Hittin' It Out the Park (16 page)

“Okay,” Cheryl said after she flagged down the bartender and ordered drinks for herself and Stephen, “I'll let you get away with sitting out Lady Gaga, but I swear if they play that new Pharrell joint, you'd better get out on the floor with me.”

“Would you leave me alone?” Stephen grumbled.

“Nope,” Cheryl said cheerfully, taking a sip of the martini the bartender had placed in front of her. “I'll have you know I was supposed to be driving to Baltimore this afternoon to see Randy play the Orioles this evening, but I called and told him I wanted to hang out with my best friend instead.” She placed her head on Stephen's shoulder. “ 'Cause Cheryl loves her best friend, Stephen.”

“You shouldn't have bothered,” Stephen said sullenly. “I'm fine.”

“No you're not.” Cheryl sighed, straightening back up.

“Yes, I am.”

Cheryl sucked her teeth. “There's no way you would have left the house to go to a club wearing loafers if you were really all right.”

Stephen shrugged, but said nothing.

Cheryl turned around and leaned against the bar as she watched the couples on the dance floor. Shaman's had opened only a few weeks ago, but word had already spread around the city that it was the hot spot for out-of-town celebrities. Out-of-town celebrities because the native New Yorkers still preferred to get their party on in Manhattan rather than traveling all the way out to Queens.

Her mind started wandering, and she wondered if she'd done the right thing—making that telephone call after Jocko contacted her for even more money.
He left me no choice. I had to do something, or else he would have tried to bleed me dry.
She felt Stephen turn around next to her. “Ready to throw down yet?” she asked nonchalantly, while still staring in the direction of the dance floor.

“I thought you said Randy was in Baltimore playing ball.”

“He is. I was supposed to be with him; instead I'm here with you not dancing,” Cheryl answered with a smirk.

“So how come those two drink waitresses are arguing over who is going to bring up his drinks? He must be a damn good tipper.”

Cheryl swung around to face him. “What?”

Stephen pointed to the end of the bar. Sure enough two waitresses were holding their trays with one hand, while playing tug-of-war with a magnum of Dom Perignon. Champagne was the only alcohol Randy drank during the season, and he wouldn't even do that until Cheryl finally convinced him that an occasional drink of the bubbly wouldn't hurt his game. For him to be ordering a magnum, though, meant he was there with some of his teammates. Time to give him a pleasant surprise.

“I'll be right back,” Cheryl told Stephen as she walked toward the women.

“Excuse me,” she said when she reached them. “Is that bottle for Randy Alston?”

Both women looked at her, daggers flying from their eyes.

“I only asked because I'm his wife, and if you don't mind, I'd like to surprise him and bring up the bottle myself,” Cheryl explained. “Of course I'll make it worth your while,” she added quickly.

“His wife?” one of the women asked, surprise evident in her voice.

Cheryl noticed one of the waitresses nudge the other.
Oh, they were probably banking on getting with him tonight.
Cheryl smiled to herself.
That shit ain't gonna happen.

“Yes, you don't mind, do you?” She reached into her handbag and pulled out her wallet. “Here, let me pay for that,” she said, handing one of the women her American Express card, “and go ahead and give yourselves a two-hundred-dollar tip.”

“Each?” one of them asked.

“Of course,” Cheryl said, taking the waitress' tray.

“So? You're his wife?” one of them asked as Cheryl walked away.

“Uh-huh,” Cheryl said over her shoulder. “But I hope you girls have luck finding another mark tonight. Ladies, Randy is already taken.”

She heard one of them say something, but she couldn't make out the words, and she didn't care.
Boy, is Randy going to be surprised
. She made her way upstairs to the VIP section. She glanced at her watch. 1:00 a.m.
He must have caught a ride on the owner's private jet from Baltimore. And since I told him I had to stay with Stephen tonight, he decided to have a night out.

It wasn't quite as dark upstairs as it was on the lower level, but as she looked around, she didn't spot Randy. And curiously, she didn't see any of his teammates. It wasn't like him to party by himself. She turned to head back downstairs to ask one of the drink waitresses exactly where Randy was, and that's when she noticed that both women had followed her up to VIP.

