The Odd Ballerz (38 page)

“And who is this?” his mother said, smiling at Memphis with a question in her eyes. Her hair was curlier than her husband’s, Memphis thought on closer inspection. She had her share of gray hairs—but less than Z’s father—framing her face. Dangly dreamcatcher earrings hung from her ears. She was channeling Earth mother with her tunic-styled shirt over a long, flowing, multicolored skirt and Birkenstock sandals on her feet.

“This is Jones, a friend of mine, who I’m also training. Jones, these are my parents, Tim and Sonora Sloan,” he said.

“Memphis. It’s Memphis Jones, but my friends call me Memphis. Z calls me Jones, ’cause he’s my coach,” she said.

“Your coach? What sport is he training you to play? Tell me it’s not that dreadful football. You still coaching the Ballerz, is that the name of your team of women?” Sonora asked.

“Yes,” Z said.

Sonora shook her head. “Just because men can and do doesn’t mean we should too,” she said.

Z turned to face Memphis. “She’s doesn’t like football. Never has, never will. Thinks it’s a barbaric form of slavery with the owners getting rich at the expense of the players,” Z said.

“That’s not all true, but really, is it safe anymore? All those head injuries, of course I’m concerned. I only have one eldest son,” she said, gazing at her son with that mother’s adoration that Memphis missed so much. Z rolled his eyes. “All that aside, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Memphis, and is he really training you? Alone?” she asked.

“Yes, we’re alone, or I’m alone. Yes, Z’s training me, but I’m helping him as well, with his opening and some general organizing. We’re a trade,” she said, out of the blue nervous and that sounded crazy. She smiled.

“I see,” Sonora said, looking between the two of them, speculation in her gaze.

“Z, what’s for dinner? Z was our family’s most popular cook growing up,” Tim said, placing his hand on his son’s shoulder, smiling at Memphis again.

“I should probably leave you alone with your family,” Memphis said, meeting Z’s eyes.

“No, don’t leave on our account. You should stay, or does Z kick you out after he trains you?” Sonora said, and winked at Memphis.

“Cut it out,” Z said, a playful warning in his voice. “Memphis is staying, if she wants to,” he said, looking at her now.

“I will, if I’m not interrupting your visit.”

“No, we’re here until the opening, that’s plenty of time to see this one,” Sonora said, pointing to Z. “He’ll be sick of us soon enough, no need to rush it,” she said, smiling, lifting her cheek for Z to kiss. Which he did, like a dutiful son.

“Dinner?” Tim asked again, and Z laughed, but they were moving now, over to his home, for a different type of nourishment, instead of the one she’d been clamoring for all day. Memphis looked up and caught Z’s expression, which mirrored her disappointed one, but what could they do? Nothing but go with the flow, she thought. They were almost to the back door now, Z in the lead, Sonora behind him, Memphis behind her, and Tim bringing up the rear.

# # #

Dinner preparation turned out to be a family affair, with Z handing out assignments. Sonora was put on the salad detail, Memphis was in charge of following Z’s instructions of hand-me-this, pass-me-that, before she was given the table-setting duty. Z disappeared to the deck to put fish on the grill. Tim was in charge of drinks, and no, it wasn’t water, Tim said. Z had the good stuff, so he had disappeared out back, wherever out back was. It was somewhere that Z kept his wine stash.

“So you’re helping Z with the opening,” Sonora said, throwing tomatoes into her bowl of greens, now that it was only the two of them alone in the kitchen.

“I am helping him, but working through Marisa. Do you know Marisa?” Memphis said, placing the plates on the table.

“I do. How is she?” Sonora asked.

“Fine, I think,” Memphis said.

“At one time, I’d thought things would work out between them. But we like who we like, don’t we?” she said looking expectantly at Memphis, smiling.

“You must be pretty special, huh? Z doesn’t cook for just anyone,” Tim said, entering the room with four bottles of wine in his hands.

“We’re friends,” Memphis said.

“I hope you’re practicing safe sex at least, friend. Things are very different now and being free and open is not as easy as it once was. All we had in the good old days were the run-of-the-mill venereal diseases, and now, well, it’s all kinds of things you can catch,” Sonora said.

