Anaconda: A Sexy Romantic Comedy

by Landish, Lauren

  "Okay, Mama," Laurie says in a tiny voice, and I kiss her fingers, giving her a reassuring smile and a pat on the cheek before standing and following Mr. Dean into his office.

  "Thank you, Miss Nelson. Obviously, this is a very serious situation."

  "Of course. Can you tell me what was seen or heard?"

  The story that emerges is totally different from what Laurie told me, and I can understand why she reverted to just Italian. According to Mr. Dean, Laurie and a classmate were playing on the swing set before school when suddenly, Laurie tackled the girl, biting her forearm hard enough to draw blood.

  "What caused it?” I ask, trying to restrain my frustration.

  "According to the injured girl, nothing. She says that she was just playing when Laurie threw her down and bit her. A few of her friends corroborate the claim, but we didn’t have staff or teachers at the swings at the time. Laurie hasn't been responsive to questions."

  "She was responsive to me," I said icily. "She just is so angry that she's refusing to speak in English to you right now. She admits to biting the girl, saying that the little girl called her an ‘abandoned puppy’. I’m not condoning what she did, but those are some hurtful words."

  Mr. Dean nods, sitting back. "They are. And, based on what I know of the little girl who got bitten, that is probably what happened. The girl is a bit of a bully with her little group of friends. However, Miss Nelson, my hands are tied."

  "In what way?"

  "District policy mandates that any incidence of biting that draws blood results in an automatic one-week suspension from school for a first offense. If it happens again, Laurie could be required to attend anger management therapy or even potentially be expelled. I’ll talk with the parents of the little girl."

  “Okay. So I guess I need to take Laurie with me?"

  Mr. Dean nods and stands up. "I understand this may be difficult for you, Miss Nelson. You're a single working mother, I'm sure that must be hard on you. But more importantly, it's hard on Laurie. May I offer some advice?"

  "Please."

  Mr. Dean looks out his office window at Laurie, who is still sitting rock still in the plastic chair in the reception area. "Your daughter is bright, very intelligent, and until today, a normally happy go lucky little girl who was blossoming in her time here. It's only in the past few weeks that things have started to go south, and she's obviously very unhappy. If you can, talk to her and find out what’s wrong. Maybe it’s something that can be dealt with before she becomes more withdrawn or possibly violent. Best of luck, Miss Nelson."

  I shake his offered hand and leave the office, taking Laurie by the hand. "Come on, Laurie, we need to go now. Think you can hang out at work with me for the day?"

  "Yeah," Laurie grumps, and she follows along, nowhere near like her normal self. At the Gallery, she plays quietly in the back, drawing pictures for most of the time with a set of colored pencils I buy from the small selection of art supplies the shop sells, as well as an extra ream of printer paper that Colette lets me use. At the end of the night, she puts the papers in her bag and we leave, going home for dinner with Mom.

  "I heard about what happened at school," Mom says after dinner. Laurie's gone into the living room to watch some cartoons before bedtime, and Mom and I are cleaning up. "How do you feel about it?"

  "Angry . . . frustrated . . . a little helpless," I say, setting down the glass I am washing. "How could someone call Laurie an abandoned puppy? I'd be tempted to bite them too!"

  Mom nods, a ghost of a smile on her face. "You know, when I was pregnant with you, I had a lot of taunts and stuff thrown my way. I know it was a different time, but the words hurt just as much. In fact, I remember you coming home one day from school yourself, a black eye rising and your knuckles scraped after someone called you illegitimate, or a word that basically meant that."

  "How'd you deal with it?" I ask, not remembering the incident at all. I must have been very young.

  “The same way you are, stewing, crying when I had privacy, racking my brain about it. But I didn't have any other options. You do, you know."

  "What?"

  "He is her father, Whitney. And he loves her.”

  My mother's words ring in my head, and I turn to her, hurt and shocked. She's trying to tell me to go back to Troy? What happened to supporting me? "You're taking his side in this? How could you?"

