Crazy Love (15 page)

1. Meek and I were talking
   
2. I could forget my childhood
   
3. I could fall crazy in love with a good man—Jackson (possibility)
   

T
ell me again why you're going shopping with me?” Nevia asked Stacie. Her sister had called her the night before, asking if she wanted to hang out with her.

“Because you're my sister,” Stacie answered as she helped Nevia dress the children.

“I am that. But we haven't hung out since high school. So what's going on?”

“Nothing's going on, stop being so suspicious.” Stacie grabbed two of her nieces and Nevia had the other as they trudged down to the parking lot. “Let's take your car. I wanna see how your driving is,” Stacie said. “Besides, you have all the car seats in here.” It took ten minutes for her and Nevia to safely buckle all three in.

“This is nice,” Stacie said, settling in. The interior was clean and the leather seats glistened. “It's almost better than Lexie.”

“It's even better than that old thing you call a ride,” she joked, then announced, “You came at a good time. Today is payday.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a handful of money. She fanned it out and waved it in front of Stacie. “It's child support day,” she sang.

“Damn, girl, you get that much money?” Stacie asked, her eyes slightly widening at the wad her sister flashed.

“Yep! My babies' daddies are loaded,” Nevia bragged with a gleam in her eye as she started up the car and pulled into the street.

“Do you remember Daddy?” Stacie cautiously asked.

Nevia gave her sister a sideways glance. “Kinda. I remember that he swore like he was getting paid to do it. And smelled like he bathed in liquor. Why're you asking?”

“Just wondering,” Stacie said, then glanced out the window. They were on the interstate, passing through downtown Atlanta. Stacie admired the skyline. “So you don't remember the beatings?” Stacie fished.

Nevia snorted. “The I'm-gonna-beat-the-black-off-your-ass beatings? Yeah, I remember those. Hell, I still have scars on my legs from the time he beat me with an iron cord,” she said.

Stacie winced. She remembered her father giving Nevia that whipping. “I'm sorry, Nev. He was a monster. If he was around today, he'd be locked up.”

Nevia agreed. “I'll tell you right now. I'll never, ever do something like that to my babies,” she vowed, then glanced back at her children. All lined up like little dolls, they were peacefully sleeping. “But we survived it.”

“Yes we did,” Stacie mumbled. “Do you think we're alike?” she nonchalantly asked.

“What?” Nevia laughed. “You're full of questions today, aren't you? If I would've known I was gonna be questioned like a suspect on
Law & Order,
I would've taken the short cut to the mall. But hell naw, we're nothing alike,” Nevia protested, shaking her head. “You're stuck up, I'm not. I have kids, you don't, I live at home and you don't.”

Stacie nodded her head. “Yeah…that's all true, but do you think we use our bodies to get what we want?”

Nevia's mouth dropped open with surprise. “Where the hell did
that
come from? I think people are just nice.”

“So you got this car from a
nice
person?”

Nevia hesitated; she nervously glanced in the rearview mirror before answering. The children were still sleeping. “He was nice and I really didn't have to do anything.”

“What
exactly
did you have to do?” Stacie asked.

Nevia squirmed in her seat. “Walk around naked,” she admitted.

“What?” Stacie hissed. “You walked around naked?”

“It's not like I had sex with him. He just liked looking. I wouldn't let him touch me.”

“Nevia? How can you do something like that?” Stacie asked; her stomach rolled with revulsion. “I thought you were trying to get your life together?”

“I am!” Nevia protested. “But I needed a car. How else was I going to get to work, get the babies to their doctor appointments
and
take them to see their daddies? If you have a better idea, please enlighten a sistah.”

“But to strut around naked in front a man…for a car. That's just wrong,” Stacie said, shaking her head. They pulled into the mall's parking lot, and Nevia inched around the lot until she found a parking spot.

Nevia sat rigid in her seat. “You don't know how hard it is to raise three kids by yourself,” she said angrily. “It's so freaking hard, sometimes I just want to hop in the car and—” Nevia's hand whipped up to her mouth and she turned her terror-filled eyes on her sister.

