Dante
And there was another victory.
We won our next game. Of course, we did. I saw Quinn watching from the sidelines. She’d be coming back into the locker room for another interview most likely. I hoped she would. I had liked the last one. It was… different.
I didn’t usually have sex with the people who interviewed me, but I also didn’t really talk about the shit that she had managed to get out of me. I didn’t like talking about mom that much. I mean, I did, that was my mom and I loved her, but I wanted to respect her privacy. She didn’t choose this life. I did. I didn’t want people writing shit about her on the internet and disturbing her at home.
I had told Quinn, basically everything. She had stopped me right before I got into the other shit, but we had gotten pretty far. Much farther than I had with anybody else. Once I started, I couldn’t stop. I never spoke about that shit with anyone, and it felt good to be able to say it. She made me want to say it.
The locker room was emptying out. Quinn was taking a little while to show up. Maybe she wanted to interview me when there were fewer people in the locker room, so it could be like the last time we interviewed together.
With any luck, it would be exactly the way it was when we first interviewed together.
I still had that pair of panties that she had worn that day.
It had happened right in this room, right where I was sitting. I still had a hard time really believing it. I got lucky regularly and often, but I hadn’t expected her to bite that fast.
I was sort of looking forward to the interview. The first one, besides the sex, had been… different. What was Quinn going to do with everything that I had told her? It was all taped, and she was interviewing me so she could write about it. So… that was it, right? The story of my mother’s abuse was going to become public knowledge. I didn’t know how I felt about that. Did it even matter how I felt? It was my mom’s story after all. Or mine…ours… Quinn had said that I had been abused too, but I rejected that. I didn’t want to be a victim. I had to tell my mom that I had talked about our past with someone. I hoped she wouldn’t be mad.
If Quinn did tell the story, like the whole thing uncut and uncensored, then there was a chance that my mom would become a target. Total anonymity for my mother was going to be hard, if not totally out of the question, depending on what Quinn got published. Even just off the strength of being my mother, anonymity was something she just didn’t have the luxury to enjoy. There was no way I would have left her back in Ohio, and her being anonymous here in LA meant I would have to avoid her.
Even on the best days, there was someone on my tail, and if I was with her, that meant they were on her tail, too. I had paid for the most expensive security system for her house in Calabasas, and if she really needed it, there were numbers she could call to get her security if she ever felt unsafe.
That was my mother. There was no way I wasn’t going to spend every cent I had to make sure she had what she needed. She used to work herself to death to provide for us, and now, she wasn’t going to lift a finger if she didn’t want to. Her being hurt by the story, or embarrassed, or upset was what I was most nervous about. People slandered and talked shit about me daily; I could take anything that came my way. My mom, even if she could take it, just shouldn’t have to deal with that shit.
Maybe I would bring it up with Quinn, who still wasn’t here yet. I had already changed clothes and was just hanging out as the other interviews other people were having wrapped and they started leaving to go the fuck home, where I wanted to go. The room was more or less completely empty when I heard the click-clacking sound of high heels walking across the floor. It was her.
“Hey, hotshot,” she said, walking into the locker room. I smiled seeing her.
“TMZ, always late,” I accused.
“I wanted a little privacy for our second session,” she said. “The first one went so well.”
I had been thinking about that first interview for days. The sex. The sex had been incredible. Her pussy felt like heaven, and the way she looked and sounded when she came made me hard. She had opened up the floodgates, and there was no reason for me to back down now. It didn’t matter what she said. If she started trying to talk about how she didn’t or doesn't want it, I’ll point her to the events to confirm or deny whether that was really how she felt.
I guess that was my problem solved then. It didn’t matter if I wasn’t getting any because she would be giving it to me.
“Mm, it did. Back for more?” I said. She sat in the chair next to mine, my teammate’s, and turned to face me. I leaned over and tried to kiss her. She turned her head and put a hand on my chest to stop me, smiling.
