‘I was with Christina.’ ‘Oh, yeah, your bride to be. Funny, but I never heard you talk about her too much the past few years. Actually I didn’t know you two were engaged anymore.’

  ‘Please, Antowain,’ Donna said.

  ‘What, I’m just telling the truth,’ Antowain said. ‘How many times has he even seen her lately, and now he’s marrying her?’

  ‘You have no idea what you’re talking about,’ Jake said.

  ‘So why don’t you tell me the way it is?’ Antowain said. ‘You gonna tell me you’re in love with this girl? You’re Romeo and Juliet?’

  ‘Antowain,’ Donna said.

  ‘Actually, I am in love with her,’ Jake said.

  Antowain smiled. ‘Who do you think you talkin’ to? You know nobody knows you better than me. You know I can see right through you. I don’t know why you’re marryin’ this girl, what you think it’s gonna get you, but it has to have something to do with you, because that’s all you ever think about.’

  Jake got up and said, ‘I don’t gotta take this shit.’

  ‘That’s enough,’ Donna said. ‘Both of you just stop it.’

  ‘No, it’s okay, Mom, I’m used to it. He never gives me any respect.’

  ‘Want respect, earn some,’ Antowain said. ‘Take your damn life seriously for a change.’

  Shaking his head, Jake went upstairs to the guest room and locked the door. His father was such an asshole. Jake didn’t know if Antowain was jealous because he couldn’t make it as a pro athlete and his son was living out his dream, but nothing was ever good enough for that prick. Even when Jake was a kid, in Little League, Antowain gave him hell. If Jake got a double, Antowain would ask, ‘How come you didn’t hit a home run?’ Jake thought Antowain would lay off in high school, when it was obvious Jake was on his way to becoming a superstar, but the badgering continued. In a game against Tilden, Jake hit a monstrous walk-off home run and hammed it up a little, taking his time rounding the bases, and Antowain gave him hell for it. He told Jake that he had no respect for the game and warned him that he’d never make it to the majors with that attitude. Now here it was, seven years later, and Antowain was still criticizing Jake every chance he got. But Jake was long past feeling bad, or even caring about anything his old man said to him. He knew there was nothing he could ever do to impress the old bastard, so what was the point in trying?

  Jake sat on the edge of the bed and turned on the bullshit twenty-inch TV to ESPN. Tony Gwynn was giving his analysis about the latest National League Championship series game. Bored because the commentary had nothing to do with himself, Jake fell asleep. When he woke up he checked his watch, surprised to see he’d been out for a couple of hours. He started channel-surfing, stopping on some dumb cop movie on Showtime. After a couple of minutes, he realized he’d had sex with one of the actresses - Lara - no, Laura . . . yes Laura. He wondered if she still lived in New York and, if so, if she was in town this weekend.

  A couple of minutes later his cell started ringing. He checked the caller ID and saw it was Christina. Figuring that if he didn’t pick up she’d keep calling, he clicked on and said, ‘Hey, baby, I was just thinking about you.’

  ‘Didn’t you get my message?’ Christina said, all bitchy.

  Remembering the message, Jake wished he hadn’t picked up.

  ‘Yeah, just got it,’ Jake said, staring at the TV, at Laura’s bee-stung lips. ‘I was just about to call you back.’

  ‘Why couldn’t you at least tell me first?’ Christina said.

  Man, Laura looked hot. Maybe he shouldn’t have stopped calling her.

  ‘Are you there?’ Christina asked.

  ‘Yeah, I’m here, I’m here.’

  ‘So?’

  Staring at Laura’s breasts as she leaned over to interrogate a prisoner, Jake said, ‘I’m sorry, baby. I promise I’ll never let anything like that happen again.’

  ‘That’s not good enough. How could you do this to me?’

  ‘Holy shit.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Are you even paying attention to me?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m paying attention, I’m paying attention. Look, I don’t know what you want me to say. Besides, I don’t see what the big deal is anyway. So it’s in the papers - so what? This is gonna be a high-profile wedding, baby. And you better get used to it, because this is what the rest of your life is gonna be like. You’ll always have the press on your back, following you around. You’re not gonna be Christina Mer . . . Mer . . . Mer . . .—’ He forgot her last name for a couple of seconds, then said, ‘Mercado. You’re not gonna be Christina Mercado anymore; you’re gonna be Mrs Jake fucking Thomas. The spotlight’s gonna be on you twenty-four seven.’

