Decadent Dreams (The Draysons: Sprinkled with Love)

by Arthur, A. C.

  “Grandma! Hi,” she said. “Come on in.”

  “I see I’ve surprised you with a visit,” Lillian said, coming into the apartment.

  “Let me put your purse over here,” Belinda said immediately.

  “I’ll keep it with me,” Lillian countered and continued walking without turning back.

  “Sure. Have a seat,” she said, rubbing her hands together then willing herself to let them drop to her side.

  As much as Belinda loved her grandmother, being around her tended to make her nervous. Belinda always felt like she might be in trouble for something or that maybe she’d disappointed her grandmother somehow. And now that Lillian was here in her apartment and they were alone, she was really struggling for calm.

  “So what brings you here?” she asked finally, sitting on the edge of the couch a distance away from her grandmother.

  Lillian slid over closer and reached for Belinda’s hands. She wanted to stuff them into her pocket but knew that would be rude. With a deep breath Belinda extended her hands.

  “Relax, Belinda. It’s nothing bad. You’re sitting here about to hyperventilate because you can’t figure out why I’m here in your personal space.”

  Belinda didn’t want to admit that was true. “I’m just shocked, that’s all.”

  “I know. I wanted the element of surprise,” Lillian said with a chuckle.

  Her heavily gray streaked hair was pulled back with two combs on each side and left hanging in heavy curls to her ears. She wore slacks and a blouse, her diamond wedding ring and a simple pearl necklace. She was elegant and classic and she smelled like lilacs, as she always had. That scent was what really calmed Belinda.

  “It’s silly, I know. I just get so worked up,” she admitted.

  “You’ve always been worked up, child. I told your mother years ago you were going to worry yourself to death.” Lillian gave a little chuckle and patted her hand.

  “I’m trying to be better,” Belinda said without thought. As soon as the words were out she wished she could snatch them back.

  Lillian’s eyes immediately widened like Belinda had just spoken the magic words.

  “Who says you need to be better?” Lillian asked.

  Belinda shook her head. “It’s nothing. I shouldn’t have said that. Tell me why you’re here,” she continued, trying to smile and stop the rapid beating of her heart at the same time.

  But Lillian shook her head. “No. You tell me why you need to be better. Open your mouth and talk to me, Belinda.”

  She couldn’t. And yet she could. Belinda knew, had always known, that she could talk to her grandmother about anything. She’d never done so because it would be admitting her failures, and the last thing she wanted was for her grandmother to believe she’d failed.

  “Just thinking that since I’m getting older I should probably get better,” she said with a shrug.

  “Poor child,” Lillian said sadly. “Good, better, best—those words have always been first in your vocabulary. If that’s what you’re looking to change then I agree wholeheartedly. You need to focus on just being you and doing what’s good, better and best for you, Belinda.”

  Tears stung her eyes as she listened to her grandmother’s words. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Come now, you’re the smartest girl I’ve ever met. Too smart for your own good, I suspect.” Lillian continued to rub Belinda’s hand. “You know what changes you want to make, what changes you think will work, but you’re afraid to do it. Why is that? What are you afraid of?”

  Nobody had ever asked Belinda that question before. Maybe because she’d never acted like she was afraid of anything. Whatever the task she’d stepped up to the plate and gotten it done. There’d never been any doubt, any hesitation. Until now.

  “I’m afraid that change might not be best. What if I’m wrong? What if it doesn’t work?”

  “And what if it does?”

  She shook her head. “But it didn’t. I tried to open myself up to a man, to be with someone who was so different from the kind of man I usually dated, and it backfired. He hasn’t even called me all week.”

  “Stop it. You just stop it. This is not you. You are a much stronger woman than this. If you decided to do something and I mean really decided, you and I both know you would do it. Now, if you’re talking about Malik, well, I don’t think that boy has gone far. He’s been watching you for so long I doubt he knows what another woman looks like.”

