A Good Man (28 page)

Maybe I should have stuck to the triathlon, and we could have had it at sunrise when Aaron was hungover. “I don’t think we will, Aaron.” Sonya shook her head. “I thought these would be hard challenges.” She shrugged. “Just make them romantic poems, okay?”

“Ma chère, mon chou, je vais lui écrire en Français,” Tony said softly.

Kim blinked. “What’d you say?”

“I’ll tell your sister on our first date,” Tony said.

Kim crossed her arms. “Your poetry must be deep and have meaning, Tony. And if you write it in another language, you have to give us the translation as well. And you must move both Jazz and me emotionally. Make us cry. Make us laugh. Make us say, ‘True dat.’ Make us feel something. Think you can handle that?”

“Word,” Justin said.

Aaron didn’t raise his hand this time. “Does it have to rhyme?” he asked.

“No,” Kim said.

“Should it rhyme?” Aaron asked.

“It’s your poem, man,” Kim said. “Do what you want with it.”

“What kinds of poems do you like, Shani?” Aaron asked.

Aaron is so shameless! Sonya thought. Hitting on my daughter right in front of me.

Kim frowned. “Poems that make me think and poems that prove to me that you can think. Deep poems. Poems from the heart. You got heart, Aaron?”

“Yo, Ma, I got mad heart,” Aaron said.

Kim gave him the same kind of withering stare she gives me whenever I annoy her, Sonya thought, which is most of the time.

“Just don’t write a Hallmark card,” Kim said, “or I will slam you. Hard.”

“You won’t have to slam me, Shani,” Aaron said. “I got mad writing skills that thrill and kill, um, Bill, and instill the hills with, um, thrills.”

Kim laughed. “Oh, that was swill, Aaron.”

Aaron smiled. “Thank you.”

That man has an ego the size of Texas and an intellect as small as a thimble. “So, you’ll first be cooking with food,” Sonya said, “and then you’ll be cooking with words.”

Darius handed a card to Graham. “Tomorrow,” he read, “you will shop at Ralph’s.” Graham smiled. “Ralph’s? I shop at Ralph’s. Thursday you will prepare your meal here in the mansion. Friday you will try to amaze Jazz and Shani with poetry. And the winner will be going on a date with Jazz Saturday night.”

“How’s that for a busy week, Team?” Sonya asked.

“Don’t disappoint us,” Kim said.

And there’s John not saying a single word, Sonya thought. I wonder what he’s thinking.

Shani, John thought, is like the quarrelsome wife from Proverbs 27. She’s the dripping of a leaky roof, and controlling her is as easy as controlling the wind or grabbing oil.

Shani is slippery.

She may be the spittin’ image of her sister, but all she spits is venom. She is so unlike her sister. Maybe that’s the way of the universe. For every good, wholesome, kind person, there is a not-so-good, worrisome, mean person as a counterbalance. Either that or Shani just didn’t get enough warm fuzzies in her life. Maybe that’s it. Sonya got all the attention for her amazing athletic abilities, and Shani felt left out.

John was the last to leave the couch, and Shani and the others were already in the kitchen eating snacks or going out to the pool. Sonya cut her eyes toward the foyer, and John hesitated, then followed her to one of the inkblot paintings.

“You were awfully quiet,” Sonya said.

“Aaron’s rule is still in effect,” John whispered. “I should be anywhere you aren’t.”

“But you’re not,” Sonya said.

John nodded. “You’re a bad influence on me.” He went to the foot of the stairs. Put one foot higher than the other on the stairs so if anyone comes in, it will look as if I’m just going up the stairs. “I have a lot of writing to do.”

“Gonna write me an epic poem, John?” Sonya asked.

“I’ll try not to. It’s only an hour show.”

“Right,” Sonya said. “If you’re up, say, at four and want some company …”

John took two steps higher on the stairs, then leaned on the banister. “I always want your company, Sonya. Always. But rules are rules.”

“Even if seven of the people who voted for that stupid rule are gone?”

“That’s a very good point,” John said. “However, Aaron is still here, and I don’t want to butt heads with him today.” He winked. “I don’t want it to affect my creativity. You don’t want an angry poem, do you?”

“No.” She stepped closer to the stairs. “But I miss you, and this makes me angry.”

John rolled his eyes. “We practically live together, Sonya.”

Sonya smiled. “True.”

“And I don’t think your sister likes me very much either. True?”

Sonya nodded. “Not yet. I’ll try to bring her around.”

