Hot Boyz

by Marissa Monteilh

  Mercedes grabbed her purse, turned off her computer and flicked the light switch. “Vicky, I’m going home early. I’ll see you on Friday.”

  Mercedes would soon discover that the doctor did not ask them to do their homework to share with him or each other. He’d assigned it as a personal exercise so they could hear themselves think. And she did indeed, think. As for Mason, well he never got around to doing his homework at all.

  In Beverly Hills, Vicky and Mercedes were in fifth gear. It was two hours before the Gucci show for women and three models had not shown up yet. The Gucci store was shut down to the public. The show’s assistant producer fell ill the night before and asked Mercedes to fill in as she’d done before. Only Gucci employees, designers, show staff, and security filled the back dressing room. One of the stylists walked in with a cream-colored satin gown with a corset look.

  “This outfit is labeled for Colette,” Vicky told Mercedes.

  Mercedes looked over her clipboard list. “Colette would look great in that. But I think we need to focus on Alexis as a backup.”

  “Isn’t she a size six? This dress is a size four. We don’t have any size four models left. Unless we give it to one of the swimsuit models from the first portion of the show.”

  “Okay, then pull Wilette to model evening wear. I’ll get Alexis to do swimsuits.”

  Vicky asked, “Where is Colette anyway?”

  “She might be running late. We’ll see what happens in the next hour or so.”

  “I’m ready to do makeup,” yelled one of the artists who had set up her table near a corner with a full lighted mirror and open chair all ready to go.

  “Fine. Vicky, go get the first model ready for makeup. Keep an assembly line going from face painting to hair like clockwork. That is after they get their fittings done.”

  “Will do.”

  Within thirty minutes of showtime, the room began to fill up. The mayor of Beverly Hills was in the front row with his wife. The media were all around, interviewing celebrities like Jodie Foster, Phylicia Rashaad and Ivanna Trump who gave their comments on what they expected to see as the new collection was unveiled. Before long the room was completely full and all was a buzz. Mercedes’s nerves were evident as sweat beads built up over her lip.

  “It’s almost showtime,” Vicky told her boss. “Any sign of Colette.”

  “She’s a no-show. Let’s just write her off”

  Just as Mercedes completed her sentence, she noticed a face in the crowd. She looked away and then did a double take. A face not very familiar by sight, but very familiar by instinct. Mercedes’s vision zoomed in to focus on the seated onlooker, and suddenly there were only two people in the room. The face in the audience was Natalie Glenn. Her husband’s lover.

  Stuck in her stance like glue, Mercedes began squinting her eyes. She could feel Vicky’s breath in her face as Vicky talked to her, but without volume. The words just faded away into the air.

  Mercedes’s glance was interrupted by a towering figure on the catwalk. It was the first group of swimwear models doing their thing. Mercedes blinked for the first time in about forty seconds.

  “Mercedes, did you hear me?” Vicky asked over the loud music.

  “Yes. I mean no, what did you say?”

  “Alexis needs a glue stick for her bikini top to cling along her neckline. Did you bring one?”

  “Yes, look in my YSL garment bag in the back.”

  Vicky walked away but Mercedes still stared straight ahead. Natalie was looking up at the statuesque models, bouncing her head to the music of the Madonna CD. Mercedes cut her eyes and turned to walk backstage. She rubbed her sweaty forehead and shook her head. Never had she wanted to rip someone’s head off so badly in her life. Her high quickly sank to a feeling of depression. She looked around at all of the hurried people working to pull off the big show. Yet she felt heavy, weighted, and discouraged. She was sharing the room with the woman who shared her husband.

  Before long, the models had changed about three times each. It was time for the last group of women, the evening gown models. Wilette approached, wearing the glamorous cream-colored gown. She walked by Mercedes, prepared to hit the runway. Mercedes watched her long, elegant frame proceed, and then she followed behind her, only to exit to the right of the stage along the side row toward the audience. Mercedes found herself heading in the direction of Natalie. With every step, she took a deeper breath. She excused herself from the group of people behind the first row, and leaned in toward Natalie’s back, right up close to her left earlobe.

  Mercedes whispered closely and softly, “Excuse me, but I’m your lover’s wife. We need to talk.”

  Natalie turned around and looked up at Mercedes’s face. Without blinking, she took her tiny red bag from her lap and stood up. Mercedes led the way with Natalie less than two steps behind her. They exited the front door and stood out on Rodeo Drive under the lamppost. Natalie put on her dark Aviator lenses.

  Mercedes started off “First off, his name is Mason, and not Mace.”

  “Okay.” Natalie was nonchalant.

  “How dare you come on to my husband. You’d better be glad that I have too much class to curse you out and slap your face.”

  “Mrs. Wilson, I want to tell you how bad I feel about what happened. I don’t even know how it happened. It just did.”

  “It just did, huh? And you feel bad? I’ll bet it didn’t feel so bad when Mason was inside of you, did it?”

  Natalie sighed, glancing over Mercedes’s shoulder toward the front door of the Gucci store as though she wanted to go back in.

  “And take off your shades, Natalie. You need to be woman enough to look me straight in the eye.”

