Beep.
“Hi Claire. Hi Rachel. It’s Grandma Lil,” she said, masking fear with levity. “I have nothing to say really, just that I enjoyed watching you play soccer last weekend and I hope we see each other again. Soon.” I could hear a quiet desperation in her voice, one that begged me to return her call and assure her that we weren’t going to disappear again. After a momentary pause, she continued. “Claire, I got a very unusual invitation in the mail today that I’d like to speak with you about. Please do call.”
After Rachel went to bed that night, I returned Lil’s call. “I’m glad you called,” she said with thinly disguised relief. “Have you ever heard of the Steve Emmet—one t—Foundation?”
“Oh boy,” I sighed.
“They say they’re funding research for lung cancer,” Lil said.
“Non-smoking-related lung cancer,” I corrected.
“So you’ve heard of these people?”
“One of Steve’s partners from the firm. He has this, well, very enthusiastic wife who started a foundation in his name.”
After a moment of silence, Lil reminded me, “Stevie had lymphoma.”
“I know, Lil.”
“Then why is this woman … ” she trailed off. “We’re going to this dinner,” Lil said emphatically. “I’m buying a table and we’re going to see what this foundation is all about. I’m inviting your mother and Blake. If there’s anyone you’d like to bring, please let me know.”
“Like a date?” I asked.
“I suppose it would be a little awkward, wouldn’t it?” Lil said, laughing for the first time. “Though I hope you know that if there were anyone you were dating, he would be welcome at my table.”
“Oh, I, um.”
“You don’t have to discuss it with me,” she said. “I suppose what I’m trying to say is that I expect you to meet someone nice someday, Claire. And when you do, I hope you won’t feel funny about it with me.”
I laughed ruefully. “I think that someday is quite a ways off.”
“You haven’t met anyone interesting?” Lil asked. “I thought there might be something between you and that fellow at Rachel’s soccer game.”
How mortifying! Could everyone see through me as easily as Lil?
“Absolutely not!” I protested vehemently. “He’s married to my best friend. I would never betray her!”
“Dave is married to Darcy?” Lil asked. “He told me he was Jessica’s ex-husband.”
“Oh, um, you’re right, he is,” I fumbled. “So, you’re telling me that if I met someone, you’d be okay with that?”
“Someone special,” Lil clarified. “Before Stevie’s father died, he told me that the highest praise I could have for our marriage would be to remarry.”
“And you think Steve would have felt this way?”
“I think he would have wanted to challenge the young man to a few arm wrestling contests first, but yes, I think he’d want you to be happy with someone else.”
“Can I tell you something I’ve never told anyone, Lil?”
“You fancy Darcy’s husband,” she said.
“Guess I kind of let the cat out of the bag on that one,” I said. “Do you think I’m just awful?”
“No, it makes complete sense to me,” Lil said.
“I swear to you, nothing has ever happened.”
“Oh, I’m certain of that, Claire.” Lil continued. “Sweetheart, I’ve known you for a long time, and if someone asked me to bet on whether you’d have an affair with a married man, I’d put my money on no, and rest easy. You’re just not the type, which is why it makes perfect sense that you’d find yourself attracted to your best friend’s husband. You know he’s unavailable, so you can be too. It’s like wanting to marry George Clooney. It’s completely safe. Now, let me guess at another thing. You’re less interested in the real prospect, Dave. Am I right?” I made some sort of meager acknowledgment, like a mousy grunt. “If you had feelings for Dave, he might return them, and you two might find yourselves in a real relationship. That has benefits, but risks too. That’s a frightening prospect for a girl who wants to run off to Timbuktu every time there’s a tremor. Am I overstepping?”
“No, it’s okay,” I said, holding my chest, reminding myself to breathe.
“Can I give you some advice, sweetheart? You need to end the relationship with your imaginary boyfriend next door and start dating real men.”
“Lil,” I said, sniffing, “where would I be without you?”
