by Camy Tang
“Trish? What’s wrong?”
“Leeex.” Belch. “Can you come pick me up?”
“Are you drunk? ”
Lex met Randy’s horrified stare. Oops, she had said that rather loudly. A few other people tried not to look like they were listening.
“I’m jus’ a leedle tipsy,” Trish answered her.
She got up and headed toward the door, slinging her purse over her shoulder. “Where are you?”
“Um . . . Club Yellow Fever.”
She’d have to MapQuest it. “Stay where you are, okay? Are you inside the club?”
“I’m at my car . . . I can’t open the door.” Giggle. “I think I lost the handle.”
THIRTEEN
Lex had gotten her pepper spray and stuck it in her pocket. She considered sneaking her brass knuckles into her purse but thought the bouncer might object.
She shouldn’t have worried. After parking next to Trish’s car but not seeing her, Lex entered the club doors, where no one stood guard.
Pulsing dance music drummed against her liver while darkness winking with wild lights made her feel like she was looking at a Christmas tree through sunglasses.
How was she going to find Trish?
She phoned Trish’s cell, but no answer — not surprising if she didn’t have it on vibrate. Which she never did. Lex hated to admit it, but the bar was a logical place to look.
What had made Trish get sloshed like she did at that one frat party in college? Looked like lots of these people were roaring drunk too. A laughing blonde smashed into her. “Oops, sorry.”
Ugh. Sour martini breath.
Lex tried to avoid touching anyone, slowing her progress. She wove in and out, ducked and darted, side stepped and backtracked.
A half hour later, she’d circled the entire dance floor twice, searched the bar three separate times, gotten a stiletto in her instep, and had beer spilled on her pants. Trish would have fifteen “missed call” messages on her cell phone if she ever thought to check it.
Lex headed toward the bar. One last pass, and then she’d blow this joint. She inched around a large group of people near the entrance to the dance floor, trying to avoid being touched or splashed by swinging arms still attached to glasses of drinks.
A hand landed heavy on her shoulder.
She snapped rigid as steel. Her self-defense classes flashed through her mind. “Haaaiyaah!” She nipped backward and grabbed the offending hand, turning around and twisting the hand palm-up at the same time.
“Owowowowowow — Lex! It’s me!”
“Richard! Dummy, you know better.”
“Leggoleggo — aaah.” Richard flapped his wrist. “I called your name but you didn’t hear me.”
“Oh.” She had the grace to feel sheepish.
“Hey, lemme introduce you to someone you’ll like. He’s into sports too.”
She perked up at that. “Really?” She then deflated and glared at Richard. “What’s the catch?”
“Huh?”
“Is he married? Gay? Living with his mother? And what is he doing in this bar?”
He thumped her forehead with his finger before she could slap him away. “He’s a nice guy. Trust me.”
“Ha! That guarantees he’s a dweeb.” But she followed him. She had to admit she was intrigued if Richard’s friend really was into sports. Maybe, like her, he didn’t normally come to places like this.
She could look for Trish while she moved through the crowd, right?
Lex appreciated Richard’s extra height and heftier bulk as he cut a smooth path through the people chatting and drinking. Lex huddled in his wake and twisted her body to avoid being brushed by the people around them. They passed a few small bistro tables, all with a dozen people around them. Finally, they reached a booth — boy, the guy snagged a booth! — in the corner, where the noise level muted slightly.
Three guys lounged against the padded seat, each nursing the latest of several drinks, if the empty glasses indicated anything. Oh, great. Conversing with drunks. Her favorite crossword puzzle.
“Lex, this is Tigh Anders.”
A broad but not fat man with a toothy smile stood to shake her hand. His paw engulfed hers like being swallowed by a whale.
His touch lingered too long. Lex snatched her hand back.
Strike one.
“Richard tells me you know a little about sports.” Tigh’s tone wasn’t condescending, although his words bordered on the edge. Ball one.
Lex smiled tightly. “Some.”
Tigh gestured to the other two nameless men. “We were just talking about Hosh’s return to the Niners this season.”
