To the Victor

The last mile was a blur. I got back to the motel and mom was watching tv in her bathrobe. I glanced at her but went straight to the bathroom.

"Good run?" she said absently.

"Yeah. Fine." I closed the door and switched on the shower for a long, cold one.

At dinner, we decided to eat at an outdoor bistro just two blocks from the motel. It was a small mom and pop Tex-Mex fare and there was a piano player tapping out some swing tunes from the days of Frank Sinatra. It made us smile and we relaxed to a fine meal and eventually started to talk again.

"You know, it doesn't have to be that awkward. We've been kind of quiet for a couple of days now and well, it doesn't have to be strange between us." Mom sipped at her margarita and while I got to enjoy my tall glass of water. I was glad she finally brought it up because it was eating away at me too. It was occupying my head and I really needed to concentrate on the fight. I was about to step into the ring with the champion of the world and here I was pining over a girl like a schoolboy crush. And that girl was my mom!

I looked down at my hands, clenched into fists and released, relaxed. We spoke softly because there were still about three other couples in nearby tables. "I know, mom, but it has been a bit weird. I mean, we got caught up, after the bar fight, we were a bit high on adrenaline."

"That's right. It was pretty exciting. You took that big guy down like nothing. And then, well, when you...uh..kissed me, it just felt like the right thing to do." She smiled tentatively.

"It felt like the right thing to do." I looked up into her eyes. "I liked it. I really liked it."

"It was nice."

I shrugged. "So why haven't we...talked about it? I mean, two days later and..."

She shrugged too and took another sip. When her glass was done she held it up, signaling the waiter for another one, her third. Her cheeks were getting a bit rosy and it made her eyes twinkle. "I guess we just needed the time to assess the situation. Listen, it doesn't need to be awkward, so let's just move on."

"Move on?"

"Yes. It happened. We kissed. It was wonderful and now we move on again. Like normal."

"Really."

"Yes, really." The waiter came and got her empty glass and took away our plates.

"It was 'wonderful' and we move on and forget it." I was trying not to press her, to confront her, but I was not doing a good job. My libido was stirring and I was a fighter.

"Yes. We move on. We have to. There's really no other choice."

I sat and looked down at my hands again and waited for the waiter to return with her drink, which she immediately started to take larger gulps at. "Be careful."

She smiled at me between sips. "I'm a grown woman and I think I can handle this."

I blinked at her. "And I'm a grown man and I think I can handle this, too."

Her mouth opened slightly as if to speak, but she said nothing. She looked over at the piano player and smiled. "He's really good. The guy can play. I used to love to dance to this stuff. Your father and I—"

"Well, he's not here. He's never around, remember? It's just been me. Just you and me. That's all I know and that's all I care about."

She looked at me then, almost fondly, as if reminiscing. She nodded. "Yeah, you do look like him, even if you think you don't. You're built like him and you move like him."

I let out a sigh. "I'm nothing like him. I stay. I'm faithful. I don't leave people behind."

Her smile slowly faded. "That's true. You are faithful and you've been my little man for so long."

"Not so little anymore."

"No, not so little." She smiled again, the haze of the alcohol making her happy. "And can you dance again, just like in that biker bar?"

I wasn't going to wait to be asked twice. I stood up and offered her my hand. She melded into my body, just as I wanted, and we slowly twirled around the makeshift dance floor, small steps, small circles, one hand clasped, the other around each other's backs, pulling, pressing. I could feel the pressure of her exquisite body against mine and I grew hard, without restraint, without resistance. I knew she felt me. I wanted her to know I knew and I wanted her to feel me. I wanted her to know how much I loved her, how much I wanted her.

"Bobby," she whispered into my ear. She rested her head on my shoulder and I held her for dear life.

The dance held sway through two songs, then three, and on the fourth, we noticed that two other couples had joined us. We smiled politely at them and stayed in our own private cocoon. As the New Mexican sky turned pink to purple to deep blue, the stars replaced the sun and bathed us in twilight splendor. The cool air was refreshing and when the pianist played his final song, I bent low and kissed my mother's hand.

"Thank you for the dance, my lady."

She beamed and curtseyed. I walked over and dropped a ten dollar bill into the piano man's glass. "You were spectacular, Sam. Thank you."

