Basketball Jones Read online

  The living room was decorated with traditional furnishing and a fireplace was roaring while soft music played, but there was no sign of Dray. I noticed a half-finished bottle of champagne and some chocolate-covered strawberries on the bar. I walked over and saw a “welcome to the hotel” note addressed to Dray and poured myself some champagne. It was sweet and not flat, leading me to guess it hadn’t been open long.

  I grabbed my products bag from my suitcase, went into the bathroom, and brushed my teeth and took off my clothes, leaving my T-shirt and underwear on the floor. Then I walked into the large master bedroom. There I found Dray sprawled out on the bed, his back turned toward me. He was sound asleep. I crawled into the king-sized bed as quietly as I could and began to look for the remote so that I could turn off the television.

  Just as I settled into my spot in bed, I felt Dray’s huge hands wrap around my waist and pull me close to him in the spoon position. Since he wasn’t usually a cuddler, I was going to enjoy this.

  “You made it,” he said, kissing me on my ears and neck. Dray wasn’t wearing underwear and the warmth of his body soothed me. “I’m so glad you’re here, AJ. You’re not mad at me, are you?”

  “For what?” I asked.

  “Making you cancel your meeting and your trip to see your family.”

  “No, I’m cool. I called the foundation and they said I could come in when I get back. I’ll see Mama and Bella another weekend.”

  “Cool, boi.”

  “Oh, I forgot. Happy birthday, Dray.”

  He looked at the clock and then back at me and said, “Yeah, it is my birthday. Where are my gifts?” He smiled expectantly.

  “Why don’t we wait until tomorrow?”

  “That’s cool. I already know I’m getting an iPhone.”

  “You do? How do you know that?”

  “Because I know you and I know you know I love gadgets.”

  “Maybe your wife will get you one,” I said, half teasingly.

  “No, she already gave me my gifts before I came out here. She bought me a watch, some shirts, and that skin-care stuff you give me facials with.”

  I’d debated whether to tell Dray I’d run into Judi. I didn’t want to trip him out but at the same time I wanted him to know. Since he brought it up, I went ahead.

  “I know,” I said quietly.

  “How do you know that?”

  “I saw her buy it.”

  “You did?” Suddenly he was wide awake.

  “Yeah, she was with some other lady and I was in the store getting ready to buy you that skin-care package. But Judi beat me to the punch. I felt kinda silly.”

  “Why, baby boi?”

  “I don’t know. I just did. But don’t worry. I didn’t say anything to her and avoided eye contact.”

  “AJ, you could have gotten it for me and just kept it at your house. Do you think she saw you?”

  “She didn’t even look in my direction.”

  “I’m surprised she didn’t remember you from the party,” Dray said.

  “What party?”

  “Remember the one the Hawks owner gave and you came? She was there. I know you saw her.”

  “Oh yeah, but remember you didn’t introduce us,” I teased.

  “I didn’t think you wanted to meet her.”

  “That was cool. So how was camp today?”

  “It was cool, but they are working my ass off. Still need to get that free-throw mojo working again.”

  “It will happen, babe. You’ll get it back,” I said, stroking his chest.

  “You ready for da business?”

  “Yes, babe.”

  “So when do I get my birthday kiss?”

  “Now, and as many as you want.” I kissed Dray deeply and he held me tightly. This was going to be a great couple of days, I thought, suddenly very happy Dray had made me cancel my trip home.

  Then he nudged his head into my neck and the next thing I heard was Dray’s snoring. Da business would have to wait for another night.

  When I woke up, Dray had already left for camp. There was a note in the bathroom telling me he’d be back around six and to get ready for a special night. In anticipation I did the Hollywood wives thing, big time.

