Just Too Good to Be True (8 page)

CHAPTER
14

Barrett Makes Her Game Plan

I
’m going to move in for the kill tomorrow,” Barrett said.

“That’s great. What are you going to do?”

“I’m meeting Brady at the Union for coffee first thing.”

“Cool. Keep me posted. How’s everything else?”

“Where’s my new American Express black card?”

“Oh, shit, I forgot. It’s on my list of things to do. I’ve got to run, Babe.”

“Forgot? You better make sure you’re handling your business. You know I don’t like to wait.”

“Look, Barrett, don’t forget who you’re talking to. I said I’d do it and I will. ’Bye.”

When Barrett hung up the phone, she took a deep breath and told herself she might as well make the phone call she was dreading. She went into the kitchen and got a bottle of water from the well-stocked refrigerator. When she got back to her bedroom, she got on her knees and pulled from under the bed a small red lacquer box that held her stash of weed. Barrett knew that before the night’s end she would need a toke or two.

Then she picked up the phone and dialed the numbers she didn’t want to dial.

After a few rings, her mother picked up.

“Hello,” she said, clearly annoyed.

“Hey, it’s me. I just called to see if you got the check,” Barrett said.

“Why do you always call when my stories are on? Your timing is always off, girl.”

“They’re called soap operas.”

“Bitch, I know what they’re called. You think your ass is so damn smart.”

“I was just making sure you got the check.”

“Yeah, I got the check. If I hadn’t, you know I would have called you. Is that cell phone number of yours still the same?”

“I told you I would always keep one cell number the same in case something happened to Wade.”

“Whatever. That boy Chris hasn’t been back looking for you. I guess he gave up.”

“Good,” Barrett said. “Make sure you don’t give him this number or any of the others, either.”

“Did you give him back his money?”

“I don’t want to talk about that. How’s Wade?”

“Wade is Wade.”

“What does that mean?”

“I got to get back to my stories.”

Barrett didn’t say good-bye as she held the phone close to her chest and muttered to herself, “Yeah, get back to your stories, woman.”

CHAPTER
15

Carmyn Gets Defensive

I
t was one of those days when the air was so stifling in Atlanta that I daydreamed of living in San Francisco or Seattle. Kellis and I were sitting in her warmly golden-lit, cathedral-size kitchen, drinking herbal tea and eating salty Spanish peanuts.

The 4,300-square-foot Buckhead split-level house was something that Kellis was proud of, even though she was constantly complaining about the costs of keeping it up. At times I wondered how she was able to do it, since Kellis had never shown any interest in maintaining a fulltime job. She earned some money doing interior decorating, even though she had no formal training. Her home, which she had decorated herself, became her calling card and professional résumé.

Kellis had called me right before I left the spa and invited me to dinner at Houston’s, one of our favorite restaurants. I hated eating alone in restaurants, so I welcomed the invite. Many evenings I would stop at the restaurant on Lennox Road and order my dinner from the bar, then take it home. Sometimes when I got home I would place my entrée on fine china and imagine I was having dinner at a fancy restaurant with Brady across the table, enjoying the superb meal with me.

“I need to stop eating these things,” I said as I placed the peanuts I had just picked up into a napkin in my lap. When I was a young girl and had gone to my first tea at church, I loved the taste of salty peanuts and candy mints mixed together. It’s been a favorite ever since.

“Me, too,” Kellis said as she picked up the bowl from the table and moved it to the granite island in the middle of the room. “Oh, did I show you this?”

Kellis picked up a beige leather bag and displayed it proudly.

“When did you get that?” I asked.

“Today. It’s the latest Marc Jacobs bag. I had to have it.”

“It’s beautiful. So, you ready to go, girl?” I said as I dusted salt off the palms of my hands and into the napkin.

“Yeah, but before we go, I need you to do something for me,” Kellis said.

“What?” I asked as I got up from the table.

“Wait a minute. I’ll be right back,” Kellis said as she left the kitchen and entered the hallway that led to her master suite.

I walked over to the sink and rinsed my hands and thought about calling Brady to see if I could find out more about the girl he had mentioned. His first game was a week away and he needed to be focused. I looked around for a paper towel, but all I was able to find was a stack of pressed white linen napkins. I smiled to myself at how Kellis always kept her house like it was a four-star hotel. I picked up my purse so I could get my cell phone and refresh my lipstick.

As I opened the purse, Kellis walked in carrying a cloth-covered jewelry box.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Something I need you to keep for me,” Kellis said as she placed the box on the bar.

“Keep what?”

“Just a few things I need to keep out of the house for a bit,” Kellis said.

“Sure, but why?”

“Do you want the truth, or will you just do it?” Kellis asked.

“Kellis, what’s in the box and what’s going on?”

“Take a look,” Kellis instructed.

