CHAPTER 14
Trymm
Day 23
Whew! I played that Dubai trip to a tee! Five days. Twenty-five babes.
“Hey, son. Have a talk with your old man,” my dad insisted, locking the front door. Dad turned off the front store neon signs, dimmed the interior lights, opened a fresh bottle of Jack Daniel’s. Pop the top on a can of cola. “The only person you’re fooling is yourself, son,” he commented, filling two glasses with ice and liquor.
Wasn’t expecting my old man to drop in. Glancing at the digital clock above the bar, I saw it was five minutes to seven on a Saturday morning. I had twenty minutes to spare before meeting up with Atlantis at my apartment. Her fiancé was out of town. I’d just gotten back and she was the first woman I wanted to see. I’d happily eat her pussy but my dick was in recovery. What I really wanted was to find out if she’d give me another chance.
Dad could be long-winded when determined to make a point. I texted Atlantis: Having a heart-to-heart with my dad. I’ll text you when we’re done. XOXO.
I knew women appreciated what I didn’t give Francine, and that was communication. I’d do better with Atlantis, but Francine was salty about being deported, and I needed her to stay that way for eight more days.
“Fooling myself about what, Dad?” I asked. Sitting on the edge of a stool, I planted my forearm on the edge of the countertop.
Dad’s timing was horrible. I knew he could tell I was anxious to be someplace else. Also, I knew he didn’t give a damn.
Gingerly he said, “You’re married now.” He paused. “You proposed to Francine in front of the family.” He leaned over his cocktail.
Was he not there? I was the middleman.
“It’s time to give up the villa and buy your wife a house. Walter made you an appointment with a Realtor. Tomorrow.”
What the fuck!
Dad eased a business card out of his pocket. Put it in my hand. Quinisha Ferguson.
Damn! She’s hot! Needs her own show flipping properties.
“Your mother has arranged a special supper after you finish house shopping,” he said, topping off our glasses. “Your mother and I want to live to see all of our children have children. You know this and you’re the only one that hasn’t contributed a baby to the Dupree legacy.”
“Let Walter fuck Francine,” I wanted to say.
I did not want Francine to have my last name, or my baby. If Francine were Atlantis, we would’ve been married with two or maybe three kids by now, living in a mansion, on St. Charles Avenue.
Seeing more of my dad’s shadow than his face, I swallowed a sip and my nerves at the same time. “I care for Francine. I’m not in love with her,” I confessed. “Dad, this was Walter’s i—”
Dad shook his head. “Don’t blame this on Walter. So why did you marry her?”
I couldn’t disrespect my father. “Honestly, I didn’t want you guys to disown me. I love and need my family to believe in me.”
“Listen, son. The way you feel about Francine, I used to feel the same way about your mother.” He drained the last drop of liquor, then cleared his throat.
A chocolate man, with no facial hair, with the exception of his brows, my dad could pass for fifty-five, although he was forty years older than me. Dad had what Southern people called je ne sais quoi.
Had I heard him right, though? I was confused. Thought my dad always loved and was in love with my mom. Refusing to dig in that gris-gris bag and stir the bones, I focused on me.
“I know Francine would do anything for me.” And I meant anything.
That was how much Francine was in love with me. But it was no secret that I never felt the same. I loved the way Francine took care of me, put my needs ahead of hers, never cheated on me, even when I was overseas balling in the league, and every time we were on break. If she’d been a virgin when we met ten years ago, I’d swear I was her one and only.
Man-to-man, I needed my father’s direction, so I confessed, “I’m in love with Atlantis,” then texted Atlantis, Let’s do lunch.
She replied, Where? What time?
I smiled.
“I know that,” he replied, filling our glasses to the rim, this time tossing the empty bottle in the trash can behind the bar. “Let me tell you what I’ve told my other married sons. There’s a right and wrong way to love your woman.”
Keith Sweat’s song came to mind.
Blitz hit me with, Drago’s. 1:00 p.m. Be there, nigga!
Fuck! I messaged Atlantis, Gotta reschedule. Stay posted. Things are hectic since I got back from Dubai.
