Darius Jones (8 page)

A
djusting the volume on my Loud 'N Clear ear piece, I eased on my custom-fitted Chanel sunglasses and reclined. I couldn't relax. The thoughts inside my head competed for my attention. “This is the baddest ring.” Finally, I was officially engaged to Darius Jones and had his ring and his kid to prove it.

The eleven o'clock sunshine warmed my body inside out. Seductively, I rubbed suntan oil all over myself to let my reality soak in. “Bartender, a bottle of Dom, a carafe of fresh orange juice, and a bowl of freshly sliced strawberries. Charge it to room 1806,” I said. “A celebration is in order. I'm getting married.” I flipped my wrist, showed him my bling.

“Damn. Well, all is right, Miss Diva Extraordinaire. Congratulations. That's quite an exhibit. I'll be right back with your order. With all that shine, keep your shades on.”

He was the first to envy me. I was never taking off my ring. Never. I'd die first.

My contact headed in my direction, dragging her feet and looking an outright mess. Sliding her brown Birkenstocks, she adjusted her unkempt wig. Her floral print button-up dress was crinkled and her purse strap straddled her waist. Her fist was damned near wrapped twice around the strap. She hugged her purse to her hip as though all the money she owned was in it.

Flopping on the lawn chair beside mine, she said, “Hey, Miss Bambi,” loud enough for the guests in the lobby to hear my name. Her country proper tone was at times adorable but more often annoying. Did all the people from Flagstaff along Route 66 speak this loud? Today I was happy so nothing could unnerve me.

I told Rita, “I've got to teach you how to chill LA style. Sit back. Relax and have a mimosa.” I motioned for the bartender to pour two drinks.

He half filled the two champagne flutes on the tray, added a splash of orange juice to each, handed me my drink.

Rita picked up her drink before he touched it. She wrapped all four fingers and her thumb around the flute like it was a microphone. “Oh, chile. This is exactly what I need.” Leaning her head back, she gulped the mimosa like it was straight OJ. She stared at my ring. “Bambi, where you get that from? You're getting married?”

“Yes, but I can't tell you to whom, so don't ask. He's famous and wealthy.”

The best part about my contact was she was definitely unsuspecting. No one would deem Rita St. Thomas a hit and run driver. She was from that small town, Flagstaff, Arizona, where the attendant who checked your bags at the airport also loaded your bags on the plane and closed the door from the outside before takeoff. Hiring Rita, things had fallen into place for me in a weird kind of way.

I'd read all about Rita in the background check on Jada's computer. I knew that Honey was the name of Rita's daughter who died. Lace was her daughter who'd switched names with her deceased daughter, Honey. And Rita told me that she was so jealous of Honey she'd do the unspeakable to make Honey's life miserable.

Rita said, “Oh, chile. At first I thought I'd hurt Darius the way he was smashed up underneef that air bag. I had to pray on that cuz I know how important he is to you.” This time she refilled her own glass with champagne only. “What do you do to look so good, Bambi? You on a diet? All these women in LA make me feel like I should go to the gym or at least watch what I eat.”

“Sex,” I answered. “I have lots of sex.”

Rita frowned and nodded, at the same tightening her lips. “Hmm.”

Not wanting to hear her response, I removed my sunglasses, stared in her eyes. I squinted, then hissed, “Let me make myself clear. If you hurt Darius, I will destroy you.” She'd die if my thoughts could kill her. “Slow down on the alcohol. Here,” I said, handing her a five-thousand-dollar bonus for a job well done.

She swished the champagne in her mouth, then swallowed. “Good. Now I can buy another truck. What's my next assignment? I need more money.”

“I have to decide if you can handle another assignment.” I already had one for her but didn't want her to make any assumptions. “Tell me about the accident.” I scanned the pool area. That kid was still standing on the side. At least he listened. I still wasn't taking him to Disneyland.

