by Lynn Shurr
She’d developed this routine to get out of the locker room and practiced it without shame in front of the guys who continued to speculate privately what sort of panties she wore. Only Tom had the answer to that and told no one. She saved her finer stuff for him, at least until now. From the thin line of her lips and the narrowing of her fjord blue eyes he could tell she was truly pissed with him.
“Tonight belongs to my grandfather, not me, not you. Be there, Billodeaux,” she said with a snarl he’d never heard in all the months they’d been together. There’d been purrs and giggles and shrieks and moans, but nothing like this.
“I guess you’re coming if the pussy says so,” Bolivar remarked. “And I mean that in a cat-like way, not the other kind,” he quickly added.
Tom got into some sweats almost as discreetly as Alix. He pulled a black knit Sinners cap low over his wet, red curls. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”
He didn’t know if Alix heard because she’d gone. Now, he’d have to sit with Bolivar on the bus and take his needling like a man.
****
The proprietor of the Weingarten welcomed the Sinners profusely even though all things Packers—jerseys, posters, photos, enshrined helmets—cluttered the walls and obscured a motif of painted grapevines. Jolly as a German with a large beer belly could be, he should have been wearing lederhosen and an alpine hat like the band who oompahed away in the main dining room. Diplomatically, he shunted the team into a large private room without passing through the bar where melancholy Green Bay fans drowned their sorrows over the loss.
Long lines of tables covered in red cloths waited with complimentary dishes of pickled herring and baskets of soft pretzels spaced out along their length. At intervals, chilled bottles of aquavit like small amber towers rose amid the shot glasses set at every place. Andy Mortenson already sat at the head table anchored by his entire family, a seat saved by his side for Alix who moved to the front of the line as the team deferred to her.
She wore high white boots with short heels, a pale blue dress of fine wool with long sleeves and a flared skirt that met their tops, a high back covering her bruises, and her modest seed-pearl necklace showing in a notch of the neckline. With her white-blonde hair longer than it used to be, she reigned like the queen of ice and snow over the beer hall.
Tille, garbed tight and sexy in red, waved to Vince and summoned him to a seat on her left. Mrs. Lindstrom beckoned Tom to sit beside her husband while fitting Dean in beside her stocky son-in-law who already wore that star-struck glaze beneath his glasses. The rest of the Sinners piled in settling in groups with their buddies, offense with offense, defense with defense. They’d pulled off a close one and were ready to celebrate with crispy schnitzel, mounds of fries, red cabbage, thick wedges of Black Forest cake, and steins of dark beer.
But first came the aquavit toasts. Andy Mortenson stood with tears clouding his faded blue eyes. “For my Alix who became a true football player today.” Though meant to be sipped, everyone tossed back their shots like whiskey, Alix included.
She rose and took a turn. “To my Morfar who taught me everything I know about kicking and living life.”
Tom thought he could take some credit there, too, but she failed to include him. The amber liquid slid easily down her long throat. The beer arrived, and some used it as a chaser, but the bottles remained on the tables throughout the evening, thoroughly drained by its end.
The Sinners gorged, drank in excess, and celebrated by dancing improvised polkas with women coaxed from their dinners by the chance to be seen with a pro football player. Vince already knew the dance and showed off with Tille in his arms. “Lotsa Germans in Philly,” he said in passing.
Alix bounced and hopped with the best of them, her own footwork evading any serious injury by the drunk and inexperienced. Often, she led. Tom asked her to show him the steps, and she froze him out saying, “You know you can’t dance.”
True enough, but they’d been good together. Now she let Beef stumble around the floor with her, graceless and clumsy as a bear on a chain. That was the trouble when a guy stuck to a single stein of beer while everyone else got shit-faced. You saw and heard things you’d remember while they would not. He had to admit her rejection hurt. Were they no longer mating whooping cranes?
