DIRTY PLAYER: A Secret Baby Sports Romance

by Vesper Vaughn

  ***

  Monday morning, I wake up early. I pull on my newly-dry cleaned suit and sensible high heels. I take one look in the mirror. I look exhausted, but that comes with the territory of being a single mom getting her Ph.D. finished in record time.

  I walk into the kitchen, surveying the disaster scene.

  Frozen pizza boxes, soda cans, energy drink bottles, and chip bags litter every available surface. Thankfully, the maid’s coming today after I begged her to in a phone call this morning. Once-a-month housekeeping is the only luxury I afford myself.

  I’m a ball of ambition and nervous energy this morning, so I whip up pancakes. The chocolate chip kind shaped like teddy bears just like Hazel likes. I actually remember to put on an apron, too.

  I’m not tempting fate this morning. The last thing I need is for my suit to end up trashed from food.

  Hazel wakes up, her bedhead a sweet sight to me. She’s dressed herself in a pink tutu, purple leggings, a lime green top, and a sparkly tiara.

  She’s all girl, this one.

  “You look beautiful, honey. Is it princess day at preschool again?”

  She shakes her head. “I feel like a pwincess evewy day, Mommy.”

  I laugh and slide a pancake onto a plastic plate for her.

  My phone buzzes on the countertop. I see that it’s my Dad and I ignore it.

  Today is not the day that I’m going to deal with him.

  I need to get off on the right foot, and that’s impossible with my father.

  He’s forever begging me to move back to Austin.

  That’s never, ever going to happen.

  “Over my dead body,” I say out loud, my thoughts turning into a conversation with myself.

  “What’s that mean, Mommy?”

  I shake my head and laugh. “Nothing, baby. Eat up. You’re going to preschool early today.”

  Hazel cheers at this news. She loves preschool, which makes it a lot easier for me to leave her there nearly every single day. She loves playing with the plastic, electric tractor for hours and hours.

  “You ready to go?” I ask her ten minutes later after I help her brush her teeth.

  She bounces down the hallway like a rubber ball. “Ready, Mommy!”

  We step out of the door of our little town home. I grimace at the dead flowers littering my tiny front garden. I’ve had to let a lot of things slip over the last few months just to keep my head somewhat above water. The garden is one of those things.

  I remind myself that if all goes well and I defend my thesis spectacularly, I’ll have all the time in the world to garden to my heart’s content.

  Well, I’ll have time before I start my full-time job next week, that is.

  We walk hand in hand down to the bus stop.

  Hazel puts the quarters in the slot and giggles at the tinkling sound.

  The bus driver smiles at her.

  “Good morning, Princess Hazel.”

  “Hey, Jonas,” I say to the old man.

  He has eight grandchildren and usually has a piece of candy to give to Hazel in the early afternoon ride home.

  I let her choose our seats. Hazel takes a window seat near the back of the bus.

  We ride through Dallas to better neighborhoods. The traffic today is even worse than I budgeted for. I rush off the bus with her in my arms, thirty minutes off schedule. I put her down and let her run to her teacher.

  I wave apologetically.

  “I’ll be back for noon pickup!”

  The teacher nods skeptically.

  I usually don’t get to ‘noon pickup’ until two o’clock.

  The only thing that assuages my guilt is how much Hazel likes when I pick her up late. She gets to hang out with the big kids, and it makes her entire week when it happens.

  I rush back to the bus stop just in time to see the bus pulling away from the curb.

  “Dammit fuck dammit!” I yell, chasing uselessly after it. I stop in the middle of the street where I’m nearly run over by an angry Texan in a pickup truck.

  I hop back to the sidewalk, but not before stepping in a rare Texas puddle and breaking my high heel clean off.

  Great.

  This day is just great.

  The universe conspiring against me, I stand at the bus stop with one foot bare. The bus arrives ten minutes after it is scheduled to, and when I get on I realize I don’t have any quarters.

  An old man takes pity on me and pays my fare.

