If It Isn't Love

by Dwayne S. Joseph

  “I’ll tell him you said that. Look, Mama ... I really need to get going,” Monica said, looking at her watch.

  “OK, OK. Just one more thing.”

  Monica sighed. “Yes, Mama.”

  “Don’t stress-breath me, girl. I know I raised you with better respect than that.”

  Monica shook her head. “Sorry, Mama.”

  “Anyway ... I just want you to know your father will be there, and I expect you to respect him. Don’t call him the minister. Call him by what he is ... your daddy. Is that understood?”

  Monica mumbled a soft, “Yes Ma’am,” and didn’t say another word.

  “Go on to your meeting, girl. Make sure you and Bryce don’t forget about my dinner.”

  “We won’t, Mama.”

  “OK. I love you, baby.”

  “I love you too.”

  Monica hung up the phone, surprised by the tenderness at the end of the call in her mother’s voice. For some reason, she had the feeling those three words had meant much more. She raised both eyebrows, then checked her watch again. The conversation had cost her another ten minutes. She grabbed her laptop case and hurried out the door. On the way to her car is when she realized that Bryce hadn’t called.

  2

  Bryce opened his eyes and thought about the dream he’d had. Perhaps nightmare was a better word for it.

  He’d just come home from a night out with his brother, Nate, his coworker and major player, Justin, and his soon to be brother-in-law, Alex. They’d gone to the Latin Palace in Baltimore near Fells Point to get their salsa groove on. Alex, the only Latino of the clique, had turned Bryce on to salsa and merengue, when they met three years ago, which is how long Bryce had been dating Monica, who was Alex’s sister-in-law. It was Alex’s idea to go to the club. Their ladies were having their own night out, so after Alex suggested the place, Bryce called Nate and Justin, and it was on.

  Neither Nate nor Justin were hip to salsa, but they couldn’t argue the fact that Latin women were beautiful to look at. And for Nate, who was married, looking was about all he could do.

  After downing a couple of beers, Bryce and Alex, who refused to be relegated to just looking, danced and twirled with as many Latinas they could find, while Justin ran “mack” lines and practiced what little Spanish he remembered from seventh grade. Nate chilled at the bar. He was determined to stay out of trouble’s way.

  Nate was a lean, but muscular six foot six, and resembled Michael Jordan; only with a faded beard. He looked more like thirty than his actual thirty-nine, and because women found his looks appealing, chilling by the bar was his best bet. Although he was faithfully married to his high school sweetheart, Felicia, he was still a man, and temptation was a beast.

  At thirty, Bryce resembled Nate, only he was six inches shorter, and instead of a shaved dome, he had naturally curly hair kept low and faded at the sides, and unlike his big brother, he didn’t have facial hair. “Pretty Rickey” is what most people called him.

  Bryce’s parents were responsible for his attitude and style. Growing up, he and his brother had never been allowed to leave the house looking any kind of way. Their shoes had to be tied, their pants crisp and held up with a belt, and their shirts ironed and tucked. If they didn’t adhere to those rules, then they weren’t going anywhere. Bryce never minded the fuss. He’d always liked to look sharp; his father always looked sharp. And as Bryce learned early on, women paid attention to a man who could dress. Unlike his younger brother, Nate never cared about fashion and style. He was a blue-collar kind of guy and he liked the blue-collar style of clothing. While Bryce preferred expensive clothing and designer labels, Nate opted for the clearance section and wore no-name brands. He didn’t see the sense in spending an arm and a leg. Nate believed that, contrary to popular belief, the man made the clothes, and not the other way around. And because he never had any problems attracting women, he never spent more than he needed to. But that didn’t mean that he couldn’t dress. Truth be told, Nate could dress with the best of them. Felicia could testify to that.

  It always amused Bryce how his big brother would come out and keep to himself. The only thing Bryce could figure was that after being married for fifteen years, with two kids, going out and chilling with a beer was a much welcomed treat. Bryce knew he would get to that point someday, because he loved Monica, and planned to marry her. That’s why he was looking for a ring. But he loved to dance too. And married or not, he would continue to get his groove on. So he did. Until his feet hurt, and the DJ announced that the club was getting ready to close. When that happened, the fellas went their separate ways.

