“Rex, please. No offense, but a pep talk I don’t need.”
“Oh but you do. I’m talking about a commitment from you.”
“Me, you don’t have to worry about. As soon as I pull myself together, I’ll help in any way I can—fundraisers, carpooling, whatever.”
“Say hello to the world of Pegasi United. Our corporate sponsor provides generous support so fundraising is not a viable issue. The nitty-gritty stuff I leave to Sunny, who does a great job networking with the parents. So, that leaves the ‘whatever’, which boils down to a one on one situation, as in you and me. Do I have to spell it out, Francesca?”
A good thirty seconds passed before his words registered with her—the nerve of him. “You’re kidding, right? This is so junior high.”
“Nah, let’s move a few years beyond puberty. By the way, I went to Clayton High, which is where I acquired my nickname—Sexy Rexy. How about you?”
He wanted to know where she went to high school. Had Francesca burst out laughing, it would’ve been a first since Ben’s accident. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, reaching for the door handle. “I am so out of here.” The door wouldn’t budge, damn the kid-proof lock. Damn, Rex too for his next move—wrapping his fingertips around her jaw. He turned her face to his and planted an awkward buss on her upper lip. A second attempt found her mouth half-opened and about to protest. When she felt the assault of his tongue, she jerked back and freed herself from his hold.
“Aw, come on, Francesca, what’s a little tongue between friends. I feel your pain, right here.” He grabbed her hand, held it to the hard crotch she hadn’t expected. “Did you know my first wife died?”
“You have my belated sympathy.” She pulled her hand away. “But the first wife’s death doesn’t excuse your behavior. I should report you to the soccer commission.”
“And ruin Matt’s chances of ever playing on a select team? Let along Pegasi, I don’t think so. Nobody tolerates a shit disturber, especially some grieving widow wallowing in the depths of depression. Look at me, Soccer Mom.” She didn’t so again he turned her face to his. “Whatever happens in this car stays in this car, just like Las Vegas.” He crossed his heart. “Swear on my trophies and hope to die, I won’t tell a fucking soul.”
“Neither will I because there won’t be anything to tell so let me out. I don’t need this.”
“But Matt does. Come on Francesca. Just this once guarantees him thirty minutes playing time, every game.”
“That’s an insult to him and me. Open the door, now.”
“I’ll make him a starter. Left forward to show off his strength and the natural ability both of us know he has. What more do you want?”
“For godsake, Rex, I just lost my husband and you’re a married man.”
He removed his wedding ring, and held it up for her to see before shoving it into the door pocket where he’d put his clipboard. “For the next hour, consider me officially unattached.”
“I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Not to worry, I have the perfect remedy.” He reached under the seat and as if by magic, produced a bottle of wine. “It’s supposed to be the champagne of Italy, just like you Francesca.”
Rex didn’t seem the type, too All-American, probably a beer guzzler. He held out the bottle, like the sommelier of a high-end restaurant awaiting her approval. She glanced at the label—Franciacorta from the Lombardy region, an impressive choice considering the source.
“I doubt if it’s cold enough,” she said, quickly regretting words that invited him to prove her wrong.
“In this weather, come on. We won’t know for sure unless we try some.” He undid the top, carefully held the cork to keep it from popping, and let the delicate bouquet escape. How refreshing, especially after the sour odor of spilled coffee. Next came two wine flutes from under the seat. “Are you game?”
“Just one glass before I go,” she said. One glass, what harm could one glass do. In fact, one glass would buy her some precious time, anything to figure a way out of this situation.
Rex poured a flute and passed it to her. The sparkling bubbles were intoxicating; they filled her senses, begged her indulgence. She drained the glass. Rex had the bottle poised and poured again. She should’ve dumped the Franciacorta in his lap but why waste the imported grapes.
“You’re not having any?” she asked before taking another sip.
“I’d rather watch you. Earthy woman are such a pleasure.”
Earthy, she’d never thought of herself as earthy. “Look, I hate to burst your bubble but this is going nowhere.”
