Just Too Good to Be True

by E. Lynn Harris

  “Trust me, Brady, they are not in the business of giving away money. They will figure it out and take it back,” Mama said.

  “Okay, if you say so. Are you feeling all right?” I asked.

  “I just needed a time-out,” she said. “I’m feeling a little stressed lately.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Just keep playing football and being the perfect son.”

  “Mama, I’m not perfect.”

  “You’re close to it.”

  “If ever there was a perfect mother, it’s you,” I said. I was thinking about all that my mom had done for me and the sacrifices she’d made. Even though having a father would have been nice, he would have to have been a cool dude to deserve my mother.

  She didn’t respond. I heard sniffles on the other end of the phone.

  “Mom, are you crying?”

  “No, baby. I just need to get some rest,” she said.

  “I love you.”

  “I love you, too. Remember that, Brady.”

  “I always know that, Mom.”

  CHAPTER

  23

  For Your Consideration . . . Barrett Manning

  Barrett paced on her balcony. She had practiced over and over, but she was still nervous. This was the most important thing she’d have to do in her mission with Brady. Everything rested on whether she could convince him and how he reacted.

  As she looked over the balcony’s railing, she saw Brady’s Navigator turn the corner and she jumped back out of sight. She watched as he parked, then she backed into her condo. Her heart pounded more as she dialed Nico’s number.

  “Is he there?” Nico asked.

  “He just drove up. It should only take him a minute or two.”

  “I forgot to ask—how’s he going to get into the building? The doorman has to buzz you, doesn’t he?”

  “Most times, but tonight I told the doorman to let him up without stopping him. I’m going to leave my door slightly open.”

  “Oh, great move. And what are you wearing?”

  “Just one of my little silk robes,” Barrett said. “I want it to look like I was just waiting for him.”

  “Okay, well, you’ve got it together. Now start talking, just in case he gets up there sooner.”

  Barrett walked into her living room and stood by the door. As soon as she heard the door open, she said loud enough for Brady to hear as he stepped into her apartment, “I cannot believe this. It doesn’t make sense.” She turned, facing away from him, knowing he’d follow her voice.

  “Brady told me his father was dead.” She paused for a moment, as if she were listening to someone on the line.

  “Good job, girl,” Nico said. “That acting class you took is sure coming in handy.”

  “Are you sure this is true about Brady?” Barrett asked, wanting to say his name as much as possible. “How can his father not be dead? I’m so upset. I could never tell Brady this—”

  “Tell me what?” Brady asked from behind her.

  Barrett took a moment to form her expression. She had to have just the right look. When she turned around, her face was filled with surprise and dread. “Oh, Brady…I’m sorry.”

  Brady stood with his hands tucked deep inside his jeans and his face wrinkled in confusion. “What are you talking about? Who are you talking to?”

  “I’ll talk to you later,” Barrett said, then clicked off the phone, just as she and Nico had planned.

  “Brady, sweetheart.” She paused and then rushed into his arms. “Oh, Brady, I’m so sorry,” she said, sobbing into his chest.

  He held her tight for a moment, then released her. “Barrett,” he said, still holding her by her shoulders. “I heard you say something about my father?”

  “Brady, I don’t want to say anything,” she said, turning her back to him for dramatic effect. She could feel his eyes on her. She sniffed as if she were upset. “I’m still so shocked by this news.”

  He took her by the hand and led her to the sofa. She leaned into him as they sat, letting the hem of her robe rise up her leg. “Oh, baby, this is terrible.”

  “Barrett, you have to tell me what you were talking about. What is this about my father?”

  She leaned away from him. She’d stalled long enough. “Brady, this is just so awful.” She paused. “But maybe it’s good news. Because your father…he may not be dead.”

  She watched as Brady’s eyes glazed over, as if he didn’t understand her words. “My father is alive?”

  She nodded. “He could be. It’s just that…your mother, she doesn’t really know who your dad is.”

  “What?” Brady asked, jumping from the sofa. “That doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense. My father is dead!” he exclaimed.

  “I know that’s what your mother told you,” Barrett said, moving toward him as he stood near the window. “Brady, it seems that when your mother was in college at the University of Texas—”

  “The University of Texas? My mother never went there.”

  “There are a lot of things that your mother didn’t tell you. But she was a student there, and then at a party or something, she had sex…” Barrett paused, wanting Brady to fill in the rest. Finally, she continued. “She had sex with several guys. The news spread all over campus, and then she left school. But nine months later, you were born.” A part of Barrett felt sorry for Brady, but she thought back to how Carmyn had treated her and she felt this couldn’t happen to a better bitch.

  “Who told you this crap?” Brady asked, breathing heavily.

  “I know it’s hard, Brady,” Barrett said.

  “Where did you hear this?” he demanded.

  “I can’t say. I think you should speak with your mom.”

  As Barrett leaned against him, she could feel him shaking. She wrapped her arms around him. “I am so sorry, Brady. So sorry to tell you this.”

  “So you’re saying my mother lied to me?” he said, disgusted.

