The Eleventh Commandment (4 page)

D
arius Crenshaw sat watching the gargantuan screen in his theater room, praying that Bo would stay in the kitchen. He watched the movie intensely, not at all caring about the suspenseful story line about a spy who'd infiltrated the White House. The story line didn't capture his interest, but the man who played the spy very much had his attention. Pascual Demopoulos, the half-Italian, half-Greek heartthrob known simply as Paz, who in less than two years had taken America and the big screen by storm. A seasoned actor who'd been a European celebrity for many years, he had broken into America's homes and most females' hearts with last year's breakout role that starred him as a single father with a precocious, nine-year-old daughter. The movie,
Nine Times Over,
was a critical and popular smash, leading to an Oscar nomination and his being given the coveted crown of Sexiest Man Alive by
People
magazine.
They got that right,
Darius mused as he watched the actor, looking dashingly bad-ass in a tailored black suit as he accompanied the “president” as part of the Secret Service detail. His stunningly blue eyes were hidden behind dark glasses, but Darius knew exactly how they looked. He'd committed those orbs to memory when they'd met face to face six months ago.

 

“First class is the only thing that makes traveling overseas bearable,” the handsome man said as he sat next to Darius in seat 3B.

“I hear you, man.” Darius barely looked up in answer, so busy was he texting his legal partner, Bo. This trip had come up unexpectedly, but when royalty called, you answered, and Darius's presence had been requested at the wedding of a princess. It was a rare trip where Bo hadn't accompanied him, staying behind to attend meetings for a Fourth of July concert happening in Central Park and a New Year's Eve Celebration he was headlining at Kingdom Citizens Christian Center. Even though the latter gala was still several months away, it was the first major event Darius had held for them since resigning his minister of music position the year before, a move that had been necessitated by both his demanding schedule and the time he spent in Phoenix to be near his son. He wanted everything to be perfect, and the only person he trusted absolutely to make that happen was Bo. “It's only seventy-two hours,” Darius had pointed out when Bo complained of not going with him, as he always did. “I'll be back before my side of the bed gets cold.”

Because he'd barely acknowledged the stranger, who'd spoken as he placed his carry-on in the bin above him, the first thing Darius had truly noticed about Paz was his scent: a combination of something earthy and sexy and mysterious and wild. The second thing was his eyes.

“Paz Demopoulos,” he'd said with hand outstretched, once seated and firmly secured by the requisite seat belt.

“Darius Crenshaw.”

“I thought you looked familiar. I love your music, man!” Paz immediately pulled out his smartphone and showed Darius how the music catalog was loaded with songs by D & C, Darius and Company. “That new album is flawless. I know that ‘Power' is the song climbing up the charts, but ‘Subtle Sexy' is my personal fave. ‘Subtle sexy, you vex me, arrest me with your charm while on my arm . . .' ” Paz sang the lines with a surprisingly smooth voice, showing that he was not only a great actor and model, but could possibly hold his own behind a mike.

“I'm sorry, but I haven't seen your work,” Darius said, once Paz finished the lyric. “Heard about it though. Congrats on the award nomination.”

Paz's smile reflected straight white teeth and the hint of a dimple. “Thanks.”

After learning that they'd both been summoned to the same party, the two men had conversed comfortably on their trip to Dubai. Darius had only been mildly surprised to learn that Paz swung both ways. More unexpected had been the A-list actor's not-so-subtle interest in a fling with him, something that Darius had found flattering, but had flatly turned down. “I'm married,” he'd explained, when Paz had pushed the issue. “I'm determined,” Paz had softly replied. Nothing had happened in Dubai. But Darius was all too aware that if Paz had his way . . . something would happen stateside. And soon.

