Crazy in Love 2

by Yoshe

  It was 1988 when the fifteen-year-old Brandi and Maleek finally got together and she was ready do anything for him. Even when she was pregnant with Shamari, it was nothing for Brandi to accompany Maleek in transporting kilos of crack along Interstate 95 South. They stood by each other, through good and bad times, with Brandi sometimes bringing that heat to some sucker for her man, if she had to.

  But by 1994, the path of self-destruction, the abuse and criminal activities, finally ended for Brandi. Maleek was found dead in his Land Rover SUV on the side of Interstate 64 in Norfolk, Virginia.

  After getting off the crazy emotional rollercoaster that she had been on with Maleek during her younger years, Brandi made a promise to herself that she would never lose her mind over a man again. That was, until she met Sean Daniels.

  The ringing house phone startled Brandi. When she answered the call, it was Sheba, her best friend of almost thirty years, on the other end.

  “Hey, Miss Thing,” Sheba said excitedly. “Just getting home from work?”

  Brandi held the phone to her ear while hanging up her work clothing in the closet. “Yes, girlfriend,” she said with a smile. “I was just thinking about calling you, too. By the way, I have to tell you about what I did today, girl. I did something really freaking stupid.”

  Sheba laughed. “Oh, Lord, what in the hell did you do now, Brandi Lynn Wallace?” she said, calling her friend by her full birth name.

  Brandi began pacing back and forth. “Well, I was driving home from work, minding my own business, right, when . . . when I got this strong urge to drive through Halsey Street.”

  “Okay,” Sheba said. “What’s so stupid about that?”

  “Halsey Street is where Sean lives.”

  “So you drove through Sean’s block? What’s wrong with that?”

  “I didn’t exactly drive ‘through’ Sean’s block, Sheba. I parked a few doors away from his house and waited around to see if he was going to step outside his front door.”

  Sheba groaned. “Oh, my God, Brandi! You were getting your stalk on? Girl, please, don’t tell nobody else that shit! And why are you even entertaining the thought of seeing that man? Didn’t old boy cut your ass off like a light switch?”

  “Yes, he cut me off but let’s be real, can you blame him, Sheba? After Yadi killed herself, he didn’t know who to trust!”

  Sheba sucked her teeth. “Do you hear yourself, girl? You are making excuses for that cowardly son of a bitch! First of all, wasn’t Sean the reason that the crazy, suicidal bitch put a gun to your head in the first place?” She stopped her ranting for a brief second to see if Brandi was going to reply. When she didn’t get any response, Sheba continued.

  “You know, Bran, you’re my girl and everything but seriously, you need to stop taking the blame for the stupid shit that these motherfucking men do! You used to do the same damn thing with that sorry-ass Maleek!”

  As usual, Sheba was right. Sean was the one who suggested they go their separate ways. And yes, Brandi could admit that she was guilty of making excuses for the men she loved. But there was no way that she was going to admit that Sean was partly responsible for what happened with Yadira. She just wasn’t ready to do that.

  “I hear what you’re saying, Sheba, but I really don’t think that Sean was being a jerk when he let me go. Actually, he did me a favor! I mean, let’s face it. He and I were in the beginning of a brand new relationship. With all the drama that went down within those few months, I didn’t know what kind of person Sean had become.”

  Sheba wasn’t trying to hear any of that. “Okay, I’m confused,” she said sarcastically. “What exactly did Yadira do to him, Brandi? The only thing that that pathetic woman did was fall in love with a man who obviously didn’t feel the same way about her. And at the end of the day, Sean had control over that! Didn’t he tell you that he was always attracted to her?” Before Brandi could answer Sheba, she asked her another question. “And who was she living with when she left her boyfriend? Mmm hmm! For all you know, Yadira could have been his real girlfriend and you were the side piece! At that time, you didn’t know Sean well enough to actually know if he was telling the truth about that woman and their situation.” Sheba sucked her teeth. “Anyway, girl, when you came into the picture, Sean tried to push homegirl to the side and Miss Psycho Bitch was having none of that!”

  Brandi shook her head at Sheba’s delivery. Ever since they were little girls, Sheba had always given it straight with no chaser, not caring about who she offended. But Brandi loved her outspoken friend to pieces.

