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Second Mom
Sharon Kasem turned the key in the lock, her front door opening easily, the lamp on the hallway table already on, the cat circling around her legs and welcoming her home as she put her purse and briefcase on the chair.
"I know, you want your dinner, don't you? Y'know what, so do I. What are we in the mood for tonight, hmm? Come on." It had been a long day, in the office by eight, too busy with that new account to have a real lunch and then having to work later than usual because of that idiot intern screwing up the numbers which had to be in first thing tomorrow. "Here you are; 'that's good, isn't it?" Misty the cat had her face in her bowl, oblivious to anything other than her can of tuna.
There wasn't anything in the fridge worth eating, nothing in the freezer worth nuking. She was tired and hungry and, oh, what the hell—she pulled out the menu from her favorite Chinese place. An order of lemon chicken with bean sprouts, a spring roll and maybe a side of lo mein would do her just fine and had the advantage of guaranteed delivery inside of twenty minutes.
"That's done, I'm just going to get out of these heels and change, Mist—I'll be right back." Misty seemed fine with that, not bothering to pause her dinner to look up.
Five minutes later Sharon was back downstairs leafing through today's stack of mail. There were the usual catalogs, a few magazines and bills, a postcard from her brother traveling in Germany for some client and a manilla 8 X 10 envelope which she saved for last. She smiled to herself; it was finally here. Carefully opening the top she pulled out the cover letter and color photograph, autograph across the bottom;
'Best wishes, Robin'. It wasn't really signed 'Robin', it was just a scrawled 'R' in a hand drawn circle written with a black sharpie and she suspected that he'd never been anywhere near the thing himself but didn't really care. The picture was a really good one, an action shot of him throwing some kind of judo kick or something with the light and shadows highlighting the angles of his leg muscles, in his face and bringing out the amazing color of his eyes. They might be contacts but she doubted it; that color was real, it had to be and just another reason he was—unique.
Sharon picked up the cat, stroking the soft fur and happy when she felt the vibration in the small body as she started purring. "I'm not a pedophile, Mist. I know how young he is—I just like to look at him, like a Greek sculpture or something. It's esthetic." She saw the way he was changing, maturing and wondered again just how old he really was. Sixteen? Seventeen? Something like that. "Mostly esthetic."
She didn't tell anyone about writing to him and even felt sort of dumb for doing it but that didn't stop her. So what if she was forty-six years old and he was in high school? No one had to know that she bought every magazine with him on the cover or a blurb saying there was an article about him inside. She cruised Amazon for any new books about him and had three shelves full in one of the bookcases down in the basement.
"So what? Lots of people have crushes on Johnny Depp or Superman, right? It's not like I'm stalking him or anything or think anything will ever come out of it. I know I'll never meet him and if I ever did he wouldn't give me a second look so no harm done." Changed into her robe and slippers she waited for her food, the TV in the background. "Harmless hobbies, everyone needs one." She scratched Misty's ears, putting her down on the floor when she heard the doorbell with her food. She paid the deliveryman, smiled as he left and thought how nice it would be if Robin was there sharing her meal and wondering what his favorites were. "Probably something healthy." She smiled to herself. "Or junk food. 'Teenagers..."
"Ms. Kasem, is it all right if I give you those numbers after lunch? My parents are in town and I promised them that I'd..."
"I need those numbers before my meeting at one. I believe that I told you that yesterday."
"Well, yes ma'am, you did but I just found out that they'll only be here between planes and I was hoping that just this once, maybe I could...I haven't seen them since Christmas."
"I need those numbers by one. You may go to lunch now and then to an employment agency or you can stay and finish what I've asked you to do. Your choice."
"Yes Ma'am, I, um, I understand. You'll have that information before one."
"Thank you." And she didn't care about the face the intern made on his way out. Work was work, if it was too hard for him, he could find another job. Turning to her laptop, her personal one, she opened the file containing her journal and began typing.
Three months went by, Sharon finally was given that promotion to Senior Vice President in Charge of New Accounts with a substantial raise and added benefits. She celebrated by placing an advance order on Amazon for that new unauthorized biography about Robin which was supposed to be coming out next month.
