Heartbeat Braves

by Pamela Sanderson

“I don’t have a shelf or a closet.”

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry.”

  “That’s okay. You like my jeans, huh?” Henry said.

  “I love your jeans. But I like them on you. They wouldn’t look like that on me.”

  “And, you’ve made my point.”

  He dropped the underwear and pulled her close. He took his time running his hands up and down her body before he kissed her again.

  “Anything I should know before we get started?” Henry said, kissing the side of her head in a surprisingly tender gesture.

  “I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t like you,” she said, rolling him over so she could slide on top of him. Her hair hung down between them and brushed his chest.

  He pulled her face down and kissed her again. “Well, that’s reassuring.”

  Later they lay face to face, catching their breath. Rayanne was sorry she couldn’t see his eyes in the dim light. She ran the back of her hand over his breastbone.

  “What a day,” Henry said. “The lows were low but the highs were high.”

  “I liked the high parts. I was pretty sure you thought of me like that,” Rayanne whispered.

  “I thought of you like that. A lot,” Henry said.

  “I guess we don’t have to have a conversation about whether or not you’re staying,” Rayanne said, curling up against him.

  “You don’t mind?” Henry said.

  She laughed. She reached up and rubbed her fingers through his short hair, massaging his scalp. He made a quiet sound of contentment.

  “Have you ever had long hair?” she asked.

  “Would you like it better long?”

  “I like it now. I’m curious.”

  “Yeah, I did. When I was in middle school. Our school wasn’t like the ones on TV where there were these distinct groups of popular kids versus everyone else, but there were the kids who everyone looked up to. I grew it to my shoulders. Long enough for a ponytail. There was this girl that I thought was pretty. The kind of girl on yearbook club and honor roll. We were friends. She told me it was inauthentic, like I was trying to make a statement but not successful in carrying it off.”

  “What a bitch.”

  “Yeah, I know that now. But at the time I took it personally, like you do when you’re thirteen and you want everybody to like you. I’ve opted for short and well-groomed ever since. You think I should grow it out?”

  She kissed his chin. “I think you should do whatever you want. Listen.” She could feel him hold his breath. What was he expecting her to say? “We have to act normal at work tomorrow.”

  “Are you ashamed of me?” he joked.

  “If I could, I would put up a billboard to announce, ‘I bagged a hot Indian dude.’ But in terms of the office we need to be rigorously professional.”

  “I like the sound of rigorous,” he said, his hands wandering.

  “At work. Be cool. Promise.”

  “Promise,” he agreed. “At work. But we’re not at work right now.”

  27

  Monday morning, Rayanne ended up in a back room with Henry, searching for supplies they could use for the festival. All that talk about staying professional and now they were tucked out of sight, elbow to elbow in a narrow room. Rayanne held a clipboard and took notes while Henry opened the boxes. They had a black marker to label everything so they could find it again.

  She intended to keep it together, holding back her smile, except every time she looked at him he was gazing back with a silly grin on his face. He kept shifting his position so he could brush against her, then apologized and promised not to do it again.

  He reached up to pull a box off the top shelf. His shirt rode up to expose a narrow strip of brown skin above his waistband. She’d caressed that spot with her hands and her lips the night before.

  Henry tapped the side of the box. “Miss? I’m going to have to insist you stop staring at me like I’m a piece of man meat.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said with a smile.

  Henry pulled the box off the shelf and slit it open with a box cutter. Rayanne helped him open the flaps. Another box of Styrofoam cups.

  She found the clipboard and made another mark in the cup category. “We’re going to need a coffee booth. Is there a native craft we can do with the kids with Styrofoam cups?”

  “Sure, they could make miniature teepees or World’s Best Grandpa coffee cups. They could use them as giant beads and make necklaces. They could fill them with fruit punch and put them in the freezer.”

  “Those aren’t terrible ideas,” Rayanne said.

  “I am gifted that way. I can come up with lots of ideas in a wide variety of scenarios, if you get my meaning.”

  “I do.” She swiped the tape gun across the lid and wrote ‘foam cups’ across the side.

  “I’m not going to let you distract me from the real work,” he said. “What’s the plan for promoting this thing? Do you guys have social media accounts?”

  “For the center? Yeah, Ester keeps track of that stuff. We could probably do more but there’s only so much time. I think it’s kind of depressing. We’ll get comments that say things like ‘It’s terrible what we did to the Native Americans’ followed by comments like, ‘Haven’t we done enough already? What’s with all the special treatment?’ It’s an awfully simplistic way of looking at our people.”

  Henry nodded. “I’ll talk to Ester about updates on the festival.”

  He took another box off a shelf and slit it open.

  “You know what this reminds me of?” he asked with a playful smile.

  “It’d better not be anything naughty,” Rayanne hissed.

  “It is.”

  “Then tell me later.”

  “There’s going to be a later?”

  Rayanne stopped what she was doing. “I think something later would be nice. Did you have a different idea?”

  Henry shook his head. “I think something right now would be mighty fine.”

  She imagined her back against the wall, bracing her feet against the shelves while Henry held her in place.

