Fair Play (3 page)

Téa

I have never been so happy to see a crappy hotel bed. I flop my suitcase and my bag on the bed and stand with my hands on my hips, trying to decide what to do first. Nap or shower? I scan the small, dim room. It has a queen-sized bed with a seventies floral bedspread and flat pillows. The television is one of those big chunky old things that take up the entire top of a dresser but I’m close to the beach, so I don't care.

I pull a chunk of my hair around to my nose and sniff. Shower, I definitely need a shower first. I smell like a mixture of street vendor hot dogs and whatever they spray the seats of the plane with to keep it smelling faux fresh.

I flick on the light in the bathroom and shrug one shoulder. It looks eighty-five percent clean. Close enough.

I pull my shirt over my head and smell the faint hint of strawberries before throwing it on the floor.

I turn on the water and adjust it to a nearly scalding temperature and close the curtain to finish undressing. 

Lock the door. Did I lock the door? I’m not sure. I open the bathroom door, check the locks, and swing the bolt latch to the left all the way before going back into the bathroom and locking that door as well.

My dad has always hounded me about safety, especially when I’m traveling. Being his only child, I've always obliged with due diligence.

The bathroom is already full of steam when I strip down and step into the hot water.

It feels so good that if I weren’t worried about falling asleep and drowning, I’d sit down and fill the tub up and soak for a while. Instead, I close my eyes and let the water pound on my back while I replay my day in my head.

Things went from great when I got to stick it to Alex that my assignment was in Myrtle Beach to almost perfect when I was seated in front of Nicolas Wood and his adorable daughter Scarlet.

Nick is just as sweet as he is handsome and that’s rare among famous people, especially athletes. I know, I deal with them a lot.

I hope it wasn’t all just a show for his little girl. If he’s indeed the real deal, I’d like to ask him out if I ever get the opportunity again. And if I have my wits about me, something about that man cuts the lines of communication between my brain and my mouth. 

Now let’s just hope he doesn’t lose my business card. I could use the money and the publicity from a job like that. With all of the traveling I’ve been doing for Crush, my private client list is dwindling.

Crush was a significant step up in my career when I took the job, but it seems to have plateaued, and I feel like I’m stuck going nowhere with the magazine. I’d like to open my own company, but the start-up money is way out of my league right now, so I’ll keep traveling on Crush’s dime until I can figure out something better.

Twenty minutes later, I’m clean and dressed in a t-shirt and boy shorts, ready to get a good night’s sleep before my shoot in the morning, when I get a text.

Who the hell is sending me a text at eleven o’clock on a Wednesday night? 

It's a Match Pro notification. I have ten potential matches. Great, ten guys. Five will have deleted their account by the time I check them out, and three will have lied about their education or their jobs. One is probably married, and that will leave one potential match.

I sigh and sit on the edge of the bed and follow the link to the dating site. Once there, I open the first message and lo and behold, the guy had deleted his account.

What is it with these idiots anyway? Maybe they chicken out after messaging a woman and delete their account? Or maybe they're just looking for a booty call and when they've gotten it, they delete? They need to check out Tinder instead of Match Pro.

The next few guys on the list have photos that aren’t bad, but a couple of them have pathetic About Me sections and the rest, contrary to Match Pro’s pinpoint partner detector, have no similar interests with me.

My thumb hovers over the delete account button for a minute when the app notifies me of another match. Yeah sure, just like these winners.

Oh well, what’s one more before I delete? He may turn out to be Mr. Right.

I scoot up the hard mattress and shove my legs between the scratchy sheets and lean my back against the headboard.

New guy’s profile pops onto the screen. Tall, yea, very athletic, double yea, early thirties, perfect. Not into booty calls, one-night stands, or hookups. Who is this guy and where has he been all my life?

Excited, I click to expand his profile and my heart sinks. That’s it. That’s all I get? I shouldn’t be so surprised. I don’t give out much about myself either.

I open his message and read that he is interested in getting to know me better, and he thinks my profile is pretty flimsy too. He has a point. I type out a message agreeing that I too would like to know more about him and press send.

The online now button isn’t lit up on his page any longer, so I close out of the app and slide down into bed and look around the room.

There’s got to be more to life than hotel hopping and taking photographs of teen pop stars for Crush magazine. I never expected to be pushing twenty-eight, childless with no prospective husband.

I had a plan, damn it. Go to college, meet the man of my dreams, graduate, find a kick-ass job, buy a house in the suburbs of Chicago, and have two kids by age thirty.

It doesn’t seem unreasonable, except that the only boyfriend I had time for in college was battery operated. I was busy, and when I graduated, I got hired right away at Crush, and I’ve been focused on work ever since. That was all fine and dandy until a couple of months ago when I realized 30 is looming close in the future. I need to get a move on. That’s when I joined Match Pro.

So far I have had four dates. Two guys totally lied about their appearance; one said he had put on a few pounds since filling out his stats two weeks prior.

