Al Trunk Mahoney, Defensive Line

by Jean C. Joachim

  “After last night, are you kidding?”

  He grinned. “It was an amazing night.” He put the paper down and slid his chair closer.

  Carla trained her big eyes on his, peering over the cup she had raised to her face.

  “God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, playing his fingers through her locks.

  “Sex is better when you’re sober,” she returned.

  He laughed, hugging her to him. “You got that right.”

  She raised her chin and stared at his mouth. He kissed her, slipping his hand inside her robe to fondle her breast.

  “You make me want to go back to bed,” he said.

  “So, what’s stopping you?”

  “This.” He shook the paper with his other hand. “Come with me, Carla. I need advice. You’re smart.”

  “Okay, okay. The meat man is due here at ten. After that, I can go.”

  “First appointment is at twelve.” Trunk checked his watch. “It’s eight now. Gives us two hours until the meat man.”

  “Gee, what do you want to do?” Carla stifled a laugh with her hand.

  “I dunno. Let’s go upstairs and see if we can think of something to pass the time.”

  She laughed out loud as he arose and took her hand before heading for the second floor.

  After making love, Carla cuddled up to Al. He held her close, her head on his chest. He stroked her silky hair, enjoying the feel of the soft strands between his fingers. How he’d missed snuggle time when he was with Mary, though he’d never say it. When she had consented to have sex with him, afterward, she’d head for the bathroom to take a shower. She’d made him feel dirty, the way she’d rejected the act by washing it off.

  The number of times he’d approached her had dwindled from four times a week to two, then to one, then once every two weeks, and finally once a month, because he had been so horny he’d fuck a cantaloupe. Now, he understood. He wished she had been honest with him from the start. They would never have gotten married, and he wouldn’t be recovering from four years of sexual and emotional rejection.

  Carla played with his chest hair. Every touch from her small fingers or sharp nails gave him goose flesh. Football is a physical game. The players are touchy, feely, hugging, high-fiving, butt smacking men. Trunk envied his teammates who held hands with their wives, or draped arms around their shoulders or waists and kissed. He had wanted that with Mary, but she had refused any “PDA,” as she called it. No public displays of affection had been allowed.

  Why hadn’t he asked her for a divorce? Even the loyal Al had contemplated it. He’d thought about it so often, he’d even gone to see a lawyer. But then he’d worried he’d crush her and humiliate her publicly, so he’d stopped. NFL stars don’t have much privacy.

  At night, he’d prayed for her to love him, for the punishing coldness to stop. But Al Mahoney was used to punishment. He’d had it from the moment a drunk driver had swerved on the road, crashing through the median and destroying his parents in a matter of seconds.

  Carla had opened a new world to him. A world of affection, wholesome sex, and love. She’d snuck into his heart when he wasn’t looking. Sure, he was afraid from time to time, but mostly he was too happy to give in to the fear. No matter how long it lasted, he had found the closest thing to love he’d ever had, and he’d enjoy it for however long it hung around.

  He noticed Carla’s even breathing. She’d fallen asleep lying on him. He pulled the covers over her shoulders, curled his fingers around her hip, and shut his eyes. He cracked one open to peer at the clock. Only nine. We’ve got an hour. He drifted off, cradled by her warmth and the down comforter.

  The sound of the buzzer ringing several times jolted them awake. Carla jumped out of bed, grabbed her robe, and was tying it on her way down the stairs, hollering, “Keep your pants on, Terry!”

  Trunk slipped on sweats and snatched his shirt from the chair. He padded down in bare feet, catching up with the barkeep as she opened the door.

  The meat man looked at Carla then at Trunk and a salacious grin spread across his face. “Did I interrupt something?”

  Carla yawned. “A nap, asshole. Now get inside. You’re letting all the heat out.” She grabbed his lapel and yanked him in. He carried a big package on his back as he lumbered into the kitchen. “I should make you go around to the kitchen door, but it’s too damn cold.”

  “Bless you, sexy lady.”

