by LaJill Hunt
A Li'l Dab Of Drama
Short Stories
LaJill Hunt
Repeat Offenders
Playing Time
The Point of It All
Catch 22
Sneak Peak: Catching Feelings
Copyright © 2017 by Urban Lifestyle Press
Published by 21Blackstreet, LLC
P.O.Box 12714. Charlotte NC 28220
http://www.21blackstreet.com
All rights reserved.
Allrights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electric or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission from the publisher or author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.
This is a work of fiction. It is not meant to depict, portray or represent any particular real persons. All the characters, incidents and dialogues are the product of the author's imagination and are not to be constructed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or person living or dead is purely coincidental.
April, 2017
Table of Contents
Repeat Offenders
Playing Time
The Point of it All
Catch 22
Sneak Peak : Catching Feelings
Repeat Offenders
First Offense
Leah
My mother was a single mother, who was raised by a single mother, who was raised by a single mother. I often wondered if the women in my family were cursed. Not one woman in my family-- not my great grandmother, my grandmother, my mother, or her two sisters had ever been married; let alone had a wedding. The crazy thing was that they all seemed to be fine with it. One day, when I was ten, I asked my mother if she had ever noticed the pattern. She laughed at me and said, "Yeah, we're all happy."
I knew she was lying. How could she possibly be happy when she worked all the time and her entire life seemed to be consumed with nothing but work and paying bills? No one to hold hands with or to hug; no one to hold her in the middle of the night; no one to share romantic meals with or to send her flowers on her birthday or Valentine's Day; no one to kiss under the mistletoe or on New Year's Eve; no one to dance with or sweep her off her feet and swirl her around the living room, like Cliff Huxtable did to his wife Claire on The Cosby Show. That was how I imagined happiness, and I decided right then and there, at that very moment, that it was up to me to break the cycle of loneliness and live a romantic life with the man of my dreams and show all the women in my family what happiness truly looked like. I would go to college, use my love of drawing and painting to become an art teacher. Then on that one special day meet my Prince Charming while sitting outside a small cafe in California, working on one of my many sketches. I had everything planned perfectly. He would compliment my work; we would look into each other's eyes and fall madly in love. We would have a whirlwind romance, get married, go to Paris for our honeymoon, move into our dream home, and then live happily ever after. We would invite my mother, grandmother, and all of my aunts and cousins over for Sunday brunch; where they would have front row seats to all of the love and happiness we shared.
Yes, at ten years old, I had it all mapped out. Everything was going exactly as planned, until one day, during my junior year of college; I went to a party with my roommate and best friend, Dallas Richards. I really wasn't into the party scene, but Dallas had convinced me that if she went all alone, woke up half- nude in some strange motel or ended up as a rape victim, who had been murdered, it would be my fault. Yes, Dallas was just as much as an extremist as I was at times. Not wanting to be the one to have to go to the city morgue and identify Dallas' body, I tagged along. The party was held at an off campus fraternity house. It was packed. We could barely make our way through the crowd as we walked in the front door. Were we late or did the party start earlier than expected? I glanced around the party noticing everyone seemed to be wasted already.
"What's up, Sweetheart?"
Not realizing I was the sweetheart the question was being addressed to, I kept walking, until I felt a tug on my arm. I stopped and turned to see the tallest guy I had ever seen smiling at me. He had to have been at least seven feet; I literally had to lift my head to see his face.
"Hey," I answered and walked away hoping Dallas hadn't gotten too far away from me. Luckily, she was only a few feet away, talking to a guy I recognized from my British Lit class.
"Leah, you know Henry, right? He's the one that invited us," Dallas grinned. She batted her lashes so hard that I had to wonder if she had something in her eye and was trying to play it off.
"Yeah, hi." I nodded.
"What's up," Henry greeted and then asked, "What y'all drinking?"
"Sorry, I don't drink," I told him.
"I do," Dallas quickly answered.
Henry laughed and told us he would be right back.
"Why did you tell him you didn't drink?" Dallas whispered.
"Because I don't," I replied.
"Now you're gonna make me look like a lush," she said.
I looked around the room full of inebriated party goers and stated, "I don't think you have anything to worry about." She followed my finger pointing across the room to two girls standing on a table dancing back to back.
"I don't either," a voice laughed.
The tall guy who tried to stop me earlier was now standing right beside us.
"Hey, aren't you…."
"Kellen, my man!" Henry called out as he walked toward us with a soda in one hand and a red cup in the other.
'What up, fool?" Tall guy nodded. Henry passed the soda to me and the cup to Dallas, who wasted no time taking a swig. The two guys gave each other some sort of secret fraternal handshake.
"I thought you'd be in spring training. What are you doing here?" Henry asked him.
"Trying to get this beautiful woman's name and number, but she won't even talk to me," Kellen shrugged.
"Well, let me help you out, frat," Henry put his arm on my shoulder and said, "This is the very smart, very sober Leah. Leah, this is the very talented, very…"
"Tall," I offered.
