Whos Loving You

by Mary B. Morrison

  Truthfully, there might be no later. Men thought relationships revolved around them. Grant couldn’t honestly think everything he’d done was fine.

  “Baby, I was so close,” he said, making his dick throb. “Five more minutes and I’m done. I promise. Don’t leave me like this.”

  “Okay. Answer one question for me, and then we can finish.” Of course, it all depended on his response. “Did you fuck Sapphire, too?”

  Grant’s eyes penetrated mine. “What? Are you serious?”

  “What is not an answer. Did you fuck Sapphire?”

  I’d learned a woman had to be direct. I refused to give him an out by asking, “What’s your relationship with Sapphire?” Hell, it would’ve been easy for him to respond, “I don’t have a relationship with her.” Relationships and fucking were two entirely different things.

  “Well?” I asked.

  “Honey, move. Please,” Grant said, “You’ve ruined what could’ve been a good moment. At least you’re consistent. I’ve got to go. I don’t know why you have to keep going there. It’s like you’re looking for a reason for us not to be together. It’s like you want to find a reason to be miserable. If that’s how you want it, fine. But you can ride the misery train solo.”

  Grant balled up his pajamas and shoved them into his bag. I walked over to him. “Why can’t you answer a simple question? The answer is yes, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, Honey. The answer is yes,” he said, being sarcastic to throw me off. “What difference does it make if I’m telling the truth or lying? We were not a couple. I wasn’t in a relationship with you. I have never been in a relationship with you. Therefore, it was impossible for me to cheat on you.”

  Zippp! Angrily, he’d closed his bag.

  “Grant,” I said, packing my things. “There is such a thing as emotional responsibility and emotional infidelity. You fucked me every day for two weeks straight. That constituted an emotional relationship. An emotional bond. You invited me here to your hotel room. You fucked me like you were a dog in heat. You cuddled with me last night. You said in your arms was where I belonged. What did all of that mean to you?”

  “You were a prostitute, for God’s sake. You’ve fucked more men than I have women. You sucked my dick when you were sixteen. You fucked a different man every day and probably sucked their dicks, too. I’ve never thrown any of that in your face. But you feel justified in drilling me on fucking a few women. Go fucking figure! So you’re a prosecuting prostitute now. We never made a verbal commitment that we were a couple. Is that what you want from me? Do you want to be with me?”

  Picking up the flower vase with the red and white roses, I hurled it at Grant, then rolled my teary eyes. My lips tightened; I squinted my eyes. I wanted to slap the fuck out of him! “I didn’t know you when I was sixteen!” A part of me had become angry at him for being right. His words hurt me. “Why are you fucking with my emotions? If you don’t want a relationship, say so. Don’t stand there condemning me and then ask me what the hell I want from you.”

  “I love you, Honey,” Grant said, walking over to me. “I love you, and I do want to be with you. This doesn’t have to be difficult. You’re making it that way. Just relax, baby. We’ll be okay.”

  What was I to say? I did want Grant. But I didn’t want a man who could stick his dick in any woman who opened her legs for him, then cum inside of me, without a fucking conscience. “Why don’t you seriously take some time to consider what you truly want. I’ma do the same. And if you want to talk about us being in a committed relationship, call me in a few days. If you decide I’m not the woman you want, don’t ever call me again.”

  “In a few days? So you’re putting me on hold, like my feelings don’t fucking matter to you? You want it like that? Fine, Honey.” Grant exhaled. “Fine.”

  I tried blocking his path. “Grant, you don’t know what you want. If I called Red Velvet in here right now and told her to join us in a ménage à trois, you’d do it. Your fucking her is not my concern. My concern is you’d do it without any forethought or afterthought.”

  Going to the bed, I picked up my bag, kissed Grant on the cheek, and said, “I love you, too. But sometimes love isn’t enough.” I turned away, then opened the door.

  “Baby,” he said.

  “Yes?” I answered, holding the doorknob.

  “Baby.”

  “Yes?”

  “Love is always enough,” Grant said, opening his arms to me.

  “Not always,” I replied, then walked out.

  CHAPTER 34

  Red Velvet

  Fuck. Fuck. Pass. Fuck. Fuck. Pass.

