Darius Jones (6 page)

“G
et out the goddamn car, tricks.” What on earth were Jada and Grant doing? Women. Damn. She was probably tripping because those babies might be his. Not like his sperm could crack her mother hen eggs. “Get out of the damn car!”

“Stop here at this street meter,” I told the driver. Didn't want us to create a
Coming to America
scene with multiple luxury cars in front of Emergency, thinking we were lost shopaholics who were supposed to be across the street at the Beverly Center.

En route to the hospital I'd done a quick wardrobe change in the car. Wasn't much I could do in the short t ime frame to alter my blond hair and brows so I gathered my hair on top of my head and covered it with a charcoal Yankee baseball cap. Each time I wore this cap it reminded me of Jay-Z's and Alicia Keys's “Empire State of Mind.”

Yanked out my silicone pads, kept on my butt pads. I threw on my plain gray sweats and a matching T-shirt. Now I resembled a fair-complexioned black woman with itty-bitty titties and big booty.

I'd replaced my blue contacts with gray, removed my eyelashes, changed my makeup to a fresh clean earth tone. Slipped on my socks and gray tennis shoes. At times, I preferred gray because unlike wearing all black or white, not many people noticed the color gray or the person wearing it.

“Damn. It's about time.” Tossing my binoculars on the seat, I got out of my Town Car. I eased on my sunglasses, snapped on my eavesdropping Bluetooth, turned up the volume as I raced across four lanes of traffic on Beverly. I slowed my pace, trailed a short distance behind Jada and Grant. Grant smelled good and looked great.

I stood on the opposite end of the lobby listening to them speak with the intake nurse who was behind the desk. Grant reminded me of a lighter skinned Dwight Howard. If I weren't loyal to Darius, I'd snatch Grant from Jada and Honey. His broad shoulders were the kind I could hug for hours. That black tuxedo with the red wing collar worked. I checked out his shoes. Thank God they were black and not red. I didn't like men who were ultracolorful head to toe.

Jada's gear was glam but her face was garbage. The way she sucked her lips in so damn far I thought she'd choke on them. Good for her she had that black-don't-crack dark radiant skin. If her face were dry, the way she was all twisted, those hazel eyes would've caved in behind cracked crow's feet. As they faced my direction, I turned my back, walked a few feet away but heard every word.

“Are you coming with me?” Jada asked Grant.

“Coming with you where? You heard the receptionist. Fancy isn't in her room yet.” Grant shook his head. “But Honey is in labor. I hope she'll let me watch our boys being born. I missed her whole pregnancy. Can't miss the delivery too. But I'll find you later. Don't leave the hospital without calling me.”

All I needed was the room number for Fancy but I overheard the receptionist say the number for Honey's birthing room too. She'd be in that room the remainder of her stay, the woman had said. Fancy was assigned to a room on the third floor; Honey on the ninth, both in the north tower.

After Jada and Grant got on the elevator, I roamed the lobby letting fifteen minutes pass before approaching the intake nurse. “Excuse me. I'm here for the birth of my nephews. My brother-in-law said my sister Honey Thomas is in room nine-one-oh-nine.”

“She's got a sizable support group up there already. I'm not sure if there's enough space in her room for you but you can try. If the room is overcrowded, there's a family waiting room down the hall,” she said, handing me a peel-and-stick badge.

“Thanks,” I said, pressing on my visitor's pass.

I went to Fancy's floor first. Found 3117. Peeped inside. The refrigerated room was empty. The gust of air gave me chill bumps.

“Excuse me, miss, you can't go in there. We're preparing that room for a patient.”

I turned around. The nurse proceeded to step in front of me, then close the door. She wore a white cotton short-sleeved V-collar pullover with random pastel hearts scattered about. Her pants were solid white and she had on those white leather oxfords. I noticed she wore a name badge, Anita Harris, RN. Her short hair was auburn, brows black, lips wide, and pumpkin-seed-shaped eyes. I could easily apply a wig and my theatrical makeup to resemble her features.

“Oh, I was looking for my friend. The receptionist told me she was here,” I lied.

Quickly, she asked, “What's your friend's name?”

“Fancy Taylor.”

“What's your name?” she asked, setting a teal tote with lavender straps inside the room by the door.

She sure had a lot of questions. Bitch was lucky I left my Mace in the limo. I told her, “Bambi.”

“Yeah, right. Miss, don't come up here trying to get an autograph from Darius Jones. His wife is in critical condition. Please, leave and don't let me see you up here again.” She entered the room, then mumbled, “Damn, groupies done started already.”

Who in the fuck she calling a groupie?