His birthday was in the spring, or was it fall? There were conflicting thoughts about that but she liked to think that his birthday was spring. It just seemed right to her; spring was rebirth, light colors, happiness and Easter eggs. Fall was dying leaves and waiting for cold weather. Definitely, he should be a spring birthday and he should have a birthday present. Oh, of course she knew that whatever she sent would end up in some pile and he'd probably never see it but, well, still...
He looked like he was losing weight, she's bake some cookies and send them. Every teenager liked cookies, right? That's what she'd do and just hope he'd see them. Even if he didn't eat them at least he'd know someone was thinking about him, that someone out there cared.
She kicked herself—"Of course someone cares about him. Of course they did. He has to have parents and maybe some brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles and lots of cousins who all gather at the grandparent's house for Thanksgiving and Christmas."
She took her usual sleeping pill ('With everything I have to worry about? My brain never wants to turn off...') fell asleep with the cookbook still opened beside her and dreamed about Robin's Christmas. The house looked like the set of the Walton's house on TV with stockings hanging up on the fireplace, roast turkey in the oven, fireplace crackling with a warm glow and his grandfather was Will Geer.
The next day, a Saturday, she baked four dozen chocolate chip cookies and mailed them to 'Robin, c/o Gotham Police Headquarters'. He might not ever see them, but she'd know she'd given him something and that was good enough for now.
Later, around five or so she started to get ready for her dinner date. Randy was supposed to pick her up, take her out to a nice meal and then they were going to see a show.
Randy.
Reliable, steady, true-blue Randy. Boring Randy. For a while she'd thought that he was better than nothing but she was changing her mind. He was placid, didn't have an original thought in his head, not a single opinion about anything and she was starting to dread his phone calls.
He was a nice guy, doted on her and did whatever she wanted without complaint. He was just so... This would be it. She'd break it off tonight.
Or tomorrow.
"Hey, Shar, how'd the date go?"
"It was okay."
"Just okay?"
She smiled, Jean knew Randy. "It started at okay, went south to 'shoot me' then hit the depths of 'I'd rather be eating moldy cheese than talk to this moron for three more minutes'.
"Damn, girl, we have to find you a human being to go out with."
"It would make a nice change. Later, okay? I have to get this done."
When Jean closed her door Sharon pulled out the latest edition of Superheroes Weekly. The lead story was speculating that Robin should be about to graduate high school and wondering what he'd do now; college? Work for the police or Interpol or something full time? There were five pages of color pictures, most of them never published before and a candid taken in some gym with the boy wearing just a pair of gym shorts and his mask, towel casually tossed over his shoulder and caught mid-laugh.
She stared at his chest and the muscles in his arms, God, he was perfect. If she'd ever had a son, this was what he'd be; handsome, intelligent, caring, generous and—most of all—unaware of just how unique he really was.
She'd been writing more in her journal about Robin, not even realizing how many entries were about him until she'd reread a few pages the other day. Smiling to herself she shrugged, what did it matter? People wrote about their hobbies, their pets, their gardens and the baby's newest case of colic.
Same thing.
A few months went by, Sharon was setting records in her new position as VP and earning a hell of a yearly bonus which she was probably just going to stick in some kind of Treasury Bond or something.
"You're crazy, you should take that cruise with me over the holidays, it's not even that much money and we'd get out of this stupid cold weather for a couple of weeks and you can take a break from your eighty hour weeks."
"'Can't."
"Because you have to feed your cat? Seriously, that's what neighborhood kids are for." Sighing in frustration, Jane knew a lost cause when she saw it. "Okay, fine. Are you still seeing Randy?"
"No, 'told him I didn't think that we have enough in common and we broke it off."
"That was tactful."
"No reason to string him along."
"I guess. So, seeing anyone new?"
"With all my spare time?"
"Well, when you free up a little, I know a guy I think you'd like. Seriously and don't look at me like that. Smart, has his own money, no major baggage, sane; he's a nice guy."
Sharon nodded, uh-huh. "If he's so great why don't you go out with him?"
