The Other Side Of My Kitchen
By Dazz L. Jackson
All rights reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.
Copyright © 2007 by Dazz Jackson The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any references to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. Other names, characters and incidents are product of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
ISBN
: 978-1-60461-981-2
Cover design by Marion Designs Printed in the United States of America By South of Harlem Press www.sohabooks.com
[email protected]
First Printing December 2007 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
The author can be reached [email protected]
To the believers who believed in me from the beginning, I would like to thank you with all my heart, without you guys, this book would have never happened.
Dazz
The Other Side Of My Kitchen
Omari Willingham
Energetic but aimless clatter from the busy city below crept up to my windows as incense burned and salted water boiled. The odd creaking and squeaking belonged to my antiquated hardwood floors, while the splish-splash of my indoor water fountain completed the harmony that was part of my home. The glass of wine on my kitchen counter was my fifth or sixth. The burning cigarette in my ashtray glowed among thirty dusty dead butts–lonely in its spark of life, like me on another Friday night.
Another Friday night , I thought. Most guys my age where out doing something a little more interesting than trying to make the perfect pasta dish. Patiently kneading dough by pressing it away from me with the heel of my hands before slowly folding it over, I repeated this time-honored process over and over again until the dough reached a smooth elastic state. Afterward, I floured and patted the dough into a disk before I began rolling it out into a flat circle, rotating it a quarter turn after each roll to keep it round. I did this until the disk was about one eighth of an inch deep.
Slaving over a hot oven, or putting together a romantic night for a client, wasn’t nearly as boring as my day job. Designing, installing, and testing state of the art wireless networking systems for either a Fortune 500 company or some high tech minded athletic star wasn’t inspiring work. However, I owned the company that bared the name Network Solutions, which meant I owned the trademark, and the income that accompanied it. After five years of building an A+ reputation in the information technology field in the Atlanta area, I decided to pursue my greatest passion. A high end catering business called Dreamscape Catering Services. Manipulating technology in the form of computers, routers, and switches so that they could talk to each other successfully paid most of my bills, whereas Dreamscape Catering was my true love. Together, they afforded me a comfortable lifestyle compared to how I lived when I was in the Army.
But maybe my friend Zachary was right when he suggested that I had turned into a no-life having corporate mogul. That corporate mogul jab rolled off of me like rain, because I’d rather be paid than broke any day. However, the no-life part did sort of stick in my craw.
After rolling and stretching the dough until it was as thin as paper, almost transparent, I laid out a clean towel on my counter top before I unrolled the pasta sheet onto it, letting about a third of the sheet hang over the edge. This was the drying stage of making egg pasta by hand, which meant I had about ten minutes' free time before I had to rotate it.
I poured myself another glass of wine and made my way to my -incense-heavy front room, took a seat on the floor and thought about the sad state of my love life. Operating not just one, but two highly successful businesses took up most of my time, while protecting them, occupied up all of my free time. I concluded that this was the price in which I had to pay to get what I wanted out of life. Zachary, my long time Army buddy did not own his own company just yet; however he was good at what he did: Designing and managing projects for his father’s real estate firm had to account for something. Having a girlfriend who adored him and a social life that never seemed to rest, still didn’t give him the right to criticize my nonexistent love life.
Yes, I was a fairly attractive bachelor without a clue about dating or finding a date for that matter. But I enjoyed my single lifestyle and the direction in which my life was headed. It was those no-life remarks, and cold cloudy Sunday nights that hurt me the most. That’s why I allowed my mind to roam back to the conversation I had with Zachary the other day.
“My mother adored that shrimp dish Omari. Thanks for getting it to the party on time.”
“Your mother adores anything with shrimp in it,” I said before we entered my loft. “But that lady sure knows how to throw a party.”
Zachary watched me closely before he said, “True, but without your food, and your flair for the dramatic, I swear none of her parties would have that pop, my friend. So what’s up for the weekend?”
“The Eagles play on Monday night, right?”
“Those Eagles are going to lose on Monday night, but I’ll be right here with my eyes glued to the Plasma.” Zackary chuckled before he pulled up his shirt to reveal a Dallas Cowboys T-shirt.
“You freaking traitor,” I said before I lit up a cigarette.
“I guess that’ll make three of us then.”
“Oh my God, is Michael’s old lady finally letting him out of the house? I mean, you'd think that after three marriages, he would…”
“Don’t go there Omari, ‘cause the walls have ears hommie. Besides, you don’t ever wanna get on that woman’s bad side.”
“At least you’ve met her proper talking ass!”
“That’s what happens to you when you teach English to a bunch of high school kids.”
“So the writer has finally discovered someone to appreciate his literary prowess.”
“You can say that, but I don’t know why he’s keeping her away from you. Anyway, you got any plans for the weekend?”
