Up the Downside

By Gloria Dunbar

Valerie Taylor is a young lady who has it allbeauty, brains, and a bright future. She yearns for romance, but she just doesnt seem able to get it right. She has a couple of back-to-back affairs with Anton, who deceives her for another, and Bobby, who is staunchly married to his career. Valerie discovers herself with child, not certain who the father is. Shes devastated and left alone with Clare, her snobbish, racist, puritanical mother. Being a single mom was absolutely not in her plans.

Valerie and her young son, Barry, glide through the years. Valerie has given up on love, or at least she had until Andrew, a successful physician, pops into her life. In time, Andrew loves Valerie, and Barry too. Hes the dad Barry has always wanted.

Clare thinks hes perfect for her daughter. Andrew wants to tie the knot, but Valerie is reluctant. Love hasnt worked for her in the past. Why would it now? With the constant coaxing of Barry and Clare, Valerie finally allows Andrew to slip a ring on her finger. Theyre a happy pair until tragedy occurs.

Valeries proud of Barry, who is now a college student. Barry has proven to be a great football player. Hes in his junior year, and his team makes it to the Rose Bowl in Pasadena, California. Bobby lives in California. He sees Barrys picture in the LA Times and recognizes his resemblance to Valerie. He thinks this might be the kid he fathered with Valerie and has been secretly supporting for the past nineteen to twenty years. Maybe he wanted nothing to do with the kid all those years ago, but its different now. Bobby wants to know his son, although Valerie might object. No matter. Bobby calls Valerie. And, with a bit of turmoil, love persists.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 30, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543421088

Gloria Dunbar

Gloria Dunbar authored her first novel, Dangling on a String, which was published in 2001. She is a native of Detroit, Michigan and has lived for a time in Los Angeles, California. She currently resides in Southfield, Michigan where she is at work contemplating a third novel.

Book preview

UP THE

DOWNSIDE

Gloria Dunbar

Copyright © 2017 by Gloria Dunbar.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 05/08/2017

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CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

PROLOGUE

Detroit, Michigan - May 1995

Spring arrived early with unusually warm temperatures for Michigan. Still, Valerie felt chills rotating through her body, causing her to shiver like a leaf sheath with ice. Seated before the gynecologist, in his private office, and listening to his prognosis of her condition left her speechless. At that moment, she could have more easily accepted him telling her that she had only one month to live—anything … anything at all but the devastating news he’d just plopped in her lap. On the verge of falling completely apart, she hastily leaped to her feet and turned to leave.

As she reached the door, she heard, Congratulations, Mrs. Taylor. The physician’s greeting came at her like an echo in a hollow room.

No way, she whispered. This can’t be happening. Not to me. The words circled her mind like a ticker tape as she left, hoping that maybe, the so-called smart doctor wasn’t as smart as he thought himself to be and what he had just told her was merely one gigantic, stupid mistake. She walked swiftly on the concrete pavement, taking short steps up Washington Boulevard and wishing she could will the past few months away. Slowly but surely, reality was sinking in. The mistake was hers, hers for getting so caught up with a man thing and not protecting herself. Just what Mama’s always warned me about! Oh my god! What am I gonna do? The question gnawed at her brain over and over while taking the long walk to where she had parked her recently purchased Honda Civic. With a trembling hand, she fumbled with the car door lock, opened the door, and slid behind the steering wheel. Valerie rested her arms across the wheel and stared straight ahead. Three months pregnant and without a husband. This wasn’t in her plans for a promising future. She was supposed to be a nice girl with scruples and raised with high morals, and things like this weren’t supposed to happen to girls like her. The fear of uncertainty about the days and months to come was taking a hold. Even worse, How am I gonna break this news to Mama? I can’t tell her … I can’t, I can’t, I just can’t … Damn, damn, damn! I have to tell her. She felt her heart pumping. Oh god! Mama’s gonna shit bricks when she learns that her perfect daughter’s gotten her perfect self knocked up. Valerie turned the key in the ignition and pulled away. There’s no keeping this a secret from Mama. I’ll have to tell her soon. Valerie, Valerie, Valerie, what the fuck have you done? Clara Taylor’s gonna wanna kill me, and she might just wanna kick me outta the house to avoid any embarrassment I’m causing her. With her stomach contracting in a tight ball, Valerie felt nauseous at the thought that her perfect life had turned upside down.

