by Lynn Shurr
Stevie exhaled. If she had been sitting with Joe Dean, he would have peeled off a corner of the napkin and gotten the attendant’s phone number by now, but not her Connor Riley.
****
Connor woke grouchy, his neck sore and stiff despite the pillow provided, as they landed in the Big Easy. The stewardess made sure they were the first off the plane, just as Kris Riley had made sure another cart would be waiting to take them up the concourse as the three emerged from the warm humidity of the connecting gate into the chilled air of the terminal. They approached a security area gridlocked with people in red and black and dominated by big men in team jackets. The Sinners had turned out for the homecoming of their fallen hero.
The team formed an escort through the crowd toward the waiting limousine allowing Connor to sit back, wave and smile like the queen of England in a glass coach. Reporters shouted out questions. “How you feeling, Connor? You going to play again?”
“Feeling great. Nothing can stop me now,” he answered ambiguously.
Joe Dean Billodeaux, trotting along side of the cart said, “Man, oh, man, what did those doctors do to your hair, boy? You look like some French Quarter faggot.”
“If I had a helmet, I’d be wearing it now. It’s good to be back.”
In an undertone, Joe Dean asked, “You are going to play again, right? I mean I got this promise to St.
Jude to keep if you do. I don’t have to start the celibacy thing until the regular season, right?
Exhibition games don’t count, do you think?” Quietly so that neither his mother nor Stevie who sat behind him could hear, Connor answered in a whisper, “Damn right, I’m going to play again. I think you should start the celibacy thing right now to be extra sure that happens.” Joe laughed nervously. “You’re kidding, no?” At the limo, Coach Buck leaned over his star player and patted him gently on the shoulder. “Good to have you home, son. We’ll take it easy and see how it goes.”
Those words of kindness worried Connor through the heavy I-10 traffic and across the twin spans over Lake Ponchartrain clear to his own gateway off the tar road running between the pines.
His mother and Stevie kept up a happy chatter during the ride that let him rest after the fuss of his return, but he kept thinking Coach should have slapped him on the back and said he’d be seeing him at training camp.
Eula Mae and her mother waited for him. “We got your favorite chocolate mousse in the refrigerator, Mr. Connor. Looks like you could stand some feeding up.”
“I think I’m off of mousse and pudding for awhile, ladies. On second thought, don’t throw it out.
No sense wasting good mousse.” They laughed wickedly in the way of servants who also changed his sheets. “Good to have you home, sir. Been right dull without you,” Eula Mae assured him.
Kris Riley stayed long enough to make sure her son had a good dinner and to prompt him to get to bed early. Tactfully, she did not give Stevie the same advice, but left them together with a promise that the whole family would be by to visit tomorrow.
“You heard Mom, Stevie. Early to bed.” He steered her toward his room.
“Are you sure you want me with you tonight, Connor?”
Now Stevie was treating him like an invalid, too. “I can’t promise much tonight, but I’d be happy for the company.”
Stevie gave him one of her softest smiles, the kind that came accompanied with tears. He hurried her to bed before that could happen.
****
Connor, regretting that all they had done last night was sleep, left Stevie dozing under the sheets.
The Sinners organization had promised to send a car for him early and it soon arrived. Their staff of professional trainers, therapists and kinesiologists waited to begin what would undoubtedly be weeks of pain and torture needed to bring Connor Riley back into playing condition. He braced for it as a necessary part of playing the game.
Joe Dean came to watch Connor work out. With a fat magazine tucked under one arm, the quarterback leaned against a piece of weight equipment and observed an exercise amounting to having Connor turn his head from side to side a little farther than felt comfortable. While the motion wasn’t exactly strenuous, beads of sweat formed on his forehead as if he were lifting weights. As his head swung towards Joe Dean, he grunted, “What are you doing in the city during off-season?”
“Oh, I came on down for your homecoming.
Thought I could catch up with Amber, the model, while I was in town, but she’s gone off with that Italian dude Stevie used to—” Joe Dean paused, taking in the grim expression on Connor’s face.
