Chances Are Read online

  “Hello.”

  “JD? I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  Gwen. She had called him other times, but he’d never programmed her number. Maybe he should program it so he could ignore it.

  “JD, listen, if you aren’t home yet, could you swing by my place? I…didn’t know who else to call.”

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “I really don’t want to talk about it over the phone.”

  “If you’ve got some sort of non-school related emergency, I’m not the person you need to call.”

  “Please, JD. It’ll just take a minute. I really need to talk to you. Please?”

  “OK, fine, text me your address, and I’ll be right over.”

  “Thanks, JD. See you soon.”

  ****

  Gwen lived in a townhouse near the college. Judging from the battered cars in the parking lot, most of her neighbors were college students. He sat in the car a while with the motor running. A vehicle passed behind him playing hip-hop.

  Of course the thought occurred to JD that Gwen’s “emergency” involved seducing him. He hoped she had something less obvious in mind. A real problem he could fix. But, he knew Gwen, and he knew how obsessed she had once been over him. So, why was he sitting in her driveway, staring at her lit-up windows? He couldn’t believe himself. Was he really the sort of man who had rushed over to this apartment complex to fuck his secretary?

  Yes, he was. He could feel some stirring already. He thought he might grab her the moment she opened the door, pull her against him and thrust his hips into her. He would swing her around and put her back against the door. And she’d say, “Ooh, JD, you are soooo sexy. Ooh, I love your cock.”

  He was now imagining a scene from a bad porno. That was stupid; nothing was ever so predictable in real life. Should he have brought wine? But imagine if he walked in there and she just wanted a letter of recommendation or needed a spider killed in her bathroom? Was he going to show up with a throbbing erection and steam coming off his skin? It was absurd. He took deep breaths, calmed himself down, adjusted his underwear so there was less pressure and the erection could subside. This wasn’t his wife; this wasn’t his woman. This was some ding-a-ling with great tits and ass and no brains.

  Or maybe she was a person like anyone else who was striving for happiness. Why not? They could have some happiness. Maybe not a lot, but happiness was hard to find. A little happiness was as beautiful as roses.

  Enough bullshit. He had agreed to come, and he had softened enough, so it was time to go in.

  Charlie the Spoon had messed with him, challenged his manhood, even taken his clothes from him. But John Dewey West was a man, and he was going to prove it.

  He climbed some external stairs, found her door on a walkway and rapped firmly.

  “Hang on!” came her trilling voice from inside.

  She opened the door.

  She was wearing a miniskirt and a low-cut blouse. He saw the swell of her breasts and he saw her green eyes watching him see. “I thought you’d never get here. Come in.”

  He followed her in. The wrong thing came out of his mouth. “Should I have brought something?”

  “No, I have everything.” She shut the door gently. “I really do need your help. I need your help eating dinner. I made too many chalupas. It’s your favorite, right?”

  Let the seduction begin. “Uh… yeah. How’d you…”

  “You told me.”

  “When?”

  “On our second date.”

  He remembered that one. After dinner, they’d gone to a party in an apartment very similar to this one, and found a quiet, dark place. She’d given him one hell of a hand job, but he felt weird when everyone looked at them afterwards, so he had said goodnight early.

  “I have a comfy sofa. You want to sit down? You want a coke?”

  “I should have brought some… uh, some wine, I guess. I didn’t know it was dinner.”

  She smiled and touched his cheek. “I’m full of surprises. Did you know…”

  “Yes?”

  “I made too many chalupas on purpose.”

  “Yes, I kind of figured that.”

  There was now no question in JD’s mind that she had called him there for sex and that he could have her any time he wanted. It was exactly as he had imagined. He could have her right then, against the door, on the sofa, on the kitchen floor.

  He sat on the sofa. He watched Gwen’s hips as she walked to the kitchen. She had a great ass.

  He would pump her till she screamed.

  She brought him a coke. She leaned over and showed him her cleavage. He spotted a little bikini line at that angle. He could lick her there. “I’ll set the table. You want to help me?”

