“Man, I swear if I knew…I would have never—”
“The point is, you should have never any damned way. You got a problem, man, and this time it’s gonna cost you. Peace.”
Brendan pulled off. I was in shock. First of all, I couldn’t believe that I had gotten caught. Second, I had just lost one of my best friends. I had the worst feeling of shame as I moved toward my building. One by one I was destroying the people close to me. I thought back to Nina’s words “you’re toxic.”
I shook my head in disgust and at that moment I wished I was never born.
25
Just Don’t Wanna Be Lonely
Nate had tried his best on more than one occasion to get his boys back together. I was hoping that he would be able to help smooth things over with my boy but Brendan wasn’t feeling it. Nate had gone on and on about how much time I had spent at his side in the hospital but nothing softened his heart. “I will always love him like a brother, but I’m not fucking with him after this. It’s one thing to treat women in the streets like this, but to do me dirty…I can’t get past it,” Brendan had told Nate.
After the last attempt, he had told Nate flatly that he could make one of two choices. Either respect the fact that he and I would never be cool again and be both our friends, albeit not at the same time and place, or he could pick a side and roll with one of us and not the other, period. Knowing that Nate would never choose one over the other, Brendan was able to get his way, and Nate decided to stay out of it.
It made getting together awkward, especially with Nate’s demands that everyone be by his side. I found myself being the one to concede to hanging out in order to avoid the tension. Renée had shied away from showing her face anywhere she thought Brendan might be. They’d had only one discussion since the incident. She’d called him a couple of days later to apologize to him and he’d hung the phone up on her after a few choice words.
Ten minutes after Brendan left my home after busting me with Renée, I’d called her on the phone and rifled her with verbal assaults. From that day forth she and I had been on some seriously ill terms. There had been a bunch of finger pointing on both of our parts and ultimately we disagreed on just about everything, especially on who was most at fault. She had ultimately gone too far, calling me a backstabbing mufucka, and I had done the same in calling her behavior whorish.
The sad part about it was that deep down inside we each had to admit that there was some truth in the things that we’d said about one another. Even still, one night after yet another argument, we’d wound up back in my crib doing the nasty. For most brothers it was hard, if not down right impossible, denying the one steady piece of ass that you had.
On the Saturday morning of Nate’s second fight, sitting ass-naked once again in my hotel room at the Sands, she tried to explain. “Cory, sex with you is great. You always make me feel completely satisfied, but the real reason why I keep coming back to this is because I know you can’t hurt me. I could never fall for you.”
She took the puzzled look on my face as a request to continue.
“To most women you seem like a great catch on the surface, handsome, intelligent, and having a slamming job doesn’t hurt. But the real Cory, he ain’t to be messed with.”
Finally I interjected, “What makes you say some shit like that?”
“For one, you’re too selfish to ever love another person as much as you love yourself. The tricky part of it with you is that I believe you actually do want to love…maybe you’re scared or maybe you just don’t know how.” She stood up and headed to the bathroom. On the way in she shouted back, “Plus, loyalty is definitely not your strong point.”
Her words were strong and it was hard to face up to her negative perception of me. I sat there on the bed and digested each word, bit by bit. She was right for the most part and I had to fight to keep from slipping into a funk behind realizing that. She showered and threw on the same outfit that she had worn to my hotel room the night before and headed back to her room. When the door closed behind her I decided that this would absolutely be the last time we’d be together.
During the bout, I noticed someone I hadn’t seen in a long time sitting a couple of seats down from me. When she saw me she had the look of someone who was trying to recall where she’d made my acquaintance. She must have figured it out because all of a sudden a smile appeared on her face. I smiled back and waved. The fight had our attention.
This time Nate had a much tougher opponent. By the end of the fourth round he was bleeding from his left eye and it was beginning to swell. Nate’s speed was being neutralized by Anton Moncrief’s power. The German was walking through Nate’s punches and landing shots to his body and head. Even though Nate was ahead on points, the few punches that he was being hit with were taking a toll on his body.
In the fifth round the doctor took a look at the cut on his eye to determine if the bleeding was impairing his vision to the point where it wasn’t safe for him to continue. They went on.
I looked over at Anita and noticed the look of concern on her face. Then I said to her, “Anita, after tonight you have got to find a way to get him to hang up the gloves. It’s not worth it.”
She was looking at the ring intently but paused to answer me. “Cory, I never wanted him to fight. I just want him to be happy. He’s the first man that I’ve ever known who truly knows who he is and what he wants. It’s his decision and his alone. He told me that it wasn’t easy for him to decide to fight again. He told me that he was scared to death to get into the ring again.” She paused when the crowd erupted with a loud “awwwwww.” Then she asked what happened.
Renée was seated on her other side and said, “Nate got a warning for hitting Moncrief with a low blow.”
We watched while the referee gave Nate’s opponent a minute to gather himself. Foolishly Moncrief only took twenty seconds. He stepped back in to motion toward Nate. Nate had made him angry and he knew it. A good boxer never fights out of anger; he uses his head to make controlled decisions in the ring. Moncrief was not a good boxer. He immediately tried to take Nate’s head off with a series of wild punches. He next tried to land a low blow of his own and missed. In all, he threw more punches in the minute following Nate’s warning than he’d thrown the entire fight. With forty seconds left in the round, he was completely punched out and had no energy left.
