Ashlee patted his back. “Please, go to sleep for Mommy.”
“Buurrrpppp.”
“Oh, Mommy sorry. I forgot to burp you.” Ashlee slid her fingers under his diaper, bumping a mushy lump of waste. “Okay. Now I see. I forgot to do that too…You light up my life, you give me strength to carry on…hum, hum,” Ashlee sang changing little Darius’s diaper, then placed him in his playpen.
She rocked, waiting until his crying quieted into a peaceful sleep. When was the last time she’d given him a bath? Before the wedding? Ashlee couldn’t remember that either. She’d give little Darius a bath in the Jacuzzi with her after he woke up. Ashlee picked up the white handheld room monitor, then dimmed his light.
Lounging on the living room sofa, Ashlee flipped through hundreds of cable channels, trying to find one program worth watching. Cathy Hughes was interviewing Terrance on TV One.
“Wow, and I thought my life was jacked up,” Ashlee commented, listening to Terrance. In a matter of minutes, his entire family was devastated.
Closing her eyes, Ashlee thought, What in the world was I thinking leaving my baby alone in the car overnight? He could’ve suffocated, choked, fallen off the seat. Someone could’ve taken him. “All for what!” she angrily yelled.
Living alone had benefits, like no one to answer or witness her outbreaks, but gave Ashlee a lot of time to do nothing or too much time to think. Over the past year her life had drastically changed. Always having to take her baby everywhere she went while Darius kicked it with whomever doing whatever. Seemed like the day her son was born, a part of her died. Darius’s lifestyle wasn’t affected at all. A one-day turnaround visit and that was the last time she’d seen him until yesterday, but Darius had taken their photo out of her purse. That meant he still wanted her—them. Hopefully one day soon they’d be a family.
Ashlee picked up the phone. Seven beeping buttons later her mother answered, “Hello, honey.”
“Hi, Mommy. How are you?”
“Fine, headed to the gym, to keep my hot figure,” her mother replied.
“Mommy, I desperately need a break. I feel like I’m going crazy. Can you skip class and watch your grandson, please? One day. That’s all.”
“I told you. I raised you. I’m not raising your son too. That’s your job. Maybe next time you’ll keep your legs closed or at least pick a better man to have a baby with. If only by example, I know I taught you better. Then you fly out to L.A. for Darius’s wedding. You haven’t learned a thing. Keep on following him around, you’ll end up with another baby he won’t take care of. I’m late for my aerobics class. Bye, honey.”
Ashlee’s mom’s memory wasn’t that great. She gave herself more credit than she deserved because Ashlee was partly raised by her father and Darius’s mother.
What was her mother talking about? Her mom and dad barely got along. Ashlee smiled. She was a daddy’s girl. Her father took better care of her, the best he could.
Ashlee’s father, Lawrence, was a workaholic, which was the main reason her mother divorced him and Darius’s mom married her dad for ten years before they divorced. Easily Lawrence spent twelve to sixteen hours a day at his law office or with clients. Like most kids, Ashlee dearly loved both of her dysfunctional parents.
Flipping to the Tyra Banks Show, Ashlee said, “See, Tyra, that’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout. I need a break, a nanny, day care, something.”
Tyra had given the single mom on her show three months of paid babysitting for twelve straight weekends. “I’d never be that lucky or that trusting,” Ashlee said, walking into little Darius’s room. Good. He was asleep. Ashlee slipped her fingers inside his diaper. The liner was dry. Bored, she returned to the living room and resumed watching television.
Being alone wasn’t bad, being a loner was horrible. Ashlee realized that, aside from Darius, she didn’t have any close friends. During college she’d met some nice guys and a few girls who were cool to hang out with, but once she graduated and started working for Darius, Darius became her life again. Somehow Kevin had slipped between her legs too. Another bad decision influenced by a man. Why did she have sex with Kevin? She didn’t even like him. He was too short, ugly, conniving, available, and insanely jealous of Darius, wanting everything Darius had.
After the last phone call to Fancy, Fancy seemed like she was breaking down emotionally. That was good. Maybe she’d move out of Darius’s house and then Ashlee could move back in. Replacing the aspirin with abortion pills was a bad idea. What if Fancy found out? Would she press charges? Could she? Had Ashlee committed a crime?
