Game Changers
Page 17
“Stainless steel,” she tells me. A surprise, but a workable one. Not marriage, not yet.
“Can we try them on?”
“Of course.”
I pull both rings out of their slots. They are different sizes, a good thing since Jaye’s fingers are larger than mine.
“Give me one,” she says, and I hand her the smaller one. “Hold out your hand.” I obey, and she slides the band onto my right ring finger (not my left hand, not yet . . .). It fits like a custom-made Tiffany special. For the first time since we met this morning, I smile.
“Your turn,” I say to Jaye, and when she holds up her hand I slide on the larger ring. It, too, fits like a custom-made Tiffany special. My ice wall evaporates, replaced by the first building block of certainty. Of knowing Jaye and I are meant to be.
I hear clapping then. Startled, I realize we have a small audience. And they are all smiling. I love Boston.
“I do good work,” the vendor says. Several people laugh, and Jaye and I both reach for our wallets.
“You buy one, I buy one,” she says, and we do. Thanking the vendor, we head toward the T to go back to Jaye’s hotel, to meet up with the team. It is the same day, the same sun, the same city it was an hour ago. But everything, for us, is different.
Chapter Nine
We get back to the hotel in time for Jaye to catch the team bus. She wants me to accompany her, but that’s way out of my comfort zone.
“I’ll take a cab or something,” I say, my hands clasped around hers. “I promise I’ll be there.”
“I got you a field pass. I want you to use it.” The serious, intent side of Jaye I saw earlier is still present. “I want you close to me.”
“Okay. I promise,” I say again. She’s satisfied.
I save cab fare by using a public transportation route I’d mapped out last night. The T, then a bus, then a short walk takes about an hour to get me to the high school stadium the Breakers call home field. I spend the T and bus time staring at the ring adorning my right hand, and the walk doing a lot of thinking about what happened today, and where it will take my relationship with Jaye Stokes.
Do I trust her? Yes. I could not possibly ask for anything more right than how Jaye has behaved with me from minute one. And I owe her the same, want to give her the same.
Do I trust me? I’m full of apprehension about measuring up to this. Am I honestly ready to commit to building a life with Jaye?
After the last evening in Kansas City I would have said yes, no question. But something about my own process, how quickly I built the ice wall, how I couldn’t take her in my arms and declare my love, gives me pause. Is it fair to Jaye that I’m having these issues?
I approach the stadium, idly sliding my thumb along the metal of the ring. She may be twenty years younger than I, but Jaye is mature beyond her years. All this most wonderful woman is asking of me is to try. And try I will.
I walk through the stadium gates, show my ticket, and let the noise of the entering fans distract me. I go down to the sidelines near the KC bench and hang out until Jaye, doing her warmup on the pitch, sees me. Immediately she breaks off and heads my way.
“Here.” She hands me a lanyard with the field pass attached. “Come on.”
I climb over the railing and she wraps me up in a quick hug. “Becky’s husband is here. He’s a cool guy. Are you okay watching the match with him?”
No problem. As we make our way over Jaye tells me Becky Kaisershot, an Olympian and long-time National Team member, switched rooms with her last night. She introduces me to Rick Kaisershot, who greets me amiably.
Before Jaye heads back out I take her aside. “We’re still on for Provincetown, right?”
Her intent expression comes back again. “Absolutely.”
I smile, bravely, still awash in my unworthiness but doing my best to hide it. “Good.”
Rick does indeed turn out to be a cool guy. He is low key and soft-spoken, a perfect foil for Becky’s fierce on-field persona. He confirms that rumors are indeed flying about Jaye and Nickory’s “split,” but he doesn’t press me for details and alludes to seeing this all before on the National Team stage, a whole different level of soap opera. He doesn’t go into detail, either, and my respect for him goes up a notch. I’m going to ask him what it’s like to be a financial genius, but he beats me to the punch and asks me how long I’ve been a Rockies’ fan. I’m thrown until I remember the Colorado baseball cap I donned on my walk to the stadium to save me from sunburn. Turns out we are both serious baseball fans, and we get into a discussion about the DH rule which kills the minutes until the match starts. From then on, it’s all soccer.