"I did, last year and no chemistry but I think you two might connect. Should I tell him to give you a call?"
If she said no Jean wouldn't drop it, ever. Forcing a smile, "Sure, why not?"
"Great! His name is Larry and he's dying to meet you."
"No doubt, what does he look like?"
Jean googled him on Sharon's computer. Black hair, blue eyes, nice build, maybe forty-five or so. Her first thought was that he could be Robin's father. "Fine, whatever. Maybe after Christmas."
"You're on."
Sharon couldn't help it, it was just so—it was so cute and the way they'd sculpted his thighs (she blushed to herself). She wasn't even supposed to be here, she never came to the mall, hated the mall and avoided it every chance she got. If she hadn't needed a new pair of red pumps to go with her new dress for tonight's dinner with the exalted Larry she wouldn't be here and there it was, just staring at her from the shop window. She was a little embarrassed to go into the store, but what the hell; it wasn't like she'd ever see the clerk again.
"Excuse me, may I pay for this?"
"Yuh, sure. Cash or charge?" The kid behind the counter looked like he was about thirteen.
"MasterCard and do you gift wrap?"
"Uh, no but, I dunno, maybe that Hallmark store over there...? 'Present, huh?"
"A birthday present for my nephew, yes. Thank you." The transaction finished, the screen signed and the item bagged she had her impulse purchase.
"Thanks, have a nice day."
"You too."
Getting home she dropped the bag with the new shoes on the table then took the other box out of it's plastic shopping bag.
Perfect, it was perfect.
It was a new action figure of Robin (a percentage of the proceeds to go to charity). Every detail was exactly right down to the green boots and fabric cape but, most of all, the detirmined expression on his face. He was just so—oh, he was just so ready for anything. Taking him out of the box, she debated where...there, right on top of the bookcase in her den, right next to her computer.
Right where she could see him.
The arranged date with Larry was a stroll through hell, ending in silence when he asked her if she was interested in joining him that weekend at his favorite nudist camp for a picnic.
Christ—most men lived under rocks.
Almost a year went by, Sharon's infatuation with Robin grew until she moved the three shelves worth of books about him she'd collected into her bedroom to from the basement den, glad that no one would have any reason to see them. She wasn't at all ashamed, she was just private and, well, it wasn't anybody's business.
It was a lazy Sunday morning, she was having a leisurely breakfast, waiting or the sleeping pill haze to fade and going through the paper when she saw the ad in the Entertainment section. There was going to be a benefit in Denver to raise money for the US Olympic team, a whole bunch of team hopefuls would be performing at a gymnastics exhibition and, as a special attraction, Robin had agreed to throw a few routines. Tickets ranged from twenty-five to two hundred dollars will all profits going to scholarships for needy and deserving athletes.
Picking up her cell phone on impulse before she had a chance to talk herself out of it, she ordered a two hundred dollar ticket, paying an extra five hundred dollar premium for admission to an after performance dinner with the athletes, including Robin. Booking a flight and hotel, she decided to take some personal days and make a real trip of it. She'd get there a day or two early, see some of the sights, get some shopping in and have some fun.
She didn't tell anyone why she was going to Denver aside from mentioning doing some skiing and maybe visiting a cousin she hadn't seen in a while.
And she wasn't stalking the boy. She knew nothing would happen beyond the most superficial kind of exchange. She didn't have any fantasies about their eyes meeting across a crowded room and sparks flying—she really didn't.
Honestly.
It was like people who 'love' Michael Jackson or Tom Cruise or maybe even someone like Stephen Sondheim. Aside from the nutcases no one really believed that anything would ever happen between them any more than the girls who screamed when they saw Robert Pattinson at a film premier really thought so.
"Well, sure, of course he's handsome and he's smart and he's accomplished but seriously, he's thirty years younger and that's not what this is about. I admire him for lots of reasons but I'm not in love with him."
And she was telling the truth. If anything, her feelings edged into the maternal. Mostly.
