Basketball Jones (24 page)

“Did he come with someone?”

Maurice poured himself more champagne. I hoped he didn’t get drunk or else this party could take a nasty turn.

“His new boyfriend, Lyon, who I invited only because I was going to make a play for him, or at the very least have him as eye candy for the Labor Day party. Lyon didn’t mention he had a boyfriend. I should throw both of their asses out. Lyon may have just got cut from the list even if he fine as hell.”

“It’s Christmas and this is your party. Just ignore them and enjoy the rest of your guests.”

Maurice thought about what I’d said, let out a deep theatrical sigh, and rejoined his guests.

After the game was over, I switched off the television and contemplated returning to the party. I got as far as the hallway, where I overheard one of the conversations. Of course they were whispering about who would get an invitation to the big party. Several men were talking about the movies:
Dirty Laundry,
a rare black gay family comedy starring the straight hunk Rockmond Dunbar, and the new Denzel Washington movie
The Great Debaters,
which Oprah Winfrey produced and promoted heavily on her talk show. One guy mentioned the new Will Smith movie and how much money it had made, and how Will was now one of the hottest male stars in Hollywood.

Eavesdropping further, I heard from another corner of the room, “We taking over, child, and if Obama wins this election, white folks are going to be heading back to England.”

I casually entered the den, trying not to appear aloof but not wanting to get drawn into a conversation either. I also dodged the heavy cruising taking place right and left. It felt strange being young and single again. As depressed as I was over the breakup, realizing that I was a good-looking young guy with his whole life ahead brought me hope suddenly. I grabbed a handful of almonds from the side table and paused when I heard the subject of football come up. A couple of guys spoke about how dreadful the Atlanta Falcons were and how their coach had recently bolted the team to coach the University of Arkansas. I heard them say it was all Michael Vick’s fault, but they admitted they missed seeing the handsome black man leading the home team and lamented that Vick had played his last game in an Atlanta Falcons uniform.

A few minutes later, the dinner bell rang and Maurice summoned his guests to the dining room for a moment of giving thanks. We all stood around the huge maple table holding hands as he led his guests in prayer. I wondered which of these guys were Lyon and the new boyfriend. As Maurice went on and on like he was delivering a sermon, I snuck a peek at the tree and noticed about thirty blue Tiffany boxes under it. Now this was big-time, and I could only imagine what the parting gifts would be come September. If Mo was living this good, then maybe I could make it on my own in Atlanta too.

When Maurice finally finished, the chorus of amens that followed sounded more like sighs of relief than blessings.

In spite of the glamour of the affair, this wasn’t a formal sit-down dinner. The table couldn’t possibly have accommodated the large number of guests, so an elegant buffet with servers had been set up. I fixed myself a plate and then retreated to the study. I said a prayer of my own that nobody
would miss or join me. I sat all alone watching another basketball game.

For about twenty minutes, it seemed my prayers were answered. I was relieved that I wouldn’t be stuck at a table between chatty dinner companions. Then a tall, slender man with a plate in his hand walked into the study. Damn, how did he know I was there?

“What are you doing in here all by yourself?” he asked playfully.

“Just watching the game,” I said politely, but with as little enthusiasm as possible.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked.

“Come on in,” I said, gesturing to a leather chair to my left.

He sat down and for a minute or two ate in silence, all the while surveying the room like he was sizing up the place for an estate auction.

“Who’s playing?” he asked.

“The Lakers.”

“That’s Kobe’s team, right?”

“Kobe plays for the Lakers,” I said, overemphasizing the obvious. I kept my eyes glued to the television, hoping he’d take a hint.

“I’m Bobby. Bobby Lee,” he said, offering his hand. “Are you Mo’s new roommate?”

“I’m his houseguest. My name is Aldridge,” I said, shaking his hand.

“Nice meeting you, Aldridge. So what do you think of Atlanta?”

“I’ve lived here before,” I said.

He gently dug into the food on his plate. “What brought you back?”

“I haven’t decided if I’m coming back,” I said.

“Where are you from originally?”

“North Carolina,” I said, between bites, intentionally trying to sound noncommittal.

“Wow, me too. I’m from Gaston. What city are you from?”

“Raleigh.”

“Isn’t that funny—the first new person I meet at this little affair is one of my homeboys.” Bobby laughed.

“Yeah, funny,” I said, trying to refocus my attention on the game. I didn’t want to hurt this guy’s feelings, but all I wanted was to be left alone.

“I don’t guess you’re worried about getting an invitation to Maurice’s big party, since you living with him.”

“That’s not the way it is,” I said defensively.

“I heard he’s not inviting a lot of the people here today. Is that true?”

“I don’t know anything about the guest list.”

“Oh. Can you believe New York is going to marry Tailor Made?”

“What?”

“Don’t you watch the show
I Love New York?”

“No, what’s that?” I asked.

“It’s a reality show about this girl whose nickname is New York. At first New York was on that show with that ugly-ass Flavor Flav and he broke her heart twice, and then she got her own show and the guy broke her heart. This year I was expecting her to fall in love with this fine-ass brother she had on the show, but she picked the white boy. Now they say they getting married. Ain’t that some crazy-ass shit?” Bobby smiled.

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never seen the show,” I repeated.

