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They entered Jack’s house to the sign of the phone ringing.
Djuana came in behind Jack, she was feeling abit uneasy, not sure what was bothering her. She saw where Jack had dropped their bags in the living room. He was in front of her, coming from the kitchen on the phone.
“What do you want, Karl?’’ Jack took the kitchens' cordless into the living room and he plopped on his Lay-Z-Boy.
“Teams have been calling like crazy. Offers have been outrageous! This is great, much better than I thought.’’
“Terrific,’’ Jack said flatly.
“Are you kidding? We could sign with just about any of the 29 other teams. Including the Gamblers. Did you hear?’’
Jack winced, covering his eyes with his right hand. “I am not trying to go anywhere, Karl.”
“New, baby, listen. The Gamblers called me and offered us $70 million for six years! Man, we’re rich! That’s more than they signed Bingo for last week.’’
Jack sat up. The sight of Djuana returning wearing just his jersey split his thoughts. She walked up to him and stood there, hands on her hips.
“I’m going to lay down, I am not feeling too well,’’ she said, immediately turning to go back into the bedroom.
Berger’s voice rose, repeating the offer, “Did you hear me? 70 mil! Woo-who!’’
“Hold on a sec, Karl,’’ Jack covered the cordless and chased behind Djuana, calling to her.
Djuana stopped, turning halfway. She said, without expression, “My side hurts a bit. I just want to lay down.’’
Jack kissed her forehead.’
Djuana didn’t say a word. She let Jack hug her.
He released her and kissed her again. “I’m going to get rid of Berger and be right there.’’
“No, you go ahead a take care of business,’’ she rubbed his face with her right hand, smiling. “You need to get back into baseball.’’
“Not as much as I need you in my life.’’
Her smile became a blush. She kissed him softly on his lips.
Djuana’s tongue gathered her lips into her mouth as she watched Jack’s stare. He loves me, she told herself. She allowed him to grab her into a stronger, tighter hug. The phone pressed into her back as he squeezed tightly.
“I love you,’’ Jack whispered into her ear.
Jack watched her intently as she went into the bedroom. He felt free to miss baseball, and the feeling overwhelmed him.
Karl Berger pressed his phone into his skull. He tried to hear it all. He considered Jack Newhouse a friend, although Jack kept their relationship business-like. Berger had 27 clients; Jack was the second highest grossing and one of three that lived in Portland.
“So, what’s the deal, exactly?’’ Jack finally asked.
“It’s a beaute!’’ Berger glowed. “10 mil to sign, 10 mil a year for six years. Guaranteed!’’
“Shit.’’
“Shit is right! Let’s do this, New.’’
“Karl, but what’s up with the Crowns?’’
“Clean you ears, New! Fuck Slight and his misfits! The Gamblers are willing to build the bakery and supply the dough!’’
Jack listened to Berger’s devious laugh and thought about the money. Then, he imagined playing for Las Vegas. Winning a lot of games year in and year out. And every year people would be picking his team to win the championship, not lose it. The money would be awesome. He would be making more than Oscar was, more than Bingo was making that season. More than a lot of players that were said to be better than him.
With the extra millions he could open a business without financial care. He could then open a large bar, with a restaurant. He imagined Djuana running it with him.
Then his mind thought about his Crowns teammates. He loved those losers. They would hate him for taking the money and running. There had been players that left the Crowns for the trappings of more money elsewhere, and none of them prospered on the playing field. He recalled all the good times, his first orgy. The first Crowns pool party. The brawls with other teams, where there wouldn’t be one Crown who wasn’t fighting, or protecting another.
He could not imagine having played his career elsewhere and having as much fun. His teammates were now wearing light blue accessories with their uniforms out of respect for Djuana.
“I don’t know,’ he told Berger. “I can’t do this to O and them. Man, I owe those guys a lot.’’
“You don’t owe them shit. Slight released you, which means you are free to go anywhere you please. And, the money just happens to be in Las Vegas.
