The Eleventh Commandment

by Lutishia Lovely

  “You said that right; not even July yet and today we’re already at a hundred-five degrees. It’s ridiculous. Makes me think about moving back to Cali.”

  Hope’s ears perked up. She’d love nothing better than to have her best friend move back to LA, or even San Diego, which would be better still. “You guys thinking of moving?”

  “I don’t know what we’re going to do. Tony is still pretty upset at being cut, doesn’t want to face the fact that his days in the NFL may be over. That’s one reason why I’m calling you. We’ll be in LA at the end of next month.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “He’s hoping to do a walk-on at the Sea Lions’ training camp.”

  “That’s great, Stacy! Cy loves sports; his company has a suite at all of the major venues. Tony playing in that beautiful new stadium might even make me come out and watch a game!”

  “I know, right? So far I’ve gotten along with the wives well enough, but it would be hella fun to hang out with you and Frieda, especially if the Sea Lions follow everyone’s prediction and make it to the Super Bowl. Tony even joked about Darius singing the “Star-Spangled Banner,” if LA ended up in the top two spots.”

  “Can you believe it, Stacy? How much all of our lives have changed, and how blessed we are? There was a time when I couldn’t have imagined you and your son’s father being able to hold a civil conversation, let alone becoming friends.”

  “Tell me about it. Not to mention that I’m also friends with his husband. He’s even teaching me how to cook, passing down his Aunt Gladean’s guarded recipes.”

  “Gurlll . . . how is Bo?”

  Bo Jenkins was the legal partner (translated, husband) of America’s R & B darling and Stacy’s ex, Darius Crenshaw. “As crazy as always. Running behind Darius and swatting away fans, groupies, and wannabe lovers the way that a cow’s tail swats away flies.”

  “You’ve got to give it to them. They’ve been together what, six, seven years now?”

  “Together for eight, married for four,” Stacy corrected. “Longer than some heterosexual marriages last.”

  “Shoot, I might need to hang out with Bo myself, ask him what his secret is to their long-wedded bliss.”

  “Why? Is the bliss starting to wear off at your house?”

  “Not hardly, darling. Cy and I are happier than ever; I fall more and more in love with him every day.”

  In the perfectly appointed premiere Central-Park-view suite of New York’s Mandarin Oriental, Cy sat at a small table, next to floor-to-ceiling windows offering views of the Manhattan skyline, whose bright lights had just begun to twinkle against dusk’s tranquil blue sky. It was a stunning sight, but even as Cy gazed upon it, he didn’t really take it in. No, his mind was filled with a variety of thoughts and emotions, all dredged up because of the e-mail that he’d just read. Standing, he walked over to the counter and placed the iPad on it. After pouring himself a glass of cabernet, he read the note again:

  Dear Cy: Hello, stranger. It’s Trisha Underwood, or Tricky as you called me back in the day. If this note reaches you, I can only imagine what you’ll think, especially since at one time I had planned to never speak to you again. Life is funny, huh? Which is probably why the adage “never say never” was coined. As I sit here looking at the invitation for our class’s fifteenth-year reunion, I’m reminded of what once was, and wondering how you are. I hope this e-mail reaches you, and that you answer. If so, I hope that we can communicate. I trust that life has treated you well, and I would love to catch up.

  Until then, Cyclone . . .

  Tricky

  To say that Cy was surprised would be an understatement. He was floored. For years, he’d thought about Tricky, had looked for her and inquired of her whereabouts. Her sorors had been tight lipped, understandably so considering what had happened to break them up: the one and only time in their relationship that he’d been unfaithful. At that time, Cy had been sure that Trisha Underwood would become his wife and the mother of his children. They’d spoken of spending a lifetime together, had shared dreams and goals, met each other’s families, and before that crazy night when a woman who’d long envied Trisha’s seemingly effortlessly successful life duped Cy into her bed, he’d been very close to buying a ring. He’d hated that other woman for a long time, had temporarily entertained the idea of swift retribution. But at the end of the day, no one had put a gun to his head to make him have sex; he’d been over twenty-one and in full charge of his faculties. He’d pulled out all of the stops to win Trisha back, mounted a campaign that would have rivaled President Obama’s in its tenacity. But Trisha had grown up in a household where infidelity was tolerated and had sworn to never become that woman. At least where Cy was concerned, she’d kept that promise.

