I was almost thirty, about to get married to a woman I hardly knew. Hell, that was the case for most people getting hitched. Time for me to stop holding on to hate, even if I didn’t find true love. If Debbie could make a positive change in my life in a matter of days, I could try.
Shower. Meds. Pancakes. Bacon. Eggs. Steen’s. Back-to-back episodes of The First 48. Dressed. Gray tank to expose my tats. Black jeans and tennis shoes. Gold chain. Two male enhancements. Gun.
With no destination I drove along St. Charles Avenue to the Riverbend. Doubled back to Poydras Street, parked, chilled solo at a bar inside Harrah’s Casino, plotting my next move.
Squinting, I thought that looked like Blitz at the craps table. I stood to make sure.
“I know you’re not leaving already. You look like you could use a friend.” A strange woman smiled at me, then asked, “Is this seat taken?” holding the back of the chair next to me.
I nodded, sat down thinking, I’m taken.
“What brings you here, soldier?” she asked.
I was quiet.
“I’m in town for a few more days,” she said real seductively. “Want to hang?”
“Forty dollars, my place, right now,” I told her.
She countered, “Sixty.”
“Fifty. Take it or leave it.”
“Can I get a drink first?” she asked, touching my thigh.
I took that trick by the hand. “Let’s go.”
* * *
Soon as I closed my front door, I poured two Hens over ice, gave her one. She took it like a shot, refilled her own glass.
“Let’s go,” I said, leading her to one of my three guest bedrooms. Didn’t want another woman in my master bedroom. That was reserved for my boo boo, Debbie.
My dick was hard as fuck. I put on a condom, bent the trick over, pulled her dress over her hips. Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! I went straight in her asshole.
“Say you like it,” I demanded, still pounding in fast motion.
She glanced over her shoulder.
“Say it!” I told her.
“Sixty dollars,” she said, not fazed by my strokes.
“How about forty?” I answered, pulling out.
“Okay, I like it.” She pulled down her dress, held open her palm.
Handing her two twenties, she snatched them. Made a call. “Girl, meet me at... ,” she paused. “What’s your address?” She wasn’t all friendly and shit the way she was an hour ago.
“Whatever corner you standing on. Get the fuck outta my house.” I demanded.
“Aw, don’t be like—”
“Bitch! Don’t make me ask twice.” I picked up my gun off the floor.
She was out the door in five seconds. I stripped the sheets from my bed, tossed them in the washer, disinfected my room, showered.
A text registered from Noelle, Can you meet now in emergency at Tulane hospital? omw, I replied.
I rushed to put on slacks and a short-sleeved buttoned-down shirt.
* * *
Thirty-one minutes later I walked through the sliding glass doors of the ER.
She rushed to me, “Thank you for coming.” Her upper and lower lip had sutures.
I could’ve assumed the deadbeat had done it, but either way, wasn’t my battle. She was walking, breathing, obviously she wasn’t the patient. “What’s up?”
“One of my sons was in an accident. Can you please donate blood for him?” She started crying.
The woman who let me starve as a child now needed me to give my blood to her flesh and blood? I’d taken so many lives. This was an opportunity to save one. I did her that favor. We went into a small room. I lay on my back.
As the needle entered my arm, Noelle asked, “You don’t want to know what happened to me?”
Is this bitch serious? I shook my head. “No. I don’t.”
“Okay, but you should know. Your mother was an honorable woman.”
“Tell me something I don’t know about my mother,” I said. The bag couldn’t fill up fast enough. I had shit to do.
Noelle’s voice lowered. “Lalita and I were best friends,” she said with a melancholy tone.
I inhaled. My chest expanded. “Where the fuck you going with this? Was this donor request to pin me down?” My eyes narrowed to a slit. “It’d better not be to save Hawk ’cause I’ll beat your ass, too. Are you trying to clear your motherfuckin’ conscience?”
If I rose up, Noelle was getting busted, fuck her lips, upside her fucking head. For real. My mother was the only person who loved me unconditionally. Tears clouded my eyes.
“Just hear me out,” she insisted.
