CHAPTER ELEVEN

Oscar wildly swerved his BMW into Jack’s driveway. He leaped out of the car, slammed his door, and flung open the back door. He hauled two suitcases and a garment bag up the three steps to the front door.

Jack was standing in the doorway frowning. “What? No frying pan?’’ he asked and threw out a giggle.

“You a funny guy. How about some help?”

“I am helping. I am holding the door open. Hurry up!”

Jack took Oscar to the second level of his townhouse, and into the den-turned-guess room. Oscar angrily put away his clothing. “That bitch had the nerve to put me out,” he complained. “Me. Shit, she put me out of my own crib.”

Jack smiled. “Like, you didn't put up a fuss?”

“Shit, she was standing at the door with the police talking shit; you know how she is. So, I just gathered some clothes and broke out.”

Sondra loved Oscar. Loved him very much. And, she understood that as a professional baseball player, Oscar Taylor would be hard pressed to give her and their two-year-old son the attention she thought sufficient.

Then he began to cheat. Sondra had an idea, but Oscar was good at arguing her quiet. Then her mother and three sisters had finally gotten to her conscience. For years they had been almost demanding she leave Oscar. Call the marriage a mistake and end it. Now that it was national news that he and Jack were sleeping with one woman in Arizona, she felt no choice.

“She called a few minutes ago,” Jack said.

“What could she want? I ain't been gone an hour?”

“Basically, to do the same thing you're doing. Bad talk you and curse me out for helping you be the dog that you are.”

Oscar sighed. “Fuck her. She'll probably call all damn night. Then she'll ask me to come home before we leave town. “

Oscar was right. Sondra was home in their large house, lonely. She called three times in two hours. Each time they argued over where Oscar had put something she needed right that minute.

“You need to take your behind home and settle this,'' Jack told Oscar.

“Nope. Ain't got the time.''

“You stupid. Do you realize you cause most of this with her? She has been about as understanding as a woman can be, and then you stretch her some more.''

“You don't know what she be doing to me. She's a pain in the ass.''

“Come on, man. Who you talking to? When was the last time you took her out?''

“Yo, I try to take her places and she always got an excuse. Shit, I make four million dollars a year and she talking about we can't find a baby sitter.

“Fuck that.''

Jack gave in. He knew better than what his friend was saying, but he didn't feel like going deeper into the subject.

At 12:30 a.m. while Jack and Oscar were watching X-rated movies and talking dirty-and after the seventh time Sondra called, this time to say some woman had called and hung up, someone rang Jack's doorbell.

“That must be Janet,” Oscar said as he rose and darted down the steps to the door.

“Why did you invite a ho here?”

“Why not? Just chill and I will let you have some.” He opened the door and the young lady gave him a long kiss.

Jack stood at the top of the stairs and when Oscar returned with the woman he pulled O to the side. “Listen, aren't you in enough trouble?”

“Fuck that!” Oscar pulled away. Then he turned back and whispered, ''You got any condoms?''

''What if I said no?''

''Then you would feel guilty at my funeral.''

''You know where. But don't stay in my room. I'm sleeping in my own bed tonight.''

An hour later O returned. He was grinning, and had on a pair of Jack’s silk under pants; they were too big on him.

“You want some, G?’’

Jack glared up from his easy chair. “Is she married?’’ he finally asked.

Oscar laughed and said, “No, but her daddy would kill us. She's 15.”

Jack's heart leaped into his throat. “What are you doing to me?”

“Chill, New, chill! Does she look 15? Just come get your dick wet. I thought you said you needed some?”

“Yeah, but...”

“Stop looking at them flicks and cut the scared routine, we been doing this for years.”

“I can’t do that no more, O.”

“Do what?”

“Bone groupies. I'm tired of that shit.”

“You buggin’.” Oscar stared at his teammate and felt the seriousness. “What’s got into you? You worried about Slight? Fuck him! He ain’t gonna trade you. He know we the team, shit. You here forever, like me.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Man, that’s only the half. I just can’t hang with the different bitches every night, in every city. Man, don’t you know what you got at home? A wife, and a damn good one at that. That's what the fuck I am looking for. It’s time to settle down.”

The teenager called Oscar. He yelled, ''I'll be there in a second.'' Oscar sat on the arm of the easy chair Jack was in. He buckled his pants.

“You definitely buggin’,'' he began, pointing his whole hand at Jack with each sentence. ''I here to tell you, the grass ain’t greener. Fuck the married life! I should have never gotten married.

“Shit. Sondra is about to rob me blind. She’s gonna take everything.”

“Sondra ain’t going nowhere. She loves the hell out of you. She ain’t leaving you.”

“I wish she would.”

“No you don’t.”

Oscar sucked his teeth. He stood and shook his head at Jack.

“The grass ain’t greener,” he said as he returned to his teenager. He pounded the girl as hard as he could and ordered her to scream, being rough with her. He wanted Jack to hear them to make Jack jealous. He did, but Jack was serious about finding a steady lover.

Jack spent another sleepless night on his couch. When he did nod off around 2 a.m., he dreamt that instead of swerving to miss Djuana, he hit her. In his sleep, he squirmed at the sight of her body flying in air and landing on his hood, then the street. She moaned and groaned in his arms before dying when the cops arrived.

The nightmare woke him up just in time to see Oscar and Janet creeping down the steps to the front door. Jack noticed the headlights in his driveway, then the car left. Oscar came back in without a word and went to bed.

Djuana awoke hoping, praying, that the day before was a dream. It wasn’t. The left side of her head was in pain. Next to her in the bed was Tia. Uncle Calvin was sleeping off a night of drinking on the couch. He and her mother had called Dexter’s phone number most of the night.

And she was both hungry and nauseous.

Djuana was the first up and about. She showered, cooked breakfast for all, and then dressed for work. Tia and Emma tried to talk her into calling in sick. They wanted to begin plans for the abortion. Emma wanted her to call Dexter and invite him over. Djuana objected to all proposals.

“We need to talk,” Emma declared. “That ain’t gonna go away like a cold. We need to do something. And do it now.”

“I know, I know,” Djuana whined. She needed an escape. Going to work would be that outlet.

Djuana walked through the mall believing everybody knew of her bout the day before. Anthony Thompson, the floor supervisor, greeted her at her station. He asked her about the bruise, which had darkened and began shrinking. She didn’t want to have to explain to him, and she didn’t. He seemed careless.

Mr. Thompson was all business that morning, very unusual. He was known throughout the mall as a flirt. He had taken Djuana out once, but when she refused to let the date end at his home, he backed off, yet continued to make light passes. Two weeks prior to that morning he had invited her to a yacht party given by the store's vice presidents. Djuana said no.

Charese came in a few minutes late, her usual, and was burning to ask Djuana about the day before. “Are you all right?” she said before removing her jacket and punching in.

“I'm fine,” Djuana said, a little annoyed that Charese would choose to be nosy instead of punching in.

“Shit, DJ, I saw from my man's car. I told his tired-ass to stop, but he said he shouldn't. Damn, I didn't know he was like that.”

“Look, Reese, I rather not discuss yesterday. Okay. Let's just get to work.”

Charese disappeared.

Tia borrowed her father's car to use to pick up Djuana from work. She wanted to take her friend for a ride and talk.

When Tia told her parents the whole story about Djuana being pregnant, her father, Leonard Williams snapped, “Not by Dexter, I hope.”

Tia's sister, Ansea, agreed: “Nobody likes him. He's a dog.”

Tia's mother was distraught. “Poor child,” Bernadette Williams proclaimed. “It's a shame. I know Emma is taking it hard.”

“Ms. P wants Djuana to have an abortion.”

“No way!”  Bernadette said. “That would be a sin. I have got to talk with Emma.”

“Mom, that's their decision. You can't step in.”

Bernadette, ignoring her daughter, picked up the phone and called Emma at work. The two planned a meeting at Emma's apartment.

Tia parked in the first level of the mall’s parking garage as a sudden cloudburst had unleashed buckets of raindrops. She browsed for a bit; she was a few minutes early. Once off the escalator, she spotted Djuana doing paperwork with her supervisor, Anthony Thompson. Tia unhooked the top two buttons on her loose cream-colored, long sleeve blouse, hoping Djuana’s boss could catch a glimpse.

When Djuana saw her friend's bright smile it warmed her heart immediately. It signaled the end of another hectic day. Thoughts and worries were constantly clouding her mind. And Mr. Thompson’s light passes were not helping. She glanced at her gold watch. Damn. Why do I have this on?

“You ready, Love?” Tia asked Djuana as she neared.

Djuana looked over at Thompson's wristwatch. “In a second. I just need to punch out and file these-”

“Hi. Tia, isn’t it? Long time no see,’’ Thompson cut in, smiling for the first time that day in Djuana's presence. His pupils darted up and down Tia’s slim body.

Tia's smile widened, moving away from the counter so he could see all he cared to. “Yes. And how are you?”

“Oh, I'm fine.” he turned to Djuana and told her he'd put away the paperwork. “I'm sorry you two have to rush off. Maybe I'll get to spend sometime with you one day, Tia.”

Tia blushed. “Maybe.”

“Okay, I’m ready. Let’s go,’’ Djuana said abruptly.

The two women made an ice cream stop before leaving the building.

“Miss, you are not going to gain weight alone,” Tia said, steering with one hand, holding chocolate Fantasy ice cream in the other.

Djuana laughed. And thought about her belly widening and poking out from her small, yet plump, frame. No more size eight, she thought. Unconsciously, her free hand rubbed her stomach.

Actually, Djuana hadn’t fit into a size eight in two years. She was a 10 or 12 in many styles.

The low hush of soul music filled the car as traffic slowly moved in the steady rain. Tia abruptly turned right on Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard, she has just about forgotten she had to turn, trying to figure out why her best friend, who hates no one, and there are many that she should, in Tia’s eyes, doesn’t seem to get along with her handsome boss.

“Why you hate Thompson?’’ Tia asked while surveying the traffic with a frown.

“I ain’t never say I hated the man.’’

“You sure don’t act like you like him.’’

“Well, he is my boss, you know. It’s just all about business. That’s all it should be. If you want him, go for him. Just don’t ask me to help. I want no parts of him when I am off.’’

“Girl, don’t tell me you still mad about that little date?’’ Tia looked at Djuana a full second. Djuana was looking away, at nothing in particular.

“He’s a man,’’ Tia said. “And, a handsome one at that, I might as well add. He just wanted some leg.’’

“Well, he ain’t get none. And he won’t.’’

“I’ll give him some. Plenty!’’

Djuana moved to end the conversation, “Let’s stop at the grocery store. Maybe you can make me some of your brownies tonight.’’

“Okay,’’ Tia sighed. She was in a talkative mood. She searched for a different topic. When she asked about Jack, Djuana brightened, to her surprise, and opened up.

“Did you say this guy plays for the Crowns? He's a baseball player?”

“Yep.” Djuana stared out her window, catching the eye of a young man in a sports car across from them in traffic. He smiled. Djuana turned her head back to Tia, catching the end of her statement.

“And he was cool, I mean as far as you know?”

“Yes.”

“You believe in fate?” Tia asked.

Djuana focused on the question. Was it fate? She thought it probably was sick fate, if any. She had met the man of her dreams while being pregnant by the man she always thought loved her.

Tia continued, “Things happen for reasons. Maybe he is a blessing in disguise.”

“Maybe. I don’t know. But it's funny, when he came into the store I was bitter and at the same time glad to see him.”

Tia shook her head and accelerated into open traffic. “He came to the store?’’

“He was there for one of those in-store promos we have,’’ Djuana twisted her lips. “He didn’t know I worked there, or so he claimed.’’

“I’m telling you, fate! Watch, you’ll be telling your grand kids the story of how their grandfather almost ran you down, then fell in love with you.’’

“You a mess, Tia.’’

Superfood was crowded as usual on an early Friday evening. Tia pushed the cart while Djuana walked along side. A call home to Emma had extended their list of groceries; Emma had forgotten a few items the day before.

The two ladies shopped and gossiped. They looked over prices of baby products; Tia suggested they begin buying the stuff soon because the prices seemed high. Djuana was unsure. She was thinking Dexter would have to be a part of the money spending, heavily.

They put more snacks in their cart than food and joined the long checkout lines with a full cart. While on line, Djuana noticed the baseball cards mixed in with candies and gums underneath the TV Guides. She picked up a pack and opened it. A Portland Crown was the first she saw.

Tia elbowed Djuana, “You buying them? Or, are you looking for somebody?”

Djuana didn't reply, she just reached for another pack.

“Let me see,” Tia took a pack and ripped open the shiny pack. She thumbed through the cards. “What's his name, again? Here's a Crown. Oh, he's white.

“Mr. Fate ain't white, is he?!”

“Tia! Quiet down. No he ain't white. Let me see those cards.”

The women examined two more packs, with shoppers curiously watching, before Tia stumbled across Jack Newhouse. “Um. Nice. If you don’t want him, I’ll take him. Shit, he does have a job.

“What is of?” Tia winced.

“Not of, silly. O F. Outfield. He plays out there,” Djuana pointed playfully. Tia looked and they both saw. Neither continued to smile.

Three aisles away, Dexter was pushing a shopping cart, turning down the canned food section, with a very pregnant woman on his arm. In the cart along with the groceries, was a young boy eating cookies. The sight of the happy-looking family caused a sharp slicing pain across Djuana’s chest. She dropped the baseball cards into the cart. She began walking toward aisle six.

“Djuana?” Tia sternly called. “Don’t.”

“Stay here on line,” Djuana said, almost drifting. “I'll be right back.”

Tia was enlivened, but she stayed with the cart. Kick his ass, she wished. Please kick his ass. Fuck him up and the ho with him!

Djuana turned the corner, side stepping an elderly woman, and followed her man. She plotted out a plan. Hit him hard and walk away? No. Slap him and her? No, she's pregnant. Shit, she's pregnant, looked to be at least seven months pregnant. That no-good bastard has a nice little family. Shit. That was all I ever asked the motherfucker for, and what did he keep saying? 'I ain't ready’; ‘I ain’t ready’.

Shit!

The family turned again and was going up the no-frills aisle. Djuana quickened her pace. Her heart lumped in her throat and thumped. She attempted to curb her anger before engaging the happy-fucking-family. A quick blink of her eyes, and Djuana realized she had been directly behind them a full second.

“Dex.”

He didn't budge.

“Dexter,” Djuana refused to yell and show anger. She wanted to be in control.

The woman looked up from the cart. She stared at Djuana, then turned to her man. “Dex, you know this woman?”

Dexter stared at the bags of dry peas on the shelf. It was next on the list. The hum of Djuana's light voice saying his name was deep in his memory. He had known it was her seconds before his woman spoke. He turned quickly, as if he hadn't heard the question; with his eyebrows raised.

“Huh?” was all he could say.

Djuana spoke in a controlled voice. “Dexter, you gotta explain this scene.” Djuana looked at the other woman, waiting for her to protest. She was no competition, Djuana felt. Her mind went to fury: Why he want that no hair, no ass, no hips, no nails - the bitch's got a diamond ring!

Dexter stepped from the cart. “What do you want? You following me?” He pretended to be annoyed. He was fighting the shock, the fear.

Sahmara Forns continued to be disturbed. “Who is this, Dexter?”

“Just an ex,” Dexter tried to hush his wife. A few shoppers had gathered. “I'll be a second,” he said.

When Dexter stepped near Djuana she slapped him with every ounce of anger and body weight she could put behind her small, soft hand. Dexter, although not strongly built, barely moved.

“Just an ex? That's all I am? Huh, Dex?” She hit him again.

Dexter grabbed Djuana into a bear hug from behind. Djuana struggled to free herself, all the while cursing.

Sahmara was pushing Djuana while her husband held her, trying to force her to fall into the canned goods. Dexter held on to Djuana, and at the same time tried to push his wife away.

Djuana was yelling and struggling. “Come on, bitch! I’ll fuck you up too!” She began calling to Tia as her friend neared. “Get him off of me so I can kill both these motherfuckers!”

The supermarket became a one-aisle show; the crowd swelled deep from both entrances of aisle five. Tia slithered her way to Djuana’s aid.

Security came running; and Dexter released Djuana as the guards asked. His very pregnant wife pushed Tia to the ground. She sprang up, wildly swinging her arms, but a guard had stepped in between them.

Dexter was cool. He berated Djuana from behind the guards: “See? Now do you under-fucking-stand? I am through with you. Just let it go.”

Djuana was unruly, “Yeah, you played me once, that’s it! I’ma kill the fucking baby, you besta believe that shit. Your baby, this one, is dead. Believe that. I don’t want shit from you! Ever!”

A gasp silenced the attentive crowd. Tia pushed and pulled her friend away. Djuana kept the verbal shots flying as they left. Dexter’s very pregnant woman held their crying son and glared at Dexter. He shook his head, and almost begged, “That bitch is lying. Don’t you see she’s jealous? She’s just trying to ruin what we have, Babe.”

Dexter's wife walked away, leaving her husband with his arms spread.

“Two damn fools and one dog,'' said one older female in the crowd.

“Disgusting,'' another female said.

A man, shopping with his wife and infant shook his head while his wife frowned at him.

“You see?’’ she said to her husband. “That's the stupidness that men do that I'm was talking about.''

