“First of all Omari, I can understand that you and Zackary are boys and everything, but if you ask me, I’d say you yourself might be interested in dating outside of your race.”
“Excuse me.” “I know that might sound crazy right now, but I just think that…”
“Love is love Nique, but to answer your question, I myself would prefer the love and…”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard that before.”
“Can a brother finish?”
“No you can’t, you know why Omari?”
“Why Nique?”
“Because I’m sick and tired seeing Black women being passed over and overlooked as if they’re some outdated cassette player. I mean what do a set of Pink toes have that we don’t?”
“An out of date cassette player or maybe even a pair of pink toes Nique.”
“Of course you’d find humor in this seeing how…” “Seeing how what?”
“C’mon, you and I both know what happens to a brother after he manages to fill his pockets.”
“You’re preaching to the wrong person on this subject.”
“Dare I ask why?”
“If you must know, my babies’ momma left me for a pair of those pink toes.”
The phone suddenly went silent, leaving me alone with a reality that use to keep me up at nights. I’m over that now, but I can’t believe I actually shared that with Nique; nevertheless it was bound to come out sooner or later. Better in the present than in the future, I thought to myself before I decided to re-invite Nique back to our conversation.
“Are you still there Nique?”
“Before you say anything else Omari, I’d like to apologize for bringing this subject up.”
“You couldn’t have possibly known about that, so don’t worry about it.”
“I guess you’re right, but did going through all that drama make you bitter?”
“Hell yeah, but keep this in mind. A lot of the frustration that I felt came from where I was from and how I was raised. Needless to say, I dealt with it, and I have moved on.”
Once again the phone fell silent before Nique decided to speak.
“I don’t know if I could’ve dealt with that,” she yawned out.
“I didn’t think I could either, but I did. Don’t you wish there was a cure for heartbreak?”
“Yes, but at the moment I need the cure for a slight case of insomnia. You know what, I think I'll just go shower with some lavender body wash, burn some incense, and put on some soft instrumentals to help me drift away.”
“Would’ve never pegged you for an insomniac,” I said before I rolled over to the cooler side of the bed.
“Didn’t your momma teach you not to judge a book by its cover Omari?”
“Of course, but I’m still a man remember?”
“Which means you see things in black in white, while I see them in Techno color.”
“You’re confusing me with one of those nineteen seventies model Nique.”
“I see, so you’re one of those new and improved types I take it.”
“I don’t know about the new part, but I like to think I’m an improvement.”
She giggled something to herself before she said, “I know you want me to respond to that, but I’m not going to.”
“There’s nothing wrong with a stroking a man’s ego every now and then.”
“So you say.”
“So I say, still I think you’d be surprised where that might take you.”
“To the damn crazy house.”
“Are you speaking from experience?”
“Another time and another place, Babe.”
“Okay, so are you still planning on braiding my hair tomorrow night?”
“I would hope so. Are we still on for the weekend?”
“Does Wal-Mart sell cheese?”
“Never pegged you as a Wal-Mart guy, sort of thought you were a Pier One cat.”
“Pier One, Wal-Mart, Target, you name it. I can do them all in a single afternoon.”
“Oh my God, don’t tell me you like to shop too.”
“Didn’t say that I liked it, just saying I know how to do it. Besides, I’m a Clark Howard disciple.”
“I hear you. Well I’m going to send my Limo to pick you up at around seven if that’s okay.”
“Only if my friends can see me get in it.”
“Got a little pretentious inside you I see.”
“I also got a pinch of Tupac, a tablespoon of Biggie, and a whole cup of...”
“Crazy, look I have to try and get some sleep. See us tomorrow?”
“In deed,” I said before hanging up.
After talking with Nique, I discovered that I wasn’t the slightest bit sleepy, so I sat up and watched an episode of the West Wing and the Travis Smiley show before I headed to the kitchen. Once there, I decided to finish preparing a batch of Praline Bread Pudding that I had started before Nique called. Before I added the Praline liqueur to the awaiting pudding, I concluded why I was so sleepless in Atlanta. That rarely used irrational side of me was extremely anxious about our trip to New Orleans, while the father in me wondered about my children.
I had intentionally decided not to talk to them this week because I didn’t want to hear their mother’s addictive voice. The lasting effect of love gone terribly wrong was what I was trying to avoid. The guilt that came with this tactic, nagged at me like Institutionalized Racism. I attacked the irksome bug by adding two more zeros to their monthly allowances. Deep down, I knew this was nothing more than a parental buy out, but I did it anyway because I could. Of course my guilt grew even larger until Greg showed up on my doorsteps looking to be hired. And hire him I did. I guess helping him in his time of need sort of eased my guilty conscious, because I didn’t think about my children all day after that.
“Aren’t you ever going to get over her Omari?” I asked myself after I placed the bread pudding inside the oven to cook. A couple of minutes later I was standing out in the middle of my garden smoking on a L and sipping on a glass of scotch whilst thinking about my New Orleans get away with Nique.
Damn, is she really feeling me like that?
Am I feeling her like that?
