by Love Belvin
“So, here’s to my big dawg, StentRo! Cheers, bro!” Alton and Tynisha raise their glasses in my direction, then clink them together before taking a chug of the bubbly.
I raise my glass of Maracame Gran Platino that Tynisha made sure they had on deck specifically for me and gulp that shit down, emptying the glass.
I turn back to the bar. “Another.” I slam my tumbler on the bar top.
“Look who we have here!” I hear from just behind me.
I turn around to find Tynisha and a tipsy Alton, with his arm lazily draped around Zoey’s neck.
“John is about to perform. Zoey requested “Ordinary People” in our honor ‘cause heaven knows that’s all the hell we are,” Tynisha shouts spiritedly.
“Yeah, boooyeee! And I want my dude to take this plunge with me with this fine ass thang right here, bro!” He somewhat roughly pushes on Zoey to gesture to her.
My eyes go to Zoey, whose expression is sheepish. I can tell she’s going with the flow for the sake of the bride and groom. I stand and go for her hand, the way her little soft fingers thread between mine feels so natural. She willingly accepts and we take off for the dance floor behind Alton and Tynisha, receiving applause all the way there. John starts his melodic crooning.
I stop, taking Zoey into my arms, something that is still organic although it’s been so long. Her scent saturates my senses, her warm touch gives me goose bumps and in just a few minutes of our swaying, she burrows her head into my chest. The lyrics play on in my intoxicated mind. Zoey and I have lost our way. I’ve lost her, which is far more difficult than losing an ordinary love. Because we have a child together, Zoey is at my arm’s length, teasing and torturing me just the same.
Her head pops up. Her eyes are laden with distress. “Your heart is about to come out of your chest, Stenton. Are you okay?”
I’m drunk. Fuck it. “This is hard for me.”
“What?” Her dark eyes do something to my chest. Her narrow yet pouty mouth brings me visions of eroticism that I haven’t experienced from her in so long.
“Being so close to you and yet so distant emotionally.”
Zoey’s eyes bounce back and forth, contemplatively. “Stenton,” she begs.
“I know.” Fuck! “It’s just that I’m so frustrated. You and me…we’re not done yet, Zo. I’ve given you time. Now it’s time for us to explore us.”
“Stenton!” She backs out of my embrace.
That was a little more explosive, though it didn’t draw attention to us in the middle of the dance floor. I don’t know what to say. I know what the fuck I want to say, but it’s clear to me that Zoey isn’t game. So, I back away, leaving her befuddled there on the floor. It feels like my usual modus operandi. I’ve always left her standing alone, even though I don’t go far. I gait back over to the bar and soak up my self-pity there for a while, in tequila.
~~~~~~~~~~
Zoey
“StentRo, we gon’ get you home nice and safely, right, Zo?” I hear a familiar voice speak loudly as I feel tugging on my legs. “Shit! Push, Zo, I can’t hold his big ass by myself!”
“I’m trying!” I hear hissed through gritted teeth.
I can guess to being stuffed into a car.
“Listen, Zo. I know things ain’t on the up and up with you two, but please don’t leave him until he can see about hisself.”
“Alton,” I hear a warning tone. “This is the father of my child. I don’t know what you believe, but I can assure you his well-being is of the utmost importance…to my child. I would never put him in a situation where he isn’t safe.”
“I know, Zo, it’s just that I know…him thinking about retirement all, and the depression because…well, you know.”
“No, I don’t know. What depression?”
“Al, we have to jet now to make that flight. The captain called two hours ago!” That’s another familiar voice.
“I gotta go, Zo. Please make sure my dude gets home safely.”
“Hold up, Alton!” the first feminine familiar voice calls out. “What did you mean depression?” Her tone is critical.
There’s a pause.
“Look, man. I’m not supposed to open my big fuckin’ mouth, but my man here ain’t been the same in a minute. But, Zo, man, dude’s fucking depressed about not having a life with you and my godson.”