I looked in the box and saw a woman’s gold Rolex watch, some diamond studs with a matching necklace, and Kellis’s five-carat wedding ring.

“Why do you need me to keep this?” I asked.

“Carmyn, you’re my friend, so I don’t want to lie to you. I am in a little financial bind. I’ve been helping Ramon out with his child support, and I’m running low on money. I’m going to call the police when we get back home tonight and tell them these things were stolen. They’re insured, and I think that will hold me over until I can get another decorating job,” Kellis said in a voice steeped with sadness.

I was shocked, and I resisted an overwhelming urge to grab Kellis and shake some sense into her. Why did she let her son take advantage of her like this?

“Kellis, you can’t do that. How much money do you need?” I asked. I didn’t like to loan money to friends, but I didn’t want to see Kellis get herself in even more trouble by committing fraud.

“I don’t want to borrow money from you, because I don’t know when I’ll be able to give it back,” Kellis said.

“I don’t know if I even have the money to loan you, but you’ve got to come up with something else, Kellis. Have you thought of putting your house on the market? This is a beautiful place; it would sell in no time,” I said.

“I can’t sell my house. This is all I have,” Kellis said.

“Kellis, you could take the money you make from selling this house and buy something over near me in Cascade. Some real nice town houses are going up just a couple blocks from me.”

“I can’t get a town house. Carmyn, you know the type of man I’m trying to snag. I need to have a place like this to get that kind of man.”

As much as I loved my friend, I knew that she measured her life by her house, clothes, car, and material things she wasn’t willing to give up. Like expensive pocketbooks she couldn’t afford.

“Why don’t we go look at those homes Martha Stewart and KB Homes are building. I bet they’re really nice,” I said.

“KB Homes? Child, please! Nothing against your girl Martha, but I saw a billboard for those homes and they start at around two hundred thousand, so they can’t be that fabulous. So will you do it?”

Without taking a second to think about it, I said, “I can’t, and I’m disappointed you’d even involve me in such a scheme.”

“Are you mad at me? What is that shit about? You ain’t got to worry about paying your bills. When Brady finishes school and signs his big contract, you might not have to work another day in your life,” Kellis said, her face sculpted in anger.

“That will be Brady’s money. Have you tried putting yourself on a budget?” I asked.

“You can’t make a budget if you don’t have any money, Carmyn. I’ve maxed out my credit cards as well as the line of equity credit I have on this house. I don’t know how long I can go on like this. It’s like trying to stay dry when you’re standing naked in a rainstorm,” Kellis said.

“Kellis, you’re my friend and I want to help you any way I can, but please don’t do this. It would be so sad if my best friend went to jail.”

“I won’t get caught. There’ve been a few robberies in the neighborhood lately. This real handsome policeman stopped by my house a couple of weeks ago to warn me. Come on, Carmyn, this is a white folks’ neighborhood. My insurance company will write that check fast, because that’s what they do when Miss White Lady’s jewels are stolen.”

“That’s fine, but that happens when something’s
really
stolen,” I said.

“They won’t know that,” Kellis snapped.

I picked up a magazine with Martha Stewart on the cover and handed it to Kellis, then said, “I bet Martha didn’t think she’d get caught either.”

Kellis slammed the magazine on the table and said, “Martha made jail work for her, and if I get caught, I’ll do the same.”

“Are you ready to go to dinner?” I asked as I picked up my purse from the counter. “Maybe we can think of something else you can do.”

“I’ve lost my appetite,” Kellis said.

“Do you want me to go and pick something up?”

“No, thanks. The way I feel, I might just drink my dinner tonight,” Kellis said.

“Please don’t do that.”

“Don’t worry, I will be fine, Carmyn. I have some leftovers from P.F. Chang’s from lunch. I promise, when I get on my feet I’ll take you out for a real nice dinner,” Kellis said, embarrassment replacing the anger on her face.

I walked over and hugged her tight and whispered, “I’m going home and getting on my knees and praying for you. Prayers are powerful and God hears them, Kellis. Things will work out just fine.”

Kellis fought back tears and said, “Keep your prayers for yourself. If I want to talk to God, I know where He is.”

CHAPTER
16

Brady’s First Down

I
t had been very hard to sleep the night before as I tossed my body from one end of my bed to the other thinking about Barrett and our morning coffee date. I wished that I’d dated more so that I wouldn’t come off looking lame in front of this young lady who I knew was much more sophisticated than most of the girls at CGU. I didn’t consider my situation with Chloe a relationship, but I knew it would have to stop if things got serious between Barrett and me. Chloe knew we didn’t have a relationship beyond the occasional posing and pleasure we provided each other. I mean, I was never at her house for more than a couple of hours.

I got up around 5:30
A.M.
and went to the weight room and lifted for over an hour. I loved early-morning workouts, so as team captain I set some up for my teammates. They were pissed as hell at me, but I told them if we wanted to be champions we had to start our day like winners and quit complaining.

