28
Michael stood at the window of his seventieth-story offices in Los Angeles's tallest building, the U.S. Bank Tower, and gazed out on a stunning view that included the renovated area known as LA Live. This thriving community was built largely to complement its anchor, the Staples Center, home to the LA Lakers and other clients handled by MSM. He looked out the window, but he didn't see a thing. For the past ten minutes he'd ruminated on the horrible news delivered via his latest phone call: last night Cheryl had overdosed on sleeping pills. Ironically, she was rushed to UCLA Medical and while Gregory hadn't been on duty then, he'd found out about it this morning, and had immediately called to tell (or warn, advise, relayâpick your poison) his brother of her still critical status. Not so much physicallyâthe on-call emergency physician had pumped her stomach and stabilized her vitalsâbut mentally. She'd been heard murmuring about not wanting to live and, as a precaution, had been put on suicide watch. Michael had been shocked, then devastated. True, he'd never lied to Cheryl, had always told her that what they had, though steadier and lengthier than most of his affairs, was neither exclusive nor lasting. More than once he'd assured her that he had no plans to turn in his bachelor card, and when she called wanting to see him, he often admitted that he was on his way to a date. He felt being upfront and keeping it real was the best way to deal with his multiple-partner lifestyle, and had never considered himself a cheater because he had always told the truth.
Yeah. Right.
But look what's happened. Of course, Gregory tried to tell him that it wasn't his fault. And of course Michael felt totally responsible.
“Excuse me, Michael?”
At the sound of his second assistant's voice, Michael turned around. “Yes, Nadia?”
“Your eleven o'clock appointment, Ms. Chase, is here. Should I show her in or do you need more time?”
After talking with Gregory, Michael had advised Nadia to hold his calls. He'd totally forgotten about Samantha Chase, the soccer standout whom he'd met in London, the same time as Shayna and others. She'd sought him out, and he'd been impressed with her knowledge of him, the business side of sports, and her desire to develop a solid postcareer trajectory. Before, he wouldn't have given the meeting and possible work arrangement a second thought, but news of Cheryl's overdose had him rethinking all things female. Did this woman really want to work on her career path? Or had she sought him out in London to work on him?
“Uh, why don't you set us up in the small conference room? Give her a client packet and make sure she's as comfortable as possible. Tell her I'm dealing with an emergency, but I'll be in there as soon as I can.”
Once Nadia had left the room, Michael returned to his desk. He pulled out his electronic address book and went to a folder simply titled “The List.” He opened it and began to scroll.
Bree. Jessica. Felicia. Mandy. Tamera. Susanna. Ashley. Paige. Peyton. Kayla. Natalie. Chloe. Kamela. Victoria. Sandra. Faith. . . .
It continued, the list of women Michael had known in the past seven, eight years. By today's standards, it wasn't an overly egregious amount of women. Some he'd only been with once or twice. Others he'd dated and afterward they had become friends. Still others had been business associates with whom he was still friendly, even having met some of their husbands and children once these partners had moved on. Healthy sexual appetite aside, Michael considered himself an honorable man, a good guy. He never lied to these women. Always stated the rules before engagement. Never led them on. Always treated them with dignity and respect. Never went without protection. And when he had to let them go, he always tried to let them down easy. All these years, these points had sounded okay to his conscience. But with Cheryl lying in a hospital, these facts sounded like the pitiful excuses of a spoiled boy, and a selfish man. Like someone who took what he wanted, whenever he wanted and from whomever he wanted, consequences be damned. True, all the women were grown and no, no one had put a gun to their heads and forced them into whatever bedroom. Now, in the light of a brand-new overdose, this detail seemed minor at best.
Cheryl had come by his house last night. Even with his declarations that it was over, and with his admission that he was seeing someone else, she'd begged to enter. Just to talk, she'd said. He'd looked at his camera, had seen her there in the short minidress and the high spike heels and, if she were true to habit, nothing on underneath. But Michael had been with Shayna the night before, and the night before that, and before Cape Cod, Shayna had been the only woman he'd wanted. Even with come-and-get-it-you-can-have-it-all-you-can-eat-pussy just outside his door. It was late, he was tired, and he didn't let her in.
As he gathered himself and headed out of his office, he allowed one more thought before he slipped on his business mask.
I wish I had.
29
Had it only been twenty-four hours since she'd seen Michael? Not according to the body part that fairly pulsated with excitement as Shayna turned into her new lover's drive. Even though he'd seemed preoccupied when they spoke earlier, something he said he'd tell her about later, Shayna still intended to do what she'd planned, what had been on her mind ever since getting off the phone with Beverly last night. For the past seven days, she and Michael had mostly been screwing. Tonight, it was time to talk.
“Hey, baby,” Michael greeted her as soon as he opened the door. She stepped inside and into his waiting arms. He hugged her fiercely, breathing deeply while running his hand up and down her back. “I'm glad to see you.”
His voice was low, husky, and filled with . . .
what? . . .
Shayna wondered.
Worry? Sadness? Grief? Pain?
Pulling away from him, she looked into his drooping eyes. “What happened?”
He reached for her hand. “Come here.” They walked into the living room and sat on the couch. He turned to face her. “There are some things I need to tell you,” he began after taking a deep breath. “About my lifestyle, and some of the people who've been a part of it.”
His lifestyle? Surely this man isn't getting ready to tell me he's gay!
“Okay,” she replied, drawing out the word.
“I've always considered myself the consummate bachelorâno commitments, no ties, no promises, no problems.”
“Whoa.” Shayna released Michael's hand at about the same time her mother's voice piped up in her ear.
These young witches don't know a thing about boundaries.
But Shayna did. And hers began and ended with the fact that she was not going to date a nonexclusive man with a lifetime player membership.
“Wait, Shayna, please.” Michael reached for her hand and once again placed it between his two. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but hear me out first. I'm not asking you to agree with it, or even understand it necessarily. All I'm asking right now is that you listen, with an open heart. I need to share this. Can you do it?”
Taking a deep breath, she answered, “I'll try.”
“Over the years, there have been a lot of women in my life. Some have come and gone, others pop in and out for days, weeks, or for a month or two at a time. There are others whom I've known for years and we were friends before we, uh, took things to another level, and some who remained friends after we decided to put that aspect of the relationship on ice. I lay out where I'm coming from up front, so that there are no misunderstandings down the road. That usually involves understanding three things. One”âMichael held up his pinky fingerâ“I'm not exclusive. Two, I've never been married and am not looking to get married. And three, protection is always used, not only as precaution against HIV and other sexual diseases but to make sure I don't catch the biggest virus of them allâfatherhood.” He'd hoped the smile that accompanied this line would lighten the mood.
It didn't. He went on.
“I always ask the women I'm dealing with if they understand, and if the answer is yes, then do they want to stay. A couple have left after learning there'd be no destination wedding at the end of the rainbow, but most of them stayed. And the ones who did, I thought were cool with everything.”
“But somebody wasn't?”
Somebody with some damn sense, I presume.
“Over the years there have been one or two women who tried to hang on long after the fire died, who didn't want to hear that the relationship was over. But eventually, they got the message and left me alone, moved on with their lives. One of my talent scouts, a former tennis player, is just such a woman; we hung out for one, two months. She wanted more. I didn't. She moved onâmarriage, kids, the whole nine. I've met her family, we've even shared a box at the U.S. Open. What I'm saying is that I'm cool with most of my liaisons both past and present.”
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 imaginedâworry, sadness, grief, painâand 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 askedâtranslated: screamedâquestion 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 âon 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?”