When It Rains... (39 page)

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Authors: Angie Daniels

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“Mama, Daddy's here!” Tamara screamed from her room.
“I know,” I returned. I waited until he knocked beforeI opened the door and gave him my best negro-you're-latestare.
“Sorry, I had car trouble.” He was dressed in his faded blue jeans and a white t-shirt, smelling like motor oil.
I stepped aside so he could enter. He moved over to the couch I just fluffed, and—
oh no he didn't—
dropped his funky ass onto my cushions.
His eyes traveled around the room. “I see you've been decorating.”
“Always.”
He draped his arm across the back of my couch. “Yeah, I miss this old house. We should still be doin' all this together.”
Oh, Lord, here we go again. Mario and I have been divorced for almost twelve years but every time he comes around he wants to talk about what we coulda, shoulda been if we had stayed together. I don't feel like hearing that shit today.
“Hey, Dad.” My daughter came bouncing into the living room, flopped down on my couch next to him, and planted a kiss on his cheek.
“Hey, girl.” He smiled down at her.
Tamara's a daddy's girl. She sees him only one weekend a month but to her, he does no wrong. They look just alike. They have the same dark eyes covered by thick bushy eyebrows and long black lashes. Mario was a tenderoni back in the day. He's just short as hell. I don't know why I used to have a thing for short men.
Quinton came into the living room, carrying a tote bag over his shoulder. I smiled because my son is handsomeand destined to be a heartbreaker. Already six feet, he got his height from my side of the family. He is always dressed nicely. If it doesn't have a designer label, he ain't wearing it, which is why I made his spoiled ass get a job this summer. As I said before, my name ain't First National Bank.
“Look at them gym shoes.” My ex-husband was referringto my son's one-hundred-dollar Nikes.
“We put your child support to good use,” I snorted.
“Must be nice. I can only afford Wal-Mart. I ain't got it like that.”
“Whatever,” I mumbled under my breath. He was about to go into his long spiel about how poor he was.
“Shoot, I ain't got a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of.”
What did I tell you? Mario's got my daughter feeling so sorry for him she asked me to give him back his child support. Has she lost her damn mind?
Mario rose. “Let's go, kids. Renee, make sure you bring me back some of that Jamaican rum.”
Yeah, whatever. I gave both of my kids a hug and a kiss, made sure Mario had the number to the hotel in case of an emergency, then pushed them and Nikki out the door.
I straightened the couch again, then moved to the bathroom. After a quick shower, I was ready to get my vacation started. Tamara never did bring me my shorts. I went down to the basement and pulled them out the dryer. I double checked the doors and windows to make sure they were secure, then raced back up the steps to grab the phone.
It was Nadine.
“Did you find it?” I asked.
“No. I must have thrown it away when I cleaned my room last week.” She sounded frustrated, but I didn't have time to be feeling sorry for her. Nadine ain't never bothered to clean her house before, so why start now?
“I don't know what to tell you,” I said with probably a little less feeling than I should have. Hey, it's been a long day and my ass is horny.
“I think I might have one at my parents' house.”
“In Kansas City?” That was almost a two-hour drive.
“Yeah, I'm waiting for them to call me back. If so, I guess I'll drive there and back tonight and leave for St. Louis in the morning.”
“That's fine. Lisa and Michael are spending the night at the boat. She's getting dicked tonight, so I won't see her until the morning either. Just meet us at the Waffle House.” I hung up and went to my room to get dressed. Getting some dick didn't sound like a bad idea.
I have a hook-up in St. Louis that I visit whenever I'm in town. Vince is a real kind of brotha. What you see is what you get. He lives in one of those old historicalhomes in the city that is in such bad shape, it needs to be either restored or torn down. He drives on the back of a garbage truck and is broke, but what the hell. I don't want his money. Just his dick. We met at a nightclubsix months ago and just by the way he gyrated his hips I knew he could fuck. Maybe I'll call him when I get to St. Louis. Maybe I won't. He knows I'm coming tonight so maybe I'll wait and see if he calls first.
Thirty minutes later, I was rolling down the road in my black Camry with Mariah's new CD blasting through my speakers. I rolled down my window, allowing the warm July breeze to toss my braids. I needed a drink.
