Daddy's Game

by Alleman, Normandie

  Those reporters were animals, rabid for some sort of reaction from her. About what? She had no idea what were they talking about. Her first reaction was to call Natron and ask him. But something inside her, something mistrusting, told her to check the Internet first.

  If those vultures outside were talking about it, it had to be on the Internet. She opened her laptop and searched for ‘Natron Dakers + Inya Burkheart’—however you spelled the bitch’s name. She already hated the mystery woman for encroaching upon her life.

  The first result was from The Daily Poop—a trendy gossip website that traded in embarrassing photos of celebs and breaking news of stars’ breakups. The headline read, ‘Breaking His Leg or Breaking Hearts?’

  Carmen clicked on it and a giant boob appeared on the screen. The tip of it had a black circle covering it so no nipple was obvious in the picture. The breast looked like it was pressed right into Natron’s face. Dread gripped her entire body. No, no, no, no, no! her brain shouted. A chill swam through her body and she hugged her arms to her, hoping it would stop the shaking.

  She examined the picture more closely. A smiling Natron was pressed up against the breast of a half-naked woman. The proximity of one of her breasts to his mouth was dangerously close. It looked like she was shimmying in front of him and he was about to take it in his mouth.

  Wait, was it in his mouth? Not exactly. You could tell he was smiling… could he have her body part in his mouth and smile at the same time?

  Her head spun with the implications. Was he cheating on her? Was this a one-night fling or something more substantial? Maybe there was an explanation, or perhaps it was possible that it wasn’t as bad as it looked…

  She wanted to slap herself for that last thought. Instead, she went to the bathroom and splashed some cold water on her face. She needed to calm down so she could think, but her phone started dinging with incoming text messages.

  Several of her friends had texted “WTF?” and Charmaine’s message read, “On my way over. Bringing provisions.”

  She’d talk it out with Charmaine before she called Natron, but there had to be an explanation, didn’t there? She climbed the stairs and threw herself on the bed. Tears threatened to fall, but she held them back. Trying to make her body as still as possible, she willed Charmaine to hurry.

  Finally she heard a loud knock.

  Flying downstairs, Carmen opened the door for her friend. Charmaine waved and blew kisses to the reporters. Carmen rolled her eyes. Leave it to Charmaine to take advantage of a media opportunity.

  “What are you doing?” Carmen snapped as she pulled Charmaine in the door.

  Charmaine shrugged, setting down several grocery bags, a chinchilla coat rolling down her arms onto one of the sofas. “Honey, you have to be nice to them. If they hate you, it makes everything worse.”

  If anyone knew about the paparazzi and the media, it was Charmaine. She’d been in the spotlight ever since her parents’ divorce. Her mother had tried to keep her out of the spotlight, but Charmaine seemed to draw attention everywhere she went. In the end, her mother failed and the press documented all of her milestones and screw-ups. She was, after all, the daughter of the richest and most infamous man in a state where rich and infamous men were as commonplace as hand sanitizer in a hospital.

  “Have you talked to Natron?” Charmaine asked.

  “No. I thought maybe he’d call me, or… I don’t know.”

  “Well, there’s not really much he can say, is there? The asshole’s cheating on you.” Charmaine strolled into the kitchen and began making mimosas.

  “We don’t know that for sure, do we?” Carmen squeaked.

  Charmaine stopped what she was doing, planted hands on hips and said evenly, “Really? Really, Carmen? You are living in a fantasy world, babe.”

  The dread that had settled in her stomach gnawed away at her insides. “Maybe the photo was doctored…”

  “Ha! Fat chance. Carmen, you know women are always trying to sink their claws into him. Big superstar and all. This bitch just made it work. Clearly, you can’t trust him.”

  A lone tear rolled down Carmen’s cheek.

  “Aww, I didn’t mean to make you cry,” Charmaine said. “Here, have a drink. Charmaine will make it all better.” She handed Carmen a flute of champagne mixed with orange juice and held up her glass.

  “Men are bastards. I’ve always known it.” Charmaine said and clinked her glass with Carmen’s.

