Estelle’s ears perked up.
“Oh, that poor dear, who’s going to bring home the $1800 per month to support his family now?” Linda smirked.
The ladies began to snicker. All except Estelle. She was snickering too, but she was faking it. The guy she’d been slumming it with behind Dwayne’s back had gone missing early that morning … and Dwayne hadn’t arrived home until almost five.
“Oh, great, let’s just add them to the welfare pool now!” Janice said, with a hint of disgust at the idea of poor people. “I swear, the Democrats are going to sink this country.”
“So what happened to him?” Estelle asked Tiffany before the political talk had a chance to gain momentum.
“They don’t know. A friend of Ricky Dale’s told me at the funeral. He made it to work in the wee hours of the morning but never made it inside the Walmart. His car was there with the trunk wide open, and his office papers were all over the place. No one saw a thing. He’s just gone.”
Estelle excused herself and walked into the kitchen, trying to wrap her head around what she’d just heard. She opened the medicine cabinet above the microwave and pulled out her Xanax. She popped three.
As soon as she left the room, Estelle could hear the ladies begin to whisper about Dwayne. These were her best friends, and yet she knew that they would turn on her in a heartbeat.
Estelle peeked into the living room where Dwayne was lounging in his recliner. She was amused as he pumped his fist in the air at the sight of an alligator snatching a baby deer from the bank of a river. Who was this guy? What had he been up to? Was she falling in love with her husband again, after years of shutting each other out? Was his “fuck these people” attitude contagious? Because she felt like she was catching it, too.
Dwayne looked back over the top of the recliner and saw Estelle standing in the kitchen, staring at him. He smiled at her.
“Hey, baby,” he said.
“Hey,” she said back.
“You wanna get high and watch Shark Week with me?”
“I’d love to.”
Estelle walked into the dining room, where the elite ladies of Fort Worth were seated, with Dwayne following closely behind. She could tell she’d interrupted them talking about her. She’d been on the other side of that so many times.
“Sorry, girls, I’m going to have to cut this prayer group short,” Estelle said as she shrugged her shoulders with a fake smile. “Dwayne and I haven’t had a chance to spend much time together lately, so we thought we’d hang out a little and catch up.”
Dwayne pinched Estelle’s ass discreetly as the ladies looked at one another disapprovingly. They began to gather their things.
“You know, Dwayne, we’d love to have you join one of our Bible study groups one day,” Janice sneered. “It might do you some good, judging by the path you’re on.”
In the past, Dwayne might have walked away. He might have made a crack before he walked away, but he normally would have let these women get away with their comments. That was how the social circles worked. Everyone feared the consequences of their rejection. The old Dwayne would have walked away. But this wasn’t the old Dwayne.
“You know, Janice,” Dwayne started in, “I’m pretty sure if Jesus were here today, he would want absolutely nothing to do with you and your group of hypocritical, backstabbing, social-climbing bitches. Have you ever even read the Bible? I’m not a particularly religious guy, but I’ve read it. Where does it talk about how you’re supposed to be fake, and shit on the little people? Where does it talk about how you’re supposed to constantly sit in judgment with your friends, and gossip? Where does it talk about showing off how much money you have, while criticizing those who don’t have as much? Where does it cover getting fucking hammered on booze and pills all day, while talking about the lifestyles of others as if yours is superior? Where does it talk about raising your kids to be arrogant, superior, bigoted shits with no moral compass other than that guided by the almighty dollar? You want me to tell you where that is in the Bible? It’s nowhere. If Jesus were here right now, he’d pimp-slap you. So thanks for the invite, Janice, but I’d rather not subject myself to the advice of you and your soul-corroding heathen friends.”
Janice appeared as though she’d just been punched by Mike Tyson. She looked at Estelle. “Are you just going to stand there and let him get away with that?”
“Well,” Estelle replied, as she subtly reached her arm behind herself and grabbed Dwayne’s package. “It’s like they say in the Bible. Women have to listen to their man, or they get stoned. Or something like that.”
