Love on the Run

by Zuri Day

Upon seeing the number, she almost didn’t answer it. Lately, whenever she and Beverly had talked, the conversation had not gone the direction she’d hoped.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “Hey, Shayna. Girl, what are you doing?”

  “Just got home from practice, getting ready to eat. What’s up?”

  A sigh, and then, “It’s Larsen. I think he’s seeing somebody.”

  “Again?” Shayna stifled a sigh of her own. This wasn’t the first time she and her mother had had this conversation. In fact, they’d often traded suspicions as Shayna knew for a fact that Jarrell had been unfaithful more than once. It was another reason why her breaking up with him had come a year or two later than it should have. Better late than never, she’d finally conceded. Both Brittney and Talisha had given Shayna the 411, along with the unsolicited advice to drop his ass like a hot potato while they were still in college. It hadn’t happened until four years later. Like her mother, she knew, but didn’t want to believe it. And like Shayna, her mother would have to get to that revelation on her own.

  “What do you mean, ‘again’? Has Jay told you something? Do you know something about what’s going on that I don’t?”

  “I haven’t talked to him since that time you put him on the phone. I’ve moved on from him, Mom, and his cheating ways is one of the reasons why.” The obvious unspoken words hung in the air. Though her appetite had been impaired by the phone call, she picked up her chopsticks and dug into the kung pao. “I said ‘again’ because we had this conversation a few months ago, remember? Right before I broke up with Jarrell for the very same thing!”

  “Y’all breaking up is the reason this is happening. Now that Jarrell is on the prowl, he’s coming down here almost every weekend so him and Larsen can hit the clubs.”

  “He was going down there almost every weekend anyway. I’m surprised he hasn’t moved there already.”

  “He would have if y’all hadn’t broken up. Now he’s delayed the move to try and get you back. He’s probably doing it on purpose, Shayna, pulling Larsen away from me. Trying to hurt me just to get back at you.”

  “Seriously, Mom? Do you have any idea how crazy that sounded?”

  “You know how close those brothers are. If you and Jarrell were still together, then he and my husband wouldn’t be hanging out.”

  “This sounds like a conversation you need to have with Larsen. What Jarrell does or doesn’t do is no longer my business.”

  “That’s just it, Shayna. Everything isn’t about you.” Shayna looked at the phone with widened eyes and raised brows. No. She. Didn’t. “This is about my future, too. Now I told you, girl, every relationship has its ups and downs. You and Jarrell were together for almost ten years. There shouldn’t be anything too hard for y’all to work out.”

  “You also told me”—and showed me—“that men were like buses. That if one left, another one would be along in about fifteen minutes.” The more Shayna listened, her mother sounded less ridiculous and more insecure. As often happened when her mother fretted over a man, the conversation with Big Mama came to mind. Something happened that made her shut off her feelings. That’s something she’ll have to tell you. Shayna wondered about the experience that had made her mother promiscuous in her youth and feel incomplete without a man. She believed it when Big Mama said Beverly loved her, but Shayna honestly didn’t feel she was liked all the time. Even Beverly’s going after Larsen had felt like a type of competition, like by dating Jarrell’s brother Beverly proved that she could have anything that Shayna could. What mother does that? What is that about? And what was it about Shayna and her need for her mother’s love that even now she was feeling herself weakening, planning to give in to her mother’s wishes and spend Thanksgiving with the Powells. Beverly had demanded the very thing that Shayna had so often needed but didn’t get: her support. Then someone else’s voice rang inside her head. You have mine. The conversation that had continued once Michael and Shayna left the restaurant that late morning began to play in her ear. He’d been right when he said that her mother was an adult and as such, not her responsibility. Shayna’s appetite increased. Her thoughts had blocked out what Beverly was saying, but when she tuned back in her mother prattled on. It had been this way since she could remember—Beverly sharing with Shayna about her man woes. She picked up and bit into her vegetable roll with newfound gusto.

  “. . . these young witches don’t know a thing about boundaries. The fact that he’s married? They couldn’t care less. His phone rings all times of day and night and as much as his limo company is expanding, everybody isn’t needing a ride at four a.m.!”

