Changing Stiles Page 7

  Sexual attraction always gets me in trouble. I thought I had these types of urges under control.

  “So, what’s your number?”

  “This is an exchange program,” I tell him. He laughs and takes his flip chirp phone from his pocket. You have to let some dudes know because sometimes they took your number and don’t give you theirs, which could be for a number of reasons, most of them shady. I give him my number and ask, “And yours?” I reach inside my car window to grab my cell.

  “You ready?”

  I nod then rattle off the number.

  “What time is good to call?”

  “It’s my cell. Basically, anytime you want,” I shrug.

  He squints his eyes, and I notice that they are chocolate brown.

  Damn, Damn. Damn. Why he have to be cho-co-la-te with sexy ass eyes?

  “Do you work?”

  I chuckle. I guess being available all the time means no job. “Yeah, I work.”

  Justin licks his lips. “What do you do?”

  “Real Estate. Rehabs, Renovations. How ‘bout you?” I brace myself for this sexy man to say that he is between jobs, or “self-employed”, or worse, a rapper.

  “Journalist.”

  Unable to hide my intrigue, I grin. I usually go for men who have physical jobs, like contracting, construction, or anything that involves strong hands. “Really? You write for a newspaper?”

  “A couple; I do freelance work mostly. Magazines, that sort of thing”

  “Freelance? Is there any money in that?” I should be embarrassed about asking it, but I’m not.

  His chocolate ass looks surprised but he answers, “Yeah. Gotta be good, though. I’ve been thinking about real estate for a minute now; is there as much money in it as they say it is?”

  “Of course, there is, but you gotta be good, though,” I shoot back.

  “Maybe you can fill me in on it later when we get together.”

  Such a smooth way to end a conversation. I’m impressed. “Yeah, I can do that. all me.”

  “And you sure your man not gon’ answer your phone, right?”

  A smirk spreads across my face. “Please.”

  Six

  Carter

  I’m irritated that things didn’t go my way. But I don’t make a habit out of sweating over things that are out of my control. In my mind, tonight was going to happen differently. I imagine soaking leisurely in the bath with some Epsom salts and a drink. Today has been a long fuckin’ day. Framing the basement and the first floor in ninety-degree weather is no joke. At least the floor at the Albrights’ is complete, and I don’t have to worry about the smell of turpentine for a couple of days.

  I play with the possibility of Lieas coming over and letting whatever happens happen. We’ve been kicking it on the weekends since our first date. It’s been a month and I’ve been a gentleman, but she could tempt Adam. I wanna be all over her, but it’s something that keeps me from taking the kissing and heavy petting further. I wanna put the voodoo down on it, but I'm not sure what she working with and she might have a nigga tripping once I get it. I know my limitations.

  So, having my mind clear, focused, and sexual haze-free is how I been playing it. But I’m damn sure interested. I have recently ended plenty of my nights with blue balls. It’s real young boah shit to jerk off. In any case, when she called to thank me for the flowers, I extended the invite to go out, only to be told that she already had plans.

  Plans with another man, I bet. Under the guise of a dinner party arranged by her parents.

  I had to give it a moment to allow what she said to sink in.

  Temperature rising, I can feel the heat course through my veins like lava. I had to take the phone from my ear to look at it on some dumbfounded, ‘She must think I’m a nut-assed nigga. I only ask if she was sure she wants to do that, and she kicks some story about not wanting to disappoint her parents. Her mom is so into appearances that she doesn’t want to embarrass her by canceling at the last moment.

  I’m not buying it. At the age she is and knowing Alieas the way I’ve come to know her, there’s no way that she does anything that she doesn’t want to. My mom has attempted to set me up on several dates, and I’ve respectfully declined. I’m past the age where my parents can guilt me into anything.

  Considering the fact that we are not exclusive, and that she is not my woman, I have to bring myself down off the ledge. She made her choice and I have to live with it.

  Don’t like it, not with it at all, and possibly turned off by it. At least she honest, I reason. Maybe too honest. But I can’t really say that there is no such thing as too honest.

