Girl in the Arena (26 page)

Lloyd hugs me and once he’s out the door, I turn on the TV, where I watch him get through the crush of people until he can pull away. Our house is being broadcast round the clock. Helicopters chop the air.

*

I make up a stack of sandwiches, all with the crusts trimmed off the way Thad likes, and then I realize we’ve got these guards now. Today they are Slade and Dave, and I better call them in for lunch. They both like the intensely caffeinated beverages that Tommy liked, and we still have some in the fridge. Dave keeps asking me things, like do I always cut the crusts off the bread, and can he see where Tommy worked out, and after a while I leave them in the kitchen, telling them to help themselves if there’s anything else they want. I take the rest of the sandwiches upstairs for Thad on a tray, garnished with chips and carrot sticks, anchored with a cup of orange juice. He’s up in Allison’s room of course, curled at the end of her bed. He’s been waiting for me to turn the TV on. I remind him that Allison’s bathroom is being renovated so if he has to go he should give himself enough time to make it down to my bathroom.

Then I announce, —Today is 
ANIME MARATHON DAY!

We will, I explain, be tuned in for hours. He seems very content with this idea, once I get my laptop and bring that onto the bed to work.

My alter ego, Eos, has wings, a short lace-up top, leggings, a small skirt, rabbit slippers, and yes, a spear through her chest. My goal is to make her battle-ready. The clothes are the easy fix. I make a new skirt using a wide leather belt from which I hang other smaller strips of leather. It sits on my hips and hits where a short tennis skirt would fall. When I walk, the strips of leather swing back and forth against my thighs. At the bottom of each strip I attach a silver coin with a peace symbol stamped into it.

I go for bronze chest armor shaped with strong pecs and well-defined breasts and the word 
egalite 
over my breastbone, in a circular pattern. I create pads for the legs and sword arm that I think are fairly authentic but have a titanium lining. The belly is exposed, because that’s regulation, so I spend some time working on my abs and though I consider a belly button ring, I decide they’re overused and could be an easy target in competition. I’ve seen what happens when a ring is suddenly ripped out.

I’m tempted to leave the bunny slippers, but I’m afraid people won’t get my sense of humor. Sandals are never worn in the arena. Tommy preferred Nikes, but I’ve decided to go barefoot since it will be an evening match and the sand will be fairly cool by then.

When I walk, I move in an almost fluid way but I’m concerned that my eyes are too scary so I go for sunglasses, for now anyway. I select the mirrored type, hoping Uber will have a narcissistic moment and forget about me.

I have to call him. But I keep putting it off because I don’t know how to tell him yet. He’s left lots of messages on my phone, most of them pretty nice but the last one a little despondent.

It’s hard to know how to approach him. Maybe a couple of years ago, I would have taken this up with Sam and Callie, and we would have sat around like complete idiots, trying to strategize. And they probably would have given me plenty of bad advice, so I’m better off with my own sense of cluelessness.

When I first created my avatar, the makeup streamed down her face. I don’t cry a lot so maybe I wanted to express something I tend to stuff. But Tommy said, 
You have to be tough to decipher when you fight.

It’s not hard to make her bald, but it’s putting the 
T 
in the back of her skull that takes forever. In between, I run up and down stairs getting beverages for Thad, watering the security force, checking on the paparazzi, dawdling by the library.

Thad sits up for a while and I fluff a bunch of pillows behind his back. He asks to see what I’m doing.

I turn my computer around so it faces him.

—There’s a spear in your chest, he says.

—Oh, yeah. It’s just a decoration.

—I want a decoration.

—Later, I say. —Later we’ll make you your very own avatar. And I’ll make some wings for you. And you understand that real spears don’t belong in our chests, right, Thaddy? It’s always very important that we take good care of our real bodies.

—Our real bodies, he says, and curls up.

—And after that, we’ll go on the treadmill down in the basement for a while. I’ll let you do all of the walking.

—I’ll do all of the walking, he says, slowly drifting.

