But after a few days, they were talking again. Mandy was the type who might get angry at someone, but if she really thought that person was her friend, she’d forget about it. When they started talking again, the argument never came up and she thought everything was all right.
Now, she wondered how much of her natural forthrightness was what had driven Kevin away, and had driven him toward someone like...what was her name...Felice. She had seen Felice a couple of times around campus. She was nearly always alone, never talking to anyone, never hanging out in a pack of girls, and never loud and boisterous like she noticed that some black girls were.
Mandy knew that there were parts of her personality that had probably driven Kevin away. She was a tough, no-nonsense kind of girl, even with him. And she didn’t change, even when she had begun to develop feelings for him. But she wouldn’t patronize him, in spite of, or, rather, because of this. She didn’t really know how to be submissive. Every time she had tried, it felt fake to her.
Mandy’s mother, having been abandoned by her husband when Mandy was a toddler, told her that a woman had to be tough--had to speak her mind, and let a man know who she was.
Mandy knew that some men wanted their women to defer to them, but wondered how much of this was deferral and how much it was “just getting along.” Kevin had never accused her of being hard to get along with, but other guys had. She began inspecting herself closer in the mirror, running her hands through her shoulder length hair.
“Here I am,” she said to the mirror. “I’m blonde; I’m green-eyed. Many men are attracted to me—at first, anyway. But, Kevin went for someone totally opposite from me in looks and in bearing. Why is that?”
She looked at the mirror defiantly. “I’m me. If Kevin doesn’t like me-the real me—then maybe I didn’t belong with him in the first place.
“But I know how I felt...feel, about him, and not just because he’s the star player of the Tigers. He’s smart, generous, funny, and has the qualities that the love of a good woman would bring out.”
Sadly, she realized, however, that it wasn’t her love that he wanted. And no amount of insight or wishing could change that. She put her head on her arms and sobbed.
Did she really love him? Did she know how to love him or anyone else? She didn’t know the answers to those questions. There was only one person she knew to ask and
it wasn’t her mother. For the first time, since she was a child, she found herself praying.
Tale of the Tigers
Chapter Five
On Thursday evening, Felice was sitting alone at her kitchen table, going over her German, one of the courses she had to repeat. Initially, she had been intimidated by its alien syntax and sounds. However, she was now finding that if she opened her mind to it, the knowledge came. It wasn't English, she constantly reminded herself. So, the mind had to be set into that of a child, because as far as this language was concerned, she was a child again.
She heard her front door open and looked at the clock hanging over the stove. That would be Mom, bringing Joey back from school. Sure enough, she heard the chattering of
her eight-year-old brother, telling their mother about his day. He bounded into the kitchen, which of late, was his favorite place. On seeing his sister, he ran up to her.
"Hi, Fleece! Guess what I did today?
"Hi, Junebug! Let's see...you hit a homer at Little League, right?"
"Better than that, I struck out Pete!" Peter Garcia was Joey's best friend and their team's most prolific hitter.
Vetra, following her son into the kitchen, interrupted. "Don't call him Junebug. You know how much I hate that."
"Well, Mom," Felice grinned, "You remember I told you not to name him after Dad because people would call him that or ‘Little Joe.' Imagine if you had named me ‘Vetra.' I'd be called ‘Little Vetra' to this day."
Her mother cringed. "Point taken. Well, you know that it was your father's idea."
"Yeah, blame it on Dad." She smiled at her mother. "I thought you ran things around here."
Vetra gave her a mock-threatening look. "Besides," Felice continued, turning to tease her brother, "he is kind of like a bug, always under foot and everything." She began to tickle him.
"Stop it, Fleece," the boy screamed between his giggles.
Happiness filled Vetra LeCroix as she watched her children and listened to their laughter. They were so far apart in age, but very close. Felice always had time for Joey and only occasionally expressed impatience with him, which was usually justified. She studied her daughter. She had grown into an exceptionally beautiful woman, as Felice's father had pointed out a couple of days ago with some anxiety. Vetra had laughed at her husband.
"She's just like you, Joe," Vetra had said with a slanted grin.
"That's what I’m worried about.”
In the last few months, Vetra had sensed that something had been eating at Felice, but when Vetra tried to draw her out, she was as tight-lipped as ever. Vetra had initially thought that it was Felice's grades of the previous semester. On further reflection, however, Vetra surmised that the low grades were the symptom of a problem, not the problem itself. What that problem was, Vetra hadn't a clue and Felice wasn't telling, so Vetra had to content herself with letting Felice work it out on her own. She plays her cards close to the vest, just like me, thought Vetra with some admiration.
"Eins, zwei, drei, vier, fünf...," she heard Felice recite.
"Eins, swi, try, fear, fuf," Joey repeated obediently.
