by Shay Stone
I lift the lid of the pizza box and close it again, my appetite gone.
“Hey, bring me another slice?” Mike hollers, never taking his eyes off the TV. I toss a few pieces on a plate and bring them to him, my stomach turning at the sight of grease pooling in the pepperoni.
“And a beer too?” he adds.
“Get your own beer. What am I? Your damn maid?”
“Damn right! And wouldn’t you look sexy in a French maid’s outfit with those thigh-high stockings and garter? Speaking of thigh-highs and garters, have you made any headway with Nyla?”
My jaw clenches, making the muscle tick. He needs to keep his fucking eyes off Nyla’s damn legs and the rest of her for that matter. I steal a beer from the fridge and take a long pull hoping the cold liquid will temper my anger. I’ve never been the jealous type, but something about Nyla brings it out of me.
“Did you hear me?” Mike asks, coming into the kitchen to snag his own bottle from the refrigerator. He twists off the top and chucks it at me holding up the bottle on his way back to the couch. “And no, really asshole, I’ll get my own.”
He returns his focus to the television. “So?”
“So what?”
“So … Nyla … headway? Jeez, what the hell is wrong with you?”
“What? Nothing.”
“Bullshit. Something’s got you off. I’ve never seen you this distracted. Is it that time of the month? Is that why you’re such a moody bitch?”
“Fuck you. I’m not moody and I’m never off my game,” I lie. The truth is, I’m a total bear right now, and I’m not focused, but he sure as hell doesn’t need to know it. “To answer your question, yes. I think she’s starting to come around a little.”
“Good. With the groundwork I laid and you working her, I figure we’ll have her nailed down in about three months.”
“Sounds about right.”
“You better hope so, for Mason’s sake. Any longer and …” he trails off, not needing to finish the sentence. He’s made his point and he knows it.
Having my fill of Mike, I push off the counter and crook my thumb towards the bedroom. “I’ve got some research to do.”
“Have fun jerking-off. Hopefully it’ll make you less of a dick,” he calls after me. “And you need to say, ‘fuck you’ to those damn morals and take advantage of those funds. Hell, Nyla’s doing it. Why shouldn’t you? You know I’m right.” Ignoring him, I head into my room, but the closed door can’t shield me from the last words that leave his mouth: “If you love Mason, you would.”
A short while later, Mike mumbles something through the door about needing a drink and leaving. I spend the night combing through the internet trying to find some reason why Nyla would steal from her father’s company. From what I can tell, her charity seems legit and doesn’t appear to be struggling, and Mike never showed me any evidence to the contrary. I cross that off my mental list of reasons she might be stealing.
The house is empty when I wake up exhausted the next morning, groggy and irritated. Mike called me around one a.m. sounding paranoid—probably drunk or high or both—begging me to meet him at some bar over an hour away in Black Rock County. Do you have any idea what it takes to get to Black Rock from Manhattan at one o’clock in the morning when you don’t have a car?
When I arrived, he was nowhere to be found. He probably hooked up with some chick and slept at her place. Last night I was pissed, but now I’m glad. I didn’t want him tagging along today. The last thing I need is a third wheel taking notes on my every move.
I throw on some joggers and a t-shirt and catch a cab to Juniper Park. I’m trotting up the stairs when I see an older man bent over with his hand on his knees. I stop next to him laying a hand on his back, “Sir, are you okay?”
“Yeah. It’s just my damn knee. It locks up every now and then. An old war wound.”
“What’s your name?”
“Gino.”
“Gino, I’m Memphis. You see that bench right there? You think you can make it?”
“I can try.” I slip under his arm helping him up the remaining few steps. We’re about ten feet from the bench making small talk when a guy about my age comes rushing toward us.
“Pop! You okay?” he asks Gino, sizing me up. “What happened?”
“My son has no concept of time, that’s what happened,” Gino replies. “He thinks ten-o’clock means ten-thirty.”
“Will you give me a break? I hit traffic on the bridge.”
