Trisha explained that she’d most recently been the artistic director of a program for at-risk youth in the heart of Harlem. They talked about that briefly before the conversation meandered back to their past: long-forgotten stories from those college years, catching up on each other’s families, news of mutual friends. By the time they’d finished dessert, the heavy air that had existed earlier had lightened and laughter had been a common punctuation mark.
“This was nice, Tricky,” Cy said, as he motioned for the bill. “And since I’ll be coming up here more often, perhaps we can become friends again. I’d like you to meet Hope. I think the two of you would like each other.”
Trisha’s smile dimmed somewhat. “I’m sure she’s a good woman. You wouldn’t have married her otherwise.”
“So you’re agreeable to meeting her?”
“Perhaps.” And once again that look, focused and intense, dark almost black orbs connecting with Cy’s equally attentive ones. “But first, Cy, I’d like to ask you a favor. It’s a lot to request from a long lost friend, but you granting it would mean absolutely everything.”
“Okay.” Trisha talked and as Cy listened, he felt his stomach churn.
23
Sounds Like a Plan
Stacy eased back from the computer and stretched in her chair. She’d been online for more than an hour, arranging and rearranging her resume, and looking for innovative ways to use her marketing background to do something she liked. She’d been considering this for a while now, getting back into the workforce. Not only because in the future she and her family might need the money, but also because of a recent, startling revelation: slowly, and almost imperceptibly, she’d become Tony’s wife and DJ’s mom and in the process lost the old Stacy Gray.
When did you lose yourself, girl? What happened to your having a life? The phone rang. Stacy looked at the ID and was reminded of the first time who she was took a backseat to what she wanted. “Hey, Bo.”
“Hey, Stacy.”
“What?” For almost as long as they’d known each other, Bo had greeted her as Spacey Stacy. “Something must be wrong.” She heard a heavy sigh through the phone.
“I’m so damned tired of people going after my husband.”
“Women can be scandalous. But history has proven that you have nothing to worry about.” She knew that Bo knew exactly what she was talking about.
“I wish it were a woman, instead of a gorgeous, famous actor with more money than God.”
“Ooh. Who is it?”
“Paz the Ass.”
“Who?”
“Pascual Demopoulos, known to moviegoers the world over as Paz Demo.”
“Shut. Up.” Stacy stood and walked into her kitchen. “I just rented his last movie the other week. That man is fine forever.”
“Just what I need . . . somebody who feels the same way Dee does.”
“Darius told you that he thought homeboy was fine?”
“He’s told me and showed me. That same movie you watched is part of our collection. Darius has watched it no less than five times.”
“Oh, Bo,” Stacy said, having stood in front of the open refrigerator for a minute before settling on the bottle of flavored water now in her hand. “It sounds like Darius has a harmless crush. I don’t think you have anything to—Oh, wait. You said Paz was after Dee?”
“It takes a while to warm up, but eventually that brain of yours remembers how to function.”
“Forget you, Bo.” She took a drink. “What happened that makes you think he wants your man?”
Bo told her. “Darius thought that by us all hanging out in New York, that I’d chill and be less suspicious. But now knowing that that man is as beautiful in person as he is on screen, I’m freaking the hell out. Darius loves beauty and I can’t see him resisting that kind of temptation forever. Hell, if Dee didn’t have me all lost and turned out I’d screw the man myself!” Silence, and then, “It’s been so good between us these past few years. Guess the good times can’t last forever.”
Stacy leaned against the couch, her voice just above a whisper. “I know what you mean.”
“Girl,” Bo replied, drawing the word out as only a sistah could, “you’ve got to tell me how you know this.”
Stacy didn’t hesitate. As crazy as the mind of Bo Jenkins was, he was in full supply of common sense. Her girls, Hope and Frieda, were biased. Bo would tell it straight up like it was. “Tony’s been tripping too.”
“Girl, shut the front door and run out the back! With who?”
“No, not like that. Trying to get another woman is the last thing on his mind right now.”