“Then just relax, you’ve earned the right.”
“Right, the right to be right or to be wrong.” Did those silly words come out of her mouth, or his? She couldn’t tell for sure.
After her third glass, Rex again brought up Matt, sitting on the bench when he could be starting. “Just this once, if not for me for Matt,” Rex said, and promised no one would ever know she had opened her legs to him.
Her head was spinning, begging she do anything to make it stop. What the hell, compared to losing Ben this would be a piece of cake, a sleep-through. She leaned back, closed her eyes. “You’ve got twenty minutes, tops, not one minute more.”
She felt Rex zoom in on her, kiss her long and hard and wet. Her eyes flew open when his tongue again entered her mouth. She wanted to bite the damn thing off and spit it out the window. Actually, she wanted to recapture the feel good. “Is there any more … you know, bubbly.”
“Sorry, we drank it all,” he murmured. “Take off your coat.”
Her fingers were shaking, her arms too heavy to move. “I can’t.”
“Let me help you.” His voice seemed far away, droning slower than a damaged cassette. Damaged merchandise, that’s what she’d agreed to become. After slipping her arms through the sleeves, he rolled her jacket into a pillow and tucked it into the corner. “Now your sweater, you do it, Francesca. Show me what you’ve got.”
She pulled the sweater over her head while Rex groped her breasts. Then he slid his fingers along either side of her bra and with a single motion, released the hook. He mumbled something about the size of her milkers, prompting her to cover them with her hands. He pushed her back until her head rested on the downy cushion of her coat. She squeezed her eyes shut, tried to put herself in another place.
Dear God, forgive me for what I’m about to do. Oh yes, I still believe you exist. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be feeling so damn guilty. After all, people engage in meaningless one-night stands all the time, but not me, not before this night. Ben, if you’re not here then wherever you are, don’t look down on me. Even though I think you may have cheated on me, at least once, right? That convention in Chicago, the bright red lipstick on your collar, the condoms in your pocket, I forgive you. God knows I do. I’d take you back in a minute if only I could.
A hairy arm, or maybe his leg, brushed against her open hand. At what point did Rex shed those pricey sweats? The next time he kissed her, he pressed his hand against her heart. It was beating so fast she felt the pounding in her ears.
“Don’t go spastic on me, Francesca. Pretend we’re two high school kids, about to take our first plunge into a world we’ve only dreamed about until this moment. Now take a deep breath and just … let … go.”
I changed my mind, Ben. Stay with me, get me through this. She imagined those were Ben’s fingers exploring her, Ben’s tongue tasting her, Ben’s Eternity for Men tempting her. It was Ben slipping off her slacks, her panties too, Ben whispering in her ear, as if someone else might hear the corny words of youth. “Is it okay if I bust your cherry? Please say yes.”
When she didn’t answer, it was Rex the pseudo thirsty vampire who sank his teeth into her neck, Rex who put his lips to her ear and murmured, “Tell me it’s okay, Francesca. I’ve got to hear the words. Tell me how much you want me.”
“Okay … I want it.”
He moved down for another bite, this time her nipple. �
��Not it, Francesca, say you want me.”
“I want … you.”
“You’ve got to mean it.” He bit her again; she let out a yelp and complied.
“I really want you, Rex.”
“Okay, that’s better. Now roll over, onto your knees. Now, dammit. Don’t make me hurt you, unless that’s what you want.”
Blessed Mother, please turn your head, or send in Mary Magdalene to watch over me. Francesca allowed him to spread her legs, allowed him to straddle her, and when he pushed into her, unlike the first time, Francesca the reincarnated schoolgirl started to cry. There was no going back to what was. She’d lost her virginity again.
CHAPTER 10
The twenty minutes Francesca had committed to Rex evolved into sixty before he finished with her. He was sprawled out on the back seat and snoring when she scooted backwards out the door and climbed into Sybil, who punished her by refusing to start until the third attempt. After leaving Show Me, Francesca drove around for another hour and didn’t get home until almost midnight. A tumbler of wine performed wonders on her brain because she didn’t remember climbing the stairs or crawling into bed. No dreams, no nightmares, nothing.
