“Fuck her,” he said under his breath as he walked to the door of the truck. He climbed in and turned on the stereo. Ryan Bingham and The Dead Horses were playing. He cranked it up loud, singing along as he rolled a joint. Dwayne leaned back and enjoyed his doob as the soothing powers of the Mary Jane crept over him. The blanket of buzzed comfort began to smother the anxiety that had nearly pulled him to an early grave.
He would not tell anyone about the pictures of Estelle. He wouldn’t even tell Estelle. He’d keep doing what he had done for the last few years: He’d keep his head down and keep busting his ass for Alex. And if things got to be too much, as they had a way of doing from time to time, he’d just roll another joint and turn up the music until it all passed.
And if that didn’t fix things, then God help anyone who got in his way.
14.
Dwayne pulled the truck into his driveway just before 1 a.m. He had needed to drive around for a while, listen to music, and get his Zen going again. He dragged his tired ass toward the bedroom. The light from the television was shining from beneath the door. He opened the door and took a seat on the bed by his snoring wife. A bottle of Xanax sat beside an empty wine glass on the nightstand.
He looked into the bathroom. Two towels lay on the floor just outside the shower. He wondered what had happened to that girl he fell in love with so long ago. His marriage had reached a crossroads.
Before he climbed under the covers, he figured he should go check on Alex. He pushed himself up, groaning and tired, and headed to Alex’s room. Dwayne stared at his sleeping son. Baseball cards and his perfectly broken-in baseball glove lay across his bed. It would break his heart, Dwayne thought to himself, if he and Alex ever had to be separated by a nasty divorce.
Dwayne knew he had to work things out with Estelle. She couldn’t have done more to push him away, but he had to do it for his kid. He wouldn’t let this lifestyle erected upon soulless money worship tear his family apart. He had to do whatever it took.
He knew that it was time to take the gloves off when it came to addressing those who were ripping his family to pieces. He would never again let all of this mounting bullshit interfere with a happy existence for Alex. He would destroy whatever got in his way.
Dwayne didn’t know where life was about to take him, but that was okay. He was starting to feel good about things. And he knew that it was odd for him to be feeling good about things. His wife was fucking around. His business was losing profitability. His credit card bills were driving him into a sinkhole of insurmountable debt. But he suddenly felt up to the challenge, like the rage, the Zen, and the buzz had finally managed to coexist in his head.
Dwayne’s alarm clock sounded at 6 a.m. He wasn’t tired. He should’ve been. He knew this. He didn’t care. He looked down in the direction of his feet, noticing a healthy morning boner obstructing his view. He immediately ripped his underwear off and threw them across the room before tearing back the sheets to reveal Estelle’s perfect naked body.
Dwayne woke Estelle with a firm slap to the ass. He climbed on board and took care of business with an intense lovemaking session that lasted somewhere between two and three minutes.
He slapped her ass again, popped out of bed, got himself showered and shaved, and threw some bacon in the frying pan.
This motherfucker was ready for the world.
15.
Dwayne dropped Alex off at school and headed in to the office to finally get after his mounting “receivables” problem. People were going to pay. He kept thinking about the look on Estelle’s face when he left for work. She hadn’t looked at him like that for several years. It was hot. She was dumbfounded.
The texting chain from the guys started up midmorning.
TOMMY:
You guys going to practice tonight?
DWAYNE:
I sure am, Captain Chocolate Dick. Are you?
TOMMY:
Yup. I’ve just gotta put some fake titties in a few ladies, then suck the fat outta half the women in town. But I’ll be there.
RUSS:
Jesus. Don’t any of these broads exercise?
STEVE:
Yeah, your wife does. Pole dancing has kept her pretty toned.
STEVE:
Oh, SNAP!
TOMMY:
Wait, what? What the fuck did you just say? Did you just say “Oh, SNAP”???
RUSS:
Fucking nerd. LOL.
DWAYNE:
Here we go again with the LOL shit.
TOMMY:
:)
DWAYNE:
So everyone is going tonight?
