“I’d like that, but . . .” I look down at the skates she brought for me to wear and feel like an ass, declining her invitation. “Elvis.”
She shrugs. “Bring him along; Stella’s boss won’t care. He can be our unofficial mascot.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really. These girls are going to love him.”
I run into the house, dump a cup and a half of food into Elvis’s bowl, and book it down the hall to the bathroom. Somehow, I manage to shower and blow-dry my hair in record time, do the bare minimum of makeup—it’ll be dark in the bar, right?—and then fall into a complete panic over my wardrobe.
Seriously, it’s a million degrees outside—what says “I want you to think I’m sexy and not at all interested in dating you even though I totally am and still manages to pass the “July evening in Florida” test?
Rejecting my skinny jeans—too hot—a sundress—too much leg!—and shorts—ew, I look like my mom—I finally settle on a halter maxi dress. The bright pink hibiscus flowers say “festive and casual,” and the halter gives my décolletage a little extra something. And, unlike the shorter dress, I don’t feel like I’m showing an obscene amount of leg when I wear it. I slip on some fancy flat sandals and grab Elvis’s leash, giving it a jingle.
He comes running, but stops dead when he realizes I’m dressed to go out. Whining, he lies on the floor at my feet and shows me his belly.
“You’re stupidly adorable.” I bend over and scratch the proffered pudge. “Come on, you’re coming with me.”
If there is one thing Elvis loves, it’s riding in the car with the window down and his ears flopping in the breeze. He hangs his tongue out and grunts with joy as I drive to the bar, arriving only a few minutes late. I pull into the parking space next to Joe’s van and roll up the windows before cutting the engine.
As Elvis and I make our way to the front door, I catch sight of Lauren out front, her phone to her ear and a pained expression on her face.
“Heat up some leftovers and give the kids the Kraft macaroni. No. Come on, you can cook it in the microwave. You don’t need me to make mac and cheese.”
When she sees me, a grim expression falls across her face and her voice tightens. “Chase, I’m going to hang up now. I’ll be home in a couple hours. Good night.”
I can hear her husband bellowing on the other end of the line until it’s cut short.
“Hey,” I greet her.
“Sorry.” She shrugs and holds up her phone. “God, he’s such a jerk about derby. He congratulated me and then whined over having to feed the kids. His own fucking kids, for fuck’s sake.”
“Don’t let him rain on your parade. This is Elvis, by the way.”
She looks down at my goofy-faced dog and grins. “He’s awesome.”
“He really is. Let’s go in, yeah?”
Out of years of habit, I open the door and hold it wide for her. She thanks me, and I follow her inside, to where Joe is holding court over several tables pushed together in the back. She’s wearing her beater and camo cutoffs, and her dark hair flops in front of her eyes, all sexy.
Even though Stella isn’t working, she’s behind the bar, filling a pitcher. She grins and waves at me as we sit down, and without spilling a drop, turns off the tap and starts filling a pint glass with water.
“For the dog.” She holds it up and smiles. “He’s so cute!”
And just like that, Elvis and I are the center of attention. Joe comes around the table to hug me and scratch his ears, and he flops onto his back to receive the adoration of the whole team.
“Tina!” Stella comes over and sits down beside me, placing the pitcher on the table and the pint glass on the floor for Elvis. “You were fantastic. So fast. Fearless. We’ll get you jumping in no time, I promise.”
“Thanks, Stell.” I reach for a plastic cup on the table and fill it from the pitcher. “I hope so.”
“No joke, you were amazing. I still can’t believe it’s your first day. You weren’t even wearing derby skates!” Lauren pipes up, holding out her own cup to be filled. She’s still wearing her fishnets, but her hair is falling in big gold curls around her shoulders. I fill her cup and give one of those ringlets a little tug.
“Nope, you were amazing. Congratulations again.”
“Have you thought of a name yet?” Stella throws an arm around Lauren and pulls her into a sideways hug.
“Yeah, um, I think it’s going to be Lau-Rayna Terror.”