If I didn’t know better, I would have sworn Nate had a smile on his face as he began decorating Moncrief’s face with punches. Nate must have thrown and landed forty punches in the last forty seconds of that round. The round ended with a stunned Anton covering up in the corner.
At the start of the sixth round, Nate continued to pound on the head of a winded opponent. Halfway through the round Nate faked a left. Moncrief attempted to duck and Nate hit him with an uppercut. The fight was over.
The after-party was held at the Atlantic City Sheration Hotel. The line was halfway out of the parking lot. I wasn’t going to miss this for anything. I even climbed in the limo with Nate, Brendan, and Dee. Brendan and I pretty much avoided eye contact and I knew that he was wishing that I hadn’t come, but I decided that it was going to be his problem. Dee kept cracking jokes about the fight and the low blow, which did cut the tension a bit. He also hyped up the party and all the women that would be there. Anita had been tired so she had decided to stay at the hotel and get some rest.
We pulled up and climbed out of the limo. “Follow us, please,” a gentleman in a wine-colored suit said.
We were led through the lobby to an elevator. A moment later we were in VIP. “Daaaamnn,” I said aloud. It was involuntary but I couldn’t help it. There were so many beautiful women in there that it was hard to believe.
“It’s like that,” Dee laughed out.
We had a table reserved. It was more like a section with three leather couches. There were buckets of champagne. “What the fuck is this?” Nate asked the waiter assigned to our section. He was holding up a bottle of Moët White Star.
<
br /> “Sorry, but we don’t have any Cristal, señor.”
“Well, somebody better find a bottle of Nectar Imperial at least or run they ass to the liquor store.”
“Yes, sir,” he responded.
“Take all of this with you. We don’t drink this bullshit.”
The waiter gathered all of the bottles and headed off to the kitchen. I stared at Nate and wondered where all of the humility and Christian attitude had disappeared to. I didn’t say a word. He was in a celebratory mood I was sure. I eased back into the chair and noticed Brendan staring dead in my face until I stared back into his. When I did he began speaking to Nate.
“Yo, I can’t believe you actually listened to Dee and threw a low blow,” Brendan said.
Dee was laughing. I was stunned to find out that the punch had been intentional. Nate responded, “For real, that nigga was killing me with those body shots. Like Iron Mike said about some dude he fought,” then in a Mike Tyson–like squeak he went on, “Dat nigga hits so hard, he punches like a mule kicks.”
We all fell out laughing. Dee said, “Yeah, I remember he said that about Razor Ruddick.”
I interrupted the laughter. “So, man, you all right with winning like that? I mean an intentional low blow. C’mon, dog.”
At the same moment the waiter came back with three bottles of Moët Nectar Imperial. Nate leaned in toward me. “Listen, that’s why they call it the fight game. Get it…it’s a fight. He’s trying to take me out and I’m trying to do the same to him.”
“By any means necessary, huh?”
Nate shrugged his shoulders and showed his palms as he said, “It’s whatever. It’s a war out there.”
I wasn’t feeling him. He never had to resort to any of that before and I wondered if he was truly all right with it himself. Before we could get into it any further, I saw Nate’s demeanor change instantly. He was looking over my head and he stood up. I turned around and saw her for the second time.
“Oh man,” I said. “I forgot to mention that I saw Sahleen earlier at the fight.” Nate glared at me and turned his attention back to Sahleen’s glowing face. She was more stunning than when he’d seen her last. I watched as a host of emotions welled up inside of Nate. Standing before him had been the only woman to ever break his heart.
He had finally admitted that finding Sahleen in bed with Shawn Simmons had been just as much the cause of his temporary downward spiral as Kim’s death. By the time he realized that he was falling for her, she had given him a dose of his own medicine. The morning that she told him that she wasn’t in love with him had been one of the most humiliating experiences of his life. It was an understatement to say that he now had mixed emotions to see her standing before him, especially on a night where he had solidified his chance to fight for a championship belt.
“I hope I’m not intruding, but I just wanted to come over to congratulate you on your victory. I had no idea you were such a talented fighter,” Sahleen said as she moved toward Nate. “It’s good to see you,” she said. “Hello, boys.”
A chorus of hellos came in response.
“Yeah, it’s good to see you again. Been a while, huh?”
Sahleen wasted no time. “Still no wedding rings or children?”
Nate laughed. “Why would you ask?”
“Well, I have a couple of my friends with me. If you let us join you, I could explain it to you.”
Nate nodded his head and called for the waiter to bring a couple more chairs. Two of Sahleen’s friends came over. They were both tall model types and were snooty as hell. A few minutes after they announced that Allen Iverson was in the party, he came by to congratulate Nate before going to his table. When Denzel showed up and stayed for a glass of champagne it was over. The model chicks started acting really giddy and talkative.
Nate was still sitting there but he was so wrapped up in the conversation that he was having with Sahleen that he may as well have been on another planet.
