Hot Boyz (2 page)

Mason hadn’t had a drink in years. He glanced over at the minibar, gated and locked, awaiting the green light slide of his room key card. It always seemed to call to him, even after all this time. He shook his head to chase away the thought and picked up the TV remote. He turned on the wide, flat-screen television, lay back along the bed and began to channel surf.

He turned to the music station and heard a song that made him think. He picked up the phone and made a call.

“Mrs. Wilson, your husband is on line two,” announced Mercedes’s assistant.

“Thanks, Vicky.” Mercedes picked up the receiver to her desk phone. “Hello, baby.”

“Baby, listen,” Mason said, turning up the volume.

A smile formed on Mercedes’s face. “That’s ‘Through the Years,’ isn’t it?”

“That’s it.” Mason quickly changed the channel.

“What happened?”

“Oh, it was almost over. What’s up with you?”

She looked disappointed. “Oh, not much. How are things going with you?” She took a seat in her high back executive chair.

“I’ve been doing so-so. But, not too bad, considering. Do you have time to talk?”

“I’ll make time,” she said, aiming the remote toward her office door and pressing the ivory square button with the tip of her manicured thumb. “When will you be home?” she asked as the door closed.

“The tournament ends on Friday. Just a few more days. How’s Mom doing?”

“She’s fine. Always asking if she can go home though. Seems the only time she even thinks about anything other than back home in Houston is when Star and Rashaad are around. She’s crazy about her grandkids. She keeps calling Rashaad your name.”

“Is she still getting confused about who’s who and what’s what?”

“Not so much lately. It just sort of comes and goes. She did ask if you went back home with your dad and when the two of you would be back. I had to remind her that Jesse was not coming back and that you were working. It just breaks my heart to see her go through this senility thing.”

“I feel you. All we can do is pray on it and continue to keep her around family. Have you heard from Claude? He said he was going to call you to talk about you referring your client to him.”

“He called. That designer Lola Carter wants to buy on the lower side of Ladera. Looks like our neighborhood is becoming quite popular these days. It’s that massive corner house on Springpark.”

“That should be a good commission for Claude. You think the sale price is near a million?”

“I’m sure it is. I gave him her contact information so they can hook up.”

Mason continued to channel surf. “What else was he talking about?”

“Just the same old-same old about how Venus gets mad at him for trying to discourage Cameron from becoming a model. He wanted me to try to talk him out of it. I told him I am definitely not the one.”

“Why would you talk someone out of modeling? You hire models and produce shows for a living. I think Claude wants his son to be a basketball player.”

“I don’t want to get involved in any more family mess. It appears as though things are finally calming down after the drama of Fatima dying.”

“That’s what family is for, Cedes.”

Mercedes rocked back and forth staring out at her office view. “I know that, Mason. And I’m so glad that Claude adopted Cameron after everything he’s been through, being that he’s not Claude’s biological son. But with Claude and Venus, it’s an ongoing battle with Cameron and the way he treats his own stepmother. It makes me so mad.”

“Just imagine how you’d feel if your stepmom was your dead mom’s best friend.”

“Maybe so. I suppose that’s why Venus is always trying to win him over. It never seems to do any good though. And Claude is so busy with his real estate deals that he’s never around to mend fences anyway. Besides, you know how disconnected he can be. He just rides around, usually in that red Ferrari, hanging out at Starbucks every chance he gets. I’m going to start calling it Club Starbucks.” Mercedes ceased her rocking motion.

“That’s a good one, Club Starbucks,” he said, dancing around
her comment. Mason scrolled through the programs offered on the hotel’s select channel menu. A call waiting beep sounded. “Anyway, they’re supposed to be calling me for an interview with ESPN. I’ve got to go. But, I’ll call you tomorrow to let you know how things are going.”

“Okay, baby. I love you,” Mercedes said, puckering her plump, coral lips to smooch the sound of a smack.

“Ditto,” said Mason, and then he clicked over. “Hello?”

“Mace?” A voice asked.

“Yes.”

“I’m waiting.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m downstairs sitting at the bar area. I’m on my cell.”

“Come on up. Room 2301.”

“Okay.”

“Bye.” He hung up the phone and propped up two pillows, placing his left hand behind his head. He pressed start to begin his adult pay-per-view movie and then picked up the phone again. “Please, no interruptions. I need to take a nap.”

