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The next morning, a misty, cool Sunday, Djuana cooked breakfast for the Williams family. After the talk with Tia in the middle of the night, Djuana couldn’t go back to sleep. She stayed up, sitting on the back porch watching the sun fight its way through the clouds. She began cooking at eight-thirty, right after her favorite cartoon.
She had always thought it was incredible that Barney Rubble could make her laugh no matter what mood she was in.
Bernadette, Tia’s mom, was the first to join Djuana in the kitchen. She was wearing a velvet-jogging suit with a royal crest on the breast and tennis shoes donning the same crest. When she entered the kitchen, the stove was in full use, each burner held a pan or saucer, and Djuana was mixing a pancake batter.
“Now, you know you don’t have to do all this,’’ Bernadette said. She took a fork and turned the crisping bacon.
“I just felt like cooking. It gave me something to do until everybody got up.’’
Bernadette gazed at Djuana. When she turned into full view, Bernadette could see the bags under Djuana’s eyes. “You didn’t sleep well, did you?’’
“Not exactly. But I’m fine.’’
While Djuana poured the batter into the frying pan, she could feel Bernadette’s eyes piercing through her. She continued working the stove, trying to ignore Tia’s mother, hoping she wouldn’t slip in a lecture.
She did. Bernadette had been waiting for this chance. She had watched the television, read the newspapers, and believed she knew enough about Jack and Djuana to be of help to them. But Tia, nor her father, would let her Bernadette get involved. So, with the rest of her family upstairs, Bernadette pinned Djuana down.
“Have you and Jack Newhouse broken up?’’
Djuana bristled. She looked at Bernadette, whose eyes were fixed on Djuana’s lips. “No. We need to talk about some things, but no, we haven’t broken up yet.’’
“Why do you say yet?’’
Djuana’s left hand went to her hip, and she rested on it. Her right hand fiddled with the spatula and the pancakes. She stared at the four gold circles, mulling over the question.
“Don’t let Satan break you two up. That man loves you, and the two of you have had to fight through so much that it would be a shame to see you to let some, some, sinner wedge between you.
“That’s all that woman is, is a sinner. One of Satan’s servants sent to keep garrison on you.’’
Djuana flipped the four pancakes, the last one broke, though, and stuck to the side of the pan.
“You have to remain strong, you have fought off Satan so many times, don’t stop now. Everything the sinner has - time, strength, cunning - is spent to keep the devil on his throne. Don’t give them the satisfaction.’’
Djuana, her eyes still only looking at Bernadette momentarily, finally spoke. Her voice was controlled; she forced respect and into each word.
“Mrs. Williams, I understand what you are saying, and I appreciate where you are coming from, but Jack has done something that I can’t exactly take in stride. He cheated on me with someone I see every time I go to the stadium. Now she’s pregnant by him.
“I just can’t forget and forgive that easily.’’
“I have seen how people have reacted to you dating him since the beginning. Your mother didn’t like it, and many of his teammates didn’t either. People were saying you were a golddigger, were they right?
“People said he was a womanizer, a dog. Has he been?’’
“No, but -’’
“He hasn’t. That man loves you, and what you don’t understand is that Satan has enough devils to harass the whole earth. He can send a legion just to surround one person with enough doubt to not be a doctor, not be a lawyer, not be happy with a person they know they love.’’
Although Djuana had to scurry to get a plate to put the pancakes on, her heart was touched. What was being pointed out was clear.
“Yes, he had sex with this woman. He might have gotten her pregnant, although I seriously doubt it, but I saw the way this man was when you were in the hospital. He felt your pain like only a man in deep, true love would have.
“Sometimes men can be so weak. But one has to take the situation for what it is. Get both sides, see what really happened. See where his mind was.’’
Djuana put the plate with the fresh pancakes in the oven. She poured more batter into the pan. She poured grits into the boiling water, then removed the sizzling, dark bacon.
“Why, Leonard will tell you,’’ Bernadette continued, “Jack Newhouse is the only professional athlete playing in this city that I have seen interacting with our youth. Now, this does not make him an angel, but because he has given so much of himself, nobody has ever turned their backs on him no matter what he has done. “The whole city rallied around him to get him back on the Crowns. Nobody is going to do that for Oscar Taylor. No way.
