She was on time, as she’d been the last four times, dressed today in a nice summer sundress, and currently disembarking from her auto. Cinched at her waist was this dress, flowing outward, stopping just above her knees, accompanied by slim high-heeled sandals on her feet. He thought her perfect.
She’d been in and out of his thoughts since she’d left his home Wednesday night. Forty-eight hours had been spent wrestling with a compelling desire to help her, along with another equally compelling and growing need to get to know her, and he’d settled on a way to do both.
He would catch her before she left today and offer to personally train her. A week or two to start, and if things worked well, and he could indeed help her, he would train her for as long as she needed. And while he trained her, he would watch and learn, and take her measure.
He’d have to tamp down this urgency thing he felt. No good came from fast, not for him anymore. Fun, short-term, and all feet first had been his past with women. Quick, and on to the next one before he could think had been his old operating procedure. Luckily he’d done some growing up. Older and so much wiser now, so yes, slow was his way to go.
The restroom door closed behind Jones and he headed over to join the other coaches.
#
Memphis was seated on the ground next to Aubrey in the middle of the field along with the rest of the kids, listening to Coach Z give his end of the camp speech. He was almost done with the part where he called up each camper individually, thanked them for their efforts and attendance, and blah, blah, blah, here’s your t-shirt and off you go, which was a cool thing to do, but made for one long evening of camp.
Ten minutes later and they’d arrived at the miscellaneous awards part of the program where certificates were given out for such things like who threw up the most, Dexter; who was the most improved camper, Luke; and so on and so forth.
“I’m going to miss this,” Aubrey said, leaning over and whispering into Memphis’s ear.
“Miss what? Camp? Playing with the little boys?”
“Yep, and him. I can say it now. I should have said it sooner or been more honest about my intentions for being here, attending this camp. I do like him.”
“Oh, so it wasn’t all for me?” Memphis said sarcastically. “I figured as much.”
“I know what you’re thinking and no, it’s not the reason I spoke to him about your condition. I still think you could get hurt.”
“Let’s drop it.”
“Plus I’m not sure he’s all that interested in me. I think it you that he likes,” Aubrey said, eyeing her friend for signs that Z’s interest was reciprocated.
“Don’t think so. I’m not his type.”
“And what type would that be?”
“White?”
“That’s not a type.”
“For some people it is,” she said.
“You apply yet?” Aubrey asked, moving on to a different subject, satisfied that Memphis had no clue about Z’s interest in her.
“Yes. You?”
“Yes, and I’m glad you did too. This way, if I’m selected, it’s because I’ve beaten the best. You’re the best, in case you didn’t know,” Aubrey said, laughing, her attention on the coaches at the front.
“Jones and Luke, up to the front,” Z said. He was scanning the crowd for them both.
“See, that’s the thing with you,” Memphis said, turning to face Aubrey. “That’s a compliment, right, and it feels like one on the surface, and before Wednesday night, I’d have thought it was one. Now I could go either way, and I don’t know what to think, except that I’m less sure about you.”
“It’s not that serious, M. Again, I was only trying to help,” Aubrey said, exasperation in her tone.
“Jones,” Z said, louder this time.
“He wants you up front, I think. You and Luke,” Aubrey said.
“Who wants who up front?” Memphis asked, meeting Z’s eyes, staring back at her with that expression she’d seen most often from him: impatience of the get-your-ass-in-gear kind, and yes, he wanted her up front. She scanned the group and found Luke making his way toward the front too. Memphis went over to join them.
“Every camp we are blessed with a person, or in the case of this camp, two people, who put into action the traits of perseverance, commitment, and most importantly courage. So when things get tough for us, thanks to them, we now have an image of what the phrase no quit looks like. Let’s show them our appreciation,” he said, and handed them each a baseball cap with the camp’s logo on it.
“Thanks, Jones,” he said, shaking her hand before he turned to do the same to Luke.
“That’s it for camp. Thank you all for attending. If you like for us to check out one of your games in the fall, send us your schedules. You have our email addresses, and we’ll promise to make it to at least one,” he said, standing alongside the other coaches as lines of boys started to form in front of them.
She smiled on her way back to Aubrey, pleased with herself for sticking it out and not giving up. She searched around for Luke, found him standing amidst his friends now, all patting him on the back. He caught her gaze and waved. It had been worth it for him too.
#
Fifteen minutes later Memphis stepped out of the restroom. Camp was over and all the kids were gone finally, scattered to their homes all over the city. She’d been holed up in the bathroom, waiting for the field to clear before she went in search of Coach Z. She had a plan in mind, one that she’d been toying with since Wednesday night, and she wanted him alone when she approached him to discuss it.
He worked for her on a level she didn’t yet understand, brought out the best in her, at least as far as this football sports thingy was concerned. Of course, a long talk with herself was required, about the need to let go of her crush. What would come of it anyway? Nothing. It was only in the way of what she wanted now, which was to get better, overcome a major childhood hurdle, hell maybe even make the team for real. Goals that were starting to be hugely important personally, and he was the one to help her, she’d decided.
