Basketball Jones

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Authors: E. Lynn Harris
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looks like you’re out of blueberry jam but I found some strawberry.”
    “It smells great.”
    “What would you like to drink?”
    “Some coffee.”
    “That’s not good for you, baby. How about some cranberry juice?”
    “So I can’t have coffee?”
    “Cranberry juice.”
    “Why?”
    “Because it’s better for you.”
    “So you know what’s best for me,” I teased.
    “I think I do. Hey, I been thinking that maybe we ought to change our password,” Dray said.
    “Why?” Ever since Dray had gotten married, we had a password that only the two of us knew. If I got a text or e-mail that seemed strange or didn’t sound like Dray, I would ask for the password, and he did the same with me. We changed them every now and then so as not to get caught with some of the sexy messages we sometimes left for each other.
    “Just makes sense. I know women and I know Judi. She usually does her best snooping when she’s been away. I erase all my texts and e-mails but you never know. I still have two cell phones she doesn’t know about.”
    Our current password, which we’ve had since we’ve been together, is “speed bike.” Dray thought of it when he came upwith the bright idea in Atlanta to buy us matching speed bikes that we kept at my house. Now it would be my time to come up with a new password.
    “So what’s it going to be?” Dray asked.
    I thought for a minute and then said, “Basketball Jones.”
    “I like that. What does it mean?”
    “Basketball Jones … I got a basketball jones for you,” I sang.
    “So you got love for me … huh?”
    “Yeah, I got a jones for you, Mr. Drayton Jones. I love you.”
    “That’s what’s up, AJ,” Dray said, placing a spoonful of fluffy yellow eggs onto my plate.

Seven,
    A couple of days after Dray’s homecoming, I walked into Café Du Monde for a cup of my favorite caffeine. It seemed like everybody who lived in New Orleans came here, along with crowds of tourists, so the place was always packed, especially early in the morning when the house specialties, beignets and chicory coffee, were served.
    I paid for my coffee and decided it was cool enough outside to sit on one of the benches across the street at Jackson Square. Just as I reached to open the door, someone called out, “Where are you going? I’ve been looking for you.”
    I turned around and there at a corner table was Jade, waving and motioning for me to join her. She was dressed nicely in a crisp white shirt and a black pencil skirt, and her hair was pulled back in a ponytail.
    “Jade, how are you doing?”
    “Doing well. Why don’t you cop a squat?”
    “Okay, I think I will. I was going to sit in the park,” I said as I took a seat.
    “Too many crazies over there for me. You know what I’msaying? Where have you been? I’ve been coming in here every day hoping I’d run into you.”
    “I had to go out of town. How have you been?” I asked, thinking if she was so psychic, Jade should have known that.
    “Did you go someplace exciting?”
    “I went to your old stomping grounds, Los Angeles, even though I was staying in Beverly Hills.”
    “I bet you stayed at the Peninsula.”
    “How did you know that?” I asked, slightly alarmed.
    “It’s the best hotel in the city. I used to work there part-time in their spa. And you know I’m psychic.”
    “It is a nice hotel.”
    “How is that bitch of a city doing?”
    I took a long sip of coffee. “I wasn’t there long. How is the job search going?”
    “Oh, I got the job as a cocktail waitress, but I didn’t get any of the evening shifts yet. I’m making decent tips at least.”
    “How about that other job?” I teased.
    “You mean giving facials and massages?”
    “No, the one you came here for.” I smiled.
    She smiled back. “I haven’t met my potential husband. I heard they’re not even in New Orleans right now. They’re in some place called training camp and won’t be here until the end of August. But I can wait,” she said

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