Trouble Loves Company

by Angie Daniels

  “Oh, yeah, and I went off!”

  “Good for you, Kimberly.”

  “I finally asked him to choose, and he told me on her front porch in holey drawers and a dingy wifebeater, he was in love with the other woman.”

  “Ouch! Girlfriend, say it ain’t so.”

  Kimberly breathed heavily into the phone. “Yep, I’m afraid it’s true. I was devastated. I got back in my car and drove home.”

  “Daaayum, girl! I wouldn’t wish that kind of drama on anyone. So, tell me, what did you do when he got home?”

  There was a noticeable pause. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” This female was stuck on stupid.

  “Ms. Nikki, that’s the problem. I love my husband and I’m willing to do whatever I can to save our marriage. That’s why I called. Because I need someone out there to tell me what I need to do to bring him back to me.”

  I shook my head and glanced through the glass at my producer, Tristan, who was shaking his head as well. There are some women out there who allow a man to get away with just about anything.

  “Kimberly, honey, obviously you don’t know anything about respecting yourself, because if you did, instead of calling me, you would be packing his shit and burning it in the nearest Dumpster. Why in the world would you want a man who obviously doesn’t want you?”

  “He’s the father of my kids.” Don’t you know she had the nerve to sound defensive?

  “And that’s supposed to make it right? Men can only get away with what women allow them to. He disrespected and played you in front of another woman. That’s more than enough reason to dump his sorry ass.” Tristan was going to have to do a whole lot of bleeping tonight.

  “Hold up, Nikki. I love him, and I don’t appreciate you talking negatively about my husband!”

  “Excuse me, but it’s Ms. Nikki to you, and if you love him that much, then why did you even call my show? Next caller.” I ended the call. Damn! I hate to say it, but women like her deserve what they get.

  “Hi, Ms. Nikki. My name is Tasha, and my family thinks I need to leave my man.”

  Oh, Lord, not another. “Why is that?”

  “Well... uh... a couple of weeks ago we were at my cousin Boo-Man’s birthday party, and one thing led to another and my man hit me. I know he didn’t mean it, and he swears he won’t do it again.”

  It must be something in the air, because that night everybody was acting cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs. “Let me tell you something, Tasha. Any woman who takes a man back after he hits her, all she’s doing is telling him it’s okay to do it again.”

  “But he’s going to counseling!”

  “Good, he needs to. And what you need to do is find a man who respects you.”

  “He can’t help it. His father used to abuse him.”

  “And that makes it right? Girlfriend, you have to respect yourself first before you can expect a man to show you respect.”

  “I know, but I’ve prayed on it and God wants me to take him back. I’m certain of it.”

  “Nooo, the Lord helps those who help themselves. If you go back to a man that hits you, that means you don’t feel worthy of a man who won’t.”

  “I believe everyone deserves a chance to change!”

  What was up with these defensive women? “True, but are you willing to risk your life on it? What if he really hurts you next time?”

  “That ain’t gonna happen, I’m certain of this. He’s been trying real hard to work on our relationship. In fact, last week he asked me to marry him and I accepted. So there’s no way I’m letting my family or anyone else stand in the way. I just wanted to go on the air and say that, ’cause I know my cousins Alize and Lingerie listen to yo show.”

  “If you’re adamant about staying with him, then all I can do is wish you the best of luck. In the meantime, do me a favor... take some boxing classes.” I ended the call, and the phone lines lit up with callers anxious to put in their two cents. “This is Nikki and you’re on the air.”

  “Tasha, you are pathetic. I would have taken a frying pan to his head!”

  I had to laugh at that one. “I know that’s right, girl.”

  “Trust and believe, I used to date a man who hit me. I used to think it was my fault. That maybe if I did things the way he asked me to instead of the way I wanted, maybe he would love me more and stop hitting me. But you can’t change people like that. The more I tried to make him happy, the angrier he got, and the beatings got worse until one day he hit me in front of my son.”

  “What!” I cried, adding dramatic effect. “Girlfriend, what did you do?”

