A Good Man (2 page)

Right. I’m too short for them to look up to me. “And I’m forty. Those shows are for much younger women. I don’t have a chance of being a Nubian princess.” Who thinks up that noise anyway? Nubian princess? Why not Nubian queen? TV is always downgrading black women.

“Forty is the new twenty.”

“Not to a twenty-year-old,” Sonya said. Or to a forty-year-old with a reluctant knee, elbows that pop for no reason, and toes that rarely warm up.

“You could be glamorous, you know.”

“My glamorous days are over.” Not that I had any in the first place. When they put makeup on me for those WNBA calendars, I felt like a clown. “Don’t they have an age limit for shows like that?”

“You just made the cutoff.”

How nice. “Thank you for thinking of me, really, but no thanks.”

“Um, I already sent in a few of your old headshots and your bio.”

Sonya shot off the couch. “What?”

“And the producers are very interested in what they’ve seen. They want to meet with you soon. As in, as soon as you can get to LA. That kind of soon.”

The witch! “You already signed me up?”

“It’s what I do, right? And I didn’t exactly sign you up. I just sent a few pictures and your bio. No harm in that.”

“Michelle, you haven’t really been my publicist for the last five years,” Sonya said. She turned back to her TV and tuned it to The Food Channel, muting the sound. “And Michelle, those headshots have to be at least ten years old.”

“They’re actually fifteen years old.”

Geez, I was still a kid! “But that’s not how I look now. You’re misrepresenting me.”

She’s still misrepresenting me. She tried to paint me as some “bad girl from Jersey” back in the day to increase my salary, as if being “fierce” would put more people in the seats. No one bought that mess. Nike wouldn’t have signed me to represent their shoes if I were a “bad girl” from anywhere.

“I’ll bet you haven’t aged a day.”

I have aged many days, and a few more during this conversation. “Michelle, I have several body parts heading south, I have wrinkles, my evil knee cracks—”

“And all of that can be fixed or hidden,” Michelle interrupted. “They are really interested in you, Sonya. They are willing to pay you a lot of money to take the role.”

The what? “The role? I’m playing myself, right? How is that a role?”

“You know what I mean. You’ll be playing the role of the woman in waiting, the role of the damsel in the castle waiting for her knight in shining armor, the role of—”

“The desperate middle-aged woman afraid of dying alone,” Sonya interrupted. Ouch. That hurt to say. It must be somewhat true if it hurts me like that.

“It’s funny you should mention desperate, Sonya. The producers actually sounded desperate when I talked to them.”

“So let them remain desperate. I’m not desperate.”

“You’re a beautiful woman alone on a Friday night.”

“And I’ll be a beautiful woman alone on a Saturday night, too.” And on Sundays and Wednesdays, I’ll be a beautiful woman getting my prayer and praise on in church. “I like my life, Michelle. I like quiet. I didn’t know how necessary quiet was to me until I had some quiet. Silence is indeed golden. You know I didn’t like all that noise and hype. I never liked doing post-game interviews or having any microphones jammed into my face or cameras following my every twitch. And now you want me to go on TV for what, months? That’s not me at all. You know this.”

“Well, um, I already told them that you were interested in doing this show.”

Sonya snapped off the TV. She had already seen the host of Man v. Food eat the five-pound burrito. “You told them I was interested before you even tried to get me interested?”

“Well, if they weren’t interested in you being interested, I wouldn’t have called you to check on whether you were interested or not.”

Her logic still escapes me. “So what if they’re really interested. I’m not interested.”

“But, Sonya, the money is ridiculous, more than your first year’s salary for the Comets.”

“I told you. I’m not hurting for money.”

Because I’m not hurting for common sense and I actually learned something from my business administration classes at the University of Houston. I lived like a nun for ten years in the league before splurging on this house and the Maxima outside. The interest from the money I earned and invested wisely during my playing days keeps me living comfortably.

“I told them you’d consider twice that,” Michelle said.

“What?”

“And they said fine. They said fine, Sonya. See what I said about desperate?”

And this makes me feel … less homely for some reason. They’re willing to pay old me double. “They doubled the money?”

“One hundred thousand dollars.”

