The Odd Ballerz

by Ruthie Robinson

  “Not into hookers here, bro, but you were kidding. Of course you were,” he said, to his friend’s smile.

  “She could pay you for her training. I imagine she can afford it,” Yancy said.

  “She could at that. I was thinking about asking her to help Marisa with my opening instead,” he said.

  “I think I need to sit down. Much has happened between Friday and this morning, I’m guessing. Are you sure you haven’t slept with her yet?” he said.

  “Nope. She wants to keep things even between us. Her request. And I could use the help,” Z said.

  “Not a bad idea, I guess. It brings her in closer and gives her something to do while you take a closer look. That’s what you want, right? What this is really about? A cautionary tale of love is my man Z, and after last year I understand the need for caution,” he said.

  “Maybe.”

  “Got to roll the dice again at some point, son,” he said and smiled.

  “Maybe,” Z said again, and changed the subject to food.

  #

  It was the usual line-up, give or take a few players that hadn’t been able to show today. The men and Alex stood on the sideline of the football field, putting on their belts, finding missing flags, getting ready to start the game.

  “What’s up, Alex? How’s that sister of yours?” Damian asked.

  “Good,” she said.

  “She getting any better at staying on her feet?” D asked.

  “I think so,” Alex said, smiling.

  “I thought she would have called me by now to inquire about my training services,” D said, giving Z his gaze and his shit-eating grin.

  “She’s good,” Alex said, chuckling; used to the ribbing these guys gave each other.

  D kept his gazed fixed on Z along with his smile.

  “What?” Z asked, hedging his reply. He shot a quick glance at Yancy, who wore an identical grin to D’s.

  “Have you heard from Jones since camp?” D asked.

  “You know I have or you wouldn’t have asked,” Z said, shaking his head. He might as well address it. Experience had taught him that there would be no moving with his buddies until he did. “It isn’t a secret.”

  “I knew it. I told you. I told them. There was no way you were letting that go.”

  “Anyway,” Z said, thinking he could move the conversation on to something else now. “Are we going to play today or what?” he said.

  “Oh, dude,” D said, his hand around his mouth, fighting back his laughter. “It’s worse than I thought.” He began laughing, as were Beryl and Harris, with Yancy joining in too.

  “It’s not like that but it would be a waste of my time to argue differently. Are we playing today or what?” Z said.

  “Sure, whatever you say, dude.” D clapped Z on his back. “We’ll let it go for now,” he said, back to laughing. “Didn’t I tell you?” he added, pointing between Harris and Beryl as they moved off, leaving him alone with Alex who stood staring at him now.

  “Not you too?” he asked.

  “No, not me. But should I be worried?”

  “About?”

  “You and Memphis? It’s just training, right? Nothing else?”

  “Nope, nothing but training, at least on my part,” he said.

  “That’s what I thought,” Alex said, smiling. “I’m obliged to warn you against taking advantage of her. I know you can take care of yourself, but Memphis might take you seriously. I am actually looking forward to playing with her on the team. We don’t want to mess that up right now, do we? Unless you decide you’re serious and in that case, it’s all go,” she said, laughing. “You’ll be hard pressed to find someone better than my sister, and that’s not just bias talking.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. If anything changes, you’ll be the first to know. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “You guys have the ball first,” he said, handing her the football. She was the quarterback for red team, and he was for blue. He headed over to the other side of the fields where the blue team was standing around talking. It was an hour filled with laughter, mostly; of harassing and clowning and some playing the game, followed by a meal fussed, fretted over, and fit for kings.

  #

  Monday

  Alex leaned back into her stretch. It was early. She had the five a.m. shift, so that meant getting to the track early, four in the a.m. early. She liked to run first thing in the morning, preferred early morning to night, and the beauty of her set-up was that she could do it at the hospital, then shower and dash downstairs, on time for the start of her shift. It had taken her a while to find a hospital with a workout facility on the premises, and this one had both a gym and a track located just under the top floor of the building. Lucky her, as money was something she didn’t have much of, and she tried to limit her financial requests of her sisters.

  She worked to stay in shape. A year-round endeavor was the way she viewed it. As the quarterback it was up to her to set an example for the others, and that meant being in the best physical condition she could. Football was too hard on the body to not be at one’s best.

  She opted for an early morning schedule, off by one, home for a power nap, up to train or over to Z’s to help with his camp before it ended. It was just training with him since camp was over. Two Jones women under his stewardship, and no, she didn’t believe him yesterday. But she’d give him some room, ’cause he was a good guy; but only a little.

  She stepped onto the track, done with stretching, and looked over her shoulder at the sound of the main door opening. In walked the nurse, and no surprise that. He wasn’t giving up the pursuit easily. He’d been Mr. Friendly-man, clearly on a mission to get her to go out with him whenever they ran into each other, which, surprisingly, had been often. She started into her lap. Easy as breathing was how running came to her. Ignoring him was her game plan. Always. Not even five minutes passed before she felt him on her right side running alongside her. He was persistent, she’d give him that; smiling whenever their paths crossed, asking her to lunch or to get a cup of coffee. He didn’t speak this morning, just started running. Nope, she wasn’t going to acknowledge him. He was the one here uninvited.

