by Candice Dow
“Why do you want my man? He says that he loves you, but he doesn’t even know you. It’s easy to love the woman that’s not taking care of you. The same problems he tells you we have, you’re going to have them eventually. You will be the same bitch”—she accentuated the word as if she were calling me one—“that he tells you I am.”
My entire body was paralyzed. Her words made me want to tell him to forget we ever got involved, but my heart said we were meant to be. She was just a woman scorned. I begged her, “Akua, I’m so sorry. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. I didn’t know . . .”
As I attempted to explain the inexcusable, Scooter’s head popped up. Holding the phone loosely from my ear, my startled eyes told him Akua was on the phone. Pain rippled through his face. I stuttered, “I swear. I am so . . .”
She interrupted me. “I hope the two of you go to hell. But before you do, I pray that he hurts you ten times worse than he has hurt me. Have a great freaking day, bitch!”
She hung up the phone, and I dropped mine in my lap. The busy signal came through the receiver. I inhaled, before I spoke. I propped my head on my hand and looked at Scooter. “I can’t do this.”
“The hard part is over.”
“Not when your girlfriend is calling my house.”
He struggled onto his elbows. “Tay, you’re my girlfriend.”
“Scooter, I’ve never dealt with anything like this. I . . .”
He rested his head in my lap. “Neither have I. We’ll just have to figure it out as we go along. But I know this is what I want.”
Why wait until you’re twenty-eight to have the other woman calling your house? I shook my head, disgusted with my situation, angry with the poor selection of men, and pissed with the nonchalant man beside me.
I kept replaying her words. Doubt plagued me, because I hadn’t considered the negative things I was inheriting. “Are you sure you want to go through with this?”
He huffed. “Yes Taylor. She thinks I’m leaving for superficial reasons. I’m leaving because . . .” He took a deep breath. “You know why I’m leaving. We’re going ahead with the schedule.”
He was convinced. Was I to stop the plan now? I closed my eyes and sucked up some confidence.
30
SCOOTER
Taylor ordered take-out from IHOP. I eagerly accepted the responsibility of picking it up. Suppressing my eagerness to talk to Akua was suffocating me. What made her call? Never in a million years would I believe she’d abandon her pride like that for me. I stepped outside of Taylor’s front door and immediately inhaled a cigarette before paging Akua. The frigid fall temperatures would not smother the bonfire blazing inside of me.
I smoked two more cigarettes on the ride to and from IHOP. Still, Akua had not called. Sitting outside of Taylor’s house, I prayed she’d call. I stared at my phone, as the food sat in my passenger seat. Please, Akua. Call me back.
Finally, the phone rang. I took a deep breath and prepared for battle. I looked. Taylor. “Hey, what’s up?”
“It’s fine if you want to stay out there and talk to your little girlfriend, but bring me my food please.”
“I’m on my way in now.”
Before I got out of the car, I put my phone on silent. After a three-hundred-mile drive, damn if I’d let Taylor be angry with me too. She opened the door and stuck her arm out.
“Girl, stop playing. I’m coming in.”
She smirked. “It’s cool. I understand.”
No female is that cool, and damn if I was falling into her trap. I stepped in the house and hugged her, leaving my compassion for Akua outside. I stuffed my phone in my jacket and hung it up in the closet. Taylor’s long legs and boy shorts gave me amnesia. In the kitchen, I wrapped my arms around her. She didn’t reciprocate the gesture. Her arms hung to the side. She huffed. “Let me warm up the food.”
“C’mon baby. Give me a hug.”
She pushed me away. I grabbed her forearms. “Tay. Don’t act like that. You know this is what I want.”
I released my grip and sat at the table while she warmed the food. “Do you really think I’d go through all of this if I wasn’t sure this is what I wanted?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know Scooter.”
I dropped my head. “Tay, please don’t act like this now.”
After putting the time on the microwave, she turned to me with her hand on her hip. “Why?”