  The weather in Beverly Hills was magazine-cover perfect, with a warm breeze. I had breakfast on the terrace by the pool and was going to call the chatty limo driver to take me shopping, but the hotel concierge offered me their driver. I was taken to Rodeo Drive, where I went into several trendy shops, including my favorite, Gucci. After a couple of hours, I purchased a pair of sheer black briefs with a matching undershirt that I knew would blow some blood to Dray’s dick later that evening. I bought Dray five Italian shirts we couldn’t get in New Orleans and a couple of knit shirts to wear with jeans. I even found a couple of pairs of size-thirteen sneakers I knew he didn’t own. I loved buying clothes for him, even though technically I was spending his money. It made me feel even closer to him.

  After a late lunch with two glasses of wine at a steakhouse on Robertson Boulevard, I called the driver to come and take me back to the hotel. I had to get ready for my special evening with Dray.

  When I got back to the hotel, the bellman took my shopping bags and promised to send them to the villa. I walked through the lobby empty-handed, noticing several women, both black and white, enjoying high tea in front of a huge fireplace.

  I reached the villa and was a little surprised to find the DO NOT DISTURB light on, but figured it was a mistake. I placed my key in the slot but instead of the green light going off, a faint yellow light in the middle flashed. I double-checked to make sure that I was at villa 8 and then I tried it again, but got the same result.

  Maybe one of my credit cards had demagnetized the card key when I put it in my wallet. I went back to the lobby to get another key.

  A petite desk clerk with brunette hair wound into a tight bun smiled from behind the front desk.

  “Something is wrong with my key,” I said, handing her the card.

  “Sorry about that, sir. What’s your room number?”

  “I’m in villa eight.”

  “May I see some form of identification?”

  “Sure.” I pulled out my driver’s license.

  She looked at it and then punched in a few keys on her computer. Something was wrong. She looked puzzled and said, “Sorry, sir, but are you sure you’re in villa eight?”

  “Yes, I am sure,” I answered with confidence.

  “Then there must be some mistake. This villa is in the name of Mr. and Mrs. Drayton Jones. I know that’s right—I checked in Mr. Jones yesterday and gave a key to his wife a few hours ago. I remember him because he was so tall.”

  “His wife? Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. We chatted about the huge pink diamond she was wearing. She told me it was a gift from her husband and that they were out here celebrating some big news and her husband’s birthday. She was so happy and excited.”

  I was at a loss for words and for a moment just stood there in silence. At first I was embarrassed. I must have looked like a fool trying to get in a room I obviously now didn’t belong in. Then I got mad wondering what Judi’s ass was doing out here. How could Dray do this to me?

  Did he know about this? And if so, what kind of sick game was he playing with me? I was beginning to wonder just how long I could play this secret-lover bullshit now that Judi was in the picture. It was okay when I was the only one and we were just keeping our secret from his teammates.

  Just as I was about to ask if there were any vacancies, I noticed the bellman out of the side of my eye. He had placed my packages on a cart and was getting ready to take them to the villa.

  “Excuse me. Are those going to villa eight?”

  He looked at the claim tags and said, “Yes, sir. These are for Mr. Richardson.”

  “I’m Mr. Richardson. I might be changing rooms. Can you just hold them for a second?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I asked the desk clerk for a new room, but after tapping on her computer for what seemed like an eternity, she looked up and said flatly, “I’m sorry, Mr. Richardson, but we’re completely sold out.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yes, sir. We are completely full. If you like I can check some other hotels. The Beverly Hilton right nearby might have rooms available. Would you like me to check?”

  I wanted to strangle Dray for sticking me in this mess. Here I was, miles from home, looking like a country fool.

  “Give me a few minutes.” I went into the dimly lit bar off the lobby and pulled out my phone. I didn’t have any new messages. Dray hadn’t called so I dialed his number. It went straight to voice mail, which meant he was either on the line or it was shut off. I bet he had shut it off the minute Judi arrived. So I sent him a text, telling him to call me immediately. I sat down at the bar and ordered a club soda while I waited.

