Game Day

Janice came down the stairs, gym bag slung over her shoulder. Bill sat at the kitchen table in a stained T-shirt and boxers, shoveling a toaster waffle into his fat mouth in giant, syrupy bites. He looked up. “Where the hell are you going? Put a couple more waffles in.”

She slowed just long enough to call back over her shoulder. “The gym. Like every Sunday for the past two years. I have a noon spin class. Don't forget Lori is coming.” If I watch him eat I'll vomit. The door slammed shut behind her. She scurried into the garage and hopped in the car. Her car. The ten year old Corolla. Not hiscar, the newly-leased Tahoe from work. Come on! Start, start, start. She turned the key and after a pause it whimpered to life. I hate this car. 

She drove the two miles to the gym, the defroster not finishing its job until she was almost parked. She took a couple of deep breaths to ready herself for the icy air, then sprinted across the parking lot and into the lobby. Had to park practically in the next county. Again. Sundays are always so crowded.

“Hey Janice – Mark should be ready for you right after spin,” Susie chirped through her perfect teeth. Twenty-something cute. Everyone who works here is twenty-something cute. Janice gave her a little smile and nod, rushing towards the locker room. She was brought up short by a full-length mirror. She looked at herself, top to toe. I look good. Late-thirties good, but good. 

She tossed her bag and coat into a locker and headed to the class. She always chose a machine in the middle of the room, surrounded by fifty late-thirties good women, all trying to keep up with Susie. 

Janice pushed herself harder than usual, and was drenched by the time they got to cool-down. She stretched and shook her legs. Mark was laughing and talking with the other personal trainers. He looked her way. His eyes crinkled. “Ahhh, Jaaneece,” he Schwarzenegger-ed, “are you ready for me to PUMP YOU UP?!”

Janice flushed and giggled. Like a third-grader. Pull it together, Janice. “Always ready. Let's do this.”

Mark started with her arms and shoulders, first massaging the injured left shoulder deeply. His hands felt marvelous. I will never tell him it is all better. Never.  Twenty minutes later, they moved on to abs. Finally, the torture of the weighted squats and lunges. Like my thighs weren't already maxed out from spin!

She tried to look around the gym, but that was just for show. It's not like I can just stare at him the whole time. But he IS gorgeous. And young. And ripped. She laughed out loud. Mark looked at her, head tilted, left eyebrow up. “What's so funny?” 

Janice froze. Can't say “I know you're twenty-five and I'm thirty-eight but let's hook up.”  She felt her throat burn and knew she was flushing all the way up to her forehead. “Nothing,” she stammered, “I'm fine, fine, really, fine. Totally fine.” Lamest response ever. Mark shrugged and shook his head. Janice was adequately humiliated, and finished the workout in silence.

She stood in the shower for almost twenty minutes, the hot water pounding her back. Why not Mark? I went for Bill when I was Mark's age – same difference. Exactly. She felt the heat rising in her skin again, and the hot water was too much. She turned it to cold, then got out, shivering. 

The ride home seemed to take less than an instant, and she drove around the block twice before turning in. Not ready. Not ready for my life. Not ready for HIM. Up the cracked drive to the cramped garage behind her crappy house.  She sat for a good ten minutes, listening to some NPR quiz show, before the Corolla got cold enough to roust her from the seat and across the patio into the kitchen. I hate this house. I hate this city. I hate November. She closed the door and looked around. The kitchen was a mess. It seemed that every cupboard door was open. There were empty chip bags and cereal boxes on the counter. Cheetos on the floor. Cheetos. I hate Cheetos. The microwave was open, with something brown splattered over the walls and door.  I was only gone for two hours. Okay, closer to three. How did I end up with this pig?  She sighed and started to get out the broom.

“Hey Janice, bring me a beer.” His voice was heavy, thick.

She looked in the fridge, shook her head, and went out to the living room. Bill was on the couch, his eyes locked on the TV screen. Football. I hate football. On the side table was an empty six-pack carrier. On the floor was another. The bottles themselves were mostly on grandma's coffee table next to his feet. Or the floor. A couple on the couch. My life sucks. 

“We're out.” That got his attention. That's right, no beer for your beer belly. I mean beer BODY.  

“Whadda ya mean? Geez, woman, can't you even keep beer in the fridge?”

“There is no more beer. You had a dozen bottles when I left.”

“Steelers are losing.” As if that were an explanation.

