Love Letter for a Sinner (The Sinners sports romances)

by Lynn Shurr

  Layla considered the offerings. Laughing when she read the slogan on the shorts, she said, “I have to get some of these for Micah Stanley but in a smaller size. He has the skinniest ass. See to that, Tricia.”

  “When I have the time. Get dressed.”

  Even in a caftan, Layla managed to sway seductively to the bedroom. “Humph! You joining us?” Selena asked, unimpressed by the star’s performance.

  “Maybe tomorrow. I need to do a sweep of the condo today. Lee, take the pizza back to your place.”

  “Actually, I’ve been spending most of my time here caring for Layla.” Lee held the box as if it contained some precious souvenir of the star.

  He had turned the actress from a raging, seductive tyrant to an overweight petulant child during his tenure. Which was worse, Tricia could not say. “Take the pizza as a thank you and go before I have Selena toss you out. Or you can work out with us. It won’t be pretty.”

  Shuddering, Lee clutched the box to his chest and resigned his position. After Selena and Layla left for the gym, Tricia did a sweep of the apartment, first cleaning out the refrigerator and cabinets of junk food, then doing the harder part of searching for drugs. The night table drawer, easy and obvious for prescriptions, but she inspected the hems of Layla’s sheets in case any pills were inserted there. The tank on the commode yielded well-sealed baggies of pot, and a tangle of purses in the closet a cornucopia of ways to get high. She flushed so much she feared the plumbing would back up and hoped the fish in the nearby aquarium did not share the same water source.

  She got her own exercise heaving bags of salty, greasy, and sugary sweet snacks to the dumpster. Tonight, the homeless would dine better than usual. They could use the calories. As an added incentive, she printed the picture of Layla wearing the sunburst caftan off the internet and stuck it on the refrigerator. So ended day one of the rehabbing of Layla Devlin by Tricia Welles, Patsy no longer.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Funny how weight is so easy to gain and so hard to take off. Tricia recalled Shelley Winters gaining a bunch for a plum role and lately, Sally Fields packing it on to play Mrs. Lincoln. Convincing Layla she had to be svelte for her spring film wasn’t as easy. Nor was dealing with the dreadlocks, all Lee’s idea.

  “I complained and complained about how frizzy my hair gets in this city. Lee suggested I wear wigs, but they’re so hot and uncomfortable. Then he came up with this great idea that I get dreads. It’s so New Orleans. He took me to this black hair salon where no white people went. They were so honored. Anyhow, another good thing about the dreads is you hardly ever have to wash them.” Layla paused in riding the exercise bike to inform both Tricia and Selena of this.

  Tricia wrinkled her nose. “Yes, I can tell you haven’t washed them often.” Frankly, they smelled of weed and pepperoni.

  Selena said, “No white person should wear dreadlocks. Save your breath for pedaling. You got another ten minutes to do.”

  “There were only five minutes left!”

  “It’s ten now, baby.”

  A specially selected hairdresser arrived the next day toting gallons of cream rinse and hair straightener. She started with a deep cleansing wash and ended with a vicious combing. Layla sobbed throughout the entire ordeal. When the hair flowed like molten gold again, Tricia paid the stylist for her afternoon, added a generous tip and a threat. If any of the tabloids got wind of the treatment, her services would never be called upon again, not only by Layla, but by every person Layla knew. Keep quiet and become hairdresser to the stars. Deal.

  Even the formidable Selena took Sundays off, but she showed up to watch the Sinners’ games with a veggie tray in hand and a choice of hummus or yogurt dip to go with it. She allowed Tricia to put out a dish of dry-roasted peanuts, but nothing else. All of them sipped water with lemon slices since the trainer swore diet drinks upset the metabolism and caused weight gain in the end. She settled on one side of the turquoise couch, Tricia on the other with Layla like the pale, fluffy mayonnaise-laden filling in between a slice of dark rye and healthy light whole wheat.

  “I’ve been a fan of the Sinners ever since I didn’t do Joe Dean,” Selena said.

  “Evidently no one does Joe Dean anymore. He’s too old to get it up. In fact, he’s too old to play football. They should put in…another guy,” Layla sniped.

