A Taste of Honey

by Darren Coleman

  I lifted off of her and was shocked to see that she was out cold. I tapped her face, thinking that she was playing games. A cold rag and a few shakes later and we both realized that she’d passed out.

  “That was incredible,” she whispered as she came to with a smile on her face. “I didn’t know it could be like that,” she said three times back-to-back. She went on about the mind-blowing sex, the shock that I lasted so long, and all of the things that she felt as she had a gut-wrenching orgasm.

  We turned on the radio and listened to Justine Love and Todd B as they played slow jams that fit the moment we were in. “The Way” by Jill Scott and then “Emotional Rollercoaster” by Vivian Green played as we stared at the ceiling. My chest poking out like King Kong’s, I dozed off with her in my arms.

  Honey had urged me to make the phone call to Frannie. After I’d talked with her about her promise to be at my side, I felt the strength to do it. Now two days later, there was a twinge of nervousness as I approached the home that was located in the part of Philly where Germantown connected with Mount Airy. Her street was well kept and quiet.

  I knocked on the screen door. The door inside was standing open, allowing the slight breeze to enter. Frannie came to the door in a pink dress and greeted me with a huge smile.

  I introduced Honey as my girlfriend and she gave her a big hug. “This is so wonderful,” she said. “I can’t believe you’re here. I’ve missed you so much over the years.”

  I caught Honey’s gaze when Frannie’d said the words. She was checking on me for a reaction. I’d confided in her about all of my feelings and my anger, some of which I’d never shared with anyone other than Cameron.

  We weren’t in the house a good five minutes when she said, “I want you to take a seat. I’ve whipped up a little something for you to eat. Don’t even think about saying that you aren’t hungry,” she commanded like a general.

  I didn’t deny the fact that I’d been hungry all day, but too anxious to eat as we cruised up 95. The house was old and had a door to the kitchen. When it swung open I could smell the aroma of home cooking that had my saliva nearly dripping from my tongue.

  Over light conversation we ate collards, fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, cornbread, and then as if we could get any more stuffed she brought a freshly baked apple pie out of the kitchen and a tub of Häagen-Dazs out for dessert. Throughout the whole dinner memories of Frannie cooking for me and feeding me as a child flooded my mind.

  “You okay, baby?” Honey asked a few times.

  “Yeah, I’m good. The food is great,” I’d said. It was great having my woman there to act as a buffer to the discomfort that was choking the air out of me.

  “As a matter of fact, I’ll take another slice of pie, y’know to go with this second scoop of ice cream.” Honey smiled.

  “Where are you putting it all, chile?” Frannie asked and laughed as Honey ate like she hadn’t had a decent meal in a while herself.

  “Miss Frannie—” Frannie had insisted she call her by her first name. “—I love a good meal like this so you won’t catch me acting shy when I get a chance to partake of some good ol’-fashioned soul food. My mom was a good cook and if she hadn’t died while I was young, I probably would be a size six or an eight.” She laughed then added, “Or maybe a ten or a twelve.”

  They both laughed. “I like this young lady, Khalil. She’s a keeper. You do what you have to do to keep her around.”

  I wasn’t sure where it came from but I felt compelled to let it out. “Sometimes it’s beyond a man’s control though, right?” The conversation and the laughs came to a halt that quick. “I wanted you to stay, but you left. Remember?”

  Then I got up from the table. “I can’t do this. I don’t forgive you.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill and placed in on the table. “Thanks for the hospitality but this was a bad idea. I’m sorry Frannie, but we’re leaving now.”

  Honey’s eyes showed horror. I felt bad that she had to see me act this way as I headed for the door but I was hurting too bad. “Khalil, no,” she said.

  “Was it something I said, Khalil? Please don’t go like this,” Frannie pleaded.

  “I just can’t do this. I needed you then. I don’t need you now. I needed your food when I ate in that lousy cafeteria on Thanksgiving and Christmas, not now. It was stupid of me to come. I’m sorry.”

