“You’re joking, right?!”
“No, I’m not, Rachel. I wish there was a way for you to go to State Cup, but under the circumstances, our only option is to sit out.”
She stood enraged. “Why is that the only option?! Another option is going with Mimi like everyone else. This is State Cup, Mom. I don’t think you understand what a big deal it is.”
“Rachel, I have been hearing about State Cup since before tryouts last year. I get it. What you don’t get is that I’m not looking to guide you through one soccer season. I’m in this for life, and I can’t condone what Mimi did to Gunther. If I let you go with her, I’m saying what she did was okay, and it’s not.”
“Mom!!!” Rachel screamed. “I know she can sometimes be bossy, but she really knows what she’s doing. She played in—”
“I know, Rachel. I think we’re all well aware that Mimi played soccer in college.”
“You’re jealous of her! You don’t want me to go because you hate her. That’s so unfair!”
“Rachel, I am not jealous of Mimi Shasta!” Okay, maybe a little. “I wish I could let you go, but—”
“You can! All you have to do is say, ‘Rachel, go to State Cup.’ That’s all. No other parents are making a big deal of this. Why do you have to be the nice police about this?!”
My tone and intensity escalated. “It’s not about being nice, Rachel. It’s about doing what’s right. Where is your loyalty to your coach? The coach who took a chance on a rookie! The coach who taught you everything you know! Mimi just fired that coach—by email! She took a secret vote and ousted him. She put painkillers in your cookies! This is who you want to play for?!”
“Maybe she just didn’t want us to be sore after practice,” Rachel shouted. “I don’t care who I play for, I just want to play.”
“You know what, Rachel? I knew this was going to be an unpopular decision, but I’m sticking to it because I know it’s the right thing to do. You’re twelve. You don’t get a say in every decision, even if it involves you!”
“I can do what I want! You can’t control me!” Rachel screamed before trotting up the stairs.
Shouting at her back, I shouted, “If you make your choices simply to defy me, I am controlling you, Rachel!” The door slammed. Well, that went swimmingly.
I decided to give Rachel some time to cool off before I tried to make peace. I dialed Darcy’s house, checking first to see that Ron’s car was gone. “Darcy?” I asked of the faint voice that answered the phone. “How are you doing?”
“Meh, been better,” she said with the tiniest laugh.
“Did you say anything?”
“Not yet,” Darcy said. “I need to figure out what I’m doing first, and if Ron knows that I know, it’ll complicate things. Better to just get through the holidays letting him think everything is normal.”
“What do you mean, it’ll complicate things?”
“Claire, he’ll start hiding money so I can’t get it in a divorce.”
“So, that’s what you’ve decided?” Before I thought it through, I asked, “Do you really think he’d hide money from you?”
This annoyed Darcy. “Gee, Claire, I don’t know. He’s been hiding his dick in the team manager all season. Speaking of that crazy bitch, did you get her last email? Can you believe she fired Gunther?”
I couldn’t believe that in the height of her marital crisis, she was still concerned about soccer politics. “There’s no way I’m letting her take Kelly to State Cup,” she said.
“I’m not letting her take Rachel either. You’re never going to believe what I found out,” I said. Darcy didn’t seem all that shocked when I told her about the Girl Power bars. In fact, she gave the faintest acknowledgment of it and moved on to ask if I’d spoken with anyone else from the team. I told her I hadn’t.
“Do you have time this morning?” she asked.
“What do you have in mind?”
“Let’s get on the phone and see just how much support Mimi really has. I’ll bet if we refused to let our daughters play for Mimi, we could get Nancy on board with that. Let me talk to Gia and Tom and see where they stand. I’ll call the Psycho Dads and you talk to the Normals and the Italian and let’s touch base this afternoon. Maybe we can undo this takeover.”
“Do you think we can?”
Sounding energized, Darcy said, “Claire, I can’t turn back the clock on the affair Ron had with her, but I can mess up her stupid plan to take over the world of girls’ soccer.” I smiled. “I’ll tell you this, Claire, I’d like to take a fist full of medals and stick them straight up her ass!”
“Then so you shall, my friend,” I said.
Hours later, Rachel still had not come out of her room, answering my knocks only with, “Go away!” It was a shame she had to be such a snot considering she was missing out on news that she would quite like. As it turned out, all three Katies’ parents, Deborah’s parents and Sapphire’s parents had voted not to overthrow Gunther, which meant Mimi only had the support of the Psycho Dads, Ron, Giovanna’s father and, of course, herself. Paulo put an older cousin of Giovanna’s on the telephone, who explained that he spoke English “more good than Uncle Paulo.” I explained the situation as I heard young Gianni translate for his uncle. Paulo sounded flustered and began repeating the word “no.” “My uncle he is very sorry he did not understand what the lady saying. He no want to get a new coach than Gunther.”
“Really?! That’s wonderful news. Grazie, molto grazie,” I said.
As it turned out, Mimi never bothered to call Violet’s parents, but when I called, Ray and Leesha said that they would vote however I thought they should. “I never trusted that rich bitch with her fancy-ass house,” Raymond said.
