Another Man Will (18 page)

C
HAPTER
29

Dana

“L
ook at the two of you. You guys look so cute, like you have been dating forever,” Reshma gushed.

“We do look cute, don't we?” I looked down at the picture in my cell phone of “us.” Yes I was now an “us” and no longer an “I.”

Already Adam and I had a little collage of pictures from our dates. I think I had one picture of me and Todd, and he wasn't even looking at the camera. “I'm so happy you are seriously dating. All of this time I thought you were not going to find anyone.”

“And she has me to thank,” Leah said as she pretended to turn up her collar.

“Yes, you did a great job, matchmaker,” I admitted.

“Reshma, are you coming out with us tonight?”

“I can't. Every time I think about going anywhere, I get nausea.”

“Too bad, but we can't wait until you have that baby. We're going to spoil it like it is our own.”

“Yes, I'm ready,” said Reshma.

“Well, good-bye. And I'll see you later, Leah,” I said as I left the office.

 

 

Adam and I were meeting up with Leah and Stephen. We were going to the newest club, Mixer. The club was in Northern Liberties, a very trendy area with new clubs, boutiques, and cafés. There were write-ups all over about it. Mixer was supposed to be the it place. They even required a reservation for entry, to keep the list and the clientele somewhat exclusive.

The crowd was a diverse mix of professionals in their late twenties to early thirties. I was impressed with the club's old European, Gothic decor. It had enchanting chandeliers, high ceilings, and cathedral-type windows. The hostess chaperoned us to our table and told us our mixologist would be with us shortly. We sat in high-back chairs upholstered with maroon velour. The music was a mixture of dance music played loudly over hip-hop fused beats.

“This place is great, every lush's dream. We get our own mixologist,” I said.

“And they have every drink you can name on the menu,” Leah said, reviewing the extensive drink menu.

“Why does everyone have to have a fancy title? She is not a mixologist. She is a bartender,” Stephen asserted.

“I like that they call them mixologists,” Leah added over the loud music.

Stephen shrugged. “Why did we even come here? You know I hate these kind of self-important places. Look around at all these people. They think they are important, and they are not.”

“I like it. It's nice, and I think it is cool that we can ring a bell instead of waving to the bartender all night. Lighten up, Stephen. We're here. Enjoy it,” Adam replied.

“I'll try to,” Stephen said.

Our mixologist kept our lemon drop martinis and shots of Cuervo topped off all evening. Friends, drinks, great conversation . . . and I was with a guy I really liked. We played a few shot games and were really grooving and enjoying ourselves. We took turns leaving our table and going to the dance floor. Unbeknownst to Adam, tonight was our night. After several months of dating, check, good guy, check, I was ready. Adam had waited long enough. Tonight I was going to give him everything.

A few shots and my hands became extra friendly all over Adam's lap. I slid my hand under the table. I was making him firm, stroking him back and forth. I was toying and playing with him, while he tried to keep a straight face while Leah was steady discussing who knows what.

Stephen made it known that the shots were getting to him and he needed to hit the restroom. Adam stood up and said he had to go too. Before he left the table, my tongue reached out and shook hands with his.

“Don't be too long,” I whispered.

He bit his lip at me and stared at me and said, “I won't.”

“Cut all the PDA out,” Stephen muttered.

“Stephen, don't be mad,” I told him. “Why are you in such a grumpy mood tonight?”

Stephen just shrugged again, and the guys walked off toward the restroom.

Leah sighed. “Stephen has really been so irritating lately. But did I tell you I love you two together?”

“Yes, many, many, many times,” I said, mimicking her.

Stephen and Adam reappeared fifteen minutes later, with a girl clinging to Adam's side. The woman was wearing a hugging, strapless rust-colored dress. I didn't want to be alarmed, but I was interested in learning who the mysterious woman was. Stephen must have read my disturbed look.

He came over, tapped me, and said, “Dana, that's his crazy ex. It's really nothing. I'm trying to rescue him.”

Stephen walked back over to where they were standing, then took the woman's crab claws off of him. Adam then freely returned to the table, looking very flustered. The ex had decided she wasn't through, and stumbled right behind him over to our table. Her presence didn't please Adam or Stephen. Up close I saw her mascara had run, and false eyelashes were hanging halfway off her lids. She also needed to retouch her red lipstick.