I have my fingers crossed that the events of the last twenty-four hours won’t follow Jaye to the soccer field, but before long it’s obvious they have—in a good way. Jaye is channeling into her game the intensity I saw earlier, and it pays off almost immediately.
The Blues earn a corner kick five minutes into the first half. The teams set up near the goal, and Jaye takes her place in the corner. She’s always the one who kicks the ball toward the goal, the idea being to connect with one of her teammates to get the ball in the net.
Tonight, though, she spins a beautiful, arcing ball that curves like something in Bend it Like Beckham, sailing right above all the players and the goalkeeper, but underneath the crossbar and into the net. It’s a rare feat, something I’ve only seen once before. Rick and I stand there amazed for a second, then whoop like banshees.
Kansas City 1, Boston 0.
Nickory, surprise surprise, isn’t on her game tonight, and the early lead slips away. The Breakers score two goals, at least one of which the warrior queen should have prevented, and the teams go into halftime with Boston up, 2-1.
The Blues walk past us to go to the locker room. Becky nods at Rick, while Jaye gives me a quick smile. The determination in her eyes tells me she’s not worried about being behind. She’s not anywhere near done tonight.
Nickory sees me, too, and Rick can’t help but notice the fiery, venomous glare she aims my way.
“So it was all about you,” he says quietly.
I shrug. “Kinda.”
“I sure wouldn’t want that woman mad at me.” I shrug, and only then notice something—I’m not scared. Nickory could do her worst with me, but she’s already lost. Jaye has spoken, Jaye is sure, and Jaye is who counts. Another block of certainty falls into place in my head.
The second half starts with a Boston possession, cut off in mid-break with an audacious steal by Becky Kaisershot. She’s got room to run, takes the ball all the way past midfield, moving like Mia Hamm in her prime. At first I think she’s going to go all the way and try to score, but she slows up, sees Jaye breaking for the goal, and lofts a perfect pass. Jaye redirects the ball with her head and nails her second goal of the night.
Kansas City 2, Boston 2.
Rick and I give each other a rousing high five. “She has mad dribbling skills!” I joke.
Rick shakes his head. “She’s a defender to the core. I want her to score an international goal before she retires, but she doesn’t much care.”
“I guess I relate.”
“You can?”
“Yeah. She’s the best at what she does—defense. My job was about that, too. She’s okay being under the radar.”
Rick nods thoughtfully as we refocus on the action. Both teams settle down after the goal, and the next thirty-five minutes of playing time pass without either team getting a chance to score. The match is shaping up to be a draw, which is the soccer version of lukewarm beer and cold pizza. Palatable, but not preferred.
Then, in the eighty-sixth minute, Boston commits a foul. Kansas City is awarded a free kick, some ten yards in front of where Rick and I are standing. Jaye, the Blues’ go-to player for these kicks, strides up to the mark, and something in the way she moves gets my attention.
She stops over the ball and st
ands facing the goal, some twenty-five yards away. There is a moment’s stillness, a moment of repose. Her back to me, her legs are slightly apart, her strong sturdy calves supporting even sturdier thighs supporting a torso I know for sure ripples with muscle, front and back. Shoulders on top of torso, graceful and defined, complete the whole package of a body of such beauty and presence that it stops my breath. This is Jaye Stokes, in her element, in her moment, confident and capable.
This is the woman I love.
I focus on her, and everything else drops away. I don’t hear the crowd or Rick or the players calling out to one another on the field. In utter stillness, I feel love so strong, it spasms through me.
Jaye steps back and turns toward me. Her expression is neutral, but her eyes are on fire. She knows what I’m thinking. She knows what I’m feeling.
