Response: “What really concerns me is why she’s doing it. I mean, I am totally supportive of a woman’s right to choose, but if she thinks it’s going to keep that dog of a husband home at night, she’s got another think coming.”
New concerned woman: “He really ought to focus on finding a new job already! It’s been a year since he was laid off, and if they don’t get back on their feet soon, they might have to sell the house. My Reeba would be devastated if Uma left Santa Bella.”
Finally, someone suggested they bring casseroles over to the house to help Felicity during her recovery. Ninety-five percent of the people who bring meals to the grieving and recovering do so with only the purest intentions. There are, however, those who use their casserole as a Trojan horse. They stand at the door in a floral print dress, smiling brightly, then they walk into the kitchen, taking copious mental notes to be stockpiled as ammunition.
I also learned that when Drunk Dick told me he was an agent for Tandy and Mariah, he wasn’t kidding. Tandy’s parents paid Dick to get her on the top team at a club. Dick, in turn, gave Mariah’s parents a cut as an incentive to be part of the package deal.
Months ago, Darcy warned me that half of everything one hears about other people is bullshit, but on this day I also discovered that half of what you think about them is also false. “I am so concerned about Tom,” a mom said. “How is he going to manage once Gia starts school again in the fall?”
“He’ll have to get help, that’s all. It’s such a shame, though. I really thought Anne was going to beat this thing, but she’s gotten worse.”
As it turned out, Gia was not Tom’s trophy wife after all. She was his daughter who had taken time off from college to help care for Sapphire and her mother, Anne, as Anne fought her second bout of breast cancer. I felt as if my body were going down a giant drain. All season I’d been sneering at Gia’s ever-present boobs and her ever-absent husband. As it turned out, she had a fiancé who was patiently waiting for her at Long Beach State. And a mother who was at home dying.
Ten days later, Claire Emmett Designs had shipped more than four thousand lira necklaces. And Claire Emmett had learned that there was a lot more going on in Santa Bella than she had originally thought, or given credit for. I wasn’t the only one who had dealt with family loss. I wasn’t the only one who’d come to blows with another mother (though Mimi and I were still legendary at the Soccer Post).
In the height of production, we had a cameo from Barbara, who came wearing her oversized, belted Real Madrid jersey hanging over black knit leggings and black boots. Lil took over as den mother, cooking for us and taking Rachel to her last practices. Even Dave stopped by after he dropped Katie back at her mother’s. He tried to help, but his beefy fingers couldn’t manage the beads or petite cutters. I found it endearing the way he tried to win over my mother, as if he somehow needed her permission to take me to the prom.
“Mother,” I said, rushing past her. “I love you for doing this, but next time you put one of my necklaces on your front cover, you need to give me some advance warning.”
“Consider this it,” Barbara said.
“Consider what what?” I asked.
“This. Consider this your warning. I thought since my readers liked your lira necklace so well, we’d go ahead and feature another one this spring. It’s going to have to be something very bold. Bold, colorful, and alive is the new—”
“The new black?” I asked.
“Awww, I was going to say that!” Darcy said, pouting.
I startled, realizing that I’d entirely missed what my mother had said. “You’re putting another one of my necklaces on the Garb cover?!”
She nodded. “Make it your best, Claire.”
I lunged into her arms, not realizing how much I needed this. By this, I don’t mean getting back into jewelry design, though that had certainly fulfilled me more than I’d expected. The this I needed was my mother’s help. Never before had she used her position at Garb—or anywhere—to give me a leg-up in life. She once told me that parents who over-assisted their children were giving them a zero-confidence vote. Though I think she firmly believed it, there was also an element of selfish laziness to it. Even at my age, a little maternal coddling was incredibly comforting.
