Roshawn allowed the silence to regroup, the quiet doing battle with the patter of rain that had begun to fall outside her window. Ming rolled back toward her and apologized for the third time.
“Go to sleep, Ming. It’s late and we’re both tired. We’ll finish this conversation tomorrow.” She brushed her fingers down her daughter’s cheek. “And you’re still grounded, Ming.”
The girl nodded her understanding, her eyes fluttering open and then closed, sleep beginning to consume her. Minutes later Roshawn was snoring soundly by her child’s side.
Chapter 2
John Chen sat at a corner table in McArthur’s Restaurant, the eclectic dining room of the Dallas Crowne Plaza Hotel. He sat with his cell phone propped between his ear and his shoulder as he searched his briefcase for a specific folder from the dozens that filled the embossed leather cavity. As he finally found the file he was looking for, tossing it onto the table before him, the line connected to the telephone in his home office. He pulled the cell phone back into his hand and quickly pushed the two digits that would allow him to retrieve any messages. There were two of them.
The first was from his wife, reminding him that she would be filling in for one of the other stewardesses who was out ill, she wouldn’t be home until the weekend, and that she loved and missed him very much. The other was from his ex-wife. As he listened, his jaw suddenly tightened, his eyes widening with annoyance. He depressed the off button and glanced down to the watch on his wrist. He had barely a minute before his next interview. Definitely not enough time to deal with Roshawn and their daughter, and with the time difference, it was still too early to be calling Seattle. He had no doubts that if they’d been up doing battle at three in the morning, then both were more than likely still sleeping soundly.
He heaved a deep sigh. His baby girl was becoming difficult and he knew that it was long overdue to put the brakes on her behavior. Roshawn had sounded on the verge of hysteria and he knew things weren’t well between mother and daughter. He sensed it was well past time for him to intercede before the duo waged all-out war against each other.
John’s attention was distracted by the rush of noise at the restaurant entrance. The chatter had risen tenfold and some of the restaurant’s patrons had risen from their seats to stare where a small crowd had begun to gather. John leaned back in his seat, a wry grin pulling at the lines of his mouth as he observed the man who was trying to politely extricate himself from the throng of fans who’d formed a wall around him.
An expensive gray suit fit his athletic frame nicely, the ensemble complemented by a crisp white shirt and red print tie. His leather shoes were polished to a high shine and he sported a fresh haircut, his oversize Afro cropped neatly. John took note of the women who clamored for the man’s attention, one or two brazenly stroking his arm and back muscles. Glancing from the spectacle before him and down to the press photo that lay on top of the folder he’d extracted earlier, John noted that the man was exceptionally photogenic, his warm coloration complemented by brilliant white teeth and eyes that gleamed with energy. It would make for some great promotional opportunities, John reasoned. And from the man’s polite, yet firm manner with his fans it was clear he knew how to handle himself well. That would surely be an advantage if he were hired, John found himself thinking.
John glanced down to his watch a second time, noting that his interview was right on time. As the man finally shook off the last admirer, making his way to John’s side, he was just a tad flustered and maybe a touch embarrassed by all the attention. He extended his hand politely.
“Mr. Chen, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” he said, his thick Spanish accent spilling past his full lips.
John rose from his seat as he shook hands. “Angel, it’s good to see you again as well. And, please, call me John.”
Angel Rios nodded as he dropped into the cushioned seat across from John. John gestured toward a waitress who appeared almost instantly at their side.
“Are you gentlemen ready to order?” the young woman asked, looking from one to the other, her smile widening to a full grin as her gaze rested on Angel.
John shook his head. “Not just yet, but if I can please have a second cup of coffee. How about you, Angel?”
“An orange juice, please.”
The young lady paused. “Right away, Mr. Rios. And I just want to say that was a great exhibition game you played last night.”
Angel smiled politely. “Thank you.”
The woman continued to gush compliments. “I can’t believe you hit two grand slams. It was awesome!” she exclaimed, her auburn ponytail swaying against the back of her head. “Do you think I could have your autograph?”