Henry nodded, "Okay, that works, very tall Kellen McNeil."
Kellen extended his hand, and I placed my palm in his. His hand was so much larger than mine; it seemed to swallow it whole as his fingers wrapped around mine. I looked up and saw that he was just staring at me, smiling. His stare was so intense, for a second, I was slightly uncomfortable. No one had ever looked at me like that. It was as if I felt how much he wanted to just look at me.
"Nice to meet you, very beautiful Leah," he said.
For a few seconds, I didn't respond; I just stared back at him. And then, I saw it, an awkwardness, a slight glimmer of fear, as if he was afraid that I would reject him, or worse, embarrass him. Slowly, I smiled back, and his smile widened. His fingers tightened slightly and he stepped closer; the hairs on the back of my neck seemed to stand up. In that instant, I knew that Kellen McNeil was in love with me; I felt something I had wanted all my life: protection.
Within a year, my life had changed tremendously. What I didn't know was that Henry had introduced me to the son of NBA legend, Jonas McNeil. Being the son of Jonas McNeil was both a blessing and a curse for Kellen. Although by regular standards, he was a talented ball player, it was often stated that he would never have the stellar career or the phenomenal success that his father had enjoyed. But Kellen had heart and ambition. He kept trying, no matter how often they compared him to his father. When he was cut from the two NBA teams he tried out for, he kept playing. He had a determination that was admirable, and no matter what, he was a fighter and went for what he wanted. Includingme. To say that Kellen was in
love with me was an understatement. He was infatuated with me. Kellen showered me with all the romance and attention I had ever wanted from a man; I was just as hooked as he was. Soon, I had forgone my senior year of college to plan my last minute wedding because Kellen wanted me by his side when he was traveling overseas, playing for the professional team he had signed with.
My mother wasn't too pleased with my decision to leave school, but because I was happy, she was happy. And I was happy, I had done it. I had broken the curse, had a ring on my finger, and a man by my side who loved and adored me; a RICH man, at that. Not only had Kellen's parents footed the entire bill for our small, yet glamorous wedding; they had given us what they referred to as a "head start" which consisted of a small nest egg--if you consider half a million dollars "small"--and a fully furnished mini mansion for a wedding gift. His parents were wonderful but Kellen's sister, Sienna, was just awful. She was five years younger and spoiled rotten. When she met me, she made it clear that she was not pleased at all. Her mother actually had to bribe her with promises of a newer Mercedes Benz just to be in our wedding. Nothing I picked out was up to her standards: the dresses, the shoes, even the venue where Dallas and my sorority sisters held my bachelorette party. I just chalked it up to now having to share her big brother's attention with someone else.
Not having to deal with Sienna was one of the few good things about living halfway around the world from my family and friends. For nearly two years, Kellen and I spent every free moment with each other, talking, working out, exploring our new city, and making lots of love. When the season started, I was at every game, cheering my handsome husband on, and secretly hoping that some NBA scout would see the stats he was putting up and call for his return to the US. Deep down, I knew that as hard as he tried, he still wasn't good enough; and although he didn't say it, Kellen knew too. He just kept giving his all to the game, and I was right there by his side, which was all Kellen needed and wanted. Or so I thought, until one Sunday morning, when the doorbell rang and to my surprise--Sienna.
"Whew, I am exhausted," she said, brushing past me without even saying hello.
I was too stunned to say anything as I saw the cab driver taking the Louis Vuitton luggage out of the trunk and bringing it to the front steps.
"What? Girl, what are you doing here?" Kellen screamed, rushing down the steps and grabbing his sister.
"I thought I would surprise you!" She gushed, "You haven't been home in ten months, and I know you've been bored out of your mind all alone here in this strange country!"
I tried to tell myself that Sienna didn't mean anything by her comment, but I still flinched from the sting. I stood back and looked at the two of them, who were so engrossed in each other that they didn't even seem to notice that the cab driver needed to be paid. I shook my head and grabbed my purse, handing the old man his fare and a small tip.
Sienna stayed at our house for two weeks, and it seemed that she was there to entertain her brother and visit, until one night, while we were at dinner, she simply stated, "Kellen, when are you gonna give this basketball shit up? Let's face it, you're not all that great and you'll never be Daddy."
I felt as if someone had stabbed me in my chest, so I could only imagine how my husband felt. I looked down at my half-eaten salad and reached over for his hand, in a gesture to let him know that I had his back when he cussed this heifer out for being so disrespectful. To my surprise, Kellen simply answered, "I don't know. You think I should give it up?"
"Yes, you should. You're wasting your time and destroying your body in the process. Your knees are shot. Kellen, you can be doing so much more with your life. It's time to put the ball down," Sienna told him.
I looked over at her and said, "There's nothing wrong with Kellen's knees, and he doesn't play basketball to be like his father. He loves the game, and he's good at it."
