Baddest Apple

by Nisa Santiago

  “You tired?”

  “No, I’m good.” Melinda lifted her eyes open wider, not wanting to give him any reason to leave. “You want some steak sauce?”

  Kamel shook his head and reached out for her. She got up and came willingly. He hadn’t been fussed over and catered to in a long time. He knew he was using her; he would never leave his wife. Kola, he loved. She was a woman he would die for and shamefully, Melinda’s good loving allowed him to stay with his wife. She was the bridge he walked over to get to the other side of his loneliness and feelings of rejection. He and Kola were going through a rough patch right now, but he did see things leveling out and getting back to normal one day. Melinda undid her robe to reveal her temple. Her body was something special—curvy and thick in the right places, dark-chocolate, smooth, and supple. She was insatiable, but Kamel knew how to tame her. Melinda sauntered to her bedroom, her ass jiggling with each step. Kamel followed her while undressing himself. His pullover hit the floor and he stepped out of his jeans, hopping one leg at a time until he was free. His designer boxers came off last. Kamel stood before her, muscles flexing and dick fully erect with a condom in his hand.

  Melinda crawled onto her bed, positioned herself on her back, and spread her thighs for him. She slid her panties off, tapped her pussy, and moaned, “C’mon baby, eat.”

  “Could we not do this tonight?” he asked as he rolled the condom back on his penis. That level of intimacy was reserved for Kola. “I told you from the gate that I don’t go down.” And then he added, “I’m married.”

  That last line nearly ended her. Married! The small word with the tremendous meaning had eluded her throughout her twenties. Melinda was now thirty-one and no closer to walking down the aisle than her twelve-year-old niece. It took all her power to not burst into tears; his remark was a dagger to her heart. What was she doing? Why had she reduced herself to being a mistress? Her parents had taught her better. Growing up she vowed to never be someone’s baby momma, jump-off, or sneak fuck. She frowned upon such women and their woes and had less than kind words to sistas who found themselves in those compromising positions. Now she was the pot and the kettle, blackening her days with a street thug with good dick. Why couldn’t Kamel see she could be so much more to him? What did his wife have that she didn’t?

  Melinda was what most would consider a freak. She had sucked Kamel’s dick without provocation and loved it. She enjoyed giving head, seeing pleasure written on his face when she glanced up from his nether regions. Melinda loved the control she felt when she deep-throated her man. And yet, it wasn’t reciprocated. He was a selfish lover with her. The more he refused to eat her out, the more she wanted it. Melinda had wet dreams of Kamel going down on her and waited for the day when his wife discovered the affair and called so she could brag about how good Kamel ate her pussy. Wasn’t that the coup de grâce of all clapbacks?

  Kamel could fuck for hours and would give her multiple orgasms, but tonight she could no longer place her pride on pause while all of Kamel’s needs were met. Each time his cell phone rang and it read Mrs., it chipped away at her self esteem. If she stayed in this relationship a day longer, she would have none left. It would have dissipated with her lifelong search for satisfaction. Melinda needed this to end. She closed her legs and got dressed.

  “I can’t do this tonight,” she began. “I have to be to work early.”

  “Because I won’t go down on you?” he asked, incredulous.

  “Because you won’t be honest.”

  Kamel was irritated as he stood butt-naked literally with his swollen dick in his hand. And then he saw her tears. Kamel was gutted, but he couldn’t do what she wanted him to do or say what he knew she needed to hear. He quickly got dressed as she stood impatiently waiting for him to leave. Melinda wanted Kamel to beg her, to say he loved her and would leave his wife. She wanted him to make love to her and hold her throughout the night and not creep out before dawn. In those awkward, uncomfortable moments she wanted him to lie to her.

  “You wasted my time, Kamel. You were never going to leave her!”

  “It’s not like that. She needs me; she’s sick.”

  “Stop,” she yelled. “Stop with your lies, Kamel. One moment you’ve filed divorce papers and the next second you’re repping your ring finger. If you’re truly leaving her, if you want to be with me, then stay with me tonight. We can work out the details in the morning.”

