First Position

by Prescott Lane

  Steven walked gingerly down the aisle carrying soda, popcorn, and hotdogs. “What did I miss?” Mason gave his brother an evil eye. “Looks like you’re doing just fine.” Steven unloaded the sodas into the cup holders.

  “Only because of this baby whiskey.”

  “That’s Olivia’s breast milk.”

  “So I’m holding her tits?”

  “Exactly.” Steven held out his arms. “Give me my son.”

  “No way, man. Noah and I are just going to chill together. I worked hard to get to this point.” Mason looked down at his nephew’s heavy eyes, falling asleep with the bottle still on his lips. He slid the bottle away and handed it to Steven.

  The leadoff man dug into the batter’s box. Mason whispered to Noah about some options to start the top of an inning -- whether to take pitches to draw a walk, or lay down a bunt and catch the infield napping. He rattled off some other ideas, as Noah was sound asleep. Steven took a bite of his hotdog. “Looks like he’s real interested in your wisdom there.”

  * * *

  Emory tried Kathleen’s choice first but could barely walk in it, a classic ball gown with a sweetheart neckline, weighing about half as much as Emory herself. Penelope led her out to the pedestal, to the waiting eyes of her crew. Emory stepped up carefully and looked at herself in the mirror.

  “What do you think?” Penelope asked.

  “It’s beautiful,” Emory said, not wanting to hurt anyone’s feelings. I could carry all my secrets under this dress.

  “It’s a little too much dress,” Olivia offered. Kathleen and Wesley both nodded in agreement. Relieved, Emory nodded, too, then stepped off the pedestal, Penelope lifting the back of the dress to lighten the load.

  Emory returned to the dressing room to try on Wesley’s pick, a ballet-inspired, pale pink dress with a full tulle skirt and spaghetti straps. She looked at herself in the mirror, shrugging her shoulders, uninspired again, and walked out of the room. Upon seeing her, Wesley brought his hands to his cheeks. “You look angelic, sweetie!”

  Emory offered a polite smile and stepped onto the pedestal. “Maybe.” She did a spin, eyeing the back of the dress. “I’m not sure I want to look like a ballerina at my wedding.”

  “I love the color,” Olivia said. “It’s so you.”

  “Pink?” Kathleen wrinkled her nose.

  “I agree with you, Olivia,” Wesley snarked. “She shouldn’t be wearing white anyway.”

  “Wesley!” Emory cried. “In case you forgot, Mason’s mother is here!”

  “Kathleen, you wouldn’t believe the noises I hear from her bedroom!” he added, Emory narrowing her eyes at him.

  “Do tell,” Olivia said.

  “I can’t make the noises right now,” he said sadly. “I’d like to, but it would be disrespectful to our new friend, Penelope.”

  Enjoying the banter, Penelope bit her tongue not to laugh. “Yes, let’s not be disrespectful to her,” Emory said, “or me!” She stepped off the podium, her cheeks blushing.

  As much fun as this was, Penelope needed to establish some direction for the appointment. “Let’s try something a little less sweet and a little more sexy.” She escorted Emory back to the dressing room.

  Kathleen turned to Wesley. “You say you can hear Emory and Mason?”

  He nodded. “Our rooms are next to each other.”

  “Then I guess they can hear you and Tomás, too,” Kathleen said, Wesley turning bright red.

  “Two men all sweaty and thrusting,” Olivia said. “That’s so gross. One man is quite enough.” Wesley rolled his eyes. “But you want to know what else is gross? Steven and I have sex with my nursing bra on or else I leak everywhere!”

  Kathleen threw her hands in the air. “OK, enough! You two are so bad. I don’t want to hear anything else about the sexual habits of my boys.”

  * * *

  The innings passed by, and Mason continued his instruction of the finer points of baseball. “Now, little dude,” he said, Noah sleeping soundly in his arms, “everything I’m telling you is very important, but most important is this -- football comes first in our family.”

