Chapter 7
Andi
By 1:30 p.m. Sunday I am so sick of myself I’d probably drive full speed cross-state to the ocean trying to outrun my brain, if I didn’t have brunch plans. Spent most of yesterday and this morning trying to work from home on the football team project but always dissolving into a puddle of whine. As in, “But I waaant him!”
Not, like, as a significant other. Obviously. Just, like, as a fun occasional other. Somebody to blow off steam with and fuck silly. No more than that.
Not that the cuddling afterward sucked, because it didn’t.
It’s just that I am not a cuddling kinda gal. We Salazar women…no cuddling for us.
So anyway, it’s good that I have plans.
Rose is already there with Sabina from the B and B, and July’s just coming out of the kitchen with pitchers of fresh-squeezed OJ and ice water. The restaurant closes at two on Sundays and things have slowed enough that she can eat with us.
July slides in beside Sabina. They’re both blond, cheerful women, but the resemblance ends there. Sabina is in her fifties and tiny, with a silvery pixie cut and bright blue eyes. July’s got an inch or so on me and is built like an immensely strong farm girl. Maybe a dairy maid, with that long swinging ponytail of hers.
That leaves the brunettes, me and round little Rose, on the other side of the booth.
“Sabina’s thinking of going lizardless,” Rose says just as Sonya appears to take our order.
I’m about to make a crack but Sabina beats me to it. “I’ve been lizardless for years. I’m just thinking about removing them from my decorating as well.”
July’s eyebrows shoot up in comic shock. Rose and I laugh.
Sonya misses the double entendre, clutching her order pad to her chest. “Ooh, I’ve heard about your lizards! I heard they’re really cute!”
The B and B is full of bright lizard sketches, ceramic lizards, lizards stitched onto pillows… Some kind of inside joke between Sabina and her late husband.
“Well, I’ll save you some, then, Sonya.” Sabina snaps her menu closed. “I’ll never get rid of the photos Howard took on our honeymoon, but the rest of them are getting on my nerves.”
Sonya, like almost all of July’s servers and kitchen staff, cycled through the crisis shelter a while back. She’s possibly the sweetest person on the face of the planet, and she looks thrilled at the prospect of decorative lizards, bless her heart. She’s still smiling as she heads back to the kitchen after writing down our orders.
Rose frowns at Sabina. “You okay? I’ve never heard you sound irritated by anything.”
Sabina waves her hand. “Oh, I’m fine. Just a little restless, I think. Maybe I’ll sell the B and B and buy a motorcycle and some leather clothes and take off cross-country.”
“Not alone! You have to find a biker boyfriend first. Or maybe a women’s motorcycle gang.” Rose and Sabina aren’t related and hadn’t even met before Rose showed up in town last year, but now they have a kind of devoted aunt–favorite niece relationship. They’re protective of each other.
“Ha!” Sabina reaches across the table and pokes at my hand. “How about you, Andi? You’re as lizardless as I am. Wanna biker-chick it cross-country with me?”
I guess I hesitate a second too long, caught in a flashback of Friday night and my nice guy who turned out to be so much more than a snack…
“Oh. My. God. Look at that smile.” July leans across the table and peers into my eyes. “You devil. What’d you do?”
Now Rose is looking at me, her eyes huge with surprise and…glee? Some thing unholy.
I straighten and study my nails. “Oh, nothing, really. I had a nice time Friday night. I’m still happily lizardless. It won’t happen again.” Because it was stupid . I was stupid. And weak .
“Why the hell not?” Rose’s voice is an octave higher than usual. “Treat yourself! God knows you need stress relief!”
That’s a surprise. Rose is smart, but I hadn’t realized my stress levels were obvious.
“Well, it worked. I am now entirely stress-free.” What I am is a gigantic liar.
She looks skeptical. Also very, very curious. “Who was it? Anybody I know?”
“I don’t think so.” I turn to face her better in the booth. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it. I don’t want to talk about it. It was fun, and now it’s done.” There. Boundaries set.
