On the Line

by Donna Hill

  Our students won both the basketball championships in St. Louis, Missouri. We had our summer-ending dinner and gave out awards. It was my last week in the dorm. We had to clean up after the students left. It was just me and Samuel Sharif, the dorm director. I had completed my list of duties three days ahead of schedule.

  On Friday evening there was a knock on my door and there stood Crystal. I had been listening to the jazz in my dorm room and drinking wine.

  “Can I come in?”

  “Sure!” I moved from the doorway.

  Crystal put her chocolate arms around me. Her body felt magnificent. She was solid and shapely. I cupped the back of her afro and ran my hands from her neck to her round ass. We moved to the jazz of Grover Washington, Jr. We danced to the bed and we never stopped kissing. I lit candles and we exchanged back rubs and lay in each other’s arms caressing each other’s bodies. I reached into the dresser next to the bed and pulled a handful of condoms from the drawer.

  We stopped making love when the condoms ran out. It was the most remarkable lovemaking I’d had. We had all that pent-up energy and desire. We dated for over two years with plans to marry. Crystal eventually moved to Kansas City with her sister-in-law.

  Crystal was studying law and working part-time. We had long stopped using condoms, but she was on the Pill. We made love almost every other day. We were both strong-minded and I was finishing up my senior year in college.

  We agreed to take a break from dating each other when we couldn’t agree on a date for marriage. We still went out occasionally from time to time. I would see her and her sister-in-law out at the clubs and we always had a good time.

  Two months later, Crystal called and informed me that she was going back to Denver. I asked her if she was sure and she said she just wanted to be closer to her family. I understood, because I knew how important my family was to me.

  Two weeks later, I got a call that Crystal was pregnant and that we were expecting a child. We argued about whether it was intentional. Though we never came to an agreement about that, I have always loved and admired her. Twyla was born seven months later in Denver, Colorado. I arrived a little after the baby was born. She was a beautiful baby. I stayed for three days and came home to finish school. Crystal and I raised our daughter. Mostly Crystal. I had her for the summers and went to visit, or Crystal would come to Kansas City to visit with our daughter.

  Jessica Simms is the second woman I had a baby by and, the sad truth is, the third woman, Phyllis Charles, was pregnant at the same time. They were one month apart. But we’ll talk about her later. Back to Jessica. She and I worked together at the postal service. We knew each other for about three years, but never kicked it together. I would see her all the time at the clubs. She was attractive and all, but she was a wild girl. Smoked weed, drank and did light drugs. I wasn’t into that, but she was thick and fine. She had an ass like Janet Jackson.

  It was late one night at the club. I got myself a drink and saw her watching me from her table. I walked over and asked her to dance. Four records and slow-dancing later, we were on our way to her house. That was fine with me; I had a three-pack of new condoms and nothing but time on my hands.

  Her two-story, three-bedroom house was in the inner city. We reclined on the couch and started watching nothing in particular on television.

  Soon the lights were low and we were kissing and exploring each other’s bodies. She had on a leather skirt and sweater top with calf-high leather boots and stockings. While rubbing her legs, I soon came to find that her stockings were thigh-highs. Our kisses became more passionate and I soon fell between her bare thighs and served her up. Her moans were loud and her legs straddled my shoulders as she gripped the back of my head and moved my face deeper into her.

  She took my hand and turned everything off as she led me to her bedroom. The stage had been set. She let me undress her and I let her undress me. We made love until around an hour before sunrise. I washed up and dressed and was home in bed by the first morning light. That was the beginning of what I called our vampire relationship. I never spent the night and was always in my own bed by the time the sun rose over the horizon.

  I was dating another woman at the time named Raven. She and I were at a mutual friend’s home at a house party. She wore this tight-fitting burgundy leather outfit that had every man’s head in the place turning. She seductively worked the room and I could feel her lustful eyes on me.

