Forgetting about her dad and his mom, Darius massaged his erection through his pleated slacks, hoping she’d continue talking but hopefully not about her dad. Anticipating the sound of her voice made his dick harder. She had him so turned on he wanted to make love. To her. For years. Say something. Anything. Please. His dick urged repeating her tone in his mind. I miss you. He’d missed her too.
She finally broke the silence. “Did you hear me?” Lightly she articulated, “I said, I miss you.”
Ashlee’s delayed response made Darius believe she was also thinking about him. The cordless phone slipped from between his ear and shoulder so Darius quickly activated the speaker. “Of course I heard you. I just wanted you to repeat it. That’s all.” He placed his fingers against his thick chocolate lips then laid the same two fingers atop the glass frame over her mouth.
She inhaled then softly said, “I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. How’s that? Turn on your cam so I can see you.”
No way, Darius thought, staring at the flat-screen monitor on the glass-top L-unit connected to his desk. Kimberly’s nude layout changed from covering her tits with sand on Venice beach to clenching a lollipop between her vaginal lips with a caption that read, “Sweeter than candy.” Darius unzipped his pants and squeezed his head, suppressing the pre-cum trying to escape his hard-on. He imagined what Ashlee looked like in the nude. Although they’d visited one another for more than ten years, he still had no idea if her nipples were lighter or darker than her breasts. If her pubic hairs were curly or straight. If her clitoris was small or large. Would Darius care for Ashlee the same if they lived together? Would he love her if he married her?
“Hey, lady. I’ve gotta run. I’ll see you later.” Darius stood. He secured his relaxed muscle into his black silk boxers, then watched the tiny metal clamps overlap until the last one reached the top.
His lungs suctioned in the much-needed oxygen for his brain when she exhaled an intoxicating, “Bye.”
Darius waited until Ashlee hung up, then removed his coat and tossed it onto his chair. He entered the private rest room connected to his office and vigorously rinsed his face with cold water. While staring at his reflection in the mirror, Darius wondered why his mother had lied to him about his biological father. Why she’d waited twenty years to reveal the truth. Why didn’t his biological father, Darryl Williams, Sr. display the same love for him as he did for Darius’s two half-brothers, Kevin and Darryl, Jr.? The relationship Darius’s father had with Darius’s half-sister didn’t count because daughters were naturally closer to their fathers than sons.
Darryl was a former NBA all-star whom Darius idolized most of his childhood, including the four years Darius started on the varsity basketball team in high school. Darryl was his college basketball coach at Georgetown, which explained why Darius’s mother never came to any of his college games. His mother apparently had had an epiphany when her mother died and decided it was time for a damn confession. A truth that mentally scared Darius. Possibly for life.
“Fuck Darryl Williams!” Darius’s fists swung fast. Hard. Hitting nothing but air. “Darius Jones don’t need anybody but Darius Jones.” Darius’s anger resurfaced each time he relived the day his mother told him the truth. Tears swelled his eyes. Darius squinted and sighed. His beloved grandmother, Ma Dear, the only woman that never lied to him would’ve said, “Don’t waste time disliking people who don’t like you when you can appreciate the many people who do love you.” Regaining his composure, Darius knew Ma Dear was right but after his grandmother died, disappointment and resentment befriended him.
Although sometimes Darius drowned in waterless tears, real men, when their hearts ached with sadness and their souls suffocated from failure, didn’t show signs of weakness. Darius remembered because Ma Dear’s husband Grandpa Robert, whom she’d joined in heaven, told Darius when Darius was four years old, “Boy, looks like you been crying. Crying is for girls and sissies. Remember that.” Darius never forgot. Tears. Confessions. There was no way Darius would ever let down Grandpa Robert by displaying a wimpish attitude. Sensitivity belonged to losers like Rodney, the undercover bisexual brother who infected Darius’s ex-fiancée with HIV. Darius thought again, what a fucked-up world to live in.
