Darius Jones (14 page)

I
t was nine o'clock at night.

I'd sat next to my wife for six straight hours holding her hand off and on. God had answered my prayers. He'd given me a chance to remarry my wife. After my next commitment at the altar before God, I was never going to let another woman suck my dick.

I whispered to my wife, “Ladycat?”

“Yes.”

“I would die for you.” I meant that. Her accident was my fault. We should've eaten our food at the restaurant. I shouldn't have let the conversation with my mom interrupt our dinner that evening at BOA's. Or I could've reproposed to my wife at home, had our chef prepare an intimate dinner for us on my lawn under the moonlight. Or we could've gone out on our yacht for a sunset cruise. Or I could've driven that day.

She shook her head. “No. Don't say that.”

She couldn't speak too many words at once but I was serious and had to let her know. “I love you so much. I want you to plan the biggest wedding in America's history.”

“My ring,” she whispered. “I want my ring.”

I had taken the teal bag with all of my wife's belongings home. I was concerned with her health. I hadn't checked for the rings but was sure they were in the bag. “Your rings are at home.”

She smiled softly. “I can't wait to put them back on. I feel naked without…” Her words trailed off.

The time had come to let my wife know. “Now that you're doing better, I'm going to head out in the morning and catch the game in Cleveland, then I'll be back when they discharge you.”

Her eyes drooped. I could tell she didn't want me to go as she said, “I understand.”

Damn, Darius, you forgot again.
Ashlee cursing me for not telling her DJ was in an accident reminded me I hadn't called Fancy's mother Caroline. I didn't think my mother had contacted Caroline either. Caroline had to have seen the news or heard from her friends but I hadn't heard from her.
Lord, please don't let anything have happened to my wife's mom. I'd die for sure.

I pulled out my iPhone. “Baby, forgive me. I need to call Caroline.”

Fancy smiled. “Put that thing away. My mom called the hospital. She'll be here in the morning. Where's Jada?” Ladycat asked.

I shook my head, tucked my phone in its holder. In addition to being banned from the hospital, my mom had too much madness in her life. I didn't tell my wife about the custody hearing but that was the real reason I had to go. Otherwise, I would've stayed with her.

“And how's DJ?”

“Get some rest. I love you, Ladycat.” I kissed my wife.

Her hair was slightly tangled from moving about on the cotton pillowcase. She was beautiful with no makeup. The bandage was gone. The oxygen machine, gone. The IV was still taped to her arm.

She whispered, “Love you too. Kiss DJ for me. Can't wait to see him.”

It was hard walking out of the room but I had to stretch my legs. I left Cedars. Had to have a drink. Didn't want to drink alone. En route to my house, I decided to see what was up at the Playhouse on Hollywood Boulevard. That was my kind of upscale place. Never know, might run into Kobe or B. Shaw. Damn, I wasn't even sure who they were playing tomorrow night. I'd better not have too many drinks. I sure knew who I was facing off with tomorrow if I decided to go to Cleveland. The one player trying to snatch my MVP. I was torn. Wanted to say, “Fuck Ashlee,” not worry about the custody hearing in D.C. and go to Cleveland. Ashlee might be playing games. There might not be a hearing at all. I'd call the courthouse in the morning.

I stepped in the spot. The music was thumpin'. An exotic dancer was suspended above the dance floor wrapping and winding her scantily dressed body with pink ribbons. She spread her legs east and west. When I tilted my head backward, her pussy was damn near in my mouth. Would've stuck out my tongue for fun but I'd never tasted another woman's pussy since I'd married Fancy.

Two females danced inside the oval-shaped cage elevated above the bar. I wasn't going to be here long, didn't bother jogging upstairs to see what was jumping off in VIP. Chick dipped another full split on me.

Shake that shit off, man.
Too late.

Slugger protested. There was an uprising in my slacks. Damn. Didn't help that bangin' bodies with bodacious booties were jam-packed wall to wall. “Welcome to Hollywood. Where fantasies become reality.” I knew all too well about these buxom beauties.

A shortie with breast implants that would shame Wendy Williams, a waist the size of Kim Kardashian's, and butt that would make the women in Brazil say, “Damn!” thrust her tits into my dick, then greeted my dick.

“Hi, Darius. What are you doing here all alone? Aren't you supposed to be in Cleveland? Oh, what do you feed this thing?” she asked, brushing her breasts back and forth over my rock hard shaft.

I had to break a smile when she finally looked up at me. Found space in the crowd to step back. Turned away. Made my way to the bar. Almost forgot how bold these LA women were. “I'll have a double Herradura Suprema.”