Leaving wasn't a problem. And I'd be back but she wouldn't see the real me. I'd seen the sizable room reserved for Fancy. I wasn't concerned with seeing Fancy right away. Wasn't like she was going anyplace soon. Plus, the situation was too fresh for me to make a move.

Darius probably wasn't leaving Fancy's side tonight but he had a game coming up in Cleveland in a few days and he was scheduled to return to Atlanta after that game. Wish it were play-offs instead of preseason. His team could do without him this early in the season.
Damn.
I checked out the floor plan, the location of the nurses' station, and noted where the nearest stairway exits were in relation to Fancy's room. I trotted downstairs, sat in the lobby for thirty minutes, then took the stairs back up to bypass the nurses' station.

I checked the ninth-floor exit door entrance from the stairway to see if I could gain access to the floor. The door was unlocked. I trotted to the third floor, entered through the exit door. The door to room 9109 was closed.

Now that I had the lay of the land, I'd come up with a brilliant idea.

F
irst detained by a cop to answer questions about the accident, now I paced the hallway outside of ICU waiting to hear my wife's fate. I hugged my son to my chest. His legs were wrapped in bandages. The doctor said he had abrasions, no deep wounds. Lil' man would be okay in a week or two. He was released to me but I couldn't take care of him that long.

“We need to check on Grandma, my man.”

“I want my mommy.”

“Me, too. But we have to wait until the doctor says it's okay to go in.”

“No, Daddy. I want my mommy, not Fancy. I'm scared.”

I kissed my son. He didn't understand that Ashlee was awarded every other weekend visitations. Letting him stay with his mom in D.C. would be voluntarily breaking the court order. I hadn't violated the Dallas custody order in three-plus years. Wasn't going to do it now. I dialed my mom's number. DJ could stay with her until Fancy got better.

Mom answered, “Hey, baby. I'm here. I'm on my way up. What floor are you on?”

“Third. I'm in the hallway. They haven't let me see her yet. I need you to come get DJ.”

“I just got off the elevator. I'm walking up behind you.”

“Grandma! You made it.”

“Yeah, baby. Grandma made it.”

Mom touched DJ's bandages. Her brows raised, eyes squinted. I told her it wasn't that bad. She exhaled, kissed DJ, rubbed his back.

“Why you all dressed up, Grandma?”

“Grandma had to get here fast to get you, sweetheart. You are more important than me changing my clothes. Come here, Grandma's baby.”

Relieved Mom had taken my son, I hugged them both. My tears flowed. I tried hard to stop. Didn't want my son seeing me break down like this. I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“Excuse, me. Darius, man. I heard you were here but didn't believe it,” a man dressed in blue scrubs said. “Can I get your autograph?” His smile was wide. Swore I saw and wanted to knock out all thirty-two of his teeth. He stood there grinning and shoving a pen and pad in my hands.

I looked down on him and asked, “You know if my wife is dead or alive in there?”

His smile disappeared. Before he replied, a nurse opened the door, saving his life and mine. “Mr. Jones, you can come in now.”

“Ma, don't leave yet.”

“I won't be far. Honey is upstairs supposedly delivering Grant's babies.”

Honey? Grant? Babies?
I shook my head. Quietly I entered Intensive Care, followed the nurse to my wife's bedside. Bandages surrounded my wife's head and face like she was a mummy from the chin up. I couldn't tell if the bandages made her head bigger or if her head was swollen.

She was connected to a breathing machine. IVs and shit were in her arms. A monitor was strapped to her middle finger. “Baby, if you can hear me, hang in there. I love you,” I said, gently touching her hand. Maybe if I hadn't been texting she wouldn't have been upset with me, and the accident wouldn't have happened. They let me see my wife for fifteen minutes while they prepared room 3117.

I asked the nurse, “You sure you can move her in her condition?”

“Your wife is at the best hospital. We have a state-of-art room that she'll be in. You'll see.” The nurse spoke in a soft tone. “Don't take this the wrong way but I wish the media would show this vulnerable side of you; however they're not allowed on this floor. They're so quick to condemn, but you're one special man, Darius Jones. I can vouch for that. You have no idea how many injured people are admitted here and their so-called loved ones don't visit them at all.”

Her words were comforting but she couldn't vouch for shit about me. Like the groupies and the media, she didn't know me. I'd only seen Anita Harris for a few minutes. My eyes drifted away from her. The numbers 777 and Arizona flashed in my mind. I looked at my wife.
The person responsible for this is going to pay.

Nurse Harris entered information into her electronic device. I stood by my wife's side.

“You can go to room three-one-one-seven now. We'll bring her there soon.” The nurse ushered me from the room.