  “Thank you so much,” I say. “I’m defending my dissertation today. And everything is going wrong.”

  The old man laughs. “I’ve had many, many days like that. Just promise me you’ll pay it forward to someone else someday.”

  “I promise,” I say to him honestly.

  I end up standing at the back of the bus. I’m afraid to sit down lest I end up with a wad of bubblegum stuck to my wool skirt.

  There’s an accident shutting down three of the four lanes on the freeway and everybody groans as the bus slides to a halt.

  I look out the window to see an SUV with a rainbow hood ornament on it. That rainbow is the designator for the hip new taxi service, Very. I don’t have time to open the app on my phone.

  I hop out of the bus and onto the gridlocked freeway.

  I bang on the hood of the rainbow car.

  “I have a hundred dollars on my credit card if you can get me to the university in the next fifteen minutes.”

  The driver, a guy around my age, smiles. “Hop in.”

  He drives down the shoulder and across the grassy median onto the access road, cars honking at him the whole way.

  “Fuck off!” he yells out the window.

  “God, am I glad I found you today,” I say. My purse buzzes again. It’s still my dad. He usually doesn’t call me like this. I frown.

  But I shrug off my worry. If there is something wrong, what can I possibly do for him all the way in Dallas? Nothing. The answer is nothing.

  I can’t quite shake a bad feeling as I run onto campus, sprinting towards the science building.

  I can’t think about this right now.

  I have bigger fish to fry.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CAMILLE

  The late August sun beats down on my neck. Dallas in August has to be experienced to be fully believed.

  “Sam, I did it. I did it, I did it, I did it!” I scream into my cell phone, still one foot bare from my accident earlier. “I passed. I defended my dissertation. I had to do it barefoot, but I did it.”

  “Well done,” she says into the phone with a smile. “Doctor Sanders. So, what are you going to do now? Go to Fantasy Land?”

  I laugh.

  “If I could afford it, absolutely. I’d love to take Hazel next year sometime.”

  “And you start your job Monday, right?”

  “Yeah, Monday. And now I’ll get paid even better being an official Ph.D.”

  Sam smacks her gum. “I’m so happy for you, Cami. Did you call Amanda to tell her?”

  “Not yet-“ my phone beeps. I hold it away from my ear and see Eloise’s number. Huh. She never calls me unless it’s to discuss the latest episode of Grey’s Anatomy. That’s when I know that something is really, really wrong. I sigh. “I’ve gotta go. My dad’s been calling me all morning and now Eloise is.”

  “I hope everything is okay,” Sam says into the phone.

  “Me too.”

  I ring off and call Eloise back. She answers on the first ring. “Camille?”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Your father’s been trying to get a hold of you all morning long. He needs you here this weekend.”

  I groan. “For what?”

  “He wants you here to learn the ropes with the new season starting.”

  “Wants me there as his princess doll to show off, more like,” I grumble.

  Camille sighs. “If you can just get here a few hours early, Camille. It would be much appreciated.”

  I think about my rust bucke
t car and do the math on how much gas money is going to cost. The last thing I ever want to do is ask my father for money. I think I can swing it on my own.

  “I’ll be there.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  BLAKE

  “You’re joking. You’re fucking kidding me right now,” I say into my cell phone.

  Actually, I don’t say it so much as I fucking scream it. “How? How is this possible? The season starts in like a week. Our first game on Monday night. We’re kicking off the entire season and now you’re telling me that they’re trading me?”

  My agent sighs. “Come on Blake, this happens all the damn time. Put your big boy britches on and get over it.”

  “I want to talk to the coach,” I say. I grab my car keys. “This is ridiculous.”

  “Blake, there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  “You’re telling me that I have to pack up my entire life over the next two days and leave this perfect Bay weather for…for Texas?”

  “Yeah, that’s about the sum of it.”

  “What did I do to deserve this?” I say, finally sitting down as the grief strikes me.

