Kicks for a Sinner S3 (33 page)

“Billy, where’s our bartender? I want one of those hurricane drinks everyone keeps talking about. First, give me a cigarette and a light,” Mariah ordered.

“No smoking! No smoking around Mrs. Billodeaux,” Nurse Wickersham decreed. “That goes for all of you.” She fixed her former nun’s eye on the group, and they recognized her authority, even Mariah.

“Shit, I guess I can hold out until halftime if I can get a drink. See about it, Billy.”

The game announcer’s voice intruded into the skybox. “Let’s hear it for the New Orleans Sinners!”

The music in the dome ramped up. Thunder sticks boomed together making a stadium already known for its noise even louder. Joe emerged leading his team from the inflatable devil’s head, its maw seething with dried ice. The camera captured the entrance, then panned around picking out honey shots of the cheerleaders wielding their black and red pompoms and fans in the stands to flash on the big screens circling the dome. Stevie and Connor Riley appeared in the survey, stood and waved from their seats in a box on the fifty-yard line.

“Jeez, she still looks like a movie star,” Nell grumped, “and she’s due in two weeks.”

Standing beside Howdy, Joe pointed to their skybox. The camera followed his directions. Mariah rose and pulled Cassie with her. She pressed herself and the girl against the glass and waved deliriously. “Come on, honey. Show Howie we’re here for him.”

Cassie plastered a smile on her face and fluttered her fingers. The camera got an amazingly good shot of Mariah’s cleavage through the glass as the announcer said, “Welcome to our special guests, Mariah Coy, mother of Sinners’ kicker, Howard McCoy and Cassie Thomas, his fiancée, as well as our visitors from sponsor, Hartz Technology.”

Cassie held her smile until the camera panned away. “Oh, Mariah, we aren’t engaged. Someone made a terrible mistake. Howdy will be so upset.”

“In my book, my son is the one who made the big mistake so he has nothing to be upset about. Let him think on it and come to the same conclusion. You can sit down now.”

“I believe I’ll stand until the kickoff.” Hoping her presence would make a difference, Cassie remained pressed again the window.

“Down in front!” Les called. Nell hit him with a thunder stick, and he quieted.

The Falcons won the toss and elected to receive, perhaps counting on Howdy’s weak performance in the pre-season games, but with the chant of “How-dy, How-dy, How-dy” coming from the stands, he sent the ball sailing into the end zone with a slight curl. The receiver took a knee, and the game began on the twenty-yard line.

From the first quarter on, anyone could plainly see Joe’s head wasn’t in the game. His passes failed to connect, and he appeared to have developed a tick in the direction of their skybox.

“I should have stayed home,” Nell muttered.

“That is correct,” Nurse Wickersham said as she waved away a tray of hurricanes gratefully accepted by the other denizens of the box.

“Don’t you worry, Nell, my hubby and his line won’t let them score,” Precious promised.

Her faith in the man often called Curse ’Em and Crush ’Em Calvin did not quite pan out. Despite a ferocious effort, the Falcons got one by him, scored, and made the extra point with ease. As the clock dwindled toward the end of the first half, Joe finally connected with one of his long, long passes into the end zone. The crowd took up the Howdy chant, and the troubled kicker walked out onto the field to attempt the extra point.

In the relative quiet of the box, the voice of commentator Al Harney spoke from the speaker of Simon’s laptop where he watched the game rather than look at the field. “Can you believe it? Quarterback, Joe Dean Billodeaux, is going to hold the ball for Howard McCoy. After a stunning freshman year with a ninety-seven percent completion rate on his kicks, McCoy has slumped in his sophomore season giving a disappointing performance in the pre-season. I’d say that’s true leadership when the head honcho risks a broken finger or his whole hand to steady a shaky player.”

“Well done, Joe. Well done,” his companion, Hank Wilkes replied.

“Oh, Joe,” Nell whispered. She took a deep breath, as deep as the babies would let her. If Howdy choked and injured him, her husband could be out for the season. Joe knelt to receive the snap. Howdy took his place. Whistles sounded. The opposing team used their last timeout to freeze the kicker. Joe stood up and clapped Howdy on the back.

“Ice, baby, ice,” Nell muttered. Cassie, who dropped into a seat next to her by climbing over the back of the chair rather than go around Precious or the grossly pregnant belly, took her hand and repeated the same words with a twist, “Ice, ice, Howdy.”

