Dirty Old Men [And Other Stories] (Zane Presents)

by Omar Tyree

  She paused, smiled, and giggled. Then she answered, “I guess I am.”

  Khalif felt that was cute, in an Indian Barbie doll kind of way, but definitely not as a first wife.

  Her younger sister, Safika, introduced herself last, standing taller, thicker, and seemingly more stable than her older kin.

  “How long do you plan to remain in India?”

  “Until my husband asks me to leave with him,” she answered. But the sincerity of her answer seemed empty. It seemed as if she were reading from a script.

  Khalif nodded at the end of the introductions and said, “Thank you. I have no more questions.”

  As soon as Shyam’s daughter walked out of the room, Vinod asked his young American friend, “So, what do you think? What daughter do you choose?”

  They all stared at him, ready for his answer. Khalif forced himself to pause. The open selection of a wife was still a foreign concept to him, and one that he needed to have patience with.

  “Ah, En sh’ Allah, if you all don’t mind, could we all have dinner with your daughters without their headdresses, so that I may be around them longer to make my final decision.”

  The Indian brothers all searched each other for their combined agreement. They then began to nod to his request.

  “Sure, sure, we can all have dinner together like a family,” Vinod stated. “In fact, we’ll all sit outside with our wives and daughters and have tea, while the dinner is being prepared.”

  That idea sounded even better. Khalif happily agreed to it.

  “Merciful Allah,” he cheered. “That sounds great.”

  Vinod then called to his housekeepers in their native tongue and told them all to set up the tables and chairs outside in the yard for tea.

  “You drive a hard bargain, my friend,” Kumar commented.

  Khalif laughed it off. He said, “It’s just a little hard to choose a wife after just an introduction and a few questions answered, you know.”

  “Oh, I understand,” the Indian man responded. “It’s a lot different from the many years you spend with a woman in America, right?”

  “Yeah, if they even get married in America nowadays,” Khalif quipped. “Shacking up without marriage is the new thing to do over there now.”

  “Yes, my friend, shacking up is the new thing everywhere. But for old-fashioned businessmen like us, and followers of Islam, a man’s family still represents the stability of his fortune and his moral interests.”

  “All praise be to Allah,” Khalif agreed with a nod.

  When they all gathered outside on the soft, green grass of Vinod’s villa estate, Khalif was allowed to meet their Indian daughters again with their mothers, and even meet a few of their brothers who were present. It was closer to the family gatherings that he was used to in America, but without the bickering. And as the daughters hovered around him amongst the comfort of their family, while making their individual personalities felt, Khalif made certain to view Vinod’s daughters, Saleema and Rani, specifically.

  Rani was the more busy of the two, socializing with her various family members, while Saleema spent more of her time standing still and watching. Nevertheless, her glowing, auburn eyes seemed to cut back to Khalif whenever he moved. She also made certain to give him unobstructed views of her, while never turning her back to him to whisper like her cousins did. When he met Saleema’s attractive mother, Ramshicka, he noticed the second daughter had been the only one to inherit her mother’s auburn eyes.

  “You’re Saleema’s mother?” he noted.

  “Yes,” she told him and squeezed his arm. “She has a very strong personality.”

  “And Rani?” he asked.

  Ramshicka smiled. “She is now the oldest unmarried.”

  Khalif analyzed their mother’s words quickly. Just because Rani was the oldest sister now, didn’t necessarily make her the most loyal to a marriage. She could likely be more loyal to her father and her Indian family, which she was already hinting at through her activities out in the yard. She barely even looked at Khalif, while her cousins gave themselves every opportunity to engage him.

  Well, that makes sense, Khalif reasoned. Their cousins understand that I still have stronger ties to Vinod than I do with their fathers. So they would need to work harder to win my favor.

  However, in contemplation of Saleema’s strong personality, she could also become more of a defiant wife to her husband, much like an American woman. So although Khalif felt the strongest affinity toward Vinod’s middle daughter, she posed a blessing and a curse dilemma for him.