  The principles of fucking were synonymous with smoking weed. All dicks were used, never pre-owned, with at least a hundred thousand strokes on them, and not a one came with a warranty for shit, not even a good fuck. That was why I couldn’t take men seriously. Men wanted women to fall in love with them. Then what? They wanted women to be faithful while they fucked every trick they wanted. Not this Velvet pussy.

  I was in control of my pussy. I didn’t always make the right decisions, but I made my decisions about the men I fucked, when, where, and why. Sometimes I just wanted to have fun. Releasing my pent-up sexual tension drove me to find and ride an available dick. Having sex was as important as excreting toxins. Velvet was not going to walk around with a toxic pussy.

  Tap. Tap.

  I opened my hotel door. It was Honey. “Why you looking so sad?” I asked. “Oh, Grant. You don’t want to leave him, huh? Trust me, I understand.”

  My bag was packed. I double-checked my room and the bathroom to make sure I wasn’t forgetting anything; then I picked up my bag and closed the door.

  “I’m happy to be going home,” Honey said.

  “That’s not your happy face,” I said, pressing the button for the elevator. Had I seen Honey’s happy face? A little. On our way to L.A. I couldn’t see her face last night when Grant was on top of her, but I could tell she was happy to kick me out. All that dick-a-licious good loving should’ve had her dancing all the way to the airport. When the doors opened, Grant was inside the elevator.

  Honey stepped on. She stood so close to the buttons, her breasts pressed a few, I guess by accident. Maybe she was trying to give Grant time to say something to her. I had to look up at Grant. His eyes darted away from mine. Oh, I’d seen this egotistical attitude before.

  “I hope y’all are not tripping over me. Y’all should’ve invited me to stay,” I joked, but neither of them cracked a smile. “Anyway, I like you,” I said, hugging Grant. “And, I love you,” I said, hugging Honey. And that was the truth. Honey was a wonderful person, and I didn’t know much about Grant’s character, except that he was a kind man.

  Our rental cars were waiting for us at the valet. Grant got in his rental car and drove off. He never looked back or said bye. Were these the same two adults who were fucking each other’s brains out last night? Now both of them were so stubborn, neither could say good-bye? I didn’t get it. I mean, I did but didn’t at the same time.

  The ride to the airport with Honey was short and quiet. If I’d learned only one thing being with Honey that one thing was when to be quiet. We got through the security checkpoint rather quickly, but we still had barely enough time to board our flight.

  “This is sweet,” I said, sitting next to Honey in first class. “I’ma travel like this all the time when I start acting.”

  Ever so gently, I covered Honey’s hand with mine. I spoke to her as my mother had often spoken to me. I felt sad for Honey. Of course, she had a mother, too, but I’d never heard her mention her mother. Many of us lived our lives without the presence of our fathers. That was sad, too. But very few people—male and female—experienced life without a mother.

  “It’s okay,” I said, with patience, with love, with a calm spirit. “Either you want him or you don’t. You’re a proud, successful woman. Not to mention wealthy. Do not allow your pride, your ego, or your expectations to deny you what could be the
best man of your lifetime. If you really want him, it’s okay, because you don’t have to live up to anyone’s expectations but your own. I saw in his eyes, he loves you. And your eyes say you love him.”

  Honey sighed. “Sometimes,” she said. Then she leaned her seat back and closed her eyes. Trapped tears escaped from underneath her lids and glided down her cheeks, cleansing her soul.

  I’d never been in love before. I hoped one day some man would have for me the look I’d seen in Grant’s eyes for Honey. Obviously, being in love created an inner struggle that made people not want to cope with their emotions. So they’d eat or sleep or drink their feelings away. Seemed as though the more they tried to dismiss their true feelings, the more they hurt themselves. I’d watched my mother struggle with accepting the fact that her husband had left her. After years of separation, she still hadn’t recovered completely. I thought keeping Ronnie gave her someone to love, but in a very different kinda way.

  I wasn’t sure how important being in love was. What did love mean? My generation of men seemed to want all the conveniences of having a woman, but they didn’t want me. Not if it meant buying flowers, taking me out on a real date, holding hands, and kissing affectionately in public.

