Losing to Win (12 page)

“And?” Pierre prompted.

I sighed. “And they offered me a reality show of my own after
Losing to Win
wraps.”

Niecy flung back her head and laughed. “How much do you hate the idea?”

“More than life itself. I'll do the extra scenes and the promos, but my life as a ‘reality show chick'?” I punctuated with air quotes. “That ends with this show.”

Mal grinned. “Are you sure? You're really good at it. I've seen some of the dailies. The camera loves you and you have a comic timing that works.”

I shot him a look. “I'm positive, Malachi. You're the one headed for the bright lights. I just live in the shadows, remember?” Oops. That slid out before I could self-edit.

The whole room fell silent in the wake of the verbal jab. Mal put his hands up and backed away, turning to place napkins on the table. Dammit, now I felt bad. Clearly there were a few things I was still sensitive about from our past, but now was neither the time nor the place to zing him with it. Glancing at his crestfallen face gave me a moment's shame. Now I'd hurt his feelings.

There was too much going on, too much happening, and I felt like I was being pushed and pulled in a bunch of different directions. Hell, I was just tired. I needed to eat, I needed to sleep, and I needed to think. No need to skewer Mal over things he had already apologized for. “I'm sorry, Mal—everybody. I'm just over all of this. I'm ready for my life to get back to normal.”

Mom brushed my hair back from my face. “Baby, who's to say what normal is now? All the businesses benefitting from this show . . . By the time they finish, there will be a new normal around here. Maybe for you too. Even if you don't do the next show, don't close yourself off to whatever the future has in store for you.”

She slid her arms around me and I snuggled into her hold. “Thanks, Mommy, you're right.”

Mike raised the pitcher of mystery punch up high. “Well, I always say it ain't a party until someone starts telling the truth. Now it's a party! Let's get it started, cuz.” He poured some red liquid into a glass and handed it to me. I took it and walked it over to Mal.

I held it out to him. “Apology . . .”

“. . . accepted.” It was how we used to apologize to each other before there were really serious things to be sorry about.

Someone passed me a glass and we all raised them up. Meshach spoke first. “To friends and fam. Always.”

“Always,” we echoed.

 

 

I
t was already ninety-four degrees in the shade on my old high school football field. It was early, I shouldn't have had more than one glass of Middle Mike's mystery punch last night, and my boys were of no help to me. Pierre, Burke, and Meshach stood on the sidelines, sipping iced coffee beverages while watching me running backward to the twenty-yard line, up to midfield, sideways toward the bench, and then back to the thirty.

“The knee looks good,” Burke said.

“Yep,” Meshach agreed.

“Not bad at all,” Pierre cosigned.

“Any one of you bums care to step onto the field and toss me a few balls or are you just going to watch me sweat for the next thirty minutes?”

“You mean for the next hour, doncha, son?” a familiar voice called out from the opposite end zone. Looking up I saw my dad coming across the field with my high school coach.

“Coach Robinette!” I jogged over and embraced the tall, broad-shouldered, graying man with a booming voice and personality to match. “What brings you out here?”

Earl Raymond Robinette, Earl Ray to his friends, had been coaching high school football in Belle Haven for over twenty-five years. He was like a second father to me. The day after I got hurt, he'd shown up at my door in Houston and said, “Let's talk about what comes next for you.” He was the first person to tell me that I should attempt a comeback. I hadn't been ready to hear it then, but I was damn glad he'd made the suggestion and happy as hell to see him here today.

“Now boy, we can't have you out here half-assing your comeback. The pride of Belle Haven is at stake. I heard you've been trying to train on your own and that just won't do.”

“I don't want to put anyone out.” Actually I did. I really did need and want the help.

“C'mon now. We go too far back for all of that.” He turned to the side and blew a whistle. Five guys came running out onto the field. “Now these are some of my fellas. Dixon here is at LSU now, Riley is at Auburn, Joe is still in high school even though he's as big as a barn, and I believe you know these two fellas.” The last two guys were NFL players: Lee played one year with the Stars before finishing his career in Seattle, and Corey and I had played against each other in more games than I could count. He was an All-Pro cornerback in San Diego. We slapped each other on the back and I high-fived the other guys.

“I appreciate this, fellas—I really do. I've got this one last shot and you know—”

“—it's all or nothing,” Lee finished, nodding his head. “Man, if I had a shot to go back and play, even if one more game?”

One of the young guys said, “Hey, I just wanna get there.”

