Just Rules (2 page)

Susan spent more than half an hour doing her hair and makeup. When she finished, she stood in front of the mirror in the room and looked carefully at her reflection. It was as if she was looking at another person. She looked very beautiful. She couldn’t help but admit that she was attractive in that dress. But she felt strange. A tingle ran down her spine and her hands were sweating.

A premonition.

Something important was going to happen that night. She sighed and shook her head. Whenever she had a premonition, she remembered her mother telling her that goose bumps meant that something good was going to happen. It was absurd, and she knew perfectly well that it wasn’t true, but there was no denying the fact that that night seemed different.

She looked at her reflection again and tried to be objective. Part of her would have liked to have been able to go to a football game like that, surely Tim would like it.
And so would the rest of the guys who see you walk by,
said a voice inside her head. But it was that same voice that also reminded her that she would lose the respect it took her so long to earn. The world was full of women who had used their physical appearance to get to where they wanted to go, and she didn’t judge them because of it. People do whatever they want in order to reach their objective. But if she wanted to be taken seriously in her profession, it was the last thing she needed to do.

Susan had a Ph.D. in economics and her dissertation was about the flow of finances in the globalization of markets. Yes, as a child they called her nerd, four-eyes, gullible, and an infinite number of variations of those same names. However, when she became a teenager, boys would agree with whatever she said, even without listening to her, just because of her looks, and girls started either to ignore or to criticize her. Neither her father nor her siblings understood why she had decided to go into the world of television if it bothered her so much when people looked at her. But she was convinced that she could deliver the economic news in a more interesting, convincing, and useful way.

That was her biggest dream, although she had never told anyone except for her boss, Joseph Gilmor, probably one of the only real journalists left in the country. One year earlier, Joe had given her five permanent minutes on the nightly news, the most sought after time-slot in television, and if everything went according to plan, in a few years she would have her own economic program. It certainly wouldn’t be anything scandalous, and she wouldn’t have much of an audience, but it was a start.

Little by little, people started to take her seriously, and Susan knew that if she showed up at the Patriot’s dinner on her fiance’s arm as if she were just another trophy girlfriend, she would lose the respect that had been so difficult for her to earn in the first place. She already had to put up with enough comments due to the fact that her boyfriend was a professional football player, and at that, Timothy Delany, Tim, came from one of the most influential families in the United States. His father, grandfather, and great-grandfather had been congressmen, and everyone assumed that when Tim was finished messing around with football he would follow suit.

She put on the earrings that Tim gave her when he asked her to marry him three months ago. They matched the spectacular diamond she wore on her left hand, and she turned her back slightly towards the mirror to check out her dress. Looking again at the reflection of her bare skin, she thought about the face MacMurray would make when he saw her.

“Surely he won’t dare call me Steel Pants to my face today,” she said out loud, touching up her lipstick. She smiled, grabbed a tissue, and puckered up to blot the excess lipstick, and then she put on her jacket.

She walked out of her apartment with a smile on her face, and she got in a taxi that was waiting to take her to the stadium. Susan lived very close to the city center, and if it hadn’t been for the high heels she was wearing that night, she probably would have taken the subway.

What she really needed now was to sit down on the subway and get lost in the faces of the passengers. Observing peoples’ faces was one of her favorite things to do. Sometimes a facial expression, a movement of the brow, or the corners of one’s mouth were worth more than a thousand words. She observed the taxi driver for a second. He was man in his forties, balding, and looked like an Italian actor or some member of the mafia. The stop light ahead of them changed to yellow, and the car in front decided to follow the law and stop.

In the rear-view mirror Susan saw the taxi driver glaring at the other driver, and biting his bottom lip to hold himself back.

Yes, a face could reflect a lot. Tim’s gave off tenderness, and sometimes sadness. And Mac’s…was indecipherable most of the time. Although given that he didn’t have any qualms about saying what he thought of her, she didn’t really have any need to read his facial expressions.

