Just Too Good to Be True

by E. Lynn Harris

“Nice meeting you, Brady. You sure are a handsome young thang. I bet you treat your mama real nice.”

  “Come on, dude, let’s bounce. I don’t want to be late for class,” Delmar said as he moved out the front door.

  “I bet my baby is smart. Ain’t he? Look at him going to class and shit,” Maybelline said as she walked out the door.

  I laughed to myself and moved swiftly to catch a fast-moving Delmar. I looked back and saw Maybelline take out her compact, touch up her lipstick, and then pull out her cell phone.

  Delmar and I rode in silence for a few blocks before I finally spoke.

  “So, how are you feeling, man?”

  “What you talking about, how am I feeling? That was some fucked-up shit that just happened,” Delmar said.

  “Are you mad at your dad for lying to you?”

  “My dad didn’t lie to me. I mean, I knew she wasn’t dead, but to my dad and me, she was. She didn’t want to be a part of our lives, so to us she was dead.”

  “You knew she was alive? Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.

  “Tell you what?”

  “That your mother really wasn’t dead.”

  “Look, dude, I don’t want to talk about this shit no more. Didn’t you hear me say she didn’t want to be a part of my life? The only reason her ass is showing up now is to try and make some money. Crazy bitch didn’t even know which one of us she gave birth to. That shit is whack. So don’t ask me another fuckin’ thing bout it. All I want to do is get to campus and hang at the Union till practice. Let’s not talk about this anymore. Understood?”

  As we pulled into the parking garage, I said, “Understood.”

  “You don’t shave down there, do you?” asked the wiry photographer with untidy blond-streaked hair and small round glasses.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I want you to take your hands and act like you’re about to pull your pants down. We will tease them with a little pubic hair peeking from that jockstrap,” he said.

  I gave the photographer a you’ve got to be kidding look, then, as I started to feel nervous sweat spill down my back, I asked if Kevin Trainor, the sports information director, told him to take a shot like that.

  “Nobody tells me how to take a picture,” the photographer barked.

  I was in the middle of a photo session for the “Run” poster, another special promotion the university marketing department had come up with in support of my campaign for the Heisman Trophy and I hoped, making an All-American team. The plan was to come up with a poster that included my career rushing stats with glossy color photos of me wearing my football uniform and practice clothes in ways that highlighted my body. They had also given students who bought season tickets a T-shirt that said I BB.

  At first, I didn’t want to do the poster because I thought awards like the Heisman Trophy and All-American honors should be based on what I did on the field. But Kevin reminded me that even though I was big at school, I was an underdog for a lot of the postseason awards and we had to be aggressive with our marketing efforts. CGU didn’t have the advantage that players from long-standing football powers like Arkansas and Michigan had.

  Kevin pointed out that the leading candidates, Brady Quinn from Notre Dame and Troy Smith from Ohio State University, were on television almost every Saturday and that even South Bend and Columbus were much more glamorous locales than Scarlet Springs, Georgia. We were lucky to have a few games on ESPN2 every season. Still Kevin had managed to secure interviews for me with two of college football’s best writers, Clay Henry and Dudley Dawson. Everybody who followed college football read these guys.

  “I don’t feel comfortable doing that,” I said. I didn’t object to the photographer when he took photos of me wearing only my shoulder pads and tight football pants, with a jock clearly visible under the sugar-white pants. He’d also taken several of what could only be called ass shots of me in my tight white uniform, which made me feel a bit uncomfortable, because he was one weird dude. Chloe had made me comfortable in front of the camera and had often said my ass was one of my best assets. I hadn’t objected when the photographer’s assistant sprayed my face and hair with water and then spread something that felt like Vaseline across my lips. But showing my pubic hair was going too far. I grimaced at the thought of my mother seeing a photo like that or any of the ones Chloe took.

  “What are you talking about? If I had a body like yours, I would do everything butt-naked,” the photographer said. “You’re a natural, Brady. Besides, sex sells.”