  Cy took his glass of wine and walked over to the oversized windows. He placed a palm against the glass and took in the high-rises across the way and the antlike people scurrying on the streets more than fifty floors below. Sipping, he pondered this unexpected event that had unfolded at the end of a long yet productive day, a day full of meetings where he’d not checked his e-mails until moments before. Included among the business associates, club memberships, professional organizations, real estate info, and spam mail was a correspondence that caught him totally off guard. Trisha Underwood. Her maiden name. Cy wondered whether she was one of those independent women who refused to take on her husband’s name. Remembering how feisty and headstrong she’d been in their college days, Cy had no problem believing this was true. He also thought of the possibility that she’d divorced and reclaimed her maiden name or, although highly unlikely, that she’d never married. Remembering their lovemaking, and what a sexual creature his first true love had been, Cy found this last possibility improbable. Cyclone, her pet name for me. What’s that about? Cy read the ending more than once. And why refer to herself as the name he used to often call her in the throes of lovemaking? What had happened to make her seek him out after all these years? And then there was the most important question of all. What if after talking she wanted to meet? Would he? Should he?

  As Cy walked back over to the counter and picked up his iPad to type a reply, he already knew the answer.

  5

  Expensive Toys and Pretty Boys

  Darius Crenshaw sat watching the gargantuan screen in his theater room, praying that Bo would stay in the kitchen. He watched the movie intensely, not at all caring about the suspenseful story line about a spy who’d infiltrated the White House. The story line didn’t capture his interest, but the man who played the spy very much had his attention. Pascual Demopoulos, the half-Italian, half-Greek heartthrob known simply as Paz, who in less than two years had taken America and the big screen by storm. A seasoned actor who’d been a European celebrity for many years, he had broken into America’s homes and most females’ hearts with last year’s breakout role that starred him as a single father with a precocious, nine-year-old daughter. The movie, Nine Times Over, was a critical and popular smash, leading to an Oscar nomination and his being given the coveted crown of Sexiest Man Alive by People magazine. They got that right, Darius mused as he watched the actor, looking dashingly bad-ass in a tailored black suit as he accompanied the “president” as part of the Secret Service detail. His stunningly blue eyes were hidden behind dark glasses, but Darius knew exactly how they looked. He’d committed those orbs to memory when they’d met face to face six months ago.

  “First class is the only thing that makes traveling overseas bearable,” the handsome man said as he sat next to Darius in seat 3B.

  “I hear you, man.” Darius barely looked up in answer, so busy was he texting his legal partner, Bo. This trip had come up unexpectedly, but when royalty called, you answered, and Darius’s presence had been requested at the wedding of a princess. It was a rare trip where Bo hadn’t accompanied him, staying behind to attend meetings for a Fourth of July concert happening in Central Park and a New Year’s Eve Celebration he was headlining at Kingdom Citizens Christian Ce
nter. Even though the latter gala was still several months away, it was the first major event Darius had held for them since resigning his minister of music position the year before, a move that had been necessitated by both his demanding schedule and the time he spent in Phoenix to be near his son. He wanted everything to be perfect, and the only person he trusted absolutely to make that happen was Bo. “It’s only seventy-two hours,” Darius had pointed out when Bo complained of not going with him, as he always did. “I’ll be back before my side of the bed gets cold.”

  Because he’d barely acknowledged the stranger, who’d spoken as he placed his carry-on in the bin above him, the first thing Darius had truly noticed about Paz was his scent: a combination of something earthy and sexy and mysterious and wild. The second thing was his eyes.

  “Paz Demopoulos,” he’d said with hand outstretched, once seated and firmly secured by the requisite seat belt.

  “Darius Crenshaw.”