 

“You're watching that piece of crap movie again?” Bo entered the theater carrying a tray from which a decadent aroma wafted. “If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to have a crush on someone other than your wife.” He reached the coffee table and sat down what would be a light yet fulfilling lunchtime treat: Portobello mushroom burgers with roasted red peppers on focaccia bread, and a warm, wilted green salad. He reached for a cloth napkin that had been thrown over his shoulder, placed it on Darius's lap, and placed his own plate on the table beside his mate.

Darius reached for the remote and wisely changed the channel along with the subject. At the time he'd thought it best to tell Bo about meeting Paz on the trip to Dubai. Now, given how jealous Bo acted whenever the man's face or name came up, he wasn't so sure. “This smells good, baby. But where's the meat?”

“The mushroom replaces it. Remember I told you about watching Dr. Oz and deciding for us to try and cut our beef and pork intake a little bit.”

“Yeah,” Darius replied around a bite of food. “This tastes good, even without it.”

“I aim to please,” Bo replied.

“You aim too, please!” they said simultaneously, laughing at the reference to a poster that used to hang in the gay spot where they met. “Um, babe,” Darius said, after another healthy bite of the sandwich. “What kind of cheese is this?”

“Gruyère,” Bo replied. “Saw it on the Food Network.”

“Oh, you've been watching
your
on-screen crush again?” Darius took full advantage of further defusing Bo's fixation with Paz by bringing up his own professed heartthrob.

“Honey, I love me some Toussaint Livingston. But his ass is as straight as the highway to heaven.” The Food Network's latest darling, Toussaint Livingston, was one of the heirs to a large barbecue dynasty in Atlanta, Georgia, whose riches had been garnered largely through their grandfather's secret sauce recipe, a restaurant chain called Taste of Soul, and the tremendous entrepreneurial success of the third generation.

“Word is their food will be featured at this year's Music Muse Awards. So watch it with the compliments or I'll take someone else with me.” Darius leaned over and kissed Bo's pouting lips. “Stop it. You know nobody looks as good next to me as you do.”

Even after all this time, when a man as fine as Darius made a big deal over him, Bo couldn't help but preen. Not that Bo had any lack of confidence. Though his frame was slight, a mere five foot nine to Darius's bulkier six feet, Bo had a pretty boy face, flawless butterscotch skin, baby fine hair, and bow-shaped lips most women would envy.

The Crenshaw landline rang and Bo reached over for the handset. “Hey, Spacey.”

“Hey, Little Bo Peep,” Stacy answered, in her and Bo's ongoing mutually exchanged digs. “Darius there?”

“He's eating. You ready for us to pick up Junior?”

“I told you not to call him that! I hate that name!”

“Are you ready for us to pick up Darius's son?” Bo's tone was way too syrupy to be sincere.

“I'd prefer Darius to come and get him, but I doubt you'll want him out of your eyesight long enough to let him come alone.”

“Hmph, Darius isn't the one I'd worry about, witch.”

“Please, Bo. Nobody wants Darius but you.”

“Except everybody who doesn't have him, including your husband.” There was silence as Bo imagined Stacy remembering how to breathe. “Ha! I thought that would get you. You never know about those professional athletes.”

“Ease up, Bo.” Darius interrupted the verbal war that was sure to happen whenever his child's mother and his male wife crossed paths. “Tell Stacy I'll be over there in a half hour.”

The two men finished their meal and, contrary to Stacy's assumption, Darius then left the house alone to pick up his son. A good thing, since his text indicator vibrated shortly after he got into his SUV for the short drive from the home he'd purchased for the sole purpose of being near his son to the abode that Stacy shared with her ex-NFL football player husband, Tony Johnson. When Darius reached a stop light, he pulled out his phone.

I'll be in Phoenix tomorrow for a photo shoot. Can you get

away?

Darius sighed as he punched the voice-activated responder on his cell. “Not a good idea,” he said, enunciating slowly so that the device would type in the correct words. Lord knew he was interested in Paz, who hadn't been far from his thoughts since returning from Dubai. But when it came to Darius and anyone wanting to get next to him, Bo seemed to have a bloodhound's nose, a sixth sense if you will, a gift that could be part of the reason for Darius's faithfulness. Bo's love for Darius was almost legendary, his devotion unparalleled. Bo was already suspicious. If he knew how actively Paz had been pursuing him, there would be hell to pay.