  Guys were into groping, shoving their tongues down my throat, showing me off, and constantly proving their manhood to themselves, not me, by trying to knock the bottom out of my bottomless pussy. I was tired of saying, “Slow down. Hold me. Listen to me. Talk to me, not at me.” The one thing I’d never say to any man ever was, “Do you love me?” If a woman had to ask, the true answer was obvious.

  Men wanted children, but they didn’t want a family. They wanted sex, but they didn’t want a commitment. Basically, men didn’t want to accept responsibility for their actions. Watching Honey sleep away her pain to avoid deciding whether or not she wanted Grant, I decided that maybe I’d be better off never falling in love.

  I watched a few movies, took a short nap, and was glad when we landed. Onyx was at the airport, waiting for us. The ride from Atlanta’s airport took forever. There was no place like home. I was happy to see Mrs. Taylor sitting on the porch. I was gonna miss her.

  “Hey, Red. Where’s your mom and Ronnie? That sure is a fancy jogging suit you have on. You think they make them in my size? Probably not,” Mrs. Taylor said, answering her own question.

  “I’m going back to the airport in an hour to pick them up,” I told her.

  I went inside my house, locked the door, undressed, and showered. It felt soooo good to be home. I wished I didn’t have to run out the door. I sat still for a moment. Sitting in my living room, I exhaled, wondering if I’d go to Stilettos tonight as a patron or a stripper.

  “I can’t trip off of this crap. I gotta go get my mom and my baby,” I said aloud.

  As I was locking my front door, Mrs. Taylor said, “Red, that thing. It’s ringing again.”

  Lord, please don’t let this be Tolliver’s relentless ass. I glanced at my caller ID. My heart stopped beating for a few seconds. It was my agent.

  “You never answer it,” Mrs. Taylor said. “Why you have it?”

  My phone kept ringing. Should I let it go to voice mail or answer it? Nervously, I held my Sidekick in my hand. I’d missed the call. I unlocked my mother’s door. I walked through her house, checking to make sure everything was in place. I smiled. My mom was the best mom. I stood in the kitchen, absorbing her love.

  Ding.

  I had a message. A letter was on the dining room table, with my name on it. I sat my Sidekick on the table and picked up the letter. It was from Alphonso, and it had been opened. Removing two pages, I read the letter.

  “Why, Mama! Why did you make me go all the way to L.A., knowing Alphonso had sent this fucking letter!” I cried.

  I gripped the top of the letter. There was no need to read the second page. Whatever Alphonso had to say wasn’t worth my getting upset. I tore the letter from the top toward the bottom, but I stopped when I saw a perforated edge. Peeling away the top page, I couldn’t believe it! I had a cashier’s check from Alphonso, with my name on it, for seventy-two thousand dollars!

  I flipped open my cell phone and called the concierge desk at the hotel where I worked. “Yes, this is Velvet. Let me speak to the manager.” I jumped up and down so hard, my titties ached with joy. Nothing could ruin my day!

  The manager got on the phone. “Hello, Velvet. I’m glad you finally called in. You’re suspended for three days for not reporting to work,” she said.

  “I know that’s your documented disciplinary way of avoiding firing me so you don’t have to pay unemployment compensation,” I said. “But I’m going to save you a few dollars. I quit. How’s that?” I laughed in her ear. I wasn’t laughing at her. I was thrilled beyond measure.

  I opened my mother’s door. My smile vanished. Tolliver’s wife stood inches from my face.

  CHAPTER 35

  Valentino

  Fuck Summer. We hadn’t been married two hours and already she had a bad attitude. I should be the one pissed the fuck off. What had I done to her? It was my money, not hers. And it wasn’t enough. She was going to have to come up with more than that. I got up from the couch, made my way into the bedroom, changed into a pair of slacks Summer had bought me, put on my casual-dress, brown button-down shirt, and went into the kitchen.

  “Stop feeding him all the time. He’s gonna be overweight,” I said.

  “He hasn’t had anything to eat this morning,” Summer said, beating a bowl of eggs.

  “Ba, I gotta make this run. I promise I’ll be back in a few days, a week tops. Then I’m home for good.”

  “Anthony, I did not bail you out for you to bail on us. If you leave, don’t come back. You got what you wanted.”