  The last thing in the world I need is another unruly woman. But I’m very attracted to her strength, he admitted.

  Al-Alim, the All-Knowing Allah, please give me a sign between the two daughters, he prayed.

  “Would you like some more tea, Khalif?” Kumar’s oldest daughter, Sunita, asked him kindly.

  Indeed, the oldest daughter will be the more dutiful, Khalif assumed.

  He answered, “I thank you for your offer, but I think I should get my own tea while I’m still choosing a new wife.” Then he smiled at her.

  He did not want to offend her father, Kumar, or lead Sunita on by having her treat him too kindly. He knew that she was not on his short list for a wife.

  Sunita responded to him with a hum, “Nooo, you must understand, that whether you choose me or not, any daughter you choose here today, and you will become part of the family. So it is not just about your choice, but it is about showing kindness to family.”

  That made Khalif even more confused. At age twenty-five, Sunita was the oldest of all of the unmarried daughters who were there.

  She simply speaks from diplomatic authority, he reasoned. But is that my sign? And am I choosing between the wrong daughters?

  When Sunita smiled and left him, Khalif met again with the strong-eyed glare of Saleema.

  Well, why doesn’t she say anything? he asked himself of her frequent stares. I wonder if it’s a shy sister thing. But if I make a move toward her first, then that would tell them all that I had chosen her, or at least that I am leaning in her direction.

  So he continued to be confused. And the prolonged process of marriage was becoming more cumbersome.

  Until finally, Saleema broke away from her cousins and began to head in his direction, only for her father to beat her there to Khalif.

  “I understand how hard this must be for you, my brother. But you don’t necessarily have to make a choice today,” Vinod advised him.

  Khalif eyed him, while watching his second daughter, Saleema, who was now in their vicinity. And he spoke to her Indian father frankly.

  “Let me ask you a cultural question here,” he suggested in private tones.

  Vinod nodded and grumbled, “Sure, sure.”

  Khalif asked him, “If I am not to choose an oldest daughter for my first wife, then how would the oldest then take it?”

  Vinod chuckled. “The oldest daughters are sometimes the most logical choice, but they can also be the hardest choice.” He said, “Ramshicka is the third daughter of my respected father-in-law, Prakash Adoni. And I chose her as my second wife because she was already used to being a younger sister. However, I also thought she was the most beautiful as well. So it all worked out well for me,” he added with a hearty laugh.

  He said, “But I did not want to choose an oldest daughter to be my second wife. I assumed that that would cause many problems in my household. So, if you are indeed ready to choose a second daughter as your first wife, then let that be the only daughter you choose from that family, unless the next daughter is considerably younger than her.”

  Khalif understood Vinod’s logic exactly. There was a cultural pecking order that he needed to understand and realize before he made his decision. And it all made sense. An oldest daughter is used to being first in line, in every culture.

  Then Vinod shared with him in lowered tones, “But in this case, the second daughter would be a good choice for you. Sometimes the most loyal
woman is the one who stays at home.”

  He then looked Khalif in his New York eyes and added, “Although American men may admire the adventurous, traveling woman, it is the woman who understands how to solidify her own home, who often helps a man to establish the confidence and peace of mind that he needs to become more successful in his business, and in his life.”

  With that said, Khalif thought about his ex-wife in America, who was a first-born daughter herself, and who had been spoiled rotten through a most destructive relationship with her mother. Khalif also thought of Ramshicka’s statement concerning her two daughters. And he felt he understood her comments better now. Where Rani, the older daughter, could very easily go astray on her own world missions, it was Saleema who was deemed as the stronger home builder. And her eyes were unwavering in what she wanted. India was her home and family. Life was whatever her family chose to do. And Muhammad would become her new family name.

  Thank you, Merciful Allah, Khalif prayed. Saleema is who I prayed to marry. And I will treat her well.

  So when he turned to find Vinod’s second daughter, Saleema, who stood close by him, but not close enough to touch, he moved in her direction and took her hand in his with confidence.

