Basketball Jones (17 page)

“Tay grew up down in Miami, right outside of Little Havana, and was a hustler coming out of the womb. When he graduated from high school, he moved to South Beach, where he was dating this thugged-out nigga who also happened to be one of the city’s biggest drug dealers. The dude had bank and nobody ever knew he was on the low, but they had been messing around for a long time. Well, old boi used to like to slap Tay around like he was a real bitch after he’d had too much Henny, and I guess one day Tay got tired of being smacked like he was a rag doll. And so like any diva, Tay started plotting his revenge.”

“How the hell did you find that out?”

Settling back into the black leather sofa, Maurice paused. Whether this was for dramatic effect or he actually was attempting to gather his thoughts, I couldn’t say. I’d seen him toasted before, but he wasn’t quite there yet. That was only a matter of time. More than likely this was part of his perfor mance, and knowing Mo, he relished it. Here I was, his captive audience.

“You see, a couple of years ago I met this guy through a site that posted profiles of prisoners looking for pen pals. You have to pay to get their addresses and stuff but the company that runs the site stands by all the profiles and pictures as being
legit—not like most of hese sites, where everybody is serving up fake pictures. Anyway, I was intrigued, so I wrote to about ten guys—all the same letter, naturally—and eight responded. Most of their letters were barely legible, but they were hot! Men in prison ain’t got no shame while they in the joint.”

I’d been listening so intently that I’d almost forgotten I was holding a glass of wine, so I took a sip. “But what does this have to do with Tay? Was he in prison?”

“No, honey. We both know Tay wouldn’t last a night in prison. No, it was his boyfriend Dillard Lewis, better known as ‘Big Dil,’ who was in prison. I know because he was one of the inmates I wrote to. He had a body to die for and I’m telling you, I’d have held out waiting for him over the two years he claimed he still had left to serve. Well, you know these guys. They’ll tell you anything to keep you on the line. Wasn’t any two years-more like forever. But I didn’t know that when we first met.”

Maurice then leaned in toward me without a word, the way they do in movies when someone is about to deliver the goods. I followed suit and leaned toward him expectantly. Our heads inches apart, he said, “And can I tell you this man wrote me some letters that made me wetter than morning dew! I’m telling you,” he squealed, throwing back his head at the memory, “I used to get hard just walking to the mailbox. Where he came up with this shit, I’ll never know, but I was falling for this nigga—and just through his letters! That nigga made your sister wet with his words, baby.”

He let out a little laugh, perhaps embarrassed to have revealed himself to me so suddenly, but that wasn’t Mo’s style; more likely he was turned on all over again just talking about those crazy letters. He then took a white cocktail napkin from the table and dabbed his glistening brow. I couldn’t help but
wonder how Mo had held out telling me this story—one he obviously prized—for so long.

“Things progressed from there,” he continued. “Soon I was put on his phone list, and suddenly I was getting calls from him at least twice a week. Phone calls from prison are expensive but worth every penny when they talk nasty. And if that man could write dirty, Lord, you shoulda heard him talk dirty! AJ, as God is my witness I was done! I mean, sold on this motherfucker. People joke about this prison-love shit all the time but, I swear, when it happens to you, it’s a whole other story.” Maurice was the only person I knew who for emphasis could turn “whole” into a six-syllable word. “Asking no questions, you pick up and go meet your man. So the next thing I know, I’m heading down to some skanky prison in Florida I’d never heard of to meet my new husband. You’d have loved it. I drove the entire way with the top down, feeling just like Whitney Houston in
Waiting to Exhale.
I was going to meet my man.”

Now it was my turn to laugh. I shook my head in disbelief. “I’m speechless, Mo. I mean it. I’m outdone. You gotta tell me what happened when you met.”

“Well, for starters, he was even better-looking in person than in his pictures. I would have sold my grandmother back into slavery to touch him but of course they didn’t allow that shit in prison. It’s fine for those guards to stand by while some dude gets gang-raped, but when it comes to two grown men giving each other a hug, forget it! But believe me, I went back every chance I got. What can I tell you? I was obsessed, maybe even possessed. I couldn’t get enough of the man. If you saw his picture, you’d know just what I mean.”

“Where does TT come into all this?”

“I’m getting to that, be patient. Let the diva have his moment.
One day I told Big Dil about me moving into a new apartment in Atlanta, and he said rather ominously that when he got out he was coming to Atlanta to settle a score. When I asked what he meant, that’s when I found out about him and Tay.”

“What about them?” I asked, surprising myself by how invested I’d become in the details.

Maurice simply sat there for a moment, swirling the wine in his glass. “It seems old Tay is a very smart diva indeed. He wanted out of the relationship, but there wasn’t any way Big Dil was going to let him go just like that. Remember, he used to knock him around but good. Tay must have gotten desperate because he cooked himself up a nice little plan. There came a weekend when he knew Big Dil would be driving up to Orlando to see one of his baby mamas. Totally on the sly and without Big Dil having so much as a clue, Tay packed a suitcase full of drugs, guns, cash, you name it, then stuck the suitcase in the trunk of Big Dil’s car. Next Tay tipped off the authorities, who stopped Big Dil on the turnpike, and Mr. Big Dil hasn’t seen the stars in the sky ever since. Tay set him up big-time.”

From the zeal with which he spoke, Maurice obviously bought the story, but it rang hollow to me. I didn’t doubt that a relationship that fucked up got out of hand and crazy games were played out, but it all sounded far-fetched, even for a drug-dealing thug and his boi.

I chose not to put any of this into words and instead went along with Mo. “Wow! That’s an incredible story. It’s almost hard to believe. This really happened?”