My cell phone rang. I reached for it and noticed that the number had been blocked. When I'm at home I ignoreblocked or anonymous callers because nine times out often, it's either a telemarketer or a damn bill collector.Now my cell phone, that's a different story altogether. The first thing that comes to mind is somebody is playing on my dime.
“Hello?”
“Yeah, is this Renee Moore?”
“Who wants to know?” I asked with straight sistah girl attitude.
“Ricky Johnson's wife, that's who.”
Uh-uh. No the bitch didn't. She doesn't know my ass from the damn man on the moon. So how the hell she gonna call me talking crazy?
“
Excuse me?
I know you ain't calling my phone talkingslick.” The tone of my voice told her whatever my words didn't, because she didn't say shit. “What can I do for you?”
Finally, she sucked her teeth. “I want to know why my man's been calling you.”
“Why don't you ask your man?”
“I did and he says y'all been discussing business.”
You know, one thing that burns me up is a lying-ass nigga. First off, I met Ricky's ass last week at this club that ain't no more than a juke joint. Now, I ain't gonna lie. The brotha is fine. Berry black skin, wavy hair, tall, and one helluva dresser. I didn't waste any time getting his attention and before the end of the night, we had exchanged cell phone numbers. Now I might not remembereverything that slick mothafucka told me, but one thing I do know, he told me his ass wasn't married.
I rudely laughed in her ear. “Okay, so if he already gave you an answer, then why the hell you calling me?”
“Because I don't believe him.”
“Then that sounds like a personal problem.”
“No, it ain't no problem 'cause all I need to know is what the hell y'all were talking about; then I'm gonna whoop somebody's ass.”
I thought the shit was funny so I started laughing again. “Bitch, you know what? First off, you must be hard up for a man because there ain't no way in hell I would be calling some female's number I found on my man's caller ID, trying to find out what he's been up to. Secondly, the only ass you're gonna whoop tonight is his. So unless you want me to hang the fuck up, I advise you to come correct.”
She then had the nerve to laugh. “Damn, girl, your ass is hard. You have to excuse me 'cause right now I'm feeling some kind of way. Me and Ricky been togetherten years so I have a lot of time invested in this relationship.”
“Yeah, and it's obvious you make a habit of checkinghis phone.”
“Shit, I pay the damn bill.”
Stupid wench. “Girlfriend, let me school you. You need to check Ricky's punk ass instead of wasting my damn time. 'Cause by you calling me all you're doing is letting me know the dick is good. I mean why else would you be checking his every move? Now, first off, one sistah to another, your man told me he wasn't married.And one thing I don't do is mess with another sistah's husband. Secondly, the only business he and I had to discuss was me getting some dick. However, since I am in such a good mood, I'll do you a favor, and leave his ass alone. In return, do me a favor ... both y'all mothafuckas lose my damn number.” I clicked END and lowered the phone onto my lap. That bitch had to be ugly—why else would she be running after some triflingnegro. Or maybe as I said before, Ricky's got some good dick.
I reached for my cell phone again and called Kayla to tell her I was on my way, then I stopped by the ATM and withdrew enough cash to last me a week. Five minuteslater, I pulled into her driveway.
Kayla was standing on the porch, with her suitcase in front of her feet, waiting. She was dressed in her usual black pants and white t-shirt. She is a big woman with a really pretty face, and tall enough to be a model if she was a dozen dress sizes smaller. She has a cute upturnednose, big green eyes, and a dazzling white smile. Her skin is so beige she could almost pass for white if it wasn't for her nappy-ass hair.
We met during college. I was attending night classes and she was in several of them. Somehow, like oil and vinegar, we mixed. I'm wild as hell, while Kayla is one of those who travels the straight and narrow, living her life according to the good book. She is the type of woman to be married. Instead, she has two girls with different baby's daddies that she has to track down every six months for child support payments.
“Hey, girl,” she greeted. She put her suitcase in my backseat. As she climbed onto the seat beside me, I complimented her on the ten straight-back cornrows she had secured with a hair tie.
“Your hair looks good.”
“So does yours.” Kayla reached out and fingered one of my braids. “I can't believe she was able to braid your hair.”