“Then you should’ve left sooner. Thank goodness Memphis was here to help me out. I could have died on those steps waiting for you,” he exaggerates, making his son roll his eyes as we get Gino situated on the bench. He stretches out his leg, rubbing his knee and moans out a sigh of relief. “Giovanni, Memphis. Memphis, Giovanni … my time-management challenged son.”
We shake hands. “Memphis, thanks for helping out my pop. You play bocce? Looks like we’re gonna be down a player today. You got time for a few games?”
“I’m meeting someone in a half hour, but I’ve got time for a quick one,” I respond, thinking I can keep an eye out for Nyla but not look like I’m here waiting for her. An hour later, there’s still no sign of her. I’m wondering if she came in another entrance or if I somehow missed her.
I bid Gino and Giovanni farewell, promising I’ll come back and play next week, and continue down the path until I spot Nyla by the picnic tables, right where Emily said she’d be. What she failed to mention was that Nyla wouldn’t be alone. The area is decorated with balloons and party favors. I feel like an idiot. She probably got here early and was setting up for this party while I was killing time playing bocce. I could have helped her and scored some major points.
A group of children of various ages surround her with their parents looking on. Everyone is laughing and smiling, hanging on Nyla’s every word. And they’re not the only ones. I’m completely captivated, transfixed by her every move.
“Hey, you look familiar. How do I know you?” Jen asks, sidling next to me. She snaps her fingers when it dawns on her. “Oh, I know. You’re the guy from the bar. The one with the penis!”
I chuckle at her association. “I’m surprised you remember.”
“Of course, I remember. Nyla mentioned you’re working with her. Marcus, right?”
“Memphis.”
“Right. You were supposed to show Nyla your penis. So?”
“So …?” I raise my brows, not sure where’s she’s going with this.
“So, what’s the hold up?”
“I don’t think she wants to see it.”
“Yes she does,” she assures me with the utmost confidence. “Why are you standing back here like some creeper?”
“I’m not a creeper. I just got here.”
She eyes me skeptically. “Uh-huh. Creeper.”
“I’m not a creeper.”
“Why are you guys standing back here like a bunch of creepers?” Alex asks as she and Colin approach us, dressed incognito in baseball hats and sunglasses. “Hey, you’re the penis guy.”
“Why is this guy’s dick the topic of conversation every time I see him?” Max inquires, joining the group. I try my best not to fan boy out. I know most people would flip over the two famous actors next to me, but Maximus Steele is my idol. The guy made his first billion by the time he was twenty-eight. A part of me always wondered if I might have been him had I grown up under different circumstances, given my brain.
“Uh, I’m not sure. Sorry. I’m Memphis,” I reply, formally introducing myself since we never got the opportunity the other night.
Colin must sense my discomfort because he leans in closer. “Don’t worry about it. I was ‘prop boy’ to the two of ’em until they learned my name.”
“I was ‘asshat’,” Max offers.
Jen pats his face. “Aww, honey, you still are.”
We’re all laughing when Nyla jogs over tucking her hands in her pockets, her long ponytail swinging from side to side. She’s wearing
shorts that show off those fantastic legs, a red and white bracelet, and a t-shirt with the words “Katie’s Helpers” written across it. I notice everyone else has the same shirt on too. Everyone but me, that is.
“Why are you guys standing back here like a bunch of creepers?” she asks. They all point to me, snickering, and wander toward the picnic tables leaving us alone.
I throw up my hands shouting after Max and Colin, “Whatever happened to the Bro Code?”
Nyla crosses her arms over her chest. “Memphis, what are you doing here? Did you follow me?”
I gasp like I’m appalled. “No, Little Miss Conceited. I did not. I happen to come here all the time.”
“You come here all the time?”
“Yes.”
“To Queens?”
“Yes.”
“Didn’t you just move here a few days ago?”
“What can I say? They have the best bocce ball courts in the state.”
She glares at me, doubting my explanation.
“Memphis!” I hear my name and spin to see Giovanni coming from the direction of the bathrooms. “I’m taking the finely tuned athlete home. Come by next week and we’ll have a rematch. Thanks again.”