“Please believe, child. I thought it was kind of crazy at first but it all makes sense when you think about it. Doing so much illegal dealing, Big Dil didn’t trust in banks, so he kept his money at home, and eventually Tay got his hands on it. It
doesn’t take a genius to guess that someone at Big Dil’s level of dealing thought nothin’ of leaving millions of dollars lying around. But who’d have figured Tay had the balls or know-how to pull off the job? Big Dil didn’t know it then, but he sure as hell knows it now!”

“That’s a big job all right.” I set my glass down on the table, intent to get to the bottom of this, if there even was one. “But what was that about him telling you he was getting out in two years?”

“Yeah, that’s what he told me when he had me under his spell, but it didn’t take long for me to figure out he was lying. That nigga is gonna be in jail for a long time.”

“For how long, do you think?”

“Right now he got life or something, which means I ain’t never gonna get any of that dick. He told me he has close to twelve inches and thick.”

“That’s what I’m talking about.” With the mention of Big Dil’s off-limits foot-long, Mo’s story somehow felt much sadder to me. But I wasn’t going to get sidetracked on dick gossip. “So he’s sure Tay set him up?”

“No doubt about it, and get this: that crafty bitch took all the money that he didn’t put in that suitcase and moved to Atlanta, where he completely remade himself and started his now thriving business. When he found out over lunch that I knew Big Dil, he was ready to deal. To put it plainly, I need him to bring down Austin, which is no skin off Tay’s nose. What choice do I have? Nobody would give a shit if the information about Austin came from me. Who’d listen? Despite what this sounds like, it’s not blackmail. Even I got to draw the line somewhere. I don’t want any of Tay’s money, just a little bit of his power. He scratches my back and I rub his.”

“That’s some story,” I said, wondering how much of what he’d spilled would be remembered in the morning.

“Yeah, it’s one motherfucking story all right,” he concluded with self-satisfaction. Then Maurice sat straight up. He looked serious all of a sudden, as if he’d realized he’d talked too much. “But it’s our story, AJ, and if you tell anybody—I mean anybody—both our asses will wind up living in Idaho in witness protection. You can’t breathe a word of this to anyone. Do you hear me?”

“You ain’t got to tell me but once,” I said. “Besides, I’m pretty good at keeping secrets. Even better than you know.”

Maurice nodded his head in appreciation, raising his glass in a toast. Whether this was in recognition of our friendship, the party, his dealings with TT, or all three, I’ll never know.

“Why do I have to change my plans?” I asked.

“Because I really need you to be in Chicago with me, babe. You bring me good luck,” Dray said, taking my hand. “But I promised my mother. I won’t cancel on her twice.” “The Chicago game is big. It’s for first place and you’ve been my good luck charm lately. I’ve been scoring thirty points or more every game and it’s because you’re in the stands. I’m convinced of that. Besides, I get to hold you all night.”

Dray had come by after his morning practice and we were having blueberry smoothies in the living room. I had decided to tell him about the new threats but when I saw how geeked up he was from practice, I must have lost my nerve. Instead of telling him about the phone calls, I said I was going to North Carolina for the weekend.

“I’m not the reason you’re doing so well. You’ve been playing well all season. You’re a great basketball player, Dray.”

“Come on now, baby boi. Chicago is a wonderful city and I might see if I can stay a day extra, since we don’t have a game until three days later. Maybe we can find a spa outside the city and do something special.” He smiled.

“You guys play Chicago later next year. What if I come then? I really need to get home.”

“I don’t know,” Dray said. His face softened with disappointment. He took my hands and rubbed them together as he thought it over. Finally he let out a sigh, then turned to meet my eyes. His face broke out in a grin. Dray moved in real close and traced my lips with his tongue. I’d longed to taste his tongue all morning, but I decided to let him kiss me first.

“Those are kind of tasty,” Dray purred.

“My tongue tastes better,” I whispered.

“I bet it does.” Suddenly his strong tongue entered my mouth forcefully and we locked in an embrace.

We kissed passionately on the couch until the phone went off in the next room and shattered the moment.

“I need to get that,” I said, pulling away.

“No, come back here. You can’t leave me like that. I want more,” Dray pleaded.

“Only if you say I can go to North Carolina this weekend. If you do that I promise to join you in Toronto for the next game.” Dray knew that was my least favorite NBA city because it was so cold, although it was the one place where he didn’t mind venturing out with me for window-shopping.

“Okay, you win. But if I have a bad game in Chicago, it’s going to be your fault,” Dray warned.

The phone stopped ringing but immediately resumed seconds later.

“Let me take this. It might be a bill collector.” I laughed.

“Yeah, right. You don’t have any bill collectors. I make sure of that. But you go ahead. I’ll be upstairs taking a shower. I expect you to join me in a few minutes.”

“Okay, I’ll do that,” I said, giving Dray a quick peck on the cheek. I hopped off the sofa and sprinted toward the hallway where the phone was located.

“Now hurry up,” Dray said as he walked up the stairs.

“Sooner than you think. You just make sure you’re ready.” I waited a beat, then clicked on the phone. “Hello?”

“I see your boyfriend is there to offer a little afternoon delight. How special is that?”

I was not about to do battle with this guy while Dray waited, so I simply clicked off the phone and headed toward a stress-reducing shower upstairs.

I walked through the automatic doors of the Raleigh-Durham airport and into the cold North Carolina night. The fresh air against my skin reminded me how chilly Raleigh got this time of the year. But just being back home warmed me with nostalgia. I crossed the sidewalk, passing several cabs, when I spotted my mother waving and blowing the horn of her ruby-red Cadillac. Her smile immediately made me glad that I had passed on Chicago.