The Odd Ballerz (25 page)

“Now again and then again, until I tell you to stop. And I want to be able to hear you counting. If I walk away I expect you to continue counting,” he said.

“So how long would you like me to walk and count?” she asked.

“Until the end of training—seven thirty,” he said, and smiled. He had on his shades now, and it was back to the usual of her not being able to read him or his thoughts.

“Okay,” she said.

“I’m going back for my water bottle,” he said, turning away. He walked about ten feet and said, “I can’t hear you,” before he turned around and resumed his trek to the utility building. She continued walking and shouting now. Up and back the ladder and then up and back again, three times up and back before he returned. Then he just stood, silently drinking his water and watching her move up and back and up and back and up and back.

Someone called him on his phone and he answered it, giving her his back. She lowered her voice, continuing to count, just softly to herself so as not to disturb him. He turned around mid-conversation and said. “I can’t hear you, Jones,” and so she was back to counting loudly and walking forward, counting and walking backward.

Ninety minutes exactly from the time she’d started, not including the setting up or putting away, but ninety minutes of walking back and then forward and counting, and she was done for the day.

“Good work, Jones. You good at getting these back over to the utility building?” he asked.

“I am.”

“Good then. See you Wednesday,” he said, before turning away and heading to his home.

# # #

Tuesday

Alex wasn’t sure what to think about Aarik, beyond
persistent
, which wasn’t always a good thing. She’d learned the hard way about persistent men. Pushy with an extreme need to have their way was how she viewed them. She’d met plenty and it was hard not to think the same of this one. She exited the elevator, made her way down the hall for her first date with the handsome Aarik. Her feelings were all over the place. A mix of anxious, weary and just a little bit of excitement, and all pushing hard against her constant companion—wariness.

She saw him standing beside the entry, leaning against the wall, dressed in jeans, a polo shirt, and some casual styled footwear on his feet. He straightened when he saw her and smiled. He was handsome, this one; height challenged, her preferred way of thinking about him, useful at dampening anything she might have started to feel.

“Hi,” he said when she reached him.

“Hello,” she said, not smiling but meeting his eyes. His smiled widened, like he had some secret.

“What’s with the clothes?” she said, addressing the absence of his scrubs.

“I’m off today?” he said.

“What?” she asked, surprised. “Why didn’t you schedule this for some other time?” she said.

“Today is good. Come on. Let me feed you,” he said and stepped aside, allowing her to precede him into cafeteria. She sighed, loud enough to be heard in Siberia, wanting him to know her feelings on the subject of having to eat lunch with him. He smiled at her back and followed her in.

“Whatever you want,” he said, handing her a tray.

“Right,” she said, sighing again. It was over to the meal section to pile her plate high with whatever. The meal section was the most expensive part of this station deal that passed for lunch here. She usually brought her lunch from home, carefully prepared for an athlete in training. No problem; she hadn’t planned on eating any of it anyway. It was all for Jersey, a recent transplant to the Austin area—weren’t they all—and a fellow employee. His given name was Josiah, a friend who had given her his food order, as he was always short on cash and long on hunger. She felt a presence beside her and looked up. It was the nurse.

“I’m in the mood for a hamburger. I’ll meet you at the front register,” he said. He didn’t say a word when he looked at her overcrowded tray.

“Sure,” she said, watching him head over to the station that catered to those that like their food fried. She continued on with the business of ordering for Jersey.

# # #

Aarik accepted the plate from the woman behind the counter who had prepared his hamburger and fries, and proceeded to the register, where Alex stood waiting for him as he’d requested. Her plate was stacked high and falling over the side, with enough food to feed two or three people. A difficult woman to get to know and why was he doing this? he asked himself, and not for the first time.

Something about her, the long lines and burnished brown skin of her, had captured his attention the first time he’d seen her, diligently moving a mop over the hall floor. He gave his debit card to the cashier and didn’t say anything until they reached the table.

“I forgot something,” she said, after they had taken their seats. She returned moments later with two Styrofoam containers in her hands, the kind used for take-out. He watched as she proceeded to transfer the food from her plate to the containers.

“You aren’t hungry?” he asked

“No. These are for a friend,” she said, meeting his eyes, wanting to be clear.

He smiled. “I get it,” he said, smiling back at her. “You don’t want to be here, wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t pushed.” He chuckled.

“That’s correct,” she said, continuing to scoop the food from the plate into the container.

“So who is the friend?” he asked, pointing to her plate. “More than a friend, or it is me you’re not interested in?”

“He’s just a friend, and it’s you.”

He laughed. “I’m divorced. I’ve been a nurse for going on six years now, and I have a son. I also have full custody of that son.”

“That’s nice,” she said, closing the lid on container number one.

“I need help,” he said, and met her eyes. He smiled again. “He’s seven, and through no fault of his own, I’m the coach for his Pop Warner football team. There are nineteen other seven-year-old boys and one girl, for a total of twenty-one children that I’m responsible for turning into football players. What do you think so far?”

“I’m listening,” she said.

Aarik internally smiled. “Only one of my parent volunteers has any football knowledge, and he’s almost too old to be helpful. Can you feel my predicament? I’m in serious need of an assistant coach,” he said, watching her, and he could tell the exact moment he’d hooked her. He internally smiled again. “I could use someone who knows the game as well as I think you do to help me with practice.” he said.

“What would be required of an assistant coach?” she asked.

“You have to make practices, take on either the offense or the defense, I don’t care which. I can do either-or, so if you have strength in one, I could do the other. You have to complete an application and pass a background check. Is this something you might be interested in?”

“When is practice?” she asked.

“Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday nights, from six to eight o’clock. Our first practice was yesterday.”

“Is this the reason you’ve been trying to get my attention?”

