Flip Side of the Game (12 page)

“Oh, you think you got a move?” DeAndre said as the disc jockey dropped “New York City Girl” over A Taste of Honey's bass guitar. The shit was on and poppin'!

DeAndre grabbed Shannon and they broke out into the Hustle. With all of the music and dancing, nobody noticed when Roger came in and back-slapped me! I fell to the floor before anybody noticed that I was bleeding out the side of my mouth.

“What, you break dancing?” DeAndre asked as he slapped his hand on the floor to do the spin. Then he realized that it wasn't a break dancing contest he was in.

Before I could reclaim my balance, Shannon and DeAndre jumped Roger, and Rosa went in her purse, screaming, “Hold up! I got a knife!”

Roger managed to muscle himself away from Shannon. He pulled out his gun and said, “Back the fuck up!” He came toward me.

The last conversation that I had with Roger raced through my mind as he ran toward me. I had called him a bastard, a cheat, worse than dog shit! And I told him that if I could somehow fix him for the pain that he has probably caused his wife and his children over the years, then I would sock it to 'im! He laughed, but the laughter was cold.

“What the fuck you say the other night, bitch?” Roger said, pointing the gun in my face. “I been tastin' this moment. I been wantin' to fuck yo' ass up! I been breathin' for this,” Roger said, now pointing the gun to my head. “Say it, bitch! Say it to my face! I got a good mind to fuckin' kill you! All the time that I have wasted on your silly-ass! You'se a dumb bitch! All the effortless nights!”

“Roger, baby,” I said, with my voice trembling, “why are you doing this? How can you love me and want to kill me? Please don't do this.”

“Baby, please? Now I get a kind word 'cause you're begging for your life. Now you show me some type of affection because I have a gun to your head? You made a fool out of me! You used and played me, and now my wife is gone! Everything that I have had for the last thirty-one years has ended all because I fell in love with you.”

My body started to tremble as I said, “I'm so sorry, Roger, but don't kill me, please.”

“Kill you?” he said. “Why shouldn't I kill you? Then we would be even.”

“What did I do that was so bad?” I cried.

“Shut the fuck up! All I did was try and love you. Anything you needed, I gave it to you! And what did you do? You left me for another nigga. No good-bye, nothing. Do you know how many nights I sat outside your house and watched you carry on with this mu'fucka, rubbing the shit in my face? If I killed your ass, it would serve you fuckin' right.”

“Roger, please.”

“Roger, please? Vera,” he said, shaking his head, “as much as I wanna squeeze the trigger, I can't. I just wanted you to feel at least some of the pain that I feel. I just wanted you to tremble and to ache, so that you could feel what you've done to me!”

Just then Taj and Rowanda walked in together, and I heard Taj telling her, “Just try, Rowanda. She's worth it.”

Roger took the gun from my head and quickly brushed past Taj as he left, almost knocking him to the floor.

“What the fuck?” Taj said, looking around. “Vera, what the hell just happened here?”

“Nothing. I'm fine,” I said, still shaking.

“He lucky he left when he did!” DeAndre said, looking toward the door. “'Cause in two more minutes, I was gonna drop-kick his ass! Vera, I'm telling you, take it from me, leave that nigga alone! Please. Roger is crazy.”

“Leave him alone? Roger is crazy?” Taj said, more to himself than to me. “That was Roger?” he said, pointing over his shoulder. “That was Roger? The same mu'fucka that I told you to leave alone. The same nigga I just spoke to you about this morning? You were still fuckin' with him? Answer me!” Taj stared me in the face. “Don't fuckin' lie either. I swear to God, if you lie to me, I'ma hurt you!”

“No,” I cried, “it wasn't like that. Nothing happened. I told him that I–I–” I stuttered, with tears falling from my eyes and sliding between my lips. “I was confused and—”

“Confused?” Taj said, cutting me off. His voice started to tremble. “You weren't fuckin' confused! I kept telling you to stop trying dumb shit, and you didn't listen! I been here, Vera. Me, Taj. I been the one holding, loving, listening, and encouraging you. Being strong for you, being a man for you, and you been fuckin' playin' me? I kept talking to you, and I told you to stop playing with love, because love would turn around and beat yo' ass!

“You are so damn stupid! You act like you fuckin' crazy, always doing a bunch of dumb shit! I am so sick of you and this bullshit. I'm done. This is over! Stay the fuck out of my life!”

Taj turned away from me and walked toward the door. He slammed the door so hard that the glass fell out and shattered all over the floor. I screamed his name for him to come back, but he didn't. All I could hear was the whistle of the wind as it slipped into the crack while the automatic locks clicked.

