Big Girls Do Cry

by Carl Weber

  Damn, he was a good actor.

  “Leon, you’re pathetic. You know that?”

  “And you’re crazy! Did you know that?” He sat on the bed and removed his wet shirt. The skin on his side was bright red.

  “What I know is that you’re a liar and a fucking cheat.”

  “Oh, and who put this in your head? That little faggot?”

  “No, your bitch, LaKeisha.”

  He hesitated for a second, which gave him away. “LaKeisha? LaKeisha who? Who the fuck is LaKeisha?”

  “Why you denying her? You know she’s in love with you? At least that’s what she told me. I’m not stupid, Leon, and I’m not a fool. Now, get your shit and get the fuck out.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, Loraine. I’ve been working on my life and this marriage too hard to walk out on it.” He took a step toward me, and I pulled out Jerome’s gun, which I had been holding in my pocket since I dropped the pot. I’d taken it when I left Jerome’s, just in case Leon decided to act up when I told him to leave. It looked like it was gonna come in handy.

  “Don’t make me have to kill you, Leon, because I will. Now, you’re going to leave this house. The question is whether it’s of your own volition or on the coroner’s gurney. The choice is yours.”

  He kept his eyes locked on the gun and spoke carefully. “Loraine, you’re making a big mistake.”

  “No, Leon, the mistake I made was marrying you. Now you’re the one who will be making the big mistake if you don’t get your shit and get out my house.” I pointed the gun at his head. Nothing makes a person understand the severity of a situation better than a gun to the head.

  “Do you remember what you told me about guns?” I asked.

  “Don’t pull one out unless you’re willing to use it.”

  “Exactly. Now, I really didn’t want to have to take it this far, but you just too hardheaded for your own good. And the way my hand is shaking, this thing could go off at any second. You might want to get your shit and go before something happens that we’ll both regret.”

  Leon didn’t say anything as he picked up a shirt and some sweats that were draped over a nearby chair. He threw a few of his belongings in a pillow case, and a few minutes later, he was down the stairs and out the door, yelling, “You’re wrong for this, Loraine,” as he exited. I heard squealing tires as his car left the driveway.

  I was satisfied that I’d gotten him out but was still a little shaken by how far I’d gone. I needed to do something to calm my nerves, and I knew just what would work. I went to Leon’s closet and started pulling out all his Armani suits, bought with my hard-earned money. Every last one of them went into the garbage bags I’d brought up from the kitchen.

  I dragged the bags out to the curb, went inside, and then put the chain lock on the door. I shut off my cell phone, took two sleeping pills to calm my still-anxious nerves, and went to bed. After the day I’d had, things had to be better tomorrow.

  Isis

  34

  From the moment I pulled up to the house, I could feel my mother’s presence like a thick fog taking over a country road. She was sitting up in her Queen Anne’s chair by the bay window, obviously waiting for me to come home, like she used to do when I was a teenager staying out late or when I first learned how to drive. This time, it was four o’clock in the afternoon, not one o’clock in the morning, and I was thirty-eight years old, not sixteen, so I knew I was not walking into a good situation.

  I paid her no mind as I entered the house and walked over to my father. I kissed his cheek, trying not to block his view of the game as I handed him his keys.

  “Where’s Rashad, Daddy?” I asked. “I’m surprised he’s not—”

  My mother’s head whipped around like it was going to fly off her shoulders. “He took his wife to see that new Will Smith movie.”

  “What?” I whined in disbelief. “They were supposed to take me to see that.” And besides, I didn’t ask you. Is your name Daddy?

  “You ever think that maybe he wanted to take his wife out alone for a change, without you?”

  I wanted to say something smart like, No, not really, or Why would he want to do that? but I resisted the temptation. It was never a good idea to be smart with my mother, so I reserved it for occasions when it was truly necessary.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right. They could use some time alone. And to tell you the truth, I could use a break from them too. It was so nice to go and do what I wanted without a chaperone.”