“Right,” Z said, entering the doorway, darting a glance at Jones. “Don’t let her bother you. She’s big into shocking people. Does it for sport,” he said, chuckling, giving his mother a look.

“So you and Tim are here for the opening?” Memphis asked.

“Yes, for the opening, then it’s back to Colorado before the winter sets in,” Tim said.

“You like living in Colorado?” Memphis asked.

“We do. Have you ever visited the state?” Tim asked, removing the cork from the first bottle of wine.

“No.”

“We love it there. Weed is legal. There’s space to move around, live according to your own rules,” Tim said, a huge smile on his face. “Do you partake?” he asked.

“Uh…” Memphis said.

“That’s a no then,” Sonora said, chuckling.

“We’ll just have to introduce you to all that Colorado has to offer,” Tim said, moving his eyebrows up and down. “Know what I mean?” he asked. “Z will have to bring you up to visit next summer.”

“Z will have to do what?” he asked, entering the kitchen again. He was at the refrigerator, removing lemons this time.

“Bring Jones up to visit us in Colorado,” Tim said.

“Right,” he said. Non-committal it sounded to Memphis’s ears. He was headed back out to the grill.

“So what do you do?” Sonora asked.

“I sell insurance,” Memphis said, almost done with the table setting. All was left were the wine glasses.

“Insurance. That’s good, there is always a need for that,” Sonora said, setting the bowl of salad into the center of the table.

“The fish is ready,” Z said, entering with his platter, aromas that smelled wonderful surrounding it.

“Nice table, Jones,” he said, and winked. She smiled, and everyone took their places and it was eating and drinking, mixed in with talk of art and artists and Z’s upcoming opening.

# # #

“This wasn’t the way I’d planned to spend the evening, or to end the night with you,” Z said, after dinner. They’d left his parents sitting on the deck, enjoying his wine. They stood beside Memphis’s car now, with her wedged in between him in front and the driver’s side door behind her. His hands were at her waist, and his gaze stared into hers.

“I’m sure you want some time with your family, and I’m not going anywhere,” she said.

“Stay anyway. They don’t care,” he said, not giving up on her spending the night yet. “They aren’t staying inside. They’re in the house out back.” He said, setting his lips to hers, for a quick kiss.

“You have a house out back? Where?” she asked, pulling away for the onslaught that was his mouth and hella persuasive.

“It’s behind the utility building. Nothing major, it’s just a small two-room guest house.”

“When did you see them last?” she asked to the top of his head.

“Last summer,” he said, his words muffled by the tops of her breasts.

“So this will be your first night with them in almost a year. No way am I interfering with that. I’ll see you tomorrow if you want,” she said, pulling his head up, to meet her eyes.

“You’re killing me, Jones. I’ve waited all day for this,” he said, pulling her body closer to his. She could feel every inch of his desire for her and it was so tempting.

“It’s not just you, I’ve been waiting all day too. Tomorrow for sure,” she said.

“Fine,” he said, and kissed her one last time before he let her go, and she settled herself behind the wheel. He stood there watching her back out and then drive away, and he remained standing for a while longer, following the taillights of her car as it moved down his road.

“She is why you wanted us here early?” his father said, coming to stand beside him. Jones’s car had disappeared around the curve and was no longer in view. “The reason you called asking us to come early,” he said, placing an arm around his son’s shoulders.

“Yes,” he said.

“If you’re serious about Memphis, you have to stop calling her Jones,” his mother said, standing on his other side now. His mother had always been stealthy in her movements. It used to drive he and his brother crazy as kids.

“She doesn’t mind,” he said.

“Your dad and I are closing in on thirty-seven years,” Sonora said, smiling at her husband, who was removing his t-shirt.

Z rolled his eyes. “Don’t start,” Z said.

“Have you told her about us?” Sonora asked.

“Not yet, no, we’re still in the beginning stages of this,” he said.

“You’re serious about her, beginning or not. I can see that,” she said, meeting his gaze. “A mother knows her children, sometimes better than they do.”

“Love, son,” Tim said, pointing to the tattoo over his heart, which had been there for as long as Z could remember: his mother’s name was written across his father’s chest in red script, surrounded by twenty or so tiny red hearts. He’d gotten it touched up at the twenty-five-year anniversary and would do so again at the fifty-year mark.

