Divine Intervention (15 page)
Read Divine Intervention Online
Authors: Lutishia Lovely
29
The Sideline Story
R
afael sat in his City Hall office, holding a report that he’d been trying to read for the past ten minutes. He hadn’t been able to get past the first paragraph. Thoughts about Princess kept getting in the way. Was it just ten days ago that Derrick Montgomery had collapsed to the floor causing Rafael’s world to crumble in the process? Yep, less than two weeks ago, Saturday before last, he was on his way to being the happiest man in Kansas City. There’d been a wedding ring in his pocket and tickets for a romantic getaway to Montego Bay in his hand. Less than two weeks ago, he was clear about his future, sure about his destiny. But today—Monday, June 25, Rafael wasn’t sure about an em-effing thing.
afael sat in his City Hall office, holding a report that he’d been trying to read for the past ten minutes. He hadn’t been able to get past the first paragraph. Thoughts about Princess kept getting in the way. Was it just ten days ago that Derrick Montgomery had collapsed to the floor causing Rafael’s world to crumble in the process? Yep, less than two weeks ago, Saturday before last, he was on his way to being the happiest man in Kansas City. There’d been a wedding ring in his pocket and tickets for a romantic getaway to Montego Bay in his hand. Less than two weeks ago, he was clear about his future, sure about his destiny. But today—Monday, June 25, Rafael wasn’t sure about an em-effing thing.
“Mr. Stevens?” The voice of Rafael’s assistant crackled through the office intercom. “You wanted to be reminded about your one o’clock meeting on the fourth floor?”
Rafael looked at his watch. It was 12:45. “Yes, thanks, Jennifer.”
“You’re welcome.”
Reaching for his suit jacket, Rafael set his office voice mail and headed for the door.
Might as well go by the newsstand and grab a snack. . . . I’m not getting work done anyway.
In fact, he’d not been able to do much of anything—eat, sleep, focus—since Princess left him. His parents had suggested that he use one of the tickets and clear his head in Montego Bay, but Rafael knew that all he’d think about was the fact that Princess was supposed to be there with him. So he’d decided to cowboy up and face the music without taking time off. He’d endured the compassionate, inquisitive, and even smug stares of his coworkers as he’d showed up for work the Tuesday following his failed nuptials. He’d buried himself in work—the only woman who’d never left him and never done him wrong. And now he was getting ready to add to an already full schedule by becoming a consultant to a new nonprofit organization that paired successful African-American businessmen with at-risk male teens. It was just the type of cause Rafael needed to keep him from losing his mind, and help him heal his broken heart.
Might as well go by the newsstand and grab a snack. . . . I’m not getting work done anyway.
In fact, he’d not been able to do much of anything—eat, sleep, focus—since Princess left him. His parents had suggested that he use one of the tickets and clear his head in Montego Bay, but Rafael knew that all he’d think about was the fact that Princess was supposed to be there with him. So he’d decided to cowboy up and face the music without taking time off. He’d endured the compassionate, inquisitive, and even smug stares of his coworkers as he’d showed up for work the Tuesday following his failed nuptials. He’d buried himself in work—the only woman who’d never left him and never done him wrong. And now he was getting ready to add to an already full schedule by becoming a consultant to a new nonprofit organization that paired successful African-American businessmen with at-risk male teens. It was just the type of cause Rafael needed to keep him from losing his mind, and help him heal his broken heart.
Rafael exited the elevator and walked into the small “newsstand,” more like a small grocer really, on the City Hall’s first floor. In addition to a plethora of newspapers from all over the country, tabloids, and magazines, the shop housed toiletries, over-the-counter medicines such as aspirin and cold tablets, a variety of sodas, juice, and water, and snacks like sandwiches, chips, and fruit. He waved at the woman behind the counter before walking back to the refrigerated section and grabbing an orange juice. On his way to the counter, he picked up a banana and a bag of chips. He’d probably lost five pounds since his broken engagement, but if and when his appetite returned, Rafael planned to be prepared.