I swear if she started talking bad about my mother, this needle was going in her neck. I sat up. The nurse removed the IV. “Let’s take this outside,” I insisted.
We entered an empty waiting area. Noelle sat next to me.
“Hawk loved your mother. Le—”
I jumped up. “That’s a fuckin’ lie and you know it! You don’t let somebody you love die when you could’ve saved them. He . . .” The rest of my words were stuck in my throat. Tears burned my eyes.
“I can’t imagine how you feel.” Noelle’s eyes were dry.
I cut her off. “Imagine how I feel about what? Your ass was in the boat.”
Noelle dug into her purse, handed me a stack of photos of my mother.
“You’ve never met Leroy. That’s Hawk’s brother. Leroy has been living in New York for thirty years now.” Separately she gave me a photo of a man that I resembled more than Hawk Carter.
Staring at the pictures, one by one, I rotated the five by sevens. When I got to the photo of my mother holding me in her arms, she was in a hospital bed. I was a tiny baby wrapped in a blanket. Her lips were pressed against my forehead. Tears soaked my shirt. Snot rolled out my nose. Burying my face in my palms, I didn’t give a fuck about that “men don’t cry” bullshit.
“After you were born, Leroy begged Lalita to go with him to New York, but Lalita was, by then, dating Hawk.”
I looked up at Noelle.
“Lalita was the one all the men wanted. So when she and Hawk became an item, I started dating Leroy.” Noelle became quiet. “But he was always in love with Lalita.”
“Go on,” I said, wanting to be clear on where she was going with her story.
“Being that Lalita was my best friend, she confided in me. She was scared to move to a big city. Hawk went into the military, but when he came back, he wasn’t the same in the head. He’s never been the same. Lalita left him. But secretly I loved Hawk. When I had the chance, I married him, had his two sons.”
“So because my mother left him, you took up her leftovers and let Hawk abandoned me?”
Noelle placed her hand on my thigh. I moved it. “Don’t touch me.”
“Dallas, Lalita left Hawk, not because he had PTSD. I’ve never told Hawk this, and your mother swore me to secrecy. But you deserve to know. Hawk is not your father. Leroy is your father, but he doesn’t know that.”
Staring at Leroy’s picture, I was really fucked up in the head now. My mother wouldn’t do this to me.
“One last thing. Your mother wasn’t happy that I’d married Hawk. I told her, ‘He’s my husband now. He’s not Dallas’s father. Let it go.’ But I’d never turned my back on her. She was the one who ended our friendship. I begged Lalita to get in the boat. She refused.” She slid her pointing finger from her throat to her stomach, then dragged it from breast to breast. “Hope to die.”
Cross her heart hoping to die. That was for kids. I didn’t know whether to believe Noelle or not.
“I know,” she said, then handed me a piece of paper.
“Leroy Carter, your father, is a very successful man. Here’s his number. Call him Dallas.”
“The—”
Noelle interrupted with, “Yes, the Leroy Carter.”
“Thanks” was all I could say at this moment. My dad is the famous actor?
“One last thing.”
Noelle stood, handed me one more picture. “That’s Leroy when he was in the navy. If you need me, I’m here for you. Take care.”
I must’ve sat alone for hours trying to piece together my life. I saved Leroy Carter’s number in my cell. Dialed him.
“Leroy Carter here!” he answered.
I was quiet.
“Hello!”
I couldn’t speak.
“Hello,” he said a third time. I ended the call.
CHAPTER 41
Dallas
Day 15
Pillow, dry. Sheets, crisp. Hadn’t slept all night.
“Tracy.” I nudged her. “Wake up. You hungry?” I asked, spreading her legs.
Closing her thighs, she said, “You’ve eaten my pussy enough, and, yes, I’m starved.”
Cool if she felt that way. “Go shower. By the time you’re done, breakfast will be served.”
I headed to the kitchen, put Crisco in the skillet, admired my mother’s picture on the wall beside the refrigerator. I’d framed all the photos Noelle had given me and hung them throughout my house.
Texted Noelle, Thanks.
