So Different (5 page)

“Uh, we…”

Mariah leaned in close. “Let me tell you what. You can stay and eat or you can leave, but what you can’t do…is fuck with the help. You feeling me?” she said, eyeing the leader, whose eyes had gone wide and round.

“You can’t talk to us like that,” the leader replied.

“You know what? You’re right,” said Mariah, straightening and picking up the menus from in front of each of them.

“Thank you all for coming. Come back when you’ve picked up a manner or two,” she said, stepping back. They sat there for a minute before Mariah said louder, but not as loud as to be considered a shout, “Now,” which startled them out of the trances they’d all gone into.

She watched them gather up their bags. The leader, trying to play it cool and maintain some semblance of leadership, took her time, giving Mariah the evil eye. Mariah stood closer to her. She jumped back a little, and they left. Mariah was on the heels of the leader the whole way to the door.

That was fun, she thought, watching them exit through the door. Should she have done that? Probably not, but, fortunately, Joshua’s place provided some of the best food in Austin.

This place, owned by her brother, was a good fit for her. Her attitude would never get her fired. She didn’t pull it out too much, because most people here were nice, but sometimes a girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do. She hated bullies in any shape or form, and mean girls were bullies hiding behind prettier-than-usual faces and forms. She walked back over, grabbed her apron, tied it behind her back and smiled at Amber. Back to work it was.

* * *

Last Saturday in February

Brass Knuckles vs. Thunderstorm

A couple more streets and he would be there. He was now stopped at the light at Hanover and Seventh. Crap. There were a lot of people heading to the roller derby and he was running late, squeezing into the line that was snaking its way into the parking lot. Michael had agreed to meet him here. He said he’d been here before.

Adam waved his thanks to the driver of the minivan for letting him in. That would teach him to be late. He’d thought derby and thought a hundred people max; he’d been wrong.

He had no idea the Rail Yard existed, as he’d been absent during the time of its construction. This part of town used to be more than a little run down. It still was, except for this structure standing tall, two blocks away: the new home to Austin’s Flat Track Roller Derby.

He checked his watch. He still had ten minutes before it was due to start. He entered the main gate and was ushered to a parking spot by the attendants with their flashlights.

He locked up his car and made his way to the front of the building, taking in the sheer size of this place, followed the signs. Not the best design for a sign—someone had hand-painted the arrow on it in bright red, with a very large brush.

The roof was the same blood red. It looked as if it was made of some kind of crackled metal with large, matching metal pillars holding it up. He walked from the newly paved parking lot, following the crowd as they made their way to the front of the building. He checked out the railroad tracks, which weren’t even thirty yards away. Some of the buildings surrounding the railroad were dilapidated. Whose idea was it to build this here, he wondered? Although, truth be told, the new building fit in with the railroad tracks surrounding it.

Interesting crowd, lots of multi-colored hair, tattoos, and punk rock attire. He’d seen enough dog collars, spiky belts, and combat boots to last him a lifetime. He felt out of place, dressed in jeans and a polo-style shirt. He should have gone more for a grunge look, although for some of those around him the grunge look was real.

He made his way to the front door. The line was really long now, and he was glad for his pop’s tickets and for his dad’s call before he’d left home, making sure he was going. He told him there was a special line and seating for ticket holders, and not to be stupid and stand in the wrong line.

He looked around for signs of Michael—not here yet. He found his ticket line and headed toward it.

“You didn’t realize the roller derby was this popular,” Michael said over his shoulder a few minutes later. Adam turned to face him. He hadn’t heard him approach.

“Had no idea,” he said, taking in the two females accompanying Michael.

“This is Allison,” Michael said, introducing Adam to a brunette.“Allison is here with me, and she brought along her cousin, Tiffany. We call her Tiff for short,” he said.

“Hi,” Adam said.

“You said you had four tickets. No use wasting them, not when there are two beautiful women who wanted to join us,” Michael said, smiling at the two women.

“Yep. Guess not,” Adam said, giving Tiff the once-over. She had turned away, her back to him now. “You all ready? I think it starts in a few. We better head in.”

“Sure,” they all said, following behind Adam as he led the way to the door and handed the tickets over.

“The season ticket holders’ seating is near the edge of the rink,” the ticket-taker said.

“Thanks.”

It was packed inside and loud, borderline rowdy, Adam thought, looking around, taking a moment to get his bearings. The inside resembled something of a mini arena, similar to a football stadium only much smaller, with a roller skating rink at its center instead of a football field.

