The Chosen Ones

by Lisa Luciano

  The old man never got that loan, but he gave his ten children something better— determination. Each night as she hit her knees, little Solange prayed for strength and swore that if she ever had anything to say about it, no one would ever be turned away from that bank again.

  After putting herself through college, then struggling up the ladder of success where every rung threatened to break under the weight of her sex and skin color, she ignored the stares and whispers that suggested her arrogance when she allowed herself a satisfied smile as she walked through the office door with the gold nameplate that said Solange Bennett—Vice President—First National Bank of Georgia.

  Freeman’s father was an equally impressive man. The first doctor in his family. That was Freeman’s legacy and he carried it proudly. But to where? He could be anything, but didn’t have a clue as to what. Nothing interested him. He was a top spinning furiously on its way to nowhere. The one thing he was sure of was that while his parents undoubtedly loved him, they would never understand.

  The actors burst onto the brightly lit stage and shouted in a language Freeman didn’t know. It was the sound of his past. His hands were sweating. He slid his fingers from between Leslie’s. Gazing down at his palms, he turned them over to see a deeper shade of brown and wondered what he really knew about himself other than the fact that he vaguely resembled those people up there who had come from a tortured land to touch him.

  He listened to their voices raised in sweet harmony telling tales of souls in torment. Of oppression. Of blind hatred. Of the death of body, but not the spirit. He gazed at women with colorful cloths wrapped around their dark bodies and men with tears in their eyes for brothers and dreams lost in a faraway place.

  Freeman had entered the theater eager to run, to drift, to lose himself. He sought a haven where there would be no judgments and no challenges. He had come to the wrong place.

  “Come on,” he said.

  “What?”

  “I want us to make love.”

  Freeman guided Leslie out of the aisle and up to the last empty row of the balcony. He took her face in his hands and kissed her with a hunger he’d never felt before. They searched each other’s eyes. He fingered the zipper of his pants. She clamped her hand over his and looked around. No one was watching.

  “Here? Now?” she giggled.

  “Don’t you want to?”

  “Yes, but the doctor took me off the pill and… I didn’t bring anything.”

  “Do you love me?” he asked, summoning all his courage.

  “Yes,” she answered with no hesitation.

  “Then nothing else matters.”

  He spread his legs that were almost too long to fit between the seats comfortably so that she could settle into his lap with her back against his chest. His strong hands skimmed along her thighs and up to her breasts, squeezing them until it hurt. Despite the pain, his touch sent a pleasant rush of heat through her.

  Slowly, she hiked up her dress and slid her pale pink panties down to her knees. He released her only long enough to open the front of his pants, then grabbed her by her narrow waist. She stood slightly and lowered herself so that he could slip inside of her. An involuntary moan of pleasure escaped from the bottom of her throat.

  “Yes,” she whispered, her nails digging into the back of the next row as he pushed and then relaxed, again and again.

  The sound of drums sailing across the audience from the orchestra pit reverberated like the patter of welcome rain against the damp ground of the rain forest Freeman knew so well and loved. He wanted to share that with Leslie. The sight of countless plants and trees so colorful they were almost too beautiful to bear. The scents of flowers too sweet to be real. The growls and chirps of creatures far too trusting of human intruders. All this he wanted to share with only one other soul. That and so much more.

  Leslie waited.

  “No. Don’t stop,” she said softly.

  The blood that had rushed to her cheeks retreated. She felt not only their bodies, but their souls separate. She turned and looked at Freeman. His face was a blank slate. If it could be just the two of them, he thought, it would be alright. But as he fell back against the cushion of his seat and cast out an exhausted breath, he knew he was asking for too much.

  Robby walked along Pine Street, checking the names on the mailboxes leading to each walkway in the condominium complex. Paige O’Brien. That was simple enough. He counted the steps to the door. Fifteen. For years he’d done things deemed physically impossible, dazzling spectators with his feats of daring, hurling his body through space with seemingly no regard for its safety. What would they think, he wondered, if they could see him standing there, unable to get his finger to perform a simple act.

  “Press the doorbell, asshole.”

  Whether he did or didn’t, he’d regret it. Paige drove him crazy. She was like a force of nature. One minute she was a gentle, soothing wind that would lovingly caress him. Then without warning, she would turn into a ferocious twister, ripping apart anything in its path.

  She cared for him. He never doubted that. It was him. Somehow, he’d never been able to make her happy. That became all too clear the last time they were together right before she quit five years ago. Leaving was her decision. He had nothing to do with it. At least, that’s what he wanted to believe. He replayed the scene like a speeded up movie in his mind one more time.

  They had snuck out in the middle of the night. Paige didn’t seem to have a care in the world. Robby couldn’t think of anything except what Carol would say if she found out they’d broken curfew. Still, he agreed to meet her at the beach. It was her favorite place. He didn’t have one, so it didn’t matter to him.

  He and Paige stepped carefully down the dilapidated wooden staircase jutting into sand that was heavy with the moist night air. They couldn’t see the water through the darkness, but heard the waves crashing against a nearby pier as they walked toward it.

