AmericasDarlings (13 page)

They would take our spot.

Benson put his arm around me tightly. He buried his head in my shoulder, shaking. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Leah, I ruined it for us!”

“Not your fault,” I mumbled, my lips gone numb along with the rest of me. I rested my head on his. “Don’t be sorry.”

“It is,” he said, his voice muffled. “I’m the one with the penis. My fault. All of it.”

“It’s
not
.”

“It is. I forgot the new stuff.”

“It’s
both
our faults. Like I said. I’m the one who went out last night. If I hadn’t, there wouldn’t have been any new stuff.”

We shuffled to the bench along the sidelines to sit with the rest of the team. Naomi patted my knee. I leaned back, resting my head on the wall behind us that separated athletes from the paying public, my hand in a death grip with Benson’s. We’d blown our chance. It was over.

Soraya and Jim began their routine. We watched, dazed.

They posed. They began the tease. The audience cheered. He mounted her. We clapped along with everyone else. I could hardly bear to watch.

Then Jim collapsed.

He hit the mat with a
smack
, his leg twisted at an impossible angle.

He didn’t move.

His wide-open dark eyes, gigantic on the big overhead screen, stared at nothing. He lay still on the mat, his bald head shining in the lights. Soraya towered over him for a split second, swaying, holding her pose—then she fell to the mat next to him and screamed.

“Jim!”

Thousands of people gasped as one.

“Jim!”

The music ground to an abrupt halt. The lights came fully up.

Her shrill shriek filled the Arena. “Someone help him!”

Game officials shouted into walkie-talkies.

“My shadow gazelle”, she called him.

Red lights flashed, sirens sounded, a door opened, paramedics rushed in.

I awoke from my stupor and sat bolt upright in my seat, as did Benson. Our own misfortune was nothing compared to this. Coach Bob and Coach Debbie sprinted onto the mat and Dr. Chung too. Paramedics rushed to Jim’s side. Cameras hovered, reporters flocked, announcements were made.

Soraya knelt over her naked lover, howling.

Jim.

Our own Jim.

He wasn’t breathing. Then he was.

We sat on the sidelines, helpless, holding hands in a long chain of terrified teammates.

Jim was loaded onto a stretcher and whisked away. Coach Bob and Soraya—someone threw a windbreaker over her shoulders and thrust shorts into her hands—went with him. And Dr. Chung. Then they were gone.

It was all so
fast
.

Two minutes ago, Jim and Soraya had been posing, beautiful and strong, on their way to the final round of Olympic competition and maybe even a medal—and now, so suddenly, he was on his way to the hospital and his Olympic dream was over.

And so was Soraya’s.

My mother met us at the arena’s exit.

She held out her arms and I walked into them as if nothing had passed between us the day before. She rocked me from side to side, smoothing the hair from my face as if I were the child who used to live in her home.

Maybe I was still a child. Because I definitely still needed my mother.

“Mom…” I said, sniffling.

“It’s okay. Whatever you want to say, it’s okay.”

“Jim. I feel so afraid.”

She sighed. “Yes, of course you’re afraid. We all are. Who would have thought?” She held out a hand to Benson. “Come here. You need a hug too.”

He joined a long, rocking hug, the type my mother specialized in. The two of us dwarfed her.

“I
knew
he was sick,” I said, “but I didn’t say anything. Soraya wouldn’t—”

“Dr. Chung checked him out,” said Benson, interrupting me. “Debbie told me. Jim was cleared to compete.”

“Oh.”

But I wondered how much he’d hidden.

Crowds swarmed around us. A man passed by, raising his eyebrows in recognition.

“We’re behind you, Leah! You can still do it! I believe in you!” said a woman. My own image, printed on her T-shirt, smiled triumphantly back at me. They must be selling those things somewhere. An hour ago I might have bought one.

A cheer, small at first, then growing. More people joined the small crowd surrounding us.

“Leah! Benson! Leah! Benson!”

I waved. So did Benson. We smiled wanly.

Our crowd yelled in appreciation. The T-shirt woman waved back, her face aglow. She blew me a kiss.

Halfheartedly, I pretended to catch it. “Thank you. We’ll do our best tomorrow.”

Benson nodded. “We will. I promise.”

