Loves home run, p.1
Love's Home Run, page 1
LOVE’S HOME RUN
an African American Romance
by Thomas Green, Jr.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Love's Home Run
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Dearest Djuana, | I just hung up the phone from you, and I miss you already. I know that by the time you get this card we will be back from the east coast, but I wanted you to understand that I do love you very much and miss you when we are apart. | Truly, | J-New
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-FIVE
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-EIGHT
THIRTY-NINE
FORTY
FORTY-ONE
FORTY-TWO
FORTY-THREE
FORTY-FOUR
FORTY-FIVE
FORTY-SIX
FORTY-SEVEN
South of Harlem Books
Atlanta, Ga.
COPYRIGHT © 1995, 2001 BY THOMAS GREEN
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
INCLUDING THE RIGHT OF REPRODUCTION
IN WHOLE OR IN PART IN ANY FORM
BOOK COVER DESIGN BY Keith Saunders
ISBN: 0-9754201-8-6
This novel is a work of fiction. Any reference to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales is intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. Other names, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination.
For Thomas Maxwell,
Friends...How many of us have them?
CHAPTER ONE
Djuana Pioneer stood on the stoop of 657 Tudor Street. The brick, six-story building where Djuana grew up was the only structure standing on the south side of Tudor between 23rd and 24th Avenues. The opposite side of the street had a perfect string of tenement buildings.
Djuana was awaiting her man. As a treat, she was wearing his favorite dress; a blue lycra-knit, that hugged the curves of her plump thighs and shapely hips. A ballerina neckline highlighted her well-rounded, small breasts. She had a beautiful body. In that dress, she was radiant.
Djuana glanced at her watch; the gold timepiece was a gift from her man this past Christmas. It was now April, and that watch still had the sparkle of new in Djuana's eyes. True, she had only worn the watch a few times in the four months but it was a special gift. The seven diamonds that encircled the face represented her seven-year relationship with Dexter Forns. Her man.
Seven years. Djuana and Dexter met in the Galleria Mall when she was 18 years old and he was a mature, well-liked 20 year-old. He was gorgeous and just about every girl in Djuana’s high school wanted him; the boys at Hamilton paled in comparison. Dexter was tall, light and slender. He wore clothes well, expensive clothes. His voice was always a faint whisper and the correct words flowed off his tongue.
Dexter became Djuana’s first lover two months after meeting her, and technically, her only. Djuana met other men during the seven years, but none could steal her heart from Dexter. She knew of his variety in women, yet hung on to the hope that he loved her as much as she loved him, and that she would be the one he married.
Dexter treated Djuana gallantly. He would pour money and gifts her way. He was always patient and showed respect. He wasn’t a good listener, but liked to share his dreams. Djuana believed that once he committed, he was going to make a good husband.
Dexter loved Djuana's body. Well, no man could resist looking. He could not find her eagerness to please him in other women he slept with. She was also a devoted, loving intelligent woman.
Yet, Dexter Forns did not choose Djuana to settle down with. He thought he had no choice but to pick someone else.
Djuana glanced at her watch. A second later she looked again. In another few seconds she didn’t know what time it was. She was nervous; she had to tell him tonight. For three weeks she had instigated arguments by declaring he spend more time with her. She went as far as to tell Dexter to be a man and pick her or let her go. She never said what she really should have. That night was her deadline.
It seemed right to tell him that night. It was exactly a week since she found out for sure; a month since he had been out of reach. For some reason, suddenly, he did not answer his phone or return her calls.
A brisk, Oregon spring breeze ran a chill up the skin of Djuana’s arms. She had on the navy colored collarless cardigan style jacket she had bought earlier, yet the wind still gave her goose bumps. She folded her arms and checked the watch again.
Dexter’s burgundy Mazda pulled into the empty space in front of Djuana’s building. She came down off the stoop and approached the sports car. Dexter opened the door from the inside. The sound of the Whispers on his cassette tape deck guided Djuana into the car. She sat quietly after a weak hello kiss. Dexter was not much of a kisser, and that bothered Djuana.