  “So, have you practiced interviews?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Well, then let’s get with it. You don’t want to look like a jerk in front of the whole world.”

  She pretended to hold a microphone.

  “I’m here with Robby Donovan, future Olympic champion. Tell me, Robby. Why do you want to win a gold medal?”

  “To prove something.”

  “To who?”

  “Myself, I guess.”

  “Even though it’s still a year away, you’re certain to be one of the favorites. Your jumping technique is without equal. Do you need an Olympic title to convince yourself that you’re the best?”

  He took a moment to consider her words, not sure if it was a question or an allegation. Seeing his jaw stiffen and his eyes get that far off look, she immediately dropped the charade.

  Damn it, she thought. Don’t shut me out.

  There was only one person in the world he truly trusted. He didn’t need anyone else. So why was he yearning to share his deepest thoughts with Paige? He beat back a small voice inside his head warning him not to trust her or anyone but Carol.

  “Ever read The Little Prince?” he asked.

  “I thought you didn’t have time to read.”

  “You make time for things that are important.”

  Of course, it was important. Carol had given him the book. Robby continued as if he’d memorized the information.

  “In the story he searches for a flower more perfect than the rest. But what makes it perfect is that it’s his. For years I’ve seen guys win and lose just because the judges say so. It had nothing to do with how they skated. I fought it and I fought it. Now I know. I can’t control the marks, but I can decide how good I am when I go out there. That’s in my hands, not somebody else’s or even God’s. And the bottom line is, how good was I that night? Being your best when you have to is perfection. And what I want is to be perfect. That’s why I do it.”

  Paige had never heard Robby speak so passionately about himself and in so many sentences
at once. She had no such deep thoughts, so she retreated into the more comfortable role of goofy friend.

  “Could be you’re setting yourself up for a fall,” she quipped.

  “Ooh,” he groaned, shaking his head, then suddenly looking serious again.

  “Sometimes I go out there and wonder why they can’t see how good I am?” “That’s very modest of you.”

  “Yeah, but then there’s the rest of the time when I’m so scared I can’t even see straight.”

  “You? Nerves?” she asked, genuinely shocked.

  “Years ago when I was a junior, one time before a competition, I couldn’t untie my skates,” he mused, looking down at the sand clinging to the hem of his faded jeans.

  “No,” she said in disbelief.

  “Really. The laces got all knotted. Of course, they were too tight. Hurt like hell. I couldn’t wait to finish. Then I couldn’t get my boots off.”

  They shared much-needed laughter.

  “What did Carol do?” she asked.

  “Nothing. She was too busy trying to figure out how to say scissor in Hungarian.”

  “Why didn’t she just use her tongue? Would’ve sliced right through those suckers.”

  He frowned at her.

  “Did you at least win?” she asked.

  “Nope,” he said, staring at a jumbled lump of seaweed. “Oh, don’t start that,” she pleaded.

  “What?”

  She sighed dramatically.

  “Maybe I’m not good enough.”

  He smirked. She sighed again.

  “Maybe I should quit.”

  His grin widened. She exhaled once more.

  “I’ll never win the big one.”

  He mimicked her and sighed.

  “Maybe it’s true.”

  “There are other things in life,” she insisted.

  “Like what? I’m not good at anything else.”

  “You’ve never tried.”

  “I’ve never wanted anything else.”

  Including me, she thought.

  “You can’t expect to win every time.”

  “Why not?” he asked, his eyes big and sad like those of a puppy whose favorite bone was just snatched away.

  It was a look she had never been able to resist. She wanted to throw her arms around him, but didn’t.

  “Because it just doesn’t happen that way.

  “Nothing just happens. You make your own reality,” he said.

  “What if reality sucks?” she asked. “Look at my life. It’s like a storybook. You turn to page one and it starts, ‘Once upon a time there lived a mailman who had a wife and two daughters. They loved each other very much. And that’s where it ends. Turn the page and it’s blank. That’s how I remember my childhood. There’s nothing outside the rink. There has to be more to life than skating.”

  She considered her parents happily mired in their suburban oblivion, her failure to win a big competition no matter how hard she worked, and her feelings for Robby. According to his theory, all these things were her doing, and therefore, alterable. Well, Mr. and Mrs. O’Brien weren’t going anywhere unless a tornado hit their house in Toledo, so Paige had to leave home to work with a good coach.

  She knew what Carol had done for Robby and didn’t mind spending every waking hour training alongside him. Yet, despite all her sacrifices and efforts, it wasn’t enough. Short of bribing them, Paige couldn’t see any way of swaying the skating judges, so she quit. Nothing had ever worked out. But Robby… perhaps there was still a ray of hope.

  “I know this isn’t going to penetrate,” she said. “But I’ll say it anyway. Skating is what you do, not who you are.”

  “I know,” he added, having heard it a thousand times before. “And winning isn’t everything.”

  “Right. And never forget the most important thing. A bird in the hand is worth two up your nose.”

  Laughter poured from him like an overflowing dam. He engulfed her in his arms. She happily absorbed the warmth of his body. As her chest vibrated against his, she could feel the tension drain out of him.