Djuana didn’t want to shed another tear, yet she cried the whole car trip to her apartment. Tia wept in anger and drove. They had left the cart full of groceries in the checkout line.

“How didn't I know? How?'' Djuana broke the silence. She thought about how for the last year or so she could not get him on the phone unless he returned a call. He seemed to never be home. At his job at the Post Office, it was impossible to get him on the phone. His co-workers had become cold, but Djuana thought little of those men and women because he rarely spoke of them.

She caught Tia off-guard when she said she felt like a huge part of her life had been lost.

“When I was with him, I was lonely, but not alone. I know he wasn't there for me as much as he could or should have been, but I always knew he was there.”

Tia felt like shouting, waking her friend up. Instead, she just calmly tried to reason with Djuana.

“Dexter was never faithful, Djuana. Never. Nor was his ass ever respectful towards you. He never treated you like a woman. Just like some fucking trophy and shit.’’ Tia steered the car through traffic, in a rush to get to Djuana’s.

“You gave that man your all, and all he ever gave you in return was grief.”

“You don’t understand,” Djuana said quietly. “It's not that I want to be with him, I just miss the feeling of having someone that was mine when he was with me.”

Tia exhaled. “Please.”

Djuana leaned her head on the window, wanting to kick herself. The man who caused the pregnancy doesn’t want her to have the baby. Her best friend, whose opinion she cherishes, isn’t ready to be a Godmother. So, Djuana wondered, why have the baby?

“Tomorrow. Tomorrow I am getting rid of this baby,” Djuana fiddled with the tissue she had used up. “Am I some kind of ass? I can’t have a baby by him and be connected to that ass my whole life. I can’t.”

Tia felt more hate for Dexter that moment than the night his hand held and squeezed Tia’s ass while dancing at Djuana’s last birthday party.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Bill Courtnall took his job as a private investigator very seriously. He had solid contacts in the small, but deadly underground world of Portland, Oregon, and had a working relationship with the Portland Police Department. He used the latest gadgets, no matter what the cost, and had quick access to three guns; a .357 magnum in a shoulder holster, a .22 pistol in an ankle holster and had a .38 under the driver’s seat in his Ford Taurus. He wore a slick white fedora, a dark gray raincoat, and always sneakers.

When Courtnall first received a call from Vincent Slight, he thought it would be marital problems. What else would the imposing and grand owner of the Portland Crowns baseball team want from a private investigator? Slight gave him orders to follow seven of his players and give him the reports. Slight paid him double his usual fee for all seven in advance, with more money promised, as long as the operation was covert.

Courtnall sat alone in Slight’s office studying the crowded trophy case. Division championships plaques, conference championships plaques, but no league titles. He grinned, “They’ll never beat the Gamblers,’’ he mumbled. Just then Slight startled him by bustling in. With him was the team’s general manager.

Courtnall stood to greet the men. Slight introduced the two men and barked at them to sit.

“Let’s get to it,” Slight said as he sat.

Honeywell’s dark, well-groomed features mesmerized Courtnall. “You’re J.A. Honeywell?’’

Slight looked at the two men. “Yeah. So? Let’s get this on. We are not here to get acquainted.’’

Honeywell smirked at Slight. He knew what was about to be said.

“I never knew you were... I mean, I saw you on television, but you were always in the background. I didn’t know you were Honeywell. ’’ Courtnall continued to stare. “I mean, I just didn’t expect...’’

Courtnall thought about his next sentence. “I have a great deal of admiration for you. You did a great job building the Crowns.’’

Honeywell nodded his head slowly, crossed his legs, and unbuttoned one of his many dark, double-breasted suits. “So this is the private eye you hired. Quick guy.’’

Slight was fuming, “Courtnall, you got anything for me, or not?’’

Courtnall pulled out three red folders with names taped to each. He handed the ‘Spencer’ folder to Slight first. He looked through his notes as Slight opened it.

Honeywell squirmed in his seat. “This is ridiculous.”

Slight put on his thick reading specs, “But who asked you?”

Courtnall guided Slight through the folder, reading from his notes: “I had one of my best operatives follow this guy. He’s something else! First, he is a big time coke user, as you can see from the photos. We have him buying, usually late night, from the same supplier.”

Slight cut in, “Did you know about this, J.A.?”

“Yes. We all knew.”

Courtnall continued but Slight cut him off again. “There’s only three folders, what about the others?”

“We only have something on three of them,” Courtnall explained, looking to Honeywell for approval. “The others are basically clean. His wife has put Oscar Taylor out of his house. He’s been staying with Jack Newhouse. Mike Colbert is physically abusing his wife, and it seems, has been for sometime.”

Courtnall shifted papers in the file until he found his report on Lee.

“Your pitcher, Lee Spencer is a serious sniffin’ machine. Good thing you guys pay him well, ‘cause he is spending serious bread on the stuff.’’

Spencer was the league’s best pitcher. He had won more than 20 games in three straight seasons. He was the league’s MVP two of those seasons. His problems with cocaine were never substantiated into common knowledge. In the past season’s playoffs, a friend of Honeywell’s in the league office warned him that the president of the league wanted Lee tested for drugs before he pitched. Honeywell cleaned him up.

That season, though, he was off to a 1-5 start. Personally, his worst start of a season since coming to Portland. His poor start had plenty to do with the team’s weak record through May.

Slight continued looking through the notes. “What about Newhouse?” he asked

“Nothing,” Courtnall said.

“Impossible, keep after him.”

Honeywell stood, “I’ve had enough. You are losing it, Vinny.”

Slight grinned his sly smile. “On the contrary, I’m gaining control. Don’t you see? It’s time we made some changes before the ship sinks.”

What could have Honeywell said? Not what he was thinking. He had seen the Portland Crowns’ ship float with holes in her for years. He wasn’t sure how the team would fare with repairs.

The Crowns flew out of Portland with a six-game losing streak. The team’s first six-game skid in three years. Slight was in an outrage, to say the least. He lashed into his players on the plane, singling out Jack and Lee.

Lee glared out of his window and into the clouds while Slight yelled at him from across his seating partner, fellow pitcher Danny Gross. Lee couldn't have cared less; he was getting paid the second highest salary for a pitcher in the majors.

“I know what your problem is, Spencer!” barked Slight. “I know what all of you on this plane’s problem is. You are all spoiled! That’s right! Spoiled. I am sick of the sight of yous. Sick to my stomach.”

The owner finally sat.

Jack was suffering more than any of his teammates were. He had no hits during the last 10 games in Portland. He was worried. The Crowns had decided to call up Hector Aponte, a minor league phenom. Slight loves the guy for two reasons: he's cheaper and, right now, hotter than Jack was. Aponte was to meet the team in Milwaukee.

To make matters worse, he believed, his mind was steadily on Djuana Pioneer. Why hadn’t she called? he sat and wondered on the plane. Will she? Will she be mine? Will she let me make hot, passionate love to her? If she does, will I be able to handle it? Shit yeah, I’d hold those soft thighs and pound away. Kiss those soft lips, lick and suck those inviting nipples and just taste her...

“You hear me, Newhouse!?” Unbeknownst to Jack, Slight had returned to lecture his players.

Slight leaned over Oscar seated in the aisle seat to get into Jack’s face, and slipped. He fell into Jack’s lap. Oscar cracked up in laughter. A few other players laughed.

Slight pushed himself upright, using Oscar’s groin and Jack’s thigh for support.

“Get your hand off my dick!’’ Oscar laughed and turned to Jack. “Your owner is a bologna smuggler!’’

Slight mumbled a few curses and headed back to first class.

Three sleepless nights and two zombie-like days passed before Djuana's appointment with Dr. Oppen to abort Dexter's would be third child. He called and admitted that the little boy in the shopping cart was his, and the pregnant woman was his wife of seven months.

His wife. Those words hurt Djuana more than the sight of Dexter’s son, and another one on the way. It hurt her that he had bought another woman a diamond—and married her. She and Tia tried to figure out how they hadn't picked up on it sooner. They couldn’t, really. He had done a good job fooling them.

The night before the planned abortion saw the Pioneer household its saddest. Devon cried himself to sleep with Emma over him explaining why it had to be done. Emma herself couldn't sleep. She stayed in her room, praying most of the night. Tia slept on the couch because Djuana felt a need to be alone with it.

Mary J. Blige's soulful voice and lyrics full of feminine hurt had kept Djuana's face and pillow wet with tears all evening. Guilt had Djuana believing that if she had allowed him to leave her when she choose a New Year's Eve party instead of being at home alone two years ago none of this would be happening. Dexter had called three times, from some pay phone, when he found out about the party.

“I don't think you should go alone,'' he tried to reason.

“Tia will be there,'' Djuana replied.

“That's not what I mean. You ain't going. I'll take you out tomorrow.''

“What are you worried about, Dex? Have I ever disrespected you? Never. I just want to go out with some friends instead of being at home with mom and her bunch.''

She never did ask him where he went. Nor did she push the issue when she heard a female voice call his name. He said the woman was talking to someone else.

She also thought about all the men, some very handsome, some wealthy, she turned away because she was dedicated to him. She hoped he died a painful death.

In the early morning, before 8 a.m., Devon's light knock at her door broke Djuana's concentration. He came in and announced he had made breakfast for everyone. His sad tone of voice warmed his sister's heart. For a second she thought about changing her mind and having the baby.

She gave her brother a reassuring smile. “Since when do you cook?”

“I know how to cook. Y'all just never let a kid do the job. Come on and eat 'fore it gets cold.”

Djuana was hungry, but she hated the violent illness that she suffered after eating in the morning. She couldn't remember if she could eat before the operation, and she didn't care. She entered the bright yellow kitchen to see Devon spooning scrambled eggs out of the skillet. At the set table was very dark and crispy bacon, lumpy grits, and toast as dark as the bacon. Seated at the table and frowning were Emma and Tia.

Devon looked at his sister. “What? Ain't nothing burnt. Just a little dark that's all.”

He got the orange juice out of the refrigerator.

Djuana sat grimacing. Her stomach was turning. Tia covered her laugh.

Emma examined the bacon. “Damn, boy, could you have at least saved one piece?”

Devon sucked his teeth. “Please, Ma.”

“I can't eat, Devo. I don't feel too well.”

“Me neither,” Tia chimed in.

“Yeah, I know,'' he said, his mouth full of his cooking. “But Ma said you have to eat no matter how hard you barfed chunks back up.”

Tia gasped.

Djuana selected a lighter piece of toast and buttered it. The phone rang and all the women jumped for it. Devon sat munching away. Emma answered it laughing at how none of the women wanted to eat. But her smile disappeared. It was Dexter. Djuana spoke with him. The conversation lasted a second. He offered a ride to the hospital, she declined.

Southwest General Hospital had a small lobby with a comfortable waiting area. Five love seat were spaced out in a circle around a large glass table. Behind the half moon reception desk sat two polite women in street clothes with white medic coats and stethoscopes.

Djuana and Tia checked in at that desk and were told Dr. Oppen had not yet arrived. They sat in the empty waiting area. Tia watched Djuana become nervous instantly. She fidgeted, twitched and rubbed her hands together.  She looked around and claimed to need a drink. Tia got her a soda pop.

Djuana sipped out of the can twice before putting it down for good. She then asked what was taking so long; fifteen minutes after they sat.

Tia inhaled then exhaled deeply. “Take it easy, Dee,” she said.

“You hate me, don’t you, Tia?” Djuana was serious.

“Come on, DJ,” Tia became agitated. “No I don’t hate you. I hate what we are doing. What if something goes wrong?”

“I shouldn’t do this, right? We shouldn’t be here? Right?” All those hours spent making this decision, and still Djuana wasn’t sure.

Tia did not want Djuana to have the baby, yet she would never say so. She had felt strongly against her best friend having Dexter’s child since she was told. She would wonder to herself how would Djuana, a beautiful woman, find a good man with a ready-made family. Most good men would not want to take care of another man’s child, she felt.

Tia wiped her eyes and shook her head. She looked down into her own hands on her lap. “It’s your choice, Dee. I don’t know what to say.”

“Help me decide?’’ Djuana pleaded. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to kill my baby, but. Damn.”

“What does your heart say? Go with your heart.”

After fifteen minutes of hard thinking, what ifs and battling her nerves, Djuana blurted, “I want to go home.”

Tia wanted to object. “You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Dee? I don’t know. I mean, I’m worried that the baby would make everything you always wanted harder to obtain. What about going back to school? What about your own apartment? I want to be able to see you get married.”

“It can happen. It can all happen. Women do it everyday. The baby won’t kill my future. Just make me work harder, that’s all. I can do this.”

Djuana hugged Tia. “Don’t worry, Tee. I can do it. But I will need your help. I know I will.”

Tia kissed Djuana. “Me and you, kid. We can do this.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The Milwaukee baseball team swept three games from the Crowns in Wisconsin.

Jack hardly remembered the two nights and three days. He and Oscar rarely spoke. Oscar had women in the room each night, over emphasizing his pleasures and making the women moan as loud as possible. Jack ignored them. The team took a bus to Detroit, and lost two games there. The sorry trip ended in Minnesota. The Crowns won the last game of three there before returning to Portland.

Jack’s slump continued. He managed only four hits during the 10-game road trip. When the Crowns returned home he was determined to work his way out of the slump. He spent his first day home, a day off for the players, with the Crowns batting coach at the batting cage under Adkins Stadium. He hit a thousand balls under the watchful eye of his coach. He sprayed line drives all over the hollow basement. Still, afterwards his confidence did not rise.

Kristen was at the stadium to interview Honeywell for an off-day story when she saw Jack’s Pathfinder sitting alone in the parking lot. She went downstairs and watched Jack hit balls hard. She approached him after the workout as a friend, not a reporter. Jack warmed to that advance.

Kristen said, “You seem very frustrated, what’s up?”

Jack quietly nodded. “Yeah. I’m just out of it.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“Off the record?” Jack’s thick eyebrows rose.

“Maybe. Let’s have lunch.”

Kristen‘s smile eased him. He showered and changed.

They agreed to eat at Digger O’Dell’s, a Cajun cuisine eatery. They drove in their own cars, with Jack following. Once inside, Kristen maintained the lead, she picked the table and ordered jambalaya for them and a shot of vodka and a beer for Jack.

Then, she began the conversation: “So, Jack, what’s bothering you?”

“Is it obvious?”

“Yes.”

“And you think your readers want to know?”

“Inquiring minds? Ease up, you know me better than that.”

Jack smiled. She was right. Other writers have burned him before, but never Kristen. Yet, he still wanted to know if she had a story planned or real conversation.

“Jack, I’ve always liked you despite the way you and O dog-out women.”

“Yeah, that’s part of the problem. I can’t deal with that anymore. I’m ready to settle down, but I don’t have anyone to do it with.”

Kristen fell back in her booth seat. “Please. Is that it? You want to settle down? Then why don’t you? You have women all over the country that would do backhand springs to marry into your dough. And, you’re not bad to look at.”

“Exactly,” Jack smiled.

Kris playfully kicked him under the table.

“But seriously, I want real love. Somebody I can love and will love me. To hell with the money.”

“Money is important. That is what makes, or breaks, a lot of marriages.”

“I guess,” Jack exhaled. “But I just want a good woman I can be with.”

“Well, what is your definition of a good woman?” Kris batted her eyes. She sat upright.

He sighed again. Blinking his eyes off of her milky-white, smooth cheeks. “One that will love me for me. And, take the time to find out who I am. One I could trust. One that would be there for me.”

The food arrived. The waiter, a tall slender, light-skinned young man asked Jack for his autograph without a hint of excitement, just a wide grin. Jack quickly signed his name to the blank check the waiter offered.

“I don’t know,” Jack continued after the food was placed. “Sometimes I feel like I am never gonna find her. Or that I already have and don’t know it.”

“That happens. Just be patient, Jack. I would advise you, though, to leave those groupies alone. I fear for you and O. I know others screw around also, but you guys are really wild. I’m afraid that I am going to hear one or both of you have contracted AIDS.”

Jack picked at his food. “Yeah. You’re right.”

The San Francisco player hit the ball hard. Very hard. So hard that the usually boisterous crowd at Adkins Stadium fell silent.

Jack was playing the left-handed power hitter close to the right field line as to not allow an extra base hit-a usual move in the late innings of a tied game. San Francisco had rallied to tie the game at two the previous inning.

When Jack saw the ball leave the bat he instinctively moved to his right, in the direction he knew the ball was heading. Jack took three steps toward center field before he glanced away from the ball looking for Oscar.

Oscar had already given up chasing the ball. He began circling yards away from the spot where it might land, preparing to back up Jack.

Oscar was jogging yelling to Jack “It’s you! It’s you, New!”

“Thanks, buddy,” Jack grumbled. Jack shifted gears and emotions. His anger went from Oscar to the ball. He was going to catch it. After furious strides toward the middle of the outfield, he headed for the wall behind him. The ball was in his sight, lowering in the sky and still traveling quickly. When Jack reached up with his gloved hand he could feel dirt under his cleats, he was no longer on the soft grass. He had entered onto the warning track. His mind panicked the warning track? Then the wall must be a few...CRASH.