Chapter Twenty-Six
The remainder of the summer was fairly uneventful, which was exactly what I’d hoped it would be. Though Mimi had aspirations of the team playing in eight tournaments, the three were plenty for me. Rachel may have enjoyed more soccer-filled weekends, but I needed a few solid days of lazing by the Santa Bella pool. I was never fully relaxed because there was always a chance of Mimi showing up in her bikini and strutting around the deck like she owned the place, which she probably did. Even if I was buried behind a book, she never missed the opportunity to cast a shadow over me until I had no choice but to look up and acknowledge her. Then she’d make a face as if she were repulsed by the sight of my body.
The regular soccer season started the weekend after school began, which I thought was particularly poor planning by the Pico League. Learning the names of the various leagues was an education in its own right. The California Youth Soccer Association had a Southern California branch called, not so creatively, Cal South. Then there were various regional bodies that oversaw entire counties. San Diego had the Presidio League. Santa Bella had the Pico League, which covered forty soccer clubs, like Conquistadors, Turf, and Kix. During the regular season, we would play other teams in the Pico League. During tournaments, we’d mostly see teams from Cal South. But during the coveted four-weekend State Cup, we would meet up with our counterparts from Chula Vista to Eureka, the most southern and northern tips of the state.
Just to make the weekend even busier for us, the Steve Emmet Foundation “Breath of Fresh Air” dinner was also scheduled for that first Saturday night in September.
Mimi emailed the parents letting us know that we were playing in the triple-A bracket, the highest level. She explained that although we might lose some games, the girls would develop fastest playing against premiere teams. Wonder of wonders, Gunther agreed and there were no disputes between them. He simply emailed back a note to everyone, saying, “This is good idea.”
Both Kix and the Conquistadors were skillful in their footwork, passing and shooting. The fact that the score was zero-zero for more than thirty minutes said a lot about each team’s defense as well. Rachel played beautifully, though she was a bit distracted by the sight of my mother’s bullhorn being confiscated by the referee after she ignored his repeated requests to stop shouting “Viva, Rachel!” Most parents were amused by Barbara, but Mimi, of course, did her fair share of eye rolling. I thought that after an entire summer of Dick’s drunkenness, Bobby’s volume, Leo’s sideline rantings, and Paulo’s Italian tirades, my mother made for a refreshing change.
“Lady!” the referee shouted, holding a yellow card. “If I have to tell you to hold it down one more time, you’re getting red carded.” A few minutes later, he kept his promise. The Psycho Dads hooted with admiration for my mother, who waltzed off the field with her head held high.
“Yo’ mama’s the bomb!” Leo told me. “Sivious.”
“Don’t let the bastards get y’down, Barb!” shouted Drunk Dick, who was immediately given a warning by the referee.
“I shall return,” she said dramatically as she held her hand overhead, waving like the queen. Blake followed, saying he’d meet us back at the house.
In the end, the girls lost to the Conquistadors in the final moments of the first game.
Though I would never admit this to Mimi, I was pleased that she’d placed the girls in lower brackets for our first two tournaments. It was a good opportunity for them to learn to take the ball to open space. With tougher t
eams we’d face in the regular season, there was so much pressure that the players didn’t have time to try out new strategies. Today, it was clear that practicing those plays in the early tournaments paid off. Rachel looked to her three forwards, who were blanketed by Conquistadors defenders. She passed the ball back to our sweeper, who shot the ball thirty yards up the field, slightly farther and wider than where our left forward was. The pass gave Kelly just enough time to collect the ball, then cross it in front of the net, where Mariah slammed it in definitively. We thought the game was won, but Conquistadors were determined to, well, conquer, and came back with two equally beautifully executed goals, the final one scored with less than a minute left on the clock.
