Big Girls Do Cry

by Carl Weber

  When we crowded into the small room, Rashad had no choice but to stand close to me. As soon as his body was near mine, I felt the baby move.

  Oh, you’re happy, aren’t you, junior? You want your mommy and daddy together. I know what you mean; Auntie Egypt needs to take a hike.

  When the technician came in with the machine, he put the gel on my stomach and moved the ultrasound wand over my abdomen.

  “Is this your first sonogram?” he asked.

  “No, they gave her one last month, but the baby was turned with its back toward the front,” Egypt answered for me.

  I wanted to say, Well, I’ll be damned. I thought he was talking to me, but Rashad spoke before I could.

  “So, will you be able to tell us the baby’s sex today?” he asked.

  “Sure. As long as the little bambino cooperates. Sometimes they move around so much we can’t get a good look at the important parts.”

  He moved the wand around some more, clicking keys on the computer every once in a while to capture certain images. “This is a big baby for six months,” he commented.

  “Takes after his daddy, I guess,” Rashad said proudly.

  “Oh! Here we go,” the technician announced. “Talk about being big!”

  He pointed to the screen, and I saw the proof of what I’d known all along. I could clearly see a penis. It even looked like he had a little erection.

  “I told you I was having a boy,” I said smugly.

  Egypt jumped her big behind in front of the screen so nobody else could see anything. “M-my God, it is a boy!” She stuttered like she couldn’t believe it. “Baby, it’s a boy!”

  Rashad pushed his way up to the computer. “Stop trying to bogart the screen, baby. Let me see.”

  She stepped aside, and Rashad let out a laugh as Egypt pointed to the baby’s penis. He stared at the screen for a minute before he said anything. Then he turned to Egypt and said, “It’s a boy. First boy in my family since I was born. I can’t believe it.”

  As I lay there and watched them hug each other, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for myself. Here I was the one making this all possible, and I might as well be invisible. Then Rashad turned to me, and everything was good again.

  “Isis, I don’t know what to say.”

  Those were the first words he’d spoken to me in weeks. He broke into this big smile that made all this discomfort worth it. Like I said before, men could never stay mad at me for very long. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I told you it was a boy,” I said again, though there were a million other things I wished I could say to him.

  Rashad looked at me now with tears in his eyes. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  He held my gaze for a moment, but then Egypt started pushing up on him, putting her arms around him. “Baby, I’m so happy. We’re having a son. This is wonderful.”

  He kissed her, but I knew that kiss was meant for me. She had to steal the moment, but it was all right. I knew that secret look Rashad had given me. Egypt’s days were numbered now that I had given him a son.

  When they left the room, I whispered to my baby, “Yep, looks like me and your daddy are back on the same page. I’m going to make sure I do whatever I have to do to make it right for us again.”

  Jerome

  41

  I was at my desk daydreaming about the great sex I’d had with Big Poppa the night before when I felt someone entering the room. People didn’t just walk in my office without knocking, except for Loraine, whose office was behind mine as part of our suite, and she was out to lunch with Michael. With everything going on with that crazy stalker Peter, I casually took hold of my letter opener before I looked up. If by chance it was him, I was going to show him exactly who the crazy one was, ‘cause I was getting sick of his shit. Everywhere I went, that motherfucker seemed to show up, and if he wasn’t there, he’d call me up to let me know he knew I was there. Shit, I felt like a fool to be asking myself this now, but did his crazy ass have a job? I don’t see how he could have, because it seemed like he was making a career out of following me. Maybe from now on I should learn a little more about a person before we got naked.

  A simple glance around the room told me it wasn’t Peter hovering over me, but my coworkers, Egypt and Hannah, who was from reception. When we made eye contact, they were both giggling at me like two teenagers who had a secret and couldn’t wait to share. I expected this sort of thing out of Hannah—she was a young girl who was always in the middle of office gossip—but Egypt needed to quit. She was about to become a mother.

