“You didn’t read the e-mail I sent you, did you?” she says, and I blush. It’s not that I didn’t read it, it’s that like her speech, the five page document was filled with words that seemed to want to challenge each other for how often they could use every word of the alphabet, and there were a lot of words that I just didn’t quite figure out how they went together. “How... puerile.”
Puerile? What the fuck does that mean? “I’m sorry, like I said I was just trying to get a workout in the middle of a busy day. Considering that we got our asses handed to us last night, and I’ve got to get the team ready for the snowball’s chance in hell we’ve got at the conference tourney, I’m really trying here. Cut me some slack.”
“Cut you some slack?” the woman asks. “First off, I already cut you some damn slack by agreeing to come to your office instead of asking you to come to mine. I cleared three hours out of my schedule that I could have been seeing paying clients instead of wasting my time and effort volunteering to come to talk to some man who doesn’t have the courtesy to even remember my name. Which by the way is Denise. Denise Taviolo.”
“Denise Taviolo? I think I can remember that one,” I answer, getting angry. “Can we get started? If I’m keeping you from your clients, then I don’t want to waste your time any more than I already have.”
“You most certainly have, and there you are trying to take control. Just like a member of the male-centric system that causes these problems. You realize that it’s those sorts of mental patterns that we’re supposed to be conferring about? And you show up like Conan the Barbarian with your T-shirt clinging to your pectorals and some aw shucks grin on your face.”
I may not understand all the words she’s throwing out, but I’ve always been a good read of people. It’s a skill that’s helped me both on and off the basketball court, and the way this woman Denise is talking and looking at me, I can tell that she might be pissed off, but she also likes what she sees. Maybe not on the professional level, but deeper, underneath that business suit that she’s wearing like a suit of armor, there’s a red-blooded woman who likes what she’s looking at physically.
Still, while I’d normally be more than happy to try and make peace, there’s so many things about this woman that are pissing me off. First off, I can see it in her eyes that she doesn’t respect sports coaches. Sure, I may not be a fucking doctor or rocket scientist, but I work damn hard at my job, with an eight hour ‘workday’ only happening about three months out of the year.
During the offseason, I’ve got recruiting trips, conferences, but what is more important is that I have to act as big brother slash uncle to the seventeen guys on the team, some of whom are even less prepared for college life than I was when I showed up at Mount Reston eleven years ago.
Secondly, I think she’s hot too. Maybe it’s the way her chest moves as she’s breathing hard, maybe it’s the way her cheeks are a little flushed, or maybe it’s just the fact that she’s built like an old school pinup bombshell, but she’s ticking all my buttons in a way that nobody has in years, not since... this isn’t the time to think about that.
Finally, this has been a really shitty couple of days. I’m not even sure I’m the person for this job, but I’m doing it out of respect for Billy and because apparently I’m being groomed to take over as head coach. Then to lose the last two games, and now I’ve got a woman in my office who’s disrespecting me?
Nah, this isn’t cool at all.
“You know what?” I ask, plopping into the chair across from her, trying not to yell at her, “I have been at work since seven this morning, and I don’t plan on leaving until about nine or ten tonight, maybe more if I have to. My lunch was a protein shake that takes like chocolate dogshit because yeah, I wanted to get a workout in. Not to be Conan the fucking Barbarian, not to blow you off, but because by this time in two weeks I have to say goodbye to two good guys who are going to be leaving our team and the most they can hang their hat on is us getting to the second round of the NIT tournament when they were sophomores. I’ve got four freshman who are looking at me like this isn’t the team they signed up for, and I’ve got to figure out a way to make sure they don’t go looking for a transfer to a school that has a better chance at an NCAA tourney invite next year. And to top it all off, I’ve got to help clean up after a bunch of jackasses on the football team acting like goddamned idiots. So yeah, if you don’t like that I’m wearing a team T-shirt, right now Denise that’s too fucking bad.”