I shook my head. “You can’t tell me you thought this was going to be drama-free.”
As the revelation seeped into her, I watched her limbs relax. “You’re right, Scooter. I think I’m primarily disappointed in myself. I would have never been a part of this a year ago.”
I stood up and hugged her. She leaned her head on my shoulder. I said, “Baby, this is different. This isn’t your average situation.”
I tilted my forehead into hers. “We belong together.”
“I know. That’s the only reason I’m here.”
I backed her up into the counter. My weight leaned into her. I pushed. We grinded, and I hoped to squash her insecurities. She mumbled, “We need to eat.”
“We need to make love first.”
She shook her head. I lifted her wife beater and pulled her shorts down. She stopped resisting. I raised her up on the counter. Her legs wrapped around my waist. As I pulled down my sweatpants, I looked into her eyes. “I’m where I want to be.” I kissed her. “Okay?”
“Scooter, I’m just scared,” she whined.
I slid into her and picked her up from the counter. In between slow strokes, I said, “Don’t be scared, I won’t hurt you.”
She buried her head in my shoulders and winced.
I retracted slightly. “Am I hurting you?”
She moaned, “No, it feels like . . .”
I put my mouth over her mouth. Propped up on me, she twirled her hips aggressively. I stroked harder. Feeling the arch in her back curl in, out, and side to side rendered me helpless. I backed into the chair. She stopped moving when we sat down. We panted and inhaled each other. She cooed, “Don’t hurt me.”
“I won’t.”
I pushed her hips into me. After a few seconds, she returned to her seductive swerve. I kissed her breast. When all the nerves left one head en route to the other, I gasped, “Tay, I love you.”
I lifted her up again and drove it in until we conked out. Akua was the furthest thing from both of our minds as we served each other breakfast.
31
DEVIN
The day after the closing, I stood in Danker Furniture and selected a living room display. “Give me all of it.”
The young sales lady flirted. “I guess there’s no Mrs. to dispute your selection.”
“Nah, not at all.”
“Really, you’re quite handsome to be a free agent.”
I nodded. “Thank you.” Pointing to a bedroom display, I added, “Yeah, give me that too.”
She laughed again. “I guess you know what you like.”
“Pretty much.”
Her gestures were inviting. I suppressed the desire to flirt. I knew I wanted nothing more from this girl than sex. I already had my roster of sex partners in the area. Devin, keep it simple. A part of me believed that the more women I had, the less I’d feel the need for true intimacy. Quantity can’t replace quality.
While my nature and I tussled, she rested her elbows on a dining room chair. “You can select different upholstery for your chairs.”
As she leaned onto the opposite leg, she caught my gaze. “Would you like me to come to your place and help with the decorating?”
Don’t fall for that one Devin. Once a woman helps decorate the house, she thinks she owns the place. I shook my head. “Nah, I’ll pass.”
She pulled out her card. “You’re spending a lot of money and I would hate for the furniture to get there and the space isn’t appropriate.” She smiled. “Personally, I would prefer to come out and see it first. Do you have an interior deco
rator?”
I chuckled. “Me.”
“We offer it free of charge. I think it’s a really good perk.”
“Oh, okay. You’re right. When can you come out?”
“Let’s walk up here and look at my appointment book.”
As we walked to the front of the store, I asked, “So, you’re no bootleg decorator are you?”
She laughed. “No, I went to school.”
The shapely young lady looked no older than twenty-two. I chuckled. “How old are you?”
“Take a guess.”
I said, “Let me see, You’re nineteen.”
“Thank you. I like you.”
“How old are you?”
She opened her appointment book and smirked. “I’m thirty-four.”
Shocked, I shouted, “Hell no!”
“Yes. I’m thirty-four. I’ll show you my license.”
Her cute factor exponentially increased. My eyes checked her schedule, too. Poking her cheek with the back of her pen, she said. “I can come out tomorrow.”