From around the side of the field came some of the production staff from
Losing to Win
, along with my mom and some other folks from town. Someone brought out a few coolers and it looked like a portable grill was being set up. You had to love Belle Haven. Everything was an excuse for a community get-together.

“This is awesome,” the high school kid who was built like the side of a barn said. “Think they'll grill some ribs?”

“I'm not allowed ribs,” I mumbled grouchily.

“Man, that's harsh!” Corey said. “One rib ain't gonna kill ya.”

“You're telling me?” Even before I finished speaking, I noticed Darcy, the personal trainer from hell, bounding out of the locker area heading toward us.

Coach Robinette blew his whistle. “You ladies can form a knitting circle later. Let's get some work done. Meshach Knight?”

“Yes, sir?” my brother answered from the sidelines.

“You suit up and get your ass out here on this field. You still know how to throw a decent spiral, doncha?” Meshach had played quarterback for two years of college before he decided he was happier in a law library. I couldn't hide my amusement as he resignedly set down his fancy mocha-choco-latte-whatever and headed to the locker room. “Burke Bisset, you get over here and set these cones out, two by two. I know you remember the drill. When you finish that, go on ahead and grab a stopwatch.”

Burke had also played high school football under Coach Robinette. He shook his head and stepped forward with swiftness. “Yes, sir.”

“And who is Fancy Pants?” Coach asked, pointing at Pierre, who did look might fancy in some severely pressed linen pants.

“That's my agent and business manager, Pierre Picard.” I introduced him with a smirk.

“Picard, you too fancy to record some stats?”

With a deep sigh of the beleaguered, Pierre trotted out onto the field and took one of the clipboards from Coach Robinette.

Coach looked him up and down. “Do you know football, son, or are you only good with facts and figures?”

Pierre shot me a look clearly indicating he was not appreciating the verbal shellacking. He answered politely. “I reckon I know just enough to be dangerous. Are you going to start with warm-up and flexibility or go straight to agility and speed drills?”

Coach gave him approving nod. “You'll do, Mr. Fancy.”

Meshach walked onto the field in some training gear. He knelt down and retied his shoelace. Then he paused to check out the assortment of Gatorade in one of the coolers.

Coach looked at my dad. “I know you didn't raise any lol-lygaggers, Henry.”

“Step to, Meshach—daylight's burning!” Henry hollered.

If looks could kill, the look Meshach sent me would have struck me down immediately. If I could have gotten away with falling down on the field to roll around laughing, I surely would have.

The whistle blew twice to signal the start of practice. “Line up along the forty-yard line, men. We're going start with flexibility and then go straight into dip and slip, followed by quick foot fire cones. I don't wanna hear any moaning and groaning. First one to slow us down earns wind sprints for the lot of you. Let's go!”

Two hours, multiple drills, and three sets of wind sprints later, I dragged my tired body toward the showers. Even though I was dog tired, for the first time I actually felt like I was going to make it back.

“Mal,” Earl Ray called out to me. I almost wept at the interruption, I was so eager to get under that hot spray of water.

“Yeah, Coach?”

“You look good out there. Another four to six weeks and you'll be back at peak level. Your speed is almost there. Plus you're smarter now. You've started playing with your head instead of putting your body on the line for every play. Your hands are good.”

“Aw, thanks, Coach.” Hearing his validation pumped me up. I was really doing this.

“Don't thank me yet. Your footwork is sloppy and your timing is off and you still take it personally when someone hits you. You ran a slant when it should have been an out, you ran post instead of skinny post. We've got work to do yet. I'll be out here with you every Saturday until you're ready to go.”

“I feel like I should pay you and the guys something for your time,” I offered.

“Boy, please—can you not tell when people are having the time of their lives? This here television show kicked in for the supplies. And with the money this little show is bringing in, we're happy to help out.” He slapped me on the back. “You just get back out there and make us proud, that'll be payment enough.”

“Yes, sir. I'll do my best.”

“You do that.” He nodded and walked away.

I turned back toward the showers.

“Malachi Henry!” my dad's voice called out. Was I never going to get that shower?

“What's up, Dad?”

“I didn't see your girl out here, cheering you on. What's that about?”

I knew who he was talking about, but I wasn't going there with him right now. “I don't have a girl, Dad.”

“You sure as hell do and you better do something to lock that woman down before someone swoops in and snatches her from right underneath your nose. I hear things, you know. There's another fox in the henhouse and he's angling for your chick. You might want to step your game up.” He wagged his finger at me.