And there’s a word that in my drunken state rings familiar. Depression.
There’s another long pause before I hear a feminine sigh, “Goodnight, Alton.”
Seconds later, the car starts and I’m out again.
“Stenton,” I hear a strained voice. “This can only work if you cooperate. You were able to make it up from the car…after your vomiting episode, and even help me get you out of your clothes.” Her tone is one of exasperation. “You said you have to pee, now pee. Please, Stenton. I’m so sleepy.”
It’s the please that reminds me of better times between me and this woman that relaxes me. I can feel my hands against cold tiles, but my cock is warm, in soft holdings.
“Yes! There you go. Whew!” I hear. I don’t process what that means, but continue to relieve myself. “Okay, now let’s get you into the shower.”
I sense my glide into my shower, but not much after that. Maybe it’s because Zoey inviting me into the shower excited me into oblivion, or that my intoxicated mind cannot process much else, but I went out.
The next time I awaken is in the morning. There’s only a streak of light glaring through my bedroom. My body lies stiff as I manage one eye open. Immediately, I sense my need to take a piss, but before I can urge my heavy body to move from my bed, I smell her. Then I hear her. Her voice is low, almost a whisper. I glance over and find Zoey leaning against the window.
“Bernard, no. I’m fine. No, I’m not about to leave him here alone. Why? Because he’s Jordan’s father. Besides, I wouldn’t do that to my worst enemy. He could have had an accident in the middle of the night! What do you mean, where did I sleep?”
For some reason, that makes me look to my left where I could clearly see a dent in the pillow and smell her scent.
“I’m not doing this. I’ll call you later when I get myself together. It was a stressful night,” she grates into the phone, still attempting to control her tone.
So not the thing to say to your man when you’re in the other man’s bedroom the morning after, Zo.
But then something else hits me. Why was it a long night? Then I start turning over memories of last night, at least those I can recall, hoping I didn’t say something I’ll regret. Shit! This can’t be my life.
“Your Excedrin and water.”
I look up to find Zoey gesturing to my nightstand. Slowly, I turn my head to find two white pills and a glass of water. I sigh. So much to get off my chest and yet another reason to feel like shit. I don’t want her to see me like this.
Zoey saunters over and hands me the pills and water to take. I do. I don’t deserve her charity. She did say she’d do this for her worst enemy.
There’s an awkward silence.
I sit up, slowly. “Zo,” my voice is scratchy. “I need to talk to you and I don’t know how to begin.”
“Is it about your depression? Is that why you’re talking to a therapist?”
“Depression?”
“Yes.”
Why does that sound so familiar?
“Where did you get that from?” Then it dawns on me. “Fucking Alton!”
What’s worse than a loose lip fucker is a loose lip fucker with the wrong information.
“No, Zoey. It’s just that there are a few things I need to share with you and it can’t be on a whim, but we need to talk.”
“So, you’ve not been diagnosed with depression?”
“No.” Not clinically. That shit sounds absurd.
She exhales while changing her stance, placing her hands on her hips. Zoey’s not the only one exasperated. I exhale long myself and rub the hangover sickness from my face.
“I’ve
always been so fuckin selfish with you.” I don’t know where to begin, but with that simple truth. “I need to explain some shit to you.”
“Stenton, you’ve been a lot over the years, but not selfish. An asshole of a heartbreaker, yes, but never selfish.”
My eyes dart over to her. Zoey never uses profanity. Have I brought her to this point?
Shit! This isn’t going to be easy.
Her phone goes off again. And she sighs even harder as she looks down at it.
“Look, Stenton, I have to get to church. We can talk another time. A time when you’re in a better state. I’ll call your assistant to make sure you get some hangover food.” She then comes over and kisses me on the forehead. “Take care of yourself. Okay?”
Zoey issues a long and somber regard. There’s a pregnant pause because I don’t know how many other ways to tell her we need to sort some shit out. Then she steps into her heels and walks out of the room, leaving me in a stupor, carrying the same fucking load of guilt that I have had for too many years.