  Jake heard sniffling. He had no idea what the hell she was crying about now.

  ‘You don’t understand,’ she said. ‘Just this one time I wanted it to be something / announced, not that people had to read about in the papers.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, baby.’

  ‘Yes, it does matter. You have no idea how much it matters.’ Jake wondered if there was something wrong with Christina mentally. Her father was a nutcase, so maybe she had screws loose too.

  ‘There’s nothing I can do about it now, baby,’ Jake said. He tapped the phone against the bed’s box spring then said, ‘Whoops, there’s the call waiting.’

  ‘Don’t hang up on me.’

  ‘I have to take it - it must be my agent calling me back.’

  ‘When did you call the papers anyway? I was with you all night.’

  ‘I gotta take this.’

  ‘Don’t go—’

  ‘It’s an important call—’

  ‘Jake-’

  ‘I’ll pick you up at seven, baby.’

  Jake clicked off, relieved. He lay in bed with his eyes closed, trying to chill. He didn’t know how much longer he could take this getting-married bullshit. Christina had way too much baggage, and he wasn’t just talking about her ass. He was starting to think about Patti, the United stewardess, wishing there was some way he could go hang with her, when his cell phone started bocking like a crazy chicken.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said to his lawyer, Ronald Lufkowitz.

  ‘I wake you?’ Lufkowitz asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ Jake said.

  ‘Sorry. Just wanted to give you an update on the Marianna Fernandez sitch.’

  ‘Stu told me last night - they want two hundred grand.’

  ‘Yeah, well, things have gotten worse. Just got a fax from his lawyer. He says because you missed the first deadline now he wants one million by midnight tomorrow.’

  ‘Is he high?’

  ‘I know his lawyer and the way he deals - honestly, I think it’s all a ploy. I think if we go back and say two hundred grand and that’s our final offer, this all goes away.’

  ‘No,’ Jake said.

  ‘Well, we have to come back with some kind of counter or—’

  ‘Didn’t you see the papers?’

  ‘The papers? . . . Oh, yeah, Stu mentioned it. Your wedding. Congrats.’

  ‘You see what kind of PR I’m getting? The whole country loves me. Wh o cares what the Fernandez girl says now?’

  ‘I’m not sure I follow.’

  ‘No deals,’ Jake said. ‘Let ‘em go public - nobody gives a shit. People’ll just think it’s some blackmailers, some scammers trying to bring me down. It might not even make the papers.’

  ‘Right . . .’ Lufkowitz said, sounding confused, as if waiting for Jake to go on.

  ‘Right,’Jake said confidently, as if Lufkowitz were a stupid jerk idiot lawyer who just didn’t get it.

  ‘Look, I think I know what you’re getting at,’ Lufkowitz said. ‘You think one thing outweighs another or something like that, right?’

  ‘You’re catching on.’

  ‘I’m not sure I agree with that, Jake. Statutory rape is a serious allegation - I’m not sure the public will just ignore this.’

  ‘Whoa, I never touched that girl.’

  ‘I’m not saying you did, but the right thing to do in a negotiation—’

  ‘I’m not negotiating anything. The offer’s off the table. End of story.’

  ‘I think that’s a mistake, Jake. My opinion, from a legal standpoint, is we should make some kind of deal with them. Maybe we can get them down to two, three hundred thou. It’s a bite to take for you, I know, but it makes the problem disappear.’

  ‘The answer’s no.’

  ‘Maybe you want to think about it and get back to—’

  Jake ended the call, deciding that he was going to fire Lufkowitz ASAP. He didn’t care what that asshole said; there was no way in hell he was going to play ball with the Fernandezes. If he made any payoff now, and the press got wind of it, it would make him look guilty as hell, like he was trying to cover something up before his wedding. No, those greedy Mexicans had had their window to make a deal, and now the window was shut. If they wanted to go public with the rape story, nobody would believe them, and if it caused any flak at all, Jake would just do a smear job on the girl - have his people make shit up if they had to - and she and her family would wish they never set foot in the US of A.

  Jake left the guest room, confident that he had the whole situation under control, when he saw Ryan standing in the hallway.

  ‘Hey,’Jake said, surprised, his smile fading quickly when he saw how demented Ryan looked. His face was sweaty, and he had a dazed, lost expression, as if someone had just hit him over the head with a brick.

