by Diane Nelson
Some of his team-mates were overheard talking.
Coach continued, “One thing worries me, girl.” He paused to see if I was on the same page.
I was, so I continued for him, “We’re not real deep this year.” Deep, as in the bench lacked much talent beyond the starters and a couple of other kids with prospects but not quite there yet. With the season advancing on us like a runaway freight train, we couldn’t afford the hit if Tray got himself sidelined. Not with the Big Ten schedule we’d pulled.
“We need that boy.”
And I had the sinking feeling I knew what the offer I couldn’t refuse was going to be.
“He done needs someone to tutor him.” He held up a hand before I could voice an objection. “I know it ain’t in your job description but what is … is helping me build the best defense we can, given the talent God gave us for this year.”
Oh goodie. The God-card, a ‘personal favor to the Coach’ look on his face and a generous dose of guilt.
I squirmed, then looked on the bright side. Weak-kneed, lovesick Jessamine could use some extra-curricular activities. Excuses. Whatever. Coach was handing me exactly what I needed.
Not what I wanted. What I needed. And that gift horse might be just the ticket to get my head around the fact that this kind of nursemaid program was what my training was all about. In the academic ranks we looked at the young adult from every perspective. Scholarship, athletics, leadership, citizenship.
The choir sang, my chest swelled and with tears of joy…
Crap.
I mumbled, “Uh, okay, I guess.”
I needed to know how much of this was coming out of my hide. “Uh, Coach? How do you want me to work the hours?”
The look he gave me said ‘sleep is highly over-rated’.
“I’m sure you’ll work out something satisfactory with Mr. Parker. Now, take these over to Jack’s office,” he handed me a sheaf of papers, “and then come down to the weight room.”
My belly clutched.
No, no, no. Not yet, I’m not ready to see him…
“Oh shit, hold up, I forgot. Jack’s gone this week.” He mumbled something about a conference that he had to fill in for somebody else. I didn’t catch the rest for the ringing in my ears.
Thank you, whoever arranged this boon. I’d just been given a bye week.
Except for one little thing.
Traylon Parker.
****
Chazz tried very hard not to crack a smile. Etty had her back to me. I could pretend the floor was shaking but I doubted that would work for long.
I finally let go with a snort.
“So then wha—” That was Etty, one step closer to losing it.
“I, um, I had to…” Clapping a hand over my mouth, struggling to get control over my face, I concentrated on adding sugar to the coffee mug Etty had just set in front of me.
Grimacing, I muttered, “You know…”
Etty said, “Lecture coming.” Chazz shrugged and ignored both of us.
“Well, you know I can’t talk about it.”
Patient confidentiality? Confessor privilege, more like it. Biting my lip did nothing to slow the giggle bubbling up in my throat.
Young master Traynor Parker was going to flunk his human sexuality class. And not from lack of trying. Chazz and the rest of the squad had been privy to the shouting match the day before. Me keeping the rah-rah lecture reasonable and ever so adult. Tray … not so much.
And I’d come away with an expanded vocabulary for female body parts and a flash of Tray’s not insubstantial assets.
He’d almost believed me when I told him he was going to go blind.
Fortunately for my reputation and sense of propriety, Chazz had been in the locker room when Tray’d sauntered in displaying his formidable erection through the loose nylon gym shorts. My daughter’s SO had had a word. And not privately.
“He won’t be bothering you again, Jes. And he so much as…”
I patted Chazz’s arm and nodded my thanks. I hadn’t really been worried. The kid was all inner city bluster, and having a chica like me tutoring him in what should have come naturally was a kick in the gonads.
After three fruitless sessions I was ready to turn this gig over to Seimone. She’d done the ’do. Apparently she’d not gotten to the other portion of her specialty with the squad.
The kid was a virgin, a potty mouthed virgin, but a virgin nonetheless. I’d stake my standing as a mother and a TA on it.
Chazz got up and checked his watch. “Gonna be late.”