“I didn't even.” Her cousin Danita did my hair. You can't go to Jamaica with a curling iron. The humidity is a bitch. I have always worn one of those Halle Berry haircuts, so my hair is only
that
long. But I've been growing it out for almost four months for this occasion.Danita had to pinch, and damn that shit hurt. My hair was so tight that I had fucking Chinese eyes. But I refused to take them out. I just took the pain and two days of severe headaches. It's a shame the things women have to go through to look beautiful.
“Where's Lisa?” Kayla asked as I was pulling out of the driveway.
“She's at the casino with Michael. We'll see her in the morning.”
“This is ridiculous! We were supposed to go to St. Louis, get a room, and hang out at the club before leaving for Jamaica in the morning.”
“So, what's the problem?” I asked even though I knew good and damn well what she was getting at.
“There ain't no one but us. How are we gonna kick it if it's just us?”
I glanced over at her holy ass wondering why she was tripping. Kayla wouldn't have done anything but sat in a corner all night sipping on a virgin daiquiri, telling every brotha who tried to step to her that they needed Jesus in their life.
“You know what,” I finally said as I made a U-turn in the middle of the road. “We are going to Tropical Liquors. I'm gettin' me a frozen Long Island Tea, and you a daiquiri, then we're rollin' out. When we get to St. Louis, I'm droppin' your ass off at the hotel.”
“Where're you going?” Kayla asked.
“I'm going to get me some dick.”
Trouble Loves Company
One
Renee
 
 
 
 
I
f I had known my girl Danielle was going to call and spend the last half hour whining about her sorry-assboyfriend, I wouldn't have answered the phone.
“Whaddaya think I should do?” she asked in a low whisper, as if someone else might be listening.
I clicked my tongue and answered, “You already know what I would do.”
“Yeah, but I ain't like you.”
See, that's one thing I've never understood. Why ask for advice when you really don't want it? I have never been able to figure that out, especially when the answer is obvious. Kick his ass to the curb! As my grandmotheralways said, “Can't nobody tell a woman to leave her man. She has to decide on her own when she's had enough.” I understand what Big Mama was trying to say, really I do. But it's a shame how much shit a woman is willing to take before she finally decidesenough is enough.
Take my girl Danielle, for instance. Her ex-boyfriend Deon fucked around on her for years. Not only did he fuck around, but he brought home the kind of shit you have to take a trip to the free clinic to get rid of. Yet and still, she forgave his trifling ass. It wasn't until one of his baby mamas clocked her upside her peanut head, while he stood by and watched, that she finally decided enough was enough.
Now Ron, the latest thug in her life, is never home, can't keep a job, and has bitches calling her house at all hours of the night bold enough to ask for him, yet she's determined to stick by him.
I love my girl, really I do. We talk on the phone at least five times a week and I know if I ever needed her, she'd have my back. Her brain is short a couple of screws, though. There ain't no way, at thirty-six, I would be putting up with that kind of shit. But unlike me, Danielle loves a thug, and will go crazy without daily drama in her life. And that's why her ass is always getting dogged.
“That muthafucker got off work three hours ago, and I ain't seen his ass yet. He ain't got no respect for me,” she complained.
I couldn't help but laugh in her ear. “What do you expect? He's only twenty-four. I doubt he respects his own mama.”
“Yeah, right!” she laughed. “But that's ai'ight 'cause he's got the shit twisted. I'm gonna get all in that ass when he gets home.”
Ooh! Like that's gonna make a world of difference. “It's been a year. He's not gonna change. What you need to do is put his lazy ass out.”
While Danielle tried to justify why she wasn't ready to end the relationship, I rose from the couch, turned the light off, then moved up to my bedroom and changed into a nightgown. It was late and a school night, so my kids, Quinton and Tamara, were in their rooms, probablypretending to be asleep. That's okay with me just as long as they're in bed by ten.
As Danielle rattled on I half-listened, because she really didn't want to hear what I had to say. If it was me, Ron would never have moved into my house. So, instead of giving advice, I pretended to be paying attention and said, “Uh-huh” on cue. I really think she just likes for someone to listen. Shit, I ain't mad, because I do the same thing. Nevertheless, it's late and I am tired. I yawned rudely in the mouthpiece, hoping she'd get the hint.