“Unlikely.”
Tigh’s brows rose, then he grinned. “That’s what I was saying.
Smart girl.”
Ball two. Lex didn’t falter. “He’s not being aggressive enough with his rehab. He can’t even run the mile at 80 percent his normal.”
Tigh looked thoughtful.
Ball three.
He scratched his chin. “I thought it might be a publicity ploy.”
That was a new idea. “Oh?”
“The reporters were already comparing his slower recovery with Bennett’s super fast recovery last season, when he protested a little too loudly about being steroid-free.”
Tigh had an interesting theory. Base hit.
He gestured toward the dance floor. “Dance?”
Well, he’d earned a single.
The nervous juggling started in her stomach as she followed him to the dance floor. Stop wigging out, it’s a fast song, you’re too hung up on being touched by guys anyway, stop being a freakazoid.
She had loved dancing once. She could again with the right partner. Sure.
Lex tried to groove to the beat. Tried not to jerk when someone’s limb tapped her from behind. Tried to smile at Tigh. Then he moved closer.
She froze so tight that her shoulder blade muscles shook. His big hands circled her waist lightly, but enough to make her jolt and twitch away.
He must have thought they were dance moves, because he grabbed her waist fully and tried to sway her hips to his rhythm.
Lex’s stomach cramped. She shoved his hands away and pulled back.
He followed, face fuzzy and confused but still amiable. This time his hands roved higher, cupping her ribcage.
“Leave off!” Lex twisted away.
Tigh’s face darkened. He shouted a few names at her.
She shouted a few back.
Lex tromped off the dance floor. Stupid! She knew he’d been drinking. She headed toward the exit door while she called Trish’s cell phone one last time.
“Hello?” Hiccough.
“Trish! Where are you?”
Giggle. “By the bar. This nice guy — ”
Lex snapped her phone closed and shoved her way to the bar. Her encounter with Tigh had made her so tense that the extra contact didn’t unnerve her as it did before.
There. Trish lounged against the bar with a middle-aged man who tried to look down the V-neck on her blouse. Lex grabbed her. “Did you come alone?”
“No.” Trish dissolved into abject depression with a speed only alcohol could accomplish. “My boyfriend . . . the slime . . . had a fight.”Sob. “He left me, the dork . . .” Trish burst into tears.
Lex got her out into the parking lot, where the fresh air seemed to have the opposite effect as normal. Lex leaned against the car trunk while Trish emptied her stomach.
“Lex, right?”
She looked up and noticed the antsy guy who had interviewed her at SPZ. He actually sounded jovial. “Hello.”
“Yeah, I thought I saw you in there.”
When she danced with Mr. Hands or when she dragged Miss Apple Martini away from the bar? “I didn’t see you.”
“Yeah, I see you met Tigh Anders.”
A weird, unpleasant tingling raced over her shoulders like a hairbrush drawn across her skin. “You know him?”
“Oh, yeah. He works
at SPZ.”
The tingling rose up the back of her neck and buzzed in the base of her skull. “What’s his department?”
“Oh, he’s my manager.”
Only a few times in her life had Lex indulged in stress-eating. This was one.
Lex inched into the drive-thru line and fumbled with her purse. She had cash, right?
“Are we at In-N-Out?” Trish shoved her nose against Lex’s not-so-clean window. “It’s yelllow.”
“WelcometoInnunOut. Whaddayawant?” The order speaker blasted static at Lex.
“A 3 x 3, Animal style, with fries and a strawberry shake.”
“Fffvertwinntwo.”
What? Lex drove forward while digging in the bottom of her purse. Didn’t she have a stray bill? She counted the money in her fist. Three bucks.
“You dint get me anything.” Trish pouted. “I wanted a double . . . triple . . .” She started counting fingers.
“You may as well be good for something.” Lex slapped Trish’s knee to the right so she could snatch Trish’s purse.
“Thazmine!”
By the time Lex made it to the window, she had a ten-dollar-bill to hand to the girl in her white and red uniform.