Having my father preach to me about foxes and hens while telling me to step my game up was for sure going down as one of my least favorite moments in a summer filled with moments I didn't care to repeat. Anyway, I was not chasing Carissa Wayne. I had made it clear I wanted her; the next move was hers. “If she wants me, she knows where I am.”

He barked out a laugh. “Ha! That hard-to-get shit only works if you don't give a damn. And you, Mal? You definitely give a damn. Life is short. Football or no football, that's a good woman. You're not gonna find another like her and you know it.”

I sighed. “I'm tired, Dad. I'm going to get a shower, pretend I don't smell those hot links cooking on the grill, and go sit somewhere without a camera in my face for a few hours.”

“All right, son. I hear ya talking.” He patted me on the shoulder. “Just think about it, will ya?”

When I wasn't thinking about getting back to the NFL, I was thinking about getting back with Carissa. Those two thoughts occupied all my spare time. “You can bet on it.”

 

 

“S
uzette, what is your general problem?” I voiced my irritation as discreetly as I could. I was standing in the lobby of Sugar's bed-and-breakfast, The Idlewild. The Idlewild was a former plantation that had been converted into a twenty-two-room inn. Burke and Mac Bisset had done a great job on the restoration and the old house shone through like the Southern treasure it was. Rich dark woods combined with light airy walls; it had the feel of stepping into a stately home that just happened to have all the modern conveniences.

The Idlewild hosted the contestants who did not live in town, when they weren't trapped on campus—with the exception of Mal, who chose to rent a place from Burke. A lot of the crew was staying at the Idlewild as well. A few of Mal's friends from his NFL days had checked in to help him train for a few weeks, so the place was busier than I'd ever seen it. This afternoon, I had popped over to drop off my updated paperwork and ran into Suzette on my way out.

I supposed an explosion between the two of us was just a long time overdue and inevitable. She didn't like me, I didn't like her. We'd never clicked. Not from the first time we'd laid eyes on each other in middle school. I thought she was mean, shallow, and petty. She thought I was standoffish, snobby, and siddity. To my credit, I had tried several times to extend the olive branch and let the animosity go. Unfortunately, every time I tried to bury the hatchet, she attempted to bury it in my back. After a particularly nasty hair-pulling incident on the playground, I gave up.

To say that our mutual disdain was long lived and abiding was an understatement. Today, only one of us was trying to be classy about it. The minute she saw me, she launched into a litany of insults. The least hurtful involved her calling me fat for the fiftieth time this summer; the most offensive was her accusing me of sleeping with all the male members of the cast so I would be the most popular contestant on the show.

I was sick of it. My timing may have been poor, but I was calling her out once and for all.

“You are my general problem,” she hissed, not bothering to lower the volume of her screechy voice.

“You've always thought you were better than anyone else around here,” she continued. “You walk around with your nose in the air like your shit doesn't stink, when in reality you're just a washed-up prom queen with no man, no kids, and no real accomplishments. You act like you're so far above it all when you are no better than a trashy bitch. Your mama is blue collar and your daddy is a known womanizer who'll lay down with anyone who smiles at him twice and buys him a beer. I guess you take after him. You've slept your way into anything you've ever gotten. I don't think Queen Slut is a career aspiration for young girls. How they allow you to teach kids is beyond me!”

“Now wait just a damn minute,” I lashed out, angry to the point where I had no more damns left to give. The fact that I could hear feet scurrying and knew that signaled rolling cameras were somewhere close by should have stilled my tongue, but it didn't. The words tripped from my mouth with force and ferocity. “Maybe I'll let you call me whatever you can dream up as acid drips from your lips. Maybe you can talk about my father. But best believe you will not besmirch the good name of my mama. I'm not about to stand here and let the chick who gave blowjobs to the principal just to get a seat on the student council call me all sorts of tramps and sluts. No, ma'am. I am not going to let a chick who ballooned up from a size 3 to a tight size 30 call ME fat again. Not today.”

She sniffled and let two fake tears run down her cheeks. “I have four kids!”

“Well, bless their hearts. Girl, please! What you have is a ready-made excuse for everything you've ever jacked up, and that list is plentiful. I don't think that I'm better than everybody else, but I'm a damn sight better than you.”

“You always wanted what I have!” she accused in a shrill tone.