“Well, honey, if it ain’t the kitty cat, then what can it be? Brothah man hasn’t changed lanes has he?”
“Hardly.”
Bo clucked. “Well if it ain’t sex, then it must be money.”
“It’ll be about money soon enough. Right now, it’s about Tony’s job.” She gave him the short version of Tony’s attempts to rejoin the NFL and his increasingly erratic mood after each rejection.
“So he didn’t get the job with the Sea Lions?”
“We don’t know yet. I pray he does though. He’s become a different person than the one I married. And while I never begrudged his penchant for the finer things in life, I worry about our future, especially DJ.”
“You know Darius is going to make sure that boy wants for nothing.”
“I know. But I’m thinking of myself as well. What will I do if Tony and I split?”
“Dang, girl, it’s that bad?”
“Not yet. But I’m not trying to wait until things go from bad to worse before I start making plans.”
“What kind of plans, other than moving back to LA?”
“Those for sure. You’re not the only one who wants out of the heat.” Stacy’s tone turned serious. “I’m updating my resume.”
“What?! Resume as in thinking about getting a nine-to-five? How does Tony feel about that? And how will that work anyway? You know how Dee feels about people he don’t know looking after his child. He wasn’t too pleased when you let him spend the weekend with your brother, and he’s the boy’s uncle.”
“I don’t know how he’d feel about it, because I haven’t told him and don’t plan to. And I don’t want you to tell Darius either. I’m not sure what the future holds, but I know that the way things are doesn’t feel good right now. Tony is scared of his career ending, true, but I think he’s just as concerned about taking care of his family. Plus, he’s so prideful. Whatever job he gets after football will have to have the same type of status that comes with being a pro baller.” Stacy was tempted to tell him about the Ponzi scheme and all the money that Tony lost as a result of it, but she’d promised not to tell anyone and so far had kept the promise. Barely.
“Then why doesn’t he do like some of those other retired players and become a sportscaster?”
“That’s an option, but Tony would much rather work on the field.”
“Mommy!”
“Bo, we’ll talk more later. DJ just woke up from his nap,” Stacy headed toward the stairs. “Thanks for listening and remember to keep this between us.”
“My lips are sealed.”
“And don’t worry about Dee, Bo. At the end of the day, he’s a family man and he knows that DJ is crazy about you. He wouldn’t want to do anything to jeopardize that.”
“I hope you’re right, Spacey.”
“Bye, Little Bo Peep.”
Several hours later, Bo was still thinking about his conversation with Stacy. One part in particular played like a loop inside his head, while fixing dinner, as he and Darius ate and chatted about the day’s events and now, while Darius showered and Bo checked his phone. More texts between his husband and Paz. And a phone call too. Bo’s jaw clenched as he remembered what had happened last week at the restaurant, when Bo had excused himself to go to the restroom but had instead found a covert spot behind a large potted plant to watch the interactions between Darius and his
competition. Paz had wasted no time getting his flirt on, placing a hand on Darius’s arm while looking at the R & B superstar as though he were a menu choice. It had taken all of Bo’s will (and a few days off his life) for him not to run over and slap the taste out of the handsome, gregarious actor’s mouth. In the end the only thing that stopped him was thoughts of Darius, and how much his husband hated a scene. So he’d gone to the bathroom, splashed cold water on his face, and stopped by the bar for a double shot of Courvoisier. After downing it he’d returned to the table and openly flirted with the waiter. That tit-for-tat action had brought about the tense atmosphere Bo had hoped for. The dinner had ended without dessert, he and Darius had argued when they returned to the suite, and the night had ended with explosive makeup sex. Bo thought things had chilled between Darius and Paz. Wrong.
Bo watched dispassionately as Darius walked out of the shower, wearing his favorite lounging outfit—nothing. It had been eight years, but Bo never tired of Darius’s eight inches: watching it, holding it, loving it. He loved how it hung neatly over Darius’s dual sac, and swayed gently from side to side as Darius crossed the room. Acting like he was reading the latest LA Gospel magazine, he continued to surreptitiously eye his lover. Darius’s booty was one of God’s most amazing designs. It was round and juicy and sat high above big, muscled thighs. He stood at six feet, and his shoulders weren’t overly broad, but his muscles were defined and his chest was ripped.
