by Mark Anthony
Dogism
A novel by
Mark Anthony
Q-Boro Books
WWW.QBOROBOOKS.COM
An Urban Entertainment Company.
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
The Calm After the Storm
Holy Hustler
Copyright Page
Dedication
This book is dedicated my mother:
—Dorothy—
Look Ma’ I did it again!!!
ONE
I once heard a brilliant saying. It went something to the effect of, “A successful person will always put himself in a position to take advantage of an opportunity when it presents itself. Not only will the successful person put himself in a position to take advantage of an opportunity, but when that chance presents itself, he will be the first one, if not the only one to spot it. After he has spotted it, he will pounce on it with the vigor of a hungry, ferocious lion, allowing nothing to let that opportunity slip away.”
As I drove down Pennsylvania Avenue in Brooklyn, I suddenly realized that a golden opportunity was presenting itself. It was in the form of one of the most beautiful females on whom I’d ever laid eyes. The ironic thing was that this catch was one I’d let slip away in the past.
As she drove in her black convertible, I made sure to ride right alongside of her.
What’s her name? I agonized, trying to remember from where I knew her.
When the light turned red, I had time to recollect my thoughts. After sitting through torture for a minute and a half, it hit me like a brick. “She’s that beautician.”
The light turned green. I thought, Lance, don’t let this opportunity pass you by.
It must have been fate that brought us to yet another red light. After we stopped, I stared at the captivating woman. I gazed with the most lustful, awe-filled expression I could muster. I wanted her to know I was looking. If she returned the favor and glanced my way, I wasn’t gonna be a punk and quickly turn my head.
She must have felt my passionate stare because she finally did look at me. Unfortunately, she didn’t look for very long because the light turned green again. But she’d turned long enough to smile as she nodded her head to the music on Hot 97 FM. Her convertible top was down—she knew she was fine. The look I gave her was the start of an affair. Although I didn’t even know her name, in my heart, I’d just committed adultery once again.
Again, it must have been fate that allowed us to continue to travel in the same direction. It was the same fate that caused the light to again turn red. I thought, I got a smile out of her at the last light, now seize the moment, Lance. Don’t let it pass you by.
I had to do something quick ‘cause this traffic-light affair was bound to end soon. So again I lustfully stared. She knew I was clocking her, but she kept her eyes fixed straight ahead as she continued to nod to the music.
Wave to her, Lance, I intently urged myself. Wave.
I could sense the light was about to change, so, very lightly, but hard enough for it to give off a sound, I tapped on my horn. She still didn’t look my way, so I ambitiously blew two more times a little harder.
Yes, yes, yes. I was mad excited because she’d finally looked my way. Being as cool as I could, with my baldhead glistening in the sunlight and with my shades on, I lifted my hand and said very softly, “Hello.”
This time I got no smile. She just stepped on the accelerator and my ego all at the same time. But yo, I was a hungry lion, and I wasn’t gonna let this sly fox get away.
“Come on, just don’t turn,” I earnestly hoped. “Please let me get one more red light, please.”
Fortunately for me, as fate would have it, four blocks later the light did turn red again. I moved in for the kill. Without any hesitation, I pulled up alongside her in my white Lexus GS300. Right away I tapped on the horn three times. She looked. I quickly motioned with my index finger for her to pull to the curb, like I was a cop instructing a speeding driver to pull over. She smiled but she shook her head no.
Feeling rejected, I put my hands together as if I was begging or praying, and I mouthed the word, Please. She again smiled and shook her head to say no.
Man! The light was turning green. Not only that, Pennsylvania Avenue was running out, and we were both about to reach the Belt Parkway, which was my point of destination and probably hers as well. I didn’t want to enter the parkway’s jungle because then my fox would surely escape the grasp of my claws.
As the light changed, she took off. I, too, hit my accelerator. I managed to stay neck and neck with her car as if I was in the Indy 500. Feeling a sense of urgency, I vivaciously tapped on my horn to get her attention, which, thank God, I finally did.
Seeming kind of annoyed, she lifted her hands, arms, and shoulders as if to ask what I wanted.
“Pull over. I have to ask you something,” I said as I motioned toward the curb. I waited for her reaction. She gave me a look as if she was gonna suck her teeth and keep going.
Fortunately, her right blinker came on.
“Yes!” I wanted to piss in my pants I was so happy.
After signaling to pull over, she sped up to pass me. Finally, I’d lured her in. I pulled right behind her, put my car in park, and turned on my hazards. Feeling like a state trooper, I got out of my car as if I was preparing to ask for her driver’s license and registration. The navy blue tank top I had on revealed my dark, chiseled physique.
“How you doin’?” I asked as I approached the driver’s door of her car.
She answered with a hello, then she added, “I had to pull over or you might have caused an accident. What’s wrong with you?”
“Nah, I had realized that I knew you, and I wanted to see if you remember me.”