Dubai? she questioned.
From the alcohol, jetlag, and letting chicks from countless ethnicities suck my dick like a lollipop, exhaustion suddenly hit me. I was not acknowledging that.
Breakfast. Monday. Trolley Stop. Please. I told Atlantis.
“Son. Marriage is not about who you’re in love with. Wise men marry once. The most intelligent, lifelong commitment a man can make to any woman is to the one he knows will always have his back and never abandon him. You fuck up one time too many with that Atlantis. Oh, I know she’s a pretty lil thing. Beautiful girl. But she’s the kind that will leave your black ass high and dry. Take everything you’ve got. And what you’ve got is what your mother helped me build for the family. Your marriage is bigger than you, François. That’s why Duprees vote in every election. To protect our First Amendment, our assets, and our ass, son!”
His fist pounded the bar. I sat up straight.
“Duprees work for Duprees! Not the French or the white slave master’s kids. We did something wise with our two hundred acres in Amite, Louisiana, that our ancestors handed down to us. We didn’t sell like most black families did for a few thousand dollars. That land is Dupree land. Now that marijuana is being legalized, it’s just a matter of time before the Boot gets the green light and we’re ready to lease our land. But we will never sell it. That way the Duprees will always have our own. We have a line of credit that we do not use frivolously. Got it?”
Now I got it. I nodded. I thought about the certificate locked in my safe. My being Francine’s husband still didn’t feel right.
Jiggling my keys, I wasn’t going to need to use Alex’s place, after all. Nor was I going to make good on my promise to have his basketball signed by LB. That was cool. I’d just leave everything in Alex’s apartment untouched, tell him LB had a conflict in his schedule and couldn’t make it. I had to perpetuate the lie.
Dad drained his glass. “You need to do what I told your sisters and brothers when they got married. ‘Conduct your extracurricular activities behind closed doors, never sleep with the person next door, and never make a deposit where you can’t make a withdrawal. ’ Like it or not, Francine is a Dupree for life.”
Penny, Walt, DJ, and all the rest had situationships that my father knew about? I got it, but I didn’t want to be that Dupree. I wanted to be different. I wanted to marry the woman I was crazy about and be forever faithful to her.
“Thanks, Dad. I get it.” I wondered if my father had a secret love or was he simply imparting wisdom.
There was no way I could continue working long hours and win the challenge. Wanting to confess about the $250,000 bet, instead I asked, “Can I get a week off to get my mind straight?”
“I gotta get outta here. Take two weeks. Oh, the other thing, son. Do your dirt during the day. As long as you’re home for dinner, and don’t give your wife a reason to distrust you . . . happy wife. See you guys tomorrow for dinner. Get four or five bedrooms,” he said, patting me on the shoulder.
“One last thing, son. Lies begat lies. Put my money back. All of it.”
CHAPTER 15
Trymm
Day 23
“Nig-ga, where you been?” Dallas asked. “Haven’t seen or heard from you since Jax. Thought one of those chicks may have tied your dick in a knot,” he said, laughing.
Dallas had stepped his threads up. Extreme opposite of his norm. Collared, buttoned-do
wn, short-sleeved cerulean shirt. Matching slacks. A simple gold-link chain and diamond studs in each ear, like mine. Dark sunglasses. The tats on his neck appeared more intriguing, less thuggish.
See how long that lasts.
“You were a straight no-show for our head count last Saturday,” Kohl said.
Kohl looked the same. Son of a preacher man. Tailored to perfection, sporting hard-sole shoes. Fresh shadow haircut. His light brown skin shined from what I recognized as a good facial.
Blitz commented, “Ain’t seen shit from you on social since Southern Belle. Guess old Clydesdale can’t hang.”
This pale-skinned Negro’s nails were manicured? The after-five beard connected to his sideburns. Everybody had improved their appearance to measure up to yours truly.
Placing my iPad on the counter, I figured they could speculate, but when the check was made payable to François Dupree, my final count would be undisputable.
“Yeah, that’s it, homey. Cialis hijacked my shit, had it on swole five days in a row. Now I can’t get it up.”
