A Cold Piece of Work

by Curtis Bunn

  “The only what? Kid of mine?” Solomon asked. “Yeah, that’s it—as far as I know. And I think I would know.”

  “You thought you didn’t have any before yesterday,” the father said.

  “That’s true,” Solomon conceded. “Still, I’m pretty certain that’s it.”

  “Well, son, I have this advice for you: Be a father to that boy,” he said.

  “Love him and spoil him, but discipline him. Make sure he respects you and understands authority. Make sure he’s a Singletary.”

  “I will, Dad. I’ll teach him what you taught me.”

  There were others Solomon had to share the news with, but only Ray was worthy of a call that Sunday morning.

  “I guess God is a funny guy, huh?” was his response.

  “Hilarious,” Solomon said.

  “So, how you gonna manage this?” Ray said. “You’ve intentionally gone out of your way to be non-committal. Now you have a son?”

  “Non-committal to women,” he said. “And even with that, it’s been just me and Michele these last three months.”

  “You cut the other women? There had to be five of them,” Ray said.

  “There were four and they haven’t been officially cut, but it’s coming,” he said. “I’ve just avoided them. But I’ve got to tell them what’s up. And I will. In person. But I’ve got more pressing stuff to deal with now. Don’t you think?”

  “No doubt,” Ray said. “You’ve got to turn that kid from your player to your son. Probably harder will be to turn his thinking from you as his coach to you as his father. It’ll happen. But you’ve got to be patient; it probably won’t be that easy.”

  “Well, easy or hard, it’s got to be done,” Solomon said. “I just want to get to the point where he calls me ‘Daddy’ and we’re all comfortable and content with all this.”

  “So where is Michele in all this?” Ray said. “I mean, is this one big happy family now?”

  “I wouldn’t say that. I’d just say we’re going to try to get Gerald through this together,” Solomon said. “That’s the big thing: making sure he’s all right and understands all this. But Michele is happy; she’s been dying to tell me and for me to be a part of Gerald’s life.

  “Still, I can’t stop thinking one thing: This is crazy.”

  CHAPTER 13

  DADDY’S HOME

  Solomon arrived at Sonya’s house before Michele, which did not surprise him. He knew how meticulous she was, which was a euphemism for saying she was slow. She would spend significant time in the mirror, toying with her hair and makeup and clothes to annoying lengths. Solomon cared about his appearance but was far more decisive.

  When he got to Sonya’s front door, Gerald was right there when Sonya let him in.

  “Coach Money, what you doing here?” the kid said.

  “I told you, your mom and I are taking you to lunch today. You don’t remember that?” Solomon said.

  “Oh, yeah, I forgot,” he said. “Where’s Mommy? Where we going? I’m hungry.”

  “Your mom should be here shortly,” he said. “I think we’re going to take a nice ride out to Alpharetta and go to a place called Kozmo. They have great food, and a great burger, which I’m sure you want, right?”

  “I do want a burger,” he said, flashing his bright smile. Solomon felt chills.

  The boy looked like Solomon on his second-grade class photo. “I knew you wanted a burger,” he said to Gerald.

  “How did you know?” the kid asked.

  “I was seven years old once. A burger was the best food in the world,” Solomon answered.

  He and Sonya laughed. “I’ll be eight next year,” Gerald said.

  “I know. And we’re going to really celebrate it with a big party,” Solomon said.

  “What’s going on with your car?” Sonya asked.

  “Gerald, you all set to go? Is your bed made up?” he said, looking down on his son. “You should get that together so we can go when your mom gets here.”

  That was Solomon’s way of getting Gerald to leave the room. He didn’t want the kid to know that his mom had been held at gunpoint. If Michele wanted him to know, he figured she should tell him.

  “Thanks for letting me use your car,” Solomon said to Sonya after Gerald disappeared into the other room. “Right now, nothing’s happening with mine. I talked to someone on my way here. They haven’t found it, but they believe they will. I don’t know why, but the detective seems to think they would just joyride in it and ditch it somewhere since they didn’t take our money. Maybe they’ll take it to a chop shop. I don’t know.