She looked at me as if to say, “You better have a better line than that.”
As I looked at her, I felt star struck and perplexed. I thought quickly and said, “Nah, but for real though, I wanted to know if you could cut my son’s hair.”
“How do you know I do hair?” she asked.
The ice was broken as I reiterated, “I told you I know you.”
“From where?” she asked.
“You work in International Hair Designs on Franklin Avenue, right?”
She slowly looked me up and down, trying to figure out who the hell I was. Then she answered, “Yes, I work there.”
“See,” I said as I smiled, “I told you I knew you. And you probably thought I was trying to kick game to you or something.”
She looked at me, confounded. Slowly shaking her head while smiling at the same time, she asked, “So you almost killed yourself trying to run me down, just so you could ask me if I can cut your son’s hair?”
“Word. See, I’m not satisfied with the barber I’m taking him to now. You know like most barbers, mine doesn’t clean his clippers and all that. And I’m sayin’, you know what kind of diseases you can get from dirty clippers.”
She looked
at me and nodded, but she didn’t say anything. I was simply in adoration because I was speaking to someone so beautiful. I don’t know from where on earth I’d pulled that haircut story, but it was a start.
As I attempted to protract the conversation I said, “Besides, I figure a female beautician probably isn’t cutting sweaty men’s heads all day, so her clippers should be a’ight, you know what I’m sayin’?”
She answered with a laugh, “Wait. First of all, what’s your name?”
“Oh, my name is Lance,” I answered. “Excuse me for being rude.”
“Hi, Lance. I’m Toni, but you probably already knew that. . . .”
“Maybe,” I responded with a smile.
“Lance, you don’t even know if I’m any good or not.”
Instantly my hormones went daft with thoughts of good sex. I thought, Baby, I would bet money that your stuff is good.
Holding my hormones at bay, I responded, “If your work is as beautiful as you look, then there won’t be a problem.”
“Oh, stop,” she jokingly said as she batted her hand at me. “You’re making me blush.”
Inside, my hormones were cheering insanely loud, as I said to myself, Yes, Lance. Yes, you are the man.
“Here,” she said, “let me give you my card.”
With her seemingly soft hands and her butterscotch complexion, she reached toward her dashboard area and handed me a shiny black card with gold lettering. As I took the card, I couldn’t help but notice the gorgeous airbrush design on her freshly French-manicured fingernails.
She advised me, “On certain days it’s mad busy in the shop, so just call me or page me before you come in, and I’ll let you know how long a wait you’ll have.”
“A’ight, that’ll work,” I said.
As I went to take her business card, I made a conscious effort to reach for it with my left hand. The reason being, my wedding band was on that hand. I wanted to make sure that the gold and diamonds blinded Toni. I didn’t see any rings on her beautiful hands, which let me know that she’d definitely taken note of the fact that I was married. If there’s one thing that I’ve learned in my five years of marriage, it’s that a wedding band on a man’s hand can be spotted from one hundred yards away. Maybe because it’s such a rarity, especially among young, good-looking cats like myself.
Her seeing the ring accomplished a couple of things. It put some doubt into her mind that maybe I wasn’t just some sexy nigga trying to kick it to her. I needed that doubt because unless she had no class at all and if she didn’t fall for that haircut game, she would’ve immediately written me off.
Toni appeared to be a high-maintenance female, and most of them ain’t trying to give no play to some guy they meet on the street, especially one who pulls them over in his car. They might give a guy their phone number or they’ll take his number, but in their head it’s a whole different ballgame. They’ll be like, “This player probably has all types of women. I ain’t trying to mess with him ’cause I ain’t gonna be another notch on his belt. Besides, he looks too good anyway. He probably thinks it’s all about him.”
At this stage, I didn’t need negative thoughts like that flowing through Toni’s head. My ring played a big part in killing that negativity, and it left open the opportunity to push the right buttons later.
As I prepared to walk back to my car and put an end to this traffic-light affair, I said to Toni, “Conduit avec precaucion,” which in Haitian Creole means, “Drive with caution.”
Taken aback, she responded, “Vous Haitienne?,” which means “Are you Haitian?”
Walking away, I said, “No, but I know that you are.”
Those were the last words I spoke to her as I got in my ride and drove off. Inside my heart I knew that she would be thinking about me, especially after I’d freaked her mind with her native language. I must admit that I “reached” when I spoke those words of broken French. See, I have a thing about Haitian women. To me, they are all off the chain! I’ve dated many Haitian women, and I just learned to pick up on the language. I’m not fluent in it, but I figured that I should at least make the effort to vaguely know the language of such fine sistas.
Her card said Toni St. Louis, which was a tip-off that she was Haitian. Last names like St. Louis, or as she would pronounce it “St. Looie,” and names like Joseph and Pierre are instant giveaways to a Haitian descent. Hey, I reached, but it worked.
