Read He's Just A Friend Online
Authors: Mary B. Morrison
He's Just A Friend (27 page)
“But, I can exâ”
“Explain what! Explain why I'm paying you thirty-five dollars an hour to waste my electricity!” The back of his hand slapped into his opposite palm repeatedly as he continued. “Occupy my space! Drink my coffee! Eat my bagels! And play games on my computer!” Darius threw his hands in the air then said, “That doesn't require an explanation. The only thing I want to know is how you're playing a sorry-ass losing hand of three-card draw,” his pointing finger landed next to her score, “solitaire made me money? Prove that and you can stay.”
The twenty-two-year-old recent college graduate, who was the same age as Darius, silently stared at him, then said, “But everyone in the entertainment business is on vacation except us.”
“That's right! And you should be studying the screenplay I gave you yesterday because I specifically told you I need to hand this to my inside contact at Parapictures and give a copy to Morris Chestnut first thing Monday morning. Am I supposed to pay you and someone else to do your job? Huh? Answer me!”
Calmly she replied with a frown, “Why are you so upset? You're the one who said your mother's best friend, Candice Morgan, wrote the screenplay, so obviously Candice will select you as her agent. What's the big deal?”
“I don't care who wrote the damn script! Unless I secure the best deal possible before anyone elseâ” Darius shook his head. “You just don't get it. You may have graduated cum laude but you sure as hell flunked basic comprehension.” He grumbled, “Damn, it's hard to get good help.” Darius paged security from his mobile phone and said, “Escort my new employee out of my building. Immediately,” and went back upstairs into his office.
How in the hell was he going to maintain an advantage over the other nine companies that were also given a non-exclusive right to shop the hottest screenplay on the market? As much as he wanted to attend the ball, he had no choice. He had to stay home and work. Darius speed-dialed his mother's number.
Candice and his mother had fallen out when Candice produced an unauthorized biography of his parents' love life including all the graphic juicy details his mother had shared with her so-called best friend. That's what his mother deserved for telling all her business to her so-called trustworthy girlfriend. Women. They all spent too much time analyzing every damn thing, talking too damn much, and complaining all the time. Maybe women were the ones responsible for fucking up the world. First Eve. Then his ex-fiancée. And of all persons, his mother.
Sighing heavily Darius said, “Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, baby, I'm glad you called. I was just thinking about you.” His mother whispered, “Stop, Wellington. I'm on the phone with Darius.” Returning to a normal tone, she asked, “So what time is your flight getting in?”
“Hi, son!” Wellington's voice cheerfully resonated in the background.
Wellington Jones, although he wasn't Darius's biological father, was the only male man enough to raise Darius from birth until now. When Darius's mother revealed the truth, Wellington had said, “You are my son. A very brave man stepped up to the plate and raised me as his own.” Darius recalled how Wellington had shared his adoption history. “I don't wish this type of devastation on any person. Honestly, I'm disappointed in your mother. But God wants us to learn the importance of forgiveness. You have every right to be mad. Just don't let your anger destroy you . . . I love you no matter what.” Darius wondered how Wellington could be so compassionate without losing his masculinity.
“Sorry, Mom. I'm not going to make it. Gotta work. Something important just came up.” Darius couldn't dare tell his mother her life was the greatest story roaming throughout the industry, because his mother was livid with Candice while Wellington thought how wonderful it would be if another black person could join the ranks of becoming a millionaire. His dad felt there was no direct harm to them. Wellington's only request was that Candice change the names.
“Darius, you work too hard. You just started in this business. Give it some time, honey. You'll get the next movie deal and I bet it'll be a more lucrative contract.”
“Mom, you don't understand. There's no such thing as working too hard. If I get this deal, my reputation will soar internationally. Mark my words. Darius Jones will instantly become a household name because this is a script all nationalities can relate to. Mom, somebody's gotta be on top. There's those who do and those who don't. And those who don't never come out on top. Gotta go. Gotta work. Happy New Year, Mom, and tell Dad I said the same.”
“Well, honey, if you insist. But before you go, how's your proposal coming along?”
“Not as well as I thought. I just fired the person assigned to put together my presentation. The meeting for selection of an agent is Tuesday morning. Every interested agency is going to pitch why they should represent Candice. I have a meeting with my inside contact person at Parapictures on Monday. And if I'm lucky, Morris will show up as promised to the meeting.”
“Okay, baby. Now, I've got to go. Your dad is trying toânever mind. I'll call you tomorrow. I love you.”
“Yeah, Mom. I know. Bye.”
