Just Too Good to Be True

by E. Lynn Harris

  “How is Brady?” Shelby asked.

  “He’s doing well. They already started practice,” I said.

  “So has Torrian. I really miss him. Ms. Carmyn, can I ask you something?”

  “Sure, darling.”

  “Do you think I will lose Torrian to a college girl?”

  “Listen to me, Shelby darling. If Torrian is the right one for you, then you won’t lose him. He’ll do things the right way.”

  “It’s going to be hard,” Shelby said softly.

  “Why?”

  “Because he’d been pressuring me for sex, but since he’s been up in Athens he’s stopped,” Shelby said.

  “Maybe he’s busy with football, and that’s a good thing that he’s not pressuring you anymore. Remember our agreement and your Saving Ourselves pledge. You will graduate with honors and save yourself for your wedding day no matter what these boys say to you,” I said.

  “I know, but I’m the only one in my group at school who’s a virgin. Sometimes the other girls hound me about it. Other times they tell me how wonderful sex is. I want to make sure I’m Torrian’s first, and I don’t think he’s going to wait,” Shelby said.

  I walked over to Shelby and took her hands and said, “Sweetheart, I know it’s tough, but you see this ring you’re wearing?”

  Shelby looked down at the silver celibacy band and nodded her head.

  “Well, don’t take that off until your husband replaces it with a wedding band,” I said.

  “I know what you’re saying is right, but if I lose Torrian I don’t know what I’ll do,” Shelby said.

  Just as I was about to tell Shelby that maybe Torrian wasn’t the right young man for her, my phone rang. I decided to answer it, because I felt it would give me a little time to think of what else I should tell Shelby about why she should wait.

  “Back to My Roots. This is Carmyn,” I said.

  “Are you the owner?” a female voice asked.

  “Yes, who’s calling?”

  “This is Rena. I was in the shop a couple of days ago to see Zander,” she said.

  “I see,” I said. “How may I help you?”

  “Why are you lying about who you are?” she asked point blank.

  “What?”

  “You’re Niecey Johnson, aren’t you? I know you from Houston and also from the University of Texas. You were dating a football star. You thought you were all that,” she said in an accusatory tone.

  I suddenly found myself wordless. I looked at Shelby, who was standing by my chair waiting patiently. My mind traveled back to a time when I was seventeen and in love for the first time.

  “I told you, you have the wrong person,” I finally said.

  “I don’t think so, and I don’t know what you’re hiding from, but I plan to find out,” she threatened.

  “You have the wrong person, and if you call my shop threatening me again, you will be looking for another shop to get that hair of yours done,” I said. I was suddenly restless with anger, and I felt a cloud of guilt hover over me.

  “Oh, I can’t lose Zander,” she said quickly.

  “Then stop asking questions about something that doesn’t concern you,” I said, and hung up. I took a long, troubled breath and told Shelby I needed to get home quickly.

  “But, Ms. Carmyn, I had a few more questions,” Shelby said.

  “Sweetheart, I’m sorry, but your questions will have to wait. E-mail me,” I said as I showed her to the door.

  Having finished a hasty dinner of grilled salmon, I was rinsing my plate to put it in the dishwasher when my cell phone buzzed with a text message: I’m five minutes away from your house. Can’t wait. SR

  After the disturbing phone call I’d received at the salon, I’d nearly forgotten Sylvester was going to drop by. So much for enjoying a night of my latest guilty pleasure, Project Runway. One night when I couldn’t sleep, I came upon the show and just couldn’t stop watching. I had fallen in love with the fashions made by Michael Knight, a young African American who reminded me of Zander, and the white lady, Laura, who made stuff I would wear.

  As I was refreshing my makeup, the doorbell rang. That was quick, I thought. No time to put on something special. But I did have time to slip in my Jill Scott CD.

  I looked through the tiny hole on my door and there stood Sylvester, a bit distorted but smiling like a clown at a fair. I took a deep breath and opened the door.