Shit, why can’t this be our third or fourth date?
In the end, I accepted my anxiousness, probably because sleep would eventually avoid me as I had avoided my children.
Thursday morning came at me like The Rise and Fall of Jack Johnson. Fast, hard, and with very little regrets. Nevertheless I was all over the rain soaked city making that money, and before I knew it, quitting time crept up on me like a shady woman of the night. Exhausted but still excited about seeing Nique, I rushed home after my last assignment and combed out my hair, cleaned the house, and showered down before I jumped into a pair of Southpole whisk faded jeans, and an over sized Café Du Monde tee shirt. Feeling fresh and young, I sipped on a big glass of Apple Vodka on the rocks before I paid my kitchen a visit.
“Conversation food, I need some conversation food,” I mumbled to myself before I decided on that batch of Praline Bread Pudding.
Honestly, I wasn’t sure if Nique would enjoy the bread pudding, but it was the only thing ready to eat in my refrigerator. I taste tested the pudding and gave it my seal of approval before I made a pot of Café Du Monde French market coffee.
“Boney.”
“I’m here, Omari.”
“Play me something recent.”
“Are we talking top forty, Omari?”
“Don’t wanna go there; I know, just play me one of Zackary’s MP3 files.”
“Bootleg or legitimate?”
“Whatever turns you on, Boney.”
“Young Joc’s, It’s Goin Down will start in three, two, one...”
“Let’s go a different direction, Boney.”
“File skipped…a remix of Lil Flip featuring Jim Jones, I Get Money will start in three, two, one…”
The Dirty South flavored, skillfully remixed, song started booming throughout my
loft before Boney chimed in and told me that Nique was standing down at my front door. I took a deep breath and calmly walked over to the security monitor and checked her out.
Dressed inside some hip hugging deep trenches camouflage pants and a black leather jacket, Nique looked as sexy as she did the first time I laid eyes on her. I went to hit the intercom button when I suddenly saw a vision of us making monstrous love out in my garden. A passion filled scene that included two pair of awkwardly gyrating brown legs extending this way and that whilst a protruding round ass performed its own seductive rhythmic dance on top of me. Perhaps Zackary was right, maybe I am one horny brother, but that didn’t mean I had to act the part. I shook off my hidden desires, and concentrated on being what I called…overall cool…from head to toe you know. Happily situated in my selfcreated persona, I looked back at the monitor and buzzed Nique in as a hypnotic Jay Z rhyme tune kicked in.
“There you are,” I said as I greeted her with a rock steady smile.
Nique blushed confidently before she handed me her stylish backpack and quickly made her way into my house. Five minutes later, I was sitting on my kitchen floor wedged between her solid thighs like a Djembe drum as she pulled, greased, and twisted my long but tangled African mane.
“Roar, roar, like Tony the Tiger,” I laughed along with an old Buster Rhymes cut.
“Okay Mr. Tony the Tiger, can ah sister have what you’re drinking,” Nique asked as she forcefully braided a thick course of my hair. “Seriously Omari, are you going to offer me a drink, or am I going to hafta really torture that ass up here!”
“I didn’t think that was the best you could do.”
“Don’t go there Mr. Funny man.”
“My bad Ma, so what do you want to drink? Hold on, lemme guess, okay how bout some apple Vodka on the rocks with a little twist of lemon.”
“Now that’s what I’m talking ‘bout.”
“I’m there,” I said before I jumped up and headed to my liquor cabinet.
Two lemon slices, six cubes of ice, and four double shots of Absolut Apple Vodka later, I was back sitting between Nique’s thighs sipping on my drink while she continued building her masterpiece.
“Is that drink good or what,” I asked her as my body grooved to an addictive JadaKiss/Ashanti mix.
“Yeah it’s good, even if you were a little late offering it.”
“So how many cool points did l lose on that little slip up?”
To my surprise, Nique answered that question by slowly allowing her entire body to join mines as we moved with the music. Her delicate but brief show of affection sent a wave of lust throughout my body. Scarcely in control, I finished off my drink with a single turn of the glass.
“Will my dome look like Allan Iverson’s, or are we going for a more sophisticated look?”
“Don’t get me wrong, I love Allan, and yes, his wig be looking tight every game. However, he isn’t as fine as you are. So if you ask me, you’re going to be one fine thing to look at.”
After hearing that, I went to take a sip of my liquid confidence, and found it at zero; sipped on it anyway until I found my cool. Once there, I faded into my, I’m down for anything mode when Boney interrupted everything and told me that I had a 911 call coming in.
“Excuse me Nique.”
“I understand.”
“I’m here Boney.”
“You have a code red from Michael on line one Omari.”
“I’m sorry, but do you mind if I take this call.”
“Code red sounds serious enough to me.”
“Thanks, okay Boney you can send him through.”
“Omari.”
“What’s up man?”
“Damn am I glad you’re home.”
“Okay, but I have company at the moment, and you’re live.”
“Shit, I don’t care.”
“Aw’ight, shoot.”