  “Good morning,” he said five minutes in, all chipper to her continued silence.

  She gave him a nod, a short bending of her head, before returning her eyes to the front. She heard him chuckle.

  “You don’t make this easy,” he said.

  She looked over her shoulder at him, and gave him her sharpest smile.

  He laughed in response.

  “I’d rather run alone,” she said.

  “Hello, I’m not sure if we met before. I’m Aarik. I’ve seen you around the hospital. Maybe you’d like to have lunch with me sometime,” he said, smiling back at her.

  She ignored him, fighting against her smile. She had a few gears in her running arsenal, deciding to go into one of them now, not her fastest gear, but enough to put some distance between them.

  “I love coming up here in the morning, it’s a great start to one’s day. Don’t you think? I find that I have so much energy afterward. What about you?” he said, seconds later, having increased his speed too and caught up to her.

  She didn’t respond.

  “Go out with me?” he asked.

  “No,” she said, and the unexpectedness of the question, the quickness of her response, threw off her stride a bit. She felt a small twinge in her ankle and slowed down to a stop. He stopped too, stood beside her, concern in his gaze.

  “Are you hurt?” he said, watching as she moved her ankle slowly in a circle. “I can take a look at it if you want. I am a nurse, you know,” he said, smiling.

  “What would it take for you to leave me alone?”

  He smiled. “Why would you want me to do that?”

  “I have my reasons,” she said.

  “I’ll race you for it,” he said.

  “Excuse me. Race me for what?”

  “A date with me, what
else? If you win, I leave you alone, cut out all the smiling… everything. I totally won’t bother you anymore, ever,” he said, serious.

  “Ever?” she asked.

  “Ever,” he said.

  “How tall are you?” she asked.

  “Why does that matter?”

  “It does and it doesn’t. I’m taller, longer legs, plus I’m fast, and, well, all of that combined might be more than you can handle and you’ll end up losing. It’s something to think about before you go making bets and all. I’m fast. I used to run track and I’m still in pretty good shape,” she said, serious, not a smile in sight; didn’t want him to think she was interested in the slightest.

  “So is that a yes? You’re willing to race me?” he asked.

  “Not every man can handle being on the losing end, especially to a woman,” she said.

  “Your old boyfriends are not my problem. I can handle losing if that turns out to be the case, but you shouldn’t be so certain that’s how this will end.”

  “Okay, then,” she said, irritated and all in now. “Let’s get this over with. You’ll leave me alone if you lose?” she asked again.

  “I will,” he said.

  “One lap then, give it your best shot,” she said, looking around the space. Someone had left a yellow sock off to the left side of the track. She walked over to retrieve it, laid it down on the outside of the track beside him. “This will be both the starting point and the finish line.” She pointed to the sock. “Let’s take a warm-up lap, and when we reach this sock again, the race begins, once around the track. Got it?” she said, serious, ready to put a period to the end of this dude.

  “Warm-up lap first, right?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Okay,” he said, and he was jogging away from her then. She smiled at how easy this would be and took off, catching him easily, both of them moving smoothly around the track, in a nice simple warm-up. The moment they met the sock, the starting point, everything changed and it was an all-out foot race. Of course she was in the lead on the front stretch, hadn’t expected anything less, and was well into the first curve before she heard him breathing off to her left side. Like taking candy from a baby, going into the back stretch, and she thought to kick it into her other gear, because she could and she wanted to make a point by beating him; and she wanted that point to be clear.

  She looked over her shoulder, something she rarely did, ’cause she heard him catching up to her. Not sure how that was possible, him with his short legs and all, but he was gaining on her. She faced forward again, focusing on reaching the end before him, which was proving harder than she thought. She looked over again, and he was beside her, two strides to her one. Good form, like he’d done this before, and he used to play football, but she’d thought high school, or had he said college? And her train of thought was not where it should be, as she was falling a second behind, and had about twenty meters left to the finish.

  He was increasing the distance between them now; had that Michael Johnson running style of straight back and legs, arms pumping in sync, and he was two lengths ahead of her now and closing in on the finish line. What the hell, she thought, giving it all she had now, and was not even close there at the end. He was past the sock finish line and slowing down. He came to a stop at the top of the curve, bent over and working to catch his breath. She followed, bent over and working to catch her breath too. She looked up and over in time to lay witness to this big ole smile spread across his face.

  “You lost,” he said, grinning now.

  “I did,” she said.

  “Are you working tomorrow?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll meet you outside the cafeteria, say eleven?”

  “Is that your idea of a date?” she said.

  “For now it is. Lunch, Tuesday, eleven; outside the front door of the cafeteria.”

  “If you say so,” she said, watching as he stood and made his way to the door that would take him to the men’s shower, and leaving her with no clue as to what just happened, except for the fact that she’d lost and was going on a date for the first time in a very long time.