  “I guess so,” Carmen said and downed her glass in one gulp.

  Charmaine refilled her glass. “That’s the spirit.”

  Over the next couple of hours they got nice and drunk, and eventually the reporters gave up and went home. Carmen made some sandwiches for lunch, and while they were eating Charmaine devised a plan.

  “Does Natron keep a lot of his stuff here?”

  “A few things.”

  Charmaine’s already glassy eyes gleamed with inspiration. “Let’s get rid of them.”

  Carmen perked up. She was upset Natron hadn’t even texted or called her to apologize or see how she was doing after his betrayal. The bastard. “Yeah, throw them in the yard.”

  “Burn them!” Charmaine rubbed her hands together like a cartoon villain.

  Carmen giggled. “Burn them, seriously?”

  “Oh, yeah. That fool has done you wrong, girl. That’s the least you should do!” She got up and looked around. “Where’s his stuff?”

  “Mostly upstairs,” Carmen said and followed Charmaine, who was already bounding up the stairs.

  Carmen pointed out a drawer of Natron’s things and Charmaine started throwing them over the side of the half-wall down into the living area below.

  Heading for the closet, Carmen pulled shirts off hangers and grabbed a handful of Natron’s underwear. This is kinda fun, she thought, throwing the clothes over the railing as Charmaine had.

  Charmaine turned to her. “What else?”

  They went to the bathroom, gathered up his toothbrush, deodorant, and razor and ran down the stairs.

  “I’ll check outside to be sure the buzzards are all gone,” Charmaine said and peeped out the door. “All clear.”

  The girls carried everything out to the middle of the lawn on tipsy legs.

  “Now what?” Carmen asked, hearing the alcohol-induced slur to her words.

  “Oh! I’ve got just the thing,” Charmaine said and ran inside in a zig-zag type pattern. Carmen laughed, thinking she’d heard that was how you were supposed to run if someone had a gun pointed at you. Zig-zag, rather than straight, so they might miss. Of course, Charmaine wasn’t running from a bullet, she was just hammered.

  The beauty came back outside with a long slim lighter with a handle, the kind of lighter people used when igniting the barbecue grill.

  Carmen chewed on a fingernail. “Are you sure we should? I don’t know… Hey, where did you get that anyway?”

  Ignoring her, Charmaine held a pair of Natron’s boxer briefs just above the flame she’d just ignited with the click of a button.

  Carmen squealed. She couldn’t believe Charmaine had lit his shorts on fire. A mixture of glee and trepidation swirled inside her, and a foreign demon took over her body as she urged her friend on. “Do it.”

  Charmaine tossed the half-burning underwear into the pile of clothes. Instead of going up in flames, the spark petered out slowly and with it their spirits.

  “Well, that sucks,” Charmaine said, the corners of her mouth falling.

  “Yeah,” Carmen sighed.

  “Hey, I know. Wait right here.” Charmaine disappeared into the apartment, returning a few moments later with a bottle of rubbing alcohol.

  “Found this in your bathroom,” she said and doused the pile.

  Before Carmen could protest, Charmaine lit the whole thing on fire.

  The flames exploded, sending the girls backwards.

  “Ouch!” Charmaine cried. “I may have singed my eyelashes off.”

  “Oh, my God, for r
eal?” Carmen asked.

  “Yes, come look. Damn, that’s what I get for paying for eyelash extensions.” She groaned. “And it takes so long to get them done.”

  Carmen had only used mascara on her lashes and had no idea what Carmen was talking about. She knew Charmaine had hair extensions, nail extensions, and now eyelash extensions. Sometimes she thought Charmaine must live at a salon.

  When she got close, Carmen could see the edges of Charmaine’s jet-black lashes were charred, a funny yellowish color. And they smelled kinda funny, like burnt hair. “Eww, Charmaine, they are!”

  “Oh, fuck me!” Charmaine cursed then started laughing. “Oh, dear, imagine what my eyelash lady is going to say when I show her these.”

