Sugar & Ice

by Brooklyn Wallace

Hey there! It’s Jackie. You know, from The Rose? We get into an argument about politics and then fucked each other? Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks for putting those pretty pink fingers in my pussy and making me scream so much I was hoarse for the next three days. Oh, and I really like how your hair looks spread across pillows when you sleep. Wanna go again?

  That was stupid. No, it was beyond stupid. It was suicidal.

  A woman like Gwen—a woman who could eat you alive and not smudge her ruby red lipstick one inch—was a what-you-see-is-what-you-get type. There was zero indication she intended this to be more than it was. Whatever this was.

  But when I closed my eyes, I saw a painted smirk around rows of pearly white teeth. I saw miles of brown skin and soft curves. I could almost feel perfectly shaped curls brushing against my skin and laughter vibrating against my lips.

  Ugh, I was going to have to find a new scissoring speakeasy.

  My phone rang in my hand, and I nearly dropped it. When I saw it was Gwen’s I damn near dropped it again. I pressed the answer button and didn’t bother going for smooth. I’d probably miss by longshot anyway.

  “Hello?” I said, voice a little too eager.

  “That’s the quickest I’ve ever heard you pick up your phone. Usually I hit voicemail three times before you answer,” Lorne, my agent, joked.

  “Yeah, well. I haven’t had my coffee yet. Forgive the lapse in judgement,” I grumbled, disguing my embarrassment with impatience.

  “Good, then maybe you’ll actually listen to the pitches I have for you, for once.”

  The words were said good-naturedly, but I still felt guilty. Ever since tearing my ACL forced me to retire early Lorne had been trying to get me to capitalize on my early retirement. Sneaker deals, product sponsorships, charity games. Offers for things I hardly got even half of while I was still playing, before I was “the most notorious name in women’s basketball.” I turned down each and every one, and yet every month Lorne would have a new batch ready for me, waiting for my approval. The woman was unstoppable.

  Of course, I could have fired her at any time. What would a retired WNBA player need with an agent anyway? But I kept her around. I told myself that some day she would offer me a deal that would snap me out of my funk and get me back out there, but truth was I never really believed that. Letting Lorne go meant facing that reality, though, and I wasn’t ready to do that. I didn’t think I’d ever be ready.

  “Are you free to come by my office later?” she asked.

  The creeping sense of dread was back in full force. Lorne only called me when she had an offer, but even then it was just a nudge to get me to answer my email. She only called me into her office when it was big. I did not want big.

  I hunched my shoulders. “I don’t know . . .”

  “Oh, are you all booked up for a full day of sitting on your ass and drinking soda?”

  I almost balked indignantly before I caught sight of the Sprite cans arranged in a tower formation on the coffee table.

  I instead went for honesty. “No, I just don’t want to do it.”

  Lorne sighed, exasperated. “Why not, huh? You haven’t even heard the pitch!”

  “Well, here’s a quick rundown: No, I don’t want to be assistant coach for a college team in Bumfuck, Nowhere. No, I don’t want to show up at a ribbon-cutting for a new basketball court for at-risk teenagers. No, I don’t particularly feel like working with a bunch of rookies for a four-on-four to end world hunger.”

  “How cruel,” Lorne drawled, not sounding particularly upset. “Before you dismiss it, you really should hear what I have to say. It’s a pretty big deal.”

  I was more than familiar with Lorne’s idea of what constituted a “pretty big deal,” and I was thoroughly unimpressed. “You mean like that athlete’s foot commercial you had for me a few days ago?”

  “I plead the Fifth. This time I’m serious. At least come hear me out. What do you have to lose besides stepping out into sunlight and possibly melting your vampire flesh?”

  “You need to lay off the paranormal teen dramas,” I said.

  But we both knew it it wasn’t a “no,” and when Lorne responded, her tone was bright in the way it always got when she’d successfully beaten me into submission.

  “One o’clock sharp, my office. I’ll have a cup of coffee waiting for you. Wear something decent.”

  She hung up without waiting for an answer. A quick glance at the clock told me I had about an hour and a half to get ready, find something decent to wear, and get downtown. I really needed coffee.

