Up at the College (4 page)

Yvonne moved some more and smiled up at him, then looked away. What in the world was wrong with her, smiling at Curtis Parker
like that? She was a grown woman raising two daughters on her own and should know better than to be grinning up at a man like
that.

“Trina done with that fish?” Curtis asked, now anxious to get back in the kitchen and get some food in his stomach. It had
been a long day, full of meetings and more than enough paperwork. Folks always thought that being the head coach of a basketball
team was all about what they saw happening on the court. But that was only a fraction of the job. If he didn’t do all of what
had to be done behind the scenes, there would be nothing to see on center court. He had to parent, raise money, pay bills,
do budgets, train, administrate, recruit, schedule, meet, and advocate, and this often happened before he got to his job description—coach.

Yvonne bobbed her head yes and started walking back to the kitchen. Curtis followed behind her at a leisurely pace, so that
he could enjoy the scenery. Maurice’s cousin was fine and putting a hurting on those snug-fitting lowriders she was wearing.
Few women could look that sexy in a pink T-shirt, blue jeans, and pink Timberlands. That pink was shimmering against Yvonne’s
cocoa-colored complexion. And those large round chocolate- diamond-colored eyes sparkled when she flashed that wide, full
mouth into a heartwarming smile. Coupled with that firm, round butt, it was enough to make him want to ask the girl if they
could “go together.”

Curtis looked at that booty bouncing in those jeans some more. It was taking considerable restraint to resist the urge to
pull a quarter out of his pocket and find out just how far it would go after it bounced off Yvonne’s behind.

Yvonne had the uncomfortable feeling of heat bearing down on her backside, and decided to take a seat and get her butt out
of the line of fire when she caught Curtis studying her with his head tilted to the side and a crooked grin on his face. Why
did this negro have to be so cute? He was long and muscular, deep dark chocolate like a Mounds candy bar, and had eyes that
lit up with merriment when he smiled. She thought his eyes were his best feature.

Yet, as cute and engaging as Curtis Parker was, Yvonne had to remember that he had yet to express any kind of interest in
turning in his player’s card. Plus, he always had some woman hanging on his arm whenever she saw him outside of a basketball
game. Come to think of it, this was one of the few times Yvonne had seen Curtis without a woman trying to hang all over him.

“My man,” Maurice said when he walked through the door with some more grilled vegetables and hush puppies.

“Man, did you just take those hush puppies off of the grill?” Curtis asked.

“Something Trina tried out on me and it worked. They are very good. You only put them on the grill for about a minute and
a half, and man!” He picked up a fat hush puppy and held it out to Curtis. “Here, taste it.”

Curtis chewed, and then fanned his mouth. “It is good but hot. I need some water.” He picked up a hush puppy and turned toward
Yvonne. “Here, baby. Taste this.”

Yvonne held out her hand, but Curtis just walked over and put the hush puppy in her mouth when she opened it to say something
back to him. She chewed and then fanned at her mouth.

“Whew … This is good but it is real hot!”

“Just like me, baby,” Curtis said, grinning. “Good but real hot.”

Yvonne gulped down some ice water to cool her mouth down and give that Curtis some time to cool down, too. He was just too
grown for his own good. Maurice shook his head at his head coach and boss. Curtis was so wrong, and he knew he was being wrong
and was enjoying every minute of it. Maurice noticed that Curtis had the exact same expression on his face as the one he had
when one of the players stole the ball during a game, and nobody had seen it coming.

Maybe that is what his cousin needed—a man who knew what to say to get past what appeared to be an impenetrable wall of protection.
But then again, Maurice understood why Yvonne was like that. She had not encountered any man worth her time, and didn’t have
any patience for foolishness from brothers who knew good and well they were of substandard quality where she was concerned.
And it wasn’t because his cousin was a snob—far from it. It’s just that she deserved better than those rotten scraps he’d
seen some brothers have the audacity to throw Yvonne’s way.

As much as Maurice wanted his cousin to have a man in her life, he knew that this man had to be right—he had to be a brother
whose heart and mind were turned toward Jesus. Curtis Parker was the only man who came close to fitting the bill. And even
he was short a few credentials, since he needed a serious overhaul where his relationship with Jesus was concerned.

