Crazy Love

by Desiree Day

  Two hours later she was still bent over her paperwork. “Oh, crap. Where did the time go?” She leaned back in her chair and stretched her arms up high over her head. “Time for me to head on home.”

  Tameeka gathered up her purse and the deposit bag stuffed with money and hurried to the front door. She quickly activated the alarm, then stepped out the door; even though it was early fall, it was so humid it felt like she had walked into pea soup. Tameeka plucked at her top and fanned herself. Busy fussing with her top, she didn’t see the pair of cold, lifeless eyes peering out of the darkness, watching her every movement.

  Just one of the drawbacks of living in the South, she silently reminded herself as she hunched forward to insert the key into the lock. “Damnit,” she cursed. The keys had slipped from her hands and dropped to the ground. “That’s what you get for hurrying,” she muttered to herself as she bent to pick them up.

  Moments later she was so intent on locking the door that she didn’t hear the muffled footsteps shuffling up behind her. Nor did she feel the hot breath on her neck. She righted herself, slipped the keys in her purse, then stepped back and her foot connected with something hard and unmoving.

  “What the—” Her eyes widened in alarm and she suddenly needed to pee. Her grip instinctively tightened around the money. Then just as fast as her fear appeared it disappeared and her lips curved up into a smile. Silly girl. Trent came back to help me. “You’re such a gentleman. I’m glad you came—” She turned around and her mouth froze into a capital O. It wasn’t Trent. Instead it was a six-feet-tall, two hundred-pound monster. He was wearing a black ski mask and peering at her with cold fish eyes.

  “Thanks. Nobody ever called me a gentleman before,” he drawled. Then, as if he had flicked a switch, his voice turned deadly. “Give me your money,” he demanded.

  “What?” Tameeka asked stupidly and suddenly an overwhelming urge to laugh blanketed her, but something told her that it wouldn’t be a welcomed sound. “What did you say?” she questioned, and to her own ears her voice sounded hollow and detached, as if she was watching herself in a dream.

  “What part don’t you understand? Give—me—your—fucking—money—bitch! Don’t make me have to use this,” he growled, and stuck something hard into her side.

  She glanced stupidly down at the cash deposit bag, then comprehension dawned. “Oh—here—you—go!” Her hands were trembling so bad that she was afraid that she was going to drop it. He must’ve thought so too because his hand whipped out and snatched it from her. He tucked it inside his jacket, then glowered at her.

  “You’d better not tell anybody about this or I’ma have to come back and kill you,” he threatened.

  “I won’t,” Tameeka stammered, between clattering teeth.

  “Just in case you think I’m playing with you, here’s something for you.” He pulled back and slapped her hard against the face. Her head snapped back and smacked the brick wall. All she remembered before crumpling in a faint was the shining gold tooth her attacker grinned at her as she slid to the ground.

  50

  Why It Makes Sense to Leave Ex-Lovers in the Past

  They’re an ex for a reason

  They can fuck up your current situation

  Stacie stepped off the city bus and promptly sank into a pile of mud. “Damnit!” she cursed, then smiled grimly. It seemed to fit in with the theme of her day: Screw Stacie Day! She glanced down at her shoes and shook her head before trudging down the street.

  Three interviews and eight hours later she was still unemployed. “I’m as jobless as a three-hundred-pound stripper.” The interviews were a waste of time. They either wanted greenies fresh out of college or tired, beaten-down robots. She didn’t fit either mold.

  A wave a panic washed over her when her stack of bills flashed before her eyes. The pile was getter higher than Mt. Everest, and it was still growing. The worst part was, there still wasn’t any money to get Lexie out of the garage.

  Stacie gritted her teeth and continued her trek home. “I can’t believe this,” she muttered. “A whole day wasted.” Waist deep in her thoughts, she didn’t hear her name being called.

  “Yo, Stacie!” She turned to find a familiar cream-colored Jaguar roll up beside her. Sitting behind the wheel was Crawford Leonard Wallace III. Stacie rolled her eyes and kept walking.

