Sinners Football 02- Wish for a Sinner

by Lynn Shurr

  “Bijou, when you get back from taking the grill, you can park the truck up at the old place. Keep the keys. I need to report to camp next week and won’t be needing it.”

  Bijou gave a happy nod and headed out to take the Rev and his grill home. Mrs. Billodeaux took a good look at her son.

  “Nell tells me she’ll be leaving in a couple of days, so why don’t you two spend some time together alone this evening?” With that blessing, she went to take leftovers to her husband.

  Joe circled Nell with his arms and drew her back against him. “That almost takes the fun out it.”

  “No, it won’t. Let’s try and see.”

  They retrieved the sleeping bag from the tack room where Joe had stowed it and carried the sack up the double-wide steps that would someday be an elegant staircase in the new house, but were now just rough boards with no railing. The roof was on and most of the insulation nail-gunned to the frame.

  “Voilá.” He unrolled the bag with a flourish. He held out his arms. “Would you look at the view from the master bedroom?” Gazing out a large gap in the walls, Joe put his arm around Nell and stood awhile appreciating the scene over the low tops of the live oaks toward the bayou, then up the opposite bank, across the field of cane to the hot red ball of the sun sinking behind the tall stalks.

  “With the roof on, things should move fairly quickly now. We could be in this place for Christmas.”

  “We?” Nell questioned.

  “Ah, you know. Just talkin’. I brought condoms.” He held out three.

  “I’ve been trying to tell you, Joe. We don’t need them.”

  “Sure we do. I told you I want a family some day, a big family, just not today. You know us Billodeauxs, super fertile. No sense taking chances even if it is near that time of the month.”

  “Joe, sit down.”

  He lay on the sleeping bag and stretched out with his hands behind his head inviting her to pounce and prove how feisty she was. Instead, Nell sat beside him and bunched up her knees.

  “You know about the cancer. You know I had chemotherapy and a bone marrow transplant from my sister. That’s why I’m alive today. When you go through all that, Joe, they have to kill off all the bad cells in your body. Some of the good ones die, too. It’s very unlikely I’ll ever have children.”

  Nell watched him swallow hard. He continued to stare out at the setting sun, not saying a word for a moment. Joe cleared his throat. “But it’s not impossible though.”

  “When I was trying to prove my womanhood, I wasn’t very careful, tempting my fate, I guess. When I was engaged, we didn’t use anything. Drake studied medicine. He knew. He said we could always adopt.”

  “Sure. Adoption.” His voice still seemed hoarse as if something were stuck deep inside and cutting off his air.

  “Oh, Joe, you aren’t exactly the man I thought you were.”

  “What, not a sex maniac after all?” He rubbed his chest as if trying to lighten a pressure building there.

  “You are that. I mean once a day, every day, and twice on Sundays if you can get away with it.” She shook her head and tried to give him a little smile.

  “Training and playing take the edge off. I’m not nearly so horny during the season. I wouldn’t be cheating after away games.” He still wasn’t looking at her.

  “I believe you, but Joe, I’ve seen you with your family. I know what family means to you. You deserve to have children of your own. Most women could give you that.”

  She brushed back the curls that fell near his now closed eyes. He was like a child who thought shutting his eyes made bad things go away. “And don’t tell me I’m not like most women. I know that.”

  “Nell, you are all women to me.”

  “Let’s just have fun tonight.” She started to unbutton his shirt. He stopped her by grabbing her wrists.

  “Nell, you’re doing it to me again, not giving me a chance to think. There are other ways people can have children.”

  “All of them expensive, messy and often unsuccessful. I did some work with infertile couples. I’ve seen men walk out after experiencing failure after failure and find another woman who could reproduce. Some women put so much effort into conceiving there is nothing else left for their marriages. You enjoy life so much. I couldn’t do that to you.”

  “Hey, so let’s enjoy life.” Joe opened eyes that were dark and glittering. He crumpled the condoms he still had clutched in one hand and tossed them away. He made love to her with his hands, memorizing every inch of her body so tenderly she cried out long before he entered her. A night bird answered.