“I was thinking about working on my pasta making skills, ‘cause I’m ‘bout tired of working with the store brand stuff. Then again, I really wanted to go to Zoo Atlanta so that I could take some pictures with my brand new digital camera.”
“I see, well you can hang that part of your overly excited weekend up my friend.”
“Why’s that?”
“I’ve seen some of your work and I’m here to tell you bro-you’re a terrible photographer.”
“Thanks for the support, anyway I was thinking I check the specs on this new wireless router I’m about to buy. I guess when I get done with that, I’ll probably get everything ready for Monday night before I prep everything for the following...”
“Did you hear what you just said Omari?”
“Yeah, sounds like I got a whole lot of shit to do this weekend.”
“Look man; is there something you wanna tell me? I mean, we’ve been friends for a mighty long time, so c’mon and level with a Black man.”
“Zac?”
“Yeah”
“You’re Jewish, remember?”
“That was a joke Omari. Damn, I swear man, you need to loosen up and spend a little of that money you got saved up. Go buy yourself a new car or something. Get a date maybe.”
“My bad, maybe I’m the Jew and you’re the Black man in this thing.”
“Real funny, Omari, all I’m saying is …”
“
Out with it already,” I said after I opened the door that lead to my rooftop garden.
Zachary broke a boyish smirk before he headed out onto the garden. “In case you didn’t know Omari, you shouldn’t have to water anything up here for awhile.”
“Say what?” I said before I joined him in the garden.
“Big rain is coming our way this evening is what the weather man said last night.”
“There’s an automated water system out here. You designed and installed it yourself remember? Look can we cut the bull and get to wha’s on your mind.”
“Damn, you’re right. I did install that unit, didn’t I?”
“Hello, you designed and built the whole damn loft Zac, I mean tha’s why I paid you and your family all that money.”
“Right, look Omari, I’m going to be real honest with you here okay.”
“Good, lay it on me.”
“We’re not in the Army anymore, so if you decide to come out of that closet, we can still be cool. Besides, how many guys are gonna mess with a dude as big as you?”
I was standing beside one of my rose bushes when it dawned on me what my friend was saying. At first, I was angry. That passed after I saw this red headed bird bathing in one of my Miyako designed birdbaths. Nature had a way of easing my soul, giving me a sense of hope. Feeling straight and narrowed, I smiled at the bird before I returned Zachary my attention.
“What makes you think I’m gay? I mean, for cryin’ out loud Zac, you and I have slept in the same stinking foxholes. We’ve even bathed in places I’d never tell my mother about, so where in hell is this coming from?”
Zachary looked uncomfortable when he sighed. “Last night, before Sarah and I had sex … you know my girlfriend…the lady I date.”
“Oh, okay, you gonna clown me like that.”
“For real, though, Omari, she was reading this book called; Ten Ways To Tell If He’s Gay. And, um, well she started sharing some of this stuff with me right.
“I wonder why?”
“I don’t really know, but some of it was sort of eye opening you know what I mean?” Zackary asked looking like he wanted run and hide somewhere.
“So did you tell her or what?” I asked him before I took a seat.
“Did I tell her what?”
“That you’re gay.”
“Wasn’t that eye-opening, okay, shit, I can’t help it if you fit the outline man.”
“The outline?”
“Its called being on the down low.”
“You’re serious aren’t you?”
“I’m not the one with an overly manicured garden, am I Omari?”
"I guess a brother can’t have a nice garden huh.”
“Not in Atlanta. That’s a dead give away according to that book.”
“And they say a mind is terrible thing to waste.”
“Whatever, but for the record, wha's up with that oiled down naked Black dude you got hanging in your server room?”
“The naked dude hanging in my…”
“And what’s up with watching all those Power Puff Girl cartoons?”
“First of all, that well toned ass belongs to yours truly, and believe it or not, some people call that Power Puff stuff modern art. And if my memory serves me correctly, you were the one that turned me on to that stupid cartoon, remember?”
“Did I?”
“Yeah you did.”
“Oh my God, I’ve seen your ass!”
“On many occasions my friend.”
“All damn.”
“Man that picture has been in that room forever, now all of sudden it’s an issue. But if it it'll make you feel any better, the ex painted that after we got back from Bosnia.”
Zachary looked unimpressed.
“So how is Olivia doing these days?”
“Do I look like I care?”
“A little.”
“Screw you.”
“Just joking, how about the kids? Haven’t heard you talk about them lately.”
“Its one of those: everything is cool as long I keep mailing off them checks, situations.”
“I see.”
“I’m glad somebody can, because I don’t have a clue when it comes to that woman.”
“I pray that I never go through that, but look here, I’m not tryin’ to get into your business Omari, but please tell me Olivia wasn’t the last…”
“Love of my life, or the last time I got laid, which one Zac, because if you’re asking me about sex, relax, I’ve been a few other places since our separation.”
