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Play the Right Game

By Roger E. Bruner

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Saturday night, October 1, last year
Carla Cabrero:

“Not a one…” Not a single one. I fought back a giggle and gave Annie my droopy-eared puppy dog look. Even at thirty-five, I wasn’t too old to do that at appropriate times. “I know almost everyone here, and they’re all either married, too young, or too old.”

Annie bared her teeth. “Grrr.” She took her man-hunting more seriously than I did. Of course she did. She was desperate. I wasn’t. As much as I would love to marry again, this time to a fine Christian man, I wasn’t going to go out hunting for him. I would rely on God to bring us together.

I squeezed her shoulder gently. “Looks like we came to this stupid basketball game for nothing. Maybe we should’ve come to an adult game rather than a church youth league.” This had been just one more of Annie’s silly ideas, one I’d lost the battle opposing. She’d convinced me that, since we both detested sports, we wouldn’t have to worry about watching the game. We’d be too busy watching the fellas.

She shook my hand off. “I’m not giving up that easily, girlfriend. What about that guy sitting by himself near the end of the third row?”

My gaze followed her pointing finger across the gym. I smirked.

Unintentionally. “He doesn’t look like he’s sixty-nine, does he? Especially at this distance.”

She grunted, and I lowered my voice to a whisper. As if everyone at church didn’t already know the truth about Mr. Jenkins. “That black hair? Underneath the dye, it’s the most beautiful shade of white. Why can’t he be satisfied with looking his age?” I let that sink in. “You’re not desperate enough to settle for somebody thirty-some years older than you, are you?”

Although she glared as if she wanted to swat me, she groaned instead. “I’ll keep looking, thank you very much. And I’ll bet I spot an eligible man before you do.”

Good luck with that. Since you don’t know the people at Calvary Church, how can you tell who’s single and who’s not? You had one thing right about Mr. Jenkins, though. He is single—a lifelong bachelor.

“Hey, look.” I pointed at the fellow climbing the bleachers across the gym from us. “Thomas Jefferson Newland—TJ. He’s my—”

“That Bible study teacher you rave about all the time? He’s hot. Totally gorgeous. How come you never told me how good-looking he is? Woo!” When the blue-haired lady several rows down from us turned around, looked up, and stared at us, Annie’s face heated instantly to a uniquely unappealing shade of red. She lowered her voice. “He’s our age, give-or-take?” She didn’t have to admit she wasn’t taking a chance that time.

“Yep.”

“Married?”

I nodded. Regretfully.

She wrinkled her forehead. I could almost hear her thinking, Why did I bother to ask? “His wife’s not with him?”

I took a quick look around the gym. “I don’t see Joanne anywhere.”

“Hmm.”

“That’s not unusual. No wonder those two don’t have any kids. I don’t think they do anything together.”

As soon as I realized what I’d said—or at least unwittingly implied—my face burst into flames. It felt like it, anyhow. “I can’t recall the last time I saw her at Bible study. Or a worship service, for that matter. She seems unconcerned about spiritual matters.”

“TJ is that good a teacher, huh?”

“Mmm.” Thanks for not asking anything more about Joanne. I almost felt like a gossip for expressing my opinion. Thank goodness I hadn’t passed along anyone else’s. “He’s not just handsome. He’s really nice. Kind. Thoughtful.”

“Sounds like a perfect man. Except for being married, that is.”

I smirked. “He’s not perfect, girlfriend.”

“Oh?” She poked me in the arm. “Name one of his faults. Just one.”

Although I admired TJ tremendously, I didn’t have to think before responding. “No matter how super-brilliant he is—no matter how nice, kind, and thoughtful—the poor man is super-serious. He doesn’t seem to know how to have fun. Honestly, I’m shocked to see him at a basketball game. Especially on a Saturday night. He’s probably focusing too hard on tomorrow’s lesson to pay attention to the game.”

Annie looked at TJ. Stared at him several minutes, actually. “He’s not even smiling.”

“See what I mean?”

She looked unusually pensive. “He’s a good man otherwise?”

“Good and highly desirable.” I sighed. “He would be, anyhow. If he wasn’t so serious—and so married.”