“Jack, please. Let’s do this. This is a once in a lifetime offer.’’
“I don’t know. Let me make some calls first. I’ll get back to you.’’
“Jack!’’
“I’ll call you in a couple of hours.’’
Djuana was lying on the right, unharmed, side of her body, facing the doorway. Her eyes opened when Jack appeared. He walked slowly to her and knelt on the floor, leaning on the bed, on his elbows. He took her hand.
“How do you feel?’’
“I took two pain killers, and they should kick in soon.’’
“It was the ride back, right?’’ He was hoping it wasn’t the lovemaking or her carrying the luggage.
“I don’t know. I think I just need some rest.’’
Jack squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I ruined our trip.’’
“No, I should be the one that’s sorry. Like always, you made a dream of mine come true without me telling you about it before hand. I’ve been wanting to go away for the longest time.’’
Her eyes darted, glimpsing at each of Jack’s eyes and lips. Her slight grin warmed Jack. He listened to her, relaxing more and more as she spoke.
“I’m just so damn insecure sometimes. I sat there in the car and made myself cry because I believed that you would leave me someday. That I don’t deserve to have a man treat me as well as you do.’’
Djuana squeezed his hand, “Silly, ain’t it?’’
Jack boosted himself forward and kissed her.
“You don’t have to worry. I’m with you for the long run.’’
Djuana shifted backward on the bed, “Here, come lay with me.’’
Jack lay next to her on his back, and she cuddled into him.
“Are you going to be able to play again?’’ she asked.
“It seems I have my choice of where I can play,’’ he said, looking into the ceiling. “The Las Vegas Gamblers have offered me $60 million.’’
“Damn. That’s a lot of money.’’
“They have it to give,’’ Jack took her left hand into his and brought it to his lips. While he kissed her fingers he asked, “How would you like to move to Las Vegas?’’
“Las Vegas? Sounds exciting, bright lights and all. But I don’t know. Portland is my home.’’
Jack looked into the ceiling, thinking it over. He wasn’t going without Djuana.
When Djuana fell asleep, Jack left her with a kiss. He eased out of the bed, out of her arms, and then tipped out of the room. He tried to call the Crowns at their hotel in Cleveland, but they had left for the game. He cut on the television to the pre-game show.
The host of the show, Burt Mathenson, a former Crowns player, topped his program with the Gamblers offer to Jack. He was glowing as he spoke about the “phenomenal amount of money.’’
“We can all but squash any hopes of Jack Newhouse ever being a Portland Crown again,’’ Mathenson said.
The show had interviews with the Gamblers’ owner and a few of the Crowns; all taped earlier or the evening before. Nobody said much, all waiting to see what Jack would do. The world of baseball expected he would accept the offer.
Slight took the offer personally, saying:
“The Las Vegas Gamblers want my players. They know we have a team that can challenge them for the next decade unless they break us up.
“The only thing they have over us is an abundance of money. And that’s because they rip off their fans with high ticket prices and their owner owns a casino that breaks the legs of big winners.’’
Len Canisa, owner of the Gamblers, sued Slight over his remarks.
On the show, Oscar was his usual boisterous self. He said Slight was destroying the team and that he would play out that season year and demand a trade elsewhere before the next year.
While Jack watched the Crowns beat Cleveland, Bingo telephoned.
The Gamblers, in Chicago, had the night off after a day game victory. They had won 31 games in a row after the Bingo trade. Las Vegas had no threats to their throne in the American League. The media, Canisa, and baseball experts were proclaiming them unbeatable.
The stories, as well as the constant phone calls from Canisa, were driving Vincent Slight to an early grave.
“Listen, Vinny, don’t bet me,’’ Canisa said one late night after his Gamblers had won by 17 runs. That same night the Crowns had won by two. “First of all, I’m tired of taking your money. Secondly, your boys might not even make the Series.
“Forget it. Don’t bet me.’’