  “Maybe that’s the problem. I’m not for sale,” I said as I grabbed my jersey and headed for the dressing room.

  CHAPTER

  20

  Barrett’s Change of Heart

  Are you going back to the locker room?” Barrett asked as she left the pep rally at Founder’s Square. A shocked Shante turned around to face Barrett and quizzed, “Are you talking to me?”

  “Yes. Are you going back to the locker room? Why don’t we walk down there together?” Barrett said.

  Shante raised her eyebrows, rolled her head, and said, “Whatsup with being nice to me? You trying to pledge my sorority or something?”

  “I’m sorry. I know I wasn’t so friendly when we first met but I think we should try and be friends. I mean we are the only two black girls on the squad,” Barrett said.

  “So now it’s let’s be friends because we sistahs. I get along with my white girls just fine, thank you.”

  Shante picked up her green and gold pom-poms and started toward the center of campus. Barrett didn’t like to beg, but she needed information on Brady.

  “Shante, wait. Please, I’m sorry,” Barrett called out. Shante turned around and said, “Come on, girl. You right. We sistahs and we should get along. Give me a hug.”

  A hug wasn’t at all what Barrett had in mind. She wasn’t used to females touching her in any way unless they were trying to bring her physical harm. Still, when she pulled away from the awkward embrace, Shante was smiling at her.

  “So, how are things going with Brady?” Shante asked.

  “I’m taking it slow,” Barrett said.

  “Well, I think you’ve gotten farther with him than the rest of us. And let me tell you, honey, we’ve all tried. Black, white, Hispanic, you name it,” Shante said.

  “Why do you think that is? Is he really that much of a Boy Scout?” Barrett asked.

  “I know he’s really focused on football and school. I mean how many jocks do know who’ve finished their college requirements in three years? He’s just hanging around to play football and he’s working on a second degree, too.”

  “Yeah, that’s pretty amazing. Do you know his mother?”

  “I’ve met her a couple of times. She’s a beautiful woman. Looks more like his sister than his mother. She seems nice, but I know it might be a different story if I’d made that move on Brady like I’d wanted to. Notice, I said that in the past tense,” Shante said.

  “So you’re no longer interested in Brady?”

  “I wouldn’t kick him out of my bed, but that’s where the problem starts.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Girl, you know that Brady Bledsoe is a virgin and he even wears a little silver celibacy ring that looks like a wedding band.”

  Barrett had noticed the ring and knew it wasn’t a wedding band but she hadn’t asked him what it stood for. So, the information Nico had given her about Brady was true.

  “Brady Bledsoe is the Chris Leake of CGU,” Shante said laughing.

  “Who is Chris Leake?” Barrett asked.

  “That phine ass quarterback at the University of Florida who said he wouldn’t have a girlfriend until he won a national championship. I know Brady looks up to him. Let’s hope whatever they feeling ain’t spreading,” Shante said.

  CHAPTER

  21

  Carmyn Deflects a Pass

  I kicked off my heels by the door, browsed through the mail I held in my hand, then dropped it onto the table with
out opening anything and slowly climbed the stairs. It had been a long, grueling Wednesday—first at Back to My Roots and then with the rich and the wannabe famous in Buckhead.

  I crept by the exercise room. As tired as I felt, I wouldn’t be doing anything in that room for days. But a smile filled every part of me once I stepped inside my bedroom. I took off my blouse and dropped my skirt to the floor. The soft azure walls embraced me with comfort, stealing the day’s tension away. I reached for some of my Carol’s Daughter hand cream and rubbed my hands as I inhaled the wonderful aroma of lavender. I slipped my Yolanda Adams CD into the Bose CD player. It took just a few steps for me to reach my bed and fall into the softness of my overstuffed comforter and my super-plush pillow-top mattress. I moaned with pleasure. This is probably better than sex, I thought. At least it’s more consistent.

