35
You Want Me to Do What?
You want me to do what?” Stacy hadn’t had a touch of alcohol, but she could have sworn she was drunk.
“I know it sounds crazy.”
“You think?”
“But I’ve given this a lot of thought. Darius loves DJ, loves kids. Just recently we had a conversation about it, and he admitted that he’d love to expand our family.”
“And he said he wanted to expand it with me as surrogate?”
“No, the conversation didn’t get that far. But you know how private Darius is, and with his public profile, you know how untrusting he is of people.”
“Yeah, but famous people use surrogates, and others adopt.”
“Darius wouldn’t do that,” Bo quickly retorted, shaking his head. “He wouldn’t want to go through that process. Plus, he loves the fact that he can look into DJ’s face and see himself. Stacy, he would love to have another biological baby.”
Stacy met Bo’s intense stare. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Wow, Bo. I don’t know what to say, except . . . are you fricking crazy?! Have you forgotten that I’m married? And even if I weren’t, I don’t know that I could carry a child for nine months, give birth, and then turn the baby over to y’all without a backward glance. Actually, even just saying that out loud lets me know that I couldn’t. I couldn’t have a child out there somewhere with my DNA and not have anything to do with it.”
“That’s just it, Stacy. It wouldn’t have to be that way. This child would be DJ’s biological sister, and you’d be Aunt Stacy. We could handle it as an open adoption, with you seeing the child as often as you’d like. The only difference is that he or she would grow up in our home, instead of yours.”
Stacy looked at Bo with creased brow. “You’ve really thought about this, haven’t you?”
“I’ve thought about saving my marriage, Stacy. I’ve thought about keeping my man.”
“Bo, stop drinking. Alcohol is clouding your judgment. Darius is not going to leave you.”
Bo threw back the last of his drink. “He’d better not,” he said, his tone low, his eyes narrowed. “Because Bo Jenkins Crenshaw wouldn’t take that shit lightly. He wouldn’t like that move at all.”
Hours after Bo left, Stacy was still reeling from their conversation. He wants me to have a baby? For him and Darius? True, we’ve learned how to coexist, but . . . did he actually let those words come out of his mouth? Shaking her head, she walked to the computer, decided to check her e-mails as a way to get her mind off the madness. Aside from the normal spam, there were e-mails from two potential employers that she’d sent resumes. One was from Globally Green, a company that served as an online networking community between environmentally friendly companies and consumers. This marketing position appealed to Stacy because she’d work from home. Tony didn’t even need to know she had a job!
She opened the e-mail. Her heart sank. It was a “thanks but no thanks” rejection letter that she deleted without finishing. She clicked on the other job-related e-mail and deleted it too. They’d requested an interview, but the job was in Phoenix. Stacy hoped that by the end of the week it would be confirmed that Tony was a Sea Lion and she’d be relocating back to LA.
Her phone rang. Looking at the caller ID, she said to herself, “Maybe this is my answer now.” She placed the call on speaker. “Hey, baby!”
“Hey, baby girl! You found our house yet?” The enthusiasm in his voice jumped through the phone and almost slapped her in the face.
“I’ve got a couple serious contenders.” Stacy tried to rein in her joy. She didn’t want to celebrate prematurely. “Why, should I step up my search?”
“Damn right! You’re talking to an official Sea Lion, baby!” Tony whooped for emphasis. “I just signed the contract.”
“Yes!” Stacy joined in the celebration, dancing around the room. “Congratulations, baby.”
DJ came running into the room. “What is it, Mommy?”
“Daddy got a job, baby. He’s going to play football in Los Angeles !”
“Sea Lions!” DJ exclaimed. He too joined in the dance.
“Tony, I’m so happy for you. So happy for us!”
“Me too, baby. I know the stress and pressure of this whole situation has made me less than an ideal husband lately. I want you to know that I’m sorry, Stace. For everything. I love you, baby. Thanks for always believing in me.”
