Dolce (Love at Center Court #2)

by Rachel Blaufeld

  “Yes,” she said smugly. “I can and I just did. Good-bye, Miss Presto.”

  She turned and effectively dismissed me as she went back to her lecture, tapping her pen on the SMART Board, refusing to glance my way.

  With my shoulders hunched, I snatched up my things and walked up the aisle between the theater-style seating of the classroom to the exit, hanging my head like a dog sent to the corner. My vision suddenly blurry, I made my way out into the damp day. With an hour until I was due at the station, I slumped onto a spot under a tree, the ground cold on my ass as I dug my heels into the soft grass. I tilted my head back against a tree and sat crisscross applesauce, and closed my eyes.

  Images of myself as a young girl, pudgy and in pigtails, flashed behind my eyelids. Memories of running through Grandma Cee’s yard with Dad chasing me and calling “you’re it” played on a continuous loop. We’d play until I was exhausted, and then my dad would toss me over his shoulder and carry me into Grandma’s kitchen. She’d put out my very own cookie table—almond biscotti dusted with powdered sugar, ladylocks, mini cheesecakes, chocolate chip cookies, and a glass of milk.

  We’d sit and laugh until my mom came and picked me up. Then she’d raise holy hell.

  “Cee, you’re making her even fatter! Don’t you see, she’s short and busty like your side?”

  My dad would shush her and whisper in my ear, “You’re so beautiful, mi Caterina. Don’t you listen to her.” He’d kiss my cheek and lift me up from the chair to spin me around. “See you next week, baby doll.”

  Every time, my mom would grab my hand and waggle it in the air. “Even her fingers are pudgy,” she’d say.

  “Glory, stop,” my dad would yell at her.

  She’d rush me out of there and my poor dad would always yell, “Kiss Grace and Cedes for me.”

  Now as I sucked in the chilly air and breathed out tiny puffs of smoke, I yearned to go back in time. Memories continued to spin in my mind. My mom leaving for a week with a guy named Gus, and then coming back to move us out of my dad’s house. Her poisoning my sisters against my dad, and the way she hated how I wanted to spend time with Dad and Grandma Cee.

  My lousy mom went from rich man to rich man, bleeding them of money for Botox and plastic surgery, and maxing out their credit cards. My sister Grace chased married men, and my younger sister, Cedes, made a life out of being clueless. I was the one who was supposed to be smart and successful, the one who was proud of my feminine curves and big brain. The outcast.

  Stanwick was right . . . I should be ashamed. I had no right aspiring to be a warrior for feminism when I was nothing better than a hussy, falling for the college athlete who would make tons of cash as a pro.

  I tugged at my hair in frustration. Why did I have to repress my desires to be a feminist? Couldn’t I have a career and sexual fantasies at the same time? Were all female CEOs celibate?

  I stood up and brushed off my ample backside before I made my way to Starbucks, avoiding Mean Beans and who might be lurking there. I was determined to take a hard look at my life, to stay away from Blane and his allure, and to prove my professor wrong.

  But I didn’t know how the hell I would do that. Stanwick was a big powerful surge in the feminist movement while I was barely an electrical volt, but she didn’t get it. Those porn actresses and strippers didn’t have choices like she had, or like my female classmates and I did. No, they were stuck in a no-win situation where they believed opportunities like the Couch and being in front of the camera gave them a semblance of control. At least, that’s what I assumed.

  My life sucked. I’d been kicked to the curb by my professor, I was tangled up with both Sonny and Blane, and I was sympathetic to adult video stars. All because of that stupid fucking dare.

  My first step in fixing my life was ditching Sonny. I needed the job, but I would find something else. At least, I kept telling myself I would—on repeat in my brain the whole walk to the station.

  Sonny was the one who’d gotten me in this whole mess to begin with, and I needed a clean break. If it weren’t for his shitty treatment and imbecilic behavior, I could continue to fetch his coffee and would have had the chance to take over the segments he didn’t want. But Sonny was who he was, and I couldn’t deal with him anymore.

