“Does the crown jewel get a little more privacy and respect?” I asked hopefully.
“Um . . . ’fraid not. Pretty much the same as it is now,” Bliss answered with a twist of her lips.
“Does the crown jewel get an extra check?” I wondered out loud.
“Well . . . actually. That’s one of the things we wanted to talk to you about. We’re hoping to do some additional footage of you with members of your family, friends, and townspeople. That sort of thing.”
“Uh-huh.” It felt like they were building me up for something so I waited for the other shoe to drop.
“And we are going to want to feature you in some promos. Commercials, ads, things like that. You will get extra money for that.”
“Uh-huh.” Still waiting.
“And we’d like to offer you your own reality show after this one wraps.”
“I beg your pardon?” No. As a matter of fact: Oh hell no.
“Yes, sort of like ‘what’s next in the life of Carissa Wayne.’ Of course, we’d be thrilled if you ended up with Malachi and that would be extra viewership, but you’re fun enough that you’d make a great show all on your own.”
I snorted with laughter. “Doing what? Believe me, when I’m not battling old high school nemeses or sparring with ex-fiancés, my life is not that fascinating. I teach teenagers. I mentor teenagers. I hang around with my friends and family. I sit at home and watch documentaries on the History Channel. I am not sexy. Truly.”
Bliss shook her head. “We disagree. But take some time to think about it. Think of the exposure for you and the community. You don’t have to decide right now.”
“All right, then. Thank you. No offense, but I hope not to see you for the next few days.”
“Understood. Have a great long weekend.”
I fled that production office like the hounds of hell were on my heels. The last damn thing I needed was more exposure. I wanted to lose another twenty or thirty pounds and then slink back into semi-obscurity. I still couldn’t understand what it was about me basically bitching and moaning my way through this process that was engaging. But somehow, I had managed to snag the attention of the network. Apparently my pain was everybody else’s damn entertainment.
I was tempted to pull a Gladiator during the next confessional and hurl a knife at the audience while screaming, “Are you not entertained? Are you not entertained?” Let’s see how that plays with the focus group. Shall we?
Giggling to myself, I grabbed my purse, keys, and laptop bag and practically skipped to my car. XJ, Suzette, Niecy, Jordy, and Mal had cleared out the minute the panel was over, so I didn’t have to say any good-byes to anyone.
Settling in my one concession to vanity, the Benz, I headed home with a smile. I considered the car to be my “thanks for playing” parting gift. I loved this car. It drove like a dream and never gave me a moment’s drama. Unlike its rightful owner.
Speak of the devil. As I pulled into my driveway, I noticed several parked cars, Mal’s included. So much for getting some alone time to dance around in my bathrobe sans jiggle worries.
I waltzed in the front door. My mom, Ruby, and Renard were sitting in the long living room on my sectional with Mal, Meshach, and Niecy. Lounging nearby were Pierre and Mal’s parents, Henry and Val.
“Hi, everybody,” I called out. “Am I having a party and didn’t realize it?” Through the doorway, I saw Sugar, Middle Mike, Tay, and Mac in the kitchen. Something smelled amazing and not the least bit fat free.
“We just wanted a quick get-together to check on you and Mal,” Eloise said.
“So you thought you’d come over and cook things I’m not allowed to eat?” I joked.
Valentine laughed as she got up to give me a hug. “We wouldn’t do that to you, baby. Ruby has been working on approved recipes with Hannah and we think we’ve come up with one or two that you’ll like. You look wonderful by the way, dear.” She patted me on the arm.
I glanced down. The dreaded yoga pant tank top outfit wasn’t as tight as before, but I still had a long way to go.
“She always looks good,” Meshach said with a smile in his brother’s direction. “Isn’t that right, Mal?”
Mal’s eyes tracked up and down my body. “I wouldn’t kick her out of bed. Then again, I never did.”
I gasped. “Malachi Henry! There are parental units in the room!” So embarrassing.
