by Chad Kultgen
Brandy wrote, “Uh . . . yeah. When?”
Tim wrote, “Tomorrow?”
Brandy wrote, “Okay. I’ll have to tell my mom I’m going to the library or something.”
Tim wrote, “Who goes to the library?”
Brandy wrote, “I’ll think of something better. Logging.”
Tim wrote, “Night.”
Brandy didn’t respond, having logged out of the Freyja account. She didn’t know what she could tell her mother in order to escape the house without being questioned, but she knew she’d think of something. She was excited and kind of nervous to be going on her first date. She wondered if Tim would try to hold her hand or try to kiss her. She wondered where they would go, if Tim’s dad would be picking them up and dropping them off. She thought about texting Tim, but didn’t want to seem too eager.
Patricia came in to Brandy’s room a few minutes later and did a surprise check of her computer, just as Brandy had assumed she would. Brandy had become adept at removing any trace of Freyja from her computer. Patricia went through all her usual steps, her usual protocols and came up with nothing abnormal. She told her daughter that she loved her and went back downstairs to watch television with her husband.
Tim remained logged in to his Myspace account and looked at Brandy’s pictures as Freyja. Her body was far more attractive than he would have thought based on the clothes she wore to school. Her face, too, was prettier than he had noticed when he gave it more scrutiny than usual. Tim found Brandy’s instant-messaging technique refreshing and even attractive. Abbreviated words, acronyms, and emoticons were acceptable when texting but not when given access to a full keyboard—this was Tim’s philosophy on the matter, and he was happy to see that Brandy seemed to share it. He assumed that she probably wasn’t conscious of her instant-messaging etiquette, that it was just something she did naturally. He wondered what movie they should see, and he wondered what his father’s reaction would be to the news that he would have to be the chauffeur on his son’s first date. Tim hoped that the news of a first date might alleviate some of the tension between them. He thought about what he should do on the date, if he should try to hold Brandy’s hand and maybe even try to kiss her.
Don was slightly jealous of Kent’s upcoming date with Dawn Clint. He looked down on the field at Dawn. She was wearing tight track pants and a zip-up hoodie with the zipper down just low enough to make out the top of her cleavage. Knowing that Dawn was willing to date the father of another student at Goodrich immediately sent Don’s mind into a brief fantasy about having sex with her in the parking lot at the football game.
Don said, “So, what are you guys going to do on your date?”
Kent said, “We’re just getting dinner.”
Don said, “And then you’re going to fuck her, right?”
Kent said, “Jesus. I doubt it. I don’t know. How would I know if she even wants to?”
Don said, “How is it that I’m married and you’ve been single for a year and you don’t know this shit and I do? If she agreed to go on a date with you, she’s willing to fuck you, retard.”
Kent said, “I’m sure that’s not entirely right, but we’ll see what happens.”
Don said, “You have to make whatever happens happen, dipshit.”
Kent said, “Is this what you learned on that prostitute website you were talking about?”
Don said, “No, it’s fucking common knowledge.”
Jim said, “Would you two shut up? The second half is starting.”
Almost the entire second half of the football game was uneventful. The Goodrich Olympians scored a touchdown on a fluke running play in which Kevin Banks tripped over one of his own players and was unable to tackle Tanner Hodge as he had done in virtually every previous play. The other running plays the Olympians attempted were met with failure at the hands of Kevin Banks, but still Coach Quinn demanded that no passes be thrown, and Danny abided.
The Aardvarks’ offense failed to score again until the game was nearing an end. With two minutes and fourteen seconds left in the game, the Aardvarks were able to drive the ball down field far enough to attempt a field goal. The kicker, Tony Shane, had successfully kicked only two field goals in his life among the twenty-two he had attempted. Nonetheless, he was the only player on his team who was able to successfully kick a field goal at all. So, with the ball on the nineteen-yard line, no one, including Tony, thought he would be able to give his team the lead, but that’s exactly what he did.
The score, after Tony Shane’s successful field goal, was ten to seven with the Aardvarks leading and two minutes, nine seconds left in the game. Danny quelled his urge to explain to Coach Quinn that their only chance to pull out a victory was to let him pass, hoping that maybe he would see it on his own, maybe he would call a passing play and give them a chance to win. Coach Quinn, however, did no such thing. He called a series of running plays that resulted in a fourth down with twelve yards to gain for a first down. As Danny ran to the sidelines, expecting the punting team to come out with only one minute and twelve seconds left, Coach Quinn said, “What are you doing?”
Danny said, “I thought we’d be punting.”
Coach Quinn said, “Nope. You wanted your chance to pass? This is it. X cross wide. Run it.”
Danny ran back to the field and called the play in the huddle. Of all the passing plays they could have run in that situation, Danny knew the X cross wide to be the worst possible. It put only one receiver in first-down range and that receiver would likely be in double coverage with the corner and free safety. The play was designed to draw the secondary out of position so the quarterback could throw a short pass to a receiver just beyond the line of scrimmage, who might have enough room to run for a few extra yards.