Valerie Anne Taylor was a bright, vivacious, young African American woman with beautiful looks to go with her smart brains. At twenty-four and with a bachelor’s degree in political sciences from East Lansing’s Michigan State University (MSU), she had looked forward to no less than a brilliant future. She had anticipated soon applying to attend Wayne State University in Detroit to earn her master’s degree and maybe later a PhD. She was ambitious and proud of it. Raised as an only child by a widowed mother, Clara Taylor, who had devoted herself to making certain that her daughter’s life was rich with opportunities, Valerie had surprisingly escaped being a spoiled brat. With Clara’s encouragement and her own high self-esteem, she was confident the world was in the palm of her hand. Suddenly having to accept the reality of a life growing in her womb was in no way simple for Valerie. Her first inclination was to have an abortion, but as quickly as the thought entered her mind, it vanished. How could I live with myself? Her conscious kicked in. She considered herself a patron of pro-life. Resorting to something so drastic as killing her unborn child would be a betrayal of what she believed to be right. As far as she was concerned, life began at the time of conception … like a flower bud clipped before time to blossom. Experiencing a share of life’s complications left Valerie grasping for breath, knowing that there was nothing she could do to change the situation.

Seven Months Later

Spring evolved into a long, hot summer with rows of green grass, leafy trees, and colorful flower blossoms, cycling into autumn’s splendor. Finally, after months of waiting, the moment arrived. Valerie dug her nails into her palms as her first labor pains struck at two in the morning. An hour later, another sharp pain. The pains were coming at more frequent intervals and felt far worse than she had ever imagined they would. She was certain that this was her repentance for her episodes of passion with both Anton, the lover who had toyed with her heart and then vanished just as quickly as he’d appeared, and Bobby, whom she really loved and wanted to believe was responsible for her pregnant condition. Damn you, Anton! And you too, Bobby! A tad of satisfaction might have sidetracked her suffering had she been able to banish both of the sons-of- bitches from her mind, each for their own reasons—a wish more than a reality. Ten hours later and the contractions only minutes apart, she wobbled over to her nightstand, calmly picked up the phone, and called her mom.

Clara nervously grabbed her coat and handbag and then hurried over to Valerie’s apartment. She wouldn’t be in this fix if she’d listened to me. It wasn’t as if Valerie was infallible, but early on, Clara had made a point to school her daughter to the facts of life. Valerie, of all people, was supposed to be smart enough to protect herself from getting knocked up by some ne’er-do-well who didn’t think enough of her to stick around and slide a ring on her finger.

Clara was, at first, furious with Valerie for, as she put it, ruining her life and causing the family name irreversible embarrassment. Clara was strictly old school, where the belief is that nice girls hold on to their virginity until marriage. She could not abandon the idea that without marriage, sex was wrong, that boys labeled girls as easy prey when they gave in without commitment. Clara felt that young folks shackin’ up together was in defiance of God’s law, and those relationships never came to any good. How many times had she preached that sermon to Valerie? How could you let this happen? Shouting with spit flying every which way, she continued, Nice girls don’t get pregnant out of wedlock! Vowing to wipe her hands of any further efforts to enrich her daughter life, she withdrew into a shell of total silence. Short of disowning Valerie, after a week or two of not speaking, Clara felt she had no choice but to suppress her anger and accept that nothing she did would change the situation. Whether she approved of Valerie’s predicament didn’t matter. Valerie was her daughter and would always be. The circumstances had in no way diminished the love she felt for her only child. Valerie meant more to her than life itself, and no matter how grown she got, all that really mattered was that her daughter needed her. Clara, long-faced, nodded in defeat. Thank goodness her father is not alive to witness this.