  “Hmph. Where have you been anyway? You had us all worried to death. Your poor sister spent half the morning trying to track you down.”

  “For what?” I asked, unable to keep the attitude out of my tone. “I told Daddy where I was going. I went to IHOP with my friend Canard, and then I went over to the mall.”

  She smirked at my answer, and that’s when I realized I’d messed up. Damn, I was a grown woman, and I still let my mother get the best of me every time. She was happy to let me know I’d just told on myself.

  “Canard, huh? Your father said you told him you were going out with Coco.”

  I glanced over at my father, who was too wrapped up in the Redskins game to pay either of us any mind.

  “Well, Daddy was mistaken … or maybe I said Coco by accident. What’s the big deal anyway? I’m thirty-eight years old. I come and go as I please.” She had always been that way with me, watching over me like a hawk, while Egypt could do whatever the hell she wanted. “What I wanna know is why are you questioning me like I’m a child?”

  The stern look she gave me told me I’d be better off if I just backed down. My mother was not one to tolerate disrespect from anyone, especially her kids.

  “As you can see, I’m home in one piece.” I bent down and kissed her on the cheek, wrapping an arm around her shoulder in hopes that she would take it as a peace offering. But she didn’t soften one bit. She pushed me away, not accepting my embrace.

  In all my life, as many times as my mother had caught me telling lies, I’d never seen her look at me as coldly as she was now. A chill ran through my body.

  “What have you been up to?”

  “Nothin’,” I said, concentrating hard on keeping my expression neutral. I didn’t want her to know she had me rattled. “What are you talking about?”

  “My office, now!” She got out of her seat, and I knew it was useless to protest. I followed her with my head hung low. If Daddy tore his eyes away from the game and realized what was going on, even he couldn’t save me now. She’d ordered me to her “office.”

  I hadn’t heard her call the kitchen her office since I was eighteen. When I was a kid, I hated when she did that, because it always meant I was in some kind of trouble. I could always bullshit Daddy and get whatever I wanted out of him, but Momma—no way. She had this sixth sense when it came to me; she could always tell when I was doing something I knew I shouldn’t have been. Looking back, there were times I was convinced Momma was a mind reader; either that or she was perched up in some satellite tower and could see me acting a fool from miles and miles away. Whatever it was, she could read me like a book, and it pissed me off.

  “What is it, Momma?” I said innocently when we entered the kitchen.

  “I don’t know what you been up to, but I hope it don’t come back to bite you in the ass.”

  “I’m not up to anything.” I rested my hands on my stomach, hoping that the subtle reminder about her grandchild growing inside of me might soften her mood a little. Not a chance. She wasn’t buying it.

  “Look me in the eye, Isis Rene. I know you. I carried you nine months, two weeks—”

  “Three days, sixteen hours, and twenty-four minutes. I know that, Momma.” She’d drilled those numbers into my head many times before, like every second was torture for her. Sometimes she acted as if she were the only woman to ever be in labor. It damn sure didn’t make me feel loved whenever she pulled that line out on me.

  “Who you getting smart with?” She raised her hand
, and I have to admit I flinched. “I will still smack your face. I don’t care if you’re grown and pregnant or not. I’m still your mother.”

  I apologized because I knew she wasn’t joking. My mother would never hesitate to smack me if she thought I needed to be put in my place. “Sorry.”

  “I know you are.” To be honest, I couldn’t tell if she was accepting my apology or if she was calling me sorry, and I think that’s exactly how she wanted it. She wasn’t about to let me off the hook with one little “sorry.”

  “It’s a great thing you’re doing for your sister and her husband.”

  Her husband. She’d been calling Rashad by his name for almost fifteen years, but now that I was pregnant with his baby, she was throwing around a whole lot of “her husband” and “his wife.” I rolled my eyes, which I’m sure my mother didn’t appreciate.