“Nevia, what's wrong?” Stacie shrieked, afraid for her sister. She had never seen her so scared.

Nevia pointed out the window. “It's Carlos. He's here,” Nevia cried, and grabbed Stacie's arm. “Tell him that this is your car,” she begged. “Please!”

Stacie linked her fingers with Nevia's. They both sat frozen as Carlos stalked toward the car.

“Get out!” Carlos yelled, and Nevia vigorously shook her head. “Get the fuck out here!” he shouted, then began pounding on the window with his fist and all three children woke up screaming.

“How did he find us? Do you think he followed us?” Stacie asked. Nevia didn't answer—her eyes were locked on Carlos. “I think we'd better talk to him,” Stacie decided.

“No! Let's wait. Maybe somebody will call the police.”

Stacie snorted. “I doubt it. Let's go. You're gonna have to face him sooner or later.” She opened the door and stepped out. “Don't do anything to her,” Stacie gently pleaded to Carlos.

“Did she think I wasn't gonna find out?” he asked Stacie, but he was looking at Nevia. She had opened the car door and was easing out. Carlos rounded the car, grabbed her underneath her shoulders and shoved her up against the car. He pressed his face into hers. “Do you think I'm dumb, Nevia? Do you think I'm one of those stupid assholes you're used to dealing with?” Nevia fearfully shook her head. “You must. Because how the fuck you gonna drive around in a car that my uncle bought you? You must've known that I was gonna hear about it!”

“I didn't do anything wrong,” Nevia babbled, tears streaming down her face. “He gave it to me. He knew that you wouldn't help me.”

Carlos's lip turned up. “I'm tired of listening to your crap. You're a liar, Nevia. If you weren't the mother of my child, I'd kill you right now.”

“Let us go,” Stacie pleaded.

Carlos chuckled nastily. “Nope. This car belongs to me. So call me the repo man, because I'm about to take possession of my car.” Stacie and Nevia watched dumbfounded as he slid behind the wheel. “I can leave you guys in the parking lot or I can take you home.”

Stacie and Nevia scrambled into the car. The ride home was quiet. Nevia and Stacie were silent as Carlos unhooked the three car seats and placed them and the babies on the sidewalk before driving off.

“I knew this was going to happen,” Stacie muttered as she pulled Connie onto her hip and grabbed CoCo's hand. Chloe latched onto her aunt's leg and solemnly followed her.

Nevia snatched up the car seats. “That asshole is gonna pay for taking my car,” she vowed.

T
ameeka looked over at Tyrell and laughed. He was slouched down in the booth with his chin on his chest and his belt unbuckled. “Do you think we kind of overdid it? I told you to wear something with an elastic waist,” Tameeka gently chastised. “But you gotta love the buffet. Ain't nothing else like it.” Tameeka giggled and settled back into the pleather seats. If she had a belt buckle to loosen, she would. Life was good.

Tyrell was the first man she'd dated who didn't grimace at the amount of food she ate. Which meant she didn't have to order rabbit food every time they went out for dinner, then gorge herself when she got home. With Tyrell she got to be herself. She glanced around their table and her lips turned up into a smile. The day had been wonderful. They went to a play, strolled through downtown and now dinner. He's a good man, she thought happily.

She peeked over at him and found him peering intently at something across the restaurant; her eyes followed his to a much smaller girl who looked like a strong wind would break her in half. She was wearing a pair of jeans that rode low on her hips and a cropped sweater that showed off her flat stomach. “Is that what you want?” Tameeka hissed, her good mood evaporating.

Tyrell sighed and turned to Tameeka. “No. I was checking out her hair. I think that style would look good on you,” he answered.

“Yeah right,” Tameeka sneered. “I bet you were thinking that her
ass
would probably look good on me.”

“Come on now, I didn't say anything close to that. What's wrong with you?” he asked, genuinely concerned, but a familiar lump of dread was forming in the pit of his stomach.

“Nothing's wrong,” she lied, then crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Why don't you admit that you find her attractive…there isn't anything wrong with that. She's an attractive young lady and it's only natural to look—”

“Okay, okay, she's attractive,” Tyrell admitted, his gut tightening.

