His Leading Lady

by Jean Joachim

In just six weeks, Penny and Mark had become inseparable. They settled into a routine. When she wasn’t shooting late, they’d be together. Penny cooked, or Mark took her out. Sometimes, on nights with favorite television programs, they’d order in. Most evenings they retired early to make love. The sheets on his bed rarely cooled. Mark had never been happier.

  His calm frame of mind showed on the field, too. Since Penny had come into his life, his confidence solidified. He knew who he was, and he drove himself harder and harder toward perfection, believing in his gut he could make first string. The harder he worked, the more rattled his competitor became. Convinced he was starter material, Mark let Darvin Sweetwater’s nasty comments roll off his back.

  Mark got up happy every morning, whistled a cheerful tune on the field, and went home to a gorgeous woman almost every night, overjoyed to be with her. He was comfortable with Penny—they played board games, did jigsaw puzzles, and shopped at the grocery store together. He planned to make their relationship permanent as soon as he got a break. He needed to be making a first string salary before he made a commitment. Everything was going so right until, all of a sudden, life went all wrong.

  The day everything came crashing down on him was October 8th, a date he’d never forget. Mark walked toward the locker room as usual on a Tuesday morning. A couple of guys were coming out, and when he got closer, he noticed them glance at him furtively then quickly look away. He wondered what was going on. Can’t have anything to do with me. My life is perfect.

  The closer he got to his destination, the stronger his sense of dread, uneasiness running down his spine. A couple of guys paled when they saw him and turned away. He whipped his T-shirt over his head and headed for his locker until he noticed a bunch of his teammates crowded around something on the far wall.

  He heard someone mention his name. When they saw him, they scattered like roaches in bright daylight, running for their lives. He approached the wall and stopped about two feet away, stunned.

  There, taped up for all to see, were photos of Penny, nude. Half a dozen pictures of her naked breasts and her bare rear end were on display. He bent over to peer more carefully. It can’t be her. She’d never do that. Sure looks like her. Damn, it’s Penny.

  Humiliation morphed into rage with the speed of a bolt of lightning. It filled Mark’s gut. He roared like a lion, ripping the photos down in two swipes. “Who put these up? Who’s responsible?” he yelled, crushing the pictures in his hand. His question brought silence and embarrassed faces, gazes that shifted away from his.

  “Who?” he repeated, louder. Only one asshole would do this. Sweetwater.

  Darvin strutted out of the shower room, wrapping a towel around his waist. “You called, Davis?”

  Mark didn’t stop to think. He didn’t stop to talk. He simply plowed into the big quarterback, slamming him against the wall. His fists pounded Darvin, who pushed back. Mark was beyond reason. He didn’t see. He didn’t hear. Fury propelled him. He was ready to kill.

  Sweetwater defended. Fists flew. Noses were bloodied. All the men gathered around. Harley and a few others tried to break it up. One ran for the coach.

  It took three trainers to break the two battling men apart. Sweat mixed with blood poured off them. The heat of their anger made the room unbearably hot. Blood gushed from Sweetwater’s nose and Mark’s mouth. Gashes on their chests and backs bled, and bruises were forming.

  “What the hell is the matter with you two? Are you crazy? Did you break your throwing hand? If you did, your career is over and you’re outta here!”

  The only response was the deep breathing of the two fighters. Both flexed their fingers.

  “What the hell? Is somebody gonna tell me what this was all about?” One man pointed to the ripped up pictures scattered on the ground, some with fresh blood on them. The coach bent to pick them up. Mark was wiping his mouth with his hand. Coach held up a few picture scraps, trying to piece them together. Mark ripped them out of the coach’s grasp. “Ah. So, she belongs to you, eh? What does this have to do with Sweetwater?”

  “He put them up, Coach,” Harley volunteered.

  “Why you stupid son-of-a-bitch! What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Starting a fight is grounds for suspension.” The coach stared at Darvin then at Mark. “There will be fines, fines all around, boys. Five grand. And if I ever, and I mean ever, see a fight like this again, both parties will be suspended, and then dropped from the team. Do you hear me?”

  Mark and Darvin nodded. Both men stared at the floor.