“You do that,” John said. He looked to the top of the stairs. “I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”

“You inviting me to your room, John?”

I’d like nothing better, Sonya. “Just holler if you need me.”

“Arthur!” she hollered.

I’m sure people in Oregon heard that. “Thank you,” John said. “It’s nice to be needed.” He continued up the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Sonya asked.

“To write you a poem.”

“Now? I just hollered for you.”

John smiled. “And that will inspire me. I intend to win this one.”

Sonya sighed. “Well, go on, then.”

She’s pouting. Shoot. John trotted down the stairs, pulled Sonya to him, gave her a firm hug, squeezed her hands, elicited a smile, and then tore up the stairs two at a time to his room.

“Arthur!” Sonya hollered again.

This could become habit-forming, John thought.

He sped down the stairs, hugged her again, elicited a laughing smile, and went up to his room.

The poem flowed out of John’s pen, and so did the tears.

God, I have two women in my head. Two. Why can’t I separate them? They’re blending together on this page, and I can’t help it. It’s as if I’m writing the ending of one thing and the beginning of another, and the ending of the one thing is making me cry. Sheila … Why can’t I say good-bye to Sheila? Is it because I didn’t get the chance to?

He reread the poem silently. I guess this is my good-bye to her.

Justin popped his head into the room. “You okay?”

John wiped his eyes with his palms. “Yeah.”

“You must be feeling it.” Justin sat on his bed.

“I’m just thinking about my wife.”

Justin shook his head slightly. “You’re married?”

“Was.” He put his notepad down. “She died. Her name was Sheila.” He took out his wallet and pulled out a small wedding picture, handing it to Justin.

“She’s … daa-em, Artie. She fine. Oh, sorry.” Justin handed back the picture.

“She was fine,” John said. “Sheila was so amazing that I was always amazed she was with me.” He looked at the picture. I have never looked better in a suit in my life.

“How long were you married?” Justin asked.

“Five years.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Artie, but I didn’t know why you were even on this show,” Justin said. “Now I can see why. Shelia, right?”

John nodded, tucking the picture back into his wallet.

“Sheila was beautiful, man.”

“Is. She’s still beautiful. In my head.” And she visits me in my dreams, too, John thought, but I can’t tell Justin that. I can’t tell him I always wake up crying.

“Yeah. Man, Artie, I’m real sorry to hear that.”

And here come more tears. I have to let them fall. “Yeah. It’s been hard. Real hard.” He went to the bathroom and took two tissues, blowing his nose. “Sorry, man.”

“It’s okay.”

John sat on his bed. “Writing this poem has helped some.”

“Gonna be deep, huh?”

“Maybe too deep. I doubt Shani will be impressed.”

“You ain’t writing for her, right?” Justin asked.

“Right.”

“I ain’t that deep,” Justin said. “I’ll just try to make them both laugh. It’s what I’m good at.”

“A feast is made for laughter,” John said.

“True dat,” Justin said, “and there’s gonna be lots of laughter after our feast.”

“Please tell me we’ll run some or all of this, Bob.”

Bob seemed deep in thought.

“Bob?”

“You didn’t tell me he had a dead black wife.”

“I tried to tell you, Bob. I told you that Arthur had been through some tragedy. This is that tragedy.”

“How long has she been dead?”

“Fifteen years.”

“And he’s still crying over her?”

“True love is like that, Bob. I still think about my wife, and she’s been gone for thirty years.”

“You dream about her?”

“She drops in occasionally. ‘For a visit,’ she tells me. And when I wake up, I look at her picture and say, ‘Soon, dear, soon.’”

“You’re not going to drop dead on me anytime soon, are you, Larry?”

“I’ll try to stay among the living until the show ends, Bob. Now are we going to run any of this conversation?”

“No. It’s too heavy. A man crying? We run this and she keeps him another week or longer and we lose all credibility.”

“How so?”

“A man who cries is a punk, Larry. You know that. And if she keeps a punk, what’s the point of having any hunks?”

On the ride to Ralph’s Wednesday morning, Justin broke the silence. “What y’all gonna make? I’m makin’ her an authentic Philly steak ’n’ cheese.”

“She’s getting gumbo and a po’ boy from me,” Tony said. “Something spicy, something sweet.”

“I’m from Memphis,” Gary said, “so you know I gotta make her the world’s best barbecue.”

“We Texans make the world’s best chili,” Aaron said. “And I use secret ingredients.”

