My Daughter's Boyfriend (2 page)

“You tricked me.”

“Ha ha,” I screeched with my that’s-so-ridiculous laugh.

I’d heard it all, and at that point I didn’t care anymore.

As book-smart as Derrick was, I guess he hadn’t figured on becoming a co-parent with his teenage girlfriend. But once he got over the initial shock, he seemed to accept that he was going to be a daddy, and our daughter was born later that year.

In the early months of Lauren’s life, Derrick hung around like a man in love with the female version of himself. That is, until I filed for child support. Worst thing a woman can do to a man is file on him. It’s like you’ve taken an already sharp knife, sharpened it again, and wedged the knife dead center in his heart and somehow, some way, the blade reached his wallet too. And, of course, the wound in his wallet hurts far worse than the one in his heart.

I thought that after Derrick became accustomed to a few months of regular payments, he’d lighten up on the grudge-holding bit. But that was seventeen years ago and he rarely speaks a kind word to this day. I really don’t care. Don’t have time. Derrick is a long-ago history lesson.

’Cause, see, although I was sixteen with a kid, the river of life never stopped flowing. I still managed to earn my diploma. I worked here and there, changed diapers, took a few dead-end college courses, trained Lauren to ride a tricycle, then how to put on a pair of panty hose. I went from twenty-something to thirty-something, kicked a few guys to the curb, got kicked back, and for the past few years I’ve been employed as an office coordinator at the University of Houston.

Seems like I’ve spent half my life raising Lauren and trying to be a good mom. But many days I realized just how difficult that was . . . trying to be good
and
a mom was just a hard, hard gig. Especially when you’re actively involved with guys, and screwing around with screwed-up men like the ones I’d known.

And the fact that Derrick Hayes had called but Steve Monroe hadn’t called back created a lethal combination in my mind.

I shuddered and ran my hands through my hair. Glanced at my watch. A good thirty minutes had already snuck by. I went and changed out of the T-shirt and leggings into something loose: a long-sleeved, dark brown silk shirt, matching slacks, and some leather pumps. Then I debated whether I should call. Most men don’t like when you push and squeeze too hard. I’d been there too many times before not to know that if you pressed too hard, you’d force the man right out of your life and into some other woman’s. Whereas women think a man would be flattered to have so much attention, in reality he’s thinking an altogether different thing. And I long since had learned that men’s thoughts rule the world.

James Brown, the King of Soul, was right. It
is
a man’s world.

So much time had passed it made me nervous, my mind headed in unhealthy directions. If Steve was coming, wouldn’t he be here by now? Or was he putting me off again, something he’d done before. After a couple more minutes of debate, I grabbed my purse and keys and closed the apartment door behind me.

The man who I was waiting on—well, his world was about to be entered.

Tracey 3

The longer I waited for Steve to call, the more I got
the urge to see him. That pretty much sums up why I was flying down the street in a car that has no wings. I’m not an idiot, and I knew it would mean trouble if I showed up at his place feeling discombobulated. But when your heart is involved, logic ceases to have a voice, and the only thing I could hear at that moment was the cry from my soul, the frightening moan that senses when something just ain’t right.

The normally twenty-minute drive took half that time. I swerved in front of Steve’s town house. My car stretched across two parking spaces.

I noticed the vehicle right away.

A black baby Mercedes sat under the streetlight like a trophy. I saw the string of Mardi Gras beads dangling from the rearview mirror. Noticed the Louisiana license plate and the pink-and-green bumper sticker. All things that I’d seen before.

“Ain’t that nothing?”

The owner of the vehicle was Lelani Thibodeaux, a thirty-something woman Steve used to date. She was originally from New Orleans, but had been living in the Houston area for the past few months. Called Lani for short, she was the classic Louisiana babe: long, wavy hair that rested against her back, huge breasts, shapely hips, and enough booty to go around for months; the very type of gorgeous woman you’d see in the grocery store, except Steve’s town house was hardly Pak ’n’ Save.

Feeling for my purse, I dug up my Nokia and had to start over three times before I could accurately dial Steve’s digits. I hung up after three pointless rings.

Then Steve’s front door opened.

Yep! It was Lani. Even though it wasn’t that cold, she wore a floor-length coat. Her hair was flowing down her back as if she were a movie star. All he had on was a pair of dark slacks and a damned terry-cloth bathrobe. It was probably the one I bought him for his last birthday. Well, make that
charged
to my Dillard’s account—I hadn’t even paid the thang off yet.

They stood in front of the doorway, spooning in an upright position, like they shared the same bones. In each other’s universe. A comfortable closeness that should not have been. I couldn’t believe him. How could Steve be so hugged up with her like that? Why wasn’t I on his mind? Didn’t he just call me “baby” an hour or so ago, or was I the only one who remembered things like that?