Rita straightened her wig. Wiggled on the lawn chair. Scooted her chair closer to mine. Sat sideways facing me. Gapped her legs, then whispered, “Well, I followed them about ten blocks or so. When the light turned red I saw this here SUV flying downhill from a different direction. They had the right of way. I juiced my engine and slammed into the back of Darius's SUV and forced them into the middle of the street. I knew that other car wouldn't have time to stop so I juiced my engine again and hit Darius's car again to confuse them.”

Rita damn near had me confused. “Next time I ask you to handle something, do not put Darius's health in jeopardy.”

I didn't want to know what she'd done with the wrecked truck. It wasn't in my name. “Are you good with kids?” I asked her.

“I'm the best. Kinda,” she said, frowning. “Didn't do such a great job with my own, but I can manage. Not like I don't know how to take care of kids, ya know. Honey's pregnant. But I'm already knowing she's not going to let me see my grandbaby. She's evil like that to me. If she'd given me some of that money she got, I wouldn't have to supplement my retirement by doing these here odd jobs for you.” She downed another glass of champagne.

I didn't want to hear her life story. “Good enough.” I yelled at DJ, “Hey, kid! Come here…Kid…Kid…DJ!”

He came running. “That's my name.”

Sucking in my cheeks, I exhaled. “Rita, stay here and watch this kid until I get back.”

I slid my half glass of champagne to her side of the table knowing she'd need that drink too. At least she was honest about not having been a good mother. “I have another appointment.” I had to get away from her, get away from them.

I went to my room, showered off my suntan oil, then checked out of my room.

T
he thirty-mile drive to the uniform shop located in Bellflower took an hour and thirty minutes. I paid cash for three nursing uniforms and two pairs of shoes. I made sure one uniform was a white cotton short-sleeved V-collar pullover with pastel hearts and solid white pants like the one Anita Harris had worn. Both pairs of shoes were white leather.

Damn, almost forgot I was out of new lace wigs. I zoomed to Dream Girls Hair Imports on Sepulveda Boulevard in Culver City and snatched up twelve wigs from the owner, Tonya Thompson. “Hey, BC!” That was short for Brandon Charles, the finest and best stylist. If I weren't in love with my Darius, I'd make Brandon mine.

I bought the Brianna, Destiny, Loressa, Eboni, Thalia, Camilla, Tiffani, Blond Ambition, Aubrey, Caribbean Beauty, Samantha, and the Ivory. Each wig was a different color. Half were full lace that required gluing around my entire hairline. The other half were no-glue front laces that would allow me to apply the wig with tape and drastically change my look in ten minutes.

My next stop was the rental car agency. I traded my silver convertible for a black sedan, then headed to Walmart in Long Beach to purchase two infant car seats and a playpen.

On my way to my parents' home on East Seaside Walk in Long Beach to drop off the playpen, I made arrangements to meet Rita so I could pick up that brat DJ and drop him off at Jada's on my way back to the hospital.

A
lmost forty-eight hours had passed since the accident. I hadn't left my wife's bedside except to use the restroom. The nurses brought me food, beverages, and my wife's teal bag was mysteriously returned to the room while I'd dozed off. When I saw the bloody halter-top dress on top, I stuffed the bag in the bottom of her closet.

Squatting in the chair, “Oh, wee,” my body odor crept upon me. The home game was coming up in two days. I had to soak my nuts, go check on my son, in that order. Was worried about Mom. Hadn't spoken with her since yesterday morning.

My battery had gotten low so I borrowed Anita's charger. I posted on Facebook, Thanks for your prayers for my wife. We're not out of the woods yet. Going to shoot around in a few. Well wishes and more prayers poured in instantly. My fans did care.

How long would I have to wait before I could hold my wife in my arms again? I knew I shouldn't have those selfish thoughts but I was useless not being able to help her. Felt guiltier with each passing hour that she was the only one hurt. What was my lesson?

