So Different

by Robinson, Ruthie

  She loved it when the train rumbled though, shaking the floor along with the derby fans. She loved the loudness, the freedom from censure of it all. She loved this place, this sport, the women, the fans; people so much like her, individuals to the bone.

  Jimmy Deranged was in charge of the mic tonight, decked out in orange with black stripes, same pimp shoes and hat as last time. Mariah and her team fell into line, speeding around the track as their individual names were called. The fans screamed and they waved before skating over to their assigned bench, waiting for the pre-game stuff to wrap up. Team Thunderstorm was moving around the track now.

  Her buddy Casper waved as she made her way around, joining her team on their bench, separated from the Brass Knuckles by the zebras—aka referees. Two of her favorites were in the zebra mix: Father Benjamin, husband of Lisa, her teammate LCAT—short for little catholic school girl—and William Wallace-A-Lot. She envied the way he worked the kilt he wore.

  Ten minutes later she made her way to the back of the pack, waiting for the referee to blow the whistle to start the play. She glanced over at her competition—Delusional again. They had skated against each other before. And as always, Mariah expected her to bring it.

  * * *

  Adam’s eyes traveled downward over Mariah as she stood at the back of the pack of women. He was thankful for the proximity of his seat to the rink, allowing himself the pleasure of watching her smooth brown attributes on display—a man’s wet dream.

  He’d always thought her pretty, just not his type and off limits given her history. But bent over like she was now, all those thoughts vanished. She’d turned into something else entirely.

  The whistle blew and the ladies in front took off, jostling with each other. A few seconds later the referee pointed toward Mariah and the other girl and blew his whistle. The two of them took off in pursuit of the women in front. Mariah was fast, passing one woman from the other team and going underneath two more before she was hit in the side. Ouch. That was a hard hit, and it knocked her off her stride a little.

  “Do you understand the game?” Tiff asked, touching his arm, interrupting his pursuit of Mariah.

  “No,” he shouted into her ear.

  “The two girls in the back are called jammers. They are the point scorers,” she said, attempting to bring him up to speed.

  “Explain it to me later. I’ll just watch for now,” he said, hoping that hadn’t come off too rudely. His eyes found Mariah again. She was fast, trying to make her way back up to the front of the pack, but not having much luck. She was knocked down, falling hard on her knees. She hopped back up quickly and was off again.

  He watched as she closed in on the skater who’d been in front of her, and watched as the biggest woman he’d ever seen hip-checked her, knocking her clear off her feet this time. She landed on her butt, hard, but hopped up, like some Jill-in-the-Box, shoving and skating toward the same woman again. That was one determined, focused female.

  The other girl was now out in front of everyone, and the referee was now pointing at her. Mariah had moved, skating closer to that big woman from hell again, but this time she was able to get around her, but just barely. She lost a member of her team who took the hit that was meant for her. She dashed around the outside, making it to the front, passing another big woman, then getting around them all. Racing around the track, it seemed to start all over again.

  He watched as Mariah was hit again just as she reached the back of the pack. She fell down, taking one of her teammates with her. She was back up, a little slower this time, pushing against someone in her path. Then the referee blew his whistle and all skating ceased. He watched her leave the track, removing the star from her helmet, then handing it off to another woman. She skated over to her team’s bench and sat, removing her mouth guard, arms on her knees now, her chest moving while she sat, catching her breath.

  He may not have known the exact terms for what he’d just witnessed, but he knew now without a doubt that Mariah’s bruises hadn’t come from any boo, unless boo was a nickname for derby, which, come to think of it, was a distinct possibility. It was also a distinct possibility that he’d been royally played by one Mariah Sullivan.

  He recalled the times he’d spoken to her, her expression when he’d given her the initial pamphlet. Her smile had fallen away, along with the sparkle in her eye; her flirty manner had all but disappeared when he’d mentioned the Center for Domestic Violence.