  Carmen got tickled and they both busted out laughing. The kind of laugh when you know it’s really not appropriate to laugh, but you just can’t help it, like when you’re in church. They fell to the ground and sat with their arms around each other giggling and watching Natron’s stuff burn.

  As their hysterics began winding down, Carmen realized the pain was still there, and she had the feeling it was going to become her constant embittered companion.

  About that time, Natron’s car pulled up in front of the building. Seeing the fire in the yard, he screeched to a stop, jumped out of the car, and sprinted over to Carmen.

  Natron fell to his knees and lunged forward to embrace her. “Carmen, are you okay?”

  Charmaine inserted herself between them and pushed his shoulder. “You stay away from her, Natron. How could you do this to her, you jackass?”

  The reality of the situation dawned in his eyes and he turned to the flaming pyre. “What’s all that?”

  Tears stung in Carmen’s eyes. “Your stuff,” she answered dully.

  He sat back and pulled her to him. “No, baby. You don’t understand. It’s not what it looks like, really it’s not.”

  Charmaine snorted and was about to say something when the whirring of sirens bore down on them. A fire truck barreled down the street toward them and stopped behind Natron’s car. Red and white lights flashed and two firemen dressed in full gear rushed out of the truck toward the bonfire next to them.

  One of the firefighters doused the flames with a large fire extinguisher while the other one approached the group. “What’s going on here?” He spoke in a firm, almost harsh voice.

  Charmaine popped up and said to Carmen and Natron, “I’ll handle this.” They watched her take a few wobbly steps away and the fireman followed. It was a Bainbridge trait; people followed them.

  Natron started to speak, but Carmen shushed him. The firemen’s arrival on the scene had sobered her up and she wanted to hear what Charmaine told the fireman.

  “Ma’am, what is going on here? A neighbor called in a fire, is this the only one?”

  “Yes, occifer. Should I call you oddifer?” she asked twirling her wildly colored hair around a perfectly manicured nail. “I mean officer,” she said, correcting herself.

  “That’s fine. What happened here?” The man was all business. He appeared oblivious to not only Charmaine’s charms, but also to who she was.

  “What’s your name, officer?” she trilled, plastering a winning smile across her face.

  Carmen rolled her eyes.

  “Baldwin. Sergeant Hunter Baldwin. Now what started this fire?”

  Charmaine bit her lip. “I guess I did.”

  “Why?”

  She kicked at the grass. “Well, you see, my friend found out her boyfriend was cheating on her, so we threw his stuff in the yard, and well, I thought it would be a good idea to burn it.”

  “That, ma’am, is most assuredly not a good idea. In fact it’s against the law, did you know that?”

  Charmaine’s eyes widened. “No! I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”

  “Not to mention that you or someone else might be injured in the process. I could issue you a citation…”

  “Oh, no, officer! That won’t be necessary. I promise I won’t do it again.”

  “If the surrounding area caught fire, the blaze might spread and you’d be booked for arson. Do you realize that?”

  “No, I had no idea.” She hung her head and looked up prettily through her charred lashes. “I’m so sorry, officer. I was all caught up in the moment and just did something stupid. It will never happen again.”

  “It better not. Fire is not for playing around with. It’s serious business.”

  Carmen felt the urge to clap at Charmaine’s performance, but she refrained and instead piped in, “We’re really sorry, officer. It won’t happen again. We promise.”

  Sgt. Baldwin glanced over at her and Natron. His handsome face showed no recognition he was in the presence of last year’s MVP or the star of dozens of commercials. “I guess I could issue you girls a warning.”

  “Oh, thank you, sir,” Charmaine enthused.

  Hunter narrowed his eyes at her. “But I don’t want to ever hear of you burning someone’s belongings again, do you hear?”

  Charmaine nodded vigorously. “Yes, sir. I promise.” And she crossed her heart to prove it to him.

  Hunter’s gaze met Natron’s. “This isn’t your stuff, is it?” he asked, pointing at the smoldering pile that was now covered with a white foamy substance from the fire extinguisher.

  “‘Fraid so,” Natron replied.

  Hunter shook his head and looked from Carmen to Charmaine, then back to Natron. “Good luck to you, man. Be sure y’all clean this up once it’s cooled down.”