“Hmm, I can’t think of a white player anybody here would do that for.’’
“Maybe you’re right,’’ Djuana finally said, leaning on the counter near the stove. “I should have listened to his side, or given him a chance to tell me what happened and what it was all about. I know he’s a good man, and I know he loves me. But all I could think was, here I go again.’’
“Do you love him?’’
Djuana nodded, “Very much.’’
“Do you trust him?’’
Djuana paused, then worried if she should have answered that question immediately. She was ashamed to admit that all along she trusted Jack, but didn’t want to seem like a fool to her family.
“It’s difficult to have a relationship without trust,’’ Bernadette interjected.
“I trust him. I do. I just let other people pull me away from him when he needed me.’’
Bernadette smiled a proud gleam, she walked around Djuana and took the banana phone off the hook. “Call him right now and tell him.’’
Djuana accepted the phone.
“Take it in the dining room, it’ll reach. I’ll finish breakfast.’’
Djuana sat at the foot of the rectangular, drop-leaf dining table. She mindlessly dialed the number, then sat back in the upright, wooden armchair. While the phone rang, she thought about what to say. Before she could decide her own voice came over the answering machine. It blew her mind, she had totally forgotten how entrenched she was in his life.
She said to the machine, “Jack, I really want to hear what’s going on from you, I am at Tia’s, and I will be there in an hour or two.’’ She paused, feeling her throat clog. She swallowed, then said, “I love you, bye.’’
After breakfast, and while Djuana was getting dressed, Tia ran into the bedroom and cut on the television.
“Your mother just called! Jack was arrested last night!’’
Djuana closed her eyes, holding them shut as the reporter rambled on. She opened them to the sight of Jack and Don darting through a gang of media types.
Tia looked away from the telecast and at Djuana. “He tried to kill her.’’
“I don’t think so, Tee. If he had, she wouldn’t have dropped the charges so quickly.’’
“I don’t know. Maybe the team told her to. They are in the playoffs, you know?’’
Djuana blocked out Tia. She listened to the male anchor.
“...Jack Newhouse had an alcohol level of three point zero at the time of his arrest...’’
“Damn,’’ Djuana exhaled.
“...In a written statement released early this morning, the Crowns announced Newhouse will be fined and suspended for the first game in Los Angeles.’’
“Damn, damn, damn,’’ Djuana moaned. “I can’t believe all this.’’
“The Crowns are in trouble’’ Tia said. “They are going to need him against LA.’’
The anchor switched to a reporter at the Portland airport standing near the boarding Crowns players. He interviewed a few of them, not Jack though.
“We all know Jack and we all know Kristen,’’ said Danny Gross to the camera. “But we don’t know all of the story.’’
“I’m going to LA,’’ Djuana blurted. “I’m going to get the Pathfinder and drive.’’
“No, that’s a 19, 20 hour drive,’’ Tia pointed out. “He’ll be back Wednesday, right.’’
“I can’t wait that long.’’
“Then fly.’’
“I don’t have the...’’ Money. Djuana recalled the credit card he had left for use in case of an emergency. It was at his house.
Tia shook her head, “Just call him tonight, then you’ll see him when he comes back.’’
“I have to go to his house, can you take me?’’
Djuana had been in Jack’s den once, and that was when he showed her where the credit card would be if she ever needed it. She recalled how she objected, not wanting anything from him but his love.
“That’s fine and dandy,’’ Jack smiled and said. “But, check it, if I am out of town and you feel you need anything, you take this card and use it. I don’t care what it’s for.’’
She opened the top draw of Jack’s roll-top desk, and saw a green business sized envelope with the American Express logo on the top left corner, opposite where a stamp would go. She felt the card inside. She opened it and was stunned to see her name on the gold card. Also, there was a small slip of paper folded in half. It read, simply: “I love you.’’
The Crowns charter to Los Angeles was delayed two hours before take-off. The line on the runway reminded Jack of the traffic during the bus ride over. Everything was moving slowly. Was it because it was Sunday, or because he missed Djuana?