At a traffic light, Dexter took a full view of Djuana’s soft, round face. He smiled. Djuana had the most inviting eyes; they weren’t cheerful, but warm. While still driving, he moved her dress up her leg with his right hand and gripped the inside of her thigh. Djuana didn’t mind his hand; she wanted her body to be his. Also, she knew he would be turned on by the dress. She moved closer to shorten his reach. The more pleased he was, the easier it would be to talk to him.
Before dinner arrived Djuana had sipped down two mixed drinks. Her courage would come from the Pina Coladas, she bargained. She found herself looking beyond Dexter into the wall-to-wall mirror at the back of the quiet soul food restaurant. She gazed at the other diners; her eyes fixed on a pretty light-skinned young lady holding a rose, cuddled across the table with her date. The guy, not handsome enough, Djuana thought, held both of the attractive, light-skinned woman’s hands. He was kissing them finger-by-finger. The pretty lady’s nice smile warmed Djuana.
Djuana sipped her drink. She felt a buzz after the fourth colada, yet couldn’t resist when the waiter asked if she would like another. She looked into Dexter’s eyes. Was he ready for this? Was she?
Dexter enjoyed seeing Djuana drink. He would try to get her to drink whiskey, rum or gin without the additives. Something strong. Two drinks would bring a glossy glow to her olive-brown eyes. Her smile would seem dreamy; a large blush, as he laid any bullshit he thought up on her. Sex that night would be great because all her silly inhibitions would dull. But when Djuana ordered her fifth colada through dinner Dexter became suspicious. He inquired, and Djuana flatly answered she needed to drink.
After a pause, she noticed the suspicion in his deep stare had not died down. She complained that it had been a long week at work and that she needed to unwind. It had been.
Dexter nodded, looking forward to some good sex. Djuana’s dreamy look aroused him.
“You know something,’’ he began, taking her soft hand and rubbing her knuckles. “I want to take you to the Bahamas this summer.’’
He went on to say more, about how nice he heard it was down there, but his words floated by Djuana. Now she was ready to talk. She gulped the remains of number six. The mixture shivered the non-drinker. The bartender had been making them stronger with every request, she believed. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head to regain her composure. She bit the piece of pineapple from the edge of the glass and waited for the perfect time to cut in. She only waited less than a minute before speaking softly, almost in a faint whisper.
“I have something to tell you,’’ she forced her eyes to meet his. “I’m two months pregnant. We’re going to have a baby.’’
She did it. She felt both relieved and scared. Her eyes watched her fingers part another slice of pineapple, then she bit it. Her eyes refused to look at Dexter until he replied to the bombshell she had dropped.
Dexter’s upper body tilted back in his chair. He stared through Djuana. His sniffed his upper lip to his nose. Djuana had pictured many different responses, but silence was not one of them.
Finally Dexter tossed his napkin over his near empty plate of food. With his elbows perched on the table he leaned toward Djuana.
“What do you mean you’re pregnant?’’ He forced his voice into a whisper, his face distorted. “I thought you were on the pill?’’
“I guess it didn’t work,’’ Djuana could have kicked herself. She reminded herself of the seemingly thousands of times she rehearsed her come back lines to muff them in the heat of the first questions.
“I can’t believe you. How could you pull some shit like this?’’ Dexter’s voice remained contained in a low vibe, and his fiery temper controlled. Djuana watched him stand. He continued, now raising his voice slightly. “What you’re tryin’ ain’t gonna work. Get rid of it.’’
“It?’’ Djuana shouted. She rose and met him eye-to-eye from across the table. “I’m having our baby!’’ Her voice carried throughout the eatery.
“No you’re not!’’
Forks dropped, diners looked in their direction. Dexter stood, sifted through his wallet and tossed money on the table. Without another word, he turned to leave and Djuana sprinted after him.
