Love on the Run

by Zuri Day

  Shayna wasn’t sure how she felt about that, but okay.

  Michael released her hand and stood. Walking toward the patio doors that opened onto his oasis, and looking out at the placid waters and spouting fountain in search of peace, he continued. “There is a woman who fits into the former category, the one where understanding that we were done was not an option and there was no part of the word no that she understood. Her name is Cheryl. We go back several years. I met her when I regularly worked the city’s club and party circuit. She’s a product of Hollywood; mother is an actress, father a producer. She grew up in the lap of luxury and is used to getting everything she wants. When she finally encountered something that she couldn’t have, namely me, she took pretty drastic action to show her displeasure.” He paused, watched a couple sparrows thrash in the yard’s birdbath.

  “What did she do?” Shayna quietly asked, standing and walking toward the stiff back before her.

  Michael turned as she neared. “Last night, she tried to kill herself.”

  Shayna stopped short. “Oh, no.” She’d expected to hear something common like she slashed his tires, broke a window, or showed up where he was and made a scene. But to be so desperate for someone’s affections? And she’d thought Beverly cuckoo for entertaining the idea of an open marriage. No, this, what Michael had just shared, was truly crazy. Now Shayna understood the look in Michael’s eyes and what was emanating from his hug when she’d walked in the door. It had been all of what she’d imagined—worry, sadness, grief, pain—and more. “Michael, I’m so sorry.” She wrapped her arms around his waist, and lay her head on his chest. His heart beat rapidly, his breathing was shallow. “How’d you find out?”

  “Gregory called me earlier today.” He relayed their conversation, shared more of the history between him and Cheryl, ending with the fact that he refused her entry when she came by last night.

  “I told her that I was taking a break from all that, all the women, the juggling, and the constant back to back dating, told her that it wasn’t personal, that I was reevaluating my life. That has never been truer than it is in this moment. You should know something, Shayna. Even before we made love last week, all the way back to last month and the first time you came here, I haven’t wanted to be with any of my old hookups. It had been a month since I’d had sex, which probably hasn’t happened since I was fifteen, sixteen years old. I guess what I’m trying to say is that there’s something about you that is different from how it was with the other women. You do it for me, everything, and I don’t want to be with the other women, don’t even want to think about other women. If you’re willing, baby, I want to do two things: something I said I’d never do again and something that I’ve never done in my life. Even though you’re my client, I want to date you. And I want us to be exclusive, for it to be just me and you.” He paused, gazing at Shayna for a reaction. When she remained silent, he asked, “What do you think about that?”

  She nodded. “I’d like that.”

  His breath of relief was audible. “Come here.” The kiss was tentative at first, and then deep and scorching. He ran his hand down her back until it reached his favorite part of her, the luscious booty of which he’d now made extensive acquaintance. They made their way back to the couch and continued the kiss. Her acceptance of him after baring his soul and sharing his story was like being blessed by a priest, or in this case, a priestess. He covered her face and her neck with kisses, wanting to be on top of her, inside her. But then he remembered her earlier phone call and knew that there was something she wanted to discuss with him.

  “You know I want to get in that hot spot, right? But first, what is it that you wanted to ask me?”

  Shayna cupped his strong jaw while looking into his vulnerable eyes. She gave him a peck on the lips and smiled. “You’ve already answered my questions. Every single one.”

  30

  “Hey, Shayna! How’s the packing coming?” Talisha obviously figured there was no need to walk across the hall when a loudly asked—translated: screamed—question worked just as good. All three ladies were preparing for their flight to Spain, and the Barcelona Indoor Classic.

  “Girl, I’ve repacked three times. Coach has to be crazy telling us we can only take one bag.”

  “It’s budget cuts, ladies,” Brittney chimed in from her room. “And extra baggage charges. Y’all are just going to have to leave your ratchet clothes at home. Ha!”

