Field of Schemes (13 page)

“A little,” I lied.

“Totally reminds me of my pageant days,” Gia said. This was my cue to ask her about her dippy little beauty contests as if I cared. How would she feel if I hijacked the conversation and made it about me and my vile interests?
I really need to look into a prescription for nice pills. I was out of my mind today! Where is this Mimi person? Is she carrying some official looking team manager bag? Maybe I should call Darcy and get a description of her.

“Oh, there’s Mimi,” Gia said, pointing behind me.
Finally!
When I turned around, I expected to see a high-strung, slightly butch soccer enthusiast who held the answers to my questions. I was more than a little surprised to see what Mimi really looked like.

Our eyes met in a moment of recognition. I tried not to shudder, but instinctively braced myself in case she decided to attack again. It was Psycho Mom, and standing beside her side was Sexy Dad. She was anything but masculine in her royal blue sweat suit with two low hanging brown pigtails sweeping across her shoulders. She may have been mentally unstable, but she certainly was pretty, which is undoubtedly how she landed that delicious husband of hers. Sexy Dad walked beside her, the two engaged in an intense, albeit pleasant, discussion. Happy couples give me a twinge of jealousy. This one assaulted me with both envy and fear.

I glanced at her in horror, then refocused on Sexy Dad, who gave me a quick wink.
Oh God, please don’t let her have seen that. If she was willing to bite me over a soccer jersey, imagine how possessive she’d be about her husband!
Mimi swatted Sexy Dad. “What?” he replied like a mischievous little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“What are you doing here?” Mimi spewed.

Sexy Dad snorted a little laugh. “Gosh Meem, who can imagine, with all that’s going on here today,” he said, gesturing to the rest of the field, occupied only by young girls in soccer gear and their parents.

I liked his bitter sense of humor, and the fact that it was directed at his miserable excuse for a wife. I was also saddened by the fact that Sexy Dad was definitely unavailable, not only for a real relationship, but now for sexual fantasies too. I knew myself too well to even go there. I wouldn’t even get to have an imaginary kiss with him before Mimi would enter the scene, fangs glistening. No, Sexy Dad was definitely bad news. Married, dangerous bad news. Sexy, though. Lamentably friggin’ hot.

“Are you coming?” Mimi asked her husband.

“Nah, bring me back something,” he dismissed.

Mimi looked irritated as she stood with her hand on her hip. “Cream and sugar? Venti?”

“Surprise me,” he said, still looking in my direction. “Something different.”

“Cool, you going to Starbucks?” Gia asked. “I need to caffeinate something serious. Mind if I tag along?”

As Gia stood from her seat, Sexy Dad answered for Mimi. “Sure, g’head, Gia.”

Mimi muttered annoyedly. I couldn’t say I blamed her. I wondered what came first, the bitchy wife or the wayward husband. Was she a bitch because he was a jerk, or did it work the other way?

As the two women left the field, I sat next to Sexy Dad in a cloud of delicious tension, keeping my eyes focused on the girls. Finally, the silence became too awkward. “So, I’m Claire,” I said, extending my hand.

“I know,” Sexy Dad said. Our eyes locked in mutual attraction as we willed the corners of our mouths to stop rising. “It’s about time we met, don’t you think?” I nodded, afraid that the next words out my mouth might be wildly inappropriate. “I’m Ron,” he said.

There was little to add other than that it was nice to meet him, which, pathetically, I did three times. “So, Germany did a great job hosting the last World Cup, don’t you think?”
Oh shit, that’s my Gunther script.

Ron laughed slightly, seeming to enjoy my nervousness as it confirmed what he already knew—there was chemistry between us. “Do you think Rachel’s going to make the team?”

He knows my name. He knows my daughter’s name. This man is a seasoned flirt.

“I hope so,” I replied. “It would mean the world to her, but the competition is so tough. I hear Gunther’s already made offers to some of the girls.”

“Word is he’s got thirteen commitments,” Ron answered. “He needs two more girls, a halfback and a fullback.”

“There are so many girls here!” I fretted.

“She’ll make it,” he assured me, though clearly he was just saying this to be kind. “She’s better than some of the girls he took from last year, and she’s sure as hell better than the one from that Hot Shots trio.”

“What?” I shrieked. “He took them?” Ron nodded. “Gia said Gunther only made offers to last year’s players. Why aren’t the three Hot Shots here?”