She wasn’t really sure why she had thought of MacMurray at that precise moment, but the truth was that she had never liked Tim’s best friend. She still couldn’t understand how such a conceited, stupid, and superficial man could have practically grown up alongside her fiance.

She had never tried to come between Tim and MacMurray. She wasn’t the type of woman to control her boyfriend’s friendships, but Tim was no fool and he knew perfectly well that his fiance and the captain of the football team couldn’t stand each other.

She still remembered the day she met Mac. She was nervous because she liked Tim and she had the feeling that if his best friend didn’t approve, he wouldn’t call her again. It was childish, but it probably still applied to men of all ages. It was a very tense dinner with a few awkward moments, but Susan thought it had gone rather well…until she came out of the bathroom and heard MacMurray telling Tim not to waste his time with her because
she was fake and stuck up and seemed colder than an iceberg
, to which he added,
a woman who tries so hard to be what she is not, isn’t right in the head.

She sighed; it was stupid that it still bothered her. She and Tim were going to get married and start a family. Mac could go to hell.

The taxi driver continued on slightly hurried, and she instinctively touched her up-do to make sure that she didn’t have a hair out of place. From that disastrous dinner, a year ago already, she and Tim were engaged, so it was more than obvious that Tim had completely ignored his
best friend’s
advice. However, every time she thought about it her back would become drenched with sweat. Why the hell did MacMurray say that? Of all the things that he could have said, why did he call her fake…no one, except she, knew that that was how she sometimes felt. Of all people in the world, why did Mac have to be the one to realize it? Or perhaps it was just a coincidence, a shot in the dark?

The stadium was coming up in the distance and the taxi driver pulled up to the entrance reserved for board members, players, and special guests.

Although Susan was a journalist, she never covered sports, and she felt like it wasn’t fair to use the entrance reserved for the press. And to use it that day would be very bold. Besides, she was only there as Tim’s fiance.

“We’re here,” said the taxi driver before telling her how much she owed. Susan paid, and she walked toward the door that a member of the security staff had already opened for her.

“Good evening, Rob,” she greeted him, upon recognizing who he was. “Has Tim already come out of the locker room?”

“Good evening, Miss Lobato. We haven’t seen Mr. Delany or captain MacMurray yet. You can come in and wait for them in one of the private guest rooms.”

“Thanks, Rob.” She said goodbye to the security guard and gave him smile.

She walked around the winding lower floor of the stadium and frowned when she realized that Rob had simply assumed that Tim and Mac were together. Those two really were good friends. Susan could not help but wonder what would have happened between her and Mac if she hadn’t heard what he said to Tim at that dinner.

Would they be friends? Would they get along well?

She would have never liked MacMurray. Actually, just looking at him made her want to strangle him, but perhaps they would have had a cordial relationship, at least for Tim’s sake. She stopped frowning and smiled again thinking of Tim, and as if she had magic powers, his fiance appeared right there in the hall where she was walking down.

“You look gorgeous,” he said to her from behind.

Susan let out a sigh of relief and turned around.

“You too,” she responded, noticing how handsome he looked, freshly showered and in his suit. She sighed and moved closer to him. “I’m sorry you lost.”

“We played well,” said Tim shrugging his shoulders. “We’ll win the next one.”

“Sure”

Tim placed his hands on her waist and bent down to give her a gentle kiss on the lips.

“I don’t want to mess up your makeup,” he said, pulling away.

“I’ve got lipstick in my purse,” hinted Susan, moving in closer to him.

“Journalists from every sports channel in the country are at the end of the hall, including the one from your program, Miss Lobato.”

Susan looked at him for a second. Tim’s calm demeanor was probably the first thing that attracted her to him when they met, and one of the reasons she agreed to marry him. However, barely one hour before, that same man practically ripped the head off of one of the players on the Giants because he had snatched the ball from him.

Where was all that passion now? Was he saving it for the game?