Buying his three-story office building and loaning him a million dollars was just another one of his mother’s ways to compensate for her guilt. And Darius had every intention of making his mother suffer for the next twenty years or at least until he felt she’d repaid her debt. Everyone was indebted to something or someone. But if his mother hadn’t married Lawrence, Darius wouldn’t have met his number-one lady. So perhaps he should’ve been grateful, but gratitude required expressing feelings.
Shifting his thoughts back to his lady, Darius smiled in the mirror, running his fingers over his locks. He gathered each strand back into a ponytail then admired the sweet brown succulent flesh that hundreds of women had enjoyed feasting upon. Ashlee’s flight would arrive at ten o’clock tonight. What would she wear to his parents’ New Year’s Eve ball? Hell, it didn’t matter. Possessing the same qualities as his mother, his stepsister always looked great. Just like his ex-fiancée, Maxine. Ladylike. Feminine.
Darius returned to his desk wondering why was his childhood so gullibly innocent and his adult life so cynical? As a child, if Darius had done wrong, he was easily forgiven. Women adored him. Fantasies of having his own family. A loving wife who’d only love him and he’d exclusively love her. At one time Darius believed that was possible. Until those two fifth-graders told him he could have both of them or his boring girlfriend. She wasn’t boring. She was quiet. There was a difference. But two were definitely better than one. Darius had once believed marriage was sacred. Until he witnessed his mother divorcing Lawrence for no apparent reason other than she wanted to marry Wellington.
Why did grown-ups simply lie about shit? Santa. Where babies came from. The Easter bunny. Who was this dude Cupid? Someone who was supposed to make Darius believe he was in love? Most people weren’t. Most people were lonely or afraid of being alone so, good or bad, they clung to the familiar. Not Darius.
CHAPTER 2
Darius walked out of his corner office, one flight down the back exit stairway. The heavy fire door squeaked as he entered the second floor. “How’s it going, Randy?” Darius asked his accountant.
“Not bad,” Randy said. “Not bad at all to say you’ve only been in business almost two months. If you seal that big deal next week, things will be great.”
“Not if, Randy. When,” Darius replied, walking away.
Standing over his newest employee inside her cubicle, Darius folded his arms high across his black long-sleeved cashmere shirt. Quickly she clicked on the minimize box at the top of her computer screen and the card game vanished.
“Naw, put the screen back up,” Darius insisted, staring over her shoulder. “I wanna see how good you are because obviously you’re no good for my company.” Darius waited. “You’ve got ten seconds. Ten. Nine. Eight . . .” He always counted backward so when he stopped, he was at number one because he was number one. Confidently self-proclaimed the best at business, politics, economics, sports, and sex. Especially sex. Darius’s eyes focused on the digital clock at the bottom of the seventeen-inch flat-screen monitor. Ten A.M.
When the screen came into view, Darius pointed toward the door and said, “Pack your shit and get the hell out of my office.”
“But, it’s the holidays and there isn’t any work to do. I can ex—”
“Don’t waste any more of my time or my money.” He’d warned her in the orientation last month not to use his company’s equipment or services for personal reasons. At the top of the items listed on the acknowledgment form by his human resources director was the computer followed by the telephone—both cellular and office—supplies, credit card, and so forth. “What’s my mission statement?” Darius asked, watching the woman hesitantly remove his company’s cell phone and credit card from her p
urse.
She mumbled, “If it doesn’t make money, it doesn’t make sense.”
“So, what? You thought I was joking?”
“But, I can ex—”
“Explain what! Explain why I’m paying you thirty-five dollars an hour to waste my electricity!” The back of his hand slapped into his opposite palm repeatedly “Occupy my space! Drink my coffee! Eat my bagels! And play games on my computer!” Darius threw his hands in the air. “That doesn’t require an explanation. The only thing I want to know is how your playing a sorry-ass losing hand of three-card draw,” his pointing finger landed next to her score, “solitaire made me money? Prove that and you can stay.”