Later in the week, cocoa brown and beautiful Mercedes Wilson sat at her desk inside of their six-bedroom Bedford Avenue home, located in the upper section of Ladera Heights. Those are the more expensive homes with the best view of the city.

Ladera Heights is a quiet neighborhood of cul-de-sac streets that give safe haven to young children. With immaculate, landscaped homes, the upscale area in Los Angeles is grand.

To a passerby, one would momentarily conclude from the rows of beanstalk-like palm trees that they were in the exclusive area of Beverly Hills. Some call Ladera, BBH, the Black Beverly Hills. But with its suburban feel, you’ll find a Fat Burger, Popeye’s chicken, and a beauty supply store every quarter mile. Many celebrities have called Ladera home, but most of the residents, mainly African-American, are unknown.

This particular afternoon, Mercedes settled her wide, curvy hips into the comfort of her suede desk chair. Her cognac-colored
hair was pulled back into a bun as usual. Plush, newly acquired furnishings surrounded the oversized pine desk in her home office. She’d often search the web for decorator websites, to send e-mails, take care of work issues for her modeling agency, and to peruse her daily calendar. Her Aquarius horoscope read that she needed to shoulder her responsibilities with cheer and efficiency. Cheery and efficient described her to a tee.

She reached over to grab her cup of French roast coffee in one hand, breaking off the tip of a buttermilk donut with the other. Her almond eyes peeked from under her long eyelashes as her attention veered off to meet up with the pop-up television screen. She turned up the volume.

“After experiencing a slump over the past couple of days, PGA star Mason Wilson leads the way in round one of the Sony Open tournament in Hawaii at nine under par. With runners up Tiger Woods, Vijay Singh and J.J. Henry giving him a run for his money at eight, five and two under, respectively,” the young Asian-American sports anchor reported.

Without delay, Mercedes picked up her cordless and dialed. “Girl, turn to ESPN. They’re talking about Mason’s day on the course. He’s in the lead again,” she told her homegirl, while chomping on her donut.

Sequoia replied casually, “Woman, I’m in the dang car. You amaze me. You still light up like a Christmas tree every time that man comes on TV. He’s on that tube damn near every day.”

“Yeah, but he looks real good today. All fitted in his black and white looking so sexy.”

“You’d think the two of you just met last week. It’s like you guys are in high school,” Sequoia said, turning up her car radio.

“And that’s the way it should be. I just don’t get to see him enough.”

“Well, that too can cause it’s own set of problems. But, to change the subject, as much as I’d love to talk about your perfect husband, why don’t you get out on Saturday and hang out with me at your own husband’s club? Hey, mister. Watch it,” she yelled out in Mercedes’s ear.

“I’m not going there, Sequoia. You know that. And calm down before your road rage gets the best of you yet. Anyway, I have an event to go to with Mason Saturday night. Besides, Foreplay is a singles club and that’s exactly where you need to be, not me. Ask Colette to go. You know she’s always up there checking on Torino.”

Sequoia replied loudly as if it was necessary to talk over the sound of traffic. “Colette is way too negative for me. I don’t even talk to her anymore. She’s always doggin’ Venus for marrying Claude after his woman died. Venus is like a sister to me now. Colette needs to mind her own business.”

“Yes, she does. But if you need a partner in crime, she’s your girl.”

“I’d rather go solo.”

“Sequoia, I know you’re not going to Foreplay to meet a man, are you?”

“Heck, no. I just need to shake my ass. That’s how I get rid of my week’s stresses.”

“But watch yourself up there, girl. That’s where all the groupies hang out. That’s a lot of competition.”

“I can hold my own. Besides, they’re only coming up there to meet your man, hoping he’s in town,” Sequoia said even louder.

“Calm down. They can hope he’s in town right along with me. Mason bought that club to make money, not as a second home. Most people who hang out there know he rarely even shows up.”

“If you ask me they’re looking for just his type—rich, fine, and famous. A whole lot of husband stealers hover around the premises on a regular basis.”

“That’s why married men need to keep their butts out of those places. Anyway, Sequoia, I know you’re tired of holding out, trying to stick to this born again virgin mission, aren’t you? Don’t you just want to call Bobby and ask him to come by and rock your world?”