Slight was enlivened, “Really? Is that so? Well, listen to this. Not only will I bet your ugly motherfucking ass triple last year’s gift, I will bet you a grand that Bingo won’t even get a fucking hit against my boys.’’
Canisa’s laugh grew heartily. “You’re funny. Oh, yes, you are a riot. I’ll take your money with a smile, you hump!’’
Slight broke his phone tossing it against his bedroom wall.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
“How nice of you to call,’’ Jack said, his voice reeking of sarcasm.
“Let’s cut to the chase,’’ Bingo said in his usually hurried tone when addressing mere mortals. “I hate you; fuck you is my mood. But the Gamblers here, they think you can help them. They want you, so they asked me to call and let you know how much they think of you.’’
“Really? So, go on.’’
“The money is straight-up guaranteed. They say you can play right, they’ll move Hopson to left and bench Smith. Where you bat in the lineup depends on how your stick clicks.’’
“Interesting. Do I get to room with you?’’
Bingo hissed. “You are not only ignorant, but immature as well.’’
Jack stiffened. “Yeah, well, whatever,’’ he sat up in his easy chair. “Tell your boss that I have other options that I would like to pursue. And, next time he should call Karl Berger, my agent. And to not have losers call me at my home.’’
“You son of a bitch. I hope you’re stupid enough to turn down the money so I can see you cry again when you don’t get a ring. You little bitch.’’
The phone clicked in Jack’s ear before he could return the insult.
Djuana awoke alone in Jack’s huge bed. And she hated it. She leaped out of the bed-her ribs felt better-and she put on her favorite baseball jersey of all Jack possessed. She frowned to herself at the thought that she should wash his baseball jersey soon, but she didn’t want to be without it that long.
She found Jack asleep in the living room, and planted a kiss on his forehead. She unpacked their clothes, putting his away and hers on the bed. The dirty clothes she put aside, as Jack had asked. His housekeeper would take care of the laundry.
Housekeeper. Djuana smiled. How would she handle having someone clean house for her? It sounded almost silly. She had spent so many years hearing her mother tell her how a man wanted a woman that kept a clean house, Emma never said she might could have help.
Djuana shrugged the memory of her mother teaching her how to be a wife. She wondered if she would ever be one, despite the training. Jack was there, and she thought he seemed like he would marry her, but would he really? Some days, when she thought about it, it seemed inevitable that she would marry Jack. He was always showing his love with the kind of affection she craved.
Then there were days like today, when she wondered how she would fit into his life.
Djuana undressed and took a long shower. She forced her mind to believe the water felt too good to waste on worries. Under the hot beads of pulsating water she sang happy songs, thinking about hanging out with her best friend when Jack returned to baseball.
Jack had meant to watch one game on video before getting in bed with Djuana. He wanted to make love to her, but knew she wouldn’t feel like it. Jack wiped sleep from his face and went into the kitchen and started up the coffee machine.
He went into the bedroom to get some clean clothes and his toothbrush out of his traveling case. He saw Djuana’s clothes on the bed, and then heard her soft, raspy voice singing from behind the closed master bathroom door along with the beading water from the shower.
He thought about going into the bathroom to see her body glisten and kiss the warm water off of her soft skin. He daydreamed of her accepting him into the shower and them making passionate love. He started for the bathroom door, his heart racing, then, he changed his mind.
Jack used the bathroom off the kitchen and washed up, putting on sweat shorts and a T-shirt. He was sipping a strong cup of coffee, reading the morning paper when the phone rang.
On the phone was Vivian.
“Oh, so you home now?’’ Jack’s ex said.
“Yes.’’
“Well, then I’m coming over. I need to talk to you.’’
“That’s not necessary. What do you want?’’
Djuana, who had been frozen, waiting to mend her curtness, darted into the back of the house. “Shit,’’ she mumbled. “I am fucking this up.’’
Jack’s eyes and attention followed her, then, when she was out of sight, he sat back, exasperated.
