Basketball Jones Read online

  The first three years in Atlanta were like heaven.

  Then she came along and everything changed.

  The straight club scene in Atlanta bored me and the gay one didn’t do much for me either. So I didn’t mind when Dray went to the clubs and strip bars with his teammates. To me it was part of his job. But when one of his teammates suggested that I might be more than his interior designer/stylist, Dray went on a tear to find women. And trust me, the ladies were waiting.

  At first he dated a couple of ghetto-fabulous sisters and some plain ghetto girls but got tired of them easily. I knew there was something different when he told me he’d met this young lady at a club in Miami after a road game there. He talked about how smart and beautiful she was and how much she knew about sports. Judi Ledbetter gave Dray the appearance of a socialite but sounded to me like a shrewd gold digger who gave good head, for a female, that is. I guess everybody is good at something.

  I imagined her being like the ladies I sometimes saw in tony restaurants enjoying liquid lunches, and having flings with their well-built trainers. I had no proof this was the case with Judi, but it was my secret wish.

  Before I knew it, she was doing some of the things Dray had depended on me to do for him, like buying his clothes, planning his vacations, and advising him on what products he should endorse. The difference between her advice and mine was that she did it with a feminine flair, whereas I always presented my advice as one of his bois telling him what was cool. I hadn’t grown up in the lifestyle Dray and I were now living, but I’d done my homework to keep my head above water. I pored over style magazines like GQ and Esquire. I watched the Fine Living channel daily. I was constantly reading InStyle and Architectural Digest. My design background came in handy when I talked with the builders of Dray’s condo about crown molding, marble, and built-in bookshelves. When he built his first house it was I who suggested the indoor pool and the basketball and tennis courts.

  As far as I was concerned, nothing seemed to change between Dray and me after he met Judi. I still saw him four to five times a week. But, unbeknownst to me, Dray had other plans that would cause things to change a bit. I showed no reaction when he announced that he was marrying Judi in what was to be one of the biggest weddings Miami’s Star Island had ever seen. I’d seen it coming and told myself that I’d hold it together when he broke the news. I wanted to show him I could take care of myself. Needless to say, I didn’t attend. Instead I spent the entire month of June touring Europe on Dray’s dime so I didn’t have to endure all the press attention their nuptials captured.

  When he bought a mansion in Country Club Hills, my design input went unsolicited. Dray had to know my feelings were hurt, so he moved me out of my town house into a bigger house with a pool in Brookhaven and bought me a new Porsche. This didn’t make me feel much better but I took his gifts anyway. If buying me a house and car made Dray happy, then that made me happy. Judi was none the wiser. I understood that Dray needed to be married or have a steady girlfriend to enhance his career with the Hawks and endorsers like Nike, Sean John, and Gatorade. I didn’t like it but I understood. During his third year in the league, Dray was right behind Shaq, Kobe, and LeBron when it came to product endorsements. In his fourth year he was still a popular pitch man.

  There was also the matter of his family, who had been pressuring him to marry. Dray came from a big family with three brothers and three sisters, who were now living in a slew of mansions Dray had built between Vicksburg and Jackson, Mississippi. His father, Henry, had quit his job as a construction worker and came to almost as many games as I attended, but I was never introduced to him or any of Dray’s family. From what Dray told me, they were a close-knit bunch, but very country and conservative when it came to certain things. I translated that to mean that they wouldn’t be too happy about our relationship.

  My family, on the other hand, was a lot different. I’d been raised by a single mom in the small town of Burlington, North Carolina. My biological father left when I was six years old and I don’t remember that much about him. Mama eventually started dating a guy who I called “Mr. Danny.” I liked him, but he made Mama cry a lot and disappeared when he got Mama pregnant, and she found out he hadn’t divorced his first wife. I loved Mama and would do anything in the world for her, because she made sure we always had food on the table and a roof over our heads.