“What?” Darius asked, having caught Bo eyeing him when he glanced in a mirror.
“Nothing.”
Darius’s smile was lazy and genuine. “That didn’t look like a ‘nothing’ look. That looked like an ‘I want some’ kind of message.”
“I guess I am turned on a little bit,” Bo admitted, as Darius joined him in the bed. He showed Darius the magazine’s centerfold.
“Kelvin Petersen? Please. You’ve never liked athletes.” Darius took the magazine out of Bo’s hands and viewed the photo of the pro basketball player who was also his former pastor’s son. On more than one occasion he’d been at Derrick Montgomery’s home when Kelvin was present. “Besides”—Darius tapped the page—“this caramel cutie beside him seems to have him on lock.”
The two men looked at the picture of the woman who’d claimed the pro baller’s heart. Princess Brook was the daughter of Derrick’s best friend, King Brook, and a star in her own right. Darius turned the page and they looked at the other pictures that accompanied the article about the reality show called KP and His Princess, which now also featured their twin boy and girl. He remembered weekends he’d spent in a Kansas City suburb, playing at Mount Zion Progressive Baptist, her father’s church. “Have you ever watched their reality show?”
“No,” Bo said, turning the lamp off from his side of the bed. “I’ve got my own reality situation happening right here.”
Darius turned out his light. They both settled beneath the covers and for a while, the only sound heard was their individual breathing.
Finally, Darius broke the silence. “I’m tired, Bo.”
Bo turned toward his lover. “I know.”
“I haven’t taken a vacation in what . . . three, four years?”
“Something like that; since DJ was a baby.”
“Remember those days?” Darius said, the smile evident in his voice despite the darkness. “When DJ was in diapers and our days were consumed with just navigating parenthood.”
“He’s grown so fast.” Bo reached out for Darius’s hand and squeezed it.
“Sometimes I miss those days, when our schedule wasn’t so hectic and he could spend more time in our lives. That’s my heart right there.”
Bo cuddled next to Darius. “Have you ever thought about having another baby?” He felt Darius stiffen beside him, felt him relax just as quickly.
“Not really. But now that you mention it, having a daughter might be nice.”
The conversation drifted after that, to Darius’s schedule for the rest of the month, which included traveling to several promo appearances in the south and southeast. They didn’t make love, but rather cuddled and simply enjoyed each other’s company. But as Bo drifted to sleep he once again thought about his situation, and Stacy’s, and decided to try and come up with a plan that just might work for both of them.
24
For Old Time’s Sake
Hope looked up from the book she was reading and cocked her head toward the front of the house. Is that Cy? Their bedroom was at the back of the house but because of how they had the security system programmed, sounds in one room could be heard in another. Even without the system, she was almost sure Cy was home. She could feel him. A good thing to, since all day she’d had the rare experience of not being able to reach him. Usually if he couldn’t talk on the phone he’d send her a text. Aside from when he was out of the country, they’d talked almost every day since they’d met. Hope hadn’t even realized how much of a comfort this was until she’d kept getting his voice mail. Breathing a sigh of relief, she bookmarked her spot in the latest Zuri Day release, eased up from the chair in the sitting area of their master suite, and walked toward the front of the house.
After she’d navigated a flight of stairs, walked down the hall, through the great room and combined kitchen/dining area, she was greeted by a sight for sore eyes. “Hey, baby.” She opened her arms. Cy walked into her embrace. She rubbed her hands across his back and shoulders as he buried his head in the crook of her neck. They stayed that way for a moment, and then a moment longer. Hope tried to pull back, but when she did, Cy intensified his hold on her. And then she felt it. The wetness. Slight yet quite perceptible... A tear, she assumed, that hit her shoulder and rolled down her arm. It was no secret that they hated being away from each other, but tears? This was something new.