His words caused tears, happy ones. With one phone call, and one announcement, Stacy’s world had gotten brighter and all of her problems had gone away. Even a one-year contract would be enough for them to pay down their debts and allow for a bit of a savings account. Maybe Tony would even take her advice and hire a financial planner. Mismanaging finances was a common mistake among professional athletes. Maybe it wasn’t too late to turn their finances around and secure their future!
She and Tony talked for half an hour and it was by far the best, least stressful, most upbeat conversation that they’d had in months. She got off the phone and immediately called the realtor, followed by her travel agent. In two weeks, Tony would be playing in a preseason game. If all went the way she’d hoped, the family would be relocated by the time that happened and the Johnsons could be ready for a new, more peaceful chapter in their lives.
36
Mama’s Baby, Daddy’s Maybe
Stacy wasn’t the only one looking for peace. So was Frieda Livingston.
“It’s not his baby.” She was talking to Hope, had finally gotten up the nerve to call her after wrestling with the truth solo for over a week.
“Oh my God, Frieda,” Hope said, balancing a load of laundry with the phone cocked under her ear. “Hold on.” This kind of news could not be dealt with while multitasking. She placed the load in the washer and walked from the laundry room to the combination library/theater room where she shut the door before resuming the convo. “Okay, sorry about that. I’m back. Now... are you sure?”
“Don’t ask dumb-ass questions,” Frieda barked. “Bitch, do you think I would have called you if I wasn’t sure of this shit?”
Hope forced herself not to respond to her cousin’s outburst. She knew it wasn’t personal. She also knew she wasn’t going to be too many more bitches, no matter how upset her cousin was. She sat down in one of the custom-made recliners and began fiddling with the controls built into the chair’s arm. “Did you just find out?”
“No, I got the results about a week ago.”
“And you’re just now calling me? Why have you been trying to handle this by yourself?”
“I think I was in shock the first two, three days. Then a couple days ago, I made a list of all the dudes I was messing with around the time that Gabe was conceived. And before you can ask me, it’s none of your damn business how long that list is.”
Both women laughed.
“Then I called Gorgio; told him he might be a baby daddy.”
“How did that go over?”
“Old Gorgio boy surprised me. Considering that he’s now engaged to Blondie, he took it rather calmly. I told him that I needed a DNA sample and he overnighted me some of his hair.”
“Looking at Gabe, do you think Gorgio’s the father?”
“I’m hoping he’s the father. At first I wanted it to be Shabach’s baby—”
“Shabach?! Please . . .”
“Yeah, I know. He’s a ho and an asshole, but one with paper. If Gabriel divorced me and he’s the father, I can sue him for child support and keep it movin’. But more than anything, me and Gee are friends, so if he’s my son’s father and I can keep this secret, at least I’ll know that he won’t trip on letting Gabriel continue to raise him as his son.”
“Whoa, back up. You’re not planning to tell Gabriel?”
“Girl, that ocean air has you losing your mind. Why in the hell would I tell my husband that the child he adores isn’t his blood? He’s Gabe’s father in every s
ense of the word and I have absolutely no intention of rocking that boat. Not at all.”
Even though she didn’t get a good feeling about this revelation, Hope held her peace. Perhaps Frieda was right, and not saying anything to Gabriel was for the best. Their marriage was already shaky. Little Gabe was the one thing that they had in common. In Hope’s mind, that little boy was the tiny thread that was keeping that family together. “What if Shabach is Gabe’s father. How do you think he’ll react?”
She heard Frieda sigh. Her short stint with Darius’s former nemesis and America’s gospel hip-hop darling had ended as fast and furiously as it had begun. “I know how; tracked down his number and called him last night. He tried to get all indignant, saying there was no way that he could be the father. I told him that as many times as me and him rolled raw, he was as good a candidate as anybody.”
“What did he say to that?”
“He finally agreed to send me some hair. Knowing his ass, though, that sample might end up coming from anybody’s comb. That man is making millions and still acting cheap. But I don’t have time to worry about him. I have a couple more guys that I want to talk to before I go back to the lab. And then there’s the matter of seducing Gabriel as much as possible.”