I managed to make it to the team’s last practice just before winter break. Darcy had things so well under control that we were actually ahead of schedule. For all of their drama, I’d missed attending practices. Since this was the last of the regular season, I wanted to be there. Mostly because I wanted to see everyone and wish them a happy holiday, but also because Darcy and I had been out of the loop of Mimi’s discussions of her Wall Street-style hostile takeover of the team. I was dropped from her email list, and Darcy said she was getting her information from Ron, who was actually able to reconfigure much of his hospital schedule so he could attend practices more regularly. I was hopeful that he was doing this to help Darcy manage Claire Emmett Designs, but she told me not to be naïve. He was doing it to help Ron Greer Self Interests, Inc.
At practice, Mimi didn’t say a word to either Darcy or me as she whisked by the sidelines barking orders at the girls. Gunther glared at her a few times, but this was hardly a deterrent. “Drop, drop!!!” Mimi shouted at Katie. “To who? To who?!” she cried. It was exhausting just listening to her.
“I cannot hear my thinking,” Gunther barked, looking genuinely flustered. He held his temples with his hands and knit his brow as if to trap thoughts from escaping.
“That’s because you’re not thinking!” she shot back.
“Oh, snap,” Leo said, nudging the other fathers.
“Give it a rest, Mimi,” I muttered. Unfortunately, it wasn’t quite as inaudible as I’d expected.
“Excuse me?” Mimi growled as flames shot from her mouth.
“You just might want to give them a break, that’s all,” I said.
“They’ve basically lost an entire season at the hands of this moron. This is the first real coaching they’ve gotten. If you were around more, you’d know that, Claire.”
Darcy opened her mouth to defend me, but I got the words out first. “I’ve been at most practices, Mimi, and my mother-in-law has brought Rachel to the others, so I don’t know what you’re complaining about. I’ve done your books all season, which is no easy task, let me tell you, with all those hotel room charges and fancy meals.”
Mimi’s eyes shot nervously toward Darcy before she regained her steely composure. “Okay, you’re right. You’ve been helpful, Claire. I apologize. Managing this team has been more stressful than I bargained for. Sorry I took it out on you.”
Darcy and I looked at each other dumbfounded.
“Um, okay, no problem,” I said.
Now smiling at us conspiratorially, Mimi leaned in as if we were all the best of friends. “I do have a special treat for the girls after practice today. I’m taking them all to the Mustang Diner in style,” she reported as if she needn’t bother with getting our consent. The Mustang Diner is one of those cutesy fifties-theme restaurants where the burgers are big and the waitresses’ hair is even bigger. A character reminiscent of Divine roller-skates across the dining room floor. Another Hula Hoops or flashes her ruffled pantaloons while cartwheeling. The cashier has a slicked-back ducktail, wears a black leather jacket and calls customers Daddy-O and Sugar Mama.
When practice ended, a stretch limousine pulled up to the practice field and a chauffeur got out and stood by the door. “Girls! Your chariot awaits you,” Mimi announced grandly. The girls screamed with excitement and started running past the parents toward the limo. Apparently all of the others had been asked beforehand and had agreed because even Darcy seemed to know about the surprise post-practice dinner. No one knew what Mimi had planned—just that it was something special.
As the car pulled away, Darcy stood frozen watching the spot where the limo was parked. “It’s her,” she said to no one in particular.
“What?” I asked as I packed Rachel�
��s things. Gunther and the other parents packed soccer gear and started trickling into their cars.
“Mimi. That’s who Ron’s having an affair with,” Darcy said, still staring at the blank parking spot.
Dropping Rachel’s bag, I asked, “Why do you think that?”
“Did you see how she looked at me when you mentioned the hotel charges and restaurant bills? It was just, I don’t know, I could just tell.”
“Darcy, you can’t know from—”
“Oh, I know. I’ve known for awhile there was someone, but I finally figured out who. Come on, when has she ever apologized to you? You, Claire! She said she was sorry because it was that important to shut you up.”
