Hot Girlz: Hot Boyz Sequel (21 page)

“Honey, can you believe
Kyle was here with his new girl?”

“What?” Torino said. “He
told me something about his brother’s engagement party. I had no idea it would
be the one you were headed to.”

“Well, did you know he had
someone already?”

“He told me.” Torino
sounded unfazed.

“Wow. Okay, listen, I’m
headed home. See you soon.”

“Okay. TJ’s been asking
for his mommy.”

“Awww. Tell him mommy’s on
her way.”

“See ya.”

As Sequoia hung up and
walked down the street, she looked down a side street after hearing a door
close. She saw a heavyset woman from behind with golden hair walking toward a
black SUV. Sequoia still had her eyes on the woman as Sequoia got in her Rover.
The woman got inside and started up her truck. She pulled up to the stop sign,
turned toward the Brown’s house, parked one house down and there she sat.

Sequoia watched her for a
minute and called Torino back.

“Your ex is up to her old
tricks again. She’s sitting outside of my client’s house, just watching.”

“Watching what? Don’t tell
me.”

She said, “Torino, she’s
watching for Kyle. I’ll tell you one thing. Having her back in our lives is
gonna be a stone trip.”

23

Mercedes

“. . . tipping his cap in her honor . . .”

It was a celebrity golf tournament on
a bright Saturday at the spectacular eighteen-hole golf course situated atop
coastal cliffs that towered above the blue cyan Pacific Ocean. The golf course
oasis at Torrey Pines was nestled in the hills with breathtaking views and row
upon row of palm trees. It was so impeccably kept and the grass on the fairways
was so green, it looked like emerald outdoor carpeting.

It was a sight to see on a beautiful
fall day with a whisper of a breeze that blew ever so slightly.

It was the very course in San Diego
that Mason played on when Mercedes and Star watched him on TV, noticing a
shapely woman with candy-apple red hair in a tight fitting skirt on the day
that Mason’s infidelity was verified.

Mercedes adjusted the gear of her
brain from the past to the present and gave full focus to her young, talented
son, Rashaad. He looked just like his dad. He was handsome, athletic, and
bowlegged.

He started the day ahead by three
strokes into the final round, but he had lost some ground and now, it was his
last shot of the final hole.

Mercedes couldn’t help but scan the
faces in the crowd every now and then to see if perhaps Mason had decided to
show up and support his son. It seemed Mason made more trips to visit Star than
Rashaad. He said he didn’t want his son living in his shadow, following in his
footsteps. He wanted him to make his own way. So in an effort to not take away
Rashaad’s limelight, Mason would watch from the comfort of their family room at
home. Today though, Rashaad had invited him personally. And Rashaad invited
Mercedes, as well.

Rashaad, wearing blue and white with a
white Nike fitted, stood next to his caddy, Winton, his dad’s former caddy, and
they spoke close to each other’s faces, sizing up the next shot. The ball was a
short distance, maybe six-feet from the cup. The putt should have been easy.
But nothing was ever easy in the game of golf. One shot one minute could change
up the next minute. That was the exhilarating part of the game because nothing
ever stayed the same.

Winton
handed Rashaad the shiny, golden PING putter and gave him a supportive nod,
stepping back to move the golf bag away enough for Rashaad to have his space.
Then Winton headed to the hole, standing by it just in case.

The crowd
was quiet.

Mercedes
looked on as if she was holding her breath and fighting to stay calm. Watching
her son play always made her a nervous wreck.

Rashaad
eyeballed the distance between the ball and the cup, envisioning his stroke and
the angle of the ball while imagining the exact trail of the ball necessary to
make this a birdie for the win. His fixed, brown eyes looked down toward the
ball and then to the cup, down at the ball and again to the cup, over again
until he sealed the precise journey in his head.

He then
remembered something his dad taught him when he was only eleven. Mason had told
Rashaad that the best way to make a putt, the no-nonsense way, was to never
look at the hole, and also to close his eyes and listen to the sound of the
ball dropping into the cup. He had taught Rashaad to do that as a form of
practice, but never in a tournament. Rather he told him that in a tournament,
he should keep his eyes down toward the green. But for some reason, today
Rashaad was feeling both a little brave and a little nostalgic.

He looked
up at the sky and placed a kiss onto his index and middle fingers, aiming his
hand up into the air, took his stance positioning himself in line with the
flag, gripped the shaft of the club, leaned his torso forward and bent his
knees slightly. Then he distributed his weight, relaxed his body, closed his
eyes and gave a good solid putt, hitting the ball, all the while keeping his
eyes closed.

He
listened.

The little
white ball rolled with a curve and then cut back toward the exact location of
the cup. Winton raised the pin with the blue flag slightly blowing in the
subtle wind, and even without touching the circumference, the tiny ball sank
right inside the middle of the cup and disappeared. It made a clunk, click,
swooshing sound, an old familiar sound to Rashaad’s ears. His eyes popped open,
lighting up like lanterns even in the glaring sun.

Rashaad’s
pecan skin looked flushed as he jumped up and down with excitement and
vigorously removed his golf cap amongst the roaring cheers of onlookers,
tipping his hat to the sky, and then looking over at his mom. He tipped it to
her, too, and put it back on. He walked over toward his mother. Standing right
behind her without Mercedes even knowing was Mason, stunned, chin to his chest,
face beaming.

Rashaad
hugged Mercedes who was in disbelief. Her eyes were welled up with tears. He
then reached back and put his hand on his father’s shoulder.

