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  Alice shakes her head sadly. “Something like that could strain a marriage to the breaking point. Denmark, have you and Sierra ever discussed having kids?”

  I nod. “We've talked about it a lot more these past couple of years. It's kind of exciting.”

  “I used to want kids,” Alice calmly shares. “Not anymore.”

  Gordon once mentioned that in the first few years of their marriage, he and Alice had made definite plans for children. Then he got famous, the rumors started, and she changed her mind. He concluded that she was just going through a phase.

  “But don't worry,” he'd said, lecherously hiking his eyebrows up and down. “When she comes out of it, I'll be ready.”

  A collective groan rises from the gathering surrounding Gordon. “I'm sorry, folks,” he announces, backing away with his hands raised in apology. “But I need to get back to my lovely wife.”

  “Oh, please,” urges a pouting beauty. “Nobody will believe that I saw you unless I have your autograph.”

  She opens up her blouse, revealing her swelling breasts. Gordon blinks wide-eyed. She hands him a marker, opens her blouse wider, and leans forward as he signs. She whispers in his ear. He whispers back, and she laughs as he finishes with a flourish.

  I quickly look to Alice. She clenches her jaw. “God, please help me turn it off,” she says.

  “Turn what off?”

  “My love.”

  Gordon finishes clowning, then hurries back and sits down, scooting close to Alice. “They were insatiable,” he observes. “Sometimes being famous can be a pain.”

  “Give me a break,” I reply. “You know you love it.”

  Gordon smirks slyly. “Okay, maybe just a little bit.” He hugs Alice around her shoulders, pulling her close. “I'll do whatever it takes to keep this lovely lady living the lifestyle she deserves.”

  “Gordon, all I want is a loving marriage,” Alice offers.

  “And that's what we've got,” he brags. “We're a great team, and that's why we're a success.”

  Alice answers with a brittle smile. He gestures to me. “Did she tell you, Denmark?”

  “Tell me what?”

  “Alice has new flight routes to Singapore and …”

  “Not Singapore, Gordon,” Alice gently corrects. “I'll be working the trips to … ”

  His cell phone rings, and he holds up a rigid finger. Alice quiets herself, and we both listen to Gordon. “Hello? Hey Leo, what's up?” He covers the phone and whispers, “It's Leo Myers, my producer,” then keeps talking. “What's that you say? She did? That's great! Leo, you're the best!” He hangs up, his face ruled by a smile. “We did it!” he crows. “We've been trying for weeks, but we finally did it.”

  “Did what?” I ask.

  “Valencia Burton has agreed to come on my show.”

  Alice and I shrug. “Who's that?” she asks.

  Gordon's appalled. “You two have never heard of Dr. Valencia Burton? You ought to be ashamed,” he jokes. “Dr. Burton belongs to a group called Doctors without Borders. She's been in the Sudan in Africa. The country's been ravaged for years by civil war, and the Khartoum government in the north has been terrorizing black Africans in the south, rampaging, murdering, and selling people into slavery. The village where she was working got raided, and she led about seventy men, women, and children across a wilderness into an area controlled by African Union peacekeepers.”

  “That's awful,” Alice observes.

  “And a great story,” Gordon gushes. “It'll be great for ratings.”

  “What about the black Africans being sold into slavery?” I ask. “Aren't you concerned about them?”

  “If they boost the numbers, I'll love them.”

  I stiffen and take a deep, calming breath. My namesake, Denmark Vesey, was executed in 1822 after being betrayed by someone like Gordon. Alice's eyes communicate her embarrassment to mine.

  “Valencia barely escaped with her life,” Gordon continues, oblivious. He punches numbers on his cell phone.

  “Congratulations,” says Alice. “That's a wonderful accomplishment.”

  “Yes, it is,” I add. “Dr. Burton deserves all the recognition she gets.”

  Gordon frowns in puzzlement, then says, “Oh, yeah, right. Don't worry. I'll make sure she gets her due. She'll have my undivided attention. She'll get the red carpet treatment.” He gets his connection and speaks into his cell phone. “Hey Ned, how's the newspaper business? I'm fine. Listen, tell your bosses at the Plain Dealer to stop the presses. Okay, here it is: Valencia Burton has agreed to come on my show.” He laughs, gives me and Alice a thumbs-up sign, and keeps talking. “Wait, Ned. You're breaking up. Let me go to where there's better reception.”

