Girl in the Arena - Lise Haines [89]
Uber stands and comes over to the counter.
—What are you talking about?
—I’m the rookie. You’re going to fight me. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.
His face suddenly busts a gasket and he laughs, —Very funny.
He wipes a tear from his good eye; then he begins to tuck in his shirt though it looks tightly anchored already. He moves his flattened hand all the way round his waistband, my dowry bracelet rising and falling as he goes.
—Call Caesar’s if you need to verify it but you and I are fighting each other in Romulus Arena next month. Your last match, my one and only. They’re going to make an announcement.
—That’s crazy.
He stops laughing.
—I know. I know it’s crazy. But the thing is, it’s really okay.
—It’s okay? What’s okay about that? ’Cause I don’t see anything okay about that. Who told you this?
I give him the bare bones story including the virtual punch line, about my plan to send my avatar into the arena.
—You arranged this?
—I’m not ready to get married. I have things I need to do, a brother to take care of. And I barely know you.
I want to say something about this feeling I have when I’m with him, the ease despite it all, the attraction I’d rather not think about. But I stop myself.
—And what if your avatar doesn’t work? he says.
—Then I guess you’d have to fight me.
—You guess I’d have to fight you? But I’m crazy about you. I don’t want to fight you.
—Then you’ll go easy on me. You know, nothing that can’t be stitched back together.
—You can’t do this, he says, practically choking on his own words.
—I signed a contract with Caesar’s. The house will be returned to us, which is the best thing for Thad. And I’ll have money to take care of him properly while I go to college.
—I’ll sign up for ten more fights in exchange for this one. I’ll buy the house for you. Just don’t do this.
—I have to be the one to take care of us, that’s the thing. I’m . . . sorry.
Just then, a sound like a bird hitting one of the picture windows. It’s Mark screwing around outside, as if he’s been thrown against the glass. I motion for him to come in. He picks up a cardboard box full of electronic equipment by his feet and joins us. When Mark shakes hands with Uber, there’s that admiration thing all over again.
—I better head out, Uber says.
—No, stay, man, Mark says.
But Uber comes up with some excuse for leaving. Our good-byes are strained, confused. Mark watches us and I notice that deep line he gets between his eyebrows.
—I’ll call you, Uber says, and heads into the yard.
Mark wants to know what’s up. I click on the TV. We watch Uber as he moves into the crowd outside the gate.
—I told him the plan, I say.
—Dude.
—He doesn’t like not being able to rescue me.
—Good man, he says.
—Don’t start, I say.
—Shh, listen, Mark says, taking a bag of cookies over to the tube.
Uber is surrounded by the media now, the fans.
—I’ve just seen the family, he says. —Lyn is a remarkably strong woman. I hope you will allow her and her brother to have some peace, so they can get through this difficult time.
—Have you set a date? someone calls from the crowd.
Microphones press in toward Uber’s face.
—I have no further comment at this time.
We watch him battle his way into his car. I don’t know if everyone else understands how troubled he looks.
Mark turns off the set, stuffs a large cookie into his mouth and says, —The man’s a pro, what can I say?
—I’ve really screwed up here.
—But if you pull this off, you’ll be the woman who beats the system. And he’ll be done with competition for good, he says, offering me the cookies, which I turn down.
—But you’re the guy who’s signing up to fight in the system.
—I can live with this dichotomy. He smiles.
I punch Spider-Man emblazoned across his T-shirt. —You’re so strange, I say.
—That’s why you can’t live without me. Okay, let’s see what we can do.
I tiptoe upstairs, take a peek at Thad sleeping soundly, and grab my computer. Back in the kitchen, I show Mark my fortified avatar. I’ve glued in one of my face shots.
—Nice. But