Field of Schemes (34 page)

“No!” I shouted so loudly I shocked Maggie into silence. Lil grabbed my hand to bolster me. “Answer my question right now.” The crowd began murmuring, asking who I was and what I wanted. Only one person recognized me as Steve’s wife, but he was quickly corrected by another, who pointed out that I wasn’t Chinese.

“As I said, I will be happy to entertain all questions after—”

“
Entertain
my question?! You’ll
entertain
my question?! That is the most accurate thing you’ve said all night, Maggie Jennings! This whole event is about entertainment and the glorification of you and your self-important family!” There was another gasp and a few muffled giggles. Maggie stood frozen at her podium, holding her hand to her chest in horror. “Don’t you even recognize me, Maggie? It’s Claire. Claire, Steve’s wife. Not Clara.
Claire.
Claire Emmett with two T’s, Steve’s widow. And this is his family,” I said, gesturing to the people around our table. My outrage was mounting as I had the rapt attention of everyone in the room. “We came here to see why you started a foundation in Steve’s name without checking with any of us first. We wanted to let you know that Steve didn’t die of lung cancer. He died of lymphoma!” The crowd began murmuring quite loudly now. “I would have told you this if you’d bothered to call us—even once—over the last two years to see how we were doing. So you can stand up there like the almighty lung princess and pretend you cared about my husband, but I’m here to tell everyone that you are a complete and total fraud!” The crowd gasped. “Really, do any of you believe this ruse?!”

I heard a squeaky voice at another table comment, “I didn’t know Maggie was Russian.”

I laughed. “Listen, you’re all here because you care about finding cures to serious illness. Please give money to the Cancer Society or the Lung Association because the family of Steve Emmett is completely hurt and appalled by this sham foundation.”

Though the guests muffled their responses, I could tell they were with me. So could Maggie, which is why she began her sugary protest. “Claire, honey, I know this has been a difficult time for you, but please let’s not lash out at those who love you most.”
What?! Until three minutes ago, she thought I was a Chinese woman named Clara.

“Grab your coats,” I demanded of the table. Lil and Dave stood first and the rest followed suit.

“Please, honey, let’s not let grief divide us when we need each other,” Maggie said.

“Save it, Maggie!” I said, reaching for my wrap. “I’ve got bigger idiots than you to deal with. My kid plays club soccer.”

As we all exited toward the lobby, Dave broke the tension. “I hate those charity dinners,” he said. “Same old thing every time.”

“You told me to say something!” I said to them.

Lil smiled. “I didn’t mean right that second. Sweetheart, you’ve got a lot of gumption these days, but we really do need to work on your timing.”

September brought the team two wins and two losses in the regular season games. Mimi blamed the girls’ weight and sluggishness on the field, and continued urging parents to demand fitness training. She even brought a petition to practice, which half of the parents signed. This brought Preston to the field to have a parent meeting at the following practice. He explained that Gunther was the coach and whether or not to have additional fitness training was his call. “Nothing is stopping you from running laps with your kids on your own time, but the coach makes the decisions for the team,” he said lightly. “By the way, does anyone know about the nine-year-old goalie at Turf? Natalie Something. I heard her family isn’t happy over there. Anyone know those folks?”

The girls ran their plays, worked hard and looked good in their first four games. The Normals were satisfied, but the angry dads and their flame fanner were livid with Gunther’s alleged incompetence. They were at their worst when we were down a goal or two in a game. When we were ahead, things were okay, celebrative even. While we no longer had Raymond on the sidelines shouting, “Nooooo mer-saaaaay!” Leo recycled an old hip-hop lyric and sang, “Whoop, dere it is!” whenever our girls scored.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” my mother added.

Blake nodded approvingly as if the only thing he might add would be, “Jolly good.”

Ron stopped provoking Dick after the last game in September, when our inebriated soccer dad charged the field and jumped on the referee’s back, wrestling him to the ground. His counterpart from the other team ran out onto the field, which everyone assumed was to pull Dick off of the ref, but then he began kicking Dick. Really hard. I had mixed feelings about this.

Obviously, they were both ejected from the game, but oddly Mimi did not feel compelled to address this in her post-game email. I would have thought this was worth at least three exclamation points.

What also became part of the regular season routine were the sideline pep talks from the dads. Anytime a girl was on the bench, her father would kneel beside her and start telling her everything she did wrong. Of course, none of the Normals did this, but Dick, Bobby, Leo, and Paulo could always be counted on to deliver to his daughter a bottle of water and an utterly uninspiring discussion about how she was blowing the game for the team. Paulo’s were the most tolerable because I couldn’t understand what he was saying, but I didn’t need to speak Italian to get the gist of it. I’d just watch Giovanna’s posture deflate as her father’s words drained her expression of every ounce of joy. Often, pools of tears collected in the girls’ eyes right before they had to go back on the field. Sometimes these dads wouldn’t even wait until the girls were off the field to criticize them. After Kylie missed a penalty kick, Dick shouted, “That’s what you get for hesitating!”