“Uh-uh, not today. We’re working,” she said. She said it in that way that was super sweet, the way you talked when you were flirting with someone, being playful.
“You can't hold out on me now; we've already had sex.” I leaned forward again and that time I got her lips before she pushed me away again.
“Tell me about your relationship with your mother,” she said. I almost laughed. If her goal was to kill my boner, that had done it.
“What about it?” I asked, leaning back in the seat.
She took the recorder out and held it between us.
“You spoke very highly of her in the last interview. Are the two of you close?”
“We are. You could say that.”
“You said the abuse happened until you were twelve, what happened then?”
“Then my dad left,” I said, shrugging. “I wasn’t that invested in what old Larry was up to, as long as he stayed the fuck away from me, my mom, and Gabbie.”
“Larry, was that his name?”
“Lawrence Rock. I got his first name as my middle name. Lucky me, huh?”
“Do you know where he went at the time?”
“Beats me. Probably to terrorize another woman and her young children? The more I think about it, the more I wonder whether I don’t have this network of half-siblings that I have never even met.”
“Did you see him again after he left?”
“It was a pretty clean break, but he started popping his head out of the woodwork when the league money started coming in. He came back to collect residuals on the basketball player that he wanted to claim he had a part in creating. We weren’t good enough when we were just his family. I became his son once there was a multimillion-dollar contract from the National Basketball Association that he had a chance to benefit from.”
“Did your father have an alcohol or drug problem?”
“I don’t know if he did then, and I don’t care if he does now. All I know is what that man did to us and the fact that anyone who does that sort of shit shouldn’t be able to call themselves a man.”
“Him leaving must have had an effect on your family finances.”
“Yeah, they took a hit,” I said bitterly.
“What did your mom do when he left? Did you ever have your father replaced with another male figure?”
“Nope. If she dated, she never brought whoever the guy or guys were back to the house. I don’t know whether she got a lot of dating done.”
“Why?”
“She was pretty…”
I trialed off because I wasn’t sure if I wanted to talk about it. Hell, was I even supposed to be talking about it? I felt suddenly that maybe, this was something that I wasn’t supposed to be sharing. Maybe this wasn’t my story to tell. If it wasn’t my story to tell, was it mom’s? Whose was it? I had told the other shit, about dad beating on her, but I had mainly talked about how Gab and I had used to run and hide when it happened. There was that thing I had said… the game that sick fuck used to play where he would pull her hair, but that had sort of just slipped out. This was about my mom, like really about her.
“She was pretty what?”
“I don’t know if I should be telling you all this,” I told her.
“Why not?”
“When I tell you all this, what happens to my mom?”
“Nothing happens to her. The interview isn’t with her, it is with you.”
“I don’t want her being harassed or anything,” I said. It was bad enough that she had me as a son.
“You really love your mom, don’t you?”
“After my dad left, it was just the three of us. Me, my mom, and Gabbie. I was twelve, so I knew more about what was happening than Gabbie at the time. I think because all the abuse was going on, we couldn’t really tell what was happening to Mom.”
“What do you mean?”
“When dad left, there was this big hole where he used to be. It was like…he was gone, but that didn’t change any of the things he had done to us while he was still there. I still felt him and his aftermath every day.”
“How?”
“I mean…my mom. That was when she got into drugs.”
She shifted in her seat, not saying anything.
“I can't tell whether it was when he left or before, but Mom, when he did leave, became very depressed. I didn’t understand it. I didn’t understand why she wasn’t jumping for joy because the man who had physically battered her for years was finally out of her life. She progressed on this downwards spiral, and then she started using.”
“Can I ask what she used?”
“I think it was prescription pain meds. Some sort of opiate like that.”
“That sounds ugly.”
“It was. The shit used to just, take her out. She would be passed out on the couch or in her room many times when we found her. We were close with our neighbors at the time, and they were the ones who eventually gave me the idea to start calling our grandparents because she was beginning to miss work. We were both in school, and it wasn’t like I could get a full-time job at age twelve that would support us.”