  Kamel knew Melinda was a good woman when he had met her. He didn’t want to corrupt her or force her into a box where she didn’t belong, but she was so smart, so sexy, so irresistible with just a hint of gangster. He was only looking for sex and could have easily found comfort between the thighs of a stripper. However, he was getting older, and the likelihood of having enough patience for random, vivacious strippers was slim. Kamel went looking for a grown woman and found everything he needed in Melinda.

  The silence felt like an airborne toxin had been released. Melinda was self-destructing right before his eyes. She crumbled to the floor because she knew she didn’t have to tell him to not come back. She saw in his eyes that this would be their last rendezvous.

  25

  Jorge and Gabriel were lying naked in their comfortable bed together after just having some great sex. Jorge had to prove to his partner that he wasn’t cheating thanks to his son and his big mouth. Gabriel wanted to cuddle with his partner and have some pillow talk when someone knocked on their door. They had company.

  “Are you expecting someone?” Gabriel asked Jorge.

  “No.”

  “It’s ten o’ clock at night. Who would be dropping by at this hour?”

  Jorge shrugged.

  Gabriel donned a long robe and Jorge removed himself from the bed, put on something decent, and followed Gabriel into the living room toward the apartment door.

  Gabriel glanced through the peephole and smiled out of the blue. “Jorge, it’s Malcolm.”

  Jorge’s face carried a look of surprise. “Malcolm? On a Wednesday?”

  Gabriel couldn’t open the door fast enough to let his favorite person inside the apartment. He made sure that he was decent first, tying his robe together. The last thing he needed was to greet Malcolm with a swinging dick.

  Touch walked in and both men smiled.

  “Malcolm, what brings you here at this hour?” Gabriel asked.

  “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by,” he replied.

  Touch walked farther in to the apartment and took a seat inside the living room without being invited. He sat back and stretched his arms out on the couch’s headrest and got comfortable. Both Jorge and Gabriel didn’t know what to expect.

  “You’re spying on us?” Jorge asked him.

  “Nah, not at all.”

  Gabriel sucked his teeth. “Of course he’s not. He’s just coming around to see us because he’s lonely. Malcolm, when you going to get yourself a nice girl and settle down?”

  Jorge snorted. “Settle down? My son? Never gonna happen. He too fucked up in the head.”

  “Courtesy of you and my mother.”

  “You can’t blame me for what your mother did to you.”

  “That’s what happens when a gay man marries a straight woman. She cheats,” Touch said.

  Jorge placed the palm of his hand to his forehead and counted to ten. It was his learned way of quieting the storm that was brewing. Was his son condoning his ex-wife’s behavior? After all these years the one thing both father and son could agree on was that she was the culprit in that situation. Jorge swallowed his temperament and with a calm, level voice he said, “I guess you’re right about that.”

  Touch didn’t come to argue; he came to spend time with his family. “Y’all hungry? I can order some Thai food.”

  “This time of night?” Gabriel asked.

  “Yeah, why not? No one has work in the morning.”


  Jorge and Gabriel were out on full disability benefits from their former jobs, both complaining of some ailment or another. It was an old school hustle. If you were born in the fifties or early sixties then either you or someone in your immediate circle would pull this.

  The trio ate the Thai food in harmony before Touch surprised the couple by saying he was spending the night. Gabriel was thrilled, but Jorge, not so much. Touch made himself comfortable on the couch with a blanket and pillow and drifted off to sleep. Three hours later he was wide awake.

  Jorge snaked through the living room, trying to not wake his son, when he heard, “Where are you going?”

  The sound crashing through the silence of the night nearly caused him to have a heart attack. Jorge placed his hand over his heart and said, “You scared me.”

  Touch repeated, “Where are you going?”

  “You know I’m an insomniac.” He then looked at his son, who was fully dressed, and asked with a raised eyebrow, “Where are you going?”