“No problem. You need help with Gino?” I ask, but he waves me off. When I turn back Nyla is staring at me. “What?”
“Nothing. I thought maybe … never mind. I should let you get back to your game.”
“Looks like I’m done for the day.” I jut my chin towards the small crowd. “So, what’s all this?”
“You know that charity I mentioned the other night? This is one of our get-togethers.”
A young girl from the group runs up to us and throws her arms around Nyla’s waist. I notice she’s wearing an identical woven bracelet. “Ms. Nyla, guess what!”
“What?”
“I just tied my shoe all by myself,” she says, sticking out her bright pink and white sneaker with pride.
“You did not!” Nyla feigns shock, her eyes shining like the girl just told her she discovered the cure for cancer. “That’s awesome, Mikayla! Show me.”
“It’s already tied,” she replies with disappointment. She blanches when she notices me and tucks herself behind Nyla, peering at me with wary eyes.
I step on my shoelace with my other foot casually untying it. “Well, mine’s not. Do you think you could show her on mine?”
The young girl is hesitant at first, but with a little encouragement from Nyla, she squats down and gazes up at me, a bit puzzled. “I only know how to tie it from the beginning.”
I crouch next to her making her flinch. I smile trying to ease her discomfort and undo the lace completely. “There. How’s that?”
“Better,” she mumbles diving in, excited to show off her new skill. I wink at Nyla who seems thrown by our interaction. Does she think I don’t like kids?
Mikayla finishes, glowing over her accomplishment. Nyla does an exaggerated mouth gape. She holds up her hand for the girl to high-five. “Mikayla, that’s amazing! I’m so proud of you.”
It’s hard to say which one of them is more excited. My heart flutters as Nyla inches her way inside a little more.
“Good job,” I say, earning me a cautious smile from Mikayla. She watches me carefully, hiding behind Nyla again.
“Miss Nyla, can we play the word game?”
“Absolutely.”
“Your friend can play too, if he wants.”
“You want him to play?” Nyla asks, sounding surprised. Mikayla nods. “Well, alright. He can play. How ’bout it, bocce king? You up for some pizza and games?”
“That sounds great.” Before the words have left my mouth, Mikayla has taken my hand and is dragging me over to the group. I shrug, gazing back at Nyla. She trails behind us shaking her head.
“Everyone, this is Bocce King. He’s Ms. Nyla’s friend. He’s going to play the word game with us,” Mikayla hugs my arm, introducing me to the crowd.
“Hi, Bocce!” everyone says in unison.
Nyla inches beside me snickering. “I think someone’s got a crush, Bocce.”
I cock my head, pressing my hand to my heart. “Aww, it’s nice to see you’re finally admitting you have feelings for me. Now was that so hard?”
She shoots me a look as she heads to the middle of the circle that has formed. “Okay, I don’t know if you’ve heard the big news, but Mikayla tied her shoes today.” I make a big deal of it, whistling and clapping as others join in. Mikayla buries her face into my arm as Nyla continues, “She has asked to play the word game, so everyone grab a partner and form two circles. Guessers on the inside. Spellers on the outside.”
I have no idea what I’m doing, but Mikayla directs me in front of her. Nyla strolls around making sure we’re all paired up and then gives us instructions. “So, for those of you who are new …,” she says as all eyes swing to me, “… you choose a three to six letter word using your entire body to draw each letter and your partner has to guess what it is. When I yell “switch,” the person guessing moves around the circle until they end up back with their original partner. We do this game to what?”
“Get our exercise and practice our spelling,” everyone chimes in a robotic response.
“Right! Now, I’m going to ask my friend Michael to come up to help demonstrate with me for the newcomers.”
From out of the crowd, Mike enters the circle until he is standing a foot away from Nyla—which is about twenty feet too close for my liking. What the hell is he doing here? He hates kids.
His complexion is ruddy and the skin beneath his eyes is puffy like he hasn’t slept. He keeps rubbing his nose and his pupils are dilated telling me he probably spent the night snorting coke. He waves, slapping a big, fake smile on his stupid face. “Hey, everyone!”
