When Somebody Loves You Back

by Mary B. Morrison

  “Oakland or Los Angeles?”

  That’s how Darius wanted his life, clear cut. Black or white. A or B. Gray areas were like women, ambiguous and complicated. Darius answered, “Los Angeles.”

  Banging his face against the limo window, Darius worried, was his HIV test, taken years ago, a false negative? How many women had he possibly infected? Darius could start with the one sitting next to him.

  CHAPTER 1

  Candice

  Alone, Candice sat in Jada’s guest bedroom by the large bay window, enjoying the second-floor view. Inside the cozy space, a plush queen-size bed with a red satin buttonhole headboard rested catty-corner facing the door. The sparkling fuchsia duvet adorned a dozen tasseled pillows. A pink leather bench perched adjacent to the footboard.

  The glass-top computer desk faced outside, snug beneath the redwood window frame. Candice’s fingers skated along the keyboard, sixty, seventy words a minute:

  I had a dilemma many married women shared: Should I divorce my impotent husband or not? I’d instantly trade in a broken car I couldn’t fix or sell a run-down house that cost more to maintain than its value. My husband wasn’t a thing; he was a human being. A cheating man, who’d fucked around for over twenty years, with the same woman.

  Candice paused, gazing at the rolling green hillside resembling the peaks and valleys of their friendship. Jada was Candice’s girl, her best friend, her right hand. They’d partied together, laughed, cried, double-dated. Met their husbands the same night at Cityscape in San Francisco at a Will Downing, Rachelle Farrell concert.

  That was BM, before marriage, those were the good old days. Jada met Wellington. Candice met Terrell. Wellington fucked up, Jada married Lawrence. Terrell fucked up, Candice married Terrell. They both relocated from Oakland to L.A but not together. Jada moved to get away from Wellington. Candice would’ve moved anywhere in the world to be with Terrell, who lived in Los Angeles.

  Terrell was five years younger, an international model, and, so she’d thought, wealthy until she married him, realizing Terrell lived well above his means. He owned a huge house with a waterfall, bought her an expensive wedding ring. The first sign of financial trouble was when Terrell purchased matching his-and-hers Mercedes Benzes, with her money.

  Accepting Terrell’s ring, Candice felt obligated to get married. What if she didn’t get another chance to meet a man like him? If Candice had remained single, and Jada had gotten married, they wouldn’t have stayed friends. Not close friends.

  Assuming their wives weren’t intelligent enough to think, insecure married men objected to their spouses kickin’ it with single girlfriends. A selfish man could ruin a good friendship. Hoping she and her girl would stay close, Candice said, “I do,” shortly after Jada called off her engagement to Wellington.

  The main thing Candice tried to avoid happened. Thanks to Terrell’s controlling ways, Candice lost touch with her best friend. For years. Without a friend and time on her hands, Candice wrote and sold a screenplay about Jada’s life. Putting Jada’s business on the big screen got Candice a not so warming house visit. After Jada got over being pissed, they were friends again. How long would their friendship last this time, considering Candice was temporarily living in Jada’s house, secretly writing part two of Jada’s life? Tapping the keys, Candice continued:

  The empty twenty-count blue Viagra tablets he’d hid in his office drawer weren’t used for my womanly pleasure. He’d found the sexual stamina to stick his dick in another woman, but he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, make love to me. He was eager to sign the divorce papers until the doctor told him his prostate cancer had spread and they had to operate immediately. What’s my obligation to stay with a two-timer? I’m clear. I have none. But I do have a conscience. I won’t leave him while he’s down, but after the surgery, she can have him.

  Candice sighed. “This is too boring. I’ma have to throw in some cussing to sell this one. Let’s see,” she said, backspacing, then revising:

  That muthafucka emptied a twenty—you hear me?—a twenty-count of Viagra on that stank-ass bitch. If his sorry ass wasn’t dying I swear I’d kill that dead-dick bastard! Twice!

  Anger was better, Candice thought, mesmerized by the fading sunrays.

  Jada always had one man on her arm and another on her charm bracelet dangling from her wrist. The ten years she was married to Lawrence, Wellington was in the background. Once Jada married Wellington, Lawrence disappeared and Darryl bopped side to side, doo-wopping as backup, waiting to sing lead in her chorus.