Part of me felt kicked in the stomach by the idea of Ron having an affair with Mimi. I felt betrayed, and couldn’t imagine what Darcy was going through. Part of me ached for Darcy, and as much as I hate to admit it, a smaller part of me felt jealous. I’d struggled hard with my feelings toward Ron while he was busy sniffing around town for anyone who would have him. I wasn’t so special after all.
The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced that Darcy was right. Mimi began lashing out at me right from the start. I was just a random hit at the Soccer Post, but after that it got personal. It went from a petty jersey battle to a full-on war when Ron and I had our first glimmer of attraction at soccer tryouts. I always assumed that she despised me because Rachel replaced Jinx’s daughter, Sissy, but I should have known that for Mimi to really, truly care about something, it needed to somehow affect her.
Darcy and I sat on the empty field, completely oblivious to the plummeting chill in the evening air. “Do you want to know for sure?” I asked.
“I already do,” she said as we walked to my car.
“Do you want to confirm your suspicions once and for all?”
We sat in the front seats of my car and turned on the heat. “Does your home phone have caller ID?” I asked.
“Please,” Darcy said, shaking her head. “Ron’s not even listed in the phone book, and gee, I wonder why.”
Oh boy. Just as I’d resolved to drop it, Darcy pressed. “Why, what do you want to do?”
“If you really want to know, I can find out. Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
I dialed the Greer house and turned on my cell phone speaker. “Hello,” Ron said.
In my best English accent I replicated a gag I’d heard on the radio a few years ago. “Hello, sir, good evening. This is, um, Poppy from Romantic Roses Dot Com. I’m not trying to sell you anything, but since we’re new to the area, we’re doing a special promotion where we’re giving away free roses and delivering them to your special lady absolutely free.”
“Not interested,” Ron said.
“Sir, there is absolutely no charge for these roses. We’re going to deliver one dozen gorgeous long-stem roses to the special lady in your life at no cost to you. All we ask is that when you’re thinking about sending flowers in the future you think of us here at Romantic Roses Dot Com. Sound fair?”
“I don’t have to give you any money?” Ron asked.
“Nothing, sir. This is our way of getting out the word about the great service and quality of Romantic Roses Dot Com.”
“I don’t have to join any club that I have to quit after thirty days?” he asked.
“No sir, you just—”
“You don’t need my credit card number?”
Just shut up and let me finish, you cynical jerk! I thought, before remembering that I was, indeed, trying to scam him, just not in the way he thought. “No sir, you simply give me the name and address of your special lady friend—or male as the case may be, nothing wrong with that,” I added.
“No, no, she’s a lady,” Ron chuckled good-naturedly.
“And her name is?” I asked.
My heart was pounding fiercely as Darcy and I looked at each other for the moment of truth. Say Darcy, say Darcy. Please, if there is a God in heaven, let this man say Darcy!
“All right. It’s free, right?”
“Totally free.”
“No catches?” Ron asked. Darcy looked at me as if she were thinking the same thing: Say the name already!
“No sir. No catches, no hidden fees. This is just our way of helping spread the word about Romantic Roses Dot Com. Now, who’s the lucky lady who will receive a dozen gorgeous roses from you this evening?”
“Mimi,” he said.
I looked at Darcy, who was clutching her chest, her mouth agape. Though we were parked in my minivan on a cold December evening, I suddenly knew how Thelma and Louise must’ve felt as their car started its descent, plummeting them into certain death. This was worse, though, because after hearing that awful name, I had to continue the charade.
“And what would you like your card to Mimi to say?” I asked, trying to maintain my chipper tone.
Please dear God, have him say, “Thanks for a great season, pal” or “From the Team.”
“Let’s see,” Ron pondered. “Write, ‘Remember Jamaica.’”
Darcy’s and my heads snapped toward each other. Remember Jamaica?! What the hell did that mean? Had they actually been to Jamaica together? Were they planning on going and he was telling her to be patient and keep her eyes on the prize of Jamaica? Jamaica, Jamaica? Jamaica the restaurant?! Jamaica the punch line to a joke? Whichever way you sliced it, “Remember Jamaica” had more intimacy than what was acceptable between a soccer team manager and the married father of a player.