Hours later she heard a knock on the door, Matt letting her know he was leaving for school. She lifted one eyelid to sunbeams dancing through her dusty window and then rolled over to face the tired wallpaper she’d been after Ben to replace. Going back to sleep was her first option but maternal instincts refined and polished over the years soon kicked into gear, forcing her from the warmth of her bed. She padded barefoot into the adjoining bathroom and slipped off her nightshirt, one of Ben’s stretch-out Ts, a favorite from the Lewis and Clark Marathon.
After adjusting the showerhead, she braced herself for its needle spray, hoping to wash away her sins from the night before. Who was she kidding, this was no baptism; this was self-imposed flagellation. By the time she’d finished, her skin was raw, and deservedly so. Standing in front of the mirror, she ran her fingertips over a battery of bruises spotting her breasts and inner thighs. Ouch, she scrunched up her face. What was that on her neck? Good lord, a hickey with teeth marks. Another imprint had raised a welt on her shoulder. Rough sex had never appealed to her so maybe this was a fitting reminder. Soccer whore, Rex had whispered in her ear afterwards. Francesca preferred martyr. By either definition, she’d earned Matt a starting position with Pegasi United. Left forward, it just didn’t get any better. Of course, Matt must never know. On that both she and Rex had agreed.
Francesca skipped her lipstick and mascara, a routine she’d neglected more than once since … Ben. She slipped into jeans—were they getting too tight? —and a turtleneck sweater, checking to make sure its ribbed knit concealed the telltale blotch on her neck. She hurried down the stairs and putting on her best good-old-mom-smile, she strolled into the sunny kitchen.
Ria was already dressed in her school uniform, and watching TV cartoons while devouring cereal and caramel-colored liquid from an oversized cup. She hopped up, poured Francesca some coffee and burped vanilla-flavored cream from a plastic container into the mug. Her puppy dog enthusiasm begged for approval Francesca didn’t feel up to giving.
“Just the way you like it, Mom.”
“Didn’t we agree you were too young for coffee?”
“But Grandma said you drank tons of coffee when you were a kid, every morning for breakfast.”
Francesca gestured her usual whatever. She held the cup between two hands and warmed her palms. She breathed in the inviting aroma, only to have it recall the soured coffee from Rex’s car. The cup slipped from her hands and rattled onto its saucer.
“Maybe Grandma could stay with us for a while,” Ria said.
“She likes her Florida winters.”
“Not as much as she loves us. That’s what she told me last night.”
“Grandma called?”
“Uh-huh, while you were out. What took you so long anyway?”
“Some has-been from high school.”
“You mean one who peaked too early, bummer.” The phrase had been one of Ben’s, to discourage the kids from growing up too soon. Ria slipped on her coat. She started gathering up her books.” Don’t bother with my lunch, I already made it.”
“Bless your heart.”
“Oh, I almost forgot. Matt said not to wait supper on him. Practice got cancelled but he’s meeting Ian Shepherd and some other Pegasi after school.”
“Since when did you become Matt’s messenger?”
“It’s not like I volunteered,” Ria said on her way out the door. “Don’t forget, he’ll still need a ride home from wherever he’s going.”
Wherever he’s going, Francesca wasn’t ready for this. Matt belonged under her wing, where she could keep him safe and sound.
CHAPTER 11
Ian Shepherd’s phone call the night before had given Matt just the boost he needed. “Coach cancelled practiced,” Ian had said. “Something about Mrs. Meredith being out of town so he has to take Angel to a wake in Fairmont City. An uncle, I think.”
“He cancelled practice?” Matt said. “Couldn’t we just start later?”
“You’d think, but Angel’s mom expects him at her side for the entire evening and Coach ain’t about to leave my dad in charge. Anyhow, some of us are getting together after school. You want to come with?”
