“Whoa-whoa-whoa, wait a minute. What?”
“You heard me. I sold the house and my children and I are moving.”
Sharief couldn't believe it. “That house belonged to both of us, so how did you sell it?”
“Sharief, you're not stupid. The house was in my name, what'd you expect me to do? Now look, like I said, I'm moving to Atlanta.” Celeste felt tears starting to flood her eyes, but she was determined not to cry. “And I really would ask you not to give me any problems. I don't want to keep your children away from you, I just need to go someplace and live my life. New York and New Jersey have too many memories, too many things that I'm tired of. I don't have a job yet, but I'll find one, I have enough money from the sale of the house to take care of me and my children for a while.”
“You don't know anybody in Atlanta.”
“Hell, I didn't know you and we were married. Besides, I have a friend there.”
“A friend?”
“I can't have friends?”
“A man?” Sharief frowned.
“You have a lot of damn nerve. Didn't you just get finished playing house with my sister? Get the hell out my face talking stupid!”
“Celeste,” Sharief said, practically begging, “can I please say one thing to you?”
“No. Come on, girls,” she said. “Let's go.”
(Imani)
“KHY DID YOU insist we come over here, Kree? What, you got tired of Red?” Imani chuckled while looking around Kree's studio apartment. “This is a mess.” Kree had the epitome of a bachelor pad: an abundance of clothes strewn on his black futon, a couch, two candleholders on the wall, a fully equipped and computerized CD player, mountains of CDs, along with state-of-the-art engineering and DJ'ing equipment. In addition, next to his refrigerator was a poster of Bob Marley with a blunt in his mouth and smoke rising from his lips, and on the back of his front door was a Puerto Rican flag.
Kree lit the candles and cut the lights off. “Don't talk about my spot.” He sat on the couch and motioned for Imani to come over. “This is the secret Bat Cave, so be quiet. Not everybody gets up in this piece. So don't look at the mess, look at me.” He grabbed Imani by one of the belt loops in her tight and fitted jeans and pulled her toward him. “I spent this afternoon at your mom's already, now I wanna spend the night here… with you. We need some time alone.”
“Why?”
“Why?” Kree lifted Imani's shirt and massaged her waist. “Because we're grown and the last time we fucked was too long ago. And something tells me that out of that ‘I'm scared' conversation we had, you left out being scared of me.” He took his tongue and licked in and out of her belly button. “True story?”
“True story.” She sat down on his lap and straddled him.
“Why we keep playing around?” He kissed her on the neck. “You ain't ready for me?”
“I don't know.”
Instantly Kree stopped kissing her. “You don't know?” He didn't want to show his disappointment over Imani's unexpected answer. “Wassup with that?”
“Kree, there's no greater feeling than being with you. But yo, for real I'm scared as hell. I loved Walik hard. I mean hard as hell and now I'm looking at you going, I feel like I could love this niggah even more, what the hell is wrong with this picture? So yes, I am… scared of that. The last thing I need is my heart killed… again.”
“You think I'ma kill your heart?”
“I don't know but I keep worrying that if my heart dies, then how am I going to revive myself ? I can't deal with no more Shantes.” She rolled her eyes. “Not having to put up with that bullshit is like being able to breathe fresh air. Truth be told, I just don't want any more ex-factors, that shit is like a tug-of-war, he is pushing, I'm pulling. We both end up scared. I can't be in love and always in some shit. That mix doesn't turn me on. I am not drama chasing anymore. I just wanna chilled-out love. My heart is all I have and believe me, love is one niggah that I can't seem to trust.”
“I love you, Imani, and I have no intentions of hurting you. But if you feel like you still wanna be with Walik then I'll step.”
“How did you get me wanting to be with Walik out of that?” she asked with her eyebrows raised. “I love you, I wanna be with you, I'm just scared. Fuck Walik, if I never see him again it'll be too soon.” She brushed Kree across the lips with a kiss.
“Imani,” he said, responding to her kiss, “I just don't wanna play any games, and I don't wanna set myself up to be a part of no rebound shit. This is about me, you, and Jamal. And on my word, I can't see past you and I don't want to.”