  That was all he needed, a challenge. Leaning out of the window, he called to her. “Come on. You’re not going to say hi to an old friend?” he teased, then muttered in a playful tone, “Treatin’ a brother like he some kind of dog.”

  Stacie stopped and glared at him. The image of him throwing her out of the hotel room flashed before her eyes. “Hi and ’bye,” she spat, and continued walking, this time even faster. Crawford and his Jaguar were her shadow. “Come on, Stace,” he begged. “Don’t be so mean.”

  Just then, two thirty-something ladies dragged by. One was the color and the shape of an eggplant and the other, still wearing her hairnet, was prune colored. Both of them had on white blouses and navy pants, and looked as though they had spent the last fifteen hours voicing the all-time favorite phrase: “Would you like fries with that order?”

  Crawford called out to them. “Hey, excuse me!” They both stopped in their tracks and turned weary eyes toward Crawford. The Jaguar was enough to get their attention, but the lady closest to Crawford recognized him, her eyes wide, and she elbowed her friend before whispering in her ear. Crawford grinned; he loved the attention. “I’m trying to convince this beautiful young lady to go out with me, but she won’t,” he said, and pulled his lips down into a frown.

  The eggplant-colored lady hungrily eyed the car, then shouted, “Hell, if she won’t, I will. And I’ma good cook, my son just left to live with his daddy, and I can put something on you in the bedroom that’ll make you hoarse,” she boasted.

  Crawford laughed, but he gave her a second look. She wasn’t much to look at, but you never know…he turned his attention back to Stacie.

  “Come on, the least you can do is say hi to an old friend,” he teased. “I’m sorry for the way I acted the last time we were together.” Stacie stopped in her tracks and Crawford smirked. “I was the biggest asshole and I’m sorry.”

  “You’re really sorry?” she asked, and scrutinized his face for any trace of a lie.

  “I’m really, really sorry,” Crawford repeated. “Come on, get in the car and let me take you out to eat.”

  Stacie pulled away from the car and started walking. “Can’t! I have a fiancé,” she called over her shoulder.

  “Please let me take you out to dinner to show you how sorry I am. All we’ll do is talk. Then when we’re finished I’ll bring you right home.” Stacie stopped again and this time Crawford got out of his car and raced over to her. “Come have dinner with me. I’ll have you home in three hours, maybe even less. Your boyfriend won’t even miss you,” he said as he subtly edged her to the car.

  “Okay, three hours. No more. And I get to pick the place,” Stacie relented.

  “Bet.” Crawford grinned as he made his way to the driver’s side.

  All we’re doing is having dinner, nothing more, Stacie told herself as she slid into Crawford’s car.

  51

  A Clear Head Allows for a Clear Picture

  Tameeka was huddled on the couch and her hands were wrapped around her cup of tea, but it didn’t stop them from trembling. She stared up at Officer Watkins with terror-filled eyes. Lucky for her, not more than five minutes after she was knocked to the ground, a man and woman leaving a boutique saw her and called the police.

  “Can you remember anything about him? An accent, his cologne, what he was wearing?” Officer Watkins asked gently.

  “I told you, I don’t remember anything,” Tameeka answered, then suddenly she remembered a flash. “He had a gold tooth,” she said warily, then looked down into her cup of tea. She looked like she had run headfirst into a brick wall. The right side of her face was three times its normal size
and her right eye was puffy, with red welts zigzagging through it. Her once pretty outfit was stained and ripped beyond repair. She was wearing only one sandal, on her right foot. The left one had gotten lost during the scuffle.

  “Wonderful!” Officer Watkins praised as he jotted down her comments. “How tall would you say he was?”

  Tameeka knew he was tall, but not as tall as Tyrell. “About six feet or so,” she answered calmly, but her hands shook as she brought the cup of tea to her mouth and took a sip.

  “Good,” Officer Watkins murmured. “Now we’re getting somewhere. What about his weight? How much do you think he weighed?”