The perky brunette behind the counter offered a warm smile. “Hello, Mr. Stevens.”
“Hey, sweetie. How are you today?”
“Better now that Mr. Sunshine has walked into the building.”
Rafael laughed, paid for his purchases, and headed out the door. As he walked by a row of newspapers and tabloids, a picture caught his eye.
Screech. Back up.
Rafael took two steps back, and bent down to peer at the tabloid cover. Even after his eyes confirmed it, he tried to convince himself that what he saw couldn’t possibly actually be what was on this front page:
S
UPERSTAR
B
ASKETBALL
P
LAYER
S
CORES
B
IG
! Under the caption was a picture of Kelvin and Princess, snuggled against each other with wide smiles on their faces. Rafael mindlessly pulled out a five-dollar bill, showed the cashier the tabloid while placing the money on the counter, and walked out.
Screech. Back up.
Rafael took two steps back, and bent down to peer at the tabloid cover. Even after his eyes confirmed it, he tried to convince himself that what he saw couldn’t possibly actually be what was on this front page:
S
UPERSTAR
B
ASKETBALL
P
LAYER
S
CORES
B
IG
! Under the caption was a picture of Kelvin and Princess, snuggled against each other with wide smiles on their faces. Rafael mindlessly pulled out a five-dollar bill, showed the cashier the tabloid while placing the money on the counter, and walked out.
He didn’t stop walking until he was out of the building and about a half block from his workplace. Taking a seat on a park bench, Rafael worked hard to swallow past the lump in his throat as he shuffled through the pages until he found the story.
It seems that Kelvin Petersen, the superstar starting guard for the Phoenix Suns, has scored his biggest goal to date . . . a wife! Sources who spoke on condition of anonymity reported that Petersen and his on-again off-again girlfriend of several years, Princess Brook, slipped into Las Vegas and tied the knot at a chapel on the strip before holing up at LA’s Ritz-Carlton hotel for a cozy honeymoon.
Brook, known mostly for her costarring appearances on
Conversations with Carla
, was most recently engaged to her high school sweetheart, Rafael Stevens, an up-and-coming political player in Kansas City, Missouri. No word on what caused their breakup, but it looks as though Petersen, known to his fans as “the KP,” has both “stolen the ball” and “scored a layup. ” Sounds like it’s time for Stevens’s concession speech!
Conversations with Carla
, was most recently engaged to her high school sweetheart, Rafael Stevens, an up-and-coming political player in Kansas City, Missouri. No word on what caused their breakup, but it looks as though Petersen, known to his fans as “the KP,” has both “stolen the ball” and “scored a layup. ” Sounds like it’s time for Stevens’s concession speech!
Rafael sat, stunned into immobility. He read the article once, twice, and yet a third time, and still the words failed to totally sink in.
Princess? Married? WTF?
He looked at the three pictures that accompanied the article in addition to the one that had been splashed across the front page. In one, Kelvin and Princess were by a valet podium, engaged in conversation. In another, Kelvin seemed to be showing Princess something on his cell phone, and in the third, he was reaching down to give her a hug. Upon closer examination, Rafael deduced that the pictures could have indeed been taken in front of a hotel, perhaps the Ritz as the article claimed. One thing was for certain. A picture was worth a thousand words. Princess Brook had dumped him and married Kelvin, the man who’d caused her so much pain. And Rafael had no words for that.
Princess? Married? WTF?
He looked at the three pictures that accompanied the article in addition to the one that had been splashed across the front page. In one, Kelvin and Princess were by a valet podium, engaged in conversation. In another, Kelvin seemed to be showing Princess something on his cell phone, and in the third, he was reaching down to give her a hug. Upon closer examination, Rafael deduced that the pictures could have indeed been taken in front of a hotel, perhaps the Ritz as the article claimed. One thing was for certain. A picture was worth a thousand words. Princess Brook had dumped him and married Kelvin, the man who’d caused her so much pain. And Rafael had no words for that.