Steve turned Lani’s chin toward him and kissed her on the lips.

I damn near wanted to shriek nonstop, even though it felt like doing so would be meaningless, but instead my hand fumbled until it gripped the door handle.

When Steve went back for seconds, I brushed my fingers across my lips and then . . . I opened the door and my heels hit the pavement.

I clanked up the walkway, not caring how I sounded or looked.

Lani raised her head. She grinned, but it wasn’t an I’m-happy-to-see-you grin. It was more like an I-got-him-and-you-don’t smirk.

“Stacey Davenport. What
you
doing over here?” she said.

That heifer knows my name ain’t Stacey.

My eyes vaulted over Lani’s phony smile to Steve’s troubled expression.

“Oh, don’t worry, Steve. I didn’t come over here to join the drama club. Just explain to me why you lied.”

Lani folded her arms across her size 40C breasts. As I tried to step closer to Steve, she positioned her leg in front of me.

I paused.

“Do you mind?”

“Yes, I
do
mind, Stacey. You have no business over here. Quit chasing Steve and get a life.”

“What?” I said. “Steve, did you hear what she—”

He looked straight ahead, standing mute like Jesus on Golgotha. Except the only thing Steve has in common with Jesus is long hair. And I doubted that the Messiah would have been wearing tortoiseshell glasses.

“Look, Lani. Steve and I are in a re-
la
-tion-
ship.
”

“Were,” she told me.

“E-excuse me?”

“You
were
in a relationship with Steve, but all that’s over now because he’s back with
me
. He was supposed to call and tell you.”

“He
did
call me, but what he said didn’t sound anything like this.”

Steve acted like her cat had his tongue. And the worst part was he wouldn’t look at me. It was bad enough to be released without advance notice, but I felt he owed me enough courtesy to tell me himself.

Lani rolled her heavily made-up eyes and grabbed Steve by the arm.

“Come on, baby,” she told him. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“Let’s
go,
Steve!”

She aimed her remote-access transmitter at the Benz. The locks unsnapped. She gave me one last sneer and her body began its swivel walk. After not hearing footsteps following, Lani stopped and turned around.

“Steve, don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts. Now if . . . if you thinking ’bout changing your mind, you need to let me and that bitch know.”

Now I know I can be a bitch sometimes, but I sure didn’t want Lani to point out that little detail.

With both Lani and me staring Steve down, he looked like he wished he could melt right into the pavement and evaporate like a dispensed raindrop. That’s what I didn’t understand about some men. Lots of them had the hard body, the height of gods, the strength of mules, but regardless of the physical stamina, deep inside, some were weak, lost, and unable to make sound decisions, like their inner man didn’t match their outer build.

I watched Steve. Even behind the glasses, his black eyes seemed to tighten, as if that action would mercifully erase all the tension. And after what felt like forever, he cleared his throat and stepped closer to Lani and whispered in her ear. She frowned but walked a few yards away, and he turned to face me. And from the look he was giving me, I had a feeling he wasn’t exactly about to ask me if I wanted to become Mrs. Steve Monroe.

“Tracey, this is how’s it laying tonight. Lelani’s the head, you’re the tail.”

“What in the hell you mean, I’m—”

“Look, you aren’t stupid. I meant it just how I said it. This shit’s not working out.”

I slapped my hand on my throat as if that action would prevent all the air from escaping my wounded soul.

“Well, well, why weren’t you talking about heads and tails a few hours ago when you, when you, you called me and—”

“Old news is no news.”

I panted and stared in the eyes of one who suddenly resembled someone I wasn’t sure I knew. But I
knew
I knew Steve. But who exactly was he right then?

“Steve, how can you stand up here and make a decision like this? Something’s not right, here.” I sliced the night air with a few waves of my hand. “This is not even like you. I know you wouldn’t—I
know
you wouldn’t do me like this.”

“Never, ever second-guess what a man will do, especially if that man is me. Now please leave. Go on and get your ass away from here,” he said, and rejected me with a counter-wave of his own hand.

Everything I was seeing made me feel like I was sinking, like I was falling, and it seemed I’d keep on falling until I crashed. And the thought of crashing made me afraid. And when I got afraid, I got weak, and when I got weak, I got tired. Standing there with my mind numb, I felt
so
tired, so sick of losing out and knowing I was losing, but not able to figure out why I couldn’t seem to win.

“Wait a minute,” I told him. “You cannot, you
will
not, stand here and drop this garbage on me like that. This is bullshit.”