I’m down to the wings and spear now. Those wings took me three days to perfect. I know that sounds lame, but I got lost in the beauty of engineering. I threaded each strand like tatting a fine French lace. So I have to unravel them strand by strand.

I think Thad’s on his seventh anime show when I lift that last feather from my back.

The spear looks dangerously close to the heart but it’s actually running through the breastbone—lodged firmly there. I can run, fly, use a hover board or jet pack, and that spear remains fixed in place. I do not bleed. If I went into a state of convoluted metaphor, I could try and make something out of this idea that I’m walking around with a spear through my chest. Or I could keep it simple: it’s just a form of adornment, like scarification or piercing. It’s something you get up to in another state of mind. I realize the afternoon is getting late, and I should clean up and get ready for the changing of the guards, dinner, and Mark. I’ll work on the spear tomorrow.

Thad snores lightly now. He’ll nap for a couple of hours. I slip the remote from his open hand, putting a wrap on the marathon. I get up to stretch and go over to Allison’s garden windows that look down to the backyard and out along the treetops and neighboring homes. I often found her standing by the windows like this, taking in the view, sometimes shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe this was something she owned. I wonder if she stood here and considered the way the light slips through the trees the night she suicided. But then I realize her mind was too dark to see more than a foot in front of her.

CHAPTER 30

I flick on the kitchen lights.

—Uber. 
Jesus. 
What are you doing here?

—I knocked but no one answered, he says. —Should I come back later?

—No it’s okay. I just... wasn’t expecting you.

—These are for you, he says, handing me an armful of sunflowers.

I set them on the counter and go over to the cabinet where the vases are kept. I fill a large blue vase at the sink, staring at the swirl of water, trying to avoid his look. He’s gone to an eye patch now, the stitch marks visible across his check in four even rows. Upstairs with the AC going it’s easy to forget the heat and humidity, but here with so many windows and doors onto the yard, it just pools. Uber wears a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, looking like a guy ready to grill or knock a birdie around a badminton net. I watch a bead of sweat leave one of his temples and travel down his cheek until he wipes it clear.

I set the flower arrangement on the table and flick on the oscillating fan.

—I have some really good news. But I wanted to tell you in person, he says.

The fluffy hair on the top of his head rises and falls with one complete oscillation.

—You want something to drink? I’ve made one ton of lemonade for Thad.

—Lemonade would be great.

He starts to pull out one of the chairs at the table and manages to knock himself in the knees. It never seems right to say 
You okay? 
to a gladiator when he knocks his knees or stubs his toes. So I just set the cold lemonade pitcher and two glasses on the table, but then I realize it would be a mistake to let him pour. We would soon be drowning in spilled lemonade. I laugh to myself.

—What? he asks.

—It’s just strange, our sitting here like this, the paparazzi outside, the guards, the quiet house...

Before he can say anything, I go over to the pantry and set some macaroons out on a plate. I watch his hair rise and fall again.

He picks up a cookie and considers it.

—Will this make me smaller or larger? he asks.

—How about... human scale.

If there’s any space between my waterlogged thoughts and his sputtering intentions, I realize I’ve sort of missed his company, if that makes any sense at all, which I know it doesn’t but there it is.

—That’s fine with me. How’s Thad? he asks.

—He keeps thinking that Allison and Tommy are off on a trip somewhere.

—I’m sorry, he says.

—You have some news?

—I’ve talked Caesar’s into reducing the number of matches I have left to one. I’ll have to do more promotion, but in one match I’ll be a free agent. And then, well... I’ll be a free agent. I fight in about a month and then...

—You’ll be a free agent, I say, trying to veer around the unstated.

—Exactly. I really couldn’t believe how easygoing they were about the whole thing. I was actually suspicious but then they told me I’m more valuable to them alive than dead now.

—Uber, there’s something I need to tell you as well.

I grab his glass just before his elbow knocks it over.

—Before you tell me, could I... kiss you?

I jump up, and now he’s the one who has to grab my chair before it falls. I start to pace.

—You and I... how can I put this? You and I, you see...

—Yes? he says, smiling broadly now.

