I questioned that logic when I saw an awkward-looking, pale, middle-aged man sitting slouched in a corner. He wore nothing but biking shorts and brown penny loafers with no socks. Blinking seemed to take a conscious effort as if he were snapping himself awake from a quick nap. He was giving me the thousand-yard stare down with his dark, beady eyes in between blinky jerks.
Humph, but it isn’t okay for me to stare though?
The guy seated next to him slid out of his seat and began holding an intense conversation with the chair. He started crawling and sliding it around the dining area. His sister or wife sat by, watching sadly, and I gave his crazy behind a cautious side eye.
Momma was finally led in, strolling like a regal mafia matriarch. A short, stocky woman, who made a Shih Tzu come to mind from looking at her, bounced along beside Momma. She had a pinched face and stubby little legs with a pink bow in her hair. They were followed by a hunchbacked old man with graying hair, and a towering, serial-killer Green Mile–looking somebody.
Shit, I should have been allowed to at least keep my cell phone, my Mace, something. Momma rolled her eyes at me and sat clear at the opposite end of the table. She promptly folded her arms across her chest and sat gripping her upper arms with a sour look on her face. Sighing, I got up and walked around to pull out the chair beside her. If she wasn’t going to come to me I’d just have to go to her. Regardless of what she thought, putting her in here was my way of helping, not hurting.
Green Mile had been giving me his version of the thousand-yard stare from where he stood. Before I could plant my ass firmly in the seat I gasped as something cold and wet splattered across the front of my blazer. The room erupted into chaos as Green Mile decided it was just time to go ape shit ballistic. He flipped the table and started launching chairs at the orderlies with missile-like precision. I was literally watching King Kong live and direct. If there’d have been something in there for him to climb, he’d have scaled it and been roof bound in a matter of seconds. Panic alarms went off and a squadron of orderlies, guards, or whatever you call them stormed in. I stared down in disgust at the brown ooze ruining my cream Marc blazer, and I shut my mind off.
Lord, please don’t let this be what I think it is.
I fought back a gag. Figure the odds. I’d been shot at and missed, shit at and fucking hit. Momma glanced up at me with a smirk on her face.
“Ms. Laurel, I am so terribly sorry. Please come with me we’ll get you cleaned up.”
A gorgeous, thick-hipped nurse with dimple piercings manifested in a mango sugar-scented cloud. Giving me a reassuring smile, she took me by my elbow and led me through one of the side doors into a maze of hallways.
I will not ask for her number. I will not ask for her number. Hmm . . .
But, what if she asks for my number? No. I will not give out my number.
We are on a break. Mentally chastising myself for even thinking about cheating on my sexual diet I continued to follow along and keep my eyes above hip level. I was sure these were the areas they left off the tours when they solicited you for your money. The friendly dark blue walls gave way to a more institutional-feeling, split-pea, soup-colored green. We passed rows of rooms with “fit your face” sized square windows. They lined the hallway on either side. People screamed or cried nonstop like they were being tortured behind the stark white doors. My nosey ass tried to peek in and every now and again I could see people curled up in their beds; sometimes they were strapped down.
And this is supposed to be the place where we send depression and mental illness to be cured? When I went through shit with Rah, I’d tried to sleep the pain away, sometimes for days at a time. And then Ris would save me. Bowling, jogging, drinking, dancing, and fucki—
I could hear what sounded like a life-sized bug zapper humming at the end of the hall. “Is that . . . ?”
“Electroshock therapy? Yes, some people actually need it,” she answered before I could even get my question out.
She led me into the women’s locker room. “You can get yourself cleaned up in here.” She smiled sweetly and disappeared around the side of the lockers to go get me a fresh shirt.
Stripping down to my bra I did my best not to smell or come in contact with the filth on my jacket and blouse.
“Mmmph, aren’t we nice.”
That either had to be the fastest trip in history or this locker room was the size of a broom closet. I bit my bottom lip as she brushed the towel across my shoulders and down the center of my back. She walked around and stood in front of me, pursing her lips as she handed me the towel, staring down at my barely covered breasts. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d bought a new bra and the cups weren’t exactly a perfect fit anymore.