Losing wasn’t a big deal for me. (It was for Rachel, though, who sobbed for about five minutes after every loss.) I just enjoyed watching the girls play well. Of course, the highlight of this game for me had nothing to do with soccer. Cara kept shouting to Mimi that her shin guard felt funny. Mother-of-the-Year belted back that she should focus on the game. Finally, right before the whistle blew for a kickoff, Cara reached down under her sock and pulled a lacy black thong from underneath her shin guard. Both sidelines of parents burst into laughter. Apparently, the Velcro from Cara’s shin guard trapped Mimi’s underwear in the clothes dryer and hung on persistently. “The housekeeper is so dead when we get home,” Mimi muttered, running onto the field and collecting her tiny slingshot.
I glanced at Darcy, who was nodding her head. “Now, that was a first,” she laughed, poking Ron beside her. He laughed along, seeming to enjoy the game with his wife and younger daughter.
“You ought to get panties like that, hon,” he said to Darcy.
Even Preston, who had showed up at halftime, got in on the joke. “Atta girl, Mimi. Distract ’em however you can!”
Dave and I managed to remain quite friendly, which was a relief. I really enjoyed his friendship, but things can get so sticky after a breakup. Though he was the official dumper, we both knew it was he who would likely feel the sting. Thankfully, there was none of that weirdness between us.
There was plenty of awkwardness, however, between Ron and me, despite the fact that we never had any romantic involvement. Well, he didn’t. A few days earlier, he caught me eavesdropping on another of his clandestine cell phone conversations. I couldn’t help myself. All that whispering sounded so secretive, I just had to listen. Disastrously, my cell phone rang as I was huddled behind a bush. He barked “Who’s there?” several times, but the answer was pretty clear since the ringing was coming from my hedge.
As Rachel practiced her piano in her sweaty jersey, shin guards and socks, I checked my email and saw that Mimi was back on the warpath.
MEMORANDUM
TO: The Team
FROM: Mimi
DATE: August 29
RE: Today’s fiasco
I’m sure I don’t need to point out the myriad of tactical errors the girls made today! The game should have been ours by two goals, and if we had had a competent coach that’s what would have happened!
It is also abundantly apparent that the girls are not getting enough exercise! Some are horrendously chunky! This is not a vanity issue! They move slowly on the field when they are fat! Players can feel our girls approaching from behind as the ground shakes like it did with those damned dinosaurs in Jurassic Freaking Park! We need to get serious about this!
Please ask your guests to refrain from classless behavior when visiting our games! Enthusiasm is great, but we need to set an example for our girls! I’m sure we would not want any of our daughters to behave in a way that would warrant a red card at a game! Let’s not send them the message that this is okay!
Go Kix!
That was it! The only people who got to criticize my mother were Kathy and me. I hit “reply all” and began typing.
Dear Team:
I couldn’t agree more with Mimi about sideline behavior. I will ask my mother to refrain from making such scathing comments as “Go Rachel!” and “Yippee!” It must have been devastating for the girls to hear such language, especially when they are used to the sober wisdom of some of the fathers on the team. Mimi, frankly, I was embarrassed by your note. Not only because you have a valid point about my mother’s overzealousness, but because I’ve been silent for too long about the blatant consumption of alcohol at games and practices. Three fathers on this team regularly bring beer and flasks of hard liquor. One has been banned from a tournament because of his drunken assault on another parent! I cannot believe that your first mention of poor behavior from the sidelines is about my mother, a senior citizen with a passion for soccer. Admittedly, the bullhorn was a bit much and I will speak to her about it, but I challenge this team to take a good, hard look at what we are teaching our daughters when we turn a blind eye to the alcohol abuse. Let’s all support Mimi in enforcing the Kix guidelines that prohibit alcohol consumption from practices and games.
I thought the girls did a terrific job against a very tough team today. I did not play soccer when I was in college, but if I had, I certainly would not find these degrading emails in the least bit motivating. Our coach and players did a fine job today. Unfortunately, our opponents played a little better. Let’s get ’em next time!
Go Kix!!!!!