  “My insurance company says I have to wait thirty days before I can get paid on it so I can get something else. I hope it doesn’t come to that. I’m about finished paying that car off—three more payments. I ain’t trying to start over with a new car note.”

  “I know that’s right,” Sonya said.

  Just then, the doorbell rang. It was Michele.

  “I was trying to beat you here,” she said. “But I got in that shower and I couldn’t get out—until the water got cold. Last night was too much. Sleeping on the couch didn’t help, either. But I feel rejuvenated now.”

  Before she could ask, Sonya said, “He’s in the back, making up his bed.”

  “How you know I was going to ask about Gerald?” Michele said.

  “I know you, cousin,” she answered. “And you don’t go three minutes without asking about him.”

  Ignoring Sonya, Michele turned to Solomon. “How you feeling? You ready to do this?” she said.

  “I will be when the time comes,” Solomon answered.

  “Mommy,” Gerald said as he came from the back.

  “Come here, honey,” she said, and the kid hurried to her and hugged and kissed as if they hadn’t seen each other in weeks. In a sense, that bothered Solomon. This was a different Gerald from when his mom was not around. He saw a softer kid cozying up to his mother. A momma’s boy.

  It wasn’t jealousy, though. It was concern over his son being exactly what Michele said she didn’t want him to be: overly reliant on her. Soft. A crybaby. A momma’s boy. At that moment he realized that starting the job of father seven years late was going to be even harder than he imagined.

  “I’m ready when you all are,” he said, breaking out of his mini-trance.

  “Where we going?” Michele asked Solomon, which made him feel good. It was like she was already starting the process of giving him authority as it related to Gerald.

  “I was thinking this place called Kozmo Gastro Pub in Alpharetta,” he said. “Black-owned, great food, great dining room—and a great burger.”

  “I want a big burger,” Gerald said.

  “This burger is nice and big,” Solomon said.

  “Okay,” Gerald said.

  “Well, have a great lunch,” Sonya said. “I’m flying out tonight, so I won’t see you all for a few days. But good luck with everything. Michele, call me.”

  Michele asked Solomon to drive her car, another act of putting him in the leadership role. He appreciated the gesture.

  Gerald talked the entire way from the backseat, telling jokes he had learned at school, asking about summer plans and generally being the happy boy he was. Solomon’s and Michele’s eyes occasionally met during the ride, and they expressed both joy and anxiety.

  “After we eat, honey, we have something really important to talk to you about,” Michele said. She figured giving him a heads-up might take away some of the shock.

  “About what, Mommy?” he said.

  “About you and me and…” She looked at Solomon. She did not want to call him “Coach Money.” Picking up on it, Solomon jumped in. “And me,” he said.

  “What?” Gerald said. “Are we going somewhere else?”

  “We’re not going anywhere else, not today. But it’s going to be good; I promise you that,” Solomon said.

  They made it to Kozmo and gathered in a booth near the back of the restaurant, up against the w
indow where the sunlight shone so brightly the adults had to pull out their sunglasses. They consumed their tasty burgers without much conversation. “You deserve a break today,” he said to Michele. She laughed in recalling the old McDonald’s commercial.

  Finally, as Gerald sipped on his milkshake, Solomon and Michele began the hardest conversation of their lives.

  “I’ll start,” he said to Michele, who nodded her approval. Solomon took off his sunglasses. He wanted Gerald to see his eyes.

  “Gerald, I want you to really concentrate so you can understand what we’re saying,” he began. “As you get older, you’ll learn that some things that happen in life don’t make sense at first, but later they do. This is one of those cases.”

  Gerald looked back and forth between his parents. “Remember in the gym, when I asked you about your father that day?” Solomon continued. “You said you didn’t know where he was.

  “Well, that was because he didn’t know you were his son. If he had known that you were his son, he would’ve been with you every day. You know how I know this?”

  “How?” Gerald answered.