She didn't.
Okay, she's got ten more minutes, then I'll come up with some kind of excuse and hang up.
I had just stepped into the adjoining bathroom and dropped my clothes in the hamper when I heard the garage door rising. “Oh shit!” I exclaimed as I dashed back into the bedroom.
Danielle gasped. “What?”
Leaning over, I turned out the Tiffany lamp on the nightstand. “John's home.”
“Already? I thought he didn't get off work until midnight.”
“He doesn't, but I guess he decided to get off early.” I glared at the clock—it was barely eleven.
“It must be nice being the boss.” I heard the envy in her voice.
“Look, I'll holla at you tomorrow.” I hung up the phone, then slipped beneath the covers as quickly and quietly as possible, and waited. As soon as I heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairs, my stomach felt all tied up in knots. Damn! I can't deal with him tonight. I was irritated, because if John got off early from work, it was for one reason and one reason only—he wanted some booty.
Girl, quit trippin'! Everything ain't always got to be about you. Maybe he's tired
, I thought to myself
.
Okay, maybe I'm being silly. Maybe I'm wrong.
When John entered the room and turned the lock behindhim, I knew my luck had run out.
Shit!
While he undressed, I lay perfectly still on my back and breathed deeply, praying he'd think I was asleep and would leave me the hell alone. From the corner of my eyes, I watched him move about the room in the dark. Then he stepped into the bathroom, took a leak, passed gas, and flushed the toilet. I turned up my nose, totally disgusted, but relieved when I heard the water running. At least he washed his hands. A few minutes later, the mattress beside me sagged from the impact of his weight, and within seconds he was underneath the coverswith his large arm pressed against mine. My nose began to itch, but there was no way in hell I was going to scratch it, because the slightest movement and John would spring into action.
The clock on the dresser ticked and seconds became minutes and finally I began to relax. Yes! He's not going to touch me tonight. Then, just as I started to really fall asleep, I felt his hand creeping up my thigh. I tensed because I knew that in the next five seconds he was going to ask me that same stupid-ass question.
“Can I have some?”
I wanted to yell, “Hell nah, you can't have none!” No, what I really wanted to say was, “If I wanted to give yo' fat ass some, I would've been lying in the bed butt-naked instead of in a long gown and a pair of grandma draws.” Instead, I remained stone-faced and tried to pretend I hadn't heard him, but at this point it was obvious he wasn't falling for it.
“Hey, Renee, you hear me?”
I gave a long, exasperated sigh because for once I wished my husband would just get the hint and leave me the fuck alone. “Not tonight,” I said as nicely as I could manage, then rolled onto my side. I even threw a little sleep in my voice since I hadn't quite given up on that trick yet.
“Aw, come on,” he begged. “I'll be quick. I promise.”
I know his
quick
. Thirty minutes of him playing with my left titty, then he'll want me to play with his dick before he'd finally climb on top of me for another half hour of torture. I blew out another angry breath, then rolled over onto my back and looked up at him. “Why can't you wait until I want you sometimes? I mean ... I can't understand why you always want some when I'm not in the mood.”
There was a long moment of silence and one would have thought I had hurt his feelings, but not John. He gave me this sad, pleading look. “So you gonna give your husband a little bit or what?”
I couldn't help it. I tossed my arms in the air and gave a frustrated laugh. He was obviously not going to let up until I gave him some coochie. And as usual, I felt guilty as shit for depriving him of what he felt he was entitled to have on an “ass-needed basis.” “I'm not in the mood,” I snapped with attitude. “I don't want no dick! But if you want it, if you really,
really
want it, then go ahead and do the damn thang!”
Now any other brotha would have said, “Fuck you, bitch,” and rolled over. Not John. He rose long enough to shrug out of his t-shirt and tighty-whities, then eagerlyclimbed back in the bed. The moment I felt his limp dick on my thigh, I sighed because I knew I was in for a long night.
Lord, why me?
