Silly Girl

by Michel Prince

  The black blur put her hand on her chest and did the head bob of disgust.

  “Me?”

  Matthias was waiting to see who said what because whoever volunteered was going to go there. He didn’t care.

  “I think he meant me,” the Asian blur said. “Didn’t you?”

  “I did, but you’ve pissed me off now.”

  He didn’t know them. He didn’t want to know them and they knew that. They were standing in a man’s room with no bra and a thong…no wait, the Asian blur vajazzeled herself. Team colors, gold and blue; she got points for that. She might actually be a fan.

  “If you have a problem fucking who I say and how I say, grab your shit and go. You came looking for me. I don’t need your ass.”

  Now was when he thought maybe he should put her face in focus. See if she was about to split or not. He needed to see how pissed off she was. Instead she walked over to Langston who was laid out on the couch under the window.

  Matthias turned away and dropped his pants since the blurs had successfully removed his shirt while they’d sucked on his nipples and clawed at his back. Applying the latex took all of a second.

  “I brought lube ‘cause I like it up the ass,” one of the blurs said, but Matthias shook his head no.

  That’s when Langston looked like he’d shot his puppy, but Matthias wasn’t about to have some Colorado spa party with these girls come bite him on the ass. Sure, it’s good in theory until you get seven to eight inches of cock in, then the girl has an epiphany she bit off more than she could chew.

  Plus, when he saw a girl as a blur the brown eye was just that. A receptacle that was tighter and you had a push harder to get in. Getting lost in that moment could get him caught up in a hurry.

  The Asian and the olive skin blur lay down on his bed and beckoned him with open arms. Instead of joining them, he lined them up. He knew Clevon’s girl would be the easiest to manipulate.

  “Clea’s girl, why don’t you come here and bend over for me.” She complied, sticking her thong’d ass up in the air. Matthias could see why Clevon liked her. Clevon was about Matthias’ height, maybe a half inch shorter, but this girl with her ass in the air came right at crotch level.

  He did his duty and the girls left. After being dogged after by women for over a decade, sex had lost its luster, and Matthias had lost his drive to do anything but work.

  * * * *

  Six months had passed since the divorce that ended up being little more than a by-line on the bottom of ESPN. The rumor of it was used as an excuse for his failure to make it into the finals. It was Boston’s year. Not his. How could one man defend against the triple threat?

  The weight of the team had been on Matthias’ back for years. But with Kendrick Walker’s retirement he needed time to break in a new wingman. Hell, Jordan had Pippen for all his titles. None of these boys straight from college could cut it. Labron and Kobe were one man shows. Through the years, Carmelo stopped by to stir it up. Matthias had wanted Rondo, but the lotto had the Emperors last in the draft that year.

  The game film of college players weren’t making him any more excited than he had been the year before. With a stack the size of a cereal box in front of him of the European league, Matthias stretched out and decided he needed a break.

  The condo he’d bought was a few blocks from the Nelson, the largest art museum in the city. He was one of the biggest benefactors. The one charity he didn’t do with Sharee. On his counter was a flyer in bright red, yellow, and blue telling of a new exhibit that opened a week ago. He had been trying to free up his time, but with the season in full swing, he couldn’t seem to find an opening.

  Pulling out his iPhone, he reviewed his appointments that Sharee had updated daily. Sometimes hourly, especially during the holiday season. She still lived on the edge of the suburbs and maintained control of his day-to-day schedule. For which he was eternally grateful. A week ago, she informed him she would be attending the New Year’s Eve Fire and Ice fundraiser with a man she had been seeing.

  He told her he was happy for her and truly he was, because when it came down to it Sharee was his friend. He’d met Sharee in high school and she always seemed more of the girl next door than a lover. He covered her college tuition as she went to KU and bought her a beautiful six thousand square foot house in Lenexa, Kansas, but their life together had been more one of friendship than of love.

