by Leslie Pike
“No. It’s an adults-only trip. Your mother told you, I know,” Maxen says, taking the lead.
“But why? We want to meet the players too. Especially Atticus,” Bing adds.
I jump into the conversation. “Listen, we told you there will be a game in the future, should the Mavericks win the playoffs. Wouldn’t you rather be at a World Series game?”
“No. We want to go to this one,” Bing says, looking directly into my eyes.
“We were invited by July’s parents, who are good friends of the Swift family. We did not make the guest list.”
Hunter takes a huge bite of his burger then immediately begins a soliloquy.
“And you’re all going to be in an RV, having an awesome road trip. It’s going to be fun, and you get to be in one of those suites with the catcher’s family. Man, it isn’t fair. Bing and I are baseball fans too. I think you may be stunting our growth. We may never get over this.”
Bing looks at his friend with surprise. This isn’t Hunter’s usual style. It sounds like my child penned the words. I think my Bing is having a great influence over his new friend. He’s become more expressive and comfortable talking with adults. Maxen and I catch each other’s eye and chuckle.
“I’m sorry to wound you two so deeply,” Maxen says. “But I predict you’ll get over it when you have the run of my sister’s house and refrigerator. Plus, you have our promise to take you to a World Series game in a month. Your suffering will have an end date.”
Hunter looks at Bing. “Hey, I gave it my best shot.”
“Besides, if you went, all the kids would have to go. James and Dean, the baby. It’s an adult weekend, and that’s the end of the discussion.”
“Can we use the pool at Wes’?” Bing asks.
I give him a pointed look. “Absolutely not. They aren’t going to be there, and they’ll be no adult supervision. You are NOT to go swimming. You hear me?”
Four shoulders sink.
“This is going to be boring. What are we going to do for fun?” Bing asks.
“Let’s see. You have band practice on Saturday, Kim said she’s going to treat you to a movie Sunday, and between those things, you have your imagination. Use it to entertain yourselves! My gosh, boys, you’re thirteen years old, almost fourteen. I don’t think you need your parents to plan your every move.”
“If you’re smart, you’ll invite a few girls to see the movie with you. I’ll give you the money for the tickets and popcorn.”
I wish Maxen would have passed that by me first, but when I see the smiles on Bing and Hunter’s faces, I can’t deny it was inspired.
“And don’t eat like you’re starving. Share the popcorn and candy. And close your mouths when you chew. Girls don’t like boys who eat like slobs,” Maxen adds.
“Just make sure you act responsibly and don’t try any funny stuff. These girls are very young. In fact, their parents may not even agree that they go,” I add.
Bing and Hunter’s eyes look to Maxen in some sort of silent questioning. It’s obviously a man thing, and they need his wisdom on the subject.
“Maybe you could just meet them in front of the theater. You know, friends meeting friends. But you pay. Make sure you do that. It’s the right thing for a man to do when he invites a girl.”
The boys look at me but say nothing. I’m not sure they are actually breathing.
“Okay. You can do that, but don’t make me regret my decision.”
As smiles light their faces, I’m reminded how much like my mother I sound. Maxen reaches out and takes my hand in a silent show of solidarity.
Chapter Fourteen
Maxen
“Here we go!” I say, taking the turn toward Memphis. “We’re ten minutes away.”
“Off the road again,” sings a happy July.
My offer to be the driver was well received. One of us needs to be sober, and I’m the best choice. Everyone else is having a break from their kids. Free time, alone time, adult time is far and few between. As much as these people love their offspring, it looks like they are ecstatic to be without them for a few days. It’s comically obvious that parenthood requires short sanity breaks. Only Asher and November seem themselves.
“Champagne me!” Dominique says, lifting an empty red Solo cup in the air.
“Me too!” July slides over to where Wes stands and holds up a cup of her own. “There’s time for one more.”
“I want a beer. Baby get me one,” November calls.
