Love Letter for a Sinner (The Sinners sports romances) Page 9

  Prince Dobbs slouched past right behind the teen girls he’d showed off for earlier. They ignored him. Joe caught the boy by the backwards brim of his ball cap.

  “Dude!” Prince exclaimed.

  “I know your father indulges you, son, but since I have lots of daughters, you and I are going over there behind that oak and have a talk about respecting women—and what happens to guys who don’t. For God’s sake, pull up your pants.” Did he sound like an old codger?

  Joe glared at the teen’s baggy jeans sagging low enough to show off the top of his polka-dotted boxers. Prince wore one of the more lurid of the Sinners’ souvenir T-shirts sold in the Quarter with a leering devil on it, nothing cute about it. Joe wished he could make the kid turn the shirt inside out as well as hike up his pants but supposed that would be going too far with someone else’s child. “This way—dude.”

  Prince returned a few minutes later a shade paler than his tawny mother and wearing Joe’s belt to hold the pants above his skinny hips. “Enjoy that ice cream, you hear,” Joe called after him. “Come on Rex. Raise your end on the count of three. The boats aren’t heavy, only awkwardly long.”

  He gave the count and with a grunt, they started for the boathouse. After settling the dragon boat on its rack among the canoes and paddles used for Camp Love Letter, they returned for the second vessel walking side-by-side. “So what do you think about your crew?”

  “Oh, Lisa rowed the best, but the others were fairly useless. I thought the little kids would get a kick out winning so I held back at the end.”

  “Just don’t ever do that during a Sinners’ game. Lisa grew up paddling on the bayou, but the others are mostly city girls. What I really meant is do any of them interest you personally. Did you get any phone numbers?”

  “A bunch of them.” Rex patted the hip pocket of his jeans where some sodden napkins stuck out of the top. “But I can’t really get involved with any of them.”

  “Why not? That’s a prime bunch of women.”

  “They sure are, but you know, Kathy, Nora, and Lisa are Catholic. I can’t marry a Catholic.”

  “Why not? Nell married one. We worked it out, got married twice, once in a civil ceremony, once in the church. The Dean, Tommy, and Xochi go to services with my mother. The twins, Stacy, and Teddy attend the Episcopal Church with Nell. We trade off the triplets every other week. Okay, it is complicated—like marriage. You have to put some effort into it.”

  Rex nodded. “I understand about effort, but my parents would be upset, really upset.”

  “Then how about Asia and Arlette? I think they’re Baptists or maybe AME like the Rev. Either one strike your fancy?”

  “Joe, they’re black.” Rex stared at the ground as if watching carefully for oak tree roots. He missed Joe’s scowl.

  “Not very black, and both beautiful like Sharlette. You have something against black people because some of my best friends are black.” Joe wasn’t just saying that either. His dislike of Rex Worthy increased a notch. “You’d better learn to respect black folks because our offensive line is totally dark, and they hold your career and health in their meaty hands.”

  “I do respect black people. They are our brothers and sisters in Christ. I grew up on a mission in Africa, played with them all the time.”

  “But your parents would object to a black girl?”

  “Not them. My grandparents. I know they live in another time, but they made me promise not to go with any black girls when I got back from Africa. I was only thirteen, but I try to keep my promises and respect my elders. I respect you a whole lot, too.”

  Joe grimaced at that last remark but let it pass. “Yeah, I understand about keeping vows, but you can’t let your parents and grandparents pick your wife, can you? My mother would have liked I marry a nice Catholic girl for sure, but I held on to Nell.” Joe hesitated as a thought struck him. “Or do they choose a bride for you in your religion?”

  “No, it’s not part of the Methodist doctrine. We aren’t polygamists either.” Rex grinned broadly as they reached the second boat and heaved it up on their shoulders. The long distance between them cut the conversation short until they unloaded their burden in the boathouse.

  “We’d better get some ice cream before it all melts. That leaves Tatiana and Katya. You have anything against atheistic communists or the Russian Orthodox Church, whichever way they jump?” Joe said as they paced each other to the pavilion.

  “Atheists would bother me, but truly, I really didn’t like the models. They seemed more interested in that red convertible and staying skinny than in me.”