“In honor of our friend Jim,” I added.

“Yes. In honor of Jim.”

Then we turned away.

“Come on,” Mom said. “Let’s get you two away from here.”

We took one of those sleek new driverless taxis to Mom’s hotel. She asked if we wanted to eat and without waiting for an answer she herded us into an elevator that zoomed nonstop up to her room on the twenty-third floor. “Of
course
you’re hungry. Athletes are always hungry. We’ll order room service.”

I tried not to think about the last time we’d had dinner together.

I helped her to clear off the table under the window and Benson dragged over the room’s two armchairs—one of us would have to sit on the bed. I claimed a chair and looked out of the huge windows that were the hotel’s claim to fame. I couldn’t see an end to the city. It went on and on, crawling up neighboring hills and valleys until it faded away in the distance, rather like the view from the airplane when I’d first arrived. The fabled pollution of the past century was gone and the view was crystal clear, but I couldn’t appreciate the panorama that spread out below us. How could I, when Jim was near death—as far as I knew—and my best friend was out of the competition?

Benson sat on the bed and folded his legs underneath his butt, looking like a child because he was so low to the table. His laughter lines were gone. His eyes were tired, hooded. He pushed his hair behind his ears, which I usually found charming but which now struck me as a nervous gesture.

Oh Benson!

I reached out and held his hand. He clutched it, pulling it toward him. He met my eyes and tried to smile.

My mother watched our exchange, her head tilted. “You okay, honey?”

“I guess,” he said, shrugging.

We weren’t out of the competition, but it felt like we ought to be. How could two people who’d just made it into the final round of the Olympics feel so worthless?

We studied the room service menu.

“Bob will call us as soon as he knows anything,” Mom said, breaking the silence.

Bob
, she’d said.

I sighed. I’d just have to get used to it.

Benson shifted his legs. “I tried to call Debbie but I couldn’t get through.”

“She’s probably at the hospital,” said Mom.

“What happened to Jim, do you think?” I asked, “Dehydration? A virus? His heart?”

But none of us knew.

A waiter came to my mother’s room to set the table and take our orders. Obviously we were getting special treatment from the hotel. I stared at a menu full of European dishes. I sighed again. I wasn’t hungry. How could I eat at a time like this? “The steak,” I said finally, “with roasted herbed potatoes. Thank you.”

The waiter smiled at me.

I smiled back.

Then it hit me. I must be the world’s shallowest person. How could I be too upset to eat but not too upset to notice a good-looking guy? And, if I were to be honest, to want to
screw
a good-looking guy? Some friend I was.

Self-loathing. Something new to add to my list of problems.

The waiter left, taking a little too long to clear away the menus, taking every opportunity to linger near me and Benson. He recognized us. Of course he did.

Mom waited until the door clicked shut behind him then sat up straight in her seat. “I have a surprise for you, Leah. You can have it now or you can have it after we eat.”

“I don’t care. Whenever.”

“Now? Good idea.” Mom tugged her purse onto her lap and pulled out her phone.

“You have a superphone?” asked Benson, perking up, leaning toward her.

“It’s new.”

She fooled around with her superphone. She punched in a code or turned something on or maybe even put a hex on it, grumbling the entire time. “I’ve never done this before,” she said. Finally she set the phone on the table and spread her napkin in front of it. She ran her hands over the heavy fabric, getting rid of wrinkles.

I sat forward, letting go of my dark thoughts. I had an idea what she was doing.

She set the superphone on edge then pressed a button. “This had better work…”

A light came on then an image of my sister appeared in full color, in three dimensions, hovering over the napkin.

“Constance!” I cried, bouncing in my seat. I jiggled the table in my excitement, which made Constance jiggle also. Putting my hand on my knee to still the trembling, I gaped down at my sister. How marvelous! What a delightful thing, this miniature person on the table! I’d heard of these superphones, but I’d never seen one—they were still too expensive. I was impressed. Constance looked so real—real, but tiny. She stood about as tall as the water glass Mom had cleared aside.

The miniature Constance waved. “Hi, sis!”

I glanced up.

My mother grinned at me.

“Thank you!” I said. “Can she see me?”

