Who the hell is D. Alston? She jabbed the doorbell twice, and then pressed the button without letting up.
She heard a door open on the second floor. “Stay right here. Let me handle this,” Eric said gruffly.
Who the hell is Eric talking to?
Eric thumped down the stairs, causing a vibration. At the bottom of the stairs, he looked at Nivea through the large windowpane that separated them. She expected a smile of surprise, but Eric gawked at her, displeasure wrinkling his forehead.
He turned the lock, cracked the door open, and poked his head out. “Whatchu doing here, Niv?”
“I should be asking that question. You’re supposed to be at work!”
“Yeah, um…” He scratched his head.
“Who’s renting the place now?”
“Uh…”
Refusing to give him time to gather his thoughts, she pushed the door open, and zipped past Eric.
“You can’t go up there, Niv.”
“Hell if I can’t!” Nivea took the stairs two at a time, the heels of her boots stomping against the wooden stairs. Eric was up to something, and she had to know what the hell was going on.
Eric raced behind her. He roughly grabbed her arm. “You outta pocket.”
She yanked her arm away and spun around. “Let me go, Eric!” Eric was a big, stocky man, but she gave him such a violent shove, he fell backward, stumbling down a couple of steps.
Motivated by a suspicious mind, Nivea bolted for Eric’s apartment, which was at the top of the stairs. The door was slightly ajar. She pushed it open.
A woman, who appeared to be in her early twenties, stood in the kitchen, clutching a baby. One glance told Nivea that the woman was street tough. Hardcore. She was not cute at all. Light-skinned, reed-thin with a narrow, ferret-like face. The Kool Aid red-colored weave she was rocking looked a hot Halloween mess. Anger flickered across the woman’s mean, sharp-featured face.
“Who are you?” Nivea asked, hoping to hear, I’m Eric’s cousin. Hell, she was willing to accept childhood friend, or even long lost sister. She’d happily go along with any relationship, except jumpoff. She stole a glance at the baby that was buried beneath blankets.
The skinny chick looked at Nivea like she had sprouted a second head. “How you gon’ bust in here axin’ me who da hell I am?” Her bad grammar and attitude confirmed Nivea’s suspicion that the chick was a hood rat.
Nivea scanned the kitchen quickly. The appliances were as outdated as Nivea remembered, and the cabinetry was still old and chipped, but the room was spotlessly clean and somewhat better furnished than when Eric had lived there. Nivea took in the rather new, but cheap-looking kitchen set that had replaced Eric’s old one.
The female tenant had tried to brighten up the dismal kitchen. Matching potholders and dishtowels were on display. The former dusty mini blinds that had once hung at the kitchen window had been replaced with ruffled curtains.
What is Eric doing here with this ghettofied heifer and her child?
As if she’d read Nivea’s mind, the thuggish chick turned toward Nivea. Holding the baby upright, she gave Nivea a full view of the infant’s face. Nivea felt her heart stop. The little boy, who looked to be around four or five months old, was a miniature replica of Eric.
“Oh, my God!” Nivea squeaked out. She grimaced at the child who was Eric’s spitting image.
Okay, I’m imagining things. That child can’t possibly be Eric’s baby!
CHAPTER 2
Eric barreled into the apartment. Nivea suspected he had been hanging out in the hallway, trying to get his lies together.
“You need to check yourself, Nivea. You know you dead wrong for running up in the crib like this.”
Nivea was stunned that Eric, her gentle teddy bear, was growling at her like a vicious grizzly bear.
Nivea stared at the baby and then at Eric. She swiped at the tears that watered her eyes. “What’s going on, Eric?”
The skinny chick bit down on her lip, like she was struggling to control her temper. “I’m not with this shit, Eric. You better handle it.”
Eric tugged Nivea’s coat sleeve. “This ain’t the time or the place, Niv.”
“Have you lost your mind, Eric? You told me you were at work. I need to know what the hell is going on. Get your coat!” She motioned with her hand. “Talk to me on the way home. We’re out of here!” Nivea waited for Eric to go get his coat, but he didn’t budge.
The ghetto chick snickered, and then looked down at the baby. “Don’t worry, Boo-Boo; Daddy ain’t going nowhere.”
Daddy! No way! That is not Eric’s child, Nivea told herself. With a hand on her hip, she glared at Eric. “Who is this bitch? And why are you here with her?”
