Field of Schemes (38 page)

The next morning I woke up and all I could think about was having another cookie. I rushed downstairs where Rachel was dipping one into a glass of milk. She shrugged. “One more before they go stale.”

“I thought you weren’t supposed to eat these anymore?” I said between bites.

“Mimi said she doesn’t have time to make ’em anymore,” Rachel said with a full mouth. She gulped her milk as if merely to wash away the thick macadamia nut butter so she had room for the next bite. “But why let these go to waste?”

“You are so right!”

“You forgive me for, you know?” Rachel asked, trailing off.

“For stealing them?!” I asked, cookie crumbs flying from my mouth. “Are you kidding? I want you to go back and steal some more.”

The phone rang. “Huh-ro,” I answered, not taking a break from chewing.

“Claire? Is that you?”

“Uh, huh Rave. Huh y’dung?”

“Fine,” Dave replied. “What’s wrong with your voice? You sound like you’ve got your mouth full.”

Swallowing, I said, “Sorry. Rachel and I were just having breakfast.” Suddenly, it all came rushing back to me. Mimi was taking over the team. Gunther was fleeing for Germany. The team would have Christmas Eve training sessions in preparation for State Cup.

“So, what’s up, Claire?” Dave asked, interrupting my panic attack. “I have nine missed calls from you last night. I figured it must be pretty important.”

“Oh, right,” I said. “I just wanted to—”
tell you that I love you. But I also loved Mimi and Ron and my nasty seventh grade teacher, Mrs. Markowski at the time, so never mind. No need to lead you on.
“I just wanted to say hi, that’s all.”

“Claire, your last call was at a quarter to two.”

Oh right. Where the hell were you, anyway?

Mercifully changing the topic, he asked if I’d heard the news about Mimi taking over the team. We chatted for awhile before he asked if he could come over for a quick visit. “I mean, since you’re so eager to say hello to me,” he teased.

“Are you in Santa Bella?”

“Yeah, I just dropped Katie off at her mom’s and don’t need to be at work today.”

Rachel asked if she could go to Kelly’s, and I waited for Dave’s arrival. The fluid motion of my computer screensaver caught my attention, so I decided to check my email to see if there was anything from Mimi. And maybe have another cookie.

MEMORANDUM

TO: The Team

FROM: Mimi

DATE: December 23

RE: Gunther’s gone

As you know, Gunther has opted to spend the next three weeks in Germany rather than getting the team ready for State Cup! According to the club bylaws, teams can fire their coaches after the regular season if there is a majority vote! I polled parents last week and we’ve got the eight votes we need to replace Gunther! As you know, I played in college and have my “E” coaching license, which is why the majority of parents want me to take the girls to State Cup!

I need you to understand that this was not an easy decision! But after watching Gunther squander away an entire season, I had to step up and do something! We have so few points that we are in jeopardy of losing our triple-A status next year! If we advance far enough in State Cup, we will gain the points to stay a premiere team
and
gain seeded-team status! This means that we get to choose our coach for the season, rather than depending on the league to assign us another brain-dead idiot to run our team into the ground!

Please join me in welcoming our newest player, Sissy, who will replace Violet for State Cup! I know Roy and Lisa seem to feel Violet’s 100%, but I’m not ready to take that risk! We have a lot depending on this game and she has missed an entire season! There’s no way she’s going to be effective!

“Hello, Mimi,” I said into the phone. I felt she was a lamb who’d simply lost her way. If only I could be there to hug her.

“Claire,” she said, sounding annoyed.

“I got your note. You told the girls Gunther was leaving for Germany, but he’s not going for good. He’s just visiting family for the holidays.”

“It’s a critical three weeks, Claire. I knew you wouldn’t understand.”

I twirled my hair around my finger, noticing how very pretty it was. “Is that why you didn’t call me and get my vote?” I asked.

“How would you have voted?”

“Against firing Gunther!” I said too loudly.

“That’s what I figured. I didn’t ask Nancy either. I figured why take her away from her busy day of composting when I can cast a no ballot for her. I still have the majority without you two.”

“What about Darcy?”

“One vote per family and Ron completely gets what I’m trying to do with the girls.”

No, I meant what about the fact that you’ve carried on an affair with her husband for more than a year?

“I see,” I managed to say. “And what did the league say about all of this?”

“They’ll get my email right when Gunther gets his copy.”

“You fired him by email?” She didn’t reply. “Mimi, are you still there?”

“I’m here. How should I respond to that? I told you I emailed him, so you already know the answer.”

“Well, you can count us out. Rachel will be going to State Cup with Coach Gunther,” I said firmly.

Mimi cackled. “Claire, you are so dense. I don’t know what part of this you’re having trouble understanding. Gunther isn’t our coach anymore. According to the bylaws, if a team—”

“I know, I know, if the majority votes to oust the coach in the post-season, they can go do it. So, you’ve basically just pulled off a Wall Street-style hostile takeover of a twelve-year-old girls’ soccer team?”

“I wouldn’t call it hostile,” Mimi said. I could see her rolling her eyes and checking her watch.

“Subversive then,” I said.

“I did what was best for the girls. If one lame coach gets his feelings hurt along the way, so be it. As for Rachel dropping off the team, that’s your choice. Be sure you tell your daughter that this was your decision, not mine. There were plenty of parents who wanted me to dump her, but I fought to keep Rachel on the team. I’m loyal to my girls, and I said there was no way I would turn my back on her.”