  “Nowhere,” Touch replied. “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Neither could I.”

  Touch grabbed his jacket and said to his father, “Wait up. I’ll walk with you.”

  26

  Peaches stood at the front door with her overnight bag and backpack with a huge smile. Apple had just pulled up into the circular driveway and tapped on the horn. It was late, nearly ten in the evening, and Kola had so many issues with this exchange. Her sister had all day to come and pick up her daughter. She’d had months to arrange to have the children full time. Apple was still making excuses, so much so, that Kola just stopped asking.

  Kola walked Peaches to the passenger’s side door and peered in. “Junior and Sophia are mad with you,” she said.

  “I know, but tell them next time. I want Peaches one-on-one. Maybe I’ll pick them up next week.” Peaches was spending a few nights with her mother, and the young girl was so excited.

  Kola nodded and gave Peaches a quick hug before helping her into the passenger’s backseat. Apple watched her sister like a hawk. She seemed withdrawn and sluggish. “Hey, you good?”

  “I’m getting by.”

  Apple said what she always said, “Let me know if you need me.”

  Kola went back inside and watched as Kamel came out of the shower. His monogrammed towel hung low around his waist, his deep V on full display. He reached for the whipped shea butter and coconut oil blend that Kola had mixed and massaged in the moisturizing lotion. The thin layer of balm gave his skin a glow. With little thought, he grabbed his favorite cologne, Tom Ford’s Black Orchid, and squirted the expensive liquid to all his pulse points—wrists, neck, and chest. Kamel walked around their bedroom readying himself for an outing almost oblivious that Kola was watching him like a hawk. She gawked as he popped a few tags off some clothing. Whoever he was going to see, he wanted to look like money. Kamel put on his most expensive drip—platinum Rolex watch, diamond cross and Jesus chains, and a two-carat diamond pinky ring.

  Kola sat on the edge of their marriage bed and studied her husband. His concentrated focus was almost something she envied. For some time now she had felt scattered, like she was broken into a million tiny pieces—a shell of her former self. She was forewarned of the side effects drugs can have when treating a mental health disorder. Kola was dealing with depression, post-traumatic stress, and social anxiety disorder, all triggered by the loss of her son.

  Her therapist had prescribed Prozac and then monitored her for success. When Kola kept exhibiting unhealthy signs of depression, feeling withdrawn, and mood swings, the medication was switched to a cocktail of Zoloft, Ambien to help her sleep at night, and Xanax. With mental health, it takes time to find what works for each person, and her therapist counseled her to alert him if she experienced personality changes.

  Kola cared less about the present as her mind kept traveling back to the past. This new drug mixture had her fucked up too. During the day she was drowsy and found it hard to concentrate on menial tasks. Her head was always buried under her covers and she pleaded with the children and her husband to not disturb her while she was resting. Kola had lost her appetite and had dropped a substantial amount of weight. Kamel would complain that she wasn’t eating enough, just picking at her food until ultimately throwing her food into the trash.

  Some days she was irritable, other days she was overly gleeful. At night she turned into a zombie—wide awake, roaming the house doing shit. Kola would start her nights cleaning while chain-smoking nearly an entire pack of Newports. And then when the house was quiet, she would sneak out and go to the cemetery to visit with Koke. Kola wrestled with her son lying alone in the ground without his mama.

  Finally, she noticed that she was spending long hours out, and when she came home, Kamel would outstay her. His business meetings went from five hours to six, and now he was maxing out at seven hours gone.

  Right in front of her were clues that her husband was having an affair, but all she felt at that very moment was relief more than anger. Kola had no desire to make love to him. Her sexual appetite had been suppressed, and she couldn’t remember when he had made a real effort to touch her. She asked, “When was the last time we fucked?”

