“He’s nothing special. They never are.”
“Who is this talking? Not Doctor Terri Ross, the strong, independent, BMW-drivin’ superwoman?”
“What are you talkin’ about?”
“I can’t believe you’re still holding on to that shit you went through with Michael. That was more than a year ago. Let it go!”
Terri put her head down on her desk and turned back and forth in her chair.
“You know I hate it when you’re right?”
“Yep.”
“It’s just hard for me to trust again, you know? I wasted two years of my life on Michael. I cooked and cleaned for him, supported him in his career, and paid most of the bills. Then one day, out of the blue, he tells me that he’s still in love with his exwife.”
“Well, like my mama use to say, everybody plays the fool at least once in their life.”
“You’re right—he was a fool.”
“I’m talking about you, Doc!” Janet said bluntly. “You were the one who allowed a grown man to move in with no money and bad credit. You were the one who chose to baby-sit his badass kids. And you were the one who allowed him to play house for a year without putting a ring on your finger.”
“It’s not my fault! I was in love. He should have told me he wasn’t ready to make a commitment. He kept saying he needed more time.”
“He needed more time all right, more time to drive your car and spend your money.”
“Fuck you, Janet! You don’t know how it feels to love somebody and have it all taken away overnight!” Terri yelled. “Get out of my office!”
Janet calmly got up and walked toward the door.
“You don’t have a monopoly on pain, Terri. We’ve all been down that road. But sooner or later you’ve got to unload the baggage, otherwise you’ll never be ready for the right man when he does come along.” Then she walked out.
Terri buried her face in her hands and began to cry. When she got up for a tissue she passed by the flowers on her desk. The fragrance and the beauty of the arrangement made her smile.
While she dabbed at her eyes, she opened the box. Inside was a copy of the book The Maintenance Man and an envelope. She pulled out the card and opened it and a check fell to the floor. When she picked it up she saw that it was made payable to The Genesis Foundation. The amount was five hundred dollars. The inscription on the card read:
Call me if you need a little maintenance (smile) or just a friend to talk to. Please try to listen to my show tonight. I have a special song I’d like to play for you.
Yours truly,
Julian
P.S. Here’s a little something I thought up while waiting in line to buy this card. I call it “Above Average.”
Terri leaned back in her chair and cleared her throat. Then she began reading, doing her best to sound poetic.
What do you see
when you look at me
is it just charm good looks
a great personality
do you see another brotha
just like any other
just out to get what he can get
nothing serious just a quick lover
is that all you see
when you see me
then take this opportunity
to get to know me
on a scale from one to ten
i’m a twelve and a half
i’m unlike the brothas you’ve encountered
i’m unlike any man in your past
i’m not your average brotha
i don’t play games
i know you’ve heard that before
but please—allow me to explain
i don’t run from commitment
i face it
i don’t look for love
but if it comes—i embrace it
i’m not perfect
i’m no saint
but an average ordinary brotha
no my sista
that i ain’t
Terri leaned forward and enjoyed a long whiff of the yellow roses. “Michael never bought me flowers,” she said to herself. “And he damn sure wasn’t considerate enough to donate any money.”
“That’s exactly what I thought when I saw the check,” Janet said while sticking her head in the door. “I know the carrier from church. He let me take a peek in the box.”
“Get your butt in here, girl!”
Terri and Janet met at the center of the office and hugged.
“I came back to say I was sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. You just told me what I needed to hear. That’s what true friends are supposed to do.”
“True friends should also tell you when it’s time to eat,” Janet laughed. “Let’s go down to the cafeteria and get some of that delicious chicken and dumplings. We probably won’t have another soul food day until Black History Month.”
Terri grabbed her purse and turned off the lights. Before she walked out the door, she stopped and turned to Janet.
“You know, it’s kinda funny how things work out in life,” Terri said.
“What do you mean?”
“I make my living talking to couples about their relationships and sex issues.”
“What’s so funny about that?”
“I haven’t been in a relationship or had good sex for more than a year.” Terri walked over and picked up The Maintenance Man from her desk. “I think I’ll look at this during lunch. Maybe I can get some tips on how to get my tires rotated and oil changed. I need a serious tune-up.”
“Tune-up?” Janet said. “Hell, I need an overhaul!”
Chapter 11
I WAS ALREADY feeling uneasy as I walked toward Olivia’s suite. “This is a bad move, Julian,” I said to myself. I didn’t want to make the mistake of having sex with her again, especially after that emotional breakdown. That was a dead giveaway that there were some unresolved issues. Maybe I would have been more compassionate if I wanted a serious relationship, but Olivia didn’t possess that wholesome appeal that I was accustomed to in a woman. It was purely a sexual attraction. As the saying goes, there’s the type of woman you take to bed and there’s the type you take home to mama. Olivia was definitely the bedroom type. I made that determination within the first five minutes of our conversation—most men do.
I should have turned my horny ass around and went home, but I was confident that my hormones were under control. After I took a deep breath, I knocked on the door.
