Head Games

by Mary B. Morrison

  “You still in love with whatever her name is?” I said that to mess with him.

  “I got some shit y’all will never believe unless I showed you,” Dallas said, unfolding a piece of paper. He slid it to me.

  Wow, it took almost thirty years? I had a long list of questions I couldn’t ask him right now. Staring at D, I handed the paper to Blitz.

  Blitz’s face was blank. He was quiet, handed the paper back to me. I placed it in front of Dallas. I wanted to hug him, but that wasn’t cool with all the eyes in the room. I clinched his fist, bumped his shoulder. “How you feelin’ about this, D?” I patted him hard on his back.

  He didn’t respond. Sympathizing with him, I understood.

  “Nigga, where is your watch?” Dallas asked Blitz.

  I looked at Blitz. Waited to see if he’d give Dallas the same response. Trymm walked up.

  “Nig-ga, where you been?” Dallas asked.

  “You were a straight no-show for our head count last Saturday,” I said to Trymm.

  Blitz commented, “Ain’t seen shit from you on social since Southern Belle. Guess old Clydesdale can’t hang.”

  All of us knew growing up that Blitz had the smallest dick. Couldn’t confirm that today. Doubted that had changed. Trymm’s manhood was evident from the huge imprint he never tried to conceal.

  Trymm placed his iPad on the counter, answered, “Nigga, where is your—”

  Dallas shook his head. “Don’t ask.”

  I texted Ramona, Let’s take family pictures. My treat. I’ll schedule the date and let you know when and where.

  A text registered from my father, Hey, son. I haven’t seen your tithes for tomorrow. The bank is closing shortly. Don’t cheat the Lord.

  My money was welcome, but I wasn’t. To hell with him and Paula. Eric and Eleanor, too. They got to stay and I didn’t. I knew they depended on my donations to pay the church’s and their mortgage. Their car notes, vacations, expensive jewelry. Should’ve thought about me before handing back my $2,500 in front of the Harrison boys.

  I replied, The pawn shop is still open.

  He responded, You brought the devil to my door! I never condoned your running a whorehouse.

  I wasn’t playing tit-for-tat with him. Nor was I making a deposit without an invitation to worship. The cook doused ladles of sauce—butter, garlic, parmesan cheese—atop the half-shell oysters. The flames on each of the four grills behind the bar shot up six feet high when the cooks hosed water underneath the oyster shells. Rubbing my palms together, I was ready to dive in.

  Sent Pastor Bartholomew one more text, You and everyone in your tabernacle are dead to me. Why should I be the bigger person? Started to block him. Didn’t want to miss a reply.

  Trymm sat at the counter next to Blitz. “See y’all left me the seat with my back to the audience so I can’t check out the females first,” then added, “All I know is each of you betta show your face at my parents’ anniversary party at Gallier Hall on the thirty-first. Six o’clock sharp.”

  I stared at my brother. That was report day. I was double-checking my head count and assembling my package for presentation to the group. Trymm was trying to throw us off. I was quiet. Scanned the entire room again. Dallas and Blitz looked around, too.

  Surprisingly, Dallas said, “Count me in.”

  D must’ve really fallen hard for that girl. Well, maybe his change of heart was expected, since the Duprees had treated him like family.

  “One of y’all say something. Damn!” Trymm stopped our waiter. “Let us get four baker’s dozen of them flame-broiled oysters on a half shell and a round of Hen.”

  “Gotcha,” the waiter replied.

  My numbers could be on the top or bottom. “I’ma ’bout to trump all y’all. Let’s do a count. Write down your numbers,” I said, handing each a napkin.

  Trymm balled his up. Tossed it at me. “Hell no. All I want eight days from now is proof. Videos, confessions, social posts. All that.” He tapped his iPad.

  He had it at our first meeting. Probably took it everywhere to take advantage of any situation. Honestly, I’d be glad when all of this was over.

  “You’re holding out ’cause Walter been on your ass and you in last place,” Blitz said. “You ain’t got shit on that tablet.”

  “I’m cool,” I said, “’cause none of y’all put shit on social worth posting.” I pointed at Trymm, hoping he’d present proof. Waiting for his response, I ate one, two, three oysters in a row. I took a huge piece of French bread, soaked up the sauce with it, stuffed it in my mouth, then washed it down with liquor.

