"There's two sides to every story, Charlie."
"I don't give a shit about the other side, you hear me? I don't care. Fact is, no one is here for her! No one! All of these sorry ass ticks here for one reason and one reason only, to suck! To latch they asses on and then, suck! Suck her ass until she dry! Neither one of them, stays here and listens to her cry at night. I know what its like to waste a whole goddamn night of sleep crying because no one loves you, because you are unlovable! Hell, I know why I'm unlovable, but you tell me why a fuckin' billionaires has reason to cry at night? Because her world, made her unlovable too! Unhappy, lonely and alone! That's the main point, and all this shit - everything you see and everything any one can imagine, she can get, with the snap of her fingers ... and yet, she cries at night. So don't tell me shit, 'bout how I talk to her. She needs it, hard, fast and cold, like I got it, hard fast and cold! Shit."
"What are you talking about Charlie? Who gave you things that hurt, hard - fast and cold?" He asked.
"Don't worry about what I'm talking about. I'm just speaking truth, don't matter if you understand it or not, I don't give a shit if you do. Fact is, I'm not gonna lie to her ... you know why? Because out of all the people with money, I've ever worked for ... she's the only one so far, that's got heart, soul, that feels something, that is real, that is to the core, good. It's only when I care about somebody, that I can be bothered to tell them like it is, the truth. I'm not going to sugar coat it for her. She don't need it sugar coated. She needs it hard, blunt and fast, so that it wakes her ass up!" She glanced at him and then looked away again back to watching the progress of those bringing in more things.
Samuel stood staring at her profile, thinking about all that she said. Thinking about another time when she showed up when he was down and out, about to give up on life and sure enough, she gave it to him with both barrels. Which was rather contradictory, because for a while, he swore that she hated him. Now he understood why. In fact, he understood more than what Charlie probably wanted him to by all that she'd said. Charlie's head snapped around to glare at him. "Do you mind? Don't stand there staring at me, go find something to do. Go check the car for bombs, and while you at it, wash'em and vacuum'em out."
He of course ignored that, saying instead, "Years ago, way back when, you weren't this bad Charlie. You talked a little shit, yeah, but, not like this. Who Charlie, are you angry at?"
"Here we go again, another wasted conversation that ain't going no where." She shook her head, looking out at the delivery truck.
Samuel gazed on at her profile, thinking. He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled it, because in truth, he knew the answer to his question and so, dove in and said what he knew was true, "I broke your heart, didn't I Charlie? All those years ago, I-..."
"Don't you say another word! I want you to leave me alone, okay? Leave - me - alone!" She fired off glaring at him heatedly. Turning away, she walked off and down the steps to look into the van to see how much more needed to be unloaded.
Samuel stood staring after her. Knowing with every fibre of his being, that what he just said was true. Way back when, Charlie had been in love with him. In love with him because they'd at first, been good companions, also, because he could pin her. For some strange reason, she admired this ability of his, began looking up to him. That he could handle her in a way that no one could, in a way, that while he had her down, he didn't hurt her. Didn't cause her any pain. She respected that about him. Because she was so hyper, full of energy, eager for a challenge, she had asked him to teach her to be as good, so good that not even he could pin her. At first, he'd agreed to it and in the process of it all, something had happened. She'd had a look in her eyes when with him. He'd at first thought it cute and made it worse by flirting with her, touching her, stroking her arm with affection, caressing the soft skin of her cheek, lightly pinching her chin, in effect, leading her on. She had been good for his ego, back in the days of his immaturity. He'd played games with her, knowing all along when he did these things with her, to her, that he was already involved with someone else. And then, out of no where, he'd gone off and married the other woman. Never saying a word to Charlie, never explaining why.
He'd taken her for granted, in one of the worse ways possible.
Now he knew and understood beyond a shadow of a doubt, that is was then, that Charlie had gone hard. What else was there for a woman, who no one loved or would love do? Now he could see it so clearly, it had been then, in fact, that caused her to dislike him and in practices, fight him extra hard; trying her best to physically hurt him, but she never could. Circumstances being what they were, they'd gone their separate ways. Encountering each other time to time because of assignments, jobs. She went from hating him with a passion that was positively flammable; to eventual disdain; then enduring him and finally passive disinterest. Then he'd lost his family, hit rock bottom, only to look up and see her there above him, giving it to him the way that only Charlie could.
Now here they were, once again, back together. "Well Charlie, I don't know how I'm going to do it, but ... somehow, I'm going to get you to give me another chance. Because darlin', you are ... lovable." Right then, Samuel knew that he wanted another chance. Because no one knew and understand Charlie the way he did. Right there at that point, all the pieces fit. At this juncture in his life, he realized, he was ready for a Charlie in his life. Yes, he was ready.
"Hey, you okay?" Jeremiah asked after having to follow the scent of her perfume, looking from one room to the next in the sizeable mansion. As he was forced to search her out, he was floored by the sumptuousness of the palatial estate. One thing that was certain, she had taste. After fifteen minutes of searching, he found her in the upstairs library. She was standing at a tall window looking out at her gardens.