Jack hit the wall with a loud thump, his head driven straight into the padded wall snapping back. The ball hit the wall a second later. It hit inches below the top and rolled rapidly to Oscar. He relayed the ball in. The batter was on second base, as if he had not run hard. The jolt with the wall had left Jack semi-conscious. His head, right shoulder and right knee all swelled.

He didn’t try to stand, but felt an urge to sit upright. He could not hear his best friend speaking, yet knew O was there.

“I’m all fucked up,” Jack grumbled before passing out.

O grabbed Jack by his jersey to prevent him from tumbling over. Jack was sitting on his buttocks, legs sprawled, arms limp and mouth open. Quickly, teammates, dropping their gloves as they ran, and the club’s medical personnel sprinted to the scene.

The Crowns’ head doctor flicked on his radio and ordered a neck brace and ambulance while he ran to Jack. Tim "Pugsley" Garcia, the Crowns second baseman was crying. It was Jack who nicknamed Tim because of his short, round physique. The accident looked fiercer than it was. The players and the fans, both at the game and watching on televisions, thought Jack had broken his neck.

After the game, Bingo Wells stormed into Slight’s office. The secretary didn’t budge, although there was an important meeting going on. She had witnessed that scene much too often in her three years there. Slight would handle it. Slight and Honeywell were sipping scotch when their superstar exploded in. “What the fuck are you going to do about Newhouse?!” Bingo demanded. “He done cost us  with his slow ass! He should not be out there.

“Shit, he almost got Oscar killed!”

Slight peacefully sipped more scotch.

Honeywell rose from the leather chair. “What do you want done?” he asked, standing eye to eye with the Crowns number one superstar.

“Bring up Aponte,” Bingo said staring down Honeywell.  He turned to Slight, “What are you waiting for? Us to be in last place? Aponte can hit and play the field better than Jack could ever. O is always saving his ass, in more ways than one!”

Honeywell defended Jack. “The guy will come around.”

“He ain’t shit, never was,'' Bingo laced into Honeywell. “If you didn’t want him and defended all the shit he has done, he would have been gone. You traded others for doing less.”

Slight finally interrupted, “Gentlemen. Aponte is on his way. If he produces, he stays. Buffalo wants Jack. They can well have him. That’s that. Good-bye, Bingo.”

Bingo smiled. “Perfect.” He left.

“Vinny, you’re making a mistake. New will still produce for us.”

“Jack Newhouse is finished here. And the sooner Buffalo ups the ante the quicker he can pack.” Slight poured more liquor into his glass.

Honeywell rubbed his index finger over his top lip. He was defeated, only because it was Slight who owned the team. He did not want to see Jack traded. He thought of an excuse to keep him that Slight would find legit. None came to mind.

Slight gulped his drink, fixed another and said, “The guy drinks and screws in every city we visit. He fights with fans, and over those whores at that! I thought he was going to marry that chick he was seeing, what's her name? But he lost her.’’

Slight shuffled papers on his desk. “Look at these numbers,” he held up Aponte’s updated minor league stats. “This is gold, solid gold with O in front of him and Bingo behind him.

“Shit, we’ll run the Gamblers off the field.”

“Vinny, fine. I understand Aponte is going to play either way, especially since Jack’s hurt, but I am against trading him. The man carried us in ‘90. He was the only one that didn’t piss on himself against Las Vegas.”

Slight became enraged. “Cut the sentimental bullshit! Did we win in ‘90? Have we won a championship with Jack Newhouse? No. When was the last time he stole a base? When was the last time he had an assist?

“Christ, the slowing hump left lip marks on my outfield wall! He used to eat those balls up!”

Slight looked at Aponte’s stats again. He already knew them by heart. “Call Buffalo. Aponte can do the job.”

Jack spent that night in the hospital. He stayed in the intensive care unit with a concussion. The team's doctor ran tests on his vision, memory and reflexes, then had numerous x-rays performed. All through the day of exams, Jack rarely spoke.

The nurses were overly polite and attentive to the star patient, but he ignored them. Tons of flowers and get-well wishes were sent to him from fans, yet he was not cheerful. He was worried that the injury had opened the door for Slight to replace him. The reality of the situation depressed him.

The Portland Crowns were a very close-knit ball club. Most of the players had matured as ballplayers together in the minor leagues, and had lost lots of games together before becoming a dominant force. Slight had allowed Honeywell full administrative control in forming the team, but now he felt his presence was needed to push the team over its last hurdle before stardom. Beating the Gamblers, Slight believed, would call for changes.

Jack was watching the soaps when the door to his private room flung open and slammed against the wall. Mike had kicked it open because his hands were full with boxes of pizza.

“Is this the Jack Newhouse suite?” He barked.

In barged 18 of Jack's 24 teammates. The rest sent their solace, yet had other engagements. Except Bingo. He ripped Jack in the media, saying the Crowns would never win with him. Along with Mike's pizza, Danny and Pugsley had brought beer.

Don came straight to Jack and kissed his forehead. “I would have had that,'' he said.

Don, once the best right fielder in the game, was now the slowest outfielder on the Crowns.

O carried a brown package that contained six X-rated movies that the team chipped in to buy. O sent a rookie to get a VCR.

“What if I can't find one?” Luis Ratz asked puzzled.

“Then go out and buy one!” O yelled. “Don't stand there, hurry the-fuck-up! These are goodies!”

Jack had to grin. “You butts are going to get me put out.” The room, large and gloomy before, became small, loud and crowded.

“Doubt it,” Mike said. “O's slept with just about every nurse in the joint.” The room roared with laughter.

“I must tell you Jack,” said Cris Carpenter, the other Crowns starting outfielder, as the chuckling ceased. “We were going to get you a stripping nurse, but we only collected $8.95.''

“You cheap-ass millionaires,'' Jack frowned.

Don said, “We asked Bingo to chip in and he said to tell you to kiss his ass.”

“Kick his ass, he said? Why, sure I will,” Jack laughed so hard it hurt.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Djuana opened her mind and heart to the fact that she was having a baby in the fall. She cashed her check as she usually did at the end of her shift on Thursday’s and went out on a clothing-shopping spree. She went to two different maternity stores, spending almost all of her two-week’s earnings.

Most of the clothes she bought were for the upcoming months, she hadn't any noticeable physical changes at that time. She went back into DeLux's, and using her 20% discount, spent the rest of her money.

Djuana was surprised to have found so many nice styles in the maternity stores. She was also sadly surprised to find she had gone up a size from an eight in most styles to 10 in maternity clothes. It was then that it dawned on her seriously that she was three months pregnant. She bought various colors of stirrups and pullover and button-up blouses to match. She bought underwear, including a few wire bras. Her breasts had become tender and heavy, and the nipples were tingling constantly.

Djuana even began the process of telling people. She called her true friends and by the end of the day she had received numerous phone calls. The news spread through Djuana’s small chain of friends, and soon word reached Tia. Tia, afraid of breaking Djuana’s trust, denied the story. She was caught off guard when the women said it was Djuana that told them.

Tia called Djuana disturbed. “Thanks for telling me you planned to hand out fliers telling of your bundle of joy.’’

Djuana laughed, “Don’t worry about it. I let the cat out of the bag, and it feels good.”

Djuana’s metamorphosis into being a proud pregnant woman helped ease her mind. She began to take serious notice to the changes her body had been going through while she moped. She told Dr. Oppen, who was glad she changed her mind and wanted to have the baby, and he described all her little discomforts and bodily changes.

The dull ache, a feeling of fullness, in her belly, the doctor explained, was the cause of fibrous and elastic tissue was forming in the external muscle layer of the uterus. The uterine muscle cells were stretching and the shape of the uterus was changing from pear to round as the fetus grew. Some of the processes were internal, he went on to explain, but others she would see.

Dr. Oppen gave Djuana a tight hug and kiss on the cheek, he was happy she stood him up at the hospital. They had enjoyed a fine relationship, he was a good listener and always offered Christian advice. Djuana had been using him as her gynecologist for six years and his bedside manner was what kept her loyal. Djuana took to the way he approached the many subjects they discussed. He would come off as a concerned father sometimes, and other times as a knowing doctor. Emma, though, didn’t like him. She wanted her daughter to go to an African-American female doctor instead.

Emma would complain, “She would understand you better. And she wouldn't be so happy to see you with your legs cocked open.”

Djuana left the mall, jumped into a cab on the taxi-line and rode to her hairdresser on Burnside. Even though a bus would have been free, she didn’t feel like being bothered with lugging those shopping bags off the bus and hauling them the four blocks to the shop. And, more importantly, she could relax in peace in the cab.

The city of Portland was dedicated to making its downtown area as least congested as possible. The Tri-Met public buses and the Metropolitan Area Express, Portland’s above -ground light rail system, are free if a person travels within a 300-block radius of downtown, known as Fareless Square.

In the cab, the short driver was listening to Portland‘s news radio station. The sports report began with news of Jack Newhouse being in stable condition. Djuana sprang forward.

“What happened to him?” she blurted.

The driver looked into the mirror and brightly said, “He ran into the wall last night. It looked pretty bad, but they say he'll be back soon.”

Djuana frowned. “What wall? Was he driving?”

The driver let loose a mocking chuckle. “No. No. The outfield wall. He was chasing a fly ball and ran out of room. They'll probably show it tonight on the news again.”

Djuana's mind went to work. “Which hospital is he in?”

“University. But I think they said he'll be getting out today.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Djuana sat back. She dug through her purse and found Jack’s card. She couldn’t wait to get home to use it.

Pamela Kirke was shocked to see Djuana come through the hair salon's door. She greeted her friend and customer with a long hug and light kiss - her hands away from Djuana though. In one hand she was holding a curling iron, the other a comb with globs of conditioner.

“Girl, where you been? Did Dex have you on lock down?”

“Not even. I was just a little busy,” Djuana looked around. The small, six-booth, storefront shop was crowded for a Thursday night. Each booth was being used. The other women all smiled or spoke to Djuana as she found a seat.

“I'm sorry I didn't make an appointment.”

Pam shrugged. “You’re in luck, after I set Fran I'm free. The crowd's not for me this time!”

Djuana put her bags in Pam's office and sat among the waiting women. Most she knew casually. For a second she wondered where everybody was going. She didn’t want to ask, because she knew that most of the women there were either married or dating seriously. That would be all she needed to hear about: a couple’s affair. The talk of the shop that night was of Denzel Washington's new movie and inattentive boyfriends. Djuana chose to not enter in either debate.

She instead looked around at the posters of men around the shop. There were movie stars, television actors and sports figures. But no Jack Newhouse. She was looking at the basketball poster wishing it was Jack, changing each feature until the player was in a Crowns uniform and more handsome. She hoped he was feeling fine.

Then Dexter arrived.

Dexter's Mazda double-parked outside of the shop. He had checked all over town for Djuana, at many of the spots where he had picked her up from before. He had almost forgotten about Pam’s.

Pam, standing over Fran, setting her hair, saw him first. “Um. He's early tonight.”

Djuana followed Pam's eyes to see Dexter as he opened the door and came in. The sight reminded her of the life long connection she would have with him. It was then, for the first time in seven years, she looked at him and felt no passion; no urge to touch him. No love.

She walked directly to him. He stopped and greeted her. “What are you doing here, Dexter?” She coldly whispered. Every eye was on him.

“We ain't talked. I think we should, even though ‘you’ made the decision.”

“Then, talk.”

Dexter's head spanned the shop. “Not here. Come outside.”

As soon as the door closed, the women began to whisper.

“Problems in paradise?” a round woman said.

Another, her hair being weaved, quipped “He ain't bad looking, but those be the one's.”

Pam quieted the audience. “Y'all need to mind your own. That's why some of you ain't got a man.”

Dexter tried to hold Djuana's hand. “Don't touch me,” she said.

“Come on, Babe. Ease up a little. I never wanted any of this to happen.”

“Any of what, Dexter? Me to get pregnant, or me to find out about your family. Or all of the above?”

“Juanny, you got it all wrong,” he said, but Djuana had not stopped speaking.

“You jerked me, lied to me, for what? Seven years? I hate you with a passion.”

The parlor fell silent, and motionless. It was hard to catch every word, but Djuana helped with her anger.

Dexter folded his arms. Djuana bit her bottom lip and looked away and into the leaving buses' lights. They both knew they were being watched.

“I'm sorry,” Dexter near mumbled. “But you just don't know the half. You don't know why or how these situations occurred.”

“You called me a bitch. A lying bitch,” the tears began slowly. “You put your hands on me. Twice.”

“I’m sorry. You know I always loved you, no matter what.”

“Don't,” Djuana's voice carried in the brisk night air. “Don't even go there.”

Dexter moved closer. “I never hit you before in my life. I am sorry and I wish it was you I’d married.”

Djuana pushed him before he touched her. “You sure are sorry. A sorry excuse for a man. You don’t know how I wish at night that this was somebody else’s baby.”

Dexter looked away while Djuana took tissue out of her handbag. She wiped her eyes and nose. He was becoming agitated.

“Why you fucking with me?” he said. “All you want to do is argue. I’m here trying to talk with you.”

“Stop. Save it for your wife. We don’t have anything to discuss. You do as you please. You want to be a father to this baby, do it. Don’t ask me shit. You know my address. Mail whatever you want, and you will be welcome wherever the baby is. Just don’t be expecting me to listen to your shit.”

Djuana wrenched open the door and stepped in. All eyes froze in any direction but hers. Dexter darted in ahead of her. He pleaded with her, “Babe, I know you are going to be a good mother. But I still don’t think this is the right time or situation for you. Think about it.”

A few looked directly at them, but most of 12 or 13 women in the shop tried to be oblivious.

“Bye, Dexter.” She bullied by him, hoping he would brush her so she would have a reason to fight him. He sidestepped her. She returned to her seat. The lady next to her forced her head into the magazine.

Dexter watched her soft, beautifully shaped legs cross angrily. She will be a gorgeous pregnant woman, he imagined. His wife was, and is again, unattractive while expecting.

He knew Djuana would be celibate until long after birth. He felt his bugle rise as he remembered how true she was to him, how snug her vagina was the times he disappeared for two weeks, or after her period.

“Fine. Be like that,” he said as he stormed out with his head high.

“The Virgin Mother,” Dexter grinned as he got into his ride. “Shit. That pussy’s gonna be sweet.”

He began plotting a way to be first again.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The telephone's ring startled Jack out of a dead sleep. Its second ring irritated him, causing him to rise off the pillow. The third ring caused a sharp pain in his still aching head. He and his headache had finally fell asleep minutes before. He was home now, and felt relaxed in his own bed, but the constant phone calls were more disturbing than the hospital.

Jack snatched up the cordless phone on the fifth ring. He had forgotten to cut on the answering machine. He grumbled a hello into the receiver. The voice on the line was soft and unsure. She asked for Jack by his full name. He was pissed, he didn't recognize the voice, and didn't want to be bothered.

“Jack, this is Djuana Pioneer. I hope it's not too late?”

Jack popped up, pain rushed to his forehead. “No, not really.” He looked at the digital clock on the night table. 10:49 was not late at all.

Djuana listened intently. “You sound like you were sleep. Maybe I should call back tomorrow.”

“No, no. I'm up. I was just laying down. I was watching the game.”

Djuana perked. “Yeah, I just came in and caught the tail end of it. How did you like it?”

“It was all right.” Jack hated the game. His replacement, Hector Aponte, broke into the big leagues with two doubles and a home run. Jack cringed when the crowd at Adkins gave the kid a standing ovation.

“Just all right? You say that because you are not playing. Are you feeling better? They showed a replay of the accident. It looked pretty bad, but they say you'll be back soon.”

“I hope so. I feel a lot better, although I still have a slight headache,” Jack leaned an elbow on his pillows. “So, you saw the play, huh? The wall kinda snuck up on me. I had it all the way.

“Sure,” Djuana chuckled.

Jack smiled.

“You watch baseball often?”

Djuana was relaxed, but not comfortable enough to say what she felt. She wanted to tell Jack she hated baseball until she met him. But a better answer came to mind.

“My brother is a big fan.”

“That's good. Does he go to games?”

“Sometimes. His uncles take him sometimes.”

“Well, maybe you can bring him and the two of you can be my guest.”

“Oh, he'd go crazy. He's been asking me about going since I told him...”

Jack could hear the disturbance in her silence. “Are you still upset about that? About how we met?”

“No. To tell the truth, I don't think you did anything. That's why I think about you.”

“Think about me? That's good to hear, because you are all I wonder, dream and think about.”

“What's with you, Jack Newhouse? Are you as nice and sincere as I think you are? Or are you the guy I've read about that sleeps with many women in other cities?”

“Do you want to take the time to find out for yourself?”

“Maybe,” she tested him more.

She wanted to tell him how bored she'd been that night. How she wanted to speak with him ever since she heard about the injury. How she needed a different, unknowing ear.

She began: “Jack, when I heard about you being hurt I felt an urge to call you. You see, that night you made me feel so warm and secure. Then I see you in my store and you make me feel the same way. When you said you had been thinking about me and worried about me, you sounded sincere.”

Jack found himself in unfamiliar territory: A woman was talking to him about her own feelings. Not baseball, not paychecks and not what sex act they would be glad to perform. He was full of questions. He spoke without thinking; the words had been there waiting for Djuana. They continued to discuss favorites, their jobs and families. Djuana surprised him by asking about an article that Kristen wrote in the Sunday paper about his need for a female companion.