Once Rika and Mrs. Lindstrom had their toes crushed often enough by overly large feet, their husbands gathered them up and departed for their hotel. Rika’s husband bore with him a stack of autographed napkins with Dean’s name encircled by a devil’s tail heart, the same emblem the quarterback had engraved on his butt. At that point, Tom knew they’d better head out. Evidently, his brother had matched his dinner companion shot for shot until they’d emptied the aquavit bottle because Dean ordinarily hated to be reminded of the night he’d gotten that tattoo. He had no doubt Dean could have out-polka danced everyone if he still possessed the ability to stand up. Now, the quarterback sat on the sidelines, seemingly mesmerized by the swirl of the dancers.
“I think it’s time to leave. You need some help, bro.”
“Let me shit…sit for a while, then get me out of here with some dignity, okay? Don’t let me pick up a girl or get another tat.” Dean stared glassy-eyed at the rotund tuba player and the guy on the accordion giving it his all with sweat running down his jowls.
“I’m still your wingman. Wish you could be mine tonight.”
“Any other time, you got it.”
Andy Mortenson boomed out a goodbye to the team. “Wunnerful evening, like old times in New Orleans,” and walked out using his daughter as a crutch while Rika supported her husband. Mr. Lindstrom, walking very stiffly, kissed his daughter goodbye. He’d polished off most of the aquavit when Tom stopped drinking, but evidently was a man who grew quieter when in his cups, and he hadn’t been much of a talker to start with the last time they’d met. Tom followed them out and stowed the group in two cabs for safety.
He returned to his brother. “Ready to get on the bus now?”
“As I’ll ever be.” Dean stood up, steadied himself by clutching the back of the chair, and managed an about face. Tom put an arm around him in a comradely manner, just two dudes leaving the festivities.
Surprisingly, Vince shored up Dean’s other side. “I’m done here for the evening. Got a better place to be, and let it never be said I let down my quarterback.”
They advanced arm in arm into the storm where well-padded paparazzi stood like ice-covered snowmen waiting for something hot to happen. All three men flipped them the bird. Dean safely scaled the bus steps wedged between Vince and Tom and slumped into a seat. His escort repeated the process at the hotel, got their leader to his room, and undressed enough to sleep it off in comfort.
“Thanks for the help, Vince. You weren’t drinking much tonight either.” Tom stood in the portal waiting to shut it in his face, but politely. Vince had turned out to be a good sport about most everything.
“No, alcohol impairs performance. See, Tille is sneaking out to meet me once her mom goes to sleep. They got the guys in one place and the women in another, so Ancient Andy won’t get wind of it if the aquavit hasn’t put him out. She’s bringing her cat suit from the musical. I get to be Rum Tum Tugger tonight, so could you put up Beef in your room? I know you’ll be with Alix.” Vince leaned into whisper, his black five o’clock shadow having grown past midnight as bristly as the tomcat he planned on playing.
“Why do you think that? Maybe she’ll be with Beef.”
“Ah, come on. The whole team gets you two are together. That ice bucket routine isn’t fooling anybody, but very considerate of you.” Vince nodded with approval. “I mean no one ever saw you holding hands on the sly with Brian Lightfoot. I’m happy for you.” Vince delivered a light boff to the shoulder. “What do you say?”
“Wait a while. I don’t have Alix’s key, and she’s not back yet. We’ll see how it goes.”
“You should get a second key. Some of us are light sleepers, and all that discreet knocking wakes us up. We ha
ve a little time before Tille gets here. Rap on my door when you head to her room, so I can shove Beef out. I appreciate it, man.” Vince trundled off.
Tom awaited the sound of the second busload of Sinners returning from the Weingarten. Eventually, they arrived—stumbling, staggering, and in a few cases, barfing into the containers of ornamental plants in the hallway. Tom cracked his door and watched Alix pass, pretty steady but very flushed from drinking, dancing, or the sobering night air. He gave her a few moments, then slipped into the hall, knocked on Vince’s door once, and nearly collided with the long snapper as Beef was ejected. Tom gave the man his key and hoped Beef possessed enough sobriety to get it in the lock. No ice bucket in hand this time, Tom darted to Alix’s room and prayed she’d open for him.
She made him wait, answering with the chain lock still on the door as if he might force himself inside. Alix regarded him with one blue eye. “What do you want?”