She faces the ball again, re-immerses herself in the game. She’s taken my love and its sizzling energy from me, I swear, and I can see it surge through her as the whistle blows. She kicks the ball over everyone on the field, a line-drive rocket perfectly on target, just above the goalkeeper’s outstretched arms, just below the crossbar. Indefensible.
Goal. Hat trick. Kansas City 3, Boston 2. The Blues go crazy. Jaye’s teammates bury her under a mass of hugs and shouts. The Boston crowd hushes for a moment, then a few clap with respect. Jaye accepts the hugs, the high-fives, the celebration, and meets my eyes again.
That, she communicates to me in total silence, but with every fiber of her being, was for you.
The win puts Kansas City two games up on Portland for first place in the NWSL. Jaye is the woman of the moment, the week, the month, the season. She takes in the congratulations of her teammates and coaches, even gets a salute from the opposing fans who stick around for autographs. She signs for everyone, very much the perfect representative for her league and her sport.
When she finally gets to me, we both feel the energy flare up again.
“Wow,” I say, inadequately.
“It’s because of you.”
“I know. It’s because of us.”
We’re standing maybe a foot apart, facing one another. The incandescence is back in her eyes. Jaye moves closer. We smile at one another as a camera clicks.
The photographer jumped the gun and missed a real opportunity, because we were milliseconds from kissing each other. The click stops us. Still, this is our moment, our time, and we stand there oblivious to our surroundings. I focus on Jaye, and now, in her, I see a knight, clear of the shadow of her queen, free to be herself. She is beautiful. Powerful. Wondrous.
The camera clicks again, or maybe it’s another one, and now I do acknowledge where we are. “Coming soon to a Facebook account near you.”
“Twitter and Instagram.” Jaye puts her arm around my shoulders. “Let’s go.”
We walk off the pitch. I don’t worry anymore about who will see, who might not approve. I’m in love. I can totally live with everyone knowing it.
This time I do take the bus back with the team. Rick had mentioned he rode the bus out, and as Jaye had insisted, it’s not a big deal. Riding along means she and I can be together from now until she flies home on Tuesday.
And that’s everything I want.
It’s late Sunday afternoon, and we stroll down Commercial Street, the heart of Provincetown. Jaye and I are two of many people enjoying the sunshine and the energy on this day, one of many lesbian pairs mixed in with the gay guys and the straight couples and the occasional family with kids. There’s a little bit of everyone here, sexually, racially, whatever-ly, and we’re all getting along and smiling at each other and having a good time. Feels like magic.
I revel in Jaye’s presence, pleased to be showing her the town at last, absolutely jazzed about walking down the street hand in hand, and yes, more than a little pleased when she gets so many appreciative stares. Even a couple of outright recognitions.
“Hey, aren’t you a soccer player?” two baby dykes say to her as we walk by the City Hall. She smiles, stops long enough to sign autographs for them.
“Nice hat trick, Stokes!” comes another shout, up by Bayside Betsy’s. We never did see who the shouter was. She had a nice contralto voice, though.
Jaye grins at the words and says, “Okay, I see why you like this place.”
“It’s even better with you here,” I say. We’ve reached the residential section of Commercial, and I take Jaye along a narrow path leading down to the bay. We find a convenient bench and sit. There are not so many people here, and the buildings block most of the town noise, leaving us almost alone with the birds and the water.
“This is wonderful,” Jaye says. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
My answer is a soft kiss to her lips and love in my eyes. The gorilla in me is gone again, buried so deep I can pretend it will never return. We sit in blissful contentment for a while, but now, away from the crowds and under Jaye’s calm, I sense sadness.
“What’s up?” I ask her.
“I’m fine.”
“Not completely.”
She sighs. “I was thinking about Nickory, about how we probably aren’t friends anymore.”