“You need to know you deserve better,’’ Vivian went on. “You are a damn good man with a helluva lot to offer. What are you doing with that girl? I told you to watch what you’re doing with those groupies.’’
“Vivian, I’ll talk to you some other time, I am not in the mood for this.’’
“What? Is she there? I know she is. Listen, honey sounds like some kind of golddigger. You sure that was your baby? You sure she was even pregnant?’’
“Good bye, Vivian.’’
“Wait! I know she’s there and you have to go. You just got back from taking her to our spot, right? That shit ain’t right, and you know it. But let me ask you this before you hang up.
“Did you get her pregnant while we were together?’’
Jack shook his head and grinned. “Look, Vivian, I’ll talk to you later.’’
Djuana placed her bags at the foot of the staircase leading to the front door. She went in to the kitchen and was pouring a glass of soda when Jack entered.
“You’re taking all of your stuff. What’s the deal?’’
Djuana swallowed the soda eagerly, looking into the glass. But the glass didn’t have the right words at its depths.
Jack moved closer.
“Jack, I just want to go home while you are out of town playing baseball.’’
“I’m not going anywhere yet.’’
Djuana sipped more.
“You will be,’’ she muttered, then sighed. She finally looked him in the eye. “I just want to go home, see my family and lay in my own bed tonight.’’
“All right. Fine.’’ Jack said.
He walked out of the kitchen. He snatched up her two carry-on size bags and the large Crowns duffel bag he gave her-“Leaving me in my own bag,’’ he mumbled-and started down the steps.
Djuana watched him for a second. She refilled her glass.
“Shit.’’
The phone buzzed twice before she noticed Jack was not back in the house yet. She picked up the kitchen cordless out of its wall cradle. There was an empty pause after Djuana’s greeting, then a feminine voice asked for Jack Newhouse.
“Who’s calling?’’ Djuana asked as Jack appeared.
“Tell him its Kristen Eisen, from the Gazette.’’
Kris was furious. Her whole mindset changed. How could he have her answering his phone? She’s just going to keep hurting him. Instead of being bubbly like she was while dialing, Kris attacked Jack when he came to the phone.
“I called to see how you are taking unemployment, but I guess you’re doing fine.’’
“Yeah, I’m okay.’’
Djuana took the last bag down the stairs and into the Pathfinder. She sat in the automobile until Jack was ready.
“That woman has taken you away from your job, you know that right?’’
“Kris, if you called to get on my nerves, you are just about there.’’
“No. No, I’m sorry. But I can’t understand you. You are such a smart man, why are you with that woman?’’
“I love her.’’
The airwaves fell silent. Then Kris began to sob.
“You don’t know what love is, Jack,’’ Kris said. “You don’t. You will just keep searching for it even though it’s right here for you.’’
“What makes you think you know me that well?’’
“Because I do. I love you, Jack. And I can more than some welfare recipient can. I can give you more than she can. Much more.’’
“Now, why the fuck you say that?’’
“Oh, what? You don’t know she has been on welfare all her life, and that she lives with her mother in a shady part of town? She has a nowhere job. That woman is about nothing!’’
“Don’t call me, Kris, all right? I am no longer a Crown, we ain’t got shit to talk about.’’
Jack hung up and tossed the cordless across the kitchen counter and into the sink.
The drive into Portland was quiet. Djuana had her arms folded across her chest, a common sight, but was not frowning now. She whispered along with songs on the radio, allowing Jack to see, if he cared, that she was not upset.
Jack noticed, but he was searching for the right words. The last thing he wanted to do was argue. He wanted Djuana with him, all the time. He did not want to drive her home. He wanted them to be in bed together all that day. But he dared not say that.
“Damn,’’ he remembered he hadn’t called his agent that day, and it was well past noon.
Djuana looked over at him. He was driving with his left hand, rubbing his chin with his right. “What’s wrong?’’ She asked.
“Nothing. I just forgot to call Berger.’’
