The Other Side of My Kitchen

by Dazz L. Jackson

  “He should have never stopped writing in the first place,” Zachary interjected after calling for another shoe model. “Everybody I know has been asking me; when will Michael write another freaking book. The first one was off the chain, so why hasn’t he written another?”

  “Because my first novel cost me two years of my life, my second wife, and who knows how many anxiety attacks. Besides, do you know how much cheese I made off that book when it was all done and said for?”

  “Excuse me, but…”

  “I know what I said back than Omari. However having an idealistic romance with ones passion may not exactly put food on the table. That’s why I took the gig down at the paper.”

  “Help me if I’m wrong here Zachary, but didn’t Michael once say he would never write while trapped in the cold throes of love? And last I checked; somebody here at this table is really in love.”

  Zachary slammed the rest of his drink before he added in the most proper British dialect, “A splendid demonstration of recollection Omari.”

  “Well thank you old boy.”

  “Yes, yes, I must admit the way you captured that miniature fragment of the past was stunningly accurate.”

  Michael stared at Zachary and me with awe and disgust before he chuckled, “You clowns might wanna keep those day jobs. Look, writing another book wasn’t my idea, it was Marlene’s.”

  “Man did she step in it,” Zachary grumbled as a shoe model danced in front of him.

  “She said I would never be happy if I didn’t pursue what really made me happy. Yeah, writing makes me insane, but it also makes me happy as hell too.”

  I smiled at my friend because for the first time in years, Michael appeared happy. Which meant the man finally had a patient woman in his life, a decent job, and a reachable dream to conquer. Who was I to step on his once lost, but newly discovered sense of joy? True, that always present sense of pessimism in me saw a different picture trying to materialize, but I choked it out of my mind and said the first thing that made sense afterward.

  “To be happy in one's home is better than to be a chief.”

  “And life, my friend,” Michael says, “is a tragedy when seen in close-up, but a comedy in long-shot.”

  “Charlie Chaplin was the man back in the day,” I said before I made my exit.

  After I left the strip club, I caught a cab over to Afeni’s house feeling a little unsure about what I was about to get myself into. Deep down, I knew what I should have wanted, and how to achieve it. Convincing a woman to love me with her body had never been a challenge. Nevertheless, I felt uncomfortable with the idea of physically being with another woman seeing how I could still feel and taste the last one I was with. In the past, I refused to deal with this non-macho behavior of mines because most of the men I knew wouldn’t have had a problem with this feat. But I wasn’t like most men, and I knew it. This would explain why I was considering taking my drunken ass home before Afeni surprised me by meeting me at her front door.

  “You’re lucky I’m a night owl Omari.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because most women my age would’ve given up on you, and gone to bed that’s why.”

  “That’s understandable but can I be honest with you about something Afeni?”

  “By all means.”

  “First of all, its way too damns cold out here to be talking junk.” I said as nicely as I could before I found my way inside her fashionable midtown home. “Secondly, my hectic life doesn’t give most women this opportunity.”

  “And here I was wondering why I was so attracted to you,” She replied after she closed the door behind me.

  Like I said before, convincing a woman to love me with her body has never been a challenge for me. Convincing them to love me as I wanted and deserved to be loved was a totally different story. My first booty call in years didn’t turn out to be a booty call at all. Because in the end all Afeni really wanted was a strong confident man to spoon with. I guess cold winter nights tend to have that affect on two open minded people, and seeing how I was suffering from the same lack of affection as Afeni was, I gladly gave her what she wanted without divulging that fact.

  The day after greeted me like a hyperactive two-year-old child who didn’t know the meaning of sleeping late on the weekend. Agitated that I couldn’t go back to sleep, I tried to get up until I noticed the hold that Afeni had on me. From my vantage point, she appeared comfortable and safe, just like Olivia use to look when we slept together. Slightly frustrated by that comparison, I tried to block the image of Olivia out of mind before it could ruin my perfect night, but just seeing her face again made me want to start all over again.

  Afraid of the past, I whispered something evil to myself before I forced my ex-wife to the rear of my clustered mind. After that I decided to just lie there and absorb what it might feel like to be cherished and respected before Afeni decided to awake. And as her tightly wound eyes slowly opened, I decided to act the fool by singing her a “good morning” song.

  “You’ll never find another love like mines. You’ll keep searching your life through…you gonna miss my loving…you gonna miss my loving…you gonna miss my loving.”

  “Oh my God, you’re singing to me.”

  “I read about this in one of those corny love novels when I was a kid.”

  “I didn’t read those sorts of things when I was kid, but I still can’t believe you’re singing to me, or shall I say you’re tying to sing an old ass Lou Rawls song to me. How old do you think I am?”

  “Age doesn’t have shit on Lou. Besides, how you goin’ hate on Lou Rawls.”

  All Afeni could to do was laugh at that before she suddenly shifted gears on me and jumped out of bed. A couple minutes later she was in and out of the shower and dressed before I even had a chance to brush my teeth. Afeni was a morning person because her energy level went from zero to sixty in a millisecond.