You’re being stupid, Susana, you shouldn’t have spent so much time reading that novel last night. You don’t want him to kiss you right now.

And it was the truth.

Besides the fact that she had started it, and that she was even flirting with him, Susan didn’t want him to kiss her there in the middle of that hallway where anyone could see them.

“You’re right.” She pulled back and settled for holding Tim’s hand. He returned the gesture and together they walked out to face the microphones.

Whenever Susan accompanied Tim she made an effort to stay in the background, although it didn’t always work because certain journalists insisted on asking her about the wedding. That night, however, it wasn’t the case as everyone was ready to take pleasure in, with more or less elegance, the loss of the Patriots. Tim responded to a few questions, and when a member of stadium security told him that his limo was waiting for them, he said goodbye and pulled Susan toward the exit.

Just like the taxi that she had arrived in, the black vehicle was waiting for them right at the entrance, and they managed to get inside without getting ambushed by a group of fans that practically appeared out of nowhere.

They sat in silence on the way to the restaurant. Tim squeezed her hand on several occasions and Susan smiled at him encouragingly. They made a good team, she thought. They didn’t need to speak in order to know what the other one needed.

At the entrance to the restaurant they had to fight off another mob of journalists, mainly from the tabloids, and the flashes from the cameras threatened to leave them blind. If it had been any other night perhaps they would have stopped and responded to such important questions like where Susan was getting her dress, or if they were going to offer vegetarian dishes, but they went into L’Escalier without stopping. They both let out a sigh of relief when the door closed behind them, and a familiar face immediately came to greet them. It was Mike Nichols, the coach of the Patriots

“Tinman, I thought I was going to have to come looking for you,” he said to Tim, calling him by the nickname he had been given in his first official game. “But now that I see the beauty accompanying you, I’m not surprised that you’re late. It’s a pleasure to see you again, Susan. When are you going come to your senses and go for me?”

Susan smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“Never. Besides, I don’t think that Margaret would like that very much. And you couldn’t live without her anyway.”

Mike laughed to himself and gave her a kiss on the cheek as well.

Susan thought to herself that she had barely noticed a difference between Tim and Mike kisses.

“You’re right, I don’t know what I would do without her,” smiled Mike.

“Without who?”

“Without you, Maggie,” responded the coach, after being interrupted by his wife who came to greet the newly arrived.

“Ah, I already know that. Sorry you didn’t win, Tim. You guys played really well.”

“Unfortunately, the Giants did too,” responded Tim, bending down to greet her with a kiss.

“Well, what don't we enjoy the dinner and forget about the game for a while?” suggested the coach’s wife.

“Sounds like a wonderful idea, Margaret, although I doubt you’ll be able to get them to stop talking about the game,” added Susan.

“Where is Mac?” asked Mike, looking around.

“He’ll be here any minute. He’s taking a shower.”

“Mr. Stubborn didn’t want to get his eyebrow stitched up,” muttered Mike, remembering one of the arguments he’d had with the team captain during the game. “I’m sure he’ll use it as an excuse not to show up.”

“He’ll come, you’ll see,” assured him Tim.

“What did I tell you?” Susan smiled at Margaret, still looking at the two men.

“You’re right, they’re a lost cause.” The woman linked arms with the journalist. “Come with me to get a glass of champagne and tell me when they plan on giving you your own program. The other day I saw you on T.V., and for the first time I understood what it meant to raise the debt ceiling.”

Second rule of American football:

A quarterback can only do three things:

1. Run with the ball.
   
2. Directly place the ball in the hands of a running back.
   
3. Make a pass.
   

Mac was the last one to leave the stadium, aside from security. The cut on his eyebrow had stopped bleeding, although he would certainly have another scar to add to the collection. And the horrible headache he had from temple to temple didn’t let him think, not to mention the two ribs that were crushing his chest because of getting rammed by one of the linebackers from the Giants.