Beating the Odds

by Sherrod Tunstall

  Even though he was a big dude with confidence, at times he still wanted to feel better about himself physically. At one time, he had a goal to lose sixty pounds, but it was his girlfriend, Nichelle, who said he was fine the way he was. Plus, he remembered when Nichelle said she liked thick dudes. That was when he loved her hard. That really raised his confidence level and put his diet plans on hold.

  Brad and Nichelle had their ups and downs, but she had been Brad’s one true love for a little over two years. She accepted him “as-is,” and Brad viewed her as the woman of his dreams. She was twenty-one, smart as a whip, and was a nursing student at STLCC-Forest Park. She worked as a patient care tech at Barnes Jewish Hospital, and what Brad appreciated about her the most was how she often encouraged him to do better. He hoped that one day, when he got his life on the right path, Nichelle would be his wife, or at least his baby’s mama.

  By the time Brad reached Nichelle’s door, he was panting and sweating like a dog in heat. His legs burned, and the Timberlands on his feet made climbing the stairs more difficult. He sucked in several heaps of air before sticking the key in the door. That’s when he heard Usher & Rick Ross’s “Let Me See” blasting. He made his way down the narrow hallway, not knowing that the high volume was the least of his worries.

  The second he hit the doorway, he halted his steps. His eyes grew wide, and his heart fell to his stomach. Nichelle was on the bed with her legs wide open. Her loud moans echoed in the room, and her nails clawed the back of a muscular man who, obviously, had perfected his pussy-sucking skills. He moaned too, and as he expressed how delicious Nichelle’s pussy tasted to him, Brad was speechless. He slowly inched his way into the room, soon realizing that the man between his woman’s legs was his childhood nemesis, Garrett.

  Garrett had always had it going on. His build was perfect. His brown skin was smooth and soft; hair was trimmed as if he visited the barber shop every day. His baggy jeans hung low on his waist, and with his shirt off, his muscles were in full effect.

  Nichelle was getting served well. She was so aroused by Garrett’s performance that she didn’t see Brad standing there with shock and disgust written on his face. “Do that shit, baby,” she said with her eyes shut tight. “I love how you make me feel. I . . . I needed this sooooo badly.”

  I can’t believe this li’l ho, Brad thought as his stomach turned in knots. Why did she have to do this shit to me, especially after two fucking years together? Two years and now this. What the fuck!

  Nichelle finally opened her eyes. They grew wide as saucers. “Brad! Wha . . . What are you doing here?”

  Garrett snapped his head to the side, and after seeing Brad, he grinned. He used his tongue to take one last swipe at Nichelle’s pussy before backing away from it. Without saying one word, he got off the bed and started zipping his pants. “Sorry about that,” he said with a smirk on his face. “I couldn’t help myself. I’m sure you already know how good she is.”

  As Brad continued to stand in awe, Nichelle hopped off the bed too. She hurried into her panties while keeping her eyes locked on Brad. “I . . . I’m sorry about this, but you should have called. Besides, I’ve been meaning to tell you a few things anyway.”

  Brad was so mortified that he didn’t bother to respond. He didn’t want to hurt Nichelle or Garrett, and he knew that if he stayed, he would definitely catch a case.

  As he was going to the stairs, Nichelle followed him in her Mickey Mouse bathrobe. “Stop, Brad! We need to talk! You can’t just leave without allowing me to say something!”

  She snatched his arm, and that’s what caused him to swing around and face her. “What’s there to explain? You’ve been cheating on me with a nigga I’ve hated since high school! I wouldn’t dare touch his leftovers, so you can march yo’ ass back up to that apartment and let him finish what he started.”

  Nichelle ignored his harsh words, and since she’d been busted, it was time for her to face reality. She held on to Brad’s arm so he wouldn’t move. “Baby, I’m sorry you had to find out like this, but the truth is, sexually, you just didn’t do it for me. I was never satisfied. I mean, you’re a nice guy and all, but you’re not for me. You could make some woman very happy one day.”