  I walked into the station and waited until Sonny had a break, chewing on my thumb the whole time. When I finally had his attention, I dove right in.

  “Look, this has been great and I appreciate all you’ve done, but it’s not working. I keep getting sucked into one mess after another here. My professor hates the show, and I’m nothing but a thorn in Blane’s side. You deserve a funnier, sexier replacement, and I need to make my own name for myself. And I never want to call someone Mr. Boots again, Sebastian.”

  His eyes grew wide and he actually protested for a moment, but then when his words fell on deaf ears, Sonny switched gears and thanked me for my help.

  A short while later, I walked out of the radio station, even more determined to come up with some type of retaliation against Stanwick. I walked home in a daze, revenge ideas mixing with plans to make money.

  The only thing I came up with was deciding that when I went to Mean Beans the next day, I’d see if they needed someone more competent than Ava.

  “Heya, Hafton. Sonny here, and boy do I have stuff for you. First off, I have to send out a big smooch to my girl, Miranda, over the airwaves. That’s right, ladies, Sebastian Jones may be in love. Go over and see my woman, Miranda; she works at Book World in the romance-and-mystery department. Look for the fiery red hair and the long legs tucked into knee-high boots. Boots, people! Sonny be wanting to knock those boots for a long time. Anyway, lurve you, lady, and thanks for the dinner over the weekend. This tune is for you.”

  Michael Jackson’s “Baby Be Mine” filled the air as I sat alone in my room and picked away at my stats homework, half distracted by the text that had been sitting on my phone.

  BLANE: You okay? You coming to the game tomorrow?

  It had been sitting there for hours since two o’clock, and I had yet to reply. Blane wasn’t good for me. Forget the fact that hanging with him had basically gotten me thrown out of my major today; he was moving on soon and I wasn’t.

  “I’m back, Sonny B. here on WHSU 96.9, spinning the jams and keeping you company on this lonely Monday night. Are there parties going on? Tweet me, babes! As for me, I’m manning the station alone because our fearless intern is looking for a new internship. That’s right, cute Catie P. is off to greener pastures. I can’t wait to hear about her adventures, and I can’t help but think we will.” Sonny’s laugh rang out, and then he was back. “So, I’m all alone here. Anyone looking to fill my shoes? Tweet me too.”

  This time Sonny played some hip-hop, and I turned down the volume and tried to concentrate on my stats homework again. My phone dinged.

  BLANE: Cate, please answer. You left the radio station? Did Sonny do something?

  This time I answered. There was no way I wanted Blane getting involved. I was too proud for that shit.

  CATIE: No. I’m good. Figuring some things out. Don’t think I’ll be at the game tomorrow.

  Yeah, right. Who was I kidding?

  I turned off the radio, deleted my Twitter account, shut down my phone, and ignored my misgivings as I went on a very important mission. I took the campus bus to the outskirts of town and saw my destination at the end of a strip mall. The neon-green sign flickered in the darkness.

  ADULTS, XXX blinked on and off as I swallowed any reservations and pushed the door open. Blane might have formally introduced me to what my clit could really do, but I needed to get to know her much better than I had in the past.

  Inhaling deeply, I thought back to the porno fest. As soon as it was over, I’d wanted to rush out and get a vibrator right then, recognizing my lack of familiarity with my own needs. Stanwick and her crusade, along with my inability to enjoy sex without feeling like a slut, had landed me in the last place I expected to fi
nd answers.

  Bells jingled overhead as I walked in and tried to pretend like I belonged here, like this was a regular outing for me. Immediately, I felt stupid and insecure in my clunky boots and sensible winter coat.

  I really need to harness my inner Italian. I’m in a sex store!

  Yeah, right. The Mediterranean side of me was a double-edged sword. It was my damn hot-blooded temper that had put me in this no-win situation—out of my major, out of a career-minded job (although the manager at Mean Beans had promised me some hours), and out of touch with my sensuality. And looking for answers in an adult toy store.

  A guy with huge gauges in his earlobes and his nails painted glittery black looked up from behind the counter. “Can I help you?”

