The men would make their hasty exit just as the sun threatened to peek up over the horizon outside my window. I’d hear their muted whispered outside my bedroom door in the hallway. Listening to Mama’s girlish giggles and the men’s empty promises to return, I would turn my face towards the wall as the front door clicked closed behind them. These men came and went as they pleased, with no ties to Mama, leaving her with nothing but a piece of a memory to hold on to until the next time they decided to show her some more love. Speaking of love, she rarely showed me any type of love or affection that I could feel in my adolescent soul. She’d say that I was a strong girl and that I could make it on my own in the world.
What she didn’t know was that an empty human shell is never strong. It has to be filled with love, joy, and hope to be strong enough to learn what truly makes a woman. I never had that role model to look up to. What I felt every time Mama chose a man over me could not be summed up in words, until she kicked me out of the house over the first man that decided to put a Rent-to-Own ring on her finger. It was then that my spirit was finally broken, and I was able to tell her in words how much I hated her.
It might have been at that point that I lost the ability to genuinely love another female. I mean, really love them like family, simply for the beauty of our friendship. Due to the fact that the one woman that I loved with all that I had in me to love threw me out on the street like a piece of trash for a piece of a man, I was incapable of loving the best friend I had ever had. Mama said I had to go, because Jessie didn’t feel comfortable in her house because of my attitude problem.
When it all boiled down to it, a woman was always going to choose her man over another woman, even if she said she loved you. Whether she was your mother, or your so-called Sister-From-Another-Mother, it was always the same. So, you might as well beat her to the punch, and look out for yourself.
Pushing my dreadful memories of Mama and their relation to my present decision to do everything I could to take my best friend’s husband from her to the back of my mind, I consoled myself with the thought that at least I finally had someone to love me for real. Well, at the moment, I at least had a part-time lover that was slowly but steadily working his way into full-time. Shayla might have thought that she had everything under control, but she had no idea. It was the real woman behind the scenes that ran shit in relationships. I could do amazing things in the dark, and Titus would come to see the light sooner or later.
I flipped the page to read the rest of the eye-opening article just as Dr. Swanman’s blond, bubbly, and always smiling, nurse called me to the back.
“So, Ms. Jackson, what’s bothering you today?” she asked, once I was sitting on the exam table.
I started to tell her to look at my chart, because the lady at the front desk asked the same question and wrote it there. Instead, I repeated my symptoms to her.
“I’m having really bad stomach cramps. I came in last month, because I thought I needed a new birth control pill since my periods had been irregular. The new pill has me cramping something awful, even worse than before. I’ve been on three different birth control pills this year, so maybe there is something else wrong with me.”
“Have you been under any kind of stress lately?” she asked, writing down notes into my chart.
“Well, I guess you could say that. I was at a party a few days ago, and someone came in shooting. But I was having pain off and on before then.”
“Okay,” The nurse looked at me strangely, as if she was judging me for being somewhere that shooting would take place. I really didn’t need her condescending attitude right at that moment. I was about to tell her so when she took a quick breath, looked back at my chart, and continued, “Well, let’s get you checked out. I need you to urinate in one of the cups in the bathroom for a urine sample. Then go to room seven, and remove all of your clothing. Cover yourself with the robe provided on the exam table, and the doctor will be in to see you shortly.”
I shot daggers at her with my eyes as she turned her back and walked quickly out of my exam room. I was still feeling a bit perturbed at the way she looked at me – I had enough people passing judgment on me on a regular basis. I certainly didn’t need it from some little petite Barbie look-a-like who had no idea what I had been through – hell, what I was still going through! She had probably been born with a silver spoon in her mouth and been handed everything to her by her mommy and daddy all of her life.
After I got undressed, hopped up onto the examining table, and covered myself, Dr. Swanman came in and began his brief examination. As expected, my mouth and ears were clear, and I didn’t have any lumps in my breasts. My lungs and heart sounded good, and he said everything looked normal. Since I had just had a pelvic exam and Pap smear the last time I was there, it wasn’t necessary this time around. The only thing left was for the phlebotomist to come in and draw some blood so that the doctor could run tests to see if my chemistry was all balanced. I was sure the blood tests were just another way for his office to make some more money, but I wanted to get to the bottom of my pain, so I agreed to it.