  “Put some respect on it. Ruff. Ruff. Ruff,” Trymm barked, and then pounded his chest. “Southern Belle. There’s more where that came from. A lot more.” He tapped that pad again.

  Some random female dressed in denim short shorts, a man’s fedora, and a fitted blouse thrust her cleavage in Trymm’s face. She had big-ass nipples like Ramona’s. Her hair was short, slicked at the back and sides. Lips greasy.

  Dallas kept eating.

  “I was at your yacht party. Remember me?” she asked him all sexy and shit, eyeing his iPad.

  Trymm slid his iPad away from her.

  When did he have a yacht party?

  Trymm looked at her. She eyed his tablet.

  “Let that bitch get ghost,” Dallas said.

  After what had happened to me at church, I agreed, but didn’t comment.

  “Yacht, what?” Blitz belted. “I see you, homey. That’s why his ass been MIA.”

  The three of us could up our game, but I’d have to shut down my business for eight days. I reached into my plate, all of my oyster shells were empty. Keeping my eyes on that female, I devoured two of Dallas’s oysters.

  “She cool, D.” Trymm said to her, “Thanks for coming over to say hi.”

  Those oily lips parted; she slid her wet tongue to the corner of her mouth. Wiggled the tip at Trymm. I saw her hand go up his thigh. She’s seducing him in front of us?

  She moaned as she said, “I was hoping we could get together again without the other ninety-nine females that were all over your big banana boat.”

  I damn near fell off my seat. How many? If that were true, I could concede this minute.

  “What the fuck?” Dallas said aloud. “I ain’t making that anniversary party, big baller. I don’t know about y’all, but that nig-ga is way ahead of me.”

  Chick put a spotlight on Trymm. Started massaging his dick.

  My erection grew. Scooted to the edge of my seat to adjust myself.

  Dallas demanded, “Ditch that bitch!”

  Trymm moved her hand off of his dick. “You need to back up.” Then asked her, “Do I know you?”

  She laughed in a weird kind of way. I agreed with Dallas, but kept quiet to see how Trymm was going to handle her.

  Trymm moved his barstool back, stared at her.

  “ ‘Do I know you?’ ” she sarcastically repeated.

  Oh, yeah. She was crazy.

  Trymm told Blitz, “Let’s switch seats, homey, before I raise up outta here.”

  That bitch jabbed the flashlight into Trymm’s dick. My brother yelled, “Fuck!” He grabbed his nuts, leaned over, holding his shit.

  Dallas placed both feet on the floor. His butt was on the edge of his seat.

  When she hit Trymm’s left nipple with that flashlight, I felt for him as he fell toward the floor on his shoulder. Slowly he rolled onto his side, curled in the fetal position.

  As that female started videotaping, all I could think about was how pissed-off I’d made Gurl 6. Dallas began laughing. I didn’t see anything funny, but when Blitz joined in, I did, too.

  Blitz recorded Trymm. I wasn’t doing that. That was wrong.

  “My sister didn’t suck your dick for you to degrade her on social media. Thought your lil yacht party was just for fun. Thanks to you, my sister’s husband is divorcing her! She has to raise her son and daughter by herself! Had to pull them out of their school because kids wouldn�
�t stop teasing them! You broke up her happy home! I should stun you again!” she said, reaching toward my brother.

  Dallas rose up. “That’s enough. Trust me. He’s sorry.” He placed his left hand behind his back, stared at the woman with rage I hadn’t seen in a few years.

  I needed D to be with me last Sunday.

  The woman swiftly pointed the flashlight at Dallas. At the gun range Dallas exhibited skills that reassured me he could knock off anybody in this room with one bullet. When I saw him raise his shirt, grip his gun, then give the woman a daring nod, I moved out of D’s way.

  Another woman appeared and told the female, “Let’s go.”

  The woman dropped her flashlight into her purse. Dallas was on her immediately. D grabbed her by the throat. Started choking her. Her mouth was wide open, but no sound came out. She started turning red.

  The other woman cried, “Help!”

  Dallas did not let her go. “I strongly suggest you don’t try this shit again. If you do, I’ll shoot you.” The he said to her friend, “I’ll shoot your ass, too. Get the fuck outta here.” Shoving the woman as he released her throat, Dallas extended his hand, pulled Trymm up.