“That would support you?” she said.
“I had to step up. Gabbie was like, seven or eight. She was still a kid. I had to make sure that she was getting home from school alright and eating and doing her homework. Shit like that.”
“Dante…” She looked at me, and she looked really sad like she was about to cry. I didn’t like it. “You had to raise your baby sister?”
“Who was going to do it if not me?” I asked.
“Dante, no child should be put in the position where they have to be the adult because their parents aren’t in the picture.”
“Some kids do. Some kids are.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s right, or that it’s good.”
“You say that, but that was the truth. We’re lucky the neighbors didn’t tell on her because we would have likely ended up with child protective services. We would have been separated and put in foster care or group homes or something.”
“Did you have any support?”
“My grandparents helped us out. A few times, we had to go stay with them the town over because mom was having trouble. She kept trying to fight it. Cleaning up for a few days before she would fall off and start the cycle again.”
“How is she now?”
“Who, Mom?” Quinn nodded. “She beat it. She’s great now. She’s healthy. Lives here in LA.”
“What about your sister?”
I smiled thinking about Gabbie. I was really proud of that kid. She got all the brains in the family, and she had graduated pre-law at the top of her class. She was in law school now, killing it, obviously.
“She’s fine. She’s great. She’s studying to be a lawyer.”
“You must have done a good job then,” she said. I smiled.
“I didn’t do anything. She’s just smart.”
“You must be—”
“Hey, Dante,” I heard a woman's voice and looked up. It was Tiffany, one of our cheerleaders. She was there with a few of the other girls.
“Hey Tiff,” I said. I saw Quinn turn the recorder off.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
Wasn't it obvious? Even if it wasn’t, she couldn't tell she was interrupting a conversation I was having.
“Uh, working,” I said to her. Tiffany was nice. She was cute. I knew she modeled when she wasn’t cheerleading, and she had the body and face to make a lot of good money doing it. She was average height, but that didn’t matter in print modeling. Her hair was brown and long, and she wasn’t in her uniform. She had on a short dress and heels instead.
“Still? A few of us wanted to go out tonight,” she said, motioning to the other girls with her. “Do you want to come?”
“He can’t come; he has work to do. We were actually having an interview before you interrupted us,” Quinn said to her, not kindly, but not in a bitchy way either.
“Come on, please, Dante. It isn’t a party until you show up,” she said. She said it really suggestively, and I wished she wouldn’t talk like that when Quinn was right there. I had a rule. I didn’t fuck the cheerleaders for our team. Cheerleaders on other teams were fair game, but the girls who cheered for the Yellow Jackets were out. I had limits. Besides. It wasn’t like I would be able to get away from one of those girls if we did get together. We would just see each other all the time because we worked together. I didn’t need a girl getting attached like that.
I did party with them though. They were cheerleaders; they knew how to have a good time.
“Tiffany, this isn’t a good time or a good day.”
“Come on. It's getting late. How long are you going to hang out here anyway?”
She was talking to me like Quinn wasn’t also there, right in front of me. She was talking to me like I hadn’t been talking to Quinn originally and she was just getting in the middle of it.
“If I come, Quinn has to come, too,” I said. Quinn looked surprised, and Tiffany finally looked away from me long enough to notice her.
“Quinn?” she said.
“Yup. Quinn’s my chaperone.”
“Dante—” Quinn began.
“You need permission to go out now? Who is she? Your mom?”
“I don’t come unless she does,” I said. Quinn shot me this look like she was mad at me but didn’t say anything. A loophole! I had found one. She didn’t want me out partying, but if she was there too, then it was perfectly fine. She could sit with me, make sure I only drank virgin Shirley Temples, and beat the women back with sticks. Perfect.
Plus, I wouldn’t have to spend another night at home. Alone.
“Whatever. Bring who you want. Hyde Lounge on Sunset?” she said.
“We’ll be there.”