“Spoilsport,” she mutters. “You know, I missed out on an awful lot of gossiping with girlfriends over the years. The least you all could do is indulge me when I’ve got the chance.” Then, “Ooh, yummy!” as Sonya appears with a loaded tray and slides Rose’s eggs Benedict in front of her. Thank god.
Her attention’s diverted from the Kevin situation, but he’s still lounging around near the forefront of my own mind, usually naked, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles at me, his big hands warm as they slide down my body and pull me close. Lenny’s late-night text made sure of that, even though it only said, Magic Mike showed up at Lindon’s asking about you. Name’s Kevin Mahoney and a phone number. I stared at it for a long time before I finally sent a text: Kevin, Lenny gave me this #. I just wanted that one night, no more. Thx for a nice time. Take care. A
Then I lay awake for a long time, feeling like I’d kicked a puppy. Or myself.
I had no idea the guy would try to find me after the flower thing didn’t work.
I had no idea I’d care.
When I checked my phone this morning I had a message from him. Well, several:
Okay thx
I had a nice time too
I mean, not just
Nvr mind. thx
Persistence in a man can turn to pushiness. This was just sweet. Every time I think of it, I picture Kevin looking at me in his kitchen, shoving his hands in his jean pockets, unsure of what to do next. Respectful and thoughtful.
Sometimes I hate when people are unexpectedly nice when I was braced for…something different.
I take my first bite of quiche-so-good-it-makes-you-weep. “Mmm, July, this is fabulous. As always. Where’s Joe today?”
Rose snorts and answers for July. “He and Angus were about to come to blows over some silly thing about Joe’s building. I left them there to come meet you all.”
Sabina laughs, swiping a bit of pork loin through peach chutney on her plate. “Oh dear. Joe doesn’t stand a chance against Angus.”
“Joe’s not big, but he’s wiry. And fast.” July is loyal to her man. Sweetly, devotedly loyal. And Joe is a really good guy. And a good athlete. And wiry. And fast. She stops buttering her toast to look up at me. “That reminds me… He said he’s not going to be able to do your volunteer training this go-round after all. He’s really disappointed but he’s got to be in Cullowhee for a required class.”
Damn. Joe would have been the perfect volunteer to work with kids at the shelter. We don’t have enough men volunteering, and it’s crucial that the kids have an example of a good, loving, nonviolent man.
“Well, darn.” I swallow another bite. “Tell him I’m hoping he can do it next time, then.”
She nods. “How’s the big project going?”
The project is a surprise I’ll be springing on the high school football team next week with Coach Comstock’s permission. Rose helped me get the funding and July provided gift cards as a thank-you to the people who participated, but they don’t know the details and Sabina doesn’t know anything about it. She’s looking at me expectantly now.
“I’ll be able to fill y’all in on it later, Sabina. It’s…an experiment.” I think back over the past few weeks and about the three interviews I still have to cram in over the next couple of days, if we’re going to get it finished on time. “A really time-consuming, exhausting experiment. But it’ll be worth it if it does any good.”
It’s been a labor of love for me, another staff member, one of our talented, dedicated volunteers, and lovely people like July and Rose and James’s wife, Tisha, the vice principal. Everybody involved donated expertise, influence, effort, resources… On bad days, it’s the thought of folks like them that keeps me going.
The football team’s first game is this coming Friday night. Coach didn’t want us to give our presentation to the team on game day, so we’ve scheduled it for right after practice Thursday evening. We’ll go over to the high school while the players are still on the field, familiarize ourselves with the locker room’s audiovisual setup and get the video ready to roll.
I’m pretty sure we’ll make an immediate impression, but it’ll take at least a year to get a sense of longer-term effects. I hope we haven’t wasted hundreds of hours and a fair amount of grant money. I’m doing my best to make it effective. Success or not, I still have to keep the shelter and rape crisis center functioning.
