Darius raced back to his parents and said, “Man, that was the highlight of my day. Darryl Williams autographed my uniform! Mom, you’re going to have to pay for this.”
“Pay for what, sweetie?”
“The uniform. I can’t give it back. Darryl Williams signed my uniform! And he said if I keep on playing like I’m playing, I can start for him at Georgetown.” Darius handed his mom back her receipt and ink pen. “Just imagine if he were my dad. I could be six-nine or taller!”
Chapter 13
Six feet, seven inches, seventeen years old, and college bound, Darius packed his bags, preparing to travel east. He had accepted the four-year full scholarship to attend Georgetown University in Washington, D.C. His mother had tried convincing him to go to Duke, but his visit to Duke’s campus didn’t measure up to Georgetown. Ashlee chose Spelman, and his high school sweetheart, Maxine, stayed local and enrolled at the University of California at Los Angeles.
Darius had declined his mother’s offer to host a going away party, knowing she wouldn’t throw the type of party he wanted and include his boys from Compton. His mother would send invitations to her family, friends, Lawrence’s relatives, and of course, Ashlee and Maxine. Boring like all of his teenage birthday parties. No freaks. No DJ. His last three birthdays she’d played Lawrence’s horrid classical music and called it culture. Darius called it torture.
Inventorying his bag, Jada asked, “Darius, are you sure you’ve packed everything?”
“For the fourth time, Mother, yes, I’m sure.” Darius closed his suitcase.
His dad didn’t approve of him piercing either ear, but his mom supported his decision. She also bought his diamond studs. His dad also didn’t care for the dreadlocks he wore, and his mother said they were stylish as long as he kept them neat. As he’d gotten older, his parents seldom shared the same view, so Darius usually got whatever he wanted.
“Jada, you have to let the boy grow up. He’s going to college,” Wellington said, sitting at the foot of Darius’s bed. “He’ll be fine.”
Jada folded her arms. “I’m not babying him. I just don’t want him calling back asking me to send whatever it is he’s going to forget.”
“Then, don’t send it. He’ll manage without,” Wellington said.
“Yeah, Dad’s right. I’ll manage,” Darius said, hoisting his bulldog sweatpants over his waistline because his dad started staring at his boxers. The taste of independence was on the tip of his tongue.
Jada sighed. “Darius has never lived on his own, and he’s moving so far away.”
“And? So?” Wellington said. “The sooner he learns to take care of himself, the better. Otherwise, he’ll be living with you the rest of his life.”
“Fine.” Mom threw her hands in the air and blinked her teary eyes. “I’ll be in the living room with Lawrence. Darius, let us know when you’re ready to go to the airport.”
“Have a seat, son,” Wellington said.
Darius spun his computer chair around and sat with his elbows on his knees. “What’s up?”
“Son, your mother is happy and sad. But college is different from high school. Your biggest challenge will be time management. I know you; you’ll try to make every party. Hang out late. Get up early. Be the star athlete. And have women in and out of your dorm.” Gesturing like a referee signaling no basket, Wellington said, “Don’t do it. Don’t waste your time or the school’s money. Stay focused.”
Grown-ups must have thought teenagers were brain dead or something. “I’ve got my schedule all figured out, Pops.”
“Yeah, right, and you haven’t even got there yet. That’s what I’m talking about. It’s easy to get off to a bad start, and if you do, you’ll spend the entire semester trying to catch up. You’ve got to stay ahead of everything. Study. Practice. Tests. Everything.”
He’d forgotten to mention females. “Y’all worry too much. Chill out like Lawrence. He’s the only one not sweatin’ me.”
“I’m your father. Don’t expect me to chill out, ever,” Wellington said. “I’ll call you tonight.” His dad slapped him on the back and said, “Let’s get going.”
Great. Darius was traveling alone by request. What was all the fuss about? He could handle himself.
Since only ticketed passengers were allowed past security, Darius said his goodbyes at curbside. His mother was in tears, so he swiftly disappeared beyond the sliding glass doors.
How did he get a quiet, nerdy bookworm for a roommate and teammate? If they got the same classes, maybe his new friend could cover his assignments while he roamed Wisconsin Avenue. Darius loved the colonial-style buildings in Georgetown and how the stores and restaurants were open late at night.