  I watched briefly as Honey stood up and began to follow me. I could hear her thanking Frannie for the meal. Then as we stepped out of the door and down the steps I heard the woman who’d at one time been my mother crying. “Khalil. I know you don’t need me.” Her tears were evident now. “But I do need you. I…need…you.”

  I hit the alarm switch as I climbed into the Bentley. I didn’t look back as we pulled off. As we turned onto Windrim Avenue I wondered if she felt even a fraction of the pain I’d endured when she had done the exact same thing to me years before.

  23

  HONEY

  Khalil had definitely fallen into some state of depression after we’d gone to see Frannie. I felt bad for urging him on. It had been too much for him though he didn’t come right out and say it. I had noticed that he’d been having a hard time sleeping, tossing and turning. Four nights in a row I listened to him grunting and moaning, sweating and fighting.

  When I looked over at the clock, it was five A.M. I couldn’t take it anymore. “Baby, wake up.” I rubbed his head and tried to stir him as lightly as possible without startling him. “You’re having a bad dream, Khalil.”

  He opened his eyes and I was relieved when he didn’t take a swing at me. “Huh?”

  “Wake up. What are you dreaming about? Do you remember?” He was out of it still.

  “What?” he said softly.

  “Are you okay?”

  “She was doing it again. Frannie was doing it again. She was touching me on my…”

  He sat up and looked as though he’d just seen a ghost.

  “What did you say?”

  As if he’d just discovered electricity he looked amazed. “Frannie…”

  “Frannie what?”

  He looked me in the face. “Frannie did it to me too,” he said as tears began to pour down his face. “She did it to me first.” It was like my heart exploded inside of my chest. My brain hurt and I had to force myself to breathe as I realized what he was going through at that moment. I’d insisted he reach out to her and now this was on me.

  As far as I was concerned from this point on, it was me and my man against the world. In our short time together I’d learned that we had both been victimized by life. Neither of us had a chance to experience true love. My mother had always been so busy keeping a roof over our heads that at times it felt like I almost raised myself. Once she was murdered, my aunt did nothing more than put up with me for a couple of years and that was it.

  Khalil for his part had been abandoned and abused in his young life and spent his crucial teen years in foster care. It was a miracle that he’d turned out how he had. Not only was he a viable member of society, he was successful. Following your dreams took courage, even more than I had. I never even dared to develop my own. I think what I wanted most was to be loved and have a family. To have a man that I could call my own, that I could dream with.

  Khalil didn’t let what he’d finally admitted to himself stop him from showing me how much he cared for me and I wanted to show him my appreciation.

  As we drove out toward Annapolis he had no idea of the surprise that I had in store for him. We crossed over the Severn River and got off of Route 50. Once we turned into the exclusive neighborhood he began to ask questions. “Who are we visiting?”

  “Just hold tight.”

  I kept driving down the street and when we’d almost reached the end of the block I pulled up to a gate where a portly white woman was parked in a Mercedes wagon. I rolled down my window and she waved as she walked over to the car. “I’m sorry about the mix-up, Ms. Height. Here is the control for t
he gate and the garage. Congratulations to the both of you.”

  “Thank you.” She waved at Khalil and climbed back into her car.

  “What’s going on? What is she talking about?”

  I hit the remote and the gate opened. I pulled the car in and past the garage up to the front door. “Welcome home, Khalil.” I motioned for him to get out of the car.

  His mouth dropped open, as it should have. He was standing in front of a one-point-five-million-dollar home. “Are you kidding? I know…” He couldn’t even get the words out. “How can you afford this?”

  “I’ll tell you all about it tonight. For now let’s just take a look.”

  He continued shaking his head in disbelief as he walked through the front door into the foyer. The house was wide-open and you could see past the winding staircase into the family room. He didn’t know which way to go first so he said, “Gimme the tour.” He continued to mumble that he couldn’t believe it.