So much for covertly checkin’ out another female, Michelle. No more looking at anything for you. Ever.
Thankfully she just handed me the towel, giving me another calculated up and down with her eyes that I read like an erotica novel.
“Unless you need some help, I’ll let you to get cleaned up. And again I’m sorry.” She quietly added under her breath, “But, I’m not.”
I gave her a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll be fine. It’s okay, it wasn’t your fault.”
I hated to be the reason for the look of disappointment on her face as she walked out of the locker room but, oh well. My hiatus had just barely begun and after Keyshawn and Ris I needed to do some serious soul searching. I was only happy with Larissa when Rasheed was acting up, and I was happy with Keshawn when Ris was stuck on stupid.
Maybe I need to look into that polyamourous stuff, get myself a . . . No, I need to look into my own place. Where did I pack that damn vibrator? All this Honey business . . .
Honey probably needed to be up in a place just like this. From what I could remember and from what I’d seen she was always a little off. Maybe something like this would be better for her than prison. I rinsed myself off and toweled dry quickly over the sink. There was a gray T-shirt lying on the bench beside the lockers and I aimlessly slipped it over my head. I didn’t see her bring it back in. She had better not be watching me wash. Pulling the collar to my nose I sniffed it just to make sure it was clean. They weren’t about to have me walking around in a funky, dirty T-shirt. It smelled wonderful, like Gain detergent, warm vanilla, and cardamom.
They needed to knock some dollars off Momma’s bill, that’s what they needed to do.
“So do you always sneak around locker rooms, sniffing and stealing things that don’t belong to you?”
I jumped and whirled around, my eyebrows raised in shock and embarrassment. I’d been so lost in thought I hadn’t even heard anyone come in. My mouth plopped open and I was pretty sure it was stuck in the shape of either “oh, shit” or “oh, no.”
I’ll take “oh, shit” for $800, Alex.
Old King Kong himself was standing calmly just inside the doorway of the locker room.
Now you already know this fool’s crazy. Do you do or do you don’t make eye contact?
Clearing my throat, I brought my eyes up no higher than neck level, and then I chickened out and looked off at the lockers to the left of him, focusing on them instead. “Do you always walk up in women’s locker rooms? Because, thanks to your king-sized temper tantrum back there I needed a new shirt, so I’m adopting this one. And just so you know I’d have plucked my son’s face clean off his head if he ever pulled what I watched you pull out there and he’s only five.” I prayed I could keep up the small talk long enough for the nurse to come back.
“Well, I apologize for the unfavorable first impression that I’m sure I made. It’s nice to meet you,” he replied casually. His voice had a husky deepness to it that made it seem bottomless.
Why, oh, why do the crazy niggas always gotta be the ones with them deep-ass voices? And you know this fool can probably back that shit up with some crazy deep-ass dick, too. Girl, shut up!
He gave me a large, beaming smile as he came over, extending his hand toward mine. Timidly I ret
urned the gesture, afraid my ass was about to get yoked up as his baseball mitt of a hand engulfed mine.
Aww hell, here we go. I can see this headline now: WOMANMURDEREDINANASYLUMLOCKERROOMBYKINGKONG PSYCHO MOTHERFUCKA.
Satisfied he nodded down at me and sauntered over to one of the lockers.
“I don’t think you should be messing with that. Are you even supposed to be um, roaming around at your leisure? I’m Michelle by the way.”
Um, hello? Why you tell this fool your name? What if his crazy ass done killed everybody and now he’s trying to escape? This shit happens on TV all the time. He threw shit and lost his damn mind up there not even five minutes ago. Why isn’t he in the crazy solitary? This can’t be good.
His long, tapered fingers maneuvered the combination on the lock until it popped open with a click. “We do drills twice a month to see how well the orderlies are following procedure. Patients are supposed to get checked before each visitation to make sure something like today doesn’t happen. Darren will lose a day’s worth of pay. It could have been real fecal matter instead of chocolate pudding and peanut butter. I’m Dr. Harrington by the way.”