  "I'm taking no sides, Whitney, except Laurie's. I want what’s best for her. It’s what’s best for you too. You just don’t see it.”

  I set my glass down and reach for my keys. "I know you mean well, but I’m very angry at you right now. I'm going out for a drive."

  I give Laurie a quick kiss on the cheek and promise her I'll be back before bedtime. I need to go get some things. It sucks to lie to my daughter, but I can't deal with this shit right this second. I get in my car and drive, knowing if anyone is going to listen to my side of things, it'll be Dani.

  I'm so confused, I get lost twice getting to her house, pulling up in front of it just as the moon rises in the east, pale and glittering in the night sky. I walk up and ring the doorbell before smacking myself in the head. Why did I drive when I could have just called? What if Dani isn't home? What if she and Pete . . .

  The door opens, and she’s there, a surprised but happy smile on her face. "Whitney! Come in, come in! How's your day been?"

  "Not good," I admit, exchanging hugs with her. "I could use a little advice, Harley."

  Dani immediately reaches back and pulls her long blonde hair into twin high ponytails, securing them with rubber bands that she had looped around her wrist. "Well then, sweetie, come on in," she says in a horrible New Jersey accent that still makes me smile. Dani has always known how to make me smile. "What's up, puddin'?"

  "Do you keep those rubber bands on your wrist all the time just in case someone gives you a chance to break out that accent?" I ask as I follow her into the house. Pete's in the living room and gives me a wave before he sees the look on Dani's face and the hair, and he grabs his book, getting up to leave. "Thanks, Pete."

  "Don't mention it!"

  "He's a sweetheart," I tell Dani as I sit down. "You've got him trained well already."

  "Nah, we just have that psychic link that old couples get—we just got it early," Dani jokes, going back to her normal voice but leaving her hair up in the ponytails. "So talk to me."

  "Well, let's see. I wake up late because I slept like crap last night, rush Laurie to school and get to work only to snap at Colette for giving me a pitying look, and as soon as that's over, I get a call from the preschool."

  "Oh? What happened?"

  I feel my emotions start to waver, but before I can cry, Dani pulls me in for a hug and holds me for a moment. "Wait right here. I have the secret medicine to help with the blues. Just a sec."

  She disappears for two minutes, actually, reappearing with twin steaming hot mugs of cocoa, the type with the little marshmallows that float on top. "Here. Nothing better for calming nerves and making a bad day look good."

  "Is this what you give your patients?" I ask, still smiling. She's heated it up to the perfect temperature, warm enough to soothe but not too hot as to burn the roof of your mouth. I relish the flavor and find myself calming. "Seriously, it's good stuff."

  "Thanks. As for your question, no, but then again, I can't prescribe drugs anyway. Gotta have an MD for that, and I'm still working on the PhD, you know. But it does work well, doesn’t it?"

  "It does. But you were asking what happened. To put it simply, Laurie bit another little girl and got suspended for a week."

  "Damn. Any root cause?"

  "Bullying, but I've never seen Laurie react violently like that before. Especially not biting. I thought I did a good job so far of raising a little girl, not Cujo."

  Dani takes a sip of her cocoa and sets her cup down. "Sounds like she's angry."

  "I know. Bullying always sucks."

  Dani shakes her head and picks up her cup again, drink
ing half of it in one long draw. "She got bullied?"

  "The other girl called her abandoned, a left behind puppy," I said, shaking my head. "Then when I tell Mom, she says that it's because I left Troy! Like it's all my fault somehow!"

  "So you came here in order to get, what? A second opinion? A sounding board? A friend who will tell you the truth of things?"

  "I could use the truth," I say, and Dani nods again. "You don't look happy about that."

  "Sometimes, Whit, the truth isn't easy to say. We've been friends for how long now?"

  "Eighteen, nineteen years," I say, thinking back.

  "Exactly. And in all those years, I have stood by your side, and sometimes, pushed you in directions that you weren't exactly ready for.”

  "Like cheerleading."