I don’t know how I managed to turn into a Girl Friday for Raymond and Leesha, but I seemed to be visiting Target with two shopping lists a lot in the fall. Once, Rachel and I made our delivery at around dinnertime, so Leesha invited us to join them for the most succulent pot roast with sweet potatoes and corn I’d ever tasted. With every visit, Raymond softened a little toward me, but the day I won him over was when I brought Leesha a box of nicotine patches instead of her usual carton of Lucky Strikes. “You’re sweet, Claire!” she said, visibly moved as she looked at the smoking cessation kit. “Look Ray, she got the patches in brown.”

“What do you want?” Raymond asked me.

“I’d like Leesha to stop smoking. I don’t know if you’ve heard the new Surgeon General’s report, but they say that smoking may be related to lung cancer.” Raymond smiled and nodded. “Listen, some people aren’t all that sympathetic when smokers get lung cancer, that’s all I’m saying.” I filled them in on the Maggie Jennings dinner after Violet and Rachel left the table to play a video game. They listened agape.

By October, the team parents had divided like the Red Sea. There was the Dick camp, who wanted to overthrow Gunther and replace him with Mimi. Then there was the other half of the soccer team parents, who just wanted to show up at games, cheer for the girls and be done with it until the next Saturday. Unlike the Soccer Freak faction, the Normals had other activities scheduled on Saturdays before and after games. Lo and behold, they felt no need to return home immediately and review game tape with their child’s private trainer. We appreciated soccer for what it was and had absolutely no desire to stage a coup d’état and instate a new regime. Frankly, I liked Gunther. Rachel’s soccer skills had improved immeasurably, and most importantly, she belonged to a team at a time in her life when she needed it most. She had a place where she belonged, and I had zero interest in upsetting it.

Not only did this team bring Rachel the purpose and confidence she so desperately needed, it offered me a lot too. Parents’ lives can get so busy that developing and sustaining adult friendships can be tough. Through the team, I had a standing date with Darcy and Dave, which was time I treasured. I enjoyed chatting with Nancy, Jessica, and the Jennifers; loath as I am to admit it, I found Gia surprisingly enjoyable to have around. She was like a little pink buoy in a stormy sea. Soccer also brought together my family in a way I hadn’t expected. “Red Card Barb” was at every single game and didn’t flinch when the alcoholic fathers gave her the nickname. Heaven help me, they liked her.

The team’s October games looked a lot like September’s. They won some, they lost some, and most could have gone either way because both teams fielded excellent players who seemed to be improving every week. Just as our girls perfected a set play, so did the other team. Each game was a nail-biter as opposed to the easy road to the medals we had in our first two summer tournaments. The regular season games were also unlike the pummeling we took from the teams we met at the Patriots Cup. Our girls looked solid, but it seemed unlikely that we were going to win the state championship this year. The clearer that became, the crazier Mimi got.

“This is so cool!” Rachel said as she held the December edition of
Garb
featuring my “fist full of lira” necklace on the cover. “When does it hit the newsstands?”

“Mid-November,” I replied, trying to sound nonchalant. Secretly, I was thrilled that the following week my design would hang from the neck of an ultra-hip senior. More than the cachet of having made a necklace that would be seen by millions of women was the seal of approval from one in particular.

“So, next week every grandmother in America’s going to be looking at your necklace?” Rachel asked.

Letting down my guard, I smiled coyly and said, “Only the ones with taste.”

“That’s so cool, Mom. You should do jewelry for teens.” Ah, the ultimate compliment—acceptance by a group of Justin Bieber fans.

The following week, my mother called. “You are never going to believe what’s going on here this morning!”

“Becks and Posh broke up?!”

She laughed. “Really, guess whose phone is ringing off the hook this morning?”

“Wow, I’ve got to hand it to you, Mom. Whoever thought your phone sex for old folks would take off?”

“Oh, you are just full of hilarity this morning, aren’t you? Be serious for one moment.”

“Just tell me, Mother!”

“Subscribers are calling to find out where they can get lira necklaces. Apparently, quite a few women have good memories of pre-euro Italy.”

“Wow, that’s amazing. I’ll bet you feel pretty special having the only one.”

“I’ll be wearing it every day for the next few weeks,” Barbara said.

“That’s good.”

“Claire, aren’t you going to ask me what happens in a few weeks?”

“You’ll get sick of it?”

“I certainly will,” my mother said gleefully. “And ask me why I’ll grow weary of it in a few weeks.”

“Because you’re a fickle fashionista who’ll have moved on to setting the next trend by then.”

“You’re partly right,” she said. “It will be a trend by then because everyone will be wearing one. Your lira necklaces are going to be the ‘it’ item of the holiday season. Kathy’s assistant has been taking orders all morning. I finally had to remind her that she works for
Garb
, not you, so she set up a domain name and all the orders are rolling over to your email address.”