Some Time to Kill

"Did I... Why would I ask her out?"

"Because she's a troubled, beautiful woman and you're you."

"Are you saying I have issues when picking women?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying. Did you ask her out?"

"Yeah. She said no."

"Probably for the best. You gave her back the gun?"

"Yup."

"You sure that was a good idea?"

"Nope."

"Well, aren't you eloquent? Okay, enjoy the game. I'll call Mom and bring over dinner."

I didn't like losing, and I was glad that we won, but that wasn't what it was all about for me. Hitting the ball, running the bases, sitting on the bench and rooting on friends when they were at bat, keeping up the chatter while Missy pitched, trying to get out the lead runner; that was why I was there. If I lost every game, I'd still be out there.

Softball had rules. You can look them up, you can memorize them, and you can appeal to the ump while citing a rule. Things weren't arbitrary. If I hit the ball, I ran to first, never to third. If we got three outs we got to bat again. Everything was solid, clear, and understandable. I could push all the questions from my mind and just enjoy the game.

I stopped paying $75 an hour to someone when, with an air of discovery, he asked me if I thought that I was overlaying logic and predictability atop tragedy. I had last seen the haunted expression on my brother's face through the back window as the cop car pulled away, so I might be adjusting my personal reality.

That was why I was paying him $150 a week? That was his deep analysis that would help excavate my soul? I'd figured that out long ago. Week after week, year after year, I went to a park and made sure that I knew the rules and how everything would turn out. It made my world safe again. I knew that as a teenager, I was carrying more guilt than anyone should and this crackpot thought he was a therapeutic Galileo making remarkable discoveries.

That was the last week I saw someone. Carey thought it was a mistake. So did Mom. They were wrong. I was okay.

I was leaning against my trunk, banging my cleats together to shake off the dirt when Billie approached.

"Good game, Tony. Are you playing in the county games on Saturday?"

"Yeah, you playing?"

She laughed. It was a fun, infectious sound and I smiled as she continued. "No, I'm nowhere good enough to play for those teams. You have plans for after? I thought I might try that new TexMex place by the pier."

Billie came down to watch us play. She was a little on the short side and very curvy. Whenever we got a hit most of the people there to cheer us on watched her to see if she'd jump up, instead of whoever hit the ball legging it out. I'd known her for a few years and we'd been out together, but only as part of the team. Four or five of us would go for a beer, or there would be a team BBQ at someone's house, and we'd wind up talking for a while.

I'd known that she'd broken up with her boyfriend but hadn't anticipated her asking me out. Billie had brought a case of Gatorade and had them in the cooler before the first pitch was thrown. As always, everyone liked her.

She followed me back to my condo so I could take a quick shower. I got a quick shave, dressed, and stepped out into the living room to see her looking out at the balcony and the city beyond.

"This is a nice place, Tony. Do you do anything aside from bartending?"

"Yeah, a little here and there." At least I knew she wasn't into me for money.

We went to the restaurant and wound up having chicken tortilla soup and sharing an assortment of empanadas. It was a weird choice, but it worked. She laughed at my reaction to the hot salsa I foolishly claimed wouldn't be a problem, and we finished the meal with coffee after splitting a fried ice cream dish that was coated in pastry and cinnamon.

When we got back to my parking lot, she leaned against her door and faced me.

"I'm not feeling tired, Tony. How about you?"

"Nope, not in the least."

"Invite me up."

I smiled. "Hey, Billie, feel like coming up for a nightcap?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

She thoroughly enjoyed my omelet in the morning, but I needed to buy more bacon. We kept it light, both of us realizing I'd call her soon. It was too good of a day and night for a one-time thing.

I did some shopping, dropped off half at my place, and drove over to see Mom. My first five minutes with her were always so depressing. She wasn't just happy to see me, she was... I don't know. Grateful, maybe. It was as if she hadn't seen me in years and thought I'd never come back.

We loaded up her fridge and cooked together before watching some television show she was binging.

As I stood to leave, as the night settled and the neighborhood quieted, I kept my eyes steady, unwavering, and knowing exactly where to look. More importantly, I knew exactly where not to look. There were photos of Kevin everywhere, and I had them mapped out.

Mom had her hand on my back as we walked to the door.

"I love you, Antoine. Goodbye."

