by Omar Tyree
He laughed. “I’m not calling you for that. I’m just calling you to talk.”
“Talk about what?”
“You know, life.”
“Hmmph. You never wanted to call me up and just talk before,” she reminded him.
“That was then and this is now.”
“Oh, is that it? So you’re lonely now?”
“Why I gotta be lonely?”
“Why else are you gonna call me up out the blue and talk about life for?”
“Because I haven’t talked to you in a while.”
“Correction. You didn’t talk to me at all. You just wanted to fuck me.”
He was taken aback by his own truth. The harshness of it.
“Why you gotta talk about it like that?”
“That’s what it was, right? Fuckin’. It wasn’t nothin’ else,” she snapped.
This just ain’t my damn night, Tone told himself.
“So, I guess you don’t have words for me now either then,” he commented.
She laughed at him, knowing that she was on the mark. Tone was lonely and feeling the full weight of it.
“How many other girls did you call?” she asked curiously.
“Fifteen of ’em,” he lied.
“Fifteen? I didn’t know you had that many.”
“Me neither until I sat down and thought about it,” he responded with a chuckle.
“And none of them wanted to talk to you?”
“Nope.”
“So now you’re callin’ me?”
A trap. He backed up from it.
“Actually, I didn’t call that many girls.”
“Don’t lie to me now,” she told him. “So, what am I, number seven?”
He paused. “Seven is a lucky number.”
She started to laugh again. “Not this way it ain’t. I’m sorry, but you gon’ have to try number eight. Because I have to get my life in order.”
“I have to get my life in order, too.”
“Do what you gotta do then,” she advised him.
“That’s why I’m calling you,” he said, losing himself and saying anything.
“That’s why you’re calling me? I don’t have anything to do with your life. Not hardly! We spent maybe three hours at a time together, if that. What the hell are you talking about?”
Damn, women could be rough! Tone was finding out.
“Well, we could start all over again.” He didn’t believe that himself. He was still talking out of his neck and not processing his conversation in his mind.
“Is this some kind of a joke?” she asked him. “Do you work for a radio station now or something? Because you got me, you really do.” She continued laughing out loud.
Talk about humiliation. Tone was hardly thinking about making any more phone calls that night. Not on his life! But he still felt miserable.
He felt like crying to his mommy. And not even his mommy was listening. She had heard it all. The bullshit. About getting his life together. About doing the right thing. About finding a steady job. About staying clear-minded without the Mary Jane sticks, while respecting the house, black women, and himself. They were all tired of hearing that SHIT! Say what you mean, and mean what you say. And accept the consequences of your actions instead of running away like a scared boy who changes his mind every three hours, dashing away from the hardships that he creates like some damn Gingerbread Man! Catch me if you can. Why don’t you catch your damn self, BOY?! …
That’s exactly how Tone felt, like a confused, running-for-his-life boy, who was just beginning to understand that the world was no longer chasing his ass. The world no longer cared, and was continuing to go round without him. Tone had to learn to care about himself, and get back in the ball game of life with new dedication. He needed to try a new system that worked, with a new coach to teach him the ways if he needed it. Because before you can find someone to love, to listen, and to care, you had to have something inside of yourself to love, something to express, and feelings of your own to share right back with them, to show them that you care.
If Tone could cry, he would have. If he had any tears. If men had any tears, they would cry. Every day. Like women. And then they would resurrect themselves. Every day. Like women. Women lived longer and to the fullest anyway. Unless, of course, they were waiting around for the love of a Gingerbread Man. Because a Gingerbread Man like Anthony Wallace would only keep his woman waiting … to exhale … in vain.
Waiting was something Sharron Francis was no longer interested in. She wanted a piece of her pie, like right now! And Anthony Poole happened to be the one guy at that urgent moment whom she wanted it from. Whether he was fully aware of it or not was his problem. Whether he could handle it or not was his problem. Whether he was up for it or not was his problem. Sharron knew what she wanted, and it was him. One hundred percent! She even had his phone number on the job.
“Who is this?” he answered, as oily as an auto mechanic would be on a busy day.
“Sharron.”
“Unh-hunh,” he mumbled, in a what-do-you-want fashion. She was stripping away all of the small talk and getting to his real nerves, something many woman dared not do. Yet, a man was a man, and if he was rough around the edges, it would all come out in time. Sharron was simply speeding up the process.
Why should I let him just play his game with me without having some fun of my own?
She was taking that page right out of Celena Myers’s book. Beat them to the chase. Beat them to the attitude. Beat the man to the sex. Beat the man to the mind. And the man will beat you to the altar. Celena had been asked five times already. Sharron only once, by Sean Love, when making the transition from high school to the university. Celena’s approach seemed surefire, it was just that few women had the courage, or the tits, if you will, to carry it out. Then again, Sharron was in a zone with her chase. And in her zone, she was attempting any and every thing.
“I was wondering if you would mind picking me up from work tonight,” she asked him.