  He gets up and hurries out, shaking hands and hugging fans on the way. Alice gathers up her belongings. “I need to leave.”

  “Are you okay?”

  She smiles sadly. “No. But thanks for noticing and asking.”

  I sit silently. How can Gordon live with her and not see this? I stand with her as she gets up. “Try to hang in there, Alice. Everything's going to work out.”

  Her eyes harden, and her nostrils flare. “Will it, Denmark?” she snaps.

  I purse my lips and look away. She takes hold of my hand and squeezes. “I'm sorry. Tell Gordon that I'll see him later. I know he's forgotten that I'll be gone for a few days.”

  “How could he forget something like that?”

  “The same way he forgot that my new flight route is from Cleveland to Sydney, Australia, and not Singapore,” she sighs. “It's no surprise that he got it wrong. I'm not part of his adoring public or a guest on his show. What I say doesn't matter.”

  “Alice, you're all the adoring public any man would need.”

  She smiles. “You're sweet, Denmark. I envy Sierra.” She glances at her watch. “Well, I'd better go. My bosses have no sense of humor when it comes to being late.”

  “Take care, Alice.”

  She gives me a quick peck on the cheek, turns to leave, then faces me again. “I want to give you something,” she says, pulling a business card from her purse. “This has all my updated contact information, including my voice mail. I always check my messages as soon as I get to the hotel where the flight crews stay.” She looks hard into my eyes, again looking straight to the center of my mind. “Denmark, if you ever feel like being as good a friend to me as you are to Gordon, give me a call.”

  EIGHT

  Harry and Gordon aren't yet at the table, so now's a good time to try and make sense of this morning's events. The wives of my two best friends are miserable. One threw herself at me, and the other practically asked me to bust on her husband's cheating action. At least Harry knows Inez isn't happy, but Gordon's unbelievable. The ice beneath his feet is so thin it's not a question of “if” but “when” it'll crack. And I wonder: is Sierra secreting some heartache, dissatisfaction, or resentment about me? She seems happy, but is she really? Let me stop being stupid. Sierra knows I love her with every molecule of my being.

  I hear whistling, look up, and see Harry high-stepping in my direction. “It's been a good day for makin’ money,” he announces. “And it's not even noon.”

  I glance at my watch. It's ten after ten. If these guys don't hurry so we can eat breakfast, I'm leaving. I still need to stop in at work, take care of my business, and leave in time to prepare for my celebration with Sierra.

  Gordon pokes his head from around the corner and swaggers in, grinning and gesturing back toward the main dining area. “I saw Alice go, but I was still on the phone,” he says, sitting down with me and Harry. “She's a good woman.”

  “Then how could you flirt like that in front of her?” I ask.

  “Alice knows me,” Gordon says, grinning. “I'd never disrespect her.”

  Harry sits back and crosses his arms over his chest. “Well, then, you're lucky she believes all them lies you feed her about other women.”

  Gordon's expression hardens. “You know, Harry
, sometimes you can be a real pain!”

  “You want pain? I'll show you some pain!” Harry challenges, his eyes narrowed.

  Gordon flips him the bird. Harry reaches for Gordon's wrist. I grab Harry's shoulder and shove him back.

  “Knock it off!” I order. “What's up with ya'll? We're supposed to be meeting for breakfast, not combat.”

  Gordon glares. Harry scowls. And then with the skill he's perfected into an art, Gordon defuses the crisis by slipping into his TV persona self. “Denmark's right, H,” he says, forcing a hollow laugh. “I'll beat you down after I've had some grub.”

  “You wish you could beat me down,” Harry growls.

  Gordon's star smile dims. “Harry, are you really mad with me about something?”

  “He's mad about Inez jamming a broom up his butt for getting on her nerves,” I quickly interject. “You know the only thing that gets this clown pissed off is his checkbook not balancing.”

  “Or some sucker messin’ around with my wife!” Harry adds, speaking low and threatening.