Twenty minutes later I left. It wasn’t my scene. I was there for Nate anyway. He was enjoying himself and that was all that mattered to me. Before I left I headed for the bar to get a drink. In no time at all I had drank a couple of shots of vodka. My mind was heavy and I wanted to be alone so I walked through the cold December air in Atlantic City.
Stopping to warm up and get some hot chocolate at the gas station, I contemplated taking my phone out to call Shelly. In the cold night air I was missing my wife. The harsh reality was that she no longer belonged to me. We were a thing of the past. She had moved on. The next few seconds had me thinking of calling Nina, but the idea of a cursing out didn’t seem to do much for me. I put the phone back in my pocket and moved quickly toward the hotel. Ten minutes later I was in the lobby all set to go upstairs and spend a night alone.
I pulled the phoned out and dialed the number. On the first ring she answered. “Hello.”
“It’s me.”
“What’s up?”
“I’m on the way up to my room…”
“So…what’s up?”
“You coming over?”
“Give me a half an hour.”
“All right, see you then.”
Renée was on the way. I was content yet disgusted with myself at the same time. Then I said to myself, “Get over it, man. Her shit is the bomb.”
This was the absolute last time.
26
One More Round
Brendan was filled with anger when Trina called from Children’s Hospital to tell him that eight-month-old Khalil had grabbed a box cutter off the table and opened a nasty gash on his hand. “I was putting together a new desk earlier and forgot to put the cutter away,” she screamed frantically.
If Tuesday hadn’t been there to keep him calm he might have passed out as Trina described how the blood was pouring out of his son’s hand. “Wrap his hand and get him to the hospital. I’ll meet you there,” he’d commanded.
By the time they reached the emergency room, Khalil had calmed down, partly because he was a little weak from blood loss, in addition to his treatment. It was Brendan’s first time dealing with a health issue and his son. He was overly nervous about Khalil feeling any pain and had a thousand questions. Tuesday greeted Trina when she and Brendan walked into the room where Khalil was being treated. By the time Brendan had gotten there the doctor had Khalil stitched up and was preparing to give instructions on how to care for him until his hand healed completely. His hand was all bandaged up and it looked like he was wearing a white catcher’s mit.
“This is his father,” Trina said, forcing a half-smile.
“Dr. Bennett,” he said, extending a handshake to Brendan. He was a young doctor and seemed really energetic in his treatment. “As your wife will tell you, luckily he didn’t sever any tendons or nerves and that’s great news.”
Brendan thought about correcting the doctor but kept his mouth shut. He was surprised when Trina belted out, “Oh, he’s not my husband.” Then she rolled her eyes at Tuesday.
“Sorry,” Dr. Bennett said. Then he went on with his directions as he stared at the chart with Khalil’s information on it and was about to write a prescription. “Is Khalil allergic to any medicines?”
Brendan didn’t know so he looked at Trina. She replied, “No.”
Then, simply trying to make conversation, Dr. Bennett made a comment. “I see it says here that he has sickle cell. Is that the trait or the anemia that he suffers from?”
“He actually has the milder form of sickle cell, it’s not quite the anemic state.” Brendan looked surprised. He had no idea.
“So have you had many problems with it growing up?”
Trina answered and, without knowing it, changed the fate of three people. “Oh, I actually don’t have it at all.”
Dr. Bennett then turned to Brendan, “Okay, well, as a male you’ll be able to help him deal with any problems, and that’s only if any arise. He may never have any serious crises from it.”
Brendan was merely listening
and nodding his head. Until Dr. Bennett’s “Did it affect you much growing up?”
Brendan did a double take as he processed the question. “No…doctor, I didn’t have it either.”
His eyebrows rose. “Are you sure?”
“I’m positive. My next-door neighbor had it and that’s the only reason I know anything about it.”
“Maybe you should both get checked. One of you has to have it in order to pass it on to your son.”
Instantly, Brendan’s mind began to race as he processed the words. He stared at Trina and for a split second he saw the fear in her eyes.
Trying to play the drama unfolding off, Trina answered, “Okay, that sounds fine.”
A few minutes passed as the releases were signed and then everyone headed for the exit. Brendan’s mind continued to run wild with thoughts, only now his blood began to boil with thoughts that he might have to seriously break Trina’s neck. As soon as they reached the outside, he paused.
“We need to talk,” Brendan said.
Trina looked back as she had walked ahead. “Listen, Brendan, I need to get him home. The doctor said that he will be in some pain when the local anesthetic wears off.”
“Yeah, whose fault is that?” he barked back.
Trina smacked her lips. “I don’t have time to argue with you. I feel bad enough.”
“Not as bad as you’re going to feel if I find out that Khalil is not my son.”
Tuesday’s mouth dropped open. Trina breathed deeply, and with Khalil still in her arms half-asleep she returned, “Nigga, what?”
“You heard me. You tried to play that shit off. I don’t have sickle cell and neither do you.”
“True, I don’t have sickle cell, but I may have the trait, for all you fucking know.”
“Bitch, please. For once in your life, tell the truth.”
“Me tell the truth…isn’t the reason we’re not together because you were fucking around on me this time?”
Don’t Ever Wonder Page 20