“It’s like watching a train wreck,” he said, shaking his head between bites. “Once you take a peek, you can’t look away.”

I leaned in closer to the television. “Whatever,” I said. Hopefully Bobby would go and refill his plate.

There was an awkward silence, which I was actually grateful for.

“Who do you think has a better chance to be president? Hillary or Obama?”

“Neither one,” I said. “We’ll get another white man.”

“You think so?”

“I know so,” I said matter-of-factly.

“Do you like sports or do you watch for the cute boys?”

“I like sports,” I snapped.

“I like the cute boys, but I don’t like basketball so much with the long baggy shorts. I miss the good ol’ days when they wore hot pants.” Bobby laughed to himself.

If he wasn’t going to leave, then I would. “If you will excuse me, I think I’m going to the kitchen to get some more food,” I said.

“Do you mind bringing me a turkey leg and a little dressing? Oh, some gravy too,” he said.

I wanted to ask him if I looked like a member of the waitstaff, but instead I told him it would be a while before I came back.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere,” Bobby said with a wink, eyeing me up and down like only a gay in heat can do.

I didn’t go back for refills but instead went into my room and closed the door. After a short nap brought on by a case of “itis,” as my mother liked to call it, I walked into the
kitchen to find Maurice paying the caterer in cash. That looked like a lot of cash to have lying around, but leave it to Maurice to get the best deal by paying cash and holding out the carrot of possibly getting the contract for his big event.

“You did a great job,” he told the caterer, a big man with a full beard dressed in a white chef’s coat. “Everything Lou said about you was true. The best in Atlanta.”

“Thank you. I left some extra cards on the counter, and please tell your friends about me. And I’d like to put in a bid for your Labor Day party.”

“Of course you would,” Maurice said. “And doing this party for a little over cost certainly makes you the front-runner.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I’ve heard a lot about your plans.”

“But not everything, I hope. I still got some surprises up my Dolce & Gabbana sleeves,” Maurice said with a hearty laugh.

As far as I could tell, all the guests had cleared out. I went to the refrigerator to get a glass of pomegranate juice, which Maurice had convinced me was even healthier than green tea. This alluring scarlet fruit juice actually made me feel like it was stopping the aging process.

“So where did you disappear to?” Maurice stood with his hands on his hips, giving me a reproachful eye. “I looked around and you’d gone ghost.”

I located the juice in a plastic jug, hiding behind the leftovers in large aluminum trays.

“The food gave me a case of the ‘itis’ and I needed a nap,” I said.

“A case of what?”

“The ‘itis,’ as in prefaced by the n-word. That’s what my mother calls it.”

Maurice rolled his eyes. “So did you meet anybody you like?”

“Nope, I sure didn’t,” I said, hoping this would put an end to the subject.

“Did you
try?
What about Bobby? I saw you talking to him.
“

I turned and faced him. “Bobby, you’re kidding, right, Mo? I told you I’m not ready to start another relationship.”

Maurice placed his hand on my shoulder. “Who said anything about a relationship? Because that’s not what I asked. You better locate you a friend with benefits or a nice piece of trade, because winter is upon us, child, and you don’t want to sleep in that basement room all by yourself.”

“I’ll be all right,” I said solemnly. My thoughts immediately went back to happier times with Dray. I’d struggled like hell to put him out of my thoughts, but that would take time.

“Are you thinking about him?” Maurice asked.

“Who?”

“Whoever you left or who left you.”

“Not really. Well, maybe I was thinking about him just a little,” I said.

Maurice poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot on the stove. “Look, Aldridge, I know you might be hurting now, but time will change all that. If this guy wasn’t good enough for you to introduce him to your best friend … well, he just couldn’t be that special.”

I thought about what Maurice had said, and gulped down the juice. “Maybe you’re right.”

“I’m always right, doll, but I thought you knew that.”

It was New Year’s Day, and while many use the day as a jump-off point for new beginnings, I couldn’t seem to get out of bed. The house was empty because Maurice had decided on a whim to take a few friends of his down to the Dominican Republic for a week of sun and being chased and serviced by handsome Dominican men. I’m sure some more party cuts would be made as well. He had invited me to join them, but I wasn’t interested in a trip for sex and sun. Actually, I looked forward to the opportunity of having the house to myself.

I dragged myself out of bed and over to the television. The E! channel had on its end-of-the-year review, and when they came to the part where they showed pictures of the many celebrities who had died during the year, I wondered how many of them, if any, knew a year ago that last year would be the beginning of the end for them. Damn, that was a morbid thought, AJ, I told myself.

But if anyone knew firsthand what a difference a year could make, it was me. I was of course missing Dray and remembering
the times we spent cuddled up in bed watching the marathon of college bowl games. It wasn’t that I loved football so much, but spending all that leisure time in bed with Dray made up some of the happiest moments of our relationship.

I’d been gone from New Orleans for a couple of months and pictured Dray frantic about my sudden disappearance. He might even have thought I died, but of course wouldn’t go to the police. I thought about dropping him a note to say not to worry, that I was okay, but thought Judi might find out and deliver on her promise.

Imagining Dray calling the hospitals to see if I’d been in an accident made missing him all the sadder. People don’t walk out on a relationship when they’re happy; they do it when they want out, like my dad. Poor Dray was probably going through hell worrying about me, and he could thank his loving wife for that.