  Saleema looked into his handsome brown face with those glowing eyes of hers, and she searched his heart, finding that it was pure. He had chosen her over all others.

  He asked her kindly and respectfully, “Do you wish for it to be, for my first Mrs. Muhammad?”

  Saleema smiled calmly and melted his heart again. “Yes, I do wish it.” She had a natural sense of romance and coyness about her that he recognized now. She had devised a way to create the necessary emotions of universal love, even inside the courtship of an arranged marriage. And love her, he would do.

  Khalif felt giddy and hot as he held onto her hand. And he was certain that Saleema felt the positive energy through his palm. He was a satisfied man with a thoughtful and emotional choice.

  Merciful Allah! This is a grand occasion, and a new beginning of my blessed life! he proclaimed.

  Before he knew it, the Siyamesh family began to clap and gather around them in a circle in the yard. Saleema then became bashful and pulled her hand away from him to cover up her tremendous smile.

  “Congratulations!” they all stated.

  “Salee-ma! Salee-ma!” her cousins began to yell.

  “Welcome to the family, my brother,” the youngest brother Shyam stated. “Or should I begin to call you nephew now?”

  Khalif immediately looked toward Vinod’s older daughter, Rani, to see how she would take it. She caught his eye and nodded to him with a smile. Kumar’s daughter, Sunita, nodded to him as well. And Shyam’s oldest daughter, Priya, was too busy being excited for Saleema to even care.

  Vinod took Khalif by the shoulders and told him, “Good choice,” with a wink of his right eye. Then he led him away from the excited women to discuss it more in private.

  “Saleema is so young for a first wife that you would have to wait nearly four years to marry again without causing too many problems in your household. So she is very happy now to have her own so young.”

  “What about her feelings toward being married so young?” Khalif questioned. He still wondered about that.

  Vinod reminded him, “This is not America, my friend. In India, we are not afraid of being married young. A young married couple is a focused couple. Then they go into the world and find their way.”

  Kumar caught up with them in the yard and stated, “You’ve done it. You have restarted the rivalry of cousins. They have always thought that Saleema would be asked to be married first. However, she never seemed as interested in marriage as the rest of them. It must be her romance for an American,” he joked.

  He was a big brother indeed, forever putting his own spin on things.

  Vinod responded, “Don’t worry, Kumar, your daughters will get over it. And maybe Khalif will choose to marry one of the younger ones next time.”

  Khalif chuckled at it himself. But he didn’t plan on marrying too many more of their daughters. If anything, he felt it would be more progressive to link himself to a new Muslim family somewhere else, maybe in the Middle East, or in Africa. But at the present, he was too happy with the prospect of his Indian bride-to-be for his mind to stray too far into the future. And as they were separated from each other in the yard of the estate, they continued to cut looks at each other through the joyful crowd.

  Khalif had not felt that much family love since his younger years of boyhood, and before he knew that family members could have so many ulterior motives.

  Yes indeed! he told himself with swagger. Saleema has plenty of passion in her heart. And she genuinely likes the idea of being involved with me.

  He could read the passion burning through her eyes across the yard, and he couldn’t wait to feel every part of her for the rest of his life. He could already imagine her stating, “I love Khalif Raj Muhammad. I love my family. And I love my life!” And mean every word of it.

  And whether it’s because I’m rich, or an American, or handsome, or whatever. I don’t really care anymore, Khalif told himself as the family continued to celebrate around him. This it what it means to have paradise. And I deserve to have it!

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Omar Tyree is a New York Times best-selling author, an NAACP Image Award recipient, and a Phillis Wheatley Literary Award winner who has been cited by the City Council of Philadelphia for his work in urban literacy. He has published nineteen books with two million copies sold worldwide. With a degree in print journalism, Tyree has been recognized as one of the most renowned contemporary writers in America. Now entering the world of feature films, Tyree is a tireless creator and visionary of few limitations. For more information on his work and titles, please view his web site @ www.OmarTyree.com.