The aroma of grease made her mouth almost feel the crispiness of the fries, the juiciness of the burger, the softness of the bun. Lex pulled back into the In-N-Out parking lot and found an empty stall.
Her first bite unknotted the ball in her gut.
The second bite loosened her wooden-hanger shoulders.
The fries made her headache ease.
The shake brought it right back with brainfreeze.
Well, if she could say anything about Tigh, he had reunited her with In-N-Out Burger, her first unhealthy meal since the fiasco with George. Words like “stupid Lex” and “doofus” and “guano-head”really didn’t convey the emotion of the moment — the crashing and burning of her dream of working at SPZ.
She wouldn’t have wanted to work for such a handsy guy anyway.
Yeah, the ecstasy of talking nothing but sports all day at work wouldn’t be worth it. Not at all.
Lex started sobbing into her shake.
“Are you crying?” Trish shoved her face two inches away from Lex’s nose. “Aw, poor Lexie. Trishy will make it all bett — better.”
Trish’s foul breath seriously cramped Lex’s enjoyment of her burger. Lex pushed her away, and Trish tipped over to lean against the door, already starting to breathe deeply.
Lex finished her fries. She didn’t really feel much better. Well, no.
She could never be unmoved by fresh french fries. But she still felt like a teetering Jenga tower.
What was it Scarlett said? “Tomorrow is another day.”
Whoop-de-doo. Cheeriness for the unemployed.
TUMS, TUMS TUMS TUMS, TUMS . . .
So, maybe the shake had been a bit overboard.
Lex’s stomach rolled as she stumbled into the living room. She would look for more job listings in the morning, send out a few more résumés. She should be fine for several months because she and Dad were sharing expenses. Problem was, could she find anything?
She locked the front door behind her. Dad had left the light on —
No, he hadn’t left his chair. He looked up at her. “You’re late tonight.”
“I had a sort of emergency.”
Bushy eyebrows waggled up. “Emergency?”
“A Trish emergency. Relax.”
He did. “Oh.”
That prickling had started again across her shoulders. “Why are you still up, Dad?”
He started that floppy shrug again, but Lex gusted out a sigh.
“Oh, just tell me.”
Stopped mid-shrug, Dad looked like the Hunchback of Notre Dame. He lowered his shoulders.
“You’ll have to move out, Lexie. I decided to sell the house.”
FOURTEEN
Get your rear ends lower!” Lex clapped her hands to make the junior high girls pick up the pace of their drill.
She needed to hop to it and find an apartment. Something cheap.
“Lower!” She pointed at an eighth-grader who only crouched halfheartedly. The girl bent her knees and waist into a deeper crouch before exploding into a sprint to the next cone.
Lex needed to move fast. Dad’s house would sell quickly. But with the dismal housing market, could she find an apartment she could afford in only a few weeks?
“Move over for the girls behind you.” Lex signaled to a girl who stood panting at the end of the set of cones she’d just completed. She shifted out of the way as the next girl darted to the cone in a sprinting crouch, then straightened, also breathing heavily.
Now that she’d booted herself from the SPZ job, she needed to put more effort into another engineering position. The job listings on craigslist this morning hadn’t been encouraging.
“Bend your knees when you jump!” Lex slipped into the drill lineup and demonstrated with a deep squat before exploding up in a mock block. She then dropped to a defensive crouch and sprinted to the next cone. “You’re being slowpokes!” Lex straightened and clapped her hands again.
She had quit her job, and she’d soon be homeless. How could she even have time to think about getting a sponsor for this team — much less a boyfriend?
“You’re pushing them kinda hard today, aren’t you?” Vince, her assistant coach, leaned close and murmured low so the girls wouldn’t hear.
Lex moved away from his close proximity but absorbed his words. She sighed. Yeah, maybe she projected her frustrations on the team. She’d ease up —
She saw it happening and felt the pulse through her muscles as she tried to move in to prevent it. Her top hitter, Kathy, leaped into a blocking motion just as another girl sprinted toward her cone. As Kathy landed, her foot rolled off the other girl’s sneaker. A sickening crunch-pop echoed through the small gym.