From the door, he'd asked the question.
She'd wiped at her eyes and looked back at him, smiling sadly. "Yes, I'm fine." She turned back to the window.
He walked in looking at all the books that would need putting away, stacked as they were for the time being on the floor. He joined her at the window, giving the outdoors garden only a momentary glance.
"You know, you don't have to put up with that from her. You really don't." He started softly. Reaching over, he gently moved her hair behind an ear to gaze at her profile. Deidre didn't respond right away, staring as she was. He waited a moment for her to say something, but nothing from her came.
"You want me to talk to her? I will if you wish."
"No. I don't want you to talk to her. Charlie is the only ... only ... real person in my life. The only one, that I can depend on, not to play games with me. Well, there is also Terra. Thank goodness for one friend and a bodyguard ... huh?" She asked without looking at him.
Jeremiah didn't know what to say. He felt his face burn with the implications. Suddenly she turned her amber golden eyes on him. "Why are you here?"
"What? You know why I'm here? To see about you." He answered.
She stared at him a moment, really gave him a good look over. She was falling for him. If she didn't get rid of him now, she'd be facing heart-break once more in her life. Not that it was unfamiliar to her. "I think that ... you should probably go now. Not come back. You've gone far and beyond the call of duty for me, way above board and I thank you. I've yet to write a check for you, so if you will quote your bill in total, I'll write it out for you."
Jeremiah stood in sudden disbelief, he couldn't believe what she was saying to him. Nor could he believe the way it was making him feel.
"Why are you looking at me like that? Don't you think its best if we, well, parted ways here, now. After all, I've made some pretty obvious hints that, well, I'm starting to care about you and we both know, you don't like white women, you boldly stated that yourself. And I can't be anything other than what I am, so for all-..."
One moment she was looking down at the floor, pouring out a solution for them and the next moment, his hands were clamped onto her head, her face brought
up for his warm mouth, his incredible full lips, to lock onto hers. She stood stunned, her heart had stopped.
He moved in, pressing against her, wrapping one arm around her to fit her body along the front of his, deepening the kiss, his tongue coaxed her teeth open and then it plunged deep, searching. Unable to resist, Deidre's arms went around him, gripping him, holding on tight. She needed this so badly. The feel of a solid man, this man holding her, his mouth doing incredible things to her own, meeting a desire long now denied, stirring her. The waiting for this to happen, caused them to hang on, deepening the act of fusion, such intense feelings coursed through them with their hearts banging in unison like mad. It took quite sometime before Jeremiah could bring himself to let her go, and then not fully. He merely loosened his hold on her, just enough to provide the space needed to say, "I'm not going, anywhere. And you're not, writing me, any check. Understand?" Breathing hard, his eyes penetrated, delving deeply into her own, she had beautiful eyes, filled with tears, she nodded yes, she understood.
"I'm a fool for ... taking this long. I'm sorry, that I made you feel, what you just did. Because Deidre Wherrington, for me - I would not have you - change a thing. Not - one - thing." He bent slowly to capture her lips once more. With a whimper of need, so hungry to be loved, she eagerly, greedily, opened her mouth to him, returning ten-fold all that she felt coming from him. Finally, for once, she saw no signs of Shawn Everett McPherson, only Jeremiah Franklin ... only Jeremiah.
"Echm echm..." A voice cleared behind them.
With slow reaction to it and a sigh, they parted, moving gently, gradually away from one another, both turning to see a smiling Samuel in the door. "Uh, I think Charlie is uh, wanting you to write these people a check. Sorry to say, I think they've had enough of her. Chances are uh, they won't be back."
Deidre sighed, nodded, "Sure, just a moment."
He turned away, grinning broadly to let Charlie know.
Deidre turned back to Jeremiah, looking up at him. He was a few inches taller than her, standing 6' to her 5'10.
"I better go and see to them, no doubt Charlie has them all stressed out. Will you, stay ... for the evening?"
"Absolutely." He promised, caressing the soft skin of her cheek, next to her lips.
Smiling, happy, she turned away to write out a check and make her apologies. Accepting the fact that she would have to, considering what Charlie could put one through. In her absence, Jeremiah looked around the library waiting for her. Checking out the stacks of books. He removed his jacket, hanging it on one of the chairs, and began looking over the rows of shelves. There were tons of books for everything one could imagine, many on health, Homeopathy healing, you name it. All were stacked in front of the shelves they would be going on. Deciding to occupy himself while waiting, he began placing the books on the shelves, arranging them in alphabetical order. Doing so, his mind flashed back years and years ago as he'd stood in a public library, his mother by his side. He remembered telling her about Arthur Ashe, the black tennis player that Deidre had told him about. He hadn't known about sports or sport figures because his mother had always stated that the mind was always better to train than the body.