One of the couples, an older stately gentleman of about 70 and a much younger woman of about 50 stopped me on my way back to our table. The woman said, "You two look so good together. You must be in love."

I blinked once and smiled. Clearing my throat, I said, "Well thank you. We are in love, yes."

Mom came over and I took her hand. She was smiling and I was not sure whether she had heard what was said.

"This is Kate," I said, introducing her to the couple. I was about to add that she was my mother, but mom cut me off.

"And this is Robert. You folks enjoying yourselves too?" My mother squeezed my hand in hers.

"We are indeed," said the gentleman. "And we were just commenting on how happy you two looked. So in love, we can tell."

Now it was mom's turn to be surprised, but she was far more diplomatic than I was. She recovered instantly. "Of course we are. I have known and loved Robert all my life."

We all shared a polite chuckle and bade each other good night. I let out a slow sigh as I took her hand and led her out onto the sidewalk. After we crossed the street, we came upon a small jewelry store. It was closed of course, but she wanted to stare into the glass and got lost in thought.

I stood close to her and could feel her warmth against my arm. I watched her chest rise and fall with her steady breathing and my mind wandered too. "See something you like?"

She grinned. "All of them."

"Then you'll have them. I'll buy 'em all for you, ma. All of them. When I win the belt the money's going to come pouring in and we'll never need to borrow or save again. We'll have it all, ma, just you and me. I promise."

She touched my face tenderly. "I believe you, hon. I know you'll do it." She turned back to the window and stared at a silver necklace with a large, blue stone. "Sapphire, my favorite. You know, your father told me he would buy me a sapphire necklace after he won it big in the fights. He never did get his break and well, those dreams vanished." She looked sad now, reminiscing about him.

I sighed once and fought hard not to sour the mood. I didn't like when she brought up his name. But I didn't want to spoil the night either. I whispered, "Well, that's him and I won't let you down." I put my hand at the small of her back and she seemed to brighten up a bit. I took her other hand in mine and we pretended to glide and dance back towards the motel, giggling like small children.

When we got closer to the block where motel was, we were still in the afterglow of the sensuous dance and hearty meal. Still feeling the giddiness of the margaritas, mom tried her hand at skipping and hopping. She giggled and ran playfully, and when I caught up with her, she let me hug her tightly. Our faces got close but we didn't kiss. We walked silently, getting closer and closer to the motel room, and my nerves were shot. Butterflies—or more like vultures—were soaring in my stomach. Why was I so nervous? Why was I such a scared little boy?

I unlocked the door and opened it for her. She smiled and stepped in, thanking me like a proper lady. When I stepped in behind her, I closed the door, hearing the tell-tale click. I leaned against the back of the door and stared at her. Slowly, she turned to face me. The room was still dark except for the neon sign that filtered in through the tan drapes. I could hear my heart thudding. I could hear her deeply breathing, looking back at me through the darkness. The space between us was about four feet, but it felt like a hundred miles.

I smiled at her. She smiled back at me. "Thank you, Bobby. I had fun tonight."

"Me too," I said quietly. "Is...uh...is this date...over?"

Her mouth opened again and no words came out. She took a step, then another, towards me. I closed that distance and we met in a passionate embrace, our mouths joined wetly, opened, frantic. We forgot to breathe. We forgot the rest of the world. We forgot who we were. We forgot everything as I kissed her face, her neck, then back up to her lips. Our mouths were open, tongues clashing, sucking, lightly biting. My hands roamed her back and then her front, finding her T-shirt covered breasts, squeezing them, causing her to moan in pleasure and pain.

I tore away from her lips and pushed up her shirt, kissing the space between her breasts. My fingers grasped the middle of her bra and I pushed that up too, exposing her succulent breasts. They bounced into view, so round, so full. My mouth watered as I sank down and devoured her flesh.

"Oh Bobby! Oh God! We—we...can't...!"

I was not deterred. I had a mission and I was hungry. I moved us now, despite her resistance, and laid us as gently as my fevered state would allow. I was on top of her, stilling kissing her motherly bosom, her neck, her face. She was gasping out and trying unsuccessfully to push me off. She was not using all of her strength and I could feel her fading.

"Bobby...please...we can't...we shouldn't be doing this..."

"Sssshhh, mom, I love you. I love you. I need you." My hand fumbled with my jeans and the button fly was confounding me now.