“A bed for the night. Beef is bunking with Dean because…” Did you tell a woman her sister was playing cats with a teammate?
“Yeah, Tille is meeting Vince. She couldn’t resist telling me. Typical Tille.”
“So are you going to let me in? Otherwise, I’ll have to sleep with Dean, and we haven’t done that since we were little kids.”
Alix removed the chain and allowed him to get out of the hall where any minute Tille and probably other women would be arriving to get their fill of sports. She stood there in her very practical white underwear. No goodies tonight. “You can have the other bed. I’m not in the mood because I might be on the rag.”
“I really, truly regret that remark. I was completely out of line. I deserve to sleep alone.” There, an abject direct apology, but Tom still hoped she might change her mind about the sleeping arrangements.
She didn’t. “Tom, do you even know the last time I had a period?”
Damn, he felt heat blazing up his face. “No, but if it’s now, I can go out and get you anything you need, Midol, tampons. I think I saw a drugstore on the corner, or maybe a convenience store would be open.”
“No need because I haven’t had one since we’ve been together.” She had her hands on those very feminine hips spanned only by her low-slung Jockey briefs, but his eyes went straight to her very flat belly.
His high color drained, leaving only the freckles behind. “You’re pregnant! My God, Alix, you could have lost the baby in that crush today. I mean I’ll marry you right away.”
Her thin lips softened just a little. “No need. I’m not pregnant. I’ve been taking my birth control pills back to back so I wouldn’t have to worry about cramps or anything else hurting my game.”
“Is that safe?”
“I’ve done it before during soccer season. We have a bye week coming up. I’m stopping them, and you’ll get to experience how tetchy I can be. Fair warning, I require chocolate and potato chips in abundance.”
“You got it. So, are we good now? Can I…”
Alix shook her head. “I need to sort out some things in my head.”
“Sure. I understand.” No, he didn’t. He ticked off the list of all he’d said: apology, offer to get feminine hygiene products, fairly decent reaction to a possible pregnancy, which he would have been fine with anyhow. A tiny strawberry blonde toddled through his mind and vanished. What else could he do?
Alix pointed to the other queen-sized bed. “Sleep tight.” She slid under her covers and turned her back to him.
He shucked out of his clothes and got between the sheets naked. Alix might change her mind, but no. With her palate softened by aquavit and beer, she snored more than usual and slept soundly. Tom stayed awake sorting all the things in his mind.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The trip home was bumpy in more ways than one. Alix evicted Tom early even though he offered to gently wash her back in the shower. Since he, Vince, and Alix had been the only ones to remain unsnockered, Tom spared no worries about exiting her room and trudging to his own. He shook Beef awake and put him outside like last night’s empties. Beef pounded on Vince’s door demanding his bed. A few minutes later, someone slinked down the hall on stealthy cat feet shadowed by clicking heels and summoned the elevator, which arrived with a sharp ping. Everyone else remained comatose. No rush. With all the weather snarls, the flight hadn’t a chance of getting off the ground until late afternoon.
Tom showered. Dean slept on like a dead Swede embalmed with aquavit. Tom took his toes down to the breakfast buffet where a chef made Swedish pancakes from scratch. He topped his with whipped cream and lingonberries. About two cups of coffee into his meal, Alix appeared wearing a ski sweater with a snowflake motif and trim gray wool slacks. It must be part of her former Wisconsin wardrobe because Tom never noticed that outfit before, and New Orleans stores stocked very little like it. She condescended to sit with him, not a big victory since no other Sinners graced the dining area with their hulking presence.
“Yours are better.” Tom held up a forkful of pancakes dripping lingonberries like small, bloody clots.
“You’re just saying that.” Alix accepted orange juice from the waitress and helped herself from the carafe of coffee placed on the table.
“No, I don’t lie to you, Alix.”
“So you really would have gone out for feminine hygiene products last night.”
“You betcha.” And married her in a New Orleans minute if a baby had been on the way. He didn’t throw that into the conversation, but it had been one of his long, long thoughts last night. Not a hard decision to make though he wondered how both the team and management would react to a punter who had to go on maternity leave halfway through the season. How much would they blame him because certainly she couldn’t take the chance of being knocked around like yesterday in that condition.