She grabbed his arm, “We need to talk.''
In a rage, Dexter spun Djuana from behind him and grabbed her face with his right hand and slammed her head into the wall near the restaurant’s entrance. The sound of the back of her head hitting the plastic wood wall covering brought astonished cries from diners. Nobody moved toward the arguing couple, though.
Dexter held Djuana by her arms in a tight grip. She did not try to move. “Listen. ‘Cause I am only gonna tell you this once. I ain’t having no fuckin’ baby. And I ain’t getting married to you right now. Got it?’’
With a shove, Dexter let Djuana hit the ground. He smoothly walked out.
Djuana was stunned. For a moment she thought she was in bed at home. Some men helped her up. Tears gathered in her eyes and drained slowly. She felt a thousand eyes upon her.
“Are you okay? Can I call you a taxi?”
It was the waiter that had served her all those drinks. Djuana struggled to get on her feet. Once standing she made her own way out. The Maitre d held the open door for her. She began the long walk home, staggering a bit on the wet pavement, immune to the soft drizzle for two blocks. Her legs guided the way and her mind followed. Tears? Only a few. Djuana Pioneer had done no wrong, she told herself.
CHAPTER TWO
Jack Newhouse slowly removed his dirty Portland Crowns uniform. The Crowns had just defeated New York in their first home game of the season. Most of Newhouse’s Crowns teammates, and a few from the New York ballclub, had dressed and were leaving Adkins Stadium on their way to party. But the Crowns’ right fielder was moping at his locker.
This was to be the year the Crowns finally won a baseball championship. They had lost to the Las Vegas Gamblers in the title round of the playoffs for two straight years. Vincent Slight had bought the Crowns five years ago with two intentions: making money and winning. Making money has been easy. He and his general manager/right-hand man, J.A. Honeywell, had put together a good team with plenty of character-and characters. Adkins is constantly sold out during the regular season where the Crowns win often. Beating Las Vegas has been Slight’s only shortcoming.
For Jack Newhouse, this was supposed to be the year he finally settled down and got married. He was all set to propose to Vivian Woodward, whom he had been dating for two years. But the night before the Crowns opened their home season, Vivian closed the door on their relationship.
Jack sat at his locker staring at Vivian’s picture. The 6-foot-2, 215-pound right fielder stood and took the picture into his hand. He looked over Vivian’s wide smile. A smirk cornered his lips. He thought back to the night before. The evening had been planned perfectly. Dinner and dancing at LeClair’s, then back to his place. But at dinner Vivian admitted what Jack knew...or should have known. She still wanted her ex-fiancée.
“I like you a lot, Jack,'' Vivian said between forkfuls of salmon. “And I need you and you are good for me. But I am still in love with Bob.''
Jack slid the picture of Vivian out of the frame and turned it around. He read the back aloud in the now empty clubhouse. ''I’ll always love you,'' were the words that stung his heart. He squeezed the picture and took a deep breath. A sleepless night and a long baseball game were wearing on him. But now he was going to get drunk with his teammates. He needed it, he thought. He left the empty, dark stadium and joined his teammates at the Tunnell nightclub.
The small building that housed the Tunnell was as loud and vibrant as ever. Jack entered the brick shack to find his teammates settled as if they had been there for hours. The players were dancing and drinking as if they had won more than just a game. That was the world of Crowns baseball. Of all the teams in major sports, the Portland Crowns were the most fluent in the art of partying. It stemmed from the family atmosphere that Vincent Slight began when he bought the team. You couldn’t say the players on the team loved one another, but when out, on the field or on the club scene, there was no tighter unit in sports.
The Tunnell’s dance floor was jammed. The start of a new baseball season brought the crowd back to the club that was pretty much a Crowns hangout. It was located off Route 8, a small two-lane highway that ran from the city of Portland into its southern suburbs. The small, cabin looking building during the daylight hours seemed tranquil, like a perfect spot to stop and have a meal with your family during a drive in the woods.