Mom was gone. I didn't know how but I made my way to 3117. I sat in my wife's room waiting for them to bring her in. “Damn, it's cold in here.” The room had a sitting area off to the side, away from the patient's bed. A small circular coffee table with magazines was between two chairs. I sat in a low-back bucket-shaped lime chair next to my wife's bed.

I posted to my Facebook profile, What would you do if the one you loved was instantly taken away from you? Pray for my wife and my family. Scanning my iPhone applications, I pressed TVU Player to watch live television. See if the news was reporting my situation accurately.

The news reporter said, “Darius Jones just posted to his Facebook page a comment that has condolences pouring in from his fans. Is Darius Jones's wife dead? Stay tuned for up-to-date news on the number-one news station in Los Angeles.”

Fucking idiot reporter. I posted, My wife is NOT DEAD!

Mom texted, We're in the waiting room on the ninth floor.

Honestly, I'd hoped that Moms would be here for and with me when they brought my wife to the room, but she was keeping that hawk watch over Grant. Time alone for me was good and bad. Too much had happened in a short time. I wanted to yell, “This is fucked up! Why? Why did this fucked up shit happen to us?” I kept replaying how that white pickup truck forced us into the intersection but had no idea why. Worse, didn't know who'd done it. Made a mental note to ask Nurse Harris what room the woman in that SUV was in.

A woman in gray sweats entered the room, stood a few feet in front of me. “Hey, you okay?” she whispered in a raspy voice before closing the door.

“Nah, I'm fucked up in the head right now. You work here? Where's my wife?” This chick was dressed too casual to be on staff. Yankee cap on her head, sunglasses. Wondered if she was a jump off. For her sake I prayed she wasn't, 'cause I'd lose it.

“It's my day off. I heard about your wife's accident. Came by to help you any way I can. Here's my card. If you need anything, call me.”

I put the card on my wife's stand without looking at it. “No disrespect, but could you please leave?” I sensed she was lying but didn't want to offend her if she were telling the truth, and if she'd have to take care of Fancy tomorrow, didn't want her having no attitude.

“Oh, look. They forgot the other patient's bag in your room.” She walked toward the door, picked up a teal bag with lavender straps that was next to the door. “I'll get rid of it. Don't forget to call me if you need anything. I'll do anything for you,” she said, closing the door.

G
lad the woman in sweats left, I had time to reflect. How did I go from proposing to my wife to praying for her life? I sat by my wife's empty bedside thinking,
I came from a broken family. I refuse to have one.
I always had money. I was never broke. But Moms was Mom. She had her struggles. I'd forgiven her for lying to me about my biological father.

Forgiveness eases the pain; it didn't erase the pain. Had Maxine, Ciara, and Ashlee forgiven me? Should I care? Of the times I'd cried, I'd never cried for any of my exes. I cried when MaDear died, and now. I'd never cried this much in my life. I wondered how many tears my exes had shed for me.

The door opened again. This time it was Ladycat. Two nurses rolled her in. They slid her body from a smaller bed to a bed the size of a twin. Disconnected and reconnected her oxygen tank. Made certain all of her machines were functioning properly. Raised, then locked the guardrails. I didn't want to be rude but I wanted them to leave so I could be alone with my wife.

Nurse Anita said, “The doctor will be in shortly. Your wife's belongings are in—” She paused, then asked the other nurse, “Did you move the teal bag that I put Mrs. Jones's belongings in?”

“Oh, the one with the lavender straps?” I asked.

“Oh, thank God. You have it already,” Anita said.

I shook my head. “No, the other nurse said that bag belonged to someone else.” Wishing they'd leave, I didn't give a damn about that tote bag.

The nurses exchanged blank stares. Nurse Anita said, “We'll find her bag.”

I'd never seen that bag before. “My wife's purse was—” Fuck, in our SUV. I needed my mom. I was in no condition to call credit card companies. Besides, I didn't know what numbers to call. It was too late to call my banker. I prayed no one would steal my wife's identity.

As the nurses exited the room, I whispered, “Thanks.” Couldn't get any other words out before the tears gushed again.

I wasn't much of a prayer man but I needed God. MaDear told me, “Baby, God always has open arms. His arms are wide enough to hug us all at the same time. Don't you ever be too prideful or too ashamed to call His name.”

Kneeling beside Fancy's bed, I wanted to pray silently but the loudest, “Dear God, please don't take her from me!” belted from my gut. “Please, I'm begging You.” My tears streamed over the mucous escaping my nostrils. I didn't care.

I pulled my chair closer to her bed, sat by her side, then held my wife's hand. Her hand was cold, mine too. Wish they could turn on some heat. I stared at Fancy. She slept like an angel. Her eyes and nose were all I saw. She didn't move her hand, didn't open her eyes. She lay there motionless.

