Hittin' It Out the Park

by Allison Hobbs

  “I DON’T WANT TO KNOW ABOUT THAT SKANK AND I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT THAT SKANK! I WANT TO TALK ABOUT ME!!!!”

  “Of course, sweetie, of course,” Cheryl said hurriedly, rubbing Stephen’s back. “Please calm down.”

  “I’m going through a crisis,” Stephen said, shaking his head, and dabbing at his eyes with the damp tissue.

  “Well, I’m here for you, Stephen. Tell me what’s going on,” Cheryl said soothingly. She gently guided Stephen’s head onto her shoulder, and tenderly smoothed his hair. “I’m sure we can work whatever it is out.”

  Stephen started sobbing. “Thank you, Cheryl,” he was finally able to say. “I hate to bother you because I do know you’re going through so much right now.”

  “Shhh, it’s okay,” Cheryl said calmly. “Don’t worry about me. Let’s talk about you. What’s going on, sweetie?”

  “Well,” Stephen sniffed a few times before continuing, “I can’t go on like this, Cheryl. I’ve had to make a major decision, and I’m going through with it. But it’s going to be so hard.” He shook his head dismally.

  Cheryl rolled her eyes, knowing what was coming next. She’d been through it a few times in her tenure as Stephen’s best friend. Usually after he’d been dumped by a lover, or after he’d come from visiting his parents in Connecticut. Dutifully, she asked: “What decision, sweetie?”

  “I’m going to be celibate.” Stephen sat up straight and looked Cheryl in the eyes. “I know I’ve said it before, but I mean it this time.”

  “Oh, sweetie, why?” Cheryl knew her lines well.

  “Because what I’m doing is wrong. Men are not supposed to love men—at least not in a physical way. It’s against nature.” Stephen burrowed his head into Cheryl’s arm and softly sobbed. “But the thing is, I can’t help it.”

  Okay, it’s the parents’ thing. Damn!

  “I went to see my parents this weekend,” Stephen said, tears in his voice and rolling down his cheeks, “I was thinking, well, you know about how you’re always telling me—”

  Cheryl nodded.

  “—that I should go ahead and let my parents know that I . . . that I—” Stephen paused to wipe his tears, but as soon as he did, more started pouring down. Still, he continued, obviously trying to keep his voice steady. “—that I should go ahead and tell them that I have a . . . an alternative lifestyle. I’m thirty-five years old, Cheryl. And I don’t want to live my entire life as a lie, or feeling guilty because of who I am.”

  “Right,” Cheryl said, in an encouraging voice.

  “Well,” Stephen cleared his throat, “we sat down to a nice Sunday dinner, and everyone was in such a good mood, everyone was so pleasant, that I thought it would have been the ideal time.”

  “Sure,” Cheryl said, nodding her head again.

  “Well, as soon as I began gathering up my courage, the doorbell rings.” Stephen paused, and then started chewing his lips. “It was my brother. And his wife. His pregnant wife.”

  “Priscilla’s pregnant?”

  Stephen nodded. “They found out last week. That’s why they had come over. To tell my parents the good news. That they were finally going to be grandparents.”

  “Oh,” Cheryl said slowly.

  “So, yeah,” Stephen’s voice started breaking again, “Mama and Papa were so excited, they were bouncing off the walls. Rubbing Priscilla’s stomach, congratulating Jonathan, and then Mama looked over at me, and she must have thought that I was feeling bad or something.” He paused again. “I wasn’t. I might have had a disappointed look on my face, but it was only because I was kinda disappointed that I wasn’t going to get the chance to talk to Mama and Papa about . . . you know.”

  “Right.”

  “So Mama comes over to me, and says, ‘Don’t feel bad, Stephen. Your turn will be coming soon. I know you’ll find the right girl, won’t he Papa?’ So then Papa comes over and starts hitting me on the back like some kind of good ole boy. So then he says, ‘Mama’s right. You know your Uncle Richard was here a couple of weeks ago saying that the reason you don’t have a girl is because you like boys. Well, I got up and told him to get the hell out of my house. Didn’t I, Mama? And when he didn’t get out fast enough, I got off my chair and threatened to throw him out. Didn’t I, Mama? Can you believe he was trying to tell me that one of my sons is a faggot?’ ”

  Cheryl’s eyes widened. “Oh, no.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Stephen shook his head. “So then Mama says, ‘You don’t need to use that word, Papa. Say homosexual . . . or homo. There’s no need to insult those people. God will deal with them when it comes time to face their judgment.’ ”

  “Oh, no,” Cheryl said again.

  Stephen nodded. “And of course that got an Amen from everyone in the house.” He looked at Cheryl and tears once again welled up in his eyes. “Including me.”

  “Oh, Stephen.” Cheryl started rubbing his shoulders, then pulled him into her bosom and began rubbing his back. “You poor baby.”

  Stephen sobbed loudly for a good five minutes before he could speak again. “My parents think that all gays . . . all homosexuals . . . will burn in Hell. How can I tell them I’m one?” He sat back up, though he was still sobbing, and looked Cheryl directly in the eyes. “Really? How can I tell them?”

  “I understand, Stephen,” Cheryl said soothingly.

  “I can’t do it, Cheryl. I simply can’t,” Stephen continued, “they’ve done so much for me and Jonathan. They sacrificed for us. Taking out second and third mortgages to put us through private schools and college. And they’ve never asked anything from us in return.” He took a deep breath. “They live by the Bible, and they expect their children to do the same. I can’t hurt them by letting them know I’ve been sinning since I was a teenager.”

  “Stephen, you can’t be serious,” Cheryl said. “You’re one of the kindest and generous people I know. Being gay doesn’t mean—”

  “Yes, it does,” Stephen said, cutting her off. He sat up and started wiping his eyes, then blew his nose. Cheryl could see that he was trying to compose himself. “Well,” he said finally. “I can’t force myself to sleep with women, but the least I can do for my parents is to stop sleeping with men.” He chewed his lips again. “They’re going to Heaven, and maybe if I become celibate now, God will forgive me and allow me to be with them when my time comes.” He stopped and seemed to be in deep thought, then took Cheryl’s hands in his own and said: “Do you think so, Cheryl? Do you think God will forgive me?”

  * * *

  “Oh come on.” Cheryl tugged at Stephen’s arm. “You love Lady Gaga. How about one dance? Please?”

  “I don’t feel like dancing,” Stephen answered, pulling away and heading toward the bar. “And I don’t feel like being around a lot of people tonight. I shouldn’t have let you talk me into coming with you.”

  Cheryl sighed as she squeezed into the small space at the bar next to him. She hadn’t really felt like going out either, but she couldn’t think of any other way to cheer Stephen up. He’d gone through “I hate being gay” moods before, but this one seemed so much more severe than any of the other times. Usually he’d throw a four- or five-hour pity-party, get tipsy, and then insist they go out. Sometimes he would dress extra conservatively and try to act so straight it was obvious that it was an act; other times he’d dress so flamboyant he’d be downright gaudy. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason as to which way he’d go, but after they went out and had a few more drinks, he’d always declare, “To hell with it. I’m gay, and I don’t care who cares.” But this time was very different. He boo-hooed until he was almost hoarse, and wanted Cheryl to go home so he could stay in the house and boo-hoo some more. But Cheryl refused to leave. He was so depressed she was concerned he might try something stupid. Like maybe suicide.

  “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 d
icks 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?”