  “You don’t look so good right now, brotha man,” Blitz said to Trymm, then yelled out to our waiter, “Yo! Lay four more dozen oysters on us and another round of Hen on me. It’s gon’ take this nigga a minute to recuperate.”

  The stuff that could’ve happened to me at church, if those Harrison boys had fired at me, instead of above my head. I might be dead. I had to become a likable public figure. I could do that by affiliating myself with Ramona and Harold Thurston, as William’s father.

  Oh, shit!

  What if the Harrison boys discovered William Bartholomew was my son? They wouldn’t hurt my kid. Would they?

  CHAPTER 31

  Kohl

  Day 28

  Tossing and turning, I kicked the covers to the foot of my bed, paced the bedroom. Kneeling at my bedside, I pressed my hands together, positioned the tip of my thumbs on the bridge of my nose, then prayed aloud.

  “Lord, You know my heart. You know me better than I know myself. I confess with my mouth and believe in my heart that You will forgive me of all my sins. Lord, I have not been there for my son, but I promise from this day forward, each and every day, I will take an active role in William’s life, if Ramona lets me. I pray that I win the challenge. I promise I will personally apologize to every woman I’ve hurt when it’s over. Knowing that no weapon formed against me shall prosper, I pray Lema has found compassion for me, and her brothers are not plotting to harm me. And last, Lord, I pray my father will welcome me back soon into The House of the Lord, that I may take an active role in my church home and serve You. Amen. Oh, and forgive me for threatening my father and his congregation. You know I didn’t mean that Lord. Amen.”

  I wandered into the living room, silently asking the Lord to hear my prayer and grant me favor in the courtroom today. I opened the refrigerator, I’d need to restock for the next nine gurls.

  Thought was ingenious but no way Trymm could’ve done a yacht full of females. Plus, Walter was always on him like flies on horse manure. Less than seventy-two hours remained, I could not wait for the challenge to end. With all the chaos, I managed to maintain my count. I was at eighty-four. Eighty-five if I included Eleanor.

  Tired of cooking grits, frying chicken legs, I closed the refrig, filled a bowl with chocolate puffed cereal and milk, went into my office. It was five-thirty in the morning.

  Gurl 1 to 84, I double-checked each file for consistency. The ones I hadn’t posted to social, I prepared for upload this Sunday, right before the midnight deadline I’d reactivated my accounts, then hit POST. Soon as I was vetted by my crewe, I’d delete all of my Money2930 social pages, create a legit IG, and follow Ramona.

  Monday morning when the bank opened, I was collecting all of my funds, but I wasn’t going anywhere outside of the city limits. I was born, reared, and would die in the NOLA.

  Seven o’clock. Had to arrive at court by 10:00 a.m. Didn’t need an attorney to plead my case. Or a judge hounding me with continuances. Driving to Kash In & Out, my car was almost on E. Had enough to make it to my destination. I’d fill up after court. I called Ramona.

  “Good morning, Kash,” she practically went soprano in my ears.

  Hm. I wasn’t Kohl today? “Morning.” I was feeling confident. In fact, Harold might have to pay me child support when the judge made his final decision. “Will my son be at court today?”

  “Of course not, honey,” she said. “I know you’ve never been involved, William is a straight-A student with perfect attendance. We can’t interfere with that to let you practice on being a father, now can we?”

  Honey? What was up with all of her sarcasm? She must’ve forgotten her smackdown video on me went viral. Ramona better be nice. I sighed real heavy into my Bluetooth speaker. I was not playing this game with her.

  “Bye, Mama, I love you.” I heard a softer side of William.

  “Bye, baby. I’ll pick you up later.” A soft smack, probably on the lips. Had she kissed him on the mouth?

  “Bye, baby. I’m dropping our son off at school, then I’m going to Anita’s for breakfast. Wanna join me?” Harold was in the background, probably listening to my every word. The sound of another smack sounded in my ears. This one lingered.

  “Of course. I’ll text you my order when I’m in transit. See you about eight-fifteen. Thanks, babe,” Ramona told Harold, then said to me, “My apology, Kohl. What do you want?”

