Just Too Good to Be True (19 page)

CHAPTER
22

Brady’s Boi

I
walked up the granite stairs into Maynard Jackson Hall, where Lowell’s office was located. The smell of fresh wax wafted off the floors and I heard the sound of the morning janitor buffing them before the first bell rang. I couldn’t remember the last time I was up this early when it didn’t have anything to do with football, but when Lowell had called me the night before and asked me to come by, his request had seemed urgent.

I reached the third floor, and when I walked into Lowell’s office, I saw him looking out the window.

“Enjoying this beautiful day?” I said, startling Lowell.

“Brady, thanks for coming by on such short notice,” Lowell said. He moved away from the window and toward me, giving me a bear hug.

“No problem. I only have one class today. I love being a senior and having all my hard courses out of the way,” I said as I sat in the dark red leather chair facing Lowell’s desk.

“So you’ve got your Heisman acceptance speech ready?” Lowell asked.

“I’m trying not to think about that, and I know you didn’t call me over here to talk about football. You know, that’s all anybody wants to talk about these days. I want to talk about something else, like American citizens being spied on. Or if Bush plans to withdraw the troops from Iraq, or continue to send more of my brothers and sisters over there to die.”

“Sounds like you should come and sit in on one of my classes. Or maybe even teach,” Lowell said.

“Maybe one day,” I said.

“Do you want something to drink?” Lowell asked. He seemed a little nervous, and I wondered if what he needed to talk to me about was causing the apparent anxiety.

“No, I’m cool. How did you get Chloe to leave me alone?”

“Oh, that was easy. All I had to do was to remind her you were seventeen when you came to college, and while that’s legal in Georgia, the president and dean don’t look favorably on teachers doing whatever they want with young, impressionable students. I told her if she released one picture we’d sue her ass. By the way, I have the pictures.”

“What are we going to do with them?”

“Already done. I shredded them.”

“Sometimes she used a digital camera,” I said.

“I wouldn’t worry, Brady. She is not going to do anything. In a way I felt sorry for her, because it was obvious she had feelings for you, but she was in way over her head. How’s your roommate?” Lowell asked, suddenly changing the subject.

“Delmar? He’s cool. Why do you ask?” I quizzed. Had the rumors and the coach’s concerns about Delmar reached Lowell, as well?

“I don’t know what to do other than to just come out and say it. Did you know that Delmar has been dancing at a private club in Savannah?” Lowell asked.

“Dancing? What kind of dancing?” I asked, laughing at the thought of Delmar dancing for an audience.

“I guess you really can’t call it dancing. I guess stripping is a better term,” Lowell said.

“You mean like dancing with a G-string?”

“Yep.”

“Are you sure it’s Delmar?”

“It was him. No doubt.”

Lowell told me about a private club he frequented in nearby Savannah called The Living Room. He explained that it was an upscale establishment for professional black gay men who didn’t want to go to the clubs populated by what Lowell called finger-popping sissies. He explained that on Tuesdays and Thursdays they brought in strippers from Atlanta and Jacksonville, Florida. He told me that one night he had walked into the club, only to see Delmar in a G-string and white cowboy boots allowing men to stick dollar bills in his skimpy undergarment.

“Did he see you?” I asked.

“I don’t think so. But I talked to a couple of my friends after he finished his show and I found out this wasn’t his first time dancing there and that he sometimes does private shows for clients away from the club.”

“Private shows?”

“Yep, and even though I’m embarrassed to tell you this, I’ve had a private show or two in my day and it usually includes more than dancing,” Lowell said. “Thank God I’ve met someone and don’t have to do that anymore.”

“What are you saying? Is Delmar gay or bi?” I asked.

“I can’t say. I’m not concerned about that. I just want to make sure he doesn’t get in trouble. I know a few other professors who frequent the club, and one who shall remain nameless is the NCAA faculty representative for Central Georgia,” Lowell said.

“Maybe Delmar is one of those DL guys the females on campus are always talking about,” I said, trying to get the picture of Delmar in a G-string, shaking his behind in front of a man, out of my head. For some reason the thought made me want to laugh, but then I thought of the ridicule Delmar would face if any of our teammates found out about his part-time job.