“Oh,” Hope teased. “Do I hear a little more love for the doctor seeping into your voice?”
“More like you hear Mami securing her future. Gabriel’s mother has never liked me. And with what happened a few months back, if she gets wind of my marital problems, she may get ideas.” Frieda shared with Hope about Alice noticing the birthmark. “If she finds out that Gabe isn’t her natural grandson, she’d be the first one trying to push my ass out the door. I need to get pregnant with an insurance marker—the sooner, the better.”
“Frieda . . . Never mind.” Hope knew that trying to talk her crazy cousin out of this madness would simply be wasted breath. “Let me know if you need me to drive up there for emotional support. I might not always agree with you, cousin, but you know I’ve got your back.”
“Yeah, I know,” Frieda said, her voice devoid of its usual sarcasm. “I appreciate it. I know I come off as all hard and whatnot, but I don’t want to go through this shit by myself—for real.”
Across town, another conversation was about to take place.
“Dr. Livingston.”
“Hello, Dr. Livingston. This is Amy calling from the Office for Genetic Testing. You wanted me to call you as soon as we received the results of the DNA you sent us.”
Gabriel leaned back in his chair, not as weary from the three-hour surgery he’d just performed as he was from expending the energy that trying to save his marriage had required. When it came to Frieda, he felt he’d done everything possible to bring them closer together, to try and make this sham of a marriage into a real one. His parents had been married almost half a century. There were very few people in his circle who’d gotten divorced. If not for his son, their unity may not have been as much of an issue. But he’d grown up in a two-parent family, in a household filled with love and laughter. He wanted that for Gabe. A stable, loving family was the very least of what his son deserved.
“Dr. Livingston?”
“Uh, yes, Amy, I’m here. What are the results?”
“Well, they’re conclusive. And they show that within a one-hundred-million to one probability . . . the two strands of DNA presented are not a match.”
Gabriel’s eyes flew open. No matter how much his intuition (and his mother) had suggested otherwise, Gabriel had clung to the belief that Gabriel, Jr. was his biological son. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
A slight hesitation and then Amy responded. “Between the two samples that were tested, there is zero possibility of a biological match.”
Gabriel didn’t remember ending the call. Later, he wouldn’t be able to recount the moments, or hours, after receiving the information that the boy he raised, the one he loved and adored, was not his biological child. The next moment he remembered, with absolute clarity, was the one when he picked up the phone and made a pivotal call—one that began the process of the dissolution of his marriage.
37
Life After
It was seven p.m. and Frieda was excited and a bit apprehensive at the same time. She couldn’t remember when she’d last spent almost a whole day alone with her son, not only playing and spending time with him, but cooking his meals and then doing the cleanup. But after the conversation with Hope about the DNA results, she’d determined that there was no time to lose when it came to putting her plan into action. First she’d called Gabriel’s office and found out his schedule for the day so she’d know what time to expect him home. Then she gave the chef, housemaid, and Cordella the day off, with pay (after Cordella had bathed and dressed Gabe and the housemaid had finished the morning dishes and the laundry). Once they were gone, she piled Gabe into the car and headed for the upscale grocery not far from their home. Though it had been a couple years since she’d done so, Frieda used to get around a kitchen without a map and in those early days before they married, had fixed Gabriel a dinner or two. She remembered how much he seemed to enjoy her effort, how he’d praised how good the food tasted. But following their nuptials and upon return from their honeymoon, one of the first things she’d done was to hire Tito, a chef with more than ten years’ experience in private homes. Gabriel had questioned her about it, but didn’t complain about the extra expense. Come to think of it, short of his desire for them to spend more time together and do more things as a family, he didn’t complain about much at all. Hope is right. I’m married to a good man yet still out chasing dick. I need to do more than get pregnant; I need to try and be a good wife ... for a change. Frieda felt that the fact that she hadn’t seen Clark in two days was proof that the change had already begun.
