When Somebody Loves You Back

by Mary B. Morrison

  “I heard that, Slugger. Listeners, y’all got that lesson down? This is the Bad Boy of Radio, Michael Baisden. Next caller, who’s this?”

  Darius happily exited downtown, navigating his way along in search of, was it Peachtree Lane, Road, Boulevard, Street, Circle, Drive, or Avenue? Boulevard, that was it.

  Yes, the land of the Georgia peaches. Darius’s mouth watered as he thought about all the naturally sweet pussy. He’d have bushels with pussies spilling over the rims, if what he’d heard was true about the high population of gay brothas in the ATL. One he could name personally. K’Nine had better not try that shit again.

  Darius sat in his rental car outside the doctor’s office. After his father broke down the details to his mother about the physical, she’d pleaded for Darius not to jeopardize his contract. Mom insisted he immediately go to Atlanta, take his exam, and then return directly to L.A. “No detours,” she’d emphatically said, shaking her finger. When had his mother become so frustrated? Pointing. Slapping. Yelling. Darius wanted to stay an extra day and get busy, but he’d do the right thing for his mom now and rake in the honeys like leaves later.

  “Okay, dawg. This is it.” Darius tapped his forehead, chest, then left and right shoulders. Remotely locking the door, he straightened his black slacks and button-down long-sleeve shirt. Smoothing his locks into a ponytail, he glanced at his image in the window.

  “You look almost as good as me, brotha,” a fine-ass sista said, strutting by.

  What was that supposed to mean?

  Darius scratched his hairless chin, wanting to bark at her to prove he was all man, but he didn’t. He watched her humongous, bodacious booty juggle a sheer yellow dress that divided her cheeks into two phat cantaloupes.

  “Whew! Focus, dawg, focus.”

  Entering the doctor’s office, Darius checked in with the receptionist, took a seat, and waited, thinking about what he’d do if the results were positive. If Fancy stayed with him, there was nothing he couldn’t do. He’d get his woman back. But how?

  Darius’s cell phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. Blocked ID. What the hell? He couldn’t talk long anyway. He answered, “Hello.”

  “Hi, Mr. Williams?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mandy has an opening late tomorrow. Six p.m. Would you like to come in?”

  “Your timing couldn’t be better. I’ll be there. Thanks. Later.”

  “Darius Williams,” the assistant announced, walking toward him with a chart. “Dr. Chase is ready for you.”

  Quietly, Darius stood, followed the assistant into the doctor’s office. Glancing around, he noticed a black leather bed with a white tissue lining, a medicine cabinet, and supplies on the countertop: needles, swabs, and six empty tubes.

  “Hello, Mr. Williams.”

  “Hey, Dr. Chase.” Relieved to see a woman, nervous about the unknown, Darius give her a half smile.

  “Relax, this is a thorough but relatively painless exam. Have a seat,” the doctor said, pointing to the bed. “How’s everything?”

  Legs shaking, voice trembling, Darius lied, “Good,” knowing things couldn’t get much worse. He was terrified to take the exam.

  “I like to know as much as possible before doing an exam. Is there anything you’d like to share with me? Any stress, medical concerns, or family-related illnesses?”

  “Nope. Everything’s cool.” Darius silently prayed to his Ma Dear. I know you’re watching over me. Please put in a good word with the Man upstairs, I need Him right now.

  “Give me your arm.”

  The doctor tightly tied a yellowish rubber band around his biceps, swabbed the fold above his elbow with alcohol, and inserted a needle. One glass tube after another she filled with blood until all six were full. Placing a cold stethoscope against the left side of his chest, the doctor said, “Nice. Strong,” then placed the metal against his abs and his back. She checked his ears. “Open wide and say aaahhhhh.”

  “Aaaahhhhh.”

  “So far everything looks good. Now I need for you to drop your pants and underwear to the floor, but you don’t have to take them off. You can lean over the table or hold your ankles.”

  Proud of what he exhibited, Darius smiled. Leaning over the table, out of the corner of his eyes, Darius watched the doctor put on one rubber glove. She squirted K-Y jelly onto her fingers. The doctor’s hand disappeared behind his back.

