by Lynn Shurr
“Look, Coach, when I settle down, that’s it for good. Billodeauxs marry forever. I figure forty is a good age for a man to find a wife and start a family. In the meantime, I don’t want to worry about child support for illegitimate children or messy divorces. I just want to have a good time between now and training camp. Unless of course, you’d like to introduce me to those daughters of yours. Who knows…”
Coach Buck took a step back. “Oldest one is married. The other two live with their mother in Florida and are way too young for you—not that I wouldn’t like to have you in the family. Take care, son.”
Marty Buck retreated, shaking his head all the way to his office. Joe Dean laughed all the way to the showers, but he did schedule that health test.
Joe’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket as he stepped out into a pleasant April day where the humidity sat at probably no more than eighty-five percent, great for New Orleans.
“Hey, Joe Dean Billodeaux at your service,” he answered.
“Hey, your fine self,” the Rev’s deep voice came back. “Where you at?”
“In the city. So you and Mintay are back from the undisclosed destination.”
“Yeah, a day or so ago. She didn’t want to be away from her patients too long, but I tell you, we had paradise on earth there for a while. I booked this private island off of Cozumel. No one there but a few Mexican families and their kids to tend the place. We could have walked around naked all day.”
“Did you?”
“Naw, but we did hit the beach a few times at night. You want to meet me at the Versailles course for some golf and maybe have us a cookout tonight, do up some ribs? Between the sex and the fresh fish and fruit, I must be down ten pounds.”
“Sounds good. Give me a few hours to get there. Book a tee time around two.”
The day ahead looked so good Joe gave no thought to calling number eighty-one. Instead, he swung the red Porsche out of the parking lot, picked up his titanium clubs at the condo and headed for Morgan City on the new highway. In Hahnville noted for its great high school football teams, he pulled up at a Burger King, got two Whoppers with cheese, a large serving of fries and a jumbo drink. Why not help the local economy? The off-season had arrived and he resolved to enjoy every minute of it.
At the gated community near Chapelle where the Rev and his bride had set up housekeeping, the guard waved him in with barely a glance at his identification. Revelation Bullock waited at the pseudo-French villa serving as the clubhouse. They decided to walk the course since Joe wanted to burn off his cheeseburgers and the Rev figured he should pay in advance for his planned dinner by using up some calories.
It occurred to Joe Dean as they followed the little white balls from hole to hole, that he was somewhat tired of the company of women. With Connor all tied up planning a wedding with Stevie and the Rev on his honeymoon, he’d missed uncritical male camaraderie.
“That’s the place I bought for me and Mintay.” The Rev gestured to a huge brick home with an impressive terrace overlooking the fairway. “You should have seen the look on the neighbors’ faces when the black folk moved in, but I have to say everyone has been nice and polite, bringing over cookies, inviting us to barbecues. My relatives, though, are already complaining about being scrutinized when they visit. Auntie Ethaline got mistaken for one of the cleaning ladies. Now she says I’ve gotten uppity.”
“I recall Aunt Ethaline from the wedding—the only one not having a good time.”
“That would be her. She sat with Uncles Moses, Stevie and the Wish Lady. So how did that go?”
“What go?”
“You and the Wish Lady. Mintay kept bringing that up on the honeymoon when her thoughts should have been purely on me, brother.”
“We danced. She stayed the night at my folks’ place. We did some riding.”
“Car, bike, horse or sexual?”
“Horse. She was afraid to kick her mount too hard. Man, I loved watching her flail around, those little breasts bouncing.” Joe Dean smiled at the memory.
“And no foolin’ around at your mama’s neither, I’ll bet.”
“Are you kidding? Mama put Nell in the front bedroom right across from hers where there’s this big, squeaky board in the hallway. I found that out when I was a kid. I had to go out the window or forget sneaking out altogether.”
“So no bing-bang with the Wish Lady after Mintay went to all that trouble to get her to the wedding and had Stevie sit her right up front like bait for suckers like you.”