  He moved over her slowly. In the darkness, his sweat dropped on her lips and tasted like salty tears. When the end came, the farewell went on and on. She almost wished he had been silly or rough. Afterward, they lay naked in each other’s arms and watched again for shooting stars.

  “There’s one bright enough for two wishes.” Joe pointed to a streak in the sky that seemed to burn out in the cane field. “You tell me yours, I’ll tell you mine.”

  “Is that like playing doctor, show me yours, I’ll show you mine?”

  “We’ve seen each other’s. No, this is much more serious.”

  “Joe, wishing won’t make it so.”

  Joe and Nell stayed out all night. Mrs. Billodeaux said not a word when they straggled in at dawn. She offered them coffee. Frank came yawning to the table.

  “Don’t think running around all night is an excuse to get out of helping with the farm this morning,” he said to Joe. “I’m counting on you.”

  “Sure, Dad. Let me get a shower and some coffee.”

  After the men left for the day, Nell asked Nadine to drive her back to Metairie.

  “Has my son done wrong by you?” Joe’s mother asked.

  “No. He was the perfect gentleman.”

  THIRTEEN

  Coach Marty Buck watched his team work. After a few more minutes, he signaled to Connor Riley to come off the field. “Billodeaux, practice handing off to Harvey.”

  Connor wiped his face and hands with a towel and gulped down half a bottle of water. He watched the Sinners’ top draft pick, DeLong Harvey, take the ball from Joe and sprint down the field avoiding the defensive players trying to stop him. “You wanted to see me, Coach?”

  “What do you think of Harvey?”

  “The commentators won’t be calling him De Long Shot Harvey anymore once they see him working with our offensive line.”

  “Takes some pressure off of you, too. Not that you and Joe Dean haven’t been connecting.”

  “The more options we have, the more we’ll win.”

  “My thought, too. Still, something is off with Billodeaux.”

  “He’s been throwing well. Considering how he spent his spring, he came to camp in good condition. Farm work must agree with him.” Connor finished the bottle and threw the container into a trash barrel.

  “It’s not his playing. It’s his attitude that’s bothering me. Where’s the spark? Where’s the We Can Win the Super Bowl spirit we saw last year. I was hoping he’d fire up the new recruits, but he’s just out there doing his job. Where’s the mouth?”

  “Maybe he’s figured out there’s more to life than football.”

  “Wash your mouth out, boy! You’re saying this is about sex, Joe Dean’s only other interest. God, I hope it’s not AIDS.”

  “Not that. He stayed with one woman all summer, the one who made him get a health certificate. They broke up just before camp started.”

  “Christ! You last year. Him this year. He helped you out of your slump. Can you return the favor?” Coach Buck raked his silver crew cut with splayed fingers.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “That’s what I’d expect. Get back out there.” Coach waved Connor Riley toward the field.

  Coach Marty Buck did what he could to restore Joe Dean Billodeaux’s spirit. He played the eager, new would-be backup quarterbacks in most of the exhibition games using his star only if the Sinner
s looked like they were losing. Competition put the edge on most men, but Joe trotted out when called, did his job and sat back down. The team seemed to be cool with this, but Coach Buck wanted to see some fire in the regular season. Gung ho attitude could turn a loss into a win and Joe wasn’t providing it.

  Connor called in the women for advice during a short break before regular season play began. Out on the deck of his lakeside home, the men poked and prodded the chicken halves on the grill waiting for the exact moment to add Connor’s special barbecue sauce. Their wives hauled the rest of the meal from the kitchen where Miss Essie, the cook, had left the sides wrapped in plastic and foil. Strategically placed bowls held the blue tablecloth in place when warm air came gusting off the lake.

  “We never used tablecloths befo’. Did we, Connor?” The Rev stuck a long-tined fork deep into a chicken thigh and studied the color of the juice coming to the surface. “A mite longer, I think.”

  “That was before marriage, Rev. I’m surprised we don’t have candles.” Connor stood by with a basting brush and bowl of sauce in hand. “I need y’all’s advice on something.”