The first month was a breeze. Frat parties. Drinking. Basketball practice. No games. And lots of females. The greatest thrill and disappointment of freshman year was his head coach, Darryl Williams. If he was late for practice, Coach wouldn’t let him start. How could he bench his number one fan and best player? Wellington had come to several games, but Darius never saw his mother or Lawrence in the stands. Damn, she’d cried at the airport, but the only time he saw her was when he went home on holidays. Obviously, they couldn’t wait to get rid of him. That was cool, because he didn’t want them to see him bench warming. At the end of the season, Wellington gave him the “I told you so” speech about too much partying.
Forget them. Darius spent spring break in Miami by himself. Florida was on point with lots of beaches and chicks in bikinis. By the end of his freshman year, Darius had lost his starting position. Early in the season scouts were checking him out, but after losing his starting spot to his nerdy roommate, Darius decided to ride out the remainder of his scholarship stomping with his frats, the Omegas.
Chapter 14
Jada relaxed on the white cushioned lounge chair at her beachfront Malibu home. Wide blue waves quietly washed up on the private shore. On numerous occasions, residents of the county had unsuccessfully petitioned for publicizing the entire oceanfront. Jada couldn’t imagine strangers loitering outside her residence, so she refused to sign the petitions and voted against the propositions. Quietly, she stood and placed the cordless phone on the leatherlike seat. Although leather and saltwater wasn’t a good combination, vinyl felt too harsh.
Rising from his chair, Lawrence said, “Honey, I’m going to cook dinner.”
“Oh, great. Surprise me.” Jada reached for his hand, pulled him close, and licked his lips.
“Keep that up and you’ll be served up on a platter.” Lawrence smiled and went inside.
She knew he meant what he’d said. Jada rolled up her pant legs. Thirty steps later sand and water meshed underneath her feet and seeped between her toes. At times her mango polish sank so deep the color was buried and all she saw was wet white sand. The light wind caressed her high cheekbones and softly weaved throughout her hair. Dying out the first strands of gray had subtracted almost ten years from her appearance. Besides, gray was Jada’s least favorite color. The warmth from the sun covered her face as haunting memories flooded her mind.
How was she to know Darryl would be at Darius’s game signing autographs? That was all Darius talked about. He framed his uniform and hung it on his bedroom wall. Then for Darryl to surface as Darius’s basketball coach, too. How could she show her face at Darius’s games and risk Darius finding out the truth? Obviously, Darryl already knew. Offering Darius a scholarship was probably his way of making up for lost time.
Continuing her walk, the cotton outfit with a matching pink jacket protected her. Aerosols and other products humans couldn’t or wouldn’t live without may have been breaking down the ozone layer, but not her silky skin. On the other hand, her secret was eating away her insides like maggots feasting on a dead cow.
Gazing at the sky, she saw the huge yellow circle had begun to descend behind the clouds. Her wavering hand swayed in the air, volunteering to trade places so she’d have a new spot to hide her information. Amazingly, no one discovered the
truth, because as a child playing hide-and-go-seek, she was always the first found. Hypnotized by bright orange streaks blending to create red ones, Jada stood still and relived the moment of discovery when she’d received Dr. Bates’s phone call.
Some things hadn’t changed. The same ivy plant from her Baldwin Hills home now decorated her ceiling-to-floor patio windows. Invisible walls of glass surrounded the backside of their Malibu home, providing a cozy indoor/outdoor feeling. Guests routinely walked past the four inside columns and almost into the windows, so Jada had attached the plant to clear plastic suctioned hangers to avoid being responsible for any accidents.
Returning to her beach lounge chair, Jada exhaled, wondering why she’d been so careless. She picked up the cordless, sat, and placed the phone in her lap. Her long, dark chocolate legs caressed but didn’t cross each other. Clumps of sand fell from the bottoms of her feet. The aroma of Lawrence’s cooking made her hungrier.