  “I thought you looked familiar. I love your music, man!” Paz immediately pulled out his smartphone and showed Darius how the music catalog was loaded with songs by D & C, Darius and Company. “That new album is flawless. I know that ‘Power’ is the song climbing up the charts, but ‘Subtle Sexy’ is my personal fave. ‘Subtle sexy, you vex me, arrest me with your charm while on my arm . . .’ ” Paz sang the lines with a surprisingly smooth voice, showing that he was not only a great actor and model, but could possibly hold his own behind a mike.

  “I’m sorry, but I haven’t seen your work,” Darius said, once Paz finished the lyric. “Heard about it though. Congrats on the award nomination.”

  Paz’s smile reflected straight white teeth and the hint of a dimple. “Thanks.”

  After learning that they’d both been summoned to the same party, the two men had conversed comfortably on their trip to Dubai. Darius had only been mildly surprised to learn that Paz swung both ways. More unexpected had been the A-list actor’s not-so-subtle interest in a fling with him, something that Darius had found flattering, but had flatly turned down. “I’m married,” he’d explained, when Paz had pushed the issue. “I’m determined,” Paz had softly replied. Nothing had happened in Dubai. But Darius was all too aware that if Paz had his way . . . something would happen stateside. And soon.

  “You’re watching that piece of crap movie again?” Bo entered the theater carrying a tray from which a decadent aroma wafted. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to have a crush on someone other than your wife.” He reached the coffee table and sat down what would be a light yet fulfilling lunchtime treat: Portobello mushroom burgers with roasted red peppers on focaccia bread, and a warm, wilted green salad. He reached for a cloth napkin that had been thrown over his shoulder, placed it on Darius’s lap, and placed his own plate on the table beside his mate.

  Darius reached for the remote and wisely changed the channel along with the subject. At the time he’d thought it best to tell Bo about meeting Paz on the trip to Dubai. Now, given how jealous Bo acted whenever the man’s face or name came up, he wasn’t so sure. “This smells good, baby. But where’s the meat?”

  “The mushroom replaces it. Remember I told you about watching Dr. Oz and deciding for us to try and cut our beef and pork intake a little bit.”

  “Yeah,” Darius replied around a bite of food. “This tastes good, even without it.”

  “I aim to please,” Bo replied.

  “You aim too, please!” they said simultaneously, laughing at the reference to a poster that used to hang in the gay spot where they met. “Um, babe,” Darius said, after another healthy bite of the sandwich. “What kind of cheese is this?”

  “Gruyère,” Bo replied. “Saw it on the Food Network.”

  “Oh, you’ve been watching your on-screen crush again?” Darius took full advantage of further defusing Bo’s fixation with Paz by bringing up his own professed heartthrob.

  “Honey, I love me some Toussaint Livingston. But his ass is as straight as the highway to heaven.” The Food Network’s latest darling, Toussaint Livingston, was one of the heirs to a large barbecue dynasty in Atlanta, Georgia, whose riches had been garnered largely through their grandfather’s secret sauce recipe, a restaurant chain called Taste of Soul, and the tremendous entrepreneurial success of the third generation.

  “Word is their food will be featured at this year’s Music Muse Awards. So watch it with the compliments or I’ll take someone else with me.” Darius leaned over and kissed Bo’s pouting lips. “Stop it. You know nobody looks as good next to me as you do.”

  Even after all this time, when a man as fine as Darius made a big deal over him, Bo couldn’t help but preen. Not that Bo had any lack of confidence. Though his frame was slight, a mere five foot nine to Darius’s bulkier six feet, Bo had a pretty boy face, flawless butterscotch skin, baby fine hair, and bow-shaped lips most women would envy.

  The Crenshaw landline rang and Bo reached over for the handset. “Hey, Spacey.”

  “Hey, Little Bo Peep,” Stacy answered, in her and Bo’s ongoing mutually exchanged digs. “Darius there?”

  “He’s eating. You ready for us to pick up Junior?”

  “I told you not to call him that! I hate that name!”