RUSS:
I am. Tiberious is. I’m sure Steve is, because he’s a fucking nerdy follower. So what are we going to do about Dipshit Pete, our new coach? He’s a total fucking Democrat. I’m calling it right now. And that means more goddamn daddy baseball.
DWAYNE:
I’ll tell you this: I’m not putting up with it. I’m done with that bullshit. It’s time to get this team playing baseball. I’ll smack that fucker in the head if he benches Alex again.
STEVE:
Hell yeah. I’m with you, Dwayne. Time to get Jonathan in the infield so we can win some games.
RUSS:
Sorry Steve, but your dildo kid needs to walk away from sports entirely.
STEVE:
WTF???
TOMMY:
:(
DWAYNE:
We need to take control of this team. If we get Alex, Jackson, and TJ in the infield and at the top of the batting order, we’ll have a shot in the playoffs.
STEVE:
And Jonathan. WTF, Dwayne?
RUSS:
LOL.
DWAYNE:
Of course. And Jonathan. I’ll see you guys at the field.
TOMMY:
Later.
STEVE:
Later.
RUSS:
TTYL.
DWAYNE:
TTYL?
STEVE:
Goddammit.
TOMMY:
:p
DWAYNE:
Seriously, Tommy, don’t encourage him. What the fuck is TTYL? We’re not a goddamn boy band.
RUSS:
It stands for “talk to you later,” you crotchety old fucks.
STEVE:
Maybe if you didn’t date 9-year-olds and mental midgets you’d assimilate some kind of actual vocabulary over time.
RUSS:
Assimilate my dick, you liberal douche.
TOMMY:
:|
Dwayne stared at his phone. He wanted to make sure that the texting conversation had ended. Thankfully, it had. He returned to working on his receivables. He couldn’t believe how relaxed he’d allowed himself to become with several accounts. He spent the first half of his day making calls for payments. He had shifted into survival mode. It appeared to be working. He was able to gain commitments from more than half of his past-due accounts before lunchtime.
At just after 2 p.m., as Dwayne was nearing the end of his call list, he received a knock at his office door. The handle jiggled a few times before he remembered that he’d locked it. Dwayne stood, stretched his legs, and walked to the door.
He was stunned to see Estelle standing in the doorway, looking sultry and spectacular. She was wearing oversized sunglasses, a hint of red lipstick, and an old TCU ball cap over freshly showered, still wet hair. Her long, flowing, loose-fitting sundress allowed the light from behind her to cast a terribly sexy silhouette.
Estelle didn’t say a word. She placed her index finger to the middle of Dwayne’s chest and slowly pushed him backward to the front of his desk. She began to move her finger downward, following the buttons of his shirt, until her hand reached the top of his belt. She unfastened it and reached her hand inside.
“Do you remember,” she said in a whisper as she leaned in close to his ear, “back before life got complicated? Back when we were just a couple of crazy kids?”
Dwa
yne couldn’t speak. She had a solid grip on his johnson, and it was nearing the point where it couldn’t get any firmer.
“All we ever wanted back then was to be happy, baby,” Estelle continued. “And it was just sex, sex, sex …”
She ripped the belt out of the loops and whipped it across the desk like a dominatrix, which caused a POP! like a firecracker. Dwayne’s pants fell to the floor.
Estelle took a step back and removed her hat and sunglasses before pulling her sundress over her head slowly and tossing it to a chair across the room. She turned away from Dwayne and walked to the glass wall overlooking the warehouse, wearing nothing but a yearning grin. She placed her hands up high on the window, arched her back, and assumed the position.
He hoped that none of his workers were in the warehouse to witness the show that was about to take place in the window of the boss’s office.
“I don’t know what’s come over you, Dwayne,” Estelle said. “But something’s changed. And I like it. I want you to take me right fucking now.”
God, she looked amazing, he thought. He tore his shirt off, popping every button in the process. He kicked his pants away from his feet and marched up behind Estelle, planting her face against the glass as he made love to her like he hadn’t in years.
After several minutes, Estelle turned and pushed him backward to the desk. In one violent motion, she swept everything from the desk onto the floor, shoved Dwayne onto the desk, and climbed on top of him.