Justin blinked. “You’re going to cook two beautiful women … chili.”

“Yeah,” Aaron said. “It will melt in their mouths.”

Gary laughed. “Never heard about no chili melting in anyone’s mouth.”

“Trust me, fellas,” Aaron said. “They’ll ask for seconds.”

Justin looked at John. “What about you, Artie?”

John sighed. “I’m having a little trouble deciding. I’m originally from Chicago. That means pizza, sausages, and cheesecake—not the best combination.”

“Nope,” Justin said. “For them. Sounds fine to me.”

John smiled. “I’ve been living in Alabama for over twenty years, so I’m going home-cooked. Fried chicken, real mashed potatoes, cornbread, and greens.”

“This is California, Artie,” Tony said. “I don’t know if all these beautiful people even eat greens. You might not be able to find any fatback either.”

“You gonna cook them greens at the mansion?” Gary asked.

“I’ll have to,” John said.

“You’re gonna stink up the whole house, man,” Gary said.

“Yep.” And that’s the point. Sonya will smell them percolating, and it will remind her of home.

“Well,” Justin said, “at least we’re all giving them something different.”

Gary shook his head. “And Shani ain’t gonna like any of it.”

“True dat,” Justin said.

“I guarantee she’ll love my chili,” Aaron said.

Gary shook the limo with his laughter. “I ain’t never heard no one ever say, ‘Yo, I just love chili.’”

“Just you wait, man,” Aaron said.

Out in front of Ralph’s, a small crowd of shoppers surrounded the limo, many taking pictures with their cell phones as the Team left the limo to stand on five X’s taped to the sidewalk. Graham and several camera crews waited near the doors.

“Gentlemen,” Graham said, “welcome to Ralph’s. You each have one hour to shop and only fifty dollars to spend on your meal for Jazz and Shani. A camera crew will follow each of you as you shop. Go!”

John headed first to the meat section. Whole chickens at sixty-nine cents a pound. Do I want to cook a whole chicken? It’d save money. I’d have to cut it up, though. My meal won’t cost that much anyway. Maybe a pack of drumsticks? No. That’s childish. Unless I give them some variety. There’s more meat in a breast. Hey, Foster Farms chicken parts are fifty percent off. Cool.

He put packs bursting with breasts, drumsticks, and wings into his cart. The camera crew recorded the event.

This can’t be a fun job for them, John thought. Maybe I should say something to liven it up? “On to the potatoes!” he said with a smile.

The sound man gave a thumbs-up.

Standing in front of the potatoes, John decided to think out loud. “Hmm. Yukon gold are the best for making mashed potatoes, but these russets are a buck ninety-nine for five pounds. A mix? Yes.” He smiled directly into the camera lens. “I take my smashed spuds seriously, y’all.”

He put a bag of Yukon gold and a bag of russets into his cart. “On to the greens!” he yelled, one finger high in the air.

I’ll bet that’s a first for TV.

Ralph’s had greens in abundance. John decided on collards. He displayed the bunch of collards for the camera. “These are good for you, America.” He put them in the cart.

He backtracked to the meat section. “Ham hocks or fatback? Decisions, decisions.” He chose two ham hocks, holding them up to the camera. “These are not as good for you, America, but they sure do make the greens taste better.” He smiled broadly for the camera. “And now, I am going to race through Ralph’s to make the rest of my purchases. Ready? Let’s roll!”

He flew back to produce and collected two sweet onions, nearly colliding with Aaron. He tipped an imaginary hat to Aaron and raced down every aisle in the store, collecting a bottle of apple cider vinegar, two boxes of Jiffy cornbread mix, a half gallon of milk, a box of butter, and half a dozen eggs. He spent a long time in the spices aisle selecting sea salt, white pepper, basil, parsley, ground ginger, and a bottle of Lawry’s.

“And now, I will pay for my purchases,” John said to the camera. “Isn’t this exciting?”

In the checkout line, John picked up two Snickers bars and put them into his cart. “Shh, America, don’t tell. I like chocolate.” He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t snicker at me, now.”

John finished first with his purchases, Aaron coming outside last.

“Yo,” Aaron said to the Team, “y’all got any money left over? I need another ten bucks.”

The Team pooled its change and gave it to Aaron, who rushed back inside.

Not even a thank you, John thought.

“Why we helping him?” Justin asked.

“Curiosity, I think,” John said. “We all want to know what sixty-dollar chili tastes like.”