“What time?”
“Anytime between twelve and three.”
I flirted. “So what about this evening?”
Missing the invite, she shook her head. “Nah, I don’t work on Saturday nights.”
“I’m just joking.”
“Are you asking me out?”
“Actually, I am.”
She chuckled. “Well, I will do that on a Saturday night.”
“So, if you don’t have a good time this evening, will you still come tomorrow to decorate my place?”
“Definitely. This is how I pay my bills.”
I chuckled. “Good.”
“So, what time?”
“Nine is good for me.”
She laughed. “I mean for tomorrow’s appointment. I gave you a three-hour window. Twelve through three.”
“Two is good.”
“So, you want to go out at nine tonight?” she asked.
I nodded. “Is that good for you?”
“Yeah.”
We exchanged information and planned to meet at Rosa Mexicana. It took me fifteen minutes to explain the location of the restaurant in her home town.
She called me after I’d been in the restaurant for fifteen minutes, turning around each time the door opened.
“Hi, Devin. It’s Jamise. I’m parking now. I’ll be in there in a minute.”
When she finally came in twenty minutes after that, she walked over to the bar. Though I was beginning to feel agitated, I smiled. “Hey, Jamise.”
We exchanged a friendly hug. “I’m sorry. There’s nowhere to park.”
“Why didn’t you valet?”
“Whatever. I’m not paying anyone to park my car for me.”
“I would have paid for it.”
After excusing myself, I walked up to the hostess to let her know that my date for the 9:00 reservation had arrived. She chuckled when she looked at the time. I nodded to acknowledge my irritation. She told me it would be a moment, but she would seat us as soon as possible.
I stepped back to the bar. Jamise had her compact open checking on her makeup.
“You look fine.”
She closed it and looked at me. “Thanks.”
“Would you like something to drink? Some wine or something?”
She smiled. “Ah, White Zinf.”
I nodded. How do I always end up with White Zinfandel girls? Shortly after the bartender handed her the glass of wine, the hostess got my attention.
I tugged on Jamise’s arm. “C’mon. Our table is ready.”
She walked in front of me. Her tight jeans and fitted velvet blazer seemed to lessen my irritation. Physically, she was all in place. Her hair was pulled back into a fake ponytail that hung to the middle of her back. It swished from side to side with her seductive swagger. I pulled her chair out. She looked around and asked, “Can we get a booth?”
If your ass were on time, maybe we could have. Though it looked doubtful, I asked anyway. The hostess smiled. “I’m sorry, Mr. Patterson. This is all we have.”
Once we sat down, she leaned in. “You know these low-rise jeans will have your ass all out. That’s why I prefer booths.”
Somebody tell me where are all the women with class? Trying to convince myself that she didn’t say what I thought she said, I changed subjects. “So Jamise, how’d you become an interior decorator?”
“Well, I used to work at the Room Store. Then, I got a job with Ethan Allen.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I took some classes.”
“I see. So do you like it?”
“It’s okay. I’m also an actress.”
Am I in DC or New York? How is it that I attract the women seeking stardom wherever I go? I’m now convinced that it’s me. She asked, “So, what do you do?”
“I’m an attorney slash political activist slash . . .”
I chuckled. She didn’t. When the waiter came, I ordered guacamole. She frowned. “You eat that stuff?”
I nodded. Her nose curled up. “Ill.”
“You should try it.”
“I’m not eating anything that looks like that.”
She perused the menu. Her expressions stated she found nothing appetizing. After I closed my menu, she still looked confused.
“Would you like me to make any suggestions?”
She shook her head and scrunched her face as the waiter brought the guacamole. “No, not if you eat that stuff.” She chuckled. “I probably won’t like what you suggest.”
“You’re probably right.”
I looked at my watch and decided to give her five minutes longer. Then, I planned to be rude and order. She huffed. “I don’t see anything I like.”