“Look, how many times I have to tell you? You’re through!”

I clenched my jaw and looked at Steve like he was hate personified. How could he embarrass me in front of Lani, and play me like I was some kind of nothing? For a while I didn’t know what to do, what to say. And in spite of his damning words, Steve kept flicking his eyes at me like he was confused himself, but then he half-smiled at Lani and turned away from me. At Steve’s facial affirmation, Lani raised her head and sashayed to the car; then she took one last intense look at Steve and drove off.

As soon as her taillights disappeared, Steve rushed to place his arms around my waist, hugging me tight like he wished he could squeeze away the last few moments.

“Baby, baby, baby,” he said, shaking me hard with each word he spoke. “It’s not what you think.”

I stared at him, my mouth wide open as if to say, “What the hell am I
supposed
to think?”

“Look, Lelani paged me and came over here demanding that I hook up with her again. She put me on the spot. I didn’t feel like arguing, so I let her go on and on, and that’s when you showed up.”

He kept sputtering one tired excuse after another, but by then my anxiety had drowned out his voice. Everything happened so fast I didn’t have time to think about what I was supposed to do about what they were saying.

“Tracey,” Steve said, shaking me and looking deep in my eyes, “say something, baby. Talk to me.”

“Wh-what do you want me . . . what do you expect me to say, Steve? I’m not in the mood for any games y’all trying to pull. She telling me this, you telling me that.”

“Tracey,” he said, looking directly in my eyes, “I don’t care what Lelani said. You know you’re my baby, the only woman for me.”

His words caused my heart to warm. I found myself smiling a smile I didn’t all the way feel. On the one hand, I detested what had just taken place, but on the other hand I’d hoped Steve would come through for me—that even though Lelani was strong-willed, his feelings for me should have been stronger.

We stood there for a few moments clinging to each other, he kissing strands of my hair, my cheeks, and even grazing his soft lips across my neck. Neck-kisses are my weakness. So I closed my eyes and shivered, absorbing the warmth of his body, and was reminded of how much I yearned to be with this man.

Yes,
the sex was unparalleled.
Yes,
I liked how he’d sometimes make me laugh with his corny jokes.
Yes,
I enjoyed sitting across a table from him, sharing a meal, and dissecting a conversation.

The sight of blaring headlights intruded upon my thoughts and my heart leapt when I saw it was the second coming of that Mercedes with the Louisiana license plates.

“She’s back,” I said lifting my head. “You need to tell Lani that she’s old news.”

When Steve looked up and saw Lani’s vehicle pull into a parking space, his eyes enlarged and he jumped back like he was trying to escape gunfire. At first he grabbed his hands, which were shaking in tiny jerks like he was being swayed by something I could neither see nor feel. But then he hid his hands behind his back, lifted his chin, and looked away from me, effectively shortcutting all connections between us.

Ooooh. Ugghh.

I bent over.

Uggghhhhh.

I placed my hands on my throat and gently squeezed; a thick and harsh bile climbed swiftly up my throat, hot stinging tears filling my eyes with blindness. My guts were being ripped from my body, Steve’s actions a dagger mauling my already bruised heart. Taking no time to think, no moment to rationalize or surrender, I lunged at him and palmed the side of his face.

“Who the hell you think you are, dammit? How you trying to play me, huh, Steve? You will
not
disrespect me. Not today.” I ground my teeth, hitting, slapping, absorbing every heated sting from pounding his hardened skin, and with each punch, I felt tears spill from my own eyes, as if to hurt Steve was to hurt myself. And I was surprised yet saddened that instead of stopping me, he let me strike him again and again.

One frustrated slap later and Steve’s glasses flew off his face, the force so great that they veered toward a nearby bush. He pinched his jaw between his fingers, eyes bulging, nostrils flaring, and looked at me like he didn’t know who I was or what I’d turned into.

Chest heaving up and down and sweating, I clenched and unclenched my fists and began pacing the front walk in small, jerky steps. When I turned back toward Steve, Lani, who’d watched from her car, ran straight at me. I moved away from her, but she jumped at me from behind and bashed me hard in the back of my head with something so thick it felt like a damned hardcover dictionary. I blinked a couple of times and turned around, but was met by her long fingernails flailing wildly at my face.

The strength in me rose up and I blocked her twice, but she nicked me on my neck and I took one deep breath and, shoving with every ounce of power I possessed, I rammed her voluptuous ass right into those skin-piercing bushes. She began shrieking.

“Three words, Stacey. Watch your back.”

I glanced bitterly at her and then at Steve, who was diligently pulling aside branches.

Wiping my eyes, I got in my car and burned rubber driving away.