Rafael’s phone buzzed. He looked down at it dispassionately. His rational mind tried to kick into action, and from somewhere came the vague reminder of something called a job and an obligation otherwise known as a meeting.
By rote, he pushed the talk button. “Hello?”
It was his assistant, Jennifer, on the line. Concern oozed in between her inquiring words. “Boss, are you all right?”
Silence.
“Rafael. The woman from the shop downstairs brought up the tabloid. I, uh, saw the picture. That was after Mitchell Sherman called to say that you hadn’t arrived for your one o’clock meeting.”
Rafael shook his head, trying to clear the fog.
Meeting. At one o’clock. Right. Regarding professional mentors and at-risk boys.
“I’m sorry, Jennifer,” he responded, his raspy voice the evidence of his raw emotions. “What time is it?”
Meeting. At one o’clock. Right. Regarding professional mentors and at-risk boys.
“I’m sorry, Jennifer,” he responded, his raspy voice the evidence of his raw emotions. “What time is it?”
“It’s one-fifteen, boss. Should I tell Mitchell that you’ll have to reschedule?”
Rafael stood, began to walk, and continued to work his way out of the Twilight Zone. “No, Jennifer. Tell him I’m on my way. Offer up my apologies. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
Through prayer and sheer will, Rafael not only made it through the meeting, but through the rest of the day. Princess had taken away his confidence, his security, his self-esteem. He refused to let her rob him of his professional acumen and reputation. At promptly five o’clock, he put on his suit jacket, grabbed his briefcase, and left the building. He wasn’t in his car a good ten minutes before his best friend, Greg, was blowing up his phone.
“El, dog, have you heard?”
No need to act as though he didn’t know what Greg meant. “Saw it earlier today, a stack of bullshit hot off the press was at the newsstand.”
“Wow, man, I can’t believe it. I’m sorry, brothah. I don’t know what else to say.”
“Nothing more to be said.”
A moment of silence and then, “What do you think happened? I mean, there’s no way that this could have been planned—right?”
“Greg, I don’t even know. I can’t even think right now and truth be told, I don’t want to. I don’t want to speculate, ruminate, or try and imagine. I just want to try and forget I ever knew a woman named Princess Brook. That’s real talk right there. Let alone when my parents find out about this. Moms is already ballistic, but after this news, even my calm, conservative father may be ready to kick some ass.”
“I hear ya, man, but you’re doing the right thing in putting her and this whole unfortunate experience behind you. And speaking of...I’ve got just the kind of night that will take your mind off Princess.”
Rafael was almost as certain as a DNA paternity test that he didn’t want to hear this, but he asked anyway. “What?”
“Just be ready to roll around nine o’clock. I’ll swing by your place and then take you to a private party.”
“On a Monday night?”
“Yeah, on a Monday. I’ll tell you all about it on the way. Just be ready.”
30
Lights, Camera, Attraction
B
y the time nine o’clock had rolled around, Rafael had changed his mind about going out. He knew that Greg was his boy and had his back, but really . . . was there anyone or anything that could take his mind off what had transpired in the last ten days? Rafael didn’t think so, and he also didn’t think he was up to schmoozing, networking, and being the mayoral-man-about-town, talking, laughing, and trying to wear a smile. That’s why when Greg knocked on his door, Rafael was laid back on the couch sans shoes and shirt, watching C-SPAN and drinking a beer.
y the time nine o’clock had rolled around, Rafael had changed his mind about going out. He knew that Greg was his boy and had his back, but really . . . was there anyone or anything that could take his mind off what had transpired in the last ten days? Rafael didn’t think so, and he also didn’t think he was up to schmoozing, networking, and being the mayoral-man-about-town, talking, laughing, and trying to wear a smile. That’s why when Greg knocked on his door, Rafael was laid back on the couch sans shoes and shirt, watching C-SPAN and drinking a beer.