  I rolled onto my stomach and stared at the telephone. I had been thinking about Kellis all day, but both salons were so busy I didn’t have a chance to call her. I hoped she’d reconsidered her insurance scam. I thought I might have a plan to prevent Kellis from doing something she’d regret even if she didn’t get caught. I picked up the phone and dialed her number. She answered on the first ring.

  “Hey, Kellis,” I said as lightly as I could. “What are you up to this evening?”

  “Girl, you just caught me. I’m going to the Blue Point for dinner.” Normally, a mention of that upscale Buckhead restaurant known for its atmosphere and outstanding food would have made me smile. But tonight I couldn’t—because I knew it was probably more than a dinner for Kellis.

  “That’s pretty fancy for the middle of the week, isn’t it?” I asked.

  “Yeah. I won’t have to pay for it, though.” Kellis laughed.

  I didn’t laugh with her. I took a breath before asking, “Who are you going with?”

  “Some guy I met at the gym. He used to play for the Atlanta Hawks. I could ask him if he has a friend. But I must warn you, he’s young,” Kellis said.

  “Don’t do that. I’m waiting for Brady to call,” I said.

  “You sound worried. What’s going on? Is Brady all right?”

  I hesitated for a moment and then said, “Nothing. Brady’s fine.”

  “Come on, Carmyn. I know you didn’t call just to check out my dinner plans.”

  “I guess you know me too well, huh?”

  “We’re friends. I’m supposed to know you.”

  Friends. I wanted it to stay that way. But more important than Kellis’s feelings was her well-being. I had to say something. “Well, what I’m about to say may not be good for a friendship, but I’ve been worried about you.” Before Kellis could respond, I continued before I lost my nerve. “I’ve looked over some of my accounts and…I think I can spare five thousand dollars if that will help.”

  When there was only silence on the line, I called out Kellis’s name to see if she was still there.

  “I’m here, Carmyn,” Kellis said softly.

  Oh, no, I thought. I’ve offended my friend. I couldn’t help but think about when we first met and Kellis was always spending money and had paid for what seemed like hundreds of dinners for Brady and me. Back in the day when she was an NBA wife, she used to drop five thousand dollars just walking through the door of the Louis Vuitton store at Lennox Square.

  Kellis said, “I’m just trying to fight back the tears.”

  It took a moment for her words to make sense, and I sighed with relief. “I don’t want you to cry. I just need to know if this will help you out.”

  “More than you know.”

  “Good. I’ll drop the check by tomorrow.”

  “I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”

  “Don’t mention it. I know things are tough right now, but I want you to know they will get better.”

  “Carmyn, you know I didn’t really want to file that false police report. But there was no other way.”

  “There’s always another way,” I said. “You’re going to be fine.”

  “Because of you.”

  “Well, thank God for hair grease and pressing combs,” I said.

  We laughed together.

  I said, “Go out and have some fun tonight.”

  “I will.” Kellis paused. “And Carmyn, thanks for being a real friend.”

  “You would do it for me,” I said.

  “Yeah, I would. I’m here if you ever need me,” Kellis said. “I wish you’d let me find you a boyfriend after I find husband number two.”

  “Good night, Kellis.”

  I hung up, suddenly filled with an energy I didn’t have when I first came home. Maybe, instead of a night of fattening snacks, I’d venture into my exercise room instead.

  It was a little after 6 A.M. and I was on my second cup of coffee when the phone rang. Nobody but Brady called me this early.

  “Good morning, sunshine. Have you finished your workout?” I asked.

  “Yeah, Mom, I have. My teammates have been stepping up with the workouts. I’m really proud of them. What about you? I hope you’re not letting your exercise room collect dust when I’m not there to push you,” Brady said.

  “That’s because you’re a good captain and you would be proud of me. I actually did the treadmill for thirty minutes last night. I want to look my best when I greet you on the football field on senior day. How’s practice going?”

  “We’re ready. I think we can run the table this season. Are you coming on Friday or Saturday morning?”

