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Just Too Good to Be True

Page 21

by E. Lynn Harris


  “Why didn’t you tell me that?”

  “It wasn’t important, Brady. I was only there less than a year.”

  “So my dad could be alive?”

  “I don’t know, Brady,” she said, looking away from me like she was searching for answers and avoiding my eyes.

  “You told me he was dead,” I said. “What’s the truth?”

  “Brady, baby, I’ve lied all these years because I don’t know who your father is,” my mother said. She looked away and took her index finger to dab at her watering eyes.

  “What do you mean you don’t know who he is? You told me he was killed in an accident on the way to the hospital when I was born. What kind of woman are you to do this to me?” I said. My heart was beating fast, adrenaline was flowing like a sprinter on the verge of winning a race, and yet it felt like something was collapsing inside me.

  “Brady, let’s go into the dining room and talk. Let me explain,” my mother said, her eyes pleading with me to understand.

  “Explain what? How you lied to me all my life? Told me my father was dead and now you tell me you don’t know who he is? Why should I believe you? Why should I listen to anything you have to say?”

  My mother took a long gulp of water, looking as though she was trying to sort this all out in her head. “Brady, I need to take a nap. Can we talk about this later?”

  “We don’t have to ever talk about it,” I said as tears started to stab at my eyes.

  “Brady, come back,” my mother screamed. She rushed toward me and tried to hold me, but I pulled away.

  “I’m going back to school.”

  “Brady, talk to me, baby,” she cried.

  But now it was me who couldn’t look at her, and so I bolted for the back door and raced for my truck.

  CHAPTER

  26

  Barrett’s Ballet

  Dear Diary,

  If Paris Hilton ever decides to do a sequel to that little sex tape of hers, the bitch needs to come and take a master class from me.

  Brady came to see me after he returned from seeing his mother. When I opened the door, he stood there, his eyes red-rimmed and his body slumped over as if he carried a dead body the size of himself on his shoulders. His eyes were blank. Without a word, he dragged into my apartment and collapsed onto the couch.

  When I took his hand and asked what happened, it took him a moment to look at me. He told me I was right and that his mother wasn’t perfect like he thought she was all these years and that maybe she was just too good to be true. Then tears fell down the length of his face. When I brushed them away, I was surprised at how warm they felt.

  I didn’t expect the lump that filled my throat and the ache that grabbed my heart. I knew Brady was in a lot of pain and there was nothing I could do to soothe it. I had to once again remind myself that this is business. Any feelings had to be put on hold.

  When Brady stopped crying and used his sleeve to wipe his face, I told him to take off his shirt and offered to get him a warm towel. Brady didn’t say a word. He just stood up in front of the couch and removed his pullover with one swoop. His upper body glistened with sweat.

  When I returned with the towel, I couldn’t help but admire his six-pack abs and broad shoulders. Despite his grief, Brady was oozing masculinity and the alluring smell of sexual promise that young men have without knowing it.

  I wrapped my arms around him, and when he responded by squeezing me tighter than I’d ever been held before, I closed my eyes, knowing now was the time.

  Pressing into him, I held Brady like a baby, letting him release his emotions into my chest. After a little while I began to plant delicate, wet kisses on his flat stomach and then up toward his chest, shoulders, and finally his lips. My tongue met his, gently at first, but then he started kissing me hungrily.

  I told him to stand up, and he obeyed and stood directly in front of me, and I took my hands and touched his already stiff manhood through his sweatpants. I was cautious, remembering the times he had pushed me away. But this time was different, and I became aggressive with my strokes.

  Brady’s eyes seemed to track my every move like he was a wild animal. I slipped his sweats from his waist, removed his boxer briefs, and took his full manhood into my hands. It was so big and beautiful.

  When he whispered he needed me, I reached up and placed my finger over his lips and then I kissed the head of his manhood. I took it whole into my mouth. Brady’s sigh was full of pleasure, and I was afraid he’d explode before I could take it out.