“Heather, I thought we told you we would see you another time,” Stephen said.

Her speech was slurred and almost inaudible. “I know. I'm about to leave, Stephen. I just wanted to see which one of these ladies is dating my Adam.”

No one said anything. I was scared to move. She looked like the kind that might carry a little pistol in her clutch.

Adam becoming increasingly annoyed and said, “Do you want me to call you a cab, Heather?”

“No, I can drive myself home. Well, since you won't introduce me to these beautiful ladies, I will introduce myself.” Turning her attention to Leah and me, she said, “Hi. I'm Heather. I used to date Adam, but he broke up with me because, he says, I'm crazy.” She put her finger up to her temple and made a circular motion. “But I'm not crazy, and I still love this guy.” She was swaying from side to side, slurring her words. “Whichever one of you is dating him is so lucky. He is the best.”

“Okay, that's enough. Time to go. Do you need me to call you a ride, Heather?” Stephen pulled out his phone.

I was waiting for Adam to say something, to help her out. He just looked past her and downed the last of his drink and acted as if she wasn't there.

“What's wrong? Did I say something? I just want to see what my replacement looks like,” Heather said. She walked over to Leah and said, “So how is he in the bed? Still good, right?”

“I wouldn't know that. I'm not his girlfriend,” Leah said, blowing my cover, thinking it was funny.

Heather turned from Leah to me and said, “Wow! Adam, you did good! She's so gorgeous. She looks just like Beyoncé. No. You know who she looks like? That model Tyra Banks. Yeah, you look just like her.”

“Beyoncé and Tyra Banks. That's so funny.” Leah laughed.

I couldn't help but laugh, too, since Beyoncé and Tyra Banks were probably the only two good-looking black women she could reference.

“Heather, it was really nice seeing you, but we're going to see you later,” Stephen said sternly.

“Okay. Bye. Have a good evening.” Heather walked away from our table.

“That was interesting, Adam,” Leah joked.

“It was very heavy,” I added. “Now I'm ready for another drink. Call that mixologist over and let's have another round on me.”

At the end of the evening Adam's hands were all over me, and I hoped we would be able to make it home. I thought about taking him in the bathroom and letting him bend me over the sink, but I would just have to wait until we made it to my apartment. Coming out of the club, we saw Heather sprawled across the hood of a car. People were walking past like it was an everyday occurrence to see a drunk lady asleep outside. My first reaction was to tell Adam to help her, but I didn't think he was going to take her home, which is what happened.

Once I was home alone, I regretted being so kind to his drunk, crazy ex-girlfriend and felt so stupid. I thought I was helping a crazy girl out, but now I'm thinking it might have been her insane little plan all along to get him to go home with her. I didn't know what about Adam being responsible and not letting his ex get robbed or raped made me angry. Of course, he did the right thing by making sure she was safe, but what about me? I was upset and alone, instead of having crazy, wild, unapologetically loud sex all night long. I was sad, sleepy and alone.

 

 

I sleepily answered the phone to hear Adam's voice on the other end.

“Dana, are you up? I'm sorry I left you. It's just that I didn't want to see anything happen to her. I shouldn't have allowed her to ruin our evening. I know I was supposed to be coming over there tonight.”

“It's okay. You can still come here if you like.”

“Okay. I'm on my way to you. Please don't be mad at me.”

I sprang out of bed and made myself sexy again. I couldn't wait for Adam to arrive. We were going to turn the heat back on exactly where we left off in the club. Ten minutes later Adam called back to say he still could not locate his keys.
Okay what gives and what dark force didn't want me to have sex and was keeping us apart,
I thought.

“Adam, where did you put them?”

“I don't know. I came right in and I swung them somewhere.” I wanted to scream. I was ready, he was ready now, and a set of keys were in our way.
Keys, appear so Adam can come over here now,
I thought.

“This doesn't make any sense. I need you Adam.”

“I want you so bad too, Dana. I'm ready to catch a cab, but I wouldn't be able to lock the door. Damn it shit fuck. Where are those damn keys?” I could hear him moving things around in his apartment.

“Adam, how about I'll just come there.”

“No, it's too late. I don't want you walking to your car this time of night.”