  The pre-game chatter filled the air. The cameras nosed here and there ferreting out interesting shots the commentators could make noise about. They selected Joe Dean’s family filling two prime rows near the field. The handicapped boy sat in a wheelchair on the end slot. Nell and her belly took up quite a bit of room right next to him. A reporter climbed into the stands to do an interview. “I wanted to see one more game in person before I’m confined to bed rest again with these twins,” Nell explained, hands resting on her rounded stomach. “We flew to Miami this morning, the entire gang.”

  “I guess Joe Dean can still get it up. His wife is expecting twins,” Tricia remarked.

  “That woman! She humiliated me twice. I hope she dies giving birth,” Layla frothed.

  “Whoa, there. Hatred releases cortisol into the system. You’ll never get rid of your belly fat if you keep this up,” Selena warned. Over Layla’s head, she raised thin plucked eyebrows at Tricia who gave her a grateful nod.

  “Put a carrot in it, Layla,” her PA said, dipping one in hummus and offering it to her temporary boss.

  The Sinners ran onto the field, and all the Billodeaux children stood to cheer for their dad, even Teddy with the braces on his legs. Nell struggled to her feet and added her applause. Layla hissed but watched avidly as Rex Worthy dropped to his knees to pray. Tricia covered her interest with sips of lemon water and a handful of peanuts. She thought he prayed longer than usual. Other than that, no sign he languished for her or anyone else. He still rode the pine with panache, cheering for his teammates and offering a back slap when they returned from the field after scoring.

  Way ahead, Rex did get to play the fourth quarter. He put in a workmanlike performance and made one touchdown with the help of Jakarta Jones. See, he’d put the whole Layla/Tricia mess behind him. No affect on his game at all, Tricia believed. No damage done to anyone but herself.

  ****

  Thanksgiving waddled in on turkey drumsticks wading through gravy. Tricia feared Layla would overindulge if she left her alone for a trip home, and the actress refused a plea from Doris to spend the holiday with her mother in Iowa.

  “I won’t go back there until I am one-hundred and ten-percent gorgeous again,” Layla declared.

  Her long legs were the first to recover, now more shapely than before thanks to Selena. Her face thinned, and she could finally get her rings off again. Unfortunately, a good deal of belly fat, though firmer than before, remained around her middle. Tricia honestly wondered if cortisol could be the problem. Layla, forbidden to mention Rex, raged about Joe Dean and at any mention of Nell, a topic that always came up during interviews at the end of the game.

  “How are Nell and the twins doing? They ask every time as if she were a bigger celebrity than me.” Kept from the disparaging eyes of the paparazzi, Layla felt the lack of publicity. “If we don’t go out soon, the world will forget me,” she claimed.

  On the phone, Trish apologized to her dad and brothers. “I’m so sorry I can’t be with you, this year especially. Next year I promise to make all of Mom’s recipes for you, her apple crumb pie as well as pumpkin.”

  Before her father could answer, Colt chimed in on the old extension phone. “That’s okay, sis. Mrs. Welch invited us to her house. She’s making a pumpkin pie, but Heidi is baking brownies, the recipe that won the 4-H contest, just for me.”

  She managed to get out a “Great. You go enjoy,” when her father said they could stay home if that upset her. In the background, Colt protested, “I don’t want an omelet for Thanksgiving.”

  Tricia put together a meal for herself and Layla: slices of white meat, a small whole wheat roll, fresh gre
en beans with almonds and no sauce, salad with vinegar and oil dressing, and a special treat, low-fat frozen yogurt sprinkled with crushed graham crackers. Afterwards, they exercised.

  She knew how Rex celebrated because the Sinners home game featured a cameo of him serving the homeless mashed potatoes in Dallas. Beside him, Honeybee in a hairnet splatted canned green beans onto the trays. In the evening, he ate with his family at a communal dinner in the church hall held for those who had no family or simply wanted to share the meal. The room appeared overcrowded with young women who desired to spend Thanksgiving with their pastor’s family. Rex exhorted everyone to remember those in need, especially people who had lost a dear one in the past year. They needed to know they were still loved by another—by others, he meant to say.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Nell Billodeaux traveled to New Orleans for her last prenatal exam before her confinement to bed rest. Confinement: a term used in ancient times to describe a period of time when a pregnant woman left society to await the birth of a child. More like a jail sentence, two months of bed rest, but she’d promised Joe no drama this time. She would not give birth in a motor home because of a jealous snit, nor would she insist on going to one of his last games near her due date, not even the Super Bowl. Her husband struggled to accept the end of his football career. She meant to give him nothing else to worry about.