“My name is Dyeesha. I ain’t gon’ be another bitch, bitch. I don’t know who you is, but you trespassing.” The woman with the bad grammar spoke in an annoying scratchy tone, her nostrils flaring as she furiously patted her baby.
“Eric! Tell this girl who I am!” Nivea spoke through clenched teeth.
Looking like a cornered rat, Eric was at loss for words and could only come up with utterances and sputtering sounds.
“How you expect him to remember the name of e’ry hooka he done slept with while I was pregnant with his son,” Dyeesha said with a sneer.
The abrasive sound of the girl’s voice, her assumption that Nivea was a stripper and a prostitute, and her terrible grammar…it all grated Nivea’s nerves. “For the love of God, will you please tell this ignorant-ass, ghettofied, hood chick who I am!” Nivea yelled.
As if his lips were sealed with Super Glue, Eric was mute.
“Ghettofied! You da one acting ghetto.” Dyeesha contorted her lips. “For your information, I’m Eric’s baby mama. In a few weeks, I’ma be his wife.” Dyeesha shot a hot glance at Eric. “I can’t believe you let one of your tricks run up on me like this.”
“Stop calling me a trick! You’re not marrying Eric. I am! Our wedding is in June,” Nivea shouted.
Dyeesha grabbed the doorknob. “Keep dreaming. Now bounce, bitch. Take your trick ass back to that strip club you crawled out of.”
Nivea stared at Eric. “Are you gonna just stand there while your jumpoff insults me?”
Dyeesha snorted. “You da damn jumpoff! Now take your home-wrecking activities somewhere else!” Dyeesha tried to pass the baby to Eric. “Hold your son cuz I’m ’bout to go on her trick ass!”
Nivea gasped. She wasn’t expecting to get into a fistfight with a street tough thug chick.
Eric calmed Dyeesha by rubbing the length of her willowy arm. “I told you, I got this.”
The gentleness in Eric’s voice, the tender strokes he delivered to Dyeesha’s sweater-covered arm…and the baby! It was all too much to bear. Hotly jealous, Nivea felt her anger rising like steam. She pounced on Eric, trying to claw at his face. “You lying, cheating, broke ass, no-good scumbag. I should have never got involved with a damn warehouse worker!”
Dodging Nivea’s fingernails, Eric tossed her off of him, knocking her into the fridge. Too wound up and too furious to feel any pain, Nivea kept fighting, jutting her kneecap upward as she aimed for Eric’s groin, which in her opinion, was the real culprit in this triangle of lies and deceit.
She missed the intended mark, but Eric grunted in pain as Nivea’s kneecap rammed his inner thigh.
“Get that bitch, Eric. Fuck her up,” Dyeesha goaded.
Holding the baby, Dyeesha followed Nivea and Eric as they scuffled along a short hallway, ending up in the small living room.
“Stop acting crazy!” Eric demanded as he grabbed Nivea by the shoulders and gave her a brisk shake. To Eric’s credit, he hadn’t actually hit Nivea; he’d merely tried to restrain her.
Nivea maneuvered out of his grasp and landed a hard slap across his face.
“Ow! Shit!” Eric rubbed his cheek.
Dyeesha sucked her teeth. “Hold the baby, Eric, so I can whoop that ass.”
“I got this!”
Eric insisted as he lunged for Nivea.
Swinging both hands, kicking, and scratching, Nivea was prepared to fight to the death. She wasn’t leaving the premises without her groom in tow. In the midst of the squabble, Nivea noticed a series of photos in silver frames. There was one with Eric holding the baby. Another with Dyeesha and the baby, and the third silver-framed photo held a family portrait.
Feeling lightheaded, Nivea stumbled, bumping into the small Christmas tree that sat atop a table, the one she’d seen twinkling through the window.
Three red and white stockings were thumb-tacked to the wall: Eric, Dyeesha, and Eric, Jr. was printed in glittery letters.
Nivea punched Eric in the face. His large form toppled the Christmas tree. Glass balls shattered. Mini lights crashed against the floor.
The baby screamed. Dyeesha pressed the baby against her bosom. “Bitch, I know you don’t think I’ma let you fuck up my family’s first Christmas together.”
Eric pulled himself to his feet. “Get the baby out of here. I got this, Dyeesha,” he mumbled, picking up the dwarfed tree, trying to get it to stand up straight.
“You better get this trick outta my house before I call the cops.”
“Stop calling me a trick. I’m his fiancée.” Nivea held up her ringed finger as proof.
Dyeesha looked at the diamond ring and snorted. “Pole dancers make lots of money. You bought that bling and put it on your own finger.”
