“Oh, I see. You’re trying to justify this bitch!”
Melanie whispered, “You a trip. Don’t forget about her overnight trip with Darryl.”
Wham! Instinctively Jada backhand-slapped Melanie in the mouth. Blood seeped into the crevices of Melanie’s white teeth as her chair fell backward onto the cement. When Wellington raced to help Melanie up, Jada pointed her finger in his face. He flinched, knowing Jada would strike him, too. “I’ll see your ass at home, not tomorrow, tonight.”
Jada stormed out of the restaurant. Damn, she hated that Darius was right. But even though she knew the truth, there was no way she’d give her husband to that whore because that was exactly what Melanie wanted.
CHAPTER 12
Waking up in his home away from home, in Los Angeles, in his bed, today was the single most important day of Darius’s life. Darius hadn’t been in L.A. since signing over his insurance check to Wellington. Darius missed Oakland a little but he missed talking with Fancy a lot. Fancy was the one woman who didn’t care about Darius Jones the millionaire. Once his life was in order, maybe he could be faithful to Fancy.
The last few weeks, Darius had stopped communicating with everyone except his father. Darryl taught Darius how to invest time in himself. To seriously organize his future. Hassle free. Drama free. And while the last couple of weeks Darius had been pussyless, it wasn’t by his choice but Darius had accepted his father’s advice and practiced dick control.
Darius had discovered a new inner strength. The headaches that accompanied the orgasms were no longer worth his time. Spending time with his dad was priceless. Darius had taken Darryl Senior up on his offer of visiting anytime. Every day for fourteen consecutive days, at eleven o’clock in the morning, Darius had visited his father’s home in Fremont.
Running five miles a day gave Darius time to talk with his father. Lifting weights, Darryl spotted him first, and then it was his turn to stand over his dad, helping to hoist the three hundred pounds, balancing the bar back onto to the rack above his dad’s head.
Some things Darius was glad to learn, some not. Like it was cool understanding his love of women was no different from his father’s. The only difference was that Darryl Senior respected the women in his life, including Darius’s mother. Except for the time he refused to accept responsibility for Darius’s mom’s pregnancy. His dad admitted how stupid he was because the one child he could’ve helped the most, he’d helped the least. Until now. Darryl had said, “Son, from now on you can depend on me. Forever. For anything.” Darryl’s lifelong commitment empowered Darius. His dad had confessed that the way to keep a woman in his good graces was to treat every woman like she was important, but treat his woman like a queen.
L.A. was where every illusion could become reality and every sexual fantasy was two degrees of separation. Darryl reclined in the passenger seat of Darius’s Bentley.
“Well, son. How do you feel?”
Grinning, Darius glanced at his dad, then at the road ahead, and said, “Man, I’m so excited I might jump out of the gym when I see my teammates and coaches again.”
“Be cool. Never let any of them know how excited you are. Let your talent and the skills I’ve taught you do the talking.”
With his seat fully reclined, Darryl’s long legs almost touched the glove compartment. Darius wished he’d grown another two inches to six-nine like his dad but he’d stopped growing in high school. His dad’s coal black hair was sprinkled with strands of gray. Darryl looked distinguished. Intelligent. His thin mustache was well-trimmed, hovering above his square chin. Quickly, Darius looked at his dad, then in the rearview mirror at himself, and then focused on the road ahead wondering if he’d ever cut his locks.
“All the working out we’ve done in the last few weeks,” Darius commented, thumping on his chest. “I’ve gained five solid pounds of muscles. I’m stronger. Faster. More athletic. Why can’t I flex?”
Pointing toward the Sunset Boulevard exit, Darryl exhaled and signaled for Darius to turn right onto Westwood, then said, “Every player on UCLA’s team wants to go pro. You are going pro. That’s why you have to stay cool.”
“I don’t get it.” Shrinking in order to make someone else appear better wasn’t Darius’s style.