Clara arrived at Valerie’s apartment fifteen minutes later to find her doubled up on the couch with waterfalls gushing down her cheeks. She gave her an affectionate hug of encouragement, and together, they began to time the contractions until they were five minutes apart. Anxiously, Clara telephoned Dr. Morgan, Valerie’s gynecologist, and then helped her into the car.

With both hands tightly gripping the steering wheel, Clara drove hell-bent for the hospital some fifteen minutes away. Glancing at Valerie’s face twisted in agony and hearing her painful moans and groans made Clara feel all the worse. Her baby was about to have a baby—a fact she had not yet completely accepted. She wanted to cry a river of tears but not in Valerie’s presence. It would probably only complicate matters. We’re almost there, babe. Hang on.

I feel like I’m dyin’, Mama … I’m gonna die, Valerie said, tossing back her head. Ohhh … ! Ohhh … ! she cried out.

Clara felt helpless to alleviate Valerie’s suffering and wished for some magic power to make the labor pains go away. It’s gonna be okay, sweetheart. Just hold on. We’re almost there.

Ohhh, ohhh … Please, Mama, hurry, Valerie groaned again. I can’t take much more of this. Do something, pleassseee … ! It hurts sooo … bad.

If I had wings, honey, I’d fly, but I haven’t. I’m going as fast as I can without getting into an accident. Clara felt beads of perspiration forming on her forehead. She craned her neck to give Valerie a quick glance before increasing her speed. Five minutes later, she pulled her shiny navy-blue Lincoln Continental sedan in front of the emergency entrance at Providence Hospital in Southfield, Michigan, a suburb of Detroit.

Eighteen hours of painful contractions left Valerie breathless. Her lips were raw and sore from chewing on them every time she felt a sharp pain. Dr. Donald J. Morgan, tall and thin, was at the hospital waiting for her when she arrived. He had delivered hundreds of babies over the last three decades and, after examining Valerie, told her that her labor was going fine, although Valerie was certain the pains would never end.

Take deep, swift breaths, dear. C’mon now, breathe … breathe, a nurse kept repeating, trying to comfort Valerie as she was being rolled down the hallway on a stretcher to the delivery room.

Easy for you to say! You’re not the one who’s hurting like hell! Valerie snapped with irritation before starting the deep breaths.

Breathing properly will help ease the pains, my dear, the nurse said patiently.

Valerie took another deep breath and then gave the woman a wicked look out the corners of her eyes. Nothing will help! She crinkled her forehead. Her eyes transformed to rivers and not just because of the labor pains. No one could possibly know how badly her heart ached. And please stop calling me dear. Valerie pouted.

An attendant pushed a lever. The doors to the delivery room flung open. A small army of hospital staff began to busily fuss over Valerie. She was in too much pain to notice the icy cold room temperature as her feet were being placed in stirrups. She heard Dr. Morgan’s low-pitched voice giving assurance that everything was going normally.

A moment later, she felt the doctor’s hand gently pressing on her belly and his voice telling her, Push … push … push. She felt pressure and then a quick easing and, finally, a rushing emptiness that ended her pain. She took a deep breath, more like a sigh of relief.

You’ve got a healthy seven-pound baby boy, Valerie, the doctor said, transferring the baby into a nurse’s arms to be cleaned up.

Valerie slowly turned her head to get a glimpse of the child who would be hers for the rest of her life. She hoped to see a resemblance to Bobby but saw none. The newborn was tiny and wrinkled with red blotches. Not a pretty sight, she thought. God is never gonna stop punishing me for my sins. Valerie watched the nurse clean and then wrap the infant in a receiving blanket. She felt tears trickling down her cheeks once again. Any effort to avoid sobbing was turning out to be impossible. She thought about her mom and Megan, her best friend, whom she was certain had already arrived and was camped out in the waiting room. The last thing she needed was for them to see her all broken up.