She scanned the football field again for him. It was empty except for her sister and Coach D, clearing the field of equipment. Alex was carrying the ladders in her arms, and D was a few steps behind, dragging in the coolers. She started toward them.
“Have you seen Z?” she asked, coming to a stop in front of Alex.
“He was here a few minutes ago,” Alex said, looking behind her at D. “Have you seen Z?” Alex asked him.
“He was walking toward his house, on his cell, about five minutes ago. Try him there. He won’t mind if it’s you,” D said, smiling at Memphis
“What?” Memphis asked.
“Nothing,” he said, chuckling.
“Okay, thanks,” Memphis said, looking back towards Z’s home. There was still no sign of him. D moved away, headed to the utility building. She turned back to face her sister. “Are you going to be here awhile?”
“Nope, dropping this off and then I’m out, hanging out with Charlotte and the gang. You can stop by after you leave here. Tell us how it all works out.”
“How what works out?”
“You and your talk with Z. There’s nothing to be afraid of. It might work. You asking him to train you?” Alex asked.
“How did you know?”
“I know you, big sister. A problem with a solution and you do what you have to. It’s what you’ve always done for Charlotte and me, and it’s nice to see it finally turned on you. I can talk to him for you if you think it will help,” she added.
“Thanks,” Memphis said.
“Later,” Alex said, moving away.
Memphis turned to face Z’s home again. It was quiet out here when it was free of kids. Kind of relaxing even, she thought, moving toward his back door. It was open. A glass door was the only barrier, she noted as she climbed the three steps to reach it. She could see inside to the hallway, which was empty. She took a deep breath, knocked on the metal part of the glass d
oor, and waited. It was nothing but quiet inside.
She knocked again, harder this time, and received the same silence.
“Jones,” she heard, coming from somewhere behind her. It was Z, walking towards his home, quickly closing the distance between them. He’d come from the direction of his studio and carried papers in one hand and his cell phone in the other. She stepped away from his door.
“Coach,” she said.
“You’re helping Alex and D with the clean-up?” he asked, jogging up the steps to his porch. He was surprised to see her, but glad she hadn’t left before he’d a chance to talk to her.
“No, I was actually looking for you. I wanted to talk to you.”
“Yeah, about what?” he said, coming to a stop outside the door.
“Well… uh… first I wanted to thank you for the award today,” she said, watching him as he opened the glass door and stepped inside.
“You’re welcome. But really, no thanks necessary, you earned it,” he said, smiling as he held the door open for her. A little impatiently, she thought of his demeanor, and maybe this was a bad idea after all. “You said that was the first thing?” he asked.
“Oh, right. I’m here to ask you to consider training me.”
“Come in,” he said, releasing the door as soon as she took hold of it. He had already moved off, the impatience she’d thought she’d seen earlier propelling him down the hall. She followed him inside, allowing the outer door to close behind her. He’d disappeared into the first room on the right. She followed.
“Oh,” she said, after she’d stepped into the doorway. Surprise was too mild a word for what she saw. Paper everywhere was her first thought, followed by why so many unopened boxes. Moving boxes, with the company’s logo on the side of them, with stacks of paper on top. When did he move here? she wondered. There were stacks of paper on the floor, knee high in height. The piles were neat at least, and they just about covered the entire floor.
There was a path, the only clear part of the floor, that led from the doorway over to the desk, where more stacks of paper lay.
“Look through these for me,” he said, pushing a stack of papers into her stomach. He was standing near the door, holding another handful of papers.
“What?”
“I’m looking for an invoice dated May 30, this year. I promised to deliver glasses to this new restaurant in town, and they just called, angry that I missed the deadline,” he said. He had moved over to the desk—his desk, she imagined—lifting a stack of papers, rifling through them. “I suck at filing, as you can see.” His head was down with his fingers moving quickly through his stack.
That’s an understatement, she thought. “What am I looking for again?” she asked instead.
“An invoice for one hundred glasses, for a restaurant called The Harvest Room. The invoice is beige in color. I thought it might help me keep track of the invoices from Sloan Glassworks, color coordinating and all, but it didn’t.”
“Okay,” she said, and started into her stack. There were beige invoices for this one church for wedding bowls; paperwork from some company called Turnkey Relocations, which was purple. Her stack had paper from Sloan Glassworks in beige, Sloan Artisan Lighting in white, and the Elite Football programs were gray, she noted.
“What’s Turnkey Relocations?” she asked, rifling through the last of her stack.
He didn’t answer, handed her another stack instead.
“What are we looking for again?” She had gotten lost.
“Stay focused, Jones. The Harvest Room, a restaurant in town, an invoice for glasses.”
“Right,” she said, looking through her new stack, which was a list of attendees to a camp. Last year was the date. “Nothing in this stack,” she said.
“Damn,” he said, looking around with his hands on those fine hips of his.
“Were you supposed to make glasses for The Harvest Room?”
“Yep,” he said, running his eyes over the room now; thinking, she guessed.
