The message ended with David’s usual signature send-off . . .
“Stay Sweet, Black Queen.”
Debbie was awestruck by the words in the poem, but his signature always felt like a killjoy. Ever since she could remember, her Camay skin color had a negative stigma in the Black community. There was always the presumption that she thought herself above being Black, just because she liked to walk with her head up. But it was never that way. They quipped that she was “acting white,” because she had proper dialect or that she spent so much time at the computer. Wrong again. Debbie was definitely from the mean streets of Chi-Town, with those mean streets even intruding into what she thought was her “safe” home. But why was it that when a girl wanted to better herself that folks from the hood (who could care less about bettering themselves) would try to bring her down? Why was it that her light skin scared folks with darker skin? After all, she wasn’t prejudiced, so why should others be that way? That bullet that killed her brother didn’t care if he was light or dark; so then, why would anyone else care? Why were people so damned miserable???
Although Debbie had these questions, she never voiced them. She didn’t get up in people’s faces and fight them over their ignorance. Instead, she simply recorded it all. You high yellow, bitch. Wanna be Black. Or worse: “You bourgie heffa.”
Debbie hated these titles and found it increasingly hard to love herself for who she really was with all of the negative comments directed at her skin color. The hate began to let up a bit when Vanessa, Halle and Jada felt as if they were representin’ her as they boldly challenged the adversities of light skinned folk with their raw talent. Still, Debbie was ashamed that her neighbors and classmates ignored her inner and outer beauty because of her lighter skin tone. Yet there was no disputing Debbie’s beauty. She might have been the spitting image of a young Dorothy Dandridge, except that Debbie had a head of natural bronze hair.
As Debbie grew older and more aware, she aspired to be aggressive, to achieve, and to capitalize on her gifts one day. She didn’t quite know how or when, but life would reveal its greatness to her. On that goal she was determined. And, as of lately, it was David’s words that were reminding her of her great potential during their pen pal pursuits. As pen pals, the two were often online at the same time. They would constantly communicate with one another in words or pictures and still maintain the mystique that long distance relationships create. The networking could have carried over to telephone calls for more candid, more intimate conversation. However, the Internet made their inevitable intimacy seem more substantial; bigger than life. At the same time there was more mystique and, well, this interaction was just damned inexpensive and convenient.
David initially read Debbie’s ad in the singles area of “NET NOIR”, a community of like minded blacks on the Internet. The two became an item in the Ebony chat rooms. And although more than 78 others answered Debbie’s ad, David was the first mover. Once he downloaded her photo with the help of his high-speed modem, he realized what a prize he lucked-up on. She was beautiful with big glassy eyes like the women in magazines. She had high cheekbones and alluring full lips, like the ones he admired in music videos. In the photos that David first received, he could see that she sported a hairstyle that was popular amongst girls today. So, for all he knew he had struck it rich. Debbie was everything he imagined. With no artificial flavorings. And to further protect his stake, so that he wouldn’t miss out on his “sure thing,” he persuaded Debbie to refrain from letting anyone else see her images on the Net.
“It’s not really safe enough yet . . . plus, you don’t want everybody and their mother to have your face on their computers. You never know what kind of grimy, slimy dudes are out there.” David tried his best to thwart any other possibilities of someone finding this “dime” who resided somewhere in the middle of Chi-Town. And suddenly, paranoia hit.
There was a period of months when the AOL Internet service incurred a heavy burden; trapped in their own universe of trying to satisfy an overwhelming customer base. Customers were growing angry since they had grown so dependent on access; auxiliary numbers were exhausted and members were forced to either keep trying to get online or go elsewhere. These complications created a dilemma for David. He had been hot and heavy on Debbie’s ass. More and more, day by day he had been working on his goal of earning her trust. His overall objective was to lure Debbie to New York. However, through all of their communications and chat room ventures, David never pushed for her phone number and she never offered. So the conflict forced him into a desperate search to find her. He worked his own process of elimination, first digging into a list of 35 McDonald’s restaurants in Chicago. He eventually found the right franchise on his 11th attempt, and then he lied about an emergency of some sort.