  Raven and I connected and things were good. I had my cake and ate it, too. It was early June when I got the call that Jessica had missed her period and was pregnant. She promised that she would not keep the baby. She knew I didn’t want children and neither did she and she wasn’t trying to trap me. I felt relieved. For the most part we always had used protection and other times I had not pulled out in time, but had been lucky, up till now.

  I remember one morning, about a week later, Jessica called to inform me she had talked with her sister and decided to keep the child. Of course, I was furious. I did not want another child, but my thoughts were not her concern. She asked me when I was moving in. I told her she could not be serious. We were just having a fling. I told her I would take care of my responsibility, but there would be no us.

  I fell into a selfish depression, never taking her feelings or situation into consideration. I guess that was the day she decided that she would be the closest thing to hell in my life and that’s exactly what she was. I never understood, until now, why she hated me, but I thought she understood the rules of our relationship. We had discussed it. But women never understand once emotions and feelings are in the way. I was too foolish to understand it, either.

  It was hard as hell working with her at the post office. She soon leaked that I was the father of her unborn child once she started showing, but this did not stop women from wanting to be with me. It’s funny now, to think that other women knew I had a woman at the job pregnant and they looked past that and still wanted to give me some play.

  Jessica had our child and I was there. She put me through pure hell most of the time. At birth, my son was named Vance Legend Jr. Two weeks later, one of Jessica’s fat-ass, no-good, know-I-didn’t-like-her, trifling friends came up to me at work.

  She placed her large hands on her plump waist and tilted her head arrogantly with disdain. “So, how’s Jessica and little Howard doing?”

  I looked at her, puzzled. “Who?”

  She placed her fat fingers to her lips with a look of surprise. “Ohhh, I guess Jessica didn’t tell you that she changed Vance Jr.’s name to Howard. Well, I suppose the cat’s out the bag now, huh?” she said as she smacked her contemptuous thick lips, rolled her thick neck and waddled off.

  I stood there as my blood boiled. I went to the phone and called Jessica’s home phone, but she did not answer. I knew she was home on maternity leave and it was too soon for her to be hitting the streets. I took off sick and jumped into my car and sped to her house. I beat on her door, but she knew not to answer. I was so mad and had so much hate in my heart that I’m not sure what I would have done to her.

  I calmed myself and left her house with a newfound hatred for her. I later thanked God for not letting her open the door, because I’m sure I would be in jail right now. I had never even had the thought of hitting a woman, but only God knows what I would have done if she had answered the door that night. I’m so glad she didn’t. I’m sure that God intervened. I went home to my apartment that night and cried.

  When Jessica did come back to work, she taunted me, telling me and her friends that I was working for her and I had better keep working overtime in order to support the new car she bought and the hefty child support she kept taking me to court for.

  Every time I got a raise, she took me to court to increase my payments. She cursed me every time I went to get my son, but I would not retaliate. I took it. She tried to have me jailed years later for whipping my son because of cursing. She even went so far as trying to get me fired from my job with the same claims.<
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  Jessica has caused me more depression, strife, money and contempt that I wish to remember. But I stood strong to form a relationship with my child and she used him in every way she could to expose every nerve ending in my body. It was one of the most trying times in my entire life.

  I often said that if I went to hell, the experience would be like dealing with that woman every day. I often laughed and said that was God’s way of giving me hell on earth for being so self-centered and selfish. I never took the time to think if I had just treated her with respect and never had entered into the sexual relationship, both our lives would have been so different. But then I think that if we hadn’t had the relationship, I would not have my son. So it was all worth it. My son is my pride and joy and I love him so much. He looks just like me and as I told him before, “Your name might have changed, but it is my blood that flows through your veins and that is all that matters.”

  My greatest inner fear is that on his eighteenth birthday she will tell me that he really isn’t my son. We never had a blood test and it wouldn’t matter anyway. I raised him as my son and my son he will always be.

