Falling in Love (27 page)

For the next hour, Darcy passed faster than I could handle but then Darcy and my feet got into a rhythm and I began getting the ball back to her fairly quickly. But as she bent the ball around an imaginary goalkeeper, Darcy winched in pain, fell to the ground and clutched her knee.

“Damn it. Damn it. Damn it,” she kept muttering. She looked up. “I’m sorry, Kid.”

Darcy tried to get up but was falling back down when I grabbed her, heaved her arm over my shoulder and wrapped my other arm around her waist. “Mind if we walk like this?” she asked. “I would rather that someone thought I was drunk or gay than injured. These trees have eyes.”

“Sure,” I smiled. If Darcy only how many times I’d walked like this, both drunk and gay!

She managed to limp over to an elegant limestone skyscraper where the immaculately-tailored doorman in a long formal coat helped her across the stately marble floor to a brass-door elevator that zoomed us up to Darcy’s high floor. Inside her incredible apartment, Darcy hopped around her kitchen as I entered the expansive drawing room with lovely but comfortable-looking antiques arranged near an ornate fireplace. “What do you want to drink?” she asked.

“Water,” I whispered, as I stood stunned. The large picture window framed the gloriously vivid colors of Central Park below. “Can I get it?”

“I’m fine,” she insisted. “Just damn angry at myself. I’ve got to stop doing too much.” She let out an exasperated sigh. “Except I may not even be in New York. Christ! What am I going to do?”

“You’re moving?”

She hopped toward me with a cold pack and two bottled waters. “Maybe.”

“Does Paula know?”

Darcy tossed me a bottle, then plopped onto the sofa and set the cold pack on her knee. “I don’t want to talk about it.” She stretched out her leg and winced in pain, crying out, “Fuck!” Darcy looked up. “Listen, Kid. Would you mind getting me a couple of things?”

I was soon sailing around her apartment getting her cell phone, some painkillers, other pills and some pillows as Darcy moaned softly. But whenever I entered a room I had to pause to admire its sheer beauty. Each room’s furnishings, plants, paintings, pictures and breathtaking Central Park views amalgamated into an awesome scene. I had never seen anything like it. Every room looked like it could be in a magazine and I suspected that each one probably was, more than once.

“Your apartment is incredible,” I said as I handed her a capsule of pills.

Darcy smiled. “It’s going to get better. This building has the best penthouse on the West Side and one day, I’m going to own it.”

“But this apartment,” I breathed. “It’s, well, perfect.”

Darcy laughed. “This is New York. You can buy taste. I bought everything in here except for one room. For that one, I worked my butt off.”

I figured it was the room with a brass plaque outside it marked, “B.S.T.”

“Can I look?”

Darcy winced. “Knock yourself out, Kid.”

While Darcy worked on her knee, I entered the room and was quickly blown away. The walls were lined with newspaper clippings that began when Darcy was a cute little seven-year-old “star” of the summer soccer camp.

More clippings chronicled her career:

“Darcy Marsh Voted the State’s Top Junior High Soccer Player.”

“Warriors Win Second Straight State Title. Marsh Scores Four Goals.”

“Marsh Leads Tar Heels to Third Straight NCAA Title.” Between the clippings were glass cases adorned with dozens of imposing trophies, most inscribed Most Valuable Player.

As I walked along the gallery in awe at what Darcy had accomplished, I paused at the end to stare jealously at the
piece de resistance
, a final clip announcing, “Darcy Marsh Awarded the Hermann Trophy for Second Straight Year.”

Then I turned a corner and stared stunned at the magnificence of the last huge case containing the two shining Hermann trophies. The Hermann was an almost unattainable trophy, given to the best college soccer player, male or female, of the year. A player had to not only be a great but had to have basically a perfect year. Darcy had not only won it, but she had won it twice.

I could barely breathe as I walked out. Darcy’s water bottle was empty. She had switched to red wine and was texting on her cell phone. “That is amazing,” I whispered. “You’re amazing.”