I shrieked with laughter. “What exactly would that be? I have never wanted anything you had. Not. One. Damn. Thing. I started the rumor saying I thought Jerome Allendale was hot so that you'd go after him and quit jock-riding Mal for half a second.”

“You did not. You totally wanted Jerome and you hate that I have him.”

“Yes, all those years I was cozied up to Mal's fine self, I found myself longing for Jerome. You think? And really, Suzette—if I had wanted Jerome, don't you think I would've found a way to have him? I mean, let's take it there. I'm just saying.”

“You bitch!” She swung her hand back and I put a finger up.

“Uh-uh. If you hit me, it better be the hit of your life, because not only will I snatch out what's left of your listless hair, I will knock you the hell out up in here. Then I will proceed to have you arrested for assault, I will sue you for damages, and I will take every last dime of Jerome's money that you have not already spent.” I looked her squarely in the eye. “Whatcha gonna do, Boo-Boo?”

She wavered for a minute as if considering her options. I shifted my purse to my left arm in case I needed to actually swing on this woman. I was done taking the high road. Her eyes narrowed when she noticed I wasn't backing down. “This isn't over!” she screamed and backed away.

“Uh-huh.” I sucked my teeth and nodded. “Just as I thought. All talk and hot air. Let's just be real. We don't like each other. We never have. At this point, we never will. This is a small town and an even smaller show. But why don't we agree to stay the hell out of each other's way and leave it at that?”

She stepped around me with her head held high and muttered “Bitch” as she walked past.

I took two quick steps backward and blocked her path. “That's your last freebie. You call me anything else besides my name and we can go there if we have to, okay, Suzette?”

“Nobody is scared of you, Carissa Wayne!” She flung her hair with extra drama and stormed out the door.

Sugar came running over clutching a broom in her hand. “I don't know, cuz. I'm a little scared of you.”

“Girl, what were you about to do? Sweep her up outta here?”

“I had your back!”

“Yeah, if some lint balls flew out her mouth, you were right there for me.”

We dissolved into laughter. Noticing all eyes were still trained on me, I twirled in a circle in the lobby before taking a bow. “Show's over, folks. Nothing to see here!” I received scattered applause.

“This is why they love you on that show. You're a damn drama magnet,” my Aunt Elaine said as she came around from the registration desk. She took the broom out of Sugar's hand and walked back toward the kitchen muttering to herself about these kids today.

“You know what you need?” Sugar asked me. We strolled toward the door.

“A gallon of rum and a paid vacation to Jamaica?”

“I was going to say a hot bath and a hot man to relieve you of your stress.”

“I can make that bath thing happen,” I admitted with a smile.

“You could make the man thing happen. With a phone call.”

“I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about it.”

“What's holding you back?” Sugar looked at me curiously.

“Didn't you just call me a drama magnet? Add a man into the equation and it's like drama squared.” And all evidence to the contrary, I really did not like drama.

“But the man could be worth it, right?”

“Worth it in the interim, yes. In the long run? Not so sure about that one.”

“Two of Mal's friends checked in, did you hear?” Sugar asked.

“Yeah, I heard. Which two?”

“Corey something and Lee McAdoo.”

I nodded. “I know both of them.”

She leaned forward. “Give me the 411. What's the scoop?”

“You do know no one says 411 anymore, right?”

“Girl, dish already!”

“Corey is a wolf in sheep's clothing. Comes across all sensitive but is a heartbreaker. The Western United States is scattered with the ashes of his former flames.”

“Oh, a churn-and-burn type?”

“Most definitely,” I affirmed.

“What about Lee?”

“Oh, he's both a looker and a sweetheart, if I recall. He and his wife split up after he retired. He rejoined the league and I don't know if he's got someone right now or not.” I noticed the twinkle in her eyes. “If you're interested, that's not a bad direction to go. Is he still fine?”

“Like you wouldn't believe,” she said in a dreamy voice.

“Oh, I'd believe. You should go for it,” I encouraged her. She could do a lot worse. Lee was one of the good guys.

“You know what?” Sugar said while a huge grin spread across her face. “I believe I will. See how much good this show is bringing to Belle Haven?”

“Bringing you a man is good?”

“Always, but business is good, things are good all the way around, Ris. Thanks to you.”

I held myself back from rolling my eyes. “That's me: the savior of Belle Haven.” I pushed open the door and looked up and down the street to make sure Suzette was nowhere to be found. I dug out my keys and unlocked the car.

“All right, Ris. Try not to fight nobody on the way home.”

“No guarantees!” I called out and backed away.