She looked away, out at the other cars as they whisked by. “You’ve missed another appointment because of me.’’
Jack yanked the wheel of the SUV, directing the Pathfinder out of traffic and into the parking lot of a fast food joint. They were blocks from Tudor Street. He cut the engine, and turned his body to face hers.
Djuana was stunned. His sudden movements frightened her. He ignored the horns and curses, and the pedestrians that dove for cover. She allowed him to separate her arms and take her hands into his. She looked into his dark eyes. They were as soulful as a Motown ballad, and she relaxed.
“What’s the matter, Baby?’’
“Nothing, really,’’ Djuana forced a smile.
Jack wasn’t having it.
“Listen, for the last time, baseball is a sport. I made money at it, and I love playing it. But it was my whole life.
“I can’t marry baseball. Baseball can’t bring the joy of a family or the joy of a good woman’s love. I need that right now more than I need baseball.’’
Jack squeezed her hand. “I am not even 30 yet. I can still play. And, I will. But I am not going to be without you.’’
Djuana melted. As did her inhibitions. Her soul felt the need to flush the bad thoughts, to have Jack bat them away like he would a pitcher’s fastball.
“But Jack, I’ve affected you in the worst way. On TV, in the newspapers and on the street, people are saying you are having the worst year of your career.
“How come you haven’t hit a home run this year?’’
Jack looked at Djuana puzzled, frowning. “I haven’t? So?’’
“No, you haven’t. And this will be the first time in your career that you won’t hit 20.’’
“So?’’
“I am the reason for it, and the reason the Crowns fired you. And, you know it’s true.’’
“I don’t give a shit about none of that. Who cares what people say? Fuck them. They think just ‘cause they see me on television and at the ballpark, that they know everything about me. They don’t
“I’m happy to have met you, and although it seems like this is the worst year of my career, and it probably is,’’ Jack shrugged. “It’s not the worst year of my life.’’
Djuana watched the words flow off Jack’s lips and loved that he believed in her, loved her, and that he didn’t blame her. She rubbed his chin and lips with both hands.
“Jack, I don’t know if I deserve you.’’
“That’s true,’’ Jack smirked. “You deserve better. But I’m trying.’’
Djuana blushed and gave her man a kiss.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
When one of Karl Berger’s professional athletes became a free agent, that was when he was at his best. He was great at being narrow-minded. Most times it was more money than ball clubs were offering, or were set, to pay. Of course, the more millions he garnered for his players, the more his 20% would bulge.
In the case of Jack Newhouse, one of the premier players in his stable of thoroughbreds, Berger never really had to work hard. His negotiations with Honeywell were never difficult. Jack wanted no parts of free agency; and, the Crowns, who groomed him into the player that he was, were content on keeping Jack around.
Until the season Jack fell in love.
“Listen, Jack. I’ll spell this out for you in plain old English,’’ Berger said over the phone from his office in Los Angeles. “The Crowns don’t want you. Las Vegas does.’’
Jack flopped back into his easy chair, his drink steady in his hand. “I don’t care,’’ he said.
“Well, I mean, you don’t have to sign with Las Vegas. San Fran has called. Miami, Buffalo and Cincy. Them too. What about Seattle, that’s not far from Portland? Come on, New.’’
“Listen to me, Karl. Portland is my home. I’m not interested in no place else.’’
“Wake up, New. So, what is it that you want me to do? Even if I drop your price to the league minimum, they aren’t going to take you back.’’
“Then, I guess I won’t be playing baseball again.’’
“Relax, relax. We’ll talk more when I get back to Portland.’’
The team returned from the road for its longest homestand of the season, 16 games with five teams, in two weeks. Jack believed this to be his best chance to get back with the ball club. And he was right. The Crowns had won six of the seven games on the road, their best stretch of the season by far. The only game they lost, the final game of the three-game set in Cleveland. It was a national televised Wednesday nighter, and it turned out to be big news.