  After calling to see if Karen would answer the phone, Alex raced home to beat her there. Although they had a good, solid marriage, Karen was still a woman, and Alex chose peace and tranquility over drama. That’s what his father had done, and that’s why his parents were still married.

  By some miracle, Justin found a way to impress a female and left with her to go back to his bachelor pad for an after-hours fiesta. He and Bryce worked together, so Bryce knew he’d get the dirty details the next day.

  Bryce and Nate always traveled together, and because it was better to roll in a Benz than a mini-van, Bryce drove. After dropping Nate off, Bryce went home.

  That’s when the nightmare began.

  Walking in the house, Bryce saw the message light blinking on the answering machine. He figured it had to be from Monica checking up on him. She loved him and trusted him, but she still liked to keep tabs on her man. He smiled. He wasn’t bothered by it at all. At least she wasn’t psychotic with the checkups like the last woman he’d dated had been. The last thing he wanted to deal with was another every-ten-minute-calling-surprise-visitspringing-jealous-of-the-wind-no-trusting-woman.

  Bryce took off his shoes, socks, sweaty shirt, went to the answering machine and hit the playback button. He had only one message.

  It wasn’t from Monica.

  Bryce, this is Nicole. I know it’s been a while and I know that I’m the last person you expected to hear from, but there’s something that you need to know. Please call me tonight when you get in. I saw you at the Latin Palace. Call me. It’s an emergency.

  Bryce sighed, shook his head, rose from his bed, and slipped out of his boxers and trudged into the bathroom to shower. He hated to go to bed smelling like sweat. As the water beat down on his tired body, Nicole Anderson danced around in his mind. She’d been a consultant hired to help the financing department work on Renfroe and Morgan’s budget, a software company Bryce had been a programmer for. Fred Morgan, part owner and Bryce’s boss, was Nicole’s father. Although at the time no one knew that, because Nicole never called Fred, Daddy. He was Mr. Morgan and she’d been the blonde chick named Ms. Anderson. She used her mother’s maiden name.

  He hadn’t intended on it happening, but at some point, Bryce ended up having a sexual no-strings-attached relationship with Nicole on the side, while he dated Monica. It was wrong, but it had been perfect for Bryce. He got to act out his freakiest desires with Nicole, who was only too willing to fulfill his needs, as well as satisfy her own carnal nature; and make sweet, tender love to Monica. He and Nicole met whenever and wherever they could, for as long as they could. Fifteen minute quickies in his office after hours, twenty minute rides in the back of his Durango in any dark parking lot they could find; all day sex-sessions at her place whenever Monica had been away. If they could find the time, they did the crime. But as much as he enjoyed the sexual escapades, he couldn’t ignore the fact that he’d truly been in love with Monica and wanted to marry her. Despite Nicole’s reluctance, he ended the affair.

  That had been four months ago. To his surprise, Nicole kept her mouth shut and didn’t seek vengeance by getting Bryce fired. The only thing Bryce could figure was that she didn’t want her father to know she’d been getting down and dirty with a Black man, and he was fine with that. He was also okay with the cold shoulder and silent treatment Nicole offered. He was looking forward to mar
ital bliss and Nicole being a nonexistent presence in his life was cool with him. So the message on his machine baffled him.

  Emergency?

  If she’d seen him at the club, why hadn’t she approached him?

  Although it was nearly three o’clock in the morning, he reluctantly dialed her number when he got out of the shower. When she answered, he didn’t know what to say, so he said the only thing he could: “You called?”

  Nicole breathed heavily into the receiver. “I’m pregnant.”

  Bryce pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it as though the receiver itself had been the one to utter the words.

  When he placed it back against his ear, he heard Nicole say, “Bryce ... are you there? Did you hear what I said?”

  Bryce cleared his throat. “I heard you. But why are you telling me this?”