  “I see your point. I don’t much care for them either, and I dated a lot of models in my time. Most of them want to land a rich husband so they can finally have a good meal. You certainly took notice of the convertible, too. Are you really interested in Layla Devlin? I mean you can make your own decisions, but I’d warn you away from that one.”

  “No, not Miss Devlin. I…um…it was a really nice car.” Rex studied those tree roots again as if he wanted to get a degree in botany.

  “You should buy one. Have some fun with your money.”

  “That’s kind of frivolous when people are starving all over the world.”

  “I guess you don’t want any ice cream because starving children in Africa can’t have any,” Joe snapped.

  “No, sir. I love ice cream.”

  They entered the pavilion where commercial-sized drums of vanilla, chocolate and strawberry waited amid a dozen scoops, most of them in use. Bowls of maraschino cherries sat on either end of the table. Hot fudge bubbled like lava in a crockpot. Tubs of whipped topping, some already scraped to the bottom sat here and there. The chocolate chips and jimmies of all colors were going faster than the chopped fruits and nuts.

  Macho and Titi had gotten inside and lurked lapping up spills beneath the table. All the young women except Asia Dobbs and the models deserted their bowls and clustered around Rex again as if he were the Good Humor man come to call at their doorstep.

  Asia ripped her thumb from the grasp of the camp nurse, fondly called Shammy but now officially Mrs. Clive Brinsley, as she applied antibiotic cream to her blister and joined the mob.

  Joe sighed wearily. “Go get some then.”

  Rex moved to the sundae bar with his coterie of women making suggestions as to what he would like best—chocolate or strawberry. He chose vanilla of course.

  Nell moved casually to her husband’s side and whispered, “Well, which one does he like best?”

  “He admired Lisa’s prowess with a paddle, but other than that, none of them. No Catholics, no black girls, no atheists, and no skinny women.”

  “He’s awfully picky.”

  “I thought maybe Layla since he ran over to greet her.”

  “Are you kidding me? When I opened that barn door, you would have thought Layla was nailing him to a cross by the expression on his face.”

  “Sometimes sex and agony are close to the same thing.”

  “Not in this case. What is the matter with him?”

  Joe shook his head. “Only thing I can figure is he’s a closeted gay despite what Brian says—or he’s found somebody on his own and doesn’t want to talk about it.”

  “All that effort for nothing. Okay, I give up—temporarily. I’ll get Titi if you will haul Macho out from under the table. They’ll both get sick if the kids keep feeding them maraschino cherries.”

  Nell went to lure the smaller dog away from the feast. Joe dragged Macho out by his thick, leather collar from under the table and shoved him through the doorway. Both animals pressed their noses against the screen wanting to get back in, but finally had to settle for licking the vanilla ice cream off their muzzles.

  Families began to depart with tired, sticky children in tow. The two Russians informed Brian they’d found another ride home and went off with the rookie wide receiver and a new running back. Kathleen and Nora piled into the McCoy van with Howdy driving, their nephew asleep, and Cassie t
rying to hush her daughter who screamed to stay longer. Prince’s parents returned Joe’s belt, apologized for the behavior of their son relayed by others who had witnessed it, and boarded their three into a huge, red SUV. Lisa lingered near Rex until her mother collected her for the short drive home.

  Once the young women departed, Rex got out the keys to the modest truck he drove and went to thank Nell for a nice day. To his surprise, she took him aside.

  “Look, Rex, we think you need someone special in your life. Today we tried to help you find that person, but you found fault with some very fine young women. Exactly what do you want?”

  “I explained all that to Joe. There’s one other thing I didn’t tell him because he’d make fun of me. I always thought I’d marry a virgin—and I don’t think any of them are.” His face pinked to match the remaining strawberry ice cream.

  “In this day and age, that’s pretty old-fashioned. I suspect only the girls under eighteen are still intact, and I’m not sure about all of them except for mine.”

  Neither noticed Joe listening in until he spoke. Slapping Rex hard on the back, he said, “I never did virgins. They’re trouble and have no idea what they’re doing.”