  “It does indeed,” Steven said, throwing popcorn in his mouth.

  “And you also must remember,” Mason continued, “that even though we are from Texas, we hate -- and I mean,hate -- the Cowboys. They passed on Uncle Mason in the draft.”

  “Big mistake,” Steven said. “They’ve got that clown now.”

  * * *

  Emory stuck her head out of the dressing room. “I’m not coming out in this one.”

  Olivia quickly got up from her seat. “Oh, yes you are!” She walked towards Emory and pulled her out of the dressing room, Penelope following behind and watching more absurdity unfold. Olivia pushed Emory onto the pedestal, and Emory looked at herself in the mirror. She felt naked in the silk, backless dress, with a halter neckline, tightly hugging her curves. Olivia whistled at her. “I’m sure that would be Mason’s pick.”

  Kathleen frowned. “I don’t think so.”

  “This looks more like a nighty than a wedding dress,” Emory said, wrapping her arms around her chest to cover up.

  Wesley walked around her on the pedestal. “Not sure you have enough up top to pull that one off.”

  Penelope grabbed plastic inserts. “We could always add a little boost.”

  “Nope.” Emory stepped down, turning back towards the dressing room. “Next dress, please.”

  In the dressing room, Penelope could tell Emory was getting a bit discouraged. She pulled out an A-line silhouette with a bateau neckline, cap sleeves, and intricate beading. Emory slipped it on, and looked in the mirror. It was floor length with a slight train, fitted perfectly to her lean frame. Her face brightened, her eyes filled with tears, immediately knowing it was the one. I’m going to marry Mason in this dress! Penelope smiled widely and nodded in approval. Emory took a deep breath to settle herself, still needing to run the gauntlet outside.

  She opened the door of the dressing room and cautiously walked out. Olivia immediately started to cry. “It’s perfect!”

  Wesley agreed. “Oh yeah, baby girl. It’s sexy and classy, like you.”

  Kathleen just stared, her hard eyes giving nothing away. Emory shuffled her feet and did a small turn, waiting for some reaction, not realizing until this moment how much she wanted a mother’s approval. Penelope appeared with a cathedral length veil, and placed it on her, fluffing it out. But Kathleen still offered nothing. She stood up and inspected Emory and the dress, walking all the way around, eyeing her future daughter-in-law as if she were inspecting a car for some design defect.

  She suddenly grabbed hold of Emory and hugged her tightly, both women crying. “This is it. My boy will love it!” Kathleen then exchanged a whisper with Penelope, causing her eyes to bulge, but quickly composed herself. “Now you run along, Ms. Penelope, and get me a good deal on it!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  A few short days in Texas was just the escape Mason and Emory needed from the pressures of the NFL. But it brought with it the pressures of family and dress hunting, so getting back to Charlotte brought some relief. Fielding questions about the date of the wedding, and where the reception would be, and what kind of invitations, and colors they would have was exhausting. The only thing that Mason and Emory had decided was that the wedding would be on some date in the short window between training camp and the start of preseason, which left no time for a proper honeymoon. Mason knew where he wanted to spend their wedding night -- in the suite with the pool table, and preferably with Emory in her red lace panties. A honeymoon would have to wait until after the season ended, though there’d been enough delays in their lives. It was part of the demands of NFL life, and Emory thankfully understood.

  * * *

  Emory grabbed a pool stick, while Mason racked the balls. They hadn’t been back to Gus’ Bar since the night their worlds collided. But on this night, it was pool, not ribs. Emory drew back the stick, and Mason wat
ched her intently, leaning over the table, sliding the stick between her fingers wiggling her hips suggestively. She then slammed the cue ball into the triangle of solids and stripes, breaking them with great force, even pocketing a few balls. Mason raised his beer, impressed by her fast start, as she strutted around the table with a sexy grin.