“You’re the one who got married, not me. Besides, I called her before the wedding. That’s why little Nell came—to see me again. Mintay’s plans had nothing to do with it.”
“Yeah, right. Mintay won’t be happy until all my friends are married. She thinks you need a woman with character, not round heels.”
“Women just don’t understand. Men don’t need character to have a good time.”
“Sad, but true.”
“Besides, I’m thinking she might be a virgin. That would explain the reluctance.”
“That would be one explanation, yes.”
“She asked for a health certificate. Can you believe it?”
“Yes, I can.”
“I might just get one and shove it in her face. I’m thinking she needs patience, reassurance and a gentle hand.”
“That’s you, Joe Dean, the soul of patience.”
“Are you laughing at me?”
“I am. Mintay said you would never get over a woman who didn’t fall at your feet.”
“That settles it. I’m calling number eighty-one as soon as I get back to the city.”
Joe did not make his call that evening. Instead, he lingered on the Rev’s terrace and sucked down ribs cooked in an oil drum smoker with a small chimney sticking out the side—a family heirloom, the Rev said. Mintay after a hard day at the clinic only had to toss a salad and sip a glass of red wine. The Rev took care of everything else.
“You spoil me, honey bear.” Mintay sighed so full from dinner she could burst. She stretched out, her feet up on a lounger, another glass of wine in her hand.
“That’s why I was put on God’s green earth, sweet thang,” answered the Rev, tossing a foil-wrapped baked potato from hand to hand. “Anyone want another spud?” He lobbed it at Joe Dean who snatched the potato before it could tip over his beer.
“I been thinking, Joe. You, me, and Connor should rent that honeymoon island and give the whole team a long weekend vacation as a sort of thanks for a great season. It would be good for morale. What say?”
“I’d say don’t spill beer on me when I have a long drive back to New Orleans and the smokeys are likely to be out.” Joe Dean leaned back and watched the purple martins scooping up a crop of mosquitoes in the dusk. “But sure, count me in on the island. Any women to be had there?”
“None that I noticed. The guys could bring their girlfriends.”
“Or their wives and families,” Mintay added. “I’ll bet Nellwyn Abbott would love to lie around in the sun for a few days. Her job is very stressful.”
“Yeah. Stress and Nell sort of go together. Let’s do it.”
SIX
“Hey, it’s Joe.”
“Yes, I recognized your voice.” Nell Abbott rolled her eyes. Now what did he want?
“That’s progress. My ma said you sent her a real nice card and note. She’s impressed with you.”
“Just common courtesy for letting me stay over at her house.”
“Yeah, that’s what Mama said. Most of the women I date don’t have common courtesy. She said that, too.”
Nell refrained from commenting on his taste in women. “It was nothing.”
“So, the reason I called is a few of us have rented an island down near Cozumel for a week around the first of May. We have a plane chartered to fly the team and anyone they want to bring out of New Orleans. You interested in some vacation?”
Nell closed her eyes for a minute and envisioned palm trees, beaches, sur
f and a couple of dozen hunky men to gaze at, then came to her senses. “Wish I could, but I’m scheduled to work that weekend. We have a couple of recent liver transplants that are touch and go. I really can’t leave them on such short notice.”
“Kids have bad livers?” He sounded as if she were making up excuses.
“Yes, from heredity diseases, congenital birth defects, sometimes from a previous severe illness. Not from drinking, Joe.”
“I guess I knew that. It’s a no then?”
“Sorry. Really. Sounded great. Have a good time.”
“Yeah, I will. Good-bye, Nell.”
Joe wished he hadn’t been using a cell phone so he could have slammed down the receiver. Two weeks he’d spent setting this up. Then, he delayed calling Nell for a few days while debating endlessly with himself if she was worth the trouble. Well, she would be sorry. He decided to call numbers eighty-one through eighty-six and invite them all along. Let the Wish Lady read that in the tabloids.
Stretched out on his leather sofa, Joe finished setting up Shelley Havers, Dawn Henderson, Lori Holmes, Jenny Hu, Selena Jaspers and Tabitha Johnson for the trip. This effort had taken most of his day and brought him up to number ninety-two on his list, but the effort would be well worth it.
