Alex dressed and shook his head at his predicament. He had a son with a woman he despised, and was married to Karen, who accepted and loved Miguel, and barely tolerated Mariah, who never hesitated to get on Karen’s last nerve.
From the very beginning, Alex made sure Karen knew about Miguel and his strained relationship with Mariah. At first Karen had been apprehensive about getting involved with Alex, but eventually the apprehension went away. They dated for six months before Alex proposed. In Karen, he’d found the woman with whom he could be married to for years and always be satisfied.
Alex laced up his Jordan sneakers and slipped into his Washington Wizards jersey—number twenty-three, of course. He was anxious to see his son, but not in the mood to deal with Mariah’s bullshit.
5
“I want to change my life man, but I don’t know how.”
“Huh?”
Jeff looked at his friend, Gregg, for a moment before taking a shot at the basket. “I love women, Gregg. I can’t get enough of them.”
“And that’s a problem?”
Jeff sighed. “For me it is.”
“What are you ... gay?”
Jeff gave Gregg a hard chest pass. “Shut up, man! No, I’m not gay. I’m just saying, I need to make a change.”
“I don’t get it.”
“My father was a womanizing son of a bitch, man. Shit ... he probably still is, even at sixty-five.”
“Your father’s the man,” Gregg said with a smile.
Jeff shook his head. “No ... he’s not. He never has been. And I’ve followed in his footsteps.”
“Man ... you’ve completely lost me.”
Jeff took a pass from Gregg, took two dribbles, and then hopped off his left foot and took the ball in for a smooth finger roll layup. He caught the ball as it fell through the net and then went and sat down on the ground, leaning back against the fence. It was a warm seventy degrees.
Gregg came and sat down beside him, sipping from a water bottle. “You okay, man?”
Jeff sighed. “You know ... this thing I have going with Sherry ... it’s good, man.”
Gregg nodded. “Yes it is. So what’s problem?”
“I don’t know, man. I guess I’m just worried that I’ll fuck it up.”
“What do you mean?”
“I love women, man.”
Gregg chuckled. “Don’t we all?”
Jeff shook his head. “No man, I mean I really love them. Their smiles, their eyes, their bodies, their scents. I love being with women, man. And I know them. I know what they want, what they like, need, deserve—what they crave. I know what they want to hear. I know women, man.”
Gregg laughed. “Sounds like you need to write a book, man.”
Jeff frowned. His father had been a master with women. He’d watched and studied him as he grew up. He sat in pews with his Bible in his lap, and admired how the women in the congregation stared at his father with fiery lust in their eyes. He watched him work them over; manipulate them with slick smiles, subtle glances, and holy words. Jeff watched, studied, soaked in the lessons daily and now at twenty-five, Jeff was the man the women wanted and admired.
Just as his father had been, he’d become the “catch”. Handsome, with his father’s broad shoulders, strong jaw-line, and deep, velvet tone. Inviting, with his mother’s dark-brown skin, brown, deep-set eyes, and disarmingly seductive smile. Educated, with a Ph.D. in psychology from the University of North Carolina. Successful, with his own private practice in Charlotte, a fancy house with a Porsche in the garage, and a Hummer he drove daily.
Women could never get enough of him. They’d always liked to drink him in as though he were a refreshing cup of hot chocolate to warm their cold souls.
He should have been happy. He was living every man’s fantasy. He had the job, cars, money, home, and even better, no kids or baby mama drama.
He should have been happy.
But he was scared.
For the first time ever, he’d found a woman that stirred him well beyond just making his dick hard. Sherry McCann. He’d been seeing her for four months. Sherry resembled Demi Moore with long, straight brown hair. At five foot nine, she was two inches shorter than Jeff, so when they spoke, they were nearly eye-to-eye, which signified no real dominance for him—something he’d always been accustomed to. Like him, Sherry had no kids. Her career as a criminal prosecutor was her top priority. Jeff liked the drive in her. He loved her professional style, her sharp mind. She was precisely the type of woman he’d always wanted. The type of woman he could see himself settling down with.
And that scared him.
He’d spent so much of his life mirroring his father’s ways that as he fell more and more in love with Sherry, he began to wonder if he’d be able to commit in a way he, nor his father ever had. He didn’t want to do to Sherry what his father had done to his mother. He didn’t want to be that type of man. But he was around women all the time, and try as he might, he could never seem to quiet a grumbling inside of him when they were around.
“Sometimes, man,” he said, tapping the ball with the tip of his index finger, “sometimes I just want to head to the jewelry store, buy a ring, and then head over to Sherry’s and drop down on one knee and pop the question.”
“And other times?”
“Other times ... other times I just want to tap the next piece of fine ass that I see.”
Gregg couldn’t help it. He laughed again. “Well ... I’m not married and I’m not attached, so you know how I feel about tapping fine ass.”
“Being single isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, man. It can’t touch having the right woman by your side.”
“So if you feel like you have the right woman, what’s the problem?”
Jeff frowned again and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know, man. I guess I just really don’t want to follow in my father’s footsteps. On one hand, I really respect him, but on another, I have none for him.”