  She lined up to pocket a stripe. Right before she struck the cue ball, he asked, “So what do you want to talk about first -- our wedding or house?” She swiped the side of the cue ball, bouncing it off a rail and into the corner pocket.

  “Mason, damn you! Distracting me after my hot start.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mrs. Mason.”

  “Emory Mason,” she said to herself, trying her new name on for size. He eyed a solid and lined up for a shot. “Emory Claire Mason.” She cocked her head to think it over.

  Mason pocketed the solid and moved onto the next ball. “Don’t even think about keeping your name.”

  “Relax, it’s just strange for me to be Mrs. Mason when everyone calls you Mason.”

  “As long as we’re clear,” he said, lining up for another shot.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She waved him off. “I like the way Emory Mason sounds.”

  “Me too,” he said, blistering a ball into the side pocket. “Remember the pool table in the hotel a few months ago?”

  “Yeah,” she said, slowly licking her lips.

  He lined up for another shot. “Don’t try to distract me, Emory Mason.”

  “You brought it up.”

  A few patrons came over with Panthers jerseys and hats, and Mason shook their hands and signed. They quickly left, sensing Mason was in a surprisingly difficult match against a diminutive woman. Mason took a sip of beer and laced his hands with chalk. “Now, house or wedding? I have news about both.”

  “What have you done now?”

  “House or wedding?” He lined up for a solid in the corner pocket, but determined he needed the bridge. He reached for it against the wall, then lined it up on the table, carefully angling his pool stick, needing to bank the cue ball and somehow swerve it around a stripe to hit the solid. He pulled back his stick.

  “House,” Emory said, just before he released.

  Mason whiffed on the shot, grazing the cue ball and scooting it only a few inches. “Emory Mason!”

  “What did I do?” She removed the bridge and lined up her shot, quickly banging a stripe into the corner pocket. Before Mason could take a sip of his drink, she banged two more home.

  Mason took a deep breath, sensing he was in big trouble. “OK, so you know that big room above the garage that we talked about making my workout space?”

  “Yep.” She added chalk to her stick and paced around the table, stalking her next ball.

  “I talked to the contractor today and asked him to reconfigure it a little so that I can have my workout space, but there’d also be room for a dance studio for you.”

  “That is so thoughtful of you,” she said, pecking him on the lips, but quickly turning her attention back to the table. She lined up her next stripe, pushing the stick gently to roll the cue ball slowly to cut the stripe, making a right angle perfectly into the side pocket.

  Mason downed his beer. “I know sometimes you just need to dance, and I wanted you to have a place to do that.”

  “Perfect,” she said, lining up another ball. “Now what about the wedding? You know I want something small and intimate.”

  On their Texas trip, Kathleen had suggested, as only she could, that Mason’s career with the Panthers likely would benefit if they had a huge wedding in Charlotte. It would garner publicity and establish more ties for Mason in the community, all of which could help with a long term deal. Kathleen even offered to design the large wedding, which she admitted would help her business -- both back in Texas and markets along the East Coast -- since the press would cover every detail. Mason shut all of that down quickly, but in the back of Emory’s mind, she wondered whether his mother somehow had convinced him otherwise.

  Mason watched, as she struck the next stripe into the corner pocket. “I don’t want a big production. We are getting married for us, not for our families, not the city of Charlotte, not the Panthers. Right?”

  “Of course,” Mason said.

  She missed an easy shot in the corner. “Piss.”

  “Thanks for letting me play,” he joked, walking around the table. “I just want to do this the right way, Em. To give you the wedding you want.”

  “The wedding is a few hours one day. It’s not that important to me. The marriage is what is important to me.”

  The wedding, of course, was important to her. Indeed, she wanted the wedding to be at St. Peter’s or some other Catholic church, but figured it wasn’t possible since Mason had been married before. She was disappointed about that but didn’t want to let on. It would only make him feel bad.