  “Because it’s yours, Bryce.”

  Bryce let what she said register for a second. His? Oh hell no! Did she really think he was stupid enough to fall for a line like that? “Look Nicole, I know you’re still upset about me ending what we had, but going this route is really not cool.”

  “Excuse me? You think I’m making this up?”

  “Come on Nicole. You and I both know you’re not pregnant. Let’s not play games here. Now I’m going to bed. And please don’t call me anymore. Go and harass the next man because I don’t have time for your childish shit.” Bryce prepared to hang up the phone, but before he could, Nicole yelled out.

  “I’m not playing any games, Bryce. I’m four months pregnant, and it’s yours. You do the math!” Before Bryce could respond, the line went dead.

  He stood with the receiver glued to his ear.

  Pregnant?

  Four months?

  The math?

  He thought back to their last episode together. Monica had been out of town on business, and Bryce had decided that evening, to tell Nicole he wanted to end their fling. They had just come back to her place after going out to dinner and a movie. Remaining outside of her door, Bryce opened his mouth to tell her his decision, but before he could, Nicole wrapped her arms around him, stuck her tongue down his throat, and groped his instantly erect penis. He thought about pulling away from her, but then figured what the hell. One last fuck couldn’t hurt. But unlike all of the other times, Bryce hadn’t been prepared for the sex. He had no condoms. But again, he thought, what could it hurt?

  That had been four months ago.

  “Damn!”

  Bryce opened and closed his brown eyes again, and rose from his bed. “What a fucking dream,” he whispered. He got up to go to the bathroom to take a piss.

  That’s when he saw the lamp he had busted in his tirade after doing his math.

  Bryce quickly forgot all about the bathroom and the pressure on his bladder, and sat back down on the bed.

  “Shit.”

  3

  Karen eased out of bed and put her feet down on her plush, almost white carpeting. She hated getting up early on Saturdays but she had no choice. She had to look sharp for Monday because top executives from the TBS Network wanted to meet with her to discuss the possibility of taking her Ladies Holla show national. With the success of the Tyler Perry show, TBS wanted to add daytime talk show to their repertoire. Karen hoped to eventually land a contract with one of the major networks. She wanted to be big like Ellen and Oprah. If the meeting went well, TBS would be her springboard.

  She’d always wanted to become a talk show host. As a little girl, she dreamed of being on TV. She wanted to interview people, and make them laugh, cry, and make life-changing decisions the way Phil Donahue had done. Karen always had a mouth and had always been opinionated. Her family called her a natural born talker, and they’d been right. She’d been born with the gift of gab. Undoubtedly, she could talk a car salesman into buying the very same car he was trying to sell to her, and then convince him that having the vehicle would help boost his sales. She’d make him get the warranty too.

  A natural born talker.

  That was the one trait Karen got from her father, who she hadn’t spoken to in almost a year. Karen’s father, the good minister. At least that’s what the people who didn’t know the real man behind the cloth thought. For those who had known him, he’d been a smooth-talking-breast-and-ass-seeking pastor, who could deliver God’s word and make the devil himself, feel the spirit. Karen never took to heart any of her father’s words. From the time she was small, she and her sister had known their father to be a hypocrite. He’d been a womanizer to the Nth degree, and their brother, Jeff, had been just like him.

  The contempt Karen felt toward her father also affected her relationship with her mother. Like Monica, Karen had trouble accepting the fact that her mother allowed herself to be disrespected the way she had been. She never could understand why her mother put up with her father’s roving ways. Because of the lack of respect Karen felt, she never developed a close relationship with her mother.

  She grew up unable to avoid the stares or hearing the whispers about “Those poor children and the spineless wife.”

  Because her father and his exploits had been so well known, Karen left North Carolina after she graduated from high school and went to the University of Maryland. She wanted to be in a place where no one knew her or had heard of her father. She was glad Monica followed in her footsteps.