  “Watch your mouth, buddy,” Trunk warned.

  “It’s okay, babe. He’s harmless.”

  “Ouch. You really know how to hurt a guy, Carla,” Terry said.

  Trunk followed them to the freezer.

  “This fuckin’ thing is older than I am. When are you gonna get a new one?” Terry put the meat package on the floor.

  “When I win the lottery. Get this unpacked and in there. I’ve got places to go.”

  “Back to bed with the big guy?”

  “None of your damn business. Didn’t I give you a tip at Christmas?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “I don’t expect all this lip. Al’s my best buddy. Leave him alone.”

  Trunk laughed. Little five foot, four inch Carla was protecting him. Never happened before and hadn’t been necessary for one helluva long time. “Thanks, honey, but I can handle this idiot.”

  “Hey, who you callin’ an idiot?”

  “The guy who’s six inches shorter and seventy pounds lighter than me. Any objection?”

  Terry looked up at Trunk and swallowed. “Nope. None.”

  “That’s good. Let me give you a hand.”

  While they unloaded the meat, Carla slipped upstairs, returning fully clothed in jeans and a dark pink sweater. Trunk helped her take inventory of the delivery and store it. He noticed the rubber on the door of the old freezer was split in places. He wondered what that did to the seal and how much more she paid in electricity to keep the freezer cold. The appliance had seen better days, and he got that Carla simply didn’t have the means to replace it.

  Her financial struggles tugged at his heart. She hid it well, never bitching about money or asking for help. She was stubbornly independent. While he admired her gumption, he wondered why she didn’t turn to her family, if she was too embarrassed to ask him. She was one of nine. One of her siblings must be able to lend her something. He looked at her with sympathy.

  “What? Something open?” She checked the fly on her jeans, her sweater.

  “You look fine.”

  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “No reason.”

  She put her fists on her hips. “Liar.”

  “It’s nothing. Let’s go,” he said, taking her elbow and glancing at his watch. “We’ve got fifteen minutes to get to the house.”

  “And lunch? I was gonna make lunch.”

  “Fuck that. I’ll take you out.”

  They piled into his SUV, and he put it in gear. While he drove, Carla looked out the window. She chewed a nail, something he noticed she did when she was nervous. She can’t be worried about the real estate agent. Gotta be that damn freezer. What happens if it dies?

  “I know the freezer’s old. But it’s gotta survive until next January,” Carla said.

  “It’s your business, babe. But if you need a loan or something…”

  “I’m fine. I’ve got something put away for a rainy day. I’m not some airhead, you know. I’m a business woman.”

  “I know, honey. Relax. I’m on your team.” He patted her hand.

  “You don’t have to worry about me.”

  “I’m not. You’re amazing. But I’m here if you need me.”

  That seemed to mollify her. “I get to see your house. This is cool.”

  The familiar heaviness returned, even though Mary wasn’t there, and the marriage trap that had had him by the balls had been broken. Trunk moved his shoulders, stretched a bit to shake the sensation. He was surprised at how physical the depression was and how connected it was to the house.
/>   “The sooner I get rid of this place, the better,” he said, opening his door.

  Carla popped out and waited for him. They headed up the stone walkway together. The building was a nondescript, two-story colonial in a nice, suburban neighborhood. The plot was small. There was little landscaping, just a few shrubs hugging the first floor. It was painted light gray with a black door. Trunk had always hated the gray. It had been Mary’s idea. He liked a colorful house. Had always wanted to say to a friend, “The third house on the right, the one with the red door.”

  He turned the key in the lock and held the door for Carla. Her footsteps on the stone flooring in the front hall echoed. There was only a coffee table in the living room.

  Trunk checked his watch again. “She’s late.”

  “Only five minutes. Maybe traffic. Give me a tour?”

  “There isn’t much to see.”

  “Come on.” Carla took his arm.

  Trunk led her through the living room, dining room, kitchen, and den on the first floor. One flight up, they went into three empty bedrooms and two baths. Pointing to a door, he said, “That’s the attic. Nothing in there. We never used it. Stored all our shit in the basement.”