  “Dunno,” Tameeka shrugged. “He was huge,” she answered weakly, and shuddered at the memory. He reminded her of a grizzly bear. “He had to have been over two hundred pounds.”

  “What was the color of the ski mask?”

  “It was dark. Black or maybe navy blue,” Tameeka answered. She was getting tired. All she wanted to do was go home and forget about everything. And she told Officer Watkins that.

  “I only have a couple more questions,” he quickly reassured her. Experience had taught him to interrogate the victim while the incident was still fresh, otherwise their recollection would be nil. “What about his clothing,” Officer Watkins pressed. “Do you remember anything?”

  Tameeka shook her head. “No. Other than it was dark too. But…” she paused, trying to clear her fuzzy mind. “I’ma say they were black and baggy. Kinda thuggish.”

  “Do you think he was in a gang?” Officer Watkins asked with a tad too much enthusiasm.

  Tameeka shrugged. “I don’t know what a gang member looks like,” she said sarcastically.

  “Sorry,” Watkins mumbled.

  “Do you think he’ll come back?” Tameeka asked in a little girl voice. Just the thought that he was still out there and might return at any time terrified her.

  Officer Watkins cleared his throat, then said, “Well, it’s hard to say. Some robbers do return, others move on to another target.”

  “Thanks. I feel a whole lot safer now,” Tameeka said; then returned her gaze to her tea.

  “I’m sorry,” Watkins said softly, and Tameeka looked up and saw the kindness in his brown eyes. It hit her that he was an attractive man. Over six feet and a little on the thin side, he had a kind face and a pair of sexy lips. Officer Watkins continued talking, oblivious to Tameeka’s scrutiny. “But there are things that you can do to ensure that this doesn’t happen again.”

  “Like what?” she asked as she pulled her gaze away from his lips and turned them to his eyes.

  “Leave at a decent hour, for one. And if you have to leave late, have an escort. Hell, with the type of money you were carrying around, you should’ve had two escorts,” he said, and Tameeka suddenly thought about Trent’s offer.

  “You can take a self-defense class. The police department offers them all the time. And lastly, get some pepper spray. That’ll stun anybody,” he said and laughed.

  “Thank you,” Tameeka said gratefully.

  “Anytime,” Officer Watkins said. Then they both turned toward the door. Somebody was knocking hard enough to break the door down. Officer Watkins gave her a questioning look.

  “Oh, that must be Tyrell,” Tameeka explained, setting down her tea and hurrying to the door. She had called Stacie, but she wasn’t home. She had tried Mo on both his cell and work number but he didn’t answer either. Bothering her grandmother was out of the question, so the only other person to call was Tyrell. He had promised to pick her up.

  Tameeka snatched open the door and threw herself into Tyrell’s arms. “I’m glad you came,” she murmured against his chest.

  “I wouldn’t be any other place,” Tyrell reassured her, and gave her a bear hug, which made her dissolve in tears. She wasn’t sure if the tears were because of the robbery or because she was so happy to be in Tyrell’s arms again.

  “Er—um—I guess I should go now,” Officer Watkins said as he inched toward the door. “You have my number. Call me if you remember anything,” he said, and walked off leaving Tameeka and Tyrell alone.

  52

  Why You Should Never Cheat on Your Fiancé, Part I

  You might leave behind incriminating evidence

  You might get caught

  Your fiancé will be devastated

  Stacie turned her brown eyes to Crawford. He was sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to her. His head was bowed so low that all Stacie could see were his shoulders as she glared at him. The only sound in the hotel room came from the TV. They were watching a porn movie and the actress’s fake moaning filled the room. “I don’t know what happened, I thought I put it on right,” he offered weakly. He had put his hands over his mouth and was speaking through the slits of his fingers.

  “You thought you put it on right? How hard is it to put on a fucking condom!” she yelled. “All you have to do is unroll it and blam! It’s on!” For the second time that day, a wave of panic washed over her. The enormity of what she had done hit her like a Mike Tyson punch; hard and painful, it left her breathless. The room began swimming and she dropped her head between her knees.