  One man at a time was Candice’s style. Terrell wasn’t that bad in the beginning. They’d still be married if she’d been woman enough not to let him change her. Candice never found peace with wanting but not having a child. Terrell didn’t want kids. Too late now, premenopause and a baby who’d stare at her for crying, yelling, snapping, swearing, and forgetting things would drive Candice crazy.

  Not so long ago, Candice remembered her husband was her life. In many ways, having Terrell was like having a child and an overprotective father. At first marriage was kinda cute, him telling her what to do. That chauvinistic shit got real old, really quick, but she hung in there till they damn near hanged one another with misery. Candice thought when, he left her, she’d fall apart. Wrong. She didn’t lift him up to put herself down. Surprisingly the second his shadow walked out the door, the sun seemed brighter. So was her spirit. Like before she’d gotten married, Candice felt stress-free. The days of him telling her how to dress, “Cover your breasts. Take off that skirt. You’re not leaving this house looking like that,” were gone.

  Like what? A sexy male magnet? The way she used to dress when he met her, wearing a peach minidress. But he could bare his masculine chest or muscular thighs whenever he desired, saying, “You know, baby, it’s different for a man.” And he had no problem being admired by women. Because of her, he’d made a great career move after their divorce that guaranteed him access to more pussy than he could eat. Terrell went from modeling to acting; she’d bartered with the casting company and secured him a supporting role in Soul Mates Dissipate.

  Candice was happy for her ex, happier for herself. Thankful that over the years she’d respected her body by exercising, eating healthy foods, sleeping six to eight hours a day. She’d aged gracefully. Single, available, with no intentions of remarrying, she knew she was sexy and thanks to her girlfriend’s never-a-boring-moment life, she had an eight-figure bank account and the waterfall house to cushion her divorce. Nice landing.

  Tap, tap.

  The finger mouse centered on the dash. Click. The screen faded to black. Candice minimized her document, closed the laptop, picked up The Guide to Becoming a Sensuous Black Woman by Miss T, then answered, “Come, in.”

  Peeping her head through the door, Jada asked, “What are you doing?”

  “Just reading this book on how to seduce a man. Nothing you’d be interested in,” Candice said, parting the pages.

  Smiling, Jada moved closer. Slyly Candice propped her elbow on her laptop.

  Glancing at the book, Jada said, “You right. I need one on how to unseduce your husband. Do you mind going to the store? Wellington wants some more snacks.”

  Candice stood. “Sit down for a while.”

  Massaging Jada’s neck and shoulders, Candice said, “You are tense.”

  Jada rotated her head, neck, and shoulders. “Um, that feels so good. Thanks, girl.”

  “How’s he doing?” Candice asked, not giving a damn because Wellington’s sorry ass didn’t want Jada to leave his side for more than five minutes at a time.

  Candice gave up on investing her energy into finding a faithful man who was honest, considerate, loving, good-looking, and wealthy. If a man had three good qualities, she’d take him for what he was worth. How long he stayed with her depended upon when or if he became useless. Candice pressed her thumbs into Jada’s muscles.

  Jada sighed. “Not good. He’s in a lot of pain. I’m glad he’s checking into the hospital
soon, because he’s wearing me out and not the way I’d like. All he wants to do is watch television, kiss me to death, and rub on my titties like he’s doing something.”

  “Like this,” Candice said, groping her hands on Jada’s shoulders.

  Laughing, Jada said, “Exactly. He works me all up for nothing because he doesn’t want to lick my pussy, and I’m tired of playing with her to entertain him. Girlfriend, I’m too young for this sexual frustration. There’s nothing wrong with my pussy.”

  Candice thought, First it was beer, now snacks. Couldn’t he make a list? replying, “You know how I feel. Get some dick lined up on the side. You’ll be well within your right, and ain’t shit he can do from a hospital bed.”

  Standing, Jada said, “I can’t be like him. I can’t cheat on my husband for the sake of having sex. I have to love the man I’m with.”

  “You’re delirious. That’s why I’m here. For you.” To write all this shit down so next time Jada got a man, probably Darryl, she wouldn’t forget.