  “Oh, no, you didn’t go there,” Talisha huffed, walking out into the hallway in a red-hot stretchy spandex number with about as much material as a handkerchief. “I’ll have you know that I’m very much a lady.”

  Shayna and Brittney came out of their respective rooms, took a look at Talisha, each other, and said in unison, “Ratchet dress!” They high-fived while laughing, dodging Talisha’s playful swings before darting back into their rooms.

  “Forget y’all heifahs,” she replied, laughing herself before returning to her room. “Hey, Shay. Is Michael bringing his fine ass to Barcelona?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Damn. I still can’t believe y’all are dating! Let alone the fact that your face is getting ready to grace a cereal box. You need to step up your game, sistah, get the relay team signed so we can all make more paper.”

  It was true. While he and XMVP Shoes and Sportswear were still in negotiations, and he was talking to a flavored-water company about her participation in a TV commercial, they’d just received word that Organic Health, a new line of cereals appearing in high-end stores such as Whole Foods and Sprouts, were ready with an offer to have her on their bran flakes box. Partnered in business for only two months and Michael had already delivered. Just like he said he would. “I already told him that y’all were interested in being represented. Don’t think I’m going to bug him every day.”

  “I don’t see why not,” Brittney snipped playfully. “You’re banging him every day!”

  Laughter abounded.

  “I know you’re not in there laughing, Tee,” Shayna said. “Not with those creaking springs I heard last night.”

  “That’s why I bought you that fan. So my man and I can have some privacy.”

  “Privacy is called your own address, Tee,” Brittney offered. “I heard y’all, too. Why does Cameron always have to be all Badu up in here?”

  “How’s that?” Talisha tried to make hers the voice of innocence.

  “Going ‘on and on and on and on,’” Brittney sang.

  “Whew!” Shayna said, with a laugh. “Good one, Brittney!”

  “Forget y’all! Brittney, you’re just mad because you’re not getting any.”

  “Uh, that would be a negative. I’m focusing on the run, believe that.”

  “Please.” Shayna removed a couple sweaters from the suitcase and replaced them with two less bulkier ones. “You’re focusing on DeVaughn. I saw you hanging back after practice today, watching the boys put through their paces.”

  “Not true. We both run the four hundred. That’s what we have in common.”

  “If things go your way, you and I are getting ready to have something in common.”

  “What’s that, Tee?”

  “Some creaking springs!”

  Shayna’s phone rang. She looked at the caller ID and smiled. Time to head over to Michael’s and make a little “spring” music herself.

  A little over a half hour later, Shayna sat in Michael’s master suite, chilling out while Michael showered after a very long day. She loved everything about his Hollywood Hills abode, but aside from the backyard that had been landscaped to within an inch of its life, this room was her favorite. The designer had paired warm, burnt orange with shades of brown, two colors that Shayna would not have put together and had she not seen it firsthand, would have thought odd choices for a man’s abode. But here, it worked: the low-slung platform bed in urban maple, with dark chocolate coverings and a burnt orange, tan, and dark brown pinstriped duvet. The light brown silk-covered walls were offset
by a stark white ceiling. Bronze-colored lamps sat on Moroccan-inspired nightstands and a Bokhara-styled Persian rug separated the sitting area from the rest of the space. There, the color scheme continued with two coffee-colored leather accent chairs, a love seat, geometric tables, and a custom-made mini-fridge with a chestnut finish.

  Bringing everything together was the artwork, especially a stellar uniquely drawn piece that hung behind the love seat. It drew her to it, the oversized images in earth-tone colors, drawn it seemed with thousands and thousands of penlike strokes. Where have I seen this type of work before? She leaned forward, reading the name scrolled on the painting’s left-hand side. Oh, right. Charles Bibbs. Now she remembered where she’d seen this artist’s work, at the Leimert Park Village Book Fair the previous summer. After traveling with Talisha to where her cousins lived in this area of Los Angeles, which was bordered by the Crenshaw District, View Park, Jefferson Park, and Vermont Square, they’d driven down Degnan Boulevard and then followed the crowd to a large tent filled with authors and their books. There had also been food vendors, a children’s stage, and another stage where panel discussions were held and celebrities were interviewed. NeNe Leakes was on the stage when they arrived and as she exited, Shayna recalled Talisha’s comment, “Lord, that sistah is six feet tall!” And she was, Shayna remembered. And they’d figured that was without the five-inch heels she wore.

