by BILL BARTON
"You've probably read about him in the sports pages," Rosella had said, hoping a star buildup might make the idea more palatable. She had prepared the dinner the night she asked her parents if she could bring him home, a softening tactic. "He was the number one guy in his position in the conference last season"
"Honey, you must have a short memory." Joella's response came as she sliced into her leg of lamb and Franklin chewed his asparagus spear much longer than necessary.
"It's not like before'
"Like before" was a hot button, a code word for a Bonita catastrophe with long-term familial consequences. The Caldwells' first daughter, Bonita, had arrived just nine months into the marriage and never felt she could measure up to the high standards set by her parents. By high school, she had embraced a full-throttle rebellion to the point that her father and mother dreaded answering the phone or the doorbell for fear of bad news.
"Like before" was during the disastrous college semester when Bonita had hooked up with an older college football player who cared only about sleeping with as many women as he could. There was little sympathy once Bonita informed the father she was pregnant. His way of dealing with it was to seize the opportunity to turn pro at the end of his junior year and join a team on the other side of the country.
Franklin had taken several gulps of merlot before he exploded.
"No! And not only no, but have you lost your mind?"
"My mind is not what I'm losing." Rosella stabbed at her food with her fork. "It's my patience."
Twelve years after Bonita's birth, Rosella made her entrance. The Caldwells had not planned to have more offspring because they feared the child could be a repeat of the first. Nevertheless, they regarded a pharmaceutical mishap as a redemptive act, a second chance for parenting skills tested by fire to produce a better outcome. Rosella was the antithesis of Bonita. She had embraced the model child challenge at an early age, going the extra mile in everything to make up the deficits of her older sister.
Franklin was firm. "You forget that besides grief and shame, the only thing the first football player that came into our lives left us with was your niece"
"A child we've barely seen since she was born;" Joella said.
"Are you pregnant, Rosella?" Franklin snapped his napkin. "Tell me now and let's get it over with"
The meal ended with Rosella in retreat, steam still rising off the untouched four-course meal.
"You stepped over the line with that one, Franklin," Joella said, shaking her head in disbelief. "I'm going to leave you now to pull your size 11 Is out of your mouth and chew on your sock while I try to salvage this dinner. When you come to your senses, an apology will be in order"
Rosella had accepted her father's grumbled apology even if it lacked much conviction, and wasted no time in setting the introductory dinner date.
Now three weeks later, the reception was pleasant, hugs for Rosella, firm handshakes for Dewayne. Small talk over cocktails-designer water for Dewayne-was kept to stories behind the eye-catching collectibles gathered from numerous trips abroad, and a room-to-room tour of the four thousand square feet that made up the first floor dominated the opening hour of the evening. Dewayne's only requirement was to contribute genuine reactions of interest and amazement to Joella's design of each spacious room, which he did.
When the second hour began in the expansive dining room, the French cuisine illuminated by a crystal chandelier, Dewayne inquired about the Caldwells' professions. In reply, Franklin pointed out the two coffee table-sized books on display in the glass bookcase behind Dewayne that depicted all the structures his firm had designed, and Joella treated Dewayne to meticulous descriptions of the homes of celebrities, politicians, and business tycoons whose millions she had spent enhancing their luxurious interiors. Rosella was attentive to her parents' favorable reaction to Dewayne, and as she watched his evident pleasure in hearing their accomplishments, she was thankful for this positive sign.
The final hour of the evening drifted toward an optimistic finish. After a three-course dessert of a variety of chocolate pastries, the women risked the chance to leave the two men alone and took it upon themselves to clear the table and remain in the kitchen. Dewayne and Franklin nodded and smiled, each man a little perturbed at this abandonment. After Franklin took his final swallow of brandy, he suggested they step outside and view the backyard, a real source of pride for him.
A large deck overlooked two acres of manicured flora that included a small grove of lemon and orange trees, and a waterfall cascading into a pond stocked with koi. Thrown in for good measure, one could view a slice of Los Angeles between clusters of cypress trees in the valley below.
Franklin opened a marble box ornamented with a bas-relief of a serpent and pulled out two cigars. Dewayne declined the offer, so Franklin returned the rejected cigar to the box, then clipped the end of his own and lit it.
"She won't let me smoke in the house," Franklin said through the exhale of a long drag. Franklin had hoped if the women were going to ditch them, perhaps a change of scenery would spark a new flourish of conversation. He wanted Dewayne to make some comment about the beautybefore him, lighted well enough to be a film location, so he could begin another rambling monologue about what native species of plant life filled the gardens and the extraordinary care each variety required.
Dewayne waited for Franklin's lead as the conversation between the two men waned.
As Franklin watched his latest cloud of cigar smoke dissipate, he said, "I've been all over the world, but I've never been to Mississippi"
Dewayne instantly detected the disdainful coating in Franklin's voice. It stung, but he forced himself to stay calm. He kept his antennae raised for the slightest shift in tone. "Yes, sir;" he said.
"Ever been outside of Mississippi?"