The other said he was mid-thirties, but there was no way. He was twenty tops. Another had no idea I was half-black and half-white. He said his parents wouldn’t approve of a multiracial relationship. As if I would have had a relationship with him anyway, but really? He was thirty years old, who cares what your parents think at that age? That might be a good indicator as to why you’re still single, dude.

The last guy was just passing through on his way home to Seattle. He wasn’t bad looking, and he had a good job from the sounds of it, but he couldn’t pry his eyes from his phone long enough to form a complete sentence.

Overall, I’m not doing any better with Match Pro than I was on my own. Maybe the brown streak of bad luck is over now? A girl can hope.

Nick

The smell of bacon has drawn Ben and Scarlet from their beds. I’m always happy to see my baby girl, but today I have to give her the bad news that her Mimi won’t be coming back to live with us. I'm dreading it to say the least.

Mimi’s sister Carol called early this morning and said Mimi couldn’t bring herself to tell me that her physician suggested she retire from nannying.

I can’t say I’m surprised, she is seventy-two after all, but that doesn’t make it any easier to tell a four year old that the woman who has been her mother since she can remember isn’t coming back.

“Hey Letty, how’s my favorite four year old?” Ben asks as they both take a stool at the island. Ben gives Scarlet a hand up, and she kisses him on the cheek.

“Good. I missed you, poopy,” she says.

“I missed you too, dork,” Ben says.

“So much love,” I say, and roll my eyes.

“She knows I love her, don’t cha squirt?”

Scarlet nods her head up and down.

“I want bacon,” she says.

“Me too,” Ben says. The two of them are sitting identically with their heads resting in their hands, elbows on the counter.

“How old are you again, Ben?”

“How old do I have to be to eat bacon?”

“Four,” Scarlet says, like everyone should know the legal age for bacon consumption.

“Have either of you mastered the word please in preschool yet? I ask.

“Please, Daddy, I want bacon,” Scarlet says.

“What she said,” Ben says.

I turn my back to the two clowns and slide eggs and bacon onto their plates.

“Here ya go, bacon and eggs, anything else?” I ask. Scarlet is about to open her mouth and ask for orange juice when I reach behind me and grab her glass and slide it across the counter.

I have learned a thing or two from Mimi over the past couple of years, and one crucial thing is how to anticipate Scarlet’s needs.

There’s one need, however, that I can anticipate all day long, and I’ll never be able to provide it. Scarlet needs her mother. Mimi was as close as it got, and now she’s about to vanish from her life as well.

“Scarlet, I have something I have to talk to you about, and it’s important, okay?”

Ben stops eating. He senses what I’m about to say. Scarlet looks up with her mouth full of bacon.

“You know how Mimi hurt her foot?”

She nods and mumbles yes between chews. 

“Well, she’s getting older, and her foot isn’t getting better like the doctors want it to. So, they think it would be better for Mimi to stay with her sister from now on and not live here with us.”

Scarlet’s big ocean blues open wide and fill with tears that pool for a moment before springing onto her plate of eggs.

“Oh honey, I’m so sorry.” I round the corner of the island and scoop her up. She rests her head on my shoulder and cries.

She turns her face to my neck, and I can feel her speak against my skin. “Mimi’s never coming home?”

“We can go and visit her, but no honey, she needs someone to help her now like she’s helped you all your life.”

She straightens up in my arms and places her hands on my shoulders.

“Mimi needs a nanny?”

“Yes, that’s a good way to look at it.”

She sniffles and pats my cheek like an adult would pat a child.

“You be my nanny now.”

I smile, “I’m your daddy but yes, for now, we are on our own. Would you like to help me find a new nanny?”

She shrugs. “Maybe. Can we see Mimi today?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“Then I’ll help you find a nanny, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Glad that’s all settled, my food’s getting cold,” Ben says, shoveling an unmanageable bite of food into his mouth.

“Ew, Uncle Ben, too much,” Scarlet says, wiggling out of my arms and back onto her stool.

That went better than expected. Mimi always said kids are resilient and as usual, she was right.

After a long grueling morning of practice and an even worse afternoon of meetings, I called a nanny agency while sitting in traffic. I was surprised and relieved that they were able to set up several interviews with potential nannies as early as this evening.

I have to move fast on this. My mom took the day off to take Scarlet to dance and gymnastics and to visit Mimi, but I can’t ask her to keep doing that. She owns and manages a well-known art studio in Myrtle Beach, and it’s hard for her to take time off. Mom’s a control freak who likes to do everything herself to the point of exhaustion. She insists taking time off is no problem, but I know better.

I’m out back skimming the leaves out of the pool when I hear Mom and Scarlet come into the house.

“Nico, are you home? I’m returning your talented Olympic gymnast slash ballerina to you with a full tummy and droopy eyes,” Mom says, carrying Scarlet out to the patio.

“Hey, Mom, thanks for taking her. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Oh hush, you know I love having her. Why are you doing that? Don’t you have a pool person?” she asks.

“Yes, Mother, I have a pool person. I like doing it myself. It’s relaxing.”