“Nice.” Joe raises her glass. “To Lau-Rayna Terror!” The cheer goes up, and we all join in, laughing and clapping as Lauren blushes.
About a half hour later, Lauren takes another call, heading outside with her phone pressed to her ear and a fake smile plastered on her face. I notice Joe following her with her eyes, frowning.
“I’m worried about her,” I say softly, and Joe meets my gaze with a sharp look.
“Yeah, me too. Her husband isn’t handling her playing derby well.”
“You know her outside of this?”
“I know him. He’s actually a good friend who contracts for me sometimes.”
Well, that puts a different spin on things. Knowing he’s friends with Joe makes it harder for me to make him the villain in this story.
“He’s a plumber?”
“Jack of all trades—plumber, electrician. General handyman shit. He’s not really that big of an asshole. I don’t know what’s going on between the two of them, if he’s jealous of the time she’s spending out of the house or what. I never would have suggested she play derby if I’d realized it would strain their marriage. It seemed like a good idea in the moment.”
After seeing Lauren sob with relief when she made the team, I couldn’t imagine her not having derby. “No, she needs this. She’s getting something positive out of it—you saw how happy she was tonight.”
Joe smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I feel guilty though. Like I’m causing trouble.”
“But maybe the trouble—the shake-up in their lives—can help them both. I see it a lot with my clients, the strain on a relationship when one partner decides to make a change in their life. The other feels like they’re being left behind. But they need to figure out how to work through it together.”
“You know, I never thought of it that way. I bet Chase is feeling left behind. How do they fix it?”
Shrugging, I take another sip of my warming beer. “Communication. Finding common ground. Some don’t ever fix it—my wife and I didn’t. Some come back stronger than ever. You know Chase and Lauren better than I do. You think they’re going to pull through?”
“Chase isn’t exactly the spill-his-guts kind of guy. But common ground—there’s no reason he can’t get involved too. Hell, the kids can come skate around while she practices. I’m gonna go talk to her. Mind if I take Elvis for a walk? You know, for an excuse to be outside when she hangs up?”
“Of course.”
“It means a lot, you trusting me with your dog.” She leans in and gives me a little peck on the cheek. “I’ll bring him back in a few.”
I hand over his rhinestone-studded leash and watch her lead him outside, a funny ache in my chest. It’s easy to fall for someone who fixes things. Lisa always had solutions and strategies and plans to make things better. Something about the way Joe wants people to be happy, the way she goes about seeing that everyone is taken care of? It would be far too easy to find myself depending on someone like that all over again.
July gives way to August with a lurch as I make room for derby in my life. I’ve been a professional athlete, and I’ve worked as a personal trainer for years now, so my body is no stranger to the aches and pains of hard work. I take a strange comfort in my sore and exhausted muscles every morning, and a perverse pride in the bruises covering my legs and ass. I earned every fucking one of them trying to jump over that stupid sand sack.
Jeremy and I achieve a measure of detente after our confrontation. He keeps coming in first thing in the mornin
g with the dregs of a protein drink in his hand. I don’t know for sure that he’s actually consuming them, but he’s not shaking when he works out, and he’s maintaining his weight—maybe even gaining, which is what I like to see with my weight lifters.
Nate, on the other hand, is getting more and more distressed over the lack of gym traffic. He corners me in the lunchroom one afternoon in early August.
“Durham, you got any leads on new training clients?”
I pause, a forkful of salad halfway to my mouth. “Um . . .”
“Sorry, I know you’re having lunch, but I’m trying to come up with ideas for getting people in here. What if I gave you a commission on new clients you bring in?”
If that salad had been in my mouth, I’d have choked on it. “I’m not a sales person.”
“Desperate times, Durham.” He gives me a speculative look. “How about those girls you skate with? Any of them interested in a discounted personal training package?”
“I dunno, Nate. You got any brochures?”
He grins at me. “If I get some made up, will you hand ’em out?”
“Don’t waste the money on printing. Put a status on the gym’s Facebook page proclaiming our support for the Lake Lovelace Rollergirls and include a coupon code for training packages. I’ll ask Joe to share it on the team’s page, and we’ll see what shakes out.”