After leaving the grocer with four perfectly thick pork cutlets, mixed vegetables, and wild rice, she’d driven to Le Pain Quotidien for a loaf of their one-of-a-kind five-grain bread, to Marie Callender’s on Wilshire Boulevard for Gabriel’s favorite double-cream blueberry pie, and then on to BevMo’s for two bottles of Moët & Chandon. By the time she returned home, Gabe had thankfully fallen asleep, so she took that time to shower, taking extra pains with her douche and rubbing a specially designed honey-milk mixture into skin already made soft by regular mud baths and skin peels. Afterward, she’d massaged patchouli-scented shea butter into her skin before donning a robe and heading to the kitchen.
Once there she’d made quick work of reproducing the pecan-crusted pork cutlet recipe that she’d found online. She’d chopped the vegetables and after placing them in an acid-bath to prevent discoloration had gone to a now-awakened Gabe and washed him up before dressing him in a navy-colored short set, complete with mini gold chain and black Ralph Lauren sandals. At six-fifteen she’d put on the rice and then gone to change into a sheer bra and thong set from Victoria’s Secret and a simple, royal-blue silk mini-dress from the same store. She’d gone back into the kitchen, placed the vegetables into the steamer, and quickly set the table. Just before seven, she’d searched the home iPod for Gabriel’s files and soon the sounds of Dexter Gordon’s tenor sax poured into the candlelit atmosphere. She slipped into a pair of blue satin Sergio Rossi sandals adorned with Swarovski crystals. She dabbed on perfume recently purchased from Nordstrom and, after throwing back two shots of Don Julio to calm her nerves, sat playing with Gabe—something that she surprisingly enjoyed—and waited for her man.
At seven minutes past seven, Frieda pushed the button that opened the garage door. “Come on, Gabe. Let’s go greet Daddy. When you see him, run up and give him a hug, okay?”
Gabe jumped down from the couch and clapped his hands together. “Okay!” he said eagerly, already rushing toward the side door that led to the garage.
“Okay, chick,” Frieda said, wishing she’d drank a third shot to calm the roiling nerves in her stomach. “Time to go and be the perfect wifey.”
Almost before he entered the hous
e, he felt a different atmosphere. What is it? Gabriel’s brows furrowed as he tried to place his finger on what seemed different when he pulled up the drive. Then it hit him. No extra cars in the driveway. On a normal day there’d be at least three: Tito’s, Cordella’s, and the newest housemaid’s, who’d just been hired two months ago. Gabriel’s scowl deepened. What has Frieda gone and done this time? After pulling into the garage he sat in the car, motionless, trying to rein in the barrage of emotions that had gripped him almost to the point of paralysis since hearing the news.
A one-hundred-million to one probability. The two strands of DNA presented are not a match.
He placed his head in his hands, the headache that he’d eased with a prescription-strength aspirin threatening to return full force. There is zero possibility of a biological match. Gabriel gripped the wheel, worked to control his escalating temper by taking deep breaths. He’d never been a violent man, rarely been angry to the point of raised voice. But a part of him wanted to strangle Frieda, quiet every sarcastic comment or well-planned lie that could come out of the mouth that knew how to please him below the belt. The other part of him was hurt, wondering whom he’d married and how he’d gotten to this place. From the time he’d bumped into her at the Beverly Mall, literally knocking her down, to when she’d invited him to buy her a drink, to when he’d found himself walking her down the aisle with a barely showing baby bump, his normally placid, predictable world had been turned upside down. He couldn’t recall the exact moment he fell in love with Frieda Moore. But it was earlier today, at 4:45 p.m. to be exact, when he fell out. If not for the admonishments of his attorney to conceal that he knew the truth until they were ready to take action, he’d go straight into the house and throw Frieda out on her lying, cheating rump!
After preparing himself for the inevitable, he exited the car and stepped inside the hallway that passed the laundry room on the way to the kitchen. As soon as he turned the corner, he saw his son.
The Eleventh Commandment Page 18