  Shayna placed her sticks down on the plate. As much as she wanted to shake some sense into her and call it a day, she could empathize with her mother’s position. Six months ago, Shayna had been the one holding on to something that was way past its expiration date. Her mother had invested a lot in Larsen, had chased and chased him until he caught her. Like Jarrell, Larsen did have good qualities. He could be charming, attentive, and was the life of the party wherever he went. Women flocked to him, yes, but he was a magnet for almost any crowd. Add to that the fact that regular workouts kept his five-foot-ten-inch stocky frame in excellent shape, and regular trips to the barber kept his close-cropped hair gleaming and his goatee maintained, and one could see why Larsen presented a package that looked worth holding on to.

  “Looks like you’ve got a situation, Mom,” Shayna said at last. “What are you going to do about it?”

  Beverly’s demeanor changed as a chuckle replaced the frustration in her voice. “Girl, you don’t even want to know.”

  “Oh, Lord. What are you thinking?”

  “I was thinking about doing an Evelyn.”

  “A who?”

  “Evelyn. That chick on Basketball Wives who married ‘Spanish eighty-five.’ Remember all the hoopla she caused when she talked about being open to his seeing other women as long as she knew about them?”

  “No, Mom. You are not going there.”

  “When I think of the alternatives, I can understand her reasoning. It’s better to know what’s going on rather than have them sneak around. I met Larsen today for lunch down on the Strip. Saw this chick who looks younger than you are, giving him the flirty eye while looking at me like I was wearing shit for makeup. I asked Larsen about her and he swore she was just some chick he’d met at a club while picking up a client.”

  “Picking her up, more likely,” Shayna muttered before she could stop herself.

  “Exactly. Anyway, we finished our lunch and left the building. You know I lit into his ass as soon as we got into the car. I yelled and cried, he lied and denied, and now he’s gone God knows where. That’s what got me thinking. Who do I think I am to demand that he stay faithful when none of these other mother-brothers are keeping their shit on lock?”

  “His wife, that’s who.”

  “Living in la-la land is what got you single,” Beverly retorted. “I’m not getting any younger, already competing with witches half my age, and am not even trying to be alone in this bitch, joining the Divorced Wives or Over Forty Club or hanging with a boyfriend called Slot Machine or Blackjack on a Saturday night! Every woman tries to front like her man is faithful, but bottom line is, if he’s got one swinging, then he’s probably flinging, whether they know it or not and whether they like it or not. Me? I’d rather know. Make ours an open marriage. Hell, I might even see me a cutie I want. This arrangement can end up working both ways!”

  “Then why be married, Mom?” Shayna softly asked.

  Instead of answering that question, Beverly asked one of her own. “You’re still coming down for Thanksgiving, right? Because as pissed as I am, I’ve got a reason to want to keep Larsen around. But I want to share that in person.”

  Especially after this conversation, spending the holidays with her family was the last place Shayna wanted to be. But of all the holidays, Thanksgiving was one to be spent with family, such as it was. Maybe this year would be
different. Maybe Beverly and Jarrell would see that she had moved on, that she was doing well and that a woman could actually be single and happy. Or working on it anyway. Maybe if Beverly saw what supporting someone looked like, then she would support Shayna the next time the need arose. “Yeah, Mom. I’ll be there.”

  “Alone, right? You know that Jarrell won’t want to see you with anybody.”

  “I can’t make that promise, Mom. Like you, I don’t want to be alone, and end up with a man named Blackjack.”

  They laughed and thankfully the conversation turned a bit lighter after that. Shayna shared highlights from her latest meet and Beverly chatted about plans to head to New York for a shopping spree. After the call ended, Shayna reheated her food, finished it quickly, took a hasty hot shower instead of the long bath she’d planned, and crawled between the sheets. Sleep eluded her, however, as she thought about the discussion she and Beverly had had. Every woman tries to front like their man is faithful, but bottom line is, if he’s got one swinging, then he’s probably flinging. . . . Shayna didn’t believe this. She knew good men, men whom she believed faithful: her coach, John, and Kim’s husband, Patrick, to name just two. But it made her wonder about another man. She thought back to the day after the attack, before she’d left the bedroom but heard various ring tones going off, several times, when Michael’s phone rang off the hook. Was that all about business? Shayna seriously doubted it. Brothah like him could have a bevy of chicks and be rolling with a couple of prepaids and a Cricket or two just to keep the roster straight. It had been almost a week since Cape Cod and she and Michael had been together almost every night. They hadn’t put a label on what was happening between them, so the conversation of who he was or wasn’t seeing had never come up.