  His only motivation had been to help her, but now he felt like an idiot at his assumption she was a victim of abuse. He’d thought he knew her, assumed her looks, her bruises, conveyed who and what she accepted in her life. Not a good move, Adam, he thought. In light of this developing attraction, he hoped she wouldn’t hold it against him.

  He tuned back to the match. Mariah was still seated on the bench, cheering and shouting something to her teammates, the picture of heated energy and sweaty sex. She’d played along with him, had just let him assume whatever. He laughed out loud, catching Tiff’s odd look.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “I am,” he said, turning back to the track. Mariah was preparing to enter the fray again. The star was back on her helmet. He replayed what he now suspected had been one incredible acting job on her part, and laughed again at the full extent of her chicanery. She’d been faking it with the story she’d told him; her hands on his ass made sense now, too. She was basically just fucking with him, pretending like she was hurt, but mostly just playing him. How easy that had been, he thought, reviewing the scene again and shaking his head at his gullibility. He realized now that he’d never actually seen any tears, just assumed they were present given the volume of her wails.

  He chuckled again, wondering if his dad was somehow involved. Of course he was. That was the reason he was here tonight and the reason behind his pops riding his ass to make sure he wouldn’t back out. Of course he was in on it.

  He was easily fooled, it seemed, and his thoughts drifted back to his ex and how he hadn’t seen her clearly, either. He’d seen only what he’d wanted to see.

  Mariah’s team lost by fifty points, he overheard Tiff say. They had rolled around the floor once and had skated off, while Team Thunderstorm, the winners, continued the parade, accepting the cheers and accolades from the crowd as they circled the rink. He followed Mariah’s body as she skated off the track, her short skirt lifting in the breeze, his gaze on her ass and at those nice round globes of cheeks.

  “They are good,” he heard Tiff say. She was redirecting his attention to the winning team skating around the track now, pointing to Team Thunderstorm.

  “They are,” he said, returning his attention to the track.

  He glanced over again a few minutes later and found Mariah standing near the back now, hands on her hips, talking and laughing with what he figured were fans. He wanted to talk to her, to apologize for his misjudgment of her.

  “I know one of them,” he heard himself say to Tiff, puzzled by her odd expression. “Hey, Michael, I know one of the women on the Brass Knuckles team. She’s one of my dad’s patients. Didn’t know she was a member. I’m going over to say hello.”

  “We’ll come with you,” Michael said, clasping Allison’s hand while looking over at Tiff. “Then we can all leave when you’re done. We’re ready to go anyway. Want to grab a bite to eat or something after this?”

  “Sure,” he said, although his preference had been to go over alone, wishing he had come alone.

  They made their way to the side of the building where she and the other derby players stood. He walked up to her. Her back was to him, allowing him to examine her once more. She was now moist from exertion. He tapped her on the shoulder and watched her face as she turned to him. He made note of her reactions—satisfaction and desire; a nice combination. She didn’t seem surprised to see him, and she was interested, he could tell.

  “So these came from boo,” he said, pointing to her bruises, reaching up to touch her cheek.

&nb
sp; “Casper!” Mariah shouted over her shoulder, startling him. His eyes locked on a very tall woman with dark chocolate brown skin, all of 250 pounds of solid muscle skating toward them.

  “Casper, say boo,” Mariah said.

  “Boo,” Casper said, smiling at him.

  “This here is Adam Barnett, or you can call him Junior D.D.S., the son of my dentist. I told him you gave me the bruises, which you did. Well, the new ones anyway,” Mariah said, with I told you so in her eyes. “You know how people are always mistaking me for trouble? This time I was the abused girlfriend,” she said, not breaking eye contact with Adam.

  He laughed at that and Casper tried to hide her grin. She turned to look at Mariah and lifted an eyebrow before skating away.

  “Your dad sent you?” she said, smiling like she had a secret, confirming his suspicions.

  “He knew, huh? I wondered.”

  “Set you up,” she said.

  “I was easy.”