  "And good comic book characters, remember that too," Dani says before her smile disappears. "But no matter what, I've stood by you, Whitney. You're my best friend and sister, and I love you. But this isn't an easy truth to say, and you’re probably going to be angry at me."

  "Then say it,” I reply, knowing what is coming but still loving her enough to keep my cool. "Say what you need to say."

  "Your daughter is angry at you, Whitney, not the bullies. She is angry at her mama and she doesn't know how to deal with that. You're her mother, the woman who has raised her and always been there for her, and you hurt her when you cut Troy out of your lives."

  "I did it for her own good," I say woodenly, and Dani gives me a frustrated look.

  "Her own good? Fighting and biting is her own good? And what about you? You've lost what, ten pounds since he left? And it's not a good weight loss either, it's a stress and heartbreak weight loss. Never mind what it's doing to Troy as well."

  "What do you mean?" I ask, despite myself. "I . . . I've intentionally avoided keeping up on the football news."

  "Hold on, let me show you," Dani says. "It's all over the Football Network."

  Dani reaches out and snags the remote control for her TV, turning it on and punching in a number. The channel changes to the Football Network, which is pretty busy as it is a Monday night, although the game is on a regular cable station and not a premium one like FN. In its place are the normal pundit shows and highlights of Sunday's games. "Just a minute, I see it coming up."

  I see it on the sidebar of the program too: 'T. Wood Troubles?' I blink, feeling a stab in my heart at just seeing his name. "What is going on?"

  "Hold on a minute, like I said. Honestly, have you been happy this past month?"

  I want to protest, but shake my head, my chin dropping. "You know I'm not."

  "I do. You've been miserable all month, and I'm not the only friend of yours who’s—wait, here it is."

  I look up as the title bar on the bottom of the screen changes over. The announcer launches into the story. "And in further developments out of Jacksonville, newly acquired linebacker, Troy Wood, who is in the middle of a season that some are calling one of the best second year rises in recent history, is making news for something else—his fines from the league. Specifically, his violation of the League's uniform policy, which states that players are not allowed to display any personal messages on their bodies."

  The video cut over to a shot of Troy getting ready for his most recent game, his white uniform blazing in the bright early autumn sunlight. "Wood, however, since being traded to Jacksonville, has worn a piece of tape around his left bicep. While that isn't a problem, according to the league, what he has on the tape is."

  On the screen, Troy looks at the camera, and I see in his eyes not a hint of happiness or of the man who loved playing football. Instead, I see the cold eyes of a man who’s getting ready to unleash violence without a hint of remorse or care for his own well-being. Suddenly, Troy smiles, and shows the camera his left arm, where two strips of white athletic tape have been wrapped. Side by side, in huge letters that nearly stretch from the top of one tape to the bottom of the other, are the letters, WN-LN.

  "While a seemingly minor infraction of what many people say is an overly strict rule, the League office is cutting Wood no slack. His first infraction brought a six thousand dollar fine, and for the past two games, he's been fined twelve thousand dollars each. In order to avoid penalties themselves, the Jacksonville Wildcats have also fined Wood five thousand dollars for each of the past two weeks. So far, the four letters on his bicep have cost Wood ten thousand dollars for each, but when told by the league to remove the tape, he has so far refused."

  The video cut over to a shot of Troy in the locker room, surrounded by reporters and microphones. "I told my coaches and the League that while I understand and respect their position, the tape doesn't come off until our next bye week, when they will be replaced by a similar tattoo."

  The announcer's voiceover obliterates the rest of what Troy is saying, and the video cuts to highlights of his performance so far for Jacksonville. "When asked for clarification on the meaning of the letters, Wood has so far refused all requests except from head coach Eric Morgan, who will only state that Wood's statement is a personal one, and that it is his prerogative. To quote Coach Morgan, 'Troy's a grown man. He has said he understands the consequences, and he’s willing to deal with them.' The League is still . . ."