At a team dinner the night before, Nickory and Jaye seated themselves as far apart as the restaurant could manage and still keep everybody in one room. It was as if there were two royal courts, Jaye’s on one end and Nickory’s on the other, though the game victory successfully drowned out most of the tension. I was next to Jaye, naturally, which meant Nickory’s eyes and mine met only once or twice. Good thing, because our mutual dislike showed every time.
I say, “I think you two may work it out eventually.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. If you’re right, and she’s afraid of losing her ‘family,’ then I can see you forgiving her actions.”
Jaye raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Really?”
“Yes. I doubt she and I will ever be friends, but if you all find a way, I won’t stand in it.”
Jaye puzzles that one out. Shrugs. “Maybe. I do know I’ll be getting my own place as soon as we get back to Kansas City.” She puts her arm around my shoulders and draws me to her for a kiss. “Want to move in with me?”
The same disbelieving question I always have pops up, but I manage not to say it aloud. Jaye, though, reads my mind.
“Yes, I’m sure,” she says and kisses me again. “Why do you keep underestimating yourself? Why can’t you see how wonderful you are?”
“There was never anyone to show me before.”
Both her arms encircle me then, and the feeling between us is pure love. “There is now. So listen to me, okay?”
“Okay. I promise.” This time our kiss goes on almost to the point of indecency. But we’re in Provincetown. We can do this, at least until the bench threatens to spontaneously combust.
“You want to walk some more?” Jaye asks when we cave to the need for oxygen.
“I’m fine. I’m fine anywhere as long as you’re with me.”
She cocks her head. “How about Kansas City?”
“Is this the U-Haul discussion?”
Jaye nods. “Yes. Kirstie says there are a bunch of apartments open in the complex she and her boyfriend live in. We could get a short-term rental, like three months, to get us through the season.”
Three months would also be a good measure of how well Jaye and I handle being under the same roof. “And then?”
“I’m hoping to move to Denver.”
The truth of what we’re proposing comes crashing down on me. “Jaye, I haven’t lived with anyone since my parents. More than thirty years ago.”
“So?”
“What if I can’t? What if I’m so used to being alone that I screw us up?”
“I’m an expert at sharing spaces with people. I’ll talk you through it.” Jaye gives me yet another kiss, a quick one this time. “Remember, you promised to try?”
“I’ll get a two-bedroom.”
“With a balcony. If I have to live on one floor, I don’t want to be on the ground.”
“That’s doable. Oh, there’s a big pool in the complex, too, so you can swim.”
“Okay. Deal.”
Jaye blinks, not sure if I’m kidding or not. “You mean it?”
Only then do I break out the shit-eating grin. “Absolutely.”
Jaye stands and pulls me up with her, wraps me in a crushing bear hug. “I love you, Rachel. I love you, love you, love you!”
She spends the rest of the weekend proving it.
Honestly, I’m not sure I’m ready for this. But the Universe clearly is, because Paula calls the day I get back to Denver, telling me Brian Jones needs a place to live while he and his wife have a house built. Toni had told her about my U-Haul moment, and perhaps I’d be willing to rent to him while I’m in Kansas City?
I smile. Beatle. Good controller, better person. I know he’ll respect my place and my stuff while he’s there. I think he can get his two kids to do the same. And with his rent to cover my mortgage? It’s too perfect. I call Paula and tell her to give him my number. Ten minutes later he calls me, thirty minutes after that we have an arrangement, and my path to KC is wide open.
Okay, Universe, this is happening.
I spend the next week packing up my clothes, computer, a few books and DVDs, and kitchen stuff. “The pots and pans are all Bree’s,” Jaye had said. “Bring whatever you’ve got.” I box up my breakables and a few other things I don’t want children messing with. Then I’m off to Kansas City to what I’m thinking of as “The Great Experiment.”
Can I live with Jaye? Can I live with anybody? Is the connection I have with this oh-so-special woman something meant for the ages? Or a cool hit song that stays in my head for a while before inevitably fading? What if I’m only her cool hit song?