While searching for a new home for Darius and her, Jada had instantly fallen in love with Malibu and its beachfront homes. Despite the temptation, being pregnant made her think twice about living too close to the water, so Jada had sold her Baldwin Hills condo and moved to Orange County near Wellington’s sister, Jazzmyne. Once Darius turned ten and Jada married Lawrence, her husband had bought her a Malibu dream house situated on one-point-five acres.
Their ten-thousand-square-foot home included six bedrooms, eight and a half baths, a gymnasium, a guest suite, staff quarters—although they rarely requested workers stay overnight—a four-car limo garage, a wine cellar with a tasting room, a pool, a spa, a lighted tennis court, and not to mention the master suite with a fireplace, a sitting area, and spacious his and her baths with separate walk-in closets. Lawrence didn’t tell her the price, and she never asked. Jada’s only wish was that everything wasn’t on one level, but Daddy always said, “Never nag a man who puts his family first.”
Looking out over the ocean, Jada’s head swiftly moved short distances to the left and right, trying to erase the past. When her phone rang, Jada realized both the moon and the sun were exposed. Her hand roamed across her lap as the ring tone repeated. Her stomach growled so loudly it could have answered for her. She picked up the cordless. Every time she mentally regurgitated her secret, her palms became clammy. Without looking at the caller ID, she sensed it was Wellington.
Drying her hands on her jacket, Jada solemnly answered, “Hello.”
“Hi, ba. How are you?”
“Great, as always,” Jada stated. Not that she was feeling that way, but that was what Wellington was accustomed to hearing. After Jada married Lawrence, they created codes for phone talk. Great meant they could speak openly. Fine was for keep it clean; Lawrence or Simone was within ear range. Okay indicated it wasn’t a good time for conversation.
“Is everything all set for Darius’s birthday party Friday night? Can you believe our son is going to be twenty years old? Do you need me to do anything?” Wellington offered.
Jada pressed the mute button. After twenty years did it matter? She’d planned on telling him when Darius was born, then after Darius turned five. Again, she’d contemplated doing so when Darryl autographed Darius’s uniform, but that wasn’t a good time either. “Lord, show me a green light for perfect timing.” Would it be another two decades before she revealed the truth? Or would Jada remain silent the rest of their lives?
Turning off the mute, she said, “No. Thanks. Denise volunteered to coordinate the party, and she has everything under control.”
“Okay. Great. I fly into L.A. Thursday evening around six. You think your should-have-been husband can borrow you away from your husband for an hour or two?” Wellington laughed.
“I’m working late Thursday. But I’ll meet you at our usual place at say eight o’clock.” Yes, indeed. After all this time—ten years of marriage included—Wellington still made Jada feel the same way as the night they had met in San Francisco. Just as Rachelle Farrell had sung the last song of the evening especially for them, the lyrics inevitably true: “Nothing Has Ever Felt Like This.”
“Great. I’ll see you at the Beach Café at eight. Hey?”
“Yes, Wellington.” Jada smiled, because she knew he was getting ready to earn it.
“Wear a bikini underneath your business suit.”
“Bye, Wellington.” The Beach Café was the best hideaway in Malibu. With wooden chairs and tables right on the water, patrons could swim while waiting for their food.
“Bye, my Nubian queen.”
Jada walked into the kitchen, returned the phone to its cradle, and joined her husband in their dining room for dinner.
Chapter 15
Wellington packed his suitcase and little Wellington II’s diaper bag. Simone would arrive soon to pick up their son. Fortunately, everything went in the bag except diapers, mainly a change of clothes and toys to keep Junior occupied while in his car seat.
Looking at Junior’s smiling face, Wellington’s lips parted as his son’s cheeks rose higher; then he said, “Everybody loves JR.”
Junior chimed in on cue, “It’s like I’m ’ma mobie star.”
“That’s my boy. Give Daddy a hug.”