Oscar was asleep, his head inches from Jack’s, before the plane took off. Neither of them, O, Jack or Don had gone to sleep after Jack was released. Don had to go home to greet his daughters as they woke with breakfast, something he did before every road trip. O drove Jack to his mansion where he packed and changed clothes for the trip.
When the plane was in the air, Oscar looked over to Jack, who was still peering out the window, and struck up a conversation.
“While you were out trying to kill Kris, I called So.’’
Jack’s head spun to face O. Oscar’s eyes were fixed on the clouds. The voice of a stewardess passed them, and O twirled to it. “I need a beer,’’ he said as she passed.
Jack was uneasy. He watched his friend for a sign; did the conversation go well? “What did she say?’’ Jack couldn’t wait.
The stewardess handed O a beer, plastic cup and napkin. O popped it open and gulped as much as he could before filling the cup.
“Not a goddamn thing,’’ O finally said. “Her mother said she was out with some guy. You believe that shit?’’
“I don’t know.’’
O continued to drink from the can. “Do you blame her? If she had done half the shit I did to her, I’d have killed her.’’
“Yeah, I know.’’
“I love her, New. I really do. But she scares me.’’
“I know you love her.’’
“I mean, shit,’’ he took another swig. “You know I married the pussy. She’s fucking beautiful. The best-looking woman I had ever seen. I just wanted to rent the pussy, wear that tight shit out.’’
Jack sat silently, watching Oscar tell the story he already knew. Oscar’s head was back against the rest between drinks, occasionally, he would look at Jack, but mostly he avoided eye contact.
“I always thought she’d leave me, take half my money and divorce me. I never thought she would love me so much. The bitch loved me like crazy.’’
Oscar sat up, edging himself toward Jack, “I miss her, man.’’
“To hell with telling me, tell her. Call her when we get to LA’’
“Ahhh, please,’’ O waved off Jack. “I can’t, you know better than that. She ain’t gonna believe me. She ain’t never gonna trust me. Never.’’
Game time was 6 p.m. in Los Angeles. On the East coast, it was a prime time game, coming on the tube live at 9 p.m. The players were at the ballpark at three, around the same time as Djuana’s flight landed in the city. The foul territory near home plate was infested with reporters during batting practice. And, it seemed, everyone had to speak with Jack Newhouse.
Jack, who was wearing his Crowns pants, cap, T-shirt, jacket and street sneakers, was calm, more subdued than anyone expected. But the writers and television and radio reporters were animated. They pushed and shoved to get in better position as Jack stood there shaking his head. He was surrounded completely, standing maybe 10 feet from the batting cage. He took a quick visual survey of them to see if Kris was among them, and he was neither happy nor sad to not see her.
“Better not get too close,’’ one of the LA players shouted from the first base side of the cage, “He fucks reporters, then he chokes them!’’
Oscar, standing on the Crowns side of the webbed cage, shouted, “At least he gets laid!’’
“Listen,” Jack began, and cameras snapped. “I am only going to answer baseball related questions. That’s it.’’
A frail looking man, Jack recalled seeing at least once before, threw out a question before his colleagues seemed ready, “Do you feel you have let down your teammates before the start of a series in which the Crowns will need to play above their heads to defeat the Trojans?’’
“No. We have defeated them in the playoffs before. We can do it again.’’
“Are you going to play Tuesday?’’ another reporter fired out.
“I expect to.’’
“Is this your last season as a Portland Crown?’’
“When the season is over, I will sit down and go over all my options.’’
“With Djuana Pioneer?’’ a male reporter shouted.
“Are you still getting married?’’ an attractive female pointed her black “Entertainment Tonight’’ microphone over another reporter and at Jack.
“Baseball related only,’’ Jack said, giving her a easy smile.
“Just a yes or no?’’ Ms. ET drowned out other questions. “Did you hear Kristen Eisen recanted her story?’’
Jack began moving away. “That’s it. No more. I’m done.’’