  “Do you really have to call that dead woman a bitch, Sheba? No kind of respect, I swear!”

  “Ah, fuck that ho!” Sheba replied, in a dismissive tone. “Why should I respect that bitch when she tried to kill you, my best friend, my sister? How am I supposed to feel sorry for a woman who stuck a gun to her own head and killed herself over some lying-ass man? And how do I care about her when she didn’t care nothing about her daughter, her family, or herself?”

  There was nothing that Brandi could say to dispute what Sheba was saying. But that still didn’t change the fact that she missed having a man like Sean in her life.

  Sheba stopped ranting and moved on to something else. “Look, girlfriend, I didn’t call to talk about that damn Sean or the dead nutcase. I just wanted to know if you were down to paint the town with me tonight. Let’s get spiffy then let’s go get drunk! We need to have us some fun!”

  Brandi agreed. “That sounds like a really good idea, girl. I’m tired of coming straight home and looking at these walls. What time?” she asked.

  Sheba let out a chuckle. “Be at my house around eleven o’clock.”

  “Oh, okay! I’ll see you then.”

  “And, Brandi?”

  “Yes?”

  “Please don’t make no excuses, okay, sweetie? It’s been awhile since you broke up with that last guy and I think it’s time for you to find somebody to beat the cobwebs off that coochie of yours!” Sheba said, referring to Brandi’s involuntary celibacy. “I know that you gotta be good and horny by now!”

  They both began laughing uncontrollably. “Sheba! I’m not no—” she began.

  Sheba stopped her from saying anything else. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, I know, you’re not a ho, not anymore! You know I know how your ass gets down!” They both laughed again. “Anyway, be at my house at eleven o’clock, boo. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Okay, girl, see you then,” Brandi said.

  After hanging up from Sheba, Brandi felt a lot better. She realized that in the last few years, she had been taking herself a little too seriously. It was time that she stopped worrying about everything and anything that happened before 2012. The night out with Sheba was going to mark the beginning of Brandi’s new life—and a new Brandi.

  Chapter 4

  It was the wee hours of Saturday morning; 12:05 a.m. to be exact. The R&B music coming from inside the Hive Lounge on Atlantic Avenue had the crowd of partygoers two-stepping to the beat. Men and women from all walks of life were at the popular Brooklyn haunt, sipping on alcohol and sharing a laugh or two with each other. The patrons were a jovial crowd of people, for this wasn’t the type of lounge bar that catered to a younger, more rah-rah mob. The Hive Lounge was definitely for the grown and sexy.

  People were lined up against the brick wall adjacent to the bar, chatting it up with each other over the sounds of DJ Chase. And the bar was filled with customers, waiting to get their hands on their drinks that were being prepared by sexy bartenders dressed in all-black body-hugging outfits. Also standing at the bar were various ballers and self-proclaimed shot callers, who were more than willing to spend top dollar on a bottle of tequila or some pricey champagne. Their ideas of having a good time were to pop bottles and surround themselves with attractive women.

  The Hive Lounge crowd was definitely turned up.

  When Sheba and Brandi walked in, all eyes were on them. The two very attractive friends shimmied through the
crowd of people, making their way to the crowded bar. While Sheba ordered their drinks, Brandi looked around. She was scoping the place to see if she saw any familiar faces in the crowd of people. She recalled a time when places like the Hive Lounge were somewhere that she assumed the lonely and desperate lingered. Now she was part of the same scene.

  Sheba interrupted Brandi’s idle thoughts by handing her a fishbowl-shaped glass filled with a bluish concoction inside of it. Brandi frowned at the massive-sized drink then looked at Sheba.

  “What in the hell is this?” Brandi asked, yelling over the loud music. “How in the hell am I supposed to drink all of this shit, Sheba?” she yelled.

  Sheba laughed. “Ah, bottoms up, bitch!” she joked, waving the uptight Brandi off. “It’s a fishbowl! After this, I promise, you won’t need nothing else to drink! And don’t worry about driving home. If we get too tipsy, we can always leave your truck on this end and catch a cab back to my house. Now drink up!”