  “Hey, pretty lady,” Sylvester said as he handed me a bouquet of daisies. He moved his lips toward mine, and I immediately pulled him inside my house.

  “What are you doing?” I asked as I slammed the door.

  “What’s the matter? I was just trying to give you a little kiss,” Sylvester said.

  “My neighbors could have seen you,” I said.

  “I’m sure it wouldn’t be the first time they’ve seen lovers kiss,” Sylvester said.

  “Lovers? We’re not lovers,” I said. I thought our relationship was more like friends, with benefits.

  Sylvester moved close to me and placed his hands very gently on each of my shoulders. “Did you have a tough day, baby?”

  “Not really,” I said. Stop being a b, I told myself. It wasn’t his fault you had a crazy woman digging around in your past.

  “Then why are you talking to me like this? I wasn’t being disrespectful. Is everything all right with your son?” Sylvester asked.

  “Brady? Oh, Brady’s fine—you know his focus is football and school. Not girls,” I said. I was feeling very guilty, because I’d been preaching the virtues of a chaste life to Brady ever since he first asked about sex, and here I was entertaining a man who wasn’t my husband. And then there was that sweet little Shelby.

  “I understand. I like hearing when a young man is serious about school. You’re way too young and good-looking to be a grandma anyway,” Sylvester said.

  I gave Sylvester a hint of a smile. The man did know how to get on my good side.

  “Why don’t you let me use these to take some of that stress out,” Sylvester said as he wiggled his large hands in the air like they were magic mittens.

  “I don’t know. Maybe we should do this later,” I said.

  “Come on now, Carmyn, I’ve been waiting to see you all day.”

  “Look, Sylvester, I’m sorry. I’m dealing with some stress. The football season is about to start, and you know how I worry about my son. Please, let’s not make a big deal out of this. I promise to call you tomorrow. I’ll make it up to you,” I said as I moved closer and took his hands in mine. His eyes looked so forlorn.

  “You promise?” Sylvester said slowly.

  “I promise,” I said.

  Sylvester took me in his arms and gave me a deep, reassuring kiss. Then he pointed at me like a kindergarten teacher instructing a toddler and said, “You got to start living your life for you, Carmyn, because very soon your son won’t need you as much. Make sure you don’t kick a good thing like me to the curb.”

  And then he walked out the door into the muggy Atlanta night.

  CHAPTER

  13

  Brady Makes a Move

  After a quick meal of a double cheeseburger, onion rings, and strawberry limeade, I pulled out of the Sonic drive-in. With one hand on the steering wheel, I picked up my cell phone from the empty passenger seat and hit the automatic dialing feature. After a few rings, I heard my mom’s very cheerful voice.

  “How’s my baby doing?” my mother asked.

  “I just got my eat on. Whatcha got going?” I asked.

  “Getting ready to head home and get me something for dinner this evening. I feel like maybe some baked chicken and spinach.”

  “You need to watch out for that spinach. Haven’t you been watching the news? Something about E. coli in the bags they put the spinach in. You can’t be getting sick before my first game.”

  “Okay, baby. I won’t eat spinach tonight. What did you eat for dinner?”

  “Sonic.”

  “What did I
tell you about that stuff? Look at you warning me about what I shouldn’t be eating. That stuff isn’t any good for a top athlete. You and Delmar need to learn how to cook and leave that fast food alone.”

  “You know I can’t cook. Like mother, like son,” I said, and laughed.

  “You better be glad I’m not there. I would have to pop that smart mouth of yours,” my mother teased.

  “Oh, before I forget, I got some good news today from the sports information director,” I said.

  “What?”

  “ESPN’s College Football Today is coming to do a profile on me. It’s going to be about the leading candidates for the Heisman, and I’m also on the Doak Walker watch list.”

  “What is the Doak Walker watch list?” Mom asked.

  “What did you do with my mother, lady?” I teased. Usually, my mother knew everything about college football.