“Are you sure?” she pressed.
“Yes,” he assured her. “Now stand up.”
Kree picked up the remote control to his CD player and turned it on. Instantly LSG's “My Body” filled the room. “Take off your clothes,” he said softly.
“Kree…,” Imani whined.
“Don't be shy.”
Slowly Imani started unbuttoning her blouse, revealing her creamy cocoa skin. Once her pants and panties were off, Kree started kissing her on the stomach, leaving the trail of his wet lips from her belly down to her sweetness, where he softly pulled a few of her pubic hairs through his teeth. Imani felt herself getting weak.
“Keep standing,” Kree demanded. He started massaging her clit. “I wanna watch your face while you cum all over my hands.” Taking his left hand, he slipped two of his fingers into her wetness, easing them back and forth in her warm flesh. Then with his right hand he started massaging her clit in a circular motion. Imani pressed her top teeth into her bottom lip and closed her eyes.
“Open your eyes and look at me,” Kree said as he continued to create an erupting volcano between her thighs. Imani opened her eyes, but squinted tightly. The orgasm she felt building up was like no other. His fingertips continued to seduce her pussy to drench his hands. Imani felt a hurricane rumbling in the pit of her belly as the nut started to release, easing its way from the top of her head to the bottom of her feet…
“You want me to be your man?” Kree asked Imani, after she came, dripping cum between his fingers. He licked her pussy-made candy from them and pulled her on top of him.
“Yes. I want you to be my man.”
“I'ma love the hell outta you,” he said.
“You promise?”
“I do.”
“And I'ma love the hell outta you,” she said, now on top of him, “right after this.”
“Right after what?”
“Right after,” she smiled, “I fuck the shit outta you.”
(Monica)
TIRED OF WATCHING the cars pass by and listening to the wind whistle across the stoop, Sharief decided that not only had he stayed away long enough, but he'd been sitting in his car for way too long wondering when the right time would come for him to ring the bell. The embarrassment of being a drunk and a failure started to flood him as he exited his car, but this was something that he had to do. No matter the ending with Monica, he couldn't help his love for her. Yet he wasn't there to try to win her back. He was there to smooth the situation because he needed to see his son and he knew he couldn't go another day without him.
Sharief ran his right hand over his lips and rang the bell. Suddenly his gun holster felt like it was stabbing him in the hip. He knew it had to be his nerves that heightened the sensitivity in his skin. He cleared his throat and rang the bell once more.
“Uhmm,” Listra said as she opened the door. She sucked her teeth and started filing her nails. “Wait, don't tell me,” she blew residue from her cuticles, “you've been raised from the dead because they didn't have AA in hell?”
“Do I know you?” Sharief said sarcastically.
“Listra,” Monica yelled, “who are you talking to?” Monica stood at the top of the stairs and saw Sharief standing at the door. Feelings that she swore had been washed in the sea of memories covered her body, causing her to become nervous. She looked down at her clothes and remembered that she looked exquisite in her sl
eeveless sky-blue cocktail gown and matching stilettos. Then she remembered that she no longer had to impress Sharief.
“Ask him what he wants,” she yelled.
Listra started filing her nails again. “She said, what de ras clot you want?”
“I came to see my son,” Sharief responded.
“Monica, gurl,” Listra yelled, “he suddenly remembered he had a son!”
Instead of responding, Monica stormed down the stairs. Standing beside Listra, she noticed that Sharief wore beige pleated and cuffed dress pants with a lavender rayon shirt and matching square-toed gators. His Kangol snap cap was cocked to the side, his beard was laid, his skin was smooth, and his eyes were clear and no longer red from drinking every day. He was beautiful, but now that Monica knew his beauty had many complicated layers to it, she didn't feel her clit jump or her heart get out and take over her speech.
“Hey,” Sharief said, “how are you?”
“Cold standing at the door,” she responded.
“You want to step… inside?” he asked.
“I do. Good-bye.” She turned to leave, and Listra prepared to close the door.