She snorted. “That ‘if’ of yours is going to turn us into old maids. Fat chance either of us will ever snag a man like him. How can we? The good guys are all taken.”

I sighed. She was probably right. But God would take care of that problem if He wanted to.

“There!” Annie pointed at the unfamiliar man I’d just spotted coming through the gym’s double doors. He was unzipping his jacket. A top-of-the-line Ralph Lauren. I couldn’t miss quality like that even at a distance.

She was almost bouncing up and down. “I saw him first! He’s single, isn’t he? I know that guy’s single. He has to be.”

Cool it, girl. I rolled my eyes. Mentally, anyhow. “You’re wrong. I saw him first. I’ve never seen him before. Must not attend Calvary. His hair and beard look pretty unkempt, but it’s hard to tell at this distance.” I chuckled. “Maybe he’s a street person”—wearing that expensive jacket?—“coming inside to get warm and kill some time. Today has been unseasonably chilly.”

We laughed and punched each other in the arm just as we’d been doing for the last thirty-some years. Thank goodness our friendship had proven stronger—most of the time, anyhow—than our rivalry. She looked at me when she quit laughing. “My first bicycle was prettier than yours.”

Talk about a change of subject!

I wasn’t about to admit how right she was. I couldn’t even remember my first bike. But I was determined to have the last word—for a change. “The quilt grandma made for my sixteenth birthday was a lot nicer than that old store-bought comforter your parents gave you when they bought a new one. Mine smelled better, too. Like cedar. I still have it.” I paused strategically.

“Do you still have your first bicycle?”

~*~

Bicycles and bed coverings were fun to argue over, but the competition to land a worthy husband was serious business. At least for Annie.

She periodically predicted the end of our rivalry—when we would race down the aisle, our trains flapping behind us like canvas sails in a hurricane. And each of us would strive for one final heart- and lung-rending burst of energy to reach the preacher first and gasp, “I do. She doesn’t.”

Then the poor groom would open his eyes to see which woman he was marrying. Both of us would have proposed, and I had no idea how we’d talked him into accepting our twin proposals because I didn’t understand it myself. He’d accepted conditionally, of course. Despite America’s sick efforts to redefine marriage, he couldn’t marry both of us. Nor would he have wanted to, if he had any sense.

He would see that he was marrying Annie, of course. After I-doing and kissing the blessed groom, she would joyously turn to me and stick out her tongue. “I told you I’d win!”

Have I mentioned that Annie took our rivalry seriously—especially in searching for a suitable mate? I didn’t have the heart to tell her I was only pretending.

~*~

Annie poked my arm. Before I could ask what she wanted, she poked me again. Harder. More insistently. “The binoculars. Hand them over.” She stuck her hand out.

I’d wondered why she wanted me to bring those things to a basketball game, but I didn’t ask. As was often the case with Annie, it wasn’t worth the effort. Instead, I pointed out that—unlike a football, which often got buried out of sight beneath a pile of sweaty males—a basketball was big enough to see throughout the game, no matter who had it or where it went.
That’s when she reminded me we wouldn’t be watching the game…

When I didn’t respond fast enough, she grabbed the binoculars and yanked them over my head, tangling the cord with the leather lace my wooden cross hung from. Only God’s grace kept it from disappearing—probably forever—through one of the cracks between the bleachers; I couldn’t imagine trying to get under there to find it.

I grabbed the necklace—the lace had caught on the toe of my shoe and the cross was dangling precariously over the crevice—and gently pulled it into the safety of my hand.

I kissed the cross and slipped it back on. Thank You, Lord. You know how much that cross means to me. My grandmother gave it to Mama the day she became a Christian and Mama did the same for me. I rarely took it off. I loved that necklace, although I wasn’t always sure I loved Mama as much. No need to think about that right now.

Without demonstrating the least remorse for the near-catastrophe she’d just caused, Annie aimed the binoculars at the opposite side of the gym and turned the dial to focus on her target—the poor, unsuspecting stranger.

