Just Too Good to Be True

by E. Lynn Harris

  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?

  CHAPTER

  17

  Barrett Takes a Bounce

  Barrett was about thirty minutes into her afternoon cheerleading practice when it happened again. Her partner Dan almost dropped her while doing a pop-up chair, which is a very basic cheerleading stunt. She didn’t know if Dan was just a weakling or doing it on purpose. She’d told him how she and her former cheer partner had come in first nationally in stunting and she expected him to live up to her expectations. But of course that wasn’t true, since Barrett had never been a college cheerleader. Still, T-Mack, a former college male cheerleader and Barrett’s private instructor, told her all the time how she could win partner stunt competitions.

  Nico had hired T-Mack and a lovely blond girl named Barrett Rawlins to teach Barrett how to pass as a college cheerleader. They had told the male and female cheerleader who were from the University of Arkansas, that “Bethany” was an actress preparing to play a college cheerleader in a movie. The real Barrett was so nice to Bethany, even on days when she was a complete bitch, that she had decided to take her name along with the skills she taught her.

  “I’m sorry,” Dan said. “I guess I need to dry my hands,” he added as he looked around for his towel.

  “You need to learn how to stunt,” Barrett said as she walked off to get something to drink. She spotted Brooke, one of the cheerleaders who had questioned her on how she was able to get a spot on the squad without trying out.

  “Looks like you guys are having some problems stunting. Are you two going to be ready for the first game?” Brooke asked with a cool, self-possessed smirk.

  “Bitch, mind your own damn business before I have to make you disappear,” Barrett said, restraining herself from slapping or pouring her cup of water on the captain of the cheer squad.

  When she spotted Kraig, the head cheer coach, she told him she needed to talk with him in private.

  “Sure, Barrett. Let’s take a walk,” Kraig said as he put his arm around her and guided her toward a private area next to the gym where the cheerleaders practiced.

  “You have to give me another partner,” Barrett said firmly.

  “What?”

  “It’s just not working out with Dan and me. He can’t even do a pop-up chair and he drops me all the time. If it wasn’t for Tim always spotting us, my body would be black and blue, and that’s not what I signed up for.” Barrett hoped she could accomplish her mission before the football season ended, leaving the squad short one female member. It would serve Dan and the rest of them right. Besides, college cheerleading took up more time than Barrett wanted to spend.

  “Just try and work with him. I can’t change partners a week before the first game. Maybe he’s just nervous because this is his first year on the gold squad.”

  “I don’t give a shit if it’s his tenth year. I am not used to working with amateurs. I was told that I would get to pick my partner, and I want Tim,” Barrett said. Tim was a handsome ex–football player with black hair and green eyes. Not only was he one of the best-looking guys on the
squad, he was also one of the strongest. His current partner was a tiny blue-eyed blonde who was attractive but unexceptional as a cheerleader. Like most of the others, she had practically ignored Barrett since Barrett had joined the squad without a tryout. She was obviously not impressed with Barrett’s skills.

  “Barrett, I can’t do that. Tim and Julie have been partners since last year,” Kraig said.

  “All the more reason to make a change,” Barrett said with a stony look on her face. “I don’t think it’s good to have your best cheerleader being dropped in front of the fans. That’ll make you look bad, since you’re the coach.”

  “I’m sorry, I just can’t make a change,” Kraig said with a rising edge to his voice.

  “Look, Julie is the size of an American Girl doll. Dan won’t drop her. You need to make a change and do it before the next practice, or else you have to find yourself another black girl, because this one don’t play that being dropped crap,” Barrett said, then walked off in a huff.

  Barrett found a private spot outside the athletic complex, pulled out her cell phone, and dialed Nico’s number.

  “Hello?” he said.

  “Hey, we got a problem. This cheerleading bullshit has got to go. The way that boy is throwing me around and dropping me, I might break my neck, and you’re not paying me enough for that.”

  “Listen, baby, I paid a lot of money to get you onto that squad, and you know what’s at stake. You have a job to do, so do it and I’ll make it up to you later.”

  “You will?”

  “You know I know how to make your pussy sing.”

  “In that case, I’ll make it work, even if I have to pull a Tonya Harding on one of those bitches,” Barrett said.

  “I knew you would, baby girl. Thanks. Oh, I need you to get homeboy’s social security number or his checking account number.”

  “Consider it done,” Barrett said.

  “Thanks, love.”

  CHAPTER

  18

  Carmyn Gets a Scouting Report

  I was in my bedroom, matching a couple of my blouses with the new white linen pantsuit I’d bought for Brady’s first game. Even without working out like I should I was a perfect size 6, the same as when I entered college.

  When the phone rang, I looked at the caller ID and recognized Lowell’s number, so I picked it up after a couple of rings.

  “How’re you doing, Professor?”

  “All’s well in academia,” Lowell said. “How’s the beauty business?”

  “You know it’s good. Women will still miss a meal or not pay a bill to get their hair done,” I said as I took a seat at the desk in my bedroom. On top of the desk were my Bible, a compact, and about four pictures of Brady at different ages. Above the desk was a picture of Brady at the ring ceremony at church when he joined Saving Ourselves. It was one of the happiest days of my life when, without much encouragement from me, Brady told me he would join the group and was willing to be celibate.

  “I just called to see if you were coming in on Friday or Saturday?” Lowell asked.

  “I checked the Web site today and kickoff is at two, so most likely I’ll come on Friday night,” I said.

  “Do you need a place to stay?”

  “I might. I made hotel reservations for most of the games, but not for this one. You got room?”

  “Always got room for you, love. I had that handsome son of yours over for dinner the other night and we had a good time,” Lowell said.