  “Anyhow, I’m only going to say this to you once: You better not break your sister’s heart when it comes to this baby. Do you understand me? You are the one who signed up for this madness, and you better see it through.”

  “Why are you coming at me like this? All I did was go out for one afternoon, Momma.” Shoot, if I had known that disappearing for one day was going to cause this much trouble, I would have just stayed out all night and made it worthwhile.

  “It’s not what you did. It’s what you are, Isis. You’re selfish.”

  I felt like I’d just been punched in the stomach. I can’t begin to describe how much it hurts to hear your own mother say such negative things about you. And she’d always done this to me. No wonder I had so many problems. But like always, I sat silently and took it as she continued to tell me about myself.

  “You have never been able to share anything with your sister. And you expect me to believe you’re going to just hand over a baby—Rashad’s baby, at that? Not everyone is as gullible as your sister.”

  I felt exposed. They were some shitty things she said about me, but unfortunately, they weren’t wrong. My mother really did know my ass like a book—though I wasn’t about to let her know it. “Momma, what are you talking about?”

  This time, she laughed. “What am I talking about? I’m talking about you still being in love with your sister’s husband. That’s what I’m talking about. I see the way you look at that man. You still want him.”

  I never stopped wanting him.

  “Are you trying to get Rashad away from Egypt since you know she can’t give him a baby? Is that what this is all about?” I didn’t answer. I just stared at her blankly. I knew the way this went when my mother was lecturing me. She wasn’t really looking for a conversation; she just wanted to speak her mind, so I let her ramble on and kept my thoughts to myself.

  “‘Cause if it is, I’m here to tell you it won’t work.”

  How the fuck do you know? You have no idea how much he wants a child.

  I offered only this much: “I’m not trying to take Rashad.”

  “Good, because your sister has something you don’t have, and it’s just as powerful as any child.”

  I wanted so badly to ask what, and I’m sure she knew it. That’s why she hesitated so long before she finished her statement.

  “You see, she’s got—how does that song go? Oh, yeah. She’s got papers on him. And as long as she’s got papers, she got a right to half his shit. As you know, they’ve got a lot of shit, and he loves his shit. So instead of giving up half his shit to be with you and the baby, he’s going to keep all of his shit—except for the shit he gives his lawyers—and he and your sister are going to take your mentally unstable behind to court. And not only are they going to win, since you signed surrogacy papers, but you will probably be disowned by the entire family.”

  Son of a bitch. Was I that obvious? Or was what I used to think as a child true? Maybe she really could read my mind. If she couldn’t, she’d really given this whole situation some thought. And then to top it all off, she had to bring my mental health issues into the conversation, like that had anything to do with it. She could be so cold sometimes.

  “So you see, I’m glad you don’t want to take him from your sister, ‘cause I would hate the thought of you not being here next year for Thanksgiving.”

  I swear to God, if she wasn’t my mother, I would have stabbed her with a butcher knife. But I was officially on notice. Now that I knew she had her eye on me, I was gonna have to be a little more careful about staying under the radar.

  Jerome

  35

  Lord have mercy, I am such a ho! Why? Because I had just spent the most fabulous day with Big Poppa, and now I was on my way to Washington, DC, to see Ron, my young Energizer Bunny lover. I wanted to give him an early Christmas present and a night of robust lovemaking before he left for the West Coast for a bunch of games and Christmas tournaments. We hadn’t seen each other in more than a week, and even that was just a little parking-lot action, because we were both so busy. He had finals, practice, and a hectic game schedule up here in DC, and I was down South with Loraine, who was in crisis; and Big Poppa, who all of a sudden wanted more attention; and the half dozen other sponsors I was juggling. There was something about the holidays that made everyone so needy for my attention.

  When I arrived at the hotel, I saw Ron already sitting in the lobby with an annoyed look on his face. I was a little late, but he’d get over it as soon as I blew his mind—along with another body part. As was always the case, we had to play like we didn’t know each other in public, so I walked right past him and went to the front desk to check into our room. I took the room key from the front desk clerk and walked to the elevator, texting Ron the room number. As a precaution, he always waited five minutes before coming up.