My daughter asked if I wanted them to bring me something from take-out but I was willing to graze on leftovers. I wasn’t feeling all that hungry for no particular reason.
Pining away did that to you.
“Okay, Mom, see you later. Call if you change your mind.”
The door shut and I attended to tidying up an already clean kitchen. The fridge had nothing appealing so I meandered to the couch and sat with my hands on my knees, letting random thoughts swirl about.
The knock was more a gentle brush against the hollow core wood door. I remembered back to that Sunday, the one with Starbucks and sticky buns and a giant of a hunka lovin’ stud sitting next to me, shoulder touching mine. Possessive even then.
I’m not home…
“Ma’am?” The voice came through, hollow but deep and accented. Harsh New Yawk.
I opened the door and stood slack-jawed, beholding six-foot-eleven bearing a bouquet of Walmart’s special posies. The kind at the front of the store, just past the greeter.
What the hell?
Traylon Parker grinned. His teeth were startling white in his dark face. I wanted to be creeped out but instead I stood back and invited him in. He shuffled past me, awkward pouring out every pore.
While the young man moved air molecules around to make room for his bulk, I angled past him and paced to the kitchen, prepared to graciously accept the apology.
Perhaps he’d like some tea. Wonder where the cookies got to…
“I’m good.”
Great, another mind reader.
He thrust the flowers in my general direction. That meant coming around the counter to get them. Instead I motioned him toward the cabinet over the refrigerator.
“There’s a vase up there. Can you…?”
He reached up and pulled a plastic container doing double duty as a vase and handed it over, along with the flowers. His face was hard to read. Expecting a measure of contrite, embarrassment … or something, did not prepare me for his next statement.
“Figured a lady like you’d want something to eat first. Pizza do ya?”
“Pizza.”
‘Eat first’ simply did not compute so I skipped over that and went for a why not, what harm can it possibly do vibe. “You, uh, want to go grab a bite?”
The vase and the flowers did not really suit as a shield but I used them fairly effectively to drive Tray back into the living area. At some point I set them down, bending from the waist. When I stood up straight it was into full body contact, hands on shoulders and lips pressed into the nape of my neck.
That wasn’t all that was pressed into my back. Uh-oh didn’t touch it, not even close. But I found it difficult to get freaked out. Instinct had me reaching inside my voice box for a blood-curdling screech. Something else stayed that and cautioned me to think on what was happening.
The sound came out more of a gurgle but I managed to say his name, “Tray?”
That got his attention. He stopped the nuzzling but otherwise I still wore him like a shroud. Tight enough, close enough I felt his heart hammering, thudding in his chest. The kid was scared shitless. And gripping my shoulders like a lifeline. A lot of thoughts raced through my head, my gut shot through with feelings of concern and confusion. Being terrified simply wasn’t one of those.
“Listen. You have the wrong idea.”
I moved to the couch and sat, firmly anchored at one end. He joined me, shoving the coffee table away
to make room for his legs, close but not claustrophobically so. There was respect there.
At least I hoped so.
Before I could gently ease into an explanation, Tray said, his voice so low I barely heard him, “I ain’t never done it before.”
Bingo.
Trying not to spook him, I said simply, “Figured.”
I tip-toed the fine line between condescension and therapy, penciling in a hair’s breadth of mothering and sisterly concern. He was still looking moderately hopeful that Ho-for-a-semester was part of the game plan. I needed to squelch that.
Like right away.
Those jeans of his were getting smaller by the minute.
Biting my lip, I couldn’t help myself. I asked, “Exactly what did you think a tutor did?” I was curious, shoot me.
“Um, well, the other ones show me stuff, ya know?”
“Show you, uh, what?”
“Math. How ta read, shit like that.” He looked pathetically earnest as he met my eyes squarely. “This is a sex class, ain’t it? So if yore helpin’, then I figured you’d, ya know … show me.”