When a man-sized curse flew out of Annie’s mouth, the little blue-haired lady turned and gave her a reproachful stare. No wonder. Annie’s language could get downright salty at times. Peppery, too. Even in the courtroom when a guilty client got what he deserved in spite of her expert defense. She couldn’t stand to lose an argument there, either.

I waited till the old lady turned her attention back to the game. “What, girl?”

“I can’t see his left hand. He’s…wait, he’s unclasped them. Come on, fella. Let’s see…ah, there!” She turned and looked me in the eye. “No ring. And I did see him first.”

I faked a grin and shook my head. “Whatever. He’s not that great-looking.”

Not that I cared one way or the other about looks, but Annie did. No wonder. As gorgeous as she was, she would never get pregnant unless she had reason to believe the kid would be equally gorgeous. And that would require a husband as handsome as TJ. For her sake, too bad he wasn’t available.

I rolled my eyes. “That guy’s face is nice enough, I suppose, but the hair and beard? Ugh. Besides, you still don’t know whether he’s really single, do you?”

I’d had too many nasty encounters with guys who prided themselves on hiding their marital status until I’d really started to like them. “So what’s the plan?”

No matter how high my pure-blonde-to-the-roots best friend scored on intelligence, her heritage had short-changed her on common sense. She could be absolutely ditsy at times. Occasionally she was just acting, but not always. Truth was, her genius-ness seemed to bore her, no matter how much she loved to flaunt it. Whatever her plan this time, it would undoubtedly run true to form—and probably backfire.

“You’ve never seen him at Calvary?”

Haven’t you been listening? “Not there or anywhere else.” He does look vaguely familiar, though. A used car commercial, maybe?

“In that case, I’m gonna go sit close enough to talk to him.”

“Good luck with that, my pushy little girlfriend. Maybe you haven’t noticed, but—unlike TJ, whose attention is on his iPad—that guy is focused on the game. Like a dad with a kid on one of the teams.” Trying to discourage her that way was fun. Not to mention realistic. “He may not even pay attention to you. What’ll you do then?”

She crinkled her deep blue eyes for a couple of seconds before staring into my dark brown eyes. With the same laser look she was known for using so effectively when interrogating a resistant witness. “You’re just jealous because I saw him first.”

I glanced upward. Why, Lord? In the grand scheme of things, who cares which of us saw this unshaven stranger first? If I was inclined to wallow in jealousy, I’d pick something more important. Like the fact Annie had passed the Virginia bar exam on the first try when I had to take it three times.

She’d aced it, too. I barely passed.

No wonder our law firm stuck me in the divorce section with little hope I’d ever get divorced from it. If Annie hadn’t made them hire me to get her, I would probably be slinging greasy burgers in some deprived part of town and practicing my self-defense shooting rather than anything related to law.
She handed me the binoculars. “Watch. You’ll see.”

She grabbed her purse and scrambled awkwardly down the bleachers. Almost fell, actually. Good thing the crowd in our section was sparse. She might never have reached floor level otherwise. Not without bowling some spectators out of the way and landing flat on her face. Not an acceptably Annie-esque thing to do.

She shook herself off and wound her way around the outside of the court, seemingly oblivious to the fast-paced on-court maneuvers TJ was ignoring and the stranger appeared intent on watching. Then she looked around for a clear spot to start climbing.

That woman’s luck was absolutely ungodly. When she saw that the spot beside the stranger had just become vacant, she beelined for it. Maybe someone like Annie—insanely crazy and outgoing—really was better suited for criminal law than I was.

Instead of fretting, I twisted the binoculars’ focus wheel this way and that, trying to see her and the stranger more clearly. Why wasn’t…? Oh. My glasses were in the way. I stuck them in my purse and tried again. Now everything was clear. Clearer than I’d expected. And clearer than I wanted.

No, Annie! Don’t you dare unfasten another button. If you’re looking for a good man and not just one who’ll take whatever he can get from you, you’re playing the wrong game. The game you always play.

I let the binoculars slip from my hand and dangle from my neck. I couldn’t watch anymore. As often as I’d warned Annie about her man-catching methods, I might as well have been talking to the Statue of Liberty. Whatever statue Annie was, however, I had the impression she’d used her liberties too freely over the years.