  Thirty minutes later, only my thirst had been quenched, so I called again. No answer. I sent another text. Minutes passed and still nothing. What was I going to do? Heading to the villa wasn’t an option. Making a scene wasn’t the way I rolled and Dray knew that. I would never serve up a confrontation in front of his wife. I didn’t ever let on when I was jealous of Judi. I knew I couldn’t beat her if I did the same dumb things Dray told me Judi sometimes did to get his attention, like crying or throwing a tactless tantrum.

  The bartender approached. “Would you like another club soda or maybe something stronger? You look stressed.”

  “What?” I was so lost in my thoughts I hadn’t noticed him.

  “Would you like another drink?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “Okay, just let me know.”

  “I will. Thanks.”

  I sat there feeling c
ompletely alone, knowing no one and not having a clue what to do next. What had Dray done with the few items of clothing I’d brought for the trip? Would I wait for Dray’s call or just take my ass back to New Orleans?

  Just as I walked out of the bar, my cell phone rang. Maybe this was Dray and if it was, I was ready to let him have it.

  “Hello,” I said, more as a challenge than a greeting.

  “Dude, I’m sorry ‘bout this. I had no idea she was coming,” Dray whispered in a low and serious voice.

  “What the fuck is going on?”

  “It ain’t happening. You need to go back to New Orleans.”

  “What?” I yelled. An elderly white couple turned in my direction, but I didn’t give a damn who heard me. “Like that I’m supposed to turn around and leave just because your wife shows up?”

  “Look, AJ, stop trippin’ and do like I said. I’ll make this up to you. I gotta run. She’s just turned off the shower.”

  Click.

  What the fuck?

  Three hours later I boarded a flight to New Orleans, having cleared standby with a coach seat at the last minute. No first-class ticket and no magical night with Dray. I was pissed as fuck and was going to let Dray know when I saw him next.

  The plane was packed with passengers, including what looked like fifty high school cheerleaders returning from some sort of competition. When I finally reached my row toward the back of the plane, I realized I had a middle seat. Sitting by the window was a young black guy shaking his head with an iPod in his hand. He didn’t pay any attention as I sat down.

  Just as the plane was beginning to taxi, a white girl who sorta favored Dray’s wife sat down right next to me. She smiled with teeth so white she could have lit up a lighthouse. After she had placed her bags in the overhead compartment and under the seat, she let out a loud sigh. “Looks like we got a full flight.”

  I didn’t respond.

  “So how was your day?” she asked with the concern of a former high school cheerleader.

  Wrong question, lady.

  “Bitch, don’t ask me shit,” I snapped, and I placed the airline-issued earphones into my ears, slipped on my dark shades, and closed my eyes.

  Six

  Sometimes I don’t know if I chose the life I lead or if it chose me. No, I don’t mean the age-old question about whether or not one picks one’s sexual orientation (I know I was born this way), because I’ve always been comfortable with the skin I’m in. I’m talking about the situation I’m in with Dray. Why couldn’t I have picked someone who wanted only to be with me? Why didn’t I meet a man who was man enough to admit who he really was? Could I really be ashamed of being gay but telling myself otherwise?

  Thoughts like these have been running through my head lately. I’ve been back in New Orleans four days and still no word from Dray. Nothing. No calls, texts, or e-mails. When he doesn’t reach out to me like this, I don’t stalk him down, no matter how mad he makes me. Besides knowing that I’ll keep my word about maintaining our secrecy, he needs to know he’s not the center of my world. I’m so used to my situation that I can’t get mad anymore. If I really didn’t like it, I would do something about it. But here’s what I do like: a healthy bank account and a partner who can lay the pipe down. Now that’s real talk. Who was I kidding? I would be with Dray if he drove a bus or collected trash. I loved this man and it was going to take more than a wife for me to give him up completely.

  At times like this, I wish that Dray and I were still back in college when we could be together whenever we wanted. I longed for the days when I had the upper hand and Dray needed me more than I needed him. Back then the two of us didn’t have two nickels to rub together, but we were happy. At least I thought we were.