  Jada lived a fairy-tale kind of life, suppressing reality to suit her beliefs. Jada could watch her screwed-up life on the big screen and think it was somebody else’s, claiming, “I could never do…”

  Candice continued, “Whatever you need me to do, just tell me. And I want you to know, being here has helped me get over Terrell,” she lied, then told the truth, “and I am going to help you get over Wellington.” Candice had emotionally divorced Terrell years before he’d left.

  Shaking her head, Jada said, “I shouldn’t complain. I’m not trying to get over Wellington.”

  Damnit, Jada, stop lying to yourself! Whenever Candice tried to get Jada to leave Wellington, Jada defended Wellington every single time. “I should stop off at Darius’s house and see if any wedding gifts arrived. They may be sitting outside.”

  “Huh, what? Oh yeah. Good idea. The keys are on the key rack in the kitchen.”

  “If Wellington thinks of anything else, call me, girl.” Candice supported Jada, not Wellington, and no matter how many errands Wellington sent her on, she’d go, and she’d return. At least he couldn’t accuse her of cock-blocking.

  Waiting for Jada to leave, then watching her walk away in Betty Boop pj’s with red eyes that were half closed, Candice wondered, why had her girlfriend stayed with Wellington after his affair? Closing the bedroom door, Candice input the information Jada had given her.

  “Oh,” Jada said, reentering the room, “I almost forgot. Darius is on his way home so you don’t have to go to his house.”

  Shit, she didn’t knock. Next time Candice had to lock the door.

  The hell I don’t, Candice thought. Darius’s life was ten times more exciting than Jada’s, and this might be her only opportunity to have access to his dirt. Quickly saving the new chapter before removing her memory stick, Candice powered off her laptop, slipped into a pink sweatsuit, laced her tennis shoes, then skipped out the front door jiggling Darius’s keys.

  One press of a button on her remote and the engine of her red-hot convertible Benz roared. Candice sped to the neighborhood grocery store, tossed chips, pretzels, peanuts, cashews, beef jerky, Snickers bars, and red vines in the handbasket. “That’ll do.” Waiting in the “ten items or less” checkout line, Candice tapped her foot, sighed; as she shifted the basket to the opposite hip her toes froze in midair. A KEYS MADE sign was near the entrance. Leaving the junk food on the conveyor, she darted to the counter, extended Darius’s keys to the tall, bald-headed man, and said, “One set please. Make that two.”

  Spiraling her copies on her chain, Candice said, “Keep the change.”

  Speeding to a nearby shopping center, she stood outside the electronics store and dialed Jada’s number.

  Jada answered, “You still at the store?”

  “What does he want now?”

  “Ice cream. Strawberry.”

  Along with the junk food she’d forgotten to pay for. “Girl, if I didn’t love you…I’ll pick it up later.”

  “I’m sorry, you called me,” Jada said, yawning.

  “I have to make a stop, but I’ll get back ASAP,” Candice said, hanging up.

  Entering the crowded store, she approached the first blue-vested khaki-pants-wearing employee she saw. “Yes, I need ten, make that twenty, of those hidden clock cameras. And twenty one-gig memory cards.”

  “Twenty? Twenty? Why so many?” he questioned.

  “Is that part of your duties? To get personal with me, young man?”

  “Sorry, ma’am. I’ll bring ’em to the register for you.”

  “Now we’re communicating. And bring me two sets of binoculars.”

  Standing in line, Candice tapped her foot. Placing her items at the register, the employee said, “Have a nice day.”

  The cashier said, “I know you’d like to protect your devices. I recommend purchasing our additional warranty—”

  “Stop wasting my time,” Candice replied, signing, then handing the white paper to the cashier. Candice snatched the bags, running like a linebacker to her car, then broke every residential speed limit for a five block radius to Darius’s house. Retrieving her keys, Candice entered Darius’s home, then secured the inside latch.

  Quickly she raced upstairs, hiding a camera in Darius’s closet, aiming the motion detector toward his bed. “This is a sweet-ass setup. What’s this button for?” Candice said, pressing the black dot. “Oh, shit!” Three hidden doors opened at once. A black leather sex swing rocked, bright red lights beamed on a stage with a dance pole, white stars and a crescent moon danced on the ceiling as R. Kelly played in the background. Squinting and walking over to a cavelike opening in the headboard, Candice stared in disbelief. Adult toys: vibrators, butt plugs, pearls, lingerie, pasties.