  As Dray made life more and more comfortable for me, I could take care of Mama and my fifteen-year-old sister, the beautiful Bella Lynn. With Dray’s money I bought them a house in a nice neighborhood right outside Raleigh and paid the tuition for Bella, who was a budding ballet dancer at the North Carolina School of Ballet. I was already planning a sweet-sixteen party for her, which I hoped would rival some of the parties Bella and I watched on MTV.

  My mother didn’t know about Dray or where all the money came from, and just figured I was doing well with my career. I assumed she knew I was gay because Mama never asked me about girls or who I was dating, only stating one day very casually, “I just want you to be happy, baby. With whomever you choose.”

  About three months ago Dray said casually, after an evening of food, wine, and great sex, that I was moving to New Orleans. Just like that. He told me he’d found me a gorgeous two-story town house with a wrought-iron fence and a luscious garden and I was closing on it soon. When I asked why, he told me he asked the Atlanta Hawks for a trade because Judi didn’t think pretty white girls were appreciated in Atlanta. She wanted to go to Denver or Los Angeles, but the Hawks got the last laugh by trading him to the New Orleans Hornets. Now Dray was on a team that, after Hurricane Katrina, didn’t have a place to call home and spent two seasons in Oklahoma City.

  So without further discussion I moved to New Orleans. A couple of days after Dray was traded, two burly Mexican guys showed up at my home to pack my belongings. Things were hap-pening so fast, I almost let the movers pack my personal journals, which I protected like the Kentucky Fried Chicken recipe.

  After a week in the New Orleans Ritz-Carlton, I moved into a refurbished town house in the middle of the famed French Quarter, now a resident of the rebuilding Crescent City.

  I was getting ready to go out and explore my new neighborhood when the cell phone beeped, indicating I had a text message. It was the phone that only Dray called me on. “Got some free time. C u in 30.”

  I took off the jeans and polo shirt I was wearing and jumped in the shower for the second time that day. There were a few things I knew Dray liked without his ever telling me. He was a neat freak and personal hygiene was paramount. Dray always smelled good and kept his nails clipped and manicured. I knew he expected the same from me.

  When I wore something he liked seeing me in, Dray would say, “You look nice in those jeans, AJ.” I would make a mental note and buy several more.

  After I got out of the shower, I covered my body with cocoa butter, then applied capsules of pure vitamin E to the few blemishes on my face. I looked at my abs and realized that they weren’t as tight as they had been when I lived in Atlanta and worked out with a trainer four times a week. The one thing that I loved about New Orleans—the food—was already showing up on my lean but muscular five-foot-eight, 162-pound body with a booty like two soccer balls tied together. When I hired an assistant, the first task would be to have him find me a trainer so I could get back to the size I was when I competed in college gymnastics. I really didn’t need a full-time assistant, but I’d heard a lot of young black men and kids in general were left unemployed in New Orleans after Katrina, so I made up my mind to hire someone who could help me adjust to the city and run errands for me. This would allow me to volunteer for one of the several organizations trying to bring the city back to its former self. I was really interested in Brad Pitt’s Make It Right Foundation, which was building low-cost housing in the historic Ninth Ward.

  Instead of putting my jeans back on, I threw on a pair of gray warm-ups that I knew Dray liked (without underwear) and a pink T-shirt. Now, it wasn
’t like Dray and I made love every time we saw each other; it had been two weeks since we’d put it down. I’d missed his smell and big hands caressing my head and ass.

  I was still upstairs in my bedroom looking for a pair of sneakers when I heard the security bell. I looked at the alarm panel in the bedroom, which told me the back door had been opened. Dray had arrived. And not a moment too soon, I thought, as I quickly removed the greasy vitamin E from my face and replaced it with moisturizer.

  “I needed that.” Dray sighed as he playfully pushed me off him.

  I caught my breath and said, “You? I needed it more.”

  For a few moments, we lay in the bed in silence. I always loved these moments when the two of us would lie in bed in absolute solitude.