Whoa. They are seriously desperate. Who can afford to throw that kind of money around these days?

“At least think about it,” Michelle said.

“Oh, I’ll think about it.” For about a minute. This is not gonna happen.

“It could be fun, Sonya.”

“It could be stupid, Michelle.”

“Not with intelligent you as the star.”

“I don’t want to be a star.” I was the point guard, the player who made everyone else look good. “I’m middle-aged now. I’m past my need for attention.”

Okay, who am I kidding? I would love to have the attention of a good man, but not the smothering kind of attention. The remote belongs to me. This couch belongs to me. My space belongs to me. But to have twelve men pawing at me? At the same time? I’d have a football team and the coach after me.

“Do this for us, Sonya. Do this for all us thirty-and forty-something sisters who don’t have hot men or any men in their lives for that matter. Be our shining example in these dark times. Be our Nubian princess.”

“Michelle, you’re tripping.”

“It’s part of my job description.”

Sonya laughed. “I am not saying I’ll do this, but if I did, how long would this show last exactly?”

“You’re thinking about doing it?”

“I said if I did.”

“The show will last for approximately six months to a year.”

Geez. Movies don’t take that long to film. “I don’t know. Those guys will be so young.”

“You don’t look your age at all, Sonya. And that could be the big secret they reveal at the end. That’s how these shows work, you know. Our Nubian princess has been hiding something from you hunky punks. She’s actually old enough to be your mama!”

Not funny.

“Remember that Penthouse playmate on Momma’s Boys a few years ago?”

“No.” They don’t have Penthouse playmates on Animal Planet.

“The ratings for that show went through the roof when she revealed that secret. Oh, yeah, she got dumped and vilified on all the entertainment shows right after that, but the ratings were fantastic.”

But I’m her opposite. “I doubt I’d be good for ratings.”

“Why?”

“I’m good, Michelle. I’m a Christian, remember?”

“You never let me forget, Sonya.”

“And I’m boring. I am a home-girl homebody. And if I revealed my true age to the man I eventually chose, he would dump me in a heartbeat, and I’d look foolish.”

“Oh, one can only hope! Then you could do another show! Dumped by a punk, she’s back to win her hunk. It will make TV history.”

Michelle is a seriously damaged woman. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, and that would almost be better. You’d be on TV for up to two years and we could easily clear half a million—or more with endorsements and appearances.”

We. She said “we.” Michelle must be hurting for money. I stopped paying her a long time ago. “Two years of that foolishness? That’s insane. If I did do it, I know I wouldn’t last more than six months.” Why does it sound as if I’m talking myself into this? Why am I still talking to Michelle at all? Is part of me actually intrigued by this? “And when the younger guy dumps me in the end, that’s it. No sequels.”

“Oh, you never know. The man you choose might like cougars. And you played for the Lady Cougars in college, too.”

“Once upon a time when both of my knees worked, Michelle.” Sonya returned to the couch, digging her feet under the cushions. “I can’t believe you told them I was interested.”

“You could have been a movie or a TV star and you know it. You still could be. Look at all the older women out there raking it in. Halle Berry, Vanessa Williams, Regina Hall, Nia Long, Kimberly Elise, Tyra Banks, Angela Bassett, Sanaa Lathan, Vivica Fox. Every one of them is forty or older. Older women have staying power. You think the Kardashians will look that good in their forties?”

I don’t think they look that good now. “Who cares about the Kardashians?”

“See, you’re already sounding like a diva.”

Me? Never! “That’s not the life I wanted after basketball, and it’s not the quiet life I crave.”

I want only what God wants. I have always wanted that, and I hope I’ve done Him proud. I wouldn’t have had all that injury-free success in the WNBA without His almighty help. “How does she keep doing it year after year?” those so-called basketball experts asked. Hard work, dedication, and the God in me. So what if I haven’t been fruitful and multiplying. Not every woman has to be married with children to be fulfilled.

“Michelle, I don’t think this show is right for me.”

“It’s perfect for you.”

“Nothing is perfect except the love of God, Michelle.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll level with you. I, um, I already sort of … okayed the contract. All you have to do is sign it.”