“All the way from the airport?” St. Louis International was on the far northwest, the other side of the city from where Anthony worked at Paul’s Fix It Shop on the southeast. To drive to the airport just to take Sharron home from work sounded absurd.
“We can get a bite to eat,” she offered. “My treat. I just want to see you.”
“What if I can’t make it all the way out there tonight? I’m tired as I don’t know what. I’ve been working on a transmission all morning. Them things ain’t nothin’ to play wit’. Trust me!”
“If you can’t make it, you can’t make. I’ll survive. I just thought I’d ask, since I was thinking about it.”
“So, you just gon’ ask me anything that you think about?”
“Yeah. Why not?”
He smiled. Many women wouldn’t ask. They insinuated. They assumed. They guessed. Or they only wondered. And he was impressed by Sharron again. She definitely kept his pot of mental stew warm on the stove.
“Well, let me think about it,” he responded to her. “I’m not making no promises either. So don’t get your feelings hurt if I don’t come.”
When he hung up, he smirked and tossed up his hands. The boss, Paul Mancini, took in his puzzlement and chuckled at it.
“You got one chasing you down, tiger?”
“Definitely. And you wouldn’t think that this one would be that type. She’s one of those always-thinking women.”
Paul nodded. “I know the type. Before I got married to my wife, eighteen years ago, she wanted ice water in hell. And I was fool enough to try and get it for her. But she hung right in there with me and kept pushing.”
He stopped himself and sighed with a smile.
“Yeah, those thinking women are a lot of work,” he added. “They make you think. And the more you think, the more work you do. That’s why I’m successful now. I’m always thinking of a better way to do something, and I owe that all to my wife.”
Then he walked away, allowing Anthony a chance to thin
k on his own, and to make up his mind on whether he’d drive all the way across St. Louis before eight o’clock to pick up Sharron for a bite to eat after work.
“Shit!” he cursed himself, deciding that he would go ahead and do it. But he wouldn’t let Sharron know. He would just show up at her job and surprise her.
“Was that your boyfriend?” asked the young cashier at the gift shop, minding Sharron’s phone call. She was wide-eyed and ready for girl talk.
Sharron realized the younger woman would never last long on the job. She had been around her type before. The young, flashy women who tried their best to accessorize everything they wore, even down to the dull gray airport uniforms, could never swing it. She would burn out and drift away to another job, like many other unsatisfied young women had done.
Sharron tested the young cashier to see if she was right about her lack of perseverance.
“Yeah, that’s him. He won’t even pick me up from work,” she answered, misleading the younger woman.
“My man would have to pick me up from work. I don’t play that!” the cashier bragged. She had an innocent enough face, but her can’t-miss body would get her into trouble every time with black men who treasured well-roundedness.
“You got him wrapped around your little finger, hunh?” Sharron teased.
The young woman backed down. “I’m not saying all that. But he does know what time it is.”
“How long have you been with him?” Sharron asked her.
“Two years.”
“How old is he?”
“Twenty-nine.”
“Twenty-nine?” she responded with a frown. “And you are how old again?”
“I’m turning twenty-two later on this month.”
“You’re twenty-one then.”
“Right now, yeah.”
Sharron was only turning twenty-four herself. But she felt as if she was twice as old.
“And when does your boyfriend turn thirty?” she asked.
“Well, he’s not exactly my boyfriend. But he turns thirty in October.”
He’s not exactly your boyfriend, hunh? Sharron thought to herself. She knew plenty about older men. They were five times worse than younger guys. Older men seemed to do everything a woman wanted, except be true. Because some of them had hundreds of skeletons in the closet, layer after layer just waiting to give a young girl a heart attack! At least the younger guys were true to their immaturity. Many of them had not found out exactly who they were or how to be what they wanted to be. But older men? They knew who they were. They had plenty of time to find that out. And they became the most fatal poison in the world to young-minded women who didn’t know any better. So Sharron felt sorry for her. The young sister had a lot to learn, just like all women.
“So, he’s been with you since you were what, nineteen?”
“Okay, I know what you’re thinking, that he’s too old for me, right? But it’s not even like that. We started off as friends. And he was helping me out with my problems, you know, understanding my boyfriend and all, who was just way too immature for me. Then we just clicked like that and we’ve been close ever since.”
That’s because older guys have more patience, you fool! Sharron found herself thinking.
“How did he approach you in the first place?” she asked. And to think that they had started off talking about her so-called boyfriend.
“I went to the movies by myself and was crying and everything after having a fight with my boyfriend. And then I met Marcus on my way out.”
She had to hold her comments as male customers crowded the register. Her young spirit, body, and energy teased the eager eyes of every one of the men in that line. What power young, unassuming women had over men. And what power fully assuming men had over young women.
Sharron was afraid to continue the conversation, predicting where it could go. But it happened anyway.
“The first time we did it,” the young sister whispered when the line was gone again, “I had never had an orgasm before. Boy did he change that!”
That’s enough! Sharron told herself. I don’t want to hear any more about it! Please!
However, her co-worker went on, sharing all of her business.
“He went downtown on me and everything.”