I stopped at Wal-Mart and picked up some flowers, then rushed back to the apartment, showered, and pressed my jeans for the second time.

When I walked into the Student Union’s coffee shop, the first person I saw was Barrett standing at the counter. She looked like she was posing for a picture for a high-fashion magazine. She was the only person I could see.

“These are for you,” I said as I nervously handed her a bouquet of daisies.

“I love daisies. Thank you, Brady,” Barrett said as she admired the flowers. “How did you know I loved these?”

“I just took a guess,” I said. Moms was right again.

“Should we order something and find a table?” Barrett suggested.

“Sure, what would you like?” I asked.

“A latte,” Barrett said quickly.

When I walked back with our order, she was seated at a table and absorbed in her notebook, so I cleared my throat to get her attention.

Barrett was wearing a short-sleeved pink sweater and a short khaki skirt. She was the picture of confidence and composure. Her hair was neatly pulled back into a slick ponytail and she was wearing a thin strand of pearls. I couldn’t help but notice how beautiful her skin was—it was the color of café au lait, a delicious blend of heavy cream swirling through a cup of black coffee.

“So they don’t have an athletic dorm or somewhere where all you guys live?” she asked.

“Can’t do that. The NCAA won’t allow it. You know us athletes can’t be treated special. Might get us put on probation or something,” I said.

“So you live off campus?”

“Yeah, in some apartments about ten minutes by bike, which used to be my mode of transportation. Now that I have a truck, it takes me just a couple of minutes to get to campus, and then maybe a half hour just to find a parking space,” I said.

“So your truck’s pretty new?”

“Yeah, it was a surprise from my mom,” I said as I gushed with pride.

“What does your mother do?”

“She owns a couple of beauty shops in Atlanta,” I said proudly. “One of her spots is the most popular day spa in Buckhead.”

“And your father?”

“I never knew my father. He was killed in a motorcycle accident on his way to the hospital when I was born,” I said. Maybe I was telling her too much about myself for a first date.

“Oh, Brady, I’m really sorry.”

“Thanks, but I always say you can’t miss what you never had. Besides, my mother makes up for it. She’s better than having two parents,” I said, staring at Barrett. I was unable to take my eyes off her beautiful face.

“I don’t know what I would do without my parents. Do you have any siblings?”

“No, it’s just me and my moms,” Brady said.

“Your story is so sad, but in a way kind of romantic. The thought of your father on a motorcycle rushing to see you being born,” Barrett said as a smile crossed her lips.

“I never thought of it that way,” I said as my shoulders rolled in a shrug. “What about you?”

“I’m an only child. My father is a businessman, my mother does volunteer work in Atlanta. I guess you’d call her a socialite or a black Buckhead Betty,” Barrett said.

“Where does your family live in Atlanta? Buckhead?”

“Yes, we live in Buckhead.”

“Where do you attend church?” I asked.

“What?”

“Where do you attend church?”

“We’re Catholic. We go downtown,” Barrett said.

“What’s the name of it?”

“Is this a quiz on Atlanta?” Barrett asked, slightly annoyed.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“That’s okay.”

“So where did you transfer from?” I asked.

“Spelman.”

“Why?”

“I needed to get out from under my parents. I stayed in the dorm one year, but I was going home almost every day. I didn’t want a big school like UGA or Auburn, so this place seemed perfect.”

“Yeah, I like it down here and will miss it next year,” I said.

“Why did you come to school down here? I mean, you must be a city boy.”

“I knew they were building a good football program and I could play as a freshman. Also, they promised to give my homeboy, Delmar, a scholarship as well,” I said.

“So why don’t you have a girlfriend?” Barrett asked.

“I could be a playa,” I teased. I suddenly felt comfortable with Barrett and wondered what she would think if I told her about Naomi.

“Tell me why a beautiful young lady like you doesn’t have a boyfriend,” I said.

“It’s a long story,” Barrett said quickly.

I looked at my watch and said, “I got about a half hour until my first class. Why don’t you start in the middle?”

“You might have the time, Brady, but I have to stop in the bookstore and pick up a few things. I need to know you better before I’m ready to tell you more,” Barrett said as she unzipped a small leather purse and pulled out a set of keys.

“Would you like for me to go with you?” I wasn’t ready for this date to end.

Barrett stood up, pushed the chair back with her legs, and said, “Thanks, but I’m a big girl.”

“That I can see, but big is not a word I would use to describe you,” I said as I eyed Barrett from the top of her head down to the shoes she was wearing. It was not the vulgar,
what a nice piece of ass
look I had seen Delmar give girls, but more the look of someone admiring a nice piece of art—the way my mother had taught me to look at women. Chloe had taught me the body could be viewed as a piece of art as well.