The game resumed. Joe crouched to receive the ball from the center and place it for Howdy. The kick soared, shanked to the left, hit an upright and bounced back onto the field. Cries of “Doody, Doody, Doody” filled the stadium, none louder than Leslie Webster’s voice chanting the same. Nell rose half out of her seat and hit him with the thunder stick on one side of his face. Cassie pummeled him on the other side. Hurricane-fueled Mariah wobbled over on her spike heels to smack him directly on the nose with her red plastic stick. Over the sound of their swats, Nurse Wickersham yelled, “You are upsetting my patient, sir. I will have you ejected from the box.”

Al Harney’s voice sounded from the computer. “There is a flag on the play—encroachment on the neutral zone by the defending team prior to the kick. Howdy gets a do-over.”

The mayhem in the skybox ceased. Total quiet ensued as Joe Dean said a few short words to his kicker and prepared to hold the ball again. Howdy took his three steps, easily, loosely, hit the football dead on and sent it sailing over the center of the goal post.

“And that, my friends is how it’s done,” Hank Wilkes remarked. “The Sinners go into the locker room tied at the end of the first half.”

Cassie and Nell hugged. The men headed for the buffet, bar, and bathroom. The door to the skybox opened and a server wheeling a trolley bearing a large white cake decorated with pink and blue icing roses entered. In frosting script across its center were written the words, “Good Luck, Nell.”

“Cake for everyone!” Precious shouted her invitation.

Nurse Wickersham tapped Nell’s shoulder. “Bathroom first, then cake. I know you need to go after sitting for so long, Mrs. Billodeaux.”

“Do not.”

“Any woman pregnant with triplets needs to void frequently. We don’t want those kidneys to back up, do we? Now, let me help you up the stairs and into your wheelchair, and I will take you for a nice tinkle.”

“Bring my cake down here.”

“Let’s not be stubborn.” The nurse moved into the space vacated by Precious when the cake arrived and grasped Nell’s elbow to tug her upright. She budged Nell only enough to catch sight of the soaking rear of her patient’s dress. “Did we wet ourselves?”

“No, we did not. I guess my water broke when I laid into Les. Don’t make me go to the hospital. I want to see the second half.”

“I am calling EMTs. We must go now, Mrs. Billodeaux, for the sake of your babies.”

“Honey, we’ll save y’all some cake,” Precious promised. “You know you gotta go take care of this. We’ll be over to the hospital right after the game.” She lent her bulk to getting Nell back into the wheelchair.

“Don’t tell Joe,” Nell pleaded. “It will throw off his game even more, and besides he’ll just say I told you so.”

Cassie bounded up the steps after her. “Do you want me to go with you since Joe can’t be there? You shouldn’t go through this alone.”

“No, stay here for Howdy. See him after the game. Promise me.”

“I will. Stay safe, Nell, you and the babies.”

Nurse Wickersham placed herself behind the chair and began pushing it from the suite. “You will not be alone, Mrs. Billodeaux. I shall be with you every step of the way.”

“Wonderful,” Nell answered glumly as they exited.

Les Webster sauntered up the stairs careful to avoid the dribbles Nell left behind on the carpet. He insinuated himself between Meredith and Mimi who nibbled on the celery sticks accompanying the platter of hot wings. “Great, that bitch is gone. Can you believe how she treated me and everyone let her?”

Meredith arched an eyebrow at him. “Pregnant women deserve some leeway. I have a six-year-old daughter myself. You cannot imagine the pain of birth. My pelvis is narrow, you see.”

“Looks fine to me,” he said, ogling her crotch. “How about that offer to take on the French Quarter after the game? I extend my invitation to both of you lovely ladies.

Mimi dipped a celery stick into the ranch dressing and held it up. “Do you think this is lo-cal?”

Les answered her. “This is New Orleans, sweetheart. I doubt it.”

Mimi shook off the dressing and dried the celery stick with a napkin. Still considering if she had wiped away all the calories, she waved the vegetable in his face. “I don’t think we’ll be available after the game. Joe Dean promised to take us to the victory party and introduce us to his friends. We’re practically family. Our new half-brother is nearly engaged to his adopted son’s mother.”

“Hey, the way Joe is playing, there won’t be any victory party. So how about it?”

He found himself standing in the considerable shadow of Precious Armitage. “Joe says there’s gonna be a victory party and he will take these ladies to it, you better believe it. Now, step away from the chicken wings if you don’t plan to eat none.”