“We’re out of lingonberry jam. My mom is sending some more.”
“Great, I’ve developed a taste for it.”
“The problem is, where should she send it?” Alix stared at him with troubled eyes over the rim of her coffee cup.
“Huh?” It dawned on Tom this conversation had nothing to do with lingonberries.
“I think maybe I should get my own place now.”
He rushed to find reasons for her to stay. “You won’t find lower rent or a better place anywhere in the city.”
“I know now how ridiculously little I pay for the space.”
“You need to have a roommate. The Big Easy isn’t the safest place to live.”
“I’m aware. Tom, you’ve sheltered me, protected me, and coached me from the moment I joined the Sinners. I appreciate that, but I’ve grown up now and should take care of myself.”
“If it’s me, you can close the door to your suite and I won’t bother you.” Anything, anything to keep her from leaving.
“You were a pleasure, not a bother.” She gave him that much accompanied by one of her wide smiles. “I’m going to get an omelet. You can’t make an omelet without breaking eggs.”
Two things he didn’t like about those statements, use of the past tense in the first sentence and the word “breaking” as in break up in the third. Tom watched as Alix ordered an omelet stuffed full of ham, cheese, and all the veggies offered except jalapenos. She fed two slices of whole grain bread into a toaster and waited for them to pop.
The scrape of a chair announced the arrival of Dean who sat without invitation. He ordered a glass of tomato juice and a bottle of hot sauce.
“What—not taking the pickle juice cure?” Despite Tom’s distress over Alix, an impish grin formed on his face.
Dean winced at the memory of Ilsa’s hangover treatment. “I’ll stick to Miss Krayola’s home remedies, I think.”
With one eye on Alix awaiting her toast and omelet, Tom leaned close to his brother. “Alix is talking about breaking eggs and getting a place of her own. I’m worried.”
“You should be. With me, Stacy kept throwing out dog analogies. I think Titi and Macho were supposed to represent the two of us,
but I never quite got her point. Breaking eggs, though, that’s really bad.” Dean accepted his tomato juice from the waitress and peppered it with hot sauce to a degree that opened his sinuses and made his nose run as he gulped it down. “Now for some protein.” He moved toward the buffet passing Alix as she returned.
She dug in with her usual hearty appetite. Tom’s stomach packed full of Swedish pancakes ached. He wanted to say, “Don’t leave. I love you, have since I first saw you on Rookie Day,” but the middle of a breakfast buffet hardly seemed the place to blurt that out, not with Dean returning burdened by a full plate of scrambled eggs and crisp bacon, and Prince Dobbs heading their way with the same, but heavy on the sausage.
Prince took the last remaining seat at their table. He prayed over his food, not aloud, only mouthing the words to keep them private. Tom and Dean automatically crossed themselves and said “amen” when he finished.
Vince Barbaro passed by and clapped the wide receiver on the back. “Pretty nice piece you picked up last night, Dobbs. Not as hot as Tille, though. I saw your babe when I let Beef back in our room. I think our ladies rode down in the elevator together. You sure go for those Nordic types. Sorry, Alix, didn’t mean to disrespect your sister.”
“Hot is all you said, and Tille would agree with you.” Unconcerned, Alix scooped up some hash browns.
Prince placed a pristine white linen napkin on his lap. “I have already asked the Lord for forgiveness, and He granted it because Ilsa is big as a boa constrictor, one of them huge yellow ones, that swallowed a goat, and her temper is exactly as nasty as a giant snake right now. What’s a man to do when he got needs?”
“Try back rubs and new sexual positions or you can take care of those urges yourself,” Dean advised. His lips trembled with the desire to grin.
Tom caught on to his brother’s sense of relief that he wasn’t stuck with the German woman in the last months of pregnancy. Stacy rarely complained and bore her belly proudly under sleek clothes that showed it off in a tasteful way. Certainly, the back rubs, new sexual positions, and an unlimited wardrobe budget helped achieve that. He’d remember all three if and when his turn came to become a father. If and when. Alix avoided his glance.
