Authors: Carl Weber

Lookin' For Luv (7 page)

BOOK: Lookin' For Luv

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Tyrone was always leaving graffiti on the desktops while in the program. Rather than punishing him for it, a counselor who noticed the graffiti gave him a set of pens and a sketch-pad, which he used to hone his artistic talents. Soon he became known around the program as the “black Rembrandt” and was never seen without his drawing supplies in hand. What began as graffiti scribbled on a desktop developed into beautiful, bold art that represented his people, their beauty, and their struggles.

His newfound love for art gave him a purpose and the strength to stay in the program. Within a year he was addiction free and was released from the program. He decided against taking the counseling position Apple offered him and instead took a job as a security guard at a Park Avenue art gallery. The job was his for two years, until he was caught having sex with the owner’s nineteen-year-old daughter. Still, he was determined to keep his life on the right track, so he applied for a job as a school security guard and was assigned to the Alternative High School for Boys.

The day after his fiasco at Mama Dee’s, Tyrone was still a little hungover. He was looking at a picture of his two daughters as tears rolled down his face.

“Daddy’s working fifty hours a week, living in this shit-hole of an apartment, and all I can afford to send your mothers is a hundred fucking dollars a week. I’m one sorry-ass excuse for a man,” he told the picture as he stuffed the child support checks into two separate envelopes. Picking his shirt up from the floor, he wiped his tears from his eyes. He hated these moments of weakness.

Aw’ight, Tyrone
,
get yourself together. What you really need is some booty.

Striding across the room, Tyrone sat on the edge of his Murphy bed and took his phone book off the nightstand. He flipped through several pages, and each time he paused at a number he would recall the woman written there. Most of the entries in the book were so old, he couldn’t even be sure the women were still living at the same addresses. Finally he found a number for Shelly, a woman in Brooklyn whom he had been seeing casually a while back.

Smiling as he dialed her number, he thought about the cocoa-brown beauty. Shelly was fine in every sense of the word. Tall and slender with just enough breasts and hips to make a man take a second look. He especially liked the gap between her bowed legs. Remembering how her sexual appetite well surpassed his, he eagerly dialed her number.

“Hello,” a groggy, yet seductive voice answered after four rings.

“What’s up, baby?”

“Tyrone, is that you?” She was suddenly sounding less tired.

“Yeah, baby, it’s me.” He couldn’t remember why he hadn’t spoken to this fine sister in so long. “I haven’t seen you in a while, so I thought I’d come by and let you cook me dinner.”

“That sounds good. Why don’t I make some fish and corn bread?”

“Yeah, that’ll work. Oh, can you make some candied yams and greens?” His stomach began to growl.

“Sure, baby, I’ll make you some greens and yams.” She paused, and her voice became low and sultry. “What about me, don’t you want to eat me for dessert? A little whipped cream and a cherry, and I make a hell of a sundae.”

“You damn skippy, I want you for dessert. What would a good meal be without dessert?” The image of Shelly covered in whipped cream awakened his manhood.

“Mmm, I can’t wait,” she purred. Then her voice was all business again. “Oh, damn, Tyrone, can you pick something up for me on the way over?”

“Sure, baby, what do you need?” he asked eagerly as he stood up and grabbed his coat from the back of the chair.

“What I need is the goddamn two hundred dollars you owe me!! Gimme my money, motherfucka!!” She screamed into the phone. “Did you actually think that you’re so good in bed that I wouldn’t want my money? You must be crazy, nigga! I want my goddamn money! Where the hell is my money?”

By then Tyrone had slumped down on the bed, any sign of arousal long gone. “Calm down for a minute, Shelly.”

“Calm down? I ain’t gonna calm down! You asked me to loan you two hundred dollars till payday! Well, dammit, payday was four months ago. Where the hell is my money?”

“Damn, baby, I thought you knew. Both my mother and father died in a car accident the day before payday. I’m still struggling to pay off their funerals.”

“Do I look like I just fell off the stupid bus? Your daddy died in Korea and your mama lives in my buildin’, asshole! Now, when am I gonna get my money?” She heard nothing but silence on the other end, so she shouted “It fucking figures!” before hanging up.

Tyrone stared at the phone in his hand and shook his head.

She didn’t act that way when I had her ass climbing the walls a few. months back. Well, there’s always old faithful Jeannette.
She wasn’t much to look at, but the sex was always great and she was always available. Smiling, he dialed the number.

“Hello?” a soft voice answered.

“Hey, baby, how would you like for me to pour chocolate all over your body and lick it off until the sun comes up?”

“Mmm, that sounds good,” the sexy voice answered, “as long as I can do the same to you.”

Tyrone was happy. Jeannette, a short twenty-two-year-old, had always been horny. He figured it must have something to do with the acne all over her face, because in his experience, less attractive women always seemed more eager to please. When they were together, he was always careful to turn out the lights so the sight of her face wouldn’t interfere with his arousal. In the dark, with her lips working their magic, she was the most beautiful woman on earth as far as he was concerned.

“Damn, baby, what you waitin’ for? Why don’t you catch a cab on over here?” he asked.

“I’d love to Tyrone, but ...”

“But what? I plan on making you come ten times before I even take my clothes off.”

Tyrone’s confidence in his ability showed in his voice, and he could hear Jeannette begin to breathe heavily. But before he could continue to seduce her over the phone, he heard a loud smack.