  ‘You feeling okay, dude?’ Jake asked.

  Ryan continued staring stupidly.

  ‘I didn’t hear the bell ring,’ Jake said. ‘You sure you’re okay, man?’ Then Jake smelled alcohol. ‘Dude, you been drinkin’? Isn’t it a little early in the day for—’

  And that was when Ryan attacked him. It happened so fast that Jake didn’t realize what was going on until he was on his back and that little faggot was on top of him, squeezing his throat. Jake was gagging, barely able to breathe as he looked up at Ryan’s crazed, beet-red face. Finally Jake managed to pry Ryan’s fingers away long enough to get out the gargled words, ‘What the fuck—’ but then Ryan pushed down and squeezed with more force.

  At six-three, two-twenty, Jake had five inches and maybe forty pounds on Ryan, but Ryan was so bonkers that Jake had a tough time fighting him off. He couldn’t get Ryan’s hands off his neck, so he pushed up against Ryan’s chest, trying to bench-press the nut away. Still, he couldn’t free himself, and Ryan was squeezing even harder. Panic set in as it hit Jake that this was it - he was going to fucking die - and then he was holding his throat, gasping for air. He realized that Ryan wasn’t strangling him anymore, and he looked up and saw Antowain holding Ryan back.

  ‘She fuckin’ loves me!’ Ryan was shouting. ‘She doesn’t love you, you fuckin’ asshole! She fuckin’ loves me! You’re never gonna get her! Never!’

  Jake had no idea what Ryan was talking about. The guy was totally whacked out of his mind.

  ‘Fuck you,’ Jake said hoarsely, and then he started coughing.

  Ryan tried to break free, to go after Jake again.

  Still holding Ryan back, Antowain said, ‘Son of a bitch.’

  ‘What did you say to her?!’ Ryan screamed at Jake. ‘What kinda fuckin’ bullshit lies did you tell her?! Huh?! What fuckin’ bullshit?!’

  Jake realized Ryan was talking about Christina, and he remembered how Ryan had gotten all psycho over her yesterday. He obviously still had a crush on her and had flipped when he heard the wedding news, going out and getting ripped, then coming here. Jake had always known Ryan was pathetic, but he had no idea the guy was this far gone.

  Jake coughed some more, catching his breath. He was okay; maybe he hadn’t been as close to dying as he’d thought.

  ‘Just get the hell out of here,’ Jake said, pretending it was difficult to speak, ‘before I call the cops.’

  Donna Thomas called from the bottom of the stairs, ‘What’s going on up there? Jake? Antowain?’

  ‘She doesn’t want you!’ Ryan yelled at Jake. ‘She never wanted you! She thinks you’re an asshole - a cheating, lying, fuckin’ asshole! You think you won her back? You didn’t win shit back! She hates you! She couldn’t give a flying fuck about you!’

  Feeling sorry for Ryan because he was such a loser, Jake said, ‘You need some serious help, dude. Maybe you should go on Prozac, or lithium, or check yourself into fucking Bellevue.’

  Ryan broke away from Antowain and went after Jake again. This time Jake was ready and stuck an arm out, easily knocking Ryan back against the wall. Antowain grabbed Ryan again, and Ryan took a wild swing at him, his fist just missing Antowain’s jaw. This set Antowain off, and he grabbed Ryan by the shoulders and pushed him back hard. With his face maybe two inches in front of Ryan’s, Antowain said, ‘I want you outta this house now. Hear what I’m sayin’ to you? You come in here again I’m callin’ the cops on your sorry ass.’

  Donna, who’d come halfway up the stairs, said, ‘Stop this fighting - all of you! Just stop it right now!’

  Ryan was screaming at Jake: ‘I’m marrying her - not you! She loves me - she loves me, damn it! All year we’ve been together. You didn’t know, did you? You had no fuckin’ clue, huh? You know why you had no fuckin’ clue? Because you don’t give a shit, that’s why. You were too busy fucking everything that moved to give a shit what your fiancee was doing. Now you want her because I want her. It’s all a fuckin’ game to you - a stupid fuckin’ game! But I love her and I’m marrying her, and I don’t give a shit what I read in the paper. I don’t give a shit!’

  Antowain was still holding Ryan’s arms, restraining him from going after Jake.

  ‘This what your father taught you?’ Antowain said to Ryan. ‘Get drunk in the middle of the afternoon? Act like a fool?’