“Used to know. He’s taking her to see Rome. What she really wanted to see was Chapelle, but I don’t take ’em home to my mama, you know.”
“I know.”
“I guess Stevie and your mama got pretty close these last few weeks.”
“Yep.”
“I’ll bet they didn’t get you the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue to look at while they hovered over your sickbed.”
“Nope. Stevie got recorded books. She wanted to share her favorite classics with me while I couldn’t get up. Would you believe Tale of Two Cities, unabridged?”
“That’s what a sucker like you does for love.
What I did for friendship is save you several copies of selected back issues, the one of Suggs doing the spear that Stevie caught on film. It cost him one hell of a fine and the Pats are going to trade him. You can take a look at it whenever you need to raise your aggression level. That was no accident.”
“Figured.”
“And I bought multiple copies of the swimsuit issue. I thought you’d want to save some for your grandchildren.” Joe Dean went over to the wall closest to Connor’s face, took a roll of tape from his shirt pocket and pulled a few pages out of the magazine he carried. He fastened some pinups to the wall at Connor’s eye level. When Connor’s head swung back that way, it stopped with a jerk.
“Damn you, Billodeaux, I could have hurt myself. Why didn’t you just tell me Stevie was in it?” Connor’s eyes roved over the body of a younger Stevie Dowd. The full-page photo taken on some tropical beach showed an overhead shot of the woman he loved clothed mostly in sand, a small dune covering her pubic area, her breasts coated with fine, white particles. Her eyes closed, her mouth slightly open, her hair wet and tangled, he recognized the ecstatic pose from his own bedroom.
If she wore a bathing suit, Connor failed to see it.
“Damn,” Connor said again in a breathless way.
A second shot portrayed Stevie from the back.
She looked out at an azure sea. Her hands held her wet hair up off her naked back. The eye was drawn down the lovely violin shape of her body to where the crack in her behind cheeks began. The crack showed slightly visible above a tiny turquoise bikini bottom.
Connor’s eyes continued down her long legs to her ankles buried in soft, white sand.
In the third photo, Stevie posed in the crotch of two palm trees growing in a V-shape. Her legs rested on one trunk, her back against another, while her arms clutched the rough trunk above her head. Both her bottom and breasts were barely covered by the turquoise bikini. Somehow, Connor felt disappointed more didn’t show.
He slowly turned his head again, back and forth, without comment.
“The photo credits go to Dexter Sykes in case you want to beat him up or something. I’d be happy to help you,” Joe Dean offered magnanimously.
“Can’t kill a man for creating a thing of beauty, Joe. Bring all your extra copies over to my place tonight. I don’t want you slobbering over Stevie while Amber is out of town.”
“Done. I’ll see if I can find some nice redfish to grill with peppers and onions.”
“Sounds good. Better than that hospital crap I’ve been eating.”
“Billodeaux!” came a shout from the trainer who had been working on some bad knees at the other end of the gym. “Get your ass out of here and stop distracting my patient.”
“I
’m a gone pecan.” Joe Dean winked at Connor as he walked out.
****
To Stevie, Connor seemed exhausted, but he sat with a cold beer in one hand and watched with good humor as Joe Dean forked over hot dogs to Kevin’s children and served grilled redfish fillets sprinkled with Cajun seasoning and nested in sautéed green peppers and onions to the adults. The kids wolfed their food and ran riotously over the lawn. They called to Uncle Connor to come play football with them.
Connor shook his head and took another piece of garlic bread from the basket. “Not tonight, guys.
They worked me too hard today.” Stevie looked over at Kris Riley who sat across the table from her. Connor’s mother whispered.
“He’s eating well.” Stevie nodded, swallowing her concern along with a gulp of a nice, crisp white wine.
“Let me turn off the grill and I’ll take you on,” Joe Dean offered. He caught the small purple and gold LSU football Collin tossed to him and charged after the children.