"It's just that he's so much better than the men I deal with in my real life." She spent most of her flight to Denver thinking about it. "If I ever met him, ever spent any time with him I'd find out that he's not that great in person. Maybe he has BO or burps or is an ass to women. Maybe he's arrogant or rude and just has a good PR team keeping it hidden." She sipped the vodka and tonic the attendant had brought her and smiled to herself. "But the part we're allowed to see? Incredible."
She looked out the small window to hide her blush. "God, I sound like a teenager." He was a fantasy figure to her, he was a crush and it was completely harmless. If she got pleasure from it, where was the harm in that?
She arrived at Stapleton Airport five hours late, the delay caused by weather and then had to share a cab to her hotel, the Brown Palace. The hotel was a splurge, expensive, exclusive and a present to herself—the whole trip was a treat so she wasn't about to skimp on a room; sharing the cab was bad enough. Her suite, once she was installed there, was impressive, decorated in slightly overdone chintz but fully equipped and fancy enough to make her smile.
She had over twenty-four hours until the exhibition, tomorrow at seven-thirty in the Pepsi Arena, home to the Denver Nuggets, Colorado Avalanche, Colorado Crush and the Colorado Mammoth. But tomorrow it would host the best gymnasts in the country and Robin, her Robin was there as the main attraction.
She made the duty call to her cousin, feigning disappointment when they were unable to meet up; thank god she got out of that. On her own, she spent the rest of the day at the art museum and doing a little shopping, pretending that Robin would be meeting her for dinner and an long, private evening. Finding a perfect silk wisp of a nightgown with matching robe (to cover her upper arms, not quite as firm as they used to be) she went back to a room service dinner and a new stack of gossip mags featuring Robin.
Sleeping in til almost nine the next morning, she set out for the massage, hair and make up appointments for the rest of the day, allowing herself plenty of time to get ready. Oh sure, she could just go casual (and her outfit was simple enough) but in for a penny, in for a pound, right? If you're going to do something, do it right. Go big or go home.
So what if no one would know besides her? This was her time and she was going to milk it for all it was worth.
Finally, finally it was time to go. Her hair was done—casual but just right. Her makeup was there enough so that she looked her absolute best but not enough so that she looked desperate and her clothes were a nice (but not absolutely new and stiff) pair of perfectly fitting jeans and a simple cashmere sweater the exact color to bring out her eyes. Her jewelry was classic Tiffany—in good taste but with enough pizazz to highlight her overall look.
Taking a cab to the arena, she found her seat easily; front row on the side so that she could see all the various apparatus with an unobstructed view and close enough to where the athletes sat between their routines that she could practically reach over the railing and shake their hands if she wanted to.
The place was crowded, the seats almost all sold and the noise, the buzz from the crowd was growing along with the anticipation. Yes, of course, a large percentage of the crowd was about thirteen years old and wearing team uniforms from local gymnastics clubs, carrying teddy bears and flowers to be tossed after particularly good routines. They carried hand painted signs to be waved at their favorites and she was secretly pleased to see that her Robin seemed to have the most, the biggest and the brightest signs.
Of course he was the favorite. He had the highest profile, the most press, and well, was simply the best; more well rounded than any of the others, more interesting and would be famous and working years—decades—after the rest were retired and selling insurance in Kansas.
The crowd was excited and impatient, the lights dimmed and the noise became deafening with anticipation. Sharon smiled to herself, thinking that this must be what a rock show would be like, not that she'd ever been to one. The girls in the row behind her, all wearing matching warmup jackets with Denver Elites written on the back, were beside themselves. The dozen or so girls were squealing, screaming or just standing, waiting for the show to begin. Actually Sharon felt the same way, not that she'd ever actually squeal, of course.
The spotlights framed the entrances onto the arena floor, the noise ratcheted up and about twenty gymnasts, men and women, ran out in formation, starting choreographed warmup tumbling passes.
He was there, third in line, wearing a standard issue USA white gymnastics uniform, a singlet and long white gymnastics pants along with his mask, the only thing setting him apart from the others (aside from him being superior in every way to the rest).
God, he was even more beautiful in person; relaxed, happy, smiling easily, moving without any seeming effort and gracious to the crowd.