  “Yes, you were. He called me after your first talk, wanting to make sure you hadn’t offended me, hoping to talk me down from cussing your ass out the next time I saw you. Instead, he suggested another alternative. I’m always up for alternatives,” she said, a spark in her eye as she laughed.

  He shrugged, his smile rueful.

  “You’re not bad as actresses go,” he said.

  “Like my skills, do you?” she said, sliding into his body again. She placed one arm around his waist, the other around his neck and gave off one long wail into his ear. “I don’t think I can leave her. She’s been so good to me,” she said into his ear, moving her shoulders up and down from laughter this time.

  He was caught off guard by her and moved his hands to her waist before he could think, laughing too. He cleared his throat again, watching as she pulled her face back to look into his eyes. Hers sparkled along with her nose stud. He felt himself relax, his limbs soften, his blood warmed. He was charmed and wished they were alone… so that he could do what?

  Her body felt good next to his. He gently pulled her in closer and something in the air between them changed, growing still. His smile fell away as he gazed into the eyes of Mariah of the tattoos and fire engine red hair. All that wasn’t as glaring as they’d once been.

  “So, no boo?” he asked quietly.

  “No boo,” she said, just as quiet.

  “Is female your preference?” he asked.

  “No,” she said, caught up in whatever this was.

  “Good,” he said, and smiled that dreamy smile. He bent his head to her ear. “Like what you did with your hand the last time you held me,” he whispered.

  She laughed to cover her awkwardness, not sure what to make of him now.

  “Hey, Adam, aren’t you going to introduce us?” Michael said, avidly watching the exchange between the two of them. As far as Adam and Mariah were concerned, they were alone. And so much for bringing Tiff along; she’d been standing beside him, watching. Adam seemed to be doing just fine on his own. Michael was still surprised, though. Mariah wasn’t really Adam’s type, but maybe something different would be excellent for putting the ex behind him.

  “My apologies,” Adam said, letting Mariah go. She stepped back, trying to hide her embarrassment.

  “Mariah, this is Michael, an old friend of mine from high school and then college. This is his date, Allison, and her cousin, Tiff.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Mariah said, noting that he hadn’t introduced Tiff as his date.

  “Nice to meet you, too,” the three of them said. The women’s greeting was a little cooler than Michael’s.

  “Interesting attire,” Adam said, returning to his newfound source of interest, looking her over again.

  “It is. Handmade by yours truly,” she replied, falling into a small curtsy, while giving him an even better view of her breasts. He tried not to stare, or at least he hoped he wasn’t obvious.

  “Hey, why don’t I get us all a beer for the road, while you visit for a minute with Mariah? We’ll meet you at the door,” Michael said, knowing when to disappear. He smiled inwardly, like the old days when he and Adam used to hang together before Adam had gotten serious about finding a wife and settling down.

  “Nice to meet you, Mariah,” Michael said, putting an arm around Allison and Tiff, turning them away, glancing back at Adam and giving him a you should try and tap that look. Adam looked away quickly, hoping Mariah hadn’t seen the look that passed between them. But she had. Her smile dimmed just a bit, the same as it had when he’d tried to hand her that pamphlet.

  “Did you have a good time?” she asked, changing the subject, her hackles rising just a little.

  “I did, notwithstanding feeling like an idiot.”

  “It’s not for everyone,” she said.

  “I can see that.”

  “Well, thanks for coming. As you can see, I’m okay. No need for any more brochures or hotline numbers,” she said, smiling, it more full now.

  “Guess not. Sorry again about that,” he said, not wanting her to leave him just yet.

  “You were just trying to help. I get that. You’re a good guy for doing so,” she said. “See you around,” she added before turning and skating away.

  He stood there until she disappeared from his view, eyeing her ass one last time before turning and heading to find Michael.

  * * *

  Adam could hear the television playing as he walked into the kitchen of his parents’ home the following Sunday morning. It was a Sunday morning political talk show. His parents watched those religiously every Sunday. They attended mass every Saturday night.