  “I haven’t even heard of him,” Mom said.

  “It’s the award for the best running back in the country, named after this player from SMU who played halfback in the old days. Reggie Bush won it last year. At the beginning of the year, they put out a watch list of the candidates. It just means they gonna be watching your boy’s every move,” I said.

  “Aw, baby, that’s wonderful,” my mother said proudly.

  “And that’s not all.”

  “No?”

  “Nope, they mentioned wanting to talk with you and maybe coming to your salon. Are you ready for your close-up?”

  “Baby, I don’t know about that. What would I wear? You know I haven’t ever been on television.”

  “You’ll be the most beautiful mom ever on television,” I said.

  “I hear you talking, baby. Please give me as much notice as you can. I’ll need to stop by Lennox and get something new to wear,” my mother said.

  “I’ll let you know as soon as I find out. Oh yeah, one of the girls in football marketing set up a photo shoot for a poster they’re doing to promote me. Can you believe it—me doing a photo shoot?”

  “Sure I can. My baby is very handsome. But don’t let all these outside distractions take away from school and football. Remember: Stay focused,” she said.

  “Don’t worry, Mom, I will. I’m almost back to my apartment. I’ll call you before I get ready to crash.” I paused for a few moments and then I asked, “What do girls like?”

  “What?” my mother asked. Her tone seemed startled.

  “What do girls like?” I repeated.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, do they really like flowers—and if so, what kind?”

  My mother had to know this day was coming, I thought, but she probably hoped it wouldn’t be this soon. She told me that flowers were nice but I had to make sure flowers didn’t send the wrong message. She explained that if I sent red roses, that meant I was in love. Red is for passion. Yellow roses are for friendship.

  “What should I do if it’s a strong like?” I asked.

  “Maybe you could send something like daisies,” my mother suggested.

  “Okay, that sounds cool. Maybe I’ll send a box of chocolates or something,” I said.

  “Well, make sure she’s not on a diet,” my mother teased.

  “No, I doubt she’s on a diet. She’s already perfect,” I said.

  “So does she have a name?”

  “Yes, she does. Her name is Barrett, and Mom, I can’t wait for you to meet her.”

  “Then I can’t wait either.”

  “I love you, Mom.”

  “I love you more, Brady. Please be careful, and don’t forget that you need to be careful. When it comes to girls, we can be trouble. The Heisman voters pay a lot of attention to character.”

  “I know, Mom, I know.”

  I smiled to myself as I hung up the phone. I wondered if my mom was going to like Barrett when she met her. Now all I had to do was convince Barrett to go on a date with me.

  I was a few blocks from my apartment when a blocked call came in. I figured it might be a reporter or the sports information guy, so I answered it.

  “Hello,” I said.

  “Is this Brady?” a sweet-sounding female voice asked. My heart started pumping fast and my foot pressed down on the gas pedal of my truck. I needed to stop before I had a wreck.

  “Yeah, this is Brady. Who is this?”

  “Do you give your number to that many girls? This is Barrett Manning,” she said.

  “Barrett, I was hoping you’d call,” I said as I pulled over to the curb and parked my truck. I needed to devote all my attention to this call.

  “You were?”

  “Yes. How’re you doing? I mean, how’s school and cheerleadering? Are you guys ready for the first game?” I asked nervously.

  “Which question do you want to me to answer first?”

  “Whichever one you want,” I said. “Why don’t you have a Facebook account? I looked up your name to see if I could send you a message.”

  “I closed my Facebook account,” Barrett said confidently.

  “Why, too many dudes jockin’ you?” I asked.

  “Yeah, something like that,” Barrett said.

  “That’s whatsup,” I said. Now what could I ask? I was out of questions.

  “So I have a question for you.”

  “Holla at me,” I said.

  “Would you like to meet me in the Union coffee shop tomorrow?”

  “Bet. That’s whatsup. What time? You just tell me where and when. I’ll be there.”