Matt’s mood soared like a rocket, going from sour to sweet in less than a millisecond. “You bet.”
“We’ll meet at my house and go from there. If anything changes, I’ll text you.”
“Don’t bother. My mom took the fucking cell.”
“What the fuck, you have got to be kidding.”
“I wish. It’s like having one hand cut off, only worse.”
“That is so unfair. But what the hell, you can still hang with us. Oh, and one more thing, Nelli, bring money.”
Nelli, Ian had called him Nelli. Just like that, Matt had one foot in the door, no longer a newbie from Thunderbolt but on his way to becoming one of the guys. What’s more, Ian’s dad was Pegasi’s assistant coach, although the position obviously didn’t give him much say-so. Not with Coach Meredith strutting from the sidelines like some Third World dictator. From day one the bastard had been jerking Matt around, even though he outhustled everybody on Pegasi. The other guys knew the score, but what could they do. Shut up and play, that’s what, same as Matt.
He’d forced himself to try out for the team, anything to stop thinking about his dad and what might’ve been. At least soccer had given his mom something else to think about besides her own misery. This morning he should’ve knocked louder, made her wake up, told her himself about Ian’s invite—not that she would’ve objected, at least he didn’t think so—but ever since the accident, mornings weren’t the best time to get through to her. Neither were the afternoons, when she went comatose from overdosing on TV, nor the evenings when she was hanging on by a thread until bedtime. Anyhow, it was time he showed some independence. What the hell, at fifteen his dad was already driving without a license. Where was Dad now, maybe teaching young angels how to dribble a soccer ball or execute the perfect scissor kick. Better yet, coaching a winning team—saints against the devils—Dad deserved that much after putting up with Thunderbolt. Damn, if only he’d been paying attention on his last run, if only Matt had insisted on going along instead of sleeping another forty-five minutes. Too late now, nothing could bring Dad back but at least Matt could honor his memory, give him a colossal reason to flap those angelic wings.
First, a breakfast for champions, one Matt aspired to become. He cracked three eggs into a tall glass, stirred in some milk, sugar and vanilla, and drank the whole thing in five easy gulps, just like Dad had taught him. He left home with money in his pocket and after school he hitched a ride from Dubourg to Ian’s house with a senior who lived in the neighborhood. Ian was waiting in the front yard, along with Ted Logan who was rubbing a patch of zits. They must’ve sprouted overnight because Matt hadn’t noticed them
before. Bummer, he’d better not be next. Avoid all stress and relax, just relax. His mom couldn’t afford a dermatologist—not after Ria’s fall—even if insurance covered most of it.
“We’re shit out of luck,” Ian said with arms folded, fingers tucked into the warmth of his armpits. “My folks are both working and Logan’s mom must’ve gone shopping because she’s not answering his texts.”
“Which means: without wheels we’ve got no choice but the nearest White Castle,” Logan explained.
“Not a problem,” Matt said. What more could he ask for: belly bombers without his mom turning up her nose. Not that she’d been doing much of that lately, especially when it involved the preparation of food. Anything goes had become her new mantra. The fucking wine she kept nursing like a baby’s bottle was another story. If she didn’t let up, he would have to get tough with her.
No one said another word for the first two blocks. No big deal for Matt, at least they weren’t texting each other, but then Logan laid a shitty bombshell.
“My parents came home last night. You know, from their second honeymoon,” he said. “They’re getting a divorce.”
The D word, as in the death of a family, not as bad as the death of a parent, but it definitely sucked. Matt couldn’t think of anything to say. He hardly knew Logan, except to pass the ball back and forth during practice. And forget the first two games; Logan was not a generous player. But maybe he was taking his cues from Coach. Stingy or not, Logan was hurting now. Matt knew he should show some feeling even if Ian didn’t. They kept walking, another block before Ian finally spoke up.
“No shit, your folks are splitting. They seemed like an okay couple to me.”
“I thought so too, but what the fuck do I know. Dad’s moving out as soon as he finds the right apartment.”
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