  “Well, it's lucky for you that Gordon's too sad and trifling to interest a woman like Inez,” I say.

  I stare hard at Harry, narrowing my eyes slightly. It stinks that Gordon cheats on Alice with the regularity of a sunrise, but that doesn't mean he's doing Inez. I'm not letting Harry poison this friendship when all he's got is suspicion. If he gets proof, I'll help him drag Gordon out back and supervise the beating. Until then, he's going to follow my program.

  “Denmark, who're you calling sad and trifling?” Gordon quips, chuckling. “You're an okay guy, but you'll never be as wonderful as me.” He gestures to Harry. “Even hammer-hands Harry has more class than you.”

  Gordon's extended the olive branch, but Harry's not having it. I clench my jaw and mash Harry's foot with mine beneath the table. He glances at me, sits back, and finally loosens up.

  “My balls have got more class than either of you two suckers,” Harry responds.

  “H, statements like that are proof that you're doing drugs,” Gordon laughs.

  This exchange of jibes is feeling better, and I'm glad Harry's getting with the program.

  “Man, I know the service is slow in this joint, but this is ridiculous,” Gordon comments, glancing at his watch.

  “For real,” I agree. “Somebody better come soon, or I'm gone. I've got things to do before tonight's celebration.”

  “What celebration?” Harry asks.

  I roll my eyes. “C'mon Harry, I told you about my anniversary.”

  “That's right!” Gordon exclaims, smiling large. “Man, Sierra's going to be speechless.”

  Harry snaps his fingers. “Now I remember! You're taking Sierra to the Sapphire Spire, right?”

  “Yes,” I answer, nodding. “And that's just the first of my surprises.” I lean forward and look hard at them both. “Sierra will be surprised, won't she?”

  Gordon crosses his heart and gestures like he's zipping his lips. “My lips have been sealed,” he assures me. “I haven't said a word.”

  “Me neither,” Harry quickly adds. “Besides, if I'd said something, you'd'a heard about it from somebody who'd been jabberin’ with Inez.”

  I sit back and relax. “Okay, you guys. Thanks for keeping it a secret.”

  “So how many years will this make for you and Sierra?” Gordon asks.

  “Five,” I proudly answer.

  “I've been married to Alice for twelve, and it's been a ball,” he crows.

  “I've been married to Inez for three, and it seems like forever,” Harry says glumly.

  Gordon gestures to me. “Okay, Denmark. The Sapphire Spire restaurant's classy and expensive but get to the juicy stuff. What else are you planning to do?”

  “It's already in motion,” I answer. “Sierra's down at Salina's Spa and Boutique getting their top-of-the-line Encounter.”

  Harry and Gordon exhale slow, low whistles. “Life in the automotive retail business must be good,” says Harry. “I've told Inez she better not drive within fifty miles of that place.”

  “What's good is my life with Sierra,” I correct.

  Harry purses his lips and looks down at the table. “It must be nice,” he sighs.

  I describe how the concierge and servers at the Sapphire Spire will treat Sierra like royalty, the special serenade I've ordered for her, and the diamond necklace I'll put around her neck at the end of the evening.

  “And then there's Vegas,” I continue. “You guys are still coming, aren't you?”

  “I'll be there with bells,” Harry answers.

  Gordon nods enthusiastically. “I'm looking forward to it.” He looks slightly glum and says, “Alice has to work.” But then, quickly perking up, he adds, “but not to fear. I'll make sure to have enough excitement for her and me.”

  “I just bet you will,” Harry quips.

  Gordon scowls, and I speak quickly before he and Harry start sniping again. “The best part will be our trip to Hawaii afterward. Sierra's never been there, and I'm psyched about introducing her to something new. It's usually the other way around.”

  Harry shakes his head. “This must be costin’ a bundle. I'm in love, but I ain't that in love. How'd you get it all hooked up?”

  “It wasn't all that hard,” I reply. “Phone, e-mail, and a travel agent made it easy.”

  “Speaking of getting things ‘hooked up,’” Gordon redirects, “we need to figure out who's going to be running in the number three spot this year.” He looks at me. “You're still running the anchor leg—right, Denmark?”