He whispers something to Nyla that has her touching his chest, laughing. I want to throat punch him. The fucker knows it too. He sees me and smirks. I plant my feet and grip my hands behind my back to keep from tackling him. It’s a good thing Mikayla is still wrapped securely around my arm, anchoring me, or I’d pummel him in front of everyone.
“Should I start, or should you?” Nyla asks.
“I’ll spell. You guess.”
“They’re really good together. They always guess right,” Mikayla whispers, indicating Mike is a regular at these events, which pisses me off even more for some reason. He crouches down and rises again, spelling out M-I-N-E.
Asshole.
“Mine.” Nyla guesses, smiling triumphantly, unaware the message was meant for me. “That’s good. Now when I yell ‘switch’ everyone on the inside circle step to your left.”
“Jealous much?” Jen says, bumping her shoulder into mine. My lip snarls making her guffaw. “I thought Nyla said you and Michael were friends?”
“We are,” I growl, though I don’t mean to.
“Just not that good of friends.”
I don’t respond. Enough screwing around. It’s time to up my damn game. I spell my way through several people until Nyla and I end up as partners. She smiles, taking her place in front of me. “Having fun?”
“I am. Everyone’s been great. You ready?” I ask.
She motions her hands over her body. “I’m ready. Lay it on me.”
With that I spell out D-I-N-N-E-R.
“Dinner?” she guesses.
“Wow … this is so unexpected. I mean it’s kind of last minute, but yeah, I’d love to have dinner with you tonight.”
Her eyes tell me she’s not amused, but her mouth quirks up at the ends. “Let’s see if you can guess my word.” She spells out N-O.
“I’m sorry, but according to your rules, the word has to be three to six letters. No is only two and is therefore, unacceptable. Unless you were trying to spell out now, which is great, although I think we should probably wait until this little shindig is over. Mikayla might miss me.”
She snorts, shaking her head. “You don’t give up, do you?”
I lean close, looki
ng her square in the eye. “Never.”
“Are we ever gonna switch again?” someone mutters.
“Switch,” Nyla yells, her eyes still holding mine.
I grip her forearm as she begins to move away. “You know you might as well say, ‘yes.’ You’re going to eventually.”
She scoffs. “Is that so? Who’s the conceited one now?”
“It’s not conceit. It’s confidence.”
“You know, you sound pretty damn sure of yourself for someone I’ve turned down at least four times.”
“I’m one-hundred-percent sure of myself.”
“Oh really? And why’s that?”
“Because I want you to say ‘yes’ more than you want to say ‘no.’” I let my hand fall away allowing her to move on. She remains rooted until someone comes to alert her the pizza has arrived.
We spend the rest of the afternoon eating, playing games, and mingling with Nyla’s friends. Colin and Max even invite me to play basketball with them tomorrow. They’re good guys. Max was a little standoffish at first, until he realized my interests lied in Nyla, not Jen.
As the party winds down, I grab a trash bag and begin gathering the used plates and cups off the tables. Most of the people are long gone, but a few still linger behind chatting with Nyla and taking pictures with Alex and Colin. This was a fun day.
With the exception of Mason, I haven’t been around many kids, especially not ones with disabilities. I had no idea the kind of challenges they face. Hearing stories from the families and seeing how much they have overcome has me feeling reflective. Grateful. You tend to take a lot of things for granted—like tying your shoe—until you meet a twelve-year-old girl who’s worked her butt off for over six months trying to learn. This experience has made me realize how much I take my brain—my gift—for granted, and I vow to stop squandering it. It could all be gone tomorrow. Look at my dad.
I’m lost in my thoughts when my eyes land on Nyla speaking with a girl with cerebral palsy and her father under a cherry blossom tree. When she catches me watching, a warm smile stretches across her face and she winks. The gesture is innocuous enough, but it feels intimate. Like we’re one of those couples that can communicate from across the room without saying a word. And I like it more than I should.