  Natalie pulled her glasses off with a subtle snatch.

  Mercedes continued, “Let me tell you something. It’s women like you who screw up the good things that women like me work so long and hard to build. You just simply come around and seductively toss your charms at any man who will catch them. You don’t even have enough couth to at least hit on the single ones. Why do you have to go for the married men with lives and women at home? Were you once fooled around on and now you feel a need to pay back females in your own way. Didn’t your mother ever tell you what goes around comes around?”

  “Ummh, I believe she did.”

  “Then what in the hell happened? You can’t go around doing this to families. Do you hear me? Families. It’s not just about getting your freak on for a few minutes. It’s about ruining relationships and trust. Your carefree affair cost me my ability to believe in a man I’ve known for more than half my life.”

  Mercedes paused to imagine what Mason saw in this woman. She looked her up and down, from her pretty red, rhinestone toes peaking from her strappy high heels, to her tiny waist cinched by a wide leather belt, to her perky little breasts showing their shape under a sheer black designer blouse, to the top of her upswept, bright red hair. She was pretty and sophisticated looking and that made Mercedes even madder.

  Natalie clutched her bag. “With all due respect, you really need to check Mason too, Mrs. Wilson. He is a grown man and he’s the one you need to get on.”

  “I need to get on you right now, Natalie. You were the one who seduced my man. If more women like you had more self-respect, women like me wouldn’t have to worry about who we need to check. You’re a nice-looking woman. Why can’t you get a man of your own?”

  “I can.”

  “Then do that and leave the taken ones alone. Or else I guarantee you that one day, you’ll be in my shoes, trying to figure out why some woman destroyed your marriage. And I know that Mason called it off with you. Just make sure you don’t even think about dialing his number or coming up to his room, or e-mailing him, or contacting him in any way. Because I will not only see to it that I have your job, I will have your ass.”

  Natalie looked defiant. “Is that a threat?”

  “That’s a promise.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay. Tu
rns out you weren’t the prize this time around, huh? I guess it never got that deep where he was willing to have you on a full-time basis, right?”

  “We didn’t bond. That’s exactly how I wanted it.”

  “Oh, don’t get it twisted. That’s exactly how he wanted it. So are you moving on or not?”

  “I’ve more than moved on.”

  Mercedes cringed away from her. “Probably to the next victim. You’d better watch your back. One day some woman isn’t going to be as nice as me. You just might find yourself fighting for your life.”

  Suddenly, a man spoke. “Natalie, I was looking for you.”

  As the tall gentleman came toward them, Mercedes said to Natalie from the corner of her mouth, “Oh, so you’re an athlete chaser, huh? Okay.” Mercedes extended her hand once he reached them. “Hello, I’m Mercedes Wilson.”

  He extended his hand, too. “Hello. It’s nice to met you. I’m Akrika Downing.”

  Mercedes looked up at his six-foot-ten-inch frame. “Oh, yes the basketball player who just got traded from Chicago to the Sacramento Kings.”

  “Yes.”

  Natalie took his hand. “Mercedes is Mason Wilson’s wife.”

  “Oh, Natalie has told me so much about your husband.”

  Mercedes gave Natalie a snarl of a look. “I’ll bet she hasn’t told you nearly enough.”

  He seemed oblivious. “I saw you two walking out and wondered what was up. Is everything okay?” he asked his date.

  “Yes.”

  Mercedes explained, “Sorry but I didn’t see anyone but your little lady here when I walked up.” Mercedes prepared to end the conversation. She took a step back toward the store. “You two enjoy the show now.”

  He replied. “We will. Nice to meet you.”

  “You, too.”

  Natalie gave a fake closing. “Yes, nice to meet you, Mrs. Wilson.”

  Mercedes spoke only to Akrika. “Take care, Mr. Downing. Good luck with the team. And keep an eye on her. After all, she sheds, you know.”

  He looked askance at Mercedes as if he didn’t quite know what to make of that comment.

  Natalie put her sunglasses back on and snuggled in close to her man’s arm as he handed the valet the ticket. And then they kissed.

  Chapter 20

  Before Mason and Mercedes could return to their next therapy meeting, Mason left a message to cancel the sessions.

  Mason spoke from his cell. “Dr. Little, it’s Mason Wilson. You’ve been very helpful to my family and me. But with all due respect, I think I know how to get to my son so we’re going to stop right here. We’ll be using your tools to work through this, along with a lot of love. Please send me your bill for your services thus far. I’ll send you a check in the mail upon receipt.”

  After Star’s knee bandages came off, she and her dad spent a long, leisurely Saturday morning, hanging out, eating lunch, walking and talking, going to the mall, and to the music store. And they even had pedicures. They laughed and talked and renewed their connection.

  Mason took her home and then picked up Rashaad. It was father and son time. By the afternoon, Rashaad was into the start of his second hour at the driving range tent at the Westchester park golf course. A group of golfers stared at Mason as he stood by his son. They whispered to each other and pointed his way.

  Rashaad took a swing, looking like a pro, but the ball veered to the left, causing him to look frustrated.