  I managed to get to Lorne’s office with fifteen minutes to spare. Lorne looked surprised to see me so early, and said as much as I made a beeline for the coffee maker on the far desk under Lorne’s famed degrees. She waited until I drained my first cup, then filled another mug to start in on her own.

  I did a stunted twirl and posed with my arms out. “Decent enough?”

  Lorne made a show of eyeing my outfit up and down. I’d gone for a muted blue pantsuit with the white collar popped, as per Olivia’s hurriedly texted suggestion.

  “Decent enough.”

  “I’ll take it. So what’s this big pitch you dragged me out here to shoot down in person?” I asked as I stirred a generous helping of sugar into my coffee to subtly remind her what retired meant. Body fat be damned.

  Lorne took a sip of her own cup before answering. “Oh, I’m not the one delivering it to you. He insisted on doing it in person.”

  “He?”

  Lorne mimed zipping her lips. “Uh-uh, it’s a surprise.”

  I rolled my eyes. “‘A surprise’ still? Are you my agent or my mother?”

  “Is that a trick question? I did have to remind you to get up and dress well. That’s half my commission check right there.”

  A soft knock on the office door interrupted my comeback to that. Lorne opened the door to a man in an expensive-looking suit sporting an equally expensive smile. I slipped on my best professional smile right before the man stepped inside, revealing Coach Murphy standing behind him.

  Oh, fuck.

  “Mr. Rehnquist, so good to see you,” Lorne said.

  The man smiled and shook her hand. “Lorne, how do you manage to look so lovely every day? What’s your secret?”

  She beamed at the praise. If I weren’t currently in shock, I would have rolled my eyes.

  Lorne smiled and gestured toward me. “Jackie, this is Michael Rehnquist. He’s an executive director at the nonprofit NBA Cares. And you already know Ken Murphy.”

  I tried to shoot Lorne a discreet disapproving look over Coach Murphy’s shoulder as they shook hands, but she conveniently wasn’t paying attention.

  Michael and Coach Murphy took a seat at Lorne’ s designated ‘negotiation table’, and I followed suit. Lorne stayed hovering by the coffee maker. Her expression was carefully neutral, no longer charmed but in full agent mode.

  The last time I had seen Coach Murphy was when he’d visited me when I was doing physical therapy. I remembered being too far gone from the pain and the meds and the realization that my career was over to appreciate him being there. I know some of the girls had shown up, too, but none of them had stayed as long as Coach Murphy. Every time he came he saw me there with dried tracks of tears on my cheeks, fallen so far after soaring so high. So, after I went through physical therapy and officially retired I stopped answering his calls. I didn’t even attend his retirement party; I just couldn’t bring myself too. Ended up sending a gold watch and a paper thin excuse about being too busy with other ventures. All I could think about was how the last time he’d saw me I was weak. What did he think of me now?

  “Jackie Girl, as I live in breathe,” Coach Murphy bellowed in his Southern drawl. He was a transplant from Tennessee, but always said California was his real home. I looked for any hint of anger or pity in his crinkly grey eyes, but there was nothing but fondness and familiarity. My chest tightened as I sagged in relief.

  I forced my mouth to work
. “Coach, hey. What—what are you doing here?”

  “That would be because of me,” Michael started. “Jackie, first off, let me just say I’m a big fan. I used to take my nieces to Sonics games all the time when you all were in town.”

  I forced myself not to roll my eyes for Lorne’s sake. Sure, everyone’s a big fan of the WNBA . . . except for when it comes to actually supporting the women and the games.

  “Thanks. That means a lot.”

  “Now, I know what you’re thinking: ‘Here’s another stiff-shirt coming in to offer you an endorsement deal for a sneaker line or Powerade knock-off,’ but that’s not the case. I’m actually here with NBA Cares. It’s a wonderful organization whose mission is to get America’s kids active and engaged in their communities while also raising money for other nonprofits. This year we’ve decided to put on a show to raise money for the Boys & Girls Club of America.”

  I frowned. “What kind of show?”

  “A charity bout,” Coach Murphy answered.