The text indicator beeped. You know I won't stop until I have you.

Darius couldn't help but smile as he spoke his answer: “I know.”

P
az was still on Darius's mind as he knocked on the Johnsons' door. Stacy answered wearing a tube top and a pair of cutoff jeans. As always, she was a distraction. This time it was a welcome one.

“Hello, Stacy,” he said as he entered, stopping to wrap his ex in a light hug. “How are you doing?”

“I'm okay.”

Her answer caused Darius to stop in his tracks and turn around. He looked at her closely, noted the slightly dark circles under her eyes and the fact that she seemed to have lost some weight. “Are you?”

“Of course. Why wouldn't I be?”

“Daddy!” An ever-growing five-year-old burst of energy entered the room, wrapping himself around his father's legs. “Are we going to the park, Daddy? Remember, you promised. Are we going to go to the park and race cars?”

Darius looked down at his spitting image, his heart overflowing with love as he gazed into wide brown eyes staring from a body that seemed all arms, legs, and a smooth round head. “We'll see, little man. Did you pack the cars in your bag? Are you ready to go?”

In answer, Darius Jr. darted around the corner, into his room, Darius presumed. “He's growing up so fast,” he said, shaking his head as he looked from the corner his son had turned and back into Stacy's eyes. “I can't believe he'll be starting kindergarten in the fall.”

“According to his preschool teachers he's more than ready.” Stacy walked over to some video games that had been left on the floor, idly picking them up and stacking them on a nearby table. “He has scored high in all of the tests given so far.” She turned and faced Darius. “Your son is a very bright young man.”

“Just like his mother.”

Stacy's chuckle was light, and a bit hollow. “Just like his dad.”

For a moment, time seemed to reverse, and both Darius and Stacy remembered warm and genuine feelings that had once existed between them. Stacy saw the man who for years she'd chased in hopes of being his wife. Darius looked at the only woman who'd been able to arouse him to orgasm, the only woman he'd ever loved in a romantic fashion. “You sure you're all right?”

Stacy nodded, again busying her hands by picking up the few toys that were strewn around the room. But before Darius could focus on Stacy's seemingly distracted state of mind two things happened: his son reentered the living room and Stacy's husband, Tony, came through the front door.

“Hey, baby!” Stacy walked over and hugged a scowling husband.

To Darius, Stacy's greeting seemed forced, a bit too cheery. But then again, while he and Tony had developed a cordial enough relationship, it wasn't like they were best buds. Darius felt it best that he take his son and leave the premises, give Tony the space he needed in his own home. “All right then, Stacy. I'll bring Darius back on Monday morning, if that's okay.”

“Sure.” Stacy knelt down to hug her son. “You be a good boy, okay?”

“Yes, Mommy.”

Had Tony not been there they would have hugged, but considering the tension that was in the room, Darius simply nodded his good-bye. Stacy walked them to the door and stayed there waving as Darius and his son backed out of the driveway. Once they'd driven down the street, she turned to see that Tony had left the living room and walked into their bedroom at the end of the hall. Stacy took a deep, calming breath, placed a hand on her stomach to still the fluttering, and followed behind him.

“How was your day, baby?” She leaned against the closet door jamb, watching as Tony took off his shoes and socks.

“What was he doing here?”

Not quite the response she'd hoped for, but Stacy tried to keep things light. “Just doing what he does every other weekend, picking up his child.”

“You know I prefer that to happen before I get home, right?”

“I'm sorry, Tone. I didn't know that you'd be home early. If I had, I would have suggested dropping off DJ instead.” She watched as Tony rolled one sock inside the other before hurling the pair into a basket in the corner of the large, walk-in closet.
Oh no, another bad day.The interview must not have gone well. God, give me strength.
“I thought about grilling some steaks. You hungry?”