My last words hit her like a slap in the face, and she looks pissed while at the same time, there’s something else in her that says she’s turned on by it as well. “You... you domineering, inconsiderate-”
“Will you please stop with the damn Scrabble game speech?” I cut her off. “It gives me a headache.”
“Jerk!” she finally says, slamming her hands on the table. “Do you even understand that you’re just acting like the way the football players did to those girls?”
“No, what they did was sexually harass innocent girls who were just trying to enjoy their evening and were treated poorly so some drunken idiots could get laughs. I’m talking this way to you because you’re being rude to me. I’m just returning it.”
Denise closes her mouth, her breath whistling through her nose as she considers what I said, then nods slowly. “At least you’re willing to acknowledge that the players were sexually harassing those girls. Fat shaming them too.”
“I know some of those guys, they’ll shame anyone on anything they can find. A lot of those guys are bullies, jerks if you will. They’ll pick on the nerds for being nerdy, girls for being girls, and yeah, big people for being big. A couple of them probably think it’s a total laugh riot to dress up like stereotype Chinese or Mexicans on Halloween too. They’re idiots, they’re college students. Don’t tell me you didn’t do some dumb ass stuff back when you were nineteen.”
Denise looks introspective, then nods slightly. “Of course I did. And I’m still paying the price for some of it. So what are you saying, Coach Graham, that boys will be boys?”
“Nope. I’m saying that instead of coming in with that big ‘fuck off’ look on your face and a chip the size of Texas on your shoulder, you recognize that not everyone in the sports department is against you. Hell, from the moment you walked in here you’ve been eyeing me like you both want me and want to slap me. So, which is it?”
I really shouldn’t have said that last bit, but the facts are the facts, and Denise looks at me with a look of utter outrage before she stands up, tugging her suit coat smooth.
“Apparently I came on a bad day, when you’ve decided to be an asshole. I’m professional enough to overlook this first meeting Coach, but I won’t tolerate sexual harassment either. I do hope this won’t become a regular occurrence. Our next meeting is scheduled for a week from Tuesday according to my calendar, after your conference tournament. Good day, Coach.”
She leaves in a huff, and as the door closes I lean back, rubbing my eyes. Damn, that was not the way to learn how to schmooze. I go over to my desk and grab my phone, dialing a number from memory. The phone rings a few times, and I tell myself that I’m not a loser for wanting to call... “Hello Louden.”
“Hey Lana, how’s it going?” I ask, leaning back and feeling my heart slow down a few beats. She’s always done that for me, even before she left me. “Got a few minutes?”
“I’m getting dinner ready for Cathy, but sure, I can cook and talk at the same time. What’s up, dude?” Lana asks. “By the way, Cathy is so looking forward to spending more time with her Daddy come next month. Is that what you’re asking about? I know that the team’s not doing too well, you might have an early end to the season.”
“Maybe,” I admit. “No, I don’t want you to go out of your way, she’s your daughter too. Although if I could get a weekend in I’d like it. Actually, I had a question for you. Lana, am I an asshole?”
“Are you an ass- Louden Graham, just who have you been talking to?” Lana
asks with a surprised laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you ask that particular question to me before.”
“Come on Lana, I’m being serious,” I complain, sighing. “I just had someone call me that, and I’m trying to figure out if I was being correct or if I was being an asshole.”
“Well, that depends. Tell me what happened,” Lana says in that calm, Lana style that I still miss in my life, and when I finish, she chuckles. “Okay, this is going to sound weird, but you’re both correct and an asshole. And damn near asking for a scandal of your own.”
“That’s helpful,” I gripe, then laugh. “Then again, you always did tell me the truth.”