“Today’s Marlene’s birthday and I was planning on giving her this big romantic dinner and everything, but I sort of got held up at work and…”
“I could’ve taken care of this if you would’ve asked.”
“Okay, I forgot the damn thing aw’ight.”
“Ay, shit happens. So what are you gonna do?”
“Marlene love’s Kobe Bryant.”
“And the Lakers are in town to play the Hawks tonight, sounds like a plan to me.”
“Yeah, but I couldn’t find any tickets.”
“I can make a few calls if you want me too.”
“Thought about that, but I wouldn’t be any fun tonight. You know something man, I really didn’t want to forget this thing.”
“Were you planning to spend time with her tonight?”
“I guess so.”
“Planning on watching TV weren’t you?”
“HBO is having a Rome marathon tonight, so I went and bought her some of her favorite food thinking we do just that.”
“What did you buy?”
“Mongolian barbecue, Strawberry cheese cake and I thought I’d make her one of those Black Velvet drinks that you showed me how to make, why what’s up?”
“Subconsciously, I don’t think you forgot her birthday, that’s why you purchased the Mongolian barbecue, not to mention the cheesecake.”
“Okay, so where are you going with this?”
“You got kids right?”
“You know I got kids.”
“And they cost money, am I right?”
“Hell yeah!”
“Then you should be broke; understand where I’m coming from now?”
“That just it, I’m not broke.”
“Does Marlene know this?”
“Probably not.”
“Than you’re broke this week.”
“All right I’m broke, what happens next?”
“Are you sure you’re broke?”
“Man, my cell phone is about to be discontinued.” “Good, can you be mad serious?”
“I’m as tense as Tiger Woods at the Masters.”
“That’s what I’m talking about, so how many candles do you have?”
“Outside of those funky ones that you gave me for Christmas; I’d say about one or two.”
“You said you like those candles. That’s okay because this is what I want you to do Michael. Take that dated tablecloth off of your table and iron it flat. Place it on the floor in front of your big screen TV and…are you still there Michael?”
“I’m writing it down man.”
“Make a mental note to find that expensive center piece that I bought you the year before. Once you’ve dug it out of the closet, place those very expensive imported scented candles that I bought you on that centerpiece. Sprinkle some white sand, and a few river stones around them to complete the picture.”
“Why in the hell would I have white sand lying around my house Omari? Don’t answer that, look will sugar do?”
“Mix it with some whole wheat flower and it should pass in the dark. Anyway, place your center piece in the center of the table cloth and toss some rose pedals about.”
“Rose pedals, where in the hell am I going to find rose pedals at this time of the night?”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Nique whispered under her breath.
“Look man, every gas station in the state of Georgia sells some sort of farm grown rose, so go and get a few of them as soon as possible.”
“This sounds like a pure booty call move if you ask me,” Nique responded once again.
“Excuse me, but I don’t do booty calls.”
“So you say.”
I pulled away and glanced up at her skeptically before I said, “Michael?”
“Wha up.”
“Hold on for a second.” I said before I gave Nique my full attention. “So you think this is all a classless booty call move?”
“Ay, I’m just being honest.”
“Yeah right. Aw’ight where were we?”
“My big screen TV and Rose pedals, but I think I got that par
t covered.”
“Cool, do you still have that live Bjork concert on DVD? If so, let that play while you guys are having dinner. But before that can happen, lie out your best set of china and on the inside of her napkin; write the sweetest love note that you can think of. Something corny like, you were on my mind like a perceptive Tupac rhyme. ”
“That’s fresh, yeah I like that one. What about dinner?”
“Excuse me Michael, it's me, Nique and I don’t mean to interrupt, but you bet not use that corny ass line if you plan on getting some tonight.”
“But Marlene loves that kinda…”
“Trust me, do not go there okay.”
“I got you Nique. So what about dinner Omari?”
“Mongolian Barbecue sounds good to me.”
“True, what about a side dish.”
“Do you remember how to make that Seafood Spaghetti dish?”
“I’m there, but what do I do about the birthday cake?”
“Are we talking that cheap shit or top shelf with the cheesecake Michael?”
“Top shelf brother.”
“Good, stick a candle in it and call it a day.
“I’m there. Ay, I owe you.”
“Just make sure your finger nails are clean, and everything should work out.”
“Damn, I didn’t even think of that, look man I’m out.” After helping Michael, Nique and I had a healthy but heated debate about what was and what wasn’t a true booty call. Lack of experience on the subject left a lot of holes in my argument; so I decided to fold my tent after Nique told me few of her raunchy booty call adventures.
Appearing victorious, Nique went back to work on my head until she finally stood up in front of me and examined her handy work. She seemed pleased enough as I rubbed my sore head gingerly and headed to the bathroom to see for myself. What I discovered twisted into my head was amazing. My once long and dusty looking hair was now shinny and braided into a multilayered, zigzagging form of abstract art. It took about five minutes of staring in the mirror to convince myself that it was I on the other side. Feeling confident and sexy, I pulled off my T-shirt and unzipped the top of my jeans and tried to strike the sexist pose before Nique interrupted me.
The Other Side of My Kitchen Page 9
