by S. J. Bishop
"Clarissa, honey," Phil was speaking to me again. "Ignore everything Jerry just said. You're doing great. Start over."
The music started, and my mouth opened. My voice came out in a squeak.
Jerry threw his hands up in the air. Phil glared at him before coming back over to me.
"Why don't we call it a day and try again tomorrow. Wardrobe needs to see you anyway. They need your measurements."
"Um, okay," I said, my heart hammering in my chest. Say something! Fix this! "Sorry about today. I'm just nervous, I guess." If my dad had been here, this would have been all the incentive he needed to tell me I was as bad a singer as he'd always thought I was and had no hope in this business. Hell, he'd probably tell the directors to fire me and commend them when they did.
"Don't worry, Clarissa. Nerves always hit the worst on the first day. You'll be fine tomorrow, I promise." I smiled, grateful for his reassurances even if I didn't believe them.
I was headed for the door when I heard Jerry's loud, blustering voice carry through the open auditorium. "Told you so."
"Fine," Phil replied. "Two more rehearsals, and if there are any other problems, she's gone."
16
Lars
It was early when I showed up. Not even nine. I'd had to come early before the day unfolded and I lost my nerve. Coach had texted early this morning that today's practice was canceled on account of the weather, so I decided I had better not waste such a rare opportunity. Coach never canceled practice.
The old red brick building was still standing, which was more than I could say for the roof. Or the door. Or the non-existent grass. I hoped the rain that was falling wasn't going straight through the roof. I hadn't seen this house since I’d left it at seventeen. I never thought I'd be back. From the outside, it didn't look as though anything had changed. I knocked tentatively on the door. Too tentatively. I couldn't even hear it, how was she supposed to? I lifted my hand to knock again when the door swung open.
My mom's shocked face stared back at me. "Lars," she said, her voice wavering.
"Hi, Mom."
We stared at each other in silence for a moment before I worked up the nerve to start talking. "I heard you were back. Thought I'd come by and say hi."
Her eyes narrowed. Her hair was as dark as mine, even at forty. Maria Kaine had never been one to take shit from people. I could see that trait still residing in her now. "After six years, you thought you'd come by and say hi?" she asked, her lips thin and tight.
"I..." But I realized now that I hadn't thought this through very well. "I'll go," I said, and stepped out from under the patched-up awning that had been keeping me semi-dry. The rain instantly matted my hair down and got into my eyes.
"Wait." I could see her lips moving, as if she were having a dialogue with herself. Maybe she was. "Okay, fine. Come in." She swung the door open, and I stepped inside.
Nothing had changed. The people who'd lived here between the time my mom had moved and the time she'd come back seemed to have kept every single thing the way it had been when I was a kid. Still the same faded yellow paint that looked like a piss stain. Still the same dusty cupboards and splintering hardwood. The only thing that was different was us.
"Sit down, if you want," she said, indicating the couch. I took a seat, and we sat staring at each other. I could see her trying to figure out in what ways I looked different from when she'd last seen me.
"Want some tea?" she asked.
"Sure." I hesitated as she rose. "Want some help?"
"No," she said, putting up a hand to stop me. "I've got it."
A few minutes later, she returned from the kitchen with an old teapot, two mugs, and some vanilla wafers. We sat drinking and nibbling at the cookies in silence until finally, I couldn't take it anymore.
"You know I play football now, right?"
Slowly, she nodded her head.
"I'm out of that old life. I have no contact with it anymore." I felt my heart pounding in my chest. It was like I was still a kid.
She crinkled her brow, choosing her words carefully. "How long?" she asked.
"About a year and a half. Since Ash died."
She set her mug down and stretched across the table to pat my leg. "I heard about that. I'm sorry. I know you two were always very close."
"Thanks."
There was another awkward pause, but now it felt as though a piece of a wall had been removed. Each time one of us spoke, another small piece of the wall came down again. A half hour later it wasn't exactly relaxed between us, but it was better. For now, better was enough.
"So, I heard you were married?"
She nodded, smiling wistfully. "He was a good man. Until he decided to leave me for a younger woman."
I winced. "That sucks. Want me to beat him up for you?" I wasn't sure if I was pushing things too far with my joke, but she laughed.
"Why'd you come back here, Mom? You were out. You could've gone anywhere."
Her cheeks reddened. "I didn't have the money to go anywhere. This was what I could afford. And I figured that at least I knew people here. Had friends here. I guess...I guess while I was gone I forgot how bad it really was."
Tony's words came back to haunt me. It waits for you to forget and then pulls you back in.
"I'm making good money now, Mom." I leaned in closer to her. She smiled and shook her head before I'd even finished what I was trying to say. "I mean, okay, I make the league minimum because I didn't have the kind of reputation these guys coming up from the colleges did, and I’ve had a few fines here and there I had to pay—"
She looked at me and opened her mouth, but I cut her off.
"—football fines. Nothing illegal, except in the world of football." I laughed. She laughed too. It felt good to be here. "Everything I do now is legal, Mom. Next season, my contract is gonna be huge. The biggest a player coming out of his rookie year has ever earned. I can set you up. Anywhere. However you want."
