“You D’angelo wanna be,” she said before bursting into laughter.
“Now that’s wrong.”
“Ay, I came in here hoping I could get a slice of that, Devils Pie,” she said before she headed back to my kitchen still laughing.
Embarrassed as all hell, I quickly zipped up my pants and pulled on my tee shirt before I joined her in the kitchen.
“Couldn’t have been that funny,” I said sheepishly.
Nique was almost to tears, when she giggled, “Lemme see, I think I got a few single dollar bills.”
“Man that’s cold.”
“Wait till you start taking the rest of them clothes off. Hold on; let a lady get something to eat first. Damn, I wasn’t expecting all this.”
“Anyway, do you want some of this Praline Bread Pudding or what? I just made it last night.”
Nique’s almond shaped eyes glowed with anticipation before she came close. “Are you going to feed it to me Omari?” “I can do that,” I said as I stared deep into her eyes.
A few minutes later, Nique sat a top my kitchen countertop while I slowly spoon-feed her a delightful taste of New Orleans. What really turned me on was how she behaved before eating every bit. It went something like this; she would close her eyes in anticipation, and right before the pudding found her mouth, she would gingerly place her hand on my chest, tenderly massaging my Pectoral muscles in the most loving manner.
“That’s the last of it lady,” I said before I leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.
Nique, looking slightly caught up, whispered, “I swear, my mammy would slap my grand mammy for a taste of that pudding.”
“If your grand mammy is anything like mines, she’s going to wheel around with a pistol in her hand too.”
“You don’t know.”
“So where do we go from here Nique?”
“I would love to stay Omari, but I have an eight thirty conference call that I must to take.”
“I understand, in fact I got a few things that I need to do in the morning.”
Nique smiled at me cautiously before she surprised me with a gentle kiss. The act in it self was sweet but calculated, so much so, it caused me to step away.
“Did I do something wrong?”
“Of course not, I’m just a little tired that’s all.”
“I can call you a cab or I should I just drive you home.”
Appearing befuddled, Nique jumped off of the countertop and said, “My limo should be down stairs waiting, I’ll just let myself out.”
I don’t know how she did it, but Nique confused the door leading out to the garden with the front door. The really weird thing was; she closed the door behind her and walked out into the middle of the garden anyway. Maybe it was the cold night air, or the fact that we were six floors up that brought her back inside looking even more befuddled.
“Wrong door,” she said as she pointed at the front door.
“You sure you don’t want me to drive you home?”
“I know I look crazy, but I think I’ll be okay.”
“The least I can do is walk you to your limo.”
Nique tried to protest, but I wasn’t hearing or having any of that, so I grabbed her by the hand and lead her out the right door and down to her awaiting limo. Once there I thanked her for braiding my hair and told her how much I enjoyed seeing her. To my surprise she kissed me once again before she jumped inside her limo and departed.
“How weird was that,” I thought to myself before I headed back inside.
Violently Happy!
I wish I knew how I had arrived at that moment in time. A chilly Friday night, a packed nightclub located deep in the French Quarter. Funk Jazz, digital jazz and even a little Coltrane; jazzed its funky ways into suspecting and wanting ear drums, while the multicolored people laughed and danced together like unregulated microwaves. Of course a stretched Limousine and a twenty-five minute ride in a Learjet was only half the answer. Nique’s big time music industry party was what brought us to this wonderful moment in New Orleans funkiness.
From the beginning, I knew that my well traveled but mature demeanor was an asset that she couldn’t deny. My burly, six foot five frame made her look and feel good. My proper usage of speech, urban or professional, took it to the next level. Indeed, I had it down like no man she had ever seen, that’s why she stayed by my side whilst we were at the party. In the end, we both deemed the whole phony affair a success before the real party was on.
Hide those pesky ass children, and those hypocritical politicians, because Nique and I, both dressed in midnight black, acted a complete fool in about six night clubs before we crashed landed in some jazz dive off of Bourbon Street. The lights were credulously dimmed, and the music was hot as Nique’s sweaty body. A body that grooved seductively close to a teetering fire that licked, cracked and popped at the sight of her sassy swaying body.
“I don’t know if I told you this yet, but you look crazy hot tonight,” I said before I closed the gap that lay between us. “Okay, if I’m looking crazy hot, than you must be blazing.”
Wanted to blush, but fought that off to say, “Gotta add to that one to the old résumé.”
“I swear you can be so silly, but I like it on you.”
“There’s more where that came from if you’re interested.”
“Dare I say I no.”
“You bet not,” I said before I kissed her salty lips. “Sea salt, I take that back; kosher, yeah, you taste real Kosher right about now.”
“At least I don’t taste like table salt.”
“I taste like table salt?”
“The dollar store kind I mind you.”
“And there’s a difference.”
“I know that’s right,” she giggled before she threw her arms around me and asked. “So, why didn’t we check into our hotel before we went to the party Omari? It was part of the package.”
“A friend of mine owns a Double Gallery House in the Lower Garden District.”