  “What? Did you say Malik? How did you know?” Belinda hadn’t told anyone but Shari and she doubted her cousin had run back and told their grandmother they were dating, or whatever it was they were doing.

  “I have eyes, Belinda. I can still see when a man wants a woman and when a woman is taking her own sweet time in figuring out if she wants him back. The other night when you all were at the house I could see it. You two dancing around each other like you had this big secret. Him wanting to reach out to you and you backing off. I wondered why you weren’t just stepping up to the plate and grabbing that fine man in your arms, like you normally do with something you want. But now I see why. You’re afraid.”

  “I’m not afraid of Malik.”

  “No, baby, you’re afraid of what Malik makes you feel. You’re afraid that, if you reach for him, he’ll go away and you will have failed. You don’t like to fail.”

  “No. I don’t,” she admitted.

  “So in this instance you’d rather not try.”

  No, she’d rather not talk about this anymore. “I

  really should get dressed for the fund-raiser.”

  “You don’t want to go so why don’t you stay home?”

  “My mother would have a fit if I didn’t show up.”

  Lillian waved a hand. “Daisy would survive. She’s always been a bossy one. But once you stand your ground, she’ll stop pushing.”

  Belinda knew her grandmother was right. She’d known this all along. The only thing stopping her from moving forward was herself. And after her grandmother had hugged and kissed her and promised to stop by more frequently so they could talk openly, she’d gone into her bedroom to get dressed.

  She slipped on the mint-green silk A-line gown she’d ordered on Monday and prayed it would arrive by Friday. It had arrived and it fit perfectly, thank the heavens. She’d already applied her makeup and had just retrieved her shoes when the doorbell rang again. Okay, this definitely had to be the car detailers.

  Belinda hurriedly pulled open the door. Then her mouth opened, closed and opened again as she tried to figure out what to say.

  “Hello, Malik.” Simple and friendly was how the response sounded.

  “You look astounding,” was his reply, and all Belinda could do was smile.

  The worry about why he hadn’t called her, the fear that he wouldn’t want her if she wanted him, all of it sort of melted away as he continued to gaze at her.

  “I’m not wearing any shoes,” she said and realized too late how silly that sounded.

  With the same smile that never failed to send her heart rate soaring, he stepped into the apartment, lifting her hand that held the shoes. “The shoes are nice, too.”

  She pulled her hand back slowly as he closed the door. Turning to move into the living room, she leaned on the side of the couch to slip on her shoes, then she brushed down the front of her dress, nervous energy pinging around inside her.

  “I didn’t think you were coming.”

  He nodded. “Because we haven’t really seen each other in the last few days.”

  Belinda did something she tried not to do too often because of her mother’s constant warnings about posture and decorum. She shrugged. “I just thought...” Her voice trailed off as he lifted her chin with his finger.

  “You thought I was angry at the way you acted the other night at your grandmother’s.”

  She must be as transparent as cellophane, Belinda thought. First her grandmother and now Malik. How was it possible that everyone around her had a be
ad on what she was feeling or thinking, but her?

  “I was out of line.”

  Malik nodded. “You were. But I suspect there was a reason.”

  She shook her head. “None that bears mentioning. Just my atychiphobia kicking in,” she said blithely. “Oh, that’s the fear of—”

  “It’s the fear of failure, I know,” he responded for her. “I know a little bit about failing, Belinda. You’re not the only one who wanted to be perfect at something.”

  She figured he was talking about his basketball career but wasn’t sure if he wanted to continue talking about it. “You were injured. It wasn’t your fault that you couldn’t play anymore.”

  “I know that. Just like I know you do not have atychiphobia. You’re too intelligent and too successful to really possess that fear. This thing between us is new and it’s unchartered territory for you, so it’s understandable that you don’t know how to dominate the situation just yet.”