  He sighs again. “Nothing. It’s political. There was an agreement that needed to be filled between Sanders and Stravinsky. It’s not personal. It’s football, Blake. You know how these things happen.”

  “I gotta go.”

  “Blake-“

  Beep.

  I hang up on him and thrown my phone down onto my coffee table. It bounces and lands on the carpet.

  This is going to sound ridiculous, but after four years here, I’ve finally gotten my downtown apartment to look exactly the way I wanted it to. Exactly. Down to the rug.

  I look out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the grey Bay day. I love this place. It’s home to me.

  But it won’t be anymore.

  Austin, Texas here I come.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CAMILLE

  “Mommy, my legs are sore. Can we stop, please?” Hazel cries at me from the back of my rust bucket car.

  I look at the gas tank. I’ve been going fifty-five to preserve fuel. We’re nearly through Georgetown.

  “We are so close, baby girl,” I say, my Texas accent coming out in full flow.

  “But I want to go to Buc-ee’s!” I glance in the rearview mirror and see that she’s pointing her little chubby finger at a billboard with the famous Buc-ee’s beaver mascot. I calculate how much is left in my bank account. About thirty bucks. I could top up on fuel, maybe just a few gallons. And we could split a sandwich.

  “Alright, Hazel face. You win.”

  I put my blinker on and Hazel cheers and shrieks with excitement.

  Almost all the gas stalls are filled, as is usual with Buc-ee’s, although this late in August it’s a little surprising. People come here to fill up on their way to and from places, but it’s also popular with people tubing down the river. School is back in session for K-12 so I was expecting fewer folks.

  I turn off the car and turn to Hazel.

  “I’m going to fill up, then we can go inside.”

  Hazel nods her head and starts singing to herself. I recognize it as some Justin Bieber song and make a mental note to start playing classical music on the radio at all times.

  I fill up the truck and get Hazel out of her car seat. She holds my hand as we enter the bustling store. We head to the pristine bathroom and take care of business.

  People are milling about everywhere. We have to wait in line to use the sandwich ordering touch screens. Hazel insists on being the one to select our sandwich and toppings. She holds the order number receipt, the paper clutched in her hand like the winning lottery ticket.

  “Can I get some Beaver Nuggets?” Hazel asks, referring to the Buc-ee’s snack specialty of what is basically caramel-covered popcorn.

  I glance at the price. Ten dollars for the smallest bag. “Next time, baby girl.”

  They call our number and Hazel runs to the counter to grab the white paper bag. It’s nearly half the size of her body. People look at her and smile as she runs up to me proudly. I have no idea where she gets her confidence from. It’s certainly not me.

  I swallow as this thought hits me. I do, in fact, know where she gets her confidence from.

  Her dad. Wherever he may be.

  We stand in line to pay and I grab the cheapest bottle of water I can find. I slide my card and the machine rejects it.

  “Oh no,” I whisper.

  The woman behind the counter grimaces. “Do you have another form of payment?”

  I shake my head. “We’ll just leave, then.”

  “Camille?” A woman’s voice calls out across the store. I whip around to see Janet’s smiling face.

  You know when you’re having a really bad day and you’re just trying to keep it together and then someone asks you if you’re alright and you lose it? This is what happens as Janet hugs me. I burst into tears.

  “It’s okay. It’s alright,” she says, rubbing my back.

  She hands me a handkerchief and pulls out her debit card from her Louis Vuitton wallet.

  Hazel looks concernedly up at me. “Are you alright, Mommy?”

  Janet picks up Hazel and squeezes her cheek. “Your Mommy is going to be just fine, you hear me?”

  I don’t even remember getting back to my car, but Janet climbs into the passenger seat next to me. She pulls out our steaming hot sandwich.

  “Do you have any plastic knives in here?”

  “Glove box,” I cough out slowly.

  She sets to work cutting the sandwich into quarters, passing one to Hazel along with a paper napkin from the bag.

  “Turn on the engine, honey. My makeup is melting off my face.”