  “You never had one, even in high school? I mean I’ve heard the guys talk about your reputation.” Now Rex had two red spots on his cheeks about the color of the maraschino cherry juice dribbled on the concrete floor.

  “I went to parochial school where the nuns made sleeping with a virgin outside of marriage sound like a mortal sin. I guess it is. Anyhow, you’d end up getting married right out of high school and having a baby six months later. Plenty of the other kind of girls around to practice on.”

  “You think I need to practice?”

  “Football, sex, everything gets better with practice. I think you owe it to your bride to know what you are doing. Or maybe you want to marry a virgin because she won’t notice how inexperienced you are.”

  “Maybe,” Rex agreed. “I gotta get going. I want to be in before curfew. We have a game to play tomorrow.

  Chapter Eleven

  Tricia stopped the rental car before the hotel lobby doors and gently prodded Layla awake. “We’re back in New Orleans.”

  “Thank God, a return to civilization. I haven’t seen so many screaming kids since my publicist forced me to visit that orphanage in Africa while I was filming Plague!. I made a generous donation simply to get out of there.” Layla groped for her sunglasses and didn’t find them. “I can’t go out there without my shades.”

  “There’s another pair in my bag.”

  Layla pawed around until she found them and checked herself in the visor mirror. “Not as flattering as the ones that pestilent horse ruined, but they will have to do. Why didn’t you remind me to take the towel off my head before I went to sleep? I can’t drop it now. You know what high humidity does to it. My hair will be all snaky.”

  “Just go up to the suite as quietly as possible. No one will recognize you. I’ll return the car to the rental agency.”

  “Be quick about it. I want to go out tonight, and you’ll have to help with my do.”

  Another grand evening of making sure Layla Devlin returned to her room alive. Tricia could not wait. The concierge opened the door of the convertible. Layla stepped out. A hot gust of wind inflated the orange and gold caftan as huge as a hot air balloon. The paparazzi appeared like crocodiles homing in on a drowning wildebeest. Layla raced for the safety of the lobby as fast as her lengthy legs and high heels could carry her, but the caftan swelled her rump to an enormous size for the cameras. The doorman prevented pursuit by the photographers, but Tricia waited to make sure the actress boarded the elevator with no problem before leaving.

  Back on the street, she put the roof of the vehicle down again and sought out the interstate. With traffic too sluggish to allow her to speed, she simply pretended to be dashing away, pedal to the metal of the red Mustang, wind in her hair, far from Layla Devlin. Perhaps, someone else drove with her, someone kind and strong and too good to be true. A horn blasted as she cut off another car trying to change lanes for the airport exit. Rattled, Tricia returned the car and also to earth. Accepting a ride back to the hotel in the agency van, she prepared herself mentally for another night in hell.

  Layla had already entered purgatory by the time her assistant arrived at the suite. Two small bottles of chilled white wine sat sweating and empty atop the bar while the actress, like another dead soldier, lay draped on a brocade divan with her reptilian locks spread out around her head and her body wrapped like a cocoon in the thick terry robe provided by the hotel.

  “Patsy, I have a headache. I cannot go out tonight, but I expect you to see I get to the Sinners game tomorrow in tiptop shape.”

  “We put in a six-hour round trip drive out to the ranch, and neither one of us had much to eat since breakfast. You need food and some aspirin.”

  “Nothing. I had nothing to eat—or drink thanks to that surly servant.” Layla laid a hand across her eyes as if the slight had been personal and never to be forgotten. She did have a long memory.

  “Let me order something from room service. What would you like?”

  “A cheeseburger, rare. I feel the need for red meat.”

  “You got it. Here’s the aspirin. Why don’t you lie down in a dark room until it comes?”

  “I shall do that.” Layla dragged her enervated and slightly tipsy body to the largest of the bedrooms and shut the door.

  Tricia phoned in the order, cheeseburgers for both of them, and helped herself to a cluster of grapes from the complimentary and always full bowl of fruit on the counter. She removed a small cheese and cracker tray from the mini-bar and the little bottle of red wine in the back Layla neglected to find. She’d only had a few mouthfuls at the ranch before her boss summoned her to the barn. Tricia smiled to herself reliving the moment of Layla Devlin covered in shit. This evening might turn out decently after all.