“You didn’t trust me either,” I reminded him.
“Don’t make a proud man say he’s sorry, Claire.”
“I think you just did,” I teased.
“Good ’nuff then. Let’s do to this team what you did to that lung dinner.”
By the next morning, Darcy and I had chipped away at Mimi’s team until it was only Cara, Cayenne, Tandy, Mariah, Kylie and Savannah. Oh, and of course, Sissy. There was a part of me that hated tearing the team down the middle like this, but as they say in kindergarten, she started it. The larger part of me knew that Darcy and I were doing the right thing. Mimi had been operating like this throughout her entire life, and it was high time someone put a stop to it.
Chapter Thirty-Two
After the New Year, Gunther returned to Santa Bella and seven phone messages from me. “We’ve got half the team back, and Preston said we could borrow players from the B-team for State Cup,” I said in my fourth message. When he finally called me back and I filled him in on Mimi’s plan, he laughed with more vitality than I’d ever heard.
“This woman is cuckoo,” Gunther said. “All season she tell me girls are fat, and now you say she feeding them fat food? Then she fire me?”
“Yeah, um, I know, it’s hard to believe.”
A week before State Cup, Darcy still hadn’t told Ron that she knew about his affair with Mimi. As far as he knew, he was happily married, and his daughter would be playing on his girlfriend’s team at the state championship. Darcy told me she’d been doing some digging and, with what she discovered, there was no way Ron would stop her from switching Kelly’s allegiance. “Trust me on this one, Claire. Ron’s going to be extremely cooperative with me next week, and my lawyer the week after that,” she said coyly, still absolutely refusing to let me in on her secret. “I promise everything will become very clear next weekend.”
With Mimi now coaching the other team, I volunteered to take over as manager for what was left of Gunther’s team. Strangely enough, it was in the few weeks that I stood in as team manager that I gained appreciation for Mimi’s contribution. Sure, she was a vicious, lying, cheating scoundrel. But she did handle quite a bit of paperwork for the team. I had no idea how many forms, phone calls, and emails this job entailed. Still, all things co
nsidered, I wasn’t about to drop her a thank-you note.
Because my mother had called in a few favors in the magazine world, several of my designs were scheduled to appear in the glossy pages of women’s monthlies in the spring. This was just the kick in the ass I needed to get back to work. Claire Emmett Designs was my mother’s first true gift to me and was scheduled to officially open its doors in February. Mother had bought me clothing and jewelry throughout my life, but in spoon-feeding my upstart business to me, it was the first time she had really thought about who I was and what I needed most at that point in my life. I found a great space that had room for about twenty workstations in the back where people could string beads. And there was a small shop in the front—just large enough to hold a few designs and tiny enough to feel like a chic boutique. Adding to the character of the shop would be my ritzy sales clerk, Lil, who volunteered to work for me once a week. Afterward, she’d have dinner and take the train home the next morning. It would be good to have her around on a regular basis again.
Last week, when I told Lil about Ron straying, she nodded her head as if she already knew. “He seemed the type,” she said.
Holy crap, did he hit on her too?!
“Can I tell you something awful?” I asked.
“You just did, sweetheart.”
“No, I mean, something awful about myself, about my reaction to Ron’s affair with Mimi.”
“You were jealous,” Lil said.
“Yes!” I exclaimed. “I mean, I really put myself through the wringer over this. I felt horribly guilty over my thoughts. And once, oh God, I can’t even believe I’m going to say this aloud, but once I wondered if it would be so terrible to follow through on my feelings because what Ron and I had together was so clearly special,” I said, laughing at the absurdity.
“But you didn’t,” Lil said forgivingly. I shook my head emphatically. “And you wouldn’t have. Claire, you’re not the first woman to feel hurt when she learns that the neighborhood lothario views her as no more than a fungible unit of sex.” I giggled as Lil brushed the hair from my face.
“A fungible unit of sex?”
Lil smiled. “Should I have said ‘booty’?”
I raised my eyebrows.
“Lil, you’re the best,” I said, resting my head on her shoulder.
“What you must always remember, Claire, is that you are special. Not because some handsome cad pays attention to you. Why give that jerk so much importance? You’re special because I love you.”
It was a new year and time for the battle of our lives. When we saw the sign reading “Welcome to the California State Cup,” my heart was beating in my throat. Every pore was open and I felt like my innards were going to drop through my pants. Kelly and Rachel carried on in the back seat, a blend of nerves and excitement.
An hour earlier, as the girls watched Bend It Like Beckham (or as Darcy called it, My Big Fat Sikh Wedding), I whispered, “How did you get Ron to agree to let Kelly play for Gunther again?”
Darcy glanced back at the girls, who were fully immersed in the movie, and whispered, “It’s in Ron’s best interest to disassociate himself from Mimi.”
“Did you confront him?” I begged.
“I did,” she said. “I’ve done my homework on Miss Shasta, and my husband’s not the only one she’s been screwing.”
Peeking back at the girls again, I whispered, “Do tell.”
“Oh, you’ll find out. But you know Mimi’s stellar college soccer career she always reminds us of?” I nodded. “She played intramural.”