“I can see you just fine,” came Constance’s voice. “I can hear you too. These things are pretty cool! You’re floating above my kitchen table. Part of you, anyway. Wow.”

I laughed. “You’re floating too!”

“Someone wants to meet you, sis.” Constance reached her arms offscreen, which had the odd effect of amputating them until they came back into view. And when they did, they were holding Baby Luke.

My eyes filled with tears.

“Say hi to your auntie,” said Constance.

“Luke!” I said, sniffing. I wiped my face, smiling. So I was going to cry threetimes today. Or was it four?

Constance held the baby’s hand in her own and made him wave to me.

“I wish I could hold him!”

“You will, soon enough.”

“He’s beautiful. I mean it. Look at the hair on him!”

My sister ran her hand over the black fuzz on his head. “They say he might lose it. I hope not.”

“I’m making something for him! If it’s ready in time I’ll send it with Mom.”

Mom leaned forward, put her head in front of mine. “Luke’s a lucky little guy, Connie! He already has a sweetheart. And she’s sitting right here.”

I laughed.

Which was a major accomplishment on a day like today.

“Did you hear what happened?” Mom asked, more quietly.

Constance made a face. “Yes. Horrible. I hope Jim’s all right. They’ve been showing it over and over on TV. Just now they showed Jim’s dad and Soraya meeting in the waiting room. They fell apart, crying in each other’s arms…awful. All of it.”

She didn’t mention if they were showing
my
fiasco over and over on TV. I assumed they were, interspersed with panels of experts dissecting our every move, just like that awful woman had promised. The networks must be wild with excitement over today’s ratings.

Luke made a face, pulling me back. He stiffened and began to cry. My arms ached to hold him, to pat him, to put him over my shoulder, to dress him in the sweater I was making for him, to be his auntie for real. I reached my index finger into the—what was it? A hologram?—and touched the empty space that was Baby Luke.

“I’ve got to go,” said Constance. “I love you, sis. Say hi to Benson—”

“Hi!” said Benson.

“You’re there? Well, then I can tell you myself. I have faith in you two. Just do what you do best. Do what you love. Enjoy it. Okay?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Sure,” said Benson.

And we signed off. I put my hand on the place where Baby Luke had been. It felt warm.

“Thank you,” I said again to Mom. And I meant it.

She shrugged then tucked the phone back in her purse. “I had this set up for dinner last night, but…you know.”

“Yeah,” I said, “sorry about that.”

“I’m sorry too.” She reached for my hand. “About me and Bob. I know it’s hard. I wish you hadn’t found out like that. I made a mistake. A big one. The timing was all wrong and I’m sorry.” She looked down at her napkin, still spread on the table. “Bob told me what happened to you, what that Russian asshole did. I’m sorry you were hurt, Leah. I feel responsible.”

I shook my head. “No, Mom, no! It’s not your fault.”

“I don’t know, honey. Bob and I should have waited…”

I squeezed her hand, soft in mine. “And I should have been able to control myself. But I didn’t.”

We fell silent as the waiter came with our meal. He’d probably told his friends about Benson and me, because all of a sudden there were six waiters in the room. He gave me my plate of beef and vegetables.

“
Gracias
,” I said.

He nodded politely. “
De nada
. My pleasure.”

He
was
handsome. Muscular, but not too much—just the way I liked. Strong nose. Large eyes with long eyelashes. Beautiful, golden-brown skin. Very Mexican.

Very sexy.

I blinked, realizing I was gazing unabashedly at his lovely arms as he served us. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing, to be reminded that the world hadn’t come to an end, to feel desire, to remember that I
could
still feel
.

Benson watched me looking at the waiter. He nodded slightly.
You can if you want to
, his eyes told me.
I’m sure he’d be into it.
Benson cocked an eyebrow, looked at the waiter again.
He’s cute. I might be into it too.

I shrugged, pursed my lips, looked at the waiter out of the corner of my eyes then back at Benson.
Hmm.
Tempting, but no. We can’t. Competition, remember? Some other time.

Benson smiled.
Okay. Some other time.

The waiter left, oblivious—maybe—to the silent conversation we’d just had.

Good to know I wasn’t the only one contemplating sport at such an inappropriate time. Benson had been as tempted by the waiter as I had.