  “Because I’m your…father,” Solomon said.

  Gerald swallowed hard on a large intake of milkshake.

  “Huh?” he said.

  “Yes, I’m your father,” Solomon said. He waited for a reaction, but Gerald took another sip of his milkshake.

  “You’re my father?” he said. His look indicated he wanted to know more, but he didn’t know how to express it. So Solomon went on.

  “Yes, I’m your father. You see, eight years ago, your mom and I were friends when we lived in Washington, D.C,” he said. “It takes a man and a woman together to make a child.”

  Neither he nor Michele thought about having to tell Gerald how a baby was conceived. Solomon quickly decided he would hedge on the “birds and the bees” until Gerald was at least ten or eleven.

  The kid seemed to understand this was a big deal, the more Solomon talked. An honor student, the inquisitive part of his character emerged.

  “But how come you didn’t know you’re my father?” Gerald said.

  “Well, I moved from Washington, D.C. to here and your mom didn’t know where I was,” he explained. “She tried to find me, but couldn’t. So we didn’t see each other until she came to your basketball banquet.”

  “Mommy,” he said, turning to Michele, “you couldn’t find Coach Money?”

  “No, baby, I couldn’t,” she said. “But I always knew once he found you, he would love you and want to be your father.”

  Gerald turned back to Solomon. “You want to be my father?” “I am your father, Gerald. And I’m happy that I am. I’m happy that we found each other,” he said. “We found each other before your mom found me.”

  “So what do you think, honey?” Michele asked.

  “The other boys in my class get picked up by their daddies sometimes,” he said.

  “And now your daddy will be picking you up, too,” Michele said. “Are you happy about that?”

  “Yes,” Gerald replied.

  “I have a question,” Solomon said, looking at Gerald. “Do you want to call me Daddy? Or Coach Money?”

  “Coach Money,” he said. “You’re my coach.”

  “Yes, but he’s also your daddy,” Michele said. “Your father.”

  “You said my father was no good,” Gerald said.

  “I know I did and I shouldn’t have said that because it’s not true,” Michele responded. “I was angry at the time I said it.”

  “Why were you angry?” he asked.

  “I didn’t know where he was and I wanted him to be there for you,” she answered. “I knew he would love you like I love you, but I was angry because I didn’t know where he was.

  “But now that we’ve found him, I’m not angry anymore. I’m happy now and I want you to be happy,” she added. “You have your father—and he’s also your basketball coach.”

  “You don’t have to call me Daddy right now,” Solomon jumped in. “Maybe one day you’ll feel comfortable doing that. This is a lot for you. Call me whatever you’re comfortable calling me. As long as you understand that I’m your father, that’s the important thing…son.”

  Solomon looked at Michele, who was tearing up. “So, Gerald,” he said, “Who’s your daddy?”

  “You’re my daddy.”

  “And what is a daddy supposed to do?” Solomon asked his boy.

  “Well, he’s supposed to play with me and buy me things,” Gerald said.

  Solomon laughed. “And you know what else I’ll do? I’ll teach you things.”

  “Like a teacher?”

  “Not exactly like a teacher. Like a parent. I’ll teach you how to tie a necktie, how to be tough, how to look after your mother, how to be responsible, how to grow into a man. I’ll teach you a lot about life. A whole lot.”

  “Oh, okay,” he said.

  “Honey, this is very new to you and it’ll take you a while to get used to this,” Michele said. “If you ever have any questions, just ask me or…your father.”

  “I have a question,” Gerald said. “Where do you live?”

  “Not too far from you and your mom,” he said. “I have a question. Would you come and spend the weekend with me sometimes?”

  “If Mommy says I can,” Gerald said.

  “Mom?” Solomon said, looking at Michele.

  “Of course,” Michele said. “I’ll be lonely, but you should spend some time with your father.”

  “Well, I like to get to things,” Solomon said. “Let’s do it next weekend. We can go to the movies on Friday night and get up in the morning and cook breakfast—”

  “I know how to make French toast,” Gerald interjected.