Curtis was enjoying messing with Yvonne. She was so sweet and unworldly, and it tickled him that he could get to her with
the basic rudiments of flirting. He had grown accustomed to hardened women who fancied themselves to be more cosmopolitan
and sophisticated than they were—women like his latest girlfriend, Regina Young, who was a staff attorney for the university.
Yes, Yvonne was definitely a breath of fresh air, even if she was way too tight with Jesus for his taste. Curtis wasn’t so
sure he’d know what to do with the kind of woman who would tell you that she loved Jesus, and you knew that she meant it.

Trina put some more fish on a platter, took the home fries out of the oven, and started making a colorful arrangement of the
grilled vegetables. She mixed some fresh lime juice, melted butter, and crushed red peppers in a bowl before giving it to
her husband.

“Baby, go back out and baste the corn.”

Maurice took the bowl and told Curtis, “Man, grab those cigars laying next to my laptop and come on outside with me.”

Curtis picked up the cigars and then hesitated for a moment. He was enjoying Yvonne’s company and wanted to stay inside with
her.

Maurice opened the back door. “Come on, man, we can get a few good puffs in before dinner’s ready.”

“Yeah, Curtis,” Trina said while making a pitcher of iced tea. “You and Maurice better go outside with those funky-smelling
cigars. ’Cause I know you don’t think that I’m going to let you sit back and puff on those things in my house. It already
smells like trout. What do you want? You want it to end up smelling like butt, too?”

“Trina!”

“Don’t Trina me, Maurice Lester Fountain. You know good and well that the trout and those cigars will make this house smell
like some old wino’s butt.”

Yvonne wrinkled up her nose and pointed toward the back door. She had never had the “privilege” of being close enough to a
wino to get a whiff of stank wino behind. But she’d gotten her fair share of glimpses of the back of some winos’ unwashed
pants. And she could tell just by looking at the way the pants dropped down past the contours of their behinds, that the last
thing you wanted your house to smell like was how those pants seats looked.

M
aurice picked up the basting brush and lathered up those ears of corn real good.

“Man! That smells good,” Curtis said as he cut the end of his cigar and ran it under his nose. “I’ve been waiting to try one
of these.”

“Me, too” was all Maurice said. “Been saving them for the two of us.”

“Where did you get these?”

“Charles Robinson,” Maurice told him. “Charles wanted to thank me for putting in a good word for him with Veronica Washington.”

“Robert Washington’s ex-wife?”

“One and the same,” Maurice answered and cut off the tip of his cigar.

“But why would a big-time player like Charmayne Robinson’s brother, Charles, need you to put in a good word for him with any
single woman in Durham County? Rumor has it that he has all of the free booty in the Triangle on lockdown,” Curtis said and
lit up his cigar. “Plus, isn’t Veronica real serious about her relationship with the Lord? Wouldn’t think she’d be all that
appealing to Charles.”

“Well, think again,” Maurice said and lit his own cigar. “Old boy has it bad for Veronica. He has been checking her out ever
since Robert left Veronica for his woman, Tracey Parsons.”

“But, Maurice, Charles owns Rumpshakers Strip Club.”

“Gentlemen’s Club,” Maurice corrected. “It’s Rumpshakers Hip-Hop Gentlemen’s Club.”

“Okay, Gentlemen’s Club,” Curtis said. “But every time I’ve gone there, I always see women strutting their stuff in some stilettos
to get some extra tips. And Veronica, on the other hand, owns a public relations firm and represents only Christian writers,
actors, and musicians. So Charles doesn’t foresee a conflict with those two businesses being at opposite ends of the lightness-and-darkness
scale?”

“I don’t know what he foresees, Curtis. All I know is that he has it bad for Veronica Washington and is glad that her divorce
from her knucklehead husband Robert is almost final.”

“Well, it seems to me,” Curtis said, “that Charles doesn’t have it bad enough to crack open a Bible and look for the Sinner’s
Prayer in Romans.”

“Now, is this a case of the pot calling the kettle black?” Maurice chided Curtis before taking a puff on his cigar.

Curtis frowned. Maurice didn’t have to go there. Maurice knew that he had said the Sinner’s Prayer many years ago.

As if reading his mind, Maurice said, “You said the Sinner’s Prayer and have been on milk ever since.” He didn’t care one
bit that Curtis didn’t want to hear this—too bad. But Curtis had yet to be weaned off of spiritual milk long enough to have
a hunger for the bread of Heaven.