“Baby, do you remember the night we met? I do. New Year's Eve. Of all places, church. When I saw you standing in the doorway soaking wet in that sexy designer gown and”—I laughed, then continued—“with your weave dripping water to the floor. You were gorgeous then and you're more beautiful now. You were tough then and you're tougher now. I remember how I wanted you to come to my house that night or invite me to yours and you made me drop you off at your place.

“I knew I liked you then. I'd wanted to get at you for over a year before you gave me a chance. Waiting one more night was cool but you made a brotha put in OT. It was worth it. You're worth it. And, baby, do you remember the time you got me off in the hallway at your condo building? That's when I knew for sho you were the one. And what about that day we met that psychic lady in Berkeley by Skates? She was the real deal. I could use her help now and you know I don't believe in psychics.” I paused, then whispered, “I love you, baby.”

Recalling what that psychic lady told me, “Death follows you,” my breath stopped at the edge of my nostrils. Was this accident God's plan? Was He breaking me down to build me up? Was he going to take from me the person I loved most? The psychic lady had also said, “You'll be happy again.”

Until a couple of hours ago, I was happy. “Lord, I'm begging You. Please don't do this to—”

The doctor entered the room interrupting my flow but that was cool. His role was more important than mine. My mother entered behind him carrying DJ. Thankfully DJ was asleep and Grant wasn't with them. I hugged my mom tight. Didn't want to let her go but had to.

Mom covered her mouth when she saw Fancy. “Oh, Darius. What on earth happened?”

I knew Mom seeing Fancy was a shocker considering DJ had surface scars and I had none. “Not now, Ma. I'll tell you later. I'm glad you're here.” I hugged my mom's waist, then asked, “Doc, give it to me straight.”

“I'm Doctor Duke. Mr. Jones. Your wife has to remain in guarded condition because she's in a coma. We're doing all we can to bring her out. Temporary comas are not uncommon for auto accident victims. Those air bags and seat belts saved both of you. Don't know how you walked away or how your wife doesn't have any broken bones but someone up there is looking out for your family.”

I looked at Mom. “We know exactly who.”

The doc continued. “Your wife responds to pain by opening her eyes but she doesn't respond to light touches or sound. When the minor swelling in her brain dissipates, that should relieve pressure on the stem. Accident patients sometimes regain consciousness within a few days, or it could be several weeks. Or sometimes not at all.”

I never imagined being a single dad or having to make it on my own without Fancy. Maybe if I did some good in the world, the way Shaq and LeBron always gave back to their community, God would heal Fancy. Maybe if I donated a few million to the people in Haiti or built a few homes for the forgotten Katrina victims, my wife would regain consciousness. And if I apologized to my exes, would God let my wife be normal again? Damn, what if she suffers permanent brain damage? Will she remember me? Will our lives be the same if my wife is permanently disabled?

“Your talking to your wife is good. Do that as much as you can. She may be hearing you, though I'm not sure because she's not responding at a high level. But she is responding. If you want to spend the night, I can have another bed delivered immediately.”

I nodded so as not to interrupt him, then glanced at my son. DJ was still asleep. How could my wife be fighting for her life while we were healthy enough to go home?

“We'll check on her around the clock. I'm staying the night just in case an emergency develops. Any questions?”

I had mad love and respect for Doc. I had to do it. I hugged him. “Thanks, man.”

Mom asked, “Can I stay with her when my son is not here?”

“Afraid not,” the doctor answered. “Under her circumstances I shouldn't allow Mr. Jones to stay overnight.” He paused, looked up at me, then said, “but he is the league's MVP. I'm personally making this exception for you, Darius.” He patted me on the back, then left the room.

“Ma, when I'm not here, stay as long as they'll let you. Please. Right now I need for you to take DJ home.” Who would watch DJ, when I was traveling and my mom was here with Fancy?

DJ opened his eyes. “Daddy!” he said, reaching for me. I held my son. “Who's that?” he asked, looking at the bandages around my wife's face.

“That's Fancy, my man.” Handing my son back to my mom, I said, “Get him outta here, please.”

“Of, course. Anything for you, hon—baby,” she said, changing her word. My mom hugged me, told me, “I love you,” and left.

I pressed my fingers deep into my eye sockets. Something so soft, tears, still managed to escape. My wife was gentle and strong like that. She held it down when I was a boy trying to be the man. When I didn't understand what it meant to be a man. I'm so glad I didn't take my wife for granted. My tears were partially out of regret. I wished I had given her the attention she'd deserved instead of texting.

I kissed her bandage, then whispered, “Baby, hang in there. I need you.”