  “Baby, that was so cool, but couldn’t you find another song to sing,” she sighed as she bounced around like some hyperactive two year old.

  “Look here, at least Lou Rawls could sing. These sorry ass cats today can’t sing worth a lick and you know it.” I said before I continued singing.

  “Okay honey, you win. What position do you want me in?”

  I kept singing.

  “How’s bout we do it doggy style.” She said before she lay next to me.

  I kept singing.

  “You mean to tell me you don’t want it doggy-style?”

  Starting my day off doing it doggy style did sound rather appealing, and I almost took the bait before my stomach started to grumble.

  “Somebody’s hungry,” Afeni said after rubbing my grumpy stomach.

  “I eat breakfast about this time. Are you hungry?”

  “A little.”

  “I can cook us something to eat if…”

  “I know you’re a chef and everything, but I do all the cooking in this house. So what do you want to eat, or shall I say what would you prefer?”

  “Thanks for asking, but I’m as basic as it gets when it comes to breakfast Afeni.”

  “And that means?”

  “Anything with grits will do.”

  “I can manage that, won’t you jump in the shower while I go and take care of business.”

  “You’re serious aren’t you?”

  “Very.”

  “You don’t hafta tell me twice; which way is the bathroom?”

  From the boardroom to the firehouse, women of my era participated in all areas of society. For example, half of my clientele are women who either run their own business, or have some sort of high profile job that requires most of their time. From the outside looking in, most of these women are decent, hard working and forward thinking people, and I have a tremendous amount respect for them not only because they keep me in business, but also because I know how hard it is for them to maintain their professional status in a white male dominated culture. With that being said and understood, it ne
ver bothered me that most of these women couldn’t cook if their lives depended on it. After awhile, a modern day man gets use to it, but every now and then I do meet an attractive woman who can set a kitchen on fire. Did Afeni have these sorts of culinary skills; I wasn’t sure. Her self-confidence said she did. I was anxious to find out, so I eagerly showered and dressed before I rejoined her in a small dinning room located at the back of the townhouse.

  “Okay, I’m ready to eat,” I said before I took a seat at a Shaker styled dinning room table.

  “Hope so,” Afeni replied as she served breakfast on a beautiful Del Sol styled dinner plate.

  A healthy helping of grits, a buttered down Croissant, a tall glass of water, and a fresh bowl of fruit bracketed a huge bright yellow omelet. The smell alone started my mouth to water, so I didn’t waste anytime digging into my food.

  “Damn,” I muttered with a mouth full of omelet.

  Afeni, hovering over me like a worried parent asked, “You don’t like it do you?”

  “Are you crazy? Man this omelet is off the hook. What’s in it?”

  “Steak, onions, mushrooms, and two types of cheese. I call it a cheese steak omelet.”

  “Call it what you want Afeni, I’m calling it good,” I gasped before I attacked the rest of my breakfast without saying word.

  Afeni smiled victoriously before she suddenly disappeared inside her bedroom. A few minutes later, she reappeared fully dressed inside a berry colored over lock asymmetrical skirt, and a black side neck ruffle tee and a pair of pink rose sandals that had four-inch heels. Simply put, Afeni went from okay looking too stunning. Not sure what was about to happen next, I took a peep inside her bedroom and found nothing strange or out of place.

  “Damn you look good, did I miss something?” “No silly.”

  “I must’ve missed something, cause you went and got all diva on me. Are you going somewhere?”

  “I have to be at the CNN Center by eleven. You wanna go?”

  “Sure, but what’s going on over there?”

  “Have to meet a friend of mines for a quick meeting.”

  “God I hate meetings. So is this business or pleasure?

  “The suits over there want me to do a year long photo shoot on the war in Iraq.”

  “The war in Iraq huh? Sounds like a nice little paycheck if you’re into that sort of chaos.”

  “I just happen to be into that sort of chaos.”

  “I see. What about Brian?”

  “I appreciate your show of confidence in me Omari, but that job isn’t mines just yet. Besides, if I do get it, Brian’s old enough to take care of himself.”

  The father in me was irked and a little disappointed after hearing that. However I hid my true feelings because I wasn’t in the mood to exchange mud with Afeni. Even if I was, I knew I would have lost that battle before it even started, Brian wasn’t my child, and Afeni wasn’t my woman. That undeniable fact helped me put what we had into prospective. With that in mind, I stood away from the table, signaling that I was ready to go. However Afeni held her ground and stared at me curiously before she reached some sort of internal agreement with herself.

  “I’m sorry bout that okay.” I said with my hands raised.

  “Don’t be, you spoke your mind right?”

  “More so the father in me.”

  “I respect that, I really do. In fact it’s good to see a Black man in touch with his inner soul; however I’m living my life the best way I know how. And yes, I make dumb mistakes, but I also make good decisions too.”

  If I wanted to, I could and probably should have shot that guilt induced admission into a million pieces. However who was I to judge, when I myself wasn’t man enough to tell my children no about anything whenever they needed to be told so. I couldn’t even stand up to Olivia when it came right down to it. When she brought another man into our marriage claiming she needed more love and attention, I blamed myself and not her. How stupid was that? So I wasn’t in any position to be judge and jury over anybody, period.