“Just a second!” she yelled.
When the door swung open, I knew I was in trouble. Olivia was wrapped in a small white towel that barely covered her breasts. Her hair was dripping wet and slicked back.
“Hi, Julian, it’s nice to see you again. Come on in.”
She gave me a firm hug that lasted longer than it should have. I practically had to push her away to get free. I sat down at the desk and laid out the books I had purchased along with a notepad and two pens.
“So, let’s get to work.”
Olivia stood at the door for a moment stunned by my lack of affection. I’m sure she was expecting a repeat performance of Saturday night.
“Sorry I’m not dressed. I didn’t expect you to get here so fast,” she said while walking toward the bathroom. “Just give me a second and I’ll slip something on.”
“No problem, take your time.”
“So, are you settled into your new place yet?”
“Sort of. We still have a lot of unpacking to do once the movers arrive from Chicago.”
“How does your daughter like it?”
“She loves it, especially the swimming pool and the piano I bought her.”
“Your daughter plays piano?”
“She hasn’t started taking lessons yet, but she seems to have a talent for it. That was the main reason I moved to the Sugar-land area. The school she’s enrolled in has the best music program in the city.”
“I play the piano myself. Maybe I can give her a few tips.”
I did
n’t respond. I just looked out the window admiring the view and kept talking.
“So, how long are you gonna be in town?”
“Just a couple of days,” she yelled from the bathroom. “I’m sure I’ll get what I came for by then.”
When I turned around from looking out the window, I noticed the bathroom door had been left open. I could see Olivia’s naked reflection through the closet door mirror as she rubbed lotion over her body. I felt like a Peeping Tom watching her stroking her smooth brown skin. She seemed to be masturbating as she squeezed her breasts one at a time, then let them slide out of her tight grip. She did it over and over until her nipples became flushed and hard. Then she sat down on the toilet and spread her legs apart. She propped her left leg on the edge of the tub and began slowly massaging from her calves up to the inside of her thighs. She moaned as she rubbed against her cleanshaven vagina and pierced clit.
I was so caught up I didn’t realize that she was staring back at me through the same reflection. She sucked on her middle finger, then slid it inside of herself. She masturbated for a while, then pulled her finger out and tasted her juices.
“Ah,” she sighed, then she smacked her lips together to emphasize how good it was. “You want some of this pussy, don’t you?”
I took a hard swallow and shook my head.
“Come on, baby. I’m ready to explode!”
“I’m sorry, Olivia, you’re gonna have to explode without me tonight,” I told her. “I promised myself to keep this strictly business.”
“Strictly business, my ass!”
She stormed out of the bathroom and began frantically unbuckling my belt. I pushed her back halfheartedly, but she managed to get my pants down around my ankles. She pushed me back against the wall and began sucking me. My mind said no but my body was allowing it to happen.
“Ahh!” I moaned as I palmed the back of her head.
“Whose dick is this?” she asked.
I didn’t respond.
“Whose is it?” she yelled again, then slapped me on the ass. “Tell me it’s mine!”
Olivia had great technique. Her rhythm was perfect and she kept her mouth sloppy wet the way I liked it. But she ruined the moment with her masculine tone and foul language. Dirty talk is stimulating when it’s done tastefully. Olivia was just plain old vulgar.
After a few more nasty comments and another hard slap on the ass, I lost my erection.
“What’s wrong, baby?” She looked up at me with saliva dripping down her chin. “Don’t you wanna come?”
I looked down at her kneeling in front of me and was instantly turned off. There was something about her that wasn’t quite right, I could sense it. Suddenly her beauty faded. Nothing about her was appealing, not her long hair, her figure, her flawless skin, not even her hazel eyes. As far as I know, she could’ve been suckin’ on another man’s dick last night. I was thinking, Why should I feel special?
“Get up, Olivia,” I said to her. “I can’t do this.” Then I bent down to pull up my pants.
“What are you talkin’ about?”
“I can’t do this, I said!”
“Come on, baby, just relax, I promise I’ll suck it better this time.” She grabbed my pants and tried to pull them back down.
“Stop it, Olivia!”
“No, I want you! I need you. Don’t make me beg!”
When I tried to pull my pants up, she grabbed me by the waist and spun me onto the bed. Then she jumped on top of me and tried to insert my limp penis inside of her.
“What the hell are you doin’?”
“I wanna make love to you, baby. Don’t leave me hanging.” She sounded like a junkie who needed a fix.
“Make love? You don’t even know me!” I said. “Now get your ass off of me. Get off, goddamnit!”
I pushed her off with all my might. She rolled off the bed and onto the floor. I jumped up and quickly pulled up my pants.
“What the hell is wrong with you? I’m not even wearing a condom!”
“A condom? You weren’t worried about wearing a condom Saturday night when you were fuckin’ me on the balcony! What happened to your morals then?”
“That was in the heat of passion, and it was irresponsible.”
“What about what happened a few minutes ago? Was that in the heat of passion, too, or did you just wanna get your dick sucked?”