  I nod. Gordon knows I will. He and Harry are fast, but I'm faster. The anchor leg is the final portion of the 4×100 relay. It's the money segment. Each team puts its fastest person there to chew up the final hundred meters to make up for any slowness in the first three legs. The anchor is where the race is either won or lost.

  “It's too bad Mason Booker had to drop out,” Harry laments. “He was fast, and a pretty nice guy.”

  “You've got that right,” I confirm. “Mason's old-style Southern gentleman. He believes in all that stuff about duty, loyalty, and honor.”

  “Does he also duel at sunrise?” Gordon asks, smirking.

  Harry and I chuckle, but then I answer Gordon seriously. “No, he just believes in treating people right. His volunteer work as a community liaison with the Cleveland Police Department is one of the main reasons the cops are treating people from inner city hoods with more respect.”

  “I know he only practiced with us for a short while,” Gordon soberly observes, “but he never mentioned any of this.”

  “That's Mason for you,” I say. “He does what has to be done, and keeps on moving. He's not out for glory, just results.”

  Harry snaps his fingers. “There's a guy who lives over near Loudon Circle and works on my night janitor crew. He says Mason's the real deal, a straight, standup kind of brother.”

  Gordon frowns. “If he's so wonderful, I should've heard about him. He'd be great to have on the show.”

  “You'd better tell the people in your research department to get on their J-O-B,” Harry gleefully chides.

  Gordon nods in agreement, cheating Harry out of the joy of his attempted irritation. “Anyway,” says Gordon, “we still need to find a fourth runner. Do you guys have any ideas? Got any names?”

  “It's only three weeks away,” Harry observes. “That's not much time.”

  We settle back and wait on our food while discussing how to best win the 4×100 relay a few weeks from now.

  NINE

  I pull into the parking lot of the revitalized Henderson Village strip mall, where Speed Shift Auto Parts’ newest, most profitable store is located. Along with being a place of retail, it's my base of operations. I park, get out of the Corvette, and see a familiar, grubby sight. It's Burned-out Bobby, a medium-height, very round, scraggly white-bearded homeless guy I've helped out from time to time.

  Bobby's standing down on the corner at the far end of the parkin
g lot. He spends most of his time there, but I've seen him other places around town, some pretty far from Henderson Village. I've always been slightly amazed that he gets around so far, so often.

  He's dressed in his usual two layers of dingy clothing, which should leave him roasting in this heat, but he doesn't seem to mind. As usual, Bobby's holding a cardboard sign and pointing to its message whenever cars pass. I can't see what it says, but I'll bet it's good. Bobby's always got a different slogan that'll either get me laughing or leave me thinking. His last one read: “I used to be you!”

  I can't resist seeing what his message is for today, so I hurry down to Bobby, pulling a twenty-dollar bill from my wallet on the way. “Hey Bobby,” I greet him, getting close. “Where've you been?”

  “Here and there,” he answers in a wheezing voice. He keeps his eyes on the road, watching and waiting for the next car or group of cars.

  “So what's the good word for today?”

  He turns so I can read his sign. It says: “Live, laugh, love.”

  I'm fully alive, I'm very much in love, and Bobby's sign so accurately describes my happiness that it leaves me laughing. I hand him the twenty. “You take care of yourself, Bobby. Will you have a new sign tomorrow?”

  “Guess so, maybe.”

  I tell Bobby good-bye and stride off briskly into work. I could almost envy the open-endedness of his responsibility-free life, but he's also dealing with some material hardships that I've gladly left behind. And then there's Sierra. My world may be cluttered with meetings, sales projection targets, employee disciplinary hassles, and a myriad of other management headaches, but Sierra's worth every pain, frustration, and challenge I have to endure.

  I walk in to the store and see Keith Billings, the store manager. “What's up, KB?” I ask.

  “You've got it.”

  “Talk to me about cash flow.”

  “The river is deep, wide, and rushing with federal green.”

  “Sounds like my kind of flood.”

  “And the water can't get too high.”

  “Say that, my brother.”

  We slap each other five and I quick-stride to the back of the store and up the few steps into my office. The phone's ringing, and I hurry to answer. “Speed Shift Auto Parts: Denmark Wheeler speaking.”