  Enough of that.

  “Right now isn’t happening.” She indicated he should open the box.

  Henry stared down into it. “Ooh-ee. Paper plates. We’re getting to the good stuff now. If we find a box of napkins, all our prayers will have been answered.”

  Rayanne handed him the tape gun and labeled the side of the box. Even though they were behaved, she jumped when Ester opened the door.

  “Hey, guys, Linda wants us in the meeting room. Urgent,” she said. Her eyes flicked back and forth from Rayanne to Henry and back. “You guys doing it?”

  “What?” Rayanne said. “No!”

  Henry raised an eyebrow.

  “All right,” Ester said, giving them a thumbs-up as she exited.

  “I thought we weren’t going to tell anyone,” Rayanne said.

  “Tell anyone what?” Henry said. “She guessed. She doesn’t care that you’re diddling the boss’s nephew.”

  “Ah well, when you put it like that...” Rayanne shook her head, still too high from the night before to be truly upset. “We need to get in there. If Linda is calling us all to a meeting, something’s wrong.”

  “Something’s always wrong here. Should we guess what it is? The roof falling in? A pack of wild dogs? An extortion plot?”

  “An extortion plot would require we have something valuable worth making threats over.”

  “So roof or wild dogs?”

  “You haven’t been around long enough to complain.” Rayanne couldn’t help it, she squeezed his butt as she left the room.

  “If you don’t watch it, I’m going to report you to your supervisor,” Henry said.

  “Last time I checked, you were my supervisor.”

  “Carry on, then,” Henry said, squeezing her back.

  Linda, Ester, and Tommy were all in the meeting room. Linda was wearing her patented look of strained optimism.

&
nbsp; “Gang, the date is closing in. I need an update. Arnie has informed me that this event could be the very thing that will convince the tribes to keep this carnival sideshow going. He says, we do good and the money will follow. He wants me to make sure we are all involved.” Linda’s tone conveyed something like weariness. Arnie must be trying to manage from behind the scenes. Linda would be impatient with that.

  “Where are you at, Henry?”

  Rayanne caught herself giving Henry a goofy grin and reset her expression to neutral. Ester caught her eye and made a vague obscene gesture. Rayanne scowled at her and made a production of turning her attention to the clipboard, jotting down notes.

  “The booths are ninety percent set. These are all the people Rayanne recruited. We’ll have pottery, modern and classic artwork styles, some photography. I’ve got a few of the higher-profile people giving me some grief. They want estimates of what sort of traffic will be coming through because they don’t want to waste their time if it’s ‘small beans’ as one guy said.”

  “We’ve never done this before so we have no reliable estimate,” Linda said.

  “I’ve been estimating at least five hundred for the day,” Rayanne said.

  “That sounds optimistic. We don’t even have a place for that many to park,” Linda said.

  Rayanne shrugged. “That would be a good problem to have. There’s an art walk event on the west side that gets double that. I thought it was a decent guess.”

  “We’ll soon find out,” Linda said.

  “Rayanne wasn’t having any luck finding someone to come in and cook, but I found a couple of food trucks including a frybread truck from Warm Springs. Those folks would love to participate.”

  “Here we go,” Tommy muttered.

  Linda shook her head. “Not the kind of tradition we’re looking for.”

  “What?” Henry said.

  Tommy went ahead and explained. “Frybread is traditional in the sense that it came from a terrible moment in history. Plus, giant pieces of delicious fried bread are not good for your health.”

  “You wouldn’t know it,” Ester chimed in, “but health programs are a big part of what we do here.”

  “We’re trying to show the community that we are more than a collection of clichés,” Linda said.

  “Couldn’t we turn this into an opportunity to inform and at the same time enjoy the fried deliciousness? Isn’t that the point of all this?” Rayanne said.

  “Aren’t you usually the one leading the charge against frybread and all its postcolonial blah blah blah?” Ester said.

  “I like fried food sometimes,” Rayanne said.

  “I’ll think about it,” Linda said. “What else?”

  “We’re working on confirming folks for the staged events. Arnie found a great youth dance troupe that accepted our invitation. We have a traditional flute player and a couple of guitar players who sing folk songs. I had an idea for another act that might be considered unconventional but I think would add a fresh dynamic.”

  Rayanne made a face to try to discourage him from continuing.

  “I know of a native rock band hip-hop fusion-y thing,” Henry said.

  “What does that mean?” Linda asked, a sour turn to her mouth. “Is it that loud music with yelling?”

  “It can be,” Henry said, pausing to think about it. “But it’s more than that.”

  “I saw them,” Rayanne said. “They aren’t bad but I’m not sure they are the right fit.”

  “I think having a variety of music is a perfect fit. It would appeal to younger people who might not come to the festival otherwise,” Henry said.

  “I don’t know,” Linda said. “Are they popular? Would anyone have heard of them?”

  “Outside of a small group of friends and family, I would have to say no.”

  “I don’t hate the idea but this isn’t the time for it,” Linda said. “I’m afraid it might scare off more people than it would attract. But keep the suggestions coming.”

