My cousin, Angela.
“Holy mother of Joseph! I’m gonna have his dribbling babies!” Angela’s screaming roused me from my daze. “I gave Timmy a parting screw yesterday. All I kept thinking about was how the next man between my legs will be Stenton Rogers! I’ve been so excited these last few weeks that my cycle has been knocked off.” She slapped the steering wheel.
Ahhhh… Timmy. I had mixed feelings about Timmy’s mention. He’d recently cheated on Angela with a coworker, Regina. Angela turned volatile at that discovery; showed up to his job physically threatening the both of them, egg-bombed his car and slashed two of his tires. I was surprised there was a recovery period for those two that included sex.
“Oh, my god…my first question for him will be how many tattoos he has. Ooh, Zoey, they’re from his neck, all the way down to his waist…even on his knuckles! I can’t wait to see each and every one of them.” She giggled in delight. “And I’ve been told he has a potty mouth. Mmmmmm! I can’t wait to put mine on him,” she mused aloud. “Umph…here we go!” she sang as we pulled into the circular driveway of Moorestown Creek private country club.
A white gloved valet jogged to the driver’s side and courteously asked our reason for being there. Angela airily explained our enrollment in the Working Toward the Stars program. Her lengthy words and perfect enunciations were entirely unnecessary, and was all for him to explain that we needed to park our own car in the back lot where all employees did. That didn’t pump the brakes on her enthusiasm, though. Ang was ready to lay eyes on her future husband. I, on the other hand, was ready to get through my first day so I could crawl back in the bed to catch a few Zs before my night class.
We checked in with the program coordinator, Jeffery, an employee of the facility. He offered us options for the role we’d play for the summer. We could either be courtside bartenders and serve non-alcoholic beverages or collect the balls the players would use to practice their shots. I didn’t want to be in too close proximity to them, so I was relieved when Angela enthusiastically opted for the ball fetcher role.
We took off for the gym. Along the way, I noticed the prestige of the place. Plush carpeting, stark white walls with built-in frames, real greenery on gold stands against the walls, and the all-white gloved staff.
After a brief orientation of the beverage stand, I was left alone in the corner of a massive gym. There were no bleachers, just a massive court with seats dispersed around the center floor. By 7:00 a.m. tall figures with tight faces had begun strolling in. I’d guessed although this was their normal training time, it was still their vacation period and they weren’t so inspired.
From the second lanky figure that walked through one set of doors, I wondered where was Angela’s Stenton Rogers. I’d seen him on television over the years here and there, but again, I didn’t follow sports and his lewd behavior had calmed over the last couple of years, so I hadn’t caught a glimpse of him on the newsstands at my local grocery store in a while. And from the considerable distance, he could be the man at the other end of the colossal room, holding the industrial mop.