“She wrote that? Damn.'' Jack worried about the hundreds of letters he will receive from single women in Oregon.

“Do you really want to get married?''

Jack was happy to reveal how single he was, “I thought I was going to. The last woman I dated dumped me for her ex. I was surprised, but I am kinda happy she did it. Now I can find someone to really love and really love me.”

Djuana became silent. She thought about the stories she had heard from numerous people, including her mother, about Jack and his teammates. She wanted to ask, but felt he would be forced to lie.

Would he lie?

Probably. But it should not matter, she reasoned with herself. When she became his woman, then she would need to know.

She laughed to herself. When she became his woman.

Djuana told of how Dexter hurt her, revealing how she loved him deeply for seven years. She twirled the phone's cord, laying on in bed, between the sheets and staring at the ceiling. She was thinking of how deeply she loved Dexter. She couldn’t envision loving that strongly ever again.

“Is that the man from the night I met you?'' Jack was curious, but hesitant. He didn't want their pleasant conversation to turn because he was being nosey

“Yes. He left me at a restaurant, and I was walking home when I walked in front of your car.''

“He sounds like a real loser.''

“He is, I'm sorry to say.''

“Why?''

“Because I spent seven years trying to make him mine. What a waste.''

“Do you want him back?”

“No. No way.”

“Really?”

“Really. I do miss him sometimes, only because I'm lonely...'' Oops. She patted her forehead with her soft, tight fist.

“But I know I deserve better,” she recovered.

Jack wanted to leap through the phone and make her feel loved.

Djuana did feel exhilarated, though. Both her heart and mind were ablaze. Jack was a wonderful talker with so much to say. He told her peculiar stories that opened an extroverted part of Djuana's soul she had never showed a man.

Dexter, the one man she spent most of her time with, was not fond of her sense of humor. He would tell her to shut up at times she was playful or talkative. Thus, she began to not share thoughts with him.

Jack and Djuana spent nine hours on the phone. Not more than a minute of silence passed between them. Djuana checked the clock when she heard Devon in the bathroom. “Do you realize how long we've been on the phone,” she sat up and noticed the light seeping in the window shades.

“Not really,” Jack looked and was shocked.

“It's almost seven in the morning!”

“I'm sorry. You better go. Don't you have to leave for work soon?”

“I really get up about eight,” Djuana didn't want to hang up.  “What about you, how's your head?”

“Lady, your voice has soothed my brain cells.”

“Oh, really,'' Djuana blushed.

“Yep,” Jack's voice had cleared. Djuana liked it hoarse.

“I wish I could see you today. How about lunch?” He asked.

“That's possible. If you can.”

“I don't know why not.”

The two planned to meet at the Galleria for lunch during Djuana's lunch hour. She warned him, though, that they are meeting as friends. Jack agreed.

Both were exhausted and sore from holding the phone for nine hours, yet they were at the same time more alive than ever. Djuana waited less than five minutes before calling Tia and giving her a near word-for-word recount.

As Jack twirled his Pathfinder into a parking spot at the Galleria his cell phone beeped. His heart raced, was she calling to cancel? He snatched up the phone. It was his agent.

“Where are you,” Berger demanded to know.

“The Galleria mall.”

“For what?”

“Lunch.”

Berger blew air through his nose. “Geezus! How fast can you get across town to my office. You can have lunch with me.”

“I could in twenty minutes. But I ain't. I am not breaking this date.”

“Shit. Okay, okay. But we have to talk. It's very important.”

“Shoot. You got seven seconds.”

“Lee has been traded to Buffalo. They want you next. I made a few calls, and Buffalo called me. They want to know if you'll play first if they make the trade.”

Jack's heart dropped. “I am not going to Buffalo.''

“So, first base is out of the question?”

“Berger, you deaf? I ain't going to Buffalo.”

“If you say no to playing first for them, then it won't matter.”

Jack felt the hollow pit in his stomach deepen, a combination of hunger and nerves. He looked up at the Red Dragon's sign.

“I've got to go.”

“Don't worry about it, but we need to meet with Slight and Honeywell real soon.”

“Yeah, hook it up. I'll call you in two hours.”

Djuana sat nervously at a booth in the Red Dragon Chinese restaurant. She had watched the clocks in DeLux's all morning. Now she sat and watched the Red Dragon's clock tick a second past two. She needed a watch since she threw away the diamond timepiece Dexter had bought her.

He'll be here any second, she warned herself. She wondered what more could they discuss after nine hours on the phone; besides her pregnancy. No, not that. She wasn't ready to discuss that. It might scare him away. She hoped he wouldn’t notice her belly. But her belly at that time was not protruding at all. It was well hidden by the oversized, black cotton long-sleeve blouse.

When should I tell him? When would be the right time? Tia told her to tell him that day, at lunch. She would try, she promised Tia. As she sat there awaiting Jack, she planned to control the conversation; letting him know she was not available, but would like his friendship. He would understand. He seemed so nice and refreshing on the phone. He didn't once direct their conversation toward sex.

Then, there he was. Dressed causal, as Djuana had directed, with a yellow rose in his right hand. He wore a two-buttoned, navy blue polo shirt, jeans, sneakers and a navy blue field jacket. He smiled at Djuana, she was already blushing, as the host escorted him over.

Quickly, he took Djuana's hand to his lips and kissed it. Then he handed her the rose.

“That's for allowing me to have lunch with you,” Jack whispered.

Djuana blushed.

“Drinks, Juana?” The Mattrie'D asked.

She looked at Jack, “Would you like anything?”

“Sure, let me get a Bud, and plenty of water.”

Djuana ordered a ginger ale with lemon and the valet disappeared.

“You must come here often,” Jack said.

“Oh, because he called me by my name? We order food about twice a week to the store.”

“So, people call you Juana?”

“Not many. I don't think he can pronounce it with the D. You can if you want to.”

“No. I like Djuana.”

She liked how he pronounced it, with the Juan very prominent. She looked into his face. He was handsome. More so than the pictures she had studied. She liked his dark eyes, full eyebrows and inviting lips. They were rounded, not big, and soft. She recalled his light kiss on her knuckles minutes before and unconsciously licked her lips. A sprinkle of goose bumps covered her body.

“Since this is your hangout, what do you suggest?'' Jack said. Looking down at the menu, Jack could feel Djuana giving him the once over.

A long kiss, she wished she had nerve to say. Instead she giggled.

“Something wrong?” Jack asked. “Do I have a hair out of place or something.” He patted his low-cut fade.

“No. Not at all.” She continued to giggle.

A different waiter brought water, Jack's beer and Djuana's soda. He also took their order. Jack let Djuana order for him. She was delighted and made a quick choice. How many times had she wanted to order for Dexter just to be different?

Jack glanced at Djuana. Why is this woman single? he wondered. He looked at her black blouse; nothing was revealed. Then he looked over her hairstyle.

Quietly, leaning over to her, he said, “I like your hair that way.” he remembered the wide, soft, bright rust curls that were drenched and hanging down her face the night he first saw her. Now Djuana's hair was auburn brown with a mid-length bob, coaxed from her crown into a super smooth drop, covering her ears and reaching her neck.

Djuana thanked him. Omar, the bus driver, had said the same exact words hours before, yet neither as calmly or sincerely as Jack did.

“How's your head,” she asked. She was trying to be in control. Keep him from noticing her nerves, or the baby.

“It's much better. I took the horse pills the Doc gave me, and took a nap this morning.”

“That's good. I want to thank you for coming out here. I know you probably had things to do.” She tried not to smile, but did.

“It's my pleasure. I am serious about wanting to get to know you. It starts with spending time with you.”

“Yeah.”

Damn, he's making it hard to keep to the script, her forehead wrinkled as she studied her glass. She twirled her straw. Tell him, her conscience nudged. But she feared he would upturn the table and dash out the door. Why would a major league baseball star, making millions, want to date a pregnant woman. Pregnant by an asshole. He would run out the door.

Suddenly a penny bounced on the table near Djuana. “If your thoughts are more expensive, I'll pay.”

She had to smile. He is something else. “I was just thinking about something,” she finally said as the food came.

Saved.

“I figured you were thinking. But what about so deeply. Am I boring you?”

“No. When we get to know each other better, I'll have plenty to tell you,” Djuana said as she spread soy sauce over her chow mien.

Jack was apprehensive. “Are you married to this guy you told me about last night?”

“No,” Djuana was startled. “I am not married. Where did that come from?”

“Your ring,” Jack pointed to her left hand. He wanted to touch the hand, hold it. On the ring finger was an onyx in a thin gold setting.

“You’re kidding me?” She laughed heartily. The ring, something she was sure Jack wouldn't buy for a child, was a Christmas gift from Dexter two years ago. That fall she had been nagging him about getting married.

The ring, Dexter explained was a ‘‘Friends Forever'' bond. She liked it, but not for what it symbolized. Putting it on every morning had been become a devoted part of her daily routine.

“Well, it is on that finger.”

“No, Jack. I am far from being married.”

She noticed his gold chain, a simple herringbone, and decided to pick on him. “That's a nice chain,” she commented.

“It's cute.”

“Cute?” Jack laughed.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” she deepened her voice. “That's manly, Dude.” She laughed a hearty giggle. To Jack it seemed a bit much, but it was refreshing to Djuana.

“Oh, boy. It feels so good to laugh again.”

Jack's grin dimmed. It had been more than a year since Vivian gave him the chain for his birthday. He touched it, and planned to get rid of it that night.

He watched Djuana for a few seconds, thinking of the correct way to ask her about the night they met. He had an idea it was a man that sent her into the mood she was in at the time. He left that thought alone, observing her eat was a warming sight.

Her hands and mouth never stopped moving, yet with respectful manners. She kept her napkin handy and wiped her lip quickly between fork visits. Djuana devoured her food, and most of their appetizer, within minutes.

“You were hungry,” Jack finally said.

Djuana looked down at her spotless plate and small portion left on the serving platter. Then she saw he had barely touched his food. She sipped the last of her soda.

“Yeah, I was. I didn't have breakfast because I didn't want to seem like one of those conceited women who only have salads.”

Djuana had eaten hearty that morning, and she had two candy bars while working.

The sudden appearance of a pretty woman and a bright-eyed young boy startled Djuana.

The lady excused her and the boy, then turned to Jack and said, “Mr. Newhouse, my son is a big fan and he wants to know if you would sign this for him?”

She handed Jack a small piece of paper.

Jack glanced at Djuana as he took the paper and pen. She seemed uptight.

“I'm sorry about this.” He asked the boy his name and signed: Always strive to be the best.

Djuana was speechless. She was impressed, and at the same time in awe of her lunch mate. She enjoyed how careful he was with the youngster, and respectful to the parent. When they walked away, thanking her also, she finally spoke.

“You are really something else. I know you must have thousands of fans.”

“I hope so,'' Jack grinned. “But thanks for your patience, anyway. You know, I hate when that happens. I hope it didn't bother you too much. I have to tell you, it’s a part of what I am.”

“No problem, no bother to me. Hey, it's you they want.”

“Yeah, but it's you it will probably bother more. But I promise, if we do get together like I hope we will, we will have plenty of privacy. I have learned how.”

“Really.” She wanted to question him about the getting together statement, but held off. She imagined sitting through a baseball game, yuck! “I have to admit something, though, I am not that crazy about baseball.''

“That's all right,” Jack replied knowingly.

His answer seemed dry. She quickly blurted, “I'll be glad to learn if you teach me.”

Jack was pleased with the compromise, “Sure. I'd like that. And I'd like to see you at some games.”

Djuana smiled.

Jack had to bring up marriage again. He had was intrigue by the fact that such an attractive African-American woman hadn't been snatched up. He ate a forkful of Egg Foo Young, then sipped ice water.

“Tell me something, why isn't a beautiful young lady like yourself married?”

“Thank you. My mother asks me the same question every single day. I just can't answer that.”

“Do you want to be?”

Djuana took a second to think. The answer was obvious to her, but should she tell him? He is a well-to-do baseball player, women have probably been trying to hook him into marriage for years. Would he understand the answer? She looked him in the eye, one of the few times that afternoon, and said, “I would like to someday. If I met the right person.” 

“Have you ever been engaged?”

“You mean with a ring and a date? No.” Djuana began eating the orange slices and fortune cookies.

“What, you were verbally engaged or something.”

“Kinda. I really wouldn't like to get into that.”

“Sorry.” Jack watched her again.

Djuana ran her finger up and down her glass, thinking how terrible Dexter is compared with Jack. When she looked up she noticed Jack watching her.

“You're staring at me.”

“You're beautiful,” instantly he responded.

“Thanks.” Djuana decided to take control of the conversation. “What about you, have you ever been engaged?”

“Nope. I thought I was close to it, but that didn't quite work out.”

“What happened?”

“Well, she went back to her ex. Something I thought might happen.”

The bill came, and out of custom or habit, the waiter placed it at Jack's side. He removed the plates. Jack asked Djuana  if she wanted anything else.

She said no thank you, and dragged the bill to her side of the table, “I'll handle this. My treat. Do you want anything else.”

“No thanks. But Djuana, let me pay the bill.”

“Jack, I invited you. Next time can be all yours.”

Jack figured she didn't make much money in the mall, but didn't push it. He watched her go through her handbag and remove her purse. She took money out and slid out of the booth. She dropped a $3 tip and took the tab to the counter. Jack followed, eyes on hips. Djuana's curved torso was hidden in a knee-length, hunter green knit skirt with a modest slit in the back.

Her black, small heeled, leather sling-backs revealed smooth ankles and heels. Jack marveled at those legs. No stockings! Perfectly rounded calves with a hint of hair on the legs.

Djuana felt his eyes, and hoped he enjoyed the sight. She paid the bill and allowed him to escort her out the double doors. Before they could leave, a man cut them off, grabbing Jack's hand. He shook it heartily and asked for Jack's autograph.

“He's the best, lady, the damn best there is!” The fan said to Djuana.

“I know,” Djuana said. She believed it.

Jack signed the man's piece of paper quickly.

Outside she instantly recognized the black Pathfinder. Suddenly a ride seemed alluring.

“Well,” she exhaled. “Thanks again for joining me. You are a pleasure to be with.”

“And you aren’t so bad to be with either. Would you like me to walk you back to work?”

Djuana said no, but was glad he asked. Her doubts about his sincerity were diminishing. They approached his car, he pressed his alarm releasing the locks and Djuana opened the driver's door for him.

“Drive safely. Oh, I already know you can handle this thing.” Djuana chuckled, but she felt stupid for saying that.

Jack slid behind the wheel with a sharp grin. “I want to see you again.”

Djuana closed the door. The car's engine turned and the windows slid down.

“You will,” she said. “I promise you that.” Again she felt she was saying too much, but her words were flowing freely.

Jack took her hand off the door and kissed it. “Thanks again for a great lunch.”

Djuana's hand numbed. I want a kiss. I want a kiss. Kiss him!

She leaned in, and Jack craned his head to meet her tender lips. Her tongue parted his lips and searched his mouth for his tongue. She held on to his jacket, grasping tightly, and raised to her tiptoes. Passion brought light moans from the pit of her heart to her vocal cords. The kiss was the best first kiss in either one of their memories. His tongue was patient, and hers was aggressive.

The kiss lasted seconds, but neither knew the true flow of time. They separated to a soft plop. Djuana licked her mouth dry. The sight enhanced Jack's arousal. He rubbed his chin with his hands. Djuana smiled and wiped his chin, “I'm sorry. I wet up your face.”

Jack was flabbergasted, all he could do was shake his head. After a second or two he said, “Call me?”

“Yes, Jack. I will call you.”

The Pathfinder glided slowly away, leaving Djuana on the verge of madness. Her body had never given her any trouble - in fact, she'd never felt that she just had to have a man make love to her during the lonely nights Dexter caused. But the thought of Jack Newhouse touching her...making love to her, made her ache with desire. She didn't know how many nights she'd awakened from a dream in which his body possessed hers, to find herself trembling, her breasts hurting for his touch.

“No. No,” she babbled walking across the parking lot of the mall. “Shit! I just met him. Just kissed him and just really talked with him.”

Jack and Djuana had walked out of the Red Dragon ten minutes to three o'clock. Ten minutes before Djuana was due back at DeLux's. When she punched back in she was fifteen minutes late.

And in love.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Emma Pioneer took a deep drag of her sixth cigarette in the last half an hour. She wasn't used to having company, and it was making her nervous. Emma had been a chain smoker for 23 years before quitting. The circumstances surrounding her only daughter, and first-born, caused her to return to smoking, she told herself. That pack of Pall Malls she was emptying was the first she had bought in a year. She had to, she needed a smoke when her only daughter dropped the bombshell of being pregnant.

Emma's only brother Calvin sat across from her at the small kitchen table quietly drinking his beer. Emma was drinking vodka mixed with orange juice; her favorite. Also at the table, but not drinking anything, was Tia's mother, Bernadette Williams. In the living room were Tia and Calvin's wife, Marla. Tia and Marla were discussing a baby shower for Djuana.

The quiet in the kitchen brought the shower plans to the attention of Emma. She sipped out of her mug.