“I
knew
it. You want her!” Tameeka spat and narrowed her eyes to slits. Tyrell grimaced. He knew what was coming and he prepared himself for Hurricane Tameeka. “And do you know how I know that you want her? Because you can't keep your fucking eyes on me,” Tameeka shrieked.

Tyrell glanced nervously around and saw people at the nearby tables looking at them and pointing. Furious, he stood up. It was the same shit every time they went out and he was tired of it. “It's time to go. Let's go,” he barked when Tameeka didn't move. He buckled his belt, then tossed two twenties on the table.

“I haven't had my dessert yet. I wanted the cherry cheesecake. You know that's my favorite,” Tameeka whined, feeling embarrassed over her behavior. With Tyrell glaring down at her, she suddenly felt five years old.

“We can stop by Publix. Come on,” he said as he reached over and tugged at her hand.

“Don't want no grocery store dessert,” Tameeka muttered. “I want
that
cheesecake,” she said, and her eyes watered as she and Tyrell passed the dessert bar and went out to his truck. Their ride home was as silent as a virgin teenager's bedroom on prom night.

“I'm sorry,” a contrite Tameeka said, and Tyrell grunted in response. They were inside Tameeka's apartment sitting on the couch. “I am, baby, I'm so sorry. I can't help it. A part of me knows that you care about me, but the other part—let's call her Crazy Tameeka—doesn't get it.” She peeked over at him; he was watching TV. “And that's who you saw tonight.”

“And the other night…and the other,” Tyrell said. “You need to squash the attitude, Meek. You're a
big
girl. I know it, you know it, hell, anybody who looks at you knows it. But I love it. I love your curves, I love your full face, and I love how you jiggle when you walk.”

“But how come every time we go out you're always looking?” Tameeka asked in a voice that was bordering on whiney.

“First of all, it's not
every time
we go out. And secondly, I'm a man, baby. A man's gonna look, that's
just
what we do. But it's nothing to get your panties all tangled up about. All I'm doing is looking. Now I don't say anything when I see your eyes wandering a little. Nu-uh, don't even try to protest,” he said as Tameeka began shaking her head. “You don't do it often, but I've seen you looking. But it's all good. I know what's up.”

“Just promise me that you won't do it. It makes me feel ugly,” she pouted.

“Meek,” Tyrell pleaded. “That's stupid. How am I supposed to stop looking at people? You might as well make me wear a blindfold whenever we go out.”

“Well, Wal-Mart has some cute ones,” she joked. Then she clamped her mouth shut when she saw the expression on Tyrell's face.

“I won't be wearing a blindfold,” he said between clenched teeth. Then he loosened his jaw to say, “Meek, trust me. Yes, I look. But, baby, the only time you need to worry is when I start touching.”

1. The seats are made of some type of slippery space age plastic
   
2. It's way too crowded
   
3. There's no privacy
   
4. Everybody looks like they should be in jail
   
5. It's a rolling loony bin on wheels
   

S
tacie trudged down the street to the bus stop, her face set in a scowl. It was 6:30 in the morning and she had to catch the bus. “Where's the bus stop?” She had driven down this street a gazillion times, but she had never noticed the bus stops. Feeling like she was on a scavenger hunt, she trudged on.

She glanced enviously at the drivers going past. They were all wearing the same “Aw shit! I gotta go to work” look. “At least y'all got a damn car,” she muttered, then glanced down at her watch. “I'll have hell to pay if I'm late again.” She picked up her pace. “Damn, Lexie,” she grumbled. “Why couldn't you have lasted until I got a chance to go to the bank?”

It happened last night, in the middle of rush hour, on Peachtree Street. The luxury car gave out and had to be towed away like a fifteen-year-old hoopty.

Stacie limped to the bus shelter and scooted into the corner. Although it was early morning, the shelter was packed. There was a young girl, who couldn't have been more than seventeen years old, with two kids, a toddler and a newborn. They were hers, anybody could see that they were exact replicas of their mommy; she'd spat them out like they were watermelon seeds. Her face was weary and worn, but it lit up whenever she looked at her children.