  The random question halted his movements. Kamel turned around to face her, and their eyes clashed. His fury simmered, like a slow burn in the pit of his stomach, growing with each silent second. Kamel’s guilt had manifested into anger; it was self-preservation. He’d rather be angry with Kola for suspecting he was cheating than allow his guilt to consume him. It was a defense mechanism, and he would use it.

  “Fuck you trying to say?”

  “Watch your mouth, Kamel. I may be flying with a broken wing, but I’m not broken. I will still fuck shit up if I have to.”

  Kamel knew how he could end this real quick. “Do you want to make love?” he asked her, dropping his towel and allowing his large dick to swing low.

  Kola released a long sigh; it was an exhausted moan that personified her ambivalence toward the situation. She only wanted to know so she could discuss this with her therapist. Kola wasn’t so doped up that she wasn’t aware that had her mind not taken a sharp left turn, then she would have murder on it.

  She asked him straight up. “Are you having an affair?”

  Kamel chuckled nervously. “This is business, Kola. You know how important building my construction company is to me. These politicking hours I’m keeping so I can build. You know all day I’m here wit’ you and the kids. How I got time to be smashing someone?”

  She warned. “I won’t be like this forever.”

  “What that’s supposed to mean?”

  “It means cancel that bitch before I do.”

  “Here we go,” was his dismissive response.

  Eduardo Jr. and Sophia could still be heard playing games in their rooms. “Are you going to put them to bed?” he asked, as he began ironing his clothes.

  “You do it.”

  “Kola, you see I’m on my way out.” Kamel was tight.

  “Put them to bed . . . or not,” she said and shrugged.

  Kola stood in the doorway of Junior’s room and watched her little king count sheep. He was the spitting image of his father. Next, she walked to check on Sophia, who also was sleeping peacefully. Kola wasn’t so lucky. She had taken two Ambiens but had only managed to clean the house from top to bottom. She needed her son.

  Kola arrived at the cemetery and parked on a side block. It was closed this time of the morning, so she had to scale a small wall. This was routine, so she was dressed accordingly in jeans, sneakers, and a hoodie. She kneeled down and placed her lips on his cold headstone before lying on her back, staring at the stars. She rarely said much during her visits. She would just sob for hours before eventually heading back home.

  Oddly enough, the cemetery was where she felt safest.

  27

>   The fire department, police department, and a coroner’s van were all camped on Kola’s property. She had pulled up to her residence and walked directly into chaos.

  A uniformed cop stood protectively at her front door that had the yellow tape that read, “Biohazard.” He placed a firm hand up and said, “You can’t go in there.”

  “What do you mean? What’s happened? Where is everyone?” Kola’s voice was low and shaky.

  “Who are you?”

  “This is my home. Where’s my husband? Where are my children?” Her voice was now more assertive. Kola was Mama Bear looking for her cubs.

  “There’s been an accident—”

  “Yo, Ko-laaaa!” Kamel yelled. She spun around toward his voice and was confused as to why he was sitting handcuffed in the back of an unmarked police car. Kola ran to him at once. She reached to open the door, but it was locked. The windows were cracked a couple inches, and that’s how they were able to communicate. Kamel had been sitting in the back of the police car since nine that morning, and it was slowly approaching three in the afternoon. With two dead children, the detectives treated him like shit. His legs were cramped, his wrists were swollen, and he was sweating profusely from the lack of air circulation. “Baby girl, I got some bad news.”

  “Why are you arrested?”

  “Look, ma, we don’t have a lot of time. There was an accident, and Junior and Sophia,” Kamel’s voice cracked as he tried to hold back his emotions. He needed to be strong for his wife. “The basement—I fucked up. Carbon monoxide leaked, and Junior and Sophia didn’t make it.”

  “What? What are you saying?”

  “They’re gone, Kola.”

  Kola smirked. “Gone?” She didn’t understand what that meant. “Where’s Junior and Sophia?” she repeated.

  “Kola, listen. Wake up! I need you to focus. I already gave a statement that you spent the night at your sister’s and that it was me who left the kids alone. I told them I had only stepped out for a moment—”