“Man, what are you doing?” Greg asked when Rafael opened the door. “It’s nine o’clock. I told you to be ready.”
“Yo, dog, I know you mean well and all, but a brothah isn’t feeling the social scene right now.”
Greg stood in the middle of Rafael’s living room with a scowl on his face. He placed his hands on his hips and for a while, watched the boring discussion about global warming that seemed to have Rafael’s rapt attention. “All right, man,” he said at last, with a shake of his head. “It’s clear that Princess has rendered you not only senseless, but immobile. I understand. After all, she was the last single woman on the planet.” Ignoring Rafael’s cutting glance, he continued. “The host was looking forward to having you, but I’ll tell them that you’re . . . not well.” He headed toward the door.
“Yeah, well, forget you, man.”
Greg sighed. “I know you’re hurting, man. And I can’t say that I feel your pain because I’ve never experienced what just happened to you.”
“And I hope you never do.”
“But what I do know is that the best way to get over a situation is to keep it moving, keep taking the next step.” He opened the door. “I’ll catch’cha later, dog. When you’re ready to get back in the game of life . . . hollah at me.”
Just before the door clicked shut, Rafael called out, “Greg.” Greg turned around. “Give me ten minutes.”
Thirty minutes later Greg had left downtown KC behind and was now on Paseo Avenue heading to the famed area of Eighteenth and Vine, which in its heyday served as a haven for premiere jazz talents such as Charlie Parker, Big Joe Turner, Count Basie, and the incomparable Jay McShann. The area also housed the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum, which among others honored the Kansas City Monarchs, led by Baseball Hall of Fame pitcher Satchel Paige. Thankfully, the area was experiencing a new birth due in part to Rafael’s personally led promotion of the area, especially in terms of making it a premiere jazz and history aficionado’s tourist destination.
Tonight, however, the streets were quiet. It was a Monday night in a worker’s town; not too many people were hitting the scene. Rafael had been pretty quiet during the trip and it continued as his thoughts turned to where in the heck this party was. With as much improvement that had happened in the area, including the restored Gem Theater and the popular Kansas City Blues and Jazz Juke House, he was having a hard time fathoming where this “exclusive, upscale” party that Greg alluded to was taking place. When Greg took a left onto Eighteenth Street, a right on Highland, and pulled up in front of the Mutual Musicians Foundation, Rafael was further perplexed. The street was way more crowded than usual and he saw what looked like filming trucks and equipment lining the street. But before he could ask questions, Greg hopped out of the car.
Rafael caught up with Greg as they neared the building. “What’s all this?”
Greg’s look was unreadable. “You’ll see.”
They reached the Foundation. A security guard was at the door. Greg gave his name, the guard checked his clipboard, and after a curt nod, opened the door so that Greg and Rafael could pass through.
Inside was organized chaos. The small room that once served as home to the African-American Musician’s Union Local 627, and for decades had continued as the after-hours jam spot for musicians, had been transformed into a 1930s speakeasy. Various film crew members scurried about. Some handled lighting. Others moved props. A makeup artist was set up in the far corner. Extras sat at the small round tables that were covered with white linen tablecloths and decorated with candles. Rafael noticed a couple of director chairs at the exact moment a young man got out of one and walked in their direction.
“Hey, Greg. Good to see you.”
“Hey, Doug.” Greg and Doug did the shake/shoulder bump.
Doug looked at Rafael. “Is this the actor?” He held out his hand. “Doug Thomas.”
“Whoa, wait a minute.” Rafael looked from Greg to Doug. “Trust me, you’ve got the wrong guy.”
“I don’t think so.” The sultry, female voice came from just behind Rafael’s ear.
He slowly turned around. “Kiki?”
“Last time I checked.” She gave Rafael a hug and whispered in his ear. “I saw the story in the tabloid; figured you could use a distraction.”
And just like that Rafael replaced one leading lady with another—at least until the director yelled “cut.”
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