Danny knew it was hopeless, but he found some pleasure in obeying Coach Quinn’s demand, assuming it would fail. The fact that it was a passing play was even better because, on the off chance that Danny was able to complete the pass, he would be lauded as a hero. Danny ran the play as instructed for an incompletion. The Aardvarks regained possession and were successful in running the clock out. The Olympians lost, and although they still had a chance to make it to the district playoffs, they could likely only lose one more game—and their two most difficult opponents were still ahead of them.
chapter
twelve
Rachel Truby tried not to seem overanxious as she ate breakfast Saturday morning and listened to her son and husband recount the events of the football game from the night before. Once Don finished the story, she said, “I’m going to head to my sister’s this afternoon and I’ll probably end up staying the night.” Rachel did this from time to time. Her sister lived almost two hours away in Grand Island, and she ended up staying overnight on most visits. Don found nothing about this strange. He said, “Okay,” and began to think about what he would do with a night to himself.
Rachel had no intention of visiting her sister. She had been communicating with Secretluvur daily, and their online interaction had reached a point of familiarity that led to him asking to meet her. She agreed and made the necessary arrangements.
Chris finished his scrambled eggs and hoped that his father wouldn’t want to spend the night doing something with him. Seeing a movie or getting pizza were his father’s usual bonding activities. Chris had been looking forward to spending the night sending sexually explicit text messages to Hannah Clint in the hope that he might convince her to take and send pornographic images of herself in various poses and perhaps even with her fingers and potentially other various objects inserted into her vagina and anus.
Don said, “Maybe I’ll call up Kent or something, get some beers. We haven’t done that in a while.” Beers were the furthest thing from his mind, however. Don had already begun to plan out exactly how he might be able to meet Angelique Ice. With his son home, bringing her there was out of the question. This, he reasoned, was also a bad idea on the off chance that Angelique Ice would leave something behind, a stray
hair or a bobby pin that would alert his wife to the presence of another woman in her absence. A hotel would be Don’s only option. It would have to be somewhere slightly secluded. There was no sense in potentially encountering an acquaintance or even a friend of Rachel’s during his attempt at infidelity. Don decided to wait until his wife left to get on the computer and find the best location for his first encounter with a prostitute.
Every day, Tim Mooney checked a Facebook group started by Tanner Hodge called Tim Mooney Is Gay. Tim enjoyed reading the posts his classmates made about him. It was while he was checking this Facebook group that he saw a post from Eric Rakey that read, “First loss of the season = gay.” He wondered if he would be blamed in any way by his classmates, or by his father, for the loss. Subsequent posts gave no indication that the loss was to be blamed on poor defensive play, so he assumed the offense was at fault. Nonetheless, he was not looking forward to talking to his father, but had no choice, emerging from his bedroom to find his father drinking a Starbucks coffee and reading a newspaper, which he’d thought they stopped subscribing to over a year ago. Tim assumed that his father picked the newspaper up while he was out getting coffee. It was unusual.
Tim said, “Dad, I need a favor tonight,” expecting an immediate reprimand for not playing football and possibly even a chiding that would place full blame for the Olympians’ loss on his shoulders.
Instead, Kent said, “I have plans tonight.” His demeanor wasn’t angry or cold. He actually seemed happy.
Tim said, “Oh, I just—it’s kind of important.”
Kent said, “What is it?”
Tim said, “I kind of have a date.”
Kent said, “So do I.”
Tim was beyond surprised. He immediately wondered if somehow his father had become aware of the fact that his mother was getting remarried. The fact that his father’s date and his mother’s remarriage were happening so close together seemed far more than coincidental. Nonetheless, Tim didn’t bring up the subject of his mother’s pending nuptials. It was strange for Tim to see both of his parents moving on from each other, but somehow in the case of his father he didn’t feel as bad, didn’t feel as abandoned. He actually felt some happiness for his father. He imagined his father posting pictures of his date on Facebook, and his mother seeing these images and feeling some regret for having left him. He knew this would never happen, in part because his father didn’t actually have a Facebook account.
Tim said, “So who is it?”
Kent had reservations about telling his son about Dawn Clint. He was unsure about how he might react, about what he might think of his father going on a date with the mother of one of his classmates. Kent said, “Just a woman I met a few days ago. Who’s the girl you’re going out with?”
Tim said, “Just a girl from school.”
Kent said, “I assumed that much. Is she a cheerleader? Does she play sports? Tell me about her.”
Tim was slightly surprised by his father’s interest. He said, “She doesn’t really do anything. She wants to be a writer, and we get along pretty well, I guess. I don’t know. We’re seeing a movie.”
Kent said, “Well, like I said, I wish I could help you out, but I kind of have my own thing going on. Is there any way you could get her mom or dad to take you guys?”
Brandy’s mother and father didn’t know she was going on a date, and it had to remain that way. Tim knew this. Another plan—inviting Brandy over to his house to watch a movie—began to materialize in Tim’s mind. He said, “Yeah, I’m sure we can work it out. What are you doing on your date?”
Kent said, “Just going to dinner.”
Tim said, “Well, good luck,” as he got a glass of water and sat down at the table across from his father.
Kent said, “Thanks. You too.”