Now, I could have refused, but Big Mama taught me never to bite the hand that feeds you, so as usual I gave in, and let him have his way. Within seconds, I felt his hand slide underneath my gown. I cringed as his fingersgrabbed my nipple, tweaking it like he was trying to tune a transistor radio. I have discovered in the five years of our marriage that playing with my breasts for five to ten minutes is one of the only ways John can get an erection. The other is me going down on him, but that shit's not about to happen. John lifted the gown over my head while I lay there like a stiff board. He suckled one nipple between his dry, cracked lips while he twisted and pulled at the other with his fingertips.
The entire time, I stared at the ceiling fan twirling above while tears ran from the corners of my eyes and onto the pillow. I'm so sick of this shit, I don't know what to do. Every time he touches me I feel like I'm being violated. I've never been raped, but it can't be too far from what I'm feeling. As he slid my panties down to my ankles, I allowed my mind to disappear to another time in my life. A time when I was free to do what I wanted with whomever I wanted. I then traveled back even further to happier times when I was in grade school before all the madness in my life had begun. My sister Lisa and I used to lie in our bunk beds, laughing and creating make-believe worlds. I bit my lip and forced myself not to cry. Even after a year, thinking about my sister still brought tears to my eyes. At thirty-eight,Lisa had lost her battle with ovarian cancer. I didn't even know she had it until it was too late. One of her last wishes was for me to give my marriage an honesttry, and because of her I was still trying to hang in there with John. As much as I loved my sister and tried to be a woman who stood by her word, I wasn't sure how much more I could endure.
“Play with it,” John instructed as he reached for my hand and moved it over to his limp dick.
I was so pissed off, I lashed out at him. “I don't understandthis shit! If your dick ain't hard, why're you botheringme? Why can't you wait until it wants to work?”
My voice cracked but he didn't seem to notice becausehe gave an impatient sigh and said, “Just play with it a minute.”
I practically yanked at his shit because I just don't get it anymore. For the last year his dick has only half worked. Not that it has mattered to me. Even when it was still fully functional, the sex between us had been bad. I just didn't think it was important. Seriously! It may sound crazy but I really thought that what I was getting out of the marriage far outweighed what I had to give in return. That shit sounds crazy as hell now. When he met me I was a broke bitch trying to rub two nickels together and when he asked me to marry him I jumped at the chance, thinking that life could only get better. Now I wasn't so sure.
By the time my hand was about to fall asleep, John's dick finally rose to the occasion. Quickly, before it grew soft, he climbed between my legs and searched for the hole. “Help me find it.”
I don't understand why John can't find my coochie! Damn! We've been fucking for over five years but he still aims for the wrong hole. What the hell is up with that shit? Reaching over into the top drawer of my nightstand, I pulled out a tube of KY Jelly because my coochie was as dry as the desert. I squeezed a little in my hand and lubed the head of his dick. Damn! He was starting to get soft already.
“Mmm, baby, that feels good. Rub some more on me,” he crooned.
I closed my eyes and prayed for strength, then squeezed another dab in the palm of my hand and jacked him off some more. By the time he was hard again, I quickly guided him to my hole and he entered me.
I sighed while he pumped his little dick in and out like he was hurting some damn body. He was moaning so loud, you would have thought it was me. As he thrust, his fingers tweaked my nipples. And tweaked and tweaked and tweaked some more.
“Dammit, would you stop before they fall the fuck off!” I yelled, then slapped his hand away. I've told him I don't know how many times to stop playing with them so much, but that shit goes in one ear and out the other. I don't even think plastering a note across my chest that read, “leave them the hell alone,” would have made a difference.
John sighed, then slid me down to the middle of the bed and entered me, again pumping and pumping like he was doing some damage. I could have lain there and gone to sleep if he wasn't dropping balls of sweat all over me. I put a pillow over my face to stop the next droplet that was sure to fall in my damn eye. Thank goodness he paused long enough to wipe his face off on the sheets. He then tossed my pillow aside.
“Is that better?”
“Yeah, just hurry up,” I managed through gritted teeth.
Draping my legs over his shoulders, John began to plunge all three hundred pounds into me. I couldn't feel shit, but I knew if I wanted this ordeal to end I had to pretend that I did, so I started to moan. As usual, the sound of my voice excited him.
“That's it, baby. Come with me,” he said as he reached for my nipple. Instinctively, I slapped his hand away, then rocked my hips and met him stroke for stroke. “Yeah, that's it. I'm about to come.”

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