Illiterate and hung like a horse and a … virgin. Oh dear God, why me?
“Hmm, well, yeah, it’s human sexuality,” finger quoting it, “but it’s not meant to be hands on.”
Tray grinned.
So did I.
“Any chance you might change the program?”
“Not in hell. Besides,” I held up the ring finger, “I’m married.”
He looked disappointed and relieved. Then he floored me.
“Not what I hear.”
“Hear? What—”
Shrugging, he shut me out. When he stood to leave, I had one of those epiphanies. The kind where you see a way to make a difference.
I asked, “You have trouble reading, right?” At his nod, I rushed on, running scenarios through my head. If he was effectively illiterate, he’d slam into a brick wall without an airbag. Even Coach Bryant’s assignments would soon trip him up. The kid had a scholarship and a future on the line.
Getting him laid might solve a few issues but not the more important deficiencies.
Not sure where I was going to find the time but knowing that I needed to do it, I said, “Tray, how about I also work with you on the reading thing?” His face lit up like a roman candle on speed. “And I’ll also help with the, uh, the other coursework.”
I grabbed my purse and joined him in the short hallway leading to the door. He adjusted his jeans and I tried not to think about what might be going through his head.
Giving him the ‘I’m old enough to be your mother glare’ I said, “I have an idea how to go about this until you’re comfortable handling the reading assignments. So, I was thinking … how about we grab a bite to eat and talk some more about it?”
He was going to argue until I offered to pay. We rode down the elevator in silence and exited the building into a wash of noise and traffic. Friday night in Happy Valley.
We made it as far as the parking lot before his curiosity overcame him.
“How’m I supposed to, you know, if I cain’t read…”
“You like movies, Tray?”
“Uh, sure. Yeah. Movies.” He was perplexed.
“Well then, we’ll start there.”
“Uh, missus…” he grabbed my arm and spun me around, gently. “You funnin’ me?” He sounded an awful lot like some of the suthin boys on the team at that point.
“You know what training films are?” He nodded yes, the light behind his eyes glowing with recognition.
“Let’s eat first, then head to the video store. What do you like?”
“Double meat, extra everything, no fish.”
I chuckled, “No, I mean…”
“I know what you mean.” Hope blossomed as he asked, “Ya gonna watch with me?”
My bones melted, replaced with an urge to flee the country. But I’d already made a commitment to the young man.
Damn it. I was going to be strong. Bigger than. Better than.
I can do this.
Tray grinned broadly and said, “Fucking good deal.”
“What?”
His smile nearly lit up the dim restaurant. We found a table in a corner. As I settled myself he said, “We’ll need to stop at the drug store first.”
Drug store? Please God, not for condoms. Not that.
“Yeah, gonna need us some popcorn, bitch.”
Bitch. I think that made me … one of the boys, so to speak.
Nodding OK, I took a deep breath and pretended I didn’t hear his whispered, “Fuck me … porn.”
First thing in the morning I was tracking down Seimone.
And a therapist.
For me.
Chapter 12: The Prodigal Returns
Exhaustion didn’t quite touch it. Righteously riled did. Another weekend sparring in silent passive-aggression with Robert left me wrung out and suffering from serious heartburn.
Or maybe it was the mystery fish at the fundraising dinner.
And the vapid, simpering bimbette on Robert’s left. His latest ‘assistant’. It didn’t take x-ray vision to see that ‘little robert’ was interested.
Funny how, even after I’d made the decision to cut the cord and free myself from bondage, something in a size double-aught and fake lashes could still sucker-punch me.
I am such a girl.
Thank you gods of socialization. Instead of wanting to go all Xena on her narrow ass, all I wanted to do was pout and bemoan my lack of assets.
I’d lost track of the countdown, opting to slide what’s wrong with me into that sound track in an unending loop.
The Audi purred contentedly as I cruised down the interstate. In truth I was not entirely unhappy with the weekly trips to Pittsburgh. Angst aside, it was the only quiet time I had left in weeks filled with Mission Improbables.