“For real?”
“Yes ma’am, and he recently converted it into a bed and breakfast. So I thought it would be cool if we stayed there, besides, he does all the cooking and-trust-the man can cook.”
“Better than you?”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“You don’t pull punches do you Omari?”
“Sometimes.”
“You have to sometimes, but guess what.”
“What up, Ma?”
“I swear the little girl in me wants to share something with you, but I just don’t know if…”
“I’m here.”
“She says; I’m so violently happy, and I swear to God I wish this night would never end.”
After hearing that, Nique’s eyes told me that it was time for us to go, while her gentle but cautious caress suggested that she could vibe with me all night if she wasn’t wearing four inch stilettos that made her look like a movie star. Understanding what I needed to do as Miles Davis jammed in the background, I reached for Nique’s hand and lead her to the bar. Once there, I ordered up a bottle of something that only grown folks would appreciate before we headed for the front door.
The late night New Orleans air that greeted us was moist, cold and dangerous, while the scent of on coming rain disguised as passion embraced us after we made our exit. As I should, I pulled Nique close in attempt to protect her, and was rewarded with a wet kiss beneath my ear. It felt like an Arto Lindsay ballet on a laid back Sunday night. That would explain why it warmed all that I was before I waved for our limo.
“I know you’re cold, but it’s going to be okay,” I said before I peeled open the limo.
Nique’s shivering body slipped inside the limo before I followed suite. A couple of minutes later we were heading to the Bed and Breakfast as a light coat of rain started to fall.
“I can’t believe it’s raining.” I said as I stared out the window.
“I can.”
“And why is that?”
&n
bsp; “Because I made a deal with the man sitting next to the man who just happened to sits a across from the man who think he’s the man. Did you get all that?”
“No, but I guess we can assume somebody in heaven heard your prayer.”
“I guess he did,” Nique replied after another one of those warm kisses came my way. “Can I ask you something.” Nique asked as she too stared out at the passing world
“Hit me.”
“Do you still love you’re ex wife?”
A part of me wanted to answer that honestly while another part of me wanted to change the subject. However, I felt no desire to hide how I truly felt from Nique, therefore I decided to keep it real with her.
“To be honest with you, I’ll probably always love her in some form or fashion. She is the mother of my children, and that means a great deal to me. I find it interesting that you didn’t ask if I was still in love with her.”
“As far as I’m concerned, being in love with someone is totally different than actually loving that person Omari.”
“Really, so how do they differ?”
“Being in love with someone is an excuse to act crazy, before the desire of wanting to give and receive love manages to somehow float away. While actually loving someone tends to last forever because you gave that person a part of you.”
“I swear I’ve never looked at it that way.”
“Why you’re a man, and I’m a woman.”
“And what a blessing that is,” I said before Nique reached over and pinched me. “For real though, how does that make you feel? I mean, if the tables where turned, I’m not sure if I could really…I don’t know…be into that person.”
Nique looked at me as if she expected that response, “You kept it real with me right?”
“One hundred percent.”
“And I handled it like a champ, would you agree?”
“I agree.”
“And yet I’ve never meet a man who could do the same.”
“Point taken.”
“But was it understood is the real question,” Nique asked as the limousine finally pulled up in front of the Bed and Breakfast.
Feeling more relaxed than I had in years; I grabbed Nique by the hand and lead her up to our awaiting playground. The suite itself had a calming but distinct color scheme and was full of those Bed and Breakfast classics like a native stone fireplace, handcrafted timber furniture, antiques, a soaking tub, and a private balcony that came with an old rocking chair.
From the moment we walked in, I think I was more impressed with the suite than Nique, because she kept cracking wise jokes about how antiquated the room felt to her. After all of the jokes were said and laughed at, my long anticipated love making session started with class, and style before it converted itself into a spicy recipe that could only be described by one of those Def Jam poets.
After shock
I was never one of those types of men that rolled over and fell asleep after making love; however it’s been awhile since I’ve experienced the love of a real woman. So I wasn’t prepared for Nique and all her southern charms, because her affection came at me in waves, and without much mercy. Ten minutes into our journey, I was thoroughly exhausted, and desperately looking for a lifejacket that eventually came to me in the form of sleep. In the end, I’m not sure how many minutes or hours passed me by before I heard something go bump in the night. It was enough to jolt me out of the world of dreams.
Dazed and little confused from the unfamiliar settings that surrounded me, I instinctively looked for Nique’s warmed body but found it missing. I glanced over in the direction of the bathroom and didn’t find her there. The suite wasn’t that big, so she had to be here somewhere I thought to myself as I crawled out of bed.