  The huge kitchen, Egyptian-stone floors, and the dark cherry cabinets were breathtaking to me and I’d seen the place at least ten times. There was a great room off of the kitchen, with one-story glass windows giving a breathtaking view of the Severn River and the dock that was at the bottom of the hill.

  It took us ten minutes to see the entire house. There were six bedrooms, a huge recreation room, a theater room, and a parlor. We headed outside and when he saw the gunite pool that was equipped with a built-in spa he broke into a huge smile.

  “This is beautiful. I don’t know how you can afford this.”

  “You mean we.” I pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to him. It was the deed. I’d added his name to the deed, though not the note. “You own half of this.”

  “How?”

  “I purchased it. Went to settlement a few days ago. Wanted to surprise you with our new home. One that we can fill up with babies,” I said, smiling.

  We stood there suspended in time for a few quiet seconds while I did nothing but capture the excitement that was flowing from not only his eyes but from his heart as well. I could feel his thoughts. In that moment I felt safe and valued. The house and the money would have been great for either of us alone, but together we had everything that we could have wanted and needed. With him, I knew that was more than I should have ever asked for.

  I wasn’t really all that sure what I believed in as far as a higher power, at least not the way I’d suffered so much, but in that second I honestly felt as though I knew what people meant when they used the term heaven-sent, because that’s what I thought of Khalil.

  He moved closer to me and asked why I was crying. I hadn’t realized that while I wasn’t bawling like a baby, my eyes had filled with water. I was overwhelmed. The thought of living in a house like this with the man of my dreams had never really entered my mind.

  “I don’t know,” I responded. “I’m just so happy that I’ve made you happy. It’s all I want to do.”

  Summer was definitely coming to an end. As I strolled out of the hotel lobby on Lexington Avenue in Manhattan I felt the sun fighting to keep the heat on the back of those who dared step out into it. I had no choice. One more bit of business called me.

  I’d chosen a navy-colored suit, slight white pinstripes in it, and it wasn’t helping me at all in my efforts to stay cool, calm, and collected. It was a bold move that I was making and I was feeling hot, worried, and nervous. I hadn’t even told Khalil where I was headed to; in fact, I’d given him a half-lie as I told him that I was merely checking in on an investment. I did feel bad about it.

  I’d collected lump sums of cash, thousands of dollars at a time, from men all my life. Now I could actually say millions when counting Priest, but this was different. I was meeting with some white-collar folks now who had the ability to send me to jail possibly, if they weren’t afraid of what I was bringing to them.

  In the week leading up to my purchasing the house I found out two pieces of information that piqued my interest and prompted my actions. The first was that Priest had just signed on with Mark-One International, one of the top agencies in the world. They represented nearly every top name in the sports-and entertainment-game, which hadn’t been snatched by either William Morris or IMG. This of course meant that he was valuable to them for one reason only. He was going to make them a ton of money.

  The second piece came to me via Mr. Cason, the same detective I’d used to get Priest’s photos to start with. I’d had him lay off a couple of weeks until Priest felt comfortable that he wasn’t being followed anymore, then I had Mr. Cason get back on him. Call it intuition but I knew there’d be more for me to learn. But instead of more undercover behavior, I got the word from Mr. Cason that Priest managed to keep his nose clean. I figured that with the publicity he was getting from his new deal he was probably lying low. That’s when the idea came to me to have Mr. Cason check on Janice Sears’s family. Janice, who had been introduced as Jan, was the girl who’d been found dead from an overdose in Miami after spending the night with Priest.

  What I learned from my hired friend struck me as insane. The second girl, who’d accompanied Jan the night she died, had also made headlines. The day after Jan’s death she was locked up in a Dade County jail after being caught in a stolen car, headed to the airport, with a kilo of cocaine, unknown quantities of ecstasy, and bunch of stolen credit cards.

