Courting Miss Thang, page 28
A mere few hours before the Raptors played the Lakers Monday, Paul accepted an invitation to be on ESPN’s daily talk show. It had a one-on-one format, the interviewer and subject in a small studio. It filmed in Los Angeles, and took advantage of the fact that every team, in every sport except pro football, would come through LA.
Paul was great at interviews. He could vanilla and dry, giving one word answers or he could throw out flavor and spice a reporter story with controversy. His teammates called it being white. He would be poised, sit upright, and never embarrass himself, the team or his race. Reporters loved him because he was never inaccessible, never gave one word answers. And despite all the losing he had experienced, Paul Cain was never bitter toward the media. He had learned the lesson that the media makes or breaks money for those they like or don’t like.
The interviewer centered all his questions on Vincent and the team's fight. New Jersey wanted Vincent in a bad way. They were not allowed to negotiate, but they were hinting that they would pay dearly for his services. Paul was asked if Toronto could afford Vincent. Paul said he’d take a pay cut to keep his best friend on the team. Paul was cool.
“Raptors fans would hate to lose him now. And of course so would I. I mean, after several miserable seasons, Vincent is a dream come true. He’s a lovable guy, exciting player. A winner. A lot of pressure was put on the man’s shoulders. He was brought in to help change us into a winner. That doesn’t happen overnight. It’s not an easy metamorphosis. And we haven’t exactly helped him. We are still the same team, basically.
“I tell you what. We are not going to make the playoffs without him. This year, next year. No time in the near future.’’
34
Monday night, against the Lakers, was one of those games many professional athletes work through. Most times the traveling wore players down. Other times personal thoughts and feelings cause the player to feel the grind of an 82-game, six-month schedule. Never more than two days in one city on the road. Never more than a week at a time home.
Vinny just couldn’t get it going against the Lakers. Barry was talking shit because again he was afraid Vincent would abuse him on the court. It wasn’t Barry, though. The ball was a hot rock to his hands, the court was icy, and his teammates were rolling to a different beat than his - sometimes they sped by him, sometimes they seemed to not move at all. Nothing clicked for Vinny that night. By the second quarter, Koole had to bench him. The Raptors were down by 12, and Vinny was missing open shots badly.
Barry and the Lakers enjoyed his woes. They laughed in his face as much as they could. Cliff and Paul tried to stand up for Vinny, but he was really oblivious. He would admit to anyone that his mind wasn’t there. Sunday night was the first night on the road he felt lonely since he met Frences. Three of his teammates had asked him to go to the movies. He declined. Dorisa and Paul went out, then ended the evening together in her room.
Vincent had quiet time and used it to worry.
Where was she? Not with her parents, he imagined, for the whole night. Was she with Odell? Some other guy? It was the first time he really considered that maybe she wasn’t all he thought her to be.
Even when she called Monday morning, he was not comfortable.
He loved her, and was feeling she wasn’t on that level with him. How many times does she have to say she just wants to be friends? While she told him how pleasant her evening was at home, he could feel it all slipping away. The conversation was too short. She had things to do without him.
At half time of the Lakers game, Paul took him to the side and did everything but slap his face.
“Come on, man, we need to play ball here.’’
Vincent just listened.
“You need to block out all that Frences rah-rah. Let’s play this game, you go talk to her, and we get out of Los Angeles. But this shit has got to stop. The other players are going to open a can of ass-whipping on you, and I might have to be down with them.’’
Vincent took the words to heart. He had no choice. Paul rarely spoke much about anything but ballin’ during games. This was serious. He looked at each of his teammates, and again, they all had doubt in their eyes.
Personal shit was personal. Ball was ball.
He repeated those words to himself as the second half began. When Koole asked him if he was ready to play, he grumbled a yeah. Two minutes into the second half Vincent shattered the Lakers momentum with a thunderous dunk over Barry. The dunk was punctuated by the fact that seconds before, Barry had slammed over Cliff, sending Cliff off his feet and sliding on his butt.
The Raptors went on to win by six.