  Michael nodded. “The theme is champions. We’ve got one lined up for the NBA—the '05 Cannons taking on the ’07 Kingfishers—and we wanted to do one with WNBA winners, too, obviously. We put out a few feelers, but we kind of already had our hearts set on the 2015 Sonics.”

  He winked at me. I shot Lorne another look, but she only gave me one back.

  “So we got in contact Mr. Murphy here and made some calls to the old team. Everyone got back to us with a yes except one.”

  I smiled wryly. “And that’s me.”

  “And that’s you. I left messages, but you’re a very hard person to track down. So I thought I’d make a more personal plea.”

  “And you brought leverage.” I gestured to Coach Murphy who, even though he didn’t seem upset with me, I still couldn’t quite bring myself to make eye contact with.

  He laughed. “Actually, Mr. Murphy here asked to speak with you himself. I didn’t exactly turn my nose up at the idea, though.”

  Coach Murphy leaned across the table. Michael had come here in an expensive suit, but Coach was in his signature worn-looking red tracksuit with a coffee stain on the collar. He never gave a damn of what people thought of him. I envied him for that.

  “Jackie,” he started with a long sigh, “I’m very aware this might feel like an ambush, but I hope you know I wouldn’t have come here if I didn’t think this was important. It’s for a good cause, and, well . . . ” His gaze flitted briefly between Michael and Lorne before he lowered his voice. “I think it might be nice to, you know, get the band back together. After how things were left.”

  “Why?” I asked. Lorne shot me a warning look when Coach Murphy wasn’t looking. I cleared my throat and rephrased. “I mean, why me? It’s for charity, right? No offense, but it’s basically a glorified pick-up game. You only need, what, five, six players tops? I get it if you want the starting five back, sure, but that still leaves seven Championship winners to choose from. Some of them are even still in the league.”

  “Can I be honest with you?” Michael piped in.

  “Please do.”

  “You’re Jaquelyn Dunn—the most notorious name in women’s basketball.” I winced at the all-too-familiar moniker. It was true that I had been kind of a cocky asshole and a show off. I reveled in the crowd whether it was cheers from the home team or jeers from opponents. I trash-talked and peacocked anytime someone pointed a camera in my face and stole the spotlight from my own teammates with little regret. The first time Deadspin called me ‘notorious’ I didn’t stop cheesing for days, I was riding so high. My injury sent me crashing down with what Olivia would probably call karmic justice, and now the word just makes me cringe. Besides, it was a ridiculous double standard when Meta World Peace’s shenanigans made him entertaining while mine made me ‘notorious.’

  “Your story is interesting--unique, even. You were one of the best in the league when your injury ended your young career prematurely, and right in the middle of a final. Talk about crap luck, right? It’s just now fair. Plus, the bad blood that still hangs over California's only championship team, your retreat from the spotlight . . .”

  I knew “mystery” was code for “rumors.” Being gay in the WNBA had always been a bit of a given, but not many of the women are out about it. I had been with women before me and Felicity hooked up, but being in the spotlight had given me anxiety about being found out in a way that it never gave her. Our teammates knowing only made it harder, not because they were phobic, but because it ‘fucked with the dynamic.’ Didn’t matter that she made the first move, when it was all over and my career was nothing but a bittersweet memory most of them sided with her. To be fair, she wasn’t the one who fucked up her knee showing off in the middle of a championship final.

  I entertained the idea of playing dumb and making him say the words “lesbian affair,” but decided against it for my own sake.

  A pulsing ball of tension began to form behind my eyes. I shifted awkwardly in my seat. Coach Murphy shot Michael a dirty look that seemed to humble him.

  “I think what Mr. Rehnquist means to say is, there’s been a lot of drama and a lot of hurt. The purpose of NBA Cares is to promote positivity and growth. That’s the reason I picked up when they called me in the first place. I know all the stuff that happened . . . all that shit that happened, all that bad blood was hard on you and the rest of the girls. I figured time heals all wounds. What better to way to bury the hatchet than in the paint, huh?”

  “And the other girls want that, too?” I asked skeptically.