She shook her head, but I could see the light in her eyes as she thought about it. There was a knock on her door. She rose to open it, and a moment later I heard a familiar voice ring through the air.
"I heard he was back. Thought I'd say hi."
My mom reappeared in the living room, the light in her eyes gone.
"It's for you," she said.
I went to the door, wishing Angelo Moretti had chosen any other moment to say hello.
"Lars," he said, smiling and extending his hand. "Good to see you."
I shook his hand as my mom appeared beside the door.
"It was nice to see you, Lars. But now I'd like you to leave."
The blood drained from my face.
"Mom, Angelo's just saying hi."
But she'd heard that lie too many times when I was growing up.
"I should never have believed you," she said, her voice cold and her eyes glassy. "You're just like your father. Always full of lies. Now leave. This is my house, and you're not welcome in it."
I looked at the pain in her eyes, the pain I had caused, and knew now that things could never be right between us. She could never forgive me for the person I used to be. I stepped out of her home and into the rain. It was too late for us.
17
Clarissa
The clinic was just as cold and sterile as I'd pictured. I don't know why it bothered me so much. What the hell was I expecting? Lollipops and curtains? The look of the place made no difference as long as they got the job done.
"Clarissa," the nurse called. I winced when she said my name aloud. I didn't want anyone knowing I was here. Madeline had dropped me off and promised she'd be back in an hour to pick me up. She would've stayed, but she had a callback for that movie she'd auditioned for. I don't think anyone had ever shown up at an abortion clinic looking as decked out as Madeline had been when we arrived, with six-inch heels and a red power dress.
I followed the nurse to a small room off the side of a long hallway. Five doors lined both sides, and I wondered how many o
f them were filled right now with women like me. The room had an exam table, a large machine to do what I'd come here for, and a small television mounted high in one corner.
"Alright, you need to put this gown on. Everything from the waist down comes off, got it?"
I nodded. It felt like I was in a trance.
"You okay?" the nurse asked, sensing my unease.
"Yeah. Thanks." I nodded, going through the motions of taking the gown from her and setting it on the hospital bed or whatever they called it here. This wasn't really a hospital, was it? Hospitals saved lives.
"The doctor will be in shortly," the nurse said. She'd probably seen nervous women in here before me. Hell, she probably saw them in here every day. Today was no exception.
Several minutes later, there was a light knock on the door.
"Come in," I called. A woman entered wearing a doctor's lab coat.
"Hello, Clarissa. I'm Dr. Pointer."
I closed my knees together as a draft crept up under my gown.
"Is everything good? Are you ready to begin?"
I listened as she went through a series of warnings, recommendations, options, etc. It was all the stuff the internet told me abortion doctors were required by law to say. Finally, she told me to put my feet in the stirrups.
I lay back and closed my eyes.
"Does it hurt?" I asked, trying to stop my bottom lip from trembling.
"More like a pinch. And it only lasts for a moment."
"I... Okay."
"Do you have any questions about what we talked about? About anything?" I shook my head. "Would you like me to turn the television on? Some patients find it helps to take the focus off of the procedure. You can pick the station."
"Okay. Thanks." She turned it on for me.
"How's this?" It was a sports program. Replays of game highlights throughout the season.
"It's fine," I said, not really caring what it was as long as it took my mind off the procedure. Suddenly, Lars' face shot across the screen. He was smiling at me after making a fantastic touchdown in game two of the playoffs.
There was a loud noise as the doctor turned the machine on. I pictured my father and how disappointed he would be if he knew what I was doing. My mother, who would probably applaud me. And Lars,who wouldn't feel one way or the other about it because he didn't even know. I looked up at his face one last time before making my decision. He might be a prick, but I couldn't do this without at least telling him first.
"Wait!" I shouted, sitting up and pulling my knees shut so fast I hit the doctor's face with one of them. She stepped back, rubbing her eye. "I'm sorry," I said. "I can't. Not right now."
She nodded, still rubbing her eye. "I understand. No problem." She left me alone, and I got dressed, exiting the building and running outside into a downpour. I texted Madeline not to bother picking me up. I would take a cab.
How did it go? she texted.
I ignored that and looked up Lars' number in my phone. When he answered, my heart fluttered in my chest.
"Lars, it's Clarissa. I need to see you."
18
Lars
I didn't want to come right out and tell Angelo to get lost, so I just kept walking to my motorcycle, nodding. I wished I'd taken my car instead. The rain wasn't going to be fun to drive home in.
"Listen, Angelo, it's nice to see you but I've got practice later, so I've gotta get going."
"Stay a half hour," he said, "for old time's sake."
"I wish I could."
"Listen," he said, leaning in. His black eyes had always been one of his dominating features. They were huge and in the right lighting could make him look possessed. "I don't want to say too much right here in the open, but I've got a proposition for you. One of those old-fashioned ones you can't say no to."
"Thanks. I appreciate you thinking of me after all this time, but I'm not looking to get back into the business right now."
"That's not exactly what I had in mind. Stay. Let's talk out of this rain, at least."
I hesitated. It was hard to say no to Angelo. He was about ten years older than me and had been like my big brother growing up.