  She took a deep breath. “I . . . I need a real man in my life. I need a man who can bend me over like a slut, slap my ass and make it clap-slash-applaud him. You wanna settle down, but that’s crazy. I’m only twenty-one and in college. I wanna have fun with as many dudes as I can. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but it’s best that we be friends, if you want to still be that at all.”

  “Friends!” Brad shouted as his face shook and turned red again. “I gave you two fucking years of my life and this is how you treat me? You have the nerve to talk about what you need, but the truth is, I gave you exactly what you told me you needed and more. Gave you head, drank your cum, even pissed on yo’ freaky ass. I was warned about you, and like my cousin said, all women are thots. Screw that love and happiness shit. Screw all you bitches, and all y’all gon’ be good for is fucking!”

  “I’m not a bitch, and to hell—”

  Before Nichelle could finish her sentence, Brad raised his hand, slapping it hard across her face. She stumbled then fell back on the steps. While holding her face, she watched Brad rush down the stairs in anger.

  “Trifling ass,” he barked. “Never, ever again!”

  With tears trapped in her eyes, Nichelle bit into her bottom lip, feeling dissed by Brad. “Fuck you, you fat-ass fool! I’ma get you back for putting your hands on me! I can promise you that, so watch your back!”

  Brad was so disappointed by everything that had happened that day, and on the drive home, he couldn’t help but shed a few tears. In his mind, men weren’t supposed to cry, but this was horrible. He didn’t know what the next day would bring, but as for this day, it couldn’t get any worse. At least that’s what he hoped.

  * * *

  Brad unlocked the door to his two-bedroom, one-bathroom house that he rented for $500 a month in University City on Canton Avenue. He went inside and tossed his jacket on a chair that was already piled high with clothes he needed to wash. He sat on his sofa looking over his mail. The cable bill was overdue, he was two months behind on his car payments, his internet was subject to disconnection soon, and his cell phone bill needed to be paid by the close of business that day. That wasn’t going to happen, so he tossed his bills in the air then looked at the envelopes as they fell like rain and hit the floor. Staring at the floor, he hung his head low.

  Brad couldn’t help but think about how he’d been doing shit on his own since he was a child. His mother, Belinda Carter, had died in childbirth at the age of 15. He was raised by his grandmother, whom he called Mama Carter. Brad’s father wanted a football career, and a child would have messed that up. When Brad was ten, Mama Carter was diagnosed with breast cancer, and on his twelfth birthday, she died. She was a loving woman who had worked as a bank teller and taught Brad he could be anything he put his mind to. With her gone, her brother took her house and any money she had. Brad was left with nothing and nowhere to go.

  Remembering these things only made the awful day Brad had been having seem even worse. He went to the kitchen to get himself a cold drink. He found his last beer at the back of the refrigerator, opened it, and took a long drink. It felt good going down, and for a minute he felt better, but then the memories hit him again.

  Brad remembered how his great aunt had stepped up to help him. Her old friend was the mother of Brad’s father, Dewayne. Dewayne had become the football star he wanted to be, and his sneaky mother told him that taking in Brad would look good to his fans, so Brad went to live with him. But he barely spent any time with Brad, while he treated his other children from a previous marriage like gold. When Brad was fourteen, his father injured his right knee and lost his contract with the St. Louis Rams. With no money, left. Mainly because of his father’s high spending and his semi cocaine habit, they had to move out of his luxurious s
ix-bedroom, eight-bathroom mansion in Ladue, Missouri and downgrade to a small apartment in Bridgeton. From then on, Dewayne blamed Brad for everything that went wrong and made his life a living hell.

  Brad was angry remembering how his father made him do everything around the house but wouldn’t even give him food, even telling him he was the cause of both his mother’s and grandmother’s deaths. It was a terrible time and got worse when Brad was sixteen and his father got a job to play with the Toronto Argonauts. He took his other children with him and left Brad with a thousand dollars out of his three hundred thousand dollar contract to get by on his own. Dewayne left a note saying, Don’t spend it all in one place.

  Brad was so mad he burned that money and stayed with cousins and friends, working two or three jobs at a time, until he was able to get steady work and make a life for himself. He remembered that he promised Mama Carter before she died that he was going to make her proud of him, and he was determined to do just that.

