The knob turns before I get there. Their bedroom door opens.
“Daddy!” I gasp. He hasn’t heard me. Doesn’t see me and Molly Wonder yet.
He stands in the doorway to their bedroom. He’s wearing his white shorts, like after he gets out of the shower. I think he’s smoking a cigarette. Those stink.
The door opens further.
I bolted awake. Why was my heart racing? I had the feeling that I was in a strange place, but it was my bedroom. Tanner nuzzled up next to me, reaffirming things as he snored. I couldn’t sleep any more. Not the way I felt. I gently lifted his arm and slid out.
I ran a bubble bath instead of my usual shower. It seemed to work on the aches I was feeling. Probably a restless night of sleep, or Tanner crowding my side of the bed. Soaking, I read a few pages from the novel
Satin Nights
, the sequel to Karen E. Quinones Miller’s
Satin Doll
that I had been anticipating for years. It was like visiting with old friends, something I wished I had had more of while growing up.
Before turning into a prune, I exited the tub. With Lorenda gone, I would be foraging for breakfast this morning. In our bedroom, Tanner surprised me by being awake. He’d already put on a pair of shorts and was tying the laces on his running shoes.
“Not sleeping late? I missed your coming in last night.” No shock, as I’d taken a sleep aid, per doctor’s orders.
“I wasn’t gone long,” Tanner replied, looking vibrant as ever. “Tomorrow’s the usual grind so I need to get my cardio in now. How do you feel?”
“Better. Thank you. Would you like me to fix you some breakfast?”
“Maybe when I return,” he answered with a kiss to my cheek. “I’m going to hit some laps at Crestwood Park. That track they laid helps with my knees.” He was such a healthy person that I forgot the occasional weaknesses brought on by his age and hectic schedule.
With some quiet time alone, I decided to paint my toenails before burning toast for myself. Pumpkin burst through the bedroom doorway, making me spill polish on the carpet.
“Shit, Pumpkin!” I yelled.
“That’s the spirit,” she joked, not caring about the mess she was responsible for. She skipped right over my hand as I tried to dab at the red stain with a piece of tissue.
“When are you leaving? You’re causing way too much trouble for me.”
She helped herself to a seat in the wingback chair by the window. She wore gray sweat bottoms and a white sports bra. She let one leg dangle over the arm as the sun glinted in her eyes. “Ooooh, I’m not sure, sis. I’m having the time of my life. Especially last night.” She cackled, full of mischief. “Nothing like a good sex party to get me going. All that fucking and sucking.”
“Y’know . . . you don’t have to talk like that. And next time, spare me the details of your troubled life.”
“Shit. My life ain’t the one that’s troubled.”
Our eyes locked, making me remember our tussle in this very room. The doctor had told me to take it easy. No stress. I calmed myself, then spoke. “I want my money back, sis.”
She popped out of the wingback like a jackrabbit, suddenly antsy. She flicked her hair defiantly with her fingers as she viewed herself in my mirror. “Can’t do that. It’s been invested. At least, that’s what he tells me.”
“He? Who are you talking about, Pumpkin?”
“None of your concern. Why don’t you go fix breakfast for your husband? He’ll be back from his jog soon.”
“You were spying?”
“Nah. The two of you talking woke me up. Heaven knows, I need some beauty sleep after all that . . . activity.” The faces and gestures she made were obscene. “Anyway, I guess I’ll see you later.”
“Where are you going?”
“Out. Get some air. Maybe do a little jogging myself. Staying this fine takes work, babe. You want to come?”
I took another fruitless dab at the drying polish. “No. I’ll stay here.”
She came over and leaned in front of me. “Why? Afraid of what you might find?” she asked wickedly. I just stared, taking pity. She ran her fingers through my short curls before planting a disturbing kiss on my forehead and jogging out of the room. She actually whistled.
19
PUMPKIN
W
hat a lovely day to be in the park.
I knew it was that bastard Tanner at the sex club. No frilly mask could hide that ego nor hide the motions of his body, of which I was aware. And now I knew the woman who was his companion for the night. All it took was an
accidental
unveiling to be sure.
Surprise, surprise.
He thought he had games on Bianca. Of course, he had yet to learn that I was the master of games.
Standing on the trail, sheltered by the large oak’s limbs, I saw people impatiently jog around me. I wasn’t here for that. Their scowls and beleaguered mutterings simply rolled off. Teflon sweats with a matching bra and panties.
I spied the mighty Mr. Coleman going through the motions, but not really into it like these other sweaty fools. A woman with a baby stroller was on the trail ahead of him, kneeling as she tended to her child. Shades similar to mine obscured her eyes. The masks we wore every day. Their illusion was only temporary. Nothing could hide us from who we truly were.
When he reached the pair, he slowed to a walk. Then he stopped, taking several quick glances at his surroundings before breaking into conversation with her. She looked up from her child and smiled, enamored with his attention.
Rather than stir up the Kool-Aid, I decided to watch some more, let the sugar settle on the bottom. A pretzel stand was nearby, so I ordered a big one and waited for things to go down. I found a bench and took a seat to feast on my snack. Unhealthy for this time of day, but I didn’t care.