Les slinked back to his seat as the players returned to the field. Cassie went back to her post by the window for all the good it did. The third quarter passed scoreless with Joe still off his stride, Brian Lightfoot called upon to execute a couple of well-placed punts, and no work at all for Howdy. So far, Nell wasn’t missing a thing.

THIRTY-THREE

The EMTs met the wheelchair bearing Nell Billodeaux at the base of the elevator. They lifted her onto a gurney, placed a pad beneath her hips and elevated her head with a pillow. Unfortunately, the half-time crowd milled in the corridor. Lacking a siren or air horn, the techs shouted, “Make way, make way!” calling all the more attention to Nell who felt as mountainous in size as Rev Bullock.

“Poor thing,” one female spectator bearing a baby bump the size of a small cantaloupe said. “Say, isn’t that Joe Dean Billodeaux’s wife? I heard it’s going to be triplets.”

Instead of dispersing, the crowd closed in to gawk. Nurse Wickersham growled, “Back off!”—and they did.

As they levered Nell into the ambulance, she waved to the crowd and put a finger to her lips. “Don’t tell Joe until after the game, okay?”

The gawkers made a murmuring mass promise and one shouted, “Good luck, Nell.” Still, she worried about the fans wearing Falcons shirts who kept their lips shut tight as the white doors closed and the siren blasted an opening in the traffic.

They went up one highway ramp and down another, pulling into the emergency bay in short order. The obstetrician she’d been seeing weekly since her arrival in New Orleans arrived at approximately the same time and rode up to the labor room with her. As he had promised, no way would he miss the delivery of the Billodeaux triplets. Beneath his white coat, he wore game day red and black.

“Any labor pains?” he inquired.

“Not really. A few twinges, lots of drippage.”

“Good. Let’s get you prepped for surgery and attached to the monitors. We’ll see how those kiddos are doing.”

“Remember, we’re doing this with an epidural. I want to see my babies born.”

“I haven’t forgotten. We’ll set that up as soon as you’re prepped. A couple more questions first. Have you eaten today?”

“Not much. Some tea and cereal for breakfast around eight. I have no appetite anymore, but they are saving me a piece of my baby shower cake.”

“That’s nice. How about bowel movements?”

Nurse Wickersham answered for her. “At eight-thirty-five a.m.”

“Still, we should do an enema.”

“That should take care of your need to void as well,” Nurse Wickersham said with some satisfaction.

“I don’t need to… Oh, never mind!”

Nell endured the necessity of having a nurse shave her pubis and the cramps of the enema, obeyed all of the anesthesiologist’s instructions as he inserted a tiny tube into her spine and began feeding the numbing drug into her system. As soon as they finished, she asked, “Could someone put the game on the TV while we wait for this stuff to kick in?”

Nurse Wickersham turned on the set. The doctor checked the monitors and drips. “Okay, Nell, I’m going to scrub for surgery. See you in a few minutes. Nurse, will you be joining us? If so, get your gown and booties on and do the same.”

“Absolutely, doctor.”

Nell, her eyes fixed on the screen mounted above the examination table where she lay, commented, “Still tied, but the Falcons have the ball.”

“On the count of three,” an orderly said, and they transferred her to a gurney, trundling her down the hall to the delivery room where Dr. Stewart waited in his pale green scrubs and light classical music played in the background. “Could someone put the game on?” she asked as they lifted her on to the operating table, hooked up the monitors, and checked the drips again.

“I wouldn’t mind that myself,” said the doctor. “But no getting your blood pressure up or off it goes.”

“I promise I will not get excited.”

The nurses arranged a drape over her nether regions, now numb as a log, and the doctor made his incision while the game distracted Nell despite the awful suctioning sounds occurring now and then. Early in the fourth quarter he lifted out the baby girl and held her up for her mother to see. Puny as either of Nell’s premature twins at birth, she made a tiny mewing sound like a newborn kitten.

“So small,” Nell murmured.

“Good size for a triplet, over four pounds, I’d say. Now let’s go after her brother.”

And the Falcons scored with a field goal. Nell’s blood pressure rose, and suddenly she became aware of Nurse Wickersham at her shoulder taking her hand and saying calmly, “Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth, now again. I am quite sure Mr. Billodeaux can handle the situation, but he will not be able to cope with your loss or that of the babies. Breathe again. We are calm. We are serene.”