“Rachel’s the leading scorer,” I reminded her. “Who would want to cut her from the team?”

“The voting is confidential, but if you must know, Rachel is not the problem—it’s you. You’ve alienated more than a few parents this season.”

I have?
I thought as a lump formed in my throat. I knew that demanding alcohol-free practices and games wasn’t going to win me any points with the dads formerly known as “the saloon,” but who else disliked me? Who hated me enough to punish Rachel for it? Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea if Rachel sat out of the State Cup. If parents were going to be unwelcoming to her, maybe it was best if we just took off until … until … until she reappeared at tryouts in a few months? How would it look if she didn’t play with her team in the State Cup? Maybe she didn’t
want
to sit out of State Cup.

My God, I wish Steve were here for this one.

“Claire, I don’t have time for this.”

“Nor do I,” I said, hanging up.

The next phone call I made was to Preston, who once told me to call him “anytime” with concerns about club soccer. “I’m facing a weird situation,” I told him.

“Yes,” he said, sounding bored already.

I explained that Mimi fired Gunther by email and planned to take the team to State Cup as their coach. I expected him to gasp and tell me he’d put a stop to this right away. “Preston? Are you there?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Yes, Mimi is up to her old tricks again. She does something crazy like this every year. Mrs. Emmett, if she has a majority of the parents voting to replace Gunther, my hands are tied. Parents pay a lot of money to play in Kix. If they’re not happy with the coach, they have a right to replace him after the regular season’s over.”

“That’s it?”

“He’s still under contract,” Preston said. “He’ll get paid. Mrs. Emmett, maybe this is for the best. Gunther gets a paid vacation and you get a chance with a new coach.”

“I don’t want a chance with a new coach! Gunther is great. Plus, what am I teaching her about how to treat people? I don’t trust Mimi! Did you know she’s been giving the girls high-fat cookies and half-and-half ever since Gunther canceled her fitness trainings?!”

“That doesn’t sound like a good idea,” Preston said dumbly.

“Preston, it’s an awful idea! It’s completely unhealthy, and they all gained a ton of weight.”

“I don’t understand how that is fitness training,” he pondered aloud.

“Preston! She fattened them up to prove that it was a mistake to cancel fitness training. Like, ‘See what happens when we don’t do my fitness training?’ ”

I could see the light bulb over Preston’s head. “Oh, that’s bad, even for Mimi.”

Plus she’s having an affair with a team dad!

“Why do you let her get away with stuff like this?” I asked, not expecting an answer. It was simple. She paid, she played.

“I’ll have a talk with her,” Preston said.
Oh thank God!
“See what type of system she’s planning on using.”

“What?! You’ll see what system she’s planning on using?! I don’t want my daughter playing for this maniac!”

“Oh, well, that solves the problem then,” he said. “If Rachel doesn’t want to play in the State Cup, she doesn’t have to.”

Seeing that this conversation was going absolutely nowhere, I hung up the phone and spent the longest ten minutes of solitude as I waited for Dave to arrive.

When the doorbell rang, I almost ran to answer it. I rushed him inside, high on the adrenaline I felt after my argument with Mimi. “She is so evil!” I said, seating him with urgency. “Great cook, though. Want a cookie? High fat, but so worth the calories.” I reminded myself of Darcy when I first went to her house to ask about club soccer.
Oh God, poor Darcy! I wonder how she’s doing.
I stood before Dave, extending a cookie toward him, and began to sob.

“Claire, what’s wrong?” he asked, standing to comfort me. “You’re acting weird, even for you.”

After a half-hour of crying, laughing and espousing random Tibetan philosophy, Dave asked me what was in Mimi’s cookies. I shrugged, but moved toward the cookie tin to devour my seventh of the morning. Dave reached for my hand and said, “Claire, put down the cookie.”

“Can we share it?” I squeaked.

“I have a buddy who works at the UCLA Nutrition Lab. I want to have her take a look at this.”

I nodded emphatically. “I already know it’s super fatty, but look at me,” I gestured to my body. “All my life, everyone has always said that I need to eat more. If anyone can afford the calories, it’s me.”

“It’s not the calories,” he began, staring at me in shock.

“What then?”

“Claire, stop licking crumbs off the table!”

“Then give me the cookie!” I demanded. “You can take her a piece. A little piece should do the job, right?”

“No, Claire, I need the cookie.”

“So do I!”

Later that day, Dave called me. “Claire, I got the results,” he said. “Are you ready for this?”

“Girl Power cookies are high fat,” I said dully. “Amazing. You must be so proud of your breakthrough.” I hated that bastard.

“Have you ever heard of OxyContin?” Dave asked.

“The pimple medicine?”

“No, not the pimple medicine, Claire,” Dave replied, as if he were losing patience with me. I admit I may have gone a bit overboard when I jumped on his windshield as he drove off to Los Angeles with my last cookie. “It’s an addictive painkiller, and this cookie’s got a pretty good dose of it.”

“What?” I gasped. “Mimi’s been putting painkillers in the Girl Power cookies? Why?”

“To keep them hooked,” Dave explained. “It’s not a dangerous amount, just enough to create a team of addicts.”

“So I’m—”

“A junkie? Yes, Claire, I’m afraid you are. Thankfully, the girls never ate a dozen cookies in a twenty-four-hour period, or they also may have treated their friends to a performance of kitchen chair rodeo.”

“Oh, I forgot about that,” I said, recalling the great pleasure I took in watching my kitchen clock travel across the wall like Halley’s Comet as I bucked on a backward chair.