When the phlebotomist had drawn my blood and was about to walk out of the room, the doctor and his nurse met him at the door. They were both looking perplexed and nervous, raising my anxiety level up to ten on the feelings meter. If I had been wearing one of those mood rings that were so popular back in the eighties and nineties, it would be going from grey to black.
Dr. Swanman slowly walked to me and put a hand on my shoulder. He said, “Ms. Jackson, there has been some sort of a mix up in your chart. The last time you were here, your pregnancy test was positive, and it read positive again on this visit today. The mix up happened because another patient’s test results were erroneously placed into your chart, and your results were placed in hers, thus giving you both false readings.” With a look of disgust, he turned to the nurse and said, “Judy, call Mrs. Boutmore right now, and let her know that she is not pregnant.”
I’d never heard him address her by her first name before. I raised my eyebrows at the awkward situation. There was a definite cloud of tension in the room. The nurse nodded, shamefully avoiding my stare, with tears welling in her eyes, and quickly left the room. Dr. Swanman shook his head slowly, then began apologizing. “Ms. Jackson, I assure you that this type of thing has never happened in my office. It will not happen again. I am so sorry that it happened to you.”
“Wait… Are you sure that I’m pregnant?” I asked, as my world seemed to start swimming around for a moment, and I had to steady myself on the exam table with my hands so that I wouldn’t fall over.
“This test is pretty much conclusive, but we will know with absolute certainty when your blood tests come back because I’m going to run what we call a serum pregnancy test. This will test the amount of pregnancy hormones in your body. Now, based on the fact that you have been having irregular periods, we will have to wait a few months and watch the baby’s growth before we do an ultrasound to determine how many months you are.”
To say that I was in shock would have been an understatement. For some reason, I couldn’t comprehend what the doctor had just said. My head wouldn’t wrap itself around the idea. Me? Rhonda Grezille? Pregnant? My first instinct was to ask myself what would become of my sexy, well-maintained body. I couldn’t picture the possibility of stretch marks and a distended belly. On the other hand, the thought that I was going to be the first one to give Titus a child was exhilarating. There was nothing that sweet little Shayla could do about that one!
“Are you sure this is not a mistake, Dr. Swanman?” I asked again, just to be sure I wasn’t dreaming.
“Oh, we are sure this time, and like I said, once the serum pregnancy test comes back it will be pretty much conclusive. Right now, let’s set you up for a two-week follow-up, and we will call you with the results as soon as we have them.”
As Dr. Swanman handed me the instructions on taking care of myself and my baby for the next two weeks, the nurse, who had recomposed he
rself and joined us a few minutes earlier, handed me a follow-up appointment slip and prenatal vitamins.
“I am very sorry for the mix-up, Ms. Jackson. Thank goodness we caught it when we did. Please make sure that you’re back in two weeks.” Oh, suddenly she was sweet as sugar. A few minutes ago she was ready to write me off as some ghetto reject, but now that she knew that her job could hinge on my reaction to her obvious mistake, she was all up my ass without lubricant.
Everything they were saying to me about the baby seemed to be said in slow motion. It was as if they were talking underwater, or something. They kept handing me more bags, bottles, and papers, and I held my hands out for them like a robot. Taking all of the information, introductory care packages, and vitamins, I was in a state of shock and happiness. Sure, I’d been spotting and not having a full period, but I thought that it was because of my birth control pills being changed so often. I had no idea that this was the reason I had been so miserable lately. I thought about every time that I had taken a drink in the few months, every time I had been around people smoking and wiling out, the birth control pills I had been taking not knowing that my fetus was struggling to maintain itself against the onslaught, and last but not least, the fact that I had almost gotten in serious physical altercations with not only Titus but his little wife when she had stepped her nosey tail into my home looking for her husband. The safety of my new child had been at stake, and I had been completely clueless!