I hugged her and kissed the top of her head. "Not goodbye, Mom. Just goodnight."

The restaurant had received meat labeled as prime for two months before we realized it was choice. Our menus said prime. They were paid for prime. The customers were paying us for prime. The beef purveyor was screwing us over. We found out when we noticed double labeling. One was stuck over another, and when it was peeled off, the original label was underneath.

I couldn't believe we'd gone eight weeks without noticing. If it wasn't for someone being lazy on the purveyors' end, I had no idea how long it would have gone on. I fired the chef. He was either getting a cut or was incompetent and I was betting the former because I wouldn't have hired him otherwise.. His replacement, Arthur, was arrogant but talented. He tended to treat me like our roles were reversed and I was the employee, but the kitchen ran smoothly and the quality of the meals increased.

All I wanted from the purveyor was a refund. They refused, and that really pissed me off. I sued.

The day after seeing Mom, I was in court. It was my first time there, having let my lawyer, Mr. Casteleo, handle everything prior. He assured me that this was going to be the final day, so I made an appearance.

We were talking when Gary Gentry of GG Provisions walked in with his lawyer—his tall, brunette, gun-owning lawyer.

Lindsey stopped in her tracks when she saw me. I gave her a small smile and shrugged.

After staring for a moment, she led her client to the table opposite ours. Having watched too much Law and Order I expected... something. I didn't know what, but some drama seemed in order. Surprise witnesses, last-minute evidence, Javert popping and declaring "J'accuse!" or something aside from the boring recitation of details and the judge barely raising an eyebrow as he sided with us against Gentry.

It was a little disappointing. The courtroom was bland and looked shopworn; no one was in custom Italian suits, there were no Perry Mason moments. The only thing that stuck out was Lindsey. The first time I'd seen her, she was dressed for a night out on the town, and her every move and gesture pulled eyes in her direction. The next morning she was wearing a sweatsuit and was no less alluring. I'd wanted to cook her breakfast and curl up with her and a book on the couch.

Now she was dressed as a legal power player, and I wasn't the only man in the courtroom who was having difficulty concentrating. My lawyer had to nudge me twice to get me to be less blatant.

So, that was that. It felt a little odd to have it over and done. Lindsey spoke with my lawyer, occasionally looking over her shoulder at me as they discussed how soon I'd be receiving the check. When they shook hands, I moved closer to my lawyer and stuck out mine.

Smiling and with raised eyebrows, I shook her hand. "Nice to see you again, counselor."

"Yes... Well," Lindsey said. "Mr. Casteleo, you should receive the check by the end of the week. Good luck to both of you."

She was talking to Gentry as she left. My lawyer shuffled some papers together, put them in his briefcase, and walked me out.

"How do you know her?" he asked carefully.

"Uh, she stopped in the bar. We spoke."

"About the case?"

"No, she had no idea who I was. It was just a place to get a drink. She didn't know me, and I didn't know her."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, positive."

We parted in the municipal parking lot. He went back to make more sacrifices to appease Moloch or wherever lawyers go after a victory, and I went to the bar. It was a good evening and Billie showed up around nine.

When I handed her the mojito, she lightly ran her fingernail over the back of my hand. "Can you sneak out a little early? I thought we could go back to my place."

I looked around. "No, the boss'll have my head. Thursday? We can get dinner first."

"Sure, Thursday works. See you at the game?"

Smiling, I replied. "Of course."

We spoke between me getting drinks, and she left after an hour.

The game was tight, but we won Wednesday night and she wound up back at my place. Some takeout Chinese and a couple of beers from Sudwerk went down easy. Netflix was on as we ate, but the volume was down, and we spoke about the game, the league, and our chances of making it to the playoffs. If the team I was on with Billie made it, I'd be three for three on teams in the postseason.

"So, how's your cousin?"

"She's getting out. Totally. She's going to coach at UC Davis, but she's out of competing."

My chicken-fried-rice-laden fork paused on its way to my mouth. "Really?"

"Um-hm. She says she doesn't need the money or reminders. She wants out. She's going to concentrate on giving back to the sport and helping younger players."

Her cousin was Nancy Yee, an LPGA powerhouse. She'd been caught in a long term affair with the guy who ran the tour. Her husband had turned it into a huge thing; Nancy lost sponsorships, commercials, and it messed with her head. Her game took a dive for a while, and now she was quitting just when she had climbed back on top of the rankings.