—I’m your last match.

—Wow, that’s exactly how I feel.

It’s like we’ve just wandered into one of those 
NYT
’s Weddings and Celebrations videos by mistake. He starts to get up but I motion for him to stay seated. Then I line the potholders up on the counter, straighten the salt and pepper shakers, consider the rubber band collection in the drawer, all the time with my right hand in the air as if to say: 
wait.

—I don’t mean... I’ll start over. You know your last fight, I say.

—Oh God, don’t worry about that. They have me fighting a rookie. They kept saying they don’t want to lose any more of their heroes. Not that I feel like anyone’s hero, but...

—You wouldn’t kill your rookie, would you?

—Nothing that couldn’t be stitched back together. I mean I do have to make it look like I’m trying.

—Good to know. This rookie... it’s not a guy, Uber.

Uber stands and comes over to the counter.

—What are you talking about?

—I’m the rookie. You’re going to fight me. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.

His face suddenly busts a gasket and he laughs, —Very funny.

He wipes a tear from his good eye; then he begins to tuck in his shirt though it looks tightly anchored already. He moves his flattened hand all the way round his waistband, my dowry bracelet rising and falling as he goes.

—Call Caesar’s if you need to verify it but you and I are fighting each other in Romulus Arena next month. Your last match, my one and only. They’re going to make an announcement.

—That’s crazy.

He stops laughing.

—I know. I know it’s crazy. But the thing is, it’s really okay.

—It’s okay? What’s okay about that? ’Cause I don’t see anything okay about that. Who told you this?

I give him the bare bones story including the virtual punch line, about my plan to send my avatar into the arena.

—
You 
arranged this?

—I’m not ready to get married. I have things I need to do, a brother to take care of. And I barely know you.

I want to say something about this feeling I have when I’m with him, the ease despite it all, the attraction I’d rather not think about. But I stop myself.

—And what if your avatar doesn’t work? he says.

—Then I guess you’d have to fight me.

—You guess I’d have to fight you? But I’m crazy about you. I don’t want to fight you.

—Then you’ll go easy on me. You know, nothing that can’t be stitched back together.

—You can’t do this, he says, practically choking on his own words.

—I signed a contract with Caesar’s. The house will be returned to us, which is the best thing for Thad. And I’ll have money to take care of him properly while I go to college.

—I’ll sign up for ten more fights in exchange for this one. I’ll buy the house for you. Just don’t do this.

—I have to be the one to take care of us, that’s the thing. I’m... sorry.

Just then, a sound like a bird hitting one of the picture windows. It’s Mark screwing around outside, as if he’s been thrown against the glass. I motion for him to come in. He picks up a cardboard box full of electronic equipment by his feet and joins us. When Mark shakes hands with Uber, there’s that admiration thing all over again.

—I better head out, Uber says.

—No, stay, man, Mark says.

But Uber comes up with some excuse for leaving. Our good-byes are strained, confused. Mark watches us and I notice that deep line he gets between his eyebrows.

—I’ll call you, Uber says, and heads into the yard.

Mark wants to know what’s up. I click on the TV. We watch Uber as he moves into the crowd outside the gate.

—I told him the plan, I say.

—Dude.

—He doesn’t like not being able to rescue me.

—Good man, he says.

—Don’t start, I say.

—Shh, listen, Mark says, taking a bag of cookies over to the tube.

Uber is surrounded by the media now, the fans.

—I’ve just seen the family, he says. —Lyn is a remarkably strong woman. I hope you will allow her and her brother to have some peace, so they can get through this difficult time.

—Have you set a date? someone calls from the crowd.

Microphones press in toward Uber’s face.

—I have no further comment at this time.

We watch him battle his way into his car. I don’t know if everyone else understands how troubled he looks.

Mark turns off the set, stuffs a large cookie into his mouth and says, —The man’s a pro, what can I say?

—I’ve really screwed up here.

—But if you pull this off, you’ll be the woman who beats the system. And he’ll be done with competition for good, he says, offering me the cookies, which I turn down.