  BONUS—ANOTHER SEXY TREAT FROM OMAR TYREE!

  WE HOPE YOU ENHOY THIS EXCERPT FROM

  “PECKING ORDER”

  AVAILABLE FROM SIMON & SCHUSTER

  CHAPTER 10

  Narcissism

  TO LUCINA’S SURPRISE, two of her girls who were familiar with the Filipino and Mexican crowd of the southeast agreed to work with Ivan. And once Audrey and Christina had settled into the San Diego area as roommates, they were in on the deal as well. A thousand dollars a month to host wealthy, bodacious men during Monday Night Football once a week was an easy decision for all of them. Their rents would all be paid with just sixteen hours of work.

  Ivan even had the girls do photo shoots wearing the featured teams’ opposing jerseys for the flyer, with Pittsburgh and Dallas as their first game. He then had Eddie K. work a deal to feature a sporting goods store on the sports spotlight page of the website, with a promise from the store’s manager to advertise their next sales specials on the site.

  Ivan then solidified commitments from some of the Chargers he had met at the birthday party, as well as Emilio Alvarez and a few of his friends from the Padres, to attend his “Monday Night Football Bash at Raymond’s Hot Spot Lounge.”

  Ivan even invited Julio out, while his neighbor promised to spread the word to more of his Mexican friends.

  Thomas Jones called him from the Urban League offices after he had heard the ads on the radio.

  “So, I see you worked out another deal with Raymond,” he commented.

  Ivan told him, “Hey, man, I had to learn to get back up and ride that horse. It’s too much money to be made over there to leave it alone, you know.”

  Thomas said, “Brother, you ain’t said nothing but a word. Get back over there and make it happen.”

  ON THE NIGHT of the first big event, Ivan left work at the accounting offices early to make sure the large projection television was set up right and connected to the stereo speaker system at the lounge. Before the game started, some of the crowd began to show up after work to catch the ESPN Countdown show.

  Excerpt from Pecking Order (Simon & Schuster, 2008)

  “Make su
re we block off that left corner area as a restricted section for the Chargers and Padres,” Ivan told Christina and Audrey. He wanted them both to work the VIP section, while the two other girls worked the general floor, closer to the Filipinos and Mexicans he hoped would show up to join the crowd. And each of the four girls would spend time at the door passing out I.D. Promotions flyers.

  By game time, Ivan had his wish. Emilio Alvarez showed up with Butch Clayborne, Big Deke Walker, and two other Padres players. Perry Browning, Zee-Dog, and three other Chargers showed up, including Herman “The Big Bad Hitta” Seaford. They all took chairs on the left side of the room, with a few girls and other guys who accompanied them. The Filipino locals, Mexican locals, and local blacks showed up with their money, jewelry, and girls to claim their areas of the room to watch the game. And before the Pittsburgh Steelers had even kicked the ball off, premium bottles of expensive liquor were already being ordered and popped from the tables.

  The lounge was filled to capacity by the end of the first quarter, with a line still waiting out front. A hired cameraman took shots of it all for the website, while Jeff and Paul had other work to do.

  “What do we do when we run out of room?” Ida pulled Ivan aside to ask him near the door. She was pleased with the turnout, but also worried about the overflow.

  Ivan shrugged and said, “They’re just too late. There’s no more room in here.”

  He wore a gold knit tennis shirt under a dark gray sports jacket to keep his professional look, even among the jersey-wearing sports crowd.

  Ida told him, “Well, you need to go out there and tell them something. It’s a whole lot of people still waiting to get in.”

  “About how many?” Ivan asked her.

  “I can’t count them. They’re all over the sidewalk.”

  Ivan walked out to view the crowd for himself. Sure enough, there were plenty of latecomers outside, admiring the luxury and sports cars of the athletes and other high rollers who had arrived early enough to park and make it in. They were also pleased by the girls who walked out to pass them flyers.