  Given her age, previous history, and the impending double birth, Dr. Stewart regarded her as high risk. She would deliver by caesarian section under his care at Ochsner one day after the Super Bowl or sooner if she went into labor. Staying at Lorena Ranch for most the time, she’d transfer to the condo in New Orleans a few weeks in advance to be closer to the hospital and away from the turmoil of her other children. All appeared to be going well. She tried to take a deep breath of relief, but the pressure of the babies on her diaphragm prevented that from happening.

  Nurse Edith Wickersham Brinsley, dear Shammy always in attendance, helped her from the car. They planned to have an English tea together before naptime. Shammy’s husband, Clive Brinsley, had packed a small cooler with cucumber and turkey salad sandwiches, scones and fruit tarts along with a thermos of Earl Grey tea for their trip, a treat after the checkup. With luck, Joe might be back from practice. Nell had gotten him a large, wet roast beef po-boy with extra gravy for dipping as dainty foods seldom satisfied him. The last person she expected to trip over outside the condo door—Rex Worthy hunched against the wall with his head resting on his knees as if he held up the entire building with his back.

  “Rex? Have you been waiting here very long?”

  “Doesn’t matter. I need to speak to Joe in private. You, too. I didn’t want the other guys to hear.”

  “Get up off the floor and come in. Shammy, would you set up the tea? I tried not to eat before the weighin and I am starving.”

  Her nurse took the hint and busied herself in the kitchen. Nell led Rex to the long, leather sofa in the living room. “What can I do for you?”

  “Maybe you heard Tricia left me.”

  “Joe suspected as much but said as long as you played well he didn’t want to butt in.”

  “I always try to do my best no matter how I feel.”

  “I am certain you do. Why did Tricia leave?” Nell pondered how best to put it. “Were there sexual problems?’ As conflicted as Rex had been about his virginity, the possibility of not being able to perform in bed entered her mind.

  Though his face glowed red under his stubble, Rex shook his head. “No, we were doing great. Then, my family, my mother, showed up for an unexpected visit.”

  A key turned in the lock, and Joe entered with one hand held behind his back. He whipped out a bouquet of pink and lavender roses and presented them to Nell. “How are you and the babies doing—and why in hell are you here, Worthy?”

  Before Rex got his mouth open, Nell said, “These are so lovely. I think a little bit of Brian Lightfoot is rubbing off on you.”

  “Nothing about Brian is ever going to rub against me. You know, you still can’t get blue roses. Someone should fix that. I stopped at the florist on my way home and lavender is the best they could do. Lavender is too gay for a son, not that Brian isn’t a good guy in his way.”

  “Could be two girls, you know. Or did Dr. Stewart break down and tell you the sexes of the babies?”

  “No, he sure didn’t. That’s why I bought both colors.” Joe sniffed the air and changed the subject swiftly. “Do I smell roast beef?”

  “We have scones and cucumber sandwiches, too. We’ll have something to eat after we talk to Rex. His family, most especially his mother, showed up when he and Tricia were together.”

  Rex clenched his hands between his knees. “I swear my mom knew the second she walked in the door with her cake carrier. That evening she prayed over me and got the details, I mean not about what we did, but all about Trish. I had a hard night and overslept. Tricia went out for beignets and packed up and left as soon as she got back from the café. She didn’t give me a chance to explain anything. Her phone is always off. She won’t answer e-mails. My mother says it’s all for the best.”

  “I’ll just bet she did,” Nell muttered, possibly thinking of her own mother-in-law.

  “Yeah, never sleep with a woman when your mother is around. Nell and me used to go off in the cane fields to get away from mine,” Joe reminisced.

  “Not in front of the boy, Joe!”

  Still flushed, Rex continued, “I know Tricia thinks I only want to marry her because she is my first, but it’s not that way. Sometimes you just know when a person is the right one. I tried talking to her father, but he said the Welles women can be very hardheaded. If Trish made up her mind not to have me, I should leave her alone.”