“I can’t
believe you remembered that,” Mason said, voice shaky.

“I remember
everything you taught me. You’re the reason. Without you, I wouldn’t be in this
game. Thank you, Dad.”

Mason
enthusiastically rubbed the top of Rashaad’s head. “Congratulations, Son.”

Mercedes
turned around toward Mason and they embraced. Then she looked forward and saw
Rashaad getting drenched with champagne as he walked like he was a rock star,
with a swarm of reporters and fans all around him. He headed toward the tent to
receive his trophy and his check for seven-hundred-fifty-thousand dollars, half
of which would go to charity. His charity of choice was The Alzheimer’s
Association. By the time Mercedes turned back around again, Mason was gone.

A brunette,
exhilarated female ESPN reporter stuck a microphone in Mercedes’s face and
asked in an instant, “Mrs. Wilson, you must be thrilled to death that your son
was able to pull off this win today, right?”

“I am. I’m
in shock.” She turned back again to check for Mason once more, and then back
toward the reporter. “Um, it was pretty close for a minute. The other celebrity
golfers gave him a run for his money, but I’m glad he was able to keep his
concentration and pull it off.”

“Yes, he
did. I wanted to ask you, we’ve never seen him look up to the sky like that,
almost praying. It also looked like he actually closed his eyes while he hit
that putt. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

She said,
still in awe of the reality of the moment, “You know, Rashaad was just doing
his thing. I saw him look up at the sky, and I’m sure it was a tribute to his
grandmother who passed away recently. And the closing of his eyes was what his
dad, Mason Wilson, taught him to do when Rashaad was little. I just, I mean,
I’m so emotional right now, and so thankful. Looking forward to celebrating
with my son. Thank you.”

“Thank you,
Mrs. Wilson. Your husband and son are real pros.”

Mercedes
tried her best to make it over to Rashaad near the tent when a tournament
organizer came over to guide her for the rest of the way. Mercedes stayed one
step behind the man, trying to tame her rush of emotions.

She quickly
put on her white sunglasses and gave permission for her tears to fall. Not so
much from the thrill of the moment with Rashaad winning the tournament in such
a beautiful and unique way, but also for the fact that she couldn’t even stand
next to her husband as a couple and share in the moment as proud parents. She
couldn’t help but remember that her life, even in the midst of the moment, was
falling apart.

~~

It was
dinnertime. The lavish A.R. Valentien on North Torrey Pines Road was known for
its fine dining.

Mercedes
and Rashaad wore dressy attire in the elegant, private V.I.P. room. They sat at
a round table with crystal chandeliers overhead, draped off by ivory chiffon
curtains for privacy so they would not be interrupted by Rashaad’s adoring
fans.

It was a
special occasion.

Mercedes
said to Rashaad, “I still can’t believe what happened out there today.” She was
done with her meal, having devoured her swordfish and scallops.

Rashaad
took his final bite of lobster after dipping it in garlic butter, but still
spoke. “It was special. I’m glad you were able to be there. And Dad.”

“Where is
he?” she asked.

“I invited
him.” He sipped his iced tea. “And Mom, I told him I wanted you two to talk.
That I would go back to my room so you two could have dinner alone together.”

She gave
him a look like he should not have. “No, this is your night. This is about you,
not us.”

“That would
be what I’d want. You two can’t go this many years and then just let things
fall apart.”

“Rashaad,
it’s about you right now. I told you, we’ll work it out.”

“Good. Then
you two need to do that tonight. For me. Right here. Now.”

Mercedes
took a sip of water. “Let’s just enjoy our dinner together. You and me, and
then when your dad comes, we’ll see what happens.”

“Sounds
good,” he said. “But in this family, it takes all of us. Even Star.”

“I love
you, Rashaad. I can’t remember being more proud.”

“Thanks. I
love you, too, Mom. Thanks for being here.”

~~

No more
than a half hour later, they left.

No Mason.

Rashaad
called his father but he was already on his way home.

He said he
had a meeting early in the morning so he went ahead and drove back to L.A.

Rashaad was
disappointed.

Mercedes
was not surprised one bit.

24

Venus

“There’s nothing everyday about us.”

The late morning air smelled like
summer rain, even in the fall. The clouds that filled the sky had not yet shed
their precipitation, but it looked like things could change at any moment.

Venus had just walked in the house
from the Ralphs grocery store around the corner. It was barely noon. Skyy was
still at school and Venus had much to do before picking her up from
after-school care.

Cameron had spent the night out again.
He did have a long, intense father-son conversation with Claude and promised to
be more aggressive in looking for a job. He even applied for admission to U.C.
Irvine. Once again he had gone to Penny Heinz’s house and wasn’t home yet.

Today, Venus planned to head back out
to the Home Depot to look for some toffee-colored paint for her and Claude’s
bedroom, and she had planned to strip down and stain a bookshelf in Skyy’s room
so that it matched the color of Skyy’s new pink walls.

Wearing jeans and a violet cropped
sweater, she went back and forth from the bags of groceries she had set on the
counter, to the walk-in pantry, and had just put away the pancake mix and box
of cereal when her phone rang a few times. She missed it. It was in her purse
along the island. It rang again and she grabbed it.

“Hi, Claude.”

He jumped right in. “Venus, there’s a
letter for you.”

“What? Where are you? Are you mobile?”
She walked back to the counter to gather the empty grocery bags.

“I went by the office and then by the
house to pay the guys who worked on the floors. And I checked the mailbox.”