Reye's Gold (Indigo)

by Robinson, Ruthie

  “Yeah. You, too,” Henri said, turning to continue on to the bathroom. He waved to Reye a final time as he returned to his table, itching to watch Stephen’s reaction to this newsflash. He’d listened to him bitch and moan for the last two weeks. By now Henri was unapologetic about finding humor in his friend’s predicament.

  “You’ll never guess who’s here.” Henri looked directly at Stephen as he sat down at the table.

  “Who?”

  “Reye. She is in the take-out line in back,” Henri said. “Reye’s here?”

  “Yeah, didn’t I just say that? She is in the take-out line in back,” Henri repeated, slowly enunciating every word.

  “I’ll be back in a minute.” Stephen stood and walked away.

  “Sure,” Henri said to his retreating back. Joe shook his head in disgust.

  Stephen entered the back portion of the restaurant and found Reye leaning against the wall, her back to him. She looked great and extremely fit in a pair of form-fitting jean shorts, t-shirt, and sandals, typical college student attire. She wore a baseball cap pulled low over her eyes. Surely she wasn’t trying to hide from him, he thought. He walked over and stood behind her, close enough that he could smell her scent. Leaning in, he whispered in her ear, “Hello stranger.”

  “Stephen,” she said, her voice neutral.

  “Come here often?”

  “Sometimes,” she said, although she still faced forward. “Come eat with me?”

  “Nope.”

  “I’m here with Henri. You like him. Come eat with us, then?”

  “Nope. Nice guy, that Henri, not like some of your other friends,” she said.

  “Can’t give that a rest, can you? I’m not responsible for all the idiotic things people say.”

  Reye turned her head to face him, lifting her hand up, palm outward. “Been there, done that, please don’t explain again.” Before Stephen could respond, her order was called. She walked over to the counter to pay. “Thank you,” she said to the boy behind the counter as he handed her order over. Swinging her book bag over her shoulder, she walked to the back exit and out through the back door. Stephen rushed out to follow her.

  “Wait,” he said, catching up to her just outside the door. It was starting to get dark. “Where are you going?” He stepped in front of her, halting her progress.

  “Not that it is any of your business, but home,” she answered.

  “Where is your truck?”

  “Again, not your business, but I didn’t drive it today. I took the bus to school.”

  “So does that mean that you live around here?”

  “Good bye, Stephen.”

  “How about I give you a ride home?”

  “Nope.” She started walking away from The Garden.

  “Wait, I’ll walk with you.” Frustrated, he started after her. “You can be incredibly difficult, do you know that?” he said, catching up to her.

  “Don’t you have somewhere to be, someone to be with?”

  “Apparently, I’m trying to be with you.”

  Reye lifted an eyebrow, pretending indifference, but warmed by his attention.

  “Well, come on if you’re coming,” she said, stepping around him.

  Stephen grabbed her book bag from her shoulder.

  They walked for a while in silence until he spoke.

  “It wasn’t me that said those things about you, you know?”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t need the hassles, and you are who you hang out with, right?”

  “I don’t hang out with him,” he said, striving not to get angry.

  “So you say.”

  They walked about two blocks through Reye’s neighborhood. Funky, colorful homes owned by young families mixed with the old-fashioned neatly kept homes of its senior citizens. Homes here boasted color, swings and toys in the yard, neatly trimmed flower beds, yard art, all characteristic of this part of town, where homes were reflections of the owner’s personality. The neighborhood was built before deed restrictions and home owner’s asso ciations that traded individual freedom and personality for uniformity and order.

  They turned at the next corner and Stephen spotted Reye’s truck. It sat next to a small brick house painted grey, trimmed in white with a very red front door. Plantation shutters covered the windows and the yard was neatly trimmed with flowerbeds holding a profusion of yellow, blue, and pink flowers.

  “Nice house,” Stephen said, looking at the huge tree sitting in the middle of the yard, surrounded by flowers.

  “It’s home,” Reye said, walking down the sidewalk leading to the front door. “My dad preached financial freedom to us beginning when I was in diapers. Save, own your own home, yadda, yadda, yadda, be self-sufficient, take care of what belongs to you. He purchased a fixer-upper for each of us and taught us how to do the fixing up. If my brothers could do something, I had to learn to do it, too.” Reye reached the front door and took her book bag from Stephen. She gave him her food order to hold so that she could search for her key. Finding it, she unlocked the door and pushed it open enough for her to drop her book bag on the floor inside. She reached to take her meal from Stephen’s hands. “Thanks for walking me home. ”

  “You’re welcome.” He moved his hand holding her food out of her reach and looked into her eyes. “This is the last time I’m going to ask you, Reye. Hang out with me again?”

  “Last time I’ll have to say it, then. No.”

  “Bye,” he said tersely, handing her food over to her.

  Chapter 4

  Another Saturday night found Reye at home alone watching a movie she’d rented. Her cell phone rang. It was Sam, calling to remind her of the game tomorrow. As if she could forget it, her team would play Stephen’s for the first time. Surprise. He’d worn his jersey that day at The Garden, the last time she’d seen him. The Wizards logo was clearly displayed on the front of he and Henri’s shirts.

