It's Not Like I Knew Her (11 page)

“If Mister Big Britches wants to throw his money away, then I'd be a fool to stop him.” She rammed her hands into her pockets and glared at Silas.

He frowned. “What's wrong? I thought .…”

“Nothing, that's what.” He was no better than Stuart.

She followed Silas and Clara Lee onto the Tilt-A-Whirl. Silas squeezed in between her and Clara Lee, and just like that she was back to hating him.

J
odie stopped on the sidewalk outside the A&P and stared in disbelief at the poster taped to its door. Did she dare believe her own eyes? The so-called famous Texas Cowgirls basketball team, featuring ten of the tallest, most beautiful redheads Jodie had never imagined, was coming to Catawba. Did these women truly play full-court basketball against men and beat them eighty percent of the time?

She'd played varsity basketball since ninth grade and piled up better numbers in points scored and rebounds than any player on the boys' team. Since her play was against girls, her record was simply dismissed, while the county weekly touted Silas as a dribbling, passing, and scoring machine.

Girls' games were considered amusement for the fans arriving and settling in before the boys' games. No one seemed troubled that the assigned male coach spent the second half of the girls' games in the boys' locker room to assist in readying the boys to play.

Red had always arrived for the tipoff of her games and had not stayed for the boys' games. He never spoke of finding fault with how things were, but she chose to believe his leaving was a form of silent protest. When Silas complained of Red's slight, she'd shown him his picture in the local paper. Because he was the only one who said it was unfair that her picture never got in the paper, she worked at not ripping the paper to shreds.

Jodie sighed and stomped away, deciding these women were not for real, but only pretended to play—were laughingstocks. She'd heard enough of that crudeness. She refused to pay good money to hear more.

But wait, fool, she reasoned. What if the Cowgirls were for real? Did she dare risk missing her one chance to watch these women play? She'd buy a sucker's ticket and take her chance. She could always walk out.

She ran back to the store, glanced up and down the block, and noted that the store clerk was occupied slicing bacon while gossiping with a customer. Jodie eased the door open, reached a hand inside, and ripped down the poster. Her loot concealed under her shirt, she ran.

T
he night of the game, Jodie walked into the packed gym, bursting with noisy excitement. She looked for Clara Lee among those crowded onto the top bleachers and glanced about for Stuart Walker, relieved to find him nowhere in sight. Clara Lee, wearing the pink sweater Jodie liked, stood and waved.

The rumble at the fair had put an end to Stuart's public bullying, but not his pursuit of Clara Lee. He'd gotten way smarter: he now bargained his family's wealth and social position with Clara Lee's status-conscious parents. They were now invited to social events at the plantation-style home of Judge and Mrs. Walker, Stuart's grandparents. Pressure from her mother meant Clara Lee wore Stuart's class ring on a gold chain around her neck. When Clara Lee was with Jodie, she slipped his ring into her purse, and they pretended she wore the ring Jodie hadn't been able to afford.

Out on the court, a team of Catawba's best former high school stars horsed around, taking wild shots, playing to the crowd's smug certainty of their victory. Yet the uniforms of the players were drenched in sweat and, in spite of their clowning, Jodie sensed they were nervous.

“Hey, Jodie, what's so funny?” Clara Lee looked around.

“You'll see soon enough.” She took the seat next to Clara Lee, their thighs intentionally touching.

“Did you get the car?” Clara Lee blushed.

“Said I would, didn't I?” Jodie wished the anticipated pleasure of being with Clara Lee in the back seat of Red's Dodge didn't always make her feel lightheaded. Clara Lee had allowed their kisses, and tonight she'd promised more.

“Mother thinks I'm going to the Dairy Queen afterwards with Stuart.”

“If that's what you want, I can't stop you.” She hated the sound of his name in Clara Lee's mouth. There was something troubling in the way Clara Lee bitched about having to see him while arching her back and thrusting her breasts forward the way she did just now.

“No, Jodie. You know it isn't. Why are you always so jealous? It isn't as though I can tell Mother the truth about us. Please don't be mad.”

The heat of Clara Lee pressed against her was too much. “Okay, okay, but don't talk to me about him. Not now or ever. I don't want everything spoiled.”

