LITMIR.BIZ

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to survive this basketball game. Hylan and Taariq were running rings around him today, and Derrick looked ready to kick him to the curb and pick Stanley as his partner.

      But something was changing. Charlie felt it the moment Hylan passed Taariq the basketball and he launched into trying to block the next shot. Sure, he was in shape. He worked out five days a week at his local gym. Pumped iron, practiced kickboxing and swam like a fish in their indoor pool. And every Sunday afternoon, like today, he and his frat brothers got together on the half-court at Derrick’s spacious estate in Stone Mountain for a few friendly games.

      Bottom line: he was in shape.

      So what was this change he was feeling in his body? The same change he’d been feeling since the moment he blew out the candles on his birthday cake.

      I’m getting old.

      Charlie frowned at the continuous thought circling his mind. Trying to dispel the notion, he pushed himself a little harder, ignored a few straining muscles and wiped the pouring sweat off his forehead with the back of his arms like windshield wipers in the midst of a thunderstorm.

      Still, he didn’t feel as aerodynamic as he had in college. Why weren’t his other frat brothers struggling?

      Taariq faked a shot, Charlie jumped and a collection of muscles in his lower back throbbed in protest. Recovering, he jerked to his left, intersected Taariq’s running dribble for a clean steal.

      “Yeah!” Derrick shouted as he did his best to clear the perimeter for Charlie to take his shot. Some people who’d watched them play in the past thought it was a bit odd for the teams to be divided as three on two. Those same people quickly understood when they saw how Stanley epitomized the term: white men can’t jump…or shoot, dribble, block or run.

      “Take your shot!” Derrick shouted. “Take your shot.”

      Charlie took aim and then launched the ball. Everyone stopped to watch its perfect arch. Taariq, Hylan and Stanley groaned when it swished beautifully inside the netting.

      The game tied, Charlie and Derrick whooped in excitement and pumped their fists in the air.

      Charlie took a moment to bend at the waist and chugged in a few deep gulps of air.

      “You okay, hot shot?” Taariq asked, eyeing him up and down.

      “Never better.” Charlie righted himself and forced a smile.

      Taariq shrugged off his concern and turned back to wait for Stanley to toss the ball back into play.

      Charlie’s resentment toward the other guys’ boundless energy returned. Of course, they could be faking, too, he realized. He couldn’t see any of them admitting to the pull of aging.

      Kicking it into overdrive, Charlie tapped into the energy reserves he had left and started zigzagging in between the fellahs. But somewhere along the line, he lost his mind.

      That was the only explanation for his delusion of being like Michael Jordan in 1989 and launching across the court with the song “I Believe I Can Fly” playing in his head.

      Flying wasn’t the problem.

      It was landing.

      The ball swooshed through the hoop, giving him and Derrick the winning two points. However, when Charlie’s feet hit the concrete, his ankles folded like paper.

      “Ooh, damn!” the Kappa brothers chorused and winced at the same time.

      “Owww!” The sound that erupted from his throat wasn’t unlike a roaring lion. But when Charlie looked down and saw the odd angle of his foot, his deep bass disappeared and he sounded like, what Derrick would later call, a wailing banshee.

      “Oh, my God, I’ve died and gone to heaven,” moaned Waqueisha, Isabella’s good friend and Delta Phi Theta sorority sister, as she bit into another one of Gisella’s chocolate truffles. “I know you said the girl was good, but damn!”

      Waqueisha was the epitome of the round the way girl. She wore a lot of hair weave, tight clothes and was still rockin’ bamboo earrings. Despite all that she was a very successful entertainment publicist.

      “Everything just tastes so fantastic,” said Rayne, another soror and a timid elementary schoolteacher. “I want two dozen of these chocolate coconut nuggets. Make that three dozen.”

      Gisella beamed at the women. “Isabella, I can’t thank you enough,” she gushed, rushing to fill the ladies’ orders. “It’s been crazy since that birthday party, and every day I’m getting calls and orders from people that say you’ve recommended my shop.”

      “You can thank me by agreeing to let me be your business partner,” Isabella said. She’d given up tax law when she became Mrs. Derrick Knight and searched high and low for a career change. Since she found her courage and stopped being the person her parents wanted her to be, she’d spent the last year doing some much needed soul searching. She wanted to be involved in something that inspired her and elicited her passion.

      “I’m flattered,” Gisella said, shaking her head. “But going national just seems so grand, oui? I just like things simple. I bake and make treats because I like making people happy. I don’t like making a big fuss of everything.”

      “You won’t have to,” Isabella said. “You bake, and I’ll fuss over the big stuff.”

      “Yeah,” Waqueisha said. “No one out-fusses our girl Izzy.”

      Isabella frowned and Waqueisha shrugged. “What? I was just trying to help you make the sale.”

      Isabella raced behind the counter and draped an arm around Gisella’s shoulder. “Just picture it.” She swept one hand up toward the ceiling as she described her vision. “Sinful Chocolate being packaged and sold in shops just like this one all across America, your grandmother’s recipes putting smiles on millions of faces,” she waxed enthusiastically.

      “And depositing an insane amount of money into your bank account,” Rayne added.

      Gisella smiled and shook her head. “Je ne pense pas. Money is not the most important thing in the world.”

      Waqueisha and Rayne’s mouths fell open.

      “What?” Gisella asked, frowning at the two women.

      “You really aren’t from around here, are you?” Waqueisha said.

      Gisella finally laughed. “Am I really all that different?” She glanced around. “I’ve seen you with your husband. Can you really tell me that the things that truly make you happy are attached to how much money he makes or what kind of car he drives?”

      Isabella’s face flushed a deep burgundy. “No.”

      “You see?” Gisella gave a smug smile to Waqueisha and Rayne. “Material things are what distract people when they’re not following their hearts. Things like family, laughter, food and love are the real keys to happiness.”

      Waqueisha blinked. “Damn. That sounded like it should be on a Hallmark card.”

      Charlie and his frat brothers soon discovered that the emergency room was no place for an emergency. Bored and in no hurry, the E.R. nurses were more interested in exchanging gossip than helping the sick and injured. Instead, Charlie was stuck watching a bunch of unruly children run around hyped up on sodas and vending machine snacks while a loop of the same news from T. J. Holmes and the rest of the CNN weekend crew played every fifteen minutes.

      Finally, Hylan had to ask. “Man, what the hell were you thinking?”

      Derrick, Taariq and Stanley all covered their mouths and snickered.

      “Charlie, you were really feelin’ yourself,” said Hylan, continuing to tease.

      Taariq jumped into the fray. “I tried to tell you those Air Jordans will get a brother caught up each and every time.”

      Charlie rolled his

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