  Stevie and Mintay looked up from arranging the table. “It’s too windy for candles—unless we bring out some hurricane lamps later this evening,” Stevie suggested.

  “That would be lovely,” Mintay agreed.

  “No, no. This is about Joe Dean. He’ll be here any minute. You know he and Nell broke up.”

  “A shame,” said Mintay. “I thought we almost had him married off.”

  “A damn shame,” Stevie added.

  “I’d like to get them back together. You know, return the favor he did for Stevie and me.”

  “What broke them up?” Mintay asked.

  “Other women, weird sexual practices?” Stevie suggested.

  “Neither,” Joe Dean Billodeaux said coming up behind the group. For a big man, he could walk very quietly when he desired. It wasn’t his usual ebullient approach full of motions and greetings. This stillness was unusual, so not Joe Dean, the women looked at each other.

  “No other women. As for sex, you wouldn’t believe what that little lady could do. Nell looks so tiny and fragile, but she was one of the best…”

  “Don’t want to hear it.” Mintay covered her ears.

  “It was about children, having children. She says she can’t.”

  “Joe Dean Billodeaux, you dumped Nell because she can’t have children? That is one of the cruelest things I’ve ever heard.” Stevie clenched her hand around a steak knife and seemed ready to stab the quarterback, star or no star. “A woman who survived cancer deserves better than that. Better than you!”

  “Oh no. Cancer.” Mintay put her fingers to her lips. “I had no idea when I was pushing you two together. I suppose she had chemo or radiation therapy.”

  “Chemo and a bone marrow transplant. She says she’s sterile. And Stevie, get this straight, she dumped me. Said I deserved to have children of my own, then ran away when I was out in the fields with my dad. Any beer in this cooler?” Joe went up to his elbow fishing for something besides Diet Coke and un-colas.

  “There is adoption, in vitro fertilization and a few other alternatives,” Mintay listed.

  “I said as much. She claims things like this can tear people apart.” Joe with a triumphant look hooked a bottle of Turbo Dog from the ice. “But I’ve handled it. Everything will be all right.”

  “Just how?” inquired Mintay.

  “This I have to hear,” said Stevie. “It’s not like one of the crazy schemes you used to bring Connor and me together, I hope.”

  “One of them worked and you have yet to thank me for it. But no—no schemes with Nell. Any of you Catholic, do time in parochial school?” Joe surveyed his group of friends.

  “You know I’m African Methodist Episcopalian,” the Rev answered.

  Mintay raised her hand. “AME by marriage.”

  “Lutheran by birth. My father was Catholic but never bothered to take us to his church. Mom won by default,” Connor said.

  Stevie shrugged. “Whatever.”

  “Then, you don’t know how this works. See, I just got back from Chapelle where I owed a big penance. I paid the cash, but I was sort of fudging on the one hundred Our Fathers on my knees.” Joe rolled the cold beer bottle across his shin. “I’m still sore. I hope this doesn’t mess up my game. Anyhow, after I finished humiliating myself before the Lord…”

  “I think the word is humbling, humbling yourself before the Lord,” the Rev corrected.

  “No, it was humiliating. Two ladies from the perpetual prayer group were there the whole time, Miss Maxine and Miss Lolly. When the next team tagged in, they stood in the back of the church speculatin’ on my sins. They got pretty close, right down to the details. Who would have thought those old biddies read the Bible and the tabloids? Anyhow, when I finished, I went over to the Mary Altar and lit enough candles to burn the place down. They don’t have an altar for St. Jude, but the BVM will see he gets the message.”

  “The BVM?” asked Stevie.

  “The Blessed Virgin Mary,” Joe answered with a look that appeared to ask if she had ever been in a church.

  “And what message was that, Joe?” Connor gave the Rev a worried look.

  “I see God lookin’ down…”

  “You’re seeing God?” the Rev interrupted, perhaps a trifle jealous.

  “No, this is just how I imagine things go. God says, ‘Joe Dean Billodeaux, I gave you a loving family, good looks, a great arm and a chance with a wonderful woman. Why should I give you anything else?’”

  “Good question,” Stevie couldn’t help but say.