  “Ms. Nikki, something in me snapped. I picked up my son’s baseball bat and I swung and knocked that fool hard in the arm, then I kept on swinging. I had him running out the door in his drawers screaming murder!”

  “Good for you.” I laughed, trying to lighten the mood. “I like to hear about a woman standing up for herself.”

  “Humph! I might be a big girl, but I know I deserve better.”

  “Yes, you do. Next caller.”

  “Ms. Nikki, this is Petra, and I’m calling in response to the call you got from Kimberly. Yep, that was me she was talking about. I’m the other woman, and as far as her husband is concerned, I’m the only woman in his life. Kimberly, get it in your head, daddy ain’t coming home!” Click.

  “Oops, there you have it! Kimberly, dear, if that don’t give you a reality check, then I don’t know what will.” I noticed Tristan waving his arms in the air. As soon as he had my attention, he signaled for me to take line two. “Caller, you’re on the air.”

  “Hello, Ms. Nikki.”

  I groaned inwardly the second I recognized the voice. If it had belonged to anyone else, I would have considered the sound sexy and soothing. Instead, I was on the line with Mr. Loser.

  I looked through the glass at Tristan, who was cracking up laughing, and stuck up my middle finger high enough for him to see it. “Caller, please introduce yourself,” I said as if I didn’t already know.

  “Ms. Nikki, you hurt my feelings. I just knew you would, never forget my voice.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Sorry, Charlie, but I hear hundreds of voices every week. I can’t remember just one.”

  He chuckled. “It’s me... Junior.”

  “Helllooo, Junior!” I said, trying to sound excited to hear from him. This man was like nails on a chalkboard—annoying as hell. “Long time no hear. What’s it been, a month, maybe two?”

  “It’s been one month, two weeks, and three days, to be exact.”

  “Oh, boy! I take it your newest relationship didn’t work out either.”

  He sighed. “No, and I don’t understand it because she was perfect. I really thought she was the one.”

  “If my memory serves me right, as far as you’re concerned, they’re all ‘the one.’” Junior had gone through so many relationships it was pathetic. Nothing ever worked and it was always the woman’s fault. He was what the show The Biggest Loser should really be about. He would have no problem winning, because he was definitely a big, fat loser.

  “No, this woman was crazy.”

  Listen to him tell it, they all were. “Come on, Junior. Tell me what happened, even if the truth hurts.”

  “What’s there to say? I loved her, still do, and part of me wished she’d come back to me. I just don’t understand why she ended it. I was there for her, giving her everything she needed and then some, but she had the nerve to say she needed some space.”

  I stuck my finger down my throat. Men like Junior were sickening. “Maybe you were smothering her.” “Nope. As soon as she said she needed room, I gave it to her. I guess I just loved her too much.”

  “Ugh! You’re turning me off. Come on, Junior. A woman likes excitement and a little mystery.”

  “I gave her excitement! I bought her roses, surprised her with a massage. I cut her grass, washed her clothes.”

  I cut him off. “Like I said, all that catering is a turnoff. That seems to be a
pattern of yours.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean you can’t keep a woman! I know the truth hurts, but if anyone’s gonna be honest with you, it’s Ms. Nikki.”

  He laughed. It was a soft, eerie sound. “That’s what I love most about you.”

  Just like everyone else. “Junior, you call every month to tell me how you’ve gotten dumped. At some point you have to realize they can’t all be crazy. Maybe it’s time you started looking at yourself.”

  “I’m a nice man.”

  “Didn’t you get the memo? Nice guys finish last. As sad as it may sound, women don’t want a man who wears his heart on his sleeve.”

  “I don’t understand that. Women are always talking about how they want a good man, yet when they get a man who isn’t trying to take their money or drive their car, they don’t want him.”

  I sighed dramatically. “You’re right, and it’s a damn shame. However, we do know what we don’t want, and that’s a clingy man.”

  “I’m not smothering.”

  “Gotta be. You’ve been dumped five times in the last six months.”

  There was a noticeable pause. “Wow! You’ve been keeping track. You obviously care more than I imagined.”

