“Hello.”
I almost laughed at the way he tried to sound like Barry White somebody. “Junior is one of my faithful listeners. He is also a good man, who is unlucky with love. If there are any single women out there looking for a special kind of man, give me a call, because I’m about to hook you up.” I couldn’t help emphasizing special, because Junior was definitely a head case.
“I-I prefer picking my own women,” he sputtered. I guess he was uncomfortable with me trying to help him out.
“Maybe that’s the problem. You might be picking the wrong type, but I’m gonna hook you up.”
“Damn, Ms. Nikki,” he began with a chuckle. It was obvious I was making him nervous. “I respect your advice, but why you always have to be so hard? In fact, why you gotta put a brotha on the spot?”
“Hey, I’m just telling it like I see it. In the meantime, keep your head up and take my advice for a change.” I depressed the button, then took a few more calls and read several e-mails, but no one phoned in interested in going out with Mr. Loser. Not that I was the least bit surprised. By midnight my head was hurting and I was anxious to wrap up the show. “This is Nikki Truth at Hot 97 WJPC, ending another evening. When things get tough, remember the truth will set you free. Until next time.” I leaned back in my chair as I took off the headset. By the time I placed it on the table, the sound of Jennifer Hudson was bellowing over the air. Tristan always knew what song to play at the end of each show. Sitting back in my chair, I had to smile. Tonight had been another fulfilling night. My producer came running over to my desk.
“You did it, girl! Another fabulous night.” Tristan snapped his fingers. He’s sweeter than a Krispy Kreme doughnut, but he is one hell of a producer and has been one of my closest friends for years.
“Thank you, sweetie.”
He blew me a kiss, then pursed his cherry lip-gloss lips as he draped a hand at his narrow waist. “After Georgia comes on to take over the quiet storm, you wanna go grab an apple martini? I bought these shoes and I’m dying to be seen. Girlfriend is looking fierce!” He struck a pose, and I couldn’t do anything but laugh. One thing Tristan knew was clothes. And even better, he knew how to get them cheap. Whenever I was in the mood for shopping, I took Tristan because he knew where to find every bargain from St. Louis to Chicago.
“Nah, I got an early day tomorrow at the bookstore. I was planning to go home and take a hot bubble bath and curl up under the covers.”
He pursed his lips with disapproval, then sat his narrow ass on the end of my desk in front of me. “Miss Thang, I ain’t even gonna try to beat around the bush about it. You need some dick in your life.” I got ready to speak but he held up a heavily jeweled hand. “Hold on. Let me finish. Nikki, girlfriend, it’s been six months, girl. Enough is enough. It’s time for you to move on.”
Tears burned at the backs of my eyes, and I let one roll down my cheek. Tristan was one of the few people I allowed to see me this vulnerable. He was right. I needed to start facing reality, but deep down, I wasn’t ready yet to admit my marriage was over. “I know. You’re right.”
“Of course I’m right,” he said with a toss of his fabulous weave. “Let’s go get our drink on. I promise just one and we’re out.”
Tristan and I had been friends for almost five years, and that was long enough to know he wasn’t going to give up until I agreed. I slipped into my winter coat, said good-bye to the rest of the night owls, then strolled out of the studio to my silver Lexus. Every time I saw my car it made me smile and gave me what I desperately needed—something to smile about. As I climbed behind the wheel and pulled out of the parking lot, I couldn’t help but think about what Tristan had said. I needed to give up hoping and finally move on. Deep down, part of me knew my marriage was over, but a part of me still hoped and prayed we still had a chance. But I needed to do something because wondering what the future held was starting to drive me crazy. Luckily, I had my bookstore, Book Ends, and the best job in the world at WJPC radio. I still don’t understand how I had been so lucky professionally.