On the ride back to my house I fantasized about Toni. I wondered what it would be like speaking to her on the phone. I pondered what her feet looked like. My heart rate was slightly accelerated as I felt happier than a kid on Christmas morning.
After the twenty-minute ride to my crib was complete, I had to switch gears. I had to take off the Mack attire and don the husband outfit.
“Hey, baby,” I said to my wife, Nicole, as I walked in the back door.
“Hi, honey.”
“Nicole,” I said, “I’ve been thinking about you all day. I couldn’t wait to get home to see you.”
As a smile appeared across Nicole’s face, she replied, “Really, baby?”
“Yeah,” I answered, “now come here and give me some sugar, you sexy thang.”
After taking off my shoes, I made my way to the living room to catch the last fifteen minutes of Oprah. My wife sat next to me.
“So, Lance, how was your day?”
“It was a’ight. You know, same ol’ same ol’.”
“Lance . . .”
Before my wife could ask me anything else, I interrupted her by diverting her train of thought.
“Nicole, where’s LL?” LL, which is short for Little Lance, is our son.
“He’s here somewhere. He’s probably watching cartoons or whatever.”
“LL,” I screamed out to my son.
A minute later he came running and jumped on my lap while simultaneously slapping me five.
“What’s up, little man?” I asked.
“Nothing. I was watching Barney.”
My son is the most adorable kid you would ever want to meet. And he’s the spitting image of his daddy. I just hope when it comes to the gene that controls infidelity that his is not a clone of his father’s. I was feeling a little guilty, so I played with my son for the remainder of the evening. I didn’t really want to look my wife in the eyes for the rest of the day. Not that I’d cheated on her or anything, it’s just that for today I belonged to Toni. Actually my wife would have had a hard time stimulating me. She looks good and all—a banging body—but this evening I wanted to be mentally stimulated by Toni and no one else, not even Scarlet, the exotic looking Brazilian stripper who’d been my mistress during my entire marriage.
While we were eating dinner, my wife caught me daydreaming.
“Baby, what are you thinking about?” she asked.
Startled like a little kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, I quickly responded, “Huh? Oh, nothing. I ain’t thinking about anything, just something that happened at work today.”
“Oh, tell me what happened. Was it funny?” she inquired.
“Nah. It was nothing,” I said as I, like a boxer, tried to back my way out of a corner. I’d just gotten caught out there thinking about Toni. I quickly excused myself from the table as I sought out a solitary environment.
Later that night when the lights were out and my wife and I lay in the bed, we cuddled and pillow-talked. I was hoping she would go to sleep so I could reminisce about the traffic-light affair I’d had with Toni. Unfortunately my wife had other plans in store for me. Nicole’s period had ended a day ago. Usually she’s in the mood right after her “friend” departs, and tonight she was holding true to form.
Nicole began to kiss on me and caress my chest. Uninterested, I played my role as husband. I was praying that Nicole wasn’t physically in the mood for an all-star performance because I wasn’t in the frame of mind to deliver one. No foreplay, no massages, and all that—if she wanted it, she had better get me aroused, hop on, and do her thing so
I could go to sleep. Hopefully she’d climax before I did, but if not, I could have cared less.
TWO
More than a week had passed since I’d pulled Toni over in her car. She was out of my sight, but she was always on my mind. I must have looked at her business card a hundred times. I had the beauty shop’s phone number and Toni’s pager number engraved in my memory. Just about every day I wrestled with myself to keep from calling Toni.
Saturday finally rolled around, and I had an excuse to go to Toni’s shop. Although LL was not in dire need of a haircut, I decided to take him to the shop anyway. Like always, LL objected to getting his hair cut. However, after a little coaxing and a McDonald’s Happy Meal, we found ourselves in the jam-packed beauty salon.
I immediately searched for Toni. After I spotted her working at her chair, I calmly walked over to her.
“Remember me?” I asked.
Toni was in the process of doing someone’s hair, so she looked into the wall mirror she was facing. She paused and thought for a second, then turned around with a curious smile and said, “Yeah, I remember you.”
There was another pause of silence. Then I asked, “Do you have a lot of customers?”
“Well, it’s Saturday, so it’s always packed in here . . .”
“I brought my son with me to get his haircut. Do you—”
“Oh, that’s right. Is this your son? Oh, he’s so cute. Hey, cutie. What’s your name?” Toni asked while reaching to pinch LL’s cheeks.
In a shy voice my son answered by saying, “LL.”
“Oh, he is so adorable. Didn’t I give you my card? Why didn’t you call before you stopped by?”
“Actually, I wasn’t gonna come today. It was a spur-of-the-moment-type thing.”
“Lance, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, Lance, you can wait if you want, but I’m mad busy. I should be able to squeeze LL in about an hour and a half. Is that alright?”
“That’s cool. We’ll just chill. I might get a manicure to kill time, I don’t know.”