At the age of two, Junior’s speech had improved. Junior benefited from Darius’s upbringing in many ways. Jada insisted on correct pronunciation from day one. Darius was never taught da-da, always daddy. His rs and ts were clearly pronounced. Since being proper wasn’t cool with the current hip-hop generation, Wellington noticed when Darius spoke with his peers he often rolled his rs saying, “Herrr,” instead of here and, “Therrr,” versus there. Darius was a faster learner than Junior, not that Junior was slow. Darius’s IQ was off the chart, but he was also arrogant and overconfident. Junior was potty trained at twenty-four months and Darius at eighteen. Junior still pissed on the floor, but at least he’d learned how to go to the bathroom. Just like Darius, Junior had the best worlds from both parents, but Wellington remained hopeful that one day he and Jada would unite in holy matrimony.
Wellington loved both of his sons. He also adored Simone Smith-Jones. But the ugly divorce from Melanie had left him with cold feet, and sixteen years had passed before he remarried. The fact that Jada had moved on with her life years ago still bothered him.
Wellington and Simone dated off and on for thirteen years before their private wedding ceremony almost three years ago. Only their family and closest friends were invited. Wellington’s father Keith, Cynthia, and Melanie surprisingly came together. Simone could plan everything her way as long as his sister, Jazzmyne, was matron of honor. Simone liked Jazzmyne and was honored to have her in their wedding, but refused to send Jada an invitation. Little did Simone know Melanie was the one she needed to watch.
The moment Wellington said, “I do,” Simone started saying, “No, you won’t.” Since when did a grown man need permission to leave his own house? Six months of asking himself, “Who is the woman?” ended with a divorce. Better safe than sorry. The out-of-court settlement to his first wife, Melanie, definitely cost more than she was worth—ten thousand dollars. Wellington quickly decided they were all better off living apart, so he evicted Simone’s tenants and moved her back into her home in Danville.
After the phone rang twice, Simone’s name flashed across the caller ID. Wellington picked up the handset and said, “The door is open.” Simone seldom knocked, because after she moved out, he changed the locks and declined her request for a key. Simone tried to slip him her house keys by leaving them on his nightstand, but Wellington politely returned them via U.S. Postal Service insured mail. Certified mail held a lower priority, and he wanted to be reassured Simone’s keys wouldn’t get lost in transit.
Simone stepped into the living room wearing a sleeveless, mustard yellow dress and no pantyhose. Wellington gently put his arms around her. Gliding his fingers through her honey-golden shoulder-length hair and softly kissing Simone’s neck, he said, “You look nice.” Slowly he rocked, and Simone instantly swayed in unis
on. Simone’s youthfulness was refreshing. “You smell good, too,” Wellington said. Suddenly the pitter-patter of Junior’s little feet sounded, so they stopped.
“There’s my little man. How’s Mommy’s baby?” Simone stooped, and Junior ran as fast as he could to give her a hug. Simone caught him in midair. Junior wrapped his chubby legs as far as he could around Simone’s waist. Simone’s 38DD breasts and forty-six-inch hips were disproportionate to her thirty-inch waistline, but as far as Wellington was concerned, everything was in the right place, especially Simone’s heart.
“Hi, Mommy.” Junior pecked Simone on her lips.
Admiring his woman, Wellington shook his head and said, “Um, um, um.” Simone was a large, sexy woman, five feet, seven inches and two hundred pounds solid, no flab. Women would flirt with Wellington and then turn their noses up at Simone as if to say, “What does he see in her?” He could have answered them, but there was no need. Simone was confident and had every right to be so. Next to Jada, she was the most creative woman Wellington had experienced in and out of the bedroom.
“Lucky for you he’s awake.” Simone winked and flicked her pink tongue. Then she made that smacking sound when her tongue suctioned against the roof of her mouth and released. “I’ll hook you up after you get back from L.A.” Simone teased with a pucker of her lips, then asked, “Darius’s party is tonight?”
Wellington and Simone managed to remain an item and continued dating after their divorce. Jada had taught him how to be a true friend, which made the growth of his relationship with Simone easier. When they first met, Simone was twenty-one and definitely no virgin. After their first year together, all she wanted was for Wellington to father her child. Although she was of legal age, he felt she was barley out of the cradle herself. At the time they decided to become parents, Simone was thirty-three and worried about her biological clock. Afraid she was only after his money, he delayed fathering another year, feeling Simone out. The love, comfort, and support she gave him reassured Wellington she definitely wasn’t chasing his wallet.
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