  She tilted her head to look up at him closely. There was definitely something about this man that drew her to him. It had been a slow draw, one she suspected had been going on way longer than the time she’d decided to make a change in her life. He’d been around for years now and not until recently had she looked at him in this way. She wondered why, then decided not to give it any more thought. For whatever reason, they were standing here in her living room at this moment, together. That was all that mattered.

  “And how long are you going to be this patient with me, Malik? Why do you put up with me when you know all my faults?”

  “Because what I know with even more clarity, and what matters even more to me than your faults, is that I’m in love with you.”

  Okay, that knocked a few cubes out of her confidence cup. Belinda never would have expected those words from him. Yet here they were, lingering in the air like a fine mist, one that settled over her and filled her chest so that she now felt the urge to cough or cry or maybe both.

  “I don’t know what to say,” was her final response.

  Malik chuckled. “That’s a first. Belinda Drayson-Jones at a loss for words. I must be better than I thought.”

  That made her smile. Malik made her smile and he made her feel comfortable and cherished, not worshiped or with any type of expectancy. No, when she was with him, she just felt happy. And that was enough.

  Chapter 14

  The Ivy Room was located just two blocks from the Magnificent Mile and was the embodiment of history and artistic elegance. It had been the venue for everything from couture fashion shows to live band performances. Tonight, however, this beautiful structure, with its ivy-covered walls and ballroom windows that boasted picturesque views, was the locale for Daisy Drayson-Jones’s event of the season.

  Her mother had rented out the courtyard and the lower level for this high-powered moneymaking event because for Daisy there was no limit to success. It shocked Belinda that with all Lillian’s coaching and grooming of her, Daisy had never done very much with her own life, until now.

  The sun had just begun to set and the courtyard was lit with twinkle lights and candles on the highboy tables. Lilies in all their pristine beauty flanked the podiums and occupied large crystal vase arrangements. A quartet dressed impeccably in black tuxedoes played music that reminded Belinda of the cotillions she’d attended as a young girl. People of all races moved about with glasses of champagne in their hands, talked in hushed whispers, probably about how much they planned to give or not give. It was the perfect event, the perfect evening...for her mother.

  That thought hit her as she and Malik made their way inside and she stopped.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  Belinda looked up at him and wondered what the hell had taken her so long. She almost laughed as the memory surfaced of her and Malik on the floor at the roller-skating rink, holding on to each other for dear life, praying they wouldn’t end up sprawled on the floor.

  “I’m just fine,” she replied, squaring her shoulders once more. “I don’t really feel like being here. Do you mind if I just find my mother and speak to her, then we can leave?”

  “If that’s what you want to do,” he said, lacing her arm through his. “I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

  “Thank you, Malik.” She doubted he had any idea what she was really thanking him for.

  * * *

  Malik talked to a few people he knew that were surprised to see him here. After his stint with the NBA he’d made a point to stay out of the limelight. Sure, he could have continued with more rehab and tried to get back on another team, but he hadn’t. He could have applied for a coaching job or taken a scout position. He hadn’t done that, either. Instead, he’d started over in a career no one would ever guess he’d be interested in. He’d reinvented himself and now he liked the person he was. Most of the time.

  “Well, well, well. If I’d known you were going to be here tonight, I wouldn’t have spent that evening wining and dining Mrs. Martin.”

  Malik turned from the bar, where he’d been standing watching the guests mill about. He’d already had a glass of champagne and wanted something by way of a beer instead. He and the bartender were conversing about why there was none available at this event.

  “Hello, Rodney,” Malik said, speaking cordially to his former college coach.

  “You’re a hard person to catch up with, Malik,” Rodney said as he accepted a glass of champagne from the bartender.

  It seemed that sparkling water and lemonade were the only beverages on tap for the evening. Which for Malik really sucked. He looked over at the man he used to worship, the one he’d spent more time with than any other man in his life and tried to smile.

  “Not really,” he told him. “I’m listed in the phone book.”