Angel reached for a napkin, pulled a pen from his pocket, then looked up at the girl with a shy smile. “What’s your name?”
“Lisa.”
With a quick sweep of his pen, he wrote a quick message wishing Lisa well, then signed his name and passed it to her. “I really appreciate your support, Lisa. And I don’t want to be rude, but if I don’t finish this meeting my baseball career may be over before it gets started good. I’m sure you understand,” he said, his fingers squeezing hers as he pressed the signed napkin into her palm.
Lisa nodded. “Of course. I’ll bring your drinks right back and be right out of your way.” She turned to give John just a hint of the smile she’d given Angel, then spun around on her heels toward the rear of the restaurant and the kitchen to get their beverages.
“I’m glad you could make it,” John said, directing his attention back to Angel.
“I appreciate you coming all the way to Dallas to see me. Were you able to catch any of the game last night?”
John nodded. “I did. Very impressive.”
Angel smiled shyly. “Thank you.”
“So,” John said, “how do you feel about playing in the major leagues?”
Angel’s head bobbed up and down against his thick neck. “That’s my dream. I’ve wanted that since I was a boy. And I would love to play for the Titans. I have much respect for Coach Daves and Coach Henry.”
John leaned his elbows against the table, his chin resting against the backs of his hands. “Daves and Henry spoke very highly of you. They liked what they saw back in Phoenix. Henry can’t wait to get you swinging a bat for him.”
Angel grinned widely.
“Tell me, Angel, are you married? Any children?”
Both men paused as Lisa glided up to the table and placed a large orange juice down in front of Angel. From a carafe in her other hand she refilled John’s cup with hot coffee.
“Are you two ready to order?” she asked looking from one to the other.
John nodded. “Just a toasted bagel with cream cheese for me, please, and a bowl of your fresh fruit salad.”
The woman nodded then smiled down at Angel.
“I’ll take toast, a side of bacon, a side of sausage, hash browns and three eggs over easy.”
“Coming right up,” Lisa said.
The two men waited until she had disappeared back through the kitchen’s swinging door. Then Angel responded to the question that John had posed before they’d been interrupted. “I’m still single. I don’t have time for a wife and children right now. All I want to do is play ball.”
“Do you have any family here?’
“Just my father. The rest of my family is back in the Dominican Republic. But my father, he is here in the States with me. He’s my biggest fan and whatever I do, he’s always a part of it.”
John nodded. “As you well know, the Titans believe in family and we fully support each other through everything.” A pained expression suddenly crossed John’s face.
Angel stared at him curiously. “Is something wrong?”
John shrugged. “I was just thinking about my daughter. She’s seventeen and is giving her mother some trouble lately. As soon as you and I are finished I need to go be Daddy and get her in check.” He smiled widely, fanning his hand dismissively in the a
ir before him. “Children are something else. But I’m sure you’ll get to find out yourself one day.”
Angel nodded, smiling back. “You sound like my father,” he said, chuckling lightly.
As their breakfast was served, the duo continued chatting easily together. There was only one other interruption, an eight-year-old with his father wanting an autograph. John watched quietly as Angel interacted with the youngster, the two conversing like best friends. The boy’s father was thrilled, shaking Angel’s hand before excusing them both and returning to their own table. John leaned back in his seat and stared at the man for a quick moment. Angel Rios had a confident air about him, but he was also reserved, almost shy, John thought. Clearly, the fans adored him, which was a positive attribute for any player that might represent their team. And he seemed to handle himself well under pressure. John nodded slowly. There was something about Angel that he liked and he could sense that the man would be a good fit for the organization.
“Angel, if you’re interested in moving to Arizona and playing for the Titans, we’d like to make you an offer. I can fax the specifics and preliminary contract over to your agent this afternoon.”
Angel beamed as he shook John’s hand. “Thank you,” Angel exclaimed excitedly. “I’m very interested. All I want to do is play is major league baseball!”