Merrilee, bulging in the last month of her pregnancy, rested her hands on her stomach and burped genteelly behind her hand. “He must have been a hyperactive child.”
“No doubt,” agreed Kris Riley.
“He told me he had ten nephews and nieces from his four married sisters so I can understand why he’s good with kids. He can cook. From all the women who pursue him, I bet he has no trouble in the sex department. Why isn’t this man married?” added Stevie.
“He wants to follow in Joe Namath’s footsteps and marry when he’s forty, I think. He’ll settle down when he’s too old to play, he told me once,” Connor replied. He yawned.
“Maybe we should declare this evening over,” Stevie suggested.
Merrilee frowned. “You’ve had Connor all to yourself for months. How about giving us some time?
We were very worried about him.”
“Hey, I’m fine. Let the kids play awhile and give Joe Dean some exercise,” Connor insisted.
They ended the evening with ice cream sundaes.
Joe Dean was the last to leave. He sat provocatively licking chocolate syrup off of his spoon while Connor walked the family to their cars and helped pack the children into their seats.
“Connor show you the swimsuit issue?” he asked Stevie.
“Yes,” she said tersely.
“You got nothing to be ashamed of. From what I saw, you were right up there with the rest of the models.”
“Four years ago. Look, Dex and I took a vacation to Mexico. We rented one of those rubber boats and found a secluded beach for a picnic. He wanted to try his hand at that kind of photography. I wanted to help him out. After all, I took skin shots of Marcello for his modeling portfolio. It was business. He never showed the pictures to anyone as far as I knew…until now. I could kill him for taking advantage of me and Connor . Did you see the caption?Photographer Stevie Dowd, who took the riveting pictures of the Super Bowl spearing incident injuring Connor Riley, performs just as well on the other end of the camera. Now I know what those release forms were that Dex was so eager to get me to sign.”
“Hey, Connor is cool with it. He probably likes thinking he has you and no other man does. You done any, ah…you two been intimate since he got out of the hospital?” Joe Dean wiggled his dark eyebrows and grinned suggestively. He licked his spoon again.
“No. He can’t possibly be ready for that yet.”
“Well, sugar, don’t let it wait too long. A man needs to have self-confidence to play and having sex is one thing that gives it to you. I can swear to that.”
“But Connor won’t play again, I’m sure. How can he after an injury like that?” Stevie asked.
“Stevie girl, why do you think all the trainers and therapists are swarming all over Connor? It’s not just because they want to help. Connor Riley, unlike me, was a first-round draft pick, and he stayed with the Sinners for big bucks when he could have gone free agent. He is a high-priced investment, and they’ll have to pay out his contract whether he plays or not. He’ll be back on the field come fall.”
“No. Impossible.” Stevie denied what she heard.
“He could die or be paralyzed.”
“Mark my words, Stevie Dowd, Connor Riley will play again. I took an oath to St. Jude that I’m already beginning to regret the closer the season gets to guarantee that.”
“I don’t think I can bear it if he does.”
“No way to stop him.”
“I can try,” she answered, making a vow of her own.
Chapter Fourteen
He and Stevie were out of sync, Connor thought.
Though if he stopped dozing off in the Jacuzzi or falling asleep when she massaged the sore muscles inflicted on him by the trainers, things might be different. By the time he woke up with a hard-on, Stevie had tucked herself in for the night. She often wore the turquoise tank suit she considered saggy and unflattering, but always reminded him of the first time they had been together. She slept in the guest bedroom unless he was awake enough to ask her to stay by his side.
Hell, they’d eaten the chocolate mousse out of the bowl using spoons in the kitchen. When Stevie offered him some on her spoon tip, he’d turned his face aside because her action caused a major hospital stay flashback. He should have scooped some mousse onto his finger and let her lick it off. As his flaccid muscles regained their strength, he knew he had to take charge before Stevie thought of herself as his nurse, not his lover.
When the Rev called to let him in on some news, Connor asked him to visit. “And bring that lady doctor you are so in love with,” he added.
“Trouble with Stevie?” asked the Rev.