“Why in the hell would you want to fire up the grill when it's a hundred degrees?”

Stacy shrugged. “I won't be out there long. The steaks only take around five minutes on each side. I've already prepared a salad and have some ears of corn that can also go on the grill.” Tony remained silent as he stood, unbuckled his belt, unzipped his tailored black trousers, and let them drop around his ankles. She knew there was nothing she could say that would elicit a positive response. “I'll go and fix us a drink.” She turned and left their master suite without waiting for an answer.

A half hour and two tumblers of Courvoisier later, Stacy felt it safer to broach the subject in which she was really interested: Tony's employment. Hopefully soon. She walked from the patio into the dining room, holding a tray of medium-well steaks and perfectly grilled corn. “So how did it go today, baby?”

“How do you think it went?”

Okay, perhaps I should have waited for that third glass to go down.
Her calm demeanor totally belied her inner angst. In the months since Tony had been unceremoniously released from the Cardinals and passed over by every other major team in the NFL, Stacy had learned the hard way how to read his moods and mask her own emotions. The laid-back, even-keeled man she'd married looked nothing like the one she'd lived with for the past few months. And she didn't even want to think about the Ponzi-type scheme that had drained most of Tony's finances—the one she'd warned him against, which was another reason for his ongoing chagrin. “I think they should have hired you if they have any sense. Nobody knows defense the way you do, Tony.” She placed a tong's portion of salad on white porcelain salad plates, and then placed a steak, corn on the cob, and a piece of toasted bread on matching dinner plates. “And definitely there is no one more handsome.” She walked over and placed Tony's plate in front of him, leaning down to kiss his temple in the process.

Tony's scowl remained, but Stacy could tell he was somewhat pacified. “I'm too young to become a talking head for that jive-ass network.” He poured a generous amount of Italian dressing on his simple salad, and then angrily jabbed his fork into the mix. “I don't need them to tell me that when it comes to sportscasting I'd be on top of my game.”

“Sounds like the interview went okay.”

“All right, except they want to offer me pennies on the dollar for what I'm worth.”

“I'm sure it's nowhere near what you made on the field, or what you're worth.”

“How in the hell would you know what I'm worth?” Tony asked, in an explosion of emotion.

“Baby, I'm just saying that whatever they offered you, I'm sure it wasn't enough.”

Without another word, Tony scraped his chair back from the table, grabbed his plate of uneaten-food and half gone drink and left the dining room.

Stacy kept her head down, pushing lettuce, tomatoes, avocado, and black olives from one side of the plate to the other. No one wanted Tony to get picked up by a professional team more than her; no one prayed harder. And their financial situation was only part of why she wanted him to be gainfully employed. His happiness was the main reason. She knew from previous conversations that her husband had eaten, drank and slept football since he was eight years old. Being an athlete wasn't just what he did, it was who he was. If what she was seeing was who he would become once his career ended ... she didn't even want to go down that road of thought.

After he'd left the room, Stacy emptied her uneaten salad into the compost device and placed her uneaten steak and corn into plastic containers before putting them in the refrigerator. Her mind went back to three years ago and how happy she'd been when Tony asked her to be his wife. Now she knew that the honeymoon was definitely over, and only hoped that her dream of a marriage wouldn't turn into a complete nightmare.

In the game room and out of earshot, Tony put down his plate and retrieved his cell phone from his belt clip. He scrolled down to a name he'd only entered about a year ago, the name of the one person who might be able to help him save his career. “Yo,” he said when the call was answered. “That supply come in yet?”

“Was going to call you later,” was the gruff reply. “It arrived this afternoon. I can overnight it tomorrow.”

“Do that.”

Tony picked up his plate and attacked the perfectly done steak and juicy ear of corn. His appetite had returned, along with his hopes that he would end this limbo nightmare and once again live his NFL dreams.