“You get out of life what you negotiate, not what you earn. Remember that. When your teammates stop passing you the ball, you will get it. You have got to touch the ball at least once every single possession. You can’t act as if you’re the shit because if you do, that’s how they’ll treat you on the court. Like shit. Be cool.”
“Aw’ight. I suppose.” More than anything else, Darius wanted to play professional ball, so he’d listen to his father’s advice.
“And another thing,” Darryl said, motioning toward the campus. “You have to make amends with those women who might be carrying your babies. Any negative press and you’ll be cut from UCLA and you’ll never go pro. You don’t want a bad rep and the media following you twenty-four-seven.”
Darius knew every road leading to UCLA but he was letting his dad direct him today in every way. “Honestly, Dad, the only one I care about is Ashlee. Desire and Ciara can kiss my ass.”
“Boy, didn’t anything I said sink in? You’ve got a lot to learn about women. Don’t you know women can destroy you? Be careful where you stick that dick of yours. And take it from me, never tell a woman to kiss your ass.”
Nodding, Darius said, “I’ve learned my lesson. Now I make sure I use a condom all the time.”
“Good.”
Darius parked near Pauley Pavilion. “They need a new facility. Maybe I’ll buy them one when I go pro.”
Darryl shook his head as they walked inside and greeted the coaches. Darius beamed as the coaches commented on Darryl’s championship rings. One on each hand. His dad could’ve worn all four.
“Thanks for awarding my son a scholarship.”
“Based on the tapes you’ve sent, Darius didn’t need your endorsement to earn a Bruins scholarship. He’s the real deal. And based upon how he practices with the team, we expect he may just start.”
Darius nodded, then stopped when his dad looked at him.
The coaches introduced Darius and Darryl Senior to the dean of business, the players, then gave them a tour of the campus and the dorms. No way was Darius living on campus in those small rooms. Darius would commute or buy a place closer to the university, which reminded him that he had to visit his mother today for money since he was broke and starting school soon.
After the interviews Darius signed the National Letter of Intent and Scholarship contract. The drive to his mom’s was painstaking. Silently, Darius drowned in thoughts of facing his mother and Wellington again without a job.
Parking in his parents’ circular driveway, Darius asked his dad, “What do you think about me changing my last name to Williams?”
“Really? Son, that would be great but you’ve already established a reputation with the last name Jones.”
“But it’s not my father’s name. It’s somebody else’s father’s name. And I don’t want my children, your grandchildren, confused about their family history.”
“That’s solid thinking. You’ll be successful regardless, so if you want to change your name, I’d be honored to go to the courthouse with you.”
Darius hugged his dad and said, “Thanks.” But he wasn’t looking forward to seeing his mother. Slowly he approached the huge double doors and rang the bell. Darryl stood beside him.
His mom was cheerful, dressed in a lavender dress and matching open-toed shoes. “Hi, Darius. Hey, Darryl. Come in.”
Following his mother to the family room, Darius briefly reflected on their last encounter when Wellington hit him. Punk. Standing in front of the sofa with Darryl beside him, Darius said, “Hi, Mom. I just dropped by to show you I signed my scholarship and NLI for UCLA. I start taking classes this summer and my dad has been working me out every day, so technically I have a job.”
Stretching across the
chaise, his mother said, “That’s good, honey.”
Darius spoke barely above a whisper, “You can give me back my money and my business now because going to school and playing ball are two full-time jobs.”
“That’s nice,” Wellington said, walking into the room. “We’ll see about the money. You can forget about the business. I’ve taken that over.”
“Man, ain’t nobody talking to you. You probably spending my money on Melanie.”
“Darius!” his mom yelled. “Stop it!”
“It’s true.” His mom had proof and she was still defending her cheating husband.
Wellington yelled, “I don’t have to explain anything to you, kid.”
Darryl interjected, “Oh, but you do.” Looking at Jada, he continued, “Is that true?”
Wellington protested, “Man, don’t go there. You’re in my house.”
Jada shouted, “Our house!”
“Fine, then I’ll leave until they’re gone,” Wellington said, turning toward the door.
Darius remarked, “Tell Melanie I said hello.”