  “Are you ready for us to pick up Darius’s son?” Bo’s tone was way too syrupy to be sincere.

  “I’d prefer Darius to come and get him, but I doubt you’ll want him out of your eyesight long enough to let him come alone.”

  “Hmph, Darius isn’t the one I’d worry about, witch.”

  “Please, Bo. Nobody wants Darius but you.”

  “Except everybody who doesn’t have him, including your husband.” There was silence as Bo imagined Stacy remembering how to breathe. “Ha! I thought that would get you. You never know about those professional athletes.”

  “Ease up, Bo.” Darius interrupted the verbal war that was sure to happen whenever his child’s mother and his male wife crossed paths. “Tell Stacy I’ll be over there in a half hour.”

  The two men finished their meal and, contrary to Stacy’s assumption, Darius then left the house alone to pick up his son. A good thing, since his text indicator vibrated shortly after he got into his SUV for the short drive from the home he’d purchased for the sole purpose of being near his son to the abode that Stacy shared with her ex-NFL football player husband, Tony Johnson. When Darius reached a stop light, he pulled out his phone.

  I’ll be in Phoenix tomorrow for a photo shoot. Can you get

  away?

  Darius sighed as he punched the voice-activated responder on his cell. “Not a good idea,” he said, enunciating slowly so that the device would type in the correct words. Lord knew he was interested in Paz, who hadn’t been far from his thoughts since returning from Dubai. But when it came to Darius and anyone wanting to get next to him, Bo seemed to have a bloodhound’s nose, a sixth sense if you will, a gift that could be part of the reason for Darius’s faithfulness. Bo’s love for Darius was almost legendary, his devotion unparalleled. Bo was already suspicious. If he knew how actively Paz had been pursuing him, there would be hell to pay.

  The text indicator beeped. You know I won’t stop until I have you.

  Darius couldn’t help but smile as he spoke his answer: “I know.”

  6

  A Welcomed Distraction

  Paz was still on Darius’s mind as he knocked on the Johnsons’ door. Stacy answered wearing a tube top and a pair of cutoff jeans. As always, she was a distraction. This time it was a welcome one.

  “Hello, Stacy,” he said as he entered, stopping to wrap his ex in a light hug. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m okay.”

  Her answer caused Darius to stop in his tracks and turn around. He looked at her closely, noted the slightly dark circles under her eyes and the fact that she seemed to have lost some weight. “Are you?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Daddy!” An ever-growing five-year-old burst of energy entered the room,
wrapping himself around his father’s legs. “Are we going to the park, Daddy? Remember, you promised. Are we going to go to the park and race cars?”

  Darius looked down at his spitting image, his heart overflowing with love as he gazed into wide brown eyes staring from a body that seemed all arms, legs, and a smooth round head. “We’ll see, little man. Did you pack the cars in your bag? Are you ready to go?”

  In answer, Darius Jr. darted around the corner, into his room, Darius presumed. “He’s growing up so fast,” he said, shaking his head as he looked from the corner his son had turned and back into Stacy’s eyes. “I can’t believe he’ll be starting kindergarten in the fall.”

  “According to his preschool teachers he’s more than ready.” Stacy walked over to some video games that had been left on the floor, idly picking them up and stacking them on a nearby table. “He has scored high in all of the tests given so far.” She turned and faced Darius. “Your son is a very bright young man.”

  “Just like his mother.”

  Stacy’s chuckle was light, and a bit hollow. “Just like his dad.”

  For a moment, time seemed to reverse, and both Darius and Stacy remembered warm and genuine feelings that had once existed between them. Stacy saw the man who for years she’d chased in hopes of being his wife. Darius looked at the only woman who’d been able to arouse him to orgasm, the only woman he’d ever loved in a romantic fashion. “You sure you’re all right?”

  Stacy nodded, again busying her hands by picking up the few toys that were strewn around the room. But before Darius could focus on Stacy’s seemingly distracted state of mind two things happened: his son reentered the living room and Stacy’s husband, Tony, came through the front door.