4
Baby-Mama Drama
“Who was it?” Darius asked as Bo placed the phone back on the receiver and his arm around his husband.
“Baby-mama drama,” Bo said simply. Enough said.
It was almost a week to the day since Stacy had been served the custody papers, and she’d been calling Darius ever since. After their one and only conversation had turned into a shouting match, Bo had suggested any further communication happen through their attorneys. Bo had been right, as was often the case when it came to all things Darius. And while Darius knew his attorney had not only phoned Stacy repeatedly but also e-mailed a proposed child-support increase that could result in Darius dropping the lawsuit if she complied, Stacy was still acting a fool.
Darius sighed. “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”
“A scorned woman
is
hell,” Bo corrected. “But we both know what this is about, and it’s
not
about a baby. It’s about you.”
“I know. And don’t even go there with another round of ‘I told you so.’”
“I wasn’t,” Bo lied even as he almost choked on the litany of ways he’d tried to discourage Darius from getting involved with Spacey Stacy Gray. He’d known she was trouble the first time he’d laid eyes on her. But with Bo, anybody remotely interested in Darius was trouble until thoroughly investigated and proven otherwise. Not that it mattered. Darius had finally seen the light, ended the sham of a marriage he’d had with Stacy, and come home to his heartbeat. He and Darius had been enjoying life ever since. Not only that, but after Darius had come out of the closet, his already successful music career had soared. The numbers he’d lost in judgmental church members had been more than made up by new fans in ever-growing gay America. That was one thing about the homosexual community—those birds of a feather definitely stuck together.
Bo lazily ran his hands across Darius’s closely cropped hair, rubbed his broad shoulders, and admired the smooth, chocolate skin. “Uh-huh, tight as a drum, just as I figured. You can’t get all stressed out with this Stacy business.”
Bo stood, stretched his lithe, light-skinned, five-foot-nine body, walked behind the couch, and reached for Darius’s shoulders. He was as good a masseur as he was a business manager. Darius began to relax immediately.
“Dang, baby, you’re almost better than Ching,” Darius said, referring to the licensed practitioner he saw once a week when his schedule permitted and he was in town. He rolled his neck from left to right, no longer feeling the kinks that had been there moments before.
“Almost? Ching wishes he could knead a muscle like I do, and he’d like to knead one muscle in particular, if you get my drift. At least he’s not in the band,” Bo finished quietly.
“Contrary to your popular belief, my dear man, everyone is not after me sexually.” Darius chose not to respond to the band reference. Randall, his six-foot-one bass guitar player, rumored to swing in both directions, had sent Bo into a tizzy from the moment he’d been hired a month ago.
“Uh, did I say everyone? ’Cause I could have sworn I just said Ching.” Bo recognized that Darius hadn’t taken the band bait and wisely dropped it.
“Okay, more specifically, Ching is not trying to have sex with me. He has a girlfriend.”
“Is her name Stacy?” Bo asked. His skepticism was obvious. “I rest my case.”
Once again ignoring Bo’s jab, Darius rose from the couch and pointed to where he’d been sitting. “Let me return the favor.”
Darius’s strong fingers were soon working their magic. Bo moaned his appreciation until his cry was an exaggerated wail.
“You nut,” Darius said, laughing. “It sounds like you’re about to climax.”
“No, but I’m hoping
that
will be happening within the hour.”
Darius figured this somewhat happy mood was as good a time as any to spring on Bo the news that would surely upset him—as anything upset him that Bo didn’t control. As it was, Darius had kept the secret for almost a month, a rarity for this partnership where everything was shared.
“Oh, hey, I’ve got some news.”
“Aw, hell.” Bo sat up and turned to Darius. “What?”
“Relax, baby,” Darius said, continuing the massage. “This is lightweight. A fan club.”
“A fan club? Says who?”
“Says me, that’s who!”
“Okay, cool, but where did this come from all of a sudden?”
“From the Andersons’ daughter. You remember them, right? Clyde and Bernadette?”
“How could I forget their homophobic asses? Those are the ones who accosted us in the parking lot, right? The woman with a face like old cottage cheese telling us what we were doing was an annihilation?”
“Abomination, nut. But, yes, that’s them.” Darius rejoined Bo on the couch and put his arm around him. “It seems their daughter doesn’t share those archaic views. In fact, she’s a computer whiz, and, according to her, my number-one fan. She wants to head up a fan club for me. I don’t see a problem with it.”
“Yeah, neither did Paul Sheldon.”
“Who’s that?”
“From that movie,
Misery,
with Kathy Bates. He didn’t see a problem either until his ‘number-one fan’ pushed his ass down a set of stairs and
then
broke both his legs. Of course, I’m sure the leg Miss Thang is interested in isn’t the one you walk with.”
“Her name is Melody.”
“That light-skinned, loud-mouthed girl with a booty the size of our widescreen?”
“Her booty isn’t that big.”
“Oh, so you’ve been looking.”
“No! Stop trying to start an argument. I’m not interested in that girl—I repeat,
girl
. She’s sixteen years old.”
“I don’t care if she’s sixteen
months
old. She’s got a va-jay-jay, and so I say nay-nay. She can be a member, but let somebody else head up your fan club. What about that old chick who wears those outlandish hats? I like her.”
“Mother Moseley?”
“Yeah, let Mother Moseley head it up.”
Darius rolled his eyes. “Bo, I like her too, but she’s seventy years old!”
“Okay, caller, what’s your point?”
“My point? Let’s see. I’m sure her computer skills and Internet knowledge are up to par: e-mail, Google, Twitter, the works. She probably even has a MySpace page.”