“Oh, she’s gonna get stoned alright,” Dwayne grinned through his Ray-Bans. “So, without further ado, don’t let the door hit ya where the Lord split ya, if you catch my drift.”
The ladies were paralyzed. They had stepped into an alternate dimension where their shit actually did stink.
“Seriously,” he continued. “Please, get the fuck out. I have to sacrifice some ass to the Lord.”
Janice and her crew shuffled out the front door, slamming it behind them. Dwayne felt phenomenal. He had just said pretty much everything he’d ever wanted to say to them. It gave him a complete endorphin rush.
He spun Estelle around and kissed her passionately before she had an opportunity to say anything. He extended his arm across the dining room table and sent wine bottles, glasses, cheese, crackers, and place settings flying across the room and crashing into the wall. Dwayne was happy that he had listened to Estelle about buying the big, sturdy, expensive antique table. He reached his hands beneath her butt cheeks and lifted her up onto it, where they made love for the next two hours.
22.
That night, after Alex came home and finished his homework, Dwayne tucked him into bed with the feeling that the baseball team was going to be A-OK. He had concocted a plan, and he was ready to put it into place.
He would start with a group email to the parents of all team members. On the computer in his bedroom, Dwayne clicked the compose message tab, and began:
Greetings, Team Parents—
This is Dwayne Devero, Alex’s dad. I know we’re all heartbroken at the loss of Coach Dale. He will always be remembered as one of the finest furniture salesmen in the great state of Texas. I was told his funeral was an excellent tribute. Now I have learned that Coach Pete, who had nobly stepped in to fill Coach Dale’s shoes, has gone missing. Our thoughts and prayers are with the Rearden family in this time of uncertainty. It is my belief that the best way to honor these two great men is to keep playing baseball. They would want it that way, I’m sure. I have decided, through much prayer and soul searching, to take over the position as head coach. I will be assisted by Russ Paisley, Dr. Tom Johnson, and Steve Winwood (no relation to the singer/songwriter). It is my personal goal to honor both our fallen coach and our coach who disappeared under questionable circumstances with a championship win. As you know, in this age bracket, every team makes the playoffs. It is my intention to win our final regular season game and go undefeated in the playoffs. It’s a lofty goal, but mark my words, we will accomplish it. We will have practice tomorrow at the ballpark at 5:30 p.m., and we have a game the following day at 6:00 p.m. So let’s get pumped up! GO TIGERS!
—Dwayne Devero
Dwayne pushed send. He grinned. He felt good about things. He looked over at Estelle, who was sleeping. For the first time in ages, she’d fallen asleep from her body being thoroughly ravished by her husband, and not by taking a handful of pills washed down with Cabernet.
Quack. Quack. Quack.
Dwayne picked up his phone. The texting had begun.
STEVE:
GO TIGERS??? Are you kidding me?
DWAYNE:
Too much team spirit?
STEVE:
They just put RD in the ground today! Was that necessary?
DWAYNE:
If we want to turn this team around and dominate the playoffs, then we don’t have time to act like a bunch of pussies, Steve
.
STEVE:
Jesus, Dwayne, they’re 10 years old!
RUSS:
I liked it. Way to take life by the balls.
TOMMY:
Maybe a little harsh and poorly timed.
RUSS:
Whatever, Tiberius. Go back to watching B.E.T.
TOMMY:
What the fuck did you just say?
RUSS:
My bad! I’m so fucked up right now! I just snorted ecstasy!
TOMMY:
0_o
STEVE:
Nice job, Russ. I’m sure the other deacons in the church would be proud of you.
RUSS:
This is awesome! Jade just surprised me! We’re having a three-way now! I love you guys, by the way.
DWAYNE:
Great. Guys, I’ll need your help coaching. We can still kick ass this season. Are you all going to be at practice tomorrow?
TOMMY:
Yup. Gotta stretch some faces, suck some fat, and sell some of the overflow from the sperm-donor clinic. Been telling people it’s rabbit semen. LOL. But yeah, I’ll be there.
