Hittin' It Out the Park (10 page)

Stephen shook his head. “No, but I was on the telephone with her before I walked into the job interview, and she told me her problem. Then when I saw you, I couldn't help notice the resemblance in your body type. That's when the idea came.”

“Okay,” Cheryl said slowly. “So, how about you call girlie back and tell her you came up with a great idea. You ran into an old friend who does modeling, and she's free . . . whatever days it is, the bookings are . . . and that you convinced her to help you out.”

“What?”

Cheryl shrugged. “Make it clear that I'm doing it as a favor to you because I was planning on going on vacation or something. Then tell her you did it out the goodness of your heart, and I'll go ahead and give you fifteen percent, but only on the condition that you see if you can hook me up a few more times.”

“Hmm . . . not only a little nasty, but also a little crafty, aren't we?” Stephen said thoughtfully. “But really, do you have any modeling experience?”

“My mother used to do high-fashion runway before I was born, so she taught me how to walk when I was a little girl—”

“So that explains how you knew what fit modeling is,” Stephen said, “But if you're serious about modeling, why don't you go ahead and sign up with an agency? With a shape like yours you could probably land a couple of swimsuit jobs, even if you're a little over the hill.”

“Over the hill?” Cheryl raised her eyebrow. “Oh. Okay, that's why you were peeking at my application, huh? To check out my age?”

Stephen grinned.

“Well, I'm NOT serious about modeling,” Cheryl said. “To be truthful, I never considered it until now. But I do need money, and this might be a quick way to make some money, so . . . hey!”

Stephen shrugged. “Yeah, you're right. Too bad you're getting in the game so late.” He looked at her intently, stroking his chin. “You know you really look younger than twenty-three; I bet you could easily pass for sixteen.”

Two weeks later, Cheryl was $2,550 richer, Stephen was $450 happier, and they had already become the best of friends. Modeling was a breeze for the beautiful and statuesque Cheryl, and with some urging from Stephen, she decided to try to make it a full-time career.

“But, girl, you can't go into a modeling agency saying you're twenty-three,” Stephen said one day when they were lounging in his East Village apartment. “All the top agencies want the young fresh sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds. Honey, you've got to lie about your age.”

Stephen was what was known as a “down-low brother,” an African American gay man who pretended to be heterosexual, but his language had relaxed quite a bit since he had become close to Cheryl, she noted with amusement. At least when they were alone.

“I thought about it,” Cheryl responded, while flipping through the latest copy of
Vogue
. “But when you sign up, they ask for your social security card and photo ID with full name and birthdate. I've already checked into it.”

“Well, I might be able to help you out with that.”

Cheryl looked up from her magazine. “Oh? You're printing driver's licenses in your bedroom now?”

“Oh, no, girl, I have much better uses for my bedroom.” Stephen grinned. “But I do have the hook-up.”

“Man, you always have the hook-up!” Cheryl said excitedly. “Okay, what's the deal?”

Stephen's friend Jocko wanted $10,000 for a birth certificate, social security card, and passport. Amazingly, Stephen managed to get him down to $5,000. Cheryl held her breath when she first presented the forms to the modeling agency, but exactly as both Stephen and Jocko had assured her, no one knew the difference. And like that, Cheryl had shaved six years off her life.

It meant that today, everyone except Stephen thought she was twenty-four. This also meant that everyone thought she was only three years older than her husband—not nine.

But now Jocko was threatening all of that. And if Randy found out she'd lied about her age, he might start trying to dig into her past to find out what other lies she'd told.
Good Lord, what if he actually found out I gave up a baby boy when I was fifteen? He'd hate me.

“Stephen, I can't let Jocko spill the beans.” Cheryl stood up from the couch, and started pacing back and forth.

“Girl, I know.” Stephen sighed. “You're going to have to come up with the money. Think you can do it?”

Randy was in Tampa with the Yankees for spring training, but even if he were in town, Cheryl knew she'd have no trouble getting the money from the bank. They had joint savings accounts, and he never asked her to explain her spending. And if he did, she could come up with some excuse—like extra spending on the surprise birthday party she was throwing for him when they got back in town in a month. Still, how many more times would she be forced to sneakily withdraw money to pay off Jocko?