Gregg hmph’d. “Sounds to me like you’re gonna have to have a real pow wow with yourself.”
“I have been, Gregg. Every day.”
“You ever try to talk to your mother about it? You know ... get her perspective without coming out and saying, ‘Mom ... how do I not be a womanizer like Dad was?’”
Jeff took a breath and exhaled slowly. “Nah ... we’re not close like that.”
“Yeah? How come?”
“My mother grew up in the South during a time when Blacks had to struggle to gain respect. When she was a kid, her mother was murdered by four teenage white boys. Ever since then, she’s had ill feelings toward Whites. I’ve dated more white women than anything. It’s not something I’ve consciously done. That’s just who I’ve been attracted to. Because of that, my mother and I ... we just never really got close. I know things were hard back then, but it’s a different time now. I know racism is still alive and ticking, but the world has changed. I mean, shit, we have a black president, and it’s because white people helped put him there.”
“Does she know about Sherry?”
Jeff shook his head. “Nah, I would love to talk to her about Sherry, but my mother’s set in her ways. Sad thing is, I think my mother would really dig her. Sherry might not be black, but she has a feistiness that I think my mother would appreciate.”
“What about your dad? Does he have a problem with Whites?”
“Shit ... my dad could care less about color. ‘Pussy has no face’ ... that’s something he told me a long time ago.”
Gregg laughed. “Wise words, my friend. Wise words.”
“Whatever, man,” Jeff said, laughing.
“So what are you gonna do? Move forward with Sherry? Pull back?”
Jeff shrugged and then rose from the ground. “I don’t know for sure, man, but, honestly, pulling back just doesn’t seem like an option to me.”
“So basically, you need to stop being a bitch and head on over to the jewelry store and cop that ring.”
“I guess so
.” Jeff took a few dribbles to the free throw line, turned, and took a quick turnaround jumper, swishing the ball through the net. “Enough talking, man. I want to go for three in a row.”
Gregg stood up. “Whatever, man. Just check the damn ball.”
Jeff laughed, knowing another victory was on the way.
Later that evening, he stood at the head of his oak dining table set for two and smiled. He had hooked it up. China plates, sterling silver knife and fork set with gold tips, pearl white cloth napkins folded into precise triangles. To complete the setting, crystal champagne glasses eagerly awaited the Merlot wine he had sitting in the refrigerator. Two candles sat in the middle of the table, while a dozen red long-stemmed roses lay on the chair that Sherry would be sitting in when she came over.
He took a deep breath through his nostrils. The baked chicken would be done soon. He’d already prepared the dirty rice with olives, kidney beans with small chunks of potatoes, and sweet corn. He was excited. After his talk with Gregg on the basketball court, he did exactly what his friend suggested, and headed to the jewelry store and bought a diamond engagement ring. He was still scared, but he knew letting Sherry go wasn’t an option.
He walked into the kitchen and turned off the oven. He’d never had to cook when he was younger. The kitchen had usually been reserved for his mother and sisters, while he and his father took care of the “manly” duties. Jeff had been renting a studio apartment during his second year at UNC when he taught himself how to cook. Always a ladies man, he realized early on that the best way to impress a woman and get her clothes off was through her stomach. See, women had it backward. They assumed that to get to a man’s heart they had to know their way around the kitchen, but Jeff knew better. While a man appreciated good cooking, in all actuality, they didn’t really care about the food. Hell, a man would eat for weeks on fast food if the ass was tight, breasts ample, and pussy sweet. That was what was important to a man.
But a woman ...
They were impressed by a man who wasn’t afraid of the kitchen. A man slaving away with pots and pans made them weak in the knees, and guaranteed sex. So he didn’t just learn how to cook. He learned how to Cook with a capital C. Southern, French, Spanish, Caribbean, Chinese, Italian—he could Cook them all. With the help of cookbooks and cooking channels, Jeff learned all about the different spices, seasonings, and oils. He studied the art of marinating, tenderizing, and accessorizing. Jeff learned how to cook, and the women loved him for it, and thanked him by doing things in bed that would give their mothers heart attacks and send their fathers searching for the shotgun.
He checked the time displayed on the microwave—ten minutes to eight. Sherry would be arriving soon. She had a late meeting with a client. He poured himself a glass of wine and was about to go and relax in the living room when the phone rang. Hopefully it wasn’t Sherry calling to say she needed more time because the closer the time came to Sherry arriving, the harder his heart beat.
He answered the phone. “Hello?”
“Hello, Jeffrey.”
“Mama?”
“How are you?”
“I’m good, Mama.”
“Are you busy?”
“A little.”
“Let me guess, I caught you at a bad time too,” his mother said.
“Unfortunately ... yeah. I have company coming over soon.”
“I see. Would that be a lady friend?”
“Yes,” Jeff answered apprehensively. He clenched his jaws and waited for the next question that she always asked: “Is she another White woman?”
But it never came. Instead his mother asked, “Is she a nice woman?”
Jeff raised his left eyebrow. “I’m sorry, what did you say, Mama?”
“I asked if she was a nice woman.”