Oscar did not show up for the game. He chose that game to protest the club’s treatment of Jack. And his absence stung deeply. Slight, who loves to see his team on national television, had to sit through a blow out. Aponte was moved to center to cover O’s absence, and he had three errors. Two balls sailed over the rookie’s head that O would have flagged down easily.
O called the broadcast booth and began a national campaign to get Jack his job back.
“Listen, you know me Joe,’’ O said to Joe Sweet, the color man of the two-man announcing team. Sweet had played for the Arizona Aztecs.
“I take every game seriously. And, Lord knows we need to start winning if we plan to get back into the World Series this year. Jack Newhouse is my best friend, we grew up in this organization together and I believe he was released for the worst reason in the world: love.’’
The announcers seemed, at one point, trying to get Oscar to admit what he was doing was wrong.
“Yeah, but Oscar, by your walking off, you are costing your teammates a game,’’ Joe Sweet said.
“No. They wanted to walk off, and protest, but they can’t. They can’t afford to. I feel, as one of the veterans on the ball club, it was up to me to lead.
“Besides, this one game ain’t going to break our season. If anything, now that the whole country knows that Vincent Slight is trying to break up one of the best teams of all time with bogus charges, this game will make our season.’’
While O was speaking, Cleveland scored four runs, and led at the time 7-1 in the fourth inning.
“See what I mean? We just don’t need me out there, Jack needs to be back in right.’’
“But Oscar,’’ began Paul Engles, the play-by-play announcer, “From our understanding, Jack Newhouse made a choice. He chose to step down rather than play on this road trip.’’
“Propaganda. Don’t believe that. Paul, would you leave the woman you loved, who just lost y’alls baby, to do a game across the country?
“Be for real. He deserved the time off, all the battles he done fought for Slight.’’
The backlash on the ball club from Oscar’s protest was enormous, much more than O imagined it would be. The Crowns’ offices were bombarded with phone calls, and mail from mostly women’s groups. The mayor of Portland teamed with the city council and held a town meeting. Meier invited Slight, who sent Honeywell back to Portland to attend.
During this battle in the press over Jack’s release, Slight stood firm.
“Jack Newhouse quit on us while we were struggling,’’ Slight said to the group of reporters and cameramen outside of his office building in downtown Portland. “We are in last place, fighting to get back to where we belong and he left us for dead. I don’t think that is the path of a righteous man.’’
Honeywell had a tough time with the crowd and media covering the event. Each time he tried to raise a point in defense of his boss the unbelieving council and residents drowned him out. He eventually gave in, and allowed himself to be shouted at, accused of being a sell out by one Black female on the council. He sat there, ankle on knee, understanding he was debating for the wrong cause.
He saw people in attendance that Jack Newhouse had touched personally. There was the councilwoman that berated him; she had had the luxury of having a famous baseball player at her leisure. Jack had never said no to that woman. He had spoken to her constituents on many occasions; and had campaigned for her.
There were people in the angry crowd that had watched their ailing, or dying children light up whenever Jack Newhouse visited the four hospitals in metro Portland. There was Curt Warner, who ran an after school program. When he needed funding after state cuts, it was Jack Newhouse who hit his teammates for a grand sum of a million dollars, and supplies. Warner now has three facilities spread throughout the city.
Honeywell got home, fixed a soothing mug of tea, and phoned Slight in Buffalo, the Crowns last stop before returning home, with a short version of the meeting.
“I figured as much,’’ his boss said to him.
“I guess that’s why you sent me.’’
“So, what do you think we should do?’’
“Re-sign him. I didn’t want to let him go anyway.’’
Silence.
“We need veterans for the stretch run, don’t we?’’ Slight said as if thinking out loud.
“You know we do. We aren’t as deep as last year.’’
“He hasn’t hit this year.’’
“He will in the playoffs.’’
“How do you know that? His mind is on that Dijona.’’
“Djuana.’’
“Whatever. We could pick up somebody else. J.A., the man quit on us.’’
“Juris wants him back. And so do I.’’