  Rodney chuckled and Malik noticed the lines around his eyes. It was also the first time he noticed the graying at Rodney’s temples and peppered throughout his rough-cut goatee.

  “Guess we’ve just been missing each other then,” Rodney said, taking a sip from his glass.

  “I guess so. But using Chantelle Martin to get to me is a no go. I don’t know what she may have told you, but we’re not personally involved.” Malik had an idea of what Chantelle had told him their involvement was, and he wanted to be sure to clear the air.

  “She didn’t talk all that much when we spent the evening together.”

  He was definitely not surprised to hear that. Not on the part of Chantelle, or Rodney for that matter.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Rodney continued. “The past is the past, Malik. I’ve always told you that.”

  “You told me a lot of stuff.”

  “And you were a good listener.”

  “Too bad you weren’t a good example of practicing what you preach.”

  “That’s not fair. Everything I taught you, everything about our relationship, was on the up-and-up.”

  Malik had to laugh at that. At the absurdity of what had just been said to him.

  “What about your relationship with my mother? Was that on the up-and-up, too? Was sleeping with the mother of your star player a part of the grand plan to make Malik Anthony the number-one draft pick into the NBA?”

  Rodney finished his champagne. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I don’t know that you and my mother were having an affair the entire time I played ball for you? Or maybe I don’t know that this is how it works in the real world—if parents want their kids to play professional ball they have to learn to do whatever it takes. Isn’t that what you told my mother when she tried to break it off? That night as I lay in my hospital bed with my knee torn to shreds, didn’t you tell her to meet you in your hotel room and you’d see what you could do about getting me healed and onto another team?”

  “Slow down, son. Just slow down. You’re going so deep into the past now. Things have changed since then. People change.”

  Malik turned quickly but remembered where he was. “You don’t change. You were
a conniving sonofabitch then and you’re still one now. Do I need to ask Mrs. Martin how your dinner date ended? What did you promise to do for Jarrod so she’d sleep with you?”

  “Malik?”

  He whirled around fast to see Belinda standing behind him, a quizzical look on her beautiful face.

  “Is everything all right?”

  She stepped to him then, her hand going to his arm. Then as if she just noticed the man beside him she said, “Hello.”

  “Good evening, ma’am. I’m Rodney Sanders, coach—”

  Malik stepped between them, shielding Belinda from Rodney. “You’re nobody. You got that? You are nobody to me so stay the hell out of my life!”

  When he turned again it was to grab Belinda by the arm and stalk off.

  * * *

  He had no idea how long they sat on that little cement bench looking at the stars, hearing the music playing in the background, Belinda’s hand rubbing along his back. She hadn’t said a word since he’d pulled her away, only sat quietly while he sorted through the myriad emotions attacking his body.

  Anger didn’t quite describe what he was feeling at the moment. Rage, maybe? Hurt, definitely. And that was most likely what continued to fuel the rage. He’d tried for so long not to think about this, not to have to deal with this part of his past. And for years it had worked. Obviously his vacation from the hell of his life was abruptly over.

  “I didn’t grow up like you did, Belinda. My parents weren’t in love with each other and we didn’t take family vacations.” He took a deep breath, kept his elbows planted firmly on his knees and didn’t dare turn back to look at her.

  “My father left before I was born. I don’t even know him. My mother worked two jobs to make sure I had clean clothes and food and that I went to school. When I started playing basketball at the rec center after school, I guess she got ideas. She married this guy that had a little bit of money but didn’t give a crap about raising another man’s kid, and we moved across town. It was a nice neighborhood with nice kids, even if they were all white. I didn’t really fit in, but I could play ball. So I made the high school team and I hung out with all the cool kids. This guy started hanging around after my games, watching me. I knew about scouts and all that from my mother. She was the first one to tell me I’d play for the NBA one day. I believed her because a mother wouldn’t lie to her child. She believed I could do it, so I did, too.”