* * *
It was Ming who reached for the ringing telephone, pushing past her mother’s digital clock, a box of tissues and a copy of Zane’s newest book to find the receiver. Roshawn lay on the opposite side of the bed, still held hostage by her need for another hour of sleep.
“Hello?”
Roshawn yawned, fighting to wake herself up, her eyes still as heavy as the rest of her body.
“Hi, Daddy!”
Rolling onto her back, Roshawn stretched her body lengthwise, her back arching ever so slightly off the padded mattress.
“But I didn’t do anything!” Ming whined into the receiver.
Roshawn reached out for the telephone. “Let me speak to your father,” she commanded, pulling the instrument from the girl’s hand.
John Chen’s deep baritone voice echoed into her ear. “What happened?” the man asked after giving her a quick greeting.
“She stayed out past her curfew. She was hanging out in some cemetery with her friends and didn’t come home until after three this morning. I swear, Chen, if it’s not one thing it’s another with this girl.”
“Is she doing drugs?”
“I don’t think so. She was drinking though. Said she only had one beer and there were boys there.”
Roshawn could feel her ex-husband bristle at the thought of his baby girl lost in the arms of some hormone raging male.
“Put Ming back on the telephone,” the man commanded, his tone stern.
Roshawn passed the receiver back to her daughter. As the girl pleaded her case to her father, Roshawn lifted her body from the bed and headed into the adjoining bathroom. Catching a quick glimpse of herself in the ornate mirror, Roshawn jumped. Her reflection was frightening, she thought as she leaned closer to the glass, her fingers brushing the residue of sleep from beneath her eyes. She shook her head. She had fallen to sleep without wrapping a satin scarf around the length of her hair and the length of baby-fine silk now stood all over her head, reminiscent of a bad Medusa impersonation. Roshawn shuddered.
Back in her bedroom, Ming was still pleading over the telephone. Roshawn chuckled ever so slightly, shaking her head as her daughter pulled out the big guns, sobbing her apology in her father’s native Cantonese, the words rolling effortlessly off her tongue. When she’d been born Chen had insisted their baby girl learn the language, as well as English, wanting her to be able to communicate with her paternal grandparents on those rare occasions when one or the other made the trip between Hong Kong and the United States. She could see from the expression on her daughter’s face that she was losing her battle, unable to manipulate her father who couldn’t see her batting her dark eyelashes for sympathy. The dialogue ended when Ming muttered what sounded like “woe eye knee” into the receiver, closing the conversation with “I love you” in Cantonese. She passed the phone back to her mother.
Roshawn dropped to the edge of the bed, pulling the appliance to her ear. “Yes, Chen?”
“I told her she’s grounded for the next two weeks. She’s only allowed to go to school and come home. Nothing else.”
Roshawn shook her head. “You were kind. I had planned on locking her away until she turned twenty-one.”
“How are you doing?”
“I’m still standing if that’s what you want to know.”
The man nodded into the receiver. “You sound tired.”
“Well, it’s not like I got much sleep last night,” she answered facetiously.
“No, you sound like there’s more bothering you than just Ming.”
Roshawn shrugged. “It’ll get better. Some problems with the salon, nothing major.”
“I’m going to put a check into the mail. Something to help you out a little.”
“I already got your support check this month.”
“This is for you, not Ming.”
“I don’t need your money, Chen. I’m doing just fine.”
“It’s a gift. Stop being so stubborn and just say thank-you.”
“So, how’s that woman?” Roshawn asked, not wanting to argue as she changed the subject.
“My wife is well. Thank you for asking.”
“Tell her we said hello.”
Chen smiled. “So, are you seeing anyone special? Ming said you had dinner with a new friend last week.”
Roshawn cut her eye toward her daughter who lay sprawled across the bed watching cartoons on Roshawn’s small television, the volume barely audible. “It was just dinner, nothing else.”
“You need someone in your life, Roshawn. You know how you get when you go without pleasure too long,” the man said softly, just a hint of seductive overtone in his voice.