Claire Emmett
I hit send before I could change my mind. The one thing that bothered me a tad was that Mimi was right about the girls’ fitness. Okay, fatness. I couldn’t understand what was going on with them. They played soccer three times a week and every player except Cara was porking out, and I’ll bet her mother didn’t allow her to eat anything but celery sticks and Fiber One cereal with no milk. Ever since school started, the girls really ballooned. Mimi said that because the girls were sitting at desks for six hours a day, they weren’t burning as many calories as they were during break, but I was starting to wonder.
I looked at my watch and saw that there was a little time before I had to jump in the shower. When I called Violet’s house last week, her father simply said he had nothing to say to me. Still, I couldn’t help wanting to know how Violet’s knee was healing. Mimi simply told us that Violet wouldn’t be returning until State Cup, but I felt like there was more to the story. With Mimi, there always was.
“Hello, Violet?” I asked when I heard a female voice. The television was blasting in the background so it was difficult to determine whether it was her or Leesha.
“Yes.”
“Hi, honey. It’s Claire Emmett, Rachel’s mom. I’m calling to see how your knee is doing. Is your mother around?”
“Daddy says my knee is real good, but the doctor says I can’t play for a few more months.”
In the background, I heard an angry male voice. “Who you talkin’ to, girl?”
Uh-oh. Noooo mer-saaaaay!
“It’s for Mama,” Violet said, then put me on the phone with Leesha.
I heard voices garbled as Violet explained that it was me. “Hello,” she said impatiently. I could hear a door close behind her.
“Hi Leesha, it’s Claire from the team. I was—”
“I know what you was,” she snapped. “An’ I’ll tell you what I told Mimi last time she called. Violet can’t play soccer till her doctor says it’s okay. I don’t care who you give her spot to, this is my baby!”
“Oh,” I said, taken aback. “I’m not calling to get her to play. I just wanted to see how she’s doing.”
“Uh-huh,” she said with a tone of skepticism. “You tell that Mimi she can stop callin’ on us. She can stop havin’ other people call on us. My baby don’t play till the doctor says she’s okay.”
“Leesha, you don’t understand. I—”
“You can give her spot to little Pissy for all I care!”
“Who you talkin’ to in there?!” I heard Ray shout through the door. “Don’t let them give Violet’s spot away, woman!”
“Leesha!” I said, fighting for a voice in the conversation that now became one between Angry Leesha and Cr
azy Ray. “I’m just calling to see how Violet’s doing! That’s all.”
“That’s all?” I could see her eyebrow raised and her lips stuck out to one side. “Nothin’ more?”
“Well, if you need anything like a prescription filled or a ride to physical therapy ... ”
Silence.
“Hello? Are you still there, Leesha?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, well then, is there, um, anything you need?”
“I do need some Comet.”
“Comet?”
“The cleanser,” she explained.
“No, I understand what Comet is, but what does that have to do with Violet’s knee?”
“If I take her to the doctor, I don’t have a whole lot a time left to buy Comet.”
I laughed to myself. How did I always get stuck with these assignments? “Okay, Comet it is. Anything else?”
“Paper towels, Brillo, and Windex.”
“Okay, anything else?”
“I could use a carton of Lucky Strikes.”
As I was getting ready to step into the shower, I heard Dave’s voice blasting through the house through the answering machine.
“Rachel!” I called to her hoping she’d pick up the phone. I peeked my head down the staircase and looked at her, still in her soccer uniform, doing Sudoku at the kitchen counter.
“What?” she asked.
“Did you want to get the phone?”
“It’s for you,” she replied.
Dave’s voice continued, “Anyway, I know it’s late notice, but I thought I’d check and—”
“Hello,” I answered.
“Oh hey, Claire. Screening?”
“Just getting ready for this fundraising dinner tonight.”
“That’s actually why I’m calling. Lil just called—”
“Lil, my mother-in-law, Lil?”
“Yeah, she’s got an extra seat at her table for this thing tonight and asked if I’d like to come as her guest,” Dave explained.
Field of Schemes Page 23