Lying on her new sofa cover, Ashlee picked up the cordless phone and dialed Darius’s number. Indirectly she’d question him, then convince him to throw away the tablets. Moving the phone, Ashlee stretched her ear toward little Darius’s room and listened, then placed the phone back to her ear.
Beep, was all she’d heard.
“Hi, Darius. You know who this is. I, I, I forgot something, um, my medication, at your house and, well, I’d like to get my pills back. I’m glad we made love on your should-have-been wedding night because I’m gonna be your wife. I love you, too. Bye. Call me. Wait a minute. I called to be honest. Truth is, the reason I’m calling is to confess, I replaced your aspirins with abortion pills. Please, throw them away before—”
Not wanting to say Fancy’s name, Ashlee ended the call. She did have spare keys to their home. “Our home.” Ashlee could go back and throw the pills out. She knew what would happen to Fancy, but what would happen to Darius if he took the pills?
Hearing her front door squeak, Ashlee yelled, “Daddy, is that you?”
“Yeah, sweetheart.”
Greeting him at the entry, Ashlee said, “Hey, Papa. How was your day?” Yippee! She had a visitor, an adult capable of speaking in complete sentences. She wasn’t alone anymore. Ashlee hugged, then kissed her father on the cheek. Maybe he’d keep her baby.
“Fine, sweetheart. Did you—”
“Yes, I took my meds,” Ashlee replied, rolling her eyes.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to upset you. But you know how you get when you don’t.”
“I know.” Depressed. Too late for that.
Her father smiled at her.
“What? What is it?”
“I’m just proud of you. You’re really handling being a single parent well.”
Ashlee’s mouth hung open. No, she wasn’t. “Can you keep the baby just one night for me? Please, Daddy.”
“I can’t. In fact, I can’t stay long, where’s DJ?”
Ashlee’s dad refused to call his grandson Darius. “Asleep.”
“I have a client to meet in a few, I’ll come back tomorrow, though.”
“Promise?”
As she was escorting her dad out the front door, they noticed a stranger standing in front of the house comparing the address on the siding to that on a notepad.
“Can we help you?” Lawrence asked.
“Yes, I’m looking for an Ashlee Anderson.”
“That’s me.”
Flashing her identification badge, the woman said, “I’m Ms. Benson with Child Protective Services. We received a complaint about child abuse and I’m here to investigate the matter. May I come in?”
“Obviously you have the wrong person. No, you may not come in,” Lawrence answered in Ashlee’s defense, partially closing the door.
“Well, consider this your courtesy twenty-four-hour notice. I’ll be back tomorrow with the authorities.”
“So will I. I’ll be back too. I’m her counsel,” Lawrence answered, then said, “Wait, what’s the basis?”
“What’s your name?”
“Lawrence Anderson, her father.”
Ms. Benson sternly replied, “Abandonment.”
“That’s nonsense,” Lawrence said.
“Then you have nothing to worry about. Do you, Ms. Anderson?” Ms. Benson said, walking away.
Speechless, Ashlee felt like killing herself.
CHAP
TER 19
Darius
Unlike love, hate had no expectations.
Darius’s fear of falling in love, with Ashlee or Fancy, and loving his mother unconditionally, made him want to distance himself from all of them. Easier to start over. Meet a new woman. Women. Criteria this time: more attractive than Fancy, something to lose, financially independent, no kids, highly skilled in pleasing him sexually—mediocre low-libido, missionary-style-preferred females who didn’t move their ass need not apply—willing to relocate to Atlanta but not live with him.
Darius glanced at the overweight woman with glossy, cherry, succulent lips seated across from him.
“I bet she can suck the cum out of my dick like…a vein out of a neck bone.”
“We’ll begin our preboarding to Chicago in a few minutes,” the gate attendant at LAX announced.
Good. Hopefully the woman across from him was on that flight and not on his, because if she was down for blowin’ him, he’d let her do her thang. Shit! With so many things happening, he’d forgotten to make that call. Scrolling his phone book, Darius dialed the locksmith for his company, Somebody’s Gotta Be on Top. Surprised he’d answered at eight o’clock at night, Darius said, “Man, what’s up?”
