“Yes. I knew. I thought I could handle it. I thought flirting with him was”—Darius shrugged—“fun, different.”
“Fun, hell. You had a full-blown crush on him.”
“I did.”
“And now?”
“After what it may cost me, I’ll be all right with never seeing him again.”
“Yeah, well, since y’all are getting ready to do a movie together. . . good luck with that.”
“I walked away from it, Bo.”
For the first time since he entered, Bo looked directly at Darius. “What do you mean?”
“What I said. I’m not going to score the film. I told Paz that I’d made a terrible mistake, and that I was prepared to do whatever it took to rectify it.”
“You’d give up something like that for me? Something that could provide you with an even bigger crossover audience, take you to yet another level?”
Darius stood, walked over to the dining room where Bo sat. “I can get another movie,” he whispered. “But I can’t get another you.”
That did it. Bo was out of the chair and in Darius’s arms in an instant. “I’m sorry I hurt you, baby.” Darius rained kisses on Bo’s face, his hands roaming over the body whose absence had caused him sleepless nights. “So sorry. Will you forgive me?”
“You cut me deep, Dee,” Bo said, his eyes wet.
“Me? You were the one with the scissors. And my ass has a gash to prove it!”
“You know what I mean,” Bo said with a laugh. “You hurt me to my heart.”
“I’ll make it up to you. Will you forgive me?”
Bo reached around and cupped Darius’s butt. “I’ll think about it.”
“Will you think about it while you’re living back with me, coming home, like . . . right now?”
Bo looked around the room. “I don’t know. I’m growing used to room service and folks turning down my bed and putting chocolate treats on my pillow.”
“I’ll be your chocolate treat,” Darius said, rubbing himself against Bo. Bo reached back, and could feel Darius’s quickly hardening erection. “It missed you,” he said, nibbling against Bo’s ear. “We can spend the night here, baby. I want you so badly.” Darius began unbuckling his pants. “Did you miss me?”
“Maybe a little.”
“Then come get a little taste.” He pulled himself out of his pants, hard and ready.
“Uh, that would be a negative. We’ve got to take a shower first.”
Darius’s brows creased. Bo loved to perform oral sex, had never turned him down. “I took a shower before I came here.”
“Did you use Clorox?”
“Huh?”
“Pine-Sol. Lysol. Boric acid. Lye? ’Cause that’s probably what it’s going to take to wash that muthafucka’s stank off the dick that belongs to me.”
“Ha! Baby, do you want to wash it off or burn it up?”
“I’ll wash it tonight. But if you ever cheat on me again, I’m going to set that stick on fire. And I’m not playing.”
Darius followed Bo into the shower, where every part of his eight-inch shaft was washed, first with a washcloth and then with Bo’s tongue. The makeup sex was at first tender, then explosive, and lasted well into the night, until both men were fully satiated and Bo rolled over into the fetal position, falling into a deep sleep, the way he’d done on their first date.
47
A Reminder
“ Good morning, brother.” Stacy stood in the kitchen of the condo she was renting temporarily, placing her phone on speaker while waiting for her tea water to boil.
“Good morning,” Brent said. “How are you?”
“The same as I’ve been the last few hundred times you’ve asked me. I’m fine, Brent, really.”
“Has he called?”
“No, and he isn’t answering my calls either.”
“There’s a reason.”
“Which you refuse to tell me.”
“Stacy . ..”
“Brent. You’re my brother and my protector, and I love you for it. And I know that it’s killing you not to put a foot in Tony’s behind for what he did to me. But—”
“But what?”
Stacy paused as the kettle whistled and she turned off the heat. “I’ve forgiven him.”
For seconds, the sound of water being poured over tea bags was the only thing to be heard.
“Please tell me that I didn’t hear what I think I heard.”
“You heard correctly. I forgave him, Brent. It was the Christian thing to do. But,” she hurried on, over Brent’s objection, “that doesn’t mean that I’ve forgotten what he did. I’m not saying that I’ll get back with Tony.”