“Mickey Dees,” the young voice sang with a slight squelch.
“Hi. I’m looking for Debbie Rose?” David announced, trying to sound sure of himself.
“No sweat. Hold on.” The response was promising and David felt relieved that this would be a cinch.
“Ahh . . . who’s calling,” the same voice returned and caught David off guard. Unprepared, he blurted a hasty response.
“Her brother—” he said without thinking, squeezing his face hard and cursing at himself once he realized what he’d said. The messenger on the other end of the line was unaware of the lie or the Rose family’s tragedy.
“Yo baby, yo . . . he says he’s your brother.”
David could hear the muffled conversation through the receiver and cringed when he imagined Debbie’s face.
For Debbie, on the other hand, the mere thought of her brother on the phone had stopped her heartbeat for a few strokes. It had been about 3 years since his murder and frankly, she had missed the last two visits that her mom made to the cemetery. Before anger could overcome her, guilt did. She took gloom with her to answer the call. The cashier next to her took a moment to whisper into another employee’s ear—the big secret.
“Hello?” Debbie held her breath while her mind recalled a couple of still photos of her late brother, Ray Ray. And then the anticipation.
“Debbie, I’m sorry to disturb you at work, but I didn’t know how else to reach you. I haven’t been able to get online for weeks . . .” Debbie could hear David trying to explain his life away in hopes that she would not hang up. But, honestly, her mind was somewhere else.
Raymond.
“Oh . . .” said Debbie with a subtle sigh of emotion. It wasn’t but a second or so later that she replaced her anguish and pain with that pleasure—the snapshot photo that David had emailed her. He was tall and tan, like she was. Plus, he was handsome. There was determination in his eyes. And he had the confident posture, wearing preppy clothing . . . all the stuff she liked.
“Hi.” She felt awkward.
“Sorry again. Is there another time I can call you? At home, maybe?” She could tell that David relaxed some, less discomfort. And Debbie eventually became excited herself about David’s call, figuring that he must have wanted her bad enough to call long distance; to call her place of work. Plus she had missed him too. And his voice! She had no idea how mellow and secure! She liked it. She liked him. And now she could put his face and name with a sound. Now, she was even curious to know his body.
The following weeks brought the two closer. David would intentionally schedule his phone calls in increments of 3 days, then 5 days and even a week apart. Debbie, in the meantime, melted into his mold like soft butter. She moaned when it was time to hang up and she cheered when he called again. Her nostrils flared and her folds moistened with desire.
Growing up with a single parent made it difficult to feel independence, so this was feeling just right. Ms. Rose became extra obsessive in the years following Ray Ray’s death. She wanted to know where Debbie was throughout the day and she wanted her home in bed by 10 PM.
Meanwhile, Debbie’s social life was a shambles. Girls her age were flaunting it all at the Big Skate Roller Rin
k, at the amusement park and at the school basketball games. The neighbors on the left and right of the Rose home had daughters. There were 5 girls altogether. They did all types of girl-things together. It was stressful for Debbie to see them all together for different outings like dates for concerts and parties. She felt left out and could do nothing about it. Part sympathy and part obedience kept her from arguing with her mother, but it also kept her on the computer.
And now Debbie was getting older. The madness had to stop. After all, she was practically a virgin.
Like a Virgin
One particular experience tested her chastity just two days before the big tragedy. Robert Bass, the former all-star from South Chicago High School’s basketball team, visited Debbie while on spring break from the University of Illinois. He slipped in and out of the house with great ease (while her mom was at work) between 3 and 5 PM Monday through Wednesday. Debbie was off from work on these days and was entertained by the hulking college pro, with his soft kisses and his tender touch. Robert’s last day at the Rose home was the most eventful.