She'd said, "White folks always expect black men to play basketball, football or other games like that. That's not what you about, you hear me? Never be what people expect you to be. 'Sides, the body can't last doing all that running and playing, time gonna come when you have to depend on your brain, your knowledge. Spending all that time on sports, getting tired, you won't feel like filling your head later, that's why you have to do that now."
"There's some good sports mama, like tennis."
"Black men don't play tennis, that's a rich white folks sport, black men play basketball and football." She'd answered.
"Not Arthur Ashe." He'd returned.
"Who is Arthur Ashe?" She'd asked.
"Deidre, she said that Arthur Ashe was a famous tennis star, and he's black." He'd answered while they'd been standing in the aisle of books, looking for ones to help him with his homework, or whatever school project he was doing. Maxwell had been at the table making a face, forced to read, sneaking a peak into comic books when their mother wasn't looking. His answer surprised her. Bea Rose didn't know much about sports, didn't have time for them. "He so famous, we should find something about him here, look for'im." She stated, challenging him, now interested. Because anything or anyone that made him rise above the stereotypical black male image, his mother wanted him involved in. Together, they went into the sports aisles and looked for his name according to alphabetical order. Sure enough, they found book after book on Arthur Ashe. Taking them down, they went to the table the three of them always occupied and his mother made him read out loud about Arthur Ashe, his college education, his goals, his accomplishments, successes and his rise to being the only male African American to win the singles at Wimbledon. His mother was impressed and sure enough, she wanted him then to sigh up to play tennis. Realizing that he couldn't be all about books, she also sent him and Maxwell to a school of martial arts. Discipline, control, inward focus and concentration she decided was the way to build a strong black and balanced young male. She always talked to him and his brother, stating what she expected them to become. It wasn't too far from the day that she died, that she'd said on one of her talks to them,
"One of these days, you two will be men. And everything that you are, you will share with a black woman who is worthy of you, who will give you strong black sons too, that you better pass all these things onto. Its time for black men to show a different side to themselves. Don't be like the others, needin' a white woman on they arm to make them stand tall. Stand tall on your own, so you don't need a superficial arm bandit trophy. You both gonna be better fathers to your sons than the black man is known to be. I'm not a father, but you two will be, one day. Strong heads of a strong, proud black family, with a educated black wife, intelligent black children. That's your future, you two understand me?"
"Yes mama." They both answered.
"Wow, look at you. Thank you, chances are, we'll be decorating this place ourselves, Jon'pa was not happy. I think Samuel is right, doesn't look like he'll be returning." Deidre stated re-entering the room.
Jeremiah turned to her smiling. Not the same smile that was on his face when she left.
"Something wrong?" She asked.
He thought about the question for a moment and started out saying, "My mother, I was just thinking about her. Thinking about, the way she wanted me to be. Max as well. I ah, more so than Max, have always tried to fulfil her expectations of me."
"She was an incredible woman; very kind, you would be wise to do as she expected of you. Were she alive today, she would be very proud of what you've accomplished."
Jeremiah gave a small, sad smile, "My mother Deidre, wanted me to be, a proud, educated, successful black man."
"And you are."
"She wanted me to be all that the white world expected me ... not ... to be."
"I see ... I can understand that."
"She wanted me to set an example for my sons, when time came to have ... sons ... black ... sons."
"Black ... sons? ... oh."
"Yes, to ... or ... with ... a black wife."
"I see ... so... that is why ... you've fought to ... well ... keep your distance, from me?"
"Deidre, the world sees a black man, with a white woman on his arm, and the first thing a sister thinks is, "What? I'm not good enough for you?", first thing a brother thinks is, "You too good now nigga for yo'own? Trophies on the shelf not good enough, you got to have one on your arm, huh nigga?", and a white man thinks, "Nigger having one of our women on your arm, still don't make you nothing but a nigger ... but, with a whore."
Deidre stood paralyzed by his words. Just moments ago, just a few mere seconds earlier, she'd been dancing up the stairs with a lightness to her heart. She didn't know what to say to him. She thought she would cry, how could things turn on her, so fast?'You stupid, you
should have known better!' She gave a sad smile, "And here I am, blond hair, rich, a Wherrington, oh my ... what a trophy I would make, huh? What would they say then? Oh I can just imagine. So... I was right then, huh? I should write the check so that you can go."
"No ... I don't want you writing me anything! Can't you see, dammit, I'm trying here ... I'm explaining to you, what it means for me, to choose to be with you. I'm explaining to you, how deep within me, I must go, to turn away from what I know - how others will think, feel and react to me, by choosing you to be with! Everyday, I see myself - slowly - inch by inch - sliding into the stereotypical expectancy of the successful black male. Now that I've made it, all I need is a white woman on my arm! Hearing that, seeing that on the faces, in the eyes of black women, men ... is going to ... to make ... this hard for us ... if we continue in the way we're going."
BOMAW 10-12 Page 14