  “Hey, don’t forget the game tomorrow. I need you to play forward for the whole game. I’ve done some scouting, and I think you can beat at least one of their defenders.”

  Sam took this soccer business way too seriously. Scouting an intramural game was taking things a bit far, as far as she was concerned. “Sure, no worries, I’ll be there.”

  “See you tomorrow.”

  “Sam,” she said, “I know you’ve dated girls of other races before. What was that like?”

  “That was random, why do you ask?”

  “I’m just curious.”

  “I don’t date girls because of their color, and women are basically the same, give or take some cultural differences. You know how you women can be sometimes.

  Irritating comes in every color. What matters is that you like the person and have something in common with them.”

  “I know, but did you ever encounter other people’s hostility?”

  “Sometimes, but that’s why you have to be sure you like the person, because in the end it has to be about the two of you. Why, you meet someone?”

  “Maybe, not sure if I like him enough, scratch that, I do like him, but I’m not sure he likes me. I don’t want to be something different and new for him, you know, another notch on his belt,” she said.

  “Well, what do you want to do?”

  “I’m trying to figure that out.”

  “Well, sometimes you have to step out on faith, you know. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I’m starting to sound like your mother. So, on that note, let me know if you need me. I could meet him, you know, use that bigbrother-checking-out-little-sister’s-boyfriend routine.”

  “No, thanks, and anyway, enough about me. I’ll see you tomorrow at the game.”

  Sitting here in the dark, alone she could be honest with herself. She was anxious about seeing Stephen tomorrow. He didn’t know that she played intramural soccer at the university or that their two teams would play each other. She hadn’t mentioned that to him on the plane ride home, and, true to his word, he hadn’t called since he’d walked her home. Why w
as she being such a hard ass? Because she’d gotten her feelings hurt. But so what? Actually Joe was the one responsible for hurting her feelings, not Stephen. Stephen had seemed sincere in his apologies and efforts to see her again. What other guy had ever been that persistent?

  The hard truth was that she was afraid. She was feeling plain old simple fear of the unknown. Intuitively she sensed that he could hurt her, really hurt her. She wanted him more than anyone she’d met or gone out with. What made him so different? Who knew? He represented the standard definition of success that most women wanted in their men. He was wealthy, great looking, smart, and athletic, and that was just the fundamental tally. Throw in his talented hands and mouth attached to that body and he was mind altering.

  She was confident in herself and her abilities, on most days, anyway. Other days, though, she suffered doubts. One part of her, the part she called her half empty self, didn’t believe she would be of interest to a guy like Stephen, and couldn’t understand why he had been so persistent. His kind usually went for his beautiful counterparts. Why was he interested in her? Was she some game? The other self, the half glass full self, said girl, what are you waiting for? GO FOR IT! So what if he only wanted sex, when was the last time she had some? She could handle just sex. She was a big girl and crazy to throw an opportunity like this away. And since when had she become a quitter?

  Enough already, she thought, she needed to get some sleep, needed to be rested for tomorrow’s game. She wanted to play really, really well.

  * * *

  Sunday was the perfect day of the week for Stephen. Usually this day remained free from scheduled obligations, and most times he slept in. Saturday nights could last until the next morning if he found a willing woman, but that rarely occurred at his apartment. If he met someone the night before, they went back to her place. If she didn’t have a place, he moved on. Hassle free was the goal, didn’t want the worry of having to relocate Saturday night’s leftovers from his place Sunday morning. They almost always didn’t want to leave.

  He shared an apartment with Henri, who had similar standards. Although Henri was much more circumspect regarding potential bed partners, but they both respected each other’s privacy.

  As Stephen lay in bed this Sunday morning, as usual his thoughts turned to Reye. He promised himself he wouldn’t call her, and he hadn’t. It didn’t make sense to work that hard when there were willing women available. The problem was he didn’t want others, at least for now. For some reason he had yet to wrap his head around, it had to be her. He had always been able to move on from a girl. Yet, here he was. The mere thought of Reye had him getting hard. He could remember vividly how her body had felt and how it had fit so snugly on his. If they could generate that amount of heat with clothes on, he couldn’t bear to imagine the heat that they would create with her naked skin touching his.

  Up, he had to get up and get some lunch and then head over to the fields. The game started at three. He stood up, grabbed his t-shirt, and walked to the kitchen. His mother’s monthly food service delivery kept the kitchen stocked with minimal help from Stephen and Henri. Having an overindulgent mother worked for him most times. The food service delivered staples—bacon, eggs, and bread, as well as things he and Henri could cook in between eating out or ordering take out—once a month. Usually, his school schedule was way too hectic for culinary treats, but today he would treat himself to a home-cooked breakfast, or brunch, whatever it was called.

  He was one of the last of his team to arrive at the fields. The day was perfect for a game. He loved the fall, clear crisp days, lots of sun. Baseball, basketball, and tennis were some of the sports he sampled in high school, but soccer would always be his love. All over the world, people regardless of race, sex, wealth, or age played. No pads, no helmets, just your body and skills pitted against another. Defender was his position of choice and he gloried in his ability to shut down the other team’s offense. Most dudes wanted to play the forward position, achieving status by scoring, but not him. He wanted to stop those guys, send them back home crying to their mamas. He loved the chance to match abilities with anyone who thought to run by or over him.