“I don't believe this,” she moaned. “My baby. I just don't believe this.”

Calvin gulped his brew, turning his neck up. It was times like this, when his sisters were crying for simple reasons, that Cal disliked being the only man around the family.

“I'm getting sick of this shit. Emma, the girl is in her twenties! Late twenties at that! Shit. You actin' like she be 15 or 16. Come on. She'll be all right.”

Emma cringed at Calvin. “Thank you, Cal. You fucking genius. Why don't you go in the other room before I crack your skull with this Absolut bottle?”

Calvin snatched up his beer and stormed into the living room. Bernadette watched him leave, picking her next words carefully.

Emma spoke first, fighting tears, “That man don't understand. My daughter is all fucked up, and I did it.”

Bernadette switched seats, getting closer to Emma and taking her hand, “Come now, Emma. You worked hard in raising two fine children on your own. And everybody knows you did a damn fine job.”

“Sure I did,” Emma answered sarcastically.  “I lost my baby to her first lay. He turned her from an energetic young woman with dreams into a lovesick zombie waiting for his call. She had dreams. She wanted to be something, but she instead waited for him.”

She poured the remainder of her mug down her dry throat. She mixed another drink and continued. “Then he knocks her up and wants to beat it out of her because he is already married. He's gonna get his.”

Bernadette squeezed Emma's chubby hand. “It will be okay, you can't go thinking like that. It won't solve anything. God will give him his due.”

Bernadette moved closer, “Listen, me and Lenny will help in any way we can.”

The booze began unleashing Emma's feelings. She began crying loudly, and the sobbing brought everyone into the kitchen.

“My baby could have been anything. She was so smart in school. She could've gone back to college, but no.” She sobbed and looked up at everyone trying to console her. “But no. Now she's all fucked up 'cause of a first-dick she couldn't shake.”

“Don't say that, Emma,” Marla said. “She'll be all right.”

“You know better than that. Djuana is still very bright and oh so beautiful,” Bernadette said, patting Emma's back and handing her a fresh tissue.

Emma rose and became defensive. “Yeah, like I don't know what the fuck I'm saying?! What the fuck did I go through?! Ain't no man gonna want her with baggage!”

No one acknowledged the sound of a key in the front door. Djuana floated directly into the kitchen and brightly smiled at her family and closest friends. The sight could have been the climax to a wonderful day. She had been gleeful the remainder of the afternoon. But when she saw the tears on her mother's face and the near-empty liquor bottle, she stiffened.

“What's up?” Djuana frowned.

Emma bullied her way through Marla and Bernadette to Djuana, then gently held her daughter's face. The smell of alcohol on her mother's breath churned Djuana's delicate stomach.

“Why baby, why?'' Emma began. “Why have this man's baby? Don't do this to yourself. No, please, Juanny, baby, don't do this.”

Calvin pulled his melodramatic sister by her arms, “Come on, Em', just sit down for a second.” He led her back to her seat at the table.

He then kissed Djuana's forehead, she had begun to cry. “Don't worry about it, Dee. You a grown woman.”

“Oh, no you don't! That's my fuckin' daughter!” Emma exploded from her seat. “If you want to be Uncle Helper, then go out and bust that yella nigger's ass!”

Marla replaced Calvin trying to quiet Emma. It was no easy task. Tia tried to console Djuana, but the hurt had already seeped in. Calvin kissed his niece again.

“I love you, and you know your mom does too. Forget what you heard. Do what you think is best. You know we'll all be behind you. She just wanted things to be different and shit, you know. That whole marriage thing and all.

“But watch, she'll be the one spoiling the baby the most.”

“What, she think I did this on purpose?'' Djuana cried. “That I wanted it this way? I didn't. I didn't.”

Emma tapped on her daughter's bedroom door, then entered without waiting for the okay. The visitors had gone home, and Devon was asleep.

“You feeling' all right, baby?” she said to Djuana, who was sitting on the edge of her bed, in the darkened room, looking out the window. Djuana didn't answer. Emma walked over and sat on the other end of the bed. She looked over her daughter.

Djuana was angry, more so hurt, by her mother's words. The rest of the family, including Tia's mother, wanted the words excused because Emma had been drinking, but Djuana felt the words were true to heart; believing that a person under the influence of alcohol spoke truth.

She was also embarrassed. Her sudden and extreme mood swings were disturbing. She was worried that she no longer had control over her emotions. Emma spoke after a few minutes of silence and looking at the back of her daughter's body.

“This ain't how I wanted this to happen,” she began. “Why didn't you marry Alfred? He had a good job and loved the ground you walked on. I just want you to be happy. And to have it easier than I did. I want you to get married, and experience real love.

“You have a baby and your chances of finding a good man lower.”

Djuana stubbornly heard only what she wanted to. Her mother didn't know what she was saying. She felt that when she was without a baby there were no good men. The few men that seemed decent, disappeared, if they didn't get any pussy, or after they did.

Emma continued, placing a hand on Djuana's shoulder, “I love you, DJ. Do you know that? I know I don't say it enough, but you should know. I want you to go back to school, start at a career and not work at DeLux's the rest of your life.

“Get out of Portland. Do things.”

Djuana finally faced her mother. “You did it, Mom. You stayed, took care of us. Did you hate it? I know you did, but you did it and raised us well. We always ate well, and were dressed right.” She sucked the roof of her mouth and hit the windowsill with a closed fist.

“I wish I wasn't pregnant,” she turned, back looking out the window, crying. “But I am. And I ain't gonna kill my baby. I don't know what's gonna happen, but I'ma do what I have to do. I'ma have the baby and go on.”

She wiped her eyes, folded her arms across her chest, and faced her mother, “Mom, I know you didn't have that much help, but I am gonna need you. I know I am because I'm scared. And if you're not there like you've always been...” The tears flowed and she sobbed loudly. “Then, I don't know what I'm going to do.”

Emma squeezed her daughter into her bosom with pride. Her mind hadn't changed, she still wanted Djuana to have an abortion, but it felt good that her daughter needed her. She kissed Jay on the top of her head, holding her and telling her to cry it out.

“Don't worry, you know I'll be there,'' Emma said. “Ain't I always?”

Jack had little time to savor the sweet moments with Djuana. As soon as he drove off the car's phone beeped, letting him know he had a backlog of phone messages. Most were from women. Oscar called twice, and Berger, not a patient man, left four messages of urgency during the hour-long lunch. Jack called him back as he drove to the Stadium.

“Jack, where are you?”

“On my way to Adkins, why?”

“Have you noticed a shadow?”

“A what? What are you talking' about?”

“Slight has someone tailing you, Lee and Mike. I just found out. Lee punched his tail in the face and the guy is pressing charges.”

Jack looked in his rearview mirror. A long line of cars was behind him at a red light.

“Damn. What's this about?”

“Slight is trying to prove you guys are fuckin' up. And, he probably can by now. Lee's agent called me and said Lee knew the guy was following him for a least a week.”

“Shit,” Jack whispered. He tried to remember each of his moves the last week. “I haven't done shit in the past week.”

“I hope not. I talked with Buffalo and I told them you refuse to play first, and they want you no matter what. I think you better start packing.”

“You speak with Honeywell yet?”

“No. He hasn't returned my calls.”

“Meet me at the stadium. We'll talk to him before the game.”

Jack put down the phone and sped the car up. He screeched into the parking lot  and bolted into the building. Reporters were waiting for him as he approached the clubhouse. The four men began slowly, asking about his health, then hit hard while Jack put on his uniform. Kristen stood to the side, waiting to catch Jack alone. Jack's short answers didn't please the journalists; he promised to say more after he talked with Honeywell.

Kris crept up behind Jack when the other reporters moved away. He was sitting on his stool, tying his cleats when he felt the light touch of Kris’ hand on his shoulder. He looked up, knowing it had to be her, and she was the only woman with a clubhouse pass.

“You think Slight is finally going to trade you?’’

Jack bent back down to finish lacing. “I really don’t know, Kristen.’’

“I heard you met a woman here, how’s that going?’’

Jack looked up into her eyes. “Excuse me?’’

“No,’’ she put her recorder and pad in her handbag. “This isn’t for publication. I was just wondering if you had found Lady Right, like we had discussed.’’

“How did you hear about this?’’

“Your teammates can’t keep secrets.’’

“Well, I like her, but I am still getting to know her.’’

Oscar came into the clubhouse with a scowl. The reporters scurried to him but he spewed venom, “Don't ask me shit! You bunch of asses!”

They quietly scattered, picking other players as soon the clubhouse became saturated with Crowns. Kris stepped back, as Oscar began stripping off his street clothes.

O glared at Jack. “Why didn't you call me back?”

“I had a date,” Jack poured a lemon-lime Gatorade down his throat. He put on his maroon Crowns' warm-up jacket and put his batting gloves in his uniform pants pockets.

“With who?” Oscar began undressing.

“The one I told you about.”

“Not that non-sexual one night stand?”

“Yeah. That one.”

“Well, lover boy, did you hear about Lee?”

“Yeah.”

“I would have done the same thing. Bust that Dick Tracy motherfucker in his private eye.” Oscar pulled his undershirt over his head. “The youth movement has begun. I told you! If we had won last year, none of this shit would have been happening.”

A reporter inched closer to them.

“Fuck off before I stab you with your own pen, asshole!” Oscar barked.

“Chill, O,” Jack said.

Oscar hated reporters more than anything associated with baseball. He rarely spoke to one, unless another player recommended them. His attitude toward writers and other media types stemmed from an article written about him three seasons ago. He contended that the reporter had misquoted him on purpose. The reporter denied it.

“Those motherfuckers are like leeches! Look at ‘em, trying to get something so their editors will kiss them in the morning.

“Whatcha get on da niggers, Roscoe?’’ O mocked them. “Oh, we gots lots, Boss. Theys makin’ soooo much money!’’

Oscar kicked his stool across the room, hitting Luis. He was aiming for Jim Nesbitt, from the Beaverton newspaper. Luis pushed the chair aside, saying something in Spanish.

“I ain't sorry!” O yelled. He then booted Jack's stool in the same direction, missing Luis and everybody else.

Jack shook his head, “Man, will you relax?”

“If they trade you to Buffalo, I'm quitting. Period!”

“Take it easy,'' Jack became agitated. “I ain’t going nowhere. Just fucking relax, please?”

Berger sat in Honeywell's office quietly. He tried to discuss his client's position, how Jack loved Portland, how he wanted to end his career where he started it, how Jack had made his home here, how Jack had done everything asked of him. Honeywell didn't want to hear it.

Jack arrived and Honeywell began the meeting in a stern manner. “If Aponte produces, you're gone. End of discussion.”

Berger had begun to reply, but Jack drowned him out, “Why you coming like that?”

“Jack, it's out of my hands. Slight wants to take the team in another direction.”

“So, that's what the PI's were all about?”

“For the most part, yes. Jack, I warned you in Phoenix. Your shit has stunk for too long and Slight hates the smell.”

Berger finally cut in, “Not only was it unethical, but it violated my client's right to privacy.”

Honeywell sat up behind his desk. “Do I care? Slight's office is down the hall. It's almost game time, gentlemen.”

Berger stood slowly, then the other two men stood. Honeywell motioned to Jack, and he told Berger he’d meet him outside.

Honeywell bit the head off of a new cigar. He lit it and the aroma engulfed the huge office quickly. He sat on his desk and grinned at Jack.

“I remember my first day on the job,’’ he said, turning from Jack, and looking out across the field outside his window. “Slight told me, we don’t win in five years I lose my job. It’s been seven years. And we still haven’t won.

“It’s not just you Jack, Slight is putting everybody on alert. The message is straight up: defeat Las Vegas, or be out.’’

Honeywell blew smoke at his wall-to-wall window. “I don’t plan on breaking out until I’m ready. If I was you, and you loved it here in Portland, I’d clean up my act.

“If you want to fuck, do it. But learn some discretion, at least. Hanging with O is going to get you traded.

“Slight will not trade him.’’

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Leonard Williams kept his eyes on the road yet his ears were focused on his cheerful passengers. He was driving himself to work and then the ladies would take his car and run errands.

He had expected to be chauffeuring weeping women. Instead Djuana and his daughter, Tia sat in the back of his Buick giggling as if they were teenagers again. Pregnancy is no joke, he fumed.

He became angry spying Tia’s hands rubbing Djuana's firm, expanded stomach. He mumbled to himself as he drove. He thanked the Lord that it wasn't his baby with baby. He prayed Djuana would have the strength to make it, and in the same prayer, his daughter would get married soon.

Tia was also surprised at Djuana's joyous mood, also. But she was happy to have her friend back to her old self. “So, details, details!” she forced her voice below that of the radio.

“He's something else, Tee. You know I can't pick 'em, but he makes me feel like I'm...” She almost said it. “I mean, he makes me feel so comfortable around him.”

“Dee. You like him?”

Djuana blushed. “Yeah. He makes me forget and feel good about myself. Is that bad? No, right?”

“Naw, not at all. Did you tell him?”

“No. I can't. I mean, I wanted to.”

“Djuana!”

Leonard looked back. Tia began whispering and he looked forward again.

He heard his daughter say, “Sooner or later he'll be able to tell for himself. Don't you think he should hear it from you?”

“I just want to enjoy the good feelings for a little while. Is that wrong?”

“Naw, girl, you deserve it. But be careful. Don't use him. It could get ugly. He's a pro athlete.”

“Exactly. How do I know he's not trying to use me? He can get some anytime he wants. He might get some of this and dip.”

“Don't prejudge.”

Djuana was happy Tia said that. She blushed.

“I read in the newspaper that what he needs is to settle down, so I don't think he's trying to just get some. I believe him when he says he is looking to settle down.”

“We're here,'' Leonard finally cut in.

He got out, leaving the car running, and accepted a kiss from his baby. He so wanted to tell her to be careful, as if pregnancy was contagious.

In less than an hour, Tia parked in Dr. Oppen's graveled lot, at the side of his office-home. It was a short visit, as the doctor had explained they would be after the first. He weighed Djuana, took a urine sample and blood pressure. She complained of back and leg aches, and he told her it was normal and to lay down more often after work. The doctor begged her to eat the right foods, and take in more carbohydrates and Vitamin D.

Tia waited less than an hour before Djuana returned with two prescriptions for vitamins.

Djuana relaxed with a large glass of Kool-Aid and a bag of potato chips. She sat in front of the television prepared to watch a movie on cable, but a news flash changed her agenda. She loved TBS, but hated June Franz. When the reporter, with the Valley Girl accent did sports, her voice would rise to an even more irritating tone than usual.

Before Djuana could grab the remote, she heard June Franz say, 'The latest on the Jack Newhouse trade-rumors saga now says the Crowns’ star could be going to Buffalo as soon as the weekend because he was asked to miss a road trip.’’

June Franz said the team’s spokesperson said Jack was left behind because of his injury, but some felt otherwise. Then some baseball expert came on and said Jack’s deal was all but done.

Djuana was so disturbed she jumped from the couch and searched her handbag for Jack's number. Seconds later she was dialing. She listen to the rings, anxiously hoping he would be there. Jack answered in the same hoarse, baritone voice she enjoyed fantasizing about.

“Hi Jack, this is Djuana. I hope I didn't wake you?”

Jack pushed his way out of the bed. Stacie asked if it was Vivian, Jack quickly put his finger to his lips to hush her.

“No, Djuana, I'm up. I was just laying down.” He sat up, hoping she didn't hear Stacie.

“I just heard that you didn't travel with the team. Is everything okay?”

“I hope so. I mean, I feel like everything will be fine.”

“Is it true you may get traded?”

“That's a good question, I sure hope not,” Jack muffled a squeal into a groan. Stacie had pinched his buttocks.

Djuana wondered, but didn't ask. “Me neither,'' she said. “I still haven't seen you play in person.”

Jack smiled. He felt Stacie's hand slide under his arm and between his legs. “Ah, Djuana, can I call you back? I was about to grab something to eat.”

“Sure, but I was wondering if you were interested in tasting my cooking. I made some homemade chicken soup, and my mom says it can heal any ailment.”

Stacie pulled herself to Jack’s lap and engulfed his penis in her mouth. Jack hesitated, then pushed her away and stood up.

He answered Djuana, “That sounds good, do you want me to drive over there?”

“No. I'll come out there,” Djuana scrambled for paper and a pen. “Give me the directions.”

Of all the Crowns Stacie had enjoyed sex with in her three years living in Portland, Jack and Don Cruz were the most brutish in bed, and she liked it like that.

But she had to stop messing with Don; his wife, Liela, boxed Stacie's face pretty bad after their last encounter.

Jack, on the other hand, would stop seeing Stacie if he was in a serious relationship-although they spent a few nights in bed together during his turbulent period with Vivian. Stacie respected this about Jack-which was the reason she would often tell him that she would marry him. Jack would laugh and reply, “That's nice, but I don't think so.”

Stacie had grown tired of hearing no from the Crowns, Jack in particular. Lee Spencer would say yes anytime, but he was too much of a cokehead. No other Crown would touch her. She did have success with visiting baseball players, and members of Portland’s professional basketball team in the winter.