“Apparently an emergency,” he replied. “I haven’t heard from you in months.”
“Yeah, it is. I need all the locks at my house changed.”
“Tonight, I take it.”
“Hell yeah, tonight.”
“A woman, I take it.”
“Damn straight.”
“I thought you were sharper than that, playa,” he said, laughing. “I’m on my way. Where do you want me to leave your new keys?”
“My mom’s house is cool. Just drop them in the mail slot. Thanks, man. Later.”
“No problem, D. Be at peace.”
Darius sat at the gate two hours early for his ten o’clock red-eye flight to Atlanta, analyzing his mistakes. Lots of memories surfaced. Some good. Some bad.
Like the day he was supposed to fly out of LAX to meet his mother’s executive, Zen, on one of his all-expenses-paid fuck-feasts. That Asian chick used to stroke his dick better than any sista. Small, strong, soft, skilled hands. Whoever taught her how to jerk off a man, better than a man could do himself, should hold class.
“Um, um, um.”
Later Darius discovered Ginger, his mother’s other executive, had canceled his confirmations, his flights, his limos, and his hotels to meet Zen in Chicago and Miranda in Canada. Women. Ginger had transferred all his Palm Pilot appointments, confirmations, and reservations to her PDA, including his address book. Ginger followed him all the way to New Orleans on his leisure trip with Heather, coincidentally showed up at The House of Blues in the French Quarters, and slipped her room key into his hand. Being the dawg he was then, Darius showed up at Ginger’s hotel. Thank God for sperm reproduction because Ginger fucked every single X and Y chromosome out of his nuts. That greedy sista was serious about leaving his dick on limp.
Those were the good old days. No attachments. Free-flowing pussy. Women jockeying for position to ride Slugger. Kimberly Stokes. Her fine ass was now working for his wife, Ciara, starring in his movie production of Soul Mates Dissipate. The West Coast was too damn small and Darius was eager to move to the East and explore new territory.
“Hey, man,” a familiar voice from the past echoed from behind.
“Feet chilled on ya, huh, or what, nigga?” K’Nine said, sitting next to Darius. “It’s been a long time. I knew you’d make it pro.” K’Nine slapped hands with Darius. “Welcome to the club.”
Which club was that? Darius wondered.
K’Nine was Darius’s high school teammate and the closest male friend Darius ever had until that day. In high school they were ballin’ out of control on and off the court. Young. Wild. Adventurous. When K’Nine got recruited to the University of Maryland, Darius got a scholarship to Georgetown. But once his boy went pro, Darius felt like a failure because Darius had lost his college spot to a white boy, and almost lost his virginity to K’Nine.
“Naw, man, that’s not it. I didn’t get cold feet but I’m glad as a muthafucka I didn’t say ‘I do.’”
Darius wasn’t gay. He was young, in college, and adventurous. Almost doing K’Nine felt as dirty as being done. Bisexuality wasn’t a trend Darius wanted to perpetuate. His first time considering doing that shit was his last time. But he couldn’t lie to himself, he’d fantasized about it. A woman’s finger up his ass made Darius cum his hardest…so he could only imagine. Why could women get away with doing other women with men cheering them on jockeying for the chance to join in?
“What? Like that. I heard yo’ stuff is tight, D.”
Darius knew what K’Nine meant, but it was the way he’d said “tight” that fucked up Darius’s heads. Yeah, and it’s gonna stay that way. Darius smiled, nodding.
“Yeah, she is mesmerizing. Make a man stop dead in his tracks. I had to play it off like she wasn’t all that when I first saw her, ’cause she was kickin’ it with a dude I knew. Only woman I’ve ever loved. Got too close to falling, man, and that fucked me up bad. Plus, I been going through it. My firstborn, a boy, man, he died. My second child, his crazy mama, I guess because we didn’t get married, just killed him today. Walked in the hospital with another man to abort my kid.” Darius pressed his thumb and middle fingers into his eye sockets.
“Damn, man. Maybe it wasn’t yours. Look at it this way, at least you don’t have baby mama drama like me. I got six people driving me nuts,” K’Nine said, holding his balls.