The two had never consummated their relationship. They never fucked. But Debbie had recently turned 18 and Rob felt it was his sacred duty to break the ice. One more virgin on his belt wouldn’t make him or break him. However, Debbie was different. She was so protected throughout his final high school years that he could never get close like he could with the school cheerleaders. And Lord knows he wanted to. Debbie was developing attractive breasts and they held up so tight that she was the underrated school gem. Even under a thick sweater she was shapely. Sometimes Rob would swear he could see her nipples through a winter bomber. Or maybe that was his imagination; but no matter. Intentionally, or not, this was the fantasy that Debbie sold daily. In the summertime all of the boys in her classes kept perfect attendance, if only to soak up the vision of Debbie in a t-shirt, halter top or skirt. All she could do was blush, unaware that she was the focus of many wet dreams in Chi-town.
On the day that Rob first touched Debbie, he felt as if he’d violated a heavenly angel. But it was indeed his goal to “break” this forbidden zone of hers. He absolutely lusted for the cameo bombshell. All of it building up to this one visit. The first two days of his spring break were cordial and sweet, with a subtle kiss to end his stay. But the 3rd day ended with both of them drenched in sweat after heavy necking and fondling. Rob licked her neck so good she stretched herself out on the couch like a feast. He took the cue and knelt down beside her to begin a head-to-toe review of her. Beginning at her forehead, he smoothed the back of his tongue down the slope of her nose to her upper lip. She wanted to return a kiss, but he held her down gently and then reversed the motion of his tongue to tease the edges of her nostrils. The eyelids, cheeks, earlobes and cleft in her neck kept him busy for 20 minutes more. He was beginning to drive her crazy. When Rob reached Debbie’s cleavage, breasts and nipples, she experienced the pleasure long enough to feel a burst in her abdomen. It frightened her and she pulled away from Rob like the plague. Still, Debbie made arrangements to see him again on the following day. She could see he felt awkward and maybe he didn’t expect to go as far as they had. But nevertheless, Debbie was apologetic and submissive, and she eventually surrendered.
They went up to Debbie’s bedroom hand in hand. She advocated the heavy action by pulling the curtains and shades. She locked the door and then switched on her York stereo. The CD’s that were positioned in the tray contained her all time favorites: Mint Condition, Brandy, R. Kelly, Aaliyah and, of course, Beyoncé was at the top of her list. And no need to play DJ, since her stereo was programmed to play songs at random.
After Debbie scurried to adjust their environment, she turned to slowly approach Rob with her arms extended around his neck. She passionately shared her tongue with his. After a moment, she stepped back for him to get a full eyes’ view and began a sort of strip tease to Brandy’s “Almost Doesn’t Count”. Somewhere during the song, Debbie even sang a line into Rob’s ears, making it ever so clear that “almost doesn’t count.” It didn’t take another song for Rob to shed his sweats and join her, curling his toes deep in the room’s pink carpet.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Rob asked seriously.
In truth, Debbie was scared to death while she tried her best to imitate a scene that she once saw in a movie. But the excitement, coupled with her desire, pushed her to the edge. And, although she didn’t say it in words, she was quite ready to jump. She couldn’t answer Rob directly, so instead she reached for him. With her arms circling his head above her, she pulled his mouth to hers. Her tongue answered his question most definitively.
In the darkened room, Rob hovered over Debbie’s nude body in his boxers. He held her back up off the carpet in an arch, while her upper body and arms stretched back. Mint Condition’s “Breaking my Heart (Pretty Brown Eyes)” kept the pace as Rob reached into his sweats laying on the floor next to them. In his wallet he kept a single condom for emergency occasions. This was an emergency of the best kind. Debbie watched as he maneuvered the rubber onto his erection. His hands explored her own wetness. Controlling every moment, he quietly conjured a mouthful of saliva and let it fall from his lips into the folds between her legs. With his pelvis he caused the perfect amount of friction to work the moisture around. With the tip of his erection wet and slippery, Rob slowly entered Debbie. Very slowly. She winced at his first probe. When an inch had hidden inside of her she reached back as far as her body could stretch and grabbed fistfuls of her pink carpet. Now she whimpered along with an accompanying tear. Rob began to go for another inch when suddenly Debbie’s door swung open. Young Ray Ray came home early from Little League practice and was now standing like a statue in shock with two hands covering his silent holler. Debbie did everything but drop-lock the latch on her door. And now the two surprised teens fell limp and disappointed, scrambling for their clothes. In the end, their private passions and unlived fantasies were left scattered amidst the room’s musty aroma.