At the sound, a blow of nausea hammered through Lex’s gut. It slowed her steps as she rushed to Kathy’s side. She didn’t want to look. What if the ankle lay twisted at a sickening angle? What if there was blood . . . ?
Lex took a deep, harsh breath, tightening her jaw, her neck, her shoulders. She dropped beside Kathy and swatted away the girls crowding her.
Kathy heaved with sobs. The ankle hadn’t swollen yet, but it would look like a grapefruit in a few minutes. The shoe needed to come off before the swelling welded it to her foot.
“This is going to hurt, Kathy.” Lex untied her shoe, grabbed her heel to stabilize her foot, and tried to ease the sneaker off.
“Owowow! Stopstopstop!”
Lex slowed her movements but didn’t stop. Kathy wailed. Finally the shoe dropped to the ground.
Lex tried to hide her concern. Kathy didn’t usually complain about pain — she’d taken hard dives to the floor without a word. This was bad.
“Let’s get her to urgent care. I’ll drive.” Maybe she had only sprained her ankle. If the team lost another player of Kathy’s caliber, they’d get tromped in playoffs this summer.
“I’ll carry her.” Vince stepped in and squatted beside her. “Both arms around my neck . . . good. Ummph!”
Lex ran to get her purse and gear. Her cell phone rang. “Hello?”
She shouldered her gym bag with a grunt.
“Alexis Sakai?” A vaguely familiar woman’s voice.
“Yes.” Lex followed at Vince’s heels.
“This is Wendy Tran from SPZ Human Resources.”
They were calling her to turn her down? Well, it was nicer than an email.
“Lex, what about practice?” One of the girls tugged at her shirt.
“Vince isn’t going, just me. Finish the drill.”
The girl groaned but went back to report to the other players.
“Miss Sakai?”
“Sorry . . .” What had been the woman’s name? “You were saying?” Lex fumbled for her car keys and hustled to beat Vince and Kathy to her car.
“It is my pleasure to
offer you a position in the SPZ college division.”
“What? ”
At that moment, Vince stumbled over the curb and Kathy let go of his neck. She bounced on the ground while he staggered onto one knee.
“Oh my gosh!” Lex rushed to Kathy.
“I’m so glad you’re pleased.” The SPZ HR woman sounded pleased herself.
“OW! OW OW OW OW OW!” Kathy clutched her ankle and rocked back and forth.
“Just hold it up.” Lex put a hand under Kathy’s thigh to keep the foot off the ground.
“Excuse me?” the HR woman asked.
“You said college division? — Kathy, honey, don’t squeeze your ankle — I never applied to the college division.”
“You didn’t? I have your application here and the offer letter from the director.”
“Sorry.” Vince knelt beside Kathy. “Let’s try this again.”
“No way!” Kathy tried to back up, but her heel bumped the ground, and she winced. “I don’t want to get dropped again.”
What was the woman’s name? Lex’s stupid memory. “Who gave you my application? Kathy, he won’t drop you again.”
“He will too!”
“I got it straight from the head of the department, Russell Davis.”
“Okay, Kathy, one, two, three, heave!” Lex clapped the phone closer to her ear. “Russell? Russell with the Stanford Indian on his briefbag?”
“Yes, that’s him.”
Whoa. Even with her skirt soaked with Pine-Sol and coffee decorating her shirt and who-knew-what on her hand? “What exactly is the position? Another receptionist? Put her right there, Vince.”
“You don’t know? It’s for Alumni Association Liason.”
“Oh.” Lex didn’t want to sound more ignorant, so she made her tone reflective and intelligent. She hoped.
“You’ll receive the offer letter tomorrow. Can you start work on Monday?”
“Yes!” That answer she knew. She climbed into the driver’s seat.
“Great. We’ll expect you at eight o’clock at the front desk, and we’ll take care of you from there.”
She was going to whoop Kin-Mun’s fanny this time.
Lex served the ball directly at the weakest passer, a tall front-row banger who would probably shank the ball. He did. It made for a frantic set, and the banger couldn’t get an effective hit.