I focused on the oyster shells sizzling to open flames damn near taller than me as the four of us sat at the L-shaped end of the counter at Drago’s. I had to cop a squat facing the grill with my back to all the happenings as the crewe had already claimed the three stools facing the entrance.
“All I know is each of you betta show your face at my parents’ anniversary party at Gallier Hall on the thirty-first. Six o’clock sharp.”
I texted Francine, Got a surprise for you tomorrow to make up for Dubai.
Blitz, Dallas, and Kohl stared in my direction.
“Count me in. We can set the bet Monday.” Dallas was the one I expected to hold firm to not committing.
If the homies knew that I got married a week ago, that might be grounds for disqualifying me for the challenge. Just to secure my position, my dick had one more marathon; then I could retire with a count of 526. Give or take twenty.
I couldn’t put her off until Monday. I texted Atlantis, Put on your sexiest dress. Taking you to GW Fins. Be at my place at 8.
Eight o’clock would give me time to build on the buzz I started earlier with my dad, and getting faded with the homies right now. Leave here. Go home. Shower. Sleep. Lower my blood alcohol level. Get up, retox with my gurl, then take her back to my place, fuck her real good without interruptions, then send her to that nigga sexually satisfied.
Dallas, Kohl, and Blitz were scanning the room, obviously for possibles.
“One of y’all say something. Damn!” I stopped our waiter. “Let us get four baker’s dozen of them flame-broiled oysters on a half shell and a round of Hen.”
“Gotcha,” the waiter replied.
Kohl said, “I’ma ’bout to trump all y’all. Let’s do a count. Write down your numbers.”
“Hell no,” I objected. “All I want eight days from now is proof. Videos, confessions, social posts. All that.”
“You’re holding out ’cause Walter been on your ass and you in last place,” Blitz said. “You ain’t got shit on that tablet.”
Had bigger fish to fry than Blitz. And I had to buy a house I didn’t want. But my old man was right.
“I’m cool,” Kohl said, “’cause none of y’all put shit on social worth posting.” He pointed at me, then devoured three oysters, then stuffed his mouth with butter-soaked French bread, washed it down with liquor.
What happened to that nigga was straight-up embarrassing. “Put some respect on it. Ruff. Ruff. Ruff.” I gave three deep barks, pounded my chest. “Southern Belle. There’s more where that came from. A lot more.”
A female dressed in denim short shorts, a cute fedora, and a tight blouse thrust her cleavage in my face. Her hair was short, slick. Lips glossy. The crewe stared in my direction.
“I was at your yacht party. Remember me?” she asked all sexy and shit, eyeing my iPad.
This bitch talked too much. I had no idea who she was, nor did my dick. I slid my iPad away from her.
Blitz’s eyes stretched wide. “Yacht, what?” he belted. “I see you, homey. That’s why his ass been MIA.”
All of Kohl’s oyster shells were empty. He devoured two of Dallas’s while gawking at ole girl.
“Thanks for coming over to say hi,” I told her, wanting for her to get the fuck outta my face.
Her shiny lips parted as she swiped her wet tongue to the corner of her mouth. The tip wiggled at me. Her hand slid up my thigh. “I was hoping we could get together again without the other ninety-nine females that were all over your big banana boat.”
“What the fuck?” Dallas said. “I ain’t making that anniversary party, big baller. I don’t know about y’all, but that nig-ga is way ahead of me.”
Shining a flashlight in my face, she blinded me.
This bitch was unstable. Moving her hands, the one massaging my dick, the other in my face, I demanded, “You need to back up. Do I know you?”
She laughed.
Picturing the shit Kandy had done, suddenly I felt real uncomfortable. Scooting my barstool away from the bar, I stared into her eyes.
“ ‘Do I know you?’ ” she sarcastically repeated.
Turning my head toward Blitz, I asked, “Let’s switch seats, homey, before I raise up outta here.”
Ole gurl jabbed the flashlight into my crotch. “Fuck!” Screaming like a bitch, I grabbed my nuts. Electrical currents had stunned Clydesdale. Bending over, holding my shit. I wanted to choke that bitch, but I wasn’t moving my hands.