Dozens of questions blew by his ears, but he could clearly hear that woman from the gossip station. “She’s been fired! She said she made it up! Give me a comment, Mr. Newhouse.’’
Jack removed his cap and darted into the clubhouse. He sat at his locker, in the quiet, hollow room. One teammate was getting rubbed down in the trainer’s room, everybody else was on the field. He wanted to let loose a long sigh of relief, but he wondered, what if that reporter was lying? He had to know.
Jack looked around, and saw Oscar had his cellular in his locker. He removed it, flicked the flip-top open and dialed Kristen’s number from memory. He was wrong. He searched his locker for his phone book. It was back in his room at the hotel.
“Shit.’’
Djuana knew her day was going too well to be true. She got on a flight seconds after getting to the airport. She only had to call two hotels before finding the Crowns; and that hotel had a suite available. But when she got to the stadium, after a $22 cab ride, she found that the game was sold out.
She tried to buy a ticket from scalpers outside the ballpark, but none of their prices were under $200 dollars and none were anywhere near the playing field. She ended up going to a sports bar a mile away from the stadium and sipping two glasses of wine through the three-hour game. She was surprise that the crowd, mostly men, were more into the game than the women, especially herself. Although one man did send over the bartender with her second glass of wine when the Los Angeles Trojans scored three runs in the fourth inning.
It was tough for her to pay attention to the game without Jack in the lineup. Every so often the crowd at the bar would erupt, Djuana would look up at one of the many large screen TVs and see more Trojans scoring, the Crowns were losing badly. She watched men hug each other, high-five each other and declare Los Angeles the best team in baseball.
The Crowns lost game one of the series to the Trojans, 9-2. Djuana left the bar before the game was over. She had made up her mind to surprise Jack at the hotel, instead of at the ballpark; she reasoned that his demeanor would be better away from that place.
The Crowns got off the team bus in front of the Hilton in silence; most were pleased Juris had lost his voice arguing with umpires. Oscar was walking gingerly, leaning on Jack. Jack’s replacement in right field, Hector Aponte, stepped on O’s ankle in the outfield while they chased one of the many balls hit hard off of Danny.
At the elevators, Aponte tried to apologize once again, but O cursed him out. “When I go for a ball, you freeze! Don’t move,’’ Oscar said, limping to get in the kid’s face. “‘Cause if I can’t catch it, it won’t be caught!’’
The sound of Juris’ cracking howl silenced the lobby. “Any of you leave this hotel tonight, and I will personally beat the living shit out of you and your roommate.’’
Not an hour later Jack answered the door to his and Oscar’s room in a T-shirt and jeans. The woman at door was wearing a dark baby doll dress that reached the top of her bronzed thighs, with thick-heeled pumps and lots of makeup. Before the outfit, her height was the first thing that caught Jack’s attention. She was at least 6-foot-3, because Jack had to stand his full height to be at eye level.
“Hi, is O here?’’ the woman’s voice squeaked, and her smile revealed her age.
Jack looked back at Oscar, who was sitting on the couch with his foot in an electric foot tub. Jack said to him, “Your daughter is here.’’
“Let her in, man!’’ O barked. “My foot swoll ‘cause you benched, and you got nerve to make jokes?’’
“How old are you,’’ Jack said after he closed the door, frowning.
“Old enough to fuck without getting stuck,’’ she replied near emotionless.
“No way you as old as that saying?”
Oscar took the woman’s hand, guiding her onto the couch next to him.
“Quit with the questions.’’ Oscar demanded.
“What’s the matter with him?’’ she watched Jack go into his bedroom.
Oscar took his foot out of the warm water. “Don’t worry about him.’’
“He’s Jack Newhouse, right?’’
Oscar nodded, now limping into the bathroom with the foot whirlpool.
“I feel sorry for him. What that reporter did to him was wrong.’’
“Yeah, I know. Sad, so sad. Now go in my room and get naked.’’
Jack listened to the phone ring, wondering if Oscar would answer it if he let it ring. No, but the thought gave his frown a rest. Jack clicked the sound down on the X-rated movie and rolled across his bed. He snatched the receiver off its cradle.
“Yeah?’’