The twenty-two-year-old recent college graduate, who was a year older than Darius, silently stared at Darius, then said, “But everyone in the entertainment business is on vacation except us.”
Darryl his biological father hadn’t accepted him, and Darius unleashed his misdirected anger. “That’s right! And you should be studying the screenplay I gave you yesterday because I specifically told you I need to hand this to my inside contact at Parapictures and give a copy to Morris Chestnut first thing Monday morning. Am I supposed to pay you and someone else to do your job? Huh! Answer, me!” Forget Darryl.
Calmly she replied with a frown, “Why are you so upset? You’re the one who said your mother’s best friend, Candice Morgan, wrote the screenplay so obviously Candice will select you as her agent. What’s the big deal?”
“I don’t care who wrote the damn script! Unless I secure the best deal possible before anyone else . . .” Darius shook his head. “You just don’t get it. You may have graduated cum laude but you sure as hell flunked basic comprehension. Damn, it’s hard to get good help.” Darius paged his first-floor front desk security person from his mobile phone and said, “I need you to escort my new employee out of my building. Immediately.” Then Darius trotted upstairs to his office.
How in the hell was he going to maintain an advantage over the other five companies that were also given a non-exclusive right to shop the hottest screenplay on the market? As much as Darius wanted to attend his mother’s New Year’s Eve ball, he had no choice. He had to stay home and work. Darius speed dialed his mother’s number.
Candice and his mother had lost favor when Candice produced an unauthorized biography of his parents’ love life including all the graphic juicy details his mother had shared with her best friend. That’s what his mother deserved for telling all of her business to her so-called trustworthy girlfriend. Women. They all spent too much time analyzing every damn thing, talking too damn much, and complaining all the time. Any man who believed he could keep his woman happy was crazy. Women were definitely responsible for fucking up men’s lives and screwing up the world. First, Eve. Then Darius’s ex-fiancée. And of all women, his mother.
Sighing heavily, Darius greeted her. “Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, baby. I’m glad you called. I was just thinking about you.” His mother whispered, “Stop, Wellington. I’m on the phone with Darius.” Returning to a normal tone, she asked, “So what time are you and Ashlee coming over?”
“Hi, son!” Wellington’s voice cheerfully resonated in the background.
Wellington Jones, although he wasn’t Darius’s biological father, was the only male man enough to raise Darius from birth until now. When Darius’s mother revealed the truth, Wellington had said, “You are my son. A very brave man stepped up to the plate and raised me as his own.” Darius recalled how Wellington had shared his adoption history. “I don’t wish this type of devastation on any person. Honestly, I’m disappointed in your mother. But God wants us to learn the importance of forgiveness. You have every right to be mad. Just don’t let your anger destroy you . . . I love you no matter what.” Darius wondered how Wellington could be so compassionate without losing his masculinity.
“Sorry, Mom. I’m not gonna make it to the party tonight. Gotta work. Something important just came up.” Darius couldn’t dare tell his mother her life was the greatest story roaming throughout the industry because his mother was livid with Candice, while Wellington thought how wonderful if another black person could join the ranks of becoming a millionaire. His dad felt there was no direct harm to them. Wellington’s only request, which Candice claimed she’d consider but hadn’t agreed to honor, was that Candice change the names.
“Darius, you work too hard. You just started in this business. Give it some time, honey. You’ll get the next movie deal and I bet it’ll be a more lucrative contract.”
“Mom, you don’t understand. There’s no such thing as working too hard.” Darius rocked back and forth in his executive chair. “If I get this deal, my reputation will soar internationally. Mark my words. Darius Jones will instantly become a household name because this is a script all nationalities can relate to. Mom, somebody’s gotta be on top. There’s those who do and those who don’t. And those who don’t never come out on top. Gotta go. Gotta work. Happy New Year, Mom, and tell Dad I said the same.”
“Well, honey. If you insist. But before you go. How’s your proposal coming along?”