  “Jerome”—Hannah laughed playfully—”when I die, I want to come back as you.”

  “Me too.” Egypt chuckled along, raising her hand as if she were testifying. “‘Cause, honey, you are the man.”

  I kind of laughed along with them, although I didn’t have a clue what was so funny. “Excuse me, but could you two clue me in on what the hell is going on?”

  Egypt walked over and placed a hand on my shoulder. “Jerome, honey, I owe you a big-time apology.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Why’s that?”

  “Because when you used to tell us about Big Poppa and how fine he was, I thought you were lying. But, honey, you were right. He is some kind of fine. Mmm, mmm, mmm.” She stomped her foot.

  I was totally confused. “And you know this because …?”

  This didn’t even sound right, because Big Poppa would never show up at the job asking for me, especially not using his nickname. It would blow his cover, and he was all about staying on the DL. Besides, he was too well known; if he strolled into our offices, Egypt and Hannah would have recognized him right away.

  Hannah chimed in. “You know, Jerome, I have to admit, I would have never expected Big Poppa to be a white guy.”

  I had to suppress a scream. That was definitely not Big Poppa they were talking about.

  Before I could ask for more details, Egypt said, “Who cares if he’s white, black, green, or yellow? The man is drop-your-drawers fine.”

  “I care if he’s white,” I snapped as I stood up. I was through with both their nosy asses and was feeling a little more than threatened, since I suspected the white guy they were talking about was Peter. “Especially since Big Poppa is black.”

  “Uh-oh,” Hannah murmured.

  “Uh-oh is right. Where the hell did you meet this guy?”

  They exchanged guilty glances; then Hannah said quietly, “In reception. He’s waiting for you.”

  I picked up my letter opener and headed out the door with both of them in tow.

  Peter was standing in the reception area like he didn’t have a care in the world. He was holding what must have been three dozen roses and a big-ass box of candy.

  “Happy Valentine’s Day.” He tried to hand me the flowers and candy, but I threw my hands up in refusal.

  “What the hell are you doing in my office?”

  “Big Poppa’s come to give you your Valentine presents and take you to lunch.”

  I shot him a disgusted glare. “I’m not going anywhere with your lunatic ass. And you’re not Big Poppa.”

  “Jerome, I’m so sorry,” Hannah said. She and Egypt stood a safe distance away from me and Peter. I guess they now realized that we had a psycho in our office. “When I saw the flowers and the candy, I asked if he was Big Poppa.”

  “It’s not her fault, Jerome. It was just a slip. But what I want to know is, just who is this Big Poppa?”

  “That’s none of your business.” As crazy as Peter was, Big Poppa’s identity was the last thing I wanted him to know. He would make both our lives hell.

  “Everything about you is my business, Jerome. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

  “How many times do I have to tell you that you’re one sick individual?”

  “As many times as you want, I guess. But I’m not crazy. I’m in love. Haven’t you figured it out yet?”

  “None of that matters if I don’t love you.”

  �
�So, you used me? I was just a piece of flesh for your enjoyment. Do you enjoy using people? Ruining their lives?”

  Egypt and Hannah stood there, totally engrossed in the drama. Neither one of them made a move to call security.

  “Look, man, it was a fling for both of us. Something to do. Besides, you’re the one who’s married. You left your wife’s bed to sneak out and get a blow job.”

  “Oh, shit!” Egypt let slip. I cut my eyes at her. God, I hated office gossip, and this was a story that was going to be told for years to come.

  “Peter, I’m sorry if you’ve been hurt, but you gotta move on.”

  “So, who do you love? That young boy up in DC, or is it this Big Poppa nobody seems to know about?”

  I could see it in his eyes. It was driving him crazy that he hadn’t known about Big Poppa.

  “Who I love is none of your business.”

  He laughed. “Like I told you before, Jerome, you are my business. And now, so is Big Poppa.”