“You’re crazy, looks like work to me.”

I point at the sleepy girl in her arms and then back at the pool. “That’s work, this is nothing.”

“She’s a joy, not work. Shame on you.”

“Shame on Daddy,” Scarlet mumbles.

I hang the telescopic pole on its hooks and take Scarlet from my mother.

“You’re the best kind of work, Letty.” I kiss her forehead and she smiles, melting my heart into a puddle of ooze.

“Do you need me to take her tomorrow? It’s Friday, but I’m sure I can get someone to cover for me during the day.”

“No, Mom, it’s fine. I’ll figure it out. I’m interviewing some nannies tonight. Hopefully somebody will click.”

“Nonsense, you have to go to practice, and there’s no one else who knows her schedule. I’ll be here at seven to pick her up.”

She kisses Scarlet and then me before disappearing into the house before I have time to object.

“Well, I guess you’re spending the day with Grandma again tomorrow.”

“I love Grandma.”

“I know you do, but Grandma has a job like Daddy, so we have to find you a new nanny. Some ladies are coming to talk to us about that in a little bit. You wanna help me?”

“To our house?”

“Yep, you can ask them whatever you want, and we will decide together which one is the best.”

“Okay, can I swim?”

“No, we need to go inside, the first lady will be here soon.”

Her bottom lip pops out, and she tilts her head to the side.

“That’s not gonna work tonight, sugar.”

She sighs a sigh of defeat and points at the French doors that lead to the kitchen.

“Let’s go.” 

I should probably have some questions lined up to ask. I should also change into something other than my board shorts and a T-shirt, but I figure the right nanny won’t care what we look like.

An hour later, I’m closing the door on our second interviewee. When I turn around, Scarlet rolls her eyes. She’s four and already mastering the art of eye rolling.

“I know, she was awful. I’m sorry.”

“She didn’t know who Curious George or Angelina Ballerina was,” she says with disgust. 

“And those aren’t even new characters.”

She scrunches up her forehead in confusion.

“We had Curious George and Angelina Ballerina when I was little too.”

“You did?”

“Yup.”

“Do we hafta see more girls?”

“No, that’s it for tonight. Let’s get you to bed.”

Within thirty minutes I’ve tucked her in, and she’s asleep. That’s a total record breaker. Now it’s my turn. I’m beat and Ben-free for a change.

Before I turn out the lights, I do my nightly Match Pro check and see that Lastgoodwoman10 responded to my message.

--Hey Emmett, let’s be friends. Ask me anything.

Anything, huh? Challenge accepted. She’s online, perfect timing.

Me -- Now that we’re friends, will you tell me your real name? What do you like to do for fun? Are you an only child? What do you do for a living? Where are you from? Where do you live now? You said anything …

Her -- You can call me Red. I like to ride rollercoasters. I am indeed an only child. I’m the creative type. I’m from the Midwest, and that’s where you can still find me. My turn. Is Emmett your real name? Do you have kids? What’s your favorite color? Why a dating site? What do you do for a living? What are you wearing?

What am I wearing? Oh, I like this woman already.

Me -- Well, “Red,” yes, Emmett is one of my real names. I have one daughter. My favorite color is black, but I might be changing it to red. Match Pro guarantees love. I play a game for a living, and wouldn’t you like to know? Tag, you’re it. Do you have kids? Do you like kids? Do you believe in God? What’s your favorite kind of food? What’s your astrological sign? Are you a good girl? What are YOU wearing?

Her -- I like you. I don’t have kids. I do like kids. Yes, of course, I believe in God. My favorite food is Italian. I’m a Sagittarius. Sometimes I’m good, and sometimes I’m bad like right now. I’m wearing “black” lace panties and nothing else. You ready to quit yet? Tag, you’re it. Does your daughter live with you full-time? What’s your favorite season? Do you love your career? What turns you on? Have you ever been in love? And I still want to know what you’re wearing.

She likes me, and her favorite food is Italian. Perfect, I’m half Italian.

Me -- I’m no quitter. Yes, my daughter lives with me. I love summer and my career. Right now you’re doing a pretty good job of turning me on with your lace panties. I’ve been in love once, and I am currently wearing black briefs. P.S. I like you too, naughty Red. Tag, you’re it. What color are your eyes? Do you play cards? Are you left or right-handed? Have you traveled outside the country? Will you wear white when you get married? What kind of music do you like? What are you doing right now other than messaging me?

Her -- My eyes are brown. I can kick your ass at spades and poker. I’m left-handed. I have traveled to London, Australia, Spain, and Italy. Red is more my style for a wedding, if you know what I mean. I like alternative music and good old rock and roll. I am in bed imagining what you look like. I’m out of questions for now. You win.

No more questions? I have a billion more, but I don’t want to scare her off.

Me -- I like to win. Same time tomorrow?

Her -- Don’t get used to it and yes, same place, same time.

Me -- I’ll keep that in mind, until tomorrow.

Her -- Goodnight, Emmett.

Me—Goodnight, Red