  ‘Fuck you,’ Ryan said.

  ‘I don’t need none of this bullshit in my house,’ Antowain said, and he pushed Ryan ahead of him toward the stairs.

  As Ryan went down he screamed up at Jake, ‘You’re not fuckin’ marrying her! There’s no fuckin’ way! I’ll kill you first! I swear, I’ll fiickin’ kill you!’

  Jake remained on the second-floor landing, hearing Antowain warn Ryan to ‘Stay the hell out of my damn house’ before the door slammed.

  Donna stood at the bottom of the stairwell and called up to Jake, ‘Are you okay?’

  Jake didn’t answer. He went into the bathroom and locked the door.

  Staring in the mirror, he noticed that his neck looked a little red, but he didn’t think he was seriously hurt. If he wanted to, he could probably call the cops and press charges against Ryan -aggravated assault. . . hell, maybe even attempted murder. But he knew Ryan was just drunk and he didn’t want to get him into that kind of trouble.

  As Jake restyled his hair, he thought about what Ryan had said, about how he’d been screwing Christina. He didn’t know if Ryan was lying, but he had a hunch he wasn’t. It explained why Christina had been acting so weird last night, hitting him with all that wanting-to-break-up bullshit, and why she’d gotten so bitchy on the phone about the wedding announcement in the Daily News. Christina had probably told Ryan she was going to break off the engagement, and then Ryan had to read all about the wedding in the morning paper.

  Jake didn’t care about Ryan fucking Christina. Actually, he thought it was kind of funny. Poor Ryan - the guy just couldn’t catch a break. He probably went after Christina only because she was Jake Thomas’s fiancee, because he was jealous of Jake Thomas’s career, and he figured that if he started banging Jake Thomas’s girl it would be the next best thing to making the show. Poor fucking Ryan. Didn’t he know the deck was stacked against him, that there was no way he could ever come out on top?

  Then Jake smiled widely, looking in the mirror, realizing that finding out about Ryan and Christina was probably the best thing that could have happened. Now the pressure was off; a huge door had been opened. After all, if Christina was getting some on the side, why the hell couldn’t he? Quid pro quo, tit for tat, and all that shit.

  Jake took out his cell, wondering who he should call first - Patti the stewardess, or Jasmine the light-skinned chick from last night? Or maybe he could swing some way to get them both into a hotel room somewhere.

  Nah, Jasmine was a dumb idea. She was way too young, and he definitely didn’t need another Marianna Fernandez in his life. So, from his wallet, he slid out the card with Patti’s number.

  He dialed, ready to leave a message, when a sexy-sounding chick came on.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Patti?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘It’s your lucky day, baby.’

  Twelve

  Saiquan sat shotgun, staring at his lap as Marcus backed the Saturn out of the lot. They drove down Seaview Avenue, past the park. Saiquan could still hear sirens, probably heading toward Jermaine’s house.

  ‘Can’t believe I gotta give up my motherfiickin’ BMW for this bitch ride,’ Marcus said. ‘Shit’s fucked-up.’

  He turned right onto Rockaway Parkway.

  ‘Shit ain’t gonna work, man,’ Saiquan said, shaking his head. ‘Ain’t gonna work.’

  ‘What ain’t gonna work?’

  ‘All this switchin’ cars, thinkin’-we-so-smart-when-we-ain’t shit, that’s what. That bitch seen you, man. The cops prolly already makin’ a cartoon of yo’ ass right now. They gonna have the shit posted all over Brooklyn. I open the paper tomorrow -I’m gonna see yo’ ugly motherfiickin’ face lookin’ back at me.’

  Marcus was shaking his head, not paying attention. ‘I tellin’ you, yo - we pass another BMW, Jeep, anything looks cool, I’m takin’ that shit. I feel like a pussy drivin’ this shit-ass ride.’

  ‘Yo, you hear what I’m sayin’?’ Saiquan said. ‘They gonna have a cartoon of you. That bitch is gonna pick you out in a lineup.’

  ‘She ain’t pickin’ out shit,’ Marcus said. ‘Ho’s prolly home right now, happy she ain’t dead. She ain’t goin’ to no po-lice.’ He looked at the dashboard. ‘Damn, look at this bullshit - don’t even got a motherfiickin’ CD player. Shit smells too. Nigga be eatin’ tuna fish in this car.’