  She never made bail, because three nights later she was found dead inside her cell, an apparent suicide by hanging. The first thing that crossed my mind was that Priest couldn’t have been connected enough to have the girl killed in a Miami jail cell. It had to have been a coincidence. This was until Mr. Cason stumbled across the fact that before Priest played college basketball for St. John’s University he’d transferred from the University of Miami. What was more interesting was that the girl he dated for the two years he was there had a brother who had become a resident of the Florida penitentiary system after his violent and lucrative drug organization had been invaded by the police and DEA, who eventually brought him down. Though the brother was still in jail, his third appeal was being paid for by none other than Priest Alexander, shedding light on a connection between Priest and someone who’d have the power to conduct a hit inside of the prison system.

  After I learned all of this, it would have made sense for me to be fearful but I wasn’t. Instead I made the call to Brad Persons, Priest’s agent, and here I was in a cab headed to Brad Persons’s office on Sixth Avenue. The cab dropped me off and I headed into the building. After signing in I hopped the elevator to the thirty-eighth floor.

  “Ms. Height, Mr. Persons will see you now,” the headset-equipped receptionist stated. No one came to greet me, she only pointed and said, “To the end of the hall and make a left. You walk straight into his office.”

  “Thank you,” I said confidently and headed off.

  The Mark-One headquarters were huge and the hallways were wide, filled with a bunch of offices on each side. I did walk straight to where she directed and it looked more like a wing. Parquet floors, huge glass windows, oversized mahogany furniture. The office was amazing. “Please come right in.” I heard the voice and then looked at the man in the doorway to see a tall, slender, fit, silver-haired gentleman. He was also wearing a headset. He reminded me of TV journalist Anderson Cooper.

  “Can I offer you anything? Coffee, tea, bottled water?”

  “No thanks. I’m fine.”

  “Okay great. Let’s get right down to business.”

  “Okay let’s. The first thing I’d like to do is walk with you into your restroom and watch you undress, then after I’ve checked your clothes we can go take a cab ride or a walk to somewhere where I’ll be comfortable talking.”

  We sat there staring at one another for twenty seconds before he asked me if I was serious. I explained to him exactly how serious I was. “It’s your wallet Mr. Persons, but I don’t have much time.”

  He smiled and nodded once he realized that I wasn’t some crackpot with dreams of pie in
the sky. He pulled the tiny recorder from the inside pocket of his jacket and then motioned for me to follow him into the bathroom. As he stood there in nothing but his boxer shorts I realized that he now accepted that I was a force to be reckoned with. I patted his clothing and went through his pockets inside of his bathroom, which itself was larger than some people’s offices.

  Ten minutes later we hopped out of a cab and walked into McCormick & Schmick’s. We grabbed a table and he insisted that I order something. Again it was time to get down to business. I handed him the photos. “I know you have a lot riding on Priest. This would be a problem, though I’m sure he wouldn’t be the first or last homosexual who sold sneakers for Nike or Adidas, whoever you have the contract with, but I’m aware this isn’t the kind of thing they smile upon. I also know you have Sprite and McDonald’s interested, among others. All of these companies are selling an image, one that is way different from the person you are now representing.”

  “So what exactly are you suggesting?” he said. I knew he was looking for terminology, something he could use to tie me into a blackmail charge.

  “Mr. Persons, I did not take these photos, but I won’t deny that I know who did. All I’m saying is that I would like to assist you in protecting your investment and your right to be rewarded for your investment. In addition to the photos, I have some very disturbing knowledge about your client that might bring embarrassment and possible criminal charges that would make a lot of people very uncomfortable.”

  “Knowledge such as?” he said, for the first time sounding smug.

  “Well let’s just say this. If I told you, he’d have to kill you,” I said, smiling as I sipped my French martini. He didn’t smile back. “Your client has been involved in some things in the past few months that I have knowledge of. As long as you don’t learn of them you can represent him in good conscience and make all the money in the world.”