STEVE:
I’ll be there! We need to talk!
RUSS:
Oh shit, guys! Another dude just showed up! This just turned into a four-way! Not cool!
DWAYNE:
Awesome, guys. I appreciate the help. We’ll put these kids in the spots they belong in and adjust the batting order. I’m pumped.
RUSS:
This guy’s penis is HUGE! And it’s totally shaved! Do people really shave their jim-jims now? Like … all the way? There’s no hair! None! I want to look away, but I can’t!
DWAYNE:
Cool. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.
STEVE:
Great, Dwayne. See you there. Good luck with whatever the fuck a bald jim-jim is, Russ.
TOMMY:
See you then, guys. Good luck getting ass-rammed on ecstasy, Russ.
STEVE:
:)
DWAYNE:
(*)
RUSS:
Briefcase! Briefcase!
STEVE:
LOL.
Dwayne turned the volume down on the television, pulled out a pen and paper, and began to write up the positions that the kids would need to play in order to be competitive. He felt excited for Alex and the other boys.
Pitching needed to be brought into the spotlight on the team. Dwayne knew that Ricky hadn’t done near enough to develop pitchers. He knew he needed strength up the middle before anything, so he would put his best kids at second base, shortstop, pitcher, and catcher. The center fielder needed to be decent as well.
He figured he could stick the least talented turds at left and right field, and the heavy-set kids at first and third base. The rotation on the bench from this point forward, he decided, would come from the shallow end of the talent pool … as it was supposed to.
A few of the parents from the team were going to be pissed off. There was no question about that. Some of the kids were about to have their feelings hurt. That was a lesson they needed to learn. But Dwayne knew that at the end of the season, if they had championship trophies sitting beside their beds at night, pretty much all would be forgiven.
Dwayne finished writing out the player positions and set them on the dresser. He turned off the television, yanked his underwear off (having made the decision at that very instant to sleep nude for the rest of his life), and rolled over to spoon with Estelle. As he closed his eyes, he thought he heard the sound of an engine idling outside.
He jumped up and ran to the window, buck naked, where he saw what appeared to be an old van parked out front, staking out his house. The van had scraggly multicolored bedsheets duct-taped over the exterior, save for the front windows.
Dwayne could make out someone in the driver’s seat wearing what looked like a ski suit from the early 1980s. He knew exactly who it was.
He grabbed a pillow to cover his balls and sprinted out the door and across the yard to confront Dave the umpire. Dave slid open the van’s side door and emerged through a sheet with pot smoke pouring out behind him like he was in some crazy low-budget horror film. He was gripping the same bat that he’d used to split Ricky Dale’s skull. The hard-hitting power chords of Megadeth filled the air as Dave the umpire raised his bat in the air.
“You want a piece of me, lawn boy?” Dave yelled. “I know what the fuck you’ve been up to!”
Dwayne charged him, raising his pillow to block a blow from the bat like a nude suburban gladiator. He tackled Dave back into the van with the force of a linebacker, tearing sheets off as they flew back through them. Dwayne unleashed a torrent of body blows to Dave’s torso while holding the pillow over his face to silence his screams.
All that could be seen from the exterior of the van was Dave’s snowshoes kicking wildly at the air, while a bare ass popped in and out of the moonlight as its owner beat the shit out of Dave.
Finally, the kicking stopped. Dwayne managed to somehow refrain from killing Dave, but he did wrestle the bat from him. He held the bat underneath Dave’s neck and leaned in closely to his face as he sat perched on his stomach.
“Do not fuck with me, Dave. I know what you did,” he muttered coldly with just the right amount of snarl and psychotic eye twitch.
“Yeah, well I know what you did, too, Dwayne. The night Pete Rearden went missing, I watched you fertilize the baseball field with something that wasn’t fertilizer. I think you were fertilizing it with Pete. So don’t act like you’re in charge here, bro.”
Dwayne was confused. He didn’t understand. He’d obviously forgotten to check his surroundings before he disposed of Pete’s body. Dammit, he thought. How could I have been so stupid?