  “Oh, shit!” Darius yelled as the doctor’s finger slid all the way inside his ass. “Damn! You need to warn a brotha about that shit.”

  “You’re done,” she said, smiling.

  Standing tall, Darius said, “Damn straight.” He’d cum all over the white tissue he’d been holding. A release was a release and he felt great afterward. The best orgasms he’d had were when something was up his ass. Preferably a woman’s finger. Dicks were off-limits.

  Cleaning Slugger, Darius pulled up his pants. “How long before I get my results?”

  “A day or two at the most. I’ll call you if there’s any concerns, but these types of physicals are routine, generally with good results. Every once in a while an athlete will have kidney problems, heart trouble, or high blood pressure, but that’s rare,” Dr. Chase said, washing her hands.

  “Thanks,” Darius said, buckling his pants.

  Darius left, thinking two days max and he’d know. Sitting behind the steering wheel, he headed back to the airport. At the ticket counter he changed his arrival city from Los Angeles to Oakland. Just as he was getting ready to turn off his cell phone, it rang.

  “Texas?” Darius wanted to treat her kinder. “Ashlee, I apologize. I shouldn’t have made you upset. Forgive me.”

  “Mr. Williams?”

  “Yes?”

  “This is Ms. Benson with Child Protective Services. We’ve placed your son in protective custody.”

  “Who is this?” Darius asked, settling into his first-class seat.

  Ms. Benson continued, “The mother has endangered your son. We’ve placed your son under protective custody.”

  Staring out the window at workers loading the luggage, Darius said, “You have the wrong number, lady. My son died almost a year ago.”

  “Are you Darius Williams?”

  “Yes.”

  The flight attendant interrupted. “Sir, you’re going to have to turn off your phone.”

  Listening attentively to Ms. Benson, Darius held up his pointing finger at the attendant.

  “Is the mother of your child Ashlee Anderson?”

  Darius gasped for air, then nodded.

  Ms. Benson repeated the question.

  “Oh, I thought I answered, Yes.”

  “Is your son named Darius Williams Junior?”

  Darius’s voice trembled. “Yes.”

  “Sir, we can’t leave until you turn off your phone. Please.”

  The passenger seated across the aisle said, “Man, turn off the damn phone.”

  Darius’s jaw flinched as he continued listening.

  “Then we have your son in protective custody. The reason I’m calling is we try to place the child with family first. Your son’s mother is emotionally unstable. Are you interested in having temporary custody of your son? If not he may end up in the foster care system.”

  “No.”

  “No, you’re not interested?”

  “No, yes, yes, of course. I want my son. Permanently. Yes. What do I have to do?”

  Standing in front of him, the flight attendant folded her arms.

  “I know. One more minute.”

  Ms. Benson asked, “What’s the earliest you can attend a court hearing in Dallas, Texas?”

  “I can be wherever you want me, whenever you need me.”

  Powering off his phone, Darius yelled, “Yes! Hell yes!” His son was alive and that meant another thing. Darius Jones-Williams did not have HIV!

  CHAPTER 27

  Ashlee

  Nobody had the right to take her child away. Not the state of Texas, the court, and surely n
ot some old-ass caseworker who had one foot in the grave playing Russian roulette with people’s lives. Ashlee was one step away from homicide, suicide, or both.

  Dialing Darius’s number, Ashlee hoped he hadn’t listened to her message.

  Darius answered, “Why you lied to me, huh? You said my son was dead. Had me trippin’ and shit. What’s wrong with you? You truly are crazy. God don’t like ugly, Ash. I’ma take you to court and take my son away from your crazy ass.”

  Before she could respond “What!” Darius hung up. He was the insane one, playing his reverse psychology games. Once the judge found out all the women Darius had fucked, there was no way he’d get custody. But how could Ashlee prove Darius was a dog? No need to call him back. Ashlee’s eyes shifted as she contemplated what to do next.

  Snatching her purse and keys, she slammed the front door behind her, praying the address on the business card was where Ms. Benson had taken her son. Hopefully Ms. Benson hadn’t placed her baby with some stranger.