Wondered if Leroy loved my mom the way I did Debbie. Mixing the batter, I set it aside, scrambled eight eggs. Slowly pouring batter onto my stovetop grill, counted, “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight,” then stopped, flipped the bacon.
My cell rang. “Hey, boo boo, top of the morning. You at work?” Debbie having a steady job was perfect for me, except when she worked out of the office.
“No, I’m outside. Brought my fiancé steak and eggs from Li’l Dizzy’s. Open up, baby. My hands are full.”
Fuck! “Hold on. I’m coming.”
I glanced at the monitor. Damn! She wasn’t kidding.
Muting my phone, I set it on the counter, turned off everything on the stove, dumped it in the trash. Febreze the kitchen. Went to the bathroom.
I got my gun from the nightstand, entered the bathroom, pointed the barrel toward the floor, pulled back the shower curtain.
Whispered, “Tracy, get out the shower. Do as I say, and I won’t hurt you. I’ve got a situation with my girlfriend. Need you to stay in the bathroom. Lock the door. Don’t open it unless it’s me. Chill out. Don’t come out until I come get you. She’s crazy. If you hear gunshots, hide flat on the floor in the linen closet.”
Tracy’s eyeballs protruded. She started trembling all over. Her brows rose, then grew close together.
I kissed her, then whispered, “I know. Don’t be scared. Sit down. I’ll be back. Do not come out of the bathroom. Stay put. Lock the door. And be quiet.” I kissed her again.
Putting my gun back inside my nightstand drawer, I blasted Q93-FM, closed the bedroom door, unmuted my cell, opened the front door.
“What took you so long?” Debbie asked. “Our food is probably cold by now. But it’s . . .” She paused. Stared at the stove. Sniffed the air.
“I dumped the food I was cooking for myself in the garbage. Next time, call ahead.” I meant that shit. If she tried me again, I’d introduce her to whatever woman was in my house.
Debbie smiled while arranging our food on plates. Slowly she uncovered shrimp and grits. “I can’t call and surprise you. What am I supposed to do when we’re married? Can you turn down the music? I can barely hear myself,” she said, setting silverware next to our meals on the table.
Thanks for reminding me why I’m single. One, she was inconsiderate. Two, demanding. Three, she hadn’t noticed a single framed photo of my mother and me.
Not giving a fuck at this point at her staring at me waiting for a response, I told her, “You turn it down,” opening the bedroom door.
Got a text from Noelle, I’m mailing you something important in a few days.
Hit her back with, I forgive you. Felt uncomfortable. Noelle made my heart soften. A little.
“Dallas, why is the bed all messed up on both sides?” Debbie asked.
“Because I slept in it.”
“But both sides are ruffled.” Her eyes beamed like lasers in every direction.
“I slept on both sides.” Four, she was too damn nosy.
Debbie turned the bathroom doorknob. Jiggled it. Put her hand on her hip. “And why is the door locked from the inside?”
Her eyes filled with tears. Debbie followed me back into the kitchen. “Dallas, is there something you need to tell me?”
“Actually, there’s two. Let’s eat, or you can leave now.”
Soon as we were done with breakfast, Debbie had to get out.
CHAPTER 42
Dallas
Day 19
Lying in bed next to Dawn, I got up.
I crept to her side, stood over her, watched her sleep.
One arm was tucked under the pillow, the other elbow was buried midwaist. Knees slightly bent in a nearly fetal position. Back to me. Her breathing was calm.
I wish I could have just one night of rest without a med-induced crash or nightmares. Leaning closer, I wondered what was going through her mind. What kind of shit normal people thought about? Dreamt about?
My going from the queen-sized bed my mother bought me when I went to high school, to a bunk in boot camp, to a metal container that was smaller than some prison cells, I had the biggest king-sized bed I found at Comeaux Furniture. And I had a beautiful woman in it.
Dawn’s eyelids fluttered. Slowly she rolled in my direction.
“Ahhh!” She screamed and kicked at the same time, then shouted, “What are you doing? You scared the daylights outta me.” She sat up. Grabbed her phone. Her breathing was heavy.
She slept like a baby. I was admiring and envying her. I backed up. Replied, “I’m getting ready to fix breakfast. You hungry?”