“I can’t deny she might have problems navigating the net. So let Mother Moseley be the official head, and let Melody be her assistant.”
“It’s kinda too late for that,” Darius sheepishly admitted.
“Kinda why?”
“Because I kinda ran into her—
okay, last month, but who’s counting
—and I kinda told her she could do it. Look, her parents are old and strict, and their bible beating is draining the life out of her. This will be a way to put some of it back. And she can do it from the bedroom she calls a jail cell. If she’s home managing the fan club instead of trying to run the streets, maybe her parents will give her a break.”
“Yeah, until they find out she’s cavorting with the enemy.”
“They won’t find out. Besides, I have a soft spot for the girl. I’ve known her since she was eleven or twelve years old. She used to bug us to join the choir. And before I came out, her parents were friendly toward me—especially Clyde. He even confided in me that he was in a doo-wop group when he was a teen, something that holy-rolling Bernadette knows nothing about. It’ll be okay.”
Bo bit back yet another argument, deciding that this particular battle was not one worth fighting. Melody Anderson’s naive act might work for Darius, but she didn’t fool Bo for one hot minute.
She might be the biggest fan with the grandest plan, but I’ll be damned if she messes with my man. She’d better not want anything more than to mail out some glossies, pass out a T-shirt, and update his fan-club database,
Bo thought testily. Because Bo Jenkins, who didn’t miss much, would be watching.
5
Let It Go
“Where’s Frieda?” Stacy asked after she’d entered the Taylor penthouse. Immediately the living room’s color combination of various blues, off-whites, and luxurious sienna splashes enveloped her in an atmosphere of calm. She and Darius had dined there as a couple, and she’d visited many times, but the home’s beauty never ceased to amaze her.
“Giorgio extended his visit,” Hope replied. “Chances are we won’t see her butt until he leaves town.”
“That heifah. I thought we agreed that Saturday lunches would be our catch-up time. And look at her, standing us up already.”
“Yeah, well, you know how plans can change with Frieda, especially if there’s a man involved. Where’s the baby?”
“With his aunt Tanya, and if I know her, probably at his daddy’s house or on the way there. I told her I didn’t want him around Bo. But Darius is her favorite brother, so . . .”
“I thought Darius was her only brother.”
“No, Tanya’s father has a son by another woman. But it wouldn’t matter if she had a dozen brothers; she’d still worship the ground Darius walks on.”
“He does seem to have that way about him,” Hope mumbled.
“What did you just say?” Stacy was pure attitude. “I know it wasn’t what I thought I heard. I may have loved him, Hope, but he was never my idol.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You should be. But apology accepted. And what has you so snappy anyway? I could feel your foul mood over the phone.”
“I know I shouldn’t be, but I’m still tripping over Millicent being a mother. I’ve tried to let it go, but it’s been on my mind since last Saturday.”
Stacy joined Hope, who’d flopped down on the couch. “I know I’m the last somebody to tell you to stop trippin’, but thinking about Millicent is totally unproductive. Besides, you acted like you were over it the day I called and you were at your mom’s in Oklahoma.”
“I was. For the three days I was there, anyway. Mama can relate to my anxiety because of how bad she wanted another baby after her miscarriage. She never got the second child she wanted. So she understands how bad I want my first.”
“But does she understand this fixation you have with Millicent being a mother?”
Hope shrugged. “Y’all are all on the same page with that one, and I admit I need to leave it alone. I
want
to leave it alone. But now every time I watch
Conversations with Carla
, I remember Millicent sitting on the couch.”
“Well, switch to
Oprah
!” Stacy exclaimed. “Do whatever you need to do to get past this. Bless that woman and her baby and then focus on Cy and creating a family of your own.”
“That’s all I’ve been doing for the past two years!”
“Well, maybe that’s the problem.”
“What?”
“Maybe you’re focusing on it so hard you’re stressing yourself out. It’s not that you can’t get pregnant, am I right?”
Hope nodded.
“And what did Sistah Viv tell you?”
“To let go and let God.” Those words from her first lady had been comforting a year ago, but not only could Hope not seem to let this Millicent news go, but the information had caused her to pick up a burden she’d put down.
“Maybe we should think about fertility drugs,” Hope said aloud, even though she was talking more to herself than to Stacy.
“So I can become an aunt to sextuplets? I don’t think so. One is hard enough to handle, believe me. It’s going to happen, Hope. Remember, God’s timing is perfect.”
Both women became silent, thinking the same thing: that that was the exact same advice Hope had offered Stacy when Stacy was chasing Darius. Trust God’s clock. There was no way Hope could have known that Stacy was already pregnant by the time they’d had that conversation. Stacy knew that had she waited for Darius, her current life would look different. But she probably wouldn’t have her son, and he alone made all the challenges she now faced worthwhile.
“What are you going to do about Darius seeing his son?” Hope asked.
Stacy immediately became defensive. “The question is what is he going to do? You think my position has changed since last week? Just because his punk ass served some papers? He can see Darius whenever he wants to, just not with Bo.”
“But is that really reasonable, Stacy, considering their union is legal? You may not like it, but Bo is in Darius’s life, and for the time being, it looks like he’s there to stay. Perhaps you should try to find a way to make your peace with this fact and with Bo. You told me the two of you were friends once, remember? When he helped you during your pregnancy? You told me about the meals he prepared, the comfort he offered? You know how much he loves Darius, which means he loves Darius’s son as well. Maybe if you change the way you look at the situation, the situation will change.”
“Wise words, Mrs. Taylor, but you might want to take your own advice. What are
you
going to do about this unproductive jealousy you feel toward Millicent? How are you going to change
that
situation?”