  Ashlee had heard the horror stories about how foster parents beat, sexually abused, and starved the kids while using the kids’ money to buy houses and cars. And the government paid those people while penalizing the parents. Then when something devastating was exposed, like sodomy or murder, the state wanted to launch an investigation. If they weren’t so damn impulsive and gung ho in the beginning, kidnapping people’s babies and shit, maybe those things wouldn’t happen.

  “I’m going to get my baby!” Ashlee yelled to her father.

  Quickly Lawrence got out of the car and hurried over to Ashlee.

  No, she wasn’t the best parent, and maybe she’d made a few bad decisions but no one loved her baby more than she did. Not even Darius.

  “Hey, sweetheart. Whoa, slow down,” her father said, grasping her arm as Ashlee brushed by him.

  “Let me go, Daddy! I’ve gotta go get my son!”

  “From where?”

  “Ms. Benson.”

  “Wait, sweetheart. You’re going about this the wrong way. What are you talking about?”

  “Ms. Benson took DJ from me. He’s gone. And she’s trying to keep him,” Ashlee said, struggling to take steps toward her car.

  “She called Darius.” She jerked her arm. “Ow! Let go! You’re hurting me!”

  Lawrence held her firmer. “Wait. Why didn’t you call me?”

  “I didn’t have time. Plus, you’re always with a client, Daddy. You don’t really have time for me. You stop by for a few minutes, play with DJ, ask me the same questions every visit, ‘Sweetheart, did you take your medication? Where’s DJ?’ If he’s asleep, you leave right away. If he’s awake, you play with him for ten minutes and then you’re gone. Besides, all of this happened so fast.”

  Ashlee’s head spun; her vision blurred. Crying hysterically, she recapped the events and conversation for her father, conveniently omitting a few details here and there.

  Lawrence shook his head, rubbing his palm atop his hair. “Honey, this is serious. I can call your mother. See if she’ll keep DJ for a few days until we can straighten out this misunderstanding. Ms. Benson had to ask you for a relative who was willing to keep DJ? Didn’t she?”

  Ashlee’s neighbors gathered outside again. “You’re next!” Ashlee shouted, running toward them. “I’ma get all y’all nosy bitches!”

  Stopping in the middle of the street, Ashlee watched the women scatter.

  “Honey, look out!” her dad yelled.

  Screeeecchhh…bam! A red convertible Mercedes crashed into Ashlee’s neighbor’s parked car. If Ashlee had taken one step in the wrong direction, she could be dead. Satisfied, Ashlee smiled at the women, then frowned, walking toward the driver.

  “Candice? What are you doing here?”

  “Help me, Ashlee,” Candice pleaded.

  Blood streamed from a gash in Candice’s head. Before Ashlee or Lawrence could dial emergency, an ambulance raced to the scene. The paramedics rolled the gurney to the driver’s side.

  Not knowing what to do, Ashlee stood in the middle of the street.

  “Lady, move before you cause another accident,” the paramedic said.

  Candice lay on the gurney, the black belt latched across her waist.

  “Ashlee, please go to the hospital with me,” Candice begged.

  The paramedic interjected, “Sorry, ma’am, were not allow to transport passengers, only patients.”

  “Where are you taking her?” Ashlee questioned.

  “County.” The paramedic slammed the door.

  Sirens blared.

  Hugging Ashlee’s waist, Lawrence said, “We can’t afford to have them fault you for this accident. Let the paramedics do their job.”

  “Wait,” Ashlee said, reaching into Candice’s car, grabbing her purse and tote bag. “But, Daddy, we know her.”

  “No, we don’t. We’ll get the details later.” Lawrence unlocked the front door, motioning for Ashlee to go inside.

  Sirens blared again as the police arrived at the scene.

  Oh well. Sitting on the sofa, Ashlee resumed their conversation. “No, Daddy, Ms. Benson didn’t ask me for a relative. Once she found out Darius played professional basketball, all she wanted was Darius’s information. And she said, ‘You better not lie to me.’ So I gave her what she wanted. For all I know, she might be trying to take Darius away from me.”

  Lawrence exhaled. “That can’t be the truth or the whole story, sweetheart. Let me contact her.” Tugging the business card from Ashlee’s grip, he glanced at the number, then dialed six digits.