My phone rang just then, and I grabbed it from my pocket. "Sorry," I told Angelo. "Super Bowl's coming up. I gotta take it when it rings. Could be my coach."
"Hey," I said, answering quickly.
"Lars, it's Clarissa. I need to see you."
"Clarissa? Sure. Everything okay?" I was trying not to make it too obvious that I was beyond thrilled to hear from her. My mind was racing. What did this mean? Was she willing to give me another chance?
"Can you come now?" she asked. Her voice was thick. It sounded like she'd been crying.
"Yeah, of course. I'm in Brooklyn, though. It might take me an hour in this rain."
"That's fine. Just come to the house. I'll see you then."
We hung up, and Angelo was eyeing me with curiosity. "Does the great Don Juan finally have a steady girl?" he smirked.
I didn't know what to say and didn't want to tell him even if I did. "Something like that."
"Well gee, kid, that's great. Congrats to you." His voice dripped with sarcasm.
"Thanks," I said, starting up my bike.
"I'll be in touch."
I pulled away, hoping most sincerely that he would not be in touch. I never wanted to see Angelo again. Seeing him had made my skin crawl.
I raced through traffic as fast as I dared to go in this rain. Cars were either speeding or moving at a snail’s pace. A few of them had skidded out of control and run into the guardrails. When I finally made it to Clarissa's I was drenched, but that didn't stop me from sweating as I nervously rang her doorbell.
She was wearing a light blue dress that fell over her curves in all the right ways. Her long golden hair was tied back in a high ponytail, making her look like a cheerleader.
"Thanks for coming," she said.
"Thanks for calling. I'm so happy you did. I've been wanting to explain—"
She held up one hand. "I didn't call you here to talk about what happened between you and Madeline. She's already filled me in."
"What does that mean?" I didn't like the way Clarissa was looking at me as though I were a leper. Even seeing her fully dressed made me aroused, but I knew with that look in her eyes that I didn't stand a chance of getting anywhere near her goods.
"It means shut up and listen," Clarissa said, her eyes blazing.
"Can I at least get a towel?"
"In a minute. I have something I need to tell you. I'm gonna say it before I change my mind. But know that it doesn't change anything between us, alright?"
"Okaaaay," I said, drawing the word out. She wasn't making any sense. What the hell had her so riled up if it wasn't me and Madeline?
"Okay," she took a deep breath. "Lars, I'm—"
"Lars!" Coach called, stepping into the room. His face was drawn, and he looked older than he normally did.
"Dad!" Clarissa jumped. "I didn't think you were home."
"I cancelled practice. Have you seen outside?" He turned to me, and I could tell right away that something was wrong.
"Randall Neilson found out you showed up to practice drunk the other day."
"Fuck! How the hell did he find that out?"
"It wasn't difficult, the way you were carrying on. You could barely walk. Matt Barton got hold of him and made sure he knew about it."
"That shitheel!" My blood was boiling. "Fucking Matt Barton. If he were here right now, I'd punch his lights out." I was conscious of Clarissa's warm body standing no more than a few feet from me, but even that wasn't enough to stop the anger pumping through my veins.
"Hey, remember whose fault this is. You brought it on yourself."
"Hey, I could've practiced that day. I was fine."
"Are we really gonna go through this again, Lars? You have to start taking some responsibility for your own actions."
"The only action I'm gonna take responsibility for is kicking Matt'
s ass." I turned and headed for the door, ready to track that fucker down wherever he was and beat the shit out of him.
"Lars!" Coach yelled. "If you do anything to Matt, you're off the team. You won't get to play in the Super Bowl."
I paused and turned back to him. "Is that true?" Coach nodded. "Fuck. I need the Super Bowl to make that contract happen."
Coach took a deep breath. "Your contract for next year is dead."
I stared at him, hoping I'd misheard. "What?"
"Neilson ripped it up. Oh, they still want you on the team, but they're not offering what you want anymore. It doesn't matter whether we win the Super Bowl or not. You just blew too many chances, Lars. I tried to tell you."
"How much are they offering?" I asked, feeling sick to my stomach. I'd just promised my mom a fucking mansion.
"The same."
My eyes bulged out of my head. "Rookie salary?" Coach nodded. "Fuck that!"
"Lars," Clarissa said, trying to put a hand on my shoulder. I brushed it off.
I stood there fuming, my head spinning on my shoulders. "Fine," I suddenly said. "If they want to offer me a rookie's salary, then I guess I'll play like a rookie. Or better yet, I just won't play at all."
"You can't do that, Lars. It's not fair to you or the team."
"A team I helped get there!"
"A team that needs a leader, not a hothead!"
"Are you saying you agree with Nielson?!"
"I agree with him that you've got a lot to learn about playing on a team!"
My fist was already colliding with his chin before I realized I had hit him. Coach fell to the floor. Clarissa screamed.
"You asshole!" she cried out.
Coach stared at me as if I'd shot him instead of punched him.
Deep inside my gut, my stomach churned. Bile rose up my throat.
"I guess you're right, Coach. I'm no good. Never have been, never will be. Say goodbye to the team for me, will ya? They can win just fine without me."