The Eleventh Commandment Page 6

  “Nothing. What’s up?”

  “Uh-uh. That’s not how we do things. I’m your girl, Stace. Talk to me.”

  It was true. Hope and Stacy had become fast friends after Hope relocated to Los Angeles from Kansas City. Stacy admired her lifestyle, especially the fact that she’d snagged KCCC’s most eligible bachelor, right out of Millicent Kirtz’s—then Millicent Sims—crosshairs. Hope later found out it hadn’t been quite that way, that while Cy had dated Millicent a couple times they’d never been intimate. At any rate, Hope truly appreciated Stacy’s friendship, the only woman she conversed with other than her cousin, Frieda. Hope had been Stacy’s confidante regarding her obsession, Darius Crenshaw. She was the first to know that Stacy was pregnant with his child, the first to whom Stacy finally admitted the truth that he was gay, and the one who helped her pick up the pieces when Darius, who’d finally married Stacy following the birth of their son, then had their marriage annulled to be with his true love, Bo Jenkins. On the other hand, Stacy had been a much-needed sympathetic ear during Hope’s attempts to have children, had been her cheerleader when Hope began to lose the essence of her name. She’d helped pull Hope back from the brink when she’d become obsessed with the fact that Millicent had had a child before she did, and then was convinced that Millicent was after Cy. Her paranoia had resulted in her racing to a hotel where Cy was meeting with Jack Kirtz and a contractor about the surprise dream home where she now sat. Unfortunately for Millicent, when her husband knew he’d be delayed for the meeting, she offered to bring the plans and get things started. Hope found Cy and Millicent alone in the room and had held a San Diego tea party, tossing a pitcher of the cool drink in Millicent’s face. Stacy and Hope had been through their share of drama and if there was some more brewing, they’d face it together.

  “What’s going on, Stacy?” Hope prompted her friend to open up about what was bothering her. “You know you can tell me anything.”

  “I’m worried about Tony.”

  “Still no takers?”

  “No, and that’s the problem. No team has shown interest in picking him up for the upcoming season. Tony is not dealing well with the fact that his career may be over.”

  “That’s got to be rough.”

  “It is. I’ve talked to some of the other wives whose husbands have retired. Things can get tough. Some men get depressed and withdrawn, others have divorced their wives, left their families.”

  Hope swallowed her nervousness, forced herself to sound calm. “Are you worried that Tony will do that? Leave you and DJ?” She’d liked Tony Johnson from the moment she met him, and in hopes of helping Stacy move on from Darius, had encouraged her to date the strapping football star. Tony was a big, solid guy, over two hundred pounds of muscle and bone.

  “If you’d asked me that six months ago, I would have said no way. But he’s changing, Hope, becoming more distant and moody, just like what some of the wives said would happen. It’s like nothing I say is the right thing. If I share my optimism that he’ll get picked up, he tells me I don’t know anything about the business of football. Which is right, I don’t. If I tell him that he has a great future postplaying, remind him how various stations have shown interest in him doing game analysis or even hosting his own show, he gets angry and quiet. Tony likes to live large, so I know he’s also concerned about our finances. I don’t mind it, but I don’t think my husband will want to change our lifestyle, a necessity once the big checks stop coming in. I want him to talk to Pastor Derrick, but I’m afraid it will make Tony too angry if it’s suggested he get counseling, that we get counseling. But I hate to see him in pain, Hope. I hate to see the man I married becoming someone else.”

  “I’m so sorry, Stacy. Tony is a good guy. I can’t help but think that y’all will get through this challenging time.” Hope was quiet, her mind racing with possible ways to help her dear friend. “Do you think it would be too obvious if Cy called him? If I talk to him, I think he’d be open to helping Tony break into real estate. He’s always looking for partners he can trust.”

  “Thank you, Hope. I don’t think Tony is open right now, but that’s a possibility to keep in mind.”

  “Well, maybe Cy can put it on his mind.” Hope told Stacy about her convo with Vivian, the upcoming Sanctity of Sisterhood minisummit and her open invitation to their Fourth of July bash.