  Brad started to feel better, thinking about all he had been able to survive. He went back into the living room. Sitting on the sofa, he took another long drink and laid his head back, letting the alcohol take effect. He was about to turn on the TV until the doorbell rang. He lifted his head, wondering who had come to see him.

  The second he opened the door, he knew it had been a bad idea. It was his landlord, Chris Stolle, a short, fat white man with glasses, who could give the actor Drew Carey a run for his money.

  “What’s up, Mr. Stolle?”

  His hand was out and he tapped his palm. “I’m still waiting for my rent money. Do you have it?”

  Brad wasn’t even thirty days late yet, but Chris was the kind of landlord who wanted his money exactly when it was due. Brad’s intentions were to pay the money next week, but so much for that.

  “I kinda don’t have it right now, but I will have it soon.” Now go away, he thought. Not today, please.

  Chris took a deep breath. “Look, Brad, you’ve been in this house for two years, and you’re late again. I know the month isn’t over yet, but I don’t want you to go months without paying me like you did in the past. If you can’t pay me soon, I will have to issue you a thirty-day notice and ask you to leave so I can rent this house to someone who can pay me on time.”

  Take this raggedy piece of shit then. You don’t fix shit in this rat hole anyway. Family-Guy-looking bastard, thought Brad with a smirk on his face. “All I need is a little more time and I promise to get your money to you, okay?”

  “You have until the sixteenth of this month. No rent and you go!” Without saying another word, Chris walked off the porch without turning around to see the wicked look in Brad’s eyes and his middle finger that stood straight up, telling Chris where to stick it.

  Sometimes, I really do hate white people, Brad thought while watching Chris get into his Mercedes. Greed, greed, greed. He also recognized that a lot of this was on him, and if he didn’t come up with plan B fast, he was going to be fucked!

  Chapter 2

  The Deal

  That Friday evening, Brad was sitting in the living room on his laptop, looking at his Facebook page and conversing with friends. He ignored all of Nichelle’s messages, but when he examined her page, he saw recent photos she had posted of her and Garrett together. He still couldn’t believe what she’d done, and as he thought more about his fucked up situation, he kept in mind what Mama Carter used to say: “God always makes a way out of no way.” He held onto those words, and as he took a sip of his Snapple fruit punch, Drake’s “The Motto (Remix)” ringtone went off on his cell phone. Brad looked to see who the caller was. His boy Tyler’s number was displayed on the screen.

  “What’s up?” Brad said after pushing the speakerphone button.

  “Shit. What you doin’?” Tyler asked.

  “His ass probably bored,” said another male voice in the background.

  Brad smiled, knowing exactly who it was. “Is that Travis’s crazy ass?”

  “Yeah, that’s him.”

  “What’s up, fool? I called you the other day, but you ain’t hit me back.”

  “Been busy,” Travis said. “The struggle is real, but you do know what tonight is, don’t you?”

  Brad squinted while trying to think. “Naw, you tell me what’s poppin’ tonight.”

  “What? You forgot?” Travis asked.

  “Forgot what?”

  “Man, I can’t believe you forgot about your cousin Swag’s birthday party at that hot new nightclub, The Cartel, downtown.”

  Brad now remembered. He rubbed his forehead then released a deep breath. “Damn. I forgot about that. I didn’t know he was back from vacation. Regardless, I need to get out of here tonight. What time y’all wanna hook up?”

  “’Bout ten thirty,” Tyler said. “And we’re taking Travis’s car.”

  “What?” yelled Travis.

  The fellas laughed.

  “Cool. I’ma holla at Stan to see if he wanna roll with us. The more, the merrier,” said Brad, still laughing.

  “That’s what’s up. Just tell that fool to be there by the time we get there,” said Tyler before ending the call.

  * * *

  Later that night, things were on and popping at The Cartel. It was thick with partygoers there to celebrate Swag’s twenty-second birthday, and there were several other parties in the process as well. The DJ blasted 2 Chainz’s new joint that had the whole club jumping. Brad, Stan, and the twins, Tyler and Travis, were in the VIP section of the club, looking for the birthday boy, who was late. It was going on midnight, and Swag still wasn’t there.