In an effort to extend this moment, which for Tim was the closest he and his father had come to recapturing a piece of their relationship that existed before his mother left, Tim said, “Can I get the sports page?”
Kent gave it to him and had to hold back a smile. This felt good. It was a feeling he hadn’t had with his son in more than a year. It felt familiar, like it used to feel between them. He wondered what his wife was doing, if she missed him at all, if she missed Tim. Then he found himself not caring about the answers to these questions. It felt good not to care about her.
Danny Vance woke up to the sound of his phone vibrating against his nightstand. It was a text message from Brooke Benton that read, “Sorry bout the game :( call me if you want 2 hang 2day.” He didn’t respond. All he could think about was the fact that, in all likelihood, his chances at going to district were done, and so too were his chances to have any advantage as an entering freshman the following year at North East.
Danny brushed his teeth and went into the living room, where his mother and father were sitting on the couch. Jim said, “Tough one last night. What is Coach Quinn doing with all of those run plays, anyway? He should let you pass more.”
Danny said, “I know.”
Jim said, “Can anyone talk to him about it? There have to be more angry parents than just me, right?”
Danny said, “Probably.”
Jim said, “You want me to call him, see what the hell he’s thinking, get him to let you use that arm?”
Danny said, “No. He already ruined the season.”
Tracey, sensing that her son was distraught, said, “Honey, it’ll be okay. It was just one game.”
Danny said, “Yeah, but now we have the toughest two teams in the district still in our schedule, and we can really only lose, like, one more game and still have a shot at district. It’s pretty much over.”
Jim said, “You can’t think like that. You think Peyton Manning thinks like that? Or Drew Brees?”
Danny said, “Probably not.”
Jim said, “That’s right. Just put it in the past and move on. Think about your next game. Who are you guys playing next week?”
Danny said, “Scott.”
Jim, “Well, concentrate on kicking Scott’s ass. And remember, they’re probably not going to have a kid as big as the one Irving did.”
Tracey said, “You should go do something with Brooke. Take your mind off the game—clear your head, honey. I’ll take you to the mall or to see a movie or something if you want. I have to get out and get some things anyway this afternoon, or if you guys would rather go see a movie tonight, I can drop you off and pick you up.”
Danny said, “Yeah, I guess so.” He sent Brooke a text message that read, “Want 2 c a movie or something 2nite?” She replied almost immediately with a text message that read, “Y :).” Danny said, “Okay, Brooke wants to. I guess just let me know when you want to go, Mom, and I’ll tell her to be ready.” Then he went to his room to see if the write-up of the game had been posted on the school’s website yet. He wanted to find out how his performance was perceived, if the blame for the loss would fall on his shoulders, or if it was obvious that Coach Quinn was at fault.
Jim turned to his wife and said, “What do you have to get at the store?”
Tracey said, “Just some groceries and stuff for the house.”
Jim said, “We need rubbers, too. Don’t forget.”
Tracey said, “Will you just get snipped so we can stop with the condoms already?”
Jim’s vasectomy had been a point of argument for a few years in the relationship. He knew it made sense. They had two children and neither of them wanted a third. But the thought of his scrotum being opened by a scalpel or laser, and of the subsequent internal incisions that would be made in the inner workings of his genitals, were so off-putting to Jim that he could find no enthusiasm for it. He didn’t like using condoms every time he and his wife had intercourse, but he had grown used to them over the years and had difficulty remembering how sex felt without one. He reasoned that he could endure the decreased level of pleasure derived from the act of protected sex for the rest of his life if it meant that his genitals would remain intact, u
naltered. And despite what he assumed to be the low risk of error involved with the procedure, Jim had heard stories at his office of botched vasectomies leaving men numb in the scrotum, or requiring a second visit to correct whatever error the doctor might have made during the initial visit. He had even heard of abnormal reactions to properly performed vasectomies that left men with lumps of congealed blood in their scrotum the size of a third testicle. Even though he’d heard that these men’s lumps eventually went away, the thought of a lump of congealed blood sitting his scrotum for any amount of time made Jim uneasy. He had come to the conclusion that if he ever underwent the procedure, it be would something he did entirely for his wife.
After searching for a suitable hotel online for a few minutes, Don began to think about the logistics of his encounter with Angelique Ice. They would never be seen in public together. He would arrive at the hotel before she did, secure the room, and wait there for her to meet him. Once he realized there was no need to drive out of his way, he settled on the Cornhusker Hotel and reserved a room with the same credit card he used to purchase memberships to pornography websites.
With the location of his first act of infidelity solidified, Don went to TheEroticReview.com and found Angelique Ice’s page, which listed her phone number along with directions on how exactly to contact her. A text message was to be sent to the phone number provided with the phrase “date today,” “date tonight,” “date tomorrow,” or “date soon” as the only text in the body of the message. Don took out his phone and thought one last time about what it was exactly that he was on the verge of doing—cheating on his wife. If he was ever found out, it would no doubt ruin his marriage. And yet he felt his marriage was already ruined. This was something he had to do to remain sane. He texted the phrase “date tonight” to the number provided, and then closed the web browser and deleted the browser history.
