Falling in Love (32 page)

Her eyes turned from sparkly to sad. “Last year, Johnny passed away. Heart attack. And last month, I sold our company for more money than any one person deserves to receive and now thirteen thousand of our people are going to get laid off.” Linda turned to me. “So what did we gain?” She smiled again. “Know what the last thing Johnny said was?” Again, I dutifully shook my head. “‘I’m glad I married you and I’m glad we saw Graceland.’ His last words were about our one day of fun.”

She stared at me for a long moment. “It’s Sherry right?” I nodded. “Sherry, you are young and beautiful and probably much too bright to ever listen to some blathering old bat but I’m going to tell you anyway. Go out tonight and have fun and tomorrow night and the next night. Have fun! Because if you don’t, I promise you that one day you’re going to be my age and you are going to say, ‘That crazy old woman was right. I shouldn’t have had more fun.’”

If she only knew that fun would kill me! But I smiled, “I’ll try.”

“Sure you will,” she laughed. “You won’t but I promise you I will, starting with buying our museum piece here. My friends think I’m insane to do it but I don’t care. I came to a charity cocktail party here years ago and ended up seeing the most beautiful sunset I’d ever known. When I learned it was on the market, I thought I can sit on this terrace with a glass of wine and watch a skyline sunset every evening that the good Lord is willing to give me.” She turned to me. “Sherry, you’re welcome anytime. I promise you it will be a beauty.” She laughed lightly. “And no more preaching. Promise.”

Then Darcy strolled in, smiling, cheerful and, of course, wearing a short skirt. “What do you think?” she asked.

“Sherry and I think it’s too small,” replied Linda. “We were wondering if you have anything larger.” After a moment, we all burst out laughing. “Here’s the deal. Since it is Johnny’s money, I’ve got to honor his memory by at least trying for some kind of bargaining. If they knock five-percent off the asking, I’m in.”

Darcy walked into the drawing room with her cell phone and after a short conversation, she returned to say, “Well, you’ll still have to meet the board but I don’t think that is going to be a problem. But otherwise, it’s yours.”

Linda shrieked with delight and we all hugged. “We should have some champagne or something,” she said, then paused. “I have a better idea. You know that big Broadway musical opening next month. Darcy, if I underwrite the project, do you think that you could get us sort of front-row seats and a table at the opening night party. Just us three. A girls’ night out celebration.”

Darcy said, “I think that could be arranged.”

“Wonderful,” said Linda. “It’s a date.” She turned to me. “Okay?” I nodded and she laughed. “My dear Sherry, at least you’re going to have fun for one night!”

I had been so busy that I hadn’t gone to group in three weeks. I keep meaning to go but after a long week of practicing soccer and working overtime and attending classes by Friday I just wanted to lie in a bubble bath or collapse on the couch with Robie.

But three weeks—and three weekends—was too long for Elaine. She informed me that she was joining me for lunch on Monday. On a brilliant blue-sky day, we perched on a Battery Park bench and munched on deli chicken-salad sandwiches as we watched the strolling lovers and scurrying suits along the promenade. Sparkly sunlight filtered through the trees and the breeze had a salty taste. In the harbor, a tour boat chugged toward the majestic Statue of Liberty.

After dreading Mondays for most of my life, it felt so good to just feel good. I knew Elaine was going to lecture me for missing group but it wasn’t like I was acting out every night. I was finally doing something productive with my life.

Trying to delay the sermon, I asked about her husband. Elaine seemed resigned to Hal leaving her as he had moved out almost all of his clothes and only rarely came home on weekdays, never on a weekend. But Elaine didn’t want to talk about it and the shock that would come when he was finally gone. She turned to me.

“Sherry, it is great that you are doing so many things. I’m just afraid that you may be doing too much. Group really should be a part of your life.”

“I know. I know. I’ll come. But being with these women is almost like group. I love their bonding, their closeness. I love so much being a part of the team. The only problem is that they pride themselves on being party girls and they want me to be one, too.”