Cheryl grimaced. “Yeah, I won't have a problem getting the money, but here's the thing, Stephen: I give him this; how do I know he doesn't come back for another taste from the pot?”

“You think . . . oh shit. I didn't even think about that.” Stephen fell silent.

“Yeah,” Cheryl said after a minute or so, “well, it's something to think about.” She stood up and reached for her handbag. “So, yeah, call him and tell him I said, okay. Don't give him my telephone number or anything, but I'll get his contact info from you later, and we'll make the arrangements.”

Stephen slowly rose from the couch, a suspicious look on his face as he followed her to the door. “You've got a plan, don't you?”

“Maybe, kinda sorta, we'll see.” Cheryl kissed Stephen on the cheek. “And don't forget we have to go shopping for something to wear for Randy's surprise birthday party next month.”

“Ooh, girl, I can't wait.” Stephen rubbed his hands together. “I've been looking forward to this for weeks.”

Cheryl laughed and lightly tapped his face. “Well, fair warning, I've invited all his teammates and even some of the Yankees brass, so you'd better be on your best behavior at the party.”

S
exy posted selfies on Instagram wearing a bikini while posing on the balcony of the riverfront apartment she now shared with Yusef. She received mostly favorable comments, but there were a slew of nasty comments from her ex-roommate, Emma, and Emma's hateful friends.

Perhaps it had been rude and inconsiderate of Sexy to pack up and leave without giving Emma a heads-up, but Emma had a lot of nerve being upset when she had been the queen of inconsideration with her sloppiness and hoarding habits.

It was a no-brainer to vacate the pigsty she'd been sharing with Emma, and move into Yusef's luxury condo when he'd made the offer.

With Yusef's training and travel schedule, Sexy often had the place to herself. Additionally, he gave her a generous allowance that spared her from having to check in with her mother in order to continue receiving the measly stipend that her stingy parents granted her.

Sexy was so pampered by Yusef, she wasn't sure if she'd be willing to give up the good life to attend school in London. Her parents would croak if she broke her promise, and refused to return to school. But life with Yusef didn't require an elite education.

Decisions. Decisions. Did she want to be obligated to her parents or Yusef? She concluded that she'd rather be indebted to Yusef. Being a kept woman and playing the role of wifey was a hell of a lot more appealing than being under her parents' thumbs.

Whenever Yusef traveled with his team, Sexy treated herself to burgers and pizzas and all sorts of greasy fast-food. But when he was in town, they dined at only the best restaurants, and it had become a ritual for Sexy to jerk him off with her hand concealed beneath the crisp, white tablecloth at the conclusion of their meal.

Tonight, Yusef had invited a teammate and his wife to join them for dinner, and Sexy was looking forward to seeing the couple's shocked and embarrassed expressions when they realized the naughty behavior that was taking place right under their noses.

Smiling as she relaxed in the Jacuzzi tub, Sexy bolted upright when Yusef burst into the bathroom. “Dinner's cancelled.”

“Why?” she asked, disappointed. She enjoyed desecrating snobby restaurants by leaving behind a linen napkin filled with semen.

“I got traded to the Yankees,” he said in a shocked tone. “I have to pack my things and go to Tampa early tomorrow morning to join them for the last few weeks of spring training.”

“What about me? Are you taking me with you?”

“Not right now. I have to get acclimated with the team and I don't need any distractions.”

“Oh, I'm a distraction?” she said with a hand on her hip, obviously indignant. “If that's how you feel, we can put the brakes on this relationship right now. In fact, I'm packing my shit and moving the hell out. I refuse to allow you to treat me like I'm an inconvenience.” She stepped out of the tub, yanked a towel off a hook, and wrapped it around herself.

Yusef caught her by the arm before she stomped out of the bathroom. “I'm sorry, Sexy. You're not an inconvenience and I'm sorry I gave you that impression. This is all so sudden, my head is spinning. All I'm asking is that you bear with me for a little while. After I'm down there for at least a week, you're welcome to join me.”