The little things I thought about were what would my life be like without her hugs, her kisses, her smiles, and her laughter. Her wisdom, her advice, and her loving touches kept me balanced. I missed those big brown eyes that spoke to me without her saying a word.

Her eyes stayed open a little longer today but she still hadn't spoken. The doctor said her progress was promising and my being here definitely helped. Doc's support was appreciated but I believed her condition would be the same if I weren't here. I sat beside her bed. “Baby, I'ma have to go home today to shower and change clothes. I'm going to shoot around for a few hours, get a decent hot meal, and I'll be back tonight.”

Someone tapped on the door. I opened it, then stepped into the hallway. Couldn't lie. I was happy as hell to see my teammate and friend.

“K-9, man, what am I going to do?” I cried on his shoulder like a six-month-old, hungry, wet baby needing to be held. The tears surprised me. Thought I was all cried out.

“It's all good, man. We bleed too, nigga. We bleed too,” he said. “Everyone on the team, the coaches, players, and their families, send their prayers.”

“Yeah, I've spoken with Coach a few times. He wants me at the home game if I can make it. Says playing will help me take out my aggression in the right place. But he's leaving it up to me.”

“Fam first, D.”

“Yeah, problem is, I've got two. My wife and kid and you guys.”

“Check it out like this. Say you go with us to Cleveland. You break the bank up in that Quicken Loans Arena. Then you get a call saying, ‘I'm sorry, Mr. Jones, we did all we could.'”

That reality shit hit me hard. “If some crazy shit like that went down while I was away from my wife, I'd tear down the north and south towers of this hospital with my hands. I'd lose it, man.”

There were no easy answers. Couldn't ignore my problems this time. I cried on his shoulder again. A couple of camera lights flashed. Paparazzi were lurking in the corners of the hallway taking pictures of my crying and hugging K-9. No telling where those photos would show up.

“Ain't that about a bitch,” I said, shaking my head. “Guess he'll get his moment of fame for selling those pics to TMZ.” I was too upset to give a damn.

K-9 yelled, “Get the fuck outta here before I beat your ass! Give me a sec, D. I'ma catch that punk ass before he have us on prime time looking like bitches.” K-9 ran off behind the guy; they disappeared into the stairway.

I heard rumbling, went back into my wife's room. That was the reason I hadn't come out since I'd gotten here. Paparazzi came up here pretending to be visitors. Every network wanted an exclusive bedside interview with me holding my wife's hand. The police wanted more details about the hit and run. Far as I was concerned the police was another layer of paparazzi. The cops were the only ones who'd taken pictures of Rihanna but her photos were all over TMZ. The insurance company wanted a statement from me. Department of Motor Vehicles had forms hand delivered to the room. None of that shit would've gone down like this if I were an average Joe.

With all the drugs in her system, Fancy had fallen asleep, or maybe she was resting her eyes. I heard a tap on the door. Softly, I said, “Come in, man,” trying not to wake up my baby. I was not prepared to see the face standing in the doorway looking back at me.

Why in the fuck are you here?

A
real woman's balls were always bigger than a man's.

I gloated as Darius's chocolate face turned two shades lighter. He was speechless when he saw me standing in the doorway. The fear in his eyes told me he wasn't that big bad shit talker who'd talked down to me in the past.

“What's up, Ash? Forgive me. Poor choice of words. I mean, how you doin', Ashlee?” K-9 said, ushering me inside the room.

Yeah, the three of us went back far enough for K-9 to remember my being trapped in the fire. Part of my face was burned but thanks to modern medical techniques my face was restored. The arsonist target was Darius but I was the one who suffered. I was in the building working late that night while Darius was fucking around.

Darius got out of his seat, stood in front of me. I put my left foot forward, hand on my right hip, tossed my head back, stared up at him. Had on my Nikes for traction, hair slicked back in a ponytail, no makeup, no jewelry. I came ready to kick Fancy's ass and outrun Darius. Assessing Fancy's condition, I was overprepared.