Standing not two feet away was a roller derby team, lined up against the wall, talking and watching the crowd as they made their way in. He checked them out, an odd mix of oddly colored hair, tattoos, and snug-fitting clothing. The blonde in line was attractive and closest to his predilection; the red head next to her was too red to be real. The face underneath the hair was one he recognized, though; Mariah of the bruises from her boo, his father’s patient. She stood talking to a large woman, presenting him with an incredible side view of her body.

That fire-engine-red hair matched a fire-engine-red bustier. He knew the name of that particular piece of clothing courtesy of his clothes horse of a sister. It was cinched up tightly, making her waist appear tiny, and her breasts…well they’d caused the air in his lungs to leave him for a second. He cleared his throat and followed the curve of her waist downward. A red plaid short skirt—shorter than he’d seen in…he couldn’t even remember. It was short enough for him to see some of what was underneath; red panties made of some silk-looking material, covered with tiny white hearts, almost covered her ass.

Oh, Mariah of the black eye and many bruises, of the hand cupping then rubbing his butt. He still couldn’t get the feel of that out of his mind, her arm wrapped tightly around his neck, nice, lean body pressed against his.

He cleared his throat again and scanned her legs; lovely, defined brown legs covered in red fishnet hosiery, knee-pads, and skates. He looked up to find her eyes on him now, facing him, an eyebrow lifted upward, and a quirk of a smile on her lips.

She’d crossed her arms and stuck them under her breasts, shifted her weight to her left hip, continuing to stare at him in that what-are-you-looking-at way. Yep, Mariah of the bruises from her boo. She was something else indeed, and so not a good idea for him—then or now.

Michael hit him with his elbow to get his attention.

“There are our seats?” he said pointing to a roped-off area. The sign read
SEASON TICKET HOLDERS
. Adam led the way, glancing back again at Mariah one last time. She still stared back, arms still under her chest, her earlier look still in place, with a little smugness thrown in there, too.

Michael nudged him in the back to get him moving again, now laughing.

Their seats were nice—plush, even—and arranged stadium style. They were closest to the action, right behind this group of people currently seated on the floor, who would be in the line of fire if the skaters fell off the track. Another thirty to forty rows of seating continued upward.

This place would make a nice venue for a small concert, Adam thought, spotting four seats at the end of a row. He went in first, followed by the two women, and then Michael.

There was a band playing some rock tune on a stage in one corner of the building. To his right was the line for the concession stand, a sign proclaiming Lone Star Beer as the best beer in Texas and the beer of choice for the roller derby.

“Allison and I are going to make a beer run,” Michael shouted as they stood up to leave.

Adam stood and reached for his wallet.

“No, dude, I’ve got this,” Michael said, stepping aside to let Allison out before him. Adam watched as they made their way to the concession stand.

He sat back down and turned to find Tiff looking at him, appreciation and calculation in her eyes. He’d seen enough of that to recognize it when he saw it. He smiled. He’d just escaped one just like her at least on the outside—blonde, slim, and polished. He was full, thank you very much, he wanted to tell her. He remained quiet for a while as the picture of Mariah paraded through his mind. He cleared his throat again. Tiff touched his arm, interrupting his wayward thoughts.

“Is this your first time here?” she asked.

“Yes. You?” he asked.

“No. I’ve been here a couple times. I really like the Brass Knuckles,” she said.

“Brass Knuckles?”

“The team of women you were just admiring,” she said.

Caught that, did she? He smiled, not one to pretend.

She laughed. “Brass Knuckles are one of the four derby teams that skate here. Part of the WTFTD—Women’s Flat Track Derby Association,” she added to his blank look. “Flat track. See the floor. Not like the banked ones that used to be on TV,” she added.

“The Brass Knuckles and Team Thunderstorm will be competing against each other tonight. I like them. They have a good jammer named Mariah. She was a rookie last year,” she added, and although Adam didn’t have a clue at all about derby, he understood that Mariah was on the Brass Knuckles team and this was her second year. He smiled. Tiffany returned his smile.

“This is the second official game of the season. Team Thunderstorm has dominated the league for so long, I wish the Brass Knuckles or someone else would win this year. Doubt it, though. Too much strength and skill on the other teams,” she said. She’d scooted over closer to him to talk into his ear and be heard over the din.

“Good to know,” he said.

“If you have any questions, feel free to ask me,” she said.