  “But then, the Holy Mother says, ‘Dear Lord, he isn’t asking this favor for himself, but for Nell. You remember Nell. You gave her a really hard childhood full of sickness, but she turned out so well and now she helps others who are sick.’ Now, St. Jude gives her backup. ‘Oh God, grant our Nell the blessing of being mother to the Joe Dean Billodeaux children. Joe Dean has made me a promise and he always keeps his promises.’”

  “Not another celibacy vow! How are you going to have children if you are celibate?” Connor asked. “Immaculate conception?”

  “No, no. I don’t want God to do that part for me. I vowed to be a faithful husband and a good father to all our children. But you, you shouldn’t be laughing at my celibacy vow. Look at you, healthy and playing great ball, just what I asked of St. Jude. And unlike you, I stayed celibate for the whole damn season.” Joe straddled the picnic bench, seized a whole dill pickle from the relish tray and pointed it at Connor.

  “It wasn’t a vow for me,” Connor objected.

  “Enough! Break it up!” Mintay held up her hand. Right before their eyes, she went from being Mrs. Rev Bullock to Dr. Arminta Green. “Joe, you shouldn’t get your hopes up. Science may be able to do something for Nell over a long period of time, but even in vitro fertilization has only a twenty percent success rate. You hear about the wonderful results, never the failures.”

  “Mintay, don’t go dissing the power of prayer. Miracles do happen.” The Rev squeezed his wife’s hand.

  “That’s okay. It’s my faith that matters, not hers. Besides, Nell may be pregnant already. Our last night together we had unprotected sex—more than once.”

  “No details!” Stevie clamped her hand over Joe’s mouth. He removed her fingers.

  “What I mean is, it’s been about a month now. She may not realize it yet. If she doesn’t call me in two weeks or so, I’ll hunt her down. No secret love child for me.”

  Joe unwrapped his long legs from the bench and sauntered towards the grill. “Oh, and guys, I promised St. Jude if he made it twin boys, I’d give him all the credit for our next Super Bowl win which should be coming along in about five months.”

  He stuck his finger in the bowl of barbecue sauce and tasted. “Needs more cayenne pepper, Connor.”

  “Doesn’t! Get your hand out of my sauce.” Connor went to defend his concoction.
Stevie tagged along to referee.

  “Poor Joe. He is going to be so disappointed. I feel responsible for this mess, pushing them together the way I did,” Mintay whispered to the Rev.

  Her husband engulfed her in his arms. “Maybe, but Coach Buck will be one happy man. Looks like the old Joe Dean is back.”

  FOURTEEN

  On a small private island near Cozumel, the same island that great big jerk, Joe Dean Billodeaux had rented as a playground for the team, Margaret Stutes basked in the sun. She appreciated the irony of her location. The guest cabins were clean, lovely and amazingly cheap. When she came here with the second-string lineman who would be her first client when she opened her own agency, Margaret took out a six-month lease on one of them. Her plans were going so well.

  “Jorge!” she called out, knowing the little Mexican would be hanging around to answer her every beck and call. “Another pina colada.”

  “Sí señora Margarita.” Jorge scuttled off with her empty glass and returned minutes later with a fresh drink.

  Margaret sipped. As she suspected, the drink had been made with only fruit juice and ice. Still, the pineapple and coconut cream mixture was refreshing. Just to have a little fun, she reprimanded Jorge again, “It’s señorita. Sorry if that upsets you.”

  “Sí. Sí.” Jorge backed away.

  Margaret, unsure if he was agreeing to address her as señorita or assenting that he was upset, shrugged. It hardly mattered what Jorge thought. The beach, deserted now that American children were back in school and the families had stopped coming, belonged solely to her. Soon, she would have to dig her feet out of the sand and pee again. Maybe, she would go down into the water, closer than her cabin, and do it there.

  Digging a little crater in the beach, she plugged her drink in the hole and then set the feet she could not see beneath her and heaved out of the beach chair using both of her hands. Margaret stretched her arms out. She had the best tan of her life and her boobs were bigger than they had ever been, but shit, she hated being so fat. Public relations people should be sleek and shark-like predators.