“Don’t know, but they committed to Gunther over the weekend. Maybe they figured they didn’t have to come back like the rest of us. There’s one arrogant son of a bitch every year, Claire.”
God, my name sounded good coming from his lips.
“It’s not like we all didn’t have something else we could’ve been doing instead.”

“Oh, so your daughter made the team too?” I asked. Then I remembered Darcy telling me that Gunther had also called Mimi’s daughter, Cara, over the weekend.

He furrowed his brow. “Yeah, I thought you already knew that.”
Yep, there’s always one arrogant son of a bitch.

“Which one’s your daughter?” I asked, wanting to see what gorgeousness Sexy Dad and Psycho Mom had created. Yes, she was crazy, but much to my regret, I had to admit she looked a lot like Angelina Jolie with her full lips, soulful eyes and powerful presence.

“Claire?” he said, laughing. “
Kelly
is my daughter.”

What? That doesn’t make any sense. Your kid’s name is Cara.

Slowly, reality began to penetrate.

My neighbor has a daughter named Kelly. Her father is also named Ron. Kelly is on this soccer—Oh. My. God.

This is Ron?!

This is Ron Greer?!

Nooooooo!!!!!

“You’re Darcy’s husband?!” I said, sounding far too horrified. “I mean, Kelly’s father? That’s so great.”
Shut up.
“So great.”
Silence. Lips together and stop.
“So completely great.” If I weren’t afraid of leaving Rachel an orphan, I would have dug a hole and jumped into my early grave right there and then. But I didn’t have a shovel and the field was Astroturf.

“Yeah, Kel told me about Rachel being scouted,” Ron said, clearly enjoying his social upper hand. “I was on the lookout for you guys.” He smiled. “I liked what I saw.”
Bitter chocolate. This man is still flirting even though he knows I’m his wife’s best friend.
“She’s got a lot of passion. She get that from you?”

“No,” I replied crisply. “Her father.” I could not have been more clear in my contempt for this man who flirted with his wife’s friends at kids’ soccer events. That was the end of it.

Three.

Two.

One.

Oh God, why wasn’t that the end of it?! Why didn’t my attraction flat-line with the discovery that this man was the worst kind of trouble? Even in light of this news, my heart never stopped racing at the sheer thrill of being in his presence.

Having an extremely self-contained mother had its advantages. I could hear her voice sternly advising me that while I could not control my feelings, I could most certainly control my actions. And control them I would as I maintained laser-like focus on the field until the end of tryouts. When Ron asked a question, I gave him a cool, one-word reply without even glancing his way. Rather than being deterred by my coldness, he seemed amused, as if it confirmed that I was fighting my feelings.

I remember seeing a therapist on
Oprah
who said people could reprogram their feelings by creating a new association for them. I would do the same for Ron. Every time I saw him, instead of thinking about the tasty block of fresh milk chocolate he was, I would imagine him in an unflattering light—say, clipping his thick, yellow helmet toenails as he sat on the toilet in constipation. Then I’d imagine him standing and, in addition to the ring around his ass that came from sitting on the can too long, he’d also have a minefield of butt zits. Ugh! It was working. I looked at Ron and shuddered with disgust.

Three.

Two.

Oh God, it was so not working! As the whistle blew, Ron looked at me and gestured with his arm—his beautiful, muscular arm. There was absolutely no evidence of ass zits or bulletproof toenails. “Come on, Claire. We need to bring it in.”

Do we ever!

As we walked toward Preston and the girls, Mimi and Gia reappeared. Before they made their way to the group, Ron asked if I wanted to take the girls for a quick bite to eat at Pixie’s Diner. “To celebrate the end of tryouts,” he said.

“No way,” slipped out.

He looked stunned, though we kept walking and I started backpedaling. “What I meant was that I need to talk to Gunther. I want to see what he thought of Rachel.”

“No problem,” he said, shrugging. “How ’bout I take the girls to dinner while you take care of what you need to do? The girls earned a treat, don’t y’think?”

“Oh, sure,” I said. “That’ll work.”

Of course he wasn’t inviting
me
to dinner. His offer was for Rachel, not her mother.

Rachel ran to me as we all gathered around Preston, who thanked us all for coming to tryouts. “We’ll have teams formed by the end of the week and you’ll get a phone call over the weekend,” he said.
The weekend?! It was Monday!

“There’s no way I can make it through the week, Mom,” Rachel whispered.