Henry guffawed. “Baby girl, how do you think we became parental units?”
Ruby threw up her hands. “We’ve entered the oversharing zone.”
“Most definitely,” I agreed and strode into the kitchen. Taylor and Mac were fighting over a large pot of something that bubbled on the stove. As I watched, Tay grabbed the spoon from Mac, he grabbed it back, and when their hands touched, they both froze before pretending like nothing happened. I held back a sigh. Could the two of them fall naked on top of each other already? Sugar was pulling some wheat rolls out of the oven and Middle Mike was stirring up his infamous party punch. No one knew exactly what was in that stuff, but it had five different types of liquor and “mystery” juices. I never attempted more than two small glasses of the stuff at a time.
Mal came in behind me and settled his hands on my shoulders. “What part of this meal are we allowed to eat?”
Taylor grinned. “This is guilt-free étouffée with brown rice and roasted veggies. If you limit yourself to half a wholegrain roll with the butter spread, you’re clear. Everything here has been inspected and blessed by your Bod Squad.”
Mac piped up. “By the way, the bod is starting to look right, Cari.”
“How many men in this town are checking out your bod?” Mal asked in an exasperated tone of voice.
I wasn’t going there with him. “I have no clue, but no doubt after this first episode airs on Sunday, the number will be going up,” I replied cheekily. “Are we not to speak of the Mal Knight groupies that have started to show up on set?”
Mal shrugged. “I pretend not to notice.”
Pierre walked in. “Speaking of groupies . . . Cari, are you going to tell everybody about the offer you got today?”
I forgot Pierre was my agent too and had obviously already received word of the network’s offer. Before this damn show, I hadn’t needed or wanted an agent.
Sugar stopped in the process of setting the long table. “Girl, you holding out. What’s up?”
I waited for everyone to file into the kitchen before I spoke. “Well, apparently, Malachi and I are a hit.” Pierre sent me a look. “Okay, apparently I’m a hit,” I amended. “And the chemistry between me and Mal is an audience draw. They want me to do promotion shoots. Film extra scenes around town with me and all of you fine people.”
“And?” Pierre prompted.
I sighed. “And they offered me a reality show of my own after Losing to Win wraps.”
Niecy flung back her head and laughed. “How much do you hate the idea?”
“More than life itself. I’ll do the extra scenes and the promos, but my life as a ‘reality show chick’?” I punctuated with air quotes. “That ends with this show.”
Mal grinned. “Are you sure? You’re really good at it. I’ve seen some of the dailies. The camera loves you and you have a comic timing that works.”
I shot him a look. “I’m positive, Malachi. You’re the one headed for the bright lights. I just live in the shadows, remember?” Oops. That slid out before I could self-edit.
The whole room fell silent in the wake of the verbal jab. Mal put his hands up and backed away, turning to place napkins on the table. Dammit, now I felt bad. Clearly there were a few things I was still sensitive about from our past, but now was neither the time nor the place to zing him with it. Glancing at his crestfallen face gave me a moment’s shame. Now I’d hurt his feelings.
There was too much going on, too much happening, and I felt like I was being pushed and pulled in a bunch of different directions. Hell, I was just tired. I needed to eat, I needed to sleep, an
d I needed to think. No need to skewer Mal over things he had already apologized for. “I’m sorry, Mal—everybody. I’m just over all of this. I’m ready for my life to get back to normal.”
Mom brushed my hair back from my face. “Baby, who’s to say what normal is now? All the businesses benefitting from this show . . . By the time they finish, there will be a new normal around here. Maybe for you too. Even if you don’t do the next show, don’t close yourself off to whatever the future has in store for you.”
She slid her arms around me and I snuggled into her hold. “Thanks, Mommy, you’re right.”
Mike raised the pitcher of mystery punch up high. “Well, I always say it ain’t a party until someone starts telling the truth. Now it’s a party! Let’s get it started, cuz.” He poured some red liquid into a glass and handed it to me. I took it and walked it over to Mal.