The woman stood up again, continuing her exchange with Tanner. Both of them were smiling over something undoubtedly terribly lame.
My view was cut off. I licked the salty butter off my fingers and stretched my neck around the temporary obstruction—a man and his dog. He still wasn’t moving. Appropriate for where I was at, I guess.
“Don’t I know you?”
Damn.
He wasn’t leaving, was he? A suck of my fingertip and I decided to acknowledge him. “I think not,” I offered.
Move, man!
Man had a gleeful lilt in his tone. “Are you sure?” he pressed. His cute little Yorkie sniffed the ground. I gave him another look. Only because he had a cute dog.
Oh
, I mentally registered.
Way too small a world.
The man was Henry’s looky-looky neighbor whom I’d provided a window view of my goods. The scholarly one was out for a stroll, but the peep show was closed.
“Yes. I think I do remember you now.”
“Really?” he gushed. The man was about to drop his dog’s leash and do the Cabbage Patch.
“Sure. Aren’t you from the clinic?”
“The clinic?” He decided not to drop that leash too quickly.
“Yes. I work where we perform surgeries. Didn’t you come in Tuesday for the ‘change’ consultation?” I gave him a hot wink.
Red was the color of his face.
Very
red.
“You must have me mistaken,” he blubbered. He resumed his walk, the four-legged mustache being yanked along.
See man run.
Tanner and the two had moved off the trail. A nearby tree provided them some cover, but I still had the perfect view.
For someone cold, smug, and aloof, Tanner was displaying way too much joy as he removed the small child from its stroller. Cute little boy, from what I could see. His mother placed her hand on Tanner’s back and rubbed approvingly. As he held the baby up to the sky, cooing like a fool, I recognized that look.
All masks eventually got lifted.
Hmph
. No more pretzel.
I wiped my hands and disappeared before I was noticed.
Not the time. Not the time.
20
HENRY
S
unday at a sports bar. A normal occurrence for me in recent years, except for a different location this time—next door to the Radisson where I foolishly thought I could hide. Here I was seeking the familiar—the series of highs and lows I so desperately craved.
A craving was a want . . . a desire. A need was a necessity.
I had a need to win today.
I guess you could say my life depended on it.
I felt good.
I was a winner. In spite of all the turmoil, in spite of my horrible luck, I was still standing. I was a winner.
Another round of drinks for the place. Another wave of cheers in my honor. I was very popular at the moment. Just like Cleveland was on the scoreboard.
I had the lead I needed. The cash money I’d deliveredearlier in the day was already multiplying. Like those gremlins from that old movie, fresh off a splash of water.
“If you keep buying me drinks, you’re going to get me drunk,” the woman seated to my left at the bar teased, detecting my swagger. She slid the fresh glass of wine over and tasted from it. Lips lingering on the glass long enough for me to notice. The unspoken equated to:
Wouldn’t you like to know what happens when I get drunk?
Before meeting Pumpkin, I would’ve been finding out in quick order. That was just it. She wasn’t Pumpkin. Couldn’t hold that thong on her best day, but I continued to let her think she had a spot on my roster. Options. Definitely feeling like old times.
Some wore their allegiances in the open—team colors. Others stood, revealed by their outbursts to the referees’ calls. I was more discreet . . . especially with the underdog, Cleveland, leading through most of the game. No need to be emotional. Quiet confidence was what I exuded. To most, you’d think I didn’t have a vested interest in the game.
To most.
There were others in here sharing the same compulsion. That taste you get in the back of your mouth, that quickening of the pulse at the change of a score or end of a game. No matter how differently we dressed or how different our social statuses, we knew one another. We were brothers in the grip. Yes. Enough wires in here for a fucking acrobat convention.
“Who’s playing?”
“Huh? Oh. Atlanta and Cleveland, I think,” I answered nonchalantly. I was just here for camaraderie and idle chatter, maybe to take a fine thing like her back to my bed. I blinked right after the mental fibs.
Atlanta finally scored. A group of three men in their Atlanta jerseys paused from eating potato skins to pump their fists. Small glimmer of hope for them. Maybe what they would call a moral victory. Pity. Atlanta had been favored. And time was on my side.
“I don’t know much about football,” she admitted. But she did know something about cleavage. I checked the time remaining in the game and decided to give her a few more minutes of mine.
“What are you a fan of?” I turned completely toward her for the first time tonight.
“Hockey,” she replied. “I like the way they work their sticks.”
“Fan of the stick work?”
“Mmm-hmm.” She grinned. An innocent giggle escaped a not-so-innocent mouth. My money was growing, and so was my hunger for her. Henry was back. I was so glad I hadn’t put that bullet in my head.
“Are you a ballplayer?”
“No,” I answered, certain my physique gave that away. It was a nice suit that I wore. Maybe she thought it concealed muscles. Or maybe my being a black man was her only reference. I then realized she was looking at my cast. “Accident at work.”