  “I’d say it’s pretty hard to romance a woman in Iowa from here,” Joe said.

  “No, she’s back in town and working for Layla again. He told me that much. I could go over there, but don’t want Trish to think I’m stalking.”

  “Why would she do that once she shook free of that—that…” Nell scrambled for a word that wouldn’t bring the roses to Rex’s cheeks. “That monstrous woman.”

  “See, that’s what I mean about Tricia. Layla’s mother begged her to help her daughter. She wouldn’t go back for money or an acting job, her dad said, only because of a mother’s tears.”

  “Too bad your mother couldn’t shed a few and give the girl a break. So why are you here again?” Joe looked toward the kitchen where a microwave dinged and a tea kettle whistled.

  “I want to quit football.”

  Joe’s head jerked around. “C’est vrai? You can’t mean dat—that. The Sinners are having their best season ever. We already have a lock on the playoffs. I can smell my fifth Super Bowl ahead just like a roast beef po-boy. It will be your first time. You get a ring even if you don’t play.”

  “It’s your Super Bowl, not mine, Joe. Football is only a game I’m good at playing. If I can’t marry Tricia, I’d just as soon go to Africa, maybe work with the Jimmy Carter foundation. I don’t think I have it in me to be a missionary, though my mama has been pushing that idea since I was thirteen. People are more important than a sport.”

  “Amen. It took Joe years to figure that out.” Nell’s stomach growled. She covered her belly in embarrassment.

  “For sure my wife and kids are more important, but man, it’s the Super Bowl, my last. You’re my backup. I need you there in case, just in case. Next year, the Sinners expect you to lead them.”

  “You and the Sinners don’t need me. Tricia doesn’t need me, but maybe some African kids do. I’ll finish out the season, then try to get out of my contract so I can move on. I’m keeping Nell from her meal, I can tell. Just wanted to let you know my plans.”

  “No, eat with us. We need to talk some more,” Nell insisted.

  “She’s the psychologist,” Joe said. “I’m team captain. Have some food. I can split that roast beef po-boy with you, I guess.”

  �
�From Johnny’s?” Nell nodded. “I’m in.”

  Shammy, listening to every word said lest her patient get upset, added an extra place at the table and divested Nell of her bouquet, quickly dispatching it into a vase to serve as a centerpiece. The sandwiches and sweets ringed a large platter. Two of the Royal Doulton teacups from the ranch and so carefully packed by dear Clive sat across from each other. The roast beef po-boy, severed in half, resided on plainer dishes with individual dunking cups on the side. Nell inhaled the bergamot-scented steam of her tea and heaped a plate with delicate goodies. “Wonderful,” she said.

  “Yeah, wonderful. You want a beer, Worthy?”

  “That would be great.”

  After Nell took the edge off her appetite with several small sandwiches, she said, “Now before you rush off to Africa, I’d try another tactic with Tricia. If she won’t speak to you or respond to e-mails, why not express yourself in a letter, handwritten, sincere, so rare she must open it, and will treasure it forever.”

  The men, making a mess of the tablecloth with gravy drippings, stared at her. “What would I say?” Rex asked with the leaking sandwich half-raised to his mouth.

  “Say what is in your heart. When we are done here, I’ll give you some of my good stationery and a pen.”

  Rex gulped. “Maybe I should write it on a legal pad first, like a draft. You could read it and see if I did all right.”

  “By all means, write a draft, but it must be your words, not mine.” Nell pressed her fingers to her lips to suppress a small burp. “I really must lay off cucumbers soon.” She helped herself to a strawberry tart and a blueberry scone.

  “I am glad to see we have a good appetite,” Nurse Shammy said. “Finish, then it’s nappy time for you and the babies, and I’ll be off for my daily walk.”

  Before submitting to nurse’s orders, Nell supplied Rex with a yellow legal pad and a few pencils. She laid a box of thick, creamy white paper with gold foil-lined envelopes next to his plate. He finished inhaling the roast beef po-boy and took his dish and empty bottle to the sink like a well-trained son. Shammy didn’t remove the leftover desserts in case Rex needed something more to keep him going. She put Nell to bed and left in her walking shoes. Joe settled in front of the TV, flipping through channels while his substitute put words on paper, struggling as much as he did when trying to complete long passes.