“Then I'll catch a cab over there. I won't come out of the apartment until the driver says he is outside.”

Twenty minutes after picking me up, the cabdriver turned onto Adam's block. He was waiting outside his apartment. He opened my door and paid the driver. I felt everything begin to tingle; I could not wait for him to make passionate love to me.

“I'm really sorry,” Adam said.

“Just make it up to me now.”

Once inside we tore each other's clothes off. My nipples bunched in his mouth and he feverishly kissed all over them. I pulled his pants down and licked on his stomach. He took a deep breath. My tongue grazed in a zigzag motion up and down and near his pelvis. I teased him by going near his lower region, but stopping just before I reached it. Then when I didn't want to make him wait anymore, I kissed the tip of him and nibbled at the top. He was ready for entry in my warm awaiting mouth. After a few long deep pulls of my cheeks, he snatched his self out of my mouth and snapped a condom over his peach-colored, plump, thick member. His body filled mine to capacity. With no warning he plowed through my juicy pussy's interiors. His motions were invigorating, pleasurable, and it almost felt like he wasn't even wearing a condom. It felt as if his body was made specifically for me. He focused on my needs. Him wanting to please me made me eager to give him more. He made love to me up against the wall, on the floor, in the shower. We were in sync. He pushed up and I pressed down. Each time we would retreat and then meet up again, fast and hard. There was no doubt that we had an incredibly organic sexual connection. The more satisfied he became the harder he became, until he couldn't take it anymore. He climaxed in a violent, loud groan. He kissed me and then we started all over again.

C
HAPTER
30

Yvette

I
leaped out of the kitchen and ran to the window because I heard the rattle of a diesel engine and the beeping of some type of service truck, which was backing up in front of my door. I peeked out the window and saw the electric company's utility van. I was scared. I hoped they weren't coming to turn off my service. I was behind on my bill and hadn't paid it in two months. I didn't even know how much I owed, since I'd been too scared to open any bills. Just seeing a crazy past due bill that I had no way of paying gave me a headache. I didn't know how long it took for them to cut you off, but I imagined I didn't have very long. My landlord, Mr. Jimmy, had been understanding, but he wanted his rent. He'd come by here a couple of times, and I just didn't come to the door. As soon as I started working again, I was going to pay him everything I owe.

The electric company worker got out of his truck, and he looked down at his silver clipboard.
Please don't come here,
I thought. He looked up at my address and then began walking across the street.
Whew.
I couldn't live like this forever; it didn't feel good to be so nervous and worried that at any moment your utilities will be shut off. I closed the blind and walked back to the kitchen and opened my laptop. I had to find a job and soon, before it was my house they stopped at. Something had to give, because my checking and saving accounts had almost nothing in them, and my unemployment had been denied.

Everyone was still calling me, telling me not to sulk, but what else was there to do? I was embarrassed. I was scared, and I didn't want to ask anyone for anything. How would it look if I said, “Daddy, I need some money,” or if I asked my sister with three kids of her own for something? I was not going to do that. I was just going to get a job and recover from all of this. At least I hoped I would bounce back. Because right now I was in anguish, wondering,
Why me?
I questioned what the hell I did to deserve all of this. And I couldn't think of anything.

All I could think of was that it was all Phil's fault. Dumbass Phillip was the reason I was unemployed, broke, and had to transfer Mercedes out of her school. I wanted Mercedes to stay at Holy Redeemer, but there was no way I could pay her tuition. Yes, maybe I should have planned better, and then I wouldn't have had this avalanche fall on me, but it was still his fault.

I had daily thoughts of killing that son of a bitch, Phillip McKnight. If there was any way I could murder him and get away with it, I would do it. However, every time I thought about planning his death, I realized how much I didn't want to wear an orange jumpsuit and cornrows to the back for the rest of my life. But God knows he was going to pay for this shit he was putting me and my kids through.

I closed my laptop and went to take a shower. I brought the phone in the bathroom with me just in case an employer called. The phone began ringing. I got out of the shower, and I saw an unusual number on the phone's screen. I prayed it was a job. In my most professional, pleasant voice I answered.

A woman's voice at the other end said, “Hello. May I have Yvette?” It was a little informal for an employer, but I was still hopeful.

“Yes, this is she.”