Heartbreak is the worst son of a bitch that you could ever meet. The feel of the heart cracking; the aching of the voice when you wanna say something but can't because your words get lost in the tear-filled memory of how your heart became broken in the first place; the desire to laugh, but having to keep it buried because you don't know if you may holler in joy or bellow out in pain, is some deep shit. Deep enough to keep my ass laying in the bed, dripping tears, holding my chest, and making sure that the crack from the inside doesn't seep all the way through.

I lay in the bed for three days. I hadn't answered the phone, I hadn't gone into the shop, hadn't even eaten. All I did was cry and think, think and cry. I would think about how not to cry, think about why I shouldn't cry, and then think about what else there was to do but cry.

All my life I had contemplated life and how to live it, and I thought that going full speed ahead, hustlin' niggas, playin' married men, while ducking and dodging my heart, was the way to get by. It was the way to get through, because then, I could deal with hating my mother and despising my father. I could feel safe knowing that I had never given my love away to anybody that couldn't take care of it, like Rowanda and Larry, but Taj was different. I needed him, I loved him, and I was not afraid anymore to let the world know that I was so in love with this man that I didn't even know how to describe what I was feeling inside. The separation was killing me.

The first day I decided to get out of bed and check the mail, it rained. The rain beat against the windowpane and ran down the glass like lost souls looking for an end. I walked back into the foyer and into the kitchen, and when I threw the mail on the center island, it slid on the floor and I left it there.

I had dialed Taj's phone number a hundred times over and over again, only to hang up before the first ring or before I pressed the last number. I kept looking at his picture and running my fingers across the image, as if I could taste him. I could still feel his touch melting into my skin, and I could still remember the look on his face when he said, “It's over!”

Tears welled up in my throat and fell from the corners of my eyes. I placed my head down on my kitchen island and cried into the fold of my arm.

“That mu'fucka is a piece of work, ain't he?” Shannon said, scaring me. I jumped up and wiped my eyes.

“How did you get in here? And what mu'fucka?”

“I have a key, remember? And the mu'fucka is better known as love. That nigga is a bitch, ain't he? And he's selfish. He just moves right in, takes up residence, and never once does he get your permission. And if you don't recognize his ass when he arrives, you damn sure know the nigga by the time he leaves.”

“Amen to that,” I said, wiping my eyes, which were now burning from holding back tears. Just then I noticed that Shannon had her Louie V. duffle bag and her makeup case.

“What, are you moving in?” I asked.

“Yep, for now anyway. It was decided over a conference call.”

“A conference call?”

“Yes, one of our get-'im-girl sessions. Me, Angie, and Lee unanimously agreed that I was the only one who could tolerate your mouth long enough to spend long and extended periods of time with you. Plus,” she said, dropping her bags in the middle of the floor and then opening the refrigerator and taking out a pack of chicken, “I need my hair done, and you're my hairstylist.”

I shot her ass a look.

“Don't be looking at me like that,” she said, frowning up her face. “Plus, we need to talk.”

“About what?” I said.

“About you and how you got to slow your ass down before you be out in the cold. I don't know about you, but the next time I get pregnant, not only am I keeping my baby, but the man that I'm pregnant by will be my husband. Furthermore, you my girl and all, but when I get my husband, I won't be hanging around no horny-ass single women. You got to be fat and frilly.”

I started laughing. “You so stupid. Fat and frilly? Never that. But voluptuous? Now, that's more like it. Plus, I ain't the one you have to watch out for. You better look out for Angie's sneaky-ass, or Lee. Yeah, Lee, that'll be the one to getcha.”

Shannon laughed. “I'll fuck her ass up, but don't be changing the subject. Lee is not the issue. Lee's shit has passed, now it's your turn. We'll talk. Just give me a few minutes to freshen up.”

“Freshen up?” I said. “You just walked in the door.”

“For your information,” she said with a smirk, “I had some dick before I came over here—and not the shit that you buy at the nasty-girl store. I had some fresh dick. Okay? So, like I said, give me a minute. I need to freshen up.”

I couldn't help but laugh.

“But in the meantime, here,” Shannon said, handing me the pack of chicken and fresh vegetables. “I'm hungry. Cook me something to eat while I shower and change my clothes.”

“Are you serious? Cook? And eat? I don't have an appetite.”

“Well, goddamn! You real fucked up. Now, Vera, tell me, ain't it somethin' when the script flip and you on the outside looking in? Begging and pleading for love to come back? Girl, please. Love's ass know he da bomb!” Then she smiled and went up the stairs.