Fuck me!
Chapter 6
Then
February 2007
Stenton
The morning after I dropped Zoey off at school after our Alpine excursion, just after practice, my phone did ping with a text. It was Erika Erceg. She still wanted to go out. And when she told me she was in Philly and wanted to see me before leaving, it added to my list of irritations. With what Zoey put on me in the past few days, I didn’t have room for more bullshit of the female persuasion. But I agreed to it.
We met at Estia’s on Locust. By the time I’d arrived with Paul, my assistant, in tow, she was there with her male friend, Mehan. Although Mehan likes to straighten up around me, I know he was just as excited and as atwitter as Paul seated next to me, but just not on the surface.
Paul had been my personal assistant for almost two years. He came highly recommended by a Gabonese model I used to fuck. When I decided to get my shit together and clean my image, I did a whole makeover, even in staff. Prior to him, I had three female personal assistants, all of which I’d fucked, making me a not-so-stellar employer. Paul was an aspiring clothing designer, who needed money while getting his business in order.
He had an impeccable eye for detail, could interface well with women, which helped with my sex life. When things went awry with a woman and I needed to separate, Paul would be there with his planner clutched to his chest in one hand, and STOP sign in the other, tapping his foot. He also wasn’t afraid to flex his authority over a man professionally on my behalf. The only irony was he seemed to have gotten along with everyone but me. I got ragged on a lot in the beginning by my teammates for having a five foot one inch, vanilla, effeminate man bossing me around off the court. Being criticized for odd tendencies was old hat for me. I never fit in in life. I took it all in stride and simply considered how much my life had improved and became much more systematized with his service.
The threesome chatted to their heart’s delight at the table throughout the meal. I couldn’t figure out why I was there; this seemed to have been a gathering for Paul and friends versus Erika and me. Paul led the conversation, asking about Erika’s reality show, the type of makeup her artists used and all other types of shit that had me in my phone rather than in their conversation. Erika would try to rope me in at different points of their talk, like mentioning me cameo-ing her show.
“You know you want to do it, Stent,” her tongue laid between her top and bottom teeth when she finished pronouncing my name. “It’ll be great! C’mon.” She batted her long dark eyelashes.
“Oh, and I know your mom would so love the cameo. Stent would make her year!” Mehan cheered very heartily.
Paul lifted his shoulders in a heavy shrug as he sipped his tea through a straw. He knew that reality show bullshit was not my style at all. He was bold, but not stupid enough to add to their futile goading. I had built a solid reputation on being a private man over the past few years. It had been easy for me to remain so “elusive,” as the media termed me, because I didn’t have a large circle. I didn’t have close relatives other than my uncle and mother. My cousins that I did keep in touch with weren’t all without long sentences, preventing us from bonding and the others I’d never had a close relationship with. So, it had been pretty easy for me to lay low.
“Well,” Erika sang in her baby voice. “We still have plenty of time to convince you; E! isn’t letting go of the show any time soon.”
I snorted. If she wanted more of a response, it wasn’t coming. I waved for the waiter to bring the check. When he did, of course Mehan didn’t break his neck to cover it. And even though Erika could more than cover it, she wouldn’t dare because in her mind this two hour mind-numbing meeting was a date.
“Well, good peoples, I have to hop on a plane first thing in the morning and still haven’t packed,” I initiated my departure as I signed the bill.
“I can come over to help,” Erika offered with, I was sure, as much lewd intentions as her voice led on.
“Nah, I’m good. I have errands to run before I can do that anyway.” I stood and offered my hand to Mehan. “It was good seeing you, M-Easy.” His neck heated up a shade of crimson. Then I walked over to Erika, who was still sitting and kissed her on the forehead, catching a scent of her flowery perfume and berry hair.