  “Sure will, bro. Thanks.” Natron shook his hand and Sgt. Baldwin walked back to his truck and he and his crew drove away.

  “Whew!” Charmaine laughed. “I thought he would never leave.”

  Natron gave her a sharp look. “Charmaine, what are you thinking?”

  Crossing her arms over her chest, she sneered. “I could ask you the same question.”

  Natron turned to Carmen. “Baby, can we please talk?”

  Feeling her lip begin to quiver, Carmen answered, “I don’t think so. Not right now.”

  Charmaine draped an arm over Carmen’s shoulder and walked her back inside, leaving Natron to deal with the charred remains of his possessions.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The grey cloud that seemed permanently fixed over his head was firmly in place when Natron reported for practice Monday morning. The day before, Natron had watched the Vipers’ game with little more than a passing interest. No matter how much Jack had tried to snap him out of it, he was devastated about the situation with Carmen. She wouldn’t respond to his text messages or his phone calls. He’d finally sent her an e-mail explaining what had happened, but had received no response.

  The Vipers had won their game on Sunday, which meant that they were heading to the National Football Conference Championship this next weekend. They were set to play the Portland Explorers, a team known for their high-flying offense with one or two superstars on defense.

  Natron had only been in the Vipers’ building for two minutes before three different people told him Coach Morrison was looking for him. Nerves tickled the inside of his stomach. Maybe Coach was going to tell him he could play in the game this weekend. Natron balled his fists and walked faster.

  When he got to Coach’s office, the man waved him in and motioned for him to take a seat in a chair across from his large mahogany desk. Coach Morrison was on his cellphone, listening to the speaker on the other end. He closed the door behind him, told the caller he had to go, pressed a button and sat behind his desk.

  Coach leaned back in his chair and laced his hands behind his head. “Hey, Natron. How ya doin’?”

  “Fine, Coach. How’re you?”

  Coach ignored his question. “I mean, how’s the knee comin’?”

  “It’s comin’ along good. I’m ready to go.”

  Coach nodded thoughtfully. “Ready to go, huh, son?”

  Natron flashed one of his money grins. “Sure, Coach. Been workin’ hard. Gettin’ back in
shape. Killin’ it in the weight room. Know what I’m sayin’?”

  “Oh, I know what you’re sayin’.” He paused, then leaned forward in his chair. “You know, Natron, you’ve always been an asset to this team, an important part of our success last year.”

  Natron nodded. “Uh-huh. Thank you, sir.”

  Coach set his elbows on the desk, steepling his fingers pensively. “So tell me, Natron, why’ve you got to go and be such a fuck-up?”

  The question caught Natron by surprise. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that I can’t stop the phones in here from ringing. I’ve got two PR people on this nonsense with you and this hooker, but that’s all the press wants to talk about.”

  Natron’s jaw dropped. He had no idea that picture would trickle up to becoming a problem for the team. Sure, it looked bad, but… and this was the first he’d heard about the girl being a hooker. Great, when it rained, it fucking poured. “Coach, I’m sorry. I just…”

  “You just can’t keep it in your pants. I know. But dammit, Natron, if you’re going to do that, don’t do it on camera. And don’t do it two days after you tell a reporter you’re madly in love and about to propose to your girlfriend, and for fuck’s sake don’t do it the week before the championship game!” As his tone became more heated, he rose in his chair so that by the time he was finished, he was towering over the seated Natron, his voice growing louder and louder until Natron cringed at the decibel level.

  Coach sat back in his chair, lifted his reading glasses to his face, and began shuffling some papers. After he’d regained his composure he said, “You are to resume practice as usual, but this weekend you will be riding the bench.”

  Then he stared Natron down. “You will get your house in order, son, if you want to play on my team.”

  Stunned, Natron mumbled, “Yes, sir,” before getting up and slinking out the door.

  In the hallway, he had to fight to hold it together. He wasn’t going to play, and all because of some stupid whore trying to get her fifteen minutes of fame.

  Everything he had, everything he loved was slipping away.