  “It’s all good Afeni,” I said before I leaned over and kissed her on the top of her forehead. “Are you gonna drive or do you want me to call a cab?”

  Evidently my ability to drop the subject without any emotional residue in sight; caught Afeni off guard because she stared at me as if she was expecting more meat and fewer potatoes. Caught in a pinch, she played the whole conversation off by returning my friendly kiss with a gentle, but sensual nibble to my earlobe. Honestly, that sexy shit turned me on, but I played it off by calling us a cab on my cell phone. A few minutes later the cab arrived and Afeni and I were on our way to the CNN Center.

  I’ve lived in the Atlanta area for a few years, and not once had I ever visited the CNN Center. This was strange seeing how it was one of the best places to get a good shot of scotch, and Lord knows how I loved scotch. Obviously, my hate for the news media kept me away, but that wasn’t the only reason why I stayed away. Truth of the matter, Olivia’s new husband was a South African born CNN correspondent named Julian Slocock. Tall, handsome, and popular, Julian was everything I wasn’t when he discovered Olivia in a little coffee shop over in Europe. If I had to describe him fairly, I would have to say that he was successful, idealistic, and confident beyond belief. Most of all, Julian was eloquent and giving when it came to being emotionally involved with a woman. Whereas I treated love and gave love like a Purington made brick. Probably could have built a few mansions with the way I tried to love Olivia.

  What’s done is done; and I ended up learning about Julian from Olivia right before she left me for him. Did my extreme hate for the news media stem from a failed marriage? I’ve asked myself that question over a million times and have always reached the same conclusion.

  No, but it didn’t help it none.

  Once Afeni and I reached CNN, we parted ways. She went to her meeting while I headed for a lounge that overlooked Centennial Olympic Park and the Fountain of Rings. After finding a seat with the best view of the park, I ordered a cup of coffee and a shot of Scotch, which reached me in no time. I combined the two before I became caught up in one of my favorite past times…people watching.

  Two cups of coffee later, Afeni called me on my MDA and told me that she was finish and had something important to tell me. By the excitement in her voice, it was obvious that her meeting was a success. Deep down, I was happy for her, but a little sad that I wouldn’t get the chance to really know her. After I paid my tab, I joined her down in the lower lobby that overlooked the Georgia World Congress Center.

  “That was quick.”

  “What can I say? They loved me.”

  “I can believe that. So when do you leave?” “They weren’t sure on the departure date, but if you

  ask me, I’d say sometime in the spring.”

  “So they gave you a few months to get your house in

  order, that’s cool.”

  “If you think that was cool, how bout they gave me my

  bonus money up front.”

  “You’re traveling to one of the most dangerous places

  in the world Afeni. I mean that’s the least they could do.” “Look at you, worried about me already.”

  “Something wrong with that?”

  “Relax Tiger, I’ll be okay.” Afeni replied after she

  gingerly stroked my face. “I know that country like I know my

  house.”

  If I had never seen and tasted the bitterly dry

  landscape of Iraq, I would have adhered to Afeni’s nonchalant attitude about her safety. However I spent seven of the hardest months in my life in that very same oasis of confusion and death. Some of my dreams are still filled with the events that took place in that dreadful land. So I knew that there was nothing nonchalant about where she was going and I wasn’t

  going to pretend to either.

  “You’re not going to let this go are you?”

  “I should, but I probably won’t until after you leave.” “Out of sight,
out of mind right?”

  “It’s not even like that Afeni.”

  “Yeah I know, but you have somebody in your life to

  worry about. So everything’s cool.”

  “Like I said, I don’t causally let people into my life.” “I don’t see myself having a part in your precious life

  Omari. So you don’t hafta worry about…”

  “You know, I can always walk away. Is that what you

  want?”

  Afeni bit down on her lower lip as if she had visited

  this situation before and was disappointed with the outcome.

  Loving from afar is one the hardest things to endure, so I

  couldn’t blame Afeni for how she was feeling. Instead of

  applying pressure, I studied everything about her before I

  stood up and was about to make my exit when she finally

  spoke up.

  “Whenever I go away for one of these adventures of

  mines, I swear friends and family ask me the same damn

  questions over and over again.”

  “I’ve been there, Afeni.”

  “I know you have, that’s why I thought you would

  understand me more than the average.”

  “Agreed, but there’s nothing wrong with the average,

  Afeni.”

  “I know, but…what I’m trying to say is, I’ve

  experienced so many great things during my travels but in the

  end, I always come back home wondering if I was really

  missed.”

  “Stop being silly, you’ll always have Brian to come

  home to.”

  “That boy doesn’t give two shits about me,” Afeni

  replied with a sad face.

  “Why do you think that is?”

  “He blames me for him not having a real relationship

  with his father. And you know; he’s right because I’ve always

  put my life before his.”

  “You’ve made some mistakes in the past, everybody

  does Afeni, so you can stop beating yourself up over it.” “You wanna know truth about something Omari.” “I’m willing if you’re willing.”

  “Deep down, I want somebody to worry about me,