A nurse approached Valerie with the infant cradled in her arms. Valerie reached up and pulled a corner of the blanket away from his tiny face so that she could take another closer peep at her son, still hoping to see some resemblance. Everything would be fine if he had her looks. She had spent her entire pregnancy praying for that. God forbid that he should have any of Anton’s features. Are you sure he’s all right? I mean …

I know what you mean, the nurse volunteered, smiling at the infant. He’s a perfect little angel as perfect as perfect can be.

Valerie couldn’t help staring at her little miracle, whom she decided showed no resemblance to either Anton or Bobby. And oddly enough, the more she stared at her baby boy, the more he seemed to be growing on her. Maybe being his mom wasn’t going to be as devastating as she’d anticipated. He is kinda cute, isn’t he?

He’s a beautiful baby, Mrs. Taylor, and his daddy’s really gonna be proud of him … You’ll see.

His daddy? She hurled back at the nurse. I’m Ms. Taylor, and my baby doesn’t have a daddy.

Chapter One

The Beginning - September 1988

Valerie Taylor’s eighteenth birthday was as though Independence Day had finally arrived. Making plans to attend Michigan State University, located some eighty-five miles from home, she felt tickled pink with a bit of excitement trickling through her veins. Time wasn’t moving swiftly enough before she would at last be free, out from under the wings of Clara Agnes Taylor, her pompous, domineering mother. Valerie sighed deeply, remembering as far back as she could how Clara had dictated over her like Kruschev had Russia. The older woman was convinced that she was an authority on the vicissitudes of life.

Valerie at five feet six inches was a beautiful girl with keen features; a blemish-free, light-golden complexion; and long, brown, silky, straight hair. According to her mother, Valerie’s paternal grandfather had been a white man—a reason that while growing up, Clara had put so much emphasis on skin color. She had frequently reminded Valerie that just because she was light-skinned with long, naturally straight hair, the texture of white folks, it was no different from if her skin was black as tar; and she had wire, coarse hair. She would always be black and should never forget it.

Clara was an attractive woman as well who stood five foot five inches tall and a shade lighter than a brown paper bag. Although she attested to being proud of her black heritage, she also didn’t bite her tongue when it came time to admit that having skin color two shades darker than her own was one of life’s terrible misfortunes. Clara had never worked in a real job, although she was a Howard University alumnus and a staunchly dedicated soror of the Delta Sorority and a member of the Detroit Chapter of the Links, a prominent ladies’ social organization.

Clara had very much loved her husband, Dr. Silas Aaron Taylor, even to the point of idolizing him after his death. When he had suddenly collapsed and died of a heart attack at the premature age of forty-one, she had nearly suffered a nervous breakdown. She couldn’t imagine life without her beloved. Life is unfair, she had sadly complained, though after a year of grieving and then regaining her composure, she insisted that with all due respect to the memory of her late husband, she and their daughter were entitled to no less than a lifestyle commensurate to that of a prominent physician’s family. Clara loved announcing to others that she was the widow of Doctor Silas Aaron Taylor, a prominent cardiologist. It gave her a sense of being propped up on a pedestal. She wore her husband’s title like a badge of honor.

Fortunately for Clara, her husband had been a responsible black man, who had considered all the anomalies where his family’s present and future welfare was concerned. He’d had the foresight to make arrangement so if he preceded his wife in death, she and Valerie would be well fixed. God forbid that his wife and child would be left alone and unable to continue in a life in which he’d allow them to become accustomed to.

Clara adored Valerie and frequently told her how special she was. Even though Silas had left Clara with ample finances, she was, by no means, a rich woman. Her greatest wealth was in having a beautiful daughter to carry on the legacy of the Taylor family. Determined to mold Valerie into a perfect young lady, Clara made certain that her daughter took advantage of every opportunity available to her. Attending the right schools and fraternizing with the right crowd of people was important. In addition to sending Valerie to the private Country Day Middle School and High School, she made certain to enroll her in ballet lessons at LeClara Knox School of Dance and piano lessons at the prominent Institute of Arts, and she attended sessions at Elaine Powers Studios to enhance her poise and grace. Valerie had lost count of the many cotillion balls she’d danced through and social clubs her mother had insisted she join. She even did volunteer work alongside of her mother whenever Clara felt in the mood to show off.