Darcy flicked her wrist as if the room was filled with meaningless knick-knacks. “My mother did all that.”

“What’s B.S.T. mean?”

“My mother says it stands for ‘Brilliant Soccer Triumphs.’ I think it’s ‘Blood, Sweat and Tears.’ I never go in there. All I would see is what is missing. The only one thing I ever really wanted.”

I sat down across from Darcy, again mesmerized by her incredible view. Darcy set down the cell phone and rubbed her knee as she stared out at Central Park. She continued, “I saw my first Olympics when I was four and became obsessed with standing on that podium while wearing what Paula calls the greatest necklace in sports, that gold medal. Everything I did was to get there. I made my first Olympic team when I was sixteen. The first of four teams.”

She paused a moment and then said softly, “You can be in the best shape of your life for three years and eleven and a half months. But it’s meaningless if you’re injured during those damn two weeks every four years. And if you get a bullshit bone chip or a bum knee or some other bout of bad luck, you have to do it all over again. Four more years of wear and tear on your body.”

Darcy sipped her wine. “Sometimes I wondered if I was just self-destructive.” She turned to me as if looking for an answer. “But if I was, why didn’t I disintegrate when I had three national championships on my shoulders?”

She turned and again stared wistfully out the window. “Sometimes you just have to admit that life truly isn’t fair and you have to accept it and move on.”

She looked up at me and laughed self-deprecatingly. “Darcy the philosopher. A bitching bitch, really.”

She kept staring at me. “Did you know that Paula is the all-time leading NCAA scorer?” I didn’t know that but I wasn’t surprised. “Do you know how many more goals she scored than me?” Darcy held up one finger and whispered, “Yup. Uno. How upset do you think I am about that?”

“If you had a couple of shots bounce off of crossbars, I’d say probably quite a bit.”

Darcy smiled. “I’ve hit my share of bars but I could care less. Really. Christine is second behind me on the NCAA all-time assist list. Guess how many more I have than her?” I had no clue and shook my head. “Double.”

Darcy looked back at Central Park. “Every time I touch the ball, I’m looking for the best shot and I don’t care who gets the goal. Nothing matters but winning. Everyone on the team knows that, especially Paula.” She turned again to me. “That’s why she recruited you.”

“What?”

“You didn’t know?” Darcy laughed. “How many times have you seen Paula kick a ball that didn’t go exactly where she wanted?”

“Never,” I admitted.

“So you think it is coincidence that out of a whole practice field, she kicked the ball straight at you.”

“But what if I had never played soccer?”

“Then you would have jumped out of the way.”

I stared at her, completely clueless. Darcy smiled through her pain. “Paula can watch someone walk across a room and tell you within two-tenths of a second what their time is for the hundred. When she saw you, she stopped practice.”

My terror over Paula Harper expecting someone as worthless as me to help her win games must showed on my face. Darcy added, “Don’t tell her, okay?”

I nodded.

Darcy looked at me for a moment and then said, “Listen, Kid. I’m sorry I’ve been such a bitch. I’ve got a lot going on right now and just before the season starts is the worst for me. I’m fine after the first kick and I usually get stronger as the stakes get higher. But I can’t stand this last bit of waiting. Now, four days before showtime, my knee’s fucked up. Again!”

The phone rang and Darcy tapped a button on it. “What are you doing there?” a strong cheerful voice resonated across the room. “I was going to leave a message.”

“Twisted my knee,” Darcy spat.

The strong voice dropped into concern. “You all right?”

“Yes. Just mad as hell and—” she stopped. A long pause ensued. “Someone’s here. Can I call you in half?”

“That knee iced?”

“Yes, Richard. Bye.”

Darcy tapped the button again and lay back on the sofa, holding her head. “I’ve been the worst bitch to him, a sweet adorable, loving guy who last weekend asked me to marry him.” She swigged her wine again. “He just got transferred to London and wants me to go with him. He claims that after five years at one of the huge estate agencies, selling castles and chateaus, I can come back here and own New York.”