  “Nah, don’t get the shit twisted. I just got a good memory and you, my friend, are unforgettable.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “Why? I wouldn’t. True, there are some women out there who appreciate a good man who’s also needy. Unfortunately, me and the hundred females I know don’t. However, I’m gonna let the listeners be the judge. Let’s see if there is one female listening tonight who’d go out with you. In fact, I’m gonna open up the phone lines and see if we can possibly make a love connection. This is Nikki Truth with Truth Hurts, and for any listeners who are just tuning in, I’m on the phone with Junior. Junior, say hello to the listeners.”

  “Hello.”

  I almost laughed at the way he tried to sound like Barry White somebody. “Junior is one of my faithful listeners. He is also a good man, who is unlucky with love. If there are any single women out there looking for a special kind of man, give me a call, because I’m about to hook you up.” I couldn’t help emphasizing special, because Junior was definitely a head case.

  “I prefer picking my own women,” he sputtered. I guess he was uncomfortable with me trying to help him out.

  “Maybe that’s the problem. You might be picking the wrong type, but I’m gonna hook you up."

  “Damn, Ms. Nikki,” he began with a chuckle. It was obvious I was making him nervous. “I respect your advice, but why you always have to be so hard? In fact, why you gotta put a brotha on the spot?”

  “Hey, I’m just telling it like I see it. In the meantime, keep your head up and take my advice for a change.” I depressed the button, then took a few more calls and read several e-mails, but no one phoned in interested in going out with Mr. Loser. Not that I was the least bit surprised. By midnight my head was hurting, and I was anxious to wrap up the show. “This is Nikki Truth at Hot 97 WJPC, ending another evening. When things get tough, remember the truth will set you free. Until next time.” I leaned back in my chair as I took off the headset. By the time I placed it on the table, the sound of Jennifer Hudson was bellowing over the air. Tristan always knew what song to play at the end of each show. Sitting back in my chair, I had to smile. Tonight, had been another fulfilling night. My producer came running over to my desk.

  “You did it, girl! Another fabulous night.” Tristan snapped his fingers. He’s sweeter than a Krispy Kreme doughnut, but he is one hell of a producer and has been one of my closest friends for years.

  “Thank you, sweetie.”

  He blew me a kiss, then pursed his cherry lip-gloss lips as he draped a hand at his narrow waist. “After Georgia comes on to take over the quiet storm, you wanna go grab an apple martini? I bought these shoes and I’m dying to be seen. Girlfriend is looking fierce!” He struck a pose, and I couldn’t do anything but laugh. One thing Tristan knew was clothes. And even better, he knew how to get them cheap. Whenever I was in the mood for shopping, I took Tristan because he knew where to find every bargain from St. Louis to Chicago.

  “Nah, I got an early day tomorrow at the bookstore. I was planning to go home and take a hot bubble bath and curl up under the covers.”

  He pursed his lips with disapproval, then sat his narrow ass on the end of my desk in front of me. “Miss Thang, I ain’t even gonna try to beat around the bush about it You need some dick in your life.” I got ready to speak but he held up a heavily jeweled hand. “Hold on. Let me finish. Nikki, girlfriend, it’s been six months. Enough is enough. It’s time for you to move on.”

  Tears burned at the backs of my eyes, and I let one roll down my cheek. Tristan was one of the few people I allowed to see me this vulnerable. He was right. I needed to start facing reality, but deep down, I wasn’t ready yet to admit my marriage was over. “I know. You’re right.”

  “Of course, I’m right,” he said with a toss of his fabulous weave. “Let’s go get our drink on. I promise just one and we’re out.”

  Tristan and I had been friends for almost five years, and that was long enough to know he wasn’t going to give up until I agreed. I slipped into my winter coat, said good-bye to the rest of the night owls, then strolled out of the studio to my silver Lexus. Every time I saw my car it made me smile and gave me what I desperately needed—something to smile about. As I climbed behind the wheel and pulled out of the parking lot, I couldn’t help but think about what Tristan had said. I needed to give up hoping and finally move on. Deep down, part of me knew my marriage was over, but a part of me hoped and prayed we still had a chance. But I needed to do something because wondering what the future held was starting to drive me crazy. Luckily, I had my bookstore, Book Ends, and the best job in the world at WJPC radio. I still don’t understand how I had been so lucky professionally.