  Brandi took a sip of the drink and surprisingly enough, she liked the taste of it. “Okay, okay, this is really cute. I likey!”

  Sheba smiled at her friend. “See, I told you, boo!”

  They took their drinks and walked to the rear of the lounge bar. In the back of the Hive, there were couches, a dance floor, and the VIP area. Brandi and Sheba made sure they found themselves a place to sit on one of the white leather sofas before it became too crowded back there.

  Once they were seated, Brandi bopped her head to the music while Sheba sang along to the songs and danced in her seat. Brandi was glad that she had agreed to hang out with her girl. When Brandi looked around she noticed a few of the male revelers. Much to her delight, most of them were certified eye candy. She was glad that she was looking good and feeling even better. She couldn’t wait to see who was going to be the lucky catch of the night.

  Meanwhile, back on Halsey Street, Rasheed sat in his Range Rover, waiting for Sean to come out of the house. In the passenger seat of the truck was another one of his good friends, a man named Kane Porter.

  Almost fifteen minutes had passed since they pulled up to Sean’s house and he still hadn’t appeared in the doorway. The impatient Kane reached over to the driver’s side and pressed down on the horn. Rasheed shook his head at the gesture.

  “Yo, Rah, what’s up with this dude Sean, man?” Kane asked, with a frown on his face. “Every time we hang out with this nigga, we’re always the ones who end up waiting for him! What the hell is wrong with that motherfucker?”

  Rasheed laughed. “Come on, man! You know how my boy is! He’s very meticulous about his looks.”

  Kane shook his head. “Meticulous? Did you just say meticulous, man?” he asked Rasheed, who was laughing at his friend’s reaction. “We both know got damn well that it don’t take a man hours to get ready to go anywhere! What the fuck?”

  Rasheed was still laughing when Sean finally stepped outside of his door. As he walked toward the Range Rover, his entire facial expression changed when he saw Kane sitting in the passenger seat. Sean was never really fond of Rasheed’s “other” longtime friend.

  “What’s up, Rah? What’s up, Kane?” Sean said, sliding in the back seat of the truck.

  Kane turned around in the passenger seat to face Sean. “Hey, man,” he began. “Why in the hell do we have to wait a hundred and one hours for you to bring your black ass out of the house? I mean, damn, what the hell were you doing in there? Playing with yourself, homie?”

  “Nah, man, the real question is what is your Geritol-popping ass doing hanging out without us young thirty-somethings anyway? You shoulda stayed your ‘black ass’ home, motherfucker!”

  Rasheed couldn’t stop laughing at Sean’s joke. Kane had a smug look on his face.

  “Okay, okay, boy,” Kane said, calling it a truce. “I see you got some snaps tonight! I’ma let you have that one, boy.” He gave Sean a pound.

  “Yeah, a’ight, homie,” Sean said, with a look of self-satisfaction on his face.

  Rasheed turned up his music while they cruised through the backstreets of their neighborhood. When they got to Atlantic Avenue, Sean asked where they were going.

  “We’re going to the Hive Lounge tonight,” Rasheed said.

  Sean frowned. “The Hive Lounge? Never heard of it.”

  Kane sucked his teeth at Sean. “Man, you don’t know about the Hive? Sounds like you need to pull your head out of your wife’s ass, man! Or maybe you just haven’t really been nowhere since the shit that happened with the dead broad,” Kane blurted out. Tactfulness was not one of his better characteristics.

  Rasheed shot Kane a dirty look. “Whoa, man, watch your fucking mouth!” he scolded. “I think that you done had one too many Patrón shots. You’re doing a little too much right now, my man!”

  Sean waved Kane off. “Good looking out, Rah, but I ain’t paying this dude no mind! Let me find out you’re jealous of me, son.”

  Kane blew him off. “Jealous? Now you sound like a got damn fool!”

  Sean smiled. “Yeah, okay, motherfucker! I don’t believe that shit for one minute!”

  “Get your boy, Rah! This dude is an idiot!” Kane replied, pointing at Sean.