  The house phone rang, and she dove to answer it before the second bell. No need to wake the sleeping python. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Tricia. It’s me, Rex. I’m on my way back to the city and wanted to see if you, the two of you, got home okay.”

  “Pretty risky behavior for an eagle scout to drive and use a cell phone at the same time.”

  “Oh, I have one of those gadgets you set your phone in with a speaker.”

  She imagined his earnest expression and nearly laughed. “Thanks for checking on us. Layla slept most of the way back. I sort of had fun driving the Mustang even if I did have to keep the roof up mostly.”

  “You’d like a guy who drove that kind of car, huh?”

  “Actually, women aren’t as impressed as men think by fancy cars. I went to my prom in my date’s truck, and we had as good a time as Layla and her crowd in the limo. He got me there and back again safely without putting any moves on me, and that’s what counted.”

  “Yeah, because sometimes seniors have sex on prom night. So you didn’t?”

  “I’ve heard that happens sometimes after the prom. You know, Rex, high school kids can have sex any night of the year.” She knew, simply knew, that his ears burned red, but no way would she satisfy his curiosity about her love life, past or present. None of his business.

  “Sure.” He paused, groping for a change of subject. “You coming to the game tomorrow?”

  “Layla has a box. I’ll be there.”

  “Good. I hope I get to play in the game.”

  Tricia heard a sinuous stirring in the master bedroom. The tone of the phone changed as Layla picked up the extension. “I have to hang up now. Good luck, tomorrow.” She dashed the receiver down before he could reply and identify himself. Sweet guy. He deserved her protection.

  “Who was that?” Layla demanded.

  Why lie? She’d spared the man direct contact with the actress who stalked him and that was enough. “Rex Worthy. He wanted to see if we got back to the hotel okay.”

  “How nice he was concerned
about me. Why didn’t you keep him on the line?” Suspicion tainted Layla’s voice.

  “I thought you were asleep, and frankly, you aren’t at your best right now. Save yourself for the game tomorrow. Oh, room service is at the door. Let’s eat.”

  Layla devoured her cheeseburger, bloody in the middle, after setting aside the huge bun. She ate the fixings on one side of the plate, tomato, lettuce, and pickles like a salad, leaving only the onion slice behind. Afterward, she curled around her belly like a boa constrictor digesting a small pig and went back to sleep.

  Tricia slowly ate her burger, cooked all the way through and topped with the extras including the onion, a simple meal, one Rex might enjoy. Where had that thought come from? Wherever, it had to go back into hiding right now. She’d enjoy the rest of her peaceful evening and look forward to the Sinners game tomorrow.

  ****

  Layla’s skybox filled to bursting with everyone she knew in New Orleans and texted in the last few days. Her acquaintances came down heavy on the side of musicians, mostly male, and a transvestite introduced by Brian who did a Layla impersonation and arrived in full, glamorous drag. Layla herself opted for a black team jersey ordered in the smallest adult size and bearing Rex’s red number eight on the back. Never had a sports jersey fit so tightly or shown so much of a chest.

  Layla paraded past the windows of the box numerous times hoping the cameras would pick her up. Eventually, they did. She gave a cheery wave and turned her back to reveal the player she supported. The cameras panned to Rex Worthy warming the bench. His shoulders hunched as if he were protecting the back of his thick neck. On many levels, Tricia pitied him, always a bridesmaid never the bride, though Layla certainly wanted to give him a wedding night, another reason for her sympathy. After his warm-up, Rex had gotten on his knees and prayed. She wondered what he asked of God—for a Sinners victory or simply to be allowed to play.

  With so many others around to entertain her boss, Tricia enjoyed the game. She had a little fetch and carry to do keeping Layla in booze and skewered barbecued shrimp, but otherwise enjoyed a paid respite from her job. The worst part of the day had been untangling and smoothing Layla’s snarled hair into the loose waves the actress preferred. Tricia’s knuckles still smarted from a quick strike with a hairbrush when the comb pulled too hard, a small price to pay for this wonderful day. She sat among the tattooed and the dreadlocked, the druggies and the ultra-talented, largely unnoticed. That suited her just fine.