Nivea drew in a breath. The truth hurt. She had put the expensive ring on her credit card, telling herself it was okay as long as Eric made the payments, which he hadn’t done at that point. And with this horrible turn of events, it wasn’t likely he’d be making any payments in the future.
Eric stepped in front of Nivea. “What’s wrong with you, girl? Why you tryna make me hurt you?” He drew his lips together in a threatening manner. Nivea couldn’t believe her eyes or her ears. What the hell? Eric had been such a pushover. The way he always let her have her way had endeared him to her. Now he was threatening to hurt her.
“When were you going to tell me about your secret family? On our wedding day?”
“He ain’t marrying you!” Dyeesha hissed.
“Oh, yes he is,” Nivea insisted. She knew that she should have turned around and walked away the moment she saw that baby’s face, but she had put so much time and effort into Eric…into her wedding, she couldn’t walk away.
In an act of desperation, Nivea reached for Eric’s hand. “We can discuss this at home.”
Refusing the gesture, Eric placed his hands behind his back.
“I guess you didn’t get the memo, trick. The only wedding that’s going down is mine and Eric’s.” Dyeesha rolled her eyes at Nivea. “Tell her, Eric,” Dyeesha coaxed.
Eric lowered his head. He stuffed his hands inside the pockets of his jeans, and began jiggling change. He spoke in a low tone. “I should have told you about Dyeesha. I can’t go through with it. The wedding is cancelled, Niv.”
Dyeesha puffed up with pride. “You hear that, trick! Your imaginary wedding is cancelled.”
The wedding is cancelled! Nivea opened her mouth and began shrieking as if someone had thrown a pot of boiling oil in her face.
The baby screamed along with her.
“Yo, get a grip. You scaring the shit outta my son,” Eric said.
“But you don’t have any children,” Nivea replied dumbly.
“That’s my son,” Eric confirmed. “I wanted to tell you but I ain’t know how.”
Any normal bride-to-be who was getting hit with one bombshell after another would have been lying prone on the floor, while awaiting an emergency ambulance team to rush in and recharge her heart, but Nivea didn’t have time for heart failure. She appealed to Eric’s sense of reasoning. “My gown, Eric. What about my wedding gown? I’m scheduled for my next fitting in a few weeks.”
Eric blinked at her, held his hands up in the air.
Dyeesha’s mouth was twisted, like she’d eaten something rotten. “Don’t nobody care about your raggedy-ass gown. You better get your damn deposit back. Eric’s not leaving me for you or any other trick-bitch.”
Dyeesha’s slanderous words had lost their sting. Nivea was deep in thought. Like a broken record, the wedding is cancelled, repeated inside her mind.
It was unbelievable that Eric had been leading a double life. Nivea tried to imagine sitting her parents down, and telling them this horror story, but it was too humiliating to ponder. She had to figure out a way to fix this awful mess.
“You gotta go, Niv,” Eric told her. “You’re upsetting my family.”
“Fuck your family!” Finally giving into the rage that was bubbling inside, Nivea grabbed both silver-framed photographs and sent then zinging toward Eric’s head.
Eric hit the floor. His eyelids fluttered as blood oozed from an open wound on the side of his head.
“Help!” Dyeesha screamed. Dyeesha raced out of the apartment and out into the hallway. Neighbors began to open their doors. “Help. There’s a crazy bitch in my crib. She’s tryna kill my whole family,” Dyeesha’s shrieked.
With the single thought of escaping punishment, Nivea left Eric moaning and bleeding on the floor, and ran out of the apartment.
“There she is. Somebody catch that trick.” Dyeesha’s voice climbed higher. “Don’t let her get away!”
Whizzing past several puzzled neighbors, Nivea bounded down the stairs and out the set of doors.
Nivea rushed along the slushy pavement. Slip-sliding across the icy street, she jumped in her car. A few stitches should take care of Eric’s head, she told herself. She gnawed at her bottom lip as she pulled the Mazda forward. The tires thudded against a mound of hardened snow. Fuck! She had to get out of the tight parking spot before the police arrived.
Suppose he’s dead! Nivea grimaced. The idea of doing jail time for murder was far more distressing than being dumped six months before her wedding.
Ramming the car behind her, she forcefully gave herself room. As she zoomed away from the scene of the crime, hot tears splashed against her face. Eric deserved to be dead, but for the sake of Nivea’s freedom, she needed him to live.
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