Chances Are (11 page)

She never even told him she was pregnant. Michael had a basketball scholarship to North Carolina University, and she wouldn't jeopardize his chances.

So she wouldn't tell her parents who the father was. And her father tried to beat it and the growing baby out of her.

Well, Michael made it big at North Carolina. At least until his junior year. It was in all the newspapers and the television broadcasts that NBA hopeful Michael Thomas and two of his teammates were killed in a head-on collision. The driver had been drinking.

When she'd heard the news, she couldn't even cry. Niyah was nearly three years old at the time, and she'd long ago expended her tears. At least a part of what she would tell Niyah over the years was true. Her father
was
dead.

Restless, she turned on her side and the images shifted, changed shape.

Now, here she was on her first Thanksgiving away from home in a one-room apartment with a baby, no food and a high school diploma.

She heard a knock at her door and would have ignored it if Ms. Betsy's insistent voice hadn't pulled her out of the bed.

Gently she eased away from Niyah's warm little body and tiptoed across the cold plank-wood floor, every other strip creaked under her weight.

She cracked the door open and Betsy came bustling in, her arms laden with a huge aluminum foil-covered platter of food.

“Knew you and that child would be hungry,” she said moving past Dione and into what served as a kitchen. “Come on girl, don't just stand there. Set the table and wake that baby up so y'all can eat.”

Dione, still standing at the door, finally closed it and moved toward the circular table. A knot built in her throat so big, so tight she couldn't speak. Her eyes began to burn as she took out two forks and placed them on the table.

Betsy opened the cabinet above the sink, shooed away several roaches and took down two dishes, which she carefully rinsed then handed to Dione.

“Come on now, 'fore all this food gets cold.”

Dione walked around the wall that separated the kitchen and eating space from the bedroom to get Niyah who was wide awake and playing with her fingers.

Dione scooped her up and held her tightly against her chest, finally letting the tears fall. “Somebody loves us Niyah. Somebody.”

Dione's eyes fluttered open. Her heart was pounding. It took her several moments to orient herself to where she was.

She was in her apartment, not a rooming house. It was warm. There weren't odors seeping through the walls or howling winds knocking on the window.

There was food in her refrigerator and in the cabinets. She didn't have to squeeze onto crowded buses and trains. She had her own car. Her daughter wasn't playing with a doll made out of old socks that Betsy had darned together. She was at Howard University playing with a book about politics.

A shudder rippled through her. She curled into a protective ball. It could all dissolve. Everything could be taken away. And she could be that frightened teenage girl again, with nothing holding her together but thin strands of hope.

She couldn't go back that way and she couldn't open herself to emotions that meeting Garrett had awakened. Feelings, love, giving of yourself took you off course. And her path was set.

Wasn't it?

T
he television screen went black.

Terri let out a breath. “I think you missed your calling, girl. That was great. Mr. Lawrence did a fantastic job. I'd like to use him myself on some of my projects.”

Dione turned off the television. “So you can use it?”

“Of course. I'm thinking of some angles as we speak. But—I think better when I'm in motion. Come on, let's ride.”

 

“I have an idea,” Terri said as they pedaled toward the park. “Let's really burn some calories and ride down to the Promenade. There's a great bike path and the day is perfect. Not too hot. Not too cold.”

“Girl, are you crazy? You know how far that is?”

“Yeah, about a half hour. Same amount of time we'd spend riding around in circles at the park. We can take the train back if you're too old and tired to ride back,” she challenged.

“Sounds like a dare to me,” Dione said turning her head toward Terri and grinning.

“Last one there buys lunch.” Terri zoomed off, her dreadlocks whipping in the wind behind her.

Dione was hot on her heels.

 

Just as Terri had said, the day was glorious. The sun was high and brilliant in the sky warming their faces, embracing their bodies. Up and down the tree-lined, residential streets and commercial blocks, there were people out enjoying the fall morning.

As her legs pumped the pedals and they darted around and between cars, Dione felt exhilarated, free and suddenly filled with that intangible feeling—that elusive emotion—hope.

But the rational side of her knew that what she was feeling only stemmed from something tangible. Something she could see and touch. The finished product. And she'd witnessed Terri's wizardry with marketing and promotions. She knew that Terri got results. That's what she was feeling—reality. Because hope was only something for children, and those who didn't know better.

She knew better.

 

Before she realized it, they were riding along the path leading to the Promenade in what was called Brooklyn Heights.