“Yep. She needs some medical advice, I think, so bring the doc with you.”
The couple drove down on a Sunday afternoon, a day of rest for Connor from the torment of therapists, and shared their good tidings as they sat on the deck overlooking the lake.
“Number one, I got my fine self traded to the Sinners to beef up that pitiful defense they got,” the Rev bragged.
“You mean the pitiful defense that almost won a Super Bowl?” Connor fired back. “You just wanted a chance at a ring yourself.”
“Naw, I missed my mama’s cooking and my Mintay, but the money offer wasn’t bad neither.”
“Either, Rev. I was there the night your mother chewed you out for doing the ghetto speak all the time. She said to him, ‘Revelation Jeremiah Bullock, you have a college education and a retired English teacher for a mother. Please speak correctly.’” Dr.
Arminta Green gave an unprofessional giggle.
“Aw, Mintay, the other boys will beat me up if I don’t talk cool. That’s what I always told my mama when I was a kid.” The Rev grinned back at his lady love. Dr. Green, a slim café-au-lait-colored woman, wore her light brown hair parted in the middle, ends turned under at the chin line, a no nonsense, practical do for a busy doctor, and one that framed the fine heart-shape of her face beautifully. The small gold hoops in her ears were tasteful and not likely to get in her way when examining a patient, but they also showed off her small ears lying close against her skull and accented her skin tone well.
Mintay’s green eyes were startling and unexpected beneath her dark lashes. Fine-boned, high-cheeked, and classy, it would have taken three of her to make up the bulk of the Rev. Today instead of white, the doctor dressed in a coral-colored knit top, khaki slacks and sandals with a pattern of colorful beads drawing attention to her long toes and polished nails.
“She’s as bossy as my mama but can’t fry a chicken.” The Rev continued to smile wide and toothy.
“As if I would ever fry anything for you,” Dr.
Green retorted.
“She’s been working on my mama, too. Now her greens taste—well—green without the fatback. Lard was my mama’s cooking secret, and Mintay’s done taken that away.” The Rev sighed. “I dropped ten pounds in the last month. I keep telling her being big is part of my job. I have to make sure the Sinners get their money’s wo
rth.”
“By the pound?” Arminta asked sharply. “I probably added ten years to your life by converting your mother away from lard.”
Connor held up a hand for peace. “Rev, you know you pack it on during the off-season eating your mama’s cooking, and the trainers will make sure you lose the extra during camp. Today’s menu is barbecued chicken, a big salad—with croutons, Rev—and baked potatoes without sour cream. Tell Stevie the rest of your news.”
“Dr. Arminta Green has consented to be my wife.” The Rev picked up his fiancée’s slim hand and engulfed it with his. “We’re going into the city tomorrow to pick out a ring.”
“I caught him off-guard. He’s been asking me at least twice a month since we met in December.
Being a professional football player, I figured he just wanted to get in my pants,” Arminta explained.
“Aw no, honey. I never asked another woman to be my bride. You gotta know that. Besides, I’m marrying a doctor. My mama is so proud.”
“The man gave up lard for me. When he signed that contract to come home to Louisiana to give us more time together, well, I had to say yes.” Dr.
Green extended an arm that barely reached around the Rev’s shoulders to give her man a hug. He enfolded her in his huge arms and pulled her close.
They exchanged a kiss for a few seconds too long.
Connor began to feel envious—and horny. He interrupted their clinch. “Say, Rev, did you see the pictures of Stevie in the swimsuit issue? I got that Sykes guy to send me poster-sized enlargements.”
“You didn’t!” Stevie gasped.
“Did,” said Connor. “Come inside and let me show them to you. The ladies can stay out here and talk about rings and things.” He gave the Rev a significant nod and led the way into the house.
Not too subtly, Connor was leaving her alone with the doctor. Still, embarrassed, Stevie hurried to explain about the cheesecake pictures. “Those were taken years ago. I turn thirty in November. You know I don’t have the same body now, Dr. Green.”