“Most likely he’s part of the new GP wave,” Lowell said.

“GP wave?” I asked. Sometimes when I asked Lowell questions, I got more information than I wanted to hear. I hope’d that was not going to be the case this morning.

“The down low is old news. Now it seems there are a lot of guys who are gay for pay,” Lowell said.

“Gay for pay?”

“Straight guys who will go a little crooked for the right amount of money,” Lowell said. “They usually target wealthy, older men, and some of them are very dangerous.”

“So maybe that’s where he’s been getting all the extra money,” I said. “At least he’s not selling drugs.”

“Will you warn him to be careful, Brady? He only has a few months before the draft, and I know he doesn’t want to mess up. Lord knows he won’t be able to fall back on his education, since he never goes to class.”

“Yeah, I’ll talk to him. Good looking out,” I said. I got up from the chair and shook my head. I couldn’t wait to hear what Delmar had to say for himself.

After practice in preparation
for the Ole Miss game, I did what I always do when faced with a dilemma—I called my mother.

After trying to reach my mother at both salons and her cell, I called her home number. I was surprised to find her there so early in the evening.

“Hey, Mom,” I said.

“Brady. How are you?”

“I’m fine. Hey, Mom, that money is still in my account. Do you think I should go to the bank and tell them about the mistake?”

“Trust me, Brady, they are not in the business of giving away money. They will figure it out and take it back,” Mama said.

“Okay, if you say so. Are you feeling all right?” I asked.

“I just needed a time-out,” she said. “I’m feeling a little stressed lately.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Just keep playing football and being the perfect son.”

“Mama, I’m not perfect.”

“You’re close to it.”

“If ever there was a perfect mother, it’s you,” I said. I was thinking about all that my mom had done for me and the sacrifices she’d made. Even though having a father would have been nice, he would have to have been a cool dude to deserve my mother.

She didn’t respond. I heard sniffles on the other end of the phone.

“Mom, are you crying?”

“No, baby. I just need to get some rest,” she said.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too. Remember that, Brady.”

“I always know that, Mom.”

CHAPTER
23

For Your Consideration . . . Barrett Manning

B
arrett paced on her balcony. She had practiced over and over, but she was still nervous. This was the most important thing she’d have to do in her mission with Brady. Everything rested on whether she could convince him and how he reacted.

As she looked over the balcony’s railing, she saw Brady’s Navigator turn the corner and she jumped back out of sight. She watched as he parked, then she backed into her condo. Her heart pounded more as she dialed Nico’s number.

“Is he there?” Nico asked.

“He just drove up. It should only take him a minute or two.”

“I forgot to ask—how’s he going to get into the building? The doorman has to buzz you, doesn’t he?”

“Most times, but tonight I told the doorman to let him up without stopping him. I’m going to leave my door slightly open.”

“Oh, great move. And what are you wearing?”

“Just one of my little silk robes,” Barrett said. “I want it to look like I was just waiting for him.”

“Okay, well, you’ve got it together. Now start talking, just in case he gets up there sooner.”

Barrett walked into her living room and stood by the door. As soon as she heard the door open, she said loud enough for Brady to hear as he stepped into her apartment, “I cannot believe this. It doesn’t make sense.” She turned, facing away from him, knowing he’d follow her voice.

“Brady told me his father was dead.” She paused for a moment, as if she were listening to someone on the line.

“Good job, girl,” Nico said. “That acting class you took is sure coming in handy.”

“Are you sure this is true about Brady?” Barrett asked, wanting to say his name as much as possible. “How can his father not be dead? I’m so upset. I could never tell Brady this—”

“Tell me what?” Brady asked from behind her.

Barrett took a moment to form her expression. She had to have just the right look. When she turned around, her face was filled with surprise and dread. “Oh, Brady…I’m sorry.”

Brady stood with his hands tucked deep inside his jeans and his face wrinkled in confusion. “What are you talking about? Who are you talking to?”

“I’ll talk to you later,” Barrett said, then clicked off the phone, just as she and Nico had planned.

“Brady, sweetheart.” She paused and then rushed into his arms. “Oh, Brady, I’m so sorry,” she said, sobbing into his chest.