  Dani mutes the sound and looks at me. "Forty thousand dollars. Now I don't know about you, Whitney, but that's a lot of money. Pete might clear that this year after taxes, but I'm not sure. I know for damn sure that you aren't seeing anything close to that working at the Gallery until you get your private clients ordering stuff again. And yeah, Troy's probably making forty thousand dollars a week, but I don't care about the money. What scared me more was that look in his eyes."

  "Yeah," I admit as the story changes to another highlight reel. "But I can't take responsibility for it."

  "Bullshit."

  I don't think I've ever heard Dani speak in such a dismissive term to something I've ever said before. "Excuse me? Is that your professional opinion?"

  “It is," Dani says, only a touch of heat in her voice. "I love you, and like I said, it hurts for me to say this, but pull your head out of your ass. You're miserable, Troy's down there in Florida tearing people apart and collecting fines like some people collect Slurpee cups, and your daughter is on the borderline of rage. And it's because of your decision, not his. He asked you to go to Florida. Hell, he begged you to at least let the two of you try the long distance thing, and you cut him off at the knees. Tell me, did you at least tell him in person this time, or did you write him a letter or maybe send a text message?"

  I stop, gawping at her. "That's low, Dani. That one was real low."

  Dani nods, her eyes reflections of my own pain and hurt. "Maybe. But I won’t stand idly by as my sister and the second best man I know in the entire world tear themselves apart. Not again. I love you, but you’re wrong in this, and all three of you are paying the price."

  I get up, setting my cup down. “You might be right. I need to go. I . . . I need to think."

  There's no rancor in Dani's voice as she walks me to the door and opens it for me. "I'll still be here, if you ever want to talk with me again."

  I nod and squeeze her hand. She maybe has pissed me off, but I still love her. "I know. I love you, Sis."

  "I love you too. Go think."

  When I get home after driving the long way back in order to spend more time thinking, I see that Mom has already had Laurie change into her pajamas, and the two of them are sitting on the couch, snuggled up and reading one of Laurie's Little Golden Books. "I'm back. Mom, I need to apologize to you. I know you're just trying to be helpful."

  "Thank you, sweetheart. Would you like to take over? I need to use the bathroom.”

  "Actually, I'd like to talk to Laurie. You spent a lot of time today coloring at the Gallery. Think you can you show me your pictures?"

  She moves off Mom's lap so that Mom can leave the living room, but she doesn't say anything. I go over and sit down next to her, taking her hand. "L
aurie? Can I ask you something? Are you angry with me?”

  She barely moves her head, but the tiny nod she gives me nearly breaks my heart. "Mama wants to understand. Please help me understand. I know that sometimes, kids don't always say things that are troubling them, and I was hoping that you might be able to show me. I thought your pictures could help. Could they?"

  Laurie nods again, and I slide off the couch, getting on my knees in front of her. "I promise, no matter what you drew, I won't get mad, and I won't raise my voice or yell or anything like that. I want us to not be angry, to be good together again."

  Laurie nods and gets off the couch, going over to the chair where she'd put her little school bag and bringing it back. "Don't be mad, Mama," she said in the tiniest voice I've ever heard her use as she unzips the bag and takes out the sheaf of papers inside. She hands them to me, and I see the top one, a man in a black shirt and white pants, wearing a black helmet and a number 51 on the front. The second is another giant 51, and the third brings tears to my eyes as the three stick figures that make up the family—the man and little girl with blond hair, the woman with auburn—are separated, frowns and tears rolling down their faces.

  "Oh, Laurie," I moan, putting the papers aside. "Mama has been so foolish."

  I pull her close, hugging her. "I want Daddy back.”

  "I want him too, Laurie. I need him too."

  Chapter 26

  Troy

  "Troy Wood! We love you!"

  I look up as I leave the practice facility to see the group of fans that have assembled around the gates. We've won two of our last three games, and the way the team is rolling, we've got a chance at maybe making the playoffs. With the success comes the fans again, and apparently, I'm becoming a sex symbol in Jacksonville, because for the past two weeks, I can barely leave the stadium without having women almost throwing themselves at me. Actually, one woman did throw herself at me, hurling herself into my arms after the team got back from a road win at New York.