“Not as well as I thought. That’s why I can’t come. I just fired the person assigned to put together my presentation. The meeting for selection of an agent is in four days. Every interested agency is going to pitch to represent Candice. I have a meeting with my inside contact person at Parapictures on Monday. And if I’m lucky, Morris will show up as promised to the meeting on Tuesday.” Why was his mother so stubborn? She could forgive Candice, and Candice would happily let him represent her.
“What about Ashlee? Is she coming to the party? I can send my driver to pick her up from your house around eight o’clock.”
“Ashlee’s not coming either. She volunteered to help me with my proposal.”
“Okay, baby. But I think I should let you know that your father invited Candice and that guy, Tony, from Parapictures who you want to co-produce the film. Tony RSVP’d saying he’ll stop by for a drink or two around ten then he’ll have to move on to other parties.”
“And Candice?”
His mother sighed. “She’ll be here.”
“Mom, why didn’t you just say that at first? You know I’mma be there now.”
“I just wanted to see if you’d come this year for me. Last year you couldn’t get a flight out of Dulles or BWI. A few minutes ago you said working on your proposal was more important. Darius, after all I’ve done for you, you never consider me first.”
“Mom, trust me. It’s not like that,” Darius lied. For twenty years she’d lied to him. There was no way Darius could possibly even the score. But he wasn’t finished trying. “I . . . I mean we, will see you tonight, Ma.”
“Okay, sweetie. Now, I’ve got to go. Your dad is trying to . . . never mind. I’ll see you tonight. I love you.”
“Yeah, Mom. Of course you do. Bye.”
Darius turned off his computer. He stood, spun around, and danced on his plastic floor mat. Dancing out of his office, he locked his door then called Ashlee from his cellular phone.
“Hey,” Ashlee answered.
“Start getting ready. We’re going to the ball tonight.” Darius entered Angel’s office. Rhythmically he moved his shoulders side to side. His secretary smiled.
“But—”
Darius interrupted Ashlee. “I know. Don’t question me. You know how slow you are so just start getting ready. Bye.” Darius ended the call, spun around in front of Angel, clicked his oxfords together, and then said, “Tell everyone they can go home.”
“You must have received great news because it’s not eleven o’clock yet,” Angel said, quickly typing the e-mail. “You sure you want me to send this?” Her finger paused above the enter key.
“Happy New Year, Angel. Whatever you do tonight, be safe. Send the e-mail.” Darius winked as he glided out the door toward the elevators.
Darius hadn’t seen his mother’s four top-level executive staff since his mother fired him from her company
over a year ago. Zen would more than likely be accompanied by her husband. Zen had the best Asian pussy he’d stroked. Miranda, the sexiest Latina in California, had unforgettable breasts. Heather, now that white girl gave the greatest blow job he’d had. Miranda and Heather were working for another company but would probably be at the party. Ginger, she was his favorite African-American spice. Darius wondered if those two brothas were still fighting over Ginger. Darius didn’t care. Ginger couldn’t resist him. No woman could.
CHAPTER 3
Darius tuned his slow jams CD to You Don’t Know My Name by Alicia Keys, placed a plastic cap over his locks, and then stepped into the steaming shower. He lathered his towel with shea butter soap. Vigorously Darius scrubbed from his neck to his toes, then rewashed his private parts several times. Rinsing with hot water, then lukewarm, then cold last to re-tighten his skin, Darius stepped out of the shower.
Generously Darius massaged his muscular body with baby oil, toweling off the excess. His skin felt silky, smooth as a baby’s. Easing into his black wing tip shirt, black designer suit, and square-toed shoes, Darius smirked at himself in the mirror. Neck ties and bow ties were for squares. Darius didn’t own either. After having taken an African-American Studies class in high school and learning life-altering facts about slavery, Darius refused to voluntarily tie a noose around his neck. Darius unlocked his jewelry case. Internally flawless diamond rings, earrings, cuff links, watches, bracelets, and several loose solitaires were displayed. Like having multiple women, acquiring the finest things in life was part of Darius’s African heritage.
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