He reached inside his pocket. From his wallet, he withdrew his Platinum AMEX card. “My agent pulled some strings and got me and my plus-one an invitation to Randy Alston's surprise birthday party next month. Take my card and buy yourself a hot, new dress. Randy's married to a gorgeous model, and I want my new teammates to see that my girl is as fashionable and beautiful as Randy's wife.”

“Who's Randy Alston?”

A look of disbelief covered Yusef's face. “Are you serious? You don't know who Randy Alston is?”

Sexy shrugged again.

“He's the top third baseman and the highest-paid player on the Yankees roster.” Sexy gave another shrug and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. She didn't know or care anything about the Yankees or any other sports team. With a sigh, she grudgingly accepted the credit card. “I'm still mad at you, Yusef, but I'll attend the stupid party with you on one condition.”

“Anything . . . name it,” Yusef said with a lopsided smile.

Sexy dropped the towel. “I want a farewell fuck. It has to last all night long. You can't stop until my body's numb and I'm speaking gibberish because my brain is fried. Got it?”

“That's not a problem, baby. You know you can get it whenever you want,” Yusef said, tearing off his clothes.

*  *  *

A month later, Sexy and Yusef took a limo from his Upper Manhattan hotel to Birdland, a premier jazz club in the theater district where Randy Alston's surprise birthday party was being held.

“You haven't said one word about my dress. Don't you like it?” Sexy inquired.

“I love it, but don't you think you went a little overboard on the cost? Four-thousand-five-hundred dollars for a skimpy little dress that you'll probably never wear again seems a little reckless.” There was an edge in Yusef's voice.

“Oh! So, that's what you're upset about. You've had a stink attitude ever since I arrived in New York, and I had no idea it was about the money I spent on the dress.” Nostrils flaring, Sexy pointed a finger at Yusef. “With all the money you make, I can't believe you're concerned about the cost of my dress. You told me the chick who's throwing the party is a fashion model, and in so many words, you emphasized that you wanted me to outshine the bitch, so why're you making such a big deal over the money I spent?”

“Can you lower your voice? Let it go for now. We'll talk about it later on when we get back to the hotel.”

Sexy folded her arms in defiance. “I'm not talking about shit, later on. I don't even know if I want to go back to the hotel with you. In fact, I don't think I want to be bothered with this dumb-ass party.”

“Don't be like that, baby. I shouldn't have said anything. But I figured if our relationship is going to work, I had to speak to you about exercising some boundaries when you're running up my credit card.”

Sexy gave Yusef a contemptuous look. “You have issues, dude. You think every woman is a gold digger who's out to beat you. I bought this dress to make you proud to have me on your arm, but since you wanna lecture me about responsibility, you can tell the limo driver to turn this shit around and drop me off at the train station.”

“What are you saying?”

“I'm saying I want to go back to Philly and return this fucking dress.”

“Come on, baby. Get a grip. Why're you blowing this thing out of proportion? I only made a comment, and there's no reason for you to ruin our evening. Look, I don't want you to return the dress. My bad for even bringing it up.”

The driver glided up to the curb in front of the club and Yusef caressed Sexy's arm. “Let's go in the party and have a nice time,” he said in an appeasing tone. “This will be the first time I get to mingle with the other players in a social environment. I don't want there to be any tension between you and me. Okay?”

“Hmph! You're the one who caused the tension, so don't blame me!”

“I know. I know. I'm an idiot. Do you forgive me?”

She sucked her teeth. “I hate you,” she whispered.

“No, you don't. You love me as much as I love you,” he whispered in her ear. “And I'm gonna show you how much I love you when I get you in bed tonight.”

Sexy looked hot and she knew it, and she was accustomed to being appraised and admired back home in Philly, but she found it a little odd that glamorous New Yorkers—both men and quite a few women—were ogling her like she was a juicy piece of meat.

And Yusef was such a hypocrite. With all that talk about the cost of her dress, he grinned with delight with his prideful eyes darting to her revealing dress each time he introduced her to one of his teammates. She got the impression that Yusef wanted every man at the party to check out the skin she was showing and to lust over her.