  “Sure.” The chalupas smelled good. They’d have dinner, good sex, he’d go back home, get drunk, and sleep it off. Why the hell not?

  He followed her to the kitchen. He had an erection now again, a bigger one than before. He should use it right away, he thought. Let her know they were on the same wavelength.

  She was stretching up, getting some plates out of the cabinet. He was behind her, could reach his hands around and cup her big tits and…He had a sudden memory of Natalie reaching up into their cabinets to set the breakfast table. She wore his U of L t-shirt and some baggy sweats. And he remembered sneaking up behind her, giving her a good tickle. He remembered her surprised yelp, then her laughter, before he picked her up and took her to their room. Breakfast had been late that morning, but he’d been happy. Truly happy.

  JD blinked. He felt like a magic spell had dropped away from him. A cold thread ran through his chest. “What the hell am I doing?” he said aloud.

  “Huh?” Gwen set down the plates on the counter. “What do you mean, honey? You’re doing just fine.”

  He stepped back. “No I’m not.”

  She rubbed his thigh and brushed his erection with her fingers. “I just figured we could pick up where we left off all those years ago. You have a real nice face. You’re a sexy man, and you’re a good man. I’ll take care of you just fine.”

  “No, this is stupid.” He backed away, then turned and retreated to the living room.

  Gwen followed him, saw him making for the door.

  “Come on, JD. Talk about this. I know you’re not quite divorced yet, but it’s not too soon.”

  He stopped with his hand on the door. “Look, I’ll talk to you about it tomorrow. I just need to get out of here and think.”

  “Stay.” She dropped the sexy pose, looked at him more gently and extended her hands to him. “I’m sorry if I did things the wrong way. But I figured you’re pretty hot-blooded under all that reserve. We can try a different way. I made you dinner. Stay and eat, and let’s just talk. Then if you want to stay the night, we’ll have a good time.”

  JD just wanted to run. He wasn’t attracted to Gwen at all anymore. What did tits and ass and miniskirts matter? He loved someone else. Someone who didn’t love him anymore maybe, but his heart hadn’t changed. “Tomorrow. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  “You know she can’t love you like I can.”

  “You’re right. She loved me better. Goodnight, Gwen.”

  He was out the door and in his car before she could latch onto him again. He had decided. Whatever happened, he wanted to hear his wife’s voice. Even a distant, polite conversation could clear the cotton out of his head and make him feel real for a little while. He activated his phone’s voice-recognition software. “Call Natalie.”

  No answer. That wasn’t unusual; he had often put her phone on the charger for her when she forgot, so now the phone was probably going dead all the time. Heart beating faster, he listened to her voice mail greeting: “You’ve reached the phone of Natalie West. I’m obviously not available to take your call, so leave me a message, and I’ll call you back. See ya!” He heard the beep, swallowed past the knot in his throat and ended the call.

  ****

  Gwen called in sick the next day. JD d
idn't blame her. She had made her play for him, and it hadn't worked out. It was embarrassing for both of them. Mrs. McCarthy came in to cover for Gwen. She smelled like farts, poor woman.

  JD went through the day in the usual way. It was robotic, really, except for one moment when he minimized the open spreadsheet in front of him. He’d opened his drawer, pulled out a fistful of papers, and threw them on the floor. He’d taken out a framed picture that had once sat on the wall shelf at eye-level next to his swivel chair.

  It was him, Natalie, and his parents. The elder Wests had done a remarriage ceremony about two years before in the backyard of their house. JD was in a dark pinstripe, and Nat wore a black skirt suit and silver pearls. He had his hand around her waist, his arm resting comfortably on her perfect hips. His dad was standing behind his mom's wheelchair with his hands on her narrow shoulders. She had a hand on her husband's and was showing off her new diamond ring. They were two loving couples. It had been a great day for them all. He and Nat were trying to get pregnant and had taken a break to make love in an upstairs bedroom.

  He put the picture back on the shelf and left it there for a while. He felt some stirring in his body, remembering his hand on Natalie's hips. He remembered the white tautness of her neck, how it felt under his hand when he caressed it. How he used to kiss the spot right below her jaw that made her shiver and made her toes curl.