  Rayanne wanted to feel vindicated but the band meant a lot to Henry. It was tough not to feel traitorous.

  If Henry was upset, he didn’t show it. “Good enough. Everything’s on track. Lots of loose ends to chase after but the big pieces are in place.”

  After the meeting, Henry followed Rayanne to their desk. He pointed his thumb to the back area. “Did we have something to finish up back there?” He knew nothing was going to happen at the office but he wanted to keep pretending it might.

  Rayanne gave him a distracted pat on the arm, urging him to go work on his own. She sat at her computer and tapped on the keyboard.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not mad,” he told her, and he meant it.

  “I’m not worried.” She searched her desk drawer for one of her files and tossed it on the desk next to her.

  “However, you ladies are wrong about the band. I will make it my life’s work to change your minds.” Henry waited for her to react but whatever had captured her attention was the only thing that mattered. This woman was intense. Once she was headed in a certain direction, she wasn’t going to change course.

  “What can I do to help?” He went to her side so he could see the screen and rested a hand on her shoulder like friendly colleagues might.

  Rayanne brushed his hand away. “Don’t distract me. I just remembered this thing I have to take care of.”

  “Distract you?” Henry said, his heart a little tender and uncertain.

  Rayanne looked up at him. “I like you, okay? We will spend more time together. I need to work on this. You’re doing great. The food truck idea is genius. Don’t cancel the frybread. Linda won’t remember what she decided.”

  “I’m still not convinced I’m cut out for this,” Henry said. He now understood why Rayanne got worked up, and panicked about her calendar and deadlines.

  “You’re fine. Give me some time here.”

  “What are you working on that has taken all of your attention?” Henry caught a needy edge to his voice.

  “If you must know, I’m trying to get ahold of someone at home to see about elder housing for Grandpa. I think we have to put him on a waiting list but by the time he gets a spot, I’m sure he’ll be ready.”

  “I didn’t realize he wanted to go back home. I thought he wanted to stay here.”

  Rayanne typed into the computer.

  “I thought Gus wanted to stay here. Did he tell you he’s ready to go home?”

  “He needs some help deciding what to do,” Rayanne said. “He needs to be around his own people. I’m researching retirement communities around here, too, but I don’t think he can afford them.”

  “Did you even talk to him about it?” Henry asked. “Maybe Gus has something to say about it.”

  Rayanne’s jaw was tight. He’d never known a woman who could flip around between such extreme states, focused then furious, sweet then sexy-dangerous. He was jockeying for a switch to something milder. He attempted to project a calming sense of reason in the midst of a complicated moment.

  “You saw how sad he was? And how confused?” Rayanne eyes were shiny. “What if that woman hadn’t stopped to help him?”

  “I think you’re overreacting,” Henry said, regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth.

  “I don’t care what you think,” she said. “He’s not your grandpa.”

  “You’re right, I misspoke. What I’m saying is, maybe he would like more involvement in this himself.”

  “He doesn’t know how to navigate all this.”

  Already Henry sensed the futility of this conversation. Rayanne had made up her mind. There was nothing he could do. She had a history with Gus. The best thing to do was trust her judgment.

  “Too bad there isn’t any such thing as a retirement community for Indians,” Henry said.

  “There is. It’s called elder housing.”

  “I meant in the city.”

  Rayanne’s eyes never left the computer screen but she lifted one hand and twirled a f
inger in the air. “That’s what this is all about. That’s what we’re working toward. Or one of the things. That’s why we need to impress Uncle Arnie and use his influence to find some check-wielding friends of Indians and convince them that this is the organization to write checks to.”

  Did she think he could influence Arnie? Did she think he didn’t care about the future of the center? The festival would happen and he would move on and find a job he was better suited to and try to get the Beat Braves happening. What would she do if the center failed?

  “If Gus goes home, would you go home too?”

  Rayanne stopped typing. The silence settled between them. She put her hands to her head like she was nursing a world-class headache.

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  Ester beckoned from across the room.

  Henry pointed to himself.

  Yes, Ester nodded.

  He followed her to her office.

  “I got the proofs of the programs back from the printer,” Ester said, handing him a piece of paper printed on each side. “Program is a generous description. It’s more like brochure.” She took it back from him and showed him how it folded into thirds. “Tells about the history and goals of the center. Offers a few grim statistics. We can’t afford more, but then I don’t know how many people would be willing to read a booklet about nonprofit programs.”

  “Good thinking,” Henry said. “Shouldn’t Rayanne be the one to check this?”

  “She’ll review it. I wanted to know what you thought.” Henry realized she was waiting for him to say more.

  “What about the stage acts?”

  “I don’t think the performance schedule will be finalized in time. If I do it like this, we can use them again at future events.”

  “I know nothing about designing programs. I have to trust you on this. How long have you known Rayanne?”

  “That was a smooth transition,” Ester said.

  “That’s what I was going for.” Henry was startled by the panic creeping in over losing something that had barely started. They hadn’t even talked about it. There was an attraction and they’d come together. It didn’t have to be a big thing. Yet, already he couldn’t bear the idea of being away from her.