On the car ride home, I forgot to even start the radio. My mind was so full of questions that I couldn’t focus on any of them. After several miles had passed underneath me, I realized how quiet it was in the confinement of my vehicle. Suddenly, a slow grin appeared on my face.
As I turned onto College Street in Auburn toward my apartment complex, I giddily told myself aloud, “Oh my God! He is going to have to love me now. No woman can compare to the mother of his first born child. What man wouldn’t love that? I hope we have a son, and we can call him Titus Jr. Oh, shit! That would absolutely tear Shayla up!” I giggled and psyched myself up as I pulled into my personal parking space. Titus would have to respect our relationship now, because we were bonded forever by the life growing inside of me. Having Titus’ baby would definitely solidify me as a permanent fixture in his life. I wouldn’t have to continuously worry about whether he would try to get rid of me again like he had done not too long ago before I changed his mind in his own den. For the next eighteen years, at least, he was mine.
Now, how exactly am I going to break the news to Shayla? She was the only pesky detail left in my perfect little future.
Chapter 24
Titus
Money can buy a man many things, but it can’t buy him respect. That I knew that for a fact, Jack! As I talked to Street, I remembered those valuable words from my O.G. uncle, Dex. He had always told me that I was only as strong as my weakest link. I could remember many examples where the people I aligned myself with started out cool, but somewhere down the line they started to look really unfamiliar to a nigga. Well, it turns out that the problem with all of the fucked up business that had been going down with Big Shirley was a nasty case of betrayal. My vision had been blurry on the nigga I should have had my eye on the most. My vision didn’t come into focus until my boy had completely transformed into a full-fledged foe. Cutting to the chase, Street was starting to look really unfamiliar.
First of all, how in the hell did a whole block of corner boys plus a money-drop spot get lit up like the fourth of July two nights in a row? His ass was on location both times, but he was the only one that didn’t take a bullet in the flesh. He was the last man standing to tell the story on both occasions. The first time, I was glad he made it, dapped him up, and even hugged him, because I didn’t know what I would have done if I had lost my boy. But the second time a block got hit on his watch and he showed up with the bad news without as much as a scratch, I was like nigga what?
Second of all, how was it that he purchased a Jag last week? In the middle of all of the turmoil going on with Big Shirley, my main man was out shopping for Jags. Our money was messed up because we were getting hit left and right, and he was shopping for high dollar cars! Either this nigga had a real good savings plan with IRAs, savings bonds, and some other shit Obama and ‘nem not telling all the citizens about, or he was skimming off the motherfucking top, like a fat cat!
Third of all, he was straight up foul, because I had it on a reliable source that he was spotted talking to one of the goons that busted up in my house blasting some weeks back. To be seen in the same room as one of those men was an offense punishable by death right about now. But to be talking to them, to me, was like kissing death in the face. Now, to think that he could outsmart me with my money was one thing, but to think that he could align himself with the very people that had my peeps blood on their hands was on some whole other shit. The concerning part was that he knew my whole setup, which was probably why it was so easy for them to hit us during Shayla’s party in the first place. They had to have gotten some inside information to know when and where we would be the most vulnerable.
Not to mention, several times I planned to hit them back hard, and they were prepared when we got there as if they’d been tipped off. It had to be Street, I thought reluctantly. Some of the details that Big Shirley knew were so intimate that only he, being my right-hand man, was the one that knew of the plans until minutes before they were executed. Therefore, I put him to the test by calling him up on his cell phone and told him of a bogus plan about getting back at the other squad. To put the icing on the cake, I told him that I would be there personally to take out that bitch, Big Shirley.
An informant had already told me that she showed up at the G-Room every Saturday at 11:45 p.m. sharp. My goal was to get Street to inform them of a hit on that location, so they would switch up their meeting spot for Saturday. That way, I could follow them to a less populated area away from the police department and hit them with the fire. “Okay, my nigga, you understand we are taking her ass out at the G-room as soon as she walks up in there through the side door at 11:45 sharp!” I gave Street the phony details. If my inkling was right, he was going to tell her the plan, and my informant would tell me of the new location.