  Ms. Newhouse, once again, I’m not proud of my situation, but I’ve just sat down and realized what a fool I have been to myself and others. As I stated before, while Jessica was pregnant, I was dating a woman named Phyllis Charles on and off. I met Phyllis at my college. I was a Black Student Union alumni representative and she was a sophomore. We met at a retreat. It was an instant attraction.

  It was really crazy. We attended the same college, our birthdays were on the same day, and we later found that our mothers had the same name. To make it that much more incredible, if you add up both our birthdays, that’s the day our daughter was born, and in the same month we were born. It seemed like a match made in heaven, but I would soon mess that up, too.

  I was a roller-skating fool and was one of the best skaters at the rink. I would skate at least three times a week and Phyllis would come with me. But once she became pregnant and started to show, she could not skate anymore. Women loved a brother that could skate and would let it be known at couples skate that they wanted to give up the panties. I was a victim of popularity.

  For the longest time, I fought off the temptation, because I was really in love with Phyllis. I would go to her house before and after skating to make sure she was okay and didn’t need for anything. She was heartbroken when she learned of Jessica’s pregnancy, but overlooked it as best she could.

  We got along and I remained true to her, but the rumors and strain of being pregnant at the same time as another woman by the same man took its toll. We were on again, off again for many months, but I would make sure she was okay and had what she needed. Even when our daughter was born I was there. I often had both infants at the same time and would bring them to my parents’ and take them to church with me. I would have them every other weekend and my eldest daughter was happy to help with them when she would be in town visiting.

  I was forced to work nights and had pretty much no life. I needed the nighttime differential to be able to pay my bills and the child support for three children. Half my check was gone. I often worked part-time in law enforcement to make extra money. I was armed security for several companies before finally working as a security supervisor for a professional football team. I did this for over ten years.

  Joy, for the next four or five years, I didn’t date much. I had a few relationships, but they didn’t amount to anything because I was never fully satisfied. I was not yet thirty-three and had never been married. Out of nowhere I met Regan Childs. She was beautiful. I knew the first time I laid eyes on her that she would be my wife. The only problem, she was married and in an abusive relationship, but I didn’t let that bother me.

  From talking to her, I quickly learned that she and her unfaithful husband were at the end of their relationship. I remember I had to step to him for pushing her around and finally we moved in together and the son of a bitch threw a rock through the house window. We never had a problem after that. Like I said, I don’t have a problem whipping a man’s ass over family. Regan and I dated about five months before we were married. I was happy, but was not ready for the baggage that she carried from her relationship. We had communication problems, but I ignored them.

  I should have learned a long time ago that when a person has been abused or misused, they need time to heal before they can move forward. I know Regan loved me the best way she could, but she had trouble loving herself. Her relationship with her mother was strained and her sister was self-serving. But we loved as best we could. We had a daughter the first year of our marriage. She is the joy of my life. It seems that we are closer than any of my other children and I know it was the fact that she was in the home with me and her mother for seven years. We communicated and trusted each other.

  Regan and I continued to have marital problems and decided to divorce. Sometimes you can’t fix two grown people and it’s best to separate.

  Rita became the love of my life. I never loved another woman the way I loved her. I married her. I think the other women in my life had a problem with that. They are just now getting along, but I made sure our children always were solidified and knew who their brothers and sisters were. We went to family reunions on both sides of the family. I wanted to make sure they knew their roots and their people.

  I respect Rita a lot because we came out of our relationship almost as smooth as we went into it. She has a good heart and I truly wish nothing but happiness and love for all my babies’ mamas. I have never been one to be jealous. My only concern was that the men they dated understood that I would kill for my children. They have a lot of sick bastards out there and I damn sure didn’t want my children to fall victim to any of them.

  My children are my life and no matter how much I struggle I have to make sure I take care of them. I’m not perfect and I have done some jacked-up things in my life, but I have always been a loving and caring father and daddy to my children.