A cheery voice replied, “This is the hotel lobby, Jack Newhouse, please?’’
“Yeah, you got me,’’ Jack said.
“There is a message here for you. I forgot to give it to you when you came in.’’
“Who is it from?’’
“Sir, it’s sealed, and I am only supposed to give it to you.’’
“Throw it away.’’
“No. I mean, sir, you would want to see this,’’ the concierge said.
Jack exhaled into the phone. He sat up in the bed. “All right. Open it and read it to me. If it’s from a ho, you can have her.’’
The desk guy laughed, “Okay, sir, but it isn’t. I’m sure of that.’’
Jack felt like he could hear the fellow smiling along with the sound of paper ruffling.
“It says: ‘My problem is I love you and I don’t know how to handle it. If you still love me, I’m in room twenty-one seventeen’.
“Sir, it’s signed, Djuana Newhouse.’’
Djuana had tried to stay awake, but the long day finally caught up with her. She was laid across the soft spread on the king-size bed, nude. She was snoring faintly in the dark room with the oldies station playing love music softly. She had bought a silk robe, panties and bra from the shop in the large lobby of the hotel, but she was too tired to bother putting any of it on.
Jack was about to give up after the third set of rapping knocks he laid on the door. But when he pressed his ear to the door, he heard stirring. Djuana was panicking behind the thick, wooden door. She rubbed her fingers together, trying to collect herself. She grabbed the robe off the chair, darted into the bathroom and threw water on her face. She feverishly patted it off with a towel.
In the mirror, she brushed her hair; the curls just fell. She closed the robe around her nude body, hoping the long bath she had taken had not worn off. As she came to the door, the knocks came again. She flipped on the light switch near the door, and sprang onto her toes to look through the peephole. She tied the robe’s wrap around her waist.
She opened the door wide, revealing her room. “Come in, Jack.’’
Jack watched her as he came in, thinking her attractiveness would never cease. She closed the door and came around Jack into the suite. He noticed in a quick glimpse that she was not wearing anything under the deep purple robe.
Djuana searched his face for a clue of his temperament. He seemed even, not smiling, but not angry.
“I’m sorry I walked away from you,’’ she said, breaking the awkward silence.
“It’s okay,’’ Jack glumly said. “I might’ve done the same thing.’’
Although not evident, Jack was choking on his emotions, wanting to grab Djuana and squeeze her until all his frustrations were released.
“No,’’ Djuana said, moving toward Jack in the center of the room. “I should have heard you out.’’
“No, look I was the wrong one.’’
Djuana’s toes pushed her to his height. “Let me apologize.’’ With her arms holding his neck, she kissed him gently.
Guilt had Jack handcuffed. He couldn’t get himself to touch Djuana’s inviting body. The smell of her body, it’s natural flavor made Jack’s mouth water. And, Djuana licked his wet lips.
“Djuana, I’m so sorry baby.’’
“Shhhh,’’ she angled her head, and slowly moved her lips to his. Jack stood still, allowing Djuana all she wanted. When she felt his tears on her cheekbone she squeezed his neck and fired up her tongue.
“I’m sorry,’’ Jack sobbed.
“Hold me, Jack,’’ Djuana panted in his ear, kissing it.
His hands slipped between the robe and her body. They clasped around her waist, squeezing her soft skin between his fingers. He rubbed the back of her curving rib cage and her shoulder blades. His tongue followed her lead, his mind followed his hands. They were now in the front, caressing her breasts, fondling them, causing Djuana to pant even more. His touch was gentle, yet firm and direct. In one motion, he bent and picked her up by the soft cheeks of her buttocks. She clamped her arms around his neck and legs around his waist, kissing his face.
Jack placed her on the bed, and she spread her legs and arms, groaning and inviting him in. With his knees on the floor, he kissed and caressed her body. When he finally stood and undressed, she knelt on the firm bed and helped him.
“You still my lady?’’ Jack said while her lips attacked his face.
Djuana looked up, her eyes blazing with desire, and hummed, “I’m yours, just like you are mine.’’
They made love through the night. It would be their most erotic night together.