“What about a serious relationship Omari? I mean, it’s been over five years since you guys were together.”
“Excuse me, but didn’t Omari attend college after he left the military? Wasn’t Omari holding down two jobs, while babysitting a friend who just happened to be going through his third divorce? Don’t get me wrong, I’ll always have Michael’s back, but if you wanna talk to somebody about a sorry ass love life … Michael is the man.”
“He’s not going to appreciate that babysitting remark.”
“He’ll get over it.”
“True, but everybody can…”
Look, I’ve been a busy man, which means I haven’t had the time to pursue another meaningful relationship. I adore women…thought you knew that.”
Truth of the matter was; it had taken me every day of those five years to get over Olivia and her contagious West African smile. Her ability to make big issues, seem trivial with a single kiss, wasn’t so easily replaced. To add insult to injury, I didn’t believe in divorce, so the ending of our marriage went against everything I believed in. After our divorce was final, she remarried and went back to her homeland with my kids in tow. Of course I hid the depression and heartache because I knew my friends would have worried about me. Still, neither of them knew how hard it was for me to face the fact that Olivia no longer wanted to love me. As much as that fact almost destroyed me, the survivor in me fought on even when life started to fray.
Zackary had finally discovered, intentionally frightened away the bird and started out. Then Michael appeared and blocked his escape. Short, dark and stocky, Michael was a class act. Soft spoken most of the time and well dressed all of the time; Michael was a man of the time. If high water pants with a multi-colored turtleneck were in, Michael would wear them. I guess being a popular fashion editor for the leading newspaper in Atlanta, dictated that Michael walked the walk and dress the dress.
“Leaving, Zac?”
“Gotta meet old girl down at the shack, why wha’s up?”
“I got some brew and a new bottle of Absolut is wha’s up.”
“Free at last…free at last…Lord have mercy, that brother is free at last,” I chuckled before I stood up and reached for a beer. “Oh my God, the man has finally brought some non domestic to my humble domicile.”
“Real funny, so what’s going on people?” Michael asked with a look of curiosity on his face.
“Work and more work, but we’re drama free,” we all chuckled before Michael asked.
“Okay, what did I miss?”
“Zach thinks I’m gay.”
“Everybody in this building thinks that, Omari,” Michael said before handing out the goods.
“I guess I wasn’t the only person to color in that outline, huh Omari?” Zackary said before he popped open his beer and took a sip. “Face it man, you’ve been profiled.”
“I told you to stop watching Bravo. Didn’t I, Omari?” Michael said all girlie like.
“This is some sad shit, ya’ll know that right? I mean, here I am, a hard working, law bidding brother who just happens to love gardening and cooking, and here I am getting …”
“Whew, I’m glad you didn’t say cocking.”
“Screw you Zach, and yes, I can admit that I don’t date much, but …”
“You don’t date much, how about never, Omari. By the way, you’re not a real gardener.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“C’mon now, you did
n’t sow a single plant in this garden. Old Hosea and his people did all the real work, while you sat back on your ass giving directions.”
“George S. Patton once said, don’t tell people how to do things, tell them what to do and let them surprise you with their results. It worked for me.”
“Stop trying to change the subject, Omari.”
“Who’s trying to change the subject? You’re the one that said I wasn’t a gardener.”
“Outside of your sister and your moms, what other ladies have you had up here?”
I gave that some serious thought before this grand homophobic picture started to materialize in front of me. I bit down on my lower lip in embarrassment as I tried to think of something to trounce this absurd notion. Nothing concise came to mind, so I decided not to fight what I now understood.
“It’s like this, Omari, if you had few steady ladies coming up here, maybe a few tattoos, and a nice pimp ride.”
“You mean like that gaudy ass Escalade of yours Michael?”
“The gaudier the better my friend, anyway, with this crib, and your looks, man you’d be in like Flynn.”
“Let’s not use that comparison,” Zachary chuckled.
“Oh yeah, he was gay too wasn’t he?”
“I’m not that way okay.”
“As I was saying, if you had all of those things going on, Omari, most people would assume you’re some educated, hip hop Emeril wanna be.” Michael took a seat next to me.
“This is some stupid shit, you know that right?”
“Maybe, but most people can’t relate to what they don’t understand. It’s sort of the easy way out.” Michael undressed the Absolute. “We need some glasses, orange juice, limes, and some Sprite.”
“Amen to that,” Zackary said before he headed for the door. “I swear that wife of yours must’ve had some real good stuff huh Michael?”
“I don’t know about that one, sir, because it probably would’ve taken me a few years to get over that woman. I mean, lets keep it real. She was something to look at. Now that I think about it, I think I would’ve gotten over her by now, though.”
“Just like you got over your last wife; my bad, which wife would that be Michael?”
The Other Side of My Kitchen Page 1