Sienna cut her eyes at me and shook her head as if to dismiss me. "Kellen, I have a business proposal for you. Come home, we can open a chain of gyms. We could call them JM Gym's, capitalize on daddy's name, and make a fortune. He can be the spokesperson. Getting fit is what's in right now. You have a business degree, it's time to put it to use. You have a perfectly good house that is paid for just sitting there, and what you're making over here is pennies compared to what we can make. We can do this."
"It doesn't sound like a bad plan. Did Dad say he would let us use his name and image?" Kellen asked. I turned and looked at my husband, wondering what the hell was happening.
"He will if you take the proposal to him and show him how successful this venture can be. It will be a family business."
I excused myself and went to the bathroom. I stood in the stall and tried to process what had just transpired. I wasn't upset at the fact that Kellen was thinking about retiring; I knew that was inevitable. I was upset that he was allowing his sister to convince him that his career was over and not seeing that he was being manipulated. I washed my hands and face, and when I returned to the table, there was a bottle of champagne, and Kellen was smiling.
"Well, baby," he said, passing me a glass of the bubbling liquid, "I guess we're packing up and going home."
Sienna held her glass up and said, "To going home."
"To going home," Kellen lifted his glass.
I put my glass back on the table and simply said, "I don't drink."
Later that night, when we returned home, Kellen was still confused as to why I wasn't as ecstatic about his decision as he was.
"I thought you wanted to go home," he said, getting undressed.
"I wanted to go home when we decided it was time for us to go home."
"But this is the right time for us to go," Kellen said.
"Why is it the right time now? You're having a great season, we're enjoying our time here, what makes it the right time to up and leave?"
Kellen didn't seem to have an answer. He just looked at me like I was crazy.
"I mean, I get that maybe we need to come up with a backup plan in case you get hurt, or a plan for the future when your career is truly over," I said.
"Sienna says this is a way for me to go out on top, without being cut from the team or injured," Kellen replied. "It will be my choice to leave, not theirs."
"Kellen, you're not ready to leave. You love playing ball and you're good at it."
"Not as good as Dad is," Kellen said, "no matter what, I'll never be Jonas McNeil. Like Sienna said…"
"Fuck what Sienna says. She doesn't tell you what to do, and this decision isn't even about her. The truth of the matter is I'm pissed because you seem to be under the impression that she is the one you should be making this decision with and not me. I'm your wife, not HER!"
WHAP!
The slap across my face came so fast and unexpectedly, that I didn't even realize what happened, until I felt the sting on my cheek. Instinctively, I touched the side of my face to cover the pain and stepped back in fear.
"Leah, baby, I'm so sorry," Kellen said, reaching for me.
Not wanting him to touch me, I quickly found shelter in our bathroom. I decided not to turn on the lights and balled myself up in the farthest corner. As I sat on the cool tile surrounded by darkness, I cried.
First Offense
Omari
There wasn't anyone in this world who worked harder than my mother. That list included; Kevin Hart, Oprah Winfrey, Sean-Puffy-Diddy-P-Diddy-Sean-John-or whatever he is going by these days Combs, the Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines, Coast Guard or National Guard, and the US Postal Service. My mother worked 7 days a week, in rain, sun, sleet, snow and dead of night; 14 hours per day; and it was still never enough. And no matter how much or how hard she worked, she could never get ahead. My younger sister, Shaunie, and I always had food on the table, clothes on our backs and a roof over our head, but when it came to what needed to be done or what had to be paid, my mother always seemed to be behind the eight ball. And she never got to enjoy the fruits--as sparingly as they were--of her labor, because she wa
s always too busy working. By the time I turned 17, I decided that there would come a day that I was going to be able to tell my mother she could sit down, put her feet up, and rest; because I had everything taken care of. I was already a star athlete and all star city track winner and I had college scouts pursuing me daily. Coach Gordon and I had already come up with my plan, which included not only finishing college, but participating in ROTC and then entering the military. All I needed to do was focus and make it through the summer and my senior year, simple as that. I was focused, determined not to be distracted by anything; not the temptation of my boys, who always wanted to go to this place or that to party, and not even the abundance of girls, who always seemed to have something to offer that I was sure would make me get off track. Those days of summer before my senior year were filled with running. I ran through the neighborhood, out of the neighborhood, and into other neighborhoods for hours at a time. Mostly thinking and running; trying to convince myself that things were gonna be better because of my determination.
One afternoon, I came home and was surprised to find my mother. She was sitting at the kitchen table looking through bills, as usual.
"Hey, Ma," I greeted her with a kiss.
"Hey, where's your sister?" She said, leaning her cheek up so I wouldn't have to stoop so low.
"At the rec center, as usual, trying her best to convince them that she's coordinated enough to make the cheerleading squad," I laughed, reaching into the fridge and grabbing the jug of water I kept. I didn't bother getting a glass, because it was a household fact that the old milk jug was my water bottle. I took a swig and sat across from my mother. I could see the worry lines in her face and I knew something was wrong.
"What's up, Ma?"
"Nothing I can't handle, son," she smiled, folding the piece of paper and sticking it back on the pile with the others.