  How could he have thought about going to bed with stupid Gwen when his wife had been the perfect lover for him?

  These thoughts pulled him away for a while, but he couldn't sustain them. The usual snarl of paperwork took over. His neck got a cramp from leaning over the computer and cradling the phone with his shoulder.

  At about 2 PM, in the last period of the day, there was a rap at his partly ajar office door. He called, "Come in."

  Mike Byrne slouched in and flopped into a chair. "Hey, Mr. West, I'm in trouble. Mr. Dance sent me to Knowles, but I came to you instead."

  "That's fine," JD said. He rubbed the cramp in his neck. He badly needed exercise. "How'd you get in trouble?"

  "I didn't do my homework, and he was all up in my face about it."

  That wasn't the whole story. Mr. Dance, the health teacher, was a no-nonsense ex-cop. He didn't fly off the handle, since nothing in the school was as bad as what he'd seen on the streets in Memphis.

  "You left something out, Mike."

  "Yeah, so I told him to fuck off. All the kids laughed."

  "Okay, got it. Wait here." JD checked the schedule, found the room Mr. Dance was in, then went out to the intercom system and buzzed the room. "Mr. Dance," he said.

  "Yep," the teacher answered. The entire class was going to hear this exchange.

  "I have Mr. Byrne here. I believe I can teach him the error of his ways."

  "Yep, I'm sure he's really sorry," the teacher answered blandly.

  JD returned to the desk. Standing up for once felt great. Exercise would be better. "I should definitely suspend you, but maybe you can get out of it if you can do one thing."

  Mike clutched his notebook. The offensive cock-and-balls drawn on it by a bully had been partly cleaned, partly smeared. "What am I supposed to do? Say sorry?"

  "You will do that, yes. But first you have to beat me to thirty points on the basketball court." He took off his sport coat and tie, gave the boy a grin.

  "You shitting me?" Mike asked.

  "You know how to play?"

  "I know how to stand there till someone fouls me," the boy answered.

  JD led Mike to an outdoor court. The team had been practicing inside; he didn't think they would appear during his one-on-one game. A few worn-out balls were always lying inside the fencing. He took one and passed it to Mike. "Try to get past me for a layup."

  "You're crazy."

  The boy started dribbling. He was a little awkward about his approach, lost the ball a time or two, but quickly recovered. JD shifted position, trying to cut him off. He wasn't very good at basketball, but getting his blood pumping was worth a little embarrassment.

  After some bumbling, Mike began to drive to the basket. JD easily cut him off and stole the ball. He tried to do a crossover dribble and lost control. Mike ran after the ball, caught it, and dribbled again.

  "You suck, Mr. West."

  "Prove it. Get past me for a layup. Come on, I dare you."

  Mike came in slowly, then suddenly spun with the ball and took a long shot. The ball bounced off the backboard and went right for the net. JD jumped and blocked it. Mike got the rebound.

  "Go on. Try again," JD said.

  "This isn't a game.”

  "We're warming up. Come on, drive and shoot."

  After a few minutes of this, Mike had shot ten times and made two baskets. JD took the ball and tried a few shots. He was a terrible jumper, especially in his loafers, and didn't do much better. "We're never getting to thirty points like this," he said, panting. "Want to play to ten?"

  "I bet I wear you out before that.” Mike’s cheeks were flushed with a healthy pink, and he was panting, too. "You got no game."

  "I think you're right," JD admitted. "But you need to prove it. Take it to me, young man. I can still suspend you, you know."

  "You do that, and I'll tell everyone I kicked your ass out here."

  The school bell rang. Mike, startled, let the ball drop.

  "It doesn't matter," JD told him. "We can do what we want."

  Mike lowered his eyes to the asphalt. "The kids will come out and see that I suck."

  "It doesn't matter."

  "They'll make videos and put them online."

  "So what? What are you gonna do about it?”

  “I’ll…I’ll kill all those motherf— all those assholes!” Mike snatched the ball off the ground and launched it at JD.