  Guess a brotha is just salty. Kind of figured I had locked it down without even mentioning it to her, and now, I’m dealing with the results.

  Lieas even had the nerve to pretend to be annoyed with me like I should be understanding.

  Yea. Hell Nawl. I didn’t snap off, but I did terminate that conversation. Cut it short. She can play out in these streets if she want, but she won’t be playing me.

  My man Rah had hit me up to invite me to the Purple Orchid and the club at 2nd and Cambria on a strip club tour, but it wasn’t where my mind was. I’m definitely trying to get some ass to bounce for me, but since I was only in the mood for Lieas’, and that wasn't happening— at least not tonight, I declined. Dave had texted me earlier in the week to say that he was coming up for the weekend. I called him to see if they were still going out. They were so, I’m about to be out here.

  It would be great to see him and hang out with some dudes that aren’t being obnoxious and high. I don’t smoke weed, pop pills, or none of that extra shit these dudes out here be doing under the guise feeling good and having a good time.

  I have to admit I do need to get my mind off her, though. The next best thing to love and family is money, so I was going to make some money moves. Dave is a financial wiz and is always on ‘go’ when it came to talking dollars and deals.

  There is no need for a sitter since getting with Alieas; my mom has taken it upon herself to keep Mira for the weekend. I guess she figures I could use the private time. She is hype as shit. Thought I would never get into another relationship after Toya. My dad was like, “Enjoy the single life son and get all the pussy you can before you bump into “the one”.

  I give a quick call to her to check on Mira and to say goodnight.

  “Night, Bug. Love you,” I tell her, making smoochy, kissy noises into the phone. It elicits a giggle as expected. “Love you too, Daddy.”

  “Alright, Cart. Ya’ll have fun. Tell Lieas I said hi.” My mom swears that Alieas is going to be my wife. The jury is still out on if she is even gonna make it to become my girl. Especially after tonight.

  “I’m kickin’ it with the fellas tonight,” I let her know.

  “Oh; well, where’s Alieas?”

  “She out with some otha nigga tonight, Ma.” I murmur.

  She gasps dramatically, “Carter, no. You ran that poor girl away already? She seems so nice.”

  What? Ran her away? I shake my head and roll my shoulders to stretch my aching bones. “Mom, please. And don’t be all hype. I’m not sure about her,” I confess.

  “Aww, well; I liked her. So, whatever you did, fix it,” she instructs.

  I frown. “Ma, I didn’t do anything.”

  “Alright, baby. You’re right. If she’d rather be out with some otha fool, let her. She cute but she ain’t that cute to be two-timing my baby.”

  Sharon will ride with me until the wheels fall off. I laugh. “It’s cool, Mom. I gotta go, though. And no junk after she brushes her teeth.”

  “I raised you, didn’t I? And you let Ms. Thang know, you don’t play that.”

  “Thanks, Mom. See you tomorrow.”

  As soon as the call disconnects, Alieas’ call comes through. I press the button to decline it.

  I will have to decide what to do about her later. I really like her, but if she still playing the field, I have to let her d
o her. Or I could put up or shut up and force her off the market. That just doesn’t sit well wit me.

  I take one last glance at myself in the mirror. A brotha look good.

  Rah texted me on my way down the stairs: Last chance my nig, There’s a wet T-shirt contest.

  Once settled in the car, I texted him back. I’m good, homey. Make sure your ass show up for work on Monday.

  LMAO, boss man. Enjoy your QT with the new jawn. You already be actin’ like an old weird nigga. You betta have fun before she lock your ass down.

  Whatever, man. You betta make sure you wrap before you tap or you gonna be burning like last time.

  And without another thought to Alieas, I start up my truck and pull out of my driveway.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Alieas

  His credentials seem impeccable. Derek Turner is black, twenty-five, educated, and he comes from a family that is well-off. Lineage is important to my mom for some reason or another. Wouldn't have mattered to me if the man’s father was a second generation bum as long as he knows how to take care of business. Not sex, but the everyday affairs of his life.