“Tell them that you are in recovery. I’m sure they’ll understand.”

“I know. I just haven’t gotten around to it. I will.” I paused for a moment, then offered, “Know what I have been thinking about lately.”

“What?”

“Becoming a nun.” Elaine burst out laughing. “I’m serious. You know I want to teach. Nuns teach. I can do some real good in this world.”

Elaine set her sandwich on her lap. “Sherry, running from sex is not as unhealthy as running to it, but it’s not healthy. I guess you are ready to date again.”

I vigorously shook my head. “No way. It could ruin everything.”

Elaine turned to me. “It could also be wonderful.”

The moment Elaine finished speaking, I was back in fantasyland. Although I hadn’t really thought about ever dating again, suddenly, I could only think about Paul. If only I had met him now, when I was 281 days sober. Ironically, I knew that it still probably wouldn’t work. Not until Paul admitted that he also had a problem. But would he listen to me, his ex-fiancée, the slut? Not likely.

That night when I got home I looked up his number. Maybe I could help him. I dialed the phone, but then immediately hung up.
Get serious obsessive-compulsive Sherry! Help Paul! Are you kidding? You fool, just listening to his voice on the answering machine would probably be your ruin! One bad day, one bad moment, and you are one day sober again! Calling Paul would be that tipping point! You can never see him again! Ever!

My hands shook as I took them off the phone.

But then I thought, what if his message said, “Hi, it’s Paul and Tracie.” Or “Paul and Susan.” If he was with someone then any fantasy that I might have would be over. I hit redial but instead of a sweet loving-couple message I was shocked to hear that the number had been disconnected. Paul had given up his dream home? That couldn’t be! But where would he go? Even if I never saw him again, I’d still like to know that he was all right. Suddenly, I felt so empty because I knew that there was finally no hope of ever seeing Paul again.

The following Friday, I went to group and suddenly realized how much I had missed it, their love, their support. I never wanted to lose that. I needed to hear them sharing their slips. Sure, my life was now the best it had ever been. But how many times had I gone from the best to the worst in just a few hours? Countless times! I was 285 days sober and one hour away from going down in flames.

For only the second time in fifteen years of recovery, Elaine shared that night. Two guests had asked her to share, her children, both twentyish and attractive but both with weight issues, one too thin, the other bordering on obese. They sported supportive smiles that barely veiled their mixed-emotions. As I listened to Elaine recounting the times that she had acted out instead of being with her family, instead of being a mother, I flinched at the pain shown on both hers and her children’s faces. Elaine wasn’t asking for forgiveness but just trying to help them understand why she hadn’t been there for them, and about an illness from which she was still trying to heal.

Listening to Elaine helped me feel better about never seeing Paul again. Paul wanted to be a father but could I ever be a mother? Could I endure doing to my innocent child what Elaine had done to hers, to scar them for life. No way. Besides, I could barely take care of myself, let alone bringing into this world a helpless human who would never ask to live a life with someone always on the edge of oblivion. Paul and his unborn children were better off without me.

The following week, Paula told us to wear our uniforms to practice. I wondered why until I saw Paula talking to a short, chubby guy with a bushy mustache and a bag marked, “Ben Bosco Photography.”

“How about over there?” He motioned toward a clump of trees and we shuffled toward to a shady spot. Everyone seemed to know their places, except me, of course. I cowered in back, wishing that I had called in sick, since I felt like I might vomit. Despite playing well all summer, I was always waiting for the other cleat to drop that would get me banned from the field, and maybe even Central Park, forever. I didn’t want this photo to be a painful reminder to the others.

Darcy, Paula, Christine and Rita were sitting in the front row. Paula glanced up at me. “Sherry? Sit here next to me.”