“Now Mercedes, if I’ve waited this long, why would I ruin it by getting freaky with some ex of mine? Being freaky is what I’m trying to stay away from. Besides, I know my future husband is in church, not at Foreplay. I’m just looking to relax and dance, that’s all.”

“Don’t be so sure. Anyway, I’ll call Torino and tell him to put you on the guest list, plus one. I’m sure you’ll find a friend who’ll be thrilled to go with you. Someone who won’t mind getting in for free. Have fun. Talk to you later.”

Star Wilson’s young teenaged footsteps could be heard making tracks down the hallway carpet toward her mother’s office. She put on her brakes and nearly stumbled, making a right into the doorway. “Mom, Daddy was just on TV. Did you see him?”

“Yes, Star. I did. He looks good,” Mercedes replied with a smile.

“When is he coming home?” Star plopped down onto her mom’s camel leather guest chair, taking a yoga-style position.

“By the end of the week.”

“Mom, I have a college night event on Friday night. Do you think he can make it?”

“College night. In the ninth grade? That’s early.”

“They want us to start thinking about our futures a lot sooner than eleventh grade. Plus, colleges look at grades for all four years in high school, not just the last three.”

“I know that. But college night for freshmen? I guess things have changed since the days when we’d get a mention of applying for college just prior to our senior year.” Mercedes pecked away at her ergonomic keyboard as she spoke.

“Like you said, that was back in the day. It’s the new millennium, not the sixties.”

Mercedes glanced at her daughter, raising one eyebrow. “I was not in high school in the sixties, Star.”

“I know, Mom. I’m just kidding. Really though, I want Daddy to be there. It seems like people always ask me if he’s coming to things like this.”

“Like who, other students?”

“Teachers, too.” Star leaned over to break off a piece of her mom’s donut.

“Yes, you can have some,” Mercedes said, looking at Star like she was being rude. “I’ll bet the teachers are just impressed with the
fact that your dad is Mason Wilson. Perhaps they need to be more impressed with Star Wilson.”

“I know. They’re just starstruck, I guess. It does get tiresome though.”

“I’ll bet. For now, tell them your mom, Mercedes Wilson, will be there, ready, willing, and able to listen and help you get cracking on your college experience. And would you like a sip of coffee, too?” Mercedes offered, noticing Star making a funny face.

“No thanks, Mom. Coffee tastes like mud. And this donut tastes like one hundred percent sugar. How do you eat those?”

Suddenly, the sound of a loud thump radiated, coming from downstairs, just below the family room. “Mom, come here quick,” Mercedes teenage son Rashaad yelled from downstairs. “Grandma fell.”

Star and Mercedes bolted down the spiral staircase and yelled to Rashaad, “We’re coming. What happened?”

Mattie Wilson sat flat on the floor with her legs bent to her chin. She lifted her face toward Mercedes. “Oh, Mason is overreacting with all of his yelling. I just tried to sit on the bed and missed. I’m not hurt.”

Mercedes told her mother-in-law, “You missed? You’re about three feet off, Mamma. And you mean Rashaad, not Mason. Mason is out of town. Now come on and stand up so we can help you onto the bed.”

“I’m fine.” Mattie shooed Rashaad’s hand away as he and Mercedes reached in to lift Mattie under her arms. “I got down here by myself. I can get up by myself.”

Rashaad retreated and waved his hand like he did not even have to be told twice.

Mercedes motioned for his cooperation. “Come on son, help her up. Her hip has to be sore. Not to mention her butt.”

“I said I’m fine” yelled Mattie with her voice cracking. She clapped her hands twice and raised them above her head as if speaking in sign language. “I’m so tired of you all trying to make me feel helpless. There’s nothing wrong with me. Just because I
misjudged the bed? How many times have you fallen?” she asked, looking at Rashaad.

He replied without missing a beat. “Not since I was about six.”

Mercedes slapped him on the shoulder. “Rashaad, stop. Now Mamma, I’m going to count to three and I want you to grab my hands so I can pull you up.”

“Come on Grammy,” said Star with a sweet, calming voice. “We know you can do it on your own. But we want to help, just like you would help us.”

Mattie’s face lit up. “Now see, that’s my little girl. She’s the only one in this house who understands me. I raised three hardheaded boys and Star is the only one who knows her grandma like no one else. Come here angel, give me a hand.”