  I glance at her uneasily. I don’t want to idle the car. I barely have enough gas as it is to make it to Austin.

  She nods knowingly. “I’ll go fill up your tank the rest of the way. You eat this and drink some water.”

  I revive over the small lunch and bottle of water while my guardian angel refuels.

  “I was coming down from some business in Ft. Worth,” she explains, seated again in my car. “What a lovely coincidence.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper.

  She squeezes my hand. “Are you going to be okay the rest of the way to Austin? I could have someone drive this down for you and take you the rest of the way.”

  It’s tempting. Really, really tempting. “You’ve already done so much.”

  She waves her hand in the air as if dismissing my words. “It’s hardly anything.”

  I take a deep breath. “I think I’m okay to drive. See you in Austin?”

  She nods. “You always have been stubbornly independent, Camille.”

  She squeezes my hand a final time and exits the car.

  It seems like my pay-it-forward debt is running up and up and up.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CAMILLE

  I manage to avoid my father that afternoon, narrowly missing him as he drove to the office. Hazel and I both took a three-hour nap after Eloise filled our stomachs with pulled pork sandwiches and potato salad.

  There’s a knock at my bedroom door. I sit up groggily, my hair in my face.

  “Come in!” I call out.

  “Camille!” shrieks Evan Lochte. He’s wearing his usual all black, slicked back hair, and black eyeliner around his brown eyes. He’s carrying a bag that I know is filled up with more makeup than I’ve ever owned in my lifetime.

  “Evan!” I say, my voice cracking.

  He eyes me up and down. “Looks like I’ll be your miracle worker today, huh?”

  “Did Eloise call you?”

  He shook his head. “Your dad did, actually. I think he wanted to make sure you had as few excuses as possible to miss out on the dinner tonight. Hair and makeup, check!”

  I rub my eyes. “Let me go wash my face.” I splash cold water on my cheeks and restore my will to live in the process.

  I walk back into the
bedroom where Evan is setting up in front of my white wicker vanity.

  “Sit,” he instructs. “And tell me everything while I work my magic.”

  We talk the afternoon away together, and within two hours, he has me looking runway-ready.

  “You really are a miracle worker,” I say to him.

  He laughs. “Oh, trust me honey. I know. Now you just need to pick out a dress.”

  I groan. “Help me, please.” I stand up and pull out a frumpy, conservative dress.

  Evan rolls his eyes. “That’s the dress the politician’s wife wears when he apologizes to the country for sleeping around. Next.”

  I pull out a few more dresses, each one blander than the last.

  “Fine!” I say, throwing my hands in the air. “I don’t want to touch the cotillion section of my closet, so you go in there and find something for me to wear.”

  Evan pushes past me and pulls out a black body con dress. “This,” he says. “You’ll be sex on legs with that and the hair and makeup.”

  “I haven’t worn this since before I got pregnant with Hazel,” I object. “How will it even fit me?”

  “You look just as skinny now as you did then. Clothes off,” he barks.

  I sigh and carefully lift my t-shirt over my head, trying not to mess up the loose curls Evan had created. A minute later, Evan zips me into the dress. I look in the full-length mirror and gasp.

  “Wow,” I say.

  Evan grins at me. “If you don’t have someone fuck you tonight, then don’t even bother calling me ever again, okay?”

  I laugh. “Deal.”

  I make sure Hazel is squared away with Eloise for the night before I wait in the foyer for my dad.

  He rushes downstairs in a tuxedo and barely looks at me. “You ready?”

  There’s a honk. “I guess I have to be.”

  He opens the door. “Ladies first.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” I say tentatively. There’s so much unresolved tension between us. The ride to the hotel feels like a lifetime.

  “Remember: good behavior,” he reminds me.

  “Yes, Dad,” I reply tersely.

  We step out of the limousine and walk up the hotel steps. My dad is immediately swept away by old white men who look just like him. I’m left standing there all alone.