The Bedroom
Silence. That long silence when another word could be dynamite tumbling towards a flame.
Apollo stands at the door. Mary Ann sits on the corner of the bed.
The bedroom is immaculate.
Decorated with all the finer things in life they would never have dreamed of when they were young and poor. European-style wood-carved bed. Canadian oak furniture. Persian snow-white wool carpet. Artwork that would have taken their parents at least two lifetimes to buy.
The room is priceless. But this silence reveals what it can't afford.
Apollo bites his bottom lip, staring at the carpet. In any ring, he'd had a thousand words ready to jab. But in this fight, it's all backpedal and cover-up.
Mary Ann stares out the window, the moonlight oozing past the French curtains, bringing out the werewolves in everyone, especially him. But he's not the only fighter in the family. Blood and bones are nothing compared to the cleanup.
To put broken pieces where they once were yet can never be. To carefully plan and prioritize the successful lives of others at the cost of her own. To push when needed, pull when necessary, but, above all, protect the family at all costs.
But this?
This was sacrilege– a gut punch to the woman, the wife, the mother, the worn tape that has held all this together. One dumb little head thinking for the big head.
"When?" She speaks in an even-keeled but cold tone.
Apollo stays silent.
"After the fight?"
He nods.
"Guess you needed to win another round."
Apollo opens his mouth to speak but sees the look over her moonlit face. One of disappointment, shame, hurt, and, if prodded enough, an avalanche. He lowers his head again.
"You pissed blood. I mopped it up. You came to me broken. I fixed you up. Every time Apollo Creed needed to shine the brightest, I was the coal that burned. But it was never enough. My whole life has been about turning into ashes for you."
Mary feels the storm swirling in her stomach slowly rising to her eyes, but she fights it and drags it down as she's been taught from the continual disappointment by the people she's loved and trusted. Her eyes wet.
"You said you wanted to be a different type of black man. A better man. A man who could be a role model, successful, impactful–make a difference. All these lofty dreams and ideas… I'm not sure when the money got to you, when the Apollo Creed the man lost to Apollo Creed the boxer."
Mary Ann turns from the window and glares at Apollo. Apollo doesn't look up. He knows that icy look–the same look he gives when he knows he's unbeatable, undefeated, untouchable. She's the same. That's why SHE chose him, not the other way around.
Mary Ann was different from all the others. She was feminine but strong, soft-spoken but assertive, caring but cautious. He knew whatever games he played wouldn't work when he approached her. So, he tried a different tactic. He was honest: A loudmouth nobody working to be a somebody.
"Trust in me," he had said to her. "Believe in me."
Though extremely guarded, eventually, she did. The wins didn't matter. The work did. The fame, the money, the entourage– none of it affected her. As she had told Apollo over and over again, "I fell in love with Apollo the man, not the boxer."
And for those words and her grace, Apollo knew he may have been king of the ring, but she was queen of the machine. She was the wizard behind the curtains.
"We will tell the kids first."
Apollo looks up in surprise. He begins to open his mouth.
"I'm not DONE talking," she seethes, glaring at him, daring him to speak again. Apollo looks down. "We tell the kids first. Our duties will always be to them."
She breathes deeply. Each breath carrying the hurt but also the clarity she needs. For each fiery pang, the cold comfort needed to make decisions best for family–including him.
"Then you take responsibility. She might be in love with you, might not. I don't care. But whatever she wants, the one thing she won't want is a whole world calling her a homewrecker, a moneygrabber, a whore," she speaks with ice in her tone.
The burn grows inside her again. She takes the long, cool breaths, fanning them gently until they level out. From smoke and mist, she searches for clarity. And from the clarity, the next best thought or action devoid of emotion or attachment.
"You've condemned this poor girl, too. To carry this burden for 9 months. To become something she is not ready for."
Another deep breath.
"You… We… will take care of this boy. We will raise him as our own. We will give her what's necessary to move on with her life and grow under God's grace. But Apollo, if she gets the wrong idea…" Mary Ann's eyes narrow, and all the lines on her face sharpen like icicles ready to pierce. "At the end of the day, I'll make sure she'd rather go 15 rounds with you than a lifetime against me."
Apollo nods his head slowly. He imagines his agent, business partner, and yes-men can come up with the money & support that will make this go away. But he'll have to deal with the media and the fallout, but that's nothing compared to losing Mary Ann.
"Does he have a name?"
Apollo nods. He's never said it out loud before, like a superstition he can never mention or it'll come to life.
"What's the boy's name?"
"Adonis," he whispers.