The Sportin' Life (46 page)

When Joanie was fifteen, she met the love of her life, Paul Hamilton, and she decided then he would someday be her husband. Addie spent hours in the bed beside Joanie
’
s listening to plans of marriage, of the children they would have, the wedding, the dress Joanie would wear, the dress Addie would wear, the house they would live in.
“
But then we won
’
t have a room together any more,
”
said twelve year old Addie.

“
You
’
ll always have a room in my house, don
’
t worry, you
’
ll see,
”
said Joanie.

At sixteen Joanie was grounded many times a month, but she always managed to sneak out, spending late nights with the boy whom she called her dream man. Addie grew terrified and decided she must always be on her best behavior. Momsy had to punish her own child, but what if she didn
’
t bother to do that with Addie, what if she decided it wasn
’
t worth the trouble, that Addie wasn
’
t worth the effort? She had to be perfect, the good girl, the one who never needed to be grounded.

Joanie managed to graduate from high school, but she was pregnant and already married, having eloped the moment she missed her period.
“
It doesn
’
t matter at all,
”
she
’
d said to Addie,
“
You can have the big wedding and the fancy dress. I just want to be married.
”
Addie knew that Momsy was disappointed in Joanie, and she tried even harder to be the perfect girl. She got the grades, the scholarship, and she was now the only daughter in the house. Joanie had moved to a little apartment with her new husband.

“
I was so happy there,
”
said Addie to her guides.
“
They were my real family, where I truly belonged. They were what a family should be.
”

“
Then why did you worry so much about being good?
”
asked Cerise.

“
I didn
’
t worry. I just wanted to try harder than Joanie did.
”

“
Why did you have to try harder?
”

“
So I could be a Bonnet, not a Penny.
”

“
But if they were your real family, weren
’
t you one of them?
”

“
It
’
s not like they adopted me or anything you know. I just lived there. I couldn
’
t alienate them.
”

“
So in a way you wanted what they had but felt it wasn
’
t totally yours?
”

Addie nodded.
“
I never looked at it that way. I just wanted to fit in.
”

To one side another scene began, and she was now the mother at the end of the dining table, a relatively new bride for the second time, and The Deuce, Artie Bittman, the husband at the other end. Lissa sat on one side.

“
I saw this woman today in the office,
”
said Artie,
“
And she had this short haircut, very chic, and I was thinking you could get something like that. All that hair is so much work.
”

“
Cut my long hair,
”
protested Addie,
“
No I don
’
t think so. It looks very elegant when I pile it up on top of my head.
”

“
No, sort of makes you look gawky, Olive Oil-ish.
”

“
It does not!
”

“
Well, then, get some colors put in, be a little glam, this ain
’
t the sticks you know. Take the gray out.
”

“
Are you nuts? I
’
m thirty years old. I don
’
t have gray. We
’
re not all forty-nine years old. Why don
’
t you take out your gray
—
at least you have some!
”

“
I
’
m going to cut my hair, Mommy,
”
said Lissa.

“
No you are not!
”
insisted Addie.

Artie winked at Lissa.
“
Don
’
t worry, dollface, I
’
ll sneak you into a salon when Mom is off traveling.
”

Addie scowled at Artie, furious at him.
“
Don
’
t you dare. I
’
m warning you.
”

The winds blew and time passed and she and Artie were in bed. She lay quietly, flat on her back, her eyes closed. She was enraged once again at her new husband, who seemed always to say and do things she despised. Had she made a colossal mistake? Shouldn
’
t she just leave him now, before it got worse? It was a thought that inexplicably produced apprehension rather than exhilaration, so her mind quickly replaced the idea with a list of everything she had to do the next day, and she began to review each task, one by one. Suddenly Artie was on top of her, sliding up, his genitals pressed tightly against her face. Addie squirmed and twisted her neck but Artie wriggled down more tightly. She reached up and pushed against him, trying to dislodge him.

“
Lick it, baby,
”
he said, oblivious.

Addie raised her chin ferociously, hurting him enough to make him rise slightly, then said,
“
Get off me! You asshole!
”

“
That
’
s the idea,
”
he said, massaging himself, but moving enough so that she could slide under him and out.