It was true that Clara Lee couldn't tell her mother about what they did whenever they were alone. But why not stop pretending? Give that dickhead, Stuart, back his damn ring and tell him to his face that he should peddle his family's money and reputation elsewhere.

Clara Lee didn't have the nerve to stand up to her mother, and that bothered Jodie. In her most judicious moments, she feared Clara Lee didn't have what it took to be full-time queer. Unlike Clara Lee, Jodie accepted being queer. She was all in, and for her there was no taking it back.

Jodie leaned forward in her seat, and what she heard and saw made her eyes sting with more than excitement. Male dominance in the game of basketball was about to be tested, and Jodie Taylor would be a witness to its demise.

The loudspeaker blasted “Orange Blossom Special” in breakneck tempo as ten redheaded wonder women ran onto the court. In addition to their flaming hair, the women wore boleros, western hats, and holstered pistols over their skimpy uniforms. Jodie swelled with newfound pride, feeling as though she, too, took the floor to the jeers of the crowd.

On the other end of the court, the men watched, jaws dropped, as the women shed an article of western fashion with each spectacular shot. The stunned crowd sucked the air from the gym and exhaled in unison, the place exploding in wild cheering. Jodie stood with the crowd, her eyes filling with tears. No doubt these women were physical marvels—but would they play?

By the end of the third quarter, the men's team was up fifteen points on the Cowgirls. Jodie's earlier hopes had sunk with each uncontested layup, and when the taunting began, she thought about leaving. But she worked to push her doubts to the outer edge and wished for a miracle.

At the start of the fourth quarter, Jodie saw the big center signal the team, and the Cowgirls picked up their defense to a mind-boggling level, getting turnovers and storming back on fast breaks, demonstrating incredible stamina and skill. The shocked men lagged, stopping to grab the cuffs of their shorts on each made Cowgirl shot. They could only watch as the women closed out the game, dribbling and passing the ball to open shooters who made shots Jodie had never imagined possible. They soundly whipped the exhausted and humiliated men by eighteen points.

The dumbfounded crowd filed out of the gym, some shaking their heads in amazement while others claimed the Cowgirls were men dressed as women. Others mocked the women as freaks of nature, and Jodie swore she'd never again succumb to the false notion that strong women were not true women but nature's botched creation. Her proudest moments came from the bitterly angry, who mumbled
damn queers.
She prayed it was true.

“Jodie, come on. We have to go. Stuart's walking this way,” Clara Lee pleaded.

“Yeah, okay, in a minute.” Jodie watched until the last woman ran off the court, ignoring Clara Lee's urging, savoring the sweetest moment of her life.

“Jodie, aren't you coming?” Clara Lee's impatience grew, but Jodie had made a decision.

“You go ahead.” She didn't know how to tell her, or even how to go about doing, what she was thinking, but she was sure it was her only shot.

“Go without you?” Clara Lee's mouth set in a hard pout.

“Please, I've got to do this thing. Can't you just wait in the car for me?”

“But, do what? Where are you going?”

Stuart Walker crossed the gym floor on forbidden street shoes, and he called to Clara Lee.

“Jodie Taylor, you come with me now … or I swear I'll go with him.” She reached into her purse, and maybe she searched for his ring.

“I can't, Clara Lee.” Jodie leaped down the bleachers and headed for the women's locker room. She'd patch things up later.

She stationed herself outside the locker room door, and within the hour, the door pushed open. The team's center and best player emerged. She'd shed her uniform, and her face was wiped clean, her hair in a ponytail. She wore jeans and a red team tee. Jodie approached and opened her mouth, but none of the smart words she'd practiced came out.

“Hey, sugar. You enjoy the game?” The big woman looked Jodie over, not in the way she was accustomed to, but in a way that made her proud.

“Yes'm, I sure did. I've never seen anything like you ladies. Your playing, I mean. I'm going to learn that fade-away hook shot.” She wanted to speak the lingo, impress the star. One big woman to another.

“Where'd you get all them pretty black curls?”