***
Kevin
I’m just finishing up with my last student athletes when the football team heads inside. I follow everybody to the locker room, intending to talk to the coaches about how things will change once classes start on Monday. But instead of waving the kids to the showers, Coach Comstock tells them to take a seat. Waves the coaches and me in too. I settle in against the back wall, figuring we’re in for some kind of pep talk or scouting report as a lead-up to their season opener. Not sure why I’m included, but okay.
“Huh.” Steve’s leaning beside me. “Andi Salazar’s here. And Tisha. Wonder what’s going on?”
I’ve got no idea who Andy Salazar is but I always enjoy my interactions with Tisha. Don’t know what she might have to say to the football team, though.
It’s another scorcher out there and I’m sticking to the wall. My shirt’s soaked through, but it’d probably be rude to pull it off.
When everyone’s found a seat on a bench or table, Coach Comstock steps forward. “We got some special guests to talk to us today. With the season starting, a lot of eyes will be on y’all. On us. On the school. Listen to what these ladies have to say so you can do us proud.” With no more than that, he steps back and nods to somebody standing off to one side.
Three women step forward from the lockers, leaving Tisha in the corner.
“Thanks, Coach,” the tallest one says. “Hey, guys.” Her voice is low and pleasant and she knows how to make it carry. The talk dies down as everyone focuses on her. She’s a pretty woman. Very pretty. As pretty as Andrea, in a much more subdued way. Not that I’m allowing myself to think about Andrea.
This woman is big, but she moves like a jock herself, loose and easy. Her fresh-scrubbed face is beautiful. Reminds me of Sarah Shahi. Reminds me of Andrea .
Wait.
What the—
Her big dark eyes don’t need any ornamentation. She’s got reddish-brown hair pulled back in a thick braid. Her clothes are as no-nonsense as her voice: black jeans, gray button-down shirt, and a boxy jacket that gives her a squarish look.
“For those who don’t know me, I’m Andi Salazar.”
Andi, not Andy. Andi as in short for Andrea.
This calm, serious professional woman is the woman who had me by the dick the other night, onstage and in that alcove and in my bed. The woman I’d stupidly and with lightning-fast idiocy begun to hope would be in my future…but who handed me my heart back with a one night, no more and a thx for a nice time .
I don’t know why I’d heard Cheryl’s voice when I read that message. Cheryl’s voice and boring and nice and vanilla . Been trying to drag myself up out of that emotional swamp ever since.
Andrea—Andi—is still talking, and suddenly I need to know what she’s saying. No microphones or makeup or red fringe or overwhelming glorious nakedness today, but…somehow she’s every bit as compelling. I lean forward to hear.
“My colleagues here are Shannon Wolcott and Maria Perez. We’re from the Galway Women’s Crisis Shelter. Thanks for sticking around today. We won’t talk long; mainly I have a video to show you. We’ll tell you a little more in a few minutes. Right now, as you watch this video, think about that line from Spider-Man about how having power comes with a lot of responsibility.”
She speaks with confidence, standing easily in front of this group of large young men, making just the right amount of eye contact. Then she turns to the side of the room where a handful of Latino players sit and, switching smoothly into Spanish, talks some more. Then she steps back and the woman she’d introduced as Maria hits a button on the projector as Tisha turns out the lights.
The video starts with a plain black background, an acoustic guitar playing a really distinctive melody. I’ve heard this song. It’s by a band my sister used to like—band with a weird name. Frog something? No, Toad. Toad the Wet Sprocket. Song about rape. This is just an instrumental version, though, playing in the background as statistics flash across the screen for domestic violence and sexual assault: national numbers, then North Carolina numbers, then Galway numbers. The music fades to silence then and we see women of various ages and sizes in near-complete darkness in three-quarter silhouette so that just the edges of their faces are visible…brow line, curve of cheek, chin and jaw.