Jack looked over at Stacie sprawled out across his bed. She was all ass, no chest and not pretty, but she sure was talented in the bed. Jack closed his eyes, he felt weak. Why hadn't he stuck to his plan? He was supposed to wait for Djuana. He shook his head in disgust at the sight of Stacie fingering herself. He turned his head.

“Get up, it's time to go,'' he sternly told Stacie.

She was not ready to leave. “Who is this you dumping me for?” she asked.

“Not you worry, lady. Just beat it.”

“Well, I don't have any cab fare, you driving me?”

Jack went to his wallet, tossed her a twenty, and then called a cab.

“Damn. This must be somebody special, usually I get a five and shown the door!”

“Whatever. Just start stepping.”

Djuana called Tia as soon as her phone cleared. Tia was doing a paper for school and was happy for the distraction. Djuana asked her to drive her to Southwest Portland.

“They think he's going to be traded real soon!”

Tia was careful not to sound as careless as she was. She thought her friend had enough to worry about. “Those are just rumors, like the news report said. Why don't you call him?”

“Yeah, I did. You gonna drive me or what? I don't want to go over there alone.”

Tia needed a break. She also wanted to meet Jack Newhouse. “Okay, I'll ask Dad, he'll say yeah, then I'll be over there in about an hour. I've got to get dressed.”

“No rush, I told him that I made some chicken soup from scratch. Well, it ain't exactly done yet.”

Tia laughed. “No you didn't.”

“Yeah. I did. I'ma start it right now. Call me when you are on your way.”

Stacie was long gone, but Jack still felt uneasy. Women can tell, he worried. He popped the top off of the Lysol and sprayed again. He looked over his bedroom-he hoped the evening ended in there-and all seemed intact.

Jack gathered up his collection of X-rated movies and tossed them down the steps leading into the garage. He set up his compact disc player with six different artists-all smooth.

The bathroom!

He had almost forgotten. He dashed through the house and barged into the large cubicle. He snatched down Stacie's towel and washcloth and dumped them in the laundry room out back.

“Anything else? Anything else?'' He was near panic. Finally, the headlights of a car glared into his living room from the driveway.

Djuana almost lost her breath from anxiety. Tia laughed, then became worried. “You okay?”

Djuana patted her chest. “Yeah. I guess it's been a long time since I've done this. Let's wait a second.”

Tia looked up the steps and saw him first. “I don't think we can. He's heeere!”

Djuana looked up wide-eyed. Jack walked to her door, the car was nose-first in the driveway and the passenger's side of the car faced his walkway.

Jack opened her door. “Hey. How was the trip?”

“It was a bit shaky, but once we got off the highway I sorta remembered.”

Tia stood out of the car. Djuana looked to her, they both smiled. “Jack, this is my best friend, Tia Williams.”

Jack met her at the trunk and shook her hand, “It's a pleasure,” he said. Djuana went in the back of the car and got the chicken soup. “So, that's the good stuff, huh?” Jack said as he led them up to the house.

Djuana grinned and muttered a yes. Tia, walking up the steps behind her, pinched her plump butt. Djuana jerked her head back to see her friend giving the sign of her approval. Once inside, Djuana let Jack know they wouldn't stay long.

He took the soup and put it in the refrigerator and offered them snacks. Tia accepted a glass of iced tea, and Djuana took the tea and some pretzels.

They sat in the spacious, high-ceiling living room, Tia looking around like a tourist. Djuana was uneasy that she remembered so much of the layout. The plush wall-to-wall rug was as cushioned as she recalled. She had an urge to remove her shoes. The couch was dark green and leather. There were two leather recliners and an exotic glass coffee table. Djuana remembered none of this.

Then the phone began to ring. First it was Jack's agent, a quick call. Vivian called within seconds to tell Jack she had a dream about him.

“Are you doing okay?” she asked.

“Fine. What do you want?'' Jack asked, standing by the entrance of the living room with the cordless.

“I dreamt that you were stabbed.''

“I'm fine. Listen. I have company...''

Vivian abruptly hung up.

“The phone hadn't rung in hours,” he pleaded with his two guests. They both smiled, then looked at one another. Djuana was concerned when the phone rang again. It was Oscar's wife looking for him. After Jack said he wasn't there, she tried to begin a conversation.

“Sondra, can I call you back?” Jack asked.

“Oh, you've got company?” She said in a confrontational manner.

“Yes. I'll call you later,” Jack was exasperated.

“Is Oscar there? Are you two fucking together again? Why you doing this to me, Jack? Why?”

Sweat formed on Jack's brow. “Listen, So', it ain't like that at all. He is not here. The team left Portland for the Midwest. I wasn't invited.”

Sondra began to cry. “Shit. I'm sorry, Jack. That man has me all mixed up. I don't know whether I'm coming or going.''

Tia again looked over at Djuana. Djuana was concerned, but hid it from her expressions. She sipped her iced tea and took in more of her dream home. She pictured hosting her friends from uptown here in the valley. Oh, they would fry green with envy, she gushed.

Less than an hour after they arrived, Djuana stood to announce they were leaving. Tia rose after her and told Jack it was nice meeting him. He said likewise.

At the door, Tia darted down the steps saying goodnight.

Djuana stopped at the landing, “It was nice seeing you again. I hope you like the soup.”

Jack stood close to her, “Maybe we can get together soon?’’

“Maybe. I’ll call you.’’

Jack touched her hand. Lowering his voice he said, “Thanks for coming out here to bring me your remedy. I'm sure it will be delicious.”

“Be honest with me,” she leaned closer. Jack wanted to bite her cheek and suck it. But he forced himself to hear her so he could answer.

“Did you touch me that night?”

Jack felt at ease, not only because he hadn't done anything wrong, but because of Djuana's light smirk.

“You know I didn't. And you know I sure could have.”

Djuana stared at Jack's somber expression. She sobered. “I don't know why I trust you.”

Jack took her hand, rubbing his thumb over her soft knuckles. His touch was gentler than any Djuana had ever felt.

“Maybe 'cause I earned it,” he whispered.

Djuana reached to his height with her lips leading the way and Jack accepted her into his arms. He kissed her lightly, but her tongue pierced his mouth with such force that it startled him. He held her closer, his arms around her ribs and hands at her waist. He tried to get her to kiss into a slow rhythm.

Djuana slid her arms around his neck and held on. When his tongue slowed, she licked his lips and searched his mouth, kissing him with passion.

Tia's mouth dropped open. She unconsciously licked her lips and shook her head.

“Wow,” she muttered. “Damn, girl.”

Djuana returned to the car with a plop into the seat and a slam of the door.

Tia was still amazed. “Damn, DJ. What up with that?”

Djuana looked up at Jack on the steps waving. She waved. “Let's split.”

The car zipped out of the driveway and back the way it came. Tia refrained from the questions burning her lips. She looked over at her best friend and admired the way Jack had returned to Djuana the pleasure of a smile.

When Djuana got home she called Jack to let him know they arrived safely. They began to talk, neither wanting to be alone. Jack had felt lonely as soon as the car pulled out. His teammates were on the road without him for the first time in his career. Before Djuana called, a reporter called and nagged Jack with questions about his impending trade. Djuana's voice and the refreshing way she didn't speak about baseball were welcome.

Djuana wanted to avoid being lonely also. Tia asked to spend the night, and that would have been nice, but Djuana planned to talk with Jack for a while and knew that would be awkward with Tia around. Djuana came in, dropped her jacket on her bed, and dialed Jack's number in seconds.  Jack had just finished heating up the soup.

“It tastes really good. I like the seasoning,” he said between spoonfuls.

Djuana was proud. She gleamed a blushing smile from ear to ear. It was nearing 1 a.m. when the conversation began with Djuana doing most of the talking. She worked to getting the discussion on him and she found Jack's family was large, yet not as close-knit as hers was.

When Jack talked of his mother, he was vibrant and lively. Djuana had thought the topic would be morbid. She told him how she read about her death in a magazine.

He explained that his mother wouldn't want him mourning her forever.

“My mother didn't want me to play baseball for a living,” Jack told. “Sheez, she wanted me to get a city job, get married and that sort of thing right in New York. To never leave and have my family right there in front of her for her to enjoy! “

Djuana laughed. “That would have been nice, too,” she began undressing and was to her underwear, shifting the phone from ear to ear.

“Yeah, for her. I hope she's up there proud anyway.”

“But I'm sure she's bragging to all the other Angels about you and your admirable accomplishments.”

Jack smiled at the thought. “Yeah. Probably so.”

“You have a sister in New York, right?”

“Yeah. She lives in Queens,” Jack spooned through the large pieces of vegetables and chicken and sipped more broth. The taste pleased his grumbling belly.

“She's two years younger, right?” Djuana was remembering the article.

“Where was this story? In Jet ?”

Djuana sucked her teeth. “No! Women read sports magazines also, you know.''

Jack laughed.

“Hold on for a second, please?” Djuana pulled the brand new Crowns T-shirt with Jack's number on the back carefully over her hair. She got the rollers out of her top draw then flopped on the bed. When she returned to the phone, Jack asked her if she was getting ready for bed.

The question caught Djuana off guard. She wondered what he might be thinking. “Yeah. I've changed and am rolling my hair now.”

“Hmm.” Jack was wondering what she was wearing - he dared not ask.

“What was that for?”

“Nothing. Just enjoying your soup.”

Djuana didn't believe him.

Jack quickly changed the subject; Djuana would never forget, though. He asked her about her plans for the upcoming day. She had none, so they set up a movie date in the late afternoon. Jack said he'd call.

“Thanks again for the soup. It was great. I hope I can get you to cook for me again soon.”

“Maybe. If you play your cards right,” Djuana said, holding the phone on her shoulder and rolling her hair in the mirror. “The soup was nothing. I hope it went straight to your head so you can get back to playing.”

“Oh, it did. I feel much better.”

Neither went directly to sleep after hanging up. Both, more so Djuana, had an urge to call back just to say good night again.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Before Jack could get himself to sleep, dreaming Djuana was in the bed with him, Oscar phoned. He was in his hotel room in Milwaukee with a woman he and Jack had once enjoyed together. It was 4 a.m. in Portland, and 6 a.m. in Milwaukee.

“If you get traded, Blood, I'm dead,” Oscar said, voice hoarse, and a limp body on top of him.

“Ain't gonna happen,” Jack said, almost wishing. “So' called last night. Call her, man.”

Silence.

“Oscar. I know your ass heard me.”

“Look, I ain't got the time to be worrying about that bitch.”

“Why she got to be all that?”

“Fuck it. Next subject. What you doing tonight? Watching me?”

Jack sighed, then went on with the program. “Not. I got a date.”

“Oh yeah? I hope you ain't screwing none of my hoes!”

“Not. I'm taking out Djuana, the one I've been telling you about.”

“Djuana? What a name. So, now you two are an item?”

“Kinda, sorta. She brought me some soup last night.”

Oscar sat up, moving the girl aside, “Get outta town! You finally hit it?”

“Nope.”

“You bitch-ass! No, tell me you getting it tonight.”

“It ain't like that. I really like her. I plan to see what she's about.”

“Spare me. So where you taking her?”

“The movies and then dinner.”

“The movies? What, are y'all teenyboppers?”

“Maybe.”

Djuana was dressed and ready by 5:30; a half-hour early and a record for her. Seven years of dating the same chronically late man had instilled bad habits. She looked in the full-length mirror for a third time - the more she looked, the more she killed her decision-making skills. The jeans just didn't fit right, she grumbled. The red sweater had too much lint. She changed clothes.

In the kitchen, Emma was smoking a cigarette out of the window; Djuana had told her not to smoke in the apartment because of the baby. She really needed a drink. The thought of her pregnant daughter going out on a date with a baseball player seemed ridiculous to her.

Djuana sprinted in the kitchen. “Do these jeans look too tight?” She asked her mother.

Emma puffed deeply and blew out of the window. “What was wrong with the others?”

“I know you ain't smoking?”

Emma dropped the cigarette on the windowsill and blew more smoke out of the window. “Of course not. Come here.”

She inspected the jeans, lifting up Djuana's T-shirt. There was little space between the jeans and Djuana's belly. “Do they feel tight?”

“No.”

“Well just don't eat too much or Junior will bust these pants open. Speaking of that, what does this baseball player think of you being with child?”

“Mom, he doesn't know. And I plan to tell him, so please don't mention it.”

Emma smirked, “Scandalous. What's the deal here?”

“No deal, Mother. He is just a friend who asked me out on a date. And I feel like I need it.” Djuana shook her head at the questions. “I am going to wear the stirrups.”

Emma just nodded. When her daughter was gone to change, she relit the cigarette.

Devon was more excited than his sister was. He had worshipped the Crowns for as long as he could remember, but never saw one in person; not counting the time Bingo snubbed him and his buddies. They had waited outside of Adkins Stadium for autographs after a day game two years ago. But the players hurried to their cars and left without notice. They picked an expensive car and sat on it, awaiting its owner. Bingo waltzed out with his wife, and pushed them off his ride.

Devon barked to Bingo he loved him and the Crowns, to which Bingo replied, “You should.”

Devon understood Jack would just pull up and Djuana would get in and they would leave, yet he was preparing for a quick glimpse. He took his Crowns’ team poster off the wall and raced into the kitchen, where he hunted for a pen.

“Where's the marker, Ma?”

Emma looked him over, “For what? So you can draw a damn mustache on the man's picture?”

“No! Of course not. I'ma get him to sign it.”

“Please. I thought you were all crazy about the other Crown, Wango, Pango, whatever the hell his name is.”

Devon laughed at his mother's ignorance while tearing up the utility draw. “Bingo. Bingo, Ma. Yeah, he's my favorite, but in the meantime, I'll get J-New's autograph. I mean, it is worth money you know.”

“Oh my. Then you better have him sign this napkin for your poor old mother, too.” She chuckled.

“Har-har! You're a riot, Alice,” Devon said, marking his Emma.

Jack was trying to speed across town to avoid being late, but he ran into Friday afternoon rush hour traffic. He glanced at his dashboard clock and muttered a curse. His impromptu stop to buy roses threw him off time; after buying the roses, Jack took them to Atwater's restaurant, where he planned to take Djuana for dinner.

Jack picked up his cell-phone and called Djuana. As the phone rang he was amazed that he had set the number to memory that quickly. An older sounding woman answered and put Djuana on the phone. Jack apologized for being behind schedule.

Jack said to Djuana, “I should be there in about ten minutes.”

“That's fine. Are the directions okay?”

He didn't want to tell her he had already been there, camped out for her like a lovesick teenager. “Sure. It's apartment 3B, right?”

“Yes, but you don't have to come up. I'll met you down stairs.”

“No, that wouldn't be right the first time I come by. I'll come up.”

He was right, and his thoughtfulness and respect charmed Djuana.

Jack slowed his Pathfinder along the parked cars on Tudor. He double-parked, removed the key and slid out of the car. Before locking his doors, he went into the rear of the wagon and removed a colorful bouquet of flowers.

He briskly walked to the entrance of the building. He couldn’t help but notice the jamming sounds coming from Tudor Park. Hip-hop was being blared from huge speakers. The unusually humid May day had brought out the hibernating for an informal Friday night block party. Many freshly washed automobiles were stationed three deep at the mouth of the park. The sight brought back fond memories to Jack, who had grown up in New York going to ‘jams’ in concrete parks.

Devon was leaning most of his body out of the window, trying to see into Tudor Park from the living room window. He was really looking for Jack. The window was one of two in the apartment that faced the avenue - Emma was manning the other in the kitchen. Devon spotted the Pathfinder pull up, thinking it was another neighborhood drug dealer until he saw the familiar frame.

“He’s here! He’s here!” Devon bellowed throughout the apartment. The shrieks sent a lump up into Djuana’s throat. She was in her bedroom talking to the mirror.

Devon snatched up the poster and fine point pen - he gave up looking for the marker-and ran into Djuana’s room.

“Chill! Everybody chill! He’ll be up here in a minute!” Devon put on his Crowns baseball cap and ran back through the apartment shouting, “This is not a drill! Repeat! This is not a drill!”

Emma glared at her frantic brat and shook her head, saying, “You want a breath mint?”

She then yelled to her other child to shut up her brother.

Djuana’s nerves turned her stomach, or was it the baby? She asked Devon to calm down as she walked through the apartment. She looked into the foyer’s mirror and smirked, “Here we go.”

She didn’t believe so, but she looked radiant. She wore a poly-Lycra black body suit, a hunter green vest adorned with multicolored sequins and bugle beads on the front, and faded blue jeans. The sassy, one-inch gold, fushia and green beaded shoes matched the vest. The shoes were also very comfortable.

Then the knock came. Devon first froze, then dove for the front door. Djuana pulled him back, and pushed him into the living room. Djuana opened the door and was greeted by Jack’s warm smile and a bright array of flowers. Her nerves ceased. He was unreal, was her first impression. She welcomed him in, and he walked into the living room. Devon was standing, all smiles. Jack noticed the wide entrance to the spotless kitchen on his right. The wall blocked the sight of Emma still seated at the window.

He felt welcomed. Djuana followed him in and introduced Jack to Devon.

“You’re my favorite baseball player in the world,” the boy said blushing.

Djuana laughed, “Oh really?”

“Dee!”

