“Does Jones know?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“She’ll try to fix it. It’s what she does and I want to do this on my own. For once.”
“Do what?”
“Leave and stay away from a man that hurt me,” she said, her voice clear and strong, and where had that come from? Guess she’d grown up more than she thought.
“He sounds dangerous, so maybe this isn’t the best time to go it alone,” he said.
“What color was the truck again?” she asked, ignoring him.
“Blue, silver stripe down the side.”
“It’s probably not him; he used to drive this white truck.”
“People do change trucks,” he said, meeting her eyes. “I think you should tell Jones. The police, someone other than me.”
“I don’t want to and I’m asking you not to tell either. What do we really know? It’s all feelings.”
He didn’t say anything, just stared at her for a while. “All of which you shouldn’t discount. What if something happened to you and I kept quiet about it? I’d be responsible too.”
“I know,” she said.
“I’ll think about it. I have the license number. I’ll ask a friend of mine in the sheriff’s office to check it out. That will help ease my mind a little and I’m sure yours, too. Write down the name of your old boyfriend,” he said, handing her his smart phone. “If it comes back and it’s not your guy, then I won’t tell Jones, but I still think you should. Okay?”
“Okay,” she said.
“I’m going to call my friend now. You can get started in the weight room after you finish your run. Or you could come with me?”
“I’ll come with you.”
#
Later on that night, Memphis sat in her bed, debating if she should call Z. It was closing on nine-thirty and she imagined him out on his deck, feet up, after eating one of his gourmet meals. It’s what she would do if she were there. Recline against his reclining body. She leaned back against her headboard and touched the numbers that would put her in touch with him. She had questions that needed answering.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hi, Z. This is Jones… Memphis,” she said, nervous all of a sudden; nothing to do with the way his voice sounded so smooth into the phone. “Can you talk?” she asked.
“Isn’t that what I’m doing?” he said, chuckling.
“Very funny. Are you busy is what I meant. Are you free to talk? Am I interrupting something?”
“I know what you meant, and no, you’re not interrupting anything. Now is good. Is this about Alex?”
“No, what’s up with Alex?”
“Nothing, so what’s up?”
“Well, I have a few questions that Marisa didn’t answer. They have to do with your taste in things. What do you like? I need to know in order to figure out catering and music and then decor. So if you have time.”
“I have time. Again,” he said, chuckling.
“Let’s start with the music then. I’d say you were a country and western type. Most Texans are, but then I wasn’t sure if you grew up here, not that it matters, but anyway. What kind of music do you like?”
“Country is good and I grew up in Colorado,” he said.
“Oh, I didn’t know that. What part?”
“Pagosa Springs.”
“Never heard of it,” she said.
“Most people haven’t. Reminds me of Austin in some ways,” he said.
“In what way?”
“It’s relaxed, easy.”
“That’s good. So what kind of atmosphere do you wish to create for your opening? Downtown elegant or homespun country?”
“Those are to be my only options huh?”
“Ah…”
“Just kidding, Jones. Elegant, or more upscale, but accessible.”
“Right. So what are you thinking like for food?” she asked.
“Food most Texans would love, and a full service bar,” he said.
“I have no idea what that means.”
He laughed. “It means surprise me.”
“You might not like my surprises.”
“I’ll know next time then, won’t I.”
“Shouldn’t you take this somewhat seriously? I mean, it’s sort of important. I should not be the person deciding. You don’t know me or my taste.”
“I know enough. I trust you, or is that a bad idea, to trust you?”
“No, you can trust me. Only no complaining if you don’t like my choices. You had your chance,” she said.
“Noted.”
“Okay then, that does it for me. You have any questions for me?” she asked.
“Nope,” he said.
“See you tomorrow, then.”
“Yep. Good night, Jones.”
“Hey, did you mean anything by your earlier question about Alex? Should I be worried about her?”
“Nope, just talk to her,” he said.
“I always talk to her. I saw her last night as a matter of fact. She was quieter than usual, not sure what that means, if anything. God, I hope it doesn’t mean anything. Things are finally going well for her.”
“You worry a lot, Jones.”
“I do. Parenting is tough business sometimes,” she said on a laugh.
“She’ll be okay. You’ve done a fine job.”
“Well, thank you, and on that note, good night for real,” she said.
“Good night, Jones,” he said again and hung up, staring at the phone in his hand. He was sitting in a lounger out on his deck, feet up, beer in hand, relaxing and yes, thinking about her and all he learned of her, including yesterday’s talk with her friend. Interesting conversation he’d had with Aubrey, and with friends like that… he thought again, running some of her comments about Jones through his mind. Her life had not been easy, had been harder than just being clumsy; struggling to keep her family afloat, and she’d lost both of her parents.