The old-world apartment buildings, doormen-guarded hi-rise co-ops and exclusive boutiques were definitely out of her price range, but she couldn't help but admire the cozy environment and eclectic blend of nationalities who resided there.

They biked along the path past the benches on one side and the railing that separated them from the East River on the other. Beyond was the mighty Brooklyn Bridge on one side and the Manhattan Bridge on the other.

It was from the docks below that the yearly Fourth of July fireworks displays were held, the brilliant explosions visible for miles around.

They pedaled leisurely now, taking in the atmosphere, inhaling the scents of hot dogs, pretzels with melted cheese and gyros from the street vendors.

Dione wanted to close her eyes, just absorb it all, forget her troubles, commitments—

“Dione!”

Her bike wobbled when she heard her name called. She slowed and looked quickly behind her. She blinked.

There was Garrett jogging along the path.

She slowed to a stop. “Terri, hold on,” she yelled to Terri who had pulled out ahead of her.

Dione planted her sneakered feet on the gray concrete, bracing the gleaming red racing bike between her thighs that suddenly throbbed from exertion. As Garrett drew closer she realized she must look a fright with her undone hair tucked beneath a baseball cap and sweat running down her face in a steady stream. She didn't think she smelled too appealing, either.

“Hey.” He grinned, flashing that dimple, and slowing to a breathy stop. “What are you doing over here?”

“My ‘always-reaching-for-greater-heights-friend' Terri suggested we ride over here.” She angled her head in Terri's directions, who was pedaling toward them.

He ran the sleeve of his blue sweatshirt across his forehead. “You live around here?”

“No. I live near Prospect Park.”

“Whoa. That's some ride.”

“You're telling me,” she groaned, her muscles beginning to protest. “What about you?”

“I'm about three blocks down. On Henry Street.”

“Impressive.”

“Trust me. If I had to move into this neighborhood now, it would be impossible. I was sharing an apartment with a friend about ten years ago. When they moved out I took over. Been there ever since.”

A friend, she thought. Male or female?

Terri pulled up.

“Hi,” she greeted, quickly looking from one to the other.

“Terri Powers, this is Garrett Lawrence.”

Garrett wiped his sweaty palms on the legs of his sweatpants. He stuck out his hand. “Pleasure. I've read great things about you.”

“They're all true.” She laughed. “So you're the producer.”

“That I am.”

“I saw the video you did. Great stuff. I'd like to talk with you about some projects I'm working on. Maybe they'd be something you'd be interested in handling. My husband, Clint, purchased a cable franchise several years ago and we have yet to do anything with it.”

Garrett's mind started racing with possibilities. Clinton Steele, CEO of Hightower Enterprises! “Sure. Dione has my number,” he said as casually as he could. “Give me a call. Maybe we can get together and talk.”

“I certainly will.” She looked toward Dione. “Um, I'm really beat, Dee. I think I'll call it a day. I'm going to take the train back. But you can stay if you want.”

“That would be great,” Garrett jumped in, not giving Dione a chance to say no. “I mean if you want to. I could give you a tour of the neighborhood. Had lunch yet?”

“No, but—”

“There are some great little bistros around here.” He turned to Terri. “You're welcome to come if you're not in a real hurry.”

She smiled. “Maybe another time.”

Dione had the distinct impression that she was being set up.

Terri stuck out her hand again. “Good meeting you. We'll talk soon. Dee, I'll talk with you during the week.” She leaned across her bike and pecked Dione on the cheek, then sped off toward the Court Street train station.

“Well.” He turned toward Dione. “You certainly travel with a celebrity crowd. I'm humbled to be in your presence.” He gave her a mock bow that made her giggle.

“You may rise, peasant,” she said tapping him lightly on his bowed head.

He rose, smiling, and even in sweats that had definitely seen better days, and a sweat-streaked face, he was a sight to behold.

Her heart knocked, asking to be let out, held and caressed. She took a deep breath and shut the door.

“Are you finished with your run?”

“I am now. You want to ride while I walk—or we can do the two-on-a-bike thing.” His eyes picked up the rays of the sun and sparkled, she noticed, turning an inviting shade of warm brown.

“Why don't we both walk?”

She angled the bike, bringing her leg over its center. And Garrett had a sudden, erotic vision that shot straight to his groin and throbbed for a moment before he could will it away.

“Good idea,” he mumbled.