I was already working for the station as an intern when the general manager agreed to let me liven up the first half of the quiet storm. I had this crazy idea to serve the needs of the hundreds of lonely listeners who tuned in at night by giving them the opportunity to call in and express their feelings. Hell, all the show required was common sense and my own style of bold, in-your-face advice. The crazy idea earned me thousands of loyal listeners. Even though it’s part-time, I love the hell out of my job. Giving advice is something I’m good at. Instead of getting a degree in radio broadcasting, I should have majored in social work like my girl, Trinette. Nevertheless, giving advice is what I do best. I don’t hold punches. But no matter what I say or, better yet, how I say it, the listeners love me, and the calls and letters keep pouring in. That’s why I was pulling out of the parking lot in a pretty-ass silver IS 350 convertible with butter soft leather interior. The proof is in the pudding. It’s a damn shame. I could give other people advice about their lives while my own was a damn mess.
My husband and I are separated, or at least we have been since Donovan’s unit, 138th Engineering Battalion, was activated and sent to Iraq. Lord, please forgive me. But his being sent to war was actually a blessing. We’d been having problems for some time, and the night before Donovan left, the two of us decided that maybe time and distance would give us a chance to decide if we wanted to either stay together or file for divorce. I guess he decided on the latter, because despite all my letters and care packages, I haven’t received a single call or letter, nothing but a sorry postcard the first week he was there. I know his ass is all right, because my girl Tabitha’s husband is in the same unit and she makes it her business to come to the bookstore just so she can rub it in my face how often she talks to her fat-ass husband.
After six months of nothing, I need to start facing the fact that my marriage is over and has been for quite some time. Yet a part of me still was not ready to let go. I don’t know if I am just being stubborn or plain stupid like half the women who call in to my show.
Tristan made a right at the next corner, and I rolled my eyes when I realized where he was headed. I thought we were going to a bar close by and having one drink. Yeah, right. I should have known he was going to take me to his favorite hangout. Straight Shooters. A gay bar. Not that I mind. Hell, I sometimes have more fun with gay men than I do with straight mothafuckas, who are too busy trying to run game.
I climbed out just as Tristan came over switching his skinny ass toward me in knee-high, red leather boots. I’m hating, because he’s got a walk that’s out of this world, like he’s related to Ms. J from America’s Next Top Model. He’s wearing black jeans, a white blouse and a red leather jacket with a wide belt cinched tight around his small waist. Tristan’s five foot ten with mile-long legs. I’m barely five six, so he definitely makes a statement walking beside me.
I frowned with annoyance. “I thought you said one drink.”
“We are!” Tristan batted his eyelashes, trying to look innocent. I know there is no way he’s leaving early. Thank goodness I drove my own car. “I hope you ain’t using me as an excuse to hook up with Brandon tonight.”
Tristan pointed his long nail in the air. “Gurlfriend, puh-leeze! He’s yesterday’s news.”
“Since when?”
He snapped his fingers. “Since I found out he was messing around. Don’t you know that sneaky bastard left a message for another bitch on my damn answering machine?”
“What!” I tried not to laugh but couldn’t help myself.
I could tell he didn’t see anything the least bit funny. “I guess he thought he was calling that bitch’s house.”
I shrugged. “At least you found out early.”
“You right, because I was ready to rock his mothafuckin’ world.” He winked and signaled for me to follow him inside.
The club was real tasteful and clean with small intimate tables and chairs and low lighti
ng. There was a big stage in the middle. Tristan moved to a long table in the back that was occupied by friends of his. Two of them I had met before. Coco and Mercedes. Both men were prettier than me.
Mercedes glanced down at the watch on his wrist. “ ’Bout time you bitches got here.”
“I know that’s right.” Coco gave Tristan a high five as he slid in the seat next to him.
“Sorry I’m late, but if y’all weren’t listening, let me tell you, the show tonight was off the hook! Matter fact, let me introduce the rest of y’all to the hostess with the mostess, Ms. Nikki Truth.”
I waved and took the chair at the far end.
The other he/she I didn’t know started squirming in his seat. “Oooh! Girlfriend, your show is the bomb! I never miss it.”
Mercedes gave a rude snort. “She ain’t lying. You’ve even answered her calls a few times.”
I gave the one with the blond weave a long look. “Oh, yeah? When did you call?”
She looked uncomfortable. “Last month.”
Mercedes filled in the details. “Girlfriend, here was Oasis. She called telling you her man insisted on the cat sleeping in the bed with them.”