“Louden, what I’m saying is, you were right. She was probably being defensive right from the start. I’ve got a couple of coworkers who are big girls, and a lot of them, they end up embracing their size like it’s a sort of shield. They’re sensitive and hurt on the inside, and they’ve been burned a lot by people. So anyone who works out like you do they’re hostile to, just by the pure virtue of you being built the way you are. She doesn’t know you like I know you, the struggles you’ve had. And yeah, she probably was attracted to you. But come on buddy, asking a woman on your first meeting if you want to slap or screw, that’s pretty much textbook asshole. What got into you?”
“I don’t really know,” I tell her, wishing I could think clearly. “Part of it, I mean this whole week’s been shit, Lana. The team, the fact I gotta do this, all the rest. I know I hate it, but I’m also kinda glad that you’ve got Cathy right now, I don’t want her seeing her father like the way I feel right now.”
“I know. Louden, I’ve got no doubts about your fathering skills. You always do her right, even when Cathy visits in the middle of the season you’re a good father to her. Still, think about it, what if, twenty years from now, that had been Cathy and some guy who’s young, handsome, all that, what if he asked her if she was turned on by him? You’d probably be trying to beat the guy’s ass.”
I think, and know that yet again, Lana’s right. She always has been since the first day we met, even when she broke up with me even though we had a daughter together. “Okay, you’re right. I’ll... I’ll send this woman an apology, and I’ll be on my best behavior for the next meeting. Still, she starts using those big words again, and I’m going to have a hard time.”
“I know you will. But you can bear down. Hell Louden, I watched you bear down with having to give up your dream of pro ball to take care of your daughter. You’ve become a damn good coach too. As for us, well it is what it is. I’m glad to have you as my friend still.”
“Me too. Thanks, Lana.”
Lana chuckles, and I hear her shift her phone from one side to the other, she’s obviously stirring something. “No problem Deadeye,” she says, using my old basketball nickname that only she uses any more. “So, are you too busy to talk with Cathy for a few minutes while I finish up this spaghetti and meatballs?”
“Hell no. Let me talk to my little angel, and I’ll send you a message about maybe us getting together after the tourney. And Lana? Thanks again.”
Chapter 4
Denise- Finding Out
“That son of a bitch!”
Okay, so maybe that’s not the most polite thing to say, but right now the main thought running through my mind is, he pissed me off. From the moment I walked in things went wrong, starting with our clothes. I’d taken the extra effort to try and look professional, to try and communicate to him that I’m taking this seriously, so I put on my best suit, even though I know it’s really a bit too form fitting for me any more.
Meanwhile, he was wearing a tight fitting t-shirt that clung to his body like it was nearly painted on him, his hair still damp with sweat and his muscles swollen, looking like he just stepped out of a muscle supplement ad.
Then what he said! Jesus, talk about someone who had their head up their ass about how his words and his attitude can affect other people! First, the deflecting language that somehow tried to lay some of the blame on the fact that the football players were drunk and college students, like that fucking matters.
And his final comment, oooh, God! Whether I think he’s hot or not, just to say it pisses me off.
But even as I think about it, I don’t want to admit that a little bit of what he said was correct. I do think he’s hot, whether it’s the dusky looks, the handsome face with those deep green eyes, or the fact that he’s built like... well, like he just came out of a muscle supplement ad.
It doesn’t matter though, not with the way that he talked to me. I go over to my computer to write a long, blistering e-mail to the university for wasting my time when my phone rings, and I pick up. “Hello?”
“I’m sorry.”
I blink, stunned for a moment, trying to figure out who it is, but then I recognize the voice. “Coach Graham. How’d you get this number?”
“I went into my e-mail, and tried to re-read what you sent me. I still don’t get at least a third of it, but I did recognize that you included your phone number,” he says. “Also, could you just call me Louden? I think that was part of what put me off. Coach Graham is what I’m called by the players who are trying to kiss my butt because they think they’re in trouble. And while it doesn’t matter, you just caught me at a very bad time, that’s all. I’d like to set it all aside, start over.”