Valerie appreciated her mother’s interest, though it was difficult always trying to be the perfect person her mother thought she should be rather than the person she wanted to be. Unlike her mother, she wasn’t fazed by a lot of highfalutin ideas. She knew that she had brains and didn’t take them for granted by holding herself above her less-fortunate peers, a trait her mother lacked. Valerie was simply Valerie—a down-to-earth, unselfish, and sweet girl who, with a lot of talent, had developed into an ambitious young woman with dreams of going to college and pursuing a career in languages. She had always been curious about other parts of the world and looked forward to hopefully using her language skills in some foreign country, maybe even becoming an interpreter for the United Nations. With college just around the corner, Valerie hoped to be successful with making her dreams come true.

Valerie’s arrival in East Lansing, on Michigan State’s campus, was one of the happiest days of her life. Her first week of classes was much less stressful than Valerie had anticipated but best of all was that she met Megan Chandler in her English literature class.

Megan was really cool and the first girl whom Valerie had met that she instantly liked. Megan at five feet seven inches and slender with a ginger complexion; dimpled cheeks; dark-brown, marble-shaped eyes; and sandy-brown short bobbed hair had cute looks and possessed a gregarious personality. The two had a lot in common. Valerie planned to major in languages, and so did Megan. Neither had other siblings, and both girls had learned over the years to be independent. Valerie admired Megan’s energetic enthusiasm about most things, and Megan was fascinated with Valerie’s sophistication and sheer brain power. Instantly, they became like surrogate sisters, sharing their most intimate secrets and were inseparable most of the times. Both girls dated throughout their years at MSU, the one difference being that Megan had committed to one steady boyfriend, whom she had grown tight with and hoped to someday marry. His name was Stuart Baker, a student in MSU’s School of Journalism.

Megan’s cute looks and vivacious personality charmed Stuart. She was precisely the kind of girl he could imagine being with forever. Stuart was a man with a decisively intelligent brain behind a rather arrogant manner, always so damn sure of himself. Megan liked intelligent men; and that, plus his six feet of slender physique and strong, distinguished look, was really what turned her on. He was only her second boyfriend, and until him, she had tightly held on to her virginity.

Valerie dated a few guys and had even gone to bed with one of them. But then, the sex wasn’t as good as she expected it to be. The sensational thrill that other girls talked about hadn’t happened for her, not even an iota of the pleasure she’d waited to enjoy. She regretted that she’d let Ron Murphy talk his way into her panties. Along with a nagging curiosity, it had to have been them sexy dark-brown eyes and the way he’d pointed them at her that had melted her into submission. Later, she admitted to herself that the real reason she’d done it was because it seemed that everyone in the world by age twenty had abandoned their virginity. She had begun to wonder if maybe something was wrong with her. Maybe she wasn’t normal like other girls. But thinking a while longer, she decided that all things weren’t intended to be the same for everyone; and obviously, sex wasn’t meant to be all that great and wonderful for her. No sex was better than bad sex, and it wasn’t the end of the world.

Megan and Stuart were still tighter than tight when he graduated magna cum laude with his bachelor of journalism degree from MSU. Immediately afterward, he had no trouble landing a sports journalist position with the Detroit Times, a local Detroit newspaper with a widespread circulation. They made plans to get married after her graduation.

The following year, Valerie and Megan received their bachelor of liberal arts degree; and six months later, it came as no surprise to Valerie when Megan and Stuart set a wedding date. From that moment on, the two girls spent most of their spare hours filing in and out of shops, making arrangements for the wedding of Stuart and Megan. Megan made certain that Valerie was as much a part of the planning as her mom, maybe more. She valued Valerie’s opinions because of her impeccable taste and her broad social awareness. It was like capping their friendship with a permanent seal. Both girls felt fortunate to have the closeness they shared. Life had been generous to them, and they expected it to remain that way forever. With Valerie as maid of honor and four bridesmaids, the guest list would probably be around one hundred, not a large wedding but an intimate one. Megan could hardly wait for the day to arrive, and finally, it did.