Laughing, I nodded my head. “Oh, yeah, I remember. I told you to tell him to get rid of the cat or you were leaving his ass.”
“Yeah, and the next day he packed his shit and left,” Oasis announced with disgust.
“Damn. I’m sorry.”
“Wasn’t your fault,” she said, and made an exaggerated show of fanning herself. “I think that cat was licking a lot more than just his paws under those covers.”
The table roared with laughter. Tristan signaled for a waiter and we both ordered a martini. The deejay was rocking some old school. I had gotten my drink and was having fun with the others when I felt someone tap me on the shoulder. I looked up, and it was a young slender woman with her head shaved bald and jeans hanging low on her hips.
“Yo, ma, you wanna dance?”
I looked up into the most amazing brown eyes I’d seen in a long time. Her lashes were naturally long and incredibly thick. Mascara had nothing to do with it. I would give anything to have eyes like that. I don’t know how long I stared at her before I finally shook my head. “Nah, boo. I’m strictly dickly.”
The look she gave me rang loud and clear. She could do anything a man could do, only better. “Yo, don’t knock it till you try it.”
I smiled. “Not knocking it. I just prefer my dick to be attached, not strapped on.”
“A’ight, ma. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.” With a nod of her head, she turned on the soles of her Air Force Ones.
I watched her walk away and had to admit she had a hell of a swagger that made my nipples tighten. Damn, had it been that long since I had some?
I raised my hand and quickly ordered another drink. Yep, Tristan was right. I needed some dick—quick!
2
Trinette
“Trinette, open the got-damn door!”
All I wanted was a tennis bracelet. Instead, I had some knucklehead banging on my bathroom door, trippin’ about a photograph he shouldn’t have found in the first place. I don’t know what it is, but once you give a brotha some, he seems to lose his damn mind.
The evening had started off perfect. I had made a fabulous dinner of a tossed salad and Cheeseburger Macaroni Hamburger Helper. Afterward, we moved up to my bedroom, where I gave Cory a massage. The entire time I was rubbing oil all over him, I was thinking about the beautiful one-carat diamond and ruby bracelet I saw at Jared that looked gorgeous on my arm. Ready to get down to business, I flipped Cory onto his back and rode him as if he were a mechanical bull. Ms. Netta got mad skills, and I had the brotha speaking in tongues. I just knew that by the time I was finished with him there was no way he was going to deny me my bracelet. But before I could even begin hinting about jewelry, that idiot came and then had the nerve to fall asleep. I was so pissed off, I decided to treat myself to a hot bubble bath before I put his ass out, and had barely put my big toe in the water when Cory slammed his fist against the door, scaring the shit out of me. Now all I wanted was for him to get the hell out of my house.
“Cory, I ain’t in the mood,” I warned.
“I want an answer,” he demanded.
“Take your nosy ass home!”
“Yo, I ain’t going nowhere till you tell me the truth!”
Damn! After reaching for my washcloth, I mopped beads of sweat from my forehead. The lukewarm water did nothing to cool my raging temper. “I already told you the truth,” I mumbled.
“Then why you got this mothafucka’s picture in your drawer?”
What the hell was he doing in my drawer? Didn’t his mama teach him, if you go looking for trouble, you’re sure to find it? Besides, it was my house. If he wasn’t gone by the time I finished my bath, as soon as I dried off, I was putting his ass out.
When it comes to men, I know when to cut my losses. Well, I was there. I was tired of Cory’s bullshit and his crooked dick. “I already told you. I forgot it was in there.”
He snorted rudely. “You must think I’m stupid or something. I know you’re still fucking him. Now open this door before I knock it down!”
Leaning forward, I turned the faucet on, adding more hot water to the tub while also trying to drown out his nagging voice. This is what I got for inviting his ass to my house. For once, I should have listened to Nikki.
Why is it after you give a brotha some coochie they think they own you? I ain’t never been able to figure that shit out. There was no ring on my finger. Well . . . at least not this week. He wasn’t paying my bills, yet Cory had the audacity to go through my personal belongings looking for some shit to trip about. A photograph he had no business finding in the first place.