I feel my brain pulling in two different directions. On one hand, I should tell him that his actions are the exact same type of bullshit that the football players did, and that obviously Mount Reston isn’t as serious about trying to reduce the amount of body shaming or sexual harassment that’s going on, they just want to limit the damage that’s been done.
They want a PR stunt.
On the other hand, maybe, just maybe, he’s telling the truth. I remember some of what he said even after he pissed me off, and he did say that he thought the players were wrong. So perhaps, but am I just saying that because he’s hot?
No, if I’m going to be the person that I want others to be, I need to be willing to take risks, even if it scares me. “Okay Louden, you have another chance. The Tuesday after your tournament, maybe we can both focus on achieving a more conducive communication.”
“That too,” Louden says, and I wonder what he’s talking about. He reads my silence pretty well though, and chuckles. “It’s just, I’m not comfortable dealing with people who use big words. All that could have been boiled down to we can have a good talk. You know?”
I wince, nodding. It is a weakness of mine. “Okay. I’ll try my best. Thank you for calling, Louden. Good luck with your tournament.”
“Thank you, Denise. Good night.”
He hangs up, and I look at my phone, lifting an eyebrow. He actually apologized. It’s a step.
* * *
“So how was your week?” I ask Lisa, one of my clients. Despite being only six inches shorter and half my weight, she and I have a lot in common, really. For years, Lisa was a full fledged anorexic, chasing the idea of getting a ‘thigh gap’ while worrying about every single calorie that went into her mouth.
The final trigger for her to seek help was when she passed out fifteen miles into a marathon because she’d ‘splurged’ by eating five hundred calories the day before. At the hospital, they’d weighed her at being only seventy two pounds, and in the three months since, we’ve worked hard weekly to try and get her back on the right track.
“Uh, okay I guess,” Lisa says, tugging at her sweatshirt. Like a lot of extreme anorexics, she had so little body fat that her body was cold all the time, to the point that she used to look fuzzy as her body tried to compensate for lack of fat with growing a downy, fur like coat of body hair to try and trap whatever warmth she could. So she still wears a lot of warm clothes, even in the spring and summer. “I found myself checking the calorie list when my parents took me out to dinner two nights ago, but I did my best to compensate.”
“What did you do?” I ask, worried. Lisa is a calorie restricter, the typ
e of anorexic who not only over exercised but also thought that she could achieve her perfect body through obsessive logging of everything she put in her mouth.
When she showed me her old food and exercise logs, it was heart wrenching to read as she broke down each and every thing put in her mouth, not only because of the obsessive compulsive detail of it, but also for the amount of errors she made too, mainly in underestimating the amount of calories she was burning while overestimating the amount of calories she was consuming. “I do hope you balled up the calorie list and threw it in the trash.”
Lisa shakes her head, but she smiles a little which reassures me. “No, it was a poster on the wall, the sort of thing I’d get arrested for if I’d tried to ball it up and throw in the trash. But instead, I turned around and told my mom to order for me and I promised her I’d eat every bite. I felt bad afterwards, but it wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be.”
“What did you feel bad about?” I ask, leaning forward. “I mean, besides maybe a stomach ache if your Mom overcompensated herself.”
Lisa shakes her head, I’ve met her mother and she doesn’t overcompensate or harp on Lisa at all, she’s been very supportive of her daughter’s efforts to overcome her challenges. “No, just some of the same stuff that I thought back to when I was really getting started with anorexia. You know.”
“Of course,” I reply, thinking back to Lisa’s trigger. Like a lot of young girls, me included, she’d started to lose weight after being shamed for her weight, in her case it was by a guy that she liked. In response, she’d lost an unneeded ten pounds, getting a few compliments from some of the socially popular people in her school and even a bit of a ‘revenge’ boyfriend situation, until that relationship broke up.
Lisa blamed her weight for it, and the cycle was born. Since then, every time she starts to feel full or to gain weight, she thinks that she isn’t going to find a boyfriend again. “But tell me, please.”
Love At Every Size Page 3