She let out a long sigh. “But I can’t leave the team. Richard doesn’t get it. He was an All-American who walked away from a multi-million dollar signing bonus from the Eagles and I won’t walk away from ‘some little summer park league.’” She shook her head. “He’s hugely successful because he spends every minute of his life figuring out how to go the farthest the fastest.” She looked up at me. “Sorry. I’m sure I’m boring you.”

I shook my head. “More like fascinated.”

She laughed. “Right? By my fucked-up love life? Good luck.” She took another drink. “I swear everyone on the team has messed-up love lives. Paula adores her husband but he’s Tim Wood.” I’d heard the name before but couldn’t remember where. “Timmy Wood?” Darcy was dumbfounded. “Two-time Cy Young winner? Probably three after this year. He grew up in the Bronx and only wanted to play for the Yankees. So he gets drafted by San Francisco and then traded to the Dodgers. He’s finally a free agent next year and the Bombers have already said they’ll give him a blank check. But right now, Paula sees him about four months a year. We all seem to have long-distance loves. Except Christine, of course. Her husband’s a circuit judge who comes home every night, and cooks
her
dinner.” She turned to me. “So how’s your love life, Kid? Got a guy?”

I shook my head.

Darcy nodded approval. “Keep it that way as long as you can. Less complications.”

If she only knew, I thought. Darcy was wincing every time she moved. “You going to be okay?”

She nodded. “I’ll probably have to tell Paula that I’ve got a big closing tomorrow. She’ll know I’m lying but I’ll be ready on Saturday. If not, I’ll shoot that blasted knee up one more time.” She winced again. “God, I hate this but I think I hate that damn brace worse.”

“I can understand why,” I offered. “You have the most beautiful legs I’ve ever seen.”

Darcy turned to me and smiled sweetly, as if I were a child. “Kid, that has nothing to do with it. I spend every day of my life playing or preparing to play the game of soccer. That knee brace is a reminder that every year I am getting closer to the day when I can no longer play soccer at the level I want. And then I’ll have to give it up.” She stared down at her knee with watery eyes and then closed them. “Mind letting yourself out?”

I didn’t mind at all. “Call me if you need anything.”

When I got to the door, Darcy said, “Thanks, Sherry.” It was the first time she hadn’t called me, ‘Kid.’

“For what?”

“Listening.”

I went over and embraced her. She gave me a warm, loving hug. “See you on Saturday,” she said.

That Friday night over coffee, I asked Elaine, “Did my mother play soccer?”

“They didn’t have soccer when we were kids,” Elaine replied. “She played basketball. She was good but not great. Now, your Dad. That’s another story. He was all-state in football when he was a junior. They used to call him the Cheetah because nobody could catch him. But that next summer, he was working in his dad’s auto shop and a car slipped off a jack. Broke his leg in four places. He was never the same after that.”

On Saturday, Paula told me before the game that I wasn’t ready yet and to just watch and learn. Before the game, we all huddled together, held hands and chanted, “Play hard. Play fair. Play to win. Have fun!”

Darcy played a tremendous game, scoring two goals with two assists as we beat the previous year’s last place team, the Pink Panthers, 7 to 1. Whenever someone made a great shot or an awesome pass the Wildcats would raise their arms to them with their hands in a fist and their thumbs up. It was the ultimate Wildcat salute.

I stood in awe at seeing the Wildcats’ precision. They were a run-pass-shoot machine that was continually on the attack. Several of the attacks were planned plays. When they had the ball near mid-field, Paula would call an audible, like a football quarterback, either a synchronized attack or else a fake attack to keep the other team constantly off balance. I didn’t see how I would fit in. They were just too good, just too far out of my league.

After the game, everyone went to Callahan’s, the league’s party bar. I begged off by saying that I had to go to a birthday party, which was true. To celebrate our birthdays, Dede took me to a famous Broadway restaurant, where she was treated like royalty. Dede told funny stories about her new celebrity life and said that the only downside was that Colin, her boyfriend, couldn’t handle her success and they had broken up. But she hoped that one day soon she would find her true love.