"No, sir, not until I came to Los Angeles"
"Just a good old countryboy," Franklin mused. "I was a ghetto boy myself, and I have no desire to remember those days"
"I'm thankful for my roots." If Franklin was going to get personal and maybe pass judgment, then Dewayne was going to deflect as much as possible with his own individuation.
"Roots ... you can have all that Alex Haley nonsense." Franklin spit a fleck of tobacco off his tongue, making it impossible for Dewayne to know whether it was an act of hygiene or a way to punctuate his words with derision. "I'll make my own history, thank you"
"You have, sir. And it's very impressive"
"I'm glad you see that. We worked hard and didn't let our past or our skin color keep us from accomplishing anything we set our minds to"
Dewayne sensed this was Franklin's way of pointing out the superior means of using one's brains over brawn.
"We've raised Rosella to think and act the same."
I know she'll make you proud, sir"
"I expect her to"
Dewayne was not sure where Franklin might be directing this conversation, and he glanced back toward the double doors off the deck for any signs of rescue.
"Your parents, are they proud of you?"
"My daddy died before I was born, but the way my mother describes him, I believe he would be proud of me. I know my mother's proud of me, and that's what counts"
"Rosella tells me your mother works in a furniture factory."
"She does. And I'm proud of that"
Dewayne did not want this conversation to turn hostile, but he was not willing to allow the threat of an insult to go unnoticed.
"I hear there is talk about you not coming back for your senior year. That professional opportunity might entice you away.
"I've got my reasons for finishing what I started"
"So you come from Mississippi to the Promised Land to seek your fortune." Franklin waved his cigar like a baton over his own fortune. "I can admire that"
"Sir, I came out here for two things, to get an education and to play football"
"I'm glad you mentioned only two things. You're not thinking to add to that list, are you?"<
br />
Franklin had issued the challenge. By standing up for his own personal history and showing pride in his roots, Dewayne felt the tidewaters were rising. Before he could answer, Franklin filled the void.
"Rosella might not have told you that she has an older sister"
It was a news flash to Dewayne.
"She was a rebellious child, but precocious and plenty of brains. We were hopeful when she started at UCLA until some hotshot Bruin got her pregnant and disappeared into the world of professional football. Bonita and my granddaughter disappeared as well ... out there somewhere. We thought she'd come home, but she never did"
Dewayne detected in Franklin's voice a disgust at a wasted life, yet still mourning the loss of a child and grandchild.
"The last we heard ... and it's been several years now ... she had a second child by God knows who and is living in some godforsaken part of LA"
Franklin paused to take several hasty puffs off his cigar, creating a tobacco cloud around his stern face. It was a long moment before he turned from his pensive gaze over his backyard landscape to focus an intense stare on Dewayne.
"Mr. Jobe, I'm not too fond of football players. I lost my older daughter to one, and I don't intend to lose another. So what are your intentions with my daughter?"
Dewayne bowed his head. No one had ever spoken to him in this way. No coach. No teacher. No one had ever challenged Dewayne to state and defend his intentions. His mother had not prepared him for people who would question his motives and try to tear him down, but it was still the thought of his mother that inspired him. The sum of the Caldwell fortune could not buy or compromise the strength of character or deep wisdom of such a powerful and humble woman.
Dewayne raised his head, his eyes latching on to Franklin's piercing stare. "First, let me say I'm sorry for the loss of your older daughter, and my prayer is that God might bring her back to you. As for your other daughter, my intentions are to never lie to her, to always honor and respect her. I'm a poor boy from Mississippi, which you have pointed out, and only God knows what the future holds for Rosella and me, but I'm not trying to compete with you on any level. You can say I'm not good enough, and you'd be right. You can say our families are from different worlds, and you'd be right about that too. But what I have been given and what experiences I've had in my life, I wouldn't trade for anything you've got or anything you've done. You do not need to fear me. History will not repeat itself. I can only promise you one thing, Mr. Caldwell: I will never steal your daughter away from you or compromise her in any way."
Franklin remained at a standstill the entire time Dewayne spoke. Dewayne noticed the steady, descending burn of the smoldering tobacco of Franklin's cigar. If he remained motionless much longer, the fire would singe the flesh around his fingers. When mother and daughter came through the double doors to join the men on the deck, Franklin relaxed his rigid stance and adjusted the stub of the cigar in his hand.
Dewayne could not help but smile at Rosella's expression, bright with the hope that father/boyfriend time had passed without incident. He reached out his hand for her.
"You two solving the world's problems?" Joella asked.
"Just admiring the view," Franklin said, and in the illumination of the garden spotlights, Dewayne thought he could see a faint smile curling over Franklin's lips.
Dewayne collected their luggage from the conveyor belt, and he and Rosella went outside the terminal of the Memphis airport to wait for Cherie. Dewayne had a few days before he had to start summer school for his last year at USC. He had gone every summer to make up for the light academic load he took during football season, and because of the distance and the expense, Dewayne had made the journey home only once. It was time to come home again, but this trip held more at stake. This trip was not the casual return of the hometown boy to visit family and friends. This trip was to introduce Rosella to the reality of Dewayne's life.