  Dray used to tell me all the time about the wonderful places we would live and the cities we would visit once he made it to the pros, but I didn’t really believe him. I figured the moment he got that first check from his agent it would be “See you, Aldridge.” But I kept my word and never said anything about our relationship to anyone. Dray greatly valued that I was so loyal to him and so he kept his promises—at least he did back then.

  Tomorrow I have my second workout with Cisco and I’m looking forward to it. Anything to get my mind off Dray. I’ve been lazy the last couple of days, feeling sorry for myself and eating a lot of comfort food like fried chicken and pasta.

  But I’ve got to get over myself quickly. Who is going to feel sorry for me if I’ve got a fat ass? I know the difference between phat and fat.

  “Come on, Aldridge, you can do this,” Cisco said, pushing me to complete the last set of arm curls. I was sweating like a fat man in a plastic suit.

  “How many more?” I asked, almost breathless.

  “Last five. Come on. Five … four … three … two … one. Okay, I’ll take it,” Cisco said, taking the fifteen-pound weights from my hands. “Good job.”

  “Man, you trying to kill me.” I looked around the room for the bottle of water.

  “Just doing my job.” Cisco smiled.

  I located the tall bottle and drank until it was empty. The flat-screen television hanging from the wall showed Michael Vick dressed in a nice blue suit entering a courtroom surrounded by reporters.

  “I think he’s going to jail.” When I lived in Atlanta, what a big fan I was of that handsome quarterback until I met Warrick Dunn, another Falcons player who was really doing something in the community. Every year Warrick built brand-new homes for single moms in the Atlanta area. I was so impressed with his charity that I called his foundation and offered my services gratis. I’m sure Vick had a foundation as well, even though I’d never heard of it. After some persuading I had convinced Dray to start two foundations, one to give back to the community he played for and the other in his hometown in Mississippi. It didn’t take much to make Dray realize the importance of a positive community image for a highly paid athlete, especially one with a secret boyfriend on the side.

  “Who, Vick? They gonna make an example out of that idiot,” Cisco said.

  “I heard he’s got a great lawyer.”

  “Ain’t gonna make a bit of difference ‘cause when the man wants to get a brotha, they get it done.”

  “You think he’ll play again?” I asked as I positioned myself on the mat to begin a series of situps.

  “Yeah, he’ll play, but I bet it won’t be for the Falcons.

  They’re going to drop his ass. I can’t believe he messed up his chance to be the shit of the league over some fucking pit bulls,” Cisco said as we finished the set.

  “Are you going to try out again for the NFL?”

  “It ain’t up to me, because if it was, I sure as hell wouldn’t have my ass back in this shit of a city trying to get a steady gig,” Cisco said with disgust. He pulled a plastic water bottle from his green gym bag.

  “I thought you liked New Orleans.”

  “What’s to like? I was born here. I just knew playing football was going to be my way out of this mutherfucker. Niggas like me would do anything to play in the league and the ones who have the chance to play are fuckin’ it up for everybody else. If they would let me in the league I’d be a model citizen. They would never have to worry ‘bout me doing some dumb shit.”

  “Where would you want to live?”

  “Miami or the ATL.”

  “Atlanta’s nice,” I said.

  “Is that where you were raised?”

  “No, I grew up in North Carolina.”

  “What was that like?”

  “It was cool,” I said. I heard one of my cell phones on the table ring. I looked at the screen and saw that it was Dray calling. I didn’t answer because I was still pissed off at what had happened in Los Angeles. Now that he’d finally decided to call, he’d have to wait for me to get back to him.

  “Are there a lot of black folks in North Carolina?”

  “Some,” I said. Then I heard my other cell phone ring. I looked down and there was Dray’s name flashing on the screen. I guess he must be missing me bad right about now. I wasn’t going to play it slow and easy.

  “Looks like someone is really trying to reach you,” he said, nodding to the phone.

  “Just a friend.”

  “Well, AJ, I’m gonna bounce. You did well today. We’ll step it up a little bit tomorrow.”

  “We working out tomorrow?”