Darius gazed at the family photo, dialed his travel agent, and arranged for Ashlee to take a flight into Los Angeles.
The following is a sample chapter from Mary B. Morrison's eagerly anticipated upcoming novel
NOTHING HAS EVER FELT LIKE THIS.
It will be available in August 2005, wherever hardcover books are sold.
CHAPTER 1
A
woman didn't have to stand on the corner to become a prostitute. All women at some point in their lives have exchanged pussy for goods and services. The best tricksters could barter for homes, cars, diamonds, furs, and enough cash to maintain a five figure bank account. The unsophisticated females, oblivious to how much men would pay to bust a nut or have their dicks sucked, were happy with a movie, a meal, and a few lies about how much the man loved her. The naïve chicken-heads came out of their pockets with top dollars, leasing their showcase men, not realizing that gigolos were always on auction awaiting the next highest bidder. No matter what the circumstances or consequences were: Men needed to get laid. Women wanted to get paid.
woman didn't have to stand on the corner to become a prostitute. All women at some point in their lives have exchanged pussy for goods and services. The best tricksters could barter for homes, cars, diamonds, furs, and enough cash to maintain a five figure bank account. The unsophisticated females, oblivious to how much men would pay to bust a nut or have their dicks sucked, were happy with a movie, a meal, and a few lies about how much the man loved her. The naïve chicken-heads came out of their pockets with top dollars, leasing their showcase men, not realizing that gigolos were always on auction awaiting the next highest bidder. No matter what the circumstances or consequences were: Men needed to get laid. Women wanted to get paid.
“Females! Fuck!”
Darius yelled, thrusting his fist, parting the gushing water with the force of his hand. Starting the New Year masturbating in the shower wasn't his idea of pleasurable sex but it was safe. At least he didn't have to worry about allegedly getting another feline pregnant. Tricksters spelled financial security
b-a-b-y
.
b-a-b-y
.
“The next female kickin' it with me better not have the word baby in her vocabulary,” Darius said aloud to himself, massaging his dick under the water. “Darius, please baby, just put it in one more time. Baby don't leave, I'm not finished cumming yet. Oh, baby, your dick is so good,” Darius mimicked. “Please, baby, please my ass.” Stroking his dick with each syllable, Darius said, “I'll beat my shit every day befo' I get suckered in by another leeching-ass woman.”
Warm streams of water, pounding against Darius's muscular neck and shoulders, drenched his locks. Darius admired his caramel reflection, illuminated by candlelight, that danced on the glass shower door. Massaging the creamy body wash onto his well-defined chest, Darius's hand slid along the crevices on his abdomen, over his inward navel, then teased his curly dark chocolate pubic hairs. Cupping his balls, Darius squeezed his nuts, watching his dick grow longer.
“Damn! Women are straight up scandalous.”
Didn't matter if the fe-fe was a VP, VIP, stay-at-home wife, his wife, his sister, a lover, an employee, an associate, a groupie, a counterpart, smart, fine, dumb, ugly, dumb and ugly, a model, a hooker, a Christian, his best friend, or his mother. The one thing Darius knew women shared in common was placing an invisible price tag on their pussies.
“If I give you some, what you gon' do for me?” Undercover prostitutes in denial like he owed them something. If anyone was getting paid, it should've been him. Hell, Darius did most of the work most of the time. Darius didn't mind working for his, but the lazy females were history. The next woman he met had to be physically fit, no exceptions. Females unable to ride Slugger for five minutes straight without falling off or holding on had to get up off of his dick and out of his bed. He'd cum within five minutes and if she didn't get hers, oh well, she could work for it or take her lazy ass to a gym and learn how to work it out.
Women were simple and Darius didn't mean in a basic kinda way. Ignorant. Shysters. Dick-headhunters. The sweeter the pussy, the higher the ransom: Husband Wanted, Medical Benefits Needed, Rent Overdue, Children Gotta Eat, Desire a Trip to Paris, Pussy Needs Recreational Lickin' and Stickin' While Man is Away.
And the tag lines were consistent, “Here's my number Darius, call me on my cell. Hit me on e-mail, Daddy. Oh, what the hell, you can come on over to my place.” On the first date? Damn! But if all he wanted to do was hit it, Darius was down for banging a female's cranium against the headboard so hard that he cared less about remembering her first, last, or nickname, never taking her public, and never seeing or calling her again. The easier the woman, the cheaper the pussy. Cheap pussy was not on his list of chicks to do. Some femalesâjust because he was richâwere so dumb, they'd do anything to lay with him. Those were the ones who got nada, nothing, zilch.