  A ringtone caused Shayna to jump out of her skin. She’d been eyeing the artwork intently, and hadn’t even noticed the two cell phones sitting on one of the end tables flanking the love seat. One phone had barely finished sounding off before the other started. Shayna ignored them and turned to walk back toward the bed. And then both phones began ringing again. No longer able to hold back her curiosity, Shayna walked over and picked up the slender black iPhone. She tried to remain detached as she eyed the name. Shrugging, she put down that phone when the other one vibrated. Wow, somebody really wants to talk to you, Mikey boy. She looked at the screen on the BlackBerry. When the call stopped, the screen jumped to Missed Calls. Almost of its own volition, her thumb began to scroll the list. As it did so, Shayna’s heart began to beat faster as her frown deepened. She hadn’t meant to invade Michael’s privacy by looking at his phone. But she had. And, yes, he’d told her about all of his past liaisons. He’d also said he was not seeing any of them. So why were they still calling?

  A few minutes later, a decadent-looking Michael wrapped only in a stark white towel strolled out of the shower. Shayna sat on the bed, trying to appear casual despite her rigid back and crossed arms.

  “What is it, baby?” Michael asked, dropping the towel in unabashed fashion and joining her on the bed. His brows raised when he reached for her, as she pulled back. A first.

  “I have a question,” Shayna said, her voice low and calm.

  “Ask me anything, baby.”

  “If you’re no longer with them, then why are Ashley, Paige, Chloe, Victoria, and all these other women blowing up your phone?”

  It was Michael’s turn to act indignant. “You checked my phone?”

  “Didn’t intend to, but when they kept ringing and buzzing back to back to back curiosity got the best of me. And before you try and turn the tables, I apologize. Now, will you explain why all of these women are still calling the man who told me he wanted to be exclusive?”

  31

  The following day, Shayna called a powwow with her girls. They’d congregated in Talisha’s room, the largest, a master suite with en suite bath that she’d gotten by default because at the time she was the only one who’d had a man and nobody wanted to take the chance of seeing Cameron’s goods at two or three o’clock in the morning. They’d split the rent accordingly, and the arrangement had worked out for everyone involved.

  “Okay, so what is going on?” Talisha asked, after setting a bowl of popcorn in the middle of the bed. “This must be about Jarrell, because just last week you floated in here talking about you and Michael being exclusive. So I know that’s not the problem.”

  Shayna reached for the popcorn, even though she wasn’t hungry. “Looks like I may have spoken too soon.” She told the girls about finding all of the names on Michael’s phone.

  Talisha reacted first. “My Aunt Claudette says if you go looking for shit, you’ll find shit.”

  “Doesn’t excuse him if he’s playing her,” Brittney said, hurrying to Shayna’s defense.

  “I didn’t go looking, not exactly. We were in his bedroom and his phones started ringing—”

  “Hold up,” Talisha said, one hand in the air and another on her hip. “‘Phones,’ as in plural?”

  “Well, you know, for business . . .” Shayna offered, but considering where she was going with the conversation, her defense sounded out of place at best. “I knew he had more than one. That wasn’t what got my attention. What happened is they started ringing at once, or almost at once anyway. Hell, it sounded like a datgum ring tone concert. After the fourth or fifth one, I don’t remember, curiosity got the better of me and I picked one up. When I touched the screen it went to Missed Calls. That’s when I saw the names.”

  “How many?” Brittney asked, not even trying to hide her nosiness.