  “Maybe she was trying to protect you.” Barrett knew it didn’t matter what she said about Carmyn. From what she knew about Brady, he valued the truth. He hated liars. He would hate his mother for this. Even though it might be temporary, it would be long enough for Barrett to seize the control she needed.

  “Protect me?” Brady said. “How could a lie protect me?”

  Barrett remained silent.

  “Are you sure about this, Barrett?”

  She nodded. “I’m sure. And I’m so sorry.” She wrapped her arms around him again. “But maybe now you can find your father.”

  She felt him cringe. Maybe that was too much for him to digest right now. She could tell by the way he held her that she’d won. She didn’t really have to add any more.

  “I’ve got to talk with my coach, and then I need to see my mother.”

  “Do you want me to ride with you?”

  “I need to see my mother,” he repeated as if in a daze. “I’ve got to go.”

  Barrett watched Brady stumble out of the apartment, and for a moment she hoped he was going to be all right. She went to the balcony and watched as he walked slowly to his car and then sped off.

  Inside her condo, Barrett collapsed onto the sofa. The acting had taken more out of her than she imagined. It wasn’t that it was so hard saying the words to Brady. It was just hard breaking his heart that way. Even though she wasn’t in love, she was beginning to care about this young man. She hoped that what she had just done was enough to finish this assignment.

  “Hello,” Barrett purred into the phone. She was smoking a joint.

  “I thought I would have heard from you by now,” a male voice said.

  “Who is this?” Barrett asked, wondering who from her past might have finally caught up with her.

  “This is Mr. John Basil Henderson. You kept my business card, didn’t you? I thought you were smarter than Nico’s other girls.”

  “I’m not one of Nico’s girls. I’m going to be his wife,” Barrett said firmly.

&n
bsp; “You’re joking, right?” Basil said with a hearty laugh.

  “How did you get my number?” Barrett demanded.

  “If I can get it so easily, then I bet it won’t be long before Chris gets it as well,” Basil said. “Athlete management is a very small world, Barrett. I know what happened to Chris Johns.”

  Barrett slammed down the phone and muttered to herself as she picked up the remainder of the blunt, “That nigga’s tryin’ to fuck with a lady’s high.”

  CHAPTER

  24

  Carmyn Gets a Clue

  What do you think of this?” Zander asked as he held out a beautiful chocolate-brown silk wrap dress with a geometric print.

  “Is that for me?” I asked.

  “So you like it,” Zander said. His freshly shaved head looked like it had been polished with Wesson oil, and he was dressed stylishly himself in black form-fitting slacks and a black silk shirt. I guess I saw what some of his clients were seeing.

  “Is that for Maybelline?”

  “You think she’ll wear it? It’s not a miniskirt.” Zander laughed.

  “If she won’t, I will. When are you going to let her try it on?”

  “Let’s call her now. I got some beige heels and a lovely scarf to go with it,” Zander said.

  “That’ll look nice. It may be a little formal for a football game, but it’s lovely for a press conference or a nice lunch with the ladies,” I said.

  “I’m going to put her on speakerphone so we can both talk to her,”

  Zander said.

  “Okay,” I said as I looked over a Carol’s Daughter order form. A few moments later, I heard Maybelline’s voice: “If this is a bill collector, I rebuke you in the name of Jesus. All others leave a message. This is May-Jean, unless you are a bill collector.”

  I started laughing so hard I couldn’t talk, and so did Zander for a second, but he quickly pulled himself together and said, “May-Jean, this is the new man in your life. Give me a call. I got a few things I want you to try on. Have a great day, darling. But you got to pay your bills, sweetheart. ’Bye.”

  Zander went to the back of the shop to get fresh towels when the phone rang. I thought for a moment of waiting for Zander to pick up with the strong, sexy voice my customers loved, but then I decided to answer.

  “Back to My Roots, Carmyn speaking,” I said.

  “Mrs. Bledsoe?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Basil Henderson from XJI. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “No, Mr. Henderson. How are you doing?”

  “Great. I just called to see how things were going and if you and Brady have decided when you’re coming to New York.”

  “We haven’t. I want there to be as few distractions as possible until the season is over. I know you understand,” I said.

  “Sure I do. Is Brady ready for this week’s game? Every game is a big game for him,” Basil said.

  “Brady’s always game ready,” I said.

  “Ms. Bledsoe, I hope I’m not getting into uncharted territory here, but I hope you know I have Brady’s best interest in mind,” Basil said.

  “I know that, Mr. Henderson,” I said, wondering where this was leading.

  “Does Brady have a new girlfriend?”

  “I wouldn’t call her a girlfriend,” I said quickly.

  “Well, I only mention it because I know that a concerned mother such as yourself is very much aware that some girls will do anything to hook up with a potential NFL star like Brady. I had a client whose girlfriend took a used condom and conveniently wound up pregnant right after he signed his contract,” Basil said.

  I wanted to say that was just plain nasty, but instead I said, “Mr. Henderson, I appreciate your concern, but Brady was raised with the highest standards. He’s saving himself for marriage and won’t fall for a trick like that.”

  “Yes, I’ve read that Brady is celibate, but I wanted to warn you. Sometimes college athletes have to be as wary of their fellow students as they do agents,” Basil said.