  The happiness from my day vanishes once my mother informs me that she, my father, and Derek's parents decide that we would benefit from our initial meeting being a one-on-one experience. Here I am a half hour before the damn date and plans have been changed. I contemplate not going to spite my parents, but Nicole would see it as a personal insult and be embarrassed. Still, I don’t know enough about this man to save my life. Yet, here I am, waiting for the Maître D to seat me with a man I have absolutely no interest in meeting.

  I follow the man to a secluded corner of the very chic and expensive restaurant. As we approach the table, Derek stands up to greet me. I am frozen and amazed at how fate could play such dangerous games with a person's life.

  Three years have passed since I'd met him, last saw him, and slept with him. It takes him a moment to recognize me, but there is no mistaking he knows who I am once he does.

  “Your name didn't ring any bells,” he explains. But then he hadn't asked for anything more than my first one.

  I laugh at the irony of the situation. “It would have helped if I'd have given you a real one,” I admit as I sit across from him.

  Here's the deal; during my sophomore year, homecoming weekend of ’98 to be exact, there had been huge parties and mad guys from everywhere. I think back and am ashamed to say that I had a couple in my bed. And Mr. Derek Turner had been one of them.

  “This is pointless,” I complain, realizing how uncomfortable it was for me to see one of my very own indiscretions studying me throughout dinner.

  “Wait. ‘Zonnai’ is what you told me, right?”

  “It's my middle name,” I snap. Now, I’m angry and upset.

  In college, before Tony and I were together, I was very free with my charms. I had sex with just about anybody who wanted to. There were no ifs, ands, or buts about it. I used sex to self-medicate my depressed mind at the time. Seeing him just made me understand that my shit wasn't as tight then as it was supposed to be.

  I’m still up to the same shit, more or less. Less fucking this time around though.

  How many guys have there been from the time I lost my virginity at fourteen? More than I can remember or would care to. When I look back on it, it's something my heart can't take.

  “Cool out,” he says to me. “I'm only on this date thing as a favor to my parents.”

  “Same here.”

  “Look,” he reaches for my hand and rubs it, “how about we ditch this place and go get a room?”

  Maybe I deserve that for all my past behavior, but I'd be damned if I am going to sit there and let him think I’m just going to him fuck me because he asked nicely.

  I snatch my hand from under his and spit, “You fuckin' ignorant fool.”

  He doesn’t answer but just looks at me. His expression leads me to believe that he is actually shocked that I am declining his offer. I get up from my seat and leave him sitting there. This nigga got me all the way fucked up.

  Now, I’m standing out in the smoldering August evening, and my eyes begin to water. My pride hurt, I want to shout that I am no longer that easy piece of ass. That I don’t impulsively fuck dudes I don’t know for fun. That the whore who let him grace her bed no longer exists. That she has considerably matured and treats her body and her mind with kindness and respect. And worst of all that the baby she carried and didn't know who the father was no longer dwelled in her body. That girl wasn't me. An abortion in a lonely clinic was all she needed to snap her out of her reckless ways. The girl had grown into a woman who has become more selective and cautious with her bedmates.

  Then, I was still trying to find myself. The current me is the result of much soul-searching and learning from the mistakes of a naïve girl who thought she had all the answers. I yearned to cry and scream. “That’s not me.” when the first tears fell. I’m saved the embarrassment of breaking down in front of dozens of people when the valet appears with my Blazer. In the privacy of my car is where I unabashedly release all of my tears. Until now, I’ve never cried over being overly sexual or carefree. Again, for the most part, I’m now more controlled. The past has always been that—the past, and I thought that tears would never change that. But sometimes crying makes you feel better.

  During my times of trouble, I found there was only one place I could go to seek solace. The Spot is that place for me. I drive there without a second thought. It is there that I can pour out my heart in lyrical form, in front of a roomful of people, and not worry about being be judged. Since I was seventeen, The Spot has been this poet's sanctuary. I haven't been there in over three months and graced the intimate stage and let my words flow and bless the ears of an audience. I didn't even go when Tony broke up with me because I didn't have the words. I had been a mass of confusion. Within fifteen minutes of leaving The Grille, I am parked and being greeted by the owner. "Hey, Lieas," she says with a huge smile. Then she kisses my cheeks.

