The Sportin' Life Read online

  Also by Nancy Frederick

  Hungry for Love

  A Change of Heart

  Touring the Afterlife

  Starstruck

  The Astro Tutor

  Love and Sex Under the Stars

  The Lover’s Dream

  Love Games: Psychic Paths to Love

  Palmistry: All Lines Lead to Love

  Tarot: Love is in the Cards

  Special Edition!

  This edition contains a bonus—the first half of Nancy’s popular novel, Touring the Afterlife. Hope you enjoy!

  The Sportin’ Life

  Nancy Frederick

  ISBN: 9781452467757

  Heart and Soul Press

  Copyright 2011 Nancy Frederick

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of this author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Heart & Soul Press

  The Sportin’ Life

  Nancy Frederick

  “I’m gettin’ tired of runnin’ around

  Think I will marry and settle down

  This ole night life,

  This old Sportin’ Life, it’s killin’ me”

  Sporting Life Blues

  1980

  Liana

  The Venus Flytrap

  I met Kevin through an ad in the personals. At that time it was a risqué thing to do, not commonplace like it is today, and that was why I did it. After my husband left me, I wanted to get back at him and answering personal ads seemed like a good start as well as a way to return to single status quickly with lots of dates and perhaps a potential new mate. I was wrong on both counts—my husband couldn’t have cared less about my activities after our separation and everyone I met through the personals was some sort of emotional cripple or other, not marriage material.

  I missed my old life and wished for it back. I had married and become a mother early, and staying home was enjoyable. Being a wife and mother suited me and more than that being free was wonderful. There were two things I never wanted to be—single and involved in the working world. Obviously I was so out of touch that it never occurred to me that it was my destiny to be both for a very long time. So I went about my life, post-separation as if it were a temporary state that could be eliminated by the addition of a new man, like someone trying to repair one of those drawings in children’s books captioned What’s wrong with this picture? I dated furiously for a year, sometimes going out with three or more guys in the same week. For the first time in my life, socializing consumed all my time and I was learning to develop a knack for it.

  There were the endless dinners opposite a parade of men, each with his individual story, each looking for love somewhere in my eyes, each hoping that somehow he had found the woman at the end of the line. That dismal image seems funny now, because it probably wasn’t that way at all, except that it was, and no doubt the men I attracted then reflected my own weary view of long-term relationships that don’t work out and the empty space that surrounds you when one ends.

  I dated as though it were a career rather than a pleasure, and that was the way it felt, but it was also exciting to be single and in demand, something I had never really experienced because of having married so young. I went out with a psychiatrist who was a mental case, who seemed unable to exhibit even rudimentary manners or marginal social skills. I listened to his ramblings and in no way expressed enthusiasm for him or his ideas. Later when he asked for another date, I was stunned. Even psychiatrists are bad listeners on dates, it seemed. And I dated a guy who couldn’t get along with anyone, including his family and myself. The only time we managed to call a truce was in bed, and that was worthwhile. Except everybody has to get out of bed eventually. And I dated a pediatrician who was so cheap he decided we should take the bus on New Year’s Eve. And I dated a former radio announcer from the Mid-West whose wife had become a lesbian. I slept with him once and saw the logic of her transition. And I dated a businessman who talked incessantly about his former wife, describing her as an orchid in the subway, someone who couldn’t live in New York and that was why they divorced. It wasn’t because he was a terrible kisser or a lousy lover, as far as I could tell, because he was wonderful at both. He just wasn’t interesting. It seemed that every single guy on the planet was a prime candidate for a full page listing in “Who’s Who of American Assholes.” If I had been Eve, and in a sense I was at that time in my life, and any one of those guys had been Adam, the world would have been in deep trouble.

  And then I met Kevin. We sat at our introductory lunch talking and it was as though we had known each other all our lives. There was easy, fluid conversation without a single awkward pause. I’ve learned since that that is the way it should always be, and if you’re just getting to know someone with whom the conversation is filled with those agonizingly endless stretches of silence in which you flounder desperately for a new topic, then it’s better to walk away right at the start, because it will never improve, but maybe you’ll get used to the lack of communication eventually. With Kevin there was never a second of awkwardness. We meshed like soulmates and that was what I thought we were.

  He told me about his experiences with personal ad dates and I told him about mine, both of us laughing about the odd ducks we had encountered and sending each other the unspoken message that it would never happen like that between the two of us. By the second date, I had fallen totally in love. It was easy to fall in love with Kevin. After all, he was gorgeous, successful, well mannered, a good communicator, we seemed to share similar values and viewpoints, and when he touched me I melted in a quivering heap like someone under a hypnotic spell. It seemed like karma of the most exquisite kind.