  He knew he should go home, but she was able to coax him to stay a little longer. As they sat and watched an endless row of foamy green fingers tickle the uneven edge of a sand bar, in the distance the late summer sky slowly began to lighten.

  Paige scooped some cool sand with her hand, but couldn’t prevent it from slipping through her fingers. She ached for Robby to make a move.

  “Did you ever want to take a late night swim?”

  “No,” he answered with that irritating way he had of getting straight to the point.

  If it didn’t in some way serve his skating, he didn’t give it any extra energy. Accepting defeat, Paige simply lost herself in the rush of the ocean. It was like music. She began humming.

  “Can you sing?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Come on.”

  “No, I’m no good doing it in front of people,” she protested.

  “I’m not people. Search me. I don’t have a scorecard on me.”

  She tilted her head to one side.

  “My father used to sing a song to me every night. It’s the only thing I remember liking about him.”

  “Do it for me.”

  She didn’t know much about her father except that he liked to sing in the shower, the garden, anywhere a melody overtook him. Her strongest memory was of a house filled with the sound of his sweet Irish tenor.

  She looked into Robby’s eyes and her reluctance faded away as she tentatively hummed a few notes. For the first time, Paige realized she had his total attention. She would’ve given anything to know what he was feeling.

  “Someday when I’m awfully low. When the world is cold. I will feel a glow just thinking of you and the way you look tonight.”

  He seemed to be enjoying it. She grinned as she took a moment to think of the words that followed.

  “With each word your tenderness grows. Tearing my fear apart. And that laugh that wrinkles your nose.”

  She allowed herself a brief glance, then looked away again.

  “Touches my foolish heart. Lovely. Never, never change. Keep that breathless charm. Won’t you please arrange it cause I lo…”

  She gasped, nearly choking on the salty air.

  “I… I don’t remember the rest.”

  Paige looked far to her right at the pier. She jumped up and dashed beneath it, zig-zagging between the bulky wooden supports. Robby slowly stood and followed, taking a straight path to her.

  “Look,” Paige said, pointing down. “Perfect.”

  She snatched up a long abandoned blanket, shook it out, and planted herself on top of it. Robby grimaced at the blobs of sand stuck to it, but joined her anyway. The wind mercilessly whipped through the space between their bodies.

  “Are you cold?” he asked.

  She nodded. He wrapped his arm around her and she scooted closer until their hips touched.

  “Is this your idea of a good time?” he said, feeling her shiver.

  “No,” she answered. “This is.”

  She pressed her lips to his.

  How about that? He didn’t run in horror. Maybe there is a chance.

  As they embraced, a blast of air heavy with sea salt buffeted them. She buried her head in his chest. He eased his grip. She thought their moment of intimacy was over, but then he lowered his head and began suckling her neck just below her ear. Suddenly, she couldn’t hear the waves crashing against the shore only yards away. The damp stench of the blanket had disappeared. All she knew was the tenderness of his lips dabbing at her neck and shoulders and face.

  Her slight involuntary moan of satisfaction gave him the courage to press on. His fingers eased the first button of her blouse open. And then the second and the third. She rested her hand on his inner thigh. It was warm and strong. She had fantasized countless times about this very moment, but it was nothing like she had imagined. Her heart wasn’t racing. She wasn’t breathless. It was easy. Effo
rtless.

  She peeled back her shirt, dropped it behind her, then knelt in front of him. He leaned toward her and smothered his face between her breasts. His lips felt like raindrops pulsating across her chest and stomach. She never wanted anyone so much and he seemed to know just where and how to touch her. There was only one thing more she wanted—to see love in his eyes. She sat back and took his face in her hands. The desire was there, but nothing else.

  She grabbed the back of his neck and kissed him so hard her teeth clicked against his. She had to be sure. A chill raced through her as she released him. His arms dropped to his sides. She scrambled to find her blouse.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Nothing. I’m cold. You’re right. This was a dumb idea.”

  She buttoned the pink cotton shirt, wrapped her arms across her chest, and faced the water. Robby crossed his legs beneath him and sighed.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yup,” she said.

  Now he too was trembling. The temperature continued to drop. Without another word or move, they knew all that remained was to stay until the copper fire lifted itself from the dark horizon.

  “Don’t say anything,” Paige said, snapping him out of his reverie.

  The door was open and she was standing there, barefoot, looking beautiful in a pair of white shorts and a fuchsia halter top, oblivious to the cold.

  “I want to apologize for that scene at the arena. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  She paused.

  Who am I kidding? I know exactly what I was thinking. I was thinking, why did he turn to that bitch instead of me?

  Robby was embarrassed.

  “Yeah,” Paige continued. “I know about you and Brigitta. I knew it the first time I saw you put your hands on her. I could tell from the way you looked at her when you skated together.”

  “We were playing lovers. I was supposed to pretend to be in love with her.”

  “I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, but you’re not that good an actor. The rare times you allow yourself to show emotion, you mean it.”

  “What do you want?”

  “For you to look at me that way too.”