  I was no stranger to Ramona; yet she treated me with unfamiliarity. I should show up at that greasy hole-in-the-wall to talk with them. Those women served the best grits, bacon, eggs, hot sausage, pork chops, and pancakes in the city for a ridiculously low price. Most days Anita’s closed at 2:00 p.m.

  “Is Harold going to be at court?” I asked.

  “Of course. He’s my husband,” Ramona answered. I heard the smile in her tone.

  This was not Christmas in July. She needed to squash the fake happiness.

  Knowing the outcome of the hearing was going to compromise my freedom if I demanded fifty-fifty, I would’ve been better off maintaining my distance from William and Ramona forever. Too late to put that segment of my life in reverse. “Make sure he stays out of our relationship.”

  “We don’t have a relationship. Bye, Kash.” My named rolled off her tongue. “See you in court.”

  I didn’t stop her abusive butt from hanging up. Entering the back door of my club, I gathered the mail that was on the floor. “Junk. Junk. Junk . . .” I paused. Hadn’t received anything from them since I’d set up my business.

  Sliding my finger into the opening of the letter-sized envelope, I read the stationery heading, Internal Revenue Service . . . Balance Due: $3,346,278.21.

  What the hell? Hold up. There were way too many numbers. This had to be a mistake. I stared at the paper until it slipped from my fingertips, floated to the floor. Picking it up, I dialed my accountant’s cell phone, got his voice mail.

  “Hey, man. This is Kash. Call me soon as you get my message.”

  I honed in on the amount. Read the notice over. Flipped it over. Tried to find something unauthentic that might prove it to be a scam.

  “Lord, please let this be a prank. Please, Lord.” I’d done more praying in one day and it wasn’t noon yet.

  Lema’s goons didn’t know anything about my finances. She and her brothers had been silent. Hopefully, she’d accepted my numerous apologies and called off her pit bulls. Best to let sleeping dogs lie.

  Aw, wow. That’s it. The good Reverend Bartholomew reported me. He was known for being vindictive when anything jeopardized the stability of his church. His adopting me didn’t keep him from kicking me out, the same way he’d done Ramona. Eleanor just got added to my count. Even the Lord believed in an eye for an eye. I had something to repay those hypocrites. Lloyd. Paula. Eric. And Eleanor.

  Afterward, I’d re
pent. Repentance was like a get-out-of-hell free card and I had a full deck.

  I yelled, “Lord, why is this happening to me?! You know everything I did with the gurls was consensual.”

  It was. Black women were easy. The plus-sized ones were easier. The more they believed I cared, the faster their clothes came off. Discovered strippers were less promiscuous than missionaries.

  Heard eeeeeeeeeeoooo, then woop, woop. The noise stopped. I glanced around my club, the time had come for me to own up to being a father. “Time to go face the judge.”

  I went outside to get in my car, “Oh, shit!”

  Black smoke surrounded red flames. “What in the world? Not my Bentley!”

  “Step back, sir.” The firefighter continued spraying water on my ride well after there was nothing but steam.

  “What happened?” I cried real tears. “You know how much my Bentayga cost?” I asked the firefighter.

  Water dripped from his hose, splashed on my shoes. “Man, watch out! You messing up my Stacy’s.”

  A police officer, who was there, answered, “We’ll have to investigate the matter to determine the cause.”

  “Arson!” I cried, looking down my street in both directions.

  The upside was my club wasn’t damaged. “Thanks, Officer.” My voice escalated with urgency. “Complete your investigation. Send me the report. I have an appointment.”

  He answered, “I need to see your license and registration.”

  I stared at my unrecognizable vehicle. “It’s in the glove compartment, man.”

  Is he in on this?

  “Where were you headed? We need you to stay.” A second police car parked on my lot.

  I didn’t have time for Q and A. They both looked like they needed to retire. Probably already had double dosages of their donuts and coffee.

  Lowering my voice, I explained, “Excuse me, Officers, I really have to be going. Can someone come out this evening, say after seven?”

  Getting back sooner was possible, but if Ramona granted me an hour or two to introduce myself to William after he got out of school, that was my priority. Fuck! Nothing was going to change the fact that my car was totaled. I’d order a new one tomorrow and wait for my insurance company to cut me a check.