  TWELVE

  Monday

  Memphis was a bit early today. She’d come from work as usual. Everything was the same as it had been the other days she’d driven up, minus the kids and coaches and all those sounds. She parked in one of the spots behind his home and took the steps up leading to the back door. She knocked and waited, and a few minutes later he came into view.

  Nice any day of the week was Z, she thought, watching him move towards the door. Simple in shorts and another Elite Football t-shirt, cap on his head, no glasses today. She let out the breath she’d been holding.

  “Jones,” he said, pushing the door open wide, holding a bottle of water in his hand. “You ready to get started?”

  “I am,” she said, looking around, not sure what they were doing. “I don’t mind if you call me Memphis, now that we’re done with camp.”

  “Jones is what I’d prefer actually, and you can continue to call me Coach Z,” he said.

  “Oh, okay then, Jones it is,” she said, moving on to the next question, fighting to not let her disappointment show. “Do you mind if I continue to change clothes here? It would be easier for me if I could,” she said.

  “No problem,” he said, leaning into the door’s frame, crossing his arms at his chest, continuing to watch her, fighting against his desire to laugh out loud at Jones. Disappointment and irritation at his continued use of her last name were what he saw on her face. She wanted him to call her Memphis, which he understood but couldn’t do. Trouble lay in that direction. Nope, Memphis was warm smooth skin and late nights with nothing but time at his disposal, for things that had nothing to do at all with football. Plus her sister’s words were ringing in his ears; another reminder for caution and distance as he came to know her better. So, no, Jones it would be for the foreseeable future, and until he was sure of her, he would keep the two separate.

  “Okay, so do you want me to meet you here or on the field everyday?” she asked, nervous now at the look he just gave her. If she hadn’t known better, she’d thought he was interested; there was a look in his eye for a second that wasn’t for Jones the trainee.

  “Here is good,” he said, leaning against the door still, all casual and relaxed.

  “Okay then… sure. I’ll go change and meet you back here,” she said, turning away, not really sure of anything at all now. Lunch spent with him on Saturday afternoon had felt like friends hanging out. And you thought what? she asked herself. You thought he was interested? And once more, no, he wasn’t. It was nothing but Coach Z from camp.

  Z stepped away from the door; not very far, just out of view, in case she turned back to look. He didn’t want to be caught staring, ’cause staring is what he intended to do as she made her way over to the restroom to change. She’d come dressed from work, looking good enough to eat as usual in a charcoal-colored skirt, cream top with the top buttons open, and wow, she had an impressive chest pushed upwards, a thick belt around her waist, and those pumps on her feet, taking her safely away from him, and he was back in lust. He inhaled at the view of this woman that never got old for him, and no, she didn’t need to know that.

  #

  Ten minutes and she was back, exiting the restroom, and moving toward his home, her transformation into safe and looser clothing complete.

  “I usually work pretty late in the studio, so I’m putting you in charge of setting up from now on,” he said when she reached his back door again.

  “Okay,” she said, looking up at him from the bottom of his steps, hurt and unsure she was, he thought of her current expression.

  “We’ll work pretty much like we did in camp. I expect you on the fields running your laps by six, which means you’ll need to give yourself enough time to get here, change, and get the equipment over to the field. The equipment is kept in the utility building, but you know that, right?” he said, walking do
wn the steps and then past her.

  “Yes,” she said, falling into step a little behind him, but working to catch up and keep up. He seemed to be in a hurry.

  “This week and maybe for the next two weeks, we’ll be working mainly with the rope ladders. That’s all you need to bring out to the field,” he said over his shoulder. He’d gone back and done some research on the best way to approach her training, and had settled with working the ladders as a good starting point.

  He held the door to the utility building open for her before following her inside and down the hall to the storage room.

  “It will be your responsibility to bring these out each day, to lay them out on the field. You don’t need to wait for me to get started,” he said, looking down at the stack of ladders on the floor in front of him.

  “I know, you told me,” she said and watched as his eyes darted to hers. “Have you changed your mind about training me, having second thoughts or something? You seem impatient to me. Do you want out of our agreement and can’t tell me?”

  “No.”

  “Oh.”

  “What’s up, Jones?” he asked.

  “Well…You said friends, so I thought but you want to keep calling me Jones… and… well… Saturday at lunch… felt like we could be friends and now you seem different and… in a hurry or I don’t know…” she said, sounding whiny now. She stopped.

  “All that to say what, Jones?”

  “Nothing.”

  “We can be friends, just not out here. Out here it is for training. If you’re going to play for the team, then you’ll have to respond to me as the coach. You might as well get used to that, right?”

  “Right,” she said.

  “I haven’t changed my mind about anything. I’d tell you first if I did.”

  “Okay, then. I understand. You’re training me, blah, blah, blah. I got it.”

  “Don’t get hostile, Jones. I just wanted to be clear,” he said, placing his water bottle on a nearby table.

  “I’m so clear,” she said, and they both laughed.

  “Good. Now hold out your arms,” he said, before picking up a ladder from the stack on the floor and placing it into her outstretched arms. “You’ll need about four of these.” He continued to stack them in her arms until she held four.