  “What time is your first class?” Barrett asked.

  “Let’s see—tomorrow is Wednesday, so that would be ten,” I said.

  “Then meet me at the Union at nine,” Barrett instructed.

  “I’ll be there.”

  “See you then.”

  “Barrett.”

  “Yes.”

  “Thanks for hollering at your boi.”

  “Just don’t make me regret it,” Barrett said.

  “Bet,” I said. “You never will.”

  A few minutes after I hung up from Barrett, I got a text from C asking me to meet at ten that night at the studio. There was no way I could go there and still be fresh for my meeting with Barrett, but I needed the money, so I sent back a text that I would be there in about thirty minutes.

  How long can I continue to do this, I thought as I started my car and headed for the highway.

  I arrived at the house just as a bright orange sun set behind the clouds. I usually didn’t arrive until after it got dark, but I was glad the text had come early. I parked my car behind the garage and went around to the side door as always.

  Before I could knock, C greeted me with an anxious smile.

  “Brady, how are you?”

  “I’m straight.”

  “You’re early.”

  “Yeah. That’s whatsup. I got some studying to do later on.”

  “How was your day? How was practice?” C asked as we went through the kitchen into the studio. There wasn’t much in the way of furnishings: two white leather love seats that faced each other, wood shutters on tall windows, and several camera lamps. There were several nature paintings on the wall.

  “Fine. How’re your classes?” I asked.

  “Class. I’m only teaching one this semester. An advanced sculpting class,” C said.

  “You want me to change in there?” I asked as I pointed to the bathroom door, which was slightly ajar.

  “Sure. I’m going to put on some music and get my equipment. Would you like something to drink?”

  “A bottle of water would be cool,” I said.

  “Okay.”

  I went into the bathroom and removed my T-shirt, jeans, and underwear and placed my celibacy ring on the bathroom sink. I felt a slight breeze over my body as I walked back into the studio butt naked and with a slight erection. I had thought of Barrett as I removed my clothes and wondered what she might think of my part-time job that only C and I knew about. I felt as I did most times, an uncomfortable
mix of lust and guilt.

  The job had started innocently enough. When Naomi got pregnant and I needed money for an abortion, I answered an ad from the school newspaper looking for art models. I figured it was a quick way to make some money. I didn’t know what to expect, but when I found I had to pose nude I needed the money so I did it. Chloe assured that no one would see my face. It turned into something else.

  Chloe Perez was an art instructor at CGU and I had known her for almost three years. She was a regal lady in her early forties, with amazing bone structure. She had long dark hair and a deliciously round and feminine body. Even though she was Hispanic, there was a hint of something African American about her mouth.

  During our sessions, Chloe began talking to me about her personal life. She told me she was in a sexless marriage with a man she no longer loved. She told me he taught at a university in Vermont and that they had a “commuter marriage.”

  Chloe walked back in with a bottle of water, and I noticed her dark brown eyes slowly travel up and down my body.

  “How is it that your body looks more awesome every time I see you?”

  I didn’t answer. I just opened the water and took a long swig. I heard the Cuban music she normally played and asked her if she was ready to get started.

  “Yeah, I got my trusty camera right here. Why don’t you stand over in that corner by the window,” Chloe instructed as she pointed.

  I put the water bottle on the stool and walked casually to the corner. I thought how nervous I’d been the first time I’d posed almost three years ago, and how now it was as simple as brushing my teeth.

  Chloe took several shots of me, advising me to use my hands to shield my manhood at times, then telling me to turn around and raise my arms toward the sky like I was getting ready to fly away.

  “So are you excited about your senior year?” Chloe asked.

  “I just want to get it over with and move on to the NFL,” I said, not looking toward her. I wasn’t very good at small talk, especially when I was naked.

  “You should cherish this time. You only get it once.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  When she pulled the stool to the center of the studio, I got excited knowing the photo session was about to end and the finale was only moments away.