Dwayne knew he couldn’t kill a guy in front of his house. Dave had already been parked for way too long. What Dwayne needed to do was to get Dave to leave. He would deal with him later.
He pushed the bat firmly down on Dave’s trachea, put his lips up to Dave’s ear, and spoke, “I’m gonna get off of you slowly now, Dave. Then I’m gonna back out through the side door. And then you’re going to get up, get behind the wheel, put this shitbox in gear, and get the fuck out of here. I could end you right now, but we’re going to go on about our lives like nothing ever happened. We each have something on the other, so we each need to shut the fuck up. But, I swear to God, Dave, if I ever see you near my house again, I will rip your goddamn head off and hit a motherfucking home run with it. Am I clear?”
“Whatever it takes to get your sack out of my belly button, man.”
Dwayne backed slowly and deliberately out of the side of the van, and watched as Dave climbed up to the front, put the van in drive, and disappeared down the street.
He walked back inside, tossed the pillow back onto the couch, and climbed back into bed.
He would need to get this Dave thing under control soon, he thought to himself as he drifted off to sleep.
23.
Dwayne awoke the next day at 6:30 a.m. sharp, without the need for an alarm clock. He rolled over and gave Estelle a kiss on the earlobe, and she offered back a sleepy smile. That was all he needed to see.
“Hey, baby,” she whispered with one eye barely open. “I got you a surprise yesterday. It’s in that box on the dresser.”
Dwayne found the box and took a seat on the edge of the bed to open it. His eyes went wide. It was the coolest gift he’d ever received. He jumped up excitedly, like a kid with a new bike on Christmas morning. He held Estelle’s present up to his body to see if it would fit.
“Go ahead,” she said. “Try it on.”
“Is this what I think it is, babe?”
“If you think it’s an authentic Star Wars Jedi bathrobe, complete with the Jedi logo and hood, designed stich for stitch to what Obi Wan Kenobi wore in the original Star Wars trilogy, then yes, it’s what you think it is.”
Dwayne slipped the robe over his shoulders, tied the front, and pulled the large brown hood up over
his head. He ran to the bathroom to check himself out in the mirror.
“Oh, babe,” he called out from the bathroom. “This is AWESOME! This totally encompasses how I feel lately! I feel like a fucking Jedi knight!”
“You are a Jedi knight, sweetie,” she offered back in a sexy tone. “Now get in here and show me your lightsaber.”
Estelle pulled the sheets off her body to reveal a Princess Leia metal bikini, just like Carrie Fisher had worn as a slave in Return of the Jedi.
“You … are … awesome,” Dwayne said, stunned.
He leapt on top of her, slinging the robe across the room. She ripped his underwear off and jumped on top of him.
“Oh yeah,” Estelle growled into his ear. “The force is strong with this one.”
They were like college kids again. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other. They had sex twice in the bed, and then one more time in the shower.
When they’d finished, Estelle slipped on her yoga outfit and went to the kitchen to make coffee. Neither of them could speak. They could only smile.
Dwayne decided that there was absolutely no way he could go to work. He needed to play hooky. He needed to play golf. He grabbed his phone and hopped on the text chain with the guys.
DWAYNE:
I’m skipping work today. Let’s play some golf. Who’s in?
TOMMY:
I’m in. I’ll move some appointments around. I don’t feel like working either. What time?
DWAYNE:
Let’s roll before it gets too hot. In about an hour? 8:30?
TOMMY:
Sounds good. Russ? Little Stevie?
STEVE:
I can’t, guys. I’m supposed to have conferences with some at-risk youth groups today. Mainly gang members. One of them actually tried to kill me last semester.
Several minutes passed as Dwayne sipped his coffee and awaited further texts. Finally …
STEVE:
Screw those kids. I’m in, too.
DWAYNE:
Attaboy, Stevie! There’s hope for you yet! Anyone hear from Russ?
TOMMY:
Not since last night when he was staring at a massive shaved penis on ecstasy.
Base Ball Dads Page 9