He was wonderful.
Warmup finished, they athletes took their places along the sidelines, sitting, chatting, waving to the crowd and waiting their turns to perform. Robin was less than ten feet away, smiling, laughing with a couple of the other men and occasionally turning to smile and nod (with some apparent embarrassment) when a group of fans would yell his name in unison.
He was the best there. He worked the audience, held them in the palm of his hand. He connected to his fans, he left the others in his wake.
He was modest, joyous in his own abilities and still made it all look easy—everything from his quad tuck dismount from the high bar to his way with autographs.
Walking back to his seat after his turn on the vaulting table, he met her eye and gave her a special smile, just for her, his eyes meeting hers and holding them for long seconds then giving her the smallest of winks. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up and she could feel herself blushing like one of the fourteen years olds behind her.
He was more wonderful than she'd imagined.
The rest of the exhibition was beyond her hopes. The other athletes were good, very good but Robin shone every time he took the floor and quietly stole attention when he was just sitting, waiting his turn. He was, he was...what was he? He was perfect.
It was the only word for him, from his body to what she could see of his face, his abilities, his humor, his easy confidence. He was everything she's imagined and more. When the show ended to a standing ovation and encores, she remained in her seat while the arena cleared, hoping against hope that he'd come out again, even if it were in his street clothes on his way to the meet and greet he'd promised attend.
Finally, with the hall almost cleared, she made her way to the reception room. The athletes, coaches and the members of the Olympic Committee would be there, making nice and hoping for some big contributions. In her fantasies she'd walk up to Robin, they'd speak, immediately (or perhaps with a growing realization) recognize that there was an undeniable connection and—age be damned—would end up having a quiet dinner together followed by, by, well by...everything.
Ridiculous, she knew that but wouldn't it be fun?
And then there he was, standing y the wall, laughing with a couple pf the other athletes, smiling and breaking off, moving to mingle when one of the officials touched his arm. He moved, talked with such an easy grace, confidence, maturity, aplomb. He was everything she knew he'd be.
"So, you're a fan of gymnastics?"
"Excuse me?"
"You like gymnastics? Are you a judge, a coach? 'Thirsty?"
She glanced at the man who'd stopped beside her, offering her a glass of white wine. "Thank you" She sipped the wine, it was a decent chardonnay and she actually had been thirsty.
"So, you're a coach?"
"Me, no, I just enjoy the sport and like to support our team when I can." Awkward silence. "And you?"
"Tom Haden, I'm the head men's coach." Pause "And you're...?"
"Sharon Kasem."
"Y'know, looking like you do, I thought that you were probably a gymnast yourself; you have that kind of body."
Get lost, loser. "Oh?"
"Absolutely, tight gluts, firm abs; you have the look, definitely."
"...Really?" She moved a few inches away, pulling his hand off her ass.
"Well, Sharon, may I have the pleasure of joining you for dinner? I know I'd enjoy the company and I suspect you wouldn't be disappointed, either." Jesus, the man was actually leering.
Only if hell froze over. "Thank you, but I'm afraid I've already promised someone." She saw Robin working his way in her direction, thank god, actually making eye contact with her. "I'm sorry, but if you'll excuse me..." She turned toward Robin, pretending they were old friends reconnecting.
He accepted her air kiss and almost hug while whispering, "Tom hitting on you? Don't be embarrassed or anything, he's pretty harmless. Obnoxious, but harmless." God, he was talking to her, just to her and he was even smiling right at her, watching her, paying attention to her. He'd seen what was happening and was helping her—oh god!
"Why, has he hit on you?" Oh cripes, she didn't just say that! But Robin laughed, really amused, he thought she was witty. "Has anyone ever filed charges against him? If I had a teenaged daughter I'd have his ass in a sling."
"He hits on every beautiful woman he meets. I guess it's a compliment in a sexist, backhanded kind of way and yes, he's fought a few complaints so he was forced to switch to coaching men to save what he had left of his career." He was still smiling right to her. "Would you have dinner with me, forget about him?" The formal dinner was ready, people were finding seats at the dozen or so round tables in the main ballroom.