“More wine?” Tim asked, turning and leading the charge back to the house.

“Yep,” Z said, laughing. He was going to lock the gate after Memphis cleared it. But yes, more wine. And Memphis had been right. He had missed his parents, very much.

# # #

Thursday morning

“Checking in on the invalid,” Charlotte said, entering her oldest daughter’s room with Memphis in tow. Alex had taken over the bottom bunk in Alicia’s room.

“Look who’s here,” Alex said, lying on her side, a book in the bed with her.

“How are you feeling?” Memphis asked from the doorway, while running her eyes over her sister. Relaxed was what she saw. Good. Charlotte with the baby in her arms somehow maneuvered themselves to a spot on the floor, something her sister must have done often, if the ease in which she did it today was any indication.

“Still alive,” Alex said, working to sit up. “She,” Alex said, pointing at Charlotte, “is driving me crazy.”

“Act like a three-year-old, and of course I’ll treat you like one.”

Alex rolled her eyes playfully. “The detective stopped by this morning. Nothing to worry about, he just was tying up loose ends. It’s all good.”

“How’s the nurse?”

“Fine. Been here every day so far,” Charlotte said, smiling. “And since we are on the subject of boyfriends, how’s your coach? Alex told me he asked for your address on Sunday. He stopped by, I assume.”

“He did
and
I’ve met his parents,” she said, proudly.

“What? So this is serious?” Charlotte asked.

“I don’t know,” Memphis said.

“What don’t you know?” Charlotte asked.

“He asked me to get to know him. I think he thinks there is something about him that I won’t like. Any ideas, Alex?” Memphis asked.

“Nope. He just wants to be sure of you M is what I think. Last year with Brittany left him cautious. I don’t really know. Just give it time, that’s the advice I gave to Aarik,” Alex said.

“What about you? How do you feel?” Charlotte said.

“I like him. He reminds me of Pops, and I would have not thought that possible of someone who is non-African American. And no lectures, please,” she said in warning.

“No lecture. But let me say this one thing. Pops was a collection of character traits, right: strong, kind, protective, artistic, and all mixed in with his life experiences, and cloaked under skin that’s brown in color. So why is it impossible for a person with another color of skin to have the same character traits as Pops? When you say you want to marry a man like Pops, you’re referring to the traits that make him this incredible man, right? Well, those characteristics can be found in men of all colors, as they can be found in men with brown eyes or yellow hair. And before you say it, yes there are cultural differences that separate us, that shape how we view the world. But we are all human underneath and we can’t forget that,” she said.

“You have a point. I just never thought about it in that way, but it’s not important to me anymore, and maybe it never should have been.”

“I’m so proud. My babies are finally growing up,” Charlotte said, and they all started laughing.

# # #

Lunch found Memphis sitting at the counter of her agency, eating her lunch in between answering customer calls, filling in for Amanda. She looked out the window at the sound of a car door closing. It was Aubrey, parked in one of the parking spots just outside of her office door, and heading this way.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d talked to her friend. When had she stopped making the effort? Not since the Houston training had she seen Aubrey. She’d thought about calling and telling her of her decision to pull out of the running for Billie’s job, had picked up the phone with the intention of doing so but hadn’t and it wasn’t all on her either. Aubrey had stopped calling too; a silent agreement to move on was what she had started to think they’d both decided.

“Hey,” Memphis said, and smiled. A very pretty woman in a simple summer dress was Aubrey today. “I was just thinking that it’s been awhile since we’ve talked,” she said.

“I know, which is why I’m here, or one of the reasons. I heard that you’re no longer in the running for the district manager’s job. I heard you withdrew,” Aubrey said, taking a seat on the couch.

“I did,” Memphis said.

“Why?”

“I was always torn between leaving my sisters. You know that. And after Alex was hurt, the need for me to be here, and close to them, became clearer.”

“Alex was hurt? What happened?”

“Her last boyfriend returned, looking for her.”

“Is she okay?”

“Yes. It’s a long story, but one with a good ending.”

“Are you sure about pulling out? Who knows when a district manager’s position will open up again?”

“I’m sure,” Memphis said.

“Billie didn’t try to talk you out of it?”