  Mason moved from standing behind him to standing beside him. “No, son. You have to keep your head down. Golf is about distance and location. Set up, grip, posture, and alignment are all so very important in order to hit the ball straight and get it where you want it to go. I keep telling you, you must remain focused. Don’t let me or anyone else distract you. Otherwise you’re not in full control. Mental imagery is key. Golf is a mind game, it has very little to do with the physical. And you’ll never have the same game twice. Each game will always be different, with you focusing on different areas that you found kept you stuck on the previous hole. But just be consistent in what you say to yourself, remind yourself over and over.”

  Rashaad sneered at Mason as if his dad had been preaching. “Dad, you keep telling me all of that. But if I make a mistake, just let me make it. I know what you told me. I keep hearing you over and over again in my head.”

  “Then that’s your problem. You shouldn’t hear what I tell you over and over. It shouldn’t be my voice. It should be your own voice, telling yourself over and over again.”

  Rashaad gripped his club tighter, shifting his weight to his other leg. “Whoever is telling me, I’m going to make mistakes.”

  “True, I still do. Golf is hard and you’re not going to be an expert right away.”

  “Dad, please let me make my own errors. Give me a few cents but don’t throw it at me.”

  “Don’t throw it at you? Where in the hell did you hear that?”

  “Some show, I don’t know. Dad, I’ll get the hang of this on my own.”

  “On your own, without me?”

  “Maybe so.” Rashaad set up another ball. “You know I played before when I was little. I still remember a lot from what you told me over the years.”

  “Okay, I’ll leave you alone and I’ll come back in an hour. No, better yet, I’m going to make a call. Your butt needs some dang lessons.”

  Rashaad got in position to take his swing as Mason stepped away and walked toward a nearby bench. He sat down, flipped open his cell, and placed a call.

  “Troy Lyles? Hey man. How’s it been going? It’s been a while. Hey man. I need you to do me a favor. I need you to hook up my fourteen-year-old son Rashaad with some golf lessons. I’m about to kill that little dude, man. Yeah, he’s pretty good. If not today, then as soon as possible. How soon could you have someone out here at the Westchester course? We’ll be here. Thanks a lot. See you then.”

  Mason walked briskly back to his son. “Great news, son. Troy Lyles, himself, is coming over to teach you in about an hour.”

  “Who’s he?”

  “He’s the son of the man who Tiger’s dad referred me to years ago. He trains all of the juniors coming up. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before. The first thing I learned in golf is to never teach someone you know. And especially someone you love. That’s why I’ve never taught your mom. It gets too emotional and they get too defensive.”

  Rashaad focused, taking a couple of practice swings as his dad spoke. “Uh huh.”

  “Son, I’m going to be paying this man top dollar now so I want you to absorb his every word like a sponge and take advantage of this opportunity. Not every young man can have his dad just pick up the phone and get Troy Lyles to show up. Get all you can. I want to see a difference in your game.”

  “Can I practice until he gets here?” Rashaad asked as if his dad was still distracting him.

  “Go right ahead.”

  Rashaad waited before resuming his practice. “Weren’t you leaving for an hour?”

  “All right already, dang.” Mason took a step and then stopped. Rashaad looked at him as if he should continue walking away. “Remember your grip, Rashaad. Get that down and you’ll notice a big difference.”

  “Good-bye,” Rashaad said, looking annoyed yet grateful. “And thanks, Dad.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Rashaad yelled toward his father. “Hey, Dad.”

  “Yes,” Mason yelled back as he stopped.

  “You and Mom are okay, right?”

  “What makes you ask that?”

  “I just noticed… something. I don’t know but you two seem different.”

  Mason felt concern on the inside but felt the need to assure his son. “We’ll work it out, son. Don’t you worry about it. You just keep your mind right.”

  “Okay, Dad. I will,” Rashaad said, looking down as he placed his feet into position for his next swing.

  Mason walked away, answering his ringing cell phone. It was Cicely.

  She s
poke plainly. “Mason I’ve sealed the deal in Atlanta and I think it’s best if I go ahead and take that over and relocate.”

  “Oh, you think it’s best?” Mason stopped in his tracks.

  “Yes, I do. I also think it’s best that you buy me out of Foreplay in Los Angeles and I go at it alone in Atlanta. I used to live there, you know.”

  “How would the investors feel about that? You going it alone.”

  “They’ll be fine. They just want to make sure that one of us is involved in running the new club.”

  “But do they know that I would have no connection and no interest in it?”

  “Actually, they’ve asked that it be that way.”

  “You’ve been negotiating this without letting me know?”

  “Mason, they’ve been calling me ever since my meeting with them that you missed. I thought about it and I think it’s best considering all that’s happened. I haven’t given them the final word yet.”

  “Considering what?” he asked.

  Cicely sounded wounded. “That you refuse to allow me to be part of my own family. That you refuse to tell Mercedes and your brothers about me. That you keep me on the side like I’m some mistress of yours. My mom was your dad’s mistress and you know what? He really loved her. He moved us here and he helped take care of us financially. But with your rejection of the truth, I’ve had a lot of stuff to consider, Mason.”