“Holy shit, Estelle,” he grunted. “This is just like a porno! This is awesome!”
Estelle was screaming. She was really into it. Dwayne didn’t know that sex like this actually existed. When they finished, he couldn’t move a single muscle in his body. He had experienced one of those full-body orgasms that, up until then, he figured only people like Sting had. He lay flat on his back, completely naked atop his desk, as Estelle limped over to her sundress and pulled a joint and lighter from her pocket. She climbed back on top of him and lit the joint. They passed it back and forth a few times before anyone said a word.
“I know most guys don’t like it when their wives show up unannounced at work,” Dwayne said as he stared up at Estelle, who had begun to rock her hips ever so softly as she sat perched on top of him. “But feel free to do this anytime.”
Estelle took a long pull from the joint as she constricted the muscles in her thighs. She looked back down at him with a seductive snarl on her perfect lips.
“You’re a real fucking rock star when you want to be,” she whispered.
“You haven’t seen anything yet.”
16.
For the rest of the afternoon, Dwayne couldn’t shake the image of Estelle, how she slowly pulled her sundress up over her head, her sultry smile. She never wore underwear, and he was thankful for that gift. He’d stood at the window and watched her as she walked down the stairs and out the door. Something had stirred inside of him. He wanted things to work with her now. Perhaps they could. He had to find a way to convince her to reign in her spending or they would be having the best sex in the housing projects.
Dwayne looked at his watch. It was time for practice. First, he needed to stop by the house and throw on a different shirt. His office looked as though a tornado of porn had blown through it. A pornado, if you will. He left everything as it was, pulled his arm through the sleeves of his buttonless shirt, and flipped off the lights.
Dwayne grabbed what he needed from his work truck and hopped into the Audi. He popped on his Ray-Ban Wayfarers, pushed the ignition button, and let the engine purr for a few seconds before cranking up one of the best factory stereos ever placed inside a vehicle. Guns N’ Roses, “Welcome to the Jungle.” Perfect.
This was shaking out to be a kick-ass day. He wasn’t thinking about his debts anymore. He had a Jedi level of focus, and the knob on his focus was now turning to baseball. He burst through his front door with his shirt torn open and wind-swept hair a mess, sunglasses still on to help mask being moderately high. A group of the neighborhood ladies were sitting around the dining room table with Estelle, knocking back bottles of wine and vodka. He’d obviously interrupted a heated session of talking shit.
Dwayne caught a few disapproving glances from the judgmental, gossiping bitches as he brushed past them. He glanced across the table at Estelle, who gave him a grin. He grinned back. God, she looked hot.
“What’s going on with the torn shirt, Dwayne?” Tiffany Blaine, a trust-fund society snoot, snipped as he walked past the table. “Did you tear it mowing lawns, dear?”
“No, Tiff, I tore it mowing ass,” he shot back. “You look great, by the way. The facelift looks amazing. And the collagen injections in your lips really add to the whole Picasso look. Bet you can’t wait for the diet pills to kick in so you have the whole package.”
Tiffany’s surgically tightened face tightened even further. She had never been spoken to like that. Estelle turned away to hide her laughter. She was turned on to no end by the new Dwayne.
Moments later, Alex joined his father at the front door, bat bag in hand. The two of them walked out to the Audi, popped in, and tore off toward the field.
“You feeling okay, Dad?” Alex asked.
“Do I not look okay, buddy? Dwayne replied.
“Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with this much pep in your step. Just wanted to make sure things are okay.”
“Things are great, buddy. Things are great.”
Practice had already begun when Dwayne and Alex arrived. It was impossible to avoid the huddle of parents and nannies as Dwayne headed for the dugout. There was talk of how great a coach Ricky Dale had been, how they would miss him, what a big event the funeral would be the following day, and what a good thing it was that Pete Rearden had stepped in to fill his shoes as coach.
Pete had positioned Jackson at left field, with TJ and Jonathan both doubled up at right field. It was the same old shit. Nothing had changed.