  “Me too,” he said, lining up a solid in the side pocket. “But what’s also important is that we stand before God when we take our vows.” He slammed the solid home. “So I’m having my marriage to Alexis annulled.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Steven is handling it. He’s like my personal family lawyer now. He’s pushing hard to get it done quickly.” Mason eyed his next shot. “And apparently being the Panthers quarterback is helping move things along.”

  “This is so perfect. But I do need you to do something else for me?”

  “Name it.” Mason lined up the cue ball.

  “Well, you know the way you proposed to me?” He nodded, smiling. “Well, I loved it, and it was perfect, but. . . .”

  “Spit it out, babe.” He nailed a solid into the side pocket.

  “Well, everyone keeps asking me how you proposed, and I don’t really want to say we were naked, so we need to come up with a PG version, OK?”

  “Whatever, guys don’t talk about that stuff anyway.” He banked a solid into the corner.

  “OK, good. I told Wesley, but I don’t really want to tell Olivia because then she would tell Steven and your mom, and then Olivia and your mom would blab to everyone.”

  “Makes sense,” he said, lining up another shot. “Now stop all your blabbing. I’m kicking your ass.”

  Emory’s phone rang, as Mason gripped the stick. “Now you’re having people call to distract me?” Emory smirked and took a few steps away to answer, Mason going on with his shot.

  “Hey, Wesley.”

  “Are you alone?” he asked cryptically.

  “No. Why?”

  “Step into another room for some privacy.”

  “I’m at Gus’ Bar with Mason. Hang on.” She looked at Mason and indicated she needed a moment, then walked nervously to a row of empty barstools. “OK, what’s wrong?”

  “A reporter just called. Wanted me to comment on your engagement.”

  “Just say no comment.” A bartender offered her a drink, and she shooed him away. “What’s the big deal?”

  “It’s not just that. The reporter knew things. He knew about your relationship with Mason in college and that you’d gotten back together. He said he had pictures of you wearing an engagement ring.”

  “So what? That’s all pretty easy to find out.”

  “Yeah, but then he wanted to know about your dance career.”

  “So?”

  “And your injury and hospitalization.”

  “Oh my God!” All the color left her face, and her heart raced, the room starting to spin. “How did he know about that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She looked back at the pool table, ensuring Mason was still a safe distance away. “Did he know about the baby?”

  “I don’t think so, but I don’t know how hard it would be for him to find out.”

  “Shit!” Emory dropped her head in her hands. This bar apparently is the place for life-changing news. She looked across the bar to the counter where Mason bumped into her months ago.

  “He went on and on about h
ow the public loves a good love story and how you and Mason fit the bill. College sweethearts torn apart and reunited years later. In the NFL, no less.”

  She looked at her engagement ring, shining through her fear. “I have to tell him.” He’s never going to forgive me.

  “Yeah, you do. It’s time. I’ll be here if you need me.”

  Emory hung up the phone and turned nervously to Mason, now hitting her balls. The game was over.It was indeed. Her body tensed with worry, she didn’t want to lose what she’d just found. She prayed to God, asking Him and her mother for strength and guidance. She walked cautiously towards the pool table, each step more difficult than the last. She reached him, her face pale and drawn. “We need to go.”

  “Why? You don’t want a rematch?”

  “Not now,” she said firmly. “We need to go.”

  He put down his pool stick. “What’s going on? Something happen on the phone?”

  “I can’t get into it here.”

  “Please tell me what’s going on.”

  “Not here.” Emory held back the urge to vomit. “We need to go.”

  “OK,” he said, quickly returning his stick to the shelf. “Tell me in the car?”

  * * *

  They drove in silence. Mason prodded for information, but Emory refused -- worried and in no mood to talk. She knew she’d eventually have to talk, but not in his car. Looking out the window, watching cars and lights race by, she needed quiet and space to expose herself. She’d hoped to put the past behind her -- behind them -- but that was no longer possible. She couldn’t let him find out in the newspaper.I flipped out over his contract! Emory cursed inquisitive reporters, digging into her buried past.