Their first argument had come when Rosella paid for their plane tickets. Even though she never played up her affluence or purposely made Dewayne feel second-class, he still struggled with the fact that he could not compete with the lifetime of wealth she had known. They settled the argument by agreeing Dewayne's ticket was simply a loan.
The couple stood next to their luggage waiting for Cherie to arrive. Dewayne had tried to prepare Rosella for the two extremes of their upbringing, and though she reassured him that it did not matter, Dewayne expected her to have a similar, queasy "what-have-I-gotten-myself-into" reaction to seeing his house in his humble neighborhood in his humble community as his own when she had driven him to her house that first time. It would be either a painfully long weekend full of forced conversations and sham, pleasant reactions or one that might exceed his wildest expectations.
The exhilaration at seeing her son after such a long time was a shot of adrenaline. Cherie felt like a young woman. She bounced out of the car as though the seat had ejected her, and mother and son held each other for so long, the airport police got impatient and instructed them to move along. Dewayne tossed the bags in the trunk while Cherie and Rosella hugged and cackled like newfound sisters. From the beginning, Dewayne had written Cherie the details of this growing romance, and the way Dewayne had portrayed Rosella, Cherie was predisposed to like her. Cherie knew her son would bring home only a woman of quality. The two women did not stop talking the entire drive until Dewayne complained about his isolation from the conversation.
"Rosella and I need to make history;" Cherie said. "Pay attention to the road"
When they pulled in front of the house, there sat a trickedout black Tahoe with Sly inside.
"Can I ask for more blessings?" Cherie jumped out of the car.
Sly braced for the hug he had come to expect from his surrogate mother, as though he was about to be sacked. When Cherie released him, Dewayne took her place, both men shouting as if they had won a big game. Dewayne introduced Rosella, and Sly scooped her into his arms like an Old World lover, leaving Dewayne shaking his head at his dear friend's ability to surprise.
"Girl, it's a good thing my man is keeping you out of my sight on the West Coast, cause if you were on my side of the world, you'd be under lock and key."
"You ain't got a lock and key big enough," Rosella said, sticking her finger into Sly's chest and pushing him away from her.
"My man, you have got first prize here:" Sly finished the cuddle with a kiss to Rosella's cheek. "It's a wonder you can concentrate on football."
I manage" Dewayne pulled Rosella from Sly into his own embrace.
Cherie chuckled at the boys' competition for Rosella's attention and directed them inside so she could start supper. She took Rosella out of Dewayne's grasp and led her up the front steps, as over her shoulder she instructed the boys to get the bags.
Sly could not remove his admiring gaze until Rosella disappeared into the house.
"She is one fine-looking-"
"That's enough."
They fought over who would carry Rosella's bag, and Dewayne gave in out of fear that the leather strap might break in their tug-of-war. With a first round settled and nothing left to distract them, Dewayne took in Sly's Tahoe.
"Where'd the ride come from?"
"It's a loaner, my man;' Sly said, polishing the hood with his shirtsleeve.
Dewayne began an easy pace around the vehicle, admiring all the bells and whistles inside and out.
"How does a poor boy get a set of wheels like this loaned to him?"
"One plays football and one plays really well. You must be a slacker"
"So you don't mind testing the rules" Dewayne kicked the left front tire. His foot recoiled from the tight inflated rubber indifferent to the abuse.
"Rules are flexible when nobody's paying attention."
"There's always somebody paying attention, my man"
"Listen to Mr. Clean. I win games and the school I play for is making money off me, so why shouldn't I get to eat at the table?"
"Looks like you're eating
well," Dewayne said, finishing his inspection with the slam of the passenger side door. "And speaking of eating, I'm starved"
Dewayne headed toward the front door, leaving Sly staring a hole into his friend's back. He refused to feel intimidated or ashamed for enjoying a few undisclosed benefits given him by generous people willing to show gratitude to high achievers. You can be born with nothing, but you sure do not have to live that way, he reasoned. Sly had made Miami's program exciting, bringing national attention to the university. Proud he had earned this windfall, he rubbed the hood ornament. It was not a handout, and no one would hear him apologize for it.
After one plateful, Rosella said she knew why Dewayne had grown so big with such good cooking. It would have been hard to pay Cherie a higher compliment. Even with three people around the table and Cherie at her traditional place of chef and server, it was obvious a part of the boys' trio was missing.
"No word from Jesse?" Sly asked. "Why isn't Jesse here?"
"Needed to work late," Dewayne said.
"Work late?"
"You don't stay in touch with your homeboy?"
"What are you talking about?" Sly asked.
"He's at the factory now, learning the business. He dropped out of school"
"How do you know so much?"
"I have my sources," Dewayne said, winking at his mother. "You knew Jesse broke his leg in a game"
"Broke his leg;" Sly repeated.
It was obvious that when Sly left Springdale three years ago, he had never looked back, never thought about looking back.
"Got clipped midseason his first year. He tried to come back the second year, but he had lost the passion for the game, I guess. Don't know for sure what happened to him"