  Now she managed a dozen companies, stores, and franchises he owned. Much like she had managed him. Between the two of them were a dozen charitable foundations that had clothed, fed, and even housed thousands over the last decade.

  Endorsements flowed through her. Matthias wasn’t sure what his agent did since Sharee had the final veto power. She had molded him into the poster boy for basketball. Under her guidance, his image was untarnished. Even the divorce had a positive spin on it.

  Matthias showered and trimmed the few stray hairs on his tightly cut goatee. One swift spray of cologne across his chest satisfied his need to not smell like he was in the locker room. His walk-in closet had all of his shirts and pants freshly pressed and hanging in order of style then color.

  First he pulled out boxers, then a tank top still in its original packaging. He then reached to the far left and retrieved a French blue cable knit sweater with a mock turtleneck. Finally he pulled on a pair of D&G black slacks and a pair of Prada loafers.

  It was all about appearances. Sharee hated when he’d walk around the house in jeans and a T-shirt. When he went to a museum he felt the art demanded respect and showing up in a pair of workout pants would be disrespectful in his mind. Luckily, he trusted the stylist Sharee hired to keep him in the latest fashions.

  He reached for one of his complementary tickets to the exhibit and grabbed his pea coat. Buttoning up tight he then pulled on his leather gloves and fleece skull-cap.

  The walk was cold since a bitter wind had descended on the state and a rain slash ice pelts were falling from the light gray sky. Walking in the main lobby, he marveled at the three story marble columns in the foyer.

  Turning left Matthias smelled the coffee and heard the light bustle of the café. Grabbing a quick sandwich and water seemed the way to go. As much as he loved the smell of coffee he had banned caffeine from his body so he would only allow his olfactory senses to enjoy the aroma.

  Sitting at a square table in the far corner, he tried to keep to himself. Not that the art types were the biggest sports fans, but school groups were always a possibility, especially so close to winter break. There were only a few patrons today, he assumed because of the weather.

  In the center of the café was a water fountain and a woman actually caught his eye. Maybe it was the way that her head was in perfect symmetry under the arch of the spray or the look in her eye that seemed set on what was lined up across from her. She seemed to be focused on more than the task at hand.

  Matthias could tell by her gray pinstriped shirt and black pants she worked here. There was a black sports coat hanging on the back of her chair indicating she was a guard of some sort.

  She intrigued him to the point he made the effort to see what she was staring at then realized she must be on a diet. Her eyes were locked on a piece of cheesecake with strawberries drizzled on top. In front of her sat a homemade sandwich and a bag of chips. Not the high-end ones sold in the café, but instead a plain pack of Lays. She finished eating, tossed the bag in the garbage, and left.

  Still unsure why this simple gesture was enough to make him get lost in her for a moment, Matthias finished his lunch then headed to the other side of the museum to the photography section. Not his favorite part of the museum, but the exhibit was to his liking.

  Handing his ticket to the young blonde behind the desk outside of the closed off exhibit, he saw the tap from the guy sitting next to her. He knew what would come next.

  “Hey man? Could I get your autograph?” The young black guard with a fade that was a few weeks overdo for a touch up asked. He was in the sam
e uniform of that woman from earlier making Matthias think he could use this to his advantage.

  Sharee’s voice seemed to be stuck in his head. She was the conscience he didn’t want around, but trusted more than the annoying Jiminy Cricket. If he asked then it could lead to speculation and Entertainment Tonight or E News would be calling Sharee for the back-story on his new woman rumors. Forget it, he thought. It was not like he needed another blur session anyway, especially in town.

  Since his divorce, he’d become the NBA’s hottest bachelor. He’d been tied to a half dozen starlets. Most he’d never even spoken to. Worse were the ones he may have said hi to in passing who then somehow got his number. The latest pop icon, Destiny Shaw, had sung the national anthem a few weeks ago and one wink in his direction and suddenly it was the lead story on every entertainment outlet.