Vincent returned to his room at the Hilton with two hours to pack for the bus to Sacramento. None of the players liked the fact that they would have to ride a bus, no matter the luxury, at one a.m. to another city. The game in Sacramento wasn’t until Wednesday.
Vinny didn’t fold a thing, filling his travel bags and throwing them in the hall for the team’s equipment men to put on carts. Paul did the same, while drinking from a bottle of Hennessey. Vinny was rushing because he wanted to see Frences and Dorisa off; their plane back to Toronto left around the time the Raptors would be on the road.
Paul was in no rush. He was just following behind his roomy.
Frences entered their room through the open door. Paul eyed her. They exchanged hellos. Vincent came out of the main bathroom rubbing his hands on a towel.
“Nice game,’’ she said.
“Hey,’’ Vinny said calmly. “You ready for your flight?’’
“We need to talk,’’ Frences said abruptly, but she had a slight smile.
Vinny’s first thought was that the afternoon at her parents home had gone sour, just like Frences believed it would.
“Well,’’ Vincent said. “Let’s ride down stairs, they’re loading our stuff on the bus.’’
Paul slowed his pace, allowing them to go ahead.
“So, how was the afternoon?’’ Vinny said once they were in the elevator.
“I wish you could have been with us,’’ Frences’s smile lingered, catching Vince off guard.
“That good, huh? I wish I was down too.’’
“Yeah, thanks to you I will get my girl back,’’ Frences said. “My father asked me to stay here while we work things out. He and my mother have met me halfway.’’
“Really?’’
“My father stepped up like I knew he would someday. When I brought Misha back to the house, most of my family was there.’’
Vincent took in her shine. Frences was more spirited than he had ever witnessed.
“I didn’t know I had missed them so much,’’ she said, shaking her head.
“So, you’re going to stay here?’’ Vince’s body language showed no excitement. “What about school?’’
“It’s not important right now. My future is here and now,’’ she pointed down to the blood-red rug. “Once I repair the holes here, I can move on easier. It’s what I should have done from jump, instead of running like an immature girl.’’
“I feel you,’’ Vince said as he leaned in ever so slowly, and Frences met him with the mutual urge to be held. “I’m down for you, whatever you need.’’
His hands began at the small of her back, just where her bottom rose. His fingers massaged her deeper into his chest. She surrendered, feeling his pants for breath on top of her head. Vince looked away, his chin on the crown of her head of smooth hair. He felt choked; he had a lump in his throat the size of a basketball. Mockingly, Is This The End rang his ears.
“I don’t want to sound selfish,’’ his voice was hoarse as he finally got the words out. “But I need to tell you that I’m gonna miss you hard.
“I feel like this is good-bye.’’
Frences pushed off and looked up, a frown wrinkled her brow. She said, “No, how you get that idea? I may not admit it, but I need you in my life. You think I’m not going to miss you? I think about you too much. I think of Misha, and I think of how well you two get along. I think of the three of us together.’’
Me too, Vince wanted so badly to say.
“I think of finishing school and I think of us being together. You’ve been great to me. Better than I could have asked for. I like the way you make me feel. You are the first man to make me feel real. Like no matter what, I’m still a person.’’
Vince rubbed her fingers. They were at an arm's length then.
“I love you,’’ he said.
“I guess that’s what I was trying to say,’’ her lips creased together. “I love you, Vincent.’’
The words sliced the hump of a burden off his back. He took her into his arms and Vince got the kiss he had been wanting for the longest.
On the bus to Sacramento, Vinny eased up. No tension. Frences’s easy demeanor that day led him to relax. He joined in on a game of Spades with his teammates, Paul as his partner. They played in the back of the bus for most of the trip. Paul was playing with an unlit blunt in his mouth, talking about Dorisa while he and Vinny were finishing another set of losers. Some of the other players were crowded around.
“Man, that chocolate bar was fly as hell,’’ he said, then slapped down an ace of hearts to stop Rob’s king. “If I knew that shit was so good, I would have been trying to hit it for the longest. She had me forgetting about Regina Belle for a second.’’