She started to pick up the bottles and put them in the cardboard carriers. 

“Get out of the way. Game's on.”

Janice picked up all the bottles she could reach from outside his line of vision to the giant high definition screen. I could stand here naked and he would still stare at the screen. I hate this life. I hate this man.  She went back into the kitchen.

“Hey, can you go get some more beer?” She closed her eyes, counted to ten, and stuck her head back out the door.

“Bill, we have to pick your daughter up. We better leave right away.”

“The fourth quarter just started. You go get her.”

“I will definitely drive, but you have to come. She is here to see YOU, after all.”

“She'll understand.”

“You're a jerk.”

“This jerk pays for your life!” His voice was half roar, half slur.

Janice went back into the kitchen. Like I don't make as much at the clinic as he does selling trucks. She glanced at the clock. Ten minutes if I'm not gonna be late. And I can't stand her whining if I am.She started again to sweep the floor. She was not about to give Lori the satisfaction of calling her a bad housekeeper. 

Bill fumed as he watched the Steelers go three and out. Again. Who did she think she was? I'm going in there and give her what-for. Lazy whore.

He struggled to put his feet on the floor, rolled his three hundred pounds forward, and sat up at the edge of the sofa. His head was swimming a little, but after a minute with maximum effort he pushed onto his feet. It was no good. He swayed a little, then his right knee buckled and he went down, belly-flopping heavily on the coffee table, destroying the top and flattening the front legs under his bulk. The delicate turned legs nearer the couch were split, and the one by his head stood upright, its sharp edge pointing at the ceiling. 

“Hmmpf,” he gasped, trying to catch his breath.

Janice came through the doorway. Bill looked like the elephant seals they had seen on their honeymoon fifteen years and for him a hundred pounds ago. Actually more like a giant garden slug.She went and stood at his head. Tears welled up as she surveyed the wreckage. That table was all I had from grandma. How did I end up like this? 

“Bill, are you okay?” Please be dead.

Huffing and puffing, he was able to cough out something that sounded suspiciously like bitch.

She stared at the ruins for a few seconds. Another few inches to the side and the abusive tub of lard would have skewered himself.She took a deep breath and blew it out. Then another. “Here, honey, let me help you up.” She squatted down and stuck her hands under his collarbones. I already did enough lifts today. “One, two, three, up!”

Her back strained, her already aching thighs burned, but she was able to pull him up high enough to get his arms straightened out, his left knee coming forward. He balanced precariously in a three-point stance. The sound of a referee's whistle blew, and he turned his head towards the screen. Football. It's all about the football. Go to hell.

With a sudden effort she pulled him sideways towards the couch, and let go. For a moment it looked like he would keep his balance, but she gave another push and he went down sideways, the point of the ruined table leg driving neatly into the right side of his neck as he collapsed, continuing relentlessly through his larynx, and tenting the skin of the neck on the left, until, as he settled under his massive weight, it finally burst though.

Janice had skipped lightly back, and now she watched from ten feet away. Bill thrashed, right arm pinned awkwardly beneath him, his pierced carotid spurting bright red blood out of the upper wound. He was making useless gurgling sounds, blood now pouring from his mouth as well. He flailed wildly, then twitched, and finally lay still. His dead eyes were open, still staring as the Steelers scored. Blood spread out darkly, soaking the already hideous 1970’s shag carpet.  I guess I can finally get THAT replaced. She examined her sneakers and sky blue yoga pants, but did not see any blood. She looked at the mess. Oops, sorry. Guess I have to go. Wouldn't want to make your little Princess wait in the cold. She went back into the kitchen, finished sweeping the floor and the counters, put on her big fluffy coat and headed out the door. She started to lock it behind her, then stopped. Open is better.

The forty minute drive to the airport was exhilarating. NPR was running This American Life. She listened for a while, then switched to a jazz station that Bill hated. 

Her cell phone chirped as she neared the airport. It was a group text from Lori to her and Bill. “Landed. Taxiing.” Perfect timing. “See you at the curb,” she typed, feeling a little guilty about texting while driving.

Lori was waiting at the curb as she pulled up in the heavy pre-Thanksgiving traffic. She's even bigger than the last time. Or maybe it is just the coat. No more skinny little prom queen. No more chanting “Daddy married a fattie.” Janice patted her now flat belly with satisfaction. 