“Sounds like you’re not saying that you won’t either.”
“Honestly, besides taking it one day at a time? I don’t know what I’ll do. I’m in counseling with the pastor’s wife at our church, and that’s helping a lot.” Stacy knew that Tony was also in counseling, both with her counselor’s husband, Derrick Montgomery, and also with a licensed professional whose expertise was in rehabilitation from steroid use and anger management. But she didn’t think Brent would appreciate these facts, so she kept them to herself.
“Here you are asking me all of these questions, but you still won’t tell me what happened when you guys confronted Tony.” A friend of Stacy’s had been at the restaurant when Brent and the other three brothers had “encouraged” Tony to step outside for a conversation.
“He lived to tell about it. That’s all you need to know.”
“I wish you guys had kept out of it, let me handle it.”
“Couldn’t do that, baby girl. Wasn’t no way a brothah was going to put his hands on our sister and there not be a discussion. Be glad that that’s all it was.”
“Look, it’s my life, Brent. I have a right to know how you’re affecting it.”
“I’ll tell you this much. I told Tony that to get to you, he’d have to go through me. Which means if he wants to talk to you, wants to so much as look at my baby sis, he’s going to have to prove to me that he’s changed, that he’s got his head on straight and that what happened was a one-time occurrence. If he does all that then he may be able to look at you in my presence. And then we’ll go from there.”
The conversation shifted to other family matters, including the upcoming Labor Day picnic they planned to have at the beach, Stacy’s nieces and nephews, and whether or not Serena would win another US Open.
“She’s like a fine wine, getting better with age,” Brent was saying as Stacy’s doorbell rang.
“I know that’s right.” Stacy walked to the door and broke into a big smile when she saw who was waiting for her. “Brother, I’ve got to go.”
“Okay, sis. But don’t get Tony in trouble. Stay away from him.”
“Mind your business.”
“You are my business.”
“Bye, Brent.”
“Bye.”
Stacy threw open the door. “Little Bo Peep!” she said, throwing her arms around him.
“Spacey Stacy,” he said, as they rocked back and forth in a dramatic hug. “Girl, you so crazy,” he said when they parted. It was the first time they’d seen each other since Bo and Darius’s reconciliation and both their relocations. There was a lot to catch up on.
“I just made tea. Do you want some? And before you ask, no, I don’t have any cognac.”
“I wasn’t going to ask, heifah. Tea will be fine, thank you very much.” He followed her into the kitchen. “Where’s DJ?”
“Over to his uncle’s house, bonding with his cousins.”
“Ooh, I bet he’s glad to be back in LA.”
“No more than me.”
“Or me.”
“So when did y’all get back from the tour?”
“It was over a couple days ago, but we spent some time in New York with my family.”
Stacy placed the tea on the island in front of Bo. “Sounds like you guys are back on track.”
Bo tri
ed hard not to smile. Failed. “We’re doing all right.”
“Is ‘all right’ what has you turning red from the neck up?”
“Girl, I ain’t blushing. Get out of here.”
“Whatever. You’re preening like a peacock.”
“Hell, I can’t even front. You know that man knows how to pump a penis.”
“Yes,” Stacy deadpanned. “I remember.”
“Ooh, sounds like somebody is overdue for some pumping. What’s going on with you and crazy man?” He blew on his tea and waited expectantly.
“Nothing. My brothers have him on lock; he hasn’t called, won’t return mine.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“You sound as bad as my brothers. I’m not saying I’ll get back with him. But he’s my husband, the man I was married to for three years. I haven’t seen him or said a word to him since that night. I want to talk to him, find out what happened to make him snap like that . . . for my own healing.”
“I thought you said he left you messages about taking steroids.”
“He did but . . . I don’t know . . . I just need to talk to him. That’s all.”
“What conversation is there to have with someone who left an imprint on your face?”