“What is all this?” she said, her hands in the air, moving them around to encompass the room and its unorganized contents.
“My records.”
“And your method of record keeping is…?” she asked, looking at him.
“To throw everything in here until I can get to it.”
“Can’t imagine why that doesn’t work for you,” she said, smiling.
He laughed and turned to face her. “I’m dyslexic. I struggled with it as a kid, not so much now, and that’s part of the reason this room looks this way. Organizing this takes a while for me, so I just throw it in here until I’m ready to deal with it,” he said.
“Oh,” she said, staring at him still. Nowhere in anyone’s universe had she expected him to say that.
“Yes, oh. So are you going to help me or not?” he said, back to rifling through a different stack.
“Is there more I should look through, or just pick one of these?” she asked, waving her hand around to encompass the entire room.
“Look over here,” he said, motioning her to come to his desk. He reached behind him and grabbed a stack that lay on a shelf, partially hidden behind books. “Through these,” he said, handing them to her. He turned away, picked up another stack, and it was back to their search. Ten minutes turned to twenty, and then into thirty before he found what he was searching for.
“Here it is,” he said, a smile on his face, a genuine smile, wide open and beautiful. She loved this smile on him.
“Great,” she said, looking around the room again.
“Give me a second,” he said, his gaze on the cell phone in his hand as he walked over to the door and stepped outside into the hall. She could hear him and yeah, she listened. He was apologizing profusely and promising that they would be ready by the end of the week; free, of course, a full refund, no problem, and again, his apologies. He was laughing at the end, so his customer had been forgiving, she guessed.
#
“You’re an artist,” Memphis said when he stepped back into his office.
“And you know this how?”
“The invoices for Sloan Glassworks, but I also looked you up on the web after I started camp. You’re a glassblower.”
“I am,” he said.
“Graduated from the University of Wisconsin, in Madison,” she said.
“Yes,” he said, giving her a little side-eye.
“Art degree?”
“Okay…” he said, chuckling. “Should I be concerned here, Jones, with your knowledge of me?”
She laughed. “It’s on the Internet.”
He nodded. “So back to earlier, before this. You mentioned training.”
“I did. I would like for you to train me, if you have time, that is. I seem to connect with you, to understand your instructions,” she said, her gaze on his. “I was willing to pay you, of course, at first, but now that I’m here, maybe I could help you by organizing this for you,” she said, turning her gaze to the room.
“I have a system,” he said, smiling.
“I can tell,” she said, managing to keep a straight face.
“Are you messing with me, Jones?” he asked, chuckling.
“Yes, but I can help you. We could trade services. You’re a good trainer, and I’m a take-charge kind of individual who’s really good at organizing. It’s one of my talents, organizing things and organizing people, and it’s different from my athletic skills. What you see on the field is not representative of all of me. I have issues; however I’m not one big issue.”
“I didn’t think you were. Actually, I was going to offer to train you. I meant to catch you before you left today but I got tied up looking for that invoice. I didn’t think of a trade, but I’m not opposed to the idea either,” he said, taking in the expressions of surprise and then hope on her face.
“Oh,” she said, excited. “I work for you too?”
“Excuse me,” he said.
“I didn’t mean that like it sounded. I meant organizi
ng, my strength to your weakness. Trading skills is what we are doing.”
“Good. I can work with that,” he said.
“So is that a yes?”
“It is.”
“Yes!” she said, moving toward him, hugging him before she could think, arms wrapped around his waist. Dang, he felt good; strong and firm, she decided before she stepped away. She took a breath. “Sorry. Excited,” she said; her explanation for the hug.
“It’s okay,” he said, smiling. “I thought we could stick to the same training schedule as camp: Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, an hour and a half instead of two, which makes it a total of four and a half hours, which you’ll work off Saturday mornings?”
“Yep, I can work with that. Saturday mornings are good. As long as I have my cell and laptop I can work from anywhere. I’ll start tomorrow.”
“Whoa, tomorrow? That’s soon,” he said, surprised, quiet for a second—thinking, she guessed. “Okay, I guess tomorrow’s good. You have to be on time, Jones. You know that’s big for me, right, and it’s strictly helping each other, nothing else, but, yeah, it could work,” he said.
“Of course. I understand, strictly training partners, helping each other, and I hope there is room for friendship?”
“I’m fine with friends,” he said.
“Good. You need me here too, right? I’m not some charity case.”
“No, it’s not only you that could use the help. I don’t consider you charity, although there’s nothing wrong with charity, Jones, giving or receiving.”
“I know, but I don’t want it in this.”
“Okay, it’s not.”
“Good then,” she said, smiling, and it went quiet as they stared into each other’s eyes for a second or two. “Tryouts for the team are when?” she asked, it was something else to talk about, while she retrieved the part of her brain that had slipped out of gear at the sight of his smile and so much for the death of her crush.
“They start in September and run through November.”
“So you’ll have July and August to turn me into an all-star cornerback or safety,” she said.
The Odd Ballerz Page 15