On a good day, I’d fuck Erika sideways. She was not only fucking beautiful, but she was bad. Her body was molded to perfection. There were rumors of cosmetic enhancements, but if that was true, she certainly got that shit off because her entire package was the truth. What she felt like beneath me would remain to be seen. Now with where things stood with that fiery Zoey—wherever the hell they stood—there was no way that I could go there with Erika, no matter how tempting her butter pecan skin was.
As I was walking off, I heard, “Are you going to All-Star weekend this year? I was thinking of going with my sisters.” She didn’t even look at me when addressing the reverse invitation.
That was a dumb question. It was like asking if I was going to a mandatory work function. These were the types of games I was accustomed to engaging in with women for my attention.
“Yeah,” I snorted as I walked away. “I’ll be there.”
“Me, too!” I heard her yell eagerly from behind.
“Maybe I’ll see you then.”
I had a bit of running around to do before I went back to my apartment to pack. I attended a training session that evening before taking it down for the night. When I turned down for bed, it had dawned on me; no call or text from Zoey. Again, I felt annoyed as fuck. I could’ve just called her, but the hell I was. I’d already let her get underneath my skin, I’d already been making a number of concessions regarding her. I was not about to be a pussy and call her. Fuck that. Plus, I needed Zoey to show her hand. I was still confused as to what her game was, or if she had one at all.
Two weeks after we left Alpine, I still hadn’t heard from Zoey. Something wasn’t right. She wasn’t the bug-a-boo type like Erika, but she also didn’t have the demanding social life Erika had either. All of my fucking spidey senses told me she was the type that would have called by now—no matter what her game was.
It was the first Thursday in February and I’d just left a photo shoot for Nike, and was in the back of a limo with Paul, who was tapping away at his iPad. My team played the Wizards that night and we were headed for the bus.
“Here,” I hit Send on a text message to him. “Call that number and ask for Zoey. Tell her to give me a call,” I called over to Paul who sat across from me.
His phone went off and he immediately got to tapping away on there. Seconds later he returned, “Either you’re now afraid to call your women on your own or you think I don’t have better things to do than to be played mindless games on,” he spoke over his glasses. “The number is disconnected.
Huhn? What the fuck is that?
“Disconnected?” I repeated much to myself.
“Mmmmhmmm,” Paul breath
ed as he went back to his iPad. “That’s what I said, giant.”
What the fuck type of game is she playing? She fucks me and then changes her number? I hadn’t done that move in years. I couldn’t believe when I realized my heart started racing. Something didn’t feel right. As much as the word GAME had been chanting in my fucking head, a small—very minuscule—piece within my chest was whispering trouble. Why would bubbly and witty Zoey not call me all this time and then change her number? Shit didn’t make sense.
As my teammates and I were preparing to board the bus for D.C., I pulled Paul to the side. “I have something I need you to do while I’m away.” I rattled off a few things to him before getting on the bus and taking off.
The night before we left for D.C., I’d gone out to a private party in Moorestown, NJ. Al and the other dudes were all there drunk off their asses, and while I was just a few drinks behind them, I couldn’t exactly relax. I had Zoey running through my mind. She still hadn’t reached out and I still hadn’t been able to figure out why.
“Shit!” Alton barked. “I can’t have a fucking life!” he cringed. “It’s always a text complaining about what I didn’t do or an order telling me what the fuck I should do. You’s a lucky ass fuck,” he noted before taking a sip of his Corona.
“How do you mean?” I asked, following suit.
There were women all over the house, some partially clothed, and few even naked. These were the only parties some of us could do during the season, or a few like me, ninety-nine percent of the time to guarantee privacy. The host, Jeremy Booker, was a defensive linebacker for the Eagles and a native of Atlanta where the strippers are bred differently. So, many of us were appreciative of his hosting to protect our privacy.
“You ain’t got no lady, no wife, no fucking fiancée, and no goddamn baby-mother keeping track of all your offenses,” Al counted off on his fingers. “You ain’t got no fucking leash, Stent. Be happy for that shit, bro.”