Slight hissed into the phone. “You know, I don’t give a gay fuck anymore. Sign him. I’m breaking this fuckin’ team up, win or lose, in January.’’
Jack glided the Pathfinder in front of Djuana. She got in, kissed her man, and immediately forgot the long day at work.
“How are you?’’ Jack asked as they merged into traffic.
“Much better now,’’ she smiled warmly.
Jack took her hand into his thigh. She slid over to him. “Why don’t you just quit? They have you down to three days. That’s no money.’’
“There aren’t that many jobs in Portland, did you know that?’’
“Yeah.’’ Jack wanted to say she didn’t need to work, but he knew better.
“Would you mind if I helped you find a better job.’’
“Like what?’’
“Just trust me.’’
Djuana gazed out across 10th Avenue. If I married him, I wouldn’t need to work. The thought had crossed her mind often.
“I’ve got good news,’’ Jack grinned.
“Are you back on the team?’’
“Seems that way.’’ His eyes never left the road.
“So, Oscar’s walk out helped.’’
Jack chuckled. “Walk out. Let me tell you,’’ he looked over at Djuana, her amused countenance held his thoughts hostage for a long second.
“What?’’ Djuana was hanging on her man’s words, listening to him tell her something worthwhile for the first time in too long. And, she understood why he was back to being talkative.
“That fool O,’’ Jack diverted his stare. “He told me this morning that he was at some woman’s house, and she forgot to set her alarm clock, so after they did the nasty, he didn’t wake up until the game was well under way.
“So, being the friend he is, he did what he always does. Used me as an excuse.’’
Djuana didn’t laugh. “He’s really something.’’
“Yep. That’s my boy, though.’’
“But at least you’re back playing. So when do you play?’’
“I have to go to the minors for a week. Vancouver, Canada.’’
Djuana looked away, out in front of them, at the slowing traffic as the light changed to red. She frowned. This is how it’s supposed to be, she told herself. He is supposed to travel. He travels for a living. I knew he’d be going back to work soon.
She bit her lip, recovering from the quick bout with the blues. She took his left arm into her bosom and kissed his shoulder, leaning into him as he drove. “I’m happy for you, and, I know how happy that will make you.’’
“I just don’t want to be away from you.’’
“Jack. Stop treating me like a basket case. I’ll be okay.’’
“I know you will. Maybe I just don’t like missing you.’’
Djuana’s heart warmed, and chills ran along her arms. She rubbed his wrist between her legs, grinding her thighs on his muscular forearm.
“I’ll always be here whenever you return.’’ Djuana’s voice slipped into a calm, alluring pant.
Jack exhaled, shaking his head. He looked at her deeply, moving his left hand, getting a good grip on the inside of her closer thigh.
“No. I want more than that,’’ he said, with his voice matching hers in volume and tenderness.
The feeling in Djuana’s chest was a sharp thud, as if a cannonball had barreled into her torso. She squeezed his right arm with both hands, unconsciously digging her nails into his arm. She thought about beating around the issue; being coy. She didn’t want to be wrong, though. Moving in with Jack would be a comfort. She would be out from under Emma, and distanced from being a full-time baby-sitter.
Instead, she held on to him, looking up at the man she so dearly and deeply loved, waiting for the question of her lifetime.
The last time Jack could remember being this nervous was his first at bat in the majors. He came through that tense moment with a lined single off of a good pitcher. But on that day almost seven years ago, his palms were not as sweaty nor his mouth as dry. He steered the car in silence, hoping the nerve would come soon.
Djuana sat up, she saw in Jack an uncertainty that through her off. Just ask me. I want to live with you. Be your lady, forever. We can talk about marriage during the off-season. Relax, baby.
She stroked his arm.
“Jack, I want to be with you more than anything in this world.’’
“I want you with me,’’ Jack voice had become hoarse and cracked.
Djuana looked up in to Jack’s eyes, his fingers tightened around her thigh. Jack slowed the Pathfinder at another stoplight.