  “On one condition. Don’t let it slip that I’m here and I’ll sign it on the way out.”

  “Cool man. Good game last night.”

  “Right.”

  When he entered the room black and white photographs and color comingled. The lay out didn’t make sense. He wasn’t sure who was in charge of curating this gallery, but they needed to be reevaluated. At his next board meeting, he’d remember to bring that up.

  He pulled out his phone and typed a note in the memo.

  A soft, but firm voice made him turn. “No pictures are allowed in here. You are more than free to purchase most of the prints in the gift shop.”

  “I wasn’t taking a picture.” Matthias was a little put off by her tone.

  He looked at her and remembered the girl from the café. By adding the dark coat she seemed less vulnerable. The natural light wasn’t reflecting off her face as it had in the café. Instead she stood so a silhouette wrapped around the side of her face accenting her smooth makeup-less skin.

  “I warn most people that come in here,” she explained.

  “So, I’m no one special,” he teased and she turned away.

  He walked around looking at the pictures remembering the moments from this time or that. To his surprise, Jordan’s iconic walking on air leap from the free throw line wasn’t anywhere in the show.

  No other patrons had come into the exhibit so he was alone with this one guard. She observed the pictures more than him and kept herself almost in a corner to not be obtrusive in her actions. It was nice to be allowed to take in the experience on his own without making special arrangements. He hated coming to openings because he was expected to drink champagne and mingle with people that may be able to speak art, but couldn’t speak to him.

  Yes, he knew art from a historical, academic, and aesthetic perspective. But he had never found anyone that spoke his language and the over examination to make it something greater than it was annoyed him to no end. Why did every piece have to have some deep meaning? Why couldn’t it just be something that made a person smile when they looked at it?

  “I don’t understand why these are considered the greatest sports moments,” he stated, catching his lone companion off guard.

  “I’m sorry, sir?”

  “These pictures don’t seem to be ‘the greatest sports moments’,” he said, holding up his brightly colored flyer.

  “Highlight reels are for the greatest sports moments. These are the Best in Sports Photography,” she corrected, pointing to the glossy five by seven card in his hand.

  “Semantics.”

  “Artistic beauty can be found in a loss as well as a win. Not every moment has to be a success.”

  “Tell that to the fan who’s pissed about paying two hundred dollars a seat.”

  “Fine, take this picture of Jordan,” she said, leading him to a picture of Michael Jordan standing with a basketball behind his back. His head was bowed and Matthias didn’t need to see the placard to know it was before a playoff. Her hand swept in front of his head. “The way the light reflects off the small beads of sweat even though he’s only warmed up. His fingers are creating a basket almost cradling the ball. You can barely see his face, but there is a concentration there that isn’t seen in normal players. Only champions.”

  Her hand dropped as she continued to stare at the picture.

  “It makes you wonder what was running through his mind at this moment.”

  “Game film,” Matthias said without thinking.

  “Huh?”

  “He’s replaying the defense he reviewed for the other team,” Matthias turned to her.

  She tilted her head sideways as if she was taking in what he had said. He’d done that a million times when trying to get the true feeling behind a sculpture. He loved the idea of feeling the cuts and curves. That told him more than the visual. But she seemed able to get the meaning by visual cues alone. Something he envied.

  “I’m Sylvia, by the way,” she said, extending her hand.

  Matthias wrapped his hand around her tiny palm. The soft skin was warm against his reminding him he missed the simple intimacy of holding hands. Not really missed, more longed for. He’d never known the sensation. At least not that caused his hand to tingle and his heart to pump hard in his chest.

  Matthias took in Sylvia’s dark hair that framed her face like a heart. In this light he couldn’t tell if it was black or a deep brown, either way it was a stark contrast to her alabaster skin. Sylvia’s crystal blue eyes sparkled against her pale white skin with its small amount of pink on her cheeks. There was something about girls with dark hair and light eyes that always appealed to him. Guess Sharee never had a chance.