  As they were coming down the stairs, there was a knock on the door. Trunk opened it and made introductions.

  “This is a great house. It needs to be cleaned, spruced up a little, a coat of white paint, maybe? Of course, when prospects find out it belongs to a famous Kings’ player, well, that will do it. It should be easy to sell,” the agent said.

  “Paint?” Trunk scratched the stubble on his chin.

  “Yes, the house needs to be prepared to be sold.” She handed him a card. “I do that too. For a small fee, I’ll get your interior painted, put some flowers around. Gee, not much furniture.”

  “Wife took the furniture.”

  “No problem. Paint, cleaning, waxing the floors, and it’ll sell quickly. I’d like to get an exclusive listing.”

  She and Trunk talked business. He signed some papers and handed her a set of keys. While he sat on the stairs and wrote out a check, Carla wandered from room to room. He wondered if she could feel the chill in the house. It wasn’t all strictly due to the fact that the heat was turned down so low it was almost off.

  They got back in the car.

  Carla wrapped her arms around her torso and shivered. “Turn up the heat. What was the temperature in there?”

  “Colder than hell.”

  She laughed. “You could say that. The place doesn’t look lived in. It’s hard to believe you were there for four years.”

  “It hasn’t been lived in. Not like you and I live.” Shut up, asshole. And don’t you dare say the “L” word. Trunk clamped his lips together while he drove.

  “Happier thoughts. Where are we going for lunch?”

  “The Sweet Magnolia?”

  “Too fancy. I’m not dressed. How about Pete & Joe’s? They have great corned beef.”

  “I love corned beef!” He smiled.

  “Me too. With potato salad and pickles.”

  Trunk’s stomach growled. He turned left on Apple Grove Drive and headed to Main Street. “And Coke.”

  “Oh, yeah. Coke. Perfect.”

  With the perfect woman too. He found a parking spot right in front of the deli restaurant. Carla chattered on about houses and paint colors. He listened with half an ear, happy to hear her voice, but not concentrating. It pleased him to forget about the old place and start thinking about where he wanted to live. He had no clue, except that he wanted land, lots of land, this time.

  “You’re not listening, are you?”

  “My stomach’s empty.”

  “So, your ears don’t work?”

  The waitress stopped by. “Know what you’d like?”

  They placed their order. Trunk took her hand in his. The skin on the back was soft and

  smooth. He ran his thumb over it, enjoying the silky feel.

  “What kind of house do you want to buy?”

  He shrugged. “Dunno. I guess I’ll know it when I see it.”

  “What kind of house did your parents have?”

  “We lived in a trailer until I was thirteen. That’s when they died.”

  “Oh my God! Your parents died when you were thirteen?”

  He nodded. The pain of their passing was only a twinge after so many years.

  “Where did you live, after?”

  “I was shuffled from my aunt’s house to my grandmother’s and back.”

  “Did you like any of those?”

  He shook his head. “Never had a house that was happy or meant much to me. Not since I

  was a kid.” He looked away, unable to bear the pity in her eyes. Sure, his story wasn’t a happy one, but hell, he wasn’t the only one with a sad story. And now, he was on top of the world, wasn’t he—free, rich, living the dream.

  “Now’s the time to get a place you love. A palace, big or small. Someplace you like to come home to,” she said.

  It could be a mud hut. If you’re there, I’d want to come home.

  The waitress brought their food.

  Trunk slathered mustard on his sandwich. “This looks great. I’m starving.” He took a large bite. Eating cut off conversation, giving him time to relax and think about what he was going to say. “I’ll know it when I see it. Wanna come with me?”

  She smiled and shook her head. “I stopped window shopping a long time ago. I don’t want to look at stuff I can’t afford. It’s okay. The bar is holding its own, and someday, I’ll be able to buy a house and not have to live upstairs. Someday, I’ll have a life.”

  “If you don’t hire help and take some time off, you’ll never have a life.”