  I knew the rolling movement of my tongue gave Brady a sensation that was beyond his belief, and I could almost feel every muscle in his body quivering. Then suddenly I stopped.

  I took his hand and led him toward my bedroom. The seduction I had originally planned included candles, new lingerie, and perfume, but my maroon silk pajamas and pink thong underwear would have to do.

  Inside my bedroom, I leaned into him and pushed him playfully onto the bed and spoke the words he needed to hear: “I’m going to make everything better,” I said softly.

  I removed my pajama top and his eyes admired my beautiful, firm breasts. He told me how beautiful I was as I dropped my pajama bottoms and climbed on top of him. When I put my arms around his neck, he took one of my breasts into his mouth and sucked it like it was fresh fruit. I felt his snake of a dick flop against my thigh, totally hard, and felt the taste of his mouth, the touch of his hands.

  He positioned himself on top of me and pressed his body into mine. When we kissed, I turned so that I was on top. I needed total control, and I saw surrender in his face. His eyes told me that he wanted me more than words could ever say. Holding his stare, I slid onto him and relished the sound of his moan. Slowly, I began to move in a circular motion, staring at him and controlling him with my eyes and hips.

  His moans became whimpers, and I rode him faster and deeper until suddenly I felt a piercing jolt of warmth as he screamed out, “Barrett, Barrett. Oh, my God!”

  I wanted to tell him the good Lord couldn’t help him now.

  That stupid little boy didn’t even ask for a condom.

  Got him.

  Game over.

  Time to move on and collect my prize.

  CHAPTER

  27

  Carmyn’s Orange Crush

  Around 5:30 A.M., I was awakened from a restless sleep. The first thing I did was call Brady, but my call went straight to his voice mail. I wondered if he had slept at all and when I would see him.

  Over my black coffee I felt like a wreck, as memories of the conversation the night before played over and over in my head. As I got up for a second cup of coffee, I was suddenly back in Houston, walking down the hallways of Jack Yates High School. In my mind’s eye I saw him, Woodson Crutchfield, dressed in all white, which made his ebony-smooth skin look even better. He looked like a black prince when he flashed a smile of bright white teeth that could put a set of the finest bone china to shame.

  I was a sophomore in high school when I first met Woodson, and my mother and father didn’t like the fact that he was a senior. They also weren’t fond of the fact that he had dropped his steady girlfriend, Daphne, to date me. Throughout our first years of dating, my very strict minister father and mother watched us like wardens in a maximum-security facility, but when I entered the University of Texas all bets were off: I lost my virginity to Woodson the first night I spent on campus. My first time was kind of painful, but by the end of September I was pushing Woodson for sex. I loved Woodson and I loved sex. It was like a drug, and I would neglect anything in my life that didn’t have to do with Woodson or sex. I rarely went to class, and I wouldn’t miss a football game or a party for all the money in Oprah’s bank account.

  Woodson loved me deeply, but all that changed after a night that has lived inside my memory like a ghost. And I realize how the aftermath of that night has also haunted the one person I promised never to disappoint: Brady.

  I tried to reach Brady again before I went
to the shop, and all I got was his voice mail. I called his apartment. After a few rings, Delmar answered the phone.

  “Yo, thanks for callin’ the house of beauty, speaking to Cutey.”

  “Good morning, is this Delmar? Has Brady left for class yet?”

  “Yo, what’s good, Ms. B? Let me check his room,” Delmar said.

  A few moments later, he came back and said, “I don’t know what’s up, Ms. B, but Brady ain’t here. It looks like his bed hasn’t been slept in.”

  “Are you sure, Delmar? Brady always makes up his bed,” I said, trying not to think the worst. Had Brady had an accident or something?

  “He just makes up his bed when he knows you’re coming,” Delmar said, laughing.

  “Okay, Delmar, please tell him to call me. I’m worried,” I said.

  “Aw, don’t be worried. I bet Brady is with ole girl,” Delmar said.