  JD caught the ball. The impact stung his hands and knocked a breath of air from his lungs. No one had ventured close enough to hear Mike say that, at least he hoped they hadn’t. JD knew this kid’s frustration. He was just blowing off steam, but nowadays kids were getting suspended for play-shooting each other at recess.

  He bounced the ball back to Mike. “There are millions of basketball videos. Who cares about one of us stinking up the place?"

  Mike caught the ball and dribbled it. "Everyone f— … Everyone laughed at me cause of that video of my dad." He sounded less wounded now, like he’d found a little courage among the sun-faded basketballs and an out-of-shape principal.

  "Well, this time, they'll be laughing at me,” JD said. “Come on, son. Put the ball in play."

  The game continued. Kids gathered outside the fence to watch. There was excited babble as they realized Principal West was playing one-on-one with Mike Byrne, of all people. JD noticed a figure watching from a little further away. With the noise and confusion, he hadn’t paid much attention to who it might be. But, he happened to look up while Mike dribbled and contemplated his next move. JD’s eyes met a familiar face. Just at the end of the school fence, on the sidewalk, stood Charlie the Spoon, wearing JD’s now somewhat rumpled jacket and slacks.

  How long had he been watching this game? How long had he watched his son grow in confidence while scoring points against the principal? How long had he seen JD take the role Charlie should have played? The downcast man pounded his right fist into the chain link and strode away. Shit, it’s not what JD had wanted at all.

  With dismissal in full effect, there was no more time for the private personal coaching JD had had in mind. He caught the boy’s chest pass, then deposited the ball where the others lay against the fence. “Game’s over. You can head home. I’ll be checking with Mr. Dance tomorrow to make sure you apologized and did all your homework.”

  Mike glanced from JD to the kids now milling around on the sidewalk playing with their phones and earbuds. He swung around, swooped up his backpack and followed them. He stopped a few yards from the gate and looked over his shoulder at JD. He gave a quick nod, then put up his hoodie and blended into the noisy crowd.
>
  JD assumed that was Mike’s way of saying “thanks”. It would have to be enough for now.

  Chapter 10

  Vicki’s car smelled different every time Natalie rode with her. Tonight it was an odd combination of Bounce fabric softener and chili. Natalie stared out the window, watching the houses pass by, kids playing ball, the moms pushing strollers along the sidewalk. She felt a little queasy, from the smell and from nervous jitters. Why she would be nervous, she had no idea. Maybe it was because they’d be in one of the places that had been so prominent in her and JD’s life as a couple. And here she was, on the verge of divorce, playing matchmaker for her best friend.

  “You OK, honey?” Vicki said. “We can turn around now and go to my house. Giuseppi’s has a buy one large pizza, get another free special.”

  “I’m fine. I have a hankering for a good margarita, and quite frankly, yours are terrible.”

  Vicki laughed. “Well, I can’t deny that. But, if you want me to sing karaoke, I’m dragging you up there with me.”

  “Deal.”

  They were two blocks from the restaurant, passing by the halfway house. A skinny woman with scab-covered skin—probably a meth addict—watered some petunias in baskets that hung from the fence. A burly tattooed man walked behind a push mower, leaving a spray of green grass clippings on the halfway house’s brick walkway. At least the residents were taking good care of the place and hopefully staying clean in the process. Another man walked down the sidewalk toward the building. Natalie sat up straight. Was that JD? Couldn’t be, but he was similar in build and wore a suit and jacket just like JD’s. But, this guy had a beard and a cigarette dangling from his mouth. JD didn’t smoke; at least he hadn’t before their marriage fell apart.

  “Vicki, slow down,” Natalie said.

  “Why?”

  “You see that man there? His jacket…no, it couldn’t be JD’s.”

  “What? That guy—the one with the cigarette?”

  “Yeah.” Natalie was about to tell Vicki to never mind, but she saw something shiny and very familiar on the guy’s lapel. He was about to turn onto the walk that led to the halfway house. “Can you pull up to the sidewalk right there?”