Asher makes his way to the RV refrigerator and retrieves two beers. “You want one, Wes?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“The game starts at seven, right?”
Asher’s cell sounds, and he juggles the champagne bottle to grab it from his pocket.
“It’s Boone. Let me put it on speaker.”
“Hey! Good timing. We’re almost to your place!”
“It’s about time! Lucinda and I just had to start drinking. What kind of best friends are you?”
From the background comes a woman’s voice. “That is a fib! Boone started drinking two hours ago. I’m innocent.”
“Sweetheart, you are anything but innocent,” Boone answers.
I have a feeling I’m going to like this couple. Dominique said the whole family is fun to be around. They have these yearly parties that are now famous for fun. There’s a Firefly Ball or something like that. Halloween parties, and apparently invitations are scarce for all who want to attend.
I suppose when you are a baseball dynasty, you have the means to party. And the occasions. Like now, when the Memphis Mavericks are about to clinch their spot in the World Series.
“Hey! How are my godparents? You two behaving?” July says, chuckling.
“Honey, you know the answer to that,” Boone says. “Your godmother is continually leading me astray.”
That brings laughter from the entire crew, except me. I need to meet these people who seem to share the same kind of relationship Asher and November do. Long-term marriages that haven’t lost the spark. Shit. That’s the kind of marriage I want to have. Marriage? When have I ever thought about that?
“Just get your asses here so we can meet this Maxen fellow. You there, boy?”
I haven’t been called boy for a few decades, and it catches me off guard. After a few beats, I respond.
“I’m here and sober. The new guy always gets designated driver status.”
“Somebody’s got to do it. When you get here, I will make you the best drink you’ve ever had. Are you a Jack Daniels man?”
“I am, Boone. Did you know Sinatra was buried with a bottle?”
The excitement coming from the other side of the conversation is palpable.
“You are the first person I’ve met who knew that besides me! Lucinda, did you hear that?”
“It’s a sign we are going to be friends. I think we may be approaching your property. Here’s the turn,” I say.
“Okay. We’ll be waiting for you all. So happy you’re going to be here with us. Don’t mind the dogs! They’re going to be barking their asses off. See you in a few.”
Wow. As I turn onto the property's tree-lined entrance, it’s like everything became brighter, more colorful, just about perfect. The hills of Tennessee are green and lush. The late summer season is incredibly beautiful this year. I half expect there will be chirping birds escorting us in.
There are still flowering Dogwoods in pink and white, and as we pass, the sunlight coming through makes a kind of Disney animated film look.
“I love this place,” July says. “We have so many good memories here.”
“When Atticus, their son, made the big leagues he had this built for his parents,” Wes says, taking his seat next to me.
“What a gift,” I say, taking in my first view of the house.
Impressive. There’s a sweeping lawn that practically looks painted on. It’s perfectly manicured. But there’s nothing fake or cold about this place. A brick circular driveway leads to the f
ront steps of the expansive wraparound porch of a white two-story Southern-style home.
Lime-green and purple hydrangeas follow the lines of the house, front and side. Groupings of trees are everywhere. As I turn off the engine, a dog looking through the front door's side window begins to bark.
“I see the Colonel!” July says, standing up. Before anyone can add a word to the discussion, the dachshund goes into protection mode, intent on protecting the Swift’s from unknown threats. Who are these people? Can they be trusted?
Within a few beats, a much bigger, older dog peeks through the window.
“There’s O.G.! Oh my God, I love that dog,” November says.
I engage the door and the steps. The front door of the house opens, and a good looking older couple steps out. She’s got a streak of silver in her long hair, and her husband has a head of thick white hair. He carries a drink in his hands and lifts it in a toast to the arriving guests.
“Oh my God, Boone has your drink ready,” Wes says, laughing.
My passengers pile out and greet their hosts in warm embraces. I take up the rear.
“You must be Maxen, welcome! I’m Lucinda, and this is Boone.”