“The black is surely from my mama. And, uh, the curls … I'm not all that sure.” She shrugged, “Daddy, I think. That's if he's really my daddy.” Jodie felt the back of her neck burn, and she stared at her high-tops.

“Had me one of those daddies. But my hair's out of a bottle.” She laughed easily.

“I want to join up. Be a Cowgirl … for real, I mean. Don't wear makeup, but I would if that's what it takes. Anything to be one of you.” She thought about the skimpy uniforms and swallowed hard.

“You're a little young, aren't you?”

“No. I'm seventeen, but easily pass for older.”

“You any good?”

“Yes'm, the best. Around here anyway.” If tooting her own horn was what it took, she'd do that too.

“That right?” That her tone wasn't mean gave Jodie courage.

“I know you've gotta hear that a lot. But I'm not blowing smoke up … ah, hell. I mean, I'm sorry. Guess I'm too nervous to make sense.” Jodie stood like the fool she was.

“What did you say your name is?”

“Jodie. Jodie Taylor.”

“Well, Jodie Taylor, why not take that big foot out of your mouth and let's go back in the gym. Show me what you've got.”

“Yes'm. You bet.” Her throat swelled with all the tears she swallowed. Her world had spun about, and every wrong she'd ever felt got itself righted.

She took to the court, fixed her sight on the rim, and drove hard to her right hand. In the blink of an eye, the lane closed, and she extended straight into the big woman's armpit. Her thunderous block sent the ball flying out of Jodie's hand and into the bleachers.

Jodie scraped her injured pride off the floor, and someone tossed her the ball. She walked to center court, gritted her teeth, and again dribbled hard to the basket. When she sensed the big woman's powerful body coming strong to her right hand, she cross-dribbled to her left and the path to the rim opened, not like the Red Sea, only barely enough. She laid a sweet spin off the board at a perfect angle. The ball dropped through the net, and cheers rang out from other players who'd drifted into the gym. Jodie felt her knees give a bit, but she stayed upright.

The big woman slapped her on the back. “Damn, Jodie Taylor. I do believe you've got game.”

Jodie gushed, “Then you're saying I'm good … good enough?”

The woman sighed, stepped back cradling the ball on her hip bone. “You're good, kid.” She paused, shifted her weight, and added, “Maybe even good enough. But the odds of you making it … well, that's a long shot.”

“Yes'm, I get that and I thank you for your time.” Jodie turned to walk away, fearing if she tried to say more, she'd go sissy, embarrass herself further. She felt the pain of every time she'd had to hear “not good enough.”

“Jodie, hold up.”

Jodie turned back.

Lou Palmer reached into her back pocket and handed Jodie a tiny card. “Should you ever get to Dallas, look me up.”

Because there was no one to share her triumph, Jodie sat alone in the Dodge, and from the glow of the dashboard lights, she read over and over the business card clutched in her hand. Someday she'd play for the Cowgirls.

T
he mid-day heat had sucked the last of the overnight relief from the tiny bedroom, and Jodie, stripped to her underpants and a white tee, kicked at the limp sheet entangling her long legs. A slow smile formed on her lips as she remembered.

Tonight, she and Clara Lee would graduate from high school, Clara Lee as valedictorian, Jodie distinguished only by her height, second to Alfred, a gangly boy of odd proportions. Her first pair of glaring white pumps, a formidable dare to her clumsiness, teased her from atop the chifforobe. The white cap and too-short gown hung from a door nail.

A timid knock signaled Hazel's dutiful summons, and she called through the closed door. “Mama says you're to get your trifling ass out of bed.” Giggling, she whispered, “Her words, not mine.”

“You can tell her I'm not picking peas today.” Jodie had long suspected that Hazel got off on repeating their insults.

“I bet you're doing that nasty thing.” Hazel whispered.

“And you'd better not bring your hoity-toityness in here. It's catching, you know.”

“Oh … you're … you're a sinner, Jodie Taylor. And God punishes the wicked.” Her footsteps sounded her rapid retreat.

Jodie smiled, picturing Hazel's pudgy cheeks burning with forbidden excitement. She flipped onto her back and stared at the stained ceiling, a canvas of overlapping water marks, her thoughts turning to those she was never completely without—her impending escape with Clara Lee.