"Well, I guess if she'll be happier. At least she proved she still had it and isn't leaving because she has to."

"Yeah. She got some sponsors back; mostly clothes and clubs, no more toothpaste commercials. They'll keep her on. I don't know how much she has saved up, but she likes the nice stuff in life, so she'll need the money, but... yeah, she's been miserable."

"Well, money can't buy happiness. I'm not saying it won't make things easier, but it's not a silver bullet."

"I'm done talking about Nancy, let's talk about us. You still coming over tomorrow?"

"I have to go in for a few hours, but I can be free by about six."

She leaned into me and kissed my neck. "Any chance you can get free earlier?"

"I... Uh..."

Light as a butterfly, her lips touched my jaw and then my earlobe. "I can make it worth your while."

I pulled her onto my lap. "Five?"

Arms snaking around my neck, Billie's lips met mine. Tentatively, teasingly, her tongue reached mine, and then she leaned back. "Four?"

I smiled. "Four it is."

An hour later, I was cleaning up Chinese food that had fallen off the tray table, and Billie was getting dressed. She left before midnight. When I went to bed, I plugged the phone into the charger only to see that Mom had left four texts.

Sighing, I responded without reading them.

I'm good. Everything is fine. Just getting to bed. Will call tomorrow.

Just starting to drift off, I heard the phone ping. Reaching over, I grabbed it.

What time?

Before work. I have to get some sleep. We'll talk in the morning.

I'd showered after Billie left, but it was part of my wake-up routine, so I showered again, set my Keurig, and called Mom.

"Good morning."

"Morning, Mom. What's going on?"

"I was hoping that you and your sister could come by for dinner Saturday. They had a nice roast on sale. I could make those carrots you like with the parsnips and root beer reduction."

"That's why... Yeah, okay. Talk to Carey, but I'm in. I can't be there until seven, though."

"You own the bar, Antoine. No one's going to call you out for leaving a little early."

"Yeah, but you know how I am."

She did. My mother was the first person to bring it to my attention. It started after we lost Kevin, but if I said I would be somewhere or I was going to do something, I did it. If something threatened my ability to do what I said I'd do, panic attacks set in. Car broke down on my way to work? I'd start to spiral. Felt sick? Fuck it; I'd go in anyway.

My manager had to take me to the emergency room once when I showed up and locked myself in my office to make sure I didn't get anyone else sick. I had the flu and must have looked like the walking dead. They said I was dehydrated and was surprised I was able to get there.

Mom was exasperated but understood. "Fine. We'll see you at seven."

My mother was clingy, and I was neurotic. Carey was the one who coped with Kevin's death the best. She was less indulgent of Mom and was a rock for me. We were closer than most siblings, but what we had been through would either push us apart or bring us together. I couldn't imagine it not being a catalyst for change.

The day was uneventful. I was scheduled until two, but I'd usually walk over to the restaurant and check in. Since I wasn't on a schedule there, my anal-retentive tendencies cut me some slack. I went home, got another shower, grabbed a bottle of wine, and headed over to Billie's.

While Lindsey seemed to be Versace and Jimmy Choo, Billie was jeans and a tee-shirt. To be fair, I hadn't seen her dressed for work, so that might not be accurate. She had a nice home, but I knew it was temporary. She worked in field management for a real-estate company and they let her stay in unrented properties. A move every six months may have been annoying, but not paying rent was a nice perk.

A petite woman, she kept her lustrous black hair in a ponytail. I'd never been a hair guy, but seeing it out and framing her face as she looked down at me in bed would push me over the edge. Answering the door, she took the wine and leaned up to kiss me.

It turned out that she was a good cook. I knew she could grill from all of the BBQs the softball team had, but she made chicken piccata for dinner and the aroma drove me crazy. I'd skipped lunch and Billie laughed when she heard my stomach rumble.

"Did you make the bread? It's fantastic."

"If you consider throwing it in the oven to warm it up to be making it, sure. It's from Upper Crust."

"Good call." I sopped up some of the sauce with the bread. "So, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"What's Billie short for, if anything?"

"Weird name bothering you, Antoine?"

I smiled. "Not bothered. Just curious."

"What if we trade, question for question?"

"Okay."