  I hate to admit it, but his words struck true fear in my heart. I couldn’t let him know it, though, so I barked, “Hannah, call security.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “You don’t have to do that.” He placed the flowers and candy on the reception desk. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Jerome. I wish I could have spent it in your arms … but I guarantee nobody else will, because if I can’t have you, nobody will.”

  I watched him walk to the elevator and leave.

  “That man ever comes back here …”

  “I know,” Hannah said, “call security.”

  “No, call the police. That man is crazy. Next time he shows up around here, I’m betting he’s going to have a gun.”

  After talking to Loraine, I decided that this whole situation with Peter was getting way out of hand. At her suggestion, I went down to the police station to file a stalking complaint. The station was filled with people milling around. Some police officers ran out on calls, some officers sat around shooting the breeze, and others were working on computers. I went straight to the desk sergeant, who was a husky, out-of-shape white guy.

  “How can I help you?” he asked. He peered over his glasses, giving me the impression that he really didn’t want to be there.

  “I’d like to find out what the stalking laws are here in Virginia.”

  The sergeant paused, rolling his eyes. “So, which one are you, the stalker or the stalkee?” He chuckled, but I remained stone-faced.

  “I’m the stalkee.”

  “You know, women are crazy these days.” The sergeant opened up a three-ring binder, lowered his head, and started to write. “Okay, what’s her name?”

  “It’s not a her. It’s a him.”

  He lifted his head. “It’s a him? Your stalker’s a guy?”

  I nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, that’s a new one.” I can’t even describe the look he gave me. He might as well have just called me a fag to my face. “What’s the relationship between you and this guy?”

  “None. We have no relationship.”

  The sergeant looked up from what he was writing again. “So, he’s stalking you, but you have no relationship at all? How do you know each other? Are you fucking his wife or his ex-girlfriend or something?”

  “We were intimate for a short period of time. He thinks he’s in love with me.”

  “Ok-ay,” the sergeant said, not even bothering to hide his disgust. “So, how exactly is he stalking you?”

  “The guy follows me wherever I go. He takes pictures of me and my friends. He came to my job today with flowers and candy.”

  “Flowers and candy. Some might say he’s courting you.”

  “He’s not courting me. The guy’s friggin’ crazy.”

  “Has he violated your person or property? Has he harmed you at all?”

  I paused. The truth was that Peter was never standing close by when he was trailing me, so I couldn’t say he was violating my physical space. To my knowledge, he’d never broken into my house or trespassed on my property, and although I suspected he’d been in my car, I had no proof.

  “No.” I shook my head.

  “Is he calling you and/or threatening you?”

  “Well, sort of. He told me that if he can’t have me, nobody will.”

  “That’s a rather vague statement. Is that all you got?” He looked like I was wasting his time.

  I knew I could make him take me seriously if I told him about Ron and the pictures, but I wouldn’t violate Ron’s privacy like that. I tried one last time to convince the officer that this was not a joke.

  “Look, this guy is crazy, and somebody’s gonna get hurt if you don’t do something.”

  “I understand how you feel, but unless he commits a crime, my hands are tied. What’s this guy’s name? Maybe he has a warrant.”

  “Peter McMann.”

  The sergeant sat up straight in his chair. Finally, the smug, amused look on his face was gone. Something had definitely grabbed his attention. “Did you say Peter McMann? The Peter McMann?”

  “I guess. Is there another one?”

  “Oh my God. Did you say you were sleeping with him?”

  I nodded.

  “You trying to tell me Peter McMann is gay? Jesus Christ, I know his entire family. My kid plays ball with his son.”

  “Look, I’m not here to pull anyone out the closet. I just want the man to leave me alone. I take it you know this guy?”

  “Everyone knows Peter McMann.”

  I was gonna shit my pants if this guy told me Peter was some kind of career criminal. “Peter McMann is the top investigative reporter for the Richmond Times Dispatch. That guy has blown the lid off a hundred stories.”

  “Well, if he looks like George Clooney, then that’s our man. Has he been known to stalk people?”