  “Did he mention somebody named Barrett?”

  “Yep. I think your son is smitten with a new coed.”

  “Have you met her?”

  “No, but I’ll see her soon enough. She’s a cheerleader,” Lowell said.

  “Is she black?” I asked. I felt my heart beating—no, make that thudding—as I thought about the lineup of CGU blond-haired cheerleaders from previous years. I know it was wrong of me, but if Brady was going to have a girlfriend I at least wanted her to be a sister. I remember how the little white girls who were Pee Wee league cheerleaders used to make a fuss over him after the first time he made a touchdown. I hoped Lowell was wrong and that Brady was keeping his attention on football. I’d spent most of my life keeping him focused on academics and sports. I wasn’t ready to be a mother-in-law or, even worse, a grandmother.

  “I think she might be black. He didn’t say. But maybe if Brady does fall in love, it’ll put you back on the market. You still got a lot of good years left, Carmyn,” Lowell said, chuckling.

  “Why does everybody think I don’t date because of my son?” I asked.

  “Because it’s true,” Lowell said quickly.

  “You’re one to be talking. How many times have I told you that you need to be teaching at Morehouse or Tech, or at least in a major city where you could meet someone your own age?” I said.

  “I might do that in a year or two. But I got tenure down here and they let me do what I want. Besides, things might be looking up for my love life,” Lowell said.

  “Have you met somebody?”

  “I don’t want to say. I might jinx it.”

  “Is there somebody new on the faculty or staff?” I asked. Lowell had a strict policy against dating his students, even though I know he was flattered when some of his male students made subtle passes at him for grades. Every time I met somebody gay in the shop, I tried to introduce him to Lowell, so I guess I was just as bad as Kellis. When I hired Zander, I thought he would be perfect for Lowell. I was disappointed when I found out Zander was straight and acted gay only because it helped him bed more women. He would slowly gain their confidence in a gay-boy way and then go in for the kill. I was surprised by how that strategy worked for him. I hadn’t told Lowell about Sylvester because I didn’t hold much hope for it lasting much longer, and I knew Lowell would definitely have something to say about my dating an hourly worker.

  “My lips are sealed, Carmyn. But if something happens, you’ll be the first to know.”

  “Okay. Can I let you know tomorrow if I need to stay with you?”

  “Sure.”

  “Hey, Lowell, see what you can find out about this girl Brady’s interested in,” I said.

  “Okay.”

  “And one more thing I need you to do for me,” I said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Make sure Brady is still wearing his celibacy ring,” I said.

  “What if he’s not, Carmyn? Will you be able to handle it?”

  “Why worry about that until I have to?” I said.

  CHAPTER

  19

  Brady: The Body Beautiful

  When Delmar and I opened the door, there was a guest on our doorstep. She was an African American woman in, I would say, her mid-forties with short reddish-blond hair with black streaks. She was wearing skintight white jeans and a glittery top that seemed to bring attention to the gold strips outlining her two front teeth. She looked like an over-the-hill cleat chaser, a term players used to describe groupies.

  I glanced quizzically at Delmar and then asked, “Can we help you?”

  “Yes, you can! Which one of you is my baby?” she said.

  “What?” Delmar asked.

  “You heard me. You got problems with your hearing, chile? Which one of you fine young specimens is my baby?” she asked as she stepped into our apartment like her name was on the lease.

  “Are you sure you have the right place?” I asked.

  “Let me see,” the lady said. She pulled a little piece of paper from her purse and adjusted the tiny glasses that she rested on her nose.

  “Man, shut that door. This woman is crazy,” Delmar said.

  “Well, now I know for sho it’s you, ’cause you act and look just like your daddy,” she said, pointing toward Delmar.

  “What do you know about my daddy?” Delmar demanded.

  “Oh, I know plenty because I’m your mama. I’m Maybelline Jean LaRue. May-Jean for short,” she said as she moved over and tried to hug Delmar.

  He
pushed her back and said, “What are you talking about, lady? You must be smoking crack. I don’t know you and don’t want to know you.”

  “Of course you do, baby. Don’t you remember when the two of us used to go to Chuck E. Cheese? As a baby, you loved pepperoni pizza,” Maybelline said. “Honey, I was living in New Orleans until that bitch Katrina came through. My place is a mess now. Them motherfuckers are crazy if they think May-Jean is staying in some damn FEMA trailer.”

  “Delmar, are you all right?” I asked as I placed my hand on his shoulder. I was trying to prevent him from falling over.

  “I’m straight, B.”

  “You want some private time?”

  “Yeah, baby, we got a lot of catching up to do,” Maybelline said.

  “I ain’t got no time to talk. And I have a class to go to,” Delmar said. I looked at Delmar strangely, because he never wanted to go to class. He always told me that he only went to class so that he could stay eligible for the bowl games, and then it was “so long, school!”

  “I’m glad to hear my baby is tending to his books. That’s fine; we got plenty of time to talk. Here, let me give you the number to my celly. Call me when you get some time. By the way, I need a ticket for the game this Saturday.”

  “I ain’t got no extra tickets,” Delmar mumbled.

  “What about you, handsome? You got a ticket I can use?” Maybelline asked as she looked at me.

  “Uh, let me check,” I stuttered as I looked at Delmar for some clue as to what to do. Mom usually gave one of my tickets to Lowell, but he could always get a ticket because he was tenured faculty.

  Maybelline wrote down some information on a piece of paper and handed it to a still-shocked Delmar.

  “And what’s your name, baby?” she asked as she turned to me.

  “I’m Brady Bledsoe,” I said, extending my hand to her.