“Look, Olivia, this was all a big mistake. I never should have come here,” I told her. “I’m sorry if I’ve misled you.”
“You’re right about one thing, Julian, you are sorry! Now get your sorry ass outta my face! And take your shit with you!”
She began throwing my things at me. Notebook paper was flying everywhere. I dodged most of the objects, but one of the hardcover books hit me squarely on the nose. I began to bleed.
“Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry. Let me get you a towel.”
Her personality instantly changed. In less than five seconds she went from a raving lunatic to Mother Teresa.
“Get the hell away from me!” I shouted as I rushed into the bathroom. I ran cold water over a face towel and pressed it against my nose.
When I came out of the bathroom, Olivia had picked my things off the floor and put them into a bag.
“Give it to me!” I snatched it out of her hand.
“I told you I was sorry. It was an accident.”
“This whole damn thing was an accident. I never should have come here. Good-bye!”
“Julian, please don’t go!” she yelled. “I said I was sorry! What more do you want?”
I had one foot out the door. I turned and stared deep into her hazel eyes. “Not a damn thing, Olivia!”
While I waited on the elevator I looked at my reflection in the hall mirror. I couldn’t believe how ridiculous I looked holding that blood-soaked towel to my nose. I smiled at first, then I laughed, but it wasn’t a funny laugh. It was the kind of nervous laugh you make when you’re embarrassed and humiliated. “What the hell am I doin’ here?” I said as I checked the time on my watch. “I’ve only got two hours to prepare for the most important night of my life.”
Chapter 12
IT WAS JUST after eight when I arrived at WBMX. The building was empty except for the security guard and janitors. I rushed down to my office and laid out the books. I started by reading from the book Wisdom of the Ages. Right there in chapter one, page one, was the inspiration I needed: “All man’s miseries derive from not being able to sit quietly in a room alone.” It was a quote written by French philosopher Blaise Pascal more than four centuries ago. I read it aloud, over and over again. And the more I read it, the more profound it seemed.
At that moment it became obvious why I hadn’t been able to think creatively. The pressures of moving from Chicago, getting Sam settled into a new school, and thinking about Terri had caused me to lose focus. All it took was a few minutes of peace and quiet to change my perspective and clear my mind. “Lord, you sure do work in mysterious ways,” I said to myself.
In less than two hours I had written ten pages of provocative material, more than enough topics for the rest of the week. “I’ve still got it!” I cheered.
“You’ve still got what—VD?” Mitch was standing in the doorway, laughing.
“I can see you still haven’t learned how to knock.”
“What are you talking about? Your office in Chicago didn’t even have a door.”
“Oh, yeah, you’re right.” I laughed. “So, what do you want?”
“I want you! It’s show time in five minutes. Are you ready?”
“Like Freddy!” I said confidently.
Mitch had the studio set up just the way I liked it. The music carts were stacked in alphabetical order on top of the console, the volume on my headphones was just right, and my jasmine-scented candles were lit in every corner. As I sat down in my high-back leather chair looking out at the Houston skyline, I got a chill.
Mitch was next door in the control room. We could see one another thr
ough the large soundproof window. But unlike the raggedy equipment at WTLK, we had a computer system with a monitor. Mitch typed in the callers’ names along with their comments. There were ten lines instead of five. I was praying all of them would stay lit throughout the night.
“I hope those billboards and commercials worked.”
“To hell with commercials—word of mouth is the best advertising in the world,” I told him. “Just get me two frustrated women on the line and I’ll turn this motha out!”
“Well, if there’s anybody who can piss women off, it’s you,” Mitch said. “Now get set—you’re on in ten seconds.”
I put on my headset and took a deep breath. “As Marvin Gaye would say, let’s get it on!”
Mitch began counting down, “Five-four-three-two-one.” When the on-air light came on, I felt a burst of energy.
“Good evening, H-Town, and welcome to the premiere of Love, Lust, and Lies,” I said in a deep, smooth tone. “I’m your host, Julian Payne, and I’ll be with you until two A.M. talking about relationships and the drama they cause. The topic tonight is especially for the ladies. It deals with the lack of satisfaction. That’s right, we’re talking about women who get maintenance when their man comes up short, inside and outside the bedroom. So, if you’re one of those ladies who’s neglected and unappreciated, call me up and let’s talk about it.”
The second I gave out the toll-free number the lines exploded. Mitch couldn’t type fast enough to keep up with all the comments, so he started abbreviating. I was laughing my ass off as I watched all the misspelled names coming across the screen. The first three lines were the worst.
Line 1—Karen Smthi—Is there a difference between getting maintenance and getting a tune-up?
Line 2—Lyndah Wilums—Is the size of the tool important?
Line 3—Juanita Johnsin—I’m fifty years old and horny as hell. Where can I find a maintenance man?
Mitch couldn’t type worth shit, but he managed to spell the names well enough for me to figure them out. I was anxious to hear their comments, but I had personal business to attend to first.
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