I held it out to him. “Apology . . .”
“. . . accepted.” It was how we used to apologize to each other before there were really serious things to be sorry about.
Someone passed me a glass and we all raised them up. Meshach spoke first. “To friends and fam. Always.”
“Always,” we echoed.
15
I reckon I know just enough to be dangerous
Malachi—Saturday, July 2—8:05 a.m.
It was already ninety-four degrees in the shade on my old high school football field. It was early, I shouldn’t have had more than one glass of Middle Mike’s mystery punch last night, and my boys were of no help to me. Pierre, Burke, and Meshach stood on the sidelines, sipping iced coffee beverages while watching me running backward to the twenty-yard line, up to midfield, sideways toward the bench, and then back to the thirty.
“The knee looks good,” Burke said.
“Yep,” Meshach agreed.
“Not bad at all,” Pierre cosigned.
“Any one of you bums care to step onto the field and toss me a few balls or are you just going to watch me sweat for the next thirty minutes?”
“You mean for the next hour, doncha, son?” a familiar voice called out from the opposite end zone. Looking up I saw my dad coming across the field with my high school coach.
“Coach Robinette!” I jogged over and embraced the tall, broad-shouldered, graying man with a booming voice and personality to match. “What brings you out here?”
Earl Raymond Robinette, Earl Ray to his friends, had been coaching high school football in Belle Haven for over twenty-five years. He was like a second father to me. The day after I got hurt, he’d shown up at my door in Houston and said, “Let’s talk about what comes next for you.” He was the first person to tell me that I should attempt a comeback. I hadn’t been ready to hear it then, but I was damn glad he’d made the suggestion and happy as hell to see him here today.
“Now boy, we can’t have you out here half-assing your comeback. The pride of Belle Haven is at stake. I heard you’ve been trying to train on your own and that just won’t do.”
“I don’t want to put anyone out.” Actually I did. I really did need and want the help.
“C’mon now. We go too far back for all of that.” He turned to the side and blew a whistle. Five guys came running out onto the field. “Now these are some of my fellas. Dixon here is at LSU now, Riley is at Auburn, Joe is still in high school even though he’s as big as a barn, and I believe you know these two fellas.” The last two guys were NFL players: Lee played one year with the Stars before finishing his career in Seattle, and Corey and I had played against each other in more games than I could count. He was an All-Pro cornerback in San Diego. We slapped each other on the back and I high-fived the other guys.
“I appreciate this, fellas—I really do. I’ve got this one last shot and you know—”
“—it’s all or nothing,” Lee finished, nodding his head. “Man, if I had a shot to go back and play, even if one more game?”
One of the young guys said, “Hey, I just wanna get there.”
From around the side of the field came some of the production staff from Losing to Win, along with my mom and some other folks from town. Someone brought out a few coolers and it looked like a portable grill was being set up. You had to love Belle Haven. Everything was an excuse for a community get-together.
“This is awesome,” the high school kid who was built like the side of a barn said. “Think they’ll grill some ribs?”
“I’m not allowed ribs,” I mumbled grouchily.
“Man, that’s harsh!” Corey said. “One rib ain’t gonna kill ya.”
“You’re telling me?” Even before I finished speaking, I noticed Darcy, the personal trainer from hell, bounding out of the locker area heading toward us.
Coach Robinette blew his whistle. “You ladies can form a knitting circle later. Let’s get some work done. Meshach Knight?”
“Yes, sir?” my brother answered from the sidelines.
“You suit up and get your ass out here on this field. You still know how to throw a decent spiral, doncha?” Meshach had played quarterback for two years of college before he decided he was happier in a law library. I couldn’t hide my amusement as he resignedly set down his fancy mocha-choco-latte-whatever and headed to the locker room. “Burke Bisset, you get over here and set these cones out, two by two. I know you remember the drill. When you finish that, go on ahead and grab a stopwatch.”