  Sitting with her head dangling and sucking in the stale air, all she could think of was Jackson, and how he would feel if he ever found out. The bed shifted and she watched Crawford make his way across the room and into the bathroom. He closed the door and locked it securely behind him as if he was afraid she’d come in after him.

  “I don’t want you, man,” she muttered to herself, then chuckled mirthlessly. “I should’ve said that two hours ago. Then I wouldn’t have some damn busta’s condom stuck up my pussy!” She pulled herself up into a sitting position and as she did so, she spied her shoes lying next to the bed. They were the pumps she had spent the day trudging around downtown in.

  A second later she was on the floor and they were both in her hands. She had them up to her nose as if they were an oxygen tank. She alternated shoes, first a sniff from the left one, then the right, back and forth. Stacie didn’t stop even when Crawford stepped out of the bathroom. She was too far gone to notice that he was in the room and even if she did, she didn’t care.

  Crawford stepped over Stacie and sat back down on the bed and stared at the TV with dead eyes. His fiancée was going to kill him if he got another woman pregnant. She was understanding when she found out about the cheerleader. Tolerant would best describe her reaction when a second lady turned up pregnant and pinned him as the daddy. But she was going to kill him if Stacie got pregnant.

  The sniffing didn’t calm Stacie like it usually did. She threw down the shoes and began to cry hysterically. “You’re gonna have to get it out,” she forced out between sobs, and Crawford came to life.

  “Me?” he asked incredulously. “Why me?”

  “It’s your shit! And I want it out now!” She moved to the bed and flopped down on her back and spread her legs wide open. Crawford was a red-blooded man and normally such a sight would have aroused him to no end. But this time it sickened him.

  “Oh, hell naw,” he protested as he began backpedaling toward the door.

  “Get your ass over here and get your shit outta me!” Stacie ordered. Her face had turned red and her eyes had narrowed to teeny slits.

  Crawford fearfully inched toward her as if the devil himself was beckoning him. “What am I supposed to use?” he asked stupidly, and Stacie suddenly wondered what the hell attracted her to him. Not only was he a joke, but he was dumb as hell.

  “How am I supposed to know? It’s not like I get a condom stuck up my twat every day. Check your briefcase. I’m sure you have something.” Just then his cell phone rang and Crawford made a move to pick it up. “Don’t you dare,” Stacie hissed between clenched teeth. “If you pick it up, I promise you that it’ll be smashed to bits. Now let’s focus on getting this thing out of me.”

  Crawford tightened his lips and plucked his briefcase off the floor. He could feel Stacie’s eyes on him as he
rummaged through it. He held up an ink pen and studied it, then turned questioning eyes on her.

  “Hell naw, Crawford. You are not sticking that thing in me. I could get ink poisoning.”

  “Well, I don’t know what to do,” Crawford exclaimed, and threw his hands up helplessly. Then almost immediately a smile began to spread across his face. “What about if you try to push it out?”

  “Push it out? Like I’m laying an egg?”

  “No. Like you’re having a freakin’ baby,” Crawford said nastily. “Just go into the bathroom and try. And push really hard.”

  “I’ll try it,” Stacie reluctantly agreed. She crab walked across the room to the bathroom. “This’d better work,” she called over her shoulder. Stacie didn’t bother to shut the door. She plopped right down on the toilet seat and bore down. She kept it up for five minutes. “It’s not working,” she yelled to Crawford. Which was totally unnecessary, since he was watching her efforts from the bed.

  He dropped his head into his hands. I’m dead, he thought. “What are we going to do?” he asked wearily.

  “The hospital,” Stacie said in a flat voice.

  Panic swept across Crawford’s face so fast that it was comical. If Stacie hadn’t been in the situation that she was in, she would’ve had a good laugh, but all she could manage was a bitter chuckle. “I can’t go to the hospital, somebody might recognize me,” Crawford protested.

  “Somebody might recognize you?” Stacie asked incredulously. “This is too goddamn much. You’re too goddamn much. You’re coming to the hospital with me, so put on some fucking clothes!”