Sonya nearly threw her remote control across the room. I can’t believe I thought about throwing my remote control across the room. How would I function? “You just … sort of … okayed the contract.”

“Um, yeah.”

“You can’t do that!”

“I already did it.”

“Not without my permission!”

“True, but it was actually kind of easy. Just a few strokes of a pen. I hope I spelled your name right.”

“I don’t even pay you anymore.” She forged my signature! This is not happening! “And they haven’t even met me yet!”

But why aren’t I just saying no and hanging up on her? Why am I still even talking to Michelle? What is it about being a Nubian princess that is keeping my interest? Okay, I’ve never been one. Not many people have. I’m sure there’s something psychological about all this, but I’d have to be crazy to go on this show!

“They need you, Sonya. Their first choice took a spot on Survivor instead.”

“And that’s a show I might actually like to do. It’s athletic, outdoors, a challenge. This show, I mean, where’s the challenge? All I have to do is kick guys off until I’m left with one man, right? Where’s the challenge in that? I could probably do it on the first episode. I am good at saying no, and I’m sure I could say it eleven times in less than thirty seconds!” Only I’m not saying no now. Nubian princess Sonya. It has a nice ring to it.

“Sonya, they are so desperate that they’re willing to fly you out to LA, pamper you to death, and do whatever it takes to make you happy.”

Sonya rolled her eyes. “But I’m happy right now.” Oh, that wasn’t very convincing. “I am happy, Michelle.” And I’ve always thought that people who say they’re happy usually aren’t happy at all. “In fact, for them to keep me happy, they’ll understand if I don’t do this.”

“When’s the last time you kissed a man?”

Geez, stay with the conversation. She’s so random.

“Sonya, when’s the last time you kissed a man?”

Middle school? But that was a boy. “I don’t remember.”

“I didn’t think you would. When’s the last time you even talked to a man?”

High school? Those must have been the days. I wish I could remember them. “I don’t need a man. A man is too much trouble.” But how would I know that? I haven’t been with any man long enough for him to give me any trouble. Maybe that’s why I’m so happy.

“On this show, the men come to you, and you decide who stays or goes,” Michelle said. “I would give anything for that kind of power. I would give up Starbucks forever if I could have that power for even one day.”

That is a lot of power. Michelle practically lived in Starbucks when I was in the league. “Michelle, there has to be someone else out there who craves that kind of attention. I’m not that person.”

“Your last date was seventeen years ago—today.”

It was? Seventeen years ago? Geez. Who was the president? “How do you know that?”

“I’m your publicist. I write stuff down. I update your bio. You remember who it was with?”

No clue. “Who was it?”

“Archie Freeman.”

“I went out with him?” What was I thinking?

“Girl, I rest my case. You can’t even remember your date with the then NBA rookie of the year and future league MVP. You two made such a cute couple.”

Archie’s now playing ball in China because no one in the NBA can afford him or his failed drug tests anymore. Or the arthritic knees that keep him out of thirty games a year. “I didn’t remember the date because it wasn’t memorable.” The man had the nerve to call me “Ma.” He said it was like calling me his “boo.” Right. He just wanted me to be another one of his baby mamas.

“Sonya, what are you wearing right now?”

There she goes being random again. “What does this—”

“Sonya,” Michelle interrupted, “what are you wearing?”

“Sweats and a T-shirt.” No socks. Old, comfortable house slippers. No makeup. A hair tie. Drawers. Standard outfit for watching shows on The Food Network.

“Who are you with?”

“No one.” Sonya turned on the TV. “Oh, I’m with the big guy on Man v. Food. He is a trip. Last night he put away seven pounds of seafood.” Where does he put it all? He’s not that big. I’ll bet he has huge calves.

“And you’re okay with that?”

No. Watching a man eat too much for my amusement is lamer than lame, but I get so many cool recipes this way. “I’m not saying that I’m interested, all right? I’m just saying that I’ll think about it. Please don’t tell them I’ve agreed to this foolishness.”

“I won’t. But they’re on a timetable.”

And so am I. My time is my time. Sonya sighed. “What would I have to do next?”

“Go to Instant Talent dot com and answer a few questions.”

“What kind of questions? Didn’t you send them my bio?”