“I'ma pay for this one, D, but dude left me no choice,” K-9 said, holding up a professional camera.

“Good to see you two haven't grown up,” I commented. “That's not a good thing.” I peeped around Darius's side. He moved, trying to block my view of Fancy. “Somebody needs to comb her hair. I already saw her. I'm trying to get a closer look to see if she's faking it.” I pushed Darius. The strength of his body made me shove myself to the side.

“Like K-9 said, what's up, Ashlee?”

I stared at Fancy while answering Darius. “Your mom didn't tell you? She asked me to come help her watch DJ. Besides, it's my weekend to have him anyway. But I had to see for myself what condition she”—I nodded at Fancy—“was in. Pretty bad. Who was driving? You?”

Darius concealed his smile. No matter how serious the situation, I could always make him laugh before he got mad again. He shook his head. Shook off my comment. I wasn't giving him any relief. All the days of my life he'd fucked up, he deserved this shit.

He stood in front me. “Seriously, Ashlee. Don't you have any compassion for my wife? Can't you see I'm scared?”

“Where the fuck were you all the times I was scared?” I asked him.

“I can't change that, Ashlee. It's in the past. Right now, I don't know what I'd do without my wife.” He walked me to the corner of the room, then whispered, “Ashlee, look. I'm sorry for all the fucked up shit I did to you. I wanna make it up to you, I swear. We were both young. After our son was born I didn't know how to love Fancy and emotionally be there for you at the same time. But this accident right here changed me for life. I'ma do whatever it takes to make you a part of our lives but you can't see DJ for more than two days.”

What the fuck made him think I wanted to be a part of their lives? That sounded good (more so to him) but it came a lotta too late for me, and DJ was my damn son too.

Lunging toward him with my shoulders, I said, “Fuck you, Darius! You should've called me right away! That's your wife but DJ is my son, Darius. Mine. Not hers. You should've called and told me my baby was in a car accident. Your mother could've called me when it happened. Nobody called Ashlee until a day later! And even then your mother didn't tell me. Why did I have to hear it from my three-year-old?”

I saw Fancy's left leg move.
Yeah, twitch, bitch, you know I'm keeping it one hundred.
I got closer to Darius so he wouldn't look over his shoulder at her ass.

“Ashlee, please. Keep your voice down.”

“Please my ass! Fuck you!”
Put one finger on me and your ass is going to jail.
Now both of her legs were moving. I wished K-9 wasn't standing there watching me—I'd do a Jay Crawford on Darius so fast.

“D, let it go,” K-9 said. “She's not hearing you. You see where this is going.” K-9 opened the door, leaned half his body into the hallway. “Nurse! We need a nurse!”

“Punk ass ballers.” If K-9 knew what was best for him, he'd stay out of my warm-up with Darius and out of my lineup. I was just getting started. I could emasculate Darius and castrate K-9 at the same time.

Several nurses rushed into the room.

I didn't give a fuck about them. “We'll see how you feel when the shoe is on the other foot,” I told Darius.

“Miss, you're going to have to leave the hospital,” one of the nurses told me. “Or I'm going to have to call the police.”

“Bitch, do what the fuck you gotta do.” I looked at Darius squaring his shoulders. “If you keep fucking with me, I will kill you and her,” I said, pointing at Fancy.

Another nurse said, “Oh, my gosh. Call the doctor. She's moving. Your wife is moving.”

Darius rushed to Fancy's bedside. Guess that gave him a reason to keep standing tall. His day was coming.

I stared that bitch ass nurse Anita down, then told her, “I hadn't planned on staying.” I handed Darius the envelope containing my custody papers, bypassed K-9, and left the building.

That bitch twitching was just the distraction I needed. I hurried to the lobby, picked up DJ from Jada, and kept it moving. By the time Darius called his trifling ass mother I'd be on the plane with DJ headed back to D.C.