Next to her was a lady in her late twenties, hunched over the
Atlanta Business Chronicle
. Stacie eyed the woman's suit `a la Target. She looked down at the Kenneth Cole suit she had gotten on sale at Nordstrom's. She smiled smugly, but quickly turned sad, almost wistful. If she hadn't spent so much money on crap, she wouldn't be in this situation now.

Stuck in a corner away from everybody else was a black man. Stacie knew he was gay. Not because he met all the clichés—impeccably dressed, neatly groomed, not a hair out of place, and his cologne smelled like something imported from London. It was the way he looked at her. His eyes flicked over her as if she was a worm that slithered out of the ground. Stacie gave him the same empty stare, then tore her eyes away to peer anxiously down the street, frowning when she didn't see the bus's headlights. Stacie was still peering down the street when a dot appeared on the horizon.

She saw the shopping cart first. It was a regular cart, but it looked like a junkyard on wheels. It was heaped high with moldy newspapers, dirty clothes, shoes and a bunch of other stuff that she didn't dare try to identify. Stacie couldn't take her eyes off the cart as it slowly eased past her, then suddenly stopped.

The cart was being pushed by Hattie, or as she was affectionately known on the streets, Mad Old Hatter. Hattie looked like she had danced with the devil on more than one occasion. Her age was unclear. Somewhere between forty or seventy would've been Stacie's guess. Wrinkles were cut into her face, crisscrossing through it like little roads. Stacie estimated that her hair hadn't seen a comb in years; it was au natural and held back by a scrap of material that looked like it was ripped from one of her rags.

Fascinated, Stacie's gaze alternated between Hattie's face and her cart; her desire for the bus momentarily forgotten. Hattie had protectively clutched against her chest a bundle the size of two footballs and wrapped in a filthy baby's blanket. Hattie held onto it as if it were gold. Every once in a while, she peered down at it and gave it a toothless smile. Stacie noticed the mass of curly black hair peeking out.

Hattie caught Stacie staring at her and chuckled to herself. Her laugh was filled with amusement and peppered with insanity. She gestured to Stacie, who hesitated for a second before leaving the shelter and stepping over to her. “This is my baby,” Hattie croaked, and she sounded as if her throat was dry, like she didn't use words often enough to lubricate it.

Stacie's eyebrows shot up. “You have a baby?” she asked, amazed, and Hattie nodded. Stacie gestured toward the streets. “And you're living…” embarrassed, she bit back the rest of her words.

Stacie forced a smile as she slowly pulled back the blanket and exposed more of the curly black hair and a little forehead. “I bet you have a cutie,” Stacie confidently said, as though she was an expert on such matters. “Look at all your hair. Didcha get your mommy's hair?” Stacie cooed, as she pulled the tattered blanket back.

Stacie's eyes widened to the size of frying pans and her mouth gaped open, but nothing came out. Her voice was stuck at the back of her throat, but it quickly loosened and she let out a blood-curdling yell. The baby's head had fallen off and Old Mad Hatter let out another maniacal laugh. Hattie's baby was nothing more than a doll's head stuck on a sawed-off broomstick. Just then the bus pulled up.

“This is why I don't like taking the bus,” Stacie muttered, and on shaky legs slowly backed away, keeping her eyes on Hattie. “Crazy lady!” Hattie had scooped up the doll's head and was busily trying to reattach it to the stick.

Stacie pushed her way through the crowd, sprinted up the stairs and onto the bus, then immediately skidded to a stop. She stopped so fast that she almost toppled over. Him!

Jackson was taking a well-earned sip of his coffee when Stacie bounded up the stairs. Her! He choked.

By now Stacie was standing in front of him, breathing heavily, and her chest was moving up and down. Jackson couldn't take his eyes off her chest and Stacie couldn't take her eyes off the way his shirt fit tightly over his chest and hugged his biceps.

“What's going on up there?” a man waiting on the sidewalk yelled, breaking their trance. “We have places to be.”