  “Oh my God, girl, that would be perfect! It’s just what Tony needs to get his mind off the game, and what is or isn’t happening. Please thank Vivian for me and let her know that if at all possible, Tony and I will be there.”

  “I can send you guys plane tickets if it’ll help; tell Tony that it’s an early anniversary present.”

  “Let me talk to him. That man is so proud. If he smells anything close to charity, he’ll not only clam up, but he’ll know we’ve talked. So don’t say or do anything unless I say so.”

  “Okay. I’m praying for you, sistah.”

  “Thanks, Hope. I need it.”

  “I’ve got you. If you and Tony come up the weekend before the fourth, we can hang out at Frieda’s and do some serious shopping.” Belatedly, Hope realized that suggesting they spend money might not be the best idea. “My treat.”

  “Tony’s home, I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Okay, Stacy, keep me posted. You know I’ll worry about you. Take good care.”

  11

  We’ll See What’s Up

  Stacy sat in the living room, listening to the sound of Tony’s footsteps as he entered the kitchen from the garage. She heard them stop, and knew that he’d opened the refrigerator and pulled out a beer. It was a daily ritual, popping a cold one as soon as he got home. He’d only have one beer a day, max. He was too aware of staying in shape to drink more than that. Cognac, however, was another story. After she heard the beer can top pop, she heard Tony’s steps continue. Hiding the paper she’d been reading within an Essence magazine, she called out. “Hey, Tone.”

  “Hey.” Instead of turning right, toward the living room from where she’d greeted him, he went left, and up the stairs to the bedrooms above. Not a good sign, but not a total surprise. He was home earlier than usual, which typically meant one of two things: he’d run out of potential opportunities to track down. Or he was in pain. Or both.

  Stacy didn’t know what to do, didn’t like this state of flux that she’d felt for months, ever since the Cardinals had released Tony from their roster. This life was so different from the one she’d imagined when they met. The living room and bright Phoenix sunshine faded behind her memories of that better time—when their friendship went to another level and both decided to give the relationship a try.

  Things had gotten off to a rocky start. After showing genuine interest in her at one of the Montgomerys’ legendary Sunday dinners, Stacy had thrown a hitch in the giddyup when after Darius and Bo had shown up at the same dinner she began overtly flirting with the defensive back. Tony immediately peeped her try-and-make-Darius-jealous game and made it known that he didn’t want to play. He’d cooled things until the day he’d seen her leaving a hospital as he entered, the day she’d found out that a lump in her breast was malignant. Tony had recently had his own indirect battle with the C word, had almost lost his mom to cancer. His understanding and compassion thawed the ice between them, and as he cared for her during and after her lumpectomy, their friendship began to grow. And then there was his proposal that brought the heat and changed the game! Stacy smiled, remembering. It had started with a date at the Getty Museum, after learning that both she and Tony had a love for art. Even so, she’d never visited the museum and hadn’t been able to ignore her man’s class in choosing such a location. They walked the grounds, opening up even more about their feelings for each other. Then they’d heard a jazz trio playing, and had moved closer to listen to them.

  “Shall we?” Tony asked.

  Stacy looked around. “We can sit here?”

  “Why not?”

  “It looks like it’s reserved.�
�

  “Baby,” Tony said, leaning over a bit, “my knee is acting up. If it is reserved we can sit down until whoever’s got the table gets here.”

  They sat down at the center table, and soon the couple were taken to paradise on the wings of smooth jazz. A card on the table informed them that the group, the Musical Messengers, were on a twenty-five-city tour and would be at the Getty only this weekend. When they broke into a jazzy rendition of Marvin Sapp’s “Never Would Have Made It,” Stacy unexpectedly teared up.

  “They’re playing gospel,” she whispered, wiping her eyes. “I love that song.”

  “Me too,” Tony said. He kept his arms around her as the trio played. After the bridge, the saxophone player stepped to the mike and began reciting an original poem:

  “Never would have made it, without God in my life,

  And now I don’t want to go on without you by side.