“How you doin'? This is Mr. Jimmy's daughter.”

“Hi,” I said, confused. What did Mr. Jimmy's daughter want with me?

“I'm calling you because my dad said you were having issues with paying your rent.”

“Yes, I spoke to your father about that.”

“Okay. You can speak to me, because we are going to need some kind of payment immediately.”

“I know. Uh, I'm not like that. I really don't have any money. I'm not working right now, but I told your dad that as soon as I start, I would give him my first check.”

“That sounds good and all, but everyone has a story, and I just have to let you know that if you don't get caught up, we will start the eviction process.”

“Eviction process? No, that won't be necessary. I should have all of my rent soon.”

“I sure hope so. We don't like to kick people out, but you can't live anywhere for free,” she said and then hung up.

Damn.
I had to get some money. There was no way me and the kids could be on the street.
What if me and the children have to move? Where would we go? I can't move back in with my parents or go into a shelter. I need something to happen. I have no money. I feel like a complete bum. What if my life remains like this forever?

I stepped back in the shower, and the phone rang again. I got out of the shower again. I didn't recognize the number; hopefully, this was really a job. Once again I picked up the phone with wet, slippery hands and answered enthusiastically.

A professional male voice said, “Hello. May I speak to the parent of Brandon Turner?” I was disappointed it was not an employer again, but Brandon's school.

“This is she. What's wrong?” I asked, knowing schools didn't just randomly contact parents without there being some kind of issue.

“Hi, is this Brandon's mom?”

“Yes, it is.”

“I'm Mr. Walker. I'm the vice principal at the Leadership Charter School, and I'm calling to inform you that Brandon was just suspended for a fight and cutting class.”

“He was fighting? Is he all right?”

“Yes, he is, but unfortunately, he will be suspended for the role he played in the fight. If you can get here by ten o'-clock, today could count as the first day of his suspension.” I took the phone away from my ear and looked at the time on it. I had exactly thirty minutes to get to Brandon's school.

“Is he with you in the office?”

“Yes, he is.”

“May I speak with him, please?”

“Yes, one moment.” I heard the phone being exchanged.

“Mom, I didn't do anything,” Brandon whined.

“If you didn't do anything, then why are you suspended, and why were you fighting?”

“Mom, they kept saying stuff to me. And he said he wanted to fight me. He put his hands up, so I threw up mine.”

“You threw your hands up? What is wrong with you, boy? You know what? It doesn't even matter. Tell your principal I'm on my way. Boy, when I get there . . .” That was all I could get out. I hurried to get dressed and headed for his school.

I was beyond upset as I entered the Leadership Charter School building. A woman sitting behind a desk stationed in front of the auditorium instructed me to sign her log, then handed me a yellow visitor's pass and pointed me in the direction of the office. I stormed into the office and saw Brandon sitting there like a dunce. His head was hung down.

He let out a weak “Hi, Mom.”

“Boy, come on. Let's go.”

“You have to sign me out over there.”

Just as I walked over to the counter, a nicely built and well-dressed man came out from behind the office desk.

“Hi, I'm Mr. Walker, the vice principal. I just spoke to you on the telephone.”

“Yes. Hello.”

He looked over at the big, round clock hanging on the wall and said, “I'm glad you were able to get here before ten. So today does mark the first day of his suspension, and you can reinstate Brandon on Wednesday. We're giving him a two-day, instead of three. The third day was unnecessary, and I already had a talk with him about what is expected of him. Right, Brandon?”

“Yes,” Brandon said with his head down.

 

 

On the ride home Brandon knew he was in trouble, but he wasn't sure how much. He was nervous, though, because every time I moved, he flinched. I just really didn't have the strength to deliver any blows to him. We walked in our apartment, and I just exhaled loudly.

“All I can say to you, Brandon, is that I have enough problems. I don't need any more.”

“But, Mom, can I tell you what happened?”

“I don't care what happened. You are suspended, and that's all I need to know.”

“But, Mom!”

“There is no ‘But, Mom.' Just do the right thing. Get your work done, and stay out of trouble. It is the beginning of the school year. You know Phil took my money. You know things have been tough. So don't add to my pressure.”

“This is not right. You not even listening to me.”

I continued to ignore him. Then I decided to let him have his say. “Okay, tell me what happened.”