That's my girl. Felice had always excelled at whatever she put any amount of effort into. Getting her to put some effort into something had been a major bone of contention between them, however. But this semester, for whatever reason, Felice seemed to take her education far more seriously than ever. Vetra would come home each afternoon to find Felice deep into study on any one of the subjects she was taking, and after dinner, she would be in her room at her desk, pouring over her notes so late into the night that Vetra or Joseph would have to tell her to go to bed. That had never happened before. Additionally, she would actually talk with her parents about what she had learned in those classes, with unprecedented enthusiasm. Something had lit a fire under her daughter, possibly this mysterious problem that she had. Whatever it was, Vetra had decided not to look a gift-horse in the mouth. She hoped it would last.
Vetra knew instinctively that Felice was destined for great things. For what, however, she didn't know. Her daughter had always been astonishingly intelligent, but aimless, unfocused, and searching. Her intelligence, however, had interfered with her popularity. At one of Felice's high school parent-teacher-student functions, Vetra had once watched her interact with others her own age.
During most of the gathering, Felice had stood apart from the others, wearing a look of exasperation on her face. Later, Vetra had asked her about it, but Felice had shrugged off the question.
"Mom, I just don't like that many people."
Vetra thought that Felice was only half joking. She had always only had one friend, never hanging out in a group or a pack. Lately, it was this Adrienne, a tall, mixed-raced girl, who seemed to be as much an individualist as her daughter, if those dreadlocks were any indication.
Vetra knew that the fights she and her daughter had, were often caused by her own fear: fear that Felice was too much like her. Fear that Felice would bypass opportunities; the same types of opportunities that Vetra had bypassed as a teenager. She had vowed that things would be different for her daughter, but her daughter long had refused to cooperate-until now. It looked as though God had finally answered Vetra's prayers. Still, Vetra wondered what cross Felice had had to bear to get her to this point. She was sure that Felice would never tell her. Of course, it probably had something to do with the opposite sex. Felice was eighteen, after all. Still Vetra wasn't quite sure that this was the answer.
Felice had never had a bunch of boys calling the
house. There had been a serious one in her senior year of high s
chool, but that had fizzled after the family moved away from California. Vetra wondered idly if her daughter was still a virgin. She hoped not, though she would never admit it to her husband—or to Felice for that matter. These were different days than those in which she had grown up. Though she, herself, had been a virgin when she got married and she had always been very happy with her husband sexually, she had occasionally wondered what other men might be like in bed. Oh, she would never dream of actually trying to find out, of course. She was merely curious. It might have been nice to experiment, just a little bit.
She hoped that Felice would experiment, just a little bit, before she picked one out. Vetra chuckled at her own thought. Her own grandmother was probably spinning in her grave.
Just as she turned to walk out of the kitchen, the telephone rang. Vetra turned back to pick up the kitchen extension.
"Hello?"
"Hello, Felice?" A male voice said.
"No. This is her mother." Felice turned to look at her.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Mrs. LeCroix, is it?"
"Yes."
"Hello, Mrs. LeCroix. My name is Kevin Hart. How are you?
"Fine, thank you.”
"That's great. May I speak to Felice, please?"
"Of course. Just one second." She put the receiver to her shoulder. "For you. Very polite, he is."
She started to hand Felice the receiver.
"I'll take it in the living room," said Felice, however, as she got up.
"Okay." Vetra put the receiver to her ear, her mind filled with a thousand waiting questions.
"Okay, Mom," sounded her daughter's voice. Vetra reluctantly hung up the receiver.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Felice. This is Kevin." Of course I know who it is. It's not like the guys are beating down my door now.
"Hi, Kevin," she said instead, as casually as she could muster.
"How are things?"
"Not too bad." After she said it, she realized it was true. Things were going not too badly at all. "I was in the
middle of my German homework."
"Oh, I'm sorry."
"No, that's okay. My mother and my little brother had just walked in, so I was messing around with him. He's almost nine and kind of a pest, but kind of fun, too."
"Do you have any other brothers or sisters?"
"Nope. Just me and Joey. How about you?"
"Just me and nobody."
"Oh yeah, I forgot. You’re an only child. Spoiled brats, all. I should know. I was one for long enough."
"You'd better believe it, girl. I’m used to getting what I want."
"Me too, pal. Though, since Joey's been around, I've had to share some attention. I tease him every Christmas, telling him that I remember the days when all the presents under the tree were just for me."
Kevin laughed. "Spoken like a true member of the Spoiled Brat Club."
"Dues-paying member. Being one as well, you probably already know that we spoiled brats get slapped down on occasion."
"Sure do. And it doesn't feel too good, either. But, the non-spoiled brats enjoy it so much I think we ought to be generous enough to let them have their way-but only once in a while."
"Agreed. So, how's your life?"
"Same slop, different day: Homework, practice, agents."
"Agents?"
"Sports agents."
"Oh, yeah.”
"My dad calls them ‘lizard lawyers.' I guess lawyers need somebody to look down on, since everyone else looks down on them."
"I guess they're all really looking forward to representing you next year."
"It seems so. My dad keeps ‘em in check, though."
"What's your bachelor's in?"
"Business."
"Are you thinking of starting up a business while you're playing in the NFL? What kind?"
"I don't know. Maybe sporting goods or something related. What's your major?"
