Hot Boyz (35 page)

Natalie looked defiant. “Is that a threat?”

“That’s a promise.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. Turns out you weren’t the prize this time around, huh?
I guess it never got that deep where he was willing to have you on a full-time basis, right?”

“We didn’t bond. That’s exactly how I wanted it.”

“Oh, don’t get it twisted. That’s exactly how he wanted it. So are you moving on or not?”

“I’ve more than moved on.”

Mercedes cringed away from her. “Probably to the next victim. You’d better watch your back. One day some woman isn’t going to be as nice as me. You just might find yourself fighting for your life.”

Suddenly, a man spoke. “Natalie, I was looking for you.”

As the tall gentleman came toward them, Mercedes said to Natalie from the corner of her mouth, “Oh, so you’re an athlete chaser, huh? Okay.” Mercedes extended her hand once he reached them. “Hello, I’m Mercedes Wilson.”

He extended his hand, too. “Hello. It’s nice to met you. I’m Akrika Downing.”

Mercedes looked up at his six-foot-ten-inch frame. “Oh, yes the basketball player who just got traded from Chicago to the Sacramento Kings.”

“Yes.”

Natalie took his hand. “Mercedes is Mason Wilson’s wife.”

“Oh, Natalie has told me so much about your husband.”

Mercedes gave Natalie a snarl of a look. “I’ll bet she hasn’t told you nearly enough.”

He seemed oblivious. “I saw you two walking out and wondered what was up. Is everything okay?” he asked his date.

“Yes.”

Mercedes explained, “Sorry but I didn’t see anyone but your little lady here when I walked up.” Mercedes prepared to end the conversation. She took a step back toward the store. “You two enjoy the show now.”

He replied. “We will. Nice to meet you.”

“You, too.”

Natalie gave a fake closing. “Yes, nice to meet you, Mrs. Wilson.”

Mercedes spoke only to Akrika. “Take care, Mr. Downing. Good
luck with the team. And keep an eye on her. After all, she sheds, you know.”

He looked askance at Mercedes as if he didn’t quite know what to make of that comment.

Natalie put her sunglasses back on and snuggled in close to her man’s arm as he handed the valet the ticket. And then they kissed.

Before Mason and Mercedes could return to their next therapy meeting, Mason left a message to cancel the sessions.

Mason spoke from his cell. “Dr. Little, it’s Mason Wilson. You’ve been very helpful to my family and me. But with all due respect, I think I know how to get to my son so we’re going to stop right here. We’ll be using your tools to work through this, along with a lot of love. Please send me your bill for your services thus far. I’ll send you a check in the mail upon receipt.”

After Star’s knee bandages came off, she and her dad spent a long, leisurely Saturday morning, hanging out, eating lunch, walking and talking, going to the mall, and to the music store. And they even had pedicures. They laughed and talked and renewed their connection.

Mason took her home and then picked up Rashaad. It was father and son time. By the afternoon, Rashaad was into the start of his second hour at the driving range tent at the Westchester park golf course. A group of golfers stared at Mason as he stood by his son. They whispered to each other and pointed his way.

Rashaad took a swing, looking like a pro, but the ball veered to the left, causing him to look frustrated.

Mason moved from standing behind him to standing beside him. “No, son. You have to keep your head down. Golf is about distance and location. Set up, grip, posture, and alignment are all so very important in order to hit the ball straight and get it where
you want it to go. I keep telling you, you must remain focused. Don’t let me or anyone else distract you. Otherwise you’re not in full control. Mental imagery is key. Golf is a mind game, it has very little to do with the physical. And you’ll never have the same game twice. Each game will always be different, with you focusing on different areas that you found kept you stuck on the previous hole. But just be consistent in what you say to yourself, remind yourself over and over.”

Rashaad sneered at Mason as if his dad had been preaching. “Dad, you keep telling me all of that. But if I make a mistake, just let me make it. I know what you told me. I keep hearing you over and over again in my head.”

“Then that’s your problem. You shouldn’t hear what I tell you over and over. It shouldn’t be my voice. It should be your own voice, telling yourself over and over again.”

Rashaad gripped his club tighter, shifting his weight to his other leg. “Whoever is telling me, I’m going to make mistakes.”

“True, I still do. Golf is hard and you’re not going to be an expert right away.”