  You are the air I breathe, the sun that shines,

  And I’d be so grateful if you’d be mine because . . .”

  Tony, getting down on his knees, began speaking along with the saxophonist and then finished the poem he’d written and then given to the musician when he set up this whole surprise. The saxophonist dropped out and Tony continued.

  “I never would have made it, and I don’t want to take it,

  Take life without you. Stacy, baby, you turn my gray skies blue.

  You have my heart. I love you. Will you marry me?”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring. Stacy could barely see it for crying.

  “Tony!”

  “I know it may feel like I’m moving too quickly. But I’ve waited my whole life for you. I know we can work. Because even now, before we’re lovers, you’re my best friend. Marry me, baby. And make me the happiest man on the planet.”

  “Yes,” Stacy whispered, and then again, louder, “Yes! I’ll marry you!”

  “You’ll be my wifey, baby?” he asked as he slipped the ring on her finger.

  “Yes, baby, I’ll be your wifey.”

  Stacy wiped her eyes as she came back to the present moment, her heart beating faster with the blessed memories of that event. In that moment, she recommitted to Tony, and to God. I’m right here, baby. You and me together, we can do this. We’ll get through this....

  “Why are you crying?” Tony leaned against the living room’s entryway, an unreadable expression on his face.

  Stacy hadn’t heard him descending the stairs. “Babe!” She hurriedly wiped the tears from her eyes. “I didn’t hear you come down.”

  Tony walked into the room, sat in a chair opposite the couch where Stacy reclined. “What’s the matter?”

  Stacy looked over at the only man she’d ever loved, besides her baby’s father, Darius Crenshaw. She hoped that the love she felt in her heart showed in her eyes. “Would you believe I’ve just taken a nostalgic walk down memory lane? I was remembering the night you proposed. It is singularly the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “What can I say? Now, as then, it brought me to tears.”

  Tony rose from the chair and joined her on the couch. He took the woman he’d loved enough to give her his last name in his arms. “That was a good day.”

  “The best.”

  “You know I love you, right?”

  She shifted her body to face him, and wrapped her much smaller hands around his large ones. “I love you too, Tony. And I’m so proud of you.”

  Tony’s demeanor immediately changed.

  Oops. Wrong words. Who knew?

  Tony removed his hands and jumped up from the couch. “What do you have to be proud of me about? Huh? I’m an out of work ball player trying to come back from what is looking more and more like a career-ending injury. I’m being courted by half-ass networks for half-ass sportscaster jobs. We’re getting ready to see our net worth decrease exponentially, which means my child support payments will have to go down, which means their mothers will start tripping even more than they do now!” He came and stood over Stacy, causing her heart to leap into her throat. “What part of that equation do you find worth being proud about, huh? Huh?”

  Stacy took a deep breath before she looked into her husband’s somewhat scary face. She didn’t like how he was standing over her, didn’t like the fear that bubbled from her core to her stomach and from her stomach to her head, bringing on the hints of a migraine. She’d shared with Hope how some retired athletes couldn’t handle the transition, becoming different men than the ones the women had married. Are you worried that Tony will change like that? That’s what Hope had asked, and right now ... ? Stacy simply did not know what Tony was capable of doing.

  “I remember a sermon where Pastor Montgomery quoted that it wasn’t what happened to us, but how we handle it,” she finally answered, forcing her voice to remain calm and steady. “In the face of some pretty challenging circumstances, you are still a strong, good man. That is why I’m proud of you.”

  Tony continued to hover over her with a silent intensity. Stacy eyed him steadily before looking beyond him, noticing a pair of sparrows frolicking in her wilting rosebushes. She abstractly remembered that the gardeners would come tomorrow and water the bushes drying prematurely under Arizona’s relentless sun. It was only June, but she already knew the summer would be a scorcher. She only hoped that her husband’s anger wouldn’t outdo the record-breaking temperatures that Phoenix expected.