A few of the women had other plans that could not be broken, like being their sister’s bridesmaid. Some said they needed to check with their bosses. Tabitha Johnson was the first to call back after offering her manager at McDonald’s the creative excuse she had to attend her great-granny’s one-hundredth birthday in North Carolina. She made the cut. One called back and cancelled because she was having a herpes outbreak, but now the list was complete.
Herpes. Joe shivered. Close call. He checked for any other messages that might have come in while he was assembling the week’s entertainment. A voice mail from Dr. Phillips’ nurse asked him to come in for his health test results. He had plenty of time to do that tomorrow before he packed and headed for the island.
Doc Phillips kept Joe Dean waiting for half an hour during which passage of time, he wondered why the doctor had asked him to come in rather than give the results over the phone. That uncomfortable thought made his palms sweat. Finally, the nurse showed the Sinner’ quarterback to a chair in the doctor’s office and closed the door behind her.
Phillips, his white lab coat open to display a Daffy Duck necktie worn with a pink shirt, came in shortly. He shook Joe’s clammy palm and smiled. Glancing down through his bifocals, Dr. Phillips began. “On the questionnaire, you say you’ve had intercourse with eighty women in the last three months. What are you thinking, young man?”
“I’m careful.” Joe Dean studied his fingertips. Were his nails looking a little blue?
“You know what’s out there: AIDS, herpes, gonorrhea, not to mention a recent outbreak here in the city of that all time favorite, syphilis, a drug-resistant variety.” The doctor paused to let that sink in while little beads of sweat formed near Joe’s hairline. “I can only say you are one lucky devil because your blood test came out clean…along with the rest of the examination. I have a copy for you right here.” When Joe reached out a hand to take the report, Doc Phillips snatched it away.
“Have you been with anyone else since the exam was done?”
“I’ve had other things to do.” Joe felt almost shamefaced about not keeping up his with his womanizing.
“Good, because this paper is valid only until the next time you have intercourse. Remember the adage—you are having sex with everyone your partner has had sex with before you.”
“And I’m taking advice from a man wearing a Daffy Duck tie.”
“My daughter gave me this tie. I treasure it and all the other children I deal with seem to love it. That’s another thing. Ever think about your offspring? Some of these diseases can do major damage to an unborn fetus: stillbirth, blindness, retardation and so on.”
Joe felt queasy now. The nuns at the Chapelle parochial school had not been this specific. Their basic theme was God would strike you down if you had sex out of wedlock, no details given. Of course, he knew the doc told the truth, but he just didn’t want to think about blind, retarded babies. He put out a hand for his report.
Doc Phillips leaned back in his chair. “You know, I follow football. I have season tickets to the Sinners games. Your performance this past season blew me away. I could see you growing as a quarterback every week until you were showing some real team leadership. I think it’s time you grew up in your relationships with women. Remember, this certificate is good only until the next time you have sex.” He offered the paper held out between two fingers.
“Thanks for the good news, Doc.” Joe folded the certificate over until it fit in the rear pocket of his jeans and left the office shaking his head. He paused just outside the door and leaned against the wall for a minute. Jesus, blind babies. Doctors, they sure knew how to ruin a vacation.
Dr. Phillips made a call on his office phone. “Marty, this is Phil. I appreciate those season tickets. I think I did as good a job on Joe Dean Billodeaux as I did on my own son when he left for college. No, don’t thank me. I was very happy to do it.”
Ah, so that was the strategy. If a shrink didn’t work, Coach would try a real doctor. Joe Dean shook his head. He was on to them. But still, blind babies.
SEVEN
Here he sat on an island with six women, not all pretty but certainly willing, and Joe Dean Billodeaux possessed no desire to have sex with any of them. Still, the girls seemed to be having a good time. He’d taken all six snorkeling and played some touch tag under water. He enjoyed watching the gorgeous and well-endowed Dawn Henderson and Shelley Havers play beach volleyball. The men teamed up against the women simply for the view. Who wanted to look across the net at some big-bellied lineman?