“Darius Jones!” his mom yelled.
“Sorry, Mom. I just don’t understand why you’re letting him control everything. I’m your son. I need your help. I don’t have any money.”
“When you start school full-time, I’ll give you back all of your money and a little extra.”
Wellington reentered the room and shouted, “He doesn’t deserve it! No! You! Will! Not!”
Darryl yelled at Wellington, “Man, I’m not going to allow you to disrespect the mother of my child or my son. Jada has spoken.”
“Your son!” Jabbing his pointing finger into his own chest, Wellington said, “This is one man who raised your damn son when you were busy chasing women.” Wellington pointed at Darryl. “And the two you did raise, they both turned out to be crap.”
Darius watched his dad walk over to Wellington, stopping just inches away. Darryl’s chest blocked Wellington’s face. “You say one more word about my boys, any of them, and I’ll make certain you won’t again.”
Shaking his head, Wellington backed out of the door. “Jada, if they’re not gone when I return, I’m calling the police. I will not be threatened in my home.”
“Our home!”
“Whatever.” Wellington exited though the kitchen into the garage, then slammed the door.
Squeezing on the chaise next to his mother, Darius said, “Mom, I’m sorry about Melanie.”
“Honey, don’t be.”
“So you’re going to divorce him, right?”
“I married Wellington for better or for worse. Our marriage will be fine.”
Darius stood, looked down at his mother, and then said, “Dad, you ready?”
“Yeah, son. Let’s go.”
His mother was fooling herself. Darius was shocked because his mother was a powerful woman who was totally submitting to her husband and he hated her for that. Maybe she felt guilty about lying to Wellington all those years. Darius was just glad, come next month, as his mother had promised, he’d be living in style again.
CHAPTER 13
Every closing brought some sort of closure and, with the homeowners’ desire, welcomed a new beginning for life. For Kelly Martin, the closing on her single-family home brought closure to her separation and soon-to-be divorce from a husband who’d emotionally abandoned her years ago. The excitement of a fresh start with her kids and her personal trainer—although, thanks to Fancy, Kelly had vowed not to let him move into her new place—was liberating.
Waiting for Howard to arrive at the closing, Fancy sat in the lobby and dialed Darius’s number.
“Hey, Ladycat. What’s—”
“Wish me well! I’m at my closing.”
Darius replied, “I can do better than that. Let me take you out for a celebration tonight.”
“You are so wonderful! Here comes Howard. I’ll call you back later,” Fancy said powering off her cell phone.
Joining Howard, Fancy entered the meeting area.
The six-hundred-square-foot conference room at the title company was filled with a long cherry wood table, twelve swivel cushioned chairs, a family of four, Howard Kees, the escrow agent, the seller and her agent, and Fancy. Fancy’s body tingled all over as she realized that making money had become equally as enjoyable as having sex, although she did miss talking with Darius. He’d stopped calling and since he hadn’t returned her last phone call, she refused to call him again. That was a smart idea because Darius would eventally phone her. Sex. When was the last time Fancy had had sex? Miss Kitty danced like it was her closing and she was getting some new or used accommodations to satisfy her needs.
This was not the time to think about getting fucked. From what Fancy had heard from Byron and others, her ex-boss, Harry Washington, was spreading rumors about her being a whore and a thief. Typical of a scorned man but when Fancy finished taking all of Harry’s clients, Harry would have a genuine reason to call her a crook. A bitch. Whateva. But Fancy promised herself, in time, she’d get even with Harry.
Fancy couldn’t believe she was about to close on her second FHA-insured loan. Skeptical about classroom teachings versus reality, shockingly what she’d learned in class from Mr. Riddle was actually true. Government-backed financing helped lots of families and singles who otherwise couldn’t afford to purchase a home become homeowners. With that type of promise from Uncle Sam, Fancy could sell every renting American a home! Especially since more than fifty percent of renters were paying more money to their landlords than it would cost them to pay their own mortgages. Fancy was dedicated to educating renters, starting with her first-time homebuyers’ prequalification seminar at SaVoy’s church following this Sunday’s eleven o’clock service. Fancy had even decided to attend church before the seminar, give thanks for her many blessings, and pray that Darius returned to her. Making money was cool but having no one to share in her success was saddening.