  There is nothing quite as mesmerizing as being involved in a love affair that feels all consuming. I sank down into the flood of love I felt for this man like someone drowning in a favorite brand of champagne. It was as though joy flowed through my veins instead of blood and that surge of joy that carried me along had made me too drunk ever to recover my sanity or the complacency with which I had lived before. I didn’t want to recover. I didn’t want anything more than to love Kevin, to be with Kevin, to please Kevin and make him happy forever. And that is what I would have done if he had wanted it. It wouldn’t have mattered if I never accomplished a thing or never had more meaning in my life beyond my love for Kevin and a life with him that would have meant more to me than any other possibility. Who knows, we might have been happy.

  It was easy to fall deeper and deeper under his spell. After all, look at Kevin. Here is this man who is everything and has everything and most guys like that are too spoiled to bother putting any effort into romance. They expect women to fall for them based just on looks or money alone. And some women live up to those expectations, never demanding any more than to fulfill the man’s desires. Kevin was different. Often he seemed almost insecure, as if he never in the world expected a woman to fall in love with him based on his qualities alone, and I guess that was why he tried so hard.

  I never had a man be so attentive. Kevin noticed everything and commented on it, as though I were a commodity and he the master of inventory. He noticed my hair and mentioned how he wanted me to wear it. He’d sit opposite me in a restaurant and take verbal stock of my charms while I sat bemused and enjoying the compliments. “Look at those little clips in your hair,” he’d say, “What are they, tortois
e shell? I love the way your hair looks like that. You know they say that hair is a frame for the face, but your face is so perfect that it doesn’t need a frame.” Or if we were going to the park and I were wearing my sneakers with the laces printed with little hearts, he’d down and sigh over the laces that they were so cute, “Ah…just like Violet’s.” And then he’d hug me and hug Violet too, like the perfect stepfather candidate.

  Kevin seemed like the most loving, most in-love man I had ever known. He’d call me every day just to chat. He’d call my phone machine when I was out and leave little poems to surprise me. He’d clip ads from the paper as possible thing we might like to do together. And he’d reveal his very soul to me in the most intimate, open way. What a lot of romances he had had, and how amazing it seemed that they had all turned out so badly. That the women had turned on him so viciously. He could never figure it out and neither could I, except judging by my recent experiences as a new single, I assumed that there were a lot of whackos out there. He’d tell me about his family and the problems there. And he never tried to gloss anything over. His view of life was always harsher than mine, and so I tried to give him something akin to a spirit of understanding to replace the rage that often flowed under the surface of his emotions.

  I can sit back now and recall all our conversation. And despite the fact that I am older and a lot wiser about Kevin and the ways of the world in general, the feelings that I felt that Kevin inspired in me come flooding back with an intensity that is overwhelming. I remember what we shared and no matter what the truth is, I still feel the love that flourished within me. It doesn’t matter that Kevin wasn’t in it for the long haul, that he was essentially a dishonest person with a supernatural need to receive love and to make women fall in love with him, me included. I think back on those moments we shared and although the memory is tarnished by hard reality, it still gleams brightly for me. Could it be that he never loved me at all? Could it be that I was just one of the many women he charmed and left heartbroken? He seemed to detest all the women from his past about whom he told me. Could he now detest me in a similar fashion? If so, what did I do to cause it? No, I don’t believe it. Kevin loved me, as much as he was able, and even if he loved all the others similarly, there had to be more involved than that he is a black hole into which women are sacrificed for his ego gratification. There must have been some truth to some of his comments, to some of his gestures, to the affection that he showed me. It couldn’t have been just a cruel joke. No.

  When we were together we were happy together, and Kevin was as happy as I was, I am sure of it. The problem was that Kevin wasn’t equipped to handle happiness, and for me it is like a drug that seduces me and that I will do anything to perpetuate, even to the point of suffering through miserable periods in the hope it will return. Kevin would come over in the evening, help himself to the beer that I kept in the refrigerator just for him and he would take a deep breath of joy to be in my home and sharing its bounty, for that is what it was. And he would kiss me each time with the interest usually devoted only to the first time. And he would open his arms for me and encircle me in a bear hug that took my breath away. And we would both sigh with blissful happiness and the time would pass harmoniously.

  I would see Kevin and need to be near him. He was my magnet and he could hypnotize. I’d reach for a kiss and drink in the taste of Kevin. And when the kiss was over, I would want another. He was my Svengali, and his lips contained the nectar I craved. If Kevin took a nap on my couch, I’d silently untie and remove his heavy serious businessman’s shoes and set them on the floor. So he could be more comfortable. I’d cover him gently with an old velvet throw. She he wouldn’t get cold. And I’d sit peacefully on the floor beside the couch, his nearness to me being more than enough to satisfy me and while he slept, I’d dream of Kevin and me, of being with Kevin and loving him forever. If he wanted something, I would procure it, if he desired something, I would proffer it, not as my due but as my greatest pleasure to love Kevin and serve his wishes, to bring him joy, happiness, peace and comfort. I dreamed of marrying Kevin and having a family with him, but that was secondary to everything I really wanted from Kevin which was to be with him and just to love him.