  But given the info her mom had put on Shayna’s mind . . . it was about to.

  28

  Michael stood at the window of his seventieth-story offices in Los Angeles’s tallest building, the U.S. Bank Tower, and gazed out on a stunning view that included the renovated area known as LA Live. This thriving community was built largely to complement its anchor, the Staples Center, home to the LA Lakers and other clients handled by MSM. He looked out the window, but he didn’t see a thing. For the past ten minutes he’d ruminated on the horrible news delivered via his latest phone call: last night Cheryl had overdosed on sleeping pills. Ironically, she was rushed to UCLA Medical and while Gregory hadn’t been on duty then, he’d found out about it this morning, and had immediately called to tell (or warn, advise, relay—pick your poison) his brother of her still critical status. Not so much physically—the on-call emergency physician had pumped her stomach and stabilized her vitals—but mentally. She’d been heard murmuring about not wanting to live and, as a precaution, had been put on suicide watch. Michael had been shocked, then devastated. True, he’d never lied to Cheryl, had always told her that what they had, though steadier and lengthier than most of his affairs, was neither exclusive nor lasting. More than once he’d assured her that he had no plans to turn in his bachelor card, and when she called wanting to see him, he often admitted that he was on his way to a date. He felt being upfront and keeping it real was the best way to deal with his multiple-partner lifestyle, and had never considered himself a cheater because he had always told the truth.

  Yeah. Right. But look what’s happened. Of course, Gregory tried to tell him that it wasn’t his fault. And of course Michael felt totally responsible.

  “Excuse me, Michael?”

  At the sound of his second assistant’s voice, Michael turned around. “Yes, Nadia?”

  “Your eleven o’clock appointment, Ms. Chase, is here. Should I show her in or do you need more time?”

  After talking with Gregory, Michael had advised Nadia to hold his calls. He’d totally forgotten about Samantha Chase, the soccer standout whom he’d met in London, the same time as Shayna and others. She’d sought him out, and he’d been impressed with her knowledge of him, the business side of sports, and her desire to develop a solid postcareer trajectory. Before, he wouldn’t have given the meeting and possible work arrangement a second thought, but news of Cheryl’s overdose had him rethinking all things female. Did this woman really want to work on her career path? Or had she sought him out in London to work on him?

  “Uh, why don’t you set us up in the small conference room? Give her a client packet and make sure she’s as comfortable as possible. Tell her I’m dealing with an emergency, but I’ll be in there as soon as I can.”

  Once Nadia had left the room, Michael returned to his desk. He pulled out his electronic address book and went to a folder simply titled “The List.” He opened it and began to scroll. Bree. Jessica. Felicia. Mandy. Tamera. Susanna. Ashley. Paige. Peyton. Kayla. Natalie. Chloe. Kamela. Victoria. Sandra. Faith. . . . It continued, the list of women Michael had known in the past seven, eight years. By today’s standards, it wasn’t an overly egregious amount of women. Some he’d only been with once or twice. Others he’d dated and afterward they had become friends. Still others had been business associates with whom he was still friendly, even having met some of their husbands and children once these partners had moved on. Healthy sexual appetite aside, Michael considered himself an honorable man, a good guy. He never lied to these women. Always stated the rules before engagement. Never led them on. Always treated them with dignity and respect. Never went without protection. And when he had to let them go, he always tried to let them down easy. All these years, these points had sounded okay to his conscience. But with Cheryl lying in a hospital, these facts sounded like the pitiful excuses of a spoiled boy, and a selfish man. Like someone who took what he wanted, whenever he wanted and from whomever he wanted, consequences be damned. True, all the women were grown and no, no one had put a gun to their heads and forced them into whatever bedroom. Now, in the light of a brand-new overdose, this detail seemed minor at best.