“Ah, yes.” The bartender kissed his fingertips. “The best.”

“Make that two doubles, on me,” Shortie said.

I handed the bartender my credit card. She knew I'd pay for the drinks. I doubted she knew the cost for the two doubles was $200.00. Looking at her titties bouncing to the music, she was the perfect height for a standing ovation.

I signed the tab, included a forty-dollar tip, tapped my glass to hers, then said, “Enjoy.” I turned away, decided to check out the VIP section. Security let me in right away.

“Hey, Darius. Shouldn't you be in Cleveland? Can I get an autograph?” He was a big dude up top with stunt legs.

Didn't anybody in LA watch the news? Didn't they know my wife was in an accident? Or did they not care? “No problem,” I said, heading for the seat in the corner. Giving him an autograph led to signing ten more before I could chill away from the VIP crowd.

I sniffed my tequila. Inhaled the agave, dry wood, vanilla, cinnamon, rose petal aroma. “Ahh.” Amazing how the scents didn't overlap. I closed my eyes, swirled the vanilla, citrus, rose petal, rich amber, sweet cocoa in my mouth, then swallowed. “Um, um, um. This is the best.”

“I'm the best too. Mind if I join you?”

Damn, who was that?
I opened my eyes and saw the most amazing set of brown sugar legs standing before me. I mean she was so tall I could clearly see her waxed pussy and protruding clit. I wanted to finger fuck her and see if her juices smelled better than my drink. I hate to rush a great drink.

I downed my Suprema, placed my glass on the table, and got the fuck up outta the Playhouse.

I
had to go left onto Saratoga.

I took the first right on Iberville. My steps converted into a light jog. It was 11:51
P.M
. I'd made it to what she called the underpass. Interstate 10 was above my head. Below the freeway were parked cars. I'd heard the Indians gathered here during Mardi Gras for their own festive historical celebration. I heard voices resonating from across the street, sounded like men having conversations, but I couldn't see faces.

I mumbled as I reread my text message. The northeast corner of cemetery block number two. Walk three raised graves to the west, face southeast, then look down into the grave that is three feet high. I'll be waiting.

What kind of madness was this? I paced back and forth in darkness using my cell phone for light. I wasn't sure if I'd found the right open grave. Process of elimination, I waited beside the grave that appeared three feet high but I wasn't about to get in unless I was positive this was the right grave.

A woman's voice said, “Bambi, get in. I don't have all night.”

My legs trembled as I sat on the edge. I swung my legs over, put my feet in, kept my purse strapped to my shoulder. The tomb reminded me of the California mud baths except there was no mud and I was not here to get pampered. I felt dry dirt beneath my soles. That was good. I prayed I wasn't going to sink below the earth. Facing her, I squatted inside the open grave. My ass touched the ground, my back leaned against the cement wall.

“That's fine. Do you have the bag with Darius's loc?” she asked, opening her palms. She lit several candles.

Her face was smeared with a black shiny paste. Eyes, dark and deep like mine. Lips, painted white and wide like the warriors that paraded in Zulu. Locs, down to her waist. Cowrie shells dangled from her ears, hung around her neck, and decorated her wrists and ankles.

“Yeah, I have it.” My voice was faint and I was on the verge of fainting.

“Give it to me.” She sounded exactly like and reminded me of Diahann Carroll when she played Elzora in
Eve's Bayou
. She was quiet for a moment. She opened the bag, then said, “Ah, I see you have one loc. Very good. And you're sure it's his?”

“Positive.”

“We're safe here. No demons will bother us,” she said, lighting a large white candle. “Sit facing me. Fold your legs like a chicken wing.”

I prayed she wasn't going to pull out a dead chicken, reenact Lisa Bonet's scene in
Angel Heart,
and splatter chicken blood on me. I'd pepper-spray, then zap any live or dead sacrificial animal with my Taser.

“That won't be necessary,” she said. “Place the back of your hands on your thighs, open your palms, and close your eyes. Now, take three deep breaths with me.”

With the first breath, I began to relax. The second one, I went into a meditative state. By the third breath, the background noise faded. I only heard her voice.

She chanted, “Goddess Aphrodite. I summon you on this full moon. Please, come.” She was quiet for a moment.

“Thank you, oh goddess, for coming. Bambi is in need of your loving favor. She comes today in search of love. Not just any love. Bambi has brought the loc of her desired lover, Darius Jones. I ask your special favor that you bond Darius Jones with Bambi in a way that he will only have eyes for her.”