Jack intervened, “As long as you like the Crowns. Then you’re okay by me.” He turned to Djuana and offered the flowers. “These are for your mother.”

Damn, Djuana thought. Her mother hadn’t received flowers in years. She moved past Jack and leaned into the kitchen and whispered to her mother, “Come and say hello.”

Emma rolled her eyes. She rose her round body defiantly and waltzed into the living room. He was handsome, was her first impression. She almost smiled, but was too stubborn. She allowed him to shake her hand while her daughter verbally introduced them. “He don’t look rich,’’ Emma said.

Djuana fumed, giving her mother the eye.

“Thanks for the flowers,’’ Emma said blankly. “Have a seat.’’

Jack looked at his watch and said. “I hate to rush us off, but we are a little behind schedule thanks to me.”

Djuana took the cue. She said she was ready. Devon kicked her foot, not hard, but the surprise made her jump. “Devo!”

He whispered mumbles and frantically waved the poster. Djuana devilishly glared at her little pain of a sibling.

“Jack, I hope it isn’t an inconvenience, but my brother would like you to sign his poster.”

“No problem.” Jack took the poster to the coffee table, followed by Devon.

“Put ‘to my best pal, Devo who I will see in the majors one day’. No love stuff!” Devon laughed.

Jack smiled, and did as asked. Devon thanked him and aggressively asked about going to a game, Jack said sure. Devon quickly came up with dates.

“Next Sunday is bat day. Then there’s ball day - I really don’t need a ball - and then helmet day and...”

Djuana shut him off with a shove, “That’s enough. You freeloader.”

Jack smiled.

Emma had disappeared into the kitchen to put her flowers in a vase. She reappeared and put the vase on the coffee table, shoving Devon’s poster to the side.

“We have to go,” Djuana announced.

Emma retorted, “Have a nice time. And come home. Tonight.”

Djuana shuddered. Jack kept his grin.

Devon, the comment over his head, raced to the back of the apartment with his poster and was yelling, “I gotta call somebody.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The date was all Djuana hoped it would be but was afraid to wish for.

The movie theater was crowded, as was expected on an opening Friday night of a movie with African American stars. But when an usher recognized Jack, they were escorted in ahead of many people and seated. Jack offered the young man a $10 bill to cover the tickets, but he declined, only saying, “Just get better and win us a championship, New.”

Jack went back into the lobby and got them popcorn, soda and Djuana's favorite: Goobers. It took him a while because he stopped to sign autographs.

Neither one had been to the movies since the previous summer. Jack was busy traveling. Djuana just had no desire. The movie was long, an action-thriller with big name stars. Jack wanted to see a comedy that was premiering that night, but Djuana won out.

When the lights went out, and the coming attractions began, Jack warned Djuana not to try anything. That silly statement loosened her up, and was the key to the evening. Jack was playful and in a extraordinarily good mood. His problems, the Crowns, were in Milwaukee.

The first time Jack tried to feed Djuana popcorn,  she bristled. She was not accustomed to the playfulness. Usually, with Dexter of course, it was 'watch the movie and be quiet.' Seconds later, feeling like she should loosen up, she put a Goober to his lips. Jack held her hand, kissed it, then took the candy with his tongue.

“All I get is one?” he asked.

“They're mine,” she replied.

They played through most of the movie. Jack ate popcorn off her shoulder. Djuana fed him Goobers one by one. Neither one could review the movie, all they knew was who played in it and how it ended.

Jack said dinner would be a special surprise, and it was. They crossed the river into Northeast Portland, and parked on Fifth. Getting out the truck, Djuana scanned the immediate area with a quick turn of her head. She could not remember a restaurant being near this lot. They walked a block toward the pale-pink US. Bancorp Tower. She knew then, and her heart skipped a beat.

In the elevator she asked, starry-eyed, “We're going to Atwater's?”

“Yeah,’’ Jack frowned. “Don't tell me you don't like it.”

“Are you kidding? I always wanted to eat here.” She did, and each year on her birthday, Valentine's Day and any other couple's holiday, Dexter would promise to take her.

Atwater's was one of the most expensive restaurants in Portland. It featured live jazz and Pacific Northwest cuisine.

The elevator's doors opened on the thirtieth floor and the sight stunned Djuana. A rosy light saturated the hall. Oriental rugs, covering hardwood floors greeted her feet as she walked blindly behind Jack. She looked beyond him, into the elegant eatery. In the middle of the room was a glass-enclosed winery. She was in awe. She felt the diners were eating with class, speaking yet not being heard. Not many of her friends could handle such an atmosphere.

Djuana looked down at her jeans. She tugged Jack's jacket, “I can’t go in there,’’ she whispered. “I am under dressed.”

“No,” he turned to her and kissed her forehead. “You're beautiful.”

The Maitre 'D, wearing a bow tie and red jacket, greeted the handsome couple with a sincere smile and handshake.

“Mr. Newhouse, your table is waiting.’’ He led them to a table at the base of a window through the silent eaters. None of the women enjoying Atwater’s had on pants, Djuana noticed.

As soon as they arrived at the table, Djuana took in the view out of the spotless windows. From their seats, the sights were breathtaking. Below them was the Willamette River and all of south Portland. The antique wooden chairs were very comfortable with cushions on the arms as well as back and seat. Everything was white; the tablecloths, the china, the paint jobs and the diners.

A short, stern looking tanned gentleman, came to their table. Jack rose to shake his hand and they hugged.

“My good friend,’’ the man said with a rich French accent between hugs.

“Marcel, I want you to meet a very elegant lady,’’ Jack swooped his hand in the direction of Djuana. “My date, Djuana Pioneer.’’

Marcel halted the introductions. “Ah, you are a marvelous player of baseball but you are poor when it comes to descriptions.’’

Djuana soaked in the sound of Marcel’s voice. It reminded her of a tourist who came into DeLux’s and told her about shopping in Paris. It also made her wish she had mastered a foreign language in school.

Marcel took Djuana’s hand, bent with his legs straight, and kissed it. She could see the other diners stop to watch.

“My name is Marcel Dion. I am the manager. You, my lady, are more beautiful than any woman I have had the privilege of hosting.’’

Djuana fought a blush. “Thank you very much. You have a wonderful place.’’

“And you have brightened it. Anything you want, you call me.’’

Marcel called over the waiter, a young, cheery soul that had been standing by the door. They began conversing in French, Djuana could tell that Marcel was giving precise, stern orders.

The waiter ran through the restaurant and came back with a dozen roses. He handed them to Marcel, who handed them to Jack.

“These are for you,’’ Jack said as he sat.

Djuana took them into her hands. “Thanks,’’ was all she could say. She marveled at the tight, rich canary yellow bulbs, and flowery stems.

Jack and Marcel again conversed in French.

“You do like salmon?’’ Jack turned and said across the table.

Djuana just nodded. The manager and the waiter disappeared into the large restaurant.

“Marcel is making sure you have the best meal of your life,’’ Jack said as he leaned on the table.

“And you have nothing to do with this,’’ Djuana smirked.

“Actually, no. I told him that I was bringing a special date, but I didn’t think they would go out of their way like this.

“He likes you.’’

Djuana felt more pleased with herself than ever. She looked around, and heads were turning away. She shook her head in amazement.

“Everything okay?’’ Jack asked.

“Are you kidding? This is my dream come true,’’ she stopped herself. “Do I sound ignorant?’’

“No. Not at all.’’

Djuana could not fight off the negative thoughts. “I bet you probably bring a bunch of women here, and they are all treated like this.’’

Jack straightened. His smile vanished. “I have never brought a date here before.’’

Djuana felt saddened. From the moment she had gotten into his car that night, she just knew something was going to destroy the date, a night out with a gentleman. And, she knew, more than likely, it would be her.

Jack continued, “What you think, I’ve been here a million times? Well, I haven’t. This is only my second time. Marcel comes to a lot of games. He and the owner of the team are good friends. He loves having ballplayers eat here.’’

“But,’’ Djuana pointed out, “I can tell he respects you.’’

Jack nodded in agreement. “I guess so. But,’’ Jack took her hands into his. “Right now, he respects you more. You’re better looking than me.’’

The sudden appearance of a woman cut the moment short. And Djuana recognized the pale skinned, golden blonde from television and the newspaper. Portland’s leading lady, Mayor Ann Meier had a distinctive air of royalty about her, and the respect of an entire state. She had the features of a model - 5 foot 11, rail thin but curved, and always dressed in designer skirt suits. And, she was an heiress. She was also intelligent, approachable and very family and community oriented. There was no woman in Portland, black or white, that hadn’t for a second wanted to be Ann Meier.

And Djuana was among them.

The mayor took Jack’s hand, and he rose, smiling. Mayor Meier kissed his cheek.

“Jack, why don’t you call me?’’

Djuana was flabbergasted.

“Mayor, it has been a long season, already.’’

Ann Meier smiled. “Yes, Jack. I have heard. And stop calling me mayor.’’ She looked down at Djuana, still smiling broadly.

Jack crossed between them, “Ann, I want you to meet a wonderful young lady, Djuana Pioneer.’’

Mayor Meier took Djuana’s hand, thumb on her knuckles, and Djuana instinctively began to rise.

“No,’’ the mayor protested with a frown. “Don’t get up. I’m sorry I interrupted your dinner. I just had to come over and say hello, and meet the most gorgeous date my favorite baseball player has here.’’

“Thank you,’’ Djuana blushed.

“You are a lovely lady, and you are blessed with a fine companion in Jack Newhouse.’’

“Cut it out, Ann. Your kids aren’t getting into the clubhouse anymore.’’

Djuana was again take aback. She couldn’t believe Jack was speaking that way to the mayor.

“Listen, Jack. You do want to be able to drive that Pathfinder around the city without problems? Don’t you?’’

Djuana selected a CD and put it into the truck's elaborate stereo. She was thrilled to have learned to use it so quickly. She sat back and relaxed. Jack was driving her home from the best date of her life. She took in all of the night's events in one deep, refreshing breath. It was 1:30 a.m., still early, yet she felt as though she had been out all night. She felt nervous, scared and exhilarated all at once.

Jack Newhouse was being the gentleman Djuana wanted a man to be to her. He was also showing her the complete package that she and Tia had said determined the perfect man. He seemed to be kind, thoughtful, assertive and a gentleman. And, more importantly in Tia’s eyes, Jack was interested. Perfect.

Jack was winning her heart—and he had no clue—in a way that made her feel she gave her virginity to the wrong man-although she didn't need anyone to point that out. For a second, that night, she wondered if Jack would change after he got some. Probably. Could be that is all he's after. If it was, she decided, so what? He was giving her all she wanted. He was providing a great escape from the Hell of a reality she had to live.

The thought of sex with Jack was a burning desire. She had to fight the urge that night to ask him to take her home. She needed it like never before. It must be the baby, she reasoned; only because she could not remember being so horny. She smiled to herself at the thought. She cuddled in her seat, her head pressed to the window.

Jack tried to keep his attention on the road, but Djuana's sudden movements, and smiling and cooing divided his concentration. He saw that she had folded her arms across her chest.

“You cold?” he asked.

“A little,” she answered. The warm day’s temperature dropped drastically with the sun. Jack flicked on the heat.

“And attentive,” she whispered to herself; finishing off his assets.

Jack heard, but not clearly. “Listen,” he said. “If I keep giving you pennies for your thoughts I'd go broke. So, what's up?”

Djuana smiled. “What, you worried I'm thinking something negative?”

“Are you? Did you have a good time tonight?”

“Please. Good time? Yeah, I really enjoyed myself.” Djuana sat upright, and turned down Gerald LeVert. “Okay. Let's talk. Can you answer a kinda deep question?”

Ugh, oh. Jack thought. “Yeah, kinda.”

“Seriously,” her smile evaporated. “A serious topic.”

Jack followed her lead and sobered. He pulled the Pathfinder off of Burnside Street, just before the bridge, parking alongside of the pier. Djuana looked around, at first apprehensive, and was at ease with the solitude.

“So what do you want to know?” Jack asked.

Djuana hit right in, “What do you want from me. Exactly?”

Jack looked out across the Willamette. The answer was on the tip of his tongue. He just paused before answering to be sure he should say. He thought he should.

“It's you I want,” he began. “I have thought about exactly that, 'what do I want from her?' and I feel really good with you. So far, you've been all I want in a woman. I enjoy your smile and I'm crazy about those eyes.”

Djuana's eyes had been riveted to Jack's lips while he spoke. She wanted to believe in him, but experience forced her to be skeptical. Still, she felt flattered. When he was through she slowly turned her eyes out to the lights on the other pier.

“Jack,” her eyes dimmed suddenly, as if sleep was her foremost thought. She looked him in the face. Her voice was augmented by her frown. “You have been very sweet, and especially nice to me.”

“But?” Jack muttered, thinking he knew what was coming next.

Djuana lightly smiled, “No buts.” she sat back, her eyes fixed downward on her fingers tugging her pants’ inseam.

She said, “It's just that this has all been a bit overwhelming.”

“You want me to slow us down?”

Djuana looked into his eyes, “Not if it means us seeing less of one another.”

Jack took her hand and kissed it. “No problem with that.”

Djuana sobered. She had suddenly thought of the stories she had heard about all the women he had conquered. She sat up, away from him. It seemed like she was suddenly repelling.

“Jack, answer me this.”

Jack put the weight of his body on the steering wheel using his left side. He sat upright.

“What is it?” he asked flatly.

“It not like I want to have sex with you tomorrow or anytime soon, but would you take an AIDS test if I asked you to?”

He flinched. “Yeah. I would. Is that what you want?”

“Yes. For my sake.” She almost said for her baby’s sake.

Jack had to force his smile to remain on his face. He glanced beyond her head and into the water. All the times he and Oscar had screwed women unprotected flashed before his eyes. He had never taken and AIDS test, and maybe she was right. What if he was infected?

Djuana relaxed. She longed for one of his hugs; to be held deeply into his chest would help ease her guilt-she should be telling him right now that this woman he cared for ain't all that. I'm a whore! She wanted to blab. A pregnant fool whom needs your love more than you know. That's what she wanted to say.

After yet another deep breath, she went on. “You don't know me, Jack. You don't.”

He tried to cut in, but she was on a roll. She looked up at him; he was there, listening. “If I tell you something about me, you wouldn't want me anymore. Something big.”

“I know all I need to, all I care about is your present and future.” That was not what he wanted to say. He had felt she was more serious with the man she was dating, the one that left her in the rain crying. Left her alone at night. The one that seems to be hurting her. He wanted to ask her what was up with him.

Djuana liked his answer. But the guilt didn't cease. “I'm using you, Jack. I know I am, but you've made me feel so happy and relieved. You've helped me get away, yet still be there. You understand?”

Jack nodded, thinking, all right now, tell me already. He could see the pain of the conversation wearing on Djuana, so he eased off. He did, however, respect her solid attempts at communicating. Vivian, four years older than she, could learn from her.

Djuana continued, “I like you, Jack. But I don't want to mislead you. I need nights like this, but I am not near ready to take us any further than this.”

Jack expected as much and felt she was worth working at a relationship with. “Hey, that's cool with me. So. why don't we just enjoy ourselves and each other and go from there. What ever happens, happens.”

She smiled, “That would be good for me.”

Jack touched her lips lightly with his right pointer finger. “That's what I want. You to smile.” He kissed her softly, and quickly.

Djuana would have let him kiss her for hours. She loved him; she was sure now. She knew he was the man she wanted. She couldn't remember the last man that could make her as content when she felt low.

“You okay?” Jack asked, his face still inches from hers.

She smiled, and licked her wet lips. “Sure.”

“Ready to go home?”

“Yes.”

Jack ignited the car and resumed to the bridge. “Good. Your mother will kill me if I keep you out too late.”

Djuana laughed, “Please.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

When Vincent Slight called meetings between himself, his general manager and his manager, it was never for pats on the back. Usually, it was because Slight was on edge. This time the Crowns had fallen into last place for the first time in four years. He wanted to make a blockbuster trade, something to shake up his team, something to show the rest of the baseball world he was still the man.

He had to win a championship that year. He dreaded watching Len Canisa drink and waste champagne with his Gamblers team again. Last year they poured the bubbly on Adkins Stadium's infield during their celebration. Never again, he vowed. He promised to spit 40-year-old scotch on Canisa's Money Dome artificial turf.

But making a mega-trade was difficult for Slight. He may have owned some of the best talent outside of Las Vegas, but no other team in the league respected him as a baseball man. On the other side of the ledger, he had the most respected general manager in the game in Honeywell. When Honeywell called an opposing GM, and that person would look deeply into the proposed deal, fearing Honeywell knew something he should.

And Honeywell was not about to deal anyone from the Crowns roster. He had faith in the team; he had put them together. He told Slight to let them play, citing the rookie, Aponte and the investigations as distractions.

Aponte had become a fan favorite, though, thanks to his quick start in front of the home fans and Slight prodding the media. In the 20-year-old's first three games,  all in Portland, he had 10 hits and knocked in 11 runs. Bingo, hitting behind him, also flourished. Aponte received a standing ovation after hitting his first major league home run, a streaking shot that landed in the bleachers seconds after he swung.

But when the Crowns went on the road, 12 games in 14 days, Aponte evaporated. He had no hits on the trip and three errors. The slump prompted Slight’s manager, Hal Juris, to say he had seen enough of Aponte.