“Glad Dominique brought you, son. She’s very special to Lucinda and me. I don’t think she’d ever choose a man that didn’t pass muster with us, so be warned. We’re going to be watching every move you make.”
Lucinda shoots me a little wink letting me know Boone’s messing with me.
I take the drink passed. “Thanks for the heads up. I’ll be sure to behave.”
“Well, that won’t be any fun, honey!”
Dominique slips an arm through mine.
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” July says, gesturing to the front of the house.
Lucinda offers a welcoming smile. “Come in. We’ve still got some time before we have to leave for the game.”
Being inside the Swift’s suite at the ballpark is something cool. This is how the other half lives. No. Not half. That’s being too generous. Hardly anyone gets this kind of experience. I’m controlling my Memphis Maverick’s madness, trying to keep my shit together as I appreciate the view, food, and company. Wish I had my new Maverick’s t-shirt. There won’t be another chance like this. But the playoff hat that everyone here was gifted just took over first place as my favorite.
It’s awesome to have one son as the catcher, one as his agent, and a son-in-law as the announcer. And Boone’s career as a player started it all. This is one happy baseball-loving family. It shows in everything they do. I am impressed.
I haven’t met Atticus or Sawyer yet, but Brick and I have hit it off. He and Dominique have a good relationship. I can tell they like each other. His wife, January, is a good match. For a sports agent handling the business of multi-millionaires daily, he is a down to earth guy. The fact his wife is in the same industry must make for some interesting conversations.
Charlotte, Atticus’ wife, sits with their daughter, Mallory. Next to them, Bristol Swift, Boone’s only daughter, and wife of the announcer, Sawyer Tom.
There are six kids in different stages running around the suite. I was introduced, but at this point, three drinks in, I can’t remember who belongs to who. All I know is they are scarfing down the marinated shrimp as if they haven’t eaten in a month. If Bing and Hunter were here, they’d join them.
But the two people I am kind of obsessed with are Boone’s parents, Grandma Birdie and Grandpa Davis. It’s easy to see where the family love and sense of fun sprang from. They are funny as hell. Playful in your eighties is a good thing to aim for. And the whole thing is mixed with an old Southern sensibility I love. Grandma wears pearls and a dress to the ballgame, and her husband is in a bow tie with the Maverick’s colors.
It’s down to the last out. Hell, it’s now or never. Either they win in a down to the wire game, or they crash in flames. I notice no one has taken a sip of their drinks in the last ten minutes. It’s too nerve-wracking.
“That ump! That was a strike!” Grandma Birdie yells.
“It wasn’t, Lovebird; it was a ball.” Grandpa Davis takes her hand.
“Boone, what do you think, son?” She tilts her head in anticipation of her child’s agreement.
“Ball, Mama.”
“You men need new glasses.”
It takes a certain amount of grit to argue with her all-star son.
The entire room erupts in sound as the next pitch is swung at and missed.
Dominique digs her nails into my arm.
“This is it. Full count.”
The next pitch will settle the outcome. It’s either World Series or depression for the Mavericks. Either way, we will be partying tonight. That was the decision of the Swifts and has been every year they’ve been in this position.
The windup seems almost to be in slow motion. The ball sails toward the batter, and it looks like it’s going to be perfectly placed in the strike zone. But at the last moment, it dips into Atticus’ glove, just as the batter swings and misses! Strike three!
The sound inside the suite swells as we all rise. There are hugs and kisses; Boone picks up his wife and bounces her like a sack of potatoes. She’s laughing, so I guess it's their thing. Grandpa Davis places a gentle kiss on Birdie’s nose. As for me, I’ve wrapped Dominique in an embrace, and I’m going in for the kiss.
“I love how this house is designed,” I say, stepping into my shoes. “There’s enough bedrooms for all of us to stay in, but it doesn’t seem like we’re in a cavern. There’s a lot of warmth to the home.”