She shocked my left nipple. Losing control of my muscles, I felt myself descending toward the floor, landed on my shoulder, then rolled onto my side in the fetal position.
Ole gurl and people I didn’t know pointed cell phones at me. My boys Dallas and Kohl were laughing hard. Wasn’t shit amusing. My dick was numb. Blitz had his phone aimed at me.
“My sister didn’t suck your dick for you to degrade her on social media. Thought your lil yacht party was just for fun. Thanks to you, my sister’s husband is divorcing her! She has to raise her son and daughter by herself! Had to pull them out of their school because kids wouldn’t stop teasing them! You broke up her happy home! I should stun you again!” she said, reaching toward me.
Dallas was the only one of my homies that defended me by saying, “That’s enough. Trust me. He’s sorry.”
The woman swiftly pointed the flashlight in his direction. Dallas became quiet.
“Let’s go,” another woman said.
Calmly the woman dropped her flashlight into her purse. Dallas was on her in two seconds. Grabbed her by the throat. Started choking her.
Looking up at her, I was sure she wanted to say something, but couldn’t speak. Her face turned red.
The woman’s friend began crying, “Help!”
Dallas did not let go. “I strongly suggest you don’t try this shit again. If you do, I’ll shoot you.” He stared at her friend. “I’ll shoot your ass, too. Get the fuck outta here.” Releasing the woman’s throat, Dallas extended his hand to me.
What the hell was going on with women and these damn stun guns?
Dallas pulled me up.
“You don’t look so good right now, brotha man,” Blitz said, then hollered to the guy at the grill. “Yo! Lay four more dozen oysters on us and another round of Hen on me. It’s gon’ take this nigga a minute.”
I scanned the counter. Looked around the restaurant for the women. “Where the fuck is my iPad, homies?” I searched the floor along the bar. Leaned over the counter to see if it had fallen into the sink with the sack of oysters. “Where the fuck is my . . .”
“It’s gon’ take this nigga’s dick a while to recuperate.” Blitz reached under his shirt, handed me my tablet.
I snatched it. “Fuck you, Blitz. I’m still ahead of your ass.”
Blitz smiled. “Not for long, my brother. Not for long.”
CHAPTER 16
Trymm
Day 24
O pening the car door for my . . . wife
, I reached for Francine’s hand.
“Thanks, babe. I’m so excited!” she squealed. “I can’t believe your parents are so generous. I’m ready to fill our new home with lots of grandbabies for them. Four. Five. Ten! If we have all boys, we can have our own basketball team. They can practice against one another. Or a girls’ singing group and band. I love you so much.”
Give a woman too much freedom and she’ll give you hell. We’d never seriously discussed starting our own family. I could see now I was going to have to have a vasectomy, after the first one. Had to find out how my blackberry and Francine’s light skin would blend on a boy. I did not want a girl.
This was our fourth and final viewing for today. Francine had to make a decision. I was not doing this again. Our Realtor parked beside my Benz.
Quinisha was Francine’s complexion, taller, had a phat ass, and her immaculately tapered haircut tempted me to try and add her to my count, but fucking the Realtor was probably worse than sleeping with the fine ass neighbor entering the mansion next door.
Francine had worn a sleeveless magenta jumpsuit that covered her collarbone. Conservative would be her style every day she carried my last name. Hair was the way I insisted. I did not care that she was five-ten; the tip of her braid could drag the ground, I was not allowing her to cut off an inch.
Quinisha led us into the foyer. “This four-thousand-square-foot home has six bedrooms, seven bathrooms, a four-car garage, two levels, two kitchens, a swimming pool, Jacuzzi . . .”
One of my brothers, Bryan, his wife, and four kids lived in an Eastover subdivision. I wasn’t as close to him as some of my other siblings, but Francine would have family nearby if she chose this home.
“Has anyone died here?” Francine asked. “What year was it built?”
Whatever property we made an offer on was going to be her domain. I was not giving up my villa. Didn’t want to reside this far from the Quarter, or commute to work when I could walk six blocks.
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