  “Really?” Solomon said. “But does it taste good?”

  Gerald and Michele laughed. “Yeah, it’s good. It’s great,” he said.

  “Well, we’ll see,” Solomon said. “After breakfast, maybe we should go to Target to get some stuff to decorate your room. I’m going to make a room at my house your room.”

  “Can I put a Kobe Bryant poster on the wall?” Gerald asked.

  “You can put anything you want up there; except naked women,” Solomon answered.

  “Solomon…” Michele said as Gerald laughed long and hard.

  “So it’s set,” Solomon said. “Father/son weekend next Friday. Hey, uh, Gerald, listen: I’m really sorry I haven’t been there for you all this time. But you know what? I’m going to make it up. It’s going to take a lot of time, but I’m going to do it.”

  “I’m sorry, too, honey,” Michele said, hugging her son. “But I’m so happy we have your father in your life. It’s such a blessing.”

  The adults were quite mushy about the revelations. Gerald; not so much. “Can I have another milkshake?”

  It was an innocent enough question, but one Solomon felt he should field—his first decision since revealing to Gerald that he was his son. It was his time to be tough, to let the kid know that he wasn’t going to get his way all the time, that he was the boss.

  “Of course you can, son,” he said, and Michele’s head snapped around as if on a swivel.

  “Solomon,” she said.

  “Well, you can have a second milkshake today, because we’re celebrating,” he said. “Usually, one is enough.”

  “Okay, thanks,” Gerald said, and he and Solomon bumped fists.

  Michele said, “Uh, oh. I think I’m in trouble.”

  CHAPTER 14

  FATHER KNOWS NO REST

  Solomon took his responsibilities as a father as if he could make up for seven years in a day. He doted on Gerald, picking him up from school, taking him to Hawks games, telling him about his childhood, introducing him to his friends, playing ball with him and generally trying his best to establish a strong bond.

  It worked. They were practically inseparable. Each weekend Gerald would spend with his newly found dad. And when Solomon was not with Gerald, they talked on the
phone before he went to sleep at night. Every night. They’d talk about each other’s day and the days ahead.

  “You’ve jumped right into this father thing, man,” his close friend Ray said. “I guess I was wrong. I thought you were the last person who needed to be a father.”

  “So did I,” Solomon said. “But you know what? When it’s done, it’s done. You have to do what you have to do. I think about what my life would be like if I didn’t have my father the first seven years of my life. I probably would be a different person. I don’t know, but I do know he was there for me, and that meant a lot.

  “We used to go to Redskins games and he’d talked to me during the ride about being tough and being responsible. All kinds of stuff, at an early age, that built a bond that carried over all my life. It was my foundation of becoming a man.”

  Solomon enrolled Gerald in boxing lessons as a way of broadening his athletic interests. It was not easy, though; Michele vehemently objected at first. “He doesn’t need someone punching him in the face,” she said.

  Solomon’s retort: “Yes, he does, actually. It’ll make him tougher and help him learn how to defend himself. Plus, I’ll be there for every lesson.”

  Michele relented. “Okay, Solomon. That’s my baby.”

  “Mine, too,” he said, smiling.

  Solomon’s most rewarding moment came indirectly through boxing. After a strong showing against a kid two years older and a few pounds heavier at Hitsville Boxing gym in Atlanta, a trainer came over to Gerald when he left the ring.

  “Good job, young man,” he said. Solomon was nearby, listening with his chest stretched out with pride.

  “Who’re you here with?” the man said.

  “I’m with my father,” Gerald said. Then he turned and saw Solomon.

  “That’s my daddy right there,” he said, pointing.

  “Daddy,” Gerald said, motioning for his father to come over.

  It was the first time Gerald called Solomon “Daddy.” As much as he wanted to come forward, Solomon stood there savoring the moment. It had been three weeks since they had broken the news to Gerald. Solomon had never said a word about wanting to hear his son call him “Daddy.” But the anticipation was there, like a wet sneeze at the tip of your nose.