  I was already working for the station as an intern when the general manager agreed to let me liven up the first half of the quiet storm. I had this crazy idea to serve the needs of the hundreds of lonely listeners who tuned in at night by giving them the opportunity to call in and express their feelings. Hell, all the show required was common sense and my own style of bold, in-your-face advice. The crazy idea earned me thousands of loyal listeners. Even though it’s part-time, I love the hell out of my job. Giving advice is something I’m good at. Instead of getting a degree in radio broadcasting, I should have majored in social work like my girl Trinette. Nevertheless, giving advice is what I do best. I don’t hold punches. But no matter what I say or, better yet, how I say it, the listeners love me, and the calls and letters keep pouring in. That’s why I was pulling out of the parking lot in a pretty-ass silver IS 350 convertible with butter soft leather interior. The proof is in the pudding. It’s a damn shame. I could give other people advice about their lives while my own was a damn mess.

  My husband and I are separated, or at least we have been since Donovan’s unit, 138th Engineering Battalion, was activated and sent to Iraq. Lord, please forgive me. But his being sent to war was actually a blessing. We’d been having problems for some time, and the night before Donovan left, the two of us decided that maybe time and distance would give us a chance to decide if we wanted to either stay together or file for divorce. I guess he decided on the latter, because despite all my letters and care packages, I haven’t received a single call or letter, nothing but a sorry postcard the first week he was there. I know his ass is all right, because my girl Tabitha’s husband is in the same unit and she makes it her business to come to the bookstore just so she can rub it in my face how often she talks to her husband.

  After six months of nothing, I need to start facing the fact that my marriage is over and has been for quite some time. Yet a part of me still was not ready to let go. I don’t know if I am just being stubborn or plain stupid like half the women who call in to my show.

  Tristan made a righ
t at the next corner, and I rolled my eyes when I realized where he was headed. I thought we were going to a bar close by and having one drink. Yeah, right. I should have known he was going to take me to his favorite hangout. Straight Shoot. Not that I mind. Hell, I sometimes have more fun with gay men than I do with straight mothafuckas, who are too busy trying to run game.

  I climbed out just as Tristan came over switching his skinny ass toward me in knee-high, red leather boots. I’m hating, because he’s got a walk that’s out of this world, like he’s related to Ms. J from America’s Next Top Model. He’s wearing black jeans, a white blouse and a red leather jacket with a wide belt cinched tight around his small waist Tristan’s five foot ten with mile-long legs. I’m barely five-six, so he definitely makes a statement walking beside me.

  I frowned with annoyance. “I thought you said one drink.”

  “We are!” Tristan batted his eyelashes, trying to look innocent. I know there is no way he’s leaving early. Thank goodness I drove my own car. “I hope you ain’t using me as an excuse to hook up with Brandon tonight.”

  Tristan pointed his long nail in the air. “Girlfriend, puhleeze! He’s yesterday’s news.”

  “Since when?”

  He snapped his fingers. “Since I found out he was messing around. Don’t you know that sneaky bastard left a message for another bitch on my damn answering machine?”

  “What!” I tried not to laugh but couldn’t help myself.

  I could tell he didn’t see anything the least bit funny. “I guess he thought he was calling that bitch’s house.”

  I shrugged. “At least you found out early.”

  “You right, because I was ready to rock his motha-freakin’ world.” He winked and signaled for me to follow him inside.

  The club was really tasteful and clean with small intimate tables and chairs and low lighting. There was a big stage in the middle. Tristan moved to a long table in the back that was occupied by friends of his. Two of them I had met before. Coco and Mercedes. Both men were prettier than me.

  Mercedes glanced down at the watch on his wrist. “’Bout time you bitches got here.”