And then, the worst thing that could happen, happened. My cellphone buzzed, again and again. I had left it on the table and a quick glance showed that it was Gus. "Fuck!"

I looked down at her and she looked up at me. She did not look frightened, just worried. Her eyes were glazed with lust, but her face showed worry and confusion. "You better get that."

I reached for the cellphone and sat up. Mom took the opportunity to get up and retreat into the bathroom. "Gus, what is it?"

He was barking at me on the other end. Where have I been? Why hadn't I checked in? How much weight did I gain this past week? Have I been working out? Why did I have to drive when airplanes were perfectly safe? How many push-ups did I do today? How many miles did I run yesterday? Was I using my leather jump rope or the beaded one? Was I drinking a gallon of water a day? How have I been keeping up with my reflex training? And on and on. I answered as politely and patiently as I could, knowing that my lust had just been in overdrive. Mom was in the bathroom a long time, even after I had hung up with Gus. I turned the lamp on and kept the room a romantic glow.

When she finally emerged, brushed and ready for bed, she immediately raised a hand to me. "No, Bobby. No more. We have to stop. We need to get some sleep and get to Las Vegas tomorrow. Okay? No more, hon. No more."

It was so final and my manhood deflated, along with my resolve and my lust. She had returned to being prim and proper and a mother again. Not my woman. Not my lover. I shook my head and went into the bathroom.

The drive to Nevada was mostly silent again. The only comment I made to lighten the mood was, "Let's just chalk it up to the alcohol."

"But, you didn't drink," she said, staring out her window.

I glanced at her and was about to get the last word in, but decided against it. There was no point.

When we finally pulled into Las Vegas, it was nearing sun down and we found our hotel right away. Mom insisted on a separate room this time, emphatically confirming that we would not be alone for the rest of the trip, or the rest of our lives, for that matter. She said she needed to be on her own for a bit and that I would be busy with Gus and the rest of the team in order to train. I didn't argue. I couldn't argue.

What could I say? 'Please let me room with you mom so I could try to rape you again.' Or, 'please let's continue this incestuous seduction and let's both burn in hell for our thoughts and our deeds.' Or better still, 'please let me get all caught up in this fucking foolish drama in my head so I can blow my chance at the Light Heavyweight Championship of the world!' I was such a fucking idiot!

"Yeah ma. That's fine." That's all I could say.

Gus ran me through the ringer. In the days that followed, he and the team beat the living shit out of me, running 10 miles a day, 800 push-ups, one thousand sit-ups, 10 3-minute rounds with different sparring partners a day. The fight was for 12 rounds and Gus said, if I shouldn't over train for 12 before the fight. Ten rounds was max for me for now. If I didn't put Nunez away inside of 10, then I would really have to see what I was made of in the final two rounds.

Mom was at the gym. She watched my practices, not breaking tradition. She kept her distance, for the most part, but at least she was there. Her eyes were ever on me and my thoughts were on her. We had been so close. It had gotten so close. My lust drove me to ever greater violence and my sparring partners began to drop like flies. Gus was amazed, but he also cautioned me to save it for the night of the fight. Save it for Nunez.

Gus said, "The promoter wants to get one good look at you. Says he wants to watch you spar. He owns Nunez, but as the promoter of this fight, he has the right to see the opponent."

I shrugged. "So? Let him come watch. He can tell his fighter that some dumb Irish kid's gonna kick his champion's ass. Let him come watch, Gus."

After lunch, I was back in the ring again with my sparring partner, doing evasive techniques and counter-punching. Gus was barking his commands and I was listening and reacting a millisecond later. When he stopped talking, I realized he was shaking hands with some guy in a suit. I held up my hand to stop the action and walked over.

Gus said, "Bobby, this is Jack Malone, the promoter. He wanted to meet you and wish you luck."

I nodded once and put my gloved fist out. Jack Malone punched it back lightly. I said, "Thanks for this opportunity, Mr. Malone. I really appreciate it."

Malone smiled broadly. "Thank you, son. I'm sure you're going to give us one hell of a fight."