Lori bent down at the window. “Where's Daddy? I tried calling, but he did not pick up.” 

Janice smiled at her. “He was watching the Steelers, said you'd understand.”

“What a great finish!” Lori enthused. “I was watching on the plane. Did you see it? Roethlisberger scored with five seconds on the clock!” She put her bag in the back seat, and then squeezed into the small car with some difficultly.

“I was already on the way. It was just the start of the fourth quarter when I left.” 

“Didn't you hear it on the radio?”

“No, I was listening to NPR.” 

Lori stared at her open-mouthed for a second, then recovered. “Uh, can we listen to the game report on the way?”

“No problem.” Janice found the sports station. “How's work?”

“It's okay. At least it's warm in Dallas.” She turned up the radio and pulled out her phone, fat fingers typing quickly. “Why doesn't he answer?” She stared out the window, where something caught her eye. “I'm starved. Do you mind driving though McDonalds?”

“Sure thing.” I'd hate for you to pass out on the way home.

There was a long line at the drive-thru. It took three tries for the worker to get the order right with Lori bellowing across the car at the speaker. I asked you twice, you could have just told me what you wanted. Lori didn't even react at the first window when the cashier stuck out his hand. Janice had to pull the wallet from her parka, and it fumbled to the floor. She twisted awkwardly down to get it. Crap. There’s a spot of blood on my shoe. That's not good. Better think of something to explain it. She retrieved the money and paid. Idiots serving meals to idiots. Lori wolfed down the two quarter pounders with cheese and chugged the super-sized Coke. And the fries. Like father like daughter.

Lori was silent the rest of the way home, just listened to the inane comments of the ecstatic, victorious announcers. You would think THEY had scored that last touchdown.  What a bunch of morons. I wonder what Mark thinks about football? She smiled, then glanced over to see if Lori noticed, but she was back to staring out the window.

Janice pulled to a stop in front of the garage. “It will be easier for you to get out here, the garage is so narrow. Go on in through the kitchen while I put the car away. The door should be open.”

She watched for a few seconds as Lori waddled towards the house, pulling her tiny roller bag behind her. An ocean liner pulling a tugboat. She rolled down her window as she pulled slowly forward, tingling a little with anticipation. She was just putting the car in park when she heard the scream. She smiled broadly, enjoying the moment, then composed herself. She remembered to roll up the window before going into the house.  It's all in the details. Time to play the grieving widow.

Janice ran through the kitchen to the living room. Lori stood against the wall, staring at her father, whimpering. “Did you call 9-1-1?” She shook her. “Lori! Call 9-1-1!” Lori pulled out her phone. 

Janice went over to Bill and knelt down, making sure to soak her pants and shoes in the thick, sticky blood. No way to check for a carotid pulse. There's a stake right through it. Maybe I should start CPR? No, no one would believe a nurse could think there was any point. She dragged Lori with her into the kitchen and sat her down at the table, just where Bill had been earlier. Maybe I should offer her some waffles. 

She went back out to her car “To get my phone”, tracking blood across the walk as well as getting some in the Corolla. That should take care of any awkward forensic questions.

The cops and paramedics arrived at about the same time. Lori was a mess. Big, fat, blubbery mess. Happy Thanksgiving, loser. 

The paramedics spent about five minutes looking at Bill, but he was unquestionably dead. Dead, cold skin, no pulse, dead, open eyes. Plus, there must have been over a gallon of blood on the carpet. “Nothing for us here, call the coroner.”

The police took statements from both Janice and Lori. There was not much to say.  He was just watching the game and guzzling beer when I left, just like every Sunday. The coroner's crew arrived. Janice could hear them talking in the next room, mostly about the Steelers game. Not a hint of suspicion. Just a fat drunk falling down at home. Bad luck.

The big cop came back in from the living room. “You can go get cleaned up if you like. Things like this take a while.” Janice went upstairs and peeled off the sticky pants, frowning, then laughing quietly. They aren't even treating it like a crime scene. Ruined my good pants and those cute sneakers for nothing. Oh, well, better safe than sorry. 

For the second time that day, she let hot water pour over her body. Not a long shower like at the gym- the plumbing was not up to that. First order of business is a new water heater. After new carpet in the living room.  She got out and toweled the steam off the mirror, then stared at herself. She stretched and pulled her hair up behind her head, twisting her hips back and forth and stretching her chin up. Not just late-thirties good. Late-thirties HOT.