“Hey, I thought Randy was up here.”

“He is,” one of the women said, a huge grin on her face.

“Really?” Cheryl frowned. “Where? I didn't see him.”

“Right there.”

Cheryl looked over to where the waitress pointed, but all she saw was the back of a half-nude woman sliding up and down against the wall. Suddenly suspicious, Cheryl moved closer. She was about two feet away when she realized that the woman wasn't grinding against the wall, she was actually sitting astride a chair and standing up and then sitting down. Then, to her horror, she saw that it wasn't a chair that the woman was working on; it was a lap. Randy's lap!

Call it reflex, call it fury, but Cheryl let the tray and glasses drop to the floor but caught the magnum of champagne by the neck before it hit the ground, and in that same motion threw it at the girl's head. By some strange chance, Cheryl missed and hit the wall instead of the girl, but the commotion caused the girl to turn around. Cheryl was already seeing red, but her vision almost turned purple when she saw that it was Sexy Sanchez giving her husband a super-sonic lap dance.

“You bitch,” Cheryl shrieked, moments before grabbing a handful of Sexy's hair. “I'ma fucking kill you, you fucking slut!”

Sexy screamed as she was pulled backward onto the floor, but before she could do anything else, Cheryl was on top of her pummeling her over and over.

“Cheryl, stop. You're hurting her.” Randy grabbed his wife by her shoulders and tried to pull her off of Sexy. Though he wasn't fully successful, he lifted Cheryl up far enough for Sexy to wiggle from beneath her. Now it was Sexy's turn to get her licks in, and she went for it. She barreled into Cheryl, knocking both her and Randy onto the floor. Tables, bottles, glasses and even people were toppled as the two women bit, scratched, kicked, and punched each other; though truth be told—Randy—who was trying to break them up was receiving much of the beat down.

It took a good twenty minutes for security to be able to get the three of them outside. And once they did, Cheryl and Sexy went right back at it.

“You're a slut, you've always been a slut, and you'll never be anything but a fucking slut,” Cheryl shouted at Sexy. She kept trying to get at the girl, but Randy was holding her back, while one of the security guards held Sexy.

“And you're nothing but a bitch,” Sexy yelled back. Though one of the security guards had snatched up Sexy's blouse and given it to her once they were outside, Sexy hadn't bothered to put it on, and was standing outside bare-chested. Though her breasts weren't quite as big Cheryl's, they were big enough. And fabulous. Which only served to make Cheryl even more furious.

“Not a bitch. THE bitch,” Cheryl said with a sneer. “And you're going to rue the day you crossed me.”

“Sorry,” Sexy retorted. “You might have to repeat that. I can't hear you over all the fuck I don't give.”

“Oh, you're gonna hear my fist knocking out your teeth, you little whore.”

“Hah! Please. Ain't nobody scared of you. You're mad because your hubby is looking for some new pussy.”

“My baby don't want none of that stank pussy you got.” Cheryl struggled to get away from Randy.

“Well, he must not think it's too stank; if you hadn't interrupted us, he woulda been licking it in a minute,” Sexy said with a smirk.

“Like hell he would have, you fucking whore!”

“Oh, first I'm a slut, and now I'm a whore.” Sexy laughed.

“That's right,” Cheryl sneered. “And if dicks were airplanes, your mouth would be an airport.”

Sexy opened her mouth as if to shout another insult, but suddenly seemed to change her mind as a smile slowly crossed her face. “You're pretty fucking witty, Cheryl. Too bad your husband is ready to trade up for a real woman. And the hell of it is the fact that you
know
it's a fact.” Sexy chuckled, then started laughing. “You know beyond a shadow of a doubt that your husband wants this. And the fact that you're out here trying to weave and bob and throwing insults indicates that you're fully aware that if I want Randy, he's mine.”

Her words stunned Cheryl into momentary silence. Not merely the spiteful content, but the way in which the words were delivered. Little Miss Hootchie-Girl-Slut was suddenly speaking and enunciating as if she had more than merely a fourth-grade education.
There's more to this chick than meets the eye.

“Randy,” Cheryl said calmly. “You can let me go.”