"This gets repeated to no one. Absolutely no one. Wilhelma."

"Really?" I thought her background was Asian, but maybe there was some Austrian a couple of generations back.

"Yup, really. My turn. How does a bartender afford to rent a place like yours?"

That caused me to pause. "Uh, yeah. I don't rent. It was part of a turn-around. The area was pretty seedy, and it's converted commercial real estate. I bought it cheap a long time ago, and the neighborhood improved over the years."

"Wow. Well, good for you, it's a beautiful place."

Dinner was wonderful, the company was better, and we spent the night working off the calories. There was something comfortable about Billie. She was low-key and fun. I stayed over and we made plans to get together Saturday night after dinner with Mom and Carey.

We lost on Saturday, which sucked, but I had a good day. Two doubles and a triple and no problems on the field left me a little mixed up. I did well, great. We still lost, not so great. I'd thrown an overnight bag in my trunk and drove over to Mom's. I walked into the aroma of the roast, immediately stole the shower in her guest room, got changed, and sat opposite Mom in her living room.

Carey stared daggers at me, knowing Mom would likely scoot over closer to her at some point. The two of us had tried to get Mom into therapy for years without success. Her house was a shrine to her children, she didn't date and only socialized at the library where she volunteered.

We'd just finished dessert, and were helping Mom clean up when she spoke up.

"I hope you're ready for a treat. The Lion in Winter is on Amazon. I rented it earlier so we can watch it."

I gave a little wince that didn't fool my sister. "Oh, Mom, I wish I'd known. I have a date. Sorry. You and Carey can watch it though. Give Evelyn a call; maybe she can stop by. You have any popcorn?"

Carey glared at me while Mom checked her cupboard. "Just microwavable. Is that okay, honey?"

My sister turned her attention to Mom. "Sure. That's fine."

The evening with Billie stretched over until morning. We had a large breakfast, and I headed back to my place to get changed. I had an early game and needed to get to the bar afterward.

We won, and I again played well, so I was pretty happy.

The next day I had a call from my lawyer. The payment had arrived, and I was able to go down and get my money. It felt odd and archaic as if going somewhere to get a check was part of a prior age, but I guessed I would need to sign some stuff, so off I went.

We were in his office enjoying a coffee once I had the folded check in my wallet.

"His lawyer requested a meeting."

"Seriously? Aren't we done with all of this?" I asked.

"We are, yes, but I'm assuming that she wants to revisit the gag order. Since the judge wouldn't sign off, I'm assuming they'll make you an offer."

"Not interested. The guy was scamming us. I'm telling everyone I can."

"So, no to the meeting?"

I paused for a moment. "I didn't say that. Set it up, but I'll go alone."

"What? Why would you go alone?"

"I just want to hear what they're going to say. I'm not going to take any offer."

"So, it has nothing to do with his lawyer looking like a model?"

"No, it's more about our conversation that night at the bar. I want to follow up on a few things, and this is a good excuse. And okay, her looks don't hurt."

"If you're insisting, I'll set it up if you agree to commit to absolutely nothing without talking to me first."

"Deal."

I was at her firm's offices later that week and felt like an idiot when I realized I didn't know her last name. The gentleman at the front desk was polite between answering phone calls. They had three female partners, so I described Lindsey.

"Oh, Ms. Izquierdo. Give me a moment, and I'll call her. Help yourself to tea or coffee."

A few minutes later, I was escorted back to her office. She looked over my shoulder, seemingly waiting.

"Is Mr. Casteleo with you?" she asked.

"No, I'm here alone. What about Gentry?"

"Um, no. He won't be coming. To be honest, I thought this was something that I would deal with Mr. Casteleo about. Please, have a seat. Did Gary offer you something to drink?"

"He did, I'm fine. So, why am I here?"

She was a little imposing behind her large teak desk. Lindsey was tall and her few freckles were a surprise against her dark eyes and hair. A folder sat in front of her and she opened it as if biding time and needing something to do with her hands.

"My client appreciates both your understanding and discretion regarding the errors his employees made on your products. He would like to extend his appreciation for your discretion monetarily."

"What's he offering?"

"You could have a check in hand for $10,000.00 by the end of the week."

"Hmm. I'm going to have to pass, but thanks."

"That's a significant sum for essentially doing nothing."