  “Only for a story. What exactly do you do for work?”

  “I’m the executive assistant to Loraine Farrow at BLAZE. Why?”

  “Because Peter McMann doesn’t stalk people; he investigates them. He’s cracked more cases than most of the detectives in this building. Who do you think cracked the James River murders last year?”

  “Peter?”

  “That’s right. He’s also the one who led to the takedown of the Browns’ drug cartel down Southside.”

  I’d heard about the Browns thing. It was all over the news. Well, this explained how Peter had been able to take down Ron the way he had and why he seemed to always know where I was. Of all the men in this world to turn out, I had to pick a psycho investigative news reporter.

  “What I wanna know is why a man like Peter McMann has an interest in you.”

  “We were just lovers. Obviously, he read more into the situation than was there.”

  He looked doubtful.

  “Look, I can see where you’re trying to go with this. I’m not a crook, a drug dealer, or anything else illegal. If you want to know why Peter is so interested in me, it’s because I give a hell of a blow job.” The sergeant flinched. Idiot had probably seen more blood and death than I could imagine, but the thought of two men having sex was more than he could handle.

  “Now, can you help me or not?”

  “Mister, the only help I can give you right now is a little advice. Whatever you’re doing, if I were you, I would stop, because Peter McMann is not somebody you want to play with.”

  Tell me something I don’t already know.

  Isis

  42

  It was two in the morning, and the house was quiet. I was alone with my thoughts. I held on to the railing as I slowly climbed the stairs from a late-night pantry raid. Lately, I’d been addicted to salt-and-vinegar potato chips and mango salsa.

  I was more than thankful that the lovebirds had finally calmed their hormones and gone to sleep. They’d been going at it ever since they came home from their little Valentine’s Day dinner cruise.

  I almost let Tony scoop me up and take me out for Valentine’s Day. I hadn’t seen him since Christmas, a
nd he was begging me to let him come down so he could spend time with me. A night on the town away from Egypt’s controlling ass and some good dick would be just what the doctor ordered right about now too. Unfortunately, that was sure to piss off my baby daddy, Rashad, so I told Tony no and stayed home alone on Valentine’s Day. If only Rashad could have been as thoughtful toward me and kept it quiet in his bedroom tonight.

  I waddled down the hall past my room and into the nursery. The truth was, I hated this room, if only because of what it stood for. To me it was a constant reminder that Egypt planned on taking my baby when he was born and shipping my ass to California. I almost puked as I watched her damn near break her back, painting and putting up wallpaper to put this ugly-ass room together.

  I wanted to say, What the fuck is the point? He’s never going to spend a night in here, but obviously I knew it wouldn’t be smart to reveal that plan. Better to let her continue in her fantasy world, where she thought that my baby was going to be hers.

  The closer it got to my due date, the more she played the role of expectant mother. Last week, some white chick named Hannah from her job even threw her a baby shower. They had the nerve to have me there front and center, rubbing on my belly like I was some kind of Buddha. Meanwhile, they presented Egypt with all the baby shower gifts. It took all my strength to get through that charade.

  The one thing I did like recently was that I’d started Lamaze class, and Rashad was my official coach. I say official, because, of course, Egypt had to tag along. But I didn’t care. I just ignored her as much as I could, focusing on my breathing and allowing Rashad to hold my hand and encourage me the way the teacher instructed. Egypt was so into the whole experience that when the pregnant women in the room practiced the breathing techniques, she was panting right along with us. She looked like such a fool.

  I laughed at that image as I sat down in the glider rocker next to the bassinet and opened the bag of chips. Egypt hadn’t put up any curtains yet, so the room was partially illuminated by the streetlights. Unfortunately, even in the half-lighted room, I could still see the ugly lavender she’d picked out for the walls. Why the hell she would pick such a girly color when we’d already found out the baby was a boy made no sense to me. As far as I was concerned, it was just another sign that she wasn’t fit to be a mother.