A Cold Piece of Work by Curtis Bunn

anyone—well, any women, anyway.
    â€œI need to have my head clear,” he told Ray. “Dealing with women never gives clarity. They only cloud a situation.”
    â€œWell, that’s true,” Ray said, and they laughed. “You’re really serious about this woman. That’s good. You need to settle down— although I’d have to see it to believe it.”
    â€œYeah, me, too,” Solomon said. “But people change, things change. I can change…I think. It’s about being motivated.”
    When game day came, Solomon called Michele to tell her he would pick up her son at 5:30. “Why so early? The game isn’t until 7:30, right?”
    â€œI want him to have the full experience. If we get there early enough, we can eat dinner, get down on the floor so he can meet some players and get comfortable. I hate getting to anything late. That’s a black folk affliction that I don’t participate in.”
    Michele could not hold back her smile. She agreed with Solomon on that issue. It reminded her of one of their first dinner dates. She was late, unable to decide on an outfit or jewelry or a purse. Finally, when she arrived at Marvin’s at 14th and U Streets, Solomon was on his second cocktail.
    â€œYou look great,” he said to her when she arrived. “I see why you’re a half-hour late.” He smiled and her anxiety was eased. But she knew then that he took timeliness as a serious matter.
    So she was hardly surprised when her doorbell rang at 5:29 p.m. “Can I get it, Mommy?” Solomon could hear young Gerald bellow through the door. “Can I get it?”
    â€œAsk who it is first!” his mother yelled back. “You know the rules!”
    Solomon smiled. He felt the mother-son connection through the door. They were tight. They doted on each other.
    â€œHi, Coach Money,” little Gerald said when he opened the door. He wore a Kobe Bryant jersey and a wide smile.
    â€œGerald, good to see you, buddy,” Solomon said. “You look good. You ready to go?”
    Just then, Michele emerged from the kitchen. She did not make eye contact with Solomon. Instead, she went straight to her son.
    â€œOkay, listen to me, honey,” she said while bending over and straightening Gerald’s clothes. It was nervous energy—nervous about sending her child with Solomon and nervous about being in the same room with him.
    â€œYou do what Solomon—uh, Coach Money—says, okay? No running off.”
    â€œOkay, Mom. Okay.”
    â€œHi, Michele,” Solomon said.
    â€œHi,” she responded without looking up.
    Solomon smiled. “Okay, then. You ready, Money?” he said to Gerald.
    Michele looked up at Solomon. “Why did you call him that?”
    â€œOh, well, he reminds me of myself when I was a kid. And this older guy used to call me that.”
    Michele gazed at him. There were a few awkward seconds of silence, with Gerald looking up at both of the adults. Finally, Solomon said, “Well, I guess we’re going to head to the game.”
    Gerald headed for the door. “Ah, wait a minute, young man. Don’t I get a hug?” Michele asked.
    He ran back and hugged her, and tried to pull away. But she hugged him tighter, longer. “Mom, we have to go,” he said.
    â€œOkay…Solomon—”
    â€œI know, Michele. We’ll be fine and he’ll be great,” he said. “I’ll call you when we’re on our way back.”
    â€œCall me when you get there. Please.”
    Solomon left without answering. He and Gerald made their way to Philips Arena. When they got there, he gave the kid the tickets.
    â€œI’m giving you the responsibility of taking care of these,” he said. “You lose them and we have to go home.”
    â€œI won’t lose them,” Gerald said.
    And he didn’t. He was proud to be given such an important job. Their seats were in the