  His eyes continued to wander down Sylvia’s body. Although she wore a body covering sport coat it was currently unbuttoned and he could just see the outline of her hip. The sight was enough to make him twitch. Matthias didn’t know that part of his body could have a mind of its own.

  “I’m going to need my hand back, Mr. Jessup,” her light voice requested.

  “Sorry,” Matthias said flustered, releasing her hand, but making sure his long fingers brushed lightly against hers. “You know me?”

  “I didn’t fully recognize you until you explained his thoughts,” she said pointing back to Jordan. “I’m used to seeing you on a TV screen, not in person. If I go to a game my seats have always been in the upper level, I’m the fan in the fifteen dollar seats that comes with a meal deal, win or lose at least I got dinner.”

  “Maybe I could fix that for you,” Matthias suggested, smiling and turning on the charm that had won him more than championships.

  Sylvia nibbled on her bottom lip and turned her eyes down. The natural light pink of her skin flushed bright red across her cheekbones, and Matthias reached to tuck her hair back. He wanted to see her profile and take it in, but she turned and walked to another picture before his fingers could make contact.

  “This.” She pointed to the Muhammad Ali picture of him refusing to join the army. “Has all of the major African-American—”

  “Black,” Matthias corrected, and she turned.

  He’d never been to Africa and had no desire to go. Until whites chose to call themselves European-American he’d stick with being black and let the Somali’s and the Ethiopians be African-Americans. He was black.

  “Black athletes of the time. The sociological significance of this picture is historic. The composition is not as artistic as the Jordan picture, but today would we ever see this situation? Sadly, I don’t understand its placement in the exhibit. It is important historically, but not from a visual standpoint.”

  “Why did you pull away?” Matthias asked.

  Not that he didn’t mind this rent-a-cop’s attempts at being a docent. At that moment, he was more interested in the woman’s body underneath the uniform.

  “Mr. Jessup, while I enjoy you on the court and in commercials I do not wish to be a groupie. I do understand you do not have the reputation of um…um…”

  Sylvia finally broke from her formal speak.

  “A man whore.”

  “I thought males were studs.”

  Now
he had her. Now he could tell whether or not she was a fan or a jersey chaser. Another thing he was grateful to Sharee for. A Jersey Chaser was looking for a payday. Unprotected sex with a ballplayer to come up big with child support. A fan wanted the experience, but not with just anyone, but the one they followed. The one they’d spend time making a sign for. The one they knew stats for more than one season. They were less likely to run to the media because they wouldn’t want to tarnish a player’s image. Those were the ones you want.

  “How long have you been married?” He tried a different approach.

  “I’m not married.”

  “Involved then?”

  “I’m not involved either. I just believe sex should not be fleeting. Not that you can’t be swept away in a moment, but that doesn’t mean one should fall prey to the impulse.”

  Matthias stepped closer causing Sylvia to step back into a wall. He smiled, but kept his hands at his sides. He wasn’t sure what she was yet and didn’t want to take any chances.

  “So what you’re saying is I turn you on, but you don’t want to be a one-night-stand.”

  “Maybe you need another losing season so you can understand every woman’s goal isn’t to sleep with an NBA star.”

  Fan.

  “I know that. Some actually want an NFL player. A few MLB. The real freaks want MLS players.”

  Sylvia let out a small laugh then dodged around Matthias, but he put his arm out to stop her.

  “You’re avoiding too much.”

  “What can I say? I’m a freak in love with Pele.”

  “What was my free throw percentage last year?” he asked, leaning in so close to her ear that the smell of vanilla caught in his nose.

  “How would…” Sylvia started to protest and turned her head away. Matthias had been closer than he thought and caught her crystal blue eyes with his, which made both of them catch their breath. Thankfully Matthias was the first to recover his faculties.

  “What. Was. It?” His words were slow because he swore he could feel her lips brushing against his with each word he uttered.