“Okay,” Curtis conceded, when it was clear that Maurice was not going to back down on this one. “I could do better about reading
my Bible.”

“Just your Bible, dawg?” Maurice asked him. “Seems to me like you need a complete overhaul where your relationship with the
Lord is concerned.”

“Charles Robinson and me, too, huh?”

“Well, actually, Curtis, you are a couple of steps ahead of Charles Robinson. You may be on some milk but that boy can only
take a few ounces of formula right now.”

Curtis started laughing. Maurice was right. Charles owned the premier exotic-dancers establishment in the Triangle. He was
making money like it really was growing on trees. That was a lot of money because trees and forest land were plentiful in
Durham County—dense, uncultivated land was everywhere, even in the hood. He imagined that it would take a miracle to convince
somebody like Charles Robinson to let go of all of his worldly goods to go off and follow Jesus. Because truth was, running
Rumpshakers Gentlemen’s Club and living boldly for Christ was not going to work.

But then again, maybe someone who was as anchored in Christ as Veronica Washington, was the perfect incentive to make Charles
think long and hard about the benefits of serving the Lord. There was nothing like a saved, Holy Ghost–filled woman (who was
also fine) to get a brother to thinking about the potential benefits of turning his life over to Christ. Some folks might
not think that was the best way to find your way to Jesus. But for men like Charles Robinson and himself, it could possibly
be one of the most compelling reasons.

Curtis almost stopped breathing when it occurred to him the path this kind of thinking was leading him down. Because like
it or not, he was only a few yards shy of his very own prototype of a Veronica Washington. There was no denying it, both Yvonne
and Veronica were some seriously
fo’ sho’
Proverbs 31 sisters—a brother couldn’t find anything more old school than a woman replete with virtues that were outlined
in the Old Testament.

Yvonne opened the refrigerator and took out a bowl of olive-green scuppernong grapes. She loved these wild grapes, which were
native to North Carolina and tasted like you were getting a squirt of some homemade wine when you took a bite out of one.
She tried her best to sneak a peek on the deck to see what Curtis was doing without being noticed by Trina, who rarely missed
a thing. When she caught Trina watching her intently, Yvonne popped a grape into her mouth and then mumbled, “I’ll be glad
when dinner is ready ’cause I’m hungry.”

Trina just looked at Yvonne trying to be slick and on the low, trying to watch Curtis and act like he wasn’t getting next
to her.
Humph
, Trina thought and then whispered to herself, “
Rochelle was right when she said that there ain’t nothin’ like a new negro to inspire you in all the right ways to get over
and done with the old negro
.”

“You say something, Trina?”

“Not really—just thinking out loud. And speaking of thoughts, I didn’t miss that little sniff-and-inhale number you were doing
when Curtis walked past you.”

Yvonne couldn’t believe Trina had seen that. She was almost as bad as Rochelle. But she couldn’t help it—Curtis was wearing
Chanel for Men and it smelled good on him.

“Awww snap,” Trina said, grinning. “Miss Thangy-Thang got a little crushy-crush on the coach. Who woulda thunk it? Sweet lil’
Yvonne Fountain sniffin’ and inhalin’ on the big, bad Curtis Parker.”

“Shut up, Trina,” Yvonne hissed, hoping she wasn’t blushing, even though her cheeks were warm and getting warmer by the second.
She hoped that Curtis would stay outside for a few more minutes, and wished that he’d bring his butt back in the house. Last
thing she needed was for a skilled player like Curtis to discover that she was blushing and sniffing up on his cologne.

“Girl, take a chill pill,” Trina told her, hoping that the men would hurry up and finish with those cigars to come back in
and hang out with them. Curtis of all people needed to relax with some good company—especially the company of a good woman
like Yvonne.

As far as Trina was concerned, Curtis spent too much of his precious time
boo-boo kittying
with the wrong kind of women. And maybe they weren’t just the wrong kind of women. Perhaps they were the worst kind of women.

Ironically, not a one of Curtis’s women could
technically
be branded as a
skank
,
hoochie
,
skoochie
, or even a
skeezer
. If only it were that easy. No, these sisters were those well-dressed, educated, stuck-up old sticks-in-the-mud who thought
more highly of themselves than they should. They were like those dry clouds Jesus accused the Pharisees of being—so many promises,
so little action, so empty and dry and useless, their very presence a sin and a shame.