Observing Megan’s happiness with Stuart, occasional thoughts of going through life unloved and becoming a lonely old hag crossed Valerie’s mind. Maybe her mother had had the right idea when urging her to attend a predominantly black college, where the male pickins’ might have been greater. She hadn’t agreed then and now was too late to think about it. She assured herself that happiness came in many forms, and someday maybe she’d find hers, the same as Megan.

Chapter Two

Detroit, Michigan - August 1994

Valerie planned to go solo to the Lion’s opening football game, but she welcomed Megan’s phone call, asking to join her. Megan was a football fan, though not quite with as much enthusiasm as Valerie, who enjoyed the game enough to strike out on her own. Megan preferred to have company tagging along.

What about Stuart? Valerie asked curiously. Don’t tell me he’s gonna miss the first game of the season.

He was planning to go, but something’s come up. His editor’s given him an assignment in Cincinnati … something about Joey Falcon, y’know, the guy the Lions traded to the Bengal’s last year. The idiot’s been charged with rape. Can you imagine? You’d think he’d have enough money to buy himself some pussy if he’d wanted it that badly. Hell, I would imagine he could’ve even gotten it for free. I don’t get it.

Neither do I. It’s more like some kinda sick thrill some creeps enjoy.

I agree! Megan replied matter-of-factly. Anyhow, Stuart’s covering the story, and I’m sure he would’ve appreciated if Falcon had waited a few more days before screwing up. Not that Stuart minds doing the assignment, but it’s the timing that’s got him so pissed.

That’s what he gets for being such a hotshot journalist, Valerie teased. Though quite honestly, if I were him, I’d be pissed too.

Early Sunday afternoon, Megan swung by to pick up Valerie in plenty of time to avoid the heavy lines of traffic. It took all of forty-five minutes to arrive at the circular, smoke-gray, concrete stadium, the Pontiac Silverdome, located in Auburn Hills, also known as the home of the Detroit Lions Football Club. Already, the stadium had begun to fill with a noisy crowd of fans brushing against one another, shuffling up and down the isles to get to their seats. The first home game of the season was always a sellout. Attendance amounted to some eighty thousand fans who had anxiously waited all summer for the football season’s opening day.

Their adrenaline heightened with excitement, the two friends pumped up and down in their forty-yard-line seats, their voices ringing as they cheered for their home team. Most especially, their focus was on the Detroit Lion’s pride and joy, Anton Ferrara, the star quarterback for the last two years. Anton had made quite a name for himself. He was the one player that every Detroiter who knew anything about football knew that Anton Ferrara was the best quarterback in the NFL.

Anton at 30, 6’4," and 220 pounds of muscular frame was dark-complexioned with deep dark-brown eyes and movie-star handsome. He was an all-American quarterback from Florida State University and had been a Lions quarterback for the past two years. Carrying the Lions to the championship playoffs during the past two consecutive years had demonstrated his greatness. Not just his exceptional skills on the turf were admired, but watching him in action and his good looks were a bonus. Detroit was known to be an avid sports town. Win or lose, football fans celebrated their heroes like gods. Three and one half hours later, the game ended with the Lions celebrating a victory of 21 to 7.

Valerie and Megan leaned back in their seats, agreeing they were in no hurry, and preferred to wait for the crowd to thin before leaving. They sat gibbering, Valerie’s ears burned with Megan’s brags about Stuart’s brilliance with a few financial investments they’d made. There was no doubt about his smartness, but for Chrissake, let Megan tell it he was a Wall Street genius. Thirty minutes drifted pass, the stadium was near empty. They rose to their feet, ready to leave. Nearly out of the stadium, Megan turned to Valerie and said, Girlfriend, I’ve gotta go pee-pee. I’d rather not try to hold it.