Burke had also played high school football under Coach Robinette. He shook his head and stepped forward with swiftness. “Yes, sir.”
“And who is Fancy Pants?” Coach asked, pointing at Pierre, who did look might fancy in some severely pressed linen pants.
“That’s my agent and business manager, Pierre Picard.” I introduced him with a smirk.
“Picard, you too fancy to record some stats?”
With a deep sigh of the beleaguered, Pierre trotted out onto the field and took one of the clipboards from Coach Robinette.
Coach looked him up and down. “Do you know football, son, or are you only good with facts and figures?”
Pierre shot me a look clearly indicating he was not appreciating the verbal shellacking. He answered politely. “I reckon I know just enough to be dangerous. Are you going to start with warm-up and flexibility or go straight to agility and speed drills?”
Coach gave him approving nod. “You’ll do, Mr. Fancy.”
Meshach walked onto the field in some training gear. He knelt down and retied his shoelace. Then he paused to check out the assortment of Gatorade in one of the coolers.
Coach looked at my dad. “I know you didn’t raise any lol-lygaggers, Henry.”
“Step to, Meshach—daylight’s burning!” Henry hollered.
If looks could kill, the look Meshach sent me would have struck me down immediately. If I could have gotten away with falling down on the field to roll around laughing, I surely would have.
The whistle blew twice to signal the start of practice. “Line up along the forty-yard line, men. We’re going start with flexibility and then go straight into dip and slip, followed by quick foot fire cones. I don’t wanna hear any moaning and groaning. First one to slow us down earns wind sprints for the lot of you. Let’s go!”
Two hours, multiple drills, and three sets of wind sprints later, I dragged my tired body toward the showers. Even though I was dog tired, for the first time I actually felt like I was going to make it back.
“Mal,” Earl Ray called out to me. I almost wept at the interruption, I was so eager to get under that hot spray of water.
“Yeah, Coach?”
“You look good out there. Another four to six weeks and you’ll be back at peak level. Your speed is almost there. Plus you’re smarter now. You’ve started playing with your head instead of putting your body on the line for every play. Your hands are good.”
“Aw, thanks, Coach.” Hearing his validation pumped me up. I was really doing this.
“Don’t thank me yet. Your footwork is sloppy and your timing is off and you still take it perso
nally when someone hits you. You ran a slant when it should have been an out, you ran post instead of skinny post. We’ve got work to do yet. I’ll be out here with you every Saturday until you’re ready to go.”
“I feel like I should pay you and the guys something for your time,” I offered.
“Boy, please—can you not tell when people are having the time of their lives? This here television show kicked in for the supplies. And with the money this little show is bringing in, we’re happy to help out.” He slapped me on the back. “You just get back out there and make us proud, that’ll be payment enough.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll do my best.”
“You do that.” He nodded and walked away.
I turned back toward the showers.
“Malachi Henry!” my dad’s voice called out. Was I never going to get that shower?
“What’s up, Dad?”
“I didn’t see your girl out here, cheering you on. What’s that about?”
I knew who he was talking about, but I wasn’t going there with him right now. “I don’t have a girl, Dad.”
“You sure as hell do and you better do something to lock that woman down before someone swoops in and snatches her from right underneath your nose. I hear things, you know. There’s another fox in the henhouse and he’s angling for your chick. You might want to step your game up.” He wagged his finger at me.
Having my father preach to me about foxes and hens while telling me to step my game up was for sure going down as one of my least favorite moments in a summer filled with moments I didn’t care to repeat. Anyway, I was not chasing Carissa Wayne. I had made it clear I wanted her; the next move was hers. “If she wants me, she knows where I am.”
He barked out a laugh. “Ha! That hard-to-get shit only works if you don’t give a damn. And you, Mal? You definitely give a damn. Life is short. Football or no football, that’s a good woman. You’re not gonna find another like her and you know it.”
Losing to Win Page 12