“Dad, please let me make my own errors. Give me a few cents but don’t throw it at me.”

“Don’t throw it at you? Where in the hell did you hear that?”

“Some show, I don’t know. Dad, I’ll get the hang of this on my own.”

“On your own, without me?”

“Maybe so.” Rashaad set up another ball. “You know I played before when I was little. I still remember a lot from what you told me over the years.”

“Okay, I’ll leave you alone and I’ll come back in an hour. No, better yet, I’m going to make a call. Your butt needs some dang lessons.”

Rashaad got in position to take his swing as Mason stepped away and walked toward a nearby bench. He sat down, flipped open his cell, and placed a call.

“Troy Lyles? Hey man. How’s it been going? It’s been a while. Hey man. I need you to do me a favor. I need you to hook up my
fourteen-year-old son Rashaad with some golf lessons. I’m about to kill that little dude, man. Yeah, he’s pretty good. If not today, then as soon as possible. How soon could you have someone out here at the Westchester course? We’ll be here. Thanks a lot. See you then.”

Mason walked briskly back to his son. “Great news, son. Troy Lyles, himself, is coming over to teach you in about an hour.”

“Who’s he?”

“He’s the son of the man who Tiger’s dad referred me to years ago. He trains all of the juniors coming up. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before. The first thing I learned in golf is to never teach someone you know. And especially someone you love. That’s why I’ve never taught your mom. It gets too emotional and they get too defensive.”

Rashaad focused, taking a couple of practice swings as his dad spoke. “Uh huh.”

“Son, I’m going to be paying this man top dollar now so I want you to absorb his every word like a sponge and take advantage of this opportunity. Not every young man can have his dad just pick up the phone and get Troy Lyles to show up. Get all you can. I want to see a difference in your game.”

“Can I practice until he gets here?” Rashaad asked as if his dad was still distracting him.

“Go right ahead.”

Rashaad waited before resuming his practice. “Weren’t you leaving for an hour?”

“All right already, dang.” Mason took a step and then stopped. Rashaad looked at him as if he should continue walking away. “Remember your grip, Rashaad. Get that down and you’ll notice a big difference.”

“Good-bye,” Rashaad said, looking annoyed yet grateful. “And thanks, Dad.”

“You’re welcome.”

Rashaad yelled toward his father. “Hey, Dad.”

“Yes,” Mason yelled back as he stopped.

“You and Mom are okay, right?”

“What makes you ask that?”

“I just noticed… something. I don’t know but you two seem different.”

Mason felt concern on the inside but felt the need to assure his son. “We’ll work it out, son. Don’t you worry about it. You just keep your mind right.”

“Okay, Dad. I will,” Rashaad said, looking down as he placed his feet into position for his next swing.

Mason walked away, answering his ringing cell phone. It was Cicely.

She spoke plainly. “Mason I’ve sealed the deal in Atlanta and I think it’s best if I go ahead and take that over and relocate.”

“Oh, you think it’s best?” Mason stopped in his tracks.

“Yes, I do. I also think it’s best that you buy me out of Foreplay in Los Angeles and I go at it alone in Atlanta. I used to live there, you know.”

“How would the investors feel about that? You going it alone.”

“They’ll be fine. They just want to make sure that one of us is involved in running the new club.”

“But do they know that I would have no connection and no interest in it?”

“Actually, they’ve asked that it be that way.”

“You’ve been negotiating this without letting me know?”

“Mason, they’ve been calling me ever since my meeting with them that you missed. I thought about it and I think it’s best considering all that’s happened. I haven’t given them the final word yet.”

“Considering what?” he asked.

Cicely sounded wounded. “That you refuse to allow me to be part of my own family. That you refuse to tell Mercedes and your brothers about me. That you keep me on the side like I’m some mistress of yours. My mom was your dad’s mistress and you know what? He really loved her. He moved us here and he helped take care of us financially. But with your rejection of the truth, I’ve had a lot of stuff to consider, Mason.”

“Cicely, I accept the truth. And so does Claude and Torino. But that’s about as far as it goes.”

“Whatever.”

There was a few moments of dead silence.

“Is Heidi okay with you leaving?”

“She’ll go, too. She’s the closest thing to family I’ve got. Anyway, I no longer need the duplex in Leimert and she no longer needs the house on sixty-fourth. I’ll have her advertise them both for lease if you’d like.”