My schedule had morphed into two more players from the squad jumping on Mamma Jes’s literacy-for-all train. Coach Bryant had been so impressed he’d relieved me of the mundane paper work in favor of four days a week teaching See Jane Run, See Jack Jump Jane’s Bones.
If I’d known how many of Coach’s ‘boys’ were taking Human Sexuality, I might have switched majors to Fun & Games with Particle Physics. Or at least invested in a better quality porn selection than what the local video store carried.
Thankfully Tray was a quick learner once he’d gotten past the embarrassment of his reading deficiencies. I’d called in a speech and reading specialist to deal with what was clearly a pattern of dysfunctional learning. The educational system so far had failed these boys but they were on my watch now.
Mother Theresa would have been proud.
The Bellefonte exit loomed off a steep downhill run that had big rigs barreling out-of-control behind me. I flipped the turn signal on early and said a little prayer. At eighty plus there was little room for error and a really short ramp to a stop sign on which to stand my trusty steed on his silver nose.
Threading through Milesburg, I mused on how well I’d managed to avoid temptation. Perhaps ‘avoid’ was the wrong term. Incompatible schedules might be a better explanation but in this modern age of email and cell phones that seemed oddly out of synch.
He hadn’t called. He hadn’t sent flowers or chocolates.
My stomach growled. Crap. With all the drama in the theater of the absurd that characterized my stilted posturing with Robert, I’d forgotten to eat.
I missed those smoky blues, that quick quirk of his lips and how he loomed into my space, draping me like a second skin, hot and sweet and…
Oh dear mother of…
Clenching my thighs did not make for good driving habits.
Get a grip, woman. It’s just lust, nothing else. If he wanted you, he’d have made an effort. A wave of the hand, maybe a nod of his head.
Nothing, nada, nix, nope, no way.
Of course, Jessamine-with-excuses recognized that conscripting one of the conveniently empty classrooms wi
th AV equipment just down the hall from Jack’s office for the purposes of exploring the wide world of sports, complete with voice-overs, diagrams and links to Planned Parenthood, wasn’t a good idea. Not so much because of the dicey subject matter, but because I feared filling that classroom once word got out that alternative learning was the new black.
Chazz and Tray had arranged for all of us to gather at the frat house. The boys had been more than welcoming. They gave me a parking spot for the Audi, rent free, fed me all the pizza and beer I could handle, and challenged me to a free throw smackdown after our sessions.
I pulled into my parking spot at the rear of the Victorian, an ass-ugly piece of architecture begging for a do-over. The back porch led into a spacious kitchen, the only nice room in the house, fully featured with professional quality stainless steel appliances and an oversized fridge with shelves positioned to handle cardboard wine containers and six packs of beer.
I poked my head in the door, hoping to find something edible sitting out on the counter.
“Hey, girl.”
“Oh hi, Tray.”
“You look a mite peckish, hon. Let me make you a sandwich.” He opened the fridge and scooped out a selection of plastic containers, a loaf of bread and a half-gallon of OJ while I pondered where he’d learned a term like ‘peckish’.
While he popped four slices of bread in the toaster, he muttered about the sad-looking remains of the tuna salad. I slid onto the bar stool at the center island and watched as he freshened whatever was in the container with shredded lettuce and chopped celery.
“How was it?”
Tray knew about my trips, maybe not all the particulars, but enough to generate some concern for my mental welfare. He and Chazz were tight. Tight enough that apparently I was on the sharing menu. It made me feel … looked after.
“It was okay.”
He gave me snake eyes while he built the sammies, then shoved the plate in my direction. I bit into it and sighed with pleasure.
“You might want to consider Le Cordon Bleu if they don’t pick you up in the first round draft.” Tray chuckled and gave me the middle finger. It was a discussion we’d been having for more than a week. I decided one more round of Mother Knows Best was worth a shot.