"I don't have one yet. I thought maybe English. But since I've been taking Political Science, I was thinking about having that as my major. I find it really interesting."
"Really?" He was intrigued. "You don't find many girls who take on heavy duty subjects like that one. Too bad, too."
"Too bad?"
"Yes. Having more women take on the political establishment in its own playing field would infuse it with a fresh perspective--according to my dad, anyways. In plain English, I guess he means that women with brains have a tendency to shake up the old guys who think that a woman's place is in the kitchen and the bedroom."
"Nice translation. Your dad sounds like a pretty enlightened guy. What about you?"
"I do happen to like a woman who can count to ten and spell her name," he replied playfully.
"One... two...uh, three...uh...what comes after that, again?" drawled Felice in her best Valley Girl voice.
"Bye. Click."
"Fine, be that way," she laughed.
"So, are you dumb enough to go out with me to that Greek place we talked about?"
"Um, when are we talking about here?"
"Saturday."
How was she going to break this to her father and
have him calm down and accept it in such a short period of time?
"Well," he said, "how many minutes are you going to let me swing in the breeze?"
"What time?"
"How about seven thirty?"
"Okay."
"Can't pass up a good meal, right?"
"You better leave me and my appetite alone."
"I better ask my dad for his credit card."
She gave him the raspberry through the receiver.
"So, I guess if I don't see you tomorrow, I'll talk to you Saturday."
"Okay. Bye."
"Wait! It'll be kind of hard to pick you up without knowing where you live. What's your address?"
Here was the point of no return. She knew that if she gave it to him, there was no turning back. The confrontation with her father was set.
"1435 Las Palmas Southwest."
"Got it. Bye, darlin’."
"Bye." She hung up the receiver, her ears tingling--her thoughts an exhilarating mixture of anticipation and dread.
After she replaced the receiver, Vetra had discreetly stayed in the kitchen, helping her son with one of his lessons.
One part of her brain was engaged in helping her son, while another kept turning something over and over again. Kevin Hart. Why did that name seem so familiar?
Because they had been here less than three years, Vetra didn't know that many people. Maybe it was the son of one of Joseph's old teammates from college. She remembered meeting several of her husband's old friends. One of them had been a tall, handsome black man, who had mentioned that one of his sons went to NMU, but she couldn't remember his name. Wait. His name was Moore, she suddenly remembered, so it wasn't his son. Hart. For whatever reason, the name was somehow linked to the game of football in Vetra's mind.
"Mommy, who's Fleece talking to?"
Vetra's attention snapped back to her son. "That's Felice's business, not yours," she said sternly, but not angrily. "Your business is this homework, mister. What about the answer?"
"Fifty-six."
"Correct! You've pretty good at this, honey. A lot better than you think. I know you'll get an ‘A.' Now let's do the next one."
Vetra heard Felice replace the receiver in the living room.
"Mommy. You know you want to know who Fleece was talking to!" Joey giggled at his mother.
"I already know, Mr. Nose. Next problem." Vetra's voice was again stern, but privately, she was amused. How could she blame her son for being nosy? He had come by it honestly.
"Mom?"
A couple of hours later, Felice tapped lightly on her mother's bedroom door, hoping that she hadn't fallen asleep. The light from one of the nightstand lamps shone under the door, but that was no guarantee that Vetra was awake. On nights when her husband worked late, Vetra would often fall asleep reading, her reading glasses still on her
face, and an open book on her chest. This time, however, was different.
"Come in, honey." Felice opened the door walked, over to the bed and sat on the edge, next to her mother.
"Mom, I have a date on Saturday night to go to dinner."
"With this Kevin Hart?"
"Yes."
"He sounds like a polite young man. No ‘is Felice there’ or ‘lemme speak to Felice' like a few of the geniuses who've called you before."
Felice laughed. Telephone etiquette was one of her mother's biggest pet peeves.
"Yes. He seems like a nice guy," Felice agreed.
"Since he told me his name, I've been trying to figure out where I've heard it before. It seems like I've met someone by that name or heard of someone with a similar name."
Felice inhaled deeply, exhaled and then spoke. "He's the quarterback of NMU's football team."
"Really? Then I must have seen him on TV while you and your father...." She trailed off, as the image of a face entered her head.
"Felice," she said as she took off her glasses. "Do you have any idea of how your father's going to react to this?"
"I have a pretty good idea. You remember what he told me about this?"
"Yes. I was so angry at him, but he wouldn't budge. Felice, do you really want to do this?"
"Yes, Mom. I...like him and he likes me too, the real me, not the ‘me’ I'm supposed to be."
Vetra looked at Felice intensely. "What do you mean?"
Felice thought for a second. "He likes me the way I am; not like I'm someone who's supposed to be an..."
"Appendage?" said Vetra knowingly.
"Exactly. So many guys act as though my whole purpose in life is to...be what they want me to be, make them look good, instead of letting me be what I want to be. Remember Tommy from my freshman year?"
"You mean ‘Mr. Black, But Not Too Black'? Yes. That's what your father called him."
Tale of the Tigers: Love is Not a Game Page 7