He grabbed her by the arm. “I love you and I'm sorry.”
“What?”
“I love you and I'm sorry. I needed to tell you that.”
“Don't do this, Sharief.” She was begging her eyes not to release the tears.
Listra was pissed. “Look, I'm going into the kitchen,” she said.
“Yeah, you do that,” Sharief snapped.
“Monica.” Listra rolled her eyes. “Call me when you've taken the trash out.”
“Monica.” Sharief stepped inside as Monica held her hand out in an after-you fashion. “Just hear me out.” He continued, “I am in love with you, but I know that we're no good together and besides our son, and the sex, I can't remember anything worth saving other than our friendship. I fucked up, in more ways than one, and I'm sorry. All I want now is to be a father to my baby. I need him and he needs me. I know that you and I are through and I'm strong enough to place my love for you in perspective, but don't deny me my child.”
Monica looked at Sharief's face and studied his eyes—the same eyes that Jeremiah had. “That's really sweet,” she blew him off, “but don't try and make me feel guilty because the abortion that you wanted me to have has come to life and is suddenly the son you've always wanted.” Monica placed her hand on the knob. “Red is having a CD-release party at the Hilton. Listra is babysitting and I have to go.”
“I know about the party,” Sharief said, picking up Jeremiah from his swing and kissing him all over his face. “Kayla called me and told me. Of course she called asking for some money.”
“Well, I know that answer was no,” Monica snapped.
“Damn, you cuttin' a niggah deep.” Sharief smirked. “Just so you know, I'm working now. I got my job back—”
“Thanks for telling me, now I can file for child support.”
“I'll take care of my son, don't worry. And I want you to know that I'm off desk duty, and I attend AA every Wednesday night. I have a little studio apartment in the Bronx and now that I have my son back in my life I'm good.”
Monica raised her eyebrows, one arching higher than the other, “Your son… back in your life. You think you gon' be coming over here because suddenly you're not drunk anymore? Negro, please. How about this: even when you were sober, you were confused, I was confused, and together we were fucked up! And I don't want you back.”
“You don't mean that.” Sharief placed Jeremiah back in his swing and walked up close to Monica.
“Yes I do. I tore up my family to be with you and all I got was sheer agony. I would love to see you change… but with somebody else. Now, you can see your son anytime you would like, but just remember that being in a relationship with me is not a part of that equation.” Monica opened the door and motioned Sharief to leave. “If you will excuse me, I have to get going.”
(Imani)
IMANI WAS RUNNING late from her X-ray technician program. She'd hopped on the train bound for Brooklyn before she remembered that she and Jamal had recently moved to their new apartment uptown, so she jumped off the train, ran across the street, and caught the A train going in the opposite direction.
By the time she walked in her front door, Kree was straightening out Jamal's tie. Jamal and Kree had on the same black Sean John walking suit with the long jacket and tailor-made dress pants. Their hair was braided the same way, and Imani knew instantly from the smirks on their faces that they were pissed with her.
“Before y'all start complaining I ran late because I hopped on the wrong train.”
“Uhmm-hmm,” Jamal said, “sure you did.”
“Be quiet, Jamal.” Imani laughed.
She walked over and gave both of her men a kiss on the lips. Then she dropped her bags from work on the couch and flew in the bathroom to take a quick shower.
Ten minutes later she was in her bedroom getting dressed. And a few minutes after that she was in the living room ready to go. She was dressed in a tight and fitted black tube-top gown. Kree looked Imani up and down and was happy that he was her man. “Damn, ma,” he said, “you look so good you make a niggah wanna do a remix of fine.”
Jamal slid across the hard wooden floor in front of Kree, picked up the remote control, and started rapping: “This is the remix, R to the easy Imani ain't greasy.”
“Lean back, lean back for my Imani she comin' through,” Kree said, joining Jamal.
“Red gon' kick y'all asses!” Imani laughed. “You know that's his shit.” Before Imani could go on, her phone rang.
“I'll get it,” Kree said.