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Stacie apologized, flustered. Normally she would've had a funky comeback, but seeing Jackson threw her off. Damn, he looks good. Images of their lovemaking session flashed in her mind and she could feel his lips and his tongue dancing over her body. The blood rushed to her face and she bowed her head to hide the flush.

She reached down into her purse and fished around for some change. The only things she came out with were two nickels, some pennies, a lipstick sample, and a bunch of lint. She could hear groans and muttering from the people behind her. Her billfold was on the bottom of her purse. She grabbed it and pulled out a five-dollar bill. “Does anybody have change for a five?” she asked in a hopeful voice, then added ammunition with her high-wattage smile. All she received was blank stares from the women and a couple of winks from the men. “Anybody?” she squeaked.

“Come on! We've got to get to work!” a lady shouted from the back of the bus.

“Sit down!” Jackson instructed, pointing to an empty seat.

“But—”

“Sit! You're blocking the door.”

Stacie slid into the seat and turned to look out the window. Hattie was still standing on the sidewalk tucking her makeshift baby into her cart. The bus pulled away from the curb and Stacie continued to look at Hattie until she became a dot. Even though she hadn't set foot in a church in years, Stacie got an overwhelming urge to talk to God.

“Heavenly Father, I know that I don't talk to you unless I need something and this time it's no different. I need your help, but it's not for me, at least not all of it. Can you please make sure that the homeless lady finds a safe place to sleep and eat. Please take care of her baby, I'm sure she has one…somewhere. Amen,” Stacie murmured, then lifted her head. Her eyes were glassy, but her soul soared.

From his mirror, Jackson watched as Stacie closed her eyes and moved her lips in prayer. His eyes widened in surprise before he returned his attention back to the road. So the princess got a little religion in her, he mused. He glanced at her again, only to find her looking at him; their eyes locked, then he motioned to her.

“Stand right there,” Jackson instructed, and pointed to a pole behind him. “So why is the princess taking the bus? I thought it was beneath you?”

Stacie jumped as though she had been caught peeking. She had angled her head so that she could study his back. Every movement he made caused his muscles to ripple. “My car broke down,” she answered absentmindedly as her gaze moved down to his hands; she remembered how they felt on her body. She nervously cleared her throat. “Hey, I'm sorry about running out on you.”

Jackson shrugged. “It happens.”

She glanced at his reflection and their eyes momentarily locked and his lips turned into a knowing smile. A shiver of excitement shot through Stacie.

“I know,” he drawled. “I want a replay too.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Stacie denied.

“Yeah you do,” Jackson said, and gestured to her. Stacie brought her ear within a breath of his mouth. “Look down,” he demanded, glancing at his lap. Stacie followed his gaze and her mouth went dry. His desire was evident. “You're not going to let this go to waste, are you?”

Stacie ran her tongue over her lips. “No…I'm not a wasteful person.”

“No you're not, you took all of my energy that night and even recycled it.” Jackson chuckled and Stacie flushed. “I want you,” Jackson said. “Touch it,” he demanded as he expertly navigated the bus through his route.

“I can't,” Stacie said. “Your passengers will see.”

“They're not even paying attention to us. Just look.”

Stacie slowly turned around and casually looked over the passengers. Jackson was right; they were either reading something, talking, or staring out the window. “As soon as I do it somebody will look up and catch me.”

“It's not like I'm gonna whip it out, I just want you to stroke it. Touch me like you did last time,” he asked, then winked and her pulsed raced.

Stacie peeked over her shoulder, then leaned even closer to Jackson. She discreetly dropped her hand in his lap, then let out a low moan; he was so hot. Her hand breezed over his pants and he lifted his hips a hair for contact. Using two fingers, Stacie firmly stroked the length of his shaft until it throbbed. She gently caressed his penis and outlined the head with her fingertip.

“See how badly I want to be inside you,” Jackson said, groaning softly.

“Make it bounce for me,” Stacie breathed.

Stacie's stop zoomed up just as Jackson softly nipped her ear. “Oh baby, we're gonna have some fun,” he promised before she rushed off the bus and into her office building.