“I guess the same kind to have with the man who stuck his junk in somebody else’s trunk.”
“Whoa!” Bo sat back in the chair. “I guess I deserved that. I shouldn’t be judging how bad one thing is over another. Wrong is wrong.”
“Exactly.” She joined Bo and sat at the island. “He wants us to do couples counseling.”
“How do you know this?”
“He told me in an e-mail.”
“I don’t know, Stace,” Bo said, slowly shaking his head. “I just don’t know.”
“Me either.” They were silent, sipping their tea and listening to strains of classic George Benson. “What about you? How was it getting back with Darius after... all that happened?”
“Strange. But good. In some ways it’s better than it’s ever been. But I probably shouldn’t tell you that.”
“Oh my goodness! I totally forgot about what you did—stabbing him in the butt with some scissors. Bo, that was some straight-up ghetto madness.”
“It was what it was and is what it is.”
“So . . . did it heal okay? I mean, does he have a big scar or anything?”
“Child, please. That man don’t have a scar.”
“He doesn’t?”
“No,” Bo calmly replied after a sip of tea. “He has a reminder.”
48
Revelations
Having eaten their fill at a seafood restaurant, Hope and Frieda window-shopped as they walked around Seaport Village. It was a beautiful day in San Diego—a soft wind blowing, bright sun shining, and boats bobbing gently in the marina waves.
“It’s beautiful here,” Frieda said as they strolled. “I should come down more often.”
“Yes, and you should keep driving a few more miles and visit your cousin more often, too.”
“Whatever, chick. Same distance going north on the freeway as it is going south.”
Hope laughed. “True that. What brought you down here anyway?”
“Trying to track down a dude I messed with a while back. Ran into a friend of his while shopping in Long Beach and he told me to come down, that he didn’t have a number or address on old boy, but if we rode around we might find him.”
“By the sound of your voice, I take it you didn’t?”
Frieda shook her head. “I think his friend was just trying to make a move, if you know what I mean. I don’t hollah at hoopty drivers. Boyfriend should have known.”
“So was this another—”
“Possible baby daddy? Yep. And the last one I’m going to try for too. After Gorgio and Shabach came back negative I just knew Jonathan was the child’s father. He’s the one I thought had the birthmark. But come to find out, it’s more of a mole. Even if that hadn’t ruled him out, that DNA test sure did.”
“I’m sorry, cousin. I know you want to know the identity of Gabe’s father.”
Frieda shrugged. “I didn’t know mine and it messed me up. At least Gabe’s got Gabriel.”
“He still going for full custody?”
“Our lawyers are trying to work out something a little more agreeable, maybe not fifty-fifty, but definitely with me having more of a presence in my son’s life. I might not be the best mother, but I am his mother. Nobody is going to take that role from me, believe that.”
“So you and Gabriel are still not talking? No chance that you’ll work it out?”
“No. I hear a little this and that from a sistah who works at the hospital, one I befriended a year ago after she’d had her baby. All her family is down south and her husband was overseas so I kept her company a little bit.”
“What did you hear?”
“That Amber is working extra shifts and shit, trying to be at the hospital every time he drives up. They’re probably screwing.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I don’t not know it, either.” They reached their cars, which were parked side by side. “I don’t care. She can have his nerdy behind.”
Hope knew that Frieda didn’t mean that, but she felt no need to point out the obvious. “What are you doing for Labor Day?”
“I don’t know. What are y’all doing?”
“Cooking on the patio. Simeon is coming down.”
“Cy’s fine-ass cousin?”
“Yes, Mrs. Livingston. He’s coming down with a guest, a woman he wants us to meet.”
“I should have got me some of that at your wedding, when I had the chance.”
Getting “some of that” is what had gotten Frieda in trouble in the first place. But, again, Hope chose to not sing to the choir. Instead, she reached over for a hug. “Love you, cuz. You’re more than welcome to join us for the holiday. A few of our neighbors are coming over, and some of Cy’s friends. You’ll be fine.”