  “Hey, Empress,” I reply with a hug. During my visits here, we developed a friendship.

  “You gon' flow?” she inquires as she leads me to my favorite seat that I’m surprised isn't taken. For a Thursday, The Spot is uncommonly crowded. I give a nod of thanks as I sit and begin listening intently to a handsome man speak of the hardships of being a black man in America.

  “You need a few minutes?” she questions, anxious to hear what brings me to her.

  “Yeah, just sign me up,” I reply. Empress leaves me alone with not even a, 'How have you been?' I need the quiet, though, as thoughts race through my mind.

  Later, she comes back with a drink in hand and places it in front of me. “You up next,” she whispers with a pat on my shoulder. Empress makes her way to the stage, just as a young girl finishes up and is awarded a thunderous applause. She has definite skills; makes me nervous for a minute that I have to go after her. But no young girl is gon’ stop me from venting or shinning, for that matter. Not that shining is what this is all about.

  “Our next poet is a very special friend of mine and has been gracing us with her presence here at The Spot since she was seventeen. I'd like to introduce to you, The Essence of Words!” Empress exclaims with a cheerful smile.

  She holds the mic out to me until I have it secured between my fingers. I mouth a thank you and look out into the audience, which is now hushed with a dead silence.

  I greet them, my voice deep with my black mood, with a “How's everybody doin'?” The responses pour in, and I continue. “I'm not hatin' on the men in the crowd, so fellas, don't take offense. This is for all my sistas out there.” I lift my eyes to the hovering lights, close them, and then I speak, “Shit is Crazy." I take a deep breath. It’s been a long time since I freestyled for an audience.

  “The essence of my words lives deep within my soul, yet and still, I had a man in my life that I couldn't hold. I let him lie, cheat, and steal, and a whole bunch of other
shit. You niggas out there know the deal. But nawl, that's not what I'm gon' speak on even though I know that's what all you sistas wanna hear." The men in the room begin to clap. For once they have a sista to sympathize with their doggin' asses. Not!

  “I woke up this morning happy as shit… had a potential man in my life which also means potential, regular dick... and all of his other attributes… damn, too much... just can't get into it. Peaceful and tranquil, basically floating like a muthafuckin

  ' cloud... until a crash of thunder came down to earth and fucked up my smile... Some young bitch," I opened my eyes to watch the women in the room, half of them were looking around, the other half waiting for my next words like the air they need to breathe, "And yes, I say bitch because not only is she disrespecting she but the young jawn had the nerve to disrespect me. The girl isn't who y'all think she is but the same one I see every single fuckin' day... And the sad shit about it is that I just can't get the fuck away. We share the same face, voice, the same pussy, the same memories. Memories of a time when I couldn't or just wouldn't say no. Yes, to you all, I'm admitting I used to be a hoe. Yes, the bitch that I referred to is me. I thought I could erase her and chase her the fuck away, but I can't ‘cause shit you do in your past will always be there to stay.... Take your time and think about every nigga you done fucked... Can you count them on two hands or is it just too much? We want to blame men for breakin' our hearts and dogging us out when in reality, sometimes, it's our fuckin' fault. Why give them the power to break our asses down? Give them the power to set the definition of what a woman should be? How the hell would he know when the thought of being a real man has got his ass beat? Make wise decisions so you'll never be put in a whore’s position... Yo, shit to crazy.”

  I don't know if I expect people to clap or even respond. I’m on the verge of tears because I still have a lot more things to get out, but I can’t find the words. The silent room erupts in applause. I smile and wait for Empress to come to the mic. She put her arm around my shoulder. “You did real good, lil' sister,” she whispers in my ear. “Thanks,” I murmur in her ear before I leave the stage.