He then threw out an ace of diamonds to lead, still running his mouth all the while. “She so almondy. She has more ass than Regina, you notice that?’’ he said to his partner.
Vinny laughed, “Shit, I have more ass than Regina.’’
“That’s not funny.’’
The ace walked, and caused Rob to frown.
“Hold the fuck up!’’ Rob barked as he only could in his deep baritone. “How many fucking aces are there in a suit? You played that ace to start the game.’’
“Word!’’ his partner, Joe Muster, a small forward that almost never played on the court, but was decent in card games.
“Turn those books up!’’ Rob demanded.
Paul eyes bugged, “If you wrong, that’ll cost you two books, my friend.’’
“Turn them up!’’
Vinny was worried.
Paul threw the cards in the air. “Fuck it. I quit. I ain’t playing with people that don’t trust me.’’
Coach Koole liked that sight, even with the cheating, shit talking and subsequent arguments, as much as the consecutive wins. His ball club was becoming a team of men.
When the ruckus died down, Vinny’s head filled with mental images. Dreams of having Frences as his wife, Misha as his daughter and the Raptors as his team. Paul’s words on ESPN rang his ears. Vinny could see the glory of winning in the playoffs, the cash. It was all there for him. In Canada of all places.
The Sacramento Kings had two forwards injured and were short handed. In other words, they had nothing to stop Vincent from having his best game ever as a pro. He scored 51 points, and his teammates fed off his enthusiasm. They blew out the Kings by 28 points.
The flight home was a joyous one. Nobody slept. They played cards, talked shit and celebrated. Koole’s assistants wanted to stop them; in a day they would have a game against a more formidable foe in the Boston Celtics, but the coach let them be.
Thursday morning Mayone called in sick. Watching Vincent on television for almost a week had made her ill. She called the team’s office in Toronto, and through some lying, found out what time the team’s flight landed. She was there, at the gate when the players departed.
God, he’s handsome. Deep, dark eyes. Those long legs. She could almost feel him entering her, thrusting hard. She had to shake her head to clear the thought. He body still tingled for another minute as he approached her.
Vincent wasn’t shocked to see Mayone among the players’ wives and girlfriends. He felt she wasn’t going anywhere. He knew she was shot out, whipped. The thought didn’t make him feel superior, or like a great lover. If he was all that, he thought walking to her, why wasn’t Frences on his tip like this?
“Want a ride?’’ Mayone said quietly.
Vinny looked to Paul, Allison wasn’t there, and he didn’t want to leave his homeboy hanging.
“I just want to talk. That’s all. Nothing attached. We are still friends, right?’’
Yep. There she is. A choice. If I really want to settle down, and Frences wasn’t coming back, Mayone wasn’t a bad choice. Damn, he shook his head. I can’t worry about this. I gotta concentrate on wins, the playoffs.
“I’m rolling with Paul, you going to drive us home?’’
“No. I want you to come with me. I’m sure Paul can get home.’’
“No, Mayone. I’m going home.’’
“What? We need to talk. You can’t give me an hour of your time?’’
He gave up. Only because he felt he needed to end this, whatever it was, before Frences returned. “Let me holler at Paul a second.’’
Paul had already peeped the situation. He said, “Ride on, player. I ain’t mad at ya.’’
The ride was silent for the most part. Mayone sang along with the radio, switching channels at commercials. She parked in front of her building and went to her trunk.
Mayone kicked off the conversation with a simple question. In the kitchen she had decided that she wasn’t going to say all she wanted to. Why beg? She loved him and he loved someone else. She didn’t want to end up on Ricki Lake; she just wanted to be loved.
“So, how was California?’’
“It was all right. Nice and warm.’’
“I bet.’’
“I watched the games. Did Misha come to any of them?’’
The question frightened Vincent. Then he realized that Mayone knew Frences well, and must have spent time with Misha at the hospital. He looked at her. She was chewing those dark, rounded lips. There was no bitterness in her eyes, so he answered with out emotion.
“No, she spent most of the time with her mother.’’
Like you did.
