended over the years by his teammates and even some of the Tide’s coaches, so he had no idea what was standard practice. He’d eighty-sixed the thought of taking something to her house as soon as the idea planted itself in his brain. Flowers were too romantic, a message he definitely wasn’t sending her way. Wine was too girly. He didn’t drink the red or white stuff and he wasn’t sure if Mary did. He wouldn’t give her the impression he was something he wasn’t.

  Like thoughtful. Or polite.

  Fuck it. By him showing up empty-handed, she’d get to know and understand the real Michael Santiago. Selfish. Rude. Uncaring. Unsophisticated.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  Michael mentally finished counting out his reps and was already preparing for the next set when the Tide’s GM stalked towards him. Something had to be up to motivate Shalvington to leave his pristine office and visit one of the players who kept him a rich man.

  “Yes?” Santiago was anxious to get whatever Shalvington wanted over with. The man had never talked to him until he wanted something.

  David pursed his lips before responding. “I wanted to let you know Walker’s principal, Dr. Boxer, called this morning. She wanted to personally express her gratitude for you speaking at their College Career Day. She said you did quite a job.

  “I came down here to personally thank you again for doing this and let you know how much the team appreciates it. It means a lot to the entire organization and the Silverstons especially. It hasn’t been our best year in the press. The bottom line is we can get a lot of mileage out of what you did earlier this week at Walker. I don’t think I need to explain why it’s important for us to get some good P.R. after the last few months. Between Lopez’s DUI, Johansen’s divorce, and Rodriguez visiting the trannies in Chinatown, we need to jump on the opportunity to publicize your good work. We’d like to set up some interviews with some of the local and national outlets for you to discuss this. It’s not only good for the team, but it’d be great for potential future endorsements.”

  Of course. Shalvington wanted to use him for press. Fucking figured.

  “I don’t do endorsements.”

  “You don’t do endorsements now, but you might change your mind in the future.”

  Santiago stood up, snagged his empty water bottle off the ground, wrapped his towel around his neck and started making his way to the locker room. Without looking back, he said, “Never gonna happen,” and continued on his way.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  Mary bustled around her long, cream-colored kitchen. The aromas of garlic, oregano and tomatoes seeped from the oven while she finished scraping fresh garlic on top of the long piece of French bread. Once that task was completed, she turned to rinsing the romaine in the colander, chopping it up, layering it in her pretty cornflower-blue bowl, and spritzing it with lemon.

  Now, what to wear?

  As much as she kept trying to remind herself this was certainly not a date as she went to change out of her sweats and into something else, she couldn’t stop the ever-present butterflies from doing the Macarena in her stomach. Evidently, they thought it was a date. Of course, when was the last time she’d had a man to her apartment? For any reason other than the ever-increasing repairs that were slowly and surely pushing Mary to start thinking about buying a place.

  She opened her bedroom closet, considered her options and wished she thought about stopping at the dry cleaners on her way home that afternoon. But she’d already been running behind, a result of making the mistake of checking in with Calleigh before she headed home and letting it slip Michael was coming over for dinner. She was not going to be replaying that conversation again anytime soon. She was pretty sure her favorite black v-neck sweater was going to be held hostage by the cleaners until she received her next paycheck. Dressy black pants or jeans? It was Friday night which called for dress pants, but black pants would require dressy shoes. After spending all week in her black heels, the last thing she wanted was to spend three more hours in the comfort of her own home in three-inches. Her dark Banana Republic jeans would have to do the trick.

  What to wear on top? All of her clothes were designed to function for her career as a high school teacher, which meant all the fun and flirty tops and tight sweaters had fallen by the wayside right after she finished college.

  It doesn’t matter, Mary reminded herself as she finally settled on a hot pink J-Crew v-neck sweater she’d layer over a matching camisole. Navy socks and small diamond studs, a gift from her parents when she completed her Master’s, completed her Friday-Night - This - Is - Not - A - Date - With - Michael - Santiago ensemble. Assuming he was on time, she’d thought they could have a drink while they waited for the lasagna to finish cooking. She’d sliced some cheese and pulled out some crackers in case he was hungry while they waited. Or she needed a distraction.

  Mary prided herself on her ability to talk to anyone about anything. Arthritic senior citizens? No problem. Sarcastic, hormonal teenagers? She had communicating with them down to a science. Little kids? No big whoop. She knew all about Big Bird, Dora the Explorer, Bob the Builder, and Chutes and Ladders. But Michael Santiago had always left her a little off balance. Okay, not a little off balance, but a lot, as though she was teetering on the edge of the fortieth floor with no safety net below. It wasn’t because of his sex. Mary’d always had loads of male friends from the time she was five and her only playmates were her neighbors, Timmy Lefowitz and Sam Smalley. It wasn’t because he was outrageously good looking because Mary had dated good looking men. It was something specific only to Michael that she’d never taken the time to examine for reasons she was not prepared to analyze.

  Deciding a little liquid courage would calm her nerves, she pulled a light beer from the fridge, took a long and restorative sip and let her eyes rove throughout her apartment to make sure everything was perfect. Or as perfect as it could be in its one hundred year old glory. Her dog, Max’s chubby, furry body resided on his bed in front of her computer desk and close to the living room windows which spanned the
height of the room, while his soft snores let her know all was right in his simple world. If only happiness came down to a full belly, long walks, and a comfortable bed.

  The living room was one spacious square that was painted a deep burgundy. The olive couch, love seat, and yellow throw pillows accented the warmth of the room. A wooden mission-style end table was positioned between the loveseat and the couch and a long, similar mission-style coffee table sat in front of the couch and hosted pictures from college and beyond on top, while the bottom was filled with puzzles, Yahtzee, and old magazine issues. A modest dinner table sat off to the right bridging the space between the living room and the kitchen. Mary hadn’t used it once either here or in her Traverse City apartment except for displaying her CD player and holding her address book and mail.

  Max alerted her to Michael’s arrival by jumping off his bed and waiting at the door seconds before the ringer went off. Mary buzzed him in and opened her door as Michael opened the building’s primary security door and jogged up the steps, all long legs and easy strides.

  “Hi.”

  A wide-open smile spread her cheeks from ear to ear. “I’m glad you made it. You didn’t have any problem finding this, did you?” Mary backed through the door while Max blocked Michael’s entrance until he could sufficiently investigate him by sniffing him to death all over. “Sorry,” Mary apologized. “This is the love of my life, Max, who feels it’s his God-given right to sniff the daylights out of all who enter.” Mary smiled up at him as he ruffled Max’s ears, earning a deep growl of approval and a rub of Max’s head up and down Michael’s leg.

  Could you make yourself sound like any more of a dork by referring to your dog as the love of your life? Or any more desperate and dateless? Mentally rolling her eyes, she gently pulled Max out of Michael’s way while covertly studying him. He smelled fantastic. No cologne, but as though he’d stepped out of the shower and into her apartment. Clean, slightly citrusy with an undercurrent of mint. His black hoodie was nondescript without any logos or design and hit his faded blue jeans right in his behind. A behind that begged a woman to cup it. Just flex her hand and give it one nice feel.