  “Do you assholes realize you could have ended your careers over this? Stupid, fucking, sons of bitches.” The coach shook his head. “Get yourselves cleaned up. And clean up this mess, too. You made it. You clean it up.” The coach pointed to the blood splattered on the floor and walls. He kept mumbling curses as he walked away.

  Mark opened and closed his throwing hand several times. It was swollen, a little bruised, but not broken. He breathed a sigh of relief.

  Harley joined him. “What the hell, Mark? She’s not worth breaking your hand for.”

  “I didn’t break my hand. And don’t tell me who’s worth it, asshole. Just mind your own goddam business.”

  The coach threw a roll of paper towels at each fighter. Darvin shot daggers from his eyes at Mark, who scowled back. As they mopped up in silence, the coach addressed them. “Sweetwater, Davis, don’t bother to come to practice today. You’re worthless. And yes, you’re fined for missing practice. Now, get the hell out of here before I beat the crap out of you myself.”

  When they finished, each man dressed in silence and left the room. Darvin shot one last evil look at Mark before he departed.

  Mark was still upset, but his rage had changed direction and was now aimed at Penny. How could she humiliate me like this? In front of the whole team? Such a goody two-shoes, eh? Didn’t like all the guys making passes, huh? And then you pose nude? Really? And you want me to believe you? Everything you said about not sleeping around is a lie. How many men did she sleep with? Who knows? And how many have those pictures?

  Mark could barely steady his hands enough to drive home. Her betrayal ran deep, and his heart was bruised as if she had used it for a punching bag. He arrived home and began to pace. His nerves were raw, and anger boiled through him like molten lava in a volcano about to erupt. He was waiting, waiting for her to show up. He looked at the bottle of scotch. Just one drink to calm down. He walked toward it and stopped. No, it’ll make me worse, crazy.

  He didn’t want alcohol to cloud his mind. He wanted to be very clear when he blasted Penny and threw her out. His heart ached. Perfect happiness had been within his grasp then that lowlife Sweetwater had snatched it away. I trusted you, Penny, believed in you. I loved you. I wish it weren’t true. How could you lie about this? Why didn’t you tell me?

  He wanted to be Superman and turn time back to before he walked into the locker room. Maybe he could have twisted his ankle and not gone to practice. Maybe Harley could have taken the pictures down before he got there. Come to think of it, why didn’t Harley take them down? Now, Harley was on his shit list, right below Penny.

  Mark threw on running clothes and hit the high school track around the corner. He ran and ran, until he thought his lungs would burst. Sinking down onto a soft, grassy field, tears couldn’t be stopped. He bent his head so no one could see. He loved Penny, loved her like he had never loved before. But she had humiliated him. He had to dump her.

  How could she ever come to a game? Every guy on the field would be leering at her, staring at her chest…and her butt. And the talk, snide comments he’d get. The innuendos and jokes not even thinly veiled. The looks, a combination of snark and pity. He didn’t think he could stand it. And they’d all ask him, “Dumped her?”

  He knew he had to say “yes.” Or they’d think he was in love with a whore. Is that what she was? Any woman who poses for nude photos is cheap, easy. Plain and simple. Every man knew that. As much as a guy might drool over a c
hick’s naked pictures, he’d never date her, never fall in love with her, never marry her. Don’t I have any pride? Now, he couldn’t marry Penny because she was a slut. The pain was so intense he almost thought he was having a heart attack.

  A young kid on a skateboard stopped. “You okay, mister?”

  Mark nodded at him, wiping his face with the heel of his hand. “Yeah, kid. I’m okay. Thanks.” He pushed to his feet. His leg muscles throbbed then wobbled, making him unsure if he could walk or even stand. He stretched them out, and in a few seconds, it passed. He walked home slowly, not anxious to have a scene with Penny. I don’t want to do this, but I have to.

  With his head hung low, he entered the elevator and pushed the button for his floor. The door was unlocked, making his pulse kick up. Did someone break in? Oh, God, not today! He opened it cautiously.

  “Hi, handsome. How was your day?” Penny’s cheerful voice came from the kitchen. Shit, forgot. I gave her a key. He entered and closed the door quietly.