Was she kidding? Me in the front row? By her? I wanted to beg off but I knew better than to challenge Paula. I was even more dumbfounded when, without a word, Darcy moved over to make room for me. So I slithered down and sat crossed-legged between them, taking the ball from Paula and wanting to hide behind it, or some tuft of falling hair. But then I smiled and it was a real smile. Lousy me, Nobody Johnson, was sitting between probably the two greatest women soccer players ever. I wanted my life to end right there, at its pinnacle. I could call in sick on gameday and still have this photo forever. To walk away, for once in my life not being a total failure.

Ben Bosco thanked us and as the team scattered, he waved to me, “You’re Johnson, right?” I nodded, surprised. “Stay right there,” he commanded. I stood, staring at him. “Hold the ball higher,” he added. “Smile.” I didn’t smile and he wasn’t pleased. I tried a fake smile for his second shot and he was either satisfied or gave up. Then he pulled notebook from his back pocket. “I need some stats for your bio. You know, schools, awards, trophies, caps.”

“Caps?”

He looked at me like I was being coy. “Yeah, caps. You know, international play?”

Somehow I didn’t think that once accompanying Darcy when she scrimmaged with a team in New Jersey would count. “I haven’t played soccer since junior high,” I admitted.

He wasn’t amused. “Look, I don’t have all day.”

Paula stopped stretching and turned to us. “Benny, she just told you.”

He stared at me. “Junior high school? Really?” He tried another tack. “I hear there is a great story about you getting your nickname, ‘Flash,’ but nobody’s telling me it. You want to?”

Rita and Christine walked toward us. “You heard wrong,” Rita said. “We call her Flash because she’s the fastest player on the team.”

They stood staring at him. Christine and Rita were both tall and tough, and Ben was still short and chubby. He held up his hands. “Right. Fastest player on the team. Got it.” He waved goodbye, grabbed his bag and hurried away. Rita and Christine just laughed.

After practice, Paula handed me four tickets to the Championship Game against the Banshees. During the season, several games had been played simultaneously in the Park. Each week the crowds had gotten bigger at our games but that still hadn’t prepared me for the prospect of the Championship Game. The league financed its season by selling tickets to the game, which was being played at a local college’s soccer field. The tickets had sold out hours after they went on sale but Paula assured me, “You can buy more, if you want.”

Buy more? I didn’t know what I would do those four. Ask Elaine or Gregory to come? Adam’s wife, Lisa and their daughters had come to a couple of the games. I could probably give them the tickets. But I was haunted, as always, by the same specter. Why invite someone to watch me totally, inevitably screw up? Letting down my teammates would be enough of a horror. I handed three of the tickets back to Paula. “Give them to someone who can use them.” She shrugged but said nothing.

My lone ticket would be for Dede because I felt guilty for not telling her that I was on the team and had been playing all summer. She chided me for not telling her before and said that she was rehearsing on gameday but that she would try to make it.

Both the Wildcats and the Banshees were undefeated with one tie each, the game that I had personally failed to win. Although I thought seriously of not showing up, I really wanted to see these two great teams play and what better place to watch them than on the field. I decided that I would cruise around the field and stay away from the ball. Even a self-destructive loser like me couldn’t lose the game if I didn’t touch the ball. Both teams had such great players who knew how to make big plays. How could I realistically be involved in any loss, or even more improbably, any win?

But when I arrived at the stadium and saw that sell-out crowd, I lost my breath, and nearly my lunch. It got worse. As I nervously laced up, Paula walked up and confided, “Sherry, if it comes down to a shootout, we’ll probably need five, so the order doesn’t really matter. But you’re kicking last.”

As she strolled away, I stood there, suddenly petrified. How could she do that to me? W
ith all the great clutch players on the team, why would she make me kick last? Why, Paula, why?
I couldn’t believe it.

Yes, I had practiced penalty kicks almost every night, but that was for my therapy not to get better at them. Didn’t she know that? I didn’t even think I should be considered one of the Wildcats’ top five kickers but I sure as hell knew that if the game was on the line there had to a better choice to kick last then me. I never dreamed she’d do something like that! But it wasn’t a dream. It was a nightmare! Suddenly, I no longer cared who won or lost. As long as it didn’t come down to kicks.