Dwayne told Alex to put his bag in the dugout, grab his glove, and head to shortstop, where Ace, the son of the late Ricky Dale, was playing. “I’m making a change at shortstop,” Dwayne said to the baseball dads. “Maybe you guys should make some changes too.”
Pete, sporting two black eyes thanks to Russ, had been standing at home plate, hitting balls to the kids in the field. The only reason that left and right field were getting any action was because the infield couldn’t catch a ball and make a play. Almost every ball hit to an infielder went between that infielder’s legs and into the outfield.
When Alex walked to shortstop and stood beside Ace, Pete stopped hitting balls.
“Hey, Alex, glad you could make it,” Pete yelled. “Try not to be late next time. Now head to left field with Jackson. You two can take turns.”
“Stay right there, Alex,” Dwayne called out. “Pete, Alex is playing shortstop now. Ace, go grab a spot in the outfield.”
“But the outfield is already taken,” Ace said to Dwayne.
“Yeah, I know, that sucks, but we’re going to play this game to win now, and we can’t do that with you at shortstop, so go double up at center.”
Pete was furious. He didn’t like his coaching being called into question.
“Now listen here, Dwayne, I’m the coach of this team, and—”
“And what? You want to lose? Is that what you want? Because that’s what we’ve been doing while we waste talent on the bench, in the field, and in the lineup. This shit needs to stop.”
“Well, if you don’t like it, you can pack up and leave, Dwayne.”
“I don’t think so, Pete. And while we’re making changes, I want Jonathan at third, TJ at second, and Jackson at first.”
“My son plays first, Dwayne,” Pete insisted.
“Whoop-dee-fuckin’-doo, Pete. Your son sucks at first. He also sucks at batting. He needs to be the goddamn caboose in our batting order.”
“Fuck you, Dwayne, the positions stand as they did when Ricky Dale was coaching. If you don’
t like that, you can quit.”
“Listen, man, I know it sucks to work at Walmart, but you made that decision on your own. Don’t take your shitty life out on these kids. It’s not helping anything. These kids deserve to win a game.”
“Not everyone can afford a fancy house and fancy things, asshole, but that doesn’t make you better than me. It’s time for you to leave before I call the cops.”
Dwayne wondered why Walmart Pete would know he had a fancy house but brushed it off. He knew he couldn’t allow Pete to call the cops. Not after they’d just had the head coach killed. That wouldn’t be smart. He looked over at Russ, Tommy, and Steve, who were in awe of the hostile takeover that had almost taken place.
Goddammit, Dwayne thought. The day had been going so well. He would have to lose this battle for the time being. He took a deep breath and exhaled.
“Go on out to left field, Alex,” Dwayne shouted over to shortstop in defeat.
Alex slumped over and headed out to left. He was filled with disappointment, and dragged his feet for the entire walk. It killed Dwayne. Dwayne had fire in his eyes as he marched back to where his friends were standing at the fence.
“Dude!” Steve sped over to Dwayne. “That was awesome!”
Dwayne was too pissed off to respond. He couldn’t believe that miserable little Walmart nerd Pete didn’t back down.
“What the hell has gotten into you, Dwayne?” Tommy asked.
“I’ll tell you what got into me!” Dwayne snapped. “I thought we were all on the same page here, guys. Is it too much to ask for a little backup? I mean … Jesus, I was out there fighting for your kids too! Russ? What the fuck?! You can organize a hit and whip a baseball at a guy’s face, but you can’t get out there and fight for your son?”
“Take it easy there, asshole.” Russ jumped in Dwayne’s face. “Just because half the goddamn town is ballin’ your wife doesn’t give you the right to get shitty with me.”
Dwayne grabbed Russ by the shirt and shoved him against the fence. He wanted to hit him. The fist was ready.
“Fuck!” Dwayne blurted out through gritted teeth. He let go of Russ and walked off past the bleachers, through the parking lot, and to his car. He climbed inside and sparked up a joint. He glanced to his right, at the old Honda parked next to his Audi. Dave the umpire was inside, smoking a joint of his own.
Base Ball Dads Page 6