Dominique looks over her shoulder for one last check in the mirror.
“They have literally thought of everything. Did you notice the plugs inside the bathroom drawers? I love that idea,” she says.
“You look beautiful, babe. But then, that’s a given.”
She bats her long eyelashes in my direction. “Thank you, Beauregard. I wore it for your pleasure.”
The exaggerated Southern accent makes me chuckle and join in on the fantasy.
“Beulah, you make a man lose his control.”
“Beulah? I don’t want that name. I sound like your favorite cow.” She says it in her own voice, so I know she’s serious. Apparently, Dominique is the Director of this one-act play.
“Please forgive me. I was stunned by your beauty. I meant to say, Miss Scarlett. Is that better?” My southern accent leaves a lot to be desired, but she ignores that and enjoying that I’m playing along.
This pleases my girl, and she proves it by leaning down and coming within a few inches of my face.
“I’d kiss you, Beauregard, but I just washed my hair.”
I recognize that from a movie we watched one late night. Bette Davis always had the best lines. Or maybe she just could deliver them. Dominique has the talent too. Perhaps it’s that she has me by my heart. And the dick and balls. Everything the woman does seems sort of adorable. Jesus. I’m a goner.
“Unless you plan on getting your makeup smeared, we better head downstairs. You’re making my dick hard.”
Her mouth opens in surprise, but the eyes … they twinkle with the thought.
Chapter Fifteen
Dominique
Over the past few years, July has told me stories of the parties at her parents’ best friend’s house. Whether watching the yearly arrival of the fireflies or celebrating a holiday, they all sounded fantastic. Special.
Secretly, I wished I would be invited, and imagine every other person in Tennessee did too. But this party is extra. It’s awesome! Familiar famous faces pop up in the kitchen or outside on the dance floor. The Cy Young Award winner from last year just asked me to dance as I was making my way from the bathroom back out to Maxen. I declined with an ‘I’m here with my boyfriend’ response. It didn’t seem to have made an impact. He shrugged his shoulders and said, ‘So?’. I kept walking.
I need to write about this night in my journal. Everyone is so damned happy about being in the Series. It reminds me of kids wh
o just found out they are headed for Disneyland. Big, strong, prime of their life, kids. With alcohol.
The warm early September night, and the inky black sky with twinkling stars, are the background. Music sets the mood. Moods, that is. We have gone from Sinatra to H.E.R., Billie Eilish to Drake. Everyone’s tastes have been satisfied.
Atticus Swift is a good guy. He and Charlotte ended up at our table about an hour after dinner. His brother Brick and their brother-in-law, Sawyer, are holding court at one of the bars at the patio's edge. Every so often, Sawyer’s wife, Bristol, breaks out in laughter. It carries across the dance floor where couples sway shoulder to shoulder.
“Let’s have a dance, baby,” Maxen says, rising and extending a hand.
“I’d love to.”
We move to the small square of real estate still left to claim. In a smooth move, he brings me close.
“You smell great,” he says, nose nestled against my hair.
“You dance great. I like that you’re into it.”
He pulls back and locks eyes with me. “I’m into you, Dominique.”
“You are?” I say, feigning innocence.
“And something more.”
We stop swaying to John Legend’s soulful song. I wait for the more.
“I love you,” Maxen says softly.
A dancing electrical current moves up my body, toes to nose. The beautiful words settle in my heart, where they find their home. Then my own words rise.
“I love you, too,” I say, taking his face in my hands.
“Damn it, woman, you paused. Scared the hell out of me,” he chuckles.
“Don’t mistake that for indecision. I love you without hesitation, darling man.”
Our smiles give us away. I literally cannot stop smiling like a goon. Luckily, he’s a goon too.
“Well, aren’t you two happy as larks!”
Grandpa Davis and Grandma Birdie dance up next to us and sway in place to talk.
“We are, Davis. It’s all this one,” Maxen says, looking at me. “She’s put a spell on me.”