He turned from rummaging around in the locker and handed me his badge. A smug smile lingered on his thick, full lips. Embarrassed at reacting the way I reacted to some damn chocolate pudding I couldn’t help blushing.
Now you know you’ve been elbow deep in diapers worse than that. You should’ve known better, woman.
“Oh, yeah, and the locker rooms are unisex. It’s a psychology thing. The hospital will gladly compensate you for your clothing, and I’d be more than honored if you’d let me take you to dinner, as my way of apologizing for scaring you.” He’d turned on that bottomless-pit voice of his again and there I was teetering on the edge.
Oh, no, no, no. I’m not ready for this dating nonsense. And he seems too sweet and way too stable to even fit into my crazy-ass lifestyle.
“I . . . I’m sorry, but I can’t. I just moved here and I’ve got a lot going on. Like a lot. Don’t get me wrong, you seem really sweet. You just really don’t want to get mixed up in my life.”
He gave me an inquiring look, like I was something to be queried or studied on his couch. “Thirty-two seconds ago you looked like you were praying I wouldn’t chop you up and stuff your little ass in one of these here lockers.”
I scoffed. “I did no such thing. You obviously imagined the hell out of that look.” We both chuckled at my obvious lie.
“Riiiight. You were up in here subliminally threatening to slap off faces and now you think I’m too sweet? You do remember me saying I’m a doctor? A damn good one, too. I can fix anything.” He winked, and I felt my cheeks flush variations of pink and red that Crayola probably hadn’t even invented yet.
“I don’t need fixing. I just need a damn break.” My wistful reply was a combo-meal whisper of hopelessness and hopefulness. It could’ve gone either way.
“Oh . . . Dr. Harrington, I didn’t know you’d be in here. I found Ms. Laurel something to wear.” The nurse came barging in, holding a scraggly looking set of old, used scrubs.
“She’s fine, Denise. She uh, ‘adopted’ my T-shirt. Show her how to get back to the dining hall.”
Giving Nurse Denise a smile, I then nodded good-bye to the fine doctor.
How the hell was I supposed to know the T-shirt was his? And on top of that he caught me smelling it. I can’t lie; if it were up to me this shirt would never see the inside of a washin’ machine. It smelled like a bald, honey bun–hued King Kong of a bottomless pit. And all worries aside, I wanted to fall in that bitch fifty ways from Sunday.
Chapter 11
No Harm, Your Foal . . . Fowl . . . Foul
I stared at the umpteen-whatever-count threads in the pillowcase so long my eyes started to cross. This was the second time he’d pulled that coming in late shit and I was fed up. When Don Cerzulo dropped me off, as much as I didn’t want to see Angelo I kind of needed to. We’d never discussed the terms of my surgery, fame, hell, my life for that matter. It was one thing when it came to doing shit to get Paris back, but this was . . . was slavery. Do or die. How long would I have to be Don Cerzulo’s puppet before we were all squared away and what if I got caught in the process?
It couldn’t be that hard to suffocate his snorin’ ass. Angelo snorted and sawed logs in his sleep. That’s exactly what it sounded like. Them hoes on Snapped do that shit, hold the pillow over his face and—no, wait—they shoot the niggas through the pillow. Men suffocate hoes with pillows. Must take a lot of muscle to do that shit. Look at my ass, already tryin’ to murk every-damn-body for no reason. The Don’s methods already rubbin’ off on me.
When I couldn’t take the sound of the air whistling out of his nostrils anymore I quietly eased out of bed. My bare toes touched the cool gray marble tile, sending rivulets of pain from my backside down my legs and I cursed him. Angelo came home, took his “wash away the evidence” shower, and got in bed. I pretended to be asleep just like I always did, even though I’d just had a really good Skype call with Big. Angelo started kissin’ on my shoulders, grindin’ on my ass, and I just refused to react. I ain’t sign up for this shit. Who wanted a relationship with an absent man and some bullshit no foreplay quickie morning sex all the damn time?