Darius's large thick fingers and manicured nails wrapped snug around his slippery shaft as his dick penetrated an imaginary womb. “Aw, yes. Make your pussy suck this dick, gurl,” Darius moaned daydreaming about the one woman he was in love with. Ashlee.
With numerous hidden agendas, women, including Ashlee, refused to have sex when they were mad, teased him with sex if they were interested, and gladly fucked him unconscious whenever he surrendered his money or his time. But when Darius treated a woman like a whore, even if she wasn't a ho, that was when her ass became transformed into a black widowâfucking, devouring, then killing himâdefacing his personal property, determined to strip him of his dignity, cash, or whatever else she could sap out of him all in exchange for pussy and sometimes bad pussy. Like his wife, Ciara.
“Huuhhh,”
Darius exhaled releasing his grip. “I'm not wasting an orgasm on feline frustrations. I might fuck around and impregnate some sewer animal.”
Darius exhaled releasing his grip. “I'm not wasting an orgasm on feline frustrations. I might fuck around and impregnate some sewer animal.”
Layering his wet skin with baby oil then toweling dry, Darius covered his locks with a terrycloth silk lined cap, sprawled his naked flesh atop his oversized king comforter, then clamped his hands behind his head, gazing in the mirrored ceiling, admiring his sexy body.
“Damn, you look good, boy-ie.”
Darius's sexy physique and manly facial features were a blessing and a curse. It wasn't Darius's fault women couldn't resist surrendering their pussies to him, but, unfortunately, their troubles had become his. Today was one of those rare days Darius didn't feel like doing a goddamn thing. Seeing anybody. Talking to no damn body on the phone. Not even his mother. Especially, not his mom.
After all he'd been through last year, almost losing his life in a fire that destroyed his business, and supposedly getting three women pregnant, his mom had the audacity to exacerbate his problems and side with his stepfather insisting that he, Darius Jones, the only child of a self-made millionaire woman, Jada Diamond Tanner, sole owner of Black Diamonds, get a job? What a joke.
Taking in the entire view of his lean six-foot-seven, two-hundred-twenty-pound body stretched atop the royal blue-and-gold suede comforterâthe colors that represented his future college, UCLAâDarius closed his eyes and prayed.
“Dear God, I know I don't deserve Your mercy, but as Your child, I have Your permission to ask. Right? Please, Lord, please send me a sign that those unborn children aren't mine. I'm still a kid at heart myself and, well Lord, honestly, I'm not ready to be a father. Yes, I know You spared me from contracting HIV from my ex-fiancée, Maxine. And, yes, You did deliver me from almost committing suicide when I thought I had HIV. And I'm so grateful you've given me an opportunity to play professional basketball. Well, almost. So You can see with so many positive things in my future, there's no way I can deal with any negativity. Thank you, Jesus for listening. But as I lay here today, needing You again Lord, I beg You to deliver me once more from having to get a job, deliver me from being broke, and please, Lord, please deliver me from being a father. Amen.”
Darius's grandma, Ma Dear, had taught him how to pray for what he wanted. That God answered prayers. Well, right now, lying in the midst of loneliness, Darius certainly hoped Ma Dear was right when she'd said, “No matter how down you get, pray. And don't forget to pray when God blesses you with good fortune, my child, because just like the Lord giveth, the Lord also taketh away. God is forgiving. But you can't outsmart Him.” Yeah, Pastor Tellings spoke those same words New Year's Eve while Darius sat in church on the back pew next to a fine woman.
Tears escaped Darius's closed eyelids, rolled down his temples, and into his ears. The only woman Darius respected was dead. Ma Dear, no matter how upsetting it was, always kept things real by telling him the truth. So why didn't Ma Dear tell him that Wellington wasn't his biological dad. But Ma Dear never said that Wellington was his father. Cupping his hands over his face, Darius wished his grandmother was alive. “Oh, shit.” The side of his bed closest to his ribs moved slightly. Lifting his head, Darius saw an imprint in his mattress next to his torso.
“Couldn't be,” Darius thought laying his head on the pillow. “Chill out man. Stop trippin'. It's all good. Ma Dear, if you're here, I need you.”
Ma Dear also told him, “Never kick a man while he's down.” Darius wished those words would've held true for him last year when he was hospitalized.
Through watery eyes, Darius gazed at his ceiling vividly recalling the night he was incapacitatedâthe night his life changed for the worstâhis stepdad, Wellington stood over his hospital bed preaching, “Son, lay back down. The only thing you're going to do right now is listen to us. We've decided that the money we loaned you must be repaid by the end of the year. And, since we already know you can't afford to repay us, we're taking over your company. And you can't work for us, son. You're going to have to get a job. Working for someone else.”