  “Too many,” Talisha interjected. “Unless they were all clients—which, since Shayna is here with us instead of where she’s been spending nearly every night, I’d say isn’t the case.” She popped a handful of popcorn into her mouth. “What did he say when you asked him about it?”

  “He assured me that he hadn’t been with any of them since we got together, and that it would take time to . . . handle that whole situation. Some of them he’s slept with, but had business with as well—”

  “Been a busy little bee, sounds like,” Brittney offered, rolling over for her water bottle on the nightstand. Shayna cut her a look. “What? Just saying . . .”

  “I think you’re overreacting,” Talisha said.

  “Me? Wasn’t your hand on your hip just a moment ago?”

  “You know how fast I jump to conclusions. But think about it. You just met the man, what, a month ago? Y’all just decided to become an exclusive item or whatever a week ago. The man wasn’t a monk when you met him, Shayna. I don’t think it’s too much to ask for you to give him some time to get his past squared away. He knows you still have interactions with Jarrell and he isn’t tripping about that.”

  “That’s different!”

  “How?”

  “Please, Tee,” Brittney interrupted. “You know how. Shay’s ex is also her brother-in-law.”

  “Technically, uncle-in-law,” Shayna corrected.

  Talisha grunted. “That’s some messed up reality TV stuff if I ever saw it.”

  “Tell me about it,” Shayna admitted. “But—”

  All three women finished the sentence together: “It is what it is.”

  “What did you tell him?” Talisha asked.

  “I may have overreacted. I told him that I wanted us to cool things off until he handled his business.”

  “Um, risky move there,” Brittney said. “Man like that don’t seem like the cooling off type, if you know what I mean.”

  “Britt has a point, Shay. I’m not saying that you don’t have a right to want what you want and to put down your rules, but are you really ready to turn back the clock and go back to a manager/client relationship only? How will y’all work together if that happens? Won’t that be kind of. . . you know . . . awkward?”

  “If it weren’t for ya’ll, I wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.”

  “What do you mean?” Britt asked.

  “It was your suggestion to seduce him!”

  “Yes,” Britt answered, “but it was your decision to go back for seconds and thirds. . . .”

  “And fourths and fifths,” Talisha chimed in.

  “And now I’m all wide open and everything, with a man who’s more desirable than a winning lotto ticket.” Shayna grabbed a pillow and hugged it to her chest as she fell back agains
t the bed. “Geez, here I was trying to straighten my life out and now it’s more complicated than ever.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Talisha said, her voice as calm as a mother soothing a child. “Things like this have a way of working out. Just go with the flow.”

  32

  Barcelona, Catalonia, lazily rests against the Mediterranean Sea and is the second largest city in Spain. Founded as a Roman city (by either the mythical Hercules or Hannibal’s daddy, depending on who’s asked), it is a rich cultural mecca known for its unique architecture—most notably the works of native artist Antoni Gaudí and his signature creation, the Sagrada Familia, the Church of the Holy Family, which even now, after more than one hundred-sixty years, is still considered unfinished. Popular tourist attractions include the Columbus monument and La Rambla. This tree-lined boulevard boasting eateries, shops, souvenir-selling kiosks, and dozens of street performers, was a haven for tourists and locals both day and night, often played out to a soundtrack of a street-performing band. As beautiful and notable as the city was, however, for those attending the indoor track meet, their only scenery was the Estadi Olímpic Lluís Companys, formerly known as the Barcelona Olympic Stadium, and their only attraction was whatever event they’d come to conquer. For Shayna, Brittney, Talisha, and Kim, that event was the 4 x 100 relay, the next item up on the day’s agenda and one of the highlights of the meet. The track world’s eyes were not only on the U.S. team, but also on Jamaica’s ultratalented, record-busting relay squad, along with countries Trinidad and Tobago, France, and the Ukraine. The stadium held a capacity crowd of more than 55,000. But there was one particular man watching one particular woman’s every move.