One by one the women speak, telling of an incident in which they were assaulted. Some women tell of abuse by high school or college boyfriends, others of abuse by strangers, others of all types of assaults in the workplace or by friends or acquaintances, some sexual in nature, others not. The video shows each woman three times, first to say what they were doing when the assault occurred (“I was at a party,” “I was at work,” “I was making dinner,” “I was on a date…”), then to say a little about the assault itself, and finally to tell of the effects the assault has had on their lives. Flashbacks, nightmares, lost jobs, breakups, dropping out of school, fear of certain places or smells or types of people or darkness…
None of the women speaks loudly or dramatically, but their pain is unmistakable and everybody in the room is riveted. It takes me a few minutes to realize that as each woman speaks, someone in the room straightens or stiffens. One by one, these guys are realizing that they’re listening to the terrible experiences of their own loved ones. Even in the darkened locker room I can see shock on many faces.
This video was designed for maximum impact on this specific group of people.
Freaking brilliant, and executed perfectly.
To make sure everyone understands every single word, subtitles play across the bottom of the screen in English and Spanish.
The video ends with statements from men identifying themselves as former Galway High student athletes. One guy says, “If you’re watching this, then you probably just had the same kind of shock I had right before I agreed to take part in this video—the shock of hearing someone you love describe a time when someone attacked them and hurt them.”
One by one, the others speak, each voicing part of a powerful message: “You know from the statistics at the beginning of the video that these kinds of attacks are common.” “You’re probably beginning to realize that we all know someone who has experienced this.” “Sexual and domestic violence are problems that hit Galway just as hard as anywhere else.” “The victims can’t stop this violence, no matter how often we try to lay the blame on them.” “Only potential perpetrators can stop the violence.” “The only way to stop it is…to stop it.” “Don’t abuse people.” “Don’t stand by while others abuse them.” “Don’t use drinking or other substances as an excuse.” “Don’t tell yourself you have the right to do whatever you want with another person’s body.”
“Everyone is as important as your loved ones.” “And everyone’s future matters just as much as yours.” “Use your strength for good.” “If you see one of your buddies behaving badly, stop them, for their sake and the sake of the person who would be their victim.” “Use your power to stand up for others.” “Because no one should have to go through what your loved ones have been through.”
The video ends with a montage of headlines about good Samaritans who stepped in and stopped assaults, helped victims, and generally showed themselves to be decent human beings willing to stand up when someone needed help—true heroes who used their power for good.
The locker room is completely silent after the video ends. Andi Salazar lets the silence sit for a minute before signaling Tisha to bring the lights back up. Then Andi says quietly, in English and Spanish, “Each of you is a powerful young man. When you leave this locker room, you’ll have a million chances to honor—or to dishonor—yourselves, your families, your team, your school, your community. What you do, good or bad, affects other people’s lives, sometimes for many years. Each of you has the power to do great harm and the power to do great good. Your choices matter.”
She falls silent for a beat and then says, “Thanks for listening. Coach let us slip cards and information for the crisis shelter in all your lockers. If you have any questions or if you know anyone who needs help, please call us. All our services are free and confidential.” Then Andi raises a hand in farewell and she and the other women leave the locker room with Tisha.
Everyone turns to look wordlessly at Coach Comstock. He clears his throat. “Turns out someone I know was on that video too. I expect y’all to make the right decisions, on the field and off. Hit the showers.”
Daaamn. I watch the team drift off, most of them still subdued. Even Steve is silent beside me. I bet I’m the only one in the room who didn’t just hear a loved one tell her story of abuse. You can bet I’m thinking of it, though. Suddenly I feel a burning urge to call my sisters. My mom. Check in with CeCe again, and my other nieces and my grandmas, make sure everybody’s okay. Talk to them about what I just saw. Let them know I’m there for them if they ever need me.
If that gut-punch video was Andi Salazar’s brainchild, she is a freaking genius.
How could one person contain so much? Talent, and passion…and painful, unbearable-to-look-at beauty.