  “Yes, but as soon as the season is over, Brady and I will sit down and map out a plan for his future,” I said.

  “Okay. I just hope my firm and I are a part of those plans,” Basil responded.

  “I think you’ve put yourself in a position to do just that.”

  “Thanks, Ms. Bledsoe. You have a good day.”

  “I will, and you do the same. Good-bye.”

  CHAPTER

  25

  Brady’s Thrown for a Loss

  I parked my SUV in the garage of my childhood home, turned off the engine, and without pulling the keys from the ignition, slumped in the driver’s seat.

  Earlier, after a brief conversation with Coach, I had walked silently out of the locker room through a kaleidoscope of tattooed biceps and body parts. As I walked outside toward my truck in the parking lot, the clouds dissipated and the sun came down from a dirty sky.

  During my drive back to Atlanta, I kept telling myself that what Barrett had told me could not be true. I thought of calling my mother on my cell phone during the drive, confronting her with the story, but decided I needed to wait until I could stand face-to-face with her, read her eyes to see if she was being honest with me.

  But what if she wasn’t?

  What if she tried to lie to me? Or tell me she didn’t know what Barrett was talking about, that my father was dead and this was just Barrett’s way of coming between the two of us.

  I pulled the keys from the ignition and dragged myself from the car, walking up the stairs and using my key to open the door. I opened it cautiously, trying not to make a sound.

  Once inside, I called out to my mother. When no answer came, I walked in and closed the door behind me.

  I walked through the living room, then into the dining room, stopping at the table, resting my hand on back of one of the chairs. I remembered all the holiday dinners we would have there together, just me and my mother. Sometimes Kellis, Ramon, or Lowell would drop by after dinner for desserts and eggnog.

  I remembered one Christmas when I was eight years old, sitting here and asking my mother why I didn’t have a father like Ramon.

  My mother would always avoid the question, putting me off by saying things like “Why, I’m not good enough for you?” or “All you’ll ever need is me, baby.”

  I stepped back from the dining room table, making my way through the house again. I went into the study, where my mother did her reading, had her favorite chair, and shelves loaded with her favorite books.

  On those shelves were also photos of me and my mother. I lifted one, an old framed snapshot of me in a Pee Wee league uniform. Staring at the photo of me with a huge smile on my face and holding a football, I remembered how happy I was that day.

  I set the old photo down and glanced at another, one of me and my mother. My mother was squeezing me tight, planting a kiss on my cheek as I laughed and squirmed in her embrace. I felt a smile try to come to my face now, like it usually did when I saw this picture, but this time the smile did not surface.

  My mother had deceived me. She’d lied to me.

  But how did I know that? There was no proof. There was only what Barrett said. I reminded myself that I had only known Barrett for three months, but I also believed she had no reason to lie to me.

  I turned and left the room, shaking my head, trying to rid myself of my negative thoughts. It wasn’t fair to my mother, who had loved me as much as any mother could love her child. I felt ashamed of myself for already convicting her without giving her a chance to deny it. I needed to stop myself from doing that.

  I ran up to my old bedroom, threw myself onto the bed, grabbed my pillow, covered my face with it, wrapped both my arms around it, and squeezed, trying to stop the thoughts from entering.

  But I couldn’t.

  I ripped the pillow from my face, slung it across the room, where it hit the frame of the door and landed on the floor just in front of my mother’s feet.

  She was stan
ding there, looking at me oddly. I wasn’t sure for just how long she had been there.

  “Is there something wrong?” she asked. “What are you doing home?”

  “Coach let me off. I had some things to work out,” I said as I got up from the bed and gave my mother a half-hug.

  She looked at me like she knew there was something heavy on my mind.

  She pushed me back from her and looked deep in my eyes and said, “Brady, what’s wrong?”

  “Mom, I need to ask you something and I need you to tell me the truth,” I said, my voice cracking with emotion.

  “Baby, I always tell you the truth.”

  “Even if it means telling me the real story about my father?” I asked as I eyed my mother with suspicion.

  My mother looked numb. She was shocked that I had asked her such a thing.

  “Let’s go downstairs to the kitchen. You look like you need something to drink,” she said.

  I nodded, and we walked downstairs in silence. When we reached the kitchen, my mother pulled out two bottles of water from the refrigerator and gave one to me.

  “Tell me what’s the matter, baby, you’ve got me really worried,” my mother said.

  “Is my father really dead?” I asked.

  There was a long silence, and my mother seemed to have trouble forming her words. “I don’t know, Brady,” she finally said. “Why are you asking me questions like this?”

  “What do you mean you don’t know? Either he’s dead or he’s not,” I said very slowly, trying not to raise my voice.

  “Can you answer my question first?” my mother demanded.

  “Somebody told me my father might be alive. They told me that you went to the University of Texas. Is that true, Mom?”

  “Who is this somebody? Who told you that?” my mother asked. I wanted to tell her to stop asking me questions and just tell me the damn truth.

  “Barrett told me,” I said.

  “Barrett? What does that girl know about me or my life?”

  “So it’s true?”

  “Yes, Brady, I went to Texas my freshman year,” Mom said.