The thick aroma of marijuana, his stiff rum and Coke, and the bass in the house music combined to smothered Jack. He had been there less than an hour and already he high. Mike Colbert, the Crowns' catcher, snatched Jack into a headlock from behind shouting into his ear, “We win it this year or what?”
He kissed Jack on the neck.
Jack choked in agreement.
“I love you baby,” Mike squeezed Jack’s neck, pulling down the taller Jack.
Jack twisted out of the hold, and made his way out the front door. He slithered out to the parking lot in desperate need of fresh air and leaned on his car. He wanted to leave, but his desire to be among his teammates was stronger. He just needed more alcohol to dense his senses. He greeted people as they went in, nursing his drink. At times he looked up into the star-filled sky; but negative thoughts about Vivian forced him to stare elsewhere. He wanted her back badly.
Soon, his best friend and outfield mate, Oscar Taylor joined his mourning. Easy O, as Oscar likes to be called, and Jack was both signed by the Crowns out of high school the same week nine years ago. They moved through the organization at the same pace, both being outfielders of different breed. O was a fleet-footed center fielder, whose speed was his weapon. Jack was a power hitter, but don't let him hear it said of him. His fans marveled at his long home runs and hard-stroked line drives, while Jack more appreciated his ability to get hits and play defense. He called himself a 'well-rounded ballplayer'.
O called Jack the best right fielder in the game. But that night, O called his friend foolish.
“What the fuck are you doing?” O spewed.
“What does it look like?” Jack's voice barely carried in the damp, pine smelling air.
O shook his head and hissed. He looked at Jack's drink. Two swallows were left in the glass. “Man, that heartbreak shit ain't gonna make it.”
Jack gulped the remains. He parched his lips and finally acknowledged O's presence with eye contact. “Don't worry about it. I didn't ask you.”
“Come on, New, you don't need the sweat. You got bitches on your dick all across the fuckin' country and you worrying about that silly ho. I tried to tell you she wasn't the one.”
Jack's eyes sliced through his inconsiderate friend. Why reply? he wondered.
O continued. “Look, Sondra said she has this new chick she has been wanting to hook you up with for the longest. Peep her out. Besides, you can't be acting like this when we get to Phoenix next week.”
Jack became angry. He wondered how two guys with such different philosophies be such good friends. Jack wanted so badly to be married, start a family and live the life of a father and husband.
“Listen, asshole, I want what you don't even know you have. I want to get married. Have the kinda wife you have in Sondra. Shit, man, I don't want to be sleeping with groupies all my life.”
“Stop!” O put his open hand to Jack's face. “Stop dreaming about being married. It ain't all that you think it to be. I'm here to tell you. You got it going on. You can come and go as you please. Do who and what you want. Come on? Stop!”
Jack shook his head, watching his friend’s dramatically spin his body. “Shit, Sometimes I wonder why do I try to talk to you?”
“'Cause you love me. Besides, if you get married then we have to pay for hotels when we have orgies. That would be terrible!”
Jack finally loosened up and laughed with his friend. But the sight of Vivian's red sports car swinging into the Tunnell's parking lot suddenly sobered him. O watched Jack's face change in seconds. When the engine ceased and the headlights blanked, Jack's heart accelerated. He wanted to see her. Rising out of the driver's seat was Bob Haynes. Vivian had let her ex drive.
“I don't believe this shit,” Jack whispered. The sight of her legs crushed his heart. He started toward her.
O sensed trouble, knowing his friends temper all to well. He lightly touched Jack's arm. “Let it go, man. Let's take a ride.”
Jack nodded. “Yeah, I'll be right back.”
Vivian hoped Jack would be there. Her plan was a dangerous one, but she wanted a confrontation to help her feel as if she had made the right choice. She wanted to see the two men together. But once she saw Jack approaching the car she knew she had forgotten one vital point: Jack was not a person to test.