Remember Jamaica?! Darcy mouthed, gesturing with her hands that I should try to get more out of him.
“Is that all, sir? We’ve got plenty of room on our cards at Romantic Roses Dot Com. You could write an entire poem if you’d like.”
“No thanks,” he said. Desperately, pathetically trying to lessen the blow, I gave Darcy a facial expression as if to say, See, he doesn’t care enough about her to write a poem.
Getting through the rest of the phone call without blowing it was a challenge. I wanted to scream at him for being such a lousy piece of shit to Darcy. Still, I continued with my happy little Brit routine, asking for Mimi’s address and nearest cross street. I couldn’t help myself, though. “Hmmmm, is this Mimi Shasta by any chance?” I asked.
“Uhh, yeah, it is. Why?”
“Oh, it’s just that she’s a very popular girl. This is the third bouquet we’ve sent to her on this promotion. Would you like to include your last name on the card so she can be sure who these are from?”
I finished taking his order and hung up the phone. Darcy and I sat in still silence, which slowly transitioned into her tears.
Chapter Thirty
Rachel returned home that night proclaiming I would never believe what Mimi told the team at dinner. That she’s having an affair with one of the team dads? I didn’t say, and hoped to God that Mimi didn’t either. One could never be sure what that woman would share with the girls. “Gunther’s going back to Germany and left her with the team,” Rachel said. “Doesn’t that totally suck of him? He didn’t say a thing to us about it. He is so lame.”
“What do you mean he’s going back to Germany?” I asked.
“Uh, what part of he’s going back to Germany and ditched his team did you not understand?” Rachel asked, sounding more like Kelly Greer—and Mimi—than I cared for.
“Rachel, I think you’d better understand that speaking to me this way is getting you nowhere you want to be,” I told her.
“Sorry,” she said.
“Let’s start over. What exactly did Mimi tell you guys?”
“Gunther’s gone. He leaving for Germany tomorrow morning, and she’s got to take over the team if we’re going to go to State Cup.”
“Wow, I’m shocked he didn’t say anything to anyone.”
“You are?” Rachel said, laughing. “This doesn’t surprise me at all. It’s so typical. Anyway, I’m kind of excited that Mimi’s coaching us. She said we’re going to be in amazing shape for the games and will t
otally rock.”
Rachel then spent the next two hours rehashing the situation on the phone with the teammates she’d just shared dinner with. They all seemed to be in agreement that Gunther was a traitor and Mimi was their salvation. “Oh yeah, Mom,” Rachel said as an afterthought. “Mimi’s going to email all the parents tonight and let you know what’s up.”
It was tough to absorb anything more this evening. I was still reeling from the fact that Darcy confirmed that Ron and Mimi were having an affair, and everything else seemed trivial. “Okay,” I said lifelessly.
I wondered what was going on next door at the Greers. Darcy said she wanted some time to “sit on” her discovery while she figured out what she wanted to do. Her plan was to neither do nor say a thing to Ron that would let him know she was on to his philandering. This was the plan, at least. With all of Darcy’s nervous energy, I wasn’t sure she’d be able to contain herself for longer than a few seconds. I wouldn’t. If Steve had cheated on me, Maggie Jennings would’ve had to start a foundation to help stop the decapitation of cheating husbands.
“So make sure you check,” Rachel added, “because Mimi said all the parents need to know about the new training schedule that starts tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Mom, Mimi says if we do everything she tells us, we have a real shot at State Cup. We’re having practice on Christmas Eve. That’s how serious she is about us, unlike Gunther who just took off. Did you know she played in college? She says I remind her of herself at my age,” Rachel said proudly. Shifting gears, she said wistfully, “The only thing I’m bummed about is no more of those amazing Girl Power bars.”
“So she’s not going to make those for you anymore now that she’s taken over the team?”
Field of Schemes Page 26