  “That’s bullshit,” he finally said, turning and walking toward the window in time to see the birds that Stacy had observed leave the rosebushes and fly off in pursuit of each other. “But I know you’re trying to make me feel better. I appreciate it.”

  “I married the man you are, not what you do.”

  “I know that. I believe that.”

  After a roller coaster of emotions within minutes, they’d reached a tender moment, one that had been rare in the last few months. Stacy didn’t want the moment to end, so she mentioned something safe, something that almost always put a smile on Tony’s face. “I’ve been thinking about the Fourth of July holiday, maybe spending it in LA and being able to spend at least part of it with Shea, Justin, and DJ, all of us together doing something fun.”

  Tony looked out the window for another moment before turning to face her. “It’s funny that you should mention LA. I finally got the call and will definitely be doing a walk-on at their training camp.”

  “That’s great, baby! I know you’d love to be back in LA. Me too.”

  It was true. Tony had loved playing in California. And now that this new team had been formed, and the Coliseum rebuilt, he’d like nothing better than to end his career in the City of Angels. “I’m not getting my hopes up but . . . it’s a shot.”

  “I talked to Hope today and she’d just gotten off the phone with Lady Viv. She’s putting together the next Sanctity of Sisterhood conference and wants my help. She told Hope that if we were in town for the fourth, we were welcome to their barbecue.”

  A slight frown scampered across Tony’s face before he settled his features into an unreadable mask. “We’ll see what’s up.” Without another word, he walked away.

  Okay, what just happened? These mood swings were throwing Stacy off balance; one second the two of them could be in a great place and the next second he’d be filled with attitude. Walking on eggshells was an understatement. Anything could set him off. Stacy opened the Essence magazine and continued reading the paper that she’d hidden inside it when Tony came home. She was an optimist, but she was also a realist. If anything shaky jumped off between her and Tony Johnson, she planned to be prepared.

  12

  Happy Family, Happy Meal

  Darius sat with a smile on his face, watching his son consume a Happy Meal. For the life of him he couldn’t figure how a little toy inside a colorful box could make chicken nuggets and fries such a hit, but his son had turned down Bo’s slap-your-mama spaghetti in favor of the popular children’s fast food meal. D1.J. wal
ked the action figure across the granite island top as he munched on a fry, his legs swinging freely beneath the bar stool. Darius continued to watch him, amazed that doing what mothers around the world did every day all day—taking care of their children—could bring one such joy.

  DJ took a break from the imaginary war happening on the table and turned to find his dad watching him intently. “What is it, Daddy?”

  “Nothing. Just watching you eat.”

  DJ scrunched up his face. “Why?”

  Darius laughed. “No reason.”

  DJ pondered that comment a moment, then reached for another fry and aimed it toward his father. “Do you want one?”

  “No, he does not,” Bo answered, turning from the stove with two plates of sausage spaghetti. “Nobody in this house eats that fake food but you.”

  “It not fake!” DJ protested.

  “It isn’t as good as my spaghetti,” Bo countered.

  “It’s better than your spaghetti!” DJ said, as his voice rose an octave.

  Bo leaned against the island, coming face to face with the little boy he loved like his own, which, in a way, DJ was. “Do you like how tall your father is?” DJ nodded. “What about his face; do you think he’s handsome?”

  DJ looked at Darius. Another nod. “Yes.”

  “Well, you know how he got so tall and so fine?” Bo’s voice became an almost-whisper. “By eating real food like my spaghetti!” Without waiting for a reply, he flounced over to pull the parmesan-garlic toast from the oven.

  DJ laughed. “Uh-uh. That’s not true, Daddy . . . is it?”

  “No, son, that’s not true. You are going to be way more handsome than me.” This, Darius believed was true. When it came to his son, he felt that he and Stacy had given him the best of themselves. DJ’s facial features were almost carbon copies of Darius, but his lean body, keen mind, and sparkling personality were courtesy of Stacy Gray-Johnson. Yes, he’d been given awards, charted platinum albums, and toured the world, but the five-year-old wunderkind sitting across from him was by far the best product he’d ever created.