  “I know what I’m doing! If I could afford help, don’t you think I would’ve hired someone by now?” She took a bite of pickle.

  “I’m sorry, Carla. I should shut up. I don’t know your situation.”

  “That’s right.” She gave one determined nod.

  “Will you come look, I mean, if I find something I like?”

  “If you’ve got it narrowed down to two, okay.”

  “Thanks. I want your opinion.”

  “Thanks for having the victory party at The Beast,” she said. “It brought in a lot of money.”

  “Good. It was the perfect place.” I’m helping you, and you don’t even know it.

  “I think so too.”

  He gazed into her eyes. She was shuttered, cautious. He saw her withdraw, and it panicked him. Conversation turned to football and the upcoming game with the Gators. They finished eating and returned to The Savage Beast. Carla started getting ready for the crowd she was expecting that evening.

  “Do you need me?” Trunk asked.

  She shook her head. “Everything’s under control.”

  “I’m gonna workout. Gotta be in the best shape for the game. We’ve got to win this.” He finished unpacking and came across a gift-wrapped box. He motioned to Carla.

  “What? I’ve got a lot to do.”

  “Just a minute, okay? Here.” He handed her the present.

  “What’s this?”

  “A gift. I bought it in Omaha. They reminded me of you.”

  She tore off the paper and opened the package. He guessed she didn’t get many presents. Her eyes widened as she touched the fine leather.

  “When I touched the leather, it was as soft as you. So, I had to buy them.”

  “They’re beautiful, Al,” she said, sliding them on. “And fur lined. The best.”

  “Nothing but the best for you, baby.”

  She pushed up, grabbing his lapels with her gloved hands, and kissed him. “Thank you.”

  Her kiss warmed him all the way to the stadium.

  Chapter Twelve

  Since the Florida Gators were flying north to play in Barker Stadium, Trunk didn’t have to get on a plane. He had time before the game. He went to practice for four hours every morning then hawked real estate offices, searc
hing for the perfect home every afternoon.

  This couldn’t be just any property. He wanted lots of land so he could plant fruit trees and have a garden. The house didn’t need to be gigantic, since it would be just him living there until he found his special lady, but the structure had to have charm.

  The place has got to give me a reason to come back. Got to be comfortable. Not hard to maintain. And not too big. If Carla was there, I’d be home every night. Never happen.

  Al Mahoney kept his eye on his wallet and decided a smaller building would do fine and cost a whole lot less, especially in heating bills. By Friday night, he’d seen pictures of two hundred dwellings, he reckoned.

  He returned to The Beast at six. Carla was serving food and pouring beer. She looked up and shot him a smile when he walked in.

  Trunk sat at a table by himself, and rested his head in his hands.

  She stopped at his table. “How’d it go?”

  He shook his head. “Two burgers, fries and a beer.”

  “Coming up, hon.” She patted his shoulder and headed for the kitchen. He nodded to a couple of regulars and pulled out some folded sheets of paper. Straightening them out, he looked them over, one at a time. Each had a picture of a house for sale and key facts. His brow furrowed, and he ripped the stack in half as Carla put a beer in front of him. She sat down.

  “I’ve got a moment. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

  He took a big drink, not realizing how thirsty he’d become. “Nothing happened. Boring houses. Nothing’s right.” He banged his fist on the table. The bottle jumped, but he caught it before it hit the floor.

  “Take it easy. You’ve just started looking.”

  “This is not a big town, Carla. I can’t be livin’ in your spare room forever.”

  “You’re not.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “What’s wrong with living with me?”

  “Nothing, babe.” He closed his hands around hers. “But I need my own place.” She trained soulful eyes on him and he melted. “Maybe you could move in with me?”

  “Can’t afford the rent.”

  “What rent?” He stroked the back of her hand. “If you moved in with me, baby, you wouldn’t have to lay out a cent. Not for the space, food, nothing.” His heart rate kicked up. What the fuck are you doing? He squeezed her fingers and let go to sit back.