“
What the hell is the matter with you? How many times have I asked you not to shove your balls in my face? I hate that!
”

“
Yeah well you
’
re the only woman who does.
”

“
You bring me a signed affidavit and pictures of all those women who like it. Hell go find them and do it to them. I don
’
t care.
”

“
You
’
re just frigid.
”

“
No, you can
’
t fuck.
”

Artie flung himself ontop of Addie and roughly reached down with his fingers, crudely opening her, dislodging her diaphragm, then pressing himself inside her. She thought about twisting with all her strength, flinging him off onto the floor, but it happened too quickly, as usual, and anyway, it was more fun to heckle him.
“
Is it in? Is it all the way in?
”
she said in a breathy, insincere voice, then,
“
Well I can
’
t feel it! Why don
’
t you use your pinky
—
maybe that would be big enough to feel.
”

Artie bounced up and down on top of her, slamming himself against her, and in seconds he was finished.

“
Another memorable fuckfest,
”
she said sneering at him.

“
I hope so,
”
he said, reaching a finger inside her, yanking out her diaphragm, and she knew somehow his plan had worked. She would be trapped with him now.

She blushed, watching the scene with her guides, then looked more closely as Artie
’
s face morphed into that of the grizzled man who
’
d paid her mother the gold coins in that other life.

“
Oh,
”
she gasped,
“
Oh my.
”

“
I was always so nervous at the beginning of one of my seminars,
”
said Addie to her guides, watching herself walk up the steps on a large stage, a packed audience assembled before her. Because of her ongoing marital chaos, she was frequently distracted, able now to conduct the seminar with only part of her consciousness, the remainder focused on her disastrous second marriage to a man she despised. His good traits in other areas of life had long ago been obliterated for Addie by the horrible way he treated her in bed. She had only two men to compare, but often she thought of taking a lover, trying on a new partner, just to see if other men were like Uno, or, God forbid, The Deuce. She had consulted an attorney, under strictest confidence, and was contemplating a hasty exit from the marriage.

In the audience a woman was speaking, and the group was merciless. They shouted
“
Bullshit,
”
again and again as she expressed her feelings about being a victim of the pathetic events in her life. She
’
d been abused. Married too young. Trapped at home with small children who ran all over her. Loveless marriage. And she
’
d seemed so tender hearted, so earnest, that Addie found herself being drawn into her comments. In a rare response, her heart caught and she felt a sense of simpatico for the woman. The audience was being too harsh, and she had to do something.

When the cries of bullshit subsided, Addie took the mike.
“
Now just a moment,
”
she said.
“
Sometimes we can be supportive. Not everything is bullshit. This woman has been through a lot. So let
’
s give her a little support. Sorry you
’
re hurting,
”
she said sincerely to the woman, who blushed and continued her tale of abuse and misery. After each anecdote the audience, parroted Addie
’
s
‘
Sorry you
’
re hurting,
’
response.
”

The next morning, Addie was seated in a coffee shop with her publicist, a television blaring in the background. Suddenly Addie stopped, seeing her own face on the TV.
“
Look,
”
she said. The anchor introduced a reporter, the woman from last night
’
s session.

“
This is Carol Caraway, investigative reporter. You
’
ve read about it, thousands of people have signed up for this latest excursion into pop psychology, and here at channel two, we wanted the real scoop about what
’
s going on. We can
’
t say the full name on television, but you know what I mean when I say last night I attended the much touted Bull-blank-blank-blank-blank Program and here is some footage from my hidden camera.
”

Addie watched with pleasure as Carol repeated her story, the audience responded and so did she.
“
This is great,
”
she said,
“
But I would happily have given them an interview.
”

The voice of the anchorman was superimposed at the end of the footage,
“
Now wait a minute Carol, I
’
ve known you for years and you are very happily married. Was anything you said true?
”

“
Not a word, Hal. I wanted to see what would happen. Apparently there
’
s very little psychology at work in the Bull-blank-blank-blank-blank Program. The audience mouths whatever responses Dr. Schlumberger indicates and no real healing is done.
”

“
Therapists are trained to spot rampant lies, aren
’
t they, Carol?
”

“
Yes, Hal they are, but in this case the audience had a better idea I was faking than the doctor did.
”

Addie
’
s publicist left the table in search of a pay phone.
“
Damage control,
”
she mouthed to Addie, who sat there despondently. How would she know someone was lying in a seminar like this? It wasn
’
t like private practice. She would need Artie to call the station, to threaten a lawsuit, if that were possible.