Placing her hands on Cy’s broad shoulders, Hope forced a bit of distance between them so that she could look in his eyes. “What is it, baby?”
Cy avoided her eyes as he responded, wrapping his arms around her once again and holding her close. “It’s good to see you, baby,” he replied, his voice raspy with emotion. “I love you so much.”
Okay. Something was definitely wrong. Cy went out of town often; last year he’d spent almost a month in South Africa, and even then their reunion hadn’t elicited this type of emotion. Hope wrapped her arms around her husband’s neck and asked again, “What’s wrong?”
Cy held her close for another moment before breaking the embrace and turning toward the stairs. “It’s a long story, baby. I’ll tell you everything. But first I want to kiss my babies and take a shower. After that, I’ll feel more like myself again, and will be ready to talk about New York.”
While Cy went to kiss the kids and then take a shower, Hope fixed chamomile tea and once done placed two mugs on a tray along with a couple of spinach popovers. As she entered the room, Cy was coming out of the dressing area, a pair of white linen shorts riding low on his hips.
“I thought you might be hungry,” she said, placing the tray on the table in the sitting area.
“Don’t really have an appetite, but tea will be nice.” Cy joined Hope, sitting in the wingback opposite her. He reached for the tea, took a slow, thoughtful sip, and then another.
Hope nibbled on a popover, trying to be patient and wait for whatever heavy story Cy had to tell her. She instinctively knew it had something to do with his meeting with Trisha. Nothing to do with business would make him act this way. And then out of the blue came a thought that took her breath away, and almost caused her to choke on the bite she’d just taken.
Did he sleep with her?
She thought back to her initial conversation with Vivian about Trisha, and remembered the first lady’s words. Cy is a stand-up man, and I think that you can trust him. This Trisha woman? I’m not so sure. On the heels of that thought came Frieda’s voice ringing in her ears. Are you crazy? What in the hell does she want? That’s exactly what Hope wanted to know. The only thing that kept her from blurting
out the question that Frieda had asked was the restraint suggested by her first lady. That and the memory of the La Jolla Tea Party, when after misinterpreting a series of e-mails between Cy and Millicent, Hope had driven down to the hotel mentioned in the e-mail, finagled her way into the private room where Cy was meeting Millicent’s husband, accused him of cheating and within seconds became the poster child for the definition of the word “assume.” Hope placed the remainder of the appetizer on the plate and looked at her husband, noting the tightness of his expression. “Cy, just tell me what happened.”
“We met for lunch,” Cy finally began, wiping strong fingers over tired eyes. “It was like the years fell away when I saw her. Aside from being a bit thinner than in college, she was the same old Trisha.”
“How did that make you feel?” Hope prayed that her voice sounded casual.
“Good,” Cy instantly replied. “It’s like no time had passed. Even though we hadn’t seen each other in forever, it didn’t take long for the camaraderie we shared to return. We talked about old times and old friends.” Cy looked at Hope and then looked away.
“And then what?”
“And then she asked me to do her a favor.”
“Okay.” Hope willed herself to remain calm, to feel empathy and compassion for a man in pain. It was a Herculean task. When Cy remained quiet, she took a deep breath and then prompted, “What did she ask you?” all the while not sure that she wanted to know.
“She asked if I wanted to walk a bit, for her to show me the neighborhood. I told you that she lives in Harlem, right?”
“You said New York; I don’t remember hearing Harlem specifically.”
“Perhaps I didn’t know that then. During lunch I’d told her about my plans to buy property in Harlem. That’s when she told me that she’d lived there for ten years and that because of her love for its history, knew quite a bit about the various neighborhoods, businesses, stuff that research can’t tell you.”
So what about a tour of Harlem would put you in this horrible mood? Hope dug her fingernails into her palms, determined to wait for Cy to share whatever he wanted in his own time. Even if it killed her, which—with the rate of how long it was taking him to get to the point—it likely could.
The Eleventh Commandment Page 12