She nodded, smiling in private elation. "I'd like that, thank you, as long as we're not at his table."
"No problem."
In fact, dinner wasn't included in the premium ticket she'd bought so she was secretly thrilled when Robin took her arm and led her out to the street. "Do you have a car here?"
"No, I cabbed over from my hotel, do you? But—don't you have to eat inside with the sponsors I thought that this was a fundraiser and you're a big part of the..."
"I know but I've had enough and the pledges have already been made so I can leave. And no, I cabbed too, so I don't have a car either. What do you feel like eating?"
"You're sure? Honestly, I don't want to cause any trouble for you or anything."
"You won't, they've made enough money off of me for one day. So, dinner?"
Oh god, anything, McDonald's. The Four Seasons. Pizza. "You're the one who's been working, I think you should decide."
"Chinese?" She could see a place down the block and it was the first thing that came to her mind.
"My Favorite."
"But really, are you sure this is all right? I thought that you were supposed to be eating with the officials or someone like that."
He smiled, completely charming. "This sounds like more fun."
Seated in a booth, Sharon soaked in the company, trying to seem cool while pinching herself. Robin was the perfect gentleman; clearly he'd been well brought up or well trained. Either that or he really was a natural candidate for sainthood. The boy was attentive to her, making sure she was didn't feel ignored, asking questions; where was she from, how long had she been interested in gymnastics and what did she do for a living. She did her best to be witty and entertaining.
Okay, so she failed. "I know that you probably have been told this since you were able to walk, but you're really a very good gymnast."
"Thanks but I'm really not a gymnast, I'm just an acrobat. There's a difference." He was matter of fact, not arrogant and he said it without making her feel stupid. He really was perfect.
"Oh? Tell me about it."
He paused for a moment, clearly wondering why he was having this conversation but, "An acrobat is usually someone who does moves and stunts like tumbling, tightrope walking, trapeze or that kind of thing, often as entertainment like in a circus and are often professionals, doing it for a career as long as they stay healthy. A gymnast performs routines, on specific equipment in competition, they have a stringent set of requirements and accepted form for all the tricks. They're almost always amateurs."
"I see."
"I was trained as an acrobat, the gymnastics is sort of a sideline for me."
"Which means that you're not an amateur? 'You were paid to be here?"
"Just expenses."
Subject closed. Fine, she understood; he had secrets. "Which do you prefer?"
"I dunno, they're both fun. Mostly I just like getting together with my friends so I do these exhibits when they come up and if it helps the team, that's okay, too." He sipped his water and looked at the menu. "What do you do?"
The conversation stayed general, Robin not giving anything personal away beyond the fact that he liked sweet and sour chicken. He seemed to have a veneer of good manners which hid whatever he might have really been thinking and she thought that it had to be that way. He was young, he'd been in the public eye since he was a child and it must be the only way he could keep any semblance of privacy for himself.
Poor thing.
"Does it ever bother you?" It just slipped out as he came back from the men's room.
"Excuse me?"
"All the attention and all the secrets you have to keep. Don't you ever want to, I don't know, run down the street shouting your real name or something?"
He looked down into his food, hiding a smile. "I don't, actually. And I do have friends I can be myself with, no holds barred, just hang out and be myself."
"Good. I'm glad you do." The waiter was laying the bill on the table by Sharon, assuming the older woman would be paying, He was right.
"Thanks for tonight, I really couldn't have handled another hour or two playing meet and greet with everyone." He looked toward the corner and a vacant cab. "I don't mean to cut this short but I'm more tired than I thought, so..."
"Of course, you've had a busy day." Sharon signaled the car and opened the back door as Robin gave a slight stumble. "C'mon, I'll get you where you need to be."
"...'No need..." He gently slumped against her, eyes closed, head on her shoulder.
"'Tired?" He nodded, his eyes closed. "The Brown, please." It wasn't far and they were there quickly. A bellhop helped her get Robin up to her suite, easily accepting the story that her son had a little too much wine at dinner.
She'd take care of him. He'd be just fine.
She'd make sure of that.
TBC