  Sadly Ashlee said, “You don’t believe me either. Nobody believes me. That’s okay.”

  “It’s not you, sweetheart. It’s the medication. You’re not back to normal yet.”

  “Then I refuse to take another pill until I am.”

  Lawrence pressed the last number, then placed his pointing finger over his lip. “Hello, Ms. Benson.” He paused, then continued.

  “This is Lawrence Anderson. Could you please explain to me what happened and where is my grandson?” He nodded. “Confidential? I see. Then we will see you in court.”

  “Let me go and see her rusty butt,” Ashlee said.

  “Sit down,” Lawrence said, terminating the call. “You have to take this matter seriously. I refuse to let Darius gain custody. You will get DJ back. I promise.”

  Staring at Candice’s bags, somehow Ashlee believed her father was trying to convince himself.

  Ashlee thought, I wonder what’s inside. As soon as her father left, she’d find out.

  CHAPTER 28

  Wellington

  Wellington’s life would never be the same. What had he done to deserve cancer? Why had he waited so long to get professional help? If he had to do it over, he would’ve had the surgery years ago instead of secretly going to Mexico, taking alternative medicine, fooling himself that his body was in remission.

  “Mr. Jones. Can you hear me?” the doctor asked, sitting on a stool beside the bed.

  Opening his eyes, Wellington nodded.

  “Can you speak?”

  Wellington nodded again.

  “We want to make you as comfortable as possible.”

  “Just give it to me straight, Doc. I can handle it.”

  “We can operate again, immediately. We can provide treatment, radiation and chemo. Or we can recommend hospice. Do you want us to sustain you on life support if—”

  “Hospice?” Shaking his head, Wellington tried to smile but couldn’t. “I wanna be the one to tell my wife. How long do I have?”

  “Not very.” Squeezing Wellington’s hand, the doctor said, “A Ms. Thompson is waiting to see you.”

  Wellington nodded, glad that Melanie had come. He knew she would.

  “Hi ya, handsome,” Melanie said, kissing his hand. “How you feel?”

  “Better now.”

  “Well, we can do better than that,” Melanie said, closing the door.

  Unbuttoning her blouse, unfastening her bra, Melanie sat tople
ss, keeping him company. “Remember that threesome we did? Jada was such a prude. But girlfriend didn’t have a problem with me eating her pussy.” Melanie laughed aloud.

  Admiring Melanie, Wellington felt guilty for misleading her. Melanie knew he’d never divorce Jada, but she had high hopes even after they divorced. Lots of men dreamed of having a mistress. Wellington had one point five. Simone was happy, make that content, with Wellington supplying her every need. Financial, that is. Simone wasn’t emotionally strong like Melanie. Melanie could handle Jada being number one as long as she got her fair share of his dick and his money. The one time Wellington made love to Simone she cried the entire time, asking, “What does she have that I don’t have? What can she give you that I can’t?”

  Wellington wasn’t perfect and he didn’t try to be. But he couldn’t stand seeing Simone cry.

  Holding Melanie’s hand, Wellington said, “I spoke with my lawyer. He’s revising my trust to include you and Morgan. Did you bring your papers?”

  Melanie handed him the document. “Sign here. You don’t know how much this means to us.”

  Yes, he did. Wellington nodded in order to suppress his emotions and pain. “I want you to have my share of Darius’s business.”

  Bouncing her titties, Melanie kissed him. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes. Neither Jada nor Darius needs the money. Now put on your clothes and leave. Jada’ll be here soon. We don’t want to piss her off. Everything should be finalized in a few days. I’ll call you. Take care of my girl.”

  “I love you,” Melanie said, pressing and holding her lips to his.

  “I love you, too.”

  Wellington didn’t have to ask Melanie twice. Neatly dressing, she quietly closed the door.

  Moments later Wellington admired his wife entering the room. He traced Jada’s hazel eyes to the IV in his arm, to the oxygen tube inserted in his nose, to the urine bag hanging from the side of his hospital bed. His eyes were heavy, his wanting but refusing to cry. Regardless of all the things Jada noticed, Melanie made him feel comfortable. Jada made him feel loved.