Little Jenny Hu, a free-lance massage therapist, walked on his back and it felt great. She was off practicing her trade with a few of the other team members. Now and then, Joe heard her high voice ask, “You like?” from one of the nearby cottages.
Selena and Tabitha, both black women in their early twenties, had nothing else in common. Selena worked as a personal trainer and had the muscles to prove it. She possessed a deadly volleyball serve. Tabitha, her head covered in short orange dreadlocks that made her look like a demented, black Raggedy Ann, had a great sense of comic timing. She did her standup routine about working at Mickey D’s one night after the pig roast. The guys loved it.
Blue sky above, frothy surf at his feet, a breeze rustling through the palm fronds, what more could a man want? Taking in the rays, Joe Dean sunk deep into his beach chair. The icy sweat off the glass holding a cool, minty mojito trickled down his arm and all he could think of was children who had to undergo liver transplants.
Through the lenses of his mirrored sunglasses, he watched Lori Holmes frolic in the surf and wished she hadn’t confessed she’d saved every penny of her manicurist’s salary and tips to pay for a boob job. He thought she should have had her nose done first. Not every man’s eyes went straight to the chest. Himself, he liked large, dark eyes.
He was getting to know these six women too well. They were no longer names and phone numbers and easy lays. He’d already promised Tabitha Johnson he would speak to the management of some of the clubs he frequented about getting her a gig, no strings attached. Her look of relief when she realized she didn’t have to sleep with Joe Dean Billodeaux to further her career stung a little. Hell, he might as well give Lori the money for her nose, too, and expect nothing in return.
A shadow fell across his mid-section as a tall, thin woman settled into the next beach chair. A nasal voice greeted, “Hiya, lover boy.”
He’d stayed in one place too long and Margaret Stutes had sacked him. She’d come along as the guest of the second-string lineman who seemed to believe publicity rather than talent, hard work and just plain luck would move him up to starter. So far, Joe Dean had managed to avoid her advances. He dug his feet into the sand and got ready to
stand up and say he was going to seek some shade.
“Don’t move on my account, Joey. I’m just visiting for a minute.”
No one called him Joey. Ever. Joe gritted his teeth and managed a weak smile. “You’re lookin’ good, Margaret.”
He did not lie. A light tan covered her freckled skin. Her breasts looked bigger in that under-wired, padded bikini top, but Joe had enough experience with bras to know sometimes the package held very little inside. She’d put on a few pounds. Her pelvic bones no longer jutted out sharply enough to impale a man. The henna rinse had grown out and been replaced by blonde streaks over dark brown. Still, Margaret did not tempt him.
“What’s the matter, Joey? Run out of energy? You bring six women along and aren’t doing any of them, not even the one with the big knockers and bleached blonde hair. I thought she was just your type. Here, rub some lotion on my back.” Margaret tossed him a tube from her straw beach bag.
“I have plenty of energy. I’m half way through my list and wanted to take a break—Maggie.”
Somewhere in his dimly recalled one-night stand with Margaret, he seemed to remember she hated to be called Maggie. Joe squeezed gobs of white cream out of the tube and slathered it between her sharp shoulder blades. Her back remained as bony as ever. Maybe she would stick to the chair and he could make his getaway. He tossed the tube back into her bag and stood up.
“I need to cool off.” Joe headed for the surf where Dawn Henderson bobbed with the young wide receiver, Jared Forte.
“I don’t think we’ll ever get back together, Joey, but you just remember, I was the first on the list to screw Joe Dean Billodeaux,” Margaret called after him, not bothering to lower her voice.
In a rush, he dived head first into a small wave and lost his sunglasses to the sea.
Back at the airport, four of his six ladies stayed to line up and say thanks. Dawn Henderson left on the arm of Jared Forte as soon as the plane touched down. Shelley Havers, the prettiest of the bunch, had hooked up with a halfback on the island and stayed behind with him for another week.