  “Mark? Is that you?” She came out of the kitchen, hair bouncing, breasts jiggling, eyes lit up, smiling.

  Not for long.

  “Hi, baby. Oh my God. What happened to you?” She reached up to kiss him, her fingers to touch him, but he pulled away as if she was poison. Her brows knitted.

  “I ran into a fist.” He tried to keep his voice even.

  “What?” She tried again to touch his swollen face, but he sidestepped her, clamping his hand around her wrist. Silently, he walked over to his jeans on the sofa and fished around in the pockets. Then, he pulled out the bloody remnants of her pictures.

  “This.” He threw them at her feet. Most fell right side to the floor, except three. She bent to pick them up. By the sound of her sharp intake of breath, he knew she recognized them. There goes all hope of a mistake. Heaviness entered his heart.

  “Mark, I can explain.” She bit her lip.

  “These pictures were taped to the wall of the locker room when I got there.”

  Her hand flew to her mouth to cover a gasp. Her eyes grew wide.

  “Slut,” he spat at her.

  “Wait. I can explain.”

  “Can you explain away that my whole team saw your tits? And your ass.”

  “Please, Mark. Give me a chance.” She touched his arm, but he pushed her hand off.

  “Did you give me a chance? Why didn’t you tell me about this? Little Miss Virgin, huh? Don’t think so. All men are after your ass? Maybe these pictures are why.”

  “It’s not what you think.”

  “Oh? Are you going to tell me that isn’t you?”

  She raised a hand. “It is, but…”

  “Then, it is what I think. You posed for nude pictures. You’re a slut. Get out.” He pulled a beer from the fridge.

  “No, wait. Please, at least hear me out.”

  “In front of the whole team. All them gawking at you, like you were a stripper.” He put his head in his hands.

  “Mark, it was unusual circumstances.”

  “Yeah? And for me, too. To see the woman I love plastered up on a wall, naked, for the whole Goddamn team to leer at.”

  “Oh, Christ, Mark, I’m sorry, so sorry. It must have been terrible.” Her brows knitted.

  “Beyond terrible.” Tears stung the back of his eyes. She reached up to touch his split lip, and he flinched. “Get away.”

  “Is that why you look beat up?”

  “I’m done, Penny. I’m not going to marry a slut. Get out. Leave. I can’t look at you now.”

  “But you’re hurt.” She reached for him then lowered her arm.

  “Hurt? Hurt? You think this is bad?” He pointed to his face. “It’s nothing compared to in here.” He touched his chest. “You’ve betrayed me, humiliated me. I’m done. We’re finished. You’d better get out before I lose my temper.”

  “Don’t you even want to hear my side?” Tears rushed down her face.

  “It doesn’t matter why. You didn’t tell me, and there it was on the wall.” At the sight of her tears, a sharp pain pierced his heart. So, she’s crying. She made you cry. Payback.

  “I thought we had a relationship. I thought we could talk. I thought you understood.” She pulled a tissue out of her purse and wiped her eyes.

  “You thought wrong. Now go.” The look on her face told him he had hit home and hurt her back. The sense of satisfaction he got lasted only a few seconds before it turned to regret. He was beyond angry and couldn’t think straight. He needed her gone. He needed to talk to Megan.

  Penny reached out to touch him, but stopped as he moved away. Her face got red, and she began to sob as she ran for the door. With her hand on the knob, she tossed the key he’d given her into the ceramic bowl and turned to him.

  “Call me when you’re rational. Give me a chance to explain before you blow us apart. Then, if you still want to dump me, I’ll leave quietly.” She closed the door behind her.

  “You’ll leave when I say so!” he hollered after her. Mark sat down with his head in his hands. Tears returned. He expected her to be angry, snide, defensive, and attack him. But she didn’t. She crumbled like week-old bread at the loss of his love, and it hurt him to watch her. That was the Penny he knew, not the provocative girl in the photos.

  He went to the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of scotch. He knew he wasn’t ready for Meg’s rational take. He downed a couple of shots and threw himself on his bed. Within minutes, he was fast asleep, dreaming of Penny.