Sinking lower into the water, I allowed my mind to wander back eight years, to the day I met Leon Montgomery. The first man I ever loved and the man I later married. He was also the man whose photograph Cory found in my drawer.
“Trinette, you hear me talking to you!” Cory banged on the door again and broke through my thoughts.
I shook my head while wondering how the hell I ended up with a psycho. I guess I had to take part of the blame. I should have been honest and told Cory I was married. My bad. I screwed up. I just didn’t think that bit of information was important, considering we’d only been seeing each other two weeks and I didn’t expect it to last much longer. It couldn’t. There was nothing he or any other man could do for me but give me their money, buy me nice things, and lick Ms. Netta’s coochie. Plain and simple. Hmmm. I guess this meant I wouldn’t be getting that bracelet.
I don’t know why I went out with Cory in the first place. It wasn’t like he was my type. He’s a pretty boy with gray eyes and wavy hair. I don’t do pretty boys, because they spend more time in front of the mirror than I do. And I definitely can’t have that. However, when I first spotted him at the gym, all I could do was stare as he used the equipment. I wasn’t staring because he had muscles on top of muscles. I was staring because I had seen his face in the newspaper two months before after he had won the Missouri Lottery. $100k. While I watched, I wondered what it would take for me to get his attention. An idea finally hit me. I moved over to the deltoid machine and purposely faked ignorance. Sure enough, Cory came to my aid. It took everything I had not to run my tongue across his massive biceps. Then after a few minutes of proper instruction, he asked me out. Cory was shorter than my usual sponsors, but since his pockets were fat, I was more than willing to make an exception.
Big mistake.
“Trinette!”
I turned the water off because with him banging on the door and hollering like some damn fool, relaxing was totally out of the question. I climbed out and reached for a towel.
“Boo, why you lying to me? Huh? I want an answer!”
His whining was quickly wearing my nerves. I dried off and reached for my robe, hanging on the back of the bathroom door. “Lie to you a
bout what?” I asked as I swung the door open. Would you believe the fool had the nerve to have tears in his eyes?
I rolled my eyes and moved over to my dresser drawer that was still sitting wide open. A colorful array of Victoria’s Secret garments had been thrown every which way. Organization has never been one of my strengths, but that was beside the point.
Cory flung the photo back into the drawer. “I can’t believe this shit! Everything I’ve done for you and this is how you treat me.”
“Hold up. Everything like what?” Because he had yet to spend any real money on me. I reached for the remote and turned the television off. I wanted to make sure I didn’t miss a single word of what he was about to say.
“I just made breakfast for you last weekend.”
I laughed as I closed the drawer and moved to take a seat on the end of my queen-size bed. “Since when is popping two Eggo waffles into the toaster considered cooking?”
His brow bunched as he spoke. “It’s the thought that counts. Besides, last week we went out to dinner and a movie.”
“Oooh! Big spender. You took me to Steak ’n Shake with a coupon, and the movie was a matinee.” Now, I don’t have a problem with cutting corners. Lord knows my broke ass does when I don’t have a choice. What pissed me off was we dropped by Walmart on the way so he could stuff my purse with candy and soda. He better recognize. Ms. Netta is used to being wined and dined by a man. I didn’t mind giving a brother a little coochie for monetary gain. Hell, usually at this point in the relationship, brothas are passing hundred dollar bills my way to support my insatiable shopping habit, but not this broke joke. The money stopped coming my way after the first week. I’m not gonna front. Cory bought me a pair of diamond earrings, took me on a shopping spree in Chicago the weekend before, and even gave me two thousand dollars when I lied and told him my car was about to be repossessed. But for the past several days, all he wanted to do is lie in my bed and watch television. Uh-uh, as far as I was concerned, we still had thousands of dollars to spend. Or at least that’s what I thought before I picked up his pants and tossed them at him, then noticed a crumpled piece of paper on the floor. He was still going on and on about finding Leon’s picture and demanding to know who the dude was when I reached down and picked the piece of paper up and stared at it.
Consequences Page 27