  I started to ask him who ole girl was, but I knew, so I just ended the conversation by saying, “Have a good day, Delmar.”

  “You too, Ms. B.”

  When I hung up, I tried Brady’s cell phone again without success. Then I called Lowell, and when he answered I started crying.

  “Carmyn, calm down. What’s going on?”

  “That girl told him. How did she find out? You didn’t tell anyone, did you?”

  “Carmyn, now come on. Who would I tell? I don’t know Barrett like that. Besides, I would never betray you,” Lowell said.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I should be pissed off at you for even thinking that, but I know you’re upset. What did Brady say?”

  “I don’t really remember. All I know is he’s really upset with me. He rushed out of the house, and I haven’t been able to reach him since,” I said.

  “Have you called him?”

  “Like a stalker. I even had Delmar check his room. He said Brady didn’t come home last night. I know he’s with that little tramp. I still can’t figure out who told her.”

  “I’m the only one you’ve told?” Lowell asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t think she knows where I live, so she couldn’t have been at the door listening to our conversation,” Lowell said.

  “Right now I’m not real concerned about her. I’m just worried about my baby. Will you go up to the football complex this afternoon and make him call me?” I asked.

  “What time does he practice?”

  “Around three P.M., but Brady always gets there around two-thirty.”

  “I can do that. You need to stop worrying. Carmyn, everything will be just fine.”

  “Thanks, Lowell. I pray to God you’re right.”

  A little after 2:30 P.M. Kai walked into my office carrying a blow dryer. I hadn’t been able to work all day. I just played solitaire at my computer and listened to my iPod. George Benson’s “This Masquerade” played over and over again, and finally I realized that that song described my life the last twenty years. My tears would not stop falling.

  “Ms. B, there’s a lady out front to see you,” she said.

  “Who is it, Kai?”

  “Some white girl who says she was a skin-care saleswoman and that she’d talked to you about carrying her line in the shop,” Kai said.

  I raised my eyebrows and vaguely recalled talking to someone about a new line of makeup developed for African American women and told her to bring by some samples. My cell phone rang as I walked to the door, and it was Lowell.

  “Kai, tell her I will be out in a few minutes. I need to take this call. Hey, Lowell,” I said.

  “Carmyn. Hold on a second,” he said as he passed the phone to my son.

  “Hello.” It was Brady. My stomach suddenly filled with nervous energy.

  “Brady, where have you been?” I asked.

  “I been here,” he said.

  “Why haven’t you returned my calls?”

  “I don’t feel like talking. I have a lot on my mind,” Brady said.

  “I just want to make sure you’re all right. I was worried you might have had a wreck or something.”

  “I’m cool,” Brady said. He didn’t sound like my son.

  “When can we talk?”

  “I don’t know. I just need to sort things out.”

  “I understand. Maybe we can talk in Fayetteville,” I suggested.

  “Mom, I don’t want to talk before or after the game,” Brady said.

  “But I’m going to be there, and we have to talk sooner or later,” I said.

  “I don’t think you should come to the game.”

  “What? Brady, I never miss your games,” I said. Tears were forming in the corner of my eyes again.

  “Things are different now. Please don’t come to Arkansas. I got to go. Practice is getting ready to start.”

  The next voice I heard was Lowell’s. He asked me if I was all right.

  “Are you sure that was my son?”

  “Yes, even though it didn’t sound like him. Even his body language was different,” Lowell said.

  “What am I going to do?” I cried.

  “Stop crying, Carmyn, please.”

  But my tears wouldn’t stop.

  CHAPTER

  28

  Brady Gets Hog Tied

  Another Saturday arrived. Game day. I walked through the tunnel with Delmar at my side and my other teammates crowded around me, but I felt so alone.

  As we neared the exit, I heard the roar of the crowd; I kept telling myself to put the stuff with my mother out of my head so it wouldn’t mess with my game. But I couldn’t seem to do it. I thought about how my mother had lied to me and if Barrett hadn’t been there for me I might not have made it to the game.

