CHAPTER 9

“You gonna pass that ball or what?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Maxwell mumbled as he passed the ball to his best friend, Tony.

“Where’s your mind at today?” Tony asked, giving him a friendly shove. “These dudes out here are whopping our butt. Get your head out of the clouds.”

Maxwell nodded as he watched Tony run the court and try unsuccessfully to do a slam dunk. His five foot, seven inch frame barely got off the ground, and the ball bounced dismally off the backboard with the finality of their losing score: 20 to 12. Tony picked up the ball and threw it across the basketball court.

“Tony, I’m going to stop playin’ with you if you don’t stop with this sore loser mess,” Maxwell warned.

“Man, shut up. It’s your fault we lost.”

“Nice game, man.”

“See y’all later,” their opponents said as they left the court.

“Yeah, good game, guys,” Maxwell said, following Tony off the basketball court to the locker room.

“If you hadn’t been daydreaming, we coulda’ beat those dudes,” Tony snapped as he opened his locker.

“So I made us lose? What was all this?” Maxwell asked, crouching down low, imitating Tony’s horrible attempt at a slam dunk.

“Shut up,” Tony said, grabbing his gym bag out of his locker.

Maxwell laughed.

“I always thought you were gonna grow out of being a sore loser. Remember when we were in the seventh grade and we lost that track meet?”

“Yeah.”

“You got so mad you pulled that boy’s shorts down. What was his name?”

“Fred? Fred…Fred something. Yeah, I remember. I got kicked off the team for that. I can’t believe you remember all that stuff.”

“It was pretty memorable.”

Maxwell started laughing again.

“Why you laughing now?”

“Just remembering some of the crazy stuff we used to do,” Maxwell replied, wondering how they’d remained friends after all these years.

People in their old neighborhood, South Park, used to call them the Shadow Brothers because, wherever one was, the other wasn’t far behind. Going to a predominately black school made Tony’s white skin stick out like a sore thumb, and the kids teased him relentlessly. One day Maxwell saw a group of boys jump him after school. Tony’s nose was bloody, his pants were ripped, he was dirty, but every time one of the boys knocked him down, Tony got back up, ready to fight again. Maxwell stood back watching, wondering why he wouldn’t just lie down and give up. Why wouldn’t he just take the licks and let the bullies move on to some other victim? He was stupid. Or maybe he was courageous for standing up for himself, not letting anyone punk him. Or maybe he was just plain crazy. He was probably all three. Either way, Maxwell liked him instantly. He broke up the fight and warned the boys not to touch him again.

He walked Tony home after that, and they had been friends ever since. Their race was never brought up; Maxwell didn’t even notice that Tony looked like an off-brand Brad Pitt. His thick, blond hair always found its way across his dark-blue eyes, and he was forever pushing it back off his forehead. He was muscular, but not overly so. His muscles were a nice surprise under his Hanes T-shirt. Maxwell never cared what Tony looked like and knew that Tony would have it hard growing up in a black neighborhood. So they became brothers, through high school, through college. Tony supported Maxwell when his mother was diagnosed with cancer and he dropped out of college, and Maxwell supported Tony through his parents’ ugly divorce. Through thick and thin, they were there for each other.

“Hey, man, what happened to Andre? He was supposed to hang out with us this morning,” Tony said, pushing his blond hair out of his eyes.

“Right here, man. Sorry I’m late; it was hard to get out of the house.”

His long legs strode to them, and he gave each of them a friendly pat on the back.

“What are you doing here? I thought you had to be home with the kids,” Maxwell asked.

Andre waved his hand dismissively. “Chicken pox? Brenda can handle that. She don’t need me there with the boys.” He sat his gym bag down on the wooden bench where Tony was sitting. “So, we playing or what?”

“Sorry, you missed it,” Maxwell said.

“Missed it? Y’all finished playing already?”

“Yep.” Tony said.

Andre sat down on the bench. “So what are we gonna get into now?”

“We are gonna take a shower and head to work,” Maxwell said, stripping off his sweaty shirt.

“Oh yeah, that’s right, y’all both work on Saturdays.” He stood, grabbing his gym bag.

“You going home?”

“No. I’m gonna go work out. Maybe meet up with some of my co-workers and play a round of golf.”

“In this heat? Man, you crazy.” Maxwell said.

“Well, I’m not sitting around that house just to watch the kids itching and vomiting and stuff. I need a break.”

“What about Brenda? I’m sure she would like to get out for a couple of hours—” Tony stopped talking when he saw Andre’s stony look.

“Brenda is doing her job. She’s a housewife. She don’t get any breaks. Deuce,” he said as she walked out of the locker room.

“There goes Mr. Fleming, always bringing a ray of sunshine in our dreary little lives,” Tony said sarcastically.

Tony and Maxwell had met Andre Fleming their senior year in high school. His parents had just moved from Austin, and Maxwell could tell right away that his sandy brown hair, pecan skin, and light brown eyes could work to their advantage. His tall good looks could only add more girls to their roster, so he invited him to sit with them at lunch. Andre felt like the missing piece in Maxwell’s and Tony’s friendship, and he fit in like he had been hanging with them for years.

Maxwell was not surprised to learn that Andre’s easy smile and warm personality won him the heart of many girls, but Andre only had his eyes on one: Rosslyn Hadley. Senior year you wouldn’t see the one without the other. They were so close that Maxwell was shocked as any one to learn that she broke up with Andre two days before prom. Hurt and broken-hearted, Andre took Brenda Emerson, the one girl who had trailed after him the entire senior year. More shocking than ever was when he married the girl a month later, forgoing his dream of going to school to be a veterinarian.

Brenda’s family came from money, so Andre leisurely worked at one of Brenda’s father’s furniture stores. Brenda’s desperation reeked of bad cabbage, and her feelings for Andre bordered on worship. She would jump if he thought she should be jumping. She was an annoying little pest, and for the life of Maxwell he couldn’t figure out why Andre would stoop so low in the looks department for a girl. Brenda was past ugly, she was what you called OOOgly. But she tried to be pretty, and that was her downfall. Her insane blonde hair weave against her shiny, acne-riddled ebony skin, her bright clownish make-up, and trendy clothes, did nothing to hide what God gave her. Instead, you laughed at her attempt to fight the ugly. Just let it be, Maxwell wanted to scream at her when he would visit their house. Her long red nails would circle around his beer bottle, and when Maxwell mumbled a thanks to her, her thick pink lips would open and you would glance at a mouth of yellow crooked teeth that could be mistaken for gold any day. She was sweet, though, Maxwell would give her that. And she loved Andre. That she did.

“You going to stand there all day, or are you going to hit the shower?” Tony asked.

“Yeah, I’m going in. Can’t be late for work, I got a long day ahead of me.”

“Yeah, me too. I gotta go over some menu stuff.” Tony said.

“Oh yeah, how’s the promotion coming?” Maxwell asked.

Last week, Tony was promoted to head chef at Hotel Bellagio, one of Houston’s most prestigious hotels. He loved it, but Maxwell could see he was stressing from all the added responsibility.

“It’s killing me, man. But I’m getting the hang of it. Thanks for meeting me up here; I needed something to take my mind off work.”

“Anytime,” Maxwell said, heading for the showers.