My left eye opened. I didn't see any goddess. Was this chick scamming me?

“Your energy is interrupting my connection. Be quiet.” She became quiet again. She picked up a scalpel. “Lean your head forward, my child.”

Oh, hell, no.

“I cannot continue if you refuse to cooperate.”

Reluctantly, I leaned my head toward her. She massaged her fingers below my net stocking cap down to my scalp. “What on earth is all of this? I need a few strands of your hair. Yours.”

Didn't trust her precision by candlelight. I took the scalpel, made a slit at the base of my full lace stocking cap, sliced the tip of a braid from the middle cornrow, handed it to her.

She sprinkled our hair with dust, then rolled our hair together beneath her palm like she was shaping a breadstick. “I sure hope that's not ashes from a dead person,” I whispered. She dug a hole between us and buried our hair in the grave's dirt. She dipped her fingers into a bowl, sprinkled liquid on top. Smelled like charcoal. “Please don't set me on fire,” I pleaded.

She hissed, “Will you be quiet? I can't hear myself think.” She breathed in and out. “From this day forth, your love for Darius will grow.”

I interrupted her. “Hold up. Wait. Wait. What do you mean my love for Darius will grow? I need for him to love me.”

She hissed again, “You are too impatient. You are selfish. And you have a very dark side. You should be grateful I'm doing this. Do not think I do not see what you did to your parents. In order for Darius's love to flourish for you, you must first pray for their forgiveness, then you must do something nice for someone. Your parents do not know it was you who killed them but I do.”

I thought, after what they'd done to me, my parents deserved to die. I had not come here for this bullshit.

The two-headed lady stared into my eyes. The candlelight illuminated her face. “Then you can leave now.”

Damn, how did she do that shit and who did she think she was?

She stared at me. Her silence penetrated me. “Stop wasting my time.” She motioned to blow out the candle.

“I'm sorry. I will do a good deed.”

“You must do a good deed or your love spell will not work.” She paused, then continued, “Maintain focus. Meditate. Every day you must think good thoughts of Darius. When the time is right, he'll come to you.”

“What if I have bad thoughts about his wife?”

“You must be careful,” she warned. “For the mind, at times, resides in another world. When you dream, you're having an outer body experience. You're in the afterlife with angels and demons. That's how you have nightmares and sometimes can't move or feel like you are suffocating. When you dream you attach the faces of the living to humans and animals that are dead. That is why you cannot kill a person in your dreams and they cannot kill you.”

The candle flickered. She was right. I was impatient. Was she alive or dead? All I knew was that I was anxious to be with Darius. I wondered what he was doing. Wondered how much longer I had to sit here. Wondered how I could speed up the process.

She paused. When I stopped thinking, she continued talking. “And sometimes you have dreams with happy endings, if you know what I mean. Daydreams are not in the afterlife. However, depending on how deep you go into a dream, you may,” she clapped, then said, “not come out. You'll become schizophrenic. I have granted you your desire. You are now connected to Darius. To answer your earlier question, both.”

“What question?”

She shook her head. “If you have problems remembering, you are going to have a hard time being with Darius.”

“Can the spell be broken? Can anyone keep me from my Darius?”

“Those are two separate but very good questions, my dear. Yes, the spell can be broken but I cannot break it,” she warned.

This situation had become more complicated than I'd envisioned. “Then who can?”

“He can. You must never let him cut off his locs. Your spell is controlled by his hair.” She patted the spot where she'd buried our hair.

“Anything else?”

“There is one woman standing in your way. She can block your connection. Even I cannot remove her. She has spiritual powers. She can't control your mind but she can read you. Your advantage is, she doesn't know she possesses the gift. Stay away from her. If you get too close to her, you will encounter major problems.”

Great, another layer of complication. “Who is she? What does she look like?”

“That I cannot tell you.”

“I thought you were supposed to know all the answers.”

“I said I cannot tell you. I did not say I do not know. Your time is up and I must go tend to the leftover sinners on Bourbon Street,” she said.

As the sunshine cloaked the graveyard's ground, I tried but could no longer see the two-headed lady's black smeared face or wide white lips. “Please, don't go. I've changed my—”

Before I could ask her to cancel my love spell, she vanished. Her voice echoed, “Remember everything I've told you. Be mindful of your thoughts, Bambi Bartholomew.”

“Oh, my God! Come back!” I yelled. “Come back!” Frantically, I felt my hands, my finger.

My engagement ring was gone.