“No problem. I’ll have Claude handle it.”

“So we’re cool then,” Cicely suggested. “As far as you buying me out of the club.”

“We’re cool. I think you’ve done a great job. I knew you’d be good but not that good. But, I’ll have my attorney draw up papers to buy you out of Foreplay here and maybe I’ll let Torino go ahead and take over the other half.”

“Good, so my own brothers will be going it alone without me. Why is it that you never answer my concerns about letting me live my life as your half sister, not even after all these years?”

“Because it would be a sign of disrespect to my mother, Cicely. I don’t have a problem with you and I think I’ve done the best I could by you and for you. But I just can’t do any more. I’m sorry.”

Cicely sounded dejected yet ready to move on. “I’m sorry too, Mason. Please let me know when everything is set. I plan to leave by New Year’s Eve so I can start over, new and refreshed.”

“No problem, Cicely. Good luck.”

“Good luck to you, too.”

In deep thought, Mason hung up the phone.

After a while, short and stocky Troy Lyles came walking toward Mason wearing a Nike golf cap and a black nylon jogging suit.

“Hey Troy, that was fast.”

“I live right around the corner, you know. This is my second home.”

“Thanks for coming over. Rashaad is right over there,” Mason pointed.

Troy looked over. “He’s tall, just like you. And good-looking like his mom.”

They both laughed. “You’re right about that. You been cool?”

“I’m fine. How about you?”

“All is well.”

They started to walk back toward Rashaad, but Troy paused as though a thought was brewing. “Brother, let me ask you a question. I’ve been thinking about this. You hired Kenny Rogers, man?”

“And?”

“To sing to a black woman on national television?”

“Oh, Troy. You and your radical ass. What’s wrong with that, man?

“A big no-no,” Troy said with a warning.

“Mercedes and I like the damn song. It’s been our song for years. What’s the problem?”

Troy replied. “You, the poster child for down-home blacks not abandoning our own communities want to ask me what’s the problem.”

“Oh, so hiring Luther Vandross would have been the black thing to do? I don’t know if I like where this is going.”

“Mason, just examine your choices, that’s all I’m saying. You can alienate any number of people to your detriment.”

“True, but I won’t alienate my self-respect. I will be Mason Wilson, black or not,” Mason said definitively.

“Then why do you stick with the ‘hood’ and show allegiance to black designers? African-American groups honor you and you donate money to the NAACP and other black organizations. Man, you’ve already given the world an impression of just how black you are. Don’t ruin it.” They reached Rashaad’s driving range section. “Hey Rashaad. I’m Troy Lyles. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Mr. Lyles.”

“You can call me Troy.”

Rashaad smiled. “Troy. Nice to meet you, too.”

Mason excused himself, looking forward to ending the conversation. “Thanks man, I’ll be back in what, one hour?”

“Make it two,” said Troy as if willing to spend the time.

“See you both in two.” Mason shook his head and walked away, emotionally twisted by the last few conversations.

In the distance he heard Troy tell his son, “If you want to be the best at what you do, you have to go beyond. You can’t do what everyone else does—you’ll just be average.” Mason could have recited that code of excellence in his sleep. He chuckled.

His cell phone rang. Another conversation was about to begin.

“Mason, I can’t believe you had the nerve to cancel our therapy sessions without consulting me.”

“Cedes, I just think we can deal with this on our own.”

“Who asked you to think for me? Coming from someone as selfish as you, that’s a whole lot of nerve. It’s always suggested that couples seek the counsel of someone they trust, and I trust Dr. Little implicitly.”

Mason walked past a woman who gave him a wink. He ignored her and kept walking. “You know what, you’re right. I should have asked you. But sometimes you can hear the same old thing over and over again. Now that we have the information, what do we do with it?”

“We keep going back until I say so. I have the veto right on this one. Not you. It’s a process that takes time. It took you twenty years to clutter the room, it’s not going to be uncluttered in two weeks.”

“I know that.”

“Mason, you go right ahead and back out on the one bright spot we have toward dealing with your penis problems. But I won’t. I will continue to go on my own. Whether we share the same house or not. But I also suggest that you go and get some of your own therapy. Because you are the one with the problem. Your high and mighty selfishness has affected my life and the kids’ lives.”