Jack near mumbled, “Everyday. I want to see you everyday.’’
“You can,’’ Djuana’s voice fell to a faint whisper. Her heart fluttered, moving with quick, sharp beats. Her breathing quickened.
“Do you know I love you?’’ Jack blurted, his eyebrows bent and shaped his face into a frown.
“I do. I feel it, see it and I know it. And I love you too.’’
She watched Jack’s eyes flutter, then turn his back to the traffic as the light changed. She kissed into his shoulder blade.
“I love you more than anyone I’ve ever known. More than anything.’’
Djuana smiled up at him. “I know you do, Jack.’’ Her voice trailed off. Her body squirmed, but she hid it by grinding her legs around Jack’s hand, moving closer to him.
“Shit,’’ Jack squeezed her thigh, his hand snuggled tightly. The warm, moist feel of her crotch distracted him. He accelerated down King Boulevard, moving into an open lane.
Djuana could sense the question of a lifetime. It was in the air; in the way Jack could not look her way for any length of time. She wanted to prod and pry the words out of him.
Suddenly, as the Pathfinder moved along MLK passing the convention center, Jack blurted, “I want you so bad, from the first day I laid eyes on you. I just knew. I knew. You came right into my arms, like it was me you needed.’’
“We need to pull over,’’ Jack said as the truck hugged the divider and rolled into the left turning lane. He sped across the four-lane street and into the convention center’s parking lot.
Jack put the car in park, realizing he had unconsciously taken the streets instead of the highway back to Woodlands. He leaned into the steering wheel. The feel of Djuana’s soft palm rubbing his back was a soothing, healing relief. When Djuana first saw the tears on Jack’s rich brown skin, she wanted to gently lick them away. Her body inched closer, lips leading the way. But her heart melted in the heat of her chest. She instead stared at his cheeks.
“I can’t be without you anymore,’’ with his head down, his voice barely carried in the cab of the Pathfinder. “I can’t sleep unless you’re there. Right there with me.’’
Jack edged up, raising his head halfway, finally looking into Djuana’s eyes. She reached up to him and kissed his lips, licking the top, and then allowing his tongue to search her mouth.
“I’m yours, Jack,’’ she panted. Her right hand gathered in the material of Jack’s polo shirt.
Jack turned his body, clasping his right hand around her neck; searching her mouth for the taste her love gave off from the sweetest tongue he had ever kissed. The feel of the skin on the back of her neck melting between his fingers aroused him. He slid his hand around to her chin. Djuana closed her eyes, licked his lips and waited on any move Jack wanted to make. She was willing to do anything Jack desired at that moment in the truck, in the empty parking lot, during the late afternoon rush hour.
Djuana had dreamt of millions of ways she wanted a man to propose to her. She knew it would be a man she desired, had to have, but never did her colorful dreams include a man that so enchanted her soul, or filled her heart with love.
Mostly, her dream had the scenery darker, and more romantic. Like in an expensive restaurant, or on a sofa feet away from a crackling fire with candles, champagne and a beautiful diamond, and no other human around for miles.
But Djuana would recall that instance, with people milling around less than fifty yards away, and horns angrily blowing in the background, as the most romantic moment of her life.
Jack lightly planted a peck on her lips, pulling away as her mouth opened wider. He leaned back, trying to gather his nerve, holding her hands, rubbing the knuckles and staring down at them as if they held the answer to his misplaced courage.
“Djuana,’’ Jack squeezed her hands and focused in on her eyes. “I love you and I want you to...’’
“Yes,’’ Djuana panted, vaulting into his chest.
“...Marry me.’’
“Yes. Yes.’’
Djuana forced her arms around Jack’s neck; there was no room, but she swung a leg over his lap, shifting her body into his lap. Her buttocks fell onto the steering wheel, causing their horn to join the others. Jack cradled her body, and Jack sped up his tongue to keep up with the passion steaming from Djuana’s lips.