They sat and listened to the music and looked around at the people present. It took all kinds, Adam thought as he watched, taking it all in. He eagerly accepted beer from Allison and Michael upon their return.

Ten minutes later the train roared through the track next to the building. It must have been a regular occurrence, because the crowd inside stood and started stomping their feet. If he’d thought it was loud in here before, now he couldn’t hear himself think. He looked at the women and Michael next to him and laughed. They were standing, stomping along with everyone else in this crazy building. The whistle of the train blew as it made its way past the building, shaking the structure as it rumbled by.

Three minutes later it was gone and the lights in the building went down. Red and blue spotlights came on, twirling around the rink. He could see women lined up in skates again. The music was all hard rock as the women made their way onto the rink.

* * *

Mariah made the loop around the track, laughing, hoping she’d get the chance to talk to Junior D.D.S. after the bout. He was surprised to see her, remembering the way he’d checked her out, heat in those eyes behind his glasses, heat that had warmed her in spite of being the “victim” of domestic violence.

She’d worn her most provocative outfit tonight with him in mind. His father had called her again, the old trickster, and she’d recounted the routine she’d used on Adam, minus the hand on his ass and her body tucked into his. That had been for her benefit alone.

She rounded the track during the team’s warm up, ready to play. All thoughts from her week vanished in the sport that was derby. Her derby name was Mariah Scary, a tribute to one of her favorite singers, Mariah Carey. A lot of women went for tough derby names, almost like an alter ego. Her regular ego was enough, and not much different than her normal day-to-day you’re-getting-on-my-nerves outlook.

She loved it when the train rumbled though, shaking the floor along with the derby fans. She loved the loudness, the freedom from censure of it all. She loved this place, this sport, the women, the fans; people so much like her, individuals to the bone.

Jimmy Deranged was in charge of the mic tonight, decked out in orange with black stripes, same pimp shoes and hat as last time. Mariah and her team fell into line, speeding around the track as their individual names were called. The fans screamed and they waved before skating over to their assigned bench, waiting for the pre-game stuff to wrap up. Team Thunderstorm was moving around the track now.

Her buddy Casper waved as she made her way around, joining her team on their bench, separated from the Brass Knuckles by the zebras—aka referees. Two of her favorites were in the zebra mix: Father Benjamin, husband of Lisa, her teammate LCAT—short for little catholic school girl—and William Wallace-A-Lot. She envied the way he worked the kilt he wore.

Ten minutes later she made her way to the back of the pack, waiting for the referee to blow the whistle to start the play. She glanced over at her competition—Delusional again. They had skated against each other before. And as always, Mariah expected her to bring it.

* * *

Adam’s eyes traveled downward over Mariah as she stood at the back of the pack of women. He was thankful for the proximity of his seat to the rink, allowing himself the pleasure of watching her smooth brown attributes on display—a man’s wet dream.

He’d always thought her pretty, just not his type and off limits given her history. But bent over like she was now, all those thoughts vanished. She’d turned into something else entirely.

The whistle blew and the ladies in front took off, jostling with each other. A few seconds later the referee pointed toward Mariah and the other girl and blew his whistle. The two of them took off in pursuit of the women in front. Mariah was fast, passing one woman from the other team and going underneath two more before she was hit in the side. Ouch. That was a hard hit, and it knocked her off her stride a little.

“Do you understand the game?” Tiff asked, touching his arm, interrupting his pursuit of Mariah.

“No,” he shouted into her ear.

“The two girls in the back are called jammers. They are the point scorers,” she said, attempting to bring him up to speed.

“Explain it to me later. I’ll just watch for now,” he said, hoping that hadn’t come off too rudely. His eyes found Mariah again. She was fast, trying to make her way back up to the front of the pack, but not having much luck. She was knocked down, falling hard on her knees. She hopped back up quickly and was off again.

He watched as she closed in on the skater who’d been in front of her, and watched as the biggest woman he’d ever seen hip-checked her, knocking her clear off her feet this time. She landed on her butt, hard, but hopped up, like some Jill-in-the-Box, shoving and skating toward the same woman again. That was one determined, focused female.

The other girl was now out in front of everyone, and the referee was now pointing at her. Mariah had moved, skating closer to that big woman from hell again, but this time she was able to get around her, but just barely. She lost a member of her team who took the hit that was meant for her. She dashed around the outside, making it to the front, passing another big woman, then getting around them all. Racing around the track, it seemed to start all over again.