Darius leaned back. “Damn! Six?”
“Naw, not the kids, yo. Three and three. Mamas plus kids. I have two knuckleheads and a two-year-old baby girl who gets any and every fuckin’ thang she wants and then some, so when she’s old enough to date, any man who steps to my daughter, he has no choice but to treat her right.”
What if Darius had a little girl? He’d be hard on her and every dude who thought too loud about fucking his daughter. Like K’Nine, Darius knew how men really thought about women. That was why no man treated his woman the way he expected another man to treat his daughter.
Nudging Darius’s thigh, K’Nine asked, “How’d your boy die?”
Uncomfortable with K’Nine’s touch, Darius moved his legs. “I don’t know,” he lied, then became quiet.
“Chill, man. Sorry I asked. Here’s my numba. I’ma throw one back befo’ last call. Join me.”
“I’m straight,” Darius said, looking away, refusing to cry in front of his boy. The last thing Darius needed was alcohol to exacerbate his depression.
“I’m glad yo’ ass is runnin’ with us. Sho nuff wouldn’t wanna have to work that hard to push up on you,” K’Nine said, walking away.
Darius frowned, shaking his head. Until now, he hadn’t noticed that the woman across from him was gone. What if K’Nine found out if Darius failed his physical? Would he wanna run with him then? Darius could go back to operating his company and forget about playing for Atlanta. Wasn’t like he needed the money. The competition got him off.
Darius’s cell phone rang. Looking at the caller ID, he answered, “Hey, what’s up? Something wrong?”
His locksmith replied, “I’m done. Your laptop is on, D.”
“Man, do your job and get out of my house. What you doin’ snoopin’ in my study?”
“Man, yo’ shit is on the coffee table. Thought it kinda strange for what I saw.”
“Leave it. And leave the keys under the mat. I’m on my way.”
“I’ll drop an extra set off at your mom’s. Be at peace.”
Ending the call, Darius picked up his carry-on bag, then strolled down the concourse. K’Nine was talking to some pretty lil’ thang barely twenty-one. An undercover way for a baller to check a woman’s age: buy her a drink and let the bartender do the job. Darius paused in front of the bar. “They’re boarding, man.”
“Hey, thanks, but aren’t you headed the wrong way?”
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“I’ll take a flight out tomorrow. Got some unfinished business.”
K’Nine smiled at the woman beside him. “Me too. Might see ya. Gimme a holla.”
“For sho,” Darius said, resuming his stroll to the garage.
Starting up his car, Darius drove to his house, removed the keys from underneath the mat, and walked through the front door. Sure enough, a laptop was on his coffee table. Darius sat on the sofa, rotated his middle finger on the mouse pad, then hit PLAY.
“What the fuck? Fancy been spying on my mother? Wait a minute.” Darius opened My Computer, clicked on View System Information. Glancing at General, Registered to…Candice Jordan. “That bitch is still flippin’ tricks, spying on my mother. I got something for her ass when I see her.”
Glancing up at his ceiling, he saw that the red-dot indicator for his camera was off. Darius packed up the laptop, placed the bag on the sofa, then toured every room. All of the red lights were off, which meant one thing. Someone was locked inside the room inside his bedroom. Picking up the phone, Darius dialed 9-1-1 and waited downstairs for the police.
In his neighborhood a cop was always patrolling. Before the doorbell rang, Darius opened the door.
“Hey, Nero.”
“What’s up, Williams? Another crazy groupie?”
“Someone broke into my house and the idiot locked themselves in.”
“My kinda work,” Nero said, drawing his gun and following Darius upstairs.
Darius opened a concealed panel inside his closet, pressed a button, and waited.
Nero shouted, “Come out with your hands up! Make one false move and you’re dead! Keep your hands where I can see them!”
Darius watched in disbelief as she stepped into the light. “What the fuck are you doing in my house? Forget that, I already know. I have your little memory cards,” he said, twirling the blue chip between his fingers.
“You,” Officer Nero said. “You were the one crawling in the bushes looking for a puppy.”
“Darius, I’m sorry. I can explain.”
When Somebody Loves You Back Page 13