Why worry about it now? She was a grown woman. She would do whatever she wanted. She always did.

And I would keep loving her like the sister I’d always wanted and never had. Even though I felt like giving her a good spanking. And maybe a swift kick.

~*~

The game had ended. “Who won?” somebody asked. I shook my head. I had no idea. I’d never bothered to find out who was playing.

Neither did I see the first sign of Annie. But since the stranger was heading towards the exit by himself, her plan must not have worked. Had she learned he was married and didn’t want to admit I’d been right?

Since we’d ridden together, she would show up again shortly. Outdoors if not inside the gym. That or I’d have to call a cab. It wouldn’t be the first time.

The stranger didn’t look nearly as scruffy in person as he had through binoculars. True, the beard hadn’t filled out fully yet, but he’d shaped it nicely and shaved the part of his face that wasn’t bearded.

He pulled a cap from his jacket pocket and positioned it on his head at a jaunty angle. When I noticed how tightly it fit, I quit thinking unkindly of his unruly hair. Hair he’d probably paid a small fortune to have cut so much more stylishly than mine. But why had he dyed his obviously black hair blond—the beard, too—without doing anything about the eyebrows? Strange...

When he reached the exit, he turned around and waited for me, motioning for me to go ahead of him.

I gave him my most appreciative smile. “You’re a real gentleman in a world that has too few of them.”

“And you’re a real lady for permitting me to be one.” Wow! Had I seen his smile on a toothpaste ad rather than a used car commercial?

Just as the door slammed shut behind me, I heard a faint-but-familiar “Argh!” coming from the other side.

You were behind us, girlfriend? He must not have realized that when he let the door slam shut. I opened it and smiled at her. “Where’d you come from?”

She growled again, took my arm, and pulled me towards the parking lot. Pulled? No, she actually just about jerked my arm off. And totally ignored the stranger, who was only a few yards ahead of us. Now would’ve been a more appropriate time to introduce herself than during the game. Oh, well.

She lowered herself into the driver’s seat and slammed the door. If I’d done that to her precious silver BMW Z-whatever—how often had she insisted that the doors of “quality cars” close with a gentle pull?—she would’ve given me what-for in her most abusive tone. I shut the passenger door as gently as I could and buckled up. The ride home threatened to be a rough one.

Even though she had put the key in the ignition, she hadn’t started the engine. Instead, she sat there staring straight ahead, her hands glued so tightly to the steering wheel that her fingers looked deathly pale in the semi-darkness.

Had I upset her? I couldn’t imagine how. Would I have to put up with the silent treatment all the way home? If we ever left the parking lot, that is.

“Spill it, girlfriend. What’s wrong?” Icy silence. “You got to sit by him. For a while, anyhow. Your plan didn’t work?”

When she turned towards me, I gulped. Loudly. The possum they’d caught under the old building that housed our offices had worn the same vicious expression. One that said, I’ll shred anyone who comes near me.

She took her hands off the wheel, shook the blood back into them, and hugged herself. “I introduced myself. I asked if he had a kid playing on one of the teams. He didn’t respond. So far, so good, I thought. I told him I’m single—so I don’t have any children.” She got quiet. Uncharacteristically quiet. As if something had distracted her.

I shook my head and shrugged—not easy to do in such a small car. She’d just described a typical Annie-approach. What next?

She sniffled once. “He still didn’t say anything. Didn’t even look in my direction. So I kept talking. Told him my name again and asked if he went to Calvary Church. Still no response. I got so exasperated I tapped him on the arm and asked if he’d been listening. You know what he said?”

That you’d worn out his ears and his patience as well? “No idea.”

She sighed. A long, huffy sigh. “He said, ‘No hablo inglés.’ I don’t hablo Spanish, Carla. You know that.” She sighed again. “I guess he’s all yours now. Even though I saw him first.”

I giggled once. Then a second time. Not how I meant to respond, but I couldn’t help it. Any man who could ignore Annie on first meeting her deserved a lot of credit. Especially if he used my native language to do it.

But then I smacked myself in the forehead. That ultra-polite stranger had spoken to me in perfect, proper English—without any hint of an accent.

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