Okay, I have to get over to the other store now, Sharron thought.
“Are you gonna be okay at the register over here?” she asked, changing the subject. “I have to make rounds to the other stores.”
“Yeah, I’ll be all right. Are you coming back?” She was actually eager to tell more.
“Ahh, I’ll have to wait and see,” Sharron told her, with no promises.
“Okay. Well, please do if you can. I have some more to tell you,” she announced with a wink.
Sharron couldn’t wait to have her usual workday snack and chat with Celena.
“Would you ever tell somebody all of your business? Somebody you barely knew?” she asked her rhetorically. Of course Celena wouldn’t. She had too much to tell. And unless you knew much of her relationship history to begin with, she would only confuse you.
“Why? You talking about that young girl Nadine who works at the register? She tells everybody her business,” Celena commented with a mouthful of pepperoni pizza. “She was talking about some older man, right? Twenty-nine? Jason or something?”
“Marcus,” Sharron corrected her.
“Yeah, whatever his name is. And he ain’t no damn twenty-nine, either. I saw him pick her up last week in an ugly-ass car with tinted windows, probably to hide her young behind. He looks more like forty. He probably got eight damn kids somewhere. But he totally blew her damn mind. That girl don’t know if she’s coming or going.”
Sharron shook her head with a grin. If there was news to be gotten, Celena Myers would be on it like a seven-digit-income reporter. She was like a witch doctor with her work, seeming to know everyone and everything.
“Well, anyway, how has your day been going?” Sharron asked her.
“You know, it’s just the usual. The guys make dick jokes, and then I talk about pussy.”
Sharron cringed over her slice of mushroom pizza. “God, can I eat in peace? What is wrong with you?” she complained.
Celena chomped down her slice and shook her head.
“That’s how guys talk. So I don’t know why we want to water everything down. They don’t water shit down,” she commented. “But see, that’s why I like my girls Lil’ Kim and Foxy Brown. They just tell it like it is.”
“They tell it like it sells is more like it,” Sharron countered concerning the popular New York rappers. “They sound like real-life sluts. Both of them. They need to take a lesson from Lauryn Hill.”
Celena looked at her and said, “Yeah, you seem like a Lauryn Hill fan. Oh, love me, love me, love me. Learn to love your damn self, girl.”
“You don’t think that Lauryn Hill loves herself? I would think that she loves herself a lot more than Lil’ Slut and Foxy Slut.”
“Oh, now why you gotta call them out their names?”
“Call them out their names? I don’t even know their names. At least Lauryn Hill is brave enough to use hers. That’s because she’s the truth.”
“Aw, so what, girl. She’s more like a singer. All singers use their names. Mary J. Blige. Janet Jackson. Brandy Norwood. You name ’em. In fact, Mary J. Blige is the same as Lauryn Hill. Always singin’ ’bout some love me, love me, love me.
“Those two needed to sing a damn song together, they want to be loved so much.”
“Foxy Brown and Lil’ Kim need to make one, too: fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, they want to be fucked so much,” Sharron countered.
Celena laughed so hard her ribs felt ready to cave in. She had to spit out her food and leave the table from embarrassment. She returned with tears in her eyes.
“For real,” Sharron added, chuckling herself. “Everybody needs love. That’s the truth.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Celena told her, wiping her eyes.
“Eight.”
“You are?” she asked. She expected her to work until midnight.
“Yeah. Why?”
“We might be able to ride home together then. Usually, we work different schedules.”
“Well, you better be ready to go then, because I got somewhere to be later on. So be ready at eight on the nose, or I’m gone.”
Celena had her father’s old car, a black Maxima. However, Sharron still hoped Anthony would take her up on her offer to meet her after work. She could not count on it though. Not yet. She didn’t know him well enough to count on him. Only time would reveal if she ever could. Time would reveal all things. She was forced to wait after all.
When seven fifty-five rolled around with no phone call from Anthony to confirm his pick-up, Sharron got ready to leave with Celena.
“What’s wrong with you?” Celena asked of her roommate’s silence as they drove home.
Sharron shook her head in denial. “Nothing.” That usually meant everything.
Celena shook her head. “I told you to stop chasing this guy like a maniac. You’re riding him way too hard.”
Sharron said, “What do you have, relationship ESP or something?”
“Sharron, I can always tell when you’re thinking about guys. That’s when you don’t want to talk anymore. Then I have to force it out of you. It never fails. It’s the same way with you every time”
She smiled. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“I’m always right,” Celena piped at her.
“I don’t know about all of that.”
“Well, like I told you, this guy is a player. That means that you can’t count of him for nothing. They want to be with you on their time, and on their time alone. That’s why, if I can’t have my way up front, then I don’t even bother with it. And I’ll call the next one up in a heartbeat.”
After they arrived at their apartment, Celena showered and got dressed to go out, while Sharron sulked and wound down for bed, before nine o’clock. She was pissed off, too! Don’t shit seem to work for me! No matter what I do! she told herself, with another book in hand. This time it was Li’l Mama’s Rules by Sheneska Jackson.