  “I’m coming Friday. I’ll hang out with Lowell. I think he’s met someone. So I need to either pry it out of him or do some spying,” I said.

  “That’s good. Hey, do you know if he’s going to use your other ticket?”

  “I don’t know. Why?”

  “I might need it for someone,” Brady said.

  “Who?” I asked. I sent up a silent prayer that it wasn’t this girl he was interested in. Lord knows I didn’t want to spend the first game of the season with a total stranger. Someone who would try to get pointers on how to snag my one and only son. But then I remembered Lowell telling me she was a cheerleader, so I knew the ticket couldn’t be for her.

  “You’re not going to believe this, but I want to give it to Delmar’s mother,” Brady said.

  “What? I thought she was dead,” I said.

  “Me too. But it turns out she’s not. Just showed up out of the blue the other day. She said she had been living in New Orleans.”

  “Was Delmar shocked?”

  “You know Delmar, he’s not talking,” Brady said.

  “Is she going back to New Orleans?”

  “I don’t know, Mom, but I’ll tell you she’s a character,” Brady said, and laughed.

  “I’m sure Lowell can get a ticket. He might be able to sit in the president’s or dean’s box. When do you need to know?”

  “Whenever,” Brady said. I detected a note of sadness in his response.

  “Brady, are you all right?” I asked.

  “Yeah, but I’ll tell you that meeting Delmar’s mother got me to thinking about my dad and how I wish he was alive to see me play,” Brady said in a serious tone I rarely heard from him.

  I didn’t respond right away. No matter how many times Brady brought up his father, I always got nervous and didn’t have anything to say. It was easier when he was younger and accepted my response that his father was up in heaven helping God. Brady took great pride in that, and when his classmates in first grade asked him where his father was, Brady boasted what I’d told him, word for word.

  “Mom, I got to ask you a favor,” Brady said after a few moments of silence.

  “Sure, baby. Whatever you want,” I said.

  “Do you have a picture of my father? I want to tape it to my helmet this season. It’ll be like he’s with me during every run I make.”

  A heavy silence followed Brady’s question. How was I going to handle this? All of a sudden, horrible images of my youth flashed before me like a bad movie. I’d become an expert a
t blocking painful events from my memory. Now my son was tampering with the movie of my life he knew nothing about.

  “Mom, are you still there?”

  “Yeah, Brady, I’m still here,” I said softly.

  “I didn’t upset you, did I?”

  “No, Brady, you didn’t. I just wish I could help you, but I don’t have any pictures of him,” I said.

  “Okay, I just thought I’d ask. I’ve made it since Pee Wee football without him, and I guess I can make it this year, too,” he said mournfully.

  It was breaking my heart not to be totally honest with my son. But how could I tell Brady I didn’t know who his father was?

  BOOK TWO

  THE SEASON

  CHAPTER

  1

  Brady’s Little Prayer

  It was Friday night, hours before the first Saturday in September. It was time to play some football, and even though I’d played in hundreds of games before, I felt an indescribable blend of excitement and calm.

  The team had just returned to a hotel right outside of Scarlet Springs where we were going to spend the night. Just before we went into our rooms, I spotted Koi Minter dancing in the hallway while a couple of our teammates cheered him on as he showed off his “Cali moves.” I had a bone to pick with Koi and thought now was the time, so I went over and tapped him on the shoulder. He took out his earplugs and said, “Whatsup, Brady boi?”

  “Can I speak with you for a moment?”

  “That’s what’s up, Mr. Team Captain. What can I do for you?”

  “Why don’t we step over here,” I suggested, nodding my head toward the corner near the vending machines.

  Koi followed me, and when we were out of earshot of the other guys, I turned around and stood so close I could see my reflection in his eyes.

  “Why haven’t you been making the morning workout sessions?”

  “Man, that shit is whack. Do you know when it’s five A.M. here in the dirty South that it’s two A.M. in Cali? A brother just be getting in from study sessions or whatever.”