Nate stares at me for a minute, eyebrows climbing his forehead. “Well, okay. You’re not bad at this, you know.”
“I’m still not a salesperson.”
“Guess I don’t have to pay you a bonus when your brilliant marketing strategy pans out.”
“Just keep me employed. I need this job.”
The second weekend in August is a big scrimmage with some of the other teams in central Florida. Out of season, it’s not an officially sanctioned game, so it won’t count toward division seeding. Still, as we pile into two minivans at 5 a.m., we’re buzzing with giddy anticipation. I’m not playing—I haven’t passed the assessments yet—but I ride along, every bit as eager to see my first bout as Lauren is to skate in hers.
Lauren sits next to me and bubbles on about homeschooling her kids. Stella, who it turns out is in the final semester of her senior year at LLSU, cuddles in the back with Rebecca, the raven-haired tattoo artist responsible for Joe’s sleeve. I hear them murmuring for a while, then they fall quiet. When I peek over my shoulder, they’re both asleep, heads together between them. Joe drives, her eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses, and Katie, the neo-hippie owner of the local skating rink, navigates, her bare feet up on the dash.
A little after seven, we pull into the parking lot of the stadium where the scrimmage is being held, and pile out into the sunshine. Even this early, the heat is visible, the air shimmering over the pavement.
“Ewwww, it’s so hot you can smell it.” Stella wrinkles her nose.
“Naw, that’s your skates,” Joe rasps, pinching her own nose in mock disgust. She tosses the keys to Katie. “Your check engine light came on about two miles back.”
Katie groans. “Of course it did. I just drained my savings to pay to have the AC fixed at the rink.”
Joe scrunches up her face in sympathy. “It ain’t pipes, so I can’t say for sure I can fix it, but if you want, I’ll take it over to Pep Boys and pull the codes for you and at least see what’s wrong.”
Katie flashes her a grateful smile. “Thanks, Joe.”
Clapping her on the back, Joe gestures toward the building. “Come on, let’s go see what we’re up against.”
There are several teams warming up already. Joe goes and checks in with the organizers, then comes back to where our team is gathering.
“Okay, listen up. We’re going to be skating in the third bout—right after lunch.”
Everyone groans at this news, but Joe continues on as if they didn’t.
“Stella Be-Red-A will be our jammer. Bexecutioner, pivot. And our blockers will be Lau-Rayna Terror, Katie Kamikaze, and Mandy Mayhem. I want the rest of you to be ready to substitute in. Tina, because of your experience as a trainer, I’m listing you as our second designated staff after myself. Consider your role moral support, but you know, if you want to guide the warm-up?” She pauses to smile at me and I feel an answering thrill—I smile back.
“But don’t work them too hard because we still have a while before our bout. Stretch off the stiffness from the drive and we’ll warm up on skates later. We’ll grab some breakfast at the IHOP down the street, then I want us to watch the first two bouts together as a team. We’ll eat a light lunch—save any heavier eating until after our bout.”
Joe takes me aside. “I’m sorry if I put you on the spot, but I wanted you to be able to watch from the bench, and if you aren’t skating . . .”
“No, this is great. I can definitely help with warm-up and cooldown.”
“Okay, good. Here, this is for you.” She reaches into her bag and pulls out a Lake Lovelace Rollergirls T-shirt.
“Thanks, that’s really sweet.” I take the T-shirt, which is vintage soft and purple with white letters. “I’ll go change in the ladies’ room.”
Nipped in at the waist, the T-shirt emphasizes my breasts—it’s feminine and pretty. Joe picked a size that doesn’t cling and make me self-conscious, but which is still obviously a woman’s T-shirt. The care and thought she put into the gift is touching, and I find myself blushing. I pull my hair into a ponytail and smile at my reflection. Wearing the team shirt makes me feel like part of something larger than myself—an “us,” where I’ve been thinking of the other girls as “them.” Somehow my simple thanks seems inadequate, so when I return to the gym, I give Joe a big hug.