It was now 4 years later that Debbie found herself in a hopeless attraction to New York and David Morton. She evaded the possibility of having to face her mother to explain. Instead, she left a 3-page letter, complete with the phone number to her old classmate Jackie, who was staying in New York. Jackie and her mother managed to escape their unbecoming circumstances of an abusive husband and father for a final frontier in Queens, New York, which was where Debbie was headed.
So, Debbie cleared her bank account, booked a flight at a bargain price and headed for New York. With some laser pictures, a bag of letters, and memories of innumerable telephone calls, she flew blindly into this new adventure with her new Internet love interest. David’s world was waiting for her.
CHAPTER FOUR
An Entrepreneur Is Born
The Gilmore empire was not realized without great struggle. In the early days, Douglass Gilmore was a local entrepreneur who built a string of small grocery stores that operated in the remote urban areas of Mount Vernon, New York. At the time, such an enterprise was known as a convenience store. And as the decade and his business affairs progressed, Gilmore added on a laundromat and then a liquor store to his achievements. By now, as the owner of more profit-producing undertakings than any other attempt in the community, Mr. Gilmore (most affectionately referred to as “Gil”) was one of the area’s most aggressive businessmen. As the business expanded further, Gil introduced his 8-year-old son Douglass Jr. to the tasks of stocking and pricing groceries, counting inventory and eventually, operating the cash register. The young boy was a fast learner. He was reliable and skilled at giving change precisely and quickly. He enjoyed challenging himself to complete sales faster and more efficiently than all of his dad’s employees. More than just making a sport out of it, Jr. also wanted to gain his father’s approval. He saw his father as a role model and an image towards which he could reach. Yet, the youngster never quite felt complete. There was never a time that his father stopped everything to say, “Son, I want you
to know that I’m really proud of you.” And thus, the father-son relationship was never a rich one.
Years took their toll on the Gilmore enterprise. The city of Mt. Vernon was also a victim of that change, as opposed to growing with or preparing for the ever changing times. Crime and poverty, weakened property values and joblessness imposed a sense of helplessness upon the working class. As property values dropped, low income housing attracted hundreds and hundreds of families that were forced out of neighboring middle-class communities. The only choice for many of these families was the projects and housing developments; and the 70’s still showed signs of segregation—as youngsters swallowed realities such as bussing and lingering racism.
Naturally, barber shops, laundromats, grocery and liquor stores would continue to prosper due to the growing need. But a few robberies by gunpoint and a burdensome work schedule pressured Gil into downsizing. He eventually consolidated all of his resources into a single property on the south side of Mt. Vernon. This was a corner property, and quite a property it was too. There was the convenience store, a liquor store, a bar and 5 apartments overhead. In addition to simplifying his business interests, Gil was also very innovative. To combat the crime that threatened his business, he had a permanent partition built in the liquor store. It was made with 1½-inch thick bullet-proof glass. The idea was such a success that Gil had a partition built for the convenience store to accommodate the after-hours crowd. It could be pushed up to the front entrance of the store and secured as a makeshift walk-up window. Clearly, Mr. Gilmore was adjusting with the ever changing times, preparing for the weathers of the world in order to protect his business and sole source of income. By the early 80’s the grocery and liquor stores were rented to an Arab family. The new occupants converted both stores into one large supermarket. But Gil remained a staple in the neighborhood, eventually concentrating all of his attentions on the bar and lounge which anchored one end of his now subleased property.
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