  At night we would go to bed and Kevin would make love to me with the adoration of a bridegroom. I would feel myself go into the trance of emotion that I always experienced in Kevin’s presence. He would touch me and begin to make love, and if I remembered I could reach out and kiss his beautiful back with its curves and angles before we would tumble onto the bed. Or I could gently bite his powerful neck with my teeth, making him moan with pleasure. Usually I forgot to do those things and when I would be alone remembering the wonders of Kevin in bed, the desire to do so would return, but when we were together I was so overwhelmed by the passion we shared that I couldn’t think at all.

  I felt in a raw way. His body would press against mine and I would swirl in response. There was Kevin and there I was, and we were together, merging wordlessly, soundlessly, effortlessly joining into one quivering whole. I couldn’t think and I couldn’t speak. If the house had been on fire, I wouldn’t have known it. Kevin was inside me and that was all I could feel. My body received Kevin like a form of Holy Communion. And all that was me, my essence, my self beyond the physical, would swirl and float out into space, merging with Kevin’s in a oneness that was amazing. That must be what it is like to be dead, to be spirit, to be God, to be complete.

  Later we would lie back on the pillows together, my head cradled against his arm, his hand resting softly against my hair. We would both be sated, drained, completely satisfied and totally relaxed. In those peaceful moments we would talk or not, depending on the mood. We could just lie there together in a place where time had momentarily ceased to exist and simply drink in the presence of each other. Sometimes we would discuss our lives. Kevin would talk about his work in the business world and I would listen, interested to learn more about him and what involved him. I would talk about my pending divorce and the problems I was having with the lawyers. When he heard about my problems, he was so attentive, so caring, so typically Kevin, that he made one call and found me a better lawyer by the next day. That was the Kevin I knew and loved. For as much as I adored him and would have done anything at all to please him, it seemed that the feelings were mutual and he was the one man in all the world I could both love and count on.

  Later, when my friend Sharon went to work in a store specializing in minerals and they received some jewelry made of raw stones, I decided to buy one for Kevin. I didn’t know at that time whether to believe all the things they crystal people were saying about the various healing powers of the stones, but I thought that the little rock encircled with a gold loop would look fabulous against Kevin’s golden chest. He had doubts too, because he was not the kind of guy to wear jewelry, but he accepted my gift graciously after I laughed and teased him that even Adonis can be adorned. The crystal did look wonderful and I think that Kevin enjoyed owning it. He may have it still for all I know.

  He wore it all the time, and we continued to see each other. Once, while we were making love, I had a frightening experience. Instead of merging with Kevin as I always did, I clung fearfully inside my own body. A sense of panic swept over me as though a dark cloud had crossed my heart. Something was wrong. It wouldn’t work out. These were raw sensations rather than clear thoughts, and they were far more frightening that way. I felt pure desperation but could say nothing, because how could I make sense to Kevin, or myself for that matter, of a premonition of disaster that didn’t even involve crashing jets?

  One evening as we chatted amiably while having drinks at Winston’s on Columbus, Kevin began to confide in me one of his women stories. As usual I listed with interest and waited for the punch line. Gradually it began to dawn on me that he was telling me about a current experience, not one from his past as he usually did. That was a painful shock. Kevin spent so much time wooing me, I didn’t even imagine that he could possibly be
involved with anyone else as well, or that he would be looking. I had stopped seeing all the men who had surrounded me after my first date with Kevin. It was a relief and I assumed that he had both done and felt the same. But then I began to hear the story he told me and it was tacky and so was his behavior. If any strange man had told me about such antics, I would have written him off as not worth knowing. But here was my Kevin, a man I adored and respected, telling me about pretending to be married and then about lying that he was allowed to see other women on the side. Who could think like that? Unfortunately plenty of men can, and they are the ones I want to avoid. I wanted to go back in time before this night and to pretend that it had never occurred. But I couldn’t.

  I had to face facts there and then. Kevin was giving me valuable, essential information. He was a cheat. He was a liar. He was sleazy. I couldn’t count on him to love me the way I loved him, because he needed the freedom to explore the female possibilities as they were presented to him. Maybe he cared about me and maybe he didn’t, but I knew then that he was telling me to hold back with my own feelings, because he could never meet them or make a commitment. The only problem was that it was too late. Far too late. If I had a brain in my head, I would have walked away then and there and written him off as an error in judgment on my part. But I am a prisoner of my emotions and they always rule me rather than the reverse. I was disgusted. I was cold and shaky. I was wounded beyond repair. But I was still in love.

  Did Kevin know how I felt? Does it matter? Eventually he ended it, for no reason he could explain or I could see. When I called him, he told me that he missed me and he missed being with me, seeing me, sleeping with me. Obviously not enough because nothing but Kevin himself was preventing us from doing any of those things. One day I was in love and the next I was heartbroken. And Kevin was gone I don’t know where or with whom.