Roshawn rolled her eyes. “That’s not any of your business anymore, John Chen. You have a wife now.”
He laughed softly into the receiver. Silence wafted over the telephone line as Roshawn refused to acknowledge the innuendo in his tone. Whether he knew her that well or not, she had no intentions of giving him the pleasure of thinking he was anywhere close to being right.
She changed the subject for a second time. “Where are you, anyway?”
He chuckled. “Dallas. I’m on the tail end of my recruiting tour. Just picked up a new player as a matter of fact. Maybe I’ll get to introduce you one day. He’s single, too.”
Roshawn moved the receiver from one ear to the other. “Thanks, but I’m not interested. If you like him, then I’m sure he’s not my type.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because he’s probably like you—demanding, overbearing, chauvinistic…should I go on?”
John shook his head as he laughed again. “I thought those were the traits you loved most about me,” he said.
Roshawn laughed with him, finally breaking into a deep smile. “You were wrong,” she chimed, beginning to feel better.
They both fell into the warmth of the moment, silence once again filtering over the telephone line between them.
“Did Ming say anything to you about wanting to come live with me?” John finally asked, the moment turning serious.
Roshawn eyed the girl for a second time. “I know I’m not in the mood to discuss that right now, Chen,” she said, her tone emphatic.
“Give it some thought, Roshawn. We can talk about it when I come to visit next month. It’s not a decision we need to make right now.”
“I don’t remember saying it was even an option.”
The man laughed again. “Call me if you need me. Anytime. Okay?”
“Thanks. I’ll talk to you later. Bye, Chen.”
“Goodbye, Roshawn. Wo ai ni.”
Hanging up the telephone Roshawn smiled. John Chen had
proven early in their relationship that he was her friend first, before all else, and despite the history between them he would always be a friend. Lifting her body off the bed, she headed back into the bathroom, stopping to grab a clean change of underclothes from the top drawer of her bureau.
As she eased her way toward the shower, closing the bathroom door behind her, she snapped at Ming one last time. “Cut that television off and go get dressed. Grounded means no TV, Ming. No TV, no telephone, no radio, no computer, no nothing. Now, move it. We’re going to go see your aunt Jeneva.”
* * *
The trip to San Juan Island had taken longer than Roshawn would have liked and as she and Ming pulled into the driveway of her best friend’s new home, her only child had sufficiently worked her last nerve. Roshawn glared in the girl’s direction, annoyed by the defiant body language as she leaned against the car door. Ming’s arms were crossed against her chest as a full pout pulled at her thin lips. Her eyes were narrowed, almost closed, hostility gracing her warm mocha complexion. It had taken over an hour of nagging and eventual screaming before they’d been able to leave their own house, Ming intent on staying home alone, not wanting to waste her Sunday afternoon with her mother.
As the duo approached the entrance of the exquisite waterfront property, Roshawn could feel the fine threads of a new headache begin to weave a pattern across her brow. Ming leaned on the doorbell, peering through the sidelights as she heard the patter of excited feet skipping on the other side. Mecan Tolliver pulled open the large, double door with one hand and reached down to scoop his baby daughter up into his arms with the other.
“Come on in!” the large black man chimed, leaning to kiss both their cheeks hello.
“Hi, Mac,” Roshawn said, stepping into the large foyer behind her daughter.
“Hi, Uncle Mac! Can I hold Alexa?”
Mecan grinned as he play-tossed the giggling two-year-old into the teenager’s outstretched arms. Alexa Tolliver squealed with delight as she wrapped her arms around Ming’s neck. Roshawn grinned widely, her eyes widening in awe at how much the little girl had grown since they’d last seen her. The spitting image of her father, there could be no denial of the child’s paternity with her deep, blue-black complexion and wide eyes. Her chubby legs kicked excitedly as she spun around to stare at Roshawn, offering the woman a quick kiss when Roshawn asked where her sugar was.
Love in the Lineup Page 2