  He was looking forward to this game. This was supposed to be a fairly good team with a record that was identical to his team’s. They had to play each team twice during the regular season, and it would be nice to beat this team today. If they could win both times, they would be the outright winners of this division, avoiding a playoff game. They’d come in first in this division last year, second the year before that.

  Most of his team members were already on the field warming up. Standing near his sideline bench, he took the opportunity to size up the opponent. Hard to tell anything from looking at them, he had learned long ago that outward appearances were deceiving. There were four girls, the requirement that allowed a team to be considered co-ed, the same number as his team. It is difficult to recruit women, most preferring to play against other women. He observed the women as they stood in a small circle passing the ball between them. A blonde, somewhat attractive, athletic looking; so was the brunette standing next to her. An African-American girl with short locks stood with her back to him. He knew that hair, that body, she was tall. “Turn around,” he whispered to no one. She did, leaving the circle to retrieve a ball. His eyes roamed her face. Reye. Racking his brain, he tried to remember their prior conversations. Did she tell him she played soccer? He would have remembered that. Yep, it was her all right. Long legs he would recognize anywhere, encased in shorts that weren’t designed for soccer, or at least not when playing against men. His eyes traveled over breasts tucked into a snug t-shirt, remembering the feel of those, too, and up to her face. She stood staring back at him.

  He was surprised, pleased, and slightly turned on. His body was particularly pleased at seeing her in shorts. She peeled away from the circle of girls and walked slowly toward him, hips swinging slowly from side to side. He watched her walk to him, not moving to meet her. It was nice to have her come to him for a change, and pure pleasure to watch those hips sway.

  “You play soccer for this team?”

  “Yeah. I’m surprised to see you, too. You didn’t tell me you played.”

  “I play with my brother Sam, actually this is his team.”

  “You must be good if you’re playing in this division.”

  “Not really, he just needed another female.”

  “What position do you play?”

  “Forward. You?”

  “I usually play halfback.”

  “Well, good luck,” she said, turning to walk back to her side of the field.

  “Yeah. You, too.”

  The referees had arrived and had taken their positions on the field. Reye lined up against the left defender on Stephen’s team. She overheard someone mention that the defender’s name was Frank. Stephen would play right defender. Scoring against Frank was like taking candy from a baby. She was much more skilled than he, and faster, quickly scoring two goals for her team.

  Sam’s strategy was different for each game, depending on the information garnered from his scouting expeditions. Today he wanted Reye to play forward against the weaker defender and score. In most games, this was an effective strategy as most men usually underestimated her, to their misfortune, of course. She would get one or two goals before they recognized the mismatch and changed their line-up. Today wasn’t any different. She scored for the second time a minute before the first half ended. They were up by two at the half and it was now time for Sam’s usual halftime speech.

  Changes and adjustments were made for the second half of the game. Sam expected Stephen’s team to correct the mismatch and play their better defender against Reye. To counter this, Sam would move up to the front to play in the forward position opposite Reye. He and Reye played well together. They’d been playing together since grade school. They’d played against their older brothers, who’d picked on them. Learning to play together had been a matter of survival.

  T
he second half started. As predicted, Stephen moved to play defender against Reye.

  “Think you can keep up?” she asked as she stood in position.

  “I won’t need to. You seem the type who quits when things get tough.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” she asked him. He shrugged, and the whistle blew starting the second half. The ball was passed to Reye, who received it and began to move down the field. Stephen stood away from her, taking time and space to watch her commit to a direction. She ran towards him and he stepped up to block the ball, stopping her momentum, kicking the ball out of bounds.

  “What, you can’t get by me?”

  “Watch me,” she said.

  She received the ball again and moved it downfield. Stephen stepped to her and she switched the ball to her other foot and ran by him. He was quick and able to catch her, but not before she passed it off to Sam, who took a shot on goal. The goalie watched it fall into his hands. Reye walked back to her position and play resumed. The ball was passed to Reye again, this time Stephen leaned in with his shoulder and interrupted her drive. He swept in front of her, aligning his back to her front, taking the ball away, kicking it out of bounds again. Reye and Stephen played tough, demanding soccer, in their own world for the remainder of the game. They pushed, shoved, ran, and fell over each other, one driving to score, the other determined to prevent it. Stephen’s team was able to pull out the win, because Sam’s strategy had left them weak in the defender position and Stephen’s team had taken advantage. They scored three times in the second half to win the game.

  Both teams walked over to their benches to drink water and change out of their cleats. Sam walked over to Reye. “So what’s going on between you and the defender?”

  She was seated on the bench removing her cleats, and looked up sharply at his question. “Nothing. Why?”

  “Just wondering, you two were all alone on the field. We all noticed,” Sam said. He moved his head and hands to include the other players on her team. Reye put her socks and cleats in her bag and slipped her sandals on while continuing to talk.