“Okay, Hope. I’ll let you know.”
“Call and let me know you made it home safe, okay?” Hope turned to get in her car, and stopped. “You know what?”
“What?”
“I don’t think I’ve heard you use the b-word lately. In fact, today you barely cursed. Are we trying to turn over a new leaf?”
Frieda smiled. “Something like that.” She got into her car, having decided early on not to share the fact that she was consulting with a life coach. “When change is genuine,” her life coach had told her, “you don’t have to tell people. They’ll see it and know.”
As Frieda hit the I-5 ramp on her way back to Los Angeles she thought of someone else she’d like to see, wondered whether he’d notice anything different. And if so, if it would matter.
Gabriel nodded as Amber rambled on and on about pathophysiology and clinical assessment, classes she was taking at UCLA on the road to a masters in nursing. Gabriel was happy that she was continuing her education and that she was excited about medicine—he really was. But truth was, he’d done thirty-six hours at the hospital, slept for eight, and then agreed to have dinner with Amber to get away from medicine, not talk about it from appetizer to dessert.
“Gabriel? Are you listening? Do you think my volunteering with Doctors Without Borders is a good idea?”
Gabriel rubbed a hand across his face; stifled a yawn. “I’m sure it would be a valuable learning experience.”
“Oh my. I’m sorry. Here I am prattling on and on about work and you’re probably sick to death of dealing with this stuff. It’s just that I’m so psyched about . . .” And off she went again.
Gabriel looked at her with interested eyes. And didn’t hear a thing. He was too busy getting a revelation. That’s what I loved about her. And that’s what I miss. Sitting there, he tried to remember not only the last conversation he had with Frieda about his profession, but any conversation he’d had. None in-depth, that was for sure. Whenever he’d begun a conve
rsation about the hospital, Frieda would inevitably turn it into a conversation worthy of a reality show. She’d always focus on the people involved in whatever he was talking about, wanting to know the dirt of their personal lives and imagining some if none existed. When with her, he learned more than he ever wanted to know about hip-hop performers and movie stars, about vacation destinations and designer labels. Yes, she was materialistic, even shallow, to use his mother’s term. But in his somewhat stodgy community she was also a breath of fresh air, a delightful change in the norm with a different perspective and a plethora of opinions. And a plethora of men, don’t forget. Yes, there was that. She’d never hidden her promiscuous past from him. And while he wasn’t excusing her behavior, he felt somewhat responsible for her feeling the need to look elsewhere for what he couldn’t give her after performing a ten-hour surgery.
“Doctor Livingston?”
“Uh, I’m sorry, Amber. What were you saying?”
“Never mind. It’s obvious that you have a lot on your mind.” She reached over and grabbed his hand. “Is it the divorce? Has it been finalized? Do you want to talk about it?”
“Thanks, Amber, but no. It’s not something that I want to discuss.”
He didn’t want to discuss it with Amber, but the bigger question, he later realized, was whether or not he wanted the divorce to happen at all.
49
A New Day
Stacy and Frieda sat on Hope’s massive patio, catching a beautiful breeze as they took in the picturesque view of the Pacific Ocean that served as Hope’s backyard. It was the day before the big Labor Day bash. The three friends were grateful to spend time alone before the crowd arrived. “It’s beautiful out here,” Frieda mumbled, adjusting her sunglasses as she lay back on the chaise.
“Sure is. If I lived somewhere like this, I’d never leave home.”
“Girl, for real.”
Both looked toward the sliding glass door as it opened. “All right, ladies,” Hope said, carrying a large tray toward the canopied table. “Lunch is served.”
Stacy rolled off her lounge chair and stretched. “Hope, you should have told me you needed help.” She walked over to where Hope was removing the dishes from the tray to the table. Nibbling on one of the tempura-fried vegetables, she commented, “These are good.”
The Eleventh Commandment Page 23