Kelly was serious and diligent about finding a property and Fancy was glad she was Kelly’s agent. Fancy had driven Kelly to fifteen open houses before Kelly fell in love with a three-story, four-bedroom villa in Kensington. With FHA’s maximum home limit of $601,692 for the Bay Area, Kelly made the minimum three percent down payment of $18,051, qualified for a $100,000 grant from the city, and took a silent second in the amount of $380,257, backed by the seller, payable in fifteen years. After Kelly and her husband sold their home, by court order Kelly would receive seventy-five percent of the proceeds because she had sole custody of their children. With the sale of their home, Kelly would have more than enough money to pay off her second mortgage. Otherwise, Fancy would’ve recommended Kelly purchase a less expensive home for her family.
Kelly’s three kids, ranging in age from four to twelve, were equally excited. Before the closing, Fancy had advised Kelly that if for any reason she ever defaulted on her mortgage, she should do two things.
“First, I want you to immediately request a forbearance agreement from your lender. Then I want you to call me. If you wait until your mortgage is in foreclosure, I can’t help you obtain a payment plan but I can help you sell your home.”
Mr. Riddle had taught Fancy that if the home was worth more than the loan a lot of lenders foreclosed on homeowners instead of offering a repayment plan for their delinquency. Then the lender sold the property for a profit with no obligation to compensate the homeowner.
Mr. Riddle had said, “Always encourage a homeowner to sell if he can’t afford to maintain the mortgage. One, he won’t have a foreclosure on his credit report. Two, in California, property in even the most distressed neighborhoods appreciates, so he should at least get enough money to relocate. And stay abreast of the FHA maximum loan limits and homebuyers information posted at HUD.gov and FHA.com.”
With a new career on the horizon, Fancy felt confident and empowered handling Kelly’s escrow. In order to expedite the signing of numerous papers, last week Fancy had met with Kelly and they reviewed every word—es
pecially the ands, ors, shalls, and ifs—of every document on the table today. Fancy had also explained to Kelly the closing fees, interest rates, seller’s three-percent credit, and loan points. The escrow agent handed the package to Fancy. Fancy passed it along to Howard, who gave it back to Fancy.
“Review it,” Howard insisted.
Fancy reviewed each page, ensuring the proper documents were enclosed. “Let’s get started,” Fancy said, handing the package back to the escrow agent.
“Since you’ve purchased a home before, Ms. Martin, you should be familiar with the documents but I’ll explain each one,” the agent said, eager to earn his fee.
“Fancy gave me a copy of the package along with the loan papers a week ago and I’ve read every word. So unless you have additional or revised forms, all I need to do is carefully review the inserted language, rates, fees, and sign my name about fifty times.”
Howard proudly winked at Fancy. Fancy nodded, and two hours later Ms. Martin and family were handed the keys to their new home. Fancy handed Kelly a small crystal cat that dangled on a gold link keychain.
“What’s this for?” Kelly asked, smiling.
“To celebrate your new beginning. And to remind you that, like a cat, a woman has always got more than one life. You’re the mother, the head of household, the financial supporter, cheerleading coach, escort driver, and you’re dating the finest personal trainer in the Bay Area. I’ll call you in a week to see how things are going.”
Fancy walked outside with Howard. “Okay, Miss Taylor, you’re clearly on your way to the top. Lunch is on me.”
Oh, hell no! And have Denise call questioning about what was taking her daddy so long to get back to the office? “Thanks, but I’ll have to take a rain check. I’m showing three homes in Montclair to a prospective buyer”—Fancy glanced at her diamond watch—“in about an hour.”
“Well, excuse me. Go make that money. Don’t forget to stop by my office later. It’s time to start teaching you about acquiring investment property. Starting in Las Vegas, not California.”
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