“Who the fuck is this? If I catch you fuckin’ with my girl, nigga, I’m ’onna kill your black ass!”

Tyrone wasted no time hanging up the phone.

He sighed deeply.
Shit!! I hope that girl ain’t got caller ID. When the hell did she get a man anyway?

Desperate now, Tyrone flipped through his phone book and decided to dial one more number. Stacey Preston, the neighborhood slut, was blessed with incredible curves and the sexual instincts of a prostitute. Known for giving the men she liked blowjobs for a can of beer, Stacey had always been Tyrone’s safety valve when he’d needed quick, discreet sex. He dialed her number, figuring it was a sure thing.

“Hello,” Stacey answered sweetly.

“Stacey, what’s up, baby? This is Tyrone.”

“Tyrone? Oh, what’s up, baby! It’s been a long time, boo.” She sounded excited.

“Yeah, well, you know I’ve been a little busy. But I’ve been thinking ’bout you a lot.” He lied, opening his nightstand drawer to see if he had any magnum condoms.

“You have? So when we gonna get together?”

“We can get together right now if you like, baby. All you have to do is bring your fine ass over here.”

“I’m on my way. Oh, Tyrone, do you think we can get a little something to jump-start our party?” Throne didn’t notice the desperation in her voice.

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ve got two forties of Old E on ice as we speak.”

“Oh, that’s great,” she answered weakly. “But I was thinking maybe we’d try something a little stronger.”

“Sure, baby, no problem. Why don’t you come-on over? I’ll slip out and get us a bottle. What you got a taste for, rum? Maybe a little gin?”

“Naw, man, I don’t wanna drink. What I really wanna get is some crack.”

Stacey’s words hit Tyrone like a ton of bricks. The last thing he had expected from her was that she wanted drugs. He hadn’t even known she smoked the stuff.

“You serious?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m serious.” Her voice became very animated. “You act like you never had sex after you smoked crack. That shit is the bomb!!”

Yeah, it is the bomb
. He thought about how good it would be to hold a stem and take a long hit of some really good crack. Just the thought of that first hit reaching his lungs made his forehead perspire.

“Come on, boo, let’s get a few dimes.” Stacey’s voice was becoming even more desperate. “I promise you, I’ll suck your dick until you pass out!”

Tyrone didn’t care about having sex now. His thoughts were on getting high. There was nothing any crack addict wanted more than to obtain that first high, and he had a chance to get there. It had been almost four years since he’d smoked crack, and he figured he could get high, get that feeling again, and then stop smoking the next day. His palms were sweaty as he reached on his nightstand for his wallet. Opening it, he saw two ten-dollar bills. He knew it wasn’t enough for both of them to get a good high.

Glancing across the room, he spotted two one-hundred-dollar bills on his desk. They were supposed to be deposited into his checking account to cover his child support checks.

“Ay, Stacey, you got any money?” He knew the answer to the question before he asked it.

“Hell no! Don’t tell me you ain’t got no money, Tyrone.”

“I got money.” He walked over to the table, pocketing the two one-hundred-dollar bills.

“Good, I know some guys right by your building that got slammin’ dimes.” Stacey’s voice was a mixture between relief and excitement.

Tyrone was getting really worked up now. His mouth was dry and he couldn’t wait to feel the warm smoke fill his mouth and lungs. He didn’t want to talk on the phone anymore. He just wanted to get high.

“Look, Stacey, we’re wasting time talking on the phone. Just bring your ass—” He stopped himself in midsentence as he caught sight of the picture of his two daughters on the wall.

“Tyrone? You there, baby? I’m on my way over now, Tyrone.” She could sense something was wrong. There was a long silence before he answered.

“Stacey, don’t come over here. Don’t come over tonight or any other night, ’cause I don’t get high no more.”

Tyrone hung up the phone quickly before she could try to change his mind. He sat on his bed and stared at the picture of his girls. Opening the Bible that was lying on his desk, he said a silent prayer, thanking God for one more day of being drug free.

As he lay on his bed, his thoughts wandered to Alicia and Kevin. He wondered what his life would be like if Alicia had been with him instead of Kevin. Imagining her in the sexy red dress she had worn when they first met, he knew he would be the envy of many brothers with a woman like that.

What the hell am I doing!
he thought, opening his eyes.
Oh, man, times are really bad when you start dreaming about your friend’s woman.

Determined to change his luck and get some play, he picked up the phone and dialed 1-900-BLACK-LUV He contemplated leaving a sincere message to attract a serious woman but couldn’t bear to expose his emotions that way. He had spent so many years as a player and couldn’t change easily, so he made his message short and to the point.

“What’s up? My name is Tyrone. I’m a six-foot-three, dark-skinned brother. I’m lookin’ for a woman who wants to put all the BS aside and have great sex. You must be drug and disease free. Serious inquires only. Please leave a message at Box twenty-nine eighty-eight ”

ANTOINE

Antoine sat in his recliner, smoking a nineteenth-century curved pipe as he read
The Selected Poems of Nikki Giovanni.
Slowly drawing on the strawberry tobacco, he allowed himself to relax for the first time in weeks. As he removed his glasses to rub his tired eyes, his leisure was interrupted by a knock on the door. Taking a long drag from his pipe, Antoine set it down and stood to answer the door.

“Hi, Antoine.” Keisha seemed excited and quite drunk.

“How are you, Keisha?” He didn’t move to invite her in.

BOOK: Lookin' For Luv

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