After checking the entire suite for my missing lover, I was about to get that sick feeling in my stomach that suggested negativity was in the works. However all that came to an end when I saw something or somebody move out on the balcony. New Orleans wasn’t exactly the safest place in the world, so I approached the balcony carefully hoping it was Nique and not some desperate cat burglar. To my relief I didn’t discover a burglar or that archetypal always getting into shit alley cat. Instead, I found Nique standing out in the cold inside a silk night coat finishing off that bottle of grown folks. If she was out there sipping on that scotch with a glass, I guess I wouldn’t have felt so disturbed. But that’s not what she was doing; instead Nique was hitting that hundred and seventy-five dollar a bottle like there was no tomorrow before she suddenly keeled over and vomited.
From where I stood, Nique’s trembling body appeared sickly and almost ghosts like. That’s when it all made sense to me because I closed the curtains and immediately headed for my MDA.
“Okay, Omari, do you have any idea what time it is?” “I know its late Robby, but I really do hafta talk to you.”
“Are you in trouble?”
“Not really, I mean, I’m okay.”
“Sure you don’t wanna talk to Cece?”
I gave that some thought after I heard Nique throwing up once again.
“Look man, you’re a preacher right?”
“Last time I checked.”
“Good, advise me as a man of God and not as a friend Robby.”
“I can do that.”
“The other day, I found one of those Alcoholics Anonymous coins inside my couch right. I didn’t know where it came from, but I had an idea, but I didn’t act upon it. I don’t know why didn’t, but I swear I wasn’t trying to be insincere.”
“Relax Omari, I believe you.”
“Anyway, I didn’t think anything of it until…well…now.”
“Where are you Omari?”
“New Orleans. Where are you?”
“Home, thank you very much.”
“I know that’s right, anyway so here I am with this young lady and where having the time of our lives and everything is like mad great. Everything was just great until umm…Look Robby this lady is out on the balcony shot gunning a very expensive bottle of scotch.”
“How old?”
“Hundred and change.”
“That was a good year for scotch if I may say so.”
“Not funny, look this can’t be normal because she keeps spitting up her guts!”
“I understand, so what was the number on the coin?”
“Seven, no, three I think.”
“I see, well my friend you are in a pretty serious situation that’s going to need for you to behave like the good man that you are.”
“I don’t feel all that good right now Robby.”
“To be expected, but first things first; let us pray together.”
Robert Douglas was a strong tempered man who was once enslaved by the cold grips of alcoholism before he became an ordained minister. His substance abuse story was legendary; his ability to get that monkey off of his back was one of the most inspirational things I had ever heard. This is why I called him, because if anybody could help me help Nique, Robert could. After we prayed, Robert went to work.
“This is going to be a one way conversation Omari, understand?”
“I’m there.”
“Non-alcoholics sometimes do not understand why an alcoholic can’t just use a little willpower to stop drinking. However, alcoholism has little to do with willpower Omari. You see alcoholics are in the grip of a powerful craving, or uncontrollable need, for alcohol that overrides their ability to stop drinking. This need can be as strong as the need for food or water.”
“I understand, but she was fine when…”
“This is a one way conversation, remember Omari?”
“My bad.”
“Okay, do me a favor and look inside her purse for me.”
I checked to see if Nique was finished doing whatever she was doing on the balcony before I gathered up her purse. Once inside I found the normal stuff that ladies keep inside their purses until I discovered a bottle of meds.
“I’m in her purse and the only thing
that I see out of place is a bottle of pills Robby.”
“What’s does the prescription say Omari?”
I looked the prescription and read it to Robert slowly. “A disulfiram (Antabuse®) or naltrexone (ReVia™)”
“Open it up and tell me if the bottle is still full.”
I did as I was told and discovered a full bottle of pills. “Looks like a complete bottle to me.”
“That’s what I thought. The number three on that coin you found is an indication of how long your friend has been successfully sober. However, even individuals who are determined to stay sober may suffer one or several “slips,” or relapses, before achieving long-term sobriety.”
“Oh shit, I can’t believe I did this to her.”
“Relapses are very common and do not mean that a person has failed or cannot recover from alcoholism Omari. Do you understand that?”
“I do.”
“Good, now keep in mind, too, that every day that a recovering alcoholic has stayed sober prior to a relapse is extremely valuable time, both to the individual and to his or her family. If a relapse occurs, as it has in your friend’s case, it is very important for this person to try and stop drinking once again and to get whatever additional support that they may need to abstain from drinking.”
“So this is what it looks like when someone falls off the wagon, damn, I can’t believe I did this to her,” I mumbled before my head found my chest.
“This is not your fault Omari. In fact, it’s nobody’s fault. However, you’re going to have to help her before she hurts herself. I could be wrong, but I think she’s binge drinking, and that can lead to heart and kidney failure.”
“What are you saying Robby?”
“She’s unknowingly trying to kill herself Omari, which means you’re going to have to save her.”
I wasn’t born with that hero gene, life and death drama tended to bring the coward out of me. I’ve always known this about myself, and I wasn’t afraid to tell anybody this either. However, I cared about Nique, and I didn’t want her hurt. I bit down on my lower lip, raised my head, and agreed not to be a coward.
“I understand Robby.”
The Other Side of My Kitchen Page 10