  Turned off by the example their mother had set, they relied on each other for the strength and determination of never settling when it came to men. Their mother had fallen victim to the life the minister had provided. In Karen’s eyes, she’d sold her soul to the devil. Karen would be damned if she did the same. The last thing she was ever going to do was depend on a man for happiness or material things. Even if that man happened to be the one of her dreams.

  She looked over at her husband, Alex, as he slept quietly. They’d met at the Latin carnival in Miami four years ago. She hadn’t yet had her show and was wasting her mass media degree as a procurement supervisor for Blue Shield. The trip to Miami was supposed to have been her last chance to splurge and vacation, because after the trip, she planned to quit her job and go after her dream. She went with Monica and Maria, her long-time friend from Peru. Although she never listened to Latin music religiously, and didn’t understand a word of the language, she always found the rhythm appealing, the singing filled with passion, and the men delicious to look at. That’s why she went. For fun and pleasure before the hard work back at home would begin.

  She never intended on falling in love.

  Especially with Alex.

  She’d been in line trying to figure out why the vendor had to have the menu in Spanish, when Alex did the smoothest thing any man had ever done for her and ordered her food, paid for it, and ushered her out of the line without ever asking for her name. Alex was take charge and she liked that. The fact that he could have given Julio and Enrique Iglesias a run for their money in the looks category didn’t hurt either. Karen and Alex ended up forgetting that they hadn’t gone to the festival alone, and spent the rest of the day getting to know each other. Ironically, they both lived in Maryland, and before they went their separate ways, they exchanged numbers. They were married a year later.

  Alex was the perfect man for Karen. He was supportive, yet not afraid to disagree because he had his own mind. He was attentive and knew when to cuddle and when to give her space. He expected the same from her. His love was passionate and total, and he made Karen feel as though there was no other woman in the world for him, not just with words, but with actions as well. Karen adored that feeling and craved his love and affection. In her heart, she knew Alex would never hurt her or be anything like her father. That’s why she’d given all of herself to him, and that’s why she was anxious to have his child.

  Just like Mariah.

  Mariah Ortiz.

  She was the only glitch in what would have otherwise been a perfect world. She was Alex’s ex with whom he had a child. Perhaps ex was too strong of a word.

 
Mistake.

  That was a better word because that’s exactly what Mariah had been. A slip-up. An error in judgment. Alex had fallen victim to being a horny, young man who’d been caught up by a pretty face and a smile. Their brief moment of passion produced Miguel, an angel of a son who thankfully looked like his father and acted more like him too.

  Karen adored Miguel. When Alex first told her that he had a son, she’d been immediately apprehensive about getting involved with him. Baby Mama Drama—she’d seen and heard too much of it to want to get involved. She didn’t want to have to deal with exes and their jealous, manipulative, conniving, bitching ways. And that’s what Alex warned her she’d be dealing with. And he’d been right.

  After making the decision to go forward with Alex, Karen got to see just how much of a bitch Mariah was. They’d been officially dating for five months when Karen went with Alex to pick up his son. Still a toddler at three, Alex was going to take him and Karen over to his parents’ house to spend the day and have dinner. Miguel was a regular, but this was going to be Karen’s first time meeting the family.

  The moment Mariah opened the door, she looked over toward Karen, who’d been waiting in the car, and then glared at her baby’s father. “Quien es ella?”

  Alex expected her attitude. “She’s my girlfriend.”

  Karen, who’d kept her window down so she could hear what was being said, smiled proudly.

  “Well I don’t want her near my son,” Mariah countered.

  Alex took a deep breath. “He’s my son too, Mariah, and you’re going to have to get used to seeing Karen. Ya muevete.”

  Karen didn’t know what that meant, but whatever its meaning, she liked it because Alex stormed past Mariah, gathered his son and his things, and came back outside. “We’ll all be back later,” he said, walking to the car with the cutest little boy Karen had ever seen.

  Unfortunately, Mariah’s tirade wasn’t over. She rushed behind him. “Don’t think I’m going to let you get away with this, sucio. Miguel es mi hijo. And I don’t want him near that bitch. Una Negra fea! You should be ashamed of yourself.”