“So would you like to see me again?” Barrett asked softly.

“No doubt. Would it be okay if I had your number?” I asked, looking down sheepishly.

“I’ll call your cell and leave my number when I’m ready, or maybe I’ll just text you,” she said.

“I hope it’ll be soon.”

“Don’t worry, it will,” she said as she walked toward the door.

I watched her until she was out of sight and a tiny voice in the back of my mind said,
Dude, you’re about to be in trouble. Big-time.

After lifting weights and
running a few skeleton drills, my teammates and I headed toward the athletic complex for a much-needed shower. I marched into the locker room to the sounds of laughter and sighs of relief. You could always tell who’d had a great workout: They led the lineup of muscular young men, carrying helmets and dressed in shorts and cut-off T-shirts.

The first day of class had signaled the end of our two-a-day practices. Now practice started around three and ended at six. Almost every day, I was the last player to reach the locker room because of the number of reporters, both print and broadcast, who wanted to interview me about every practice, what I thought of our offensive line and passing game. Rushing for over 1,500 yards during my junior year had made me not only a fan favorite but a media favorite as well. Reporters were always commenting on how polite I was when I answered questions with “Yes, sir” or “Yes, ma’am.” My mother always told me to represent the young black male athlete the best I could.

I couldn’t wait for the opening game against Big 12 foe Texas Tech. I would put on my new green jersey with the gold #2 outlined in black on the front and back and
Bledsoe
emblazoned across my shoulders. I was excited but also a bit sad when I thought ahead to the season’s final game against Georgia Tech. The last home game of the season was Senior Day. The last time I would play on Jaguar Field. On that special Saturday, I would run out of the tunnel, greet my mother with a hug and a kiss at midfield, present to her a signed football, and then have our picture taken with the coach. If I knew my mother like I thought I did, she had already purchased the outfit she would wear that day. Earlier in the summer, Mom and I had talked about how we were both looking forward to Senior Day. It would be a milestone of sorts for us, the end of the first part of my football career and the start of something new—and even more exciting, a chance at the Heisman and the NFL.

As I walked to my locker, I removed my underarmor and shorts and stood wearing only a jock as I searched for my brush, toothpaste, and body wash. I listened to the chatter of the locker room lawyers, so to speak, who always had something to say about the girls on campus or the upcoming opponent. The football locker room was in many ways like a beauty shop for men. In fact, sometimes conversations I heard weren’t that different from the ones I heard growing up in my mom’s shop Back to My Roots. Only, in the locker room the conversations about the opposite sex were held in the midst of cheap aftershave, hot steam, and naked bodies.

I removed my jock, grabbed a towel, and walked to the shower with my body wash and shower shoes.

“Nigga, what’s that?” Omar Whitmore, one of the starting linebackers, asked.

“What’s what?” I replied. Now everyone in the shower area was focused on the bottle in my hand.

“That,” Omar said as he pointed to my hand.

“It’s soap, playa,” I said with a
what’s the big deal?
look.

“This is soap,” Omar replied, holding a white bar of soap in his left hand. “That’s some of that female Victoria’s Secret bullshit. Did your mommy buy that for you?” Omar asked as he and several other teammates exploded in laughter.

“Hey, don’t say nuthin’ about Brady’s mom. Have you seen how fine she is? Damn, she looks like his sister instead of his mom,” said Pierre James, a linebacker from Alabama who, like me, had already completed his degree requirements but still had a year of eligibility remaining on the field. I’d even been to his house a couple of times, and his parents were two of the coolest grown folks I’d ever met. I loved the relationship he had with his father. When I saw Pierre with his dad, it made me happy and sad at the same time and I felt sorry for myself. It was like they were boyz, not father and son. They talked about football and girls and played Madden NFL like their lives depended upon it.

“You ashy-ass niggas ain’t got no class,” Delmar said as he walked in to defend me. He knew I didn’t really mind the teasing about how meticulous I was with my grooming. It didn’t bother him that I used body washes, scrubs, baby oil, and cocoa butter to keep my skin baby soft.

“Why can’t Brady just use some good old Ivory soap like the rest of us?” Omar asked as they all moved into the community showers.

“’Cause he ain’t no ordinary nigga. This man’s gonna win the Heisman and be playing for more paper in his first NFL game than most of you motherfuckers are gonna make your entire life,” Delmar said.

I just smiled at Delmar as I squeezed my body wash into the loofah and began to massage my chest and shoulders. I knew the attention on me would soon shift and the conversation would change to sex and how much everyone was getting. They would put certain young ladies in categories like “wifey material” and “flat-out freaks.” They might talk about how much ass I could be getting since I was considered a football star. But that was cool—what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. How many of these knuckleheads had an older woman paying to see them naked and bust a little slob on their knob every now and then?