  Sunday mornings were reserved for the New York Times, Austin American Statesman, and political talk shows to be argued about and dissected over a lingering breakfast and coffee. He’d slept late because he’d gotten home later, had stopped to get something to eat and drink with Michael, Tiff, and Allison.

  He found his parents in the kitchen, both with the newspaper in their hands, heads bent over them.

  “Hey, Adam,” his mother said, putting the paper down, turning her cheek to receive his kiss.

  “Hey, Pops,” he said as he grabbed a coffee cup and filled it with brew. “I enjoyed the roller derby and your little surprise.” He smiled as he looked at both of his parents. “Et tu, Brute?” His mom was grinning from ear to ear.

  “Did you?” Adam Sr. said, returning the smile and giving one to Gloria before they both gave into their laughter.

  “Did you have a chance to talk to Mariah?” Gloria asked.

  “I did, and she didn’t rub it in… too much,” he said, bringing his coffee over. He pulled out a chair and sat.

  “She’s something, isn’t she? Thought you might like her. She’s a bit of a prankster, and pretty,” his pop said, hitting his son in the arm. “And built like a brick house.”

  “No one says that anymore, Dad, but yes, she’s nice.”

  “She reminds me of your mother. You know if you decide to go out with her, she can be tough. You might want to give yourself some time after this Jamie, but don’t let that one out of your sights.”

  Slow down, old man, Adam thought. His dad was playing matchmaker. No surprise there. His pops didn’t like his choice in women; hadn’t ever liked his choice in women. He said they were too bland. He liked fire. His mom and sister were fire enough for a whole nation. He didn’t want that, or so he’d thought.

  Now, seeing it within Mariah as she moved around the track, all that boiling energy was appealing. He was nowhere near ready to see anyone seriously again, but Mariah might make a very nice distraction. Sampling a slice of Mariah’s type of fire—now that he could do.

  * * *

  March – first week

  After work Wednesday Mariah entered the restaurant—creatively named Joshua’s Place, after her brother—through the front door instead of the employees’ entrance in the back. This was her third home. She was smiling this evening, reliving the moment of seeing the surprise, interest, and appreciation
in Junior D.D.S.’s eyes.

  This change in him had been flattering. He was something up close, a woman’s wet dream. She wondered what was up with his date, all polish and sophistication, who’d stood by and watched as he held on to her.

  The restaurant was empty now, too early yet for the dinner crowd. Her brother’s place had been open going on two years now, with a very loyal following thanks to Jacob, their cook.

  Joshua and Jacob had been friends for as long as she could remember—through both high school and the army. Jacob could cook like nobody’s business, old-school Southern-style cooking, learned at his grandmother’s knee. Jacob handled the cooking and Joshua handled everything else. Both men were scarred from the war—Joshua’s were visible, while Jacob’s were more internal and emotional. This place was their respite, therapy, and livelihood all rolled into one.

  She usually stopped by daily to fill in or help out in whatever capacity he needed. She smiled at Amber, who was still holding on and seemed to be working out. She headed to the back to the kitchen; she was hungry and needed to eat before the dinner rush of customers arrived.

  She pushed through the swinging doors that led away from the main dining area. It was a small restaurant with about twenty tables and a small bar in the corner. They served mostly beer and wine. She knew Joshua was giving thought to purchasing the old house next door to use for parking or expanding, but he hadn’t decided yet. It had been up for sale for a while. She was contemplating giving up her slightly depleted savings to make it happen; not that he’d asked. He was too independent for that.

  Hoping to grab a quick bite before it got crowded, she sauntered into the kitchen, not in any hurry to start another job. Jacob stood over some large pot stirring something, hair tied under a bandana, an apron tied around his front. She walked over to stand next to him and grabbed a bowl.

  “Hey,” she said, sticking her bowl next to his pot.

  “Back at you,” he said, smiling as he spooned something into her bowl. “You working tonight? Who’d he fire?” he asked, shaking his head.