He’d been deliberately stingy with his responses to her questions on the phone tonight, wanting to see what she could do on her own, not that he needed any further confirmation that she was tough. He learned that she could handle just about anything, had been handling difficult things for a lifetime, and that was excellent information for him to know about a woman that he was putting more and more of his faith in.
#
Memphis dialed her sister’s number, immediately after hanging up with Z. She didn’t answer, which wasn’t that unusual. She typed the words U ok? into her cell.
Yes was her sister’s reply, a few minutes later.
Z asked me about you. You sure you’re ok? Memphis typed into her phone.
Yes, I’m working out was her sister’s response.
Okay. Let me know if you need me.
Always.
She sat back in her bed, thinking through the conversation with Z. She could do a lifetime on the receiving end of his voice, and his shoulders to rest on. Sometimes life was difficult, and it would be nice to have help, some strong male to lean on, she thought, and just like that the image of Z filled her head, wearing nothing but his smile. That had to be nice to go home to at the end of one’s day.
FIFTEEN
Monday evening
“New drill today,” Z said, interrupting Memphis on her up and back jog with the ladders.
“Yeah!” she said, glad for something other than her thoughts of him and last night’s phone conversation, so simple and yet so sexy. And all those hard won talks with herself vanished, just like the wind, and she was back to wishing and even praying for more. She was so weak.
“Are you listening to me, Jones?” he asked, standing in front of her now.
“Yes,” she said, dragging her thoughts away from the land of her dreams.
“Okay then. There’s nothing spectacular about this drill. Scissors is the most common name for it, and the thing you have to remember with each new drill is to take it slow at the beginning. I can't stress that enough, Jones; wit
h anything new, you have to slow it down, break it into bite-size pieces. Then it’s repetition at the slower pace until it becomes second nature, a part of your muscle memory. Then and only then should you increase your speed. After that, it’s practice, practice, practice,” he said.
“Right,” she said.
Jones was a creature of habit, Z thought, watching her, reading the anxiety visible on her face, put there by something so simple as the introduction of a new drill. Jones and her sports career was years of bad, of past failures, and anything new was a trip back in time for her, back to I can’t, and nerves.
He took a step closer and watched her eyes widen in surprise. It was all he could do to keep from laughing. “Take a deep breath, Jones. You’ve trained yourself to expect the worst.”
“I was the worst.”
“But you aren’t anymore. You need new thoughts for the new Jones. More I can, less I can’t.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“It’s only retraining your head. Don’t make it more.”
“Okay,” she said, staring into his eyes. He was the Jones whisperer again. “I need a pocket-sized you,” she said, and she hadn’t meant to voice that thought aloud.
“A what?” he said, laughing in surprise.
“A tiny you that I could put in my purse, carry around with me,” she said, holding her fingers out to show just how small he needed to be. “I’d pull you out, and you’d coach me whenever I started to feel anxious.”
He laughed again. “Jones,” he said, and smiled, “you’re fine. You just have to fight against your inclination to let your nerves take over.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, like a good little soldier.
“What are you going to do?” he asked, and he was back to coach’s mode, which she was used to and knew how to work with. Follow his instructions was the best way to get along with Coach Z in football land.
The other side to him was more problematic for her, and was the main reason she had trouble fully releasing her crush. Quick glimpses of him being nice, funny, fed it; unconsciously, but fed it nonetheless. Small moments of hope, like the one a few seconds ago with him laughing at something she said, fanned the flame of her desire, preventing her from completely giving up on him as a mate. She didn’t know if it was the truth of his interest that she saw in those brief moments, or just her desire blinding her to the truth that he wasn’t interested and never would be.
“Jones,” he said, bringing her attention back to the task at hand.
“I’m sorry. What did you say? Oh, right. I should count out loud at first, repeat it, move in time to the count, slow at first and increase the speed once I feel sure of what I’m doing.”
“Good. Now watch me,” he said, taking a step away from her. “Right foot over left,” he said, meeting her eyes as he demonstrated. “Then right foot behind left foot. So for you, it’s one when your right foot crosses over your left; two when it goes behind your left foot. That's all there is to it. See, one and two and one and two and one and two. Slow at first, and as you perfect the movements, you can increase your speed,” he said, and proceeded to demonstrate the drill at full speed. When he was done he walked over to her again. “Do you need me to show it to you again?”
“Yes, and slowly please.”
He smiled, but did as she asked while she watched. And then it was her turn, and he watched, moving along with her throughout, counting as she did the movements, as she counted in her head. They spent a good twenty minutes on that drill until she thought she could continue on her own.
“Good,” he said, satisfied that she had mastered it enough to practice it without him. “Spend another thirty minutes or so on it, and then switch over to the ladders, jogging up and back.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, watching him walk away and busy thinking through the new drill and all he’d said about her. He was right. Her first response was fear and back to middle school again, and an old, old habit that needed to change. She just had to remember that. She took a deep breath and began.