  Avoiding any eye contact, I mumbled, “Um, just looking around.”

  You can do this.

  Any liberated woman should be concerned with her orgasm, right? Wasn’t that what Cosmo splashed on their covers every month?

  Maybe I should have started with a few copies of Cosmopolitan and Marie Claire at the newsstand before venturing to the adult toy store . . .

  Nope. Not stubborn, fire-breathing me.

  I took in the glass case next to where I was standing that displayed some intricate glass . . . dildos? Was that what they were? They looked like penises made of glass with ticklers of some sort.

  “Oh. My. God,” I said under my breath, and fixed my gaze to the ratty carpet as I moved quickly toward an aisle.

  I peeked down Aisle 1 before deciding I could explore it. This was a tame section full of costumes. Maid outfits, sexy policeman uniforms, and accessories like handcuffs and boas filled the shelves. Rounding the corner, I saw Aisle 2 was more of the same. Edible undies and chocolate sauce for the body seemed benign enough.

  Aisle 3 was a bonanza of exactly what I was looking for—vibrators. Not the top-of-the-line museum-quality ones like in the glass case, but your everyday vibrators. There were small ones and really large ones, vibrators shaped like a tube of lipstick, and dildos of all colors, anything from neon-tinted to run-of-the-mill flesh-colored ones in hues from peach to black. I practically tiptoed to the middle of the aisle, and my hand wavered on its way to snag a small version, a purple pocket rocket.

  “That’s a good one. Powerful,” came a voice from behind me.

  Pretty sure I peed myself a little, I stood totally still, gripping the vibrator but afraid to turn around.

  “Excuse me, I just have to grab something from right in front of you.”

  A hand reached around me, and its long fingers with black-tipped French-manicured nails sorted through the pocket rockets before settling on a green one.

  “Got it!” the sultry female voice sang in my ears.

  Curious, I turned to find a stunning blonde standing behind me, long and lean, her hair tousled in waves. Her face was flawless, her makeup heavy and perfect, and from the look of her dewy skin, she wasn’t much older than me.

  “Good,” I choked out. Then out of nowhere, I asked, “You recommend this one?”

  “Your first?”

  I nodded and dropped my gaze, noting the carpet was a deep red covered in hot pink kisses.

  “Hey, don’t be shy. I can help you,” she said quietly. “That’s a good one for a quickie, but if you really want the full effect, you should get this one.” She reached across me again and pulled something called “The Rabbit” off the display hook.

  When I took the package and eyed it warily, she laughed at me. “It’s a bit much, but I promise you, it will get the job done.”

  “Thanks.” I was humiliated. Not because I was purchasing a vibrator, but by the fact that I was so unfamiliar with my own sexuality. The memory of rushing out on Blane flickered in my head.

  “I’m Sarina,” the sexy woman said to me, her hand outstretched.

  “Catie.” I took her fingers in mine and she shook my hand firmly.

  “Want to ask me anything else?”

  “You come here a lot?” Suddenly, I was intrigued by this woman, who was clearly comfortable with her own sexuality.

  “I do. Sometimes more than others. This is actually for my boss.” She waved the vibrator around casually, like it was a box of Oreos.

  “Your boss?” What kind of boss needs his or her employee to pick up vibrators?

  “I make adult films, and we had one of these break on the set.” She pitched her voice low, apparently not from shame, but so she wouldn’t attract unwanted attention to us.

  “Wow,” was all I could get out.

  “It’s a living,” she said with a shrug. “I don’t normally go around sharing that information, but you seem nice, and look like you could use a helping hand.”

  “I’m not a virgin,” I said quickly, shooting that misconception down right away.

  She giggled. “It’s okay if you were, but I get it. Inexperienced in finding your own orgasm?”

  “Something like that. More like I panic from intimacy. It makes me feel dirty.”

  She ran her hand down my sleeve and looked me in the eye. “Sweetie, you should never feel dirty when it comes to your needs.”

  I nodded.

  “You checking out?”

  “Yeah, I’m going to get both,” I said sheepishly.