Why me? I stared at her. You’re kidding, right? “So, what do you want to do?”
She smirked. “I’ll just have the . . . uh . . .”
“The filet mignon is good.”
“Nah, I don’t eat red meat.”
My head drooped. I assumed she preferred chicken fingers or Buffalo wings. “Do you want to go somewhere else?” I asked.
“No.” She pouted. “I’ll get something.”
I nibbled on my chips and guacamole and stared at the ceiling. I should have stayed my ass in the house and ordered pizza. More and more, I find myself on dates with beautiful women lacking substance. Next time, I’ll just call some airhead that I’ve already been with.
Finally, she ordered a seafood dish. We continued our get-to-know. I asked, “What’s your status? Single? Married and looking? Divorced?”
She chuckled. “Single. And you?”
“Divorced.”
“Do you have kids?” I asked.
“Yep, two boys.”
“Wow. How old are they?”
She smiled. “My boys are men. One is eighteen. The other is fourteen.”
Damn! When did she get started? As I processed the calculation in my head, she asked, “And you?”
“Ah.” I laughed. “Yeah. I have a little girl. She’s six.”
She nodded. I’d convinced her to order a margarita. After a few sips, she relaxed. Her artificial pose began to disintegrate. Suddenly, I found myself having dinner with a shell. Nothing hid beneath the surface. When the check came, I wanted to run out and leave her behind. Instead I did the gentlemanly thing and walked her to her car.
“Okay, Ms. Jamise. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Shit! I forgot about the appointment. How could I shake a woman who has access to my credit card and address? I planned to wake up early and cancel my appointment. Then, go to another furniture store, and find an old, white interior decorator.
When I stepped into my empty condo, I thought about calling one of the fellas, just to hang out. Instead, I stretched out on the floor and turned on my flat screen. Before I knew it, I was flipping through the Match.com personals. My profile was hidden, because I wanted to control my selection. Though I’d never actually pursued anyone
on the site, I enjoyed looking. Finally, I checked my e-mail. Ever since I’d given Taylor Jabowski’s home girl my business card, I’d been praying that she’d e-mail me. Still, nothing. What was I thinking? I went to the Train Workers’ Union’s Web site and found her e-mail address. In the subject field, I wrote, “I love my people.” After I pressed SEND, I kicked myself. One in the morning, on a Saturday night, I’m sending an e-mail just to say hey. Damn, Devin. Times have gotten rough.
32
TAYLOR
Scooter woke up and suggested we go to church. I tried to discourage him, but he insisted. We’d initially decided on 9:30 service. After we finished talking, it was after ten. We drove separate cars, so he could see his mother and be on the road by four.
We walked into church and immediately I felt jittery. Every one and his mama wanted to come and hug me. “Ooh Taylor, it’s so good to see you.”
“We don’t see you anymore.”
“Honey, is everything okay?”
Leave me alone! I smiled and nodded. Of course everyone remembered my mannerly high school sweetheart. One of the deacons even commended him for bringing me back to church. These people are funny. I grabbed Scooter’s hand and strutted up to the pew right behind my mother. I tapped her and put my arm around her shoulder. “Surprise.”
She turned around. “Oh baby, I’m so happy you’re here.”
She hugged Scooter. “Oh, Scooter. When did you come into town?”
I answered, “He came in last night.”
It’s a shame when you’re lying in church. I didn’t have much of a choice since I didn’t mention him when we talked yesterday. Her watery eyes told me she didn’t care, she was just happy to see me with him.
When service began, my father strutted into the pulpit. He looked down at his previously favorite daughter. He extended his hand toward me, without specifying what he was talking about. He said. “God is good.”
The congregation rallied with him. Toni directed the choir in song. My father delivered an empowering message, and I was glad I came. Scooter held my hand when we stood to pray. His grip tightened as the prayer heightened. I peeped from the corner of my eye. The intensity in his face said that he really wanted our relationship to work.