  ****

  Mark slept all the way to the next morning. Reaching out in his sleep for Penny and finding her not there woke him up early. His body was sore from the fight and his heart from the loss of his girlfriend. Coffee burned his sensitive lip, but he drank it down anyway. He needed something to get him started. His body was heavy from sadness. A shower pounding on his bruises hurt, but the pain woke him up.

  Tension built as he left his car and headed for the locker room. Every muscle was drawn tight as he walked through the door. When his teammates noticed him, all talking stopped. Mark felt their stares. They dressed for practice in silence. Sweetwater brushed by him, not looking like he was in any better shape than Mark.

  I can’t afford to lose five grand. Megan is going to kill me. The fight. Penny. Better not call her for a few days. He walked out onto the field, his muscles stiff. No one made mention of the fight or the photos. The laps and warm-ups relaxed and stretched his tense and battered body. The coach looked madder than ever as they ran through their plays. Mark’s game was off. He struggled to get his concentration back.

  After practice, Harley came up to him in the locker room. “How you doin’, buddy?”

  “Don’t ‘buddy’ me. Why didn’t you take those stupid pictures down?”

  “Hey, I got here about thirty seconds before you did.”

  “Really?”

  “I may be a lot of things, Mark, but not a liar. I would’ve taken ’em down if I’d seen them before you.”

  “Okay.” Harley’s explanation soothed Mark. Then, his conscience started to bother him. What if Penny had an explanation like Harley did? I didn’t even let her talk.

  “Let’s get wasted tonight.”

  “Nah. Don’t feel like it.”

  “We’ll pick up a couple of chicks, get laid…come on. Be good for you.” Harley clapped him on the shoulder.

  He flinched as the friendly gesture landed on his bruised flesh.

  “Sorry,” Harley mumbled.

  The thought of sleeping with anyone but Penny turned him off. She’s the top. Nothing less will do. He stroked his chin. “How about we eat in and watch a movie?”

  Harley made a face. “I want some action.”

  Mark cocked an eyebrow at his friend. “Does my sister know you’re out tomcatting?”

  “She wouldn’t commit to me.”

  “Shows good sense on her part.”

  “Thanks for nothing.”

  “Come on, Harley. I’ll put Meg on speaker phone.”


  “Are you gonna to hide out for the rest of your life, or are you gonna live?”

  “Man, I just broke up with the love of my life, gimme a break, will ya?”

  “Okay, okay. Go home and sulk. I’m going out.” Harley slapped some aftershave on his face and shook his head.

  One by one, his teammates stopped by to slap Mark on the shoulder or the butt before they left. No one said a word about Penny or the pictures. They pity me. God, that’s almost worse. Mark couldn’t remember when he was this depressed.

  He drove slowly, not anxious to be in the apartment without her. She had become a fixture. He had looked forward to getting home and talking about his day, what he did right and what he did wrong on the field. She was a good listener. Penny had a way of joking him out of a bad mood, or, if that failed, loving him out of one.

  He’d never had a woman who cared for him the way she did. Or who could love him like she did. She was fire, igniting him in a matter of seconds whenever she turned up the flame. He craved her—her soft, smooth skin, the subtle scent of lily about her, and the taste of her lips, her mouth, her body. Was this love? Probably. Come and gone so quickly, he’d barely had time to grasp it with his heart before it was torn from him, leaving him bloodied inside and out.

  A couple of days later, the dark cloud still hovered over his emotions. Misery was his companion. The clink of his keys in the bowl by the door echoed in the empty space. He sighed. The silence reminded him that Penny wasn’t there. No cheery greeting. No wonderful smells of dinner cooking. No soft, willing woman to warm his bed. No snuggling in front of the television. The place, once grown to be a home, had shrunk to become only an empty shell.

  He sighed. What could he do? He didn’t expose those pictures. He wasn’t responsible. How could he look the other way?

  He opened the bag with a burger in it, but had no appetite. He searched through movies, but didn’t find anything that could hold his interest. Like a man obsessed, he turned on her program and sat back. Watching her on screen helped and hurt at the same time. Will I never see her again? Never kiss her? Touch her? The thought was too much. He shut off his mind and watched. Then, his cell rang.