  “Damn, where that fool at?” Stan asked.

  “Don’t know,” Tyler said, shrugging his shoulders. “But he can be late if he wants to. Just like Brad was late for work all the time. You should’ve known that yo’ ass would eventually get fired.”

  Brad didn’t respond. He was trying to put that behind him. He was a little disturbed by Tyler’s comment, but he was there to have a good time.

  “For real, man? You out of work?” Travis asked, looking at Brad as if he didn’t already know he’d been fired.

  Brad answered, pretending as if it were no big deal. “Yeah, I was tired of that place and half the people in it. I got something else lined up. Just waiting to hear something back soon.”

  Travis shrugged his shoulders this time. “Well, don’t sweat it. If you need a place to stay, I got you. My sofa bed is always available for as long as you need it. That is, until my lady comes over. Then yo’ ass has to go somewhere ’til we done. That’s the main rule if you stay wit’ me, bruh.”

  Both Brad and Travis laughed, but Brad had mad respect for that. Who would want someone on their sofa while he’s trying to get it on with his woman?

  Brad would probably have to take him up on his offer if it came to moving out of his crib. He thanked Travis then they gave each other dap. Since junior high school, Brad and the twins had been friends. They had each other’s backs, and with the twins being on the wrestling team, no one ever messed with them. They were muscular and cocky, with brown skin and hazelnut eyes. The only difference between them was that Travis had a low cut and was clean shaved because of his mailroom job at Fowlers Publishing. Tyler had cornrows and a thick beard. He was a barber at one of St. Louis’s hottest barbershop/ beauty salons. He had high hopes of opening his own shop one day.

  As the night went on, they continued to toss back drinks, dance, and converse with plenty of females who had made themselves available. Brad had halfway forgotten about his problems from earlier, especially after a female who was ten times better-looking than Nichelle had given him her undivided attention. He was sitting at a table with her when Swag came in, garnering full attention from nearly everyone in the place.

  Solomon Carter was his government name, but he was known on the streets of St. Louis as Swag. He was half black, half Puerto Rican, and considered one of the hot boys in the Lou. His light skin glowed with a tan, and his deep-set eyes lure
d women straight to the bedroom. He had mega money, a fly whip, and lived in a 3000-square-foot loft in the downtown area. Swag had two sons, Solomon Jr, aka Li’l Swag, and Namond. Both kids were by a fine-ass chick in the Lou, Zaria Mitchell. She was by his side tonight, and a trophy she was. Her skin was cocoa brown, and her long, jet black hair flowed midway down her back. Her eyes were slanted, and her hourglass figure showed well in the pink strapless dress she rocked, looking like it was painted on her. You could have a picnic on her ass, and many people had mistaken her for rapper Li’l Wayne’s ex-wife, Toya Wright.

  Another reason that Swag got his name was because he could dress his ass off. He had on a red-and-black long sleeve shirt, True Religion jeans that showed off his stallion-like frame, the new Jordans, and a platinum chain around his neck with a cross piece resting on his chest. To rep St. Louis, a red Cardinal’s cap was on his head.

  Everyone greeted Swag as he and Zaria made their way to the table where the crew was at. They all pounded and hugged him.

  “What’s up, fellas? Sorry I’m late, but nonetheless, I am here,” Swag said with a big-ass smile on his face.

  “Better late than never,” Brad replied. “Good seeing you, man.”

  Brad looked at Zaria, who looked sexy as hell. “What’s up, Z?”

  “Hey, B.” Zaria smiled. “Good seeing you too.”

  “Now that I’m here,” Swag shouted, “let’s get some more drinks and really get this party started! Drinks for everyone!”

  The music cranked up, and everyone clapped, cheered, and wished him a happy birthday.

  A while later, Brad had drunk so much that he made himself sick. The room kept spinning, and he was starting to feel dizzy. He couldn’t even dance with the beautiful woman he’d been talking to for most of the night. Before she left him at peace, she eased her phone number into his pocket.