#
“Jones.” Z said, entering the storage room where she was putting away her equipment, done with practice.
“Hey,” she said, surprised. “What are you doing here?”
“Seeing if you’re hungry?” he asked.
“Me?”
“Yes, you. You worked pretty hard this evening,” he said, smiling at the expressions that streamed on and off her face. Surprise, excitement, and mucho desire were the main emotions he read. “It’s nothing special, leftovers, and I thought… you might be hungry.”
“I smell terrible.”
“I’ve smelled worse.”
“I hope not me, but if you’re sure,” she said.
“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want you,” he said.
“You don’t mean that in any other way besides friendship,” she said.
“We have that rule,” he said.
“Yep, I know.”
“Two friends having dinner together is what we are. Don’t make it complicated,” he added.
“Right, then. I accept. I’m hungry and you can cook.”
“There is that,” he said.
Five minutes of him helping her put away the equipment, and they were headed to his home. She was back to talking her desire down from the ledge it had climbed upon, so ready to jump. There was nothing to read into this, she thought one more time, as they reached the back door.
#
She stood near the table, watching him stare into his refrigerator.
“Would you like something to drink?” he asked, meeting her gaze over the top of the refrigerator’s door.
“Water, and can I help you somehow?” she asked.
“No, I’ve got it. It’s quick, leftovers and reheating, nothing special,” he said. He handed her a glass of water to drink while she waited, and she could totally see herself with him at the end of her day. She continued to watch him move about his kitchen, dressed in a t-shirt and shorts from earlier, hair curly on his head, baseball cap turned backward, the little badger grinning at her.
Yep, him she could love; probably already did, had to be the explanation for the feeling that wouldn’t go away, and no, he would never know that if she could help it.
He turned around and yep, caught her staring, much to her chagrin. “You okay, Jones? You can sit if you want to.”
“I’m fine,” she said, sliding into the chair closest to her.
He joined her not much later and placed two bowls on the table. One was filled with noodles and what looked to be bits of chicken and asparagus in it and the other bowl was a salad of small sweet potato wedges and parsley. She would not have thought to put those two together, but it was yummy, she thought, after chewing her first delicious forkful.
“So these are leftovers,” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Wow. I wish my leftovers tasted this good. You’re a really good cook. My best meal is breakfast, although it’s probably more basic than what I imagine you’re used too. Eggs, toast… bacon, that’s about it for me. Cooking is not my favorite thing,” she said, fighting not to devour all of his dinner in her second forkful.
“Thanks,” he said. “If I’m ever hungry for breakfast I know where to come.”
“Ha ha,” she said, muffled, as she was chewing her first mouthful of noodles, and yes, those tasted good too.
“So tell me about yourself,” he said.
“Nothing to know. Work and home.”
“Everybody has a story.”
“What do you want to know then?”
“Whatever you want to tell me,” he said, and smiled.
“I sell insurance, which you already know. I have three sisters, born and raised here. I’m the oldest. Alex is the baby. See, there’s not that much to tell,” she said.
“Three sisters. Is your other sister interested in playing football?”
“Always recruiting, huh?”
“We need women,
so it’s a must.”
“No, I don’t think so. Charlotte, sister number two, is not the athletic type either, although not as bad as me. She’s into education, a teacher, and dedicated to raising her four kids. The youngest one’s an infant, so I seriously doubt Alex or anyone could talk her into taking on more.”
“Doesn’t hurt to ask,” he said, settling back in his chair. “So, insurance by day, two sisters and football. What else are you in to?”
“That’s it.”
“What, no men in your life?”
“Not much,” she said. “You?”
“Men no, women some,” he said.
“That’s not what I heard,” she said, chuckling.
“I wouldn’t believe too much of anything about me. Why no dating for you?”
She shrugged. “Too much trouble.”
“That’s not a reason. You’re here learning to play football, which is a whole lot of trouble. So that can’t be it.”
“Okay,” she said, gazing at him for a second, deciding. “You want to play a game with me?” she asked, her indirect answer to his question.
“What kind of a game?”
“It’s called the Answer the Question Truthfully game. I play it with those I’m thinking of dating. Not you, of course, but it will answer your question regarding my dating life and why I’m giving up on it. You want to play?” she asked.
“You’re giving up?” he asked.
“I don’t know, taking a break for now.”
“Sure. I’ll play your game,” he said, chuckling.
“Okay. We’re married, and I’ve been diagnosed with cancer. I’ll have to lose both of my breasts. What do you think?”
“What do I think about your breasts?” he asked, choking on his water. He was handsome, Memphis thought again, enjoying the sparkle of laughter in his eyes.
The Odd Ballerz Page 24