Mayone pinned down Vincent, although it was not a new conversation.
“Look, Vincent. I really care about you. I have to ask you again, why can’t it be us?’’
“Frences is my heart. I love her and I love being with her.’’
“You really think that is the kind of woman you want?’’
“Yep.’’
“Okay,’’ she rolled her hand over his. She fell into a whisper. “I have to respect that. But I want you. I want you so bad.’’
Vincent moved his hand, turned away shaking his head.
Mayone moved closer, leaning over her gear box. She first kissed his shoulder, then neck.
“Make love to me again. One last time. That’s it. Once more.’’
There ain’t enough men in the world, Vincent was thinking. That must be the answer. I ain’t all that fly. I got money, true that, but I still ain’t that fucking fly. This bitch is bad. Sweet ass, long legs, dark, glowing skin. Half the dudes I know would love her a long time.
For some reason, the sight of Mayone’s apartment zoomed into his thoughts. Her apartment was small and bright. It was under furnished, it seemed, because although there was little room to move around, there wasn’t many places to sit. The living room had a couch and that was it. The kitchen/dining area had a two-seat table. The bedroom had a chair that was always filled with clothes.
His most vivid memory of Mayone’s place was how thin the walls were. He could hear children playing, family arguments, and banging on the walls during their sex. Mayone was loud. The most vocal woman Vinny had ever been with. He would often pin her knees to her chest and pound away.
He had to fight off a smile. She saw it.
“You want some too, don’t you?’’ Mayone’s hands aggressively yanked at the crotch of Vincent’s jeans.
“I can’t do this to you. I respect you. You should have a man of your own.’’
“I don’t want that. I want you.’’
“Take me home.’’
Mayone beamed.
“No. My place.’’
When Vincent finally got to Le Parc it was very near one in the morning. He had to take a cab, really felt he had to. He was greeted in the apartment by the thick aroma of marijuana. Paul was in a stupor, watching Sportscenter with the sound off, and the Cold Crush Brothers blasting from his CD stereo.
“Did you get your ass licked?’’
Vinny just sighed through his nose.
“You’ve got mail. It’s from Frences.’’
Paul handed the letter off the messy coffee table. Cigar guts, whole cigars and a couple of sandwich baggies of weed cluttered the table.
“You reading my mail?’’ Vinny said, trying not to say anything about the marijuana. He had found himself being preaching to Paul. What could he really say, though? Paul was still among the league’s elite guards despite being a pothead.
“Just the envelope, dog.’’
Vinny plopped down across from Paul to read the letter when a nude body came from the bathroom. A nude, dark, curved body. It sure wasn’t Allison.
“Roll another blunt,’’ Paul said.
Vincent just stared. The woman, with a tight body, looked at him and smiled.
“Hi, Vincent.’’
It was Dorisa.
Vincent gathered himself, “I’ma, ah, go up to my room.’’
“No, stay down here and chill.’’
“I want to read this in private.’’
Hiking up to his room he pictured Allison coming in on that scene and fighting Dorisa. Allison would lose. She looked like she had never been in a fight in her life.
The letter was in a lavender envelope, but not an envelope like a Hallmark might come in, but a regular, long, business sized.
Alone in his room, he had the strange feeling of Frences’s presence. It was the letter. It was peppered with her cologne. He took it to his nose and savored the smell.
The letter was written in Frences’s flowing, looping penmanship.
My dearest Vince,
I can’t begin to explain the depth of my feelings right now. I’m overwhelmed, excited, nervous, ecstatic, and delirious, in shock. I know that I don’t show my feelings to you, but I love you more than words can say. I am so unbelievably happy. My life has never been better than it is today. Ever since I met you, my life has taken a 180 degree turn for the better. I have everything I’ve ever wanted. Just a few months ago I believed that I didn’t want to get married, ever, because I didn’t think I would ever be asked. If I said I didn’t want to, then it wouldn’t hurt as much to be alone. Lucky for me, you came along and cut through the BS and made me believe in true, everlasting love again. Thank you, Vince. I love you.