  We walked together toward the register, where the guy with the black nails sat reading some nudie mag. As we paid for our purchases, Sarina and I made small talk about the weather, the impending snow and shit, as if we were in the grocery store checkout line rather than buying sex toys.

  As we walked outside into the cold and said our good-byes, a light bulb went off in my head. This was the type of woman I wanted to write about in my thesis paper—a woman in the porn industry living in the same small town as Stanwick and her stuck-up ideals.

  “Hey!” I called to Sarina, halting her as she walked over to her SUV. “Can I come with you? Check it out?” I ran over to where she stood and said, “I’ll stay out of your way. I’m just curious.”

  There went my impetuous Italian side again. Here I was, Cute Catie P., the nun of Southern A, asking to visit the set of a porn movie.

  Sarina frowned down at me for a second, considering. “Sure, but if Frank asks, tell him you recognized me from the videos. I don’t want him thinking I run around telling people what we do right here in the middle of boring Ohio.”

  “Of course.”

  Her SUV beeped as she popped her car locks and asked, “Want a ride?”

  I grinned. “My mom always said not to ride with strangers, but she also probably wouldn’t be a fan of porn, so fuck her.” I slid into the passenger seat, a little excited at this crazy adventure, and away we sped.

  Twenty minutes later, I laughed when we pulled into the parking lot for a big warehouse. “It is kind of weird, this going on right here in the farmlands of Ohio.”

  “Cheap space, low cost of living, and a good supply of actors,” Sarina said as if it were common knowledge.

  We walked inside to a live set, and I was introduced in between takes to Frank, who sat in the director’s chair. I swallowed while taking in my surroundings. If I thought I didn’t know much before, I was way wrong. Sitting there that night, I realized I knew nothing. With my legs crossed and my hands demurely in my lap, I took in the scenes, some scandalous and others quite enticing.

  I felt my pulse pick up a few times, and squinted to get a better view. A few times, I looked away, embarrassed for the actors in front of me, but I always ended up turning back to the set.

  After a while, I decided it was time for me to head home and figure out how to use my vibrators. Sarina and I exchanged phone numbers and I took the bus home, my new toys tucked into my backpack.

  Blane

  Tuesday, Coach called us early to the field house for a team meeting before the night’s game. He made it clear we were to win, and win big.

  “Listen to the radio guy, Steele. You can’t afford any distractions,” Coach said, directing his comment at me. And he w
as right; I couldn’t afford to be distracted.

  We hit the hardwood and warmed up as a team. When the buzzer rang, we were shooed down the tunnel back toward the locker room to wait until the official introductions.

  As I wound my way to the overhang, I saw her.

  She might have said she wasn’t coming, but Cate was there in Section 107 leaning up against the wall, her eyes anywhere but on me. She was pretending to focus on our opponents from Indiana. I almost yelled up to her, but she wanted to remain anonymous. And I didn’t need the distraction.

  I had a game to win—actually, a season to win. There was no denying, I also wanted to explore whatever this was with Cate, but she needed to be into it. I was fine with inexperience or not taking shit too quickly, but this whole not allowing herself to enjoy pleasure was bullshit. Not me at all. I was one hundred fucking percent behind getting it on and getting it on good. I wasn’t going to feel guilty for having wants or desires, and she shouldn’t either.

  Fucking nuts. How could she be all pro-women, but be so repressed? It didn’t make sense. And what did we really have? One night of passion, a few funny conversations in a coffeehouse, and a shared disgust for Sonny?

  “Y’all ready to win?” I shouted as I banged my fist into the locker, setting my thoughts aside.

  This was what I had—a locker room full of sweaty guys willing to leave it all out there on the hardwood for me. My life was hanging on the precipice, and these guys fucking knew it. We were a family.

  “Damn straight,” Ashton yelled back.

  “Amen!”

  “You know it, Steele!”

  The rest of the team joined in, shouting obscenities and promises for destruction. Demetri and Mo slapped a high five, putting aside any personal shit before heading out to the hardwood. The locker room resounded with cheers, chants, and slaps until Coach Conley blew his whistle.