  “What are you going to do with the rest of your day?” Dray asked.

  “I’m going to meet a lady who heads up Brad Pitt’s foundation here. I think they might be able to use some of my skills with the houses they are building.”

  “That’s cool. AJ, you’re a smart man. You’d be a big help to them.”

  “I hope so.”

  “So you like this place?” he asked, looking around my master suite.

  “It’s okay. There are still a few things I need to do.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know if I like the color in this room. The yellow might be too pale,” I said.

  “It’s calming,” Dray said, snuggling closer to me, his arms tightening around my waist.

  I quickly tried to pull back, hoping he hadn’t noticed I’d picked up a few pounds.

  “Don’t do that,” I said.

  “What? Hold you? Or don’t you think I noticed you put on a little weight?” He laughed. “AJ, I notice everything. But it’s going to all the right places. And that’s real talk, ba-bee.”

  “I’m going to hire a trainer,” I said decisively. Even though we never talked about it, I knew Dray wanted me in top shape. I wanted to be in top shape too. It was one of those funny things about our relationship; we seldom said, “I need you to look good” or even “I love you,” which I was sure he told Judi every day. Girls needed to hear that, but I told myself I didn’t. All that mattered was that I knew Dray loved me, whether he actually told me or not. I just wish he kissed me more often.

  “That’s what’s up,” Dray continued. “I got a cousin who lives down here that used to train me. Mainly we just shot hoops. If you want I’ll ask around and find you someone good.”

  “Don’t worry about it, I’ll find somebody. I know you’re busy getting settled in your new house.” Judi sprang to mind and I was hit by a wave of jealousy, but I didn’t let Dray know. “How is it coming?”

  “It’s fine. Judi’s like you, she’s great at all that shit. When she’s finished and goes back to Atlanta to close up the old house, I’ll take you out to see the new one,” he said. Dray’s phone rang and he looked at it, then answered. I was lying so close to him that I knew from the look on his face that it was most likely his wife.

  “What’s up, babe? You miss me? Of course I miss you, J-Love.” He smiled at me and winked, and then I heard him say, “If that’s what you want, Judi, then get it. You know I’m not worried about how much it costs. Love you too, J-Love.” J-Love? So that’s what he called her. Dray may have thought it was cute, but it made me want to throw up.

  He clicked off his phone and then looked at me and asked what we were saying before his phone interrupted our conversation.

  I felt slighted but didn’t want Dray to know, so I replied offhandedly, “I was just saying, you know, I’m here if you need me.”

  “I know you’re here for me always. I ‘preciate that, Aldridge Richardson,” Dray said.

  “I know,” I answered softly, suddenly wishing I could hold back my tears and hear that every day of my life.

  With Dray’s birthday less than a week away, I still hadn’t bought him anything and knew it was time to get busy. I’d thought that by coming to the Canal Place mall on a late Tuesday afternoon I’d practically have the place to myself. Even though I’d been in New Orleans for only a short time, I knew better than to try this place on weekends. Anyone who says the city won’t ever be the same after Katrina hasn’t been to Canal Place on Saturday. I made that mistake my first weekend there. It was as jammed as Times Square on New Year’s Eve. Still, weekdays also brought their fair share of shoppers, I discovered as I circled the parking garage for a space.

  I’d seen an ad for Saks in the Sunday paper mentioning a special line of skin-care products for men that I used on Dray when we lived in Atlanta, and I figured that would be one of the gifts I could get him quickly and get back home in time to catch the Tyra Banks show.

  I sometimes wondered what Dray would do if I weren’t around—who’d buy him the hippest fashions and all the other odds and ends that kept him looking like a male model. Well, I guess Judi would look after him. She already did, from what I could see from the new shirts he’d been showing up in. More Ralph Lauren Purple Label and less Sean John. They weren’t entirely his style and were usually the wrong colors for the time of year, but then I didn’t expect she’d ever know him or his clothes the way I did. When I casually commented on the new shirts, Dray became self-conscious and tried to play it down. He told me he’d had them awhile, just hadn’t worn them out before. I just smiled to myself and went along.