“The kid is overmatched,” he said during the Crowns’ meeting of the minds.

During Juris’ six years running the Crowns on the field for Slight, he had never questioned any moves by Honeywell or Slight. If they asked him, though, he was then very verbal. Juris, a six-foot-seven ex-terror on the field in his playing days, was now one of the best managers in the game. He was serious and unyielding in his approach to the game. His forte was handling ball players; and to his credit, he had done a great job holding together the cantankerous Crowns. To his credit, also, was his love for drinking and partying. Those qualities made him a peer as well as a mentor to the players.

The more Juris spoke in favor of sending Aponte back to the minors, the more Slight became animated.

“The kid started on fire, but they caught up to his ass real quick,” Juris said. “He needs more seasoning.”

Slight would look over at Honeywell every so often while Juris ranted. Honeywell was tightlipped. Honeywell had been standing between the two for Slight, and now he was going to let Juris have his say.

Slight first tried reasoning with Juris, explaining his position.

“I’m trying to change the image of this team. We have to do something different if we expect to beat L.V. And, image is a good place to start. The Gamblers are class all the way.”

“Gee Moe Christmas!” Juris went ballistic, throwing his Crowns cap to the carpet. “To hell with image. Don’t take apart my team and leave me with Bible reading pussies. Don’t do it to me!”

Slight’s voice elevated. “Your team?’’ Tact left his posture, “Fuck you! Your image is just as bad. So, maybe that’s why the players drink like fish, screw like rabbits and act like heathens, because they are led by an alcoholic.”

Juris stood to all his six-foot-seven inch frame, towering over Slight. Honeywell covered his face with one hand, he had seen Juris this angry before and he worried for the health of his boss.

“Well, image this,” Juris bellowed. “Fuck you and your mighty plans. I quit.” He twirled without grace and headed for the door. It slammed behind him; he slammed every door he faced on his way to the clubhouse.

Slight plopped down in his leather seat behind his desk. “Don’t look at me like that!’’ he barked at Honeywell. “That’s your boy, you want to join him?”

Honeywell had had enough of emotional arguments. He sat calmly, as he had throughout the discussion. When he finally spoke Slight was near frantic. “Why are you so hell-bent on destroying this team?”

“I want to win more than anyone. It’s my pie and I want the whipped cream and cherry on top.”

“Vinny, I understand that. You know I do.” Honeywell pulled out his psychology degree to coax Slight into relaxation. “We have the tools to beat the Gamblers. We just have to use them right.”

“We used the tools as right as we could the last two years, and what? Nothing.”

“Give me this year. If we don’t win the championship, you can dismantle, rip apart-do whatever you please. Just let me see if we can do it. I know this team can.”

Slight was exasperated. He wanted to make a splash that night, turn the league on its ear the next morning. He was tired of reading how the Gamblers were winning game after game. He relented.

“You have the final five months of the season to work a miracle. If we don’t beat the Gamblers you’re fired. Then I will rebuild the team.”

“Fine.”

Honeywell had planned to get Slight’s ultimatum. He left the office with a precise plan, and put it into effect immediately. Juris was easy to get to return, baseball was his life. Aponte was given a one-way ticket to the minors. Jack was given back his starting job. Honeywell dismissed the Courtnall agency, and took all their surveillance files. He read them carefully and acted on them immediately.

He called an emergency team meeting. In it, the players were first allowed to air their feelings. Jack was sitting in the meeting on edge. He was fearful of not being in Portland as a Crown. The rumor mills were now overflowing with trade possibilities. In that morning’s newspaper, Kristen wrote that Buffalo had upped its ante for Jack. She quoted Buffalo’s general manager as saying his team would be a serious contender with Jack in their lineup.

Jack barely listened as his teammates spoke. When Oscar took center stage, he watched his best friend speak, thinking how terrible it would be to play without Oscar.

“We can win this shit,’’ Oscar said. “I know for a fact the Gamblers are scared to death of us. All we got to do is play like we know we can. Shit! Come on, we can’t allow anybody, from the manager to the general manager to the media to the ass we have for an owner take us off track. We got the talent.”

The other players that spoke basically had said the same thing; except Bingo. All any of them were accustomed to was winning. All they wanted to do was get back to being winners. All Bingo wanted to do was leave. He announced he wanted to be traded. His words began bitter, and ended analytical.

“This team will never be a winner. Because all of you motherfuckers think like losers. You’ve all been trained to believe you can never beat Las Vegas. And, you won’t. None of you would be able to play for any other team but this one.’’

“Then break out,’’ Mike said. “If that’s the way you feel, split. We don’t need you!” Mike stood. “You need help leaving’?”

Danny and Junior, Mike’s backup at the catching position, held Mike from getting near Bingo.

“See what I mean?” Bingo continued with a snicker. “You are some ignorant people, let alone a bunch of losers.”

Jack finally spoke. “You’ve got some nerve. Without us, where would you be? You would be no fucking millionaire, I know that much!”

“Look who’s talking? You’ve lost your skills, not that you were ever anything,” Bingo turned back to the captive and angering audience. “I’m out ‘cause I want a championship before I retire. And you guys will never win one.”

With that, Bingo walked out. Mike threw a book Junior was reading. It hit above the door, missing the mega-star’s head by inches. Then, Honeywell spoke, almost standing out of the shadows.

“It’s up to you guys. And you know it. Forget Bingo. He wants out, then he’ll be out. I’m not keeping anybody against their will. Anybody else want out?”

The room fell silent.

“Good,” Honeywell went on. “Then that means you are all in it together, like it use to be?”

“Like it always is,” O said, his uniform pants wide open and bare-chested.

“Then, just play ball,’’ Honeywell said, winding down. “To hell everything else. Just play ball.”

The team arrived in Los Angeles in last place. Every aspect of their game was pitiful; they had the league’s worst pitching and hitting. But to watch them fooling around in LAX, no one could tell these were the deadbeat Crowns from Portland.

Somewhere between the airport and the team’s hotel, Bingo broke away from the Crowns. He missed all three games - nobody missed him - and used his agent as his mouthpiece. He again demanded to be traded, but this time in public, feeling Honeywell was taking too long.

Without their best player, the Crowns returned to their close-knit way of playing baseball. They were still rocked in LA. The Los Angeles Trojans beat them with scores of 18-2, 11-0 and 23-7.

For Jack, though, those games were the start of his season. He began to feel comfortable at the plate and in the outfield during the California trip. In the outfield, Jack and Oscar again became a tandem, swallowing up balls hit anywhere near the two men. Jack was glad to be back to playing, and was having fun, yet he missed seeing Djuana during the Crowns week away from Portland. He called her twice a day during the road trip; once before the game, and again when back in the hotel room afterwards. They would speak for hours about the games, and Jack would steer the conversation to her day at work, and, though she felt pleased that he was interested, she would always keep her stories short.

“You don’t want to hear about my day. I sell bedding. You play major league baseball.’’

“You’re my lady,’’ Jack would reply. “I want to know all about the things you do, and how you feel about them. Especially when I can’t be by your side to see that beautiful smile of yours.’’

Djuana couldn’t help but feel better no matter what was on her mind when she talked with Jack. During almost every conversation while he was in California, Jack would also express an interest to make love to her. Djuana enjoyed the words, often laying in bed while Jack would say all he wanted to do to her body. She would blush, and even imagine his touch, but she never let on that sex was on her mind daily. She wanted him too, just not yet.

Those phone calls put a hamper on Oscar and Jack’s relationship. Jack was no longer interested in hang out after games. Instead he was eager to get back to the room and call Djuana. If a game had lasted longer than three hours, he would call her on his cellular phone on the bus from the stadium to the hotel. His teammates would throw kisses, and imitate females clamoring for Jack’s attention, but it didn’t slow the conversation.

Oscar would leave the hotel room he shared with Jack, return with a woman and sleep with her. Jack, meanwhile, would still be on the phone with Djuana. When the room became too noisy he would go into the hallway or bathroom with the phone. Even when he would sit outside in the hall, Djuana could here the moans.

“He does this all the time, in every city?’’ Djuana asked, while the team was in San Francisco.

“Don’t worry about that,’’ Jack said.

“I do. Don’t you want some?’’

“Not unless it comes from you.’’

Djuana almost thanked him, but she stuck to her guns. “How do I know you don’t hang up and get in the bed with them?’’

“Because I’m telling you. I have no reason to lie to you.’’

“I don’t know, Jack. It’s not going to be anytime soon when we do something. That is not what I am looking for right now.’’

“I know that. You’ve told me enough.’’

“What I’m saying is that you can sleep with someone else if you want to.’’

“I know what I can do. And, I know what I want to do.’’

“Look, Jack, I’m telling you can sleep with anybody you want to, just don’t lie to me about it, okay?’’

“Listen, for the last time, I am serious about settling down, and to me, you’re worth the wait.’’

Djuana read the back of a fellow Tri-Met bus passenger’s newspaper. The headline read: NEWHOUSE BACK ON TRACK. How true, she smiled. Jack was hitting again. He was back to playing regularly, and contented. He claimed that she brought out the best in him and the best of Jack Newhouse was irresistible. She also understood that playing baseball again was a large part of his metamorphosis.

A month. Where had the time gone? In a little over four weeks Djuana had come to trust Jack, something she never imagined possible. Jack had been surprisingly easy to talk to, and they really did have a lot in common. At first she had felt insecure and immature, but Jack’s sincerity and patience helped build her self-esteem.

Still, telling him about her pregnancy was difficult. The fear of him not being there, of him leaving her, was more terrifying than her fear of him dumping her once he finds out about the deception. These fears were so real to her that she never thought of their relationship as dating; just two friends healing one another through tough times. And she loved him for his help.

Jack had procured prime seats for Djuana at Adkins Stadium. Sometimes she brought Devon and Tia together, or separately to share the four passes she had. She even brought her Uncle and his friends once. They just got drunk and made fun of Jack not playing.

Watching him was a delight. She was able to indulge in endless fantasies as he stretched, chased balls, ran the bases and cracked the bat against the ball. When he was doing well, which seemed  like every time he played, and the fans cheered him, she took credit. He belonged solely to her.

Djuana was surprised when Jack invited her family to the team’s picnic for underprivileged children in Washington Park. She stood side-by-side with Crowns’ wives and helped with decorations and served food. She found the players to be nice, humorous men. Their ladies were just as inviting.

Djuana expected to be drilled by the women, expecting someone to notice her pregnancy. But it was a pleasant day. Although Devon probably had more fun than she did, she felt a part of the festivities. She felt accepted.

Bingo was more like she expected them all to be. He sat away from the awe-struck children and had his wife bring him food. He was rude to Jack, Djuana hated that, and he didn’t participate in any picnic games. Still, Djuana had a great time. She exchanged phone numbers with Sondra and Liela, at their request.

When not at games the couple spent a great deal of time at Jack’s house. It was there that they could be alone; no fans staring at him or giving her funny looks. They cooked and cleaned together-Emma hated it. Their water fights were classics. He would drench her with a hose, while supposedly washing the Pathfinder. She stood on the commode and dumped a pan of cold water on his head while he showered-which resulted in him dragging her in with him, clothes and all.

In Djuana’s burning need to prepare for single-motherhood, she’d forgotten that there were such things as teasing, joking and laughter. Jack reminded her what she’d been missing. He taught her how to experience those things.

There were problems, though.

Emma was the only person close to Djuana that didn’t like Jack, and she would have her feelings known often. She cited his scarred past with women, and the incident in Arizona was always her prime example that Jack was no good.

She would say: “He was in bed with the man’s wife with that other male-ho, Oscar Taylor, and had nerve to question the man as he dragged his wife home. He needed his ass kicked.”

Despite his rep on and off the field, Djuana had found that there was a gentleness that strengthened her belief in Jack.

Then Jack met Dexter.

It happened by accident, the only way it would have in Djuana’s mind. She was driving Jack's Pathfinder to her mother's apartment from Adkins Stadium after a night game. She didn't notice Dexter sitting on the stoop, she didn't expect anyone to be waiting for her at 11:30 p.m. in front of her building.

The Pathfinder bumped up onto the sidewalk in front of 657. Luckily, there was plenty of room for Djuana to maneuver into the space. Djuana held her face in her hands, trying not to laugh at Jack's uneasiness.

“That was some driving, Miss Pioneer,'' Jack said as she cut the engine and lights.

“I'm sorry. I scared you? I tried to tell you that I was a little rusty.''

“A little? Let me see that driver's license of yours. You sure it's valid in this decade?''

“Oh please,'' she laughed. “I wasn't that bad. You see, that's why I told you my uncle won't take me driving. And when he does the fool wears his old high school football helmet. He looks like a nut, the thing barely fits on his head, and he makes me self-conscious.''

“But I bet he's safe.''

“Forget you and him!''

They laughed and got out of the truck. Jack waited at the front of the Pathfinder until Djuana locked the doors electronically and came around out of the street. She was smiling broadly until she saw Dexter.

Jack looked in the direction of her suddenly serious eyes. Djuana froze, handed Jack his keys.

“So, who's this?’’ Dexter demanded, hands in his front pants pockets. “Is this the real father?''

Djuana panicked. Her heart raced. She was at a loss for words. She felt she had to say something. “What are you doing here so late, Dexter? What do you want?''

“You jerking him too?'' Dexter moved closer. “How long you been fucking him and me?''

Jack moved between them. “Hold up. There's no need for you to talk that way to her.''

“Yo,'' Dexter unzipped his blue, designer wind breaker and held his hand in the jacket’s left breast pocket. “Mind your business before I lay you out.''

Fear buckled Jack’s legs, but he stood his ground. “Don't threaten me.”

“Step off, punk. I ain’t playing with you,’’ Dexter was still reaching into his jacket. “You ready to die tonight, or what?''

Djuana doubted Dexter had a gun; he had never carried one before. But she didn’t want Jack to get hurt by the fool. She pushed Jack away from Dexter.

Holding his arms, she said, “He's not worth it, Jack. Please just let me handle this.''

Jack moved to the back of his truck, watching the two.

Dexter stood face to face with Djuana and shouted at her. “You talk all that righteous bullshit! 'Marry me, Dex! Be with me only, Dex!' And what you doing? Being a ho!''

“You don't know what you're talking about, Dexter.''

“Yeah right! Screw you. Let me tell you something. If I hear from you about that baby I will fuck you up. I promise you!''

Jack had heard enough. He glided between them and pushed Dexter off his feet. When Dexter scrambled up and walked towards them, Jack knocked him down again, this time with a hard right fist to his cheek.

“No, Jack, no!'' Djuana cried. She pushed him with all her might. “He's not worth it. Please Jack, just stay out of this. I don't need you hurt over this.''

Dexter sat on the ground dazed. He checked his lip for blood. None. He stood slowly, watching Djuana push the man away. She walked over to him and he felt the urge to grab her beautiful face and grind the back of her head into the ground.

“You bitch,'' he whispered.

“What do you want, Dexter?''

“Whose baby is that?'' he pointed at her rounded belly under the lightweight, oversized denim shirt that covered her hips and black stirrups.

“Yours. And you know it!''

“No I don't. You try to pin it on me, and I will take your ass to court.''

Djuana shook her head. She took in a deep breath and exhaled. The tears stopped. “I was a damn fool to have ever loved you,’’ she whispered so just Dexter could hear her. ‘’A damn fool.''

She walked away. Dexter finally got to his feet.

“Don't try no shit. I'll telling you,'' Dexter shouted as she walked to the building. He looked at Jack, who was glaring at him.

Dexter pounded his own chest with an open hand. “No pain, big boy. No pain.’’

Jack winked at Dexter and followed behind Djuana.

Guilt ate at Djuana like a stomach cancer, biting chunks of her guts, leading to her heart. She stopped at the steps of her building. When Jack got there she couldn't look him in the eye.

“You okay?'' he asked.

“I'm fine,'' she listened to the sound of Dexter’s car streaking off. It helped ease her mind. The cat was now out of the bag, kicking and clawing.

She looked over at the Pathfinder. “I'm sorry about all of this.''

“What's going on, Djuana?''

She sighed. “Ah. A whole bunch of dumbness. I can’t talk about this right now.’’

Jack pulled her into his chest; the warmth, and the loving way in which he held her, his fingers caressing, sent a spray of goose bumps across her skin.

‘’Oh, Jack. I’m sorry.’’

‘’Don’t be. Just tell me what’s up.’’

‘’I can’t,’’ she finally looked into his eyes. He was already looking at her. ‘’I can’t right now. Can we talk about this tomorrow?''

“Tomorrow? Why not now? I mean, what's up?''

His hand rubbed her stomach gently, “Are you pregnant by him?’’

Djuana closed her eyes. The tears were returning. “Please Jack. Tomorrow I'll tell you the whole story. From beginning to end.''

Jack separated them to arm's length and looked into her eyes. She turned her head, defiantly. Yet, she wanted him to not let go of her.

He released her and a sense of loss buckled her knees. She wanted to be brave, she had to tell him right then or he’d be gone. But the words wouldn’t come.

“Oh, God,'' she sobbed, closing her eyes. Streams of tears soaked her face.

“Tomorrow then,” he said as he got in his ride and left.