“You have a collect call from—” the recorded operator said. “Her baby daddy motherfucker!” Walik spat. “If you wish to accept,” the operator continued, “press two. If you wish to decline please hang up.”
“Imani,” Kree said, tossing her the cordless phone, “ya baby daddy on the phone.”
“How he get this number, Imani?” Jamal asked. “Tell 'im you ain't beat, Imani.”
Kree and Jamal stared at Imani as she pressed 2. “Yes,” she said.
“This Walik, boo. I miss you.”
“Are you crazy?” Imani asked, turning her back to Kree and Jamal.
“What the hell you mean am I crazy?” Walik asked. “I'm doing three-to-five for arson and assault over you.”
“So what the hell you callin' me for? What, you need some cookies, some cigarettes, some socks? Niggah, get you some Vase-line so you can be ready for one of them punks to dick you in the ass and get the fuck off my line.”
“Who you talkin' to, Imani?” Walik couldn't believe it.
“Do you understand the words that are comin' outta my mouth?”
“So after all we been through, after ten years and a son, you ain't down for a niggah no more? I'm not fuckin' with Shante no more. Imani, if I be faithful will you take me back?”
“No, niggah. I got a man.” Imani turned and looked at Kree. “You could hit the hustler's lotto and I still wouldn't want you.”
“You forgot to tell him you ain't beat,” Jamal whispered. “And by the way, I ain't beat! Now press that fuckin' bunk and don't call me no more!” She slammed the phone down.
“Now.” Imani looked at Kree and Jamal. “Let's go.”
(Celeste)
CELESTE WAS DRESSED in a glued-tight sleeveless silver cocktail gown that fell to her ankles with slits around the bottom. Her chiffon scarf was thrown loosely around her neck as she strutted her stuff with a wrapped red box topped by a white bow. Although Myles was her escort, Celeste made it perfectly clear to him that he wasn't her man and that she wouldn't be ready to commit anytime soon.
Myles held on to her arm as he wore his double-breasted tuxedo and the girls walked in front of them in their off-white lace dresses. Each of them walked into the party as if they were running for political office.
The music from the Jammin' for Jesus CD was blasting.
Balloons floated everywhere, streamers were all over the place, and several reporters were snapping pictures.
It may have only been a month since Celeste moved to Atlanta, but she felt refreshed. Yet there was one last thing that she needed to do.
“Celeste! Celeste!” Imani said, excited, running over and hugging her. “I'm sooo happy to see you.” Imani looked at Myles, who stood next to Celeste and smiled. Who is this? she thought.
Kayla, Kai, and Kori kissed Imani on the cheek and ran across the room toward Starr and Red, who were arguing with Red's aunt Sistah and cousin Lula-Baby. “I could've tolerated you drinking Thunderbird,” Red said, “and you playing spades, and yelling ‘my book,’ but the pickled pig's feet and apple vinegar has got to come off the table.”
“Y'all gon' stain the folks' linen tablecloths,” Starr insisted. Lula-Baby got up from the table and tapped the butler on the shoulder. “You got any foil paper? I need to wrap this.” She pointed to her plate.
“Hold ya roll now, Lula-Baby.” Red turned to his cousin. “Don't be asking people for aluminum foil, you can't take the people's china to go. Come on now, Lula. Damn.”
… … …
ACROSS THE ROOM Celeste introduced Myles to Imani: “This is a friend of mine, Myles. Myles, this is my sister. The safe one.”
“Imani.” He extended his hand. “How are you?”
“I'm fine, thank you… Can I speak to you for a minute, Celeste?” Imani asked, smiling at Myles.
Celeste said, “Excuse us one minute, Myles.”
“No problem. I'll wait here for you.”
Imani and Celeste stepped a short distance away. “Celeste.” Imani felt a little awkward with what she was about to say, but she believed she didn't have a choice. “I know that we haven't always gotten along and for the most part we didn't speak, but you are my sister and I love you. And what Monica and Sharief did to you wasn't right and I told Monica that. I really did.”
The Ex Factor: A Novel Page 30