  For a big pro basketball player who towered over any room he walked into, Dray sure could act the part of the little boy when it came to his birthday. I chalked this up to having parents who, despite their meager means, never tired of finding new ways to spoil their children. He loved surprises, loved me coming up with them. Didn’t matter what. Dray liked not only expensive items like clothes or the latest gadgets, but silly stuff like the basketball-attired teddy bear I ordered from a company in Vermont. It wasn’t about the price tag but the gesture. I will never forget the first time I bought the skin-care products and then set up the bathroom like it was a spa. I led him into the bathroom, sat him down, and gave him his first facial ever. He loved it.

  Like most people who soak up attention, he wasn’t always big on returning it. I don’t mean I ever doubted his feelings for me; just the opposite—I always knew he loved me even if it was seldom expressed in so many words. Apart from the mind-blowing sex, there was Dray’s romantic streak, which admittedly leaned toward the obvious and unimaginative, like store-bought flowers once on my birthday.

  I have to say there were moments in the beginning where his need to be adored exhausted me. I thought, “Damn, how about throwing a bone my way. Make me feel special for a change.” But most of the time I got a charge out of our dynamic. I loved taking care of him. I guess that came from my mom, who loved my sister and me more than anything in the world and made sure we knew it. A lifetime of unconditional love had to have rubbed off. I suppose this helps explain why I put up with Dray in departments that frustrated the hell out of me and would have sent any sane person bouncing out the door.

  Opening the heavy double-glass doors of Saks Fifth Avenue, I stepped into the silver light of the fragrance department. The elegant room with its soft music, floor-to-ceiling mirrors, and smartly made-up women and men behind brightly lit sales counters looked like every other fragrance department I’d ever seen, but I felt an immediate sensation of well-being.

  I’ll admit it: I’m shameless when it comes to grooming. I could spend all day sampling colognes and lotions, testing one after another until the clerk finally would have to ask me to buy something or leave. Fortunately it never came to that. I’d promised myself that for once I wasn’t going to get caught up. I was there to shop for Dray, and as soon as I had his gift I was done.

  Passing the John Varvatos display of facial scrubs and skin cleansers, I was reminded how much Dray loved the Varvatos shirts I’d given him for Christmas. A tall, slim man wearing wire glasses greeted me as I approached the sales counter. There was no question the guy was gay, but the pink handkerch
ief tucked into his navy suit pocket was a classy touch that set him apart from the other queens working the floor. I asked to sample the aftershave lotion, which he opened for me. I dabbed a little onto the back of my palm and then lifted my hand to my nose, surprised by the pleasantly clean scent. The clerk insisted I try the matching fragrance. I took another sniff and for a moment was lost in thought at the picture of Dray curling up in bed with me while wearing his new cologne.

  “Very nice,” I said. “It’s for a friend,” I added, but wasn’t sure why.

  “Sure it is.” The clerk grinned knowingly, then turned to his left to show me a gift box set that included the complete line of Varvatos skin-care products and scents.

  I looked at him and wondered if he was trying to read me and if I was going to have to put him in his place.

  Just as he handed me the box for inspection, two well-tailored women appeared directly in front of me on the other side of the counter. One was a blonde in an orange print blouse. She wore her hair up and was talking avidly to a younger woman, who I could tell right away was a less-polished carbon copy. The woman seemed to be listening so intently she might as well have been taking dictation. Right away they reminded me of the wives of ballplayers. In fact I only noticed the pair because the first blonde mentioned the Hornets in a voice so loud you could have heard her across a football field. I was used to that. Ballplayers’ wives often dropped their husband’s name as if it were a solid gold bar, which for them it almost was.