Chapter Thirty-Nine
Braxton
By the time we left Fidelity, the light was fading, and red streaks lit the dusky sky. We ended up eating at Jin Chan Zhang, a local eatery specializing in Chinese and Vietnamese dishes, where Jaimie ordered a tray of spring rolls and a salt-and-pepper pork chop while I contented myself with squid served with ginger sauce. We sat by the front windows, where I had a perfect view of the sun setting over Goose Creek.
“You know what gets me?” I asked her.
“Hmmm?”
“Men who pretend they don’t love sunsets. Whether because they think it isn’t manly or they’re afraid their buddies would disrespect them.”
“I wouldn’t date a man who doesn’t love sunsets,” said Jaimie. “I guess I’m lucky because I’ve surrounded myself with boys who like them and aren’t ashamed to admit it. Randy was always sending me pictures.”
“Do you still talk to him?”
She nodded, scooping up a pinch of my ginger sauce with a long spoon. “He still texts me at least once a day, geeking out over some random thing. Yesterday, it was shoe ladders and a vertical plant hanger. The day before that it was an industrial water tank.”
“What the hell is a ‘shoe ladder’?” I asked.
“It’s like a tiny tower where you can stack multiple pairs of shoes.” She made a gesture with her hands as of a telescope unfolding. “Which, I guess those are cool? I never saw them as something to celebrate. He treats the entire world like some magical place.”
“I wish I were that innocent,” I said with a laugh. “Maybe when I’m older and not so jaded.”
“He went to Pottery Barn this morning,” said Jaimie, “so of course he sent me just picture after picture of pillar candles, and harvest wreaths, and mini-pecan tarts tied with gingham ribbon, and collapsible wall hooks, and plush duvet covers, and white claw-foot bathtubs filled with fancy smelling salts. Which, I guess it’s better than him sending me pictures of his dick.”
“We’d need to have a talk if he did that.”
“Who, you and me?”
“Me and him. Although I would never turn down an opportunity to talk to you.”
“That’s sweet of you,” said Jaimie. “How’s Nick doing since his most recent professional setback?”
“He’s recovering. He’s got another match coming up in a couple months, and he’s been throwing himself into training for that.”
“Good boy. He must be so relieved not to have lost his job.”
“Yeah—wait, how did you hear about that?”
“Randy told me,” said Jaimie. “He still keeps me abreast of MMA gossip.”
“I was about to say, I couldn’t remember ever telling you.”
“Are you helping him train?”
“I am, actually. Bruce had offered, but Nick said he wanted me. And after that last match, Coach isn’t prepared to argue. I could request cocaine and a Bengal tiger, and he’d find a way to get it to me.”
I laughed. But Jaimie gazed hesitantly down at her plate as though not wanting to be done with her meal just yet. “Do you ever wonder,” she asked, “about the people we might have ended up with if we hadn’t found each other?”
“Not particularly. Why?”
“Just something I was talking about with my friend at work. Back in the pre-Internet era, your options for finding a partner were pretty limited, but now you have the whole world to choose from. It’s a lot of pressure.”
I reached for her hand across the table. “I’m not worried,” I said, “because we’re good for each other, and we like each other. I don’t really ask for anything more than that.”
Somehow the words seemed to have a reassuring effect on Jaimie. “That’s a good philosophy.”
“Why, have you been having second thoughts?”
Jaimie stroked my hand with her thumb and smiled. “No, never,” she said. “I’m just really glad to have found you.”
***
I continued to help Nick train over the next several months. At the end of June, we flew out together for a match in Raleigh, accompanied by Jaimie and Charise, the girl he was currently dating. His opponent was an intense young man who styled himself “Figaro” and wore a black mask with faces on the front and back like the one in Amadeus.
“I’ll be honest,” said Nick: “this guy gives me the willies. I think if he ever talked, he wouldn’t be quite as terrifying. Bones ran his mouth a lot, and it made him look ridiculous, but Figaro never talks.”
“Don’t let it get to you,” I warned him. “It’s a psychological tactic designed to unnerve you.”
“Well, it’s doing a pretty good job,” said Nick.
A strong sense of déjà vu came over me as we stood in a musty hallway waiting for the fight to begin. Nick placed his hand on the door leading out onto the walkway but remained motionless as we listened to the referee’s introduction. I kept one hand on his shoulder all the while.
“You ready for this?” I asked low in his ear.
He gripped the doorknob tightly. “Heck yes.”
The referee called his name, and he strode out into the octagon, arms in the air, looking more confident than he likely felt. During the next forty minutes, I hovered near the edge of the octagon offering water bottles and damp towels. Despite his fearsome appearance, Figaro kept to the back of the octagon and nimbly dodged Nick’s advances. It wasn’t until near the end of the second round that I realized why, and how he could be beaten.
“Stay back for a few minutes,” I advised Nick, “and lull him into a false sense of security. Then, when he’s least expecting it, you have to bring the hammer down.”
“You really think that will work?”
“I’m sure of it. And remember: you’re already twice the player he is, and he’s nothing but a speck in your eye. I know it; you know it. In a minute or two, the world will know it.”
Looking encouraged, Nick returned to the octagon. He followed my advice and within a few minutes had pinned Figaro to the ground. In the ensuing scuffle, his mask came off, revealing the disgruntled visage of Luther Van Bones.
“You again?” said Nick, looking aghast. “I should have known.”
Bones squirmed ineffectually and tried to spit in his face, but missed. “You are going to rue the day you ever messed with Bones!”
The fight having ended, Charise and Jaimie ran onto the stage, where they were joined a moment later by Coach and Carruthers.
“Boy, this is really something, isn’t it?” said Randy. He motioned to one of the corners. “Unless I’m mistaken, this post holding the ropes in place is called a turnbuckle.”
“Aren’t you proud of yourself?” asked Jaimie, giving me a kiss on the cheek.
“Proud of myself?” I replied. “Why?”
“Because you made this possible. Sometimes I don’t think you realize what an excellent strategist you are.”
“Well,” I said, grinning, “I won you. That’s the only victory that really matters to me.”
Jaimie punched me playfully in the gut. “Yeah, you did. Now let’s just see if you can keep me!”
“I’m counting on it.” I placed one arm around her, and we stood together shoulder to shoulder while Nick beamed at the audience, basking in the glow of their adulation.