I grilled the chicken and steamed the vegetables. For a little pizza, I sprinkled some curry in the vegetables and steamed some butterfly shrimp as a topping. I toasted a roll of French garlic bread, and when I was done, what I had in front of me was Taj's favorite meal. And then, suddenly it was as if an internal thunderstorm had occurred and lightning began to strike. I broke down and cried.

Shannon came downstairs dressed in olive green silk pajamas. “Come here, girl,” she said, holding her arms out. “You got to stop acting like this. Crying is not going to bring him back.”

I placed my head on her shoulder and said, “I didn't know that I could love him like this. He was supposed to be a fling, that's it. I was never supposed to fall in love.”

“Vera,” Shannon said, “let's sit down, 'cause I need to eat while we talk.”

She fixed our plates, and we sat at the kitchen table. “Girlfriend, love is full time and sometimes overtime, but it is never, ever part time. You cannot turn it on and off when you're not in the mood.”

“But I was starting to be in the mood.”

“Girl, please. Yo' ass was already there. Listen, I understand that you have your issues with Rowanda, but it's like that shit effects everything that you do. Deal with that shit. Deal with Rowanda. That's your mother and she's not going anywhere. If she has hurt you and you want to know why she left, why she couldn't be there for you, why she couldn't be your mother, and how come she had to always get high. If that's what you want to know, then ask. Put it out there and then leave it.”

“It's not just Rowanda,” I said, making an effort to eat a piece of shrimp.

“What else is it? Your father, Larry Turner? Girl, write his ass a letter and then burn it up. But before you burn it, step to his ass and tell him how you feel. Tell Larry that you're pissed the fuck off that he was never your father. Tell his ass that you can't seem to settle with love because you keep wrestling with him and Rowanda. Keep a journal, write a letter, do something, and then take a pen and cuss their asses out! 'Cause this here, the shit you're doing to yourself, has to end, because Taj is not going to wait forever.”

“Obviously,” I said. “He's not here.”

“He's not here,” Shannon said, “because you fucked up, plain and simple.”

“But what if I go and he doesn't want to be bothered with me? You heard him when he said it's over. Fuck that. I'm not the type to be beggin' no man.”

“Beggin'? What the fuck? Drop that false-ass pride and go get that nigga. You all up in here crying and shit, can't eat, can't sleep, don't know whether you comin' or going. Chile, spare me. This is Shannon you're talking to, and I know yo' ass like a book. That man loves you, probably more than you love yourself, and nothing is worth losing a good man, especially not yo' fake-ass pride.”

“Shannon, please.”

“Shannon, please? Do you know how hard it is to find a good brotha that's not gay, incarcerated, on the down low, married, dead, or confused? Girlfriend, please. That's exactly why, when I went through my shit with Quincy, I checked myself, learned from my mistakes, and moved on. Now, my man is at home watching TV, waiting on me, and as long as he's good to me, has good credit and a job, then we can have something. So, needless to say, I got mine. Now you got to get yours.”

“Shannon,” I said, as if I were exhausted, “I am so confused with this shit. It's like, how can I love this man and how can this man love me, knowing that my mother is a fuckin' drug addict? How is he so in love with me when I can't even deal with my past?”

“It's your past, Vera. It's not your future. And your mother is on drugs, not you. Stop dealing with her drug habit. Deal with yourself. You're taking too much responsibility for her. Let some of that shit go, and go get that man. I'm telling you, the clean up woman gonna snatch him up, and you will be out in the cold.”

“And what if he doesn't want to be bothered?”

“That's a chance you have to take, but I doubt it. And guess what? If he doesn't want to be bothered, then you take your heartache and step. Then, all that could mean is he wasn't supposed to be your man. He was supposed to be your lesson, and the next time you get a good man, you'll know how to treat him. But from the way I see it, if you play your cards right, you and Taj should be fuckin' by this time tomorrow night.”

I chuckled slightly, looked at her, and said, “Well, I'll think about it.”

“That's on you,” she said, stuffing a piece of shrimp in her mouth. “Like I said, my man laying in the bed waiting on me.”

I bit the inside of my lip and held back as many tears as I could. Then I got up, ran upstairs, and went into the bathroom and hopped in the shower. I got dressed in my low rise J-Lo jeans with the black leather patches on the front and the faded denim on the back. I slipped on my black leather tube top, my Jimmy Choos, and was fierce on my way out the door.

“Where are you going?” Shannon asked as I came down the stairs.

“I'm going to get my man,” I said.

“That's what's up!” She smiled.