  “Both of y’all dudes need to shut the hell up!” Rasheed yelled at them. “I didn’t sign up for this shit. I wanna go out and enjoy my night! So y’all dudes need to press that chill button and relax. Save all that energy for these hoes we’re about to bag tonight!”

  When Rasheed, Sean, and Kane walked through the doors of the Hive Lounge, females began flocking to them almost immediately. And why wouldn’t they? They were three handsome, well-dressed men with a bad boy swag. This only made women want to get to know them better.

  Kane, who was the bachelor of the trio, was what some would call a ‘hood celebrity.’ What helped fuel this reputation was his father, a man named Jasper Porter, better known as J.P. J.P. was an illegal numbers runner and a self-made millionaire. Of course, there was never much evidence to support that claim because the Porters lived a modest yet financially comfortable life. But the truth was J.P. never wanted to rub shoulders with the rich and elite, considering that he was nothing but a hustler. He’d much rather live among the working-class people, who consisted of his old friends and family, and that he did until the day he died.

  But when J.P. passed away in 2010, Kane and his older sister, Tabitha, reaped the benefits of their father’s estate. They rented out their home in Bedford-Stuyvesant, Tabitha and Mama Porter purchased homes in Long Island, and Kane bought himself a one-family home in Canarsie. The two siblings proceeded to invest their monies into other lucrative business ventures. Their beloved father J.P. would have definitely been proud of how wisely they managed the money.

  Being the son of the well-known Jasper Porter definitely paid off for Kane. Unlike J.P., who was a humble, low-key man, the spoiled Kane was the complete opposite. And being extremely good-looking only added to his arrogance.

  Even though Kane was what most would consider the model type, he was no one’s pretty boy. Standing at six feet three inches with his well-toned frame, Kane’s rugged outer appearance screamed all man. That tough guy persona, matched with his looks, had the women clamoring for his attention.

  But aside from being a hot commodity with the ladies, there was one thing missing from Kane’s life and that was someone to settle down with. He was secretly bothered by the fact that most of his closest friends were in committed relationships with the love of their lives. Kane had plenty of women groveling at his feet but none could really keep his interest. He yearned to be with someone who was independent and who had a mind of her own; he wanted a challenge. But unfortunately, that hadn’t happened yet. And Kane was beginning to think that maybe it was he who was incapable of loving a woman.

  Kane walked over to the bar and pulled out a knot of hundred dollar bills. He purchased two bottles of coconut-flavored Tequila 1800, his favorite liquor. One of the bartenders grabbed two buckets filled with ice and followed him t
he rear of the Hive Lounge where his boys were already seated. They were in the VIP area, sitting near the DJ booth and, as usual, they were surrounded by a small bevy of sexy women. They waited patiently, as the bartender set up their table with ice buckets, pineapple juice to mix with their tequila, and some plastic cups. After that was done, Kane cracked opened the first bottle and poured out some liquor. Everyone held up their cups and prepared to take a shot of straight tequila at the same time.

  A few shots later, Sean was smiling like the Cheshire cat and hugging all over one of the female guests. Both Rasheed and Kane looked at their boy and shook their heads.

  “Please don’t tell me that you’re twisted already, man,” Kane asked, staring at Sean in disbelief.

  “Nah, man, I’m not. I’m just nice,” Sean replied, as he stood up to two-step to the music. “What I need to do is get out there on the dance floor with this cutie pie right here!” he said, grabbing the female’s hand.

  Rasheed nudged Kane and poured Sean another shot. Sean took the shot to the head.

  “Ah! That’s good!” Sean looked around at the throng of partygoers. “I’ll be back, man. I’m going to the bathroom,” he said, leaving the female behind.

  Rasheed and Kane laughed at Sean, as they watched him stagger his way through the crowd toward the restroom. While he was gone, they continued to savor the effects of the liquor, loud music, and women.

  As they partied in VIP, an attractive woman caught Kane’s eagle eye. He nudged Rasheed on the arm. “Yo, homie, I think I see my future wife over there!”

  Rasheed raised his cup. “Well, what you waiting for, man? Go find out what’s up with her, man! And see if she have a friend for me, too!” he added, while enjoying a lap dance from one of their female guests.

  Kane made his way over to the woman he had his eye on.