He held her tight for a moment, then released her. “Barrett,” he said, still holding her by her shoulders. “I heard you say something about my father?”

“Brady, I don’t want to say anything,” she said, turning her back to him for dramatic effect. She could feel his eyes on her. She sniffed as if she were upset. “I’m still so shocked by this news.”

He took her by the hand and led her to the sofa. She leaned into him as they sat, letting the hem of her robe rise up her leg. “Oh, baby, this is terrible.”

“Barrett, you have to tell me what you were talking about. What is this about my father?”

She leaned away from him. She’d stalled long enough. “Brady, this is just so awful.” She paused. “But maybe it’s good news. Because your father…he may not be dead.”

She watched as Brady’s eyes glazed over, as if he didn’t understand her words. “My father is alive?”

She nodded. “He could be. It’s just that…your mother, she doesn’t really know who your dad is.”

“What?” Brady asked, jumping from the sofa. “That doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense. My father is dead!” he exclaimed.

“I know that’s what your mother told you,” Barrett said, moving toward him as he stood near the window. “Brady, it seems that when your mother was in college at the University of Texas—”

“The University of Texas? My mother never went there.”

“There are a lot of things that your mother didn’t tell you. But she was a student there, and then at a party or something, she had sex…” Barrett paused, wanting Brady to fill in the rest. Finally, she continued. “She had sex with several guys. The news spread all over campus, and then she left school. But nine months later, you were born.” A part of Barrett felt sorry for Brady, but she thought back to how Carmyn had treated her and she felt this couldn’t happen to a better bitch.

“Who told you this crap?” Brady asked, breathing heavily.

“I know it’s hard, Brady,” Barrett said.

“Where did you hear this?” he demanded.

“I can’t say. I think you should speak with your mom.”

As Barrett leaned against him, she could feel him shaking. She wrapped her arms around him. “I am so sorry, Brady. So sorry to tell you this.”

“So you’re saying my mother lied to me?” he said, disgusted.

“Maybe she was trying to protect you.” Barrett knew it didn’t matter what she said about Carmyn. From what she knew about Brady, he valued the truth. He hated liars. He would hate his mother for this. Even though it might be temporary, it would be long enough for Barrett to seize the control she needed.

“Protect me?” Brady said. “How could a lie protect me?”

Barrett remained silent.

“Are you sure about this, Barrett?”

She nodded. “I’m sure. And I’m so sorry.” She wrapped her arms around him again. “But maybe now you can find your father.”

She felt him cringe. Maybe that was too much for him to digest right now. She could tell by the way he held her that she’d won. She didn’t really have to add any more.

“I’ve got to talk with my coach, and then I need to see my mother.”

“Do you want me to ride with you?”

“I need to see my mother,” he repeated as if in a daze. “I’ve got to go.”

Barrett watched Brady stumble out of the apartment, and for a moment she hoped he was going to be all right. She went to the balcony and watched as he walked slowly to his car and then sped off.

Inside her condo, Barrett collapsed onto the sofa. The acting had taken more out of her than she imagined. It wasn’t that it was so hard saying the words to Brady. It was just hard breaking his heart that way. Even though she wasn’t in love, she was beginning to care about this young man. She hoped that what she had just done was enough to finish this assignment.

“Hello,” Barrett purred into
the phone. She was smoking a joint.

“I thought I would have heard from you by now,” a male voice said.

“Who is this?” Barrett asked, wondering who from her past might have finally caught up with her.

“This is Mr. John Basil Henderson. You kept my business card, didn’t you? I thought you were smarter than Nico’s other girls.”

“I’m not one of Nico’s girls. I’m going to be his wife,” Barrett said firmly.

“You’re joking, right?” Basil said with a hearty laugh.

“How did you get my number?” Barrett demanded.

“If I can get it so easily, then I bet it won’t be long before Chris gets it as well,” Basil said. “Athlete management is a very small world, Barrett. I know what happened to Chris Johns.”

Barrett slammed down the phone and muttered to herself as she picked up the remainder of the blunt, “That nigga’s tryin’ to fuck with a lady’s high.”