“Well, I did cut class, and that was wrong. But only because Semaj said we had a substitute and we weren't doing anything. So me and Semaj went and was just hanging out in the lunchroom. Then this guy in the eleventh grade just came over to us for no reason and told us to move. We said no, and we all started fighting.”

“Okay, first, would this all have happened if you were in class?”

“ No.”

“Okay, second, was Semaj suspended?”

“ No.”

“Exactly. He is at school, in class, and where are you? You're here. You should be in school, learning, preparing to be a man, so you can one day have a job and a career to take care of yourself. What do you even want to do with your life?”

“I don't know. I want to run stuff or something.”

“Oh, run stuff,” I repeated after him and sighed. This was too much. “Brandon, you want to be a company owner, not just run stuff. In order to own a company, you can't be following behind someone. Point-blank, if you were in class, you wouldn't have had a fight. That's it. I'm not saying anything else. I know one thing. I'm not coming up to that school any more this year. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“I'm not saying, ‘Be a punk,' but people are going to say things every day. You cannot throw your hands up each time. If that was the case, you would never stop fighting. If they don't physically touch you, walk away. It is called self-discipline, and you need to get some, because all the tough people that can't control themselves end up in the jail.”

Brandon seemed a little regretful of his actions, but I wasn't sure if I had got through to him. I was going to have Doug and my dad talk to him some more, too.

 

 

We needed groceries, and I had only sixty dollars left in my savings account until Thursday, when Doug deposited money into my account for child support. I transferred the money out of my savings and into my checking account. How was I going to feed three people, for four days, three square meals I didn't know, but I had to make it work.

I made my way to ShopRite, grabbed a circular, and began to see what on my list I could afford. I opened the circular and strategically shopped, buying everything that was on sale. I was happy that I was able to fill my cart with sale items. I thought I should be right at sixty dollars. I walked to a line where there wasn't a wait. I began placing my eggs, milk, apple juice, and chicken wings on the belt. While the cashier swiped each item, I kept up with the calculations on her register's screen. I got up to $58.97, and I told her she could stop. I had to put one of the bottles of salad dressing and the dinner rolls back, but that was okay. At least I hadn't gone over my budget. I swiped my debit card to pay for my groceries, and instead of
APPROVED
appearing on the screen, it read
DECLINED
. I knew that was a mistake, so I asked the cashier to try it again. I knew the money was there, because I had just transferred the money, but I had to get out of the line and call the bank. The bank's 800 line had a series of prompts and numbers I had to press before I could speak with a live person. Once one was on the line, I read off my account number and verified all my information.

“How may I help you today, ma'am?”

“My card was just declined, and I know I have money in the account.”

“Yes, I show you had a deposit entered today, but it won't be available until tomorrow,” the woman said.

“I don't understand. It was a cash deposit.”

“Yes, it was cash. However, it was deposited after three, which makes it fall under a new business day, and the funds will not be ready until tomorrow.”

“Okay, I don't understand. You're saying I can't put cash in and take the same cash back out on the same day?”

“Yes, that is correct. This is our policy.”

I was beyond fuming mad. I wished I knew where the call center was, because I would go and choke the lady for telling me I had to wait for cash to clear.

“Well, I've never heard of such a thing, and I'm in the market, trying to buy my groceries, and I need the funds to be available now, and when I checked online, the money was there, so someone has to do something.”

“Well, as a courtesy, I can make the funds available, but please go to our Web site and read our new policy, put in place this year.”

I said, “Yeah,” but I thought,
Whatever. Just make this shit go through so I can walk out of this damn market with groceries.
The customer representative made my funds available, and I felt validated. I walked back over to the register and paid for my groceries.

After grocery shopping I picked Mercedes up from school. I sat in front of her school, trying to determine where she was in the crowd of running children who were all happy that it was dismissal time. She found me first, got in the car, and put her seat belt across her chest.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Hey, Mimi. Did you have a good day?”

“Yes, I had a good day. I just want something to eat. Can we stop and get something to eat?”

“Why are you hungry, little girl?”

“The kids stole my lunch. I forgot to give it to the teacher. Mom, these kids at this school are bad. They don't listen to the teacher, and if you don't give your lunch to the teacher, they take it out of your book bag.”