Wellington was twisted. Confused. Who in hell Wellington thought he was talking down to. Instantly, Darius had rebelled and said, “Oh, hell no!” then pleaded with his mother, “Ma! You can't let him do this!”
What a joke. Standing in his hospital room, Moms didn't say a word that night so Wellington had continued his soliloquy, “Son, you don't respect your mother. You don't respect me. You don't respect your wife. You don't even respect yourself. So why should we contribute to you using other people? We won't. Never again. And if you don't get a job, we're taking your name out of our will. You'll inherit nothing.”
What made Wellington a sanctified authority on Darius's behavior? Judging Darius when Wellington should've been confessing to Darius's mother the affair he was having. But Moms wasn't any better than Wellington. They deserved one another. That same night at the hospital Wellington couldn't leave the conversation alone. No, seemed like he was just getting warmed up.
Wellington had insisted, “Darius, you owe Lawrence an apology for misleading Ashlee.”
Misleading Ashlee? Darius had thought, lying in that hospital bed glancing over at Ashlee who was lying in the hospital bed across from him. Ashlee's second-degree face wound was wrapped in bandages. Darius felt sorry for her wounds but he'd risked his life to save Ashlee. Seems as though he was the one who deserved a thank-you.
Besides, Ashlee wasn't a kid. She'd made her own decisions. At first Ashlee didn't want to have sex with Darius because his mom had married Ashlee's dad, Lawrence. But, to Darius, their parents' commitment could never make Ashlee his biological sister so Darius explained to Ashlee, after they'd made love, that there was no incest.
Since Wellington wouldn't back the fuck up, Darius caved Wellington's chest in with a backlash and replied, “Maybe your wife owes Lawrence an apology for aborting his baby.”
Darius's mom stood there like she was the one shocked. But having aborted her ex-husband's baby when Lawrence never knew she was pregnant was wrong. Hell, just like his mom had waited over twenty years to disclose that Wellington wasn't his biological father, maybe Darius's mother wasn't pregnant from Lawrence. Maybe she'd aborted Wellington's child. Darius's mother wasn't perfect, but she seemed innocent, so no one had ever questioned her motives, actions, or whereabouts. But Darius knew his mom never stopped fucking Wellington, even while she was married to Lawrence. Darius knew a lot of secrets his parents assumed he had no knowledge of. As screwed-up as his life was at times, Darius didn't hate on other people, but if Wellington didn't stop trying to control him, Darius would tell his mother about Wellington's other woman. What a fucked-up world to live in when Darius couldn't trust anyone but himself.
Picking up the remote and pressing a few buttons, Darius's circular bed elevated three feet above the hardwood floor then rotated one hundred and eighty degrees clockwise. He started to see if the indent in his bed was still adjacent to his side when unexpectedly, a damn near foot-long erection distracted Darius, so he blocked Ma Dear from his mind and began stroking his dick.
Darius didn't have a problem working for his mom again, holding down her Executive VP position or working for himself at the company his mother had given him, Somebody's Gotta Be on Top Enterprises. But Darius should've known his company was subject to takeover by his parents when they insisted on holding sixty-six and two-thirds percent ownership.
Now instead of organizing, funding, and producing film projects in Los Angeles, Darius was home alone in his Oakland mansion jacking-off his frustrations. On the verge of cumming, Darius said, “Fuck this bullshit,” pissed that his parents were jocking him to sign over the multimillion dollar insurance claim check from when his office building burned to ashes.
Wellington already had plans to keep
all
of Darius's settlement money, expanding Wellington Jones and Associates' two office locationsâLos Angeles and San Franciscoâto include the Somebody's Gotta Be on Top two offices. While Darius was hospitalized, Wellington had secured three new film options for
Never Again Once More, He's Just a Friend,
and
Player Haters
. And Wellington had planned to take credit at the Premier for the release of Darius's first film,
Soul Mates Dissipate
and stated, “If you find yourself a job, I might invite you to the Premier.”
all
of Darius's settlement money, expanding Wellington Jones and Associates' two office locationsâLos Angeles and San Franciscoâto include the Somebody's Gotta Be on Top two offices. While Darius was hospitalized, Wellington had secured three new film options for
Never Again Once More, He's Just a Friend,
and
Player Haters
. And Wellington had planned to take credit at the Premier for the release of Darius's first film,
Soul Mates Dissipate
and stated, “If you find yourself a job, I might invite you to the Premier.”
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