Okay, Valerie agreed.

Wait for me while I run back to the restroom. I should’ve gone before now.

Go ahead. She pointed just ahead. I’ll wait over there, just outside the exit. Valerie sauntered over to where she’d agreed to wait and stood with her arms crisscrossed, hoping Megan wouldn’t be too long. Most everyone had already left the stadium. A few minutes of waiting and watching the few remaining crowd of people stroll pass by, Valerie couldn’t help noticing a man in the distance. His face was familiar, but she wasn’t for certain. As the figure moved closer near where she was standing, she recognized it was Anton, the to-die-for quarterback she’d been admiring all afternoon. He was heading in her direction. She thought of asking for his autograph. But just as quickly as the thought entered her mind, she decided not to. Soliciting autographs wasn’t exactly her thing. The closer he moved toward her, the more she could feel her toes curl in her shoes. It was impossible to ignore his good looks; his lean, iron-muscled body; and his shiny, thick head of slick dark-brown hair. She tried not to be obvious about her staring out the corners of her eyes. Oh my god! He’s heading right toward me. Her eyes blinked with incredulity as he approached her.

Hey there! What’s a pretty little doll like you doing standing here all alone? Not allowing time for a response, he continued, I’m Anton … Anton Ferrara. With a conspiratorial grin on his face, he reached for a handshake.

Like I don’t know who you are. Ump! Instantly, Valerie got a sense that he was full of himself. Hello! she replied rather formally in an almost icy tone, resenting being referred to as a doll, plus the bold way in which he had taken the liberty of walking up to her. I’m not a groupie! Her arms dropped to her sides as she stuck her nose arrogantly upward, her way of letting Mr. Hotshot Football Player know that she was no way a groupie soliciting his attention.

I, ugh … I’m sorry! He smiled, obviously embarrassed. If I offended you, I didn’t mean to do that.

Offend me? I’m not offended, she lied, although the attention was flattering.

Just that I saw you standing here alone. He blushed. Truth is … I just couldn’t help admiring a pretty lady. I felt an urge to meet you.

Somewhat at ease, Valerie softened. She smiled. I’m Valerie … Valerie Taylor, and maybe I owe you an apology for coming off so rudely. Y’see … well … I didn’t know what to think, and … ugh … I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea about me … Y’know? Subconsciously, she licked her lips, a nervous habit. Actually, I’m standing here waiting for my girlfriend. She’s due back at any moment now, she explained.

It never occurred to me that you might be anything but a lady, he lied. Seeing her standing there, he had assumed she might be hunting game. Nice to meet you, Ms. … or Mrs. Taylor?

Miss, and the same to you, Mr. Ferrara. That was quite a game you played today.

Thanks! Please call me Anton.

And I’m Valerie.

Well, you have a good rest of the day, Valerie, Anton said, backing away.

Thanks, and you do the same. Valerie’s heart did flip-flops as she took a deep breath while watching him turn and vanish into the distance.

Most women might have climbed an eight-foot electrical fence to get a piece of him. She had no doubt that he was accustomed to women playing tug a war over him and catering to his whims. Not so with her! Handsome, ugly, or otherwise, the idea of being picked up by any man simply did not appeal to her. Hanging around the stadium doors, waiting to be chosen by one of the ballplayers, had never entered her mind. She had always thought of them as women looking for a split-second thrill, and she wasn’t about that. And not that she considered herself sitting in judgment. It was a matter of preference. Valerie admired athletes but for their skills. She had no interest in scoring with a single one of them, least of all, a white one. Anton was an Italian hunk who was luscious to the eyes, but he was a white man and not exactly of her pickings.

Whew! Now that I’m relieved, I feel better, Megan said, returning to where Valerie was waiting. I’m ready to go.

So am I, Valerie replied. She was on the verge of telling Megan about Anton trying to make a move on her but thought better