“No, I’m good. I need to get going,” she said, clutching her cell. Never letting go of her phone, continuously glancing at her screen, Dawn put on her clothes, then picked up her purse. “Thanks for a lovely evening. My Uber is outside.”
No “call me later” or “I’ll text you when I get home,” or wherever she was going. She left me before I could smell or taste her morning pussy. Fruity and sweet was okay, but I loved the stench of a marinated vagina.
My nose wasn’t sensitive, like most Americans’. A person fart and they go frantically fanning. Try living day in and out where every inhale was that of being trapped in a sewer ’cause everyone was shitting in the field. Where you learn to live with your own shit after taking a dump because you can’t properly cleanse your ass. Or you shit in your drawers in a kill-or-be-killed environment.
Fucking weak-ass civilians.
Shower. Meds. Pancakes. Bacon. Eggs. Steen’s. One episode in of The First 48, a text registered, Morning, baby, I’m on my way.
Really? After finding Tracy in my bathroom. I didn’t deserve Debbie, but I needed a woman like her who would give me another chance. I restored my kitchen to its original state. Dressed. Green T-shirt, black slacks, casual leather shoes. Gold chain. Time to reload. Male enhancements. Two. Gun.
Met Debbie in my driveway. Opened the passenger door for her.
In transit she asked, “Did you sleep well last night?”
“You could say that,” I replied. “You look nice. Smell good, too.”
“We can’t keep ignoring the fact that you need help.” Debbie held my hand.
I was quiet. What good was help without a cure? Scientist couldn’t cure the common cold. The ounce of prevention was not to join the fucking military. What in the fuck were doctors going to do for my PTSD? Meds and more meds that required me to take . . . more meds.
She had on a white maxi sundress with spaghettis straps, rhinestone covered sandals. Starting to think white was her favorite color. I parked in the lot, opened her car door, placed my hand on the small of her back as we entered the store.
“Welcome.” The guy behind the counter greeted us with a wide smile and an Indian accent.
“Let me try on a size seven.” Debbie proudly held up her left hand as though she’d pra
cticed this a gazillion times.
“A size ten for me,” I told him.
The jeweler removed a set of plain silver wedding bands from the case, eased Debbie’s ring on her finger. “Sir,” he said, pinching mine as he held it in front of me. “This is a very special set. But if you prefer something more elegant—”
Did I appear to be a nigga that gave a fuck about elegance? I cut his up-sale off with, “This is good, dude.”
How the fuck he come here from India and get his own jewelry store selling all this shit to blacks? Wouldn’t be my money. I’d have custom-made pieces from the black dude who exhibited at the convention center during Essence. Had his card, but since I wasn’t buying, I was here to do what Debbie could afford.
I took mine from him, tried it on. “Cool. It fits.” That was all that mattered to me.
Debbie clicked pictures of her ring while it was on her hand. She held it next to her cheek, smiled, took selfies. “Let’s get some together, baby.”
Fuck no! That was her shit. “Can’t spoil the surprise for my crewe. Still have to ask them to be in the wedding.”
“Okay. So you like these?” Debbie asked.
“I like whatever you like, boo boo.” Honestly, I didn’t care. I wasn’t buying or wearing it. Hated people identifying things about me without saying a word. Not that most women gave a damn if a man was married. Trymm proved that every day.
Debbie pulled out her credit card, gave it to dude. I stared that happy motherfucker down. I’d fought for his ass to suction food out of black people’s children’s mouths, make them late on their rent, all kinds of shit, just to sport some jewels that didn’t mean shit but probably came from the motherland. And I was sure that he took tens of thousands of dollars a week back to his community and his country.
Dude put the blue velvet boxes in the same bag. “Thank you, madam. Sir. Next time you come back, I’ll give you a really good discount.”
Wouldn’t be no fuckin’ next time for me.
“Now it’s off to City Hall to get our certificate,” Debbie sang as she wiggled her body next to mine.
Kissing her cheek, I understood why dudes fucked as many bitches as they could the night before tying the knot—fuck a knot—the noose around their necks.
Head Games Page 21