  Ms. Newhouse, I just want to say to the mothers of my children, thanks for stepping up to the plate when I could not and taking care of our children, and I will continue to support them in their lives and educational quests for college and adulthood. I’m sorry for not being there all the time. I will always give you praise for a job well done. You all have given me my children that are the joy and reason I keep pushing toward my dreams. Forgive me for any pain or tears I have ever caused you and know that it is sincere. Our children came from a love that was true.

  Ms. Joy Newhouse, thanks for your show and giving me the opportunity to look inside myself and see the wrongs I have done to these women, but I have been a blessing, too. I love my children and I have a love for all the mothers. What we had was good at one time. I’ll never forget. God bless you for all the lives you touch. Continue to be an avenue for lost souls like me, who continue to try and make things right. God bless you and good night.

  “Humph! How ’bout that, ya’ll, a brother apologizing for being a ho. Now that is a first. But I gotta respect the brotha for trying to do the right thing. And of course I’m cheezing for all the gratitude you tossed my way, Mr. Baby Daddy. Good luck to you and all your babies’ mamas. We’re going to take a quick break then come back with some calls. Hang on to your seats—it’s sure to get bumby. Back in sixty seconds….”

  CHAPTER 5

  I pull the headset off and toss it on the table. I hear that bad-ass sister Leela James belting out the blues in her signature voice. Macy always knows what tunes to play. I bob my head to the music, thinking about the calls and letters that have come in tonight. It’s been wild and it never fails to amaze me how folks get themselves into the messes that become their lives. The letters I’m pretty much prepared for but you can never tell what crazy mess someone is going to call in and spew all over the airwaves. So I always have to be on top of my game.

  When I first started, I tried the sympathetic route, listening and sympathizing, even giving advice that actually m
ade some sense. Trust me, that mess may work on the tube but not in radio-land. With TV you have all the visuals, the tears, the stunned expressions and looks of sympathy. But with radio you have to create the visuals, excite the listeners. And after several months of watching my ratings sink, I knew I had to change my strategy or find another day job. Hence, Joy Newhouse and reality radio was born, and I haven’t looked back.

  Macy is waving and giving me my count. I put my headset back on and adjust my microphone.

  “Hey, radio-land. We’re back and you’re listening to On the Line with Joy Newhouse, WHOT on your dial, reality radio at its best. As promised before the music break, I’m going to take some live calls. And, callers, you better be up to my standards or you will get the dial tone. Okay, here we go. Caller, you’re on the line.”

  “I’ve thought long and hard about what I will miss most after I kill myself. And came up with poetry.”

  My eyes widen like circles and I signal frantically to Macy and mouth, “How in the hell did this get past screening?”

  She shrugs all helpless and points to the intern. I turn my attention back to the call.

  “I discovered a poem within the past few days that has meant all the difference, spurred me on in this difficult task that lies ahead. It isn’t easy to let go, to give up all hope, but this poem has softened the blow of what I’m going to do. It’s written by Sylvia Plath, entitled ‘Edge,’ her last published work before she herself committed suicide. I have to say it is pure genius to me.

  “Now, I’ve got a few options. I could stab myself with these scissors I’m holding. Or I could swallow all the pills in the bottles of Lexapro and Zoloft in my medicine cabinet. For good measure I’d chase the pills with E & J. I’m in a scary place, I know. My period’s in its heavy first day and I’m more emotional than ever. I can hear death’s call. I can hear my name on death’s lips. Death’s cry is a song in my ears. But I don’t need some radio hack wannabe psychologist to talk me out of ending my misery. I’ve already made that decision, you see. This is about me speaking some things, letting my voice be heard for the final time. And what better forum than this? I’ve heard it said everyone has a story to tell. I believe that. Most of the stories you hear don’t have the emotional impact of mine. Most are inane. Mine is a real story of heartbreak and pain, like none you’ve ever heard before.”