I hear you, girlfriend.

“I’ll see what I can find out from Gunther,” I whispered back. “Go to dinner with Kelly and her dad and I’ll stay back and talk to him.”

“You rock,” Rachel said. “Oh, by the way, Gunther said he liked my jersey.”

“He did?!” I whispered, trying to be discreet. I didn’t need the other parents thinking I was some sort of hyper-competitive lunatic.

“Yeah,” Rachel said. “He looked at my jersey and asked if I was a fan of Germany.”

“And you said yes, of course, right?”

“Yeah, then I told him all that stuff about the national team you told me today. He sounded impressed.”

Yes! This was
so
worth getting bit!

“Welcome parents,” she smiled, smugly holding a clipboard. “And congratulations girls for making the Girls Under Thirteen soccer team that’s going to take the California State Cup this year!” Parents clapped and girls cheered wildly as Mimi Shasta made her enthusiastic introduction. We had not mended fences over the last week. In fact, I got a definite vibe that she didn’t like the idea of my being a regular part of her life. It might have been the way she greeted me at the front door. After pouring on the charm, hugging and welcoming Rachel at the front door, she sneered at me and mumbled, “I thought you were the fat girl’s mom.”
I’m 5’8” and 116 pounds with my hair wet. I can see how you’d make that mistake.

“Nope, I’m Rachel’s mother,” I said cheerily for my child’s sake.

“Mmmmnnn,” Mimi dismissed. “Oh well, it’s all about the girls.”

Golly, Mimi, you mean we’re not going to brush each other’s hair and trade secrets about cute boys later tonight?

As nasty as she was to me, I had to admit that Mimi had star quality. When she started the team meeting, she stood in her family room with everyone’s rapt attention. Everyone, that was, except for Gunther, who looked as if his mind were elsewhere as he stared out the window as if he were waiting for the nice crafts lady to take him to make pictures with macaroni. Our coach looked like a lobotomized Bam Bam Rubble.

Darcy told me that Mimi, in addition to being beautiful, is the heiress to her family’s import business. Life was sometimes so unbelievably unfair that I wanted to scream. If I did, though, the enormous house would have mocked me by echoing my cries.

The entryway to the Shasta house looked like the set of
Dangerous Liaisons,
with white marble floors and a table with elaborate, swirling gold and enamel designs on the legs. A cobalt blue sphere with tiny inlaid gold stars was at the center of a crystal chandelier that looked as though it would take days to clean. At the top of the horseshoe staircase was an enormous and ornately framed portrait of Mimi and her father. A short man with a thick neck and heavy eyebrows, he looked outclassed by his surroundings. I could see him betting on horses at the track or sitting at a high rollers table in Vegas.

As Rachel and I passed through the foyer, Rachel commented on the oversized vase filled with lush, exotic blooms. We passed a country kitchen where two uniformed cooks chopped vegetables as they spoke to each other in Japanese. Then we passed a dining room done in an Asian theme, with a black table that was so slick it looked like water, and a red tapestry hanging from the main wall. Around the room were impressive pieces in jade and ivory. Finally, Mimi led us into the family room, which was decorated modern funky with large red couches and a Frank Stella painting hanging beside a Piet Mondrian. I’m sure a decorator told her that an eclectic mishmash would give her house an offbeat, well-traveled feel, but I found the style jarring. It was as though she were warning visitors never to get too comfortable with one particular style. Mimi adopted this philosophy in her wardrobe as well, dropping the Lilly Pulitzer look for a decidedly hipper, more urban look now that she was introducing herself to the preteen girls. She wore purposefully shredded jeans and a t-shirt with rhinestones emblazoned over the words “Soccer is Life.”

The girls cheered wildly as Mimi sounded utterly convinced that our team had already won the State Cup. Sapphire wrapped her arm around Rachel and pulled her into the huddle of giddiness. It was funny how one’s priorities changed as a parent. It used to take me a long time to determine whether or not I liked someone. I’d weigh dozens of factors, reserving final judgment for weeks. As a mother, things were simpler. If a person was kind to my child, I liked her. When Sapphire reached out to Rachel, I became her instant fan. I also decided to cut the Trophy Bride a break. How could I begrudge a woman helping to raise the benevolent Sapphire? “Yeah, baby!” shouted Dick when Mimi made her proclamation. He high-fived Bobby, who hooted in the only way he could, loudly. “State Cup, yeow!”