“Y ... Yes she is,” Jeff stammered, not sure how to take her question.
“What’s her name?”
Here we go, Jeff thought. Next, she’d be asking what race she was. “Sherry,” he said.
“That’s a nice name.”
Jeff raised both of his eyebrows at her response, but still waited for the next question.
“So what does Sherry do?” his mother asked sounding genuinely interested.
Jeff didn’t answer right away. This wasn’t in the script he’d become used to. And it was throwing him off. Something wasn’t right. “She’s uh ... she’s a lawyer,” he finally said.
“That’s nice. Have you been dating her long?”
“For a few months now. Mama, are you okay?” Jeff asked.
“Yes ... I am.”
“Is Dad okay?”
“Your father is fine as always. Still speaking the word. But you should know how he is since you speak to him.”
Jeff raised his eyebrows again. His mother’s comment surprised him. He looked at the clock again. He wanted to get off quickly because he could feel a storm coming. “Mama, I don’t mean to rush but ...”
“I know, I know. You have to get going. I tell you, my children just don’t seem to have any time for me. That’s all right though. You wait and see, you may just miss me one day.”
Jeff opened his mouth to respond, but instead, decided not to say anything. Sherry was coming and he didn’t want to be in a bad mood when she arrived.
“Anyway,” his mother said, “Before you run off, I just want to tell you that I’m cooking a birthday dinner for myself, and I’ve invited your sisters and their mates, and I’m inviting you. And if this friend of yours is important to you, you can bring her too.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m inviting you and your friend over for my birthday dinner next month. Will you be coming?”
Jeff was speechless, and for a moment wondered if it truly had been his mother he’d been talking to. She was inviting him and Sherry over for dinner? “Mama ... you do know that Sherry is white, don’t you.”
His mother sighed. “I assumed so.”
“And you want us over for dinner?”
“Yes. Now will you be coming?”
“Y ... yes ... I’ll ... I mean we’ll come.”
“Good. Be on time. Six o’clock.”
“OK.”
“Good-bye Jeffery. I love you.”
“Good-bye, Mama. Love you too.”
Jeff’s mother hung up the phone, leaving him standing frozen in stunned silence. Invited? Both of them? Something was up. He didn’t know what, but he knew it was something.
He checked the time and then went into the kitchen to look at the baking chicken. He was going to pop the question, and his mother had invited him over for dinner and told him to bring Sherry. Was the world coming to an end?
6
Jean sat still on her bed and took a deep breath. The stage had been set. In one month, she would break the news to her family; while at the same time begin the process of mending wounds before her time was over.
For the first time, since receiving the news, she admitted to herself that she didn’t want to die. Especially now that she was ready to take the necessary steps to live a life that she should have been living. A life filled with love, warmth, joy, and true happiness.
The dinner would be a new beginning to an eventual ending, and as that fact sucked air from her chest, tears of pain, sadness, regret, and joy fell from her eyes.
She thought about the death of her mother, something she vaguely remembered. And the death of her father, when she was eighteen. It had been a sad day, but in some respects, it had also been one filled with relief, because for as long as she could remember, her father had always seemed to have a cloud of sadness over him. He’d looked so peaceful the day of his viewing. That was an image she’d always kept with her. Sitting in her chair, she wondered if she would look the same to her children when her time came.
Jean’s body trembled as the tears fell harder.
She’d put up with so much for so long. Accepting her husband’s philandering ways had done much more than just hurt her emotionally. It had al
so hurt her relationship with Karen, Monica, and Jeffery. Her daughters didn’t speak to her much and she knew why. They didn’t respect her. They’d never said that to her, but she could see it in their eyes and hear it in their voice. As for her son ... he was too much like his father and he sought comfort with white women only. She’d never been privy to a long life with her mother, having lost her at age three, but she missed her, and she could never seem to live without blaming all for acts committed by only a few. Her son wasn’t bad or wrong for loving outside of her race, nor was Karen.
Leukemia.
Sad, that it was with only a few months left that she could admit that freely. It was also sad that she had finally decided enough had been enough when it came to Stewart.
“Jean?”
Jean looked up. Stewart was standing in the doorway watching her. Jean hurried to wipe the tears away from her face and cleared her throat. “Yes, Stewart?”
Stewart stepped into the room. “Is everything all right?”
Jean looked at her husband. He was still strikingly handsome. It wasn’t hard for her to see how any woman would be attracted to him. Jean had fallen for him hard, just as all the women had back in their youth. When he chose her to be his, she’d felt blessed. Stewart had been the “chosen one” at that time. Young, confident, sexy, a minister’s son with nothing but blessings and good faith bestowed upon him. All of the women wanted to be his. Jean had been no different.
She loved his passion and yearning for the word and teachings of Christ. She loved his spirit and his desire to spread the gospel to others. She was as entranced as everyone else had been when he spoke. He had a charisma that wooed, grabbed tight, and refused to let go. He had a charm that had been, and still was, magnetic.
Their courtship had been a quick one. Within six months of dating, they were married, and six months after that, Jean was pregnant with Karen.
If It Isn't Love Page 4