  Cheryl had come by his house last night. Even with his declarations that it was over, and with his admission that he was seeing someone else, she’d begged to enter. Just to talk, she’d said. He’d looked at his camera, had seen her there in the short minidress and the high spike heels and, if she were true to habit, nothing on underneath. But Michael had been with Shayna the night before, and the night before that, and before Cape Cod, Shayna had been the only woman he’d wanted. Even with come-and-get-it-you-can-have-it-all-you-can-eat-pussy just outside his door. It was late, he was tired, and he didn’t let her in.

  As he gathered himself and headed out of his office, he allowed one more thought before he slipped on his business mask. I wish I had.

  29

  Had it only been twenty-four hours since she’d seen Michael? Not according to the body part that fairly pulsated with excitement as Shayna turned into her new lover’s drive. Even though he’d seemed preoccupied when they spoke earlier, something he said he’d tell her about later, Shayna still intended to do what she’d planned, what had been on her mind ever since getting off the phone with Beverly last night. For the past seven days, she and Michael had mostly been screwing. Tonight, it was time to talk.

  “Hey, baby,” Michael greeted her as soon as he opened the door. She stepped inside and into his waiting arms. He hugged her fiercely, breathing deeply while running his hand up and down her back. “I’m glad to see you.”

  His voice was low, husky, and filled with . . . what? . . . Shayna wondered. Worry? Sadness? Grief? Pain? Pulling away from him, she looked into his drooping eyes. “What happened?”

  He reached for her hand. “Come here.” They walked into the living room and sat on the couch. He turned to face her. “There are some things I need to tell you,” he began after taking a deep breath. “About my lifestyle, and some of the people who’ve been a part of it.”

  His lifestyle? Surely this man isn’t getting ready to tell me he’s gay! “Okay,” she replied, drawing out the word.

  “I’ve always considered myself the consummate bachelor—no commitments, no ties, no prom
ises, no problems.”

  “Whoa.” Shayna released Michael’s hand at about the same time her mother’s voice piped up in her ear. These young witches don’t know a thing about boundaries. But Shayna did. And hers began and ended with the fact that she was not going to date a nonexclusive man with a lifetime player membership.

  “Wait, Shayna, please.” Michael reached for her hand and once again placed it between his two. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but hear me out first. I’m not asking you to agree with it, or even understand it necessarily. All I’m asking right now is that you listen, with an open heart. I need to share this. Can you do it?”

  Taking a deep breath, she answered, “I’ll try.”

  “Over the years, there have been a lot of women in my life. Some have come and gone, others pop in and out for days, weeks, or for a month or two at a time. There are others whom I’ve known for years and we were friends before we, uh, took things to another level, and some who remained friends after we decided to put that aspect of the relationship on ice. I lay out where I’m coming from up front, so that there are no misunderstandings down the road. That usually involves understanding three things. One”—Michael held up his pinky finger—“I’m not exclusive. Two, I’ve never been married and am not looking to get married. And three, protection is always used, not only as precaution against HIV and other sexual diseases but to make sure I don’t catch the biggest virus of them all—fatherhood.” He’d hoped the smile that accompanied this line would lighten the mood.

  It didn’t. He went on.

  “I always ask the women I’m dealing with if they understand, and if the answer is yes, then do they want to stay. A couple have left after learning there’d be no destination wedding at the end of the rainbow, but most of them stayed. And the ones who did, I thought were cool with everything.”

  “But somebody wasn’t?” Somebody with some damn sense, I presume.

  “Over the years there have been one or two women who tried to hang on long after the fire died, who didn’t want to hear that the relationship was over. But eventually, they got the message and left me alone, moved on with their lives. One of my talent scouts, a former tennis player, is just such a woman; we hung out for one, two months. She wanted more. I didn’t. She moved on—marriage, kids, the whole nine. I’ve met her family, we’ve even shared a box at the U.S. Open. What I’m saying is that I’m cool with most of my liaisons both past and present.”