 

They walked along the Promenade in an easy silence until they reached the exit.

“I'm over this way,” he said, pointing to their right. “Do you come down this way much?”

“About once a year for the fireworks.”

He chuckled. “Doesn't everyone? That's when I leave. Can't take the crowds.”

“That's what makes it fun.”

“So long as you're not trying to sleep through it.”

“Sleep through it? That's a time for celebration. That's what holidays are for, people getting together.”

He shook his head in denial. “Holidays are a big waste of time. Just another reason to spend money.”

She frowned and looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “Don't you celebrate
any
holiday?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“No reason to. I'd rather work. Which is usually what I do anyway.”

“What about your family?” she asked as gently as she could.

His chest started to feel tight. “Here's my block,” he said ignoring her question and Dione knew the subject was closed. “Come on up. Get something cool to drink then we can grab something to eat if you want.” He stopped in front of a redbrick building with floor-to-ceiling windows on each of the three floors.

“Okay.” She pointed a warning finger at him. “As long as you promise not to shower and change clothes. If I have to go out in public all funky, I'm not doing it by myself.”

Garrett broke out laughing. “Deal.”

He took her bike and hoisted it over his shoulder, then trotted up the sandstone steps as easily as if he were only carrying a loaf of bread.

Dione followed in pleasant awe.

“I'm right on this floor,” he said parking her bike beneath a huge mantel in the long hallway, passing a door in the hall, then walking its length to the imposing mahogany door at the end. He unlocked the door and stepped aside to let her pass.

“Welcome to the cave,” he said in a sweeping motion.

“The cave?” She smiled.

“My hideaway. I can come here and hibernate. Come on in.”

Dione stepped inside, directly into a huge eat-in kitchen with a rectangular butcher block table and four matching chairs that sat in the center of the room. All along the walls were gleaming wood cabinets, and little nooks. The stove was immaculately clean and she wondered if he used it, or if he ate out a lot. A microwave was tucked into a corner next to a washer/dryer unit. From the window she could see that he had a deck, the table and chairs covered with plastic. She wondered if he entertained much.

“The living room is this way.” He led her through a door that opened to the front and she would have sworn she'd stepped into an electronics studio.

Lining the walls, high up on shelves, were two monitors, like the ones at his studio, a reel-to-reel and a very expensive-looking stereo system. Not to mention the flat, movie screen-like television built into the wall. He had a black leather sofa and matching loveseat. It made her smile and think of Niyah.

Since the living room was situated between the kitchen and the room beyond it, it had no direct sunlight, but he compensated for that by installing track lighting around the perimeter of the room and painting the walls a dove gray.

“Just a little interested in electronics, I see,” Dione quipped.

“My one vice.”

“This is really nice, Gary. What's back there?” She pointed to the closed door.

“My bedroom.” He looked at her for a moment and she felt her face heat. He cleared his throat. “I have some Snapple Iced Tea, bottled water, soda and milk.”

“Water is fine.”

“Have a seat. I'll be right back.”

Gingerly she sat down on the loveseat, concerned about her damp clothing on his furniture. She perched on the edge of the chair, totally self-conscious.

“Here ya go.” He handed her a glass filled with water and ice.

“Thanks.” She took a long swallow.

Garrett plopped down on the couch opposite her and stretched out his legs. “Relax. You look like you're expecting the place to get raided and you're going to have to make a run for it.”

She dipped her head. “I just feel so—”

“Grimy.”

She looked at him and laughed. “Yes.”

“That makes two of us. But thankfully a damp cloth cleans leather.” He leaned back, rested his head against the cushion and closed his eyes. “Anything in particular you want to eat?”

“To tell you the truth, I can't go in to a restaurant like this. I should just go home.”

He opened his eyes and sat up. “I could order something. Everyone around here delivers.”

She rose and so did his gaze. “I really should go.”

Garrett nodded and stood up. “How are you going home? I know you're not going to ride.”

“Ugh.” Her reality sunk in.

“I'll drive you.”

“You really don't have to do that. I can call a cab, or take the train.”

“I'm sure you could. But I'd
like
to take you home.” He lowered his head and looked at her from beneath his lashes. “Please.”

She grinned at his attempt at charm. “Since you insist.”

 

The ride to her apartment was short, too short. Yet, this was the very situation, that just days ago, she'd wanted to avoid—being this close to him in the confines of his car, any car.