He said, “Aight man. I’m ready for this ho.”
“Bet.” Yeah, I was betting that his state property, Bitches R Us ass hung up the phone and called her right away to snitch. What Street wasn’t banking on was the fact that one of the men working close to her was in my pocket, so I would know within an hour where her new spot to collect would be, and I would also find out if my boy was sheisty. Big Shirley thought she was going to be getting another dime from a nigga like T, but she sincerely had some things to learn about my resilience.
Later that evening, the time had come to hit her back hard. As anticipated, Street tipped her off, and they were at their new location. I busted into the room she’d booked at Alabama Suites, and it was twenty-men deep – all cocked and loaded. That punk nigga had the nerve to be laying up on the bed counting money like a bitch. When he saw me, he jumped up and put his hands in the air like I was five-O.
Coming through the door gunning, I didn’t even hesitate. I put two in Street’s disloyal ass and hollered, “Where the fuck is Big Shirley?” Without giving them enough time to answer, I put one in the man chest who was standing by the door and two in the man standing by the bathroom sink. I turned back around quick to catch Street staring at me with wide unblinking eyes. His head had fallen off of the side of the bed while his bullet-riddled body stayed sprawled across it. Thick congealed blood poured from his gaping mouth, and a strong iron smell permeated the room. This nigga had jeopardized not only my business, but my family and the homies, all for what? For that paper?! That gwap was scattered all across his chest like worthless blood-splattered confetti. Shit, if it had been all that, I could’ve given him some damn paper. He was supposed to be my boy. He was supposed to be… Well, it didn’t much matter what he was suppo
sed to be anymore. What he was now was casket-filler. This was no time for regrets or sentiment. This was all about the business. In this game, when you make stupid decisions, sometimes you had to get schooled. Street had to learn the hard way that there were certain things you just didn’t do. Fuckin’ with a nigga like T was on the top of that list.
My men were blasting so hard that we’d taken out everyone else moving, until I raised my hand signaling them to stop shooting. The desk chair started to swivel, and I almost emptied my clip in it. I would have, too, but I couldn’t see anyone sitting there. I figured that there was no use in wasting my ammo blazing on inanimate objects, so I lowered my piece.
As the chair continued to swivel, I felt like everything was moving in slow motion. I looked over at one of my men, and I saw the shocked look come across his face as he faced the chair. Wondering what was up, I took a deep breath and turned back towards that part of the room, ready for anything. I’ll be damned, I thought to myself, my mouth dropping open. Sitting in that chair was none other than that bitch, Big Shirley. Calm, cool, and collected, despite her entire room being blasted seconds before, she continued to allow her chair to turn all the way around to finally face me – queen pen to king pen.
When the chair finally made its full circuit and came to a complete halt, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. Where the fuck was the rest of this bitch? Wait a minute…What the…? A midget?
Big Shirley was a bonafide midget wearing a little black turtle neck, little jacket, little shoes, little every damned thing! Immediately, I felt a tinge of remorse creep up on me. It was bad enough that I was there to check a woman in the first place, but to find out that woman was a midget, too! Ah, man, that wasn’t going to look good for a nigga, man. I couldn’t help myself. I let out an exasperated chuckle, scratching my temple with the warm end of my piece. I don’t care who you are… this shit was funny. A few of my men let out a couple of nervous laughs, following my lead. Abruptly, I cut off the laughter and scowled at her. Frowning my face up menacingly, I stared her in her beady little midget eyes while the silence hung in the air. The tension in the room was suffocating as everyone waited for my next move. Thinking about the blood that ho had caused my men to shed, I briskly walked toward her and yanked her out of that midget chair. I mean, I yanked her straight up out of the seat until we were at eye level. Midget or no midget, this trick had caused me some serious trouble and heartache, and I wasn’t letting up on her just because of her size. Fuck that!
Secrets of a Kept Woman (Volume 1) Page 18