  Coming out from the tunnel, my entire team started to yell, trying to get hyped for the game as we ran out onto the vast and beautiful green field for pregame warm-ups.

  It was a perfect November day for football. The sky was a deep blue canvas; it looked like one of Chloe’s paintings had come to life. The air wasn’t cold, just brisk, but a nervous chill ran through my entire body as me and my team took our place on the sidelines.

  We looked up into the stands and there seemed to be nothing but a deep sea of frenzied Razorbacks fans, all wearing red, shouting, screaming, and pumping their red pom-poms in unison.

  This would be one of our hardest games of the season. The Razorbacks were undefeated in conference play and ranked in the top five in the country. But I knew that a week ago and I wasn’t worried; I never worried, because I always knew my mother would be up in the stands supporting me. Going back to Pee Wee football, in all the games I’ve played, if I ever got nervous or ever made a mistake, my mom always had my back and all I had to do was look up in the stands. She would be looking down on the field telling me with her gentle smile to calm down, mouthing to me that everything would be just fine. But now—I scanned the stands again, hoping that I would spot her, even though I knew she wasn’t there.

  My team started hitting shoulder pads, banging helmets together, getting themselves psyched for the game. We started our calisthenics and my body felt unusually tight.

  “Yo, B, you ready for this or what!” yelled Reggie, one of my offensive linemen.

  I yelled back, “You know I am!” But I didn’t believe myself. He slammed the flats of his fists down hard on my shoulder pads, almost knocking me to the grass.

  “Yeah, boy!” he yelled, then started yelling at another player.

  I felt lost all of a sudden. I looked up one last time—no sign of my mother. I glanced back toward the tunnel leading to the lockers. The thought of turning back there darted through my mind. I felt queasy all of a sudden. Not since my first Pee Wee game had I felt like this. I didn’t know what was happening.

  “Brady,” someone said, grabbing me, spinning me around. It was Delmar. “You all right, bay-bee?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You sure? You look like you about to fall out. This is a big game and I want you in there, but if you ain’t rig
ht, you know I’ll run the rock for you. I got your back.”

  “I’m straight, D,” I said, trying to find the strength I needed to convince not only him but myself.

  “All right, then, fool! Let’s go out there and whoop some Razorback ass!”

  “Jags on three,” I shouted.

  “One…two…three…Jags,” my teammates shouted.

  All my teammates roared around me as we took off, running onto the field, chasing our cheerleaders, and pumping our fists at the 3,000 CGU fans located at the ten-yard line. The sounds of boos from the Razorback fans were thunderous. I didn’t think I’d ever been in a stadium where it was so loud.

  I walked to midfield with the other two captains for the coin toss. I called heads, and when it landed on tails, Arkansas captains Jamal Anderson and Chris Houston chose to defend the north end zone and kick off to us. I was ready to get it on.

  Arkansas kicked it out of the end zone, so we started on the twenty. As the kicking team came off the field, I tapped Delmar on his backside and said, “Let’s do this, D.”

  As I got into my stance, I glanced over at the Jaguar fans and felt sick again because I knew my mother wasn’t there. She had never missed one of my games. We wouldn’t get to talk about how loud Razorback Stadium was or what a beautiful place it was. She wouldn’t be able to tell me about how the popcorn, turkey legs, or hot dogs were. I had been very clear about not wanting her to come to the game, but just before the first play I suddenly wished I hadn’t been so tough. This loneliness was my fault, because I had told my mother to stay away. I took a final glance into the stands, but I knew she would respect my wishes.

  Blaine West, the quarterback, handed the ball to me and I looked for the hole. There wasn’t one, and I was tackled by Jamal Anderson for a two-yard loss. The crowd roared even louder.

  Back in the huddle, Blaine pointed out that Arkansas had eight defensive players in the box, a formation designed to stop the run. He looked at me and said, “I guess they heard about you, Brady. I’m going to throw.”

 

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