  “Nah, nah,” I said, shaking my head. I hugged Summer. “Right here is where I want to be, ba. With you and our son. I’m not going to miss my court date. I wouldn’t make you pay a million-dollar bond. I wouldn’t. I need for you to believe in me.”

  “Where’re you going?” she asked, turning over the bacon. “Anthony, go upstairs, close your door, and stay there until I come and get you.”

  Yeah, straight. I was with her on that. Anthony did not need to hear our conversation. “I’m going to Atlanta.”

  “Atlanta! Just beat me and get it over with! No matter what you say or do, I’m never gonna be yours, you dirty bastard!” Summer yelled. Then she softly said, “Anthony, you can’t leave the state of Nevada.”

  What the fuck? Not this shit again. Who in the fuck was that? Could a nigga’s mind conjure up a bitch, or was this Sylvia Browne ghost shit for real? I played it cool. “Summer? I’m driving, okay? I won’t stay a day longer than I have to. I promise. All I need is another blank check to cover me until I get back.”

  Summer started shaking her head before I finished my sentence. “Nope. Ow! My head hurts! Why did you slap me!” Summer yelled. Then she softly said, “Anthony, I don’t approve of you going to Atlanta, and I’m not giving you anything.”

  Approve? Who the fuck did she think I was? “Fine. Then I won’t come back.”

  “Then you’d better take this with you,” Summer said, handing me her wedding ring. “You’ll need it more than me.”

  Was that supposed to make me stay? I took the ring, put it in my pocket, then grabbed the car keys. I started backing up toward the door. “Summer, baby girl,” I found myself saying.

  Summer yelled, “I’m not your baby girl!” She threw the eggbeater at me. “I’m sorry, Valentino. I never should’ve come here. I quit. Ahhhhhhhh! No, please don’t. I’m sorry. I’ll be good. Noooooo! I’m not Summer, motherfucker. How many times do I have to tell you that…I’m Sunny.” Her eyes damn near popped out of the sockets. Running toward me, she yelled, “Give me my keys!”

  Pushing her away, I slammed the front door, ran to the Bentley. Fuck! Looking in my hand, I saw I’d grabbed the keys to the SUV. I wasn’t falling on my ass again, that was for sure. The screeching tires lef
t Summer standing behind a cloud of smoke. Fuck that. That wasn’t Summer. That bitch I’d married was Sunny. As I headed to the casino, my hands rattled around the steering wheel. Benito had better be waiting, or I was leaving him in Vegas.

  Was that why she’d bailed me out? To fuckin’ torture a nigga? All I’d needed her to do was go along with my plan. Fuck. I was scared to go back there. Did my son have to live with that shit every day? Fuck that. Fuck them.

  I made my way to the penny machine, and there Benito was. “Nigga, that machine ain’t gon’ hit two days in a motherfuckin’ row. Let’s roll.”

  Getting in the car, Benito asked, “So did you do it?”

  “I wish I hadn’t,” I lied. I loved Summer. It was that bitch living inside of Summer that I wanted to kill again. When I got back, I was performing an exorcism with my dick, and I was going to straighten her horny ass the fuck out.

  Door-to-door, it was 1,968 miles from Vegas to Atlanta, which translated into a total of twenty-eight hours and fifty-six minutes in a car with Benito. That was going to drive me fuckin’ crazy. I wanted to drive damn near 120 miles per hour to cut the trip in half, but I’d have to start a high-speed chase to escape beating down any of these Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, Oklahoma, Arkansas, Mississippi, Alabama or Georgia motherfuckers if they tried to pull me over.

  Damn. It was gonna take two days for us to get to Atlanta. At least we were driving through northern, and not southern, Texas during the day, and we could sleep in my SUV overnight once we got into Oklahoma. I’d road kill every armadillo speed bump in Texas before I laid my head to sleep in that crazy-ass state. The only law I liked in Texas was the right to bear arms: handgun, rifle, and shotgun ownership was unrestricted.

  In Texas a nigga didn’t need a license or a permit to protect himself, but Texas had more black men on death row than any other state in the country, and I was sure they’d love to add one more, especially when they realized I refused to show my driver’s license or give any information that would prove I was out on bail. I didn’t care if Benito did have a valid driver’s license. I didn’t trust him to drive me to the corner sto’ in daylight.