“I love the T-shirt. Thank you again.”
She holds on to me for a moment, and when she lets go, she’s blushing too, and a wave of wanting sweeps over me.
“Um, so, I’ll go lead the warm-up,” I mumble, avoiding her eyes.
“Great, thanks, Tina.”
It feels good to be useful, giving pointers on stretches that work the main muscles used in skating.
“And don’t forget to stretch your back and your abs.” I show them some simple stretches for the core, then help them adjust the stretches to minimize the chances of injury.
“Hey, are you looking for new clients?” Lauren asks. “Because if you can make stretching fun, maybe you could get my big booty moving in the gym.” She gives the aforementioned body part a little jiggle.
“I’ve got cards in my purse. Remind me to give you one later.”
“So, are you like a CrossFitter or whatever they’re called?” Rebecca asks. I shake my head, ready to talk about how Reed’s can certainly accommodate CrossFit workouts, but Stella hoots with laughter.
“Come on Bex, if she were a CrossFitter, we’d all know by now.” She pokes Rebecca in the ribs. “Remember how your ex couldn’t go a minute without talking about kettle bells and showing off his guns?”
“Truth.” Rebecca rolls her eyes. “But I don’t think everyone who does CrossFit is as vain as Mike.”
“I thought you were gay.” Lauren looks between Stella and Rebecca with her brow wrinkled up.
“I’m a unicorn.” Rebecca winks at her, and Joe and Stella both laugh.
“Okay, ladies, enough talk about Rebecca’s sex life. Let’s go get some pancakes.” Joe claps her hands and everyone gets up and heads for the vans.
“What did she mean when she said ‘unicorn’?” Lauren whispers to me when we’re back in the minivan.
“She’s bisexual,” I whisper back.
“Is it okay to call girls gay?”
“Only if they call themselves gay first. You know Google is your friend, right?”
“Sorry. Are you?”
“Your friend? Sure.”
“Gay, goober.” She rolls her eyes.
“I prefer the word ‘lesbian,’ personally.”
“Represent.” Stella’s fist comes between our heads from the backseat, and I give it a bump.
“You guys heard that?” Lauren wails, and we all laugh again.
“Yeah, Lou, we heard. No worries.” Rebecca tugs one of Lauren’s ringlets. I look over my shoulder and Stella’s feet are in Rebecca’s lap. Joe and Katie are laughing in the front seat, whether at our impromptu QUILTBAG quiz show or an unrelated joke, I’m not sure, and I don’t even care. Everyone’s laughing, and I’m a part of something real and fine.
When we return to the gym, the first bout is getting ready to start. We make for the stands, hoping to get seats where the whole team can sit together to watch and cheer.
“Joe Mama!” A shout from behind us catches Joe’s attention, and she swings around, squeals in delight, and runs over to the woman who’s called her.
They hug like long-lost lovers; jealousy burns in my stomach.
“You look fantastic, Joanne.”
As they pull apart, I study Joe’s friend. Tall—she has a type, doesn’t she?—with tawny brown skin and sparkling dark eyes. Deep dimples make long grooves to either side of her mouth, and her riot of dreadlocks are pulled into a low ponytail.
Next to me, Stella glares at them.
“What’s the story there?” I ask.
“That’s Joe’s ex,” she whispers. “I hate her.”
I snort as Stella continues, “It’s not enough that she’s super pretty, she also happens to be the best skater I’ve ever seen. And she’s nice too, so I’m always the asshole for not worshipping the ground she skates on. Bitch.”
I laugh out loud that time, but cover my mouth when I realize Stella’s not joking. I manage to stifle the laugh before Joe and her ex turn toward us.
“Hey, Red.” The woman skates over to us and hugs Stella next. “You look good.” Stella gives me a dramatic, horrified glance over her shoulder.
“Paula Fast One, meet Tina. Tina, Paula Fast One.”
“Hi.” She studies me up and down, not in a mean or sexual way, but definitely taking stock of me. It makes me uncomfortable, but I meet her gaze steadily. Joe’s ex. Who she hugged.
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