“No!”
“Yep, the biggest game she’s ever been in was a rivalry match between the Tri Delts and Kappa Kappa Gammas.”
“I’m loving this!”
“It gets so much better, Claire.”
“Why do you tease me like this?!” I said, swatting her.
“Claire, you will not leave this tournament this weekend without knowing everything.”
“Do you think we have any shot of advancing to the next weekend?” I asked.
“Honestly, no,” Darcy said before reconsidering. “Maybe next week, but no further than that. You know I love our girls and I think our patchwork team is pretty darned solid, but the teams that go on to the semifinals and finals of State Cup are amazing. The good news is that Mimi’s team won’t advance either.”
“Yeah, she had to take half of the B-team just like us. Basically, we both have A-minus teams.”
“Pretty much,” Darcy said. “But Mimi wouldn’t advance to next week if she had Mia Hamm and the Women’s National Team playing for her.” She smiled mischievously.
Shockingly, we won both of our first two games in tight, hard-fought battles. The girls from the B-team were far better in games than they looked in practice. And the parents were so much more pleasant on the sidelines than I’d expected. There was no sideline coaching, no disparaging other players and no secret pow-wows second-guessing Gunther’s plays. We had a sudden infusion of Normals, including, I’m happy to say, Raymond. After his first “Noooo mer-saaaaay!” Leesha placed her hand on her husband’s leg and said, “Mercy is a good thing, honey.” He looked at her and nodded in agreement. It was a private reference that quieted him instantly.
When we faced Mimi’s team on Sunday, the mood became decidedly tense. This was no longer just a soccer game; it was a battle between good and evil. Then I looked across the field and saw Tandy’s bony arm waving at Rachel. She called back, “Good luck, you guys!”
Okay, maybe it was just a soccer game.
As we watched the game, I was filled with pride over how much the girls had improved over the season. Sure, girls like Violet and Kelly came to the team with superstar status, but Rachel had really grown this season. And Tandy—wow! At the beginning of the season, she tripped over the ball. Now she was doing scissors and crossovers as if they were second nature to her.
The sideline was awkward with Darcy and Ron sitting beside each other as Dave and I shared a canvas bench with a soccer ball pattern. Their conversation was clipped, and that’s when they spoke to each other. Thankfully, Paulo came to sit with us and struggled through an apology in broken English. He was almost weeping with remorse as he explained that he had no idea what Mimi was doing when he agreed to let Giovanna play for her break-off team. Looking at his rosary-clad mother, I wondered what his penance was for this transgression.
Gia and her boobs—and her fiancé—were at the State Cup jumping around wildly like, well, kids. Sadly, Tom couldn’t make it, as Anne had taken a turn for the worse and he wanted to be by her bedside. I made a mental note to call him when we got back to Santa Bella. I had a list of the top ten worst things to say to the spouse of a terminally ill person, and promised not to utter a single one of them. Unless, that is, Tom was the type of person who found comfort in humor. If that were the case, the two of us could share war stories. I didn’t know, but would make a point of finding out who Tom really was, instead of assuming I already knew.
Nancy and her CFO husband huddled together under a wool blanket, while some of the Normals showed us seat warmers they bought earlier that day. Everyone clutched a cup of hot chocolate, coffee, or cider.
I watched Ron as he averted his eyes from Darcy, me—and Mimi, which was actually quite challenging since she was directly across the field from us.
Dick, Bobby, and Leo looked absolutely hammered, which wasn’t surprising since it was the last game of the day. We could always count on them to start the party early and keep it going till the cleanup crew broke down the goal nets.
When it was time for me to bring the girls out to the referee, I walked out to the center of the field, where I was met by Dry Drunk Dick, who, I guess, was Mimi’s team manager. “We’re taking the kickoff,” he snapped.
“Team captains flip a coin,” I reminded him.
How many games have you been to now, Loser?
As if he heard my thoughts, Dick’s head snapped up from its limp state and he shot at me, “D�
�unt matter cause we’re gonna kick yer friggin’ asses no matter who kicks off.”
When the whistle blew, everyone moved forward in their seats a few inches. Despite their marital issues, despite family illness, despite language barriers, we all had one thing bonding us. We wanted our girls to leave this tournament with a victory. As much as we may have liked individual girls on Mimi’s team, we still wanted to beat them. Not because we were competitive, but because we wanted all of the girls to see that right always wins in the end. We wanted to have our Disney ending, then have a meaningful chat about it on the drive home in the minivan. It wasn’t that we wanted to stick it to that pigtailed bitch in Nike sweats. It was about teachable moments.
In the final minutes of the game, the score was tied at one, and as luck would have it, my daughter fouled Cara in the box. Just in case anyone missed the implications of this—or might have had to wait a whole thirty seconds to see it—Mimi started shouting, “Right on! Penalty kick! Mariah, take the kick.”
Uh-oh. I’d seen Mariah’s boot. And I’d seen our goalkeeper. McKenzie was doing a lovely job, but was no match for Mariah’s precision bombs into an unreachable corner of the net. “This is not going to be pretty,” I said to Dave.
Field of Schemes Page 28