  When I got in the room, I placed his present on the dresser and removed my shirt before ordering a bottle of champagne and chocolate-dipped strawberries. That’s when I realized for the first time in my life that I was actually the sponsor. I didn’t have a problem with it, though, because Ron was an investment. After I had a chance to see him play ball and ask around, I decided that he was a sure-enough keeper with NBA potential. By that time, if Big Poppa and I hadn’t run away together, I’d just move to whatever town Ron was drafted to and reap the dividends of my investment. All I had to do was make him fall in love with me—and he was well on his way to that.

  Speak of the devil. A knock on the door took me out of retirement planning and back to the task at hand, keeping Ronny boy happy. I checked myself out in the mirror, then opened the door. I was greeted by Ron’s fist in my face, which sent me reeling backward.

  “What the heck did you do that for? Is this some type of S and M role-playing game? ‘Cause I ain’t into that shit.” I touched my lip to see if I was bleeding.

  “You son of a bitch!” Ron shouted, throwing three more blows that barely landed. He looked like he was crying.

  I grabbed his wrists so he couldn’t punch me anymore, and we wrestled to the ground. He was so angry he looked possessed.

  “Ron, what’s wrong, man? What did I do?” He was even stronger than he looked, and it was taking everything I had to keep him from pounding my face.

  “It was bad enough you sent them to my coach. But my mother?” He pulled his left arm free, then started swinging again, hitting me in the side of the neck and chest. “You sent those pictures to my mother, you son of a bitch.”

  “Your mother? What are you talking about? What pictures?” I had both arms up, blocking his blows, but he kept trying to get at me. “Ron, listen to me, man! I don’t know anything about any pictures. I wouldn’t do anything like that. I’m in love with you, man!”

  Those words made him pause for a minute. He threw one or two more halfhearted blows, then stopped trying to fight me. To be safe, I backed up out of arm’s reach, because he still had fire in his eyes.

  “I love you, Ron. I wouldn’t do anything like that to you.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Jerome.” He lifted his arm to strike me again. I covered my face and braced myself,
but the blow never came. When I looked at him, he was seated on the bed. The way his posture sagged, he looked like a man who felt totally defeated.

  I sat next to him. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “Somebody sent pictures of us in that parking lot last week to my mother, my coach, the university president, and some of my teammates.”

  Poor kid. I know he wasn’t ready for that. But I needed to make sure he understood I had nothing to do with it, because he was obviously under so much stress that he could snap and get violent again at any moment.

  “And you think I did that?” I asked cautiously.

  “Yeah, I think you did it. You set me up, Jerome. Nobody knew we were going to that parking lot, not even me. That was your idea.”

  He was right; it was my idea. I was trying to be spontaneous and give him a blow job before I took him back to his dorm. Now it looked like my spontaneity had been captured on film.

  “It was your dick’s idea, Ron. Remember, it was you who kept talking about how horny you were. I was just trying to make you happy, man.”

  He looked me in the eye and stayed silent for a minute, like he was remembering that night and trying to decide if my version of events was correct. As I watched some of the tension leave his face, I felt a little safer. It looked like he was starting to believe I was innocent, though he still had another question for me, so I wasn’t completely off the hook.

  “You didn’t tell anyone you were going to be in DC, did you?”

  “Nah, man, I didn’t. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

  Now the fire in his eyes was gone. He no longer looked angry, just hurt and confused. My heart went out to the kid.

  “Then who?” he asked. “Who would do this to me?”

  “I don’t know.” One person did come to mind, but even he wasn’t that crazy, was he? “I wish I knew who did it.”

  “Jerome, if I find out you had anything to do with this,” he warned, “I’m gonna kill you. This is my future somebody’s fucking with.”