“No, I actually wanted to get to know you in another capacity, but you’re not interested in that, are you?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so. I do need a coach. I’m willing to get to know you in that role, as a friend and fellow coach,” he said.

“I’ll think about it,” she said.

“Sure, take as long as you need. If you decide, then you can complete the application online. The league is through the Citywide Optimist club, and everything you need to know about anything is on their website, including the application and the form to request a background check,” he said.

“Thanks for the offer, and thanks for lunch,” she said, standing up now.

“You’re welcome,” he said, watching her walk away, carrying those food containers, before he allowed himself to smile, the one he’d been holding back. He was a patient man, or he’d learned to be. He liked what he seen of her so far: working hard, diligently around here, taking her job seriously. She took pride in her work. Very few did these days. He noticed her right off because of that and not her looks, surprise, surprise, but he’d loved those too. No, he’d learned a thing or two on his way to becoming a dad, about what was important and what was not.

He was okay with taking the long way around, and the long way was required for Alex, he was learning. He hoped she took him up on his offer. He really could use some help with coaching. He was taking this fatherhood thing seriously, being the father he’d wished for growing up. It was all about second chances for him and if he was lucky, maybe Alex could be his second chance at making a long-term commitment to a female. He hoped so.

# # #

Wednesday

“So far so good,” Memphis said out loud as she made the turn into Z’s place on day two of her training. She was here fifteen minutes earlier than yesterday: ten to change and five to set up ladders. He’d told her to be on the field and ready to work by six fifteen and she meant to be ready, set up, and go.

She’d been counting since Monday. Every time she touched her foot to the ground, she’d count. The early onset of becoming a habit: and, one, two, three, four, her feet following as fast or as slow as the count in her head. She found when she concentrated on the counting, her thoughts were filled less with the idea of falling and nerves or whatever else, and maybe that was the plan, to focus her mind.

She followed his drive to the larger parking space as it was closer to the restroom where she needed to change, and closer to the utility building, the second stop to pick up equipment before heading to the field. She was locked and loaded on her drive to be better, her first priority and the reason she was here, regardless of what the other parts of her wanted. Out of her car and one, two, three, four, she started moving toward the restroom.

# # #

Z was in his studio, standing underneath one of the opened garage doors when Jones pulled in. His studio was another square-shaped building with garage doors on either end for ventilation. He stood under the one with the unobstructed view to the parking lot and the restrooms. A nice break in his day was Jones, more of a change to a different type of work, followed by dinner and back over here to put in a few more hours. Thirty minutes ago the alarm on his cell had gone off, as he’d programmed it to.

He wanted to be done by the time Jones arrived, didn’t want to be in the midst of some glass blowing that he couldn’t break away from. Thirty minutes was more than enough time to clean up and be available to watch her make her way to the restrooms to change.

“Who is that?” Carl asked, coming to stand beside him, eyes glued to Memphis, who was currently marching to the restrooms, her bag in her hand.

“A woman that I’m training,” he said.

“Training to do what?”

“Play football.”

“Do you get to play with her? That’s what I’d do if I was the one doing the training,” Carl asked.

“No. She’s training to play for the Ballerz,” Z said.

“Hope she doesn’t get hurt. It would be a waste to have all of that get hurt,” Carl said.

“It would, wouldn’t it,” Z said, chuckling, the both of them staring and quiet as they watched Memphis enter the restroom.

“What days do you train her?” Carl asked.

“Why?” Z asked, moving his gaze from Jones, who’d reached the door, over to Carl,

“I want to be here,” he said, chuckling. “Just kidding, boss,” he said to something he saw on Z’s face, looked an awful lot like protective. Whatever it was had him vowing to keep his thoughts about the woman to himself from now on. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Sure,” Z said. Carl worked for him part time when he needed extra help, which was more often now that his lighting work was starting to take off.

He scanned his space, checking to make sure his shop was safe before he was free to leave. Twenty minutes of cleaning up and checking emails, and he was finally heading over to meet Jones. He cleared his studio door, looked over at the fields, and found her well into the ladder drill, walking backwards and yes, he could hear her counting. A good little soldier was she. He smiled.

# # #

She’d given up waiting for Z. She had changed clothes, retrieved and set up the equipment, run her laps, done her stretches and jumping jacks, and she had yet to see him. She waited at first at the top of the ladders as one minute had turned into five, and she decided to start without him. She didn’t need him to count and walk up and back.

“One, two, three, four, and one, two, three, four, and one, two, three, four…” And on and on it went until she reached the end and then it was backwards. “One, two, three, four,” she said, counting aloud for the umpteenth time, and “One, two three, four,” and there he was. “Finally,” she said. He was walking across his backyard now, minus his shirt, which caused her to slow down her counting and her walking, ’cause his was an excellent torso: firm, defined, hard, and browned by the sun, and one that needed to be looked after and where was he going? she wondered, ’cause it wasn’t towards her.

To the pool, she decided, continuing to watch him, which was a bit of a surprise or maybe not, hard to know with him. It was hot out here, and probably inside his shop as well with those furnaces, so she could understand the desire to cool off. It’s where she would go, if anyone invited her. He stopped at the edge of the pool, and his jeans were coming down, pushed by his hands until they reached his feet. What lovely limbs you have, she thought, watching as he rid himself of his jeans. He stepped out of them, and all was left was his underwear. And what the hell, if he wasn’t losing those too, and diving in before she could see anything, or see if there was anything worth seeing.

Three minutes of his arms moving him down the length of the pool and back before he was lifting himself out, his back and nice guns turned toward her. Exceptional buns too, she noted as they came into view. He was out of the pool and reaching for a towel and why so fast she thought. He wrapped it around his hips and was now making the short walk across the deck and inside. What the hell, she thought, turning her attention back to her drill, ’cause she had stopped doing anything besides watching him.