So what did Angelo do? He decided he’s just gonna lick his hand to lube up and slide in. Shit, I still ain’t move. If he was hoping that was gonna get me in the mood he missed the mark. Askin’ if I could feel it, and if I loved him. He was breathing his hot-ass toothpaste breath all up the side of my head. He eventually wore himself out and my skin was cracked and dry. Dumb ass, I guessed he was one of those kids who liked to hit the Slip ’n Slide without water.
Talking to Big definitely made me reassess things. He wasn’t gonna be in the area for much longer and I was feeling pressed to find Paris and haul ass. Marriage to Angelo was sounding less and less appealing the more I thought about it. After pacing a hole in the living room carpet I finally made up my mind. It was always easier to ask forgiveness than to ask permission.
A woman in a sweaty red tank top jogged past me as I made my way down the street. Pulling my hoodie tighter over my head I looked around to make sure I wasn’t being followed or recognized by anyone and quickened my pace. Granted, Don Cerzulo’s ass said don’t touch anything; something good did come out of that situation.
Scarletti’s wife had a pharmacy of pills beside the bed. I didn’t even read the labels. I just emptied a bunch into one bottle. I shook out a light pink one and a pretty light yellow one. They’d either wake me up or make me calm; either way it’d be interesting.
Walk through a deserted carnival ground in any state and it’d feel just like Miami at seven a.m., minus all the beautiful joggers of course. I’d decided to press my luck and text Big to meet me for coffee. He was actually awake and agreed to meet me at a spot close to his shop.
“Look at you, looking all good this early in the morning.”
I got up from the table to give him a hug, again amazed at how big he was.
“They got some bomb-ass chai tea up in here; it’s better for you than coffee,” he told me.
“I have a confession to make: my ass don’t even like coffee. I jus’ wanted a reason to see you. But, I’ll try your tea.”
“So what has you out and about this early in the day, unaccompanied by your man?”
His tone went dry when he added the last part and I wondered if I’d said too much in our Skype conversations.
“It’s hard to explain. On like one side I’m grateful to him for his help but that shouldn’t mean I owe him shit forever. He proposed and his daddy was there and I ain’t know what else to say. And now I feel stuck, when all I really want to do is find my baby and be happy.”
“And Michelle got her right?” He reached over and rubbed my shoulder. I nodded. “Would I be your favor-itest Big hero if I told you I think I know where Michelle is?”
I couldn’t tell if he was s
erious or playing. “I’ll stab you in the eye with this spoon if you fuckin’ with me right now.” I grabbed one of the spoons off the table, giving him my version of Angelo’s pointy stabby, poking his hand for emphasis.
“Damn, okay, Tonto, calm down. Yes, I’m serious, I wouldn’t play with you about something like that.”
My hand started shaking as I set the spoon down on the table. The room swayed and I blinked several times. I looked Big directly in the eye and slid my hand up his leg under the table. Honey was officially back, well, mentally anyway, and she was ready to handle business. I was the baby-voiced seductress with the womanly curves that drove niggas insane and now I had this silver screen siren’s face to complete the picture. They’d do anything to make my pouty lips smile and hear me say, “Yes, daddy.” And in that moment I turned it all on for Big.
“If you tell me where Michelle is and where my daughter is, you would be my Big Daddy and I’d do anything for you.”
He swallowed hard and shifted in the booth. “My homeboy looks in on Rah’s ma every now and again. We all know she always been a little off so he make sure she got food and smokes. Just leaves stuff on the porch most of the time because you catch her on a bad day and you liable to get taken hostage or shot if you can’t convince her why you there. Said he rode past last week and saw a woman with a little boy and a little girl in a car seat up on the porch. The car been there every day since.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. Even if we were sitting in the middle of ten o’clock service on Sunday, it wouldn’t have kept me from climbing on his lap and kissing him. Up until that moment I didn’t have the slightest clue where to even start looking for Michelle. I’d have asked Angelo what he thought if he were ever home long enough. I was pretty sure he’d seem more interested in making a baby than finding mine.
Baby Momma 3 Page 9
