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“Fuck them.”
“Yeah, I try,” Rakell murmured.
“Rakell, you have to block out the outside opinions.” Tanya’s tone took on an instructional air. “He’s high profile, and you’re about to skyrocket, so the only way to hang on to what you have with each other is to build an impenetrable emotional wall.” She sighed, “Remember my story? When I finally made the jump and trained to be an intimacy coordinator, many people weighed in, and a lot of the input was discouraging. I found out who my true friends were and learned to block the negative people from my mind.”
Opening her arms, Rakell hugged her. “I for one, am so grateful you are my intimacy coach,” she whispered, her arms wrapped tightly around Tanya.
A couple of weeks ago, when they were still prepping for filming in Atlanta, she and Tanya had gone down to the hotel bar and chatted over a couple glasses of whiskey. She learned that Tanya had been married for ten years, but when she and her husband tried to have kids and couldn’t, he changed. As Tanya stated, she had, too.
She poured herself into her career as a stage actress, but he became resentful of her time away from home and attributed their difficulty conceiving to her career. Her marriage ended bitterly, which took a toll on Tanya because they’d been best friends since eighth grade, and their families were very intertwined. When Rakell asked how she became an intimacy coach, Tanya expounded, “Well, the last two years of my marriage, I was disconnected, and he wasn’t really into making sure I had fun. So, I learned to fake it, to get it over with.” She rolled her big root beer-colored eyes, then added, “You know…it, it.” The corner of her mouth turned up, offering Rakell a small smile, the mass of curly dark hair piled on her head bobbing as she nodded, as if making sure Rakell knew what “it” meant.
Rakell laughed sharply. “Oh, I know,” she said. When Tanya probed, Rakell said, “Boyfriends, there are too many boyfriends to count who didn’t know what they were doing, so I often faked it.”
“Yeah, sometimes it’s easier than saying, ‘Hey, you’re completely missing my bundle of nerve endings designed so you don’t have to guess, asshole.’” Her small smile had leached into a venomous sneer. “Our designer made it easy and still men act like it’s some big mystery, the female orgasm.” She cocked her head and raised her hands, turning her palms up as if to say, ‘what the hell?’
There’d been no way to contain her snicker. "Yeah, it is pretty straightforward,” Rakell interjected. “So the frustration led you to become an intimacy coordinator?” she asked, amusement dusting her voice.
Tanya sighed, a glint of realization in her eyes, like remembering something, and then Rakell watched her expression shift to somber. “No, after my marriage ended, I threw myself into acting, mostly live theater, and I met another actress who performed in erotic films…” Her eyebrows lifted, her gaze narrowing on Rakell as if waiting for a reaction. Rakell kept her gaze unfazed, purposefully wanting to hear more.
She shared a lot about how the better production companies worked with the actors to make things comfortable yet believable and obviously sensual. “It got me interested, and I heard that directors were trying to be more conscientious. After some pretty extensive training, here I am,” she said, shrugging her shoulders, grinning as Rakell clapped.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Dwayne: Stitches out. (picture of Dwayne grinning)…Send
Jake: Looking good, dude. I think you need to spin a different story if you want sympathy…Send
Dwayne: Not even sure Coach believes me…Send
Jake: Yeah, some woman you don’t know drops a book on your head, takes you to the emergency room, claims to be your fiancé so she can see if you’re okay, then disappears…Send
Dwayne: It does sound like BS, but that’s the truth…Send
Jake: I think it’s a sign that you need a book-type girl for a fiancé…Send
Dwayne: Never getting married, dude, but I wish I could find her…Send
Jake: She was engaged!...Send
Dwayne: Something was up with that. She was timid, like a scared rabbit…Send
Jake: I’d steer clear, but you said you think she’s a teacher, so maybe Lana can help…Send
Jake: I’ll talk to Rakell. Surprising her in LA a day early. I hate this long-distance shit…Send
Dwayne: That’s what you signed up for, and usually you like that…Send
Jake: Not anymore, not with this one. Wait till it happens to you ??…Send
Dwayne: Never!...Send
I chuckled out loud, folding a dress shirt to pack in my carry-on, thinking about that crazy night with Dwayne. I’d just climbed into bed and called Rakell. I was in a harsh mood, miffed that she hadn’t gotten to the San Antonio game. Then I’d blown up on Jaxton, which he deserved, but the whole world had seen it. Dwayne was seething that I had interfered and wouldn’t even accept my apology. So, when I got his call that he needed me to come to the hospital, I jumped at the chance to make a peace offering to Dwayne. When I got there, a social worker, emergency room doctor, and plastic surgeon were all with him in a gray-blue sterile examination room. He explained that his injury was not related to a domestic dispute.
Then a nurse handed Dwayne a clipboard with pages of paperwork to sign. I saw his eyes glaze over as he looked at the thick document the way a high school kid looks at War and Peace. A part of me thought he was just weary from a long, emotional game and a bizarre night, but when I watched his eyes and the way he moved his mouth, it reminded me of the day in the conference room when I was trying to get him to read Jaxton’s chart. It was as if he was pretending to read. I didn’t challenge him; I just said I should review it for him before calling our team doctor. I was just so damn thankful he was talking to me again after the way I blew up at Jaxton during the game.
It was our bye week; the Condors had the week off. I’d spent a few days with my family in Austin, mostly with Melissa. She’d explained that Tom had bought a high-rise apartment in Dallas since he’d been working there so much and thought it would be a good investment. I gave her the side-eye when she told me Tom was spending more time away from his family than with them. I knew it was taking a toll on my sister, but she’d said she needed to give her marriage a shot for the kids, then added sheepishly, “For the legal trail.” What the hell! She explained that since Tom had agreed to counseling, she wasn’t moving forward with the divorce for now. But she had already talked to an attorney, which seemed counterproductive to me. “Hey, that doesn’t seem right, talking to attorneys while you ask him to go to counseling. I mean, do you want this to work?” I asked, taking a long sip of the cabernet she’d just poured.
I’d made dinner and hung out with both kids so Melissa could attend an event for one of her clients. Cassie helped me make a box of mac and cheese and some burgers but told me her mom would not be happy about the processed food. I knew Cameron loved it, and uncles can get away with shit like that. I'd told my little helper that I was evoking uncle privilege. She shook her head before schooling me on the fact that even though I was an uncle and a football player, which she added, society did not regard as “thinkers” (her words), I still had an obligation to make sure they ate nutritiously and followed her mom’s rules. She already reminded me of a young Melissa.