  “Edible what! Piña colada dickalicious,” she exhaled. “Let me get out of here. I see why women go crazy over his sexy ass. Hell, if he weren’t my girlfriend’s son, I’d wait right here to do him. Who would think of all this?”

  R. Kelly switched to Luther right before a projector screen lowered from the ceiling, playing an X-rated video entitled Bootylicious. “No, he is not putting his big dick in her…” Candice said, pressing the black button. “My pussy is puckerin’.” She was sure of one thing, the best was yet to cum.

  Squinting, Candice moved closer, then stepped back, staring up at a red dot. “Oh, shit! I’m on his camera.” Now she’d have to come back sooner than expected to find his recorder. Happy she had more material than she’d originally imagined, she was worried Darius might expose her first.

  Swiftly planting cameras throughout the house, Candice noticed tiny red dots on every ceiling: the kitchen, living room, bathroom, garage, and five other rooms. The ten cameras she’d left in her car she’d place in Jada’s bedroom, living room, kitchen, bathroom, Wellington’s office, and a few other places.

  Soon, Candice Jordan—screenwriter, novelist, producer, and director—would become a household name. Like before, in time, Jada’s initial anger would subside. But if Darius found out, he’d kill her.

  CHAPTER 2

  Darius

  “Los Angeles,” Darius instructed the driver, then raised the divider and flopped against the backseat, loosening his onyx wing-tip collar. Why had he fucked Ashlee? Kimberly? Crystal? Desire? Maxine? Ciara? The others were pissed at him, probably for life, but that was their problem ’cause each of them had moved on. Ashlee was the only dumb one who’d gotten sprung on cum. Sure, he was thirty percent, give or take five, at fault, but he’d grown tired of Ashlee.

  Holding her dangling curls away from her face, Fancy laid her cheek in his lap. Her lips kissed Slugger.

  “Ow, Ladycat, oh my goodness.” Darius’s dick expanded four times its size.

  “Heeyyy, this is a pleasant surprise,” Fancy said, nibbling his head.

  “I thought you were too upset to get excited.”

  “Shid, never that upset,” Darius said, nudging Fancy’s head closer to his dick.

  “Let me ta
ke your mind off your troubles. We can and will talk later.” Gently she bit through his slacks.

  Translation, she’d talk. He’d listen ’cause whatever conclusion Fancy conjured wouldn’t matter. She was a woman. He was the man. His castle. Her home. Maybe. If she’d act right.

  Fancy unzipped his pants. Wrapping her hand around the shaft, she freed Slugger, letting him go. The tip of her tongue chased, steadied, then licked the underside protruding main vein right in the triangular groove below his pee-hole. Fancy licked his second hottest spot—next to the span from his asshole up to his balls—again.

  “Yes, indeed, there is a God. Ooouuu.” Darius shivered.

  Fancy cuddled his dick next to her cheek, closed her eyes, and sniffed.

  “Ahhhhh.” That’s my girl. Worship your master.

  Fancy’s tongue wavered along his vein from his balls up to his hole. Gently licking his spot right before engulfing his head into her hot juicy mouth, she devoured him.

  “Ummmm,” Darius moaned, removing the diamond buttonhole links on his white tuxedo shirt, “that feels so damn good. Suck this big-ass dick.”

  Precum seeped onto her succulent lips. Painting his semen like lipstick, his bulging head swayed corner to corner, covering Fancy’s lips. Darius gripped Fancy’s hair, commanding, “Don’t you dare stop,” desperately desiring to bust a nut or two.

  Darius’s asshole tightened on the upstroke, relaxed on the down. Uncontrollable sexual energy danced in his balls, possessing Darius to lock his fingers into Fancy’s weave and thrust his shaft down her throat. He did. She gagged. Repeatedly heaving. Good for her if she regurgitated. What didn’t kill…fattened. In the zone, too deep to stop, past her tonsils, beyond her reflux ability not to swallow, Darius banged Fancy’s vocal cords.

  “Oh my God, you just don’t know, ba-bee.” He pushed, knocking his nuts against her lips. “Ba-by, shit, yeah.” He stroked deeper.