Jack Malone was a big guy, stocky, maybe an inch taller than me. He was clearly a heavyweight in his day and, although he had some greying on the sides, he looked like he could still bang with the big boys. He moved like a fighter, too. Graceful, cat-like, dangerous. His piercing eyes and confident stare told all of us that he was tough both in business and inside or outside the ring. It was a bit unnerving, his stare, his small smile that was almost a smirk. He looked me over very carefully and I wanted to get back to sparring.

I put my mouthpiece in and was ready to face my sparring partner again, when I glanced at mom. Her mouth was slightly open and her face was white as alabaster. She was shocked, looking at Jack Malone. Recognition. Horror? Fear. Then she caught my eye and looked away. I glanced at Malone again. He was still grinning confidently at me, as if to tempt me into a brawl. So I turned on my sparring partner and gave them a show.

"He's your father!" mom screamed, almost hysterical. We were having a private dinner in her room, my last meal before weigh-ins the next day. "He's your father, Bobby. Jack Malone."

My jaw was clenched. After all these years, in all the gin joints in all the world. We walked into his. I took a bite of my green beans. "So? What's it to me? He got you pregnant and went away. So what?"

She was crying softly, in the throes of confusion and heartbreak. I had no clue what mom was going through inside. I had no idea what she must have been feeling.

"What's it to you, anyway? So what if he's the damn promoter. I'm going to beat up his boy, take the belt, take the money, and we're going to get the hell out of here. That's it."

"But Bobby—you haven't seen him in—"

"Exactly!" I was shouting now, angry that he had to come back into our lives, angry that he came between us, angry that she was still enthralled by him. It wasn't fair. Life wasn't fair. I had mom to myself and now old Jack Malone comes strolling in and the world has to change all over again. Bullshit. "I haven't seen him; you haven't seen him; he hasn't been around! We don't need him, ma. We don't need his bullshit in our lives. This is a racket. He's probably working for the mob."

She went on crying, never touching her food. But she did drink. A lot. By the time she staggered to bed, I was seething mad and ready to fight Nunez now. I left her and went for a long walk along the strip.

The next night we all met at the locker room for the weigh-ins. I had stayed close to mom throughout the day and she seemed to brighten up, playing the slot machines again and eating at the buffet. I was still thinking long and hard about our argument last night, but she never seemed to want to talk about it. I shrugged it off in front of her and played along. If she was going to have fun, so would I. Inside however, my mind kept swirling and I was lost in confusion, a lot of anger, a lot of pain and regret. I didn't know which feeling was stronger, other than an overwhelming need to take her away from all this shit.

Gus and Sally, our cutman, led me through the nervous and excited crowd and up onto the stage where the official scale was set. We would each weigh in and then have a brief pose down for all the media to take their photographs. Nunez was tall and thin, cut like panther, all muscles and coiled movement. He looked deadly and serious. So was I. I got on the scale first and raised my arms after being weighed in at 174 pounds. I flexed my biceps and saw mom's gleaming eyes and smile. It made me happy and proud that she looked on, my loudest cheering crowd.

When Nunez stepped onto the scale, the crowd hushed and I glanced to see Jack Malone standing behind him. He gave me a grim smile and nodded once. Was he acknowledging that he was proud of me? Was he just saying hello? Maybe he was sizing me up just as much as I was sizing up his champion.

Sally leaned in and whispered in my ear. "Heard that Malone was pissed off at his boy from the last fight. Too much dancing around. Too flashy. Not enough substance. Nunez got pissed off and beat up two of his sparring partners."

"So?" I said. "I beat up my sparring partners all the time."

"Yeah but Nunez was still pissed off and got in Malone's face too."

I turned at looked at Sally to see if he was serious.

Sally nodded. "Malone was quick, Bobby. He punched the champ in the gut, uppercut to the body, then a hook to the chin. Champ went down like a Golden Gloves amateur. No shit, Bobby. I heard it from their cut guy. They did a great job hiding it from the newspapers. No one knows about it except the manager, the trainers, and the cut guy."

"And Nunez knows about it too," I said. I shook my head. Malone beats up the champion? This will be a cake walk.

When we posed down together, fists raised in mock combat, I gave Nunez a wink and a smile. He looked perplexed and I shook his hand with a death grip, like all would-be combatants do. "Good luck tomorrow, Freddie."

He smirked and let go of my hand quickly. The champ was the first to turn and leave the stage and Gus and I shared a satisfied smile. This was going to be a cake walk.