“Cheryl—”

“I'm serious,” Cheryl said quietly. “You can let me go.”

Randy released her, but warily watched as she straightened her clothes. “Baby—”

Cheryl held up her hand. “Hold on one moment, please.” She turned to look at Sexy. “Okay, let's get this straight once and for all.” She took a deep breath. “Now, Randy,” she said, still staring at the girl, “do you intend to—or want to—leave me for little Miss Sanchez?”

“Of course not, Cheryl,” Randy said, moving even closer to his wife. He tried to pull her into an embrace, but she deftly sidestepped it.

Sexy rolled her eyes, though a big grin was plastered on her face.

“Are you sure, Randy?” Cheryl continued, still keeping her gaze on Sexy. “I believe you, of course, because you've never lied to me. However, little Miss Sanchez, here, might think you're only saying that to appease me. And,” she paused, “it would be hard to blame her, since the two of you were all but fucking right out in public, when everyone knows you have a wife.”

“Babe, I can explain—”

Cheryl held her hand up. “No, sweetie, I'm not asking for an explanation. I know she probably slipped something in your drink for you to act like such an idiot.” The look on Sexy's face let Cheryl know that she had probably hit on the truth. “All I want is for you to inform little Miss Sanchez, right now, that's she's playing out of her league, because there's no way you'd let a slut like her break up our happy home. Would you mind doing that, sweetie?”

Cheryl crossed her arms, and waited. She breathed a sigh of relief when Randy immediately faced Sexy and without hesitation, grimly stated: “I love my wife and I have no intention of leaving her for you or anyone else. What happened tonight was crazy, should never have happened, and will never happen again.” He then turned back to Cheryl and put his arm around her waist. “Baby, let's go home so I can get some of your good loving.”

Cheryl smiled at Sexy, then put her arms around Randy and gave him a big kiss. She then winked at Sexy as she linked arms with her husband and walked toward Randy's Maybach. Though she was smiling, Cheryl was still seething inside.
If Randy thinks everything's going to be all lovey-dovey when we get home, boy, is he in for a fucking surprise. I'm going to—

“Goodnight, Randy. Give me a call tomorrow and let me know when you want to get together again,” Sexy called out in a singsong voice.

Cheryl wanted so much to turn around and charge the girl, but instead she kept telling herself,
Remember, Cheryl, prison orange is not your color. Prison orange is not your color—

“What were you thinking?” Yusef glowered at Sexy, swiping at his nose and stalking toward her in an aggressive manner.

But Sexy didn't cower. She looked him in the eyes and stated simply, “How many times do I have to tell you, I had too much to drink.”

“Having too much to drink shouldn't make you come out of character and act like a slut unless that's what you are.” Frustrated and angry, Yusef ran a hand down the side of his face. “Didn't it dawn on you that I'd find out that you got the hots for my boy and that you gave him a lap dance . . . in public?” Yusef shook his head. “What were you thinking? Did you even care about how I'd feel?”

“Look, I don't have any answers for you. How can I defend my actions if I was fuckin' drunk?” Sexy said in a shrill voice. “I refuse to be interrogated for hours, so . . .” She sighed in exasperation and then gazed at him challengingly. “If you want to break up, all you have to do is say so, and I'll pack my shit and leave.”

Yusef gawked at her. “Breaking up is not an option. I've been bragging to the boys about how great our sex life is and now my teammates are looking at me crazy—like I can't control my woman. I have to prove them wrong. Now, this is the plan. We're gonna go look at rings, pick out something, and announce that we're officially engaged and planning a wedding.”

She shot an icy look at him. “I'm not ready for marriage.”

“Why not? Are you in love with Randy?” he asked disdainfully.

“No, I'm not in love with Randy, but I'm also not willing to get married merely to salvage your public image and to soothe your bruised ego. That's fake and hypocritical. I grew up with fake-ass parents and I'm not following in their footsteps.”

“Ever since word got out about you throwing the pussy at Randy, I've become the laughingstock in the locker room—do you realize that?”

An idea popped into Sexy's mind and a glint appeared in her eyes.

“What's that look for?” he asked suspiciously.