  Michael and Coach Murphy shared a look. Michael laughed nervously. “Not in so many words, but yes, that’s the message we’re getting. Felicity Moore and Tamara Dunwoody are already active in other NBA Cares programs and recently did a slate of promotional videos for us, so they were a shoo-in. The rest got back to us quickly on the offer with firm yesses. And it isn’t paid, so you know it’s from the heart.”

  I stiffened at the mention of Tamara and Felicity. If Tamara hated me for stealing the spotlight and dropping out of the league, Felicity outright detested me. I didn’t know if any amount of charity bouts could erase the bad blood that had festered in our years of radio silence.

  I stalled by taking a sip of cool coffee. I chanced a look over at Lorne, but found nothing in the neutral slant of her mouth. How much easier would it be if Lorne just told me what to do here? What was I even paying the woman for?

  When I couldn’t stall any longer, I sighed. “Well, my knee—”

  “Your ACL, of course.” Coach Murphy nodded sympathetically. “How’s it feeling?”

  The care in his voice tugged at the corners of my mouth. “It’s fine. I don’t get the stiffness or soreness anymore. Still, I’m not exactly in league shape anymore.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to be in league shape for this. It’s a WNBA charity game, not the NBA.” I huffed a derisive laugh at the casual sexism, and Coach Murphy shot him a scathing glance. Michael continued on smoothly, “Most of the other girls retired not long after you. Not from injury but age—the league eats up muscle like nobody’s business. We wouldn’t offer this if we didn’t think it was perfectly safe.”

  “Look,” I said calmly. “I’m a pretty private person. When I stopped playing, I wanted to get off the grid. I’ve done that now, and I’m happy with where I’m at.”

  That wasn’t completely true; there was still a lot left to be desired. Some days it got so quiet and lonely that I couldn’t remember why I wanted to leave the bright lights and screaming fans in the first place. Then I looked back on my years as a pro—the pressure, the drama, the self-defeat—and couldn’t believe I ever considered going back.

  “I know you value your privacy,” Michael said. He looked genuinely sympathetic. I almost believed he was sorry about intruding on my carefully constructed bubble. Almost. “I had to jump through a thousand hoops before Lorne would even let me speak to you directly about this deal. That’s half the reason Ken is even here. But I think it’s a
good one, a good fit, and it would help to show the world your side of the story, you know? You know your old teammate, Felicity Moore? Had a nasty ankle injury her final season. She retired and moved to Minnesota and has been a valuable member of our team since. It’s done wonders to keep her active and engaged in the sport.”

  My stomach rolled at the mention of Felicity’s name, and I sat up straighter in my chair. I knew about her injury and retirement. I also knew that after that injury, everyone had treated her with a lot more care than they had me.

  I spard Coach Murphy a quick glance then stared straight ahead at Michael, who had to have known from the tabloids, but let nothing on his face show.

  Feeling my skin heat up, I nodded jerkily. “I’ll have to think about it and get back to you.” I just wanted to end this meeting as quickly as possible.

  Michael looked ready to protest, but Coach Murphy placed a heavy hand on his arm to stop him.

  “Take as much time as you need. We’ll be in touch.”

  Michael sighed and shot Lorne a what can you do? look. He turned that charming smile back to me and dug a business card out of his jacket pocket. “Please, take my card.”

  I did, and studied it.

  MICHAEL REHNQUIST, EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR

  NBA CARES

  555-585-1213

  Michael shook my hand and gave Lorne a flirty wink on his way out. Coach Murphy lingered at the door, and I saw out of the corner of my eye his mouth open to speak, but I couldn’t meet his gaze. He nodded at Lorne and thanked me quietly before following Michael out. I waited until the door shut behind them before I slouched in my seat.

  “Way to blindside a girl, Lor,” I growled.

  Lorne actually looked apologetic. “I must have told him no about a dozen times, but that just made the price he was willing to pay for a meeting go higher. I wouldn’t have been doing my due diligence as your agent had I not at least set up a meeting for three grand.”

  I stared down at the card in my hand and absently traced the raised edges of the number. Lorne sat in Michael’s vacated seat across from me and raised a curious eyebrow.