The Graffiti Effect

by Forrest, Perri

  When she finally took a break from dancing, Jamie made his move and approached her while she was with her girls. Getting to see her up close was even more enticing because she had big, bright, inquisitive eyes. They looked through him all while sizing him up. He could sense that her guard was up, evidenced by the elongated once-over she grazed him with, when he asked, “Can I talk to you for a minute?” Her initial hesitation to show any type of reaction, gave Jamie an adrenaline rush. He had something to prove. He had to break her. He wanted to lure her away from the safety of the defensive walls that coddled her. However, somewhere along the lines he fell for her. Now, a year later, there they were planning to become man and wife, in less than a month.

  Maybe, Jamie told himself. And maybe not. He preferred a woman that was appreciative enough of what she had in him, to let anything else fall by the wayside.

  A short time later, Jamie pulled up in front of his company’s sports management office, where he had just been promoted to Executive Director of Entertainment and Sports Sales. He gave the situation with Kassidi one more passing thought before successfully brushing it off. He refused to begin his work day fucked up, by bringing bullshit from home. He never had before, and he wasn’t going to start now.

  Jamie cut the engine to his Range Rover and smiled. “Gonna be a good day.” No sooner than he’d spoken the affirmation, his cellphone rang.

  He almost let it go to voicemail because he figured that it was Kassidi calling either for part two, or to issue an apology for her actions. He didn’t want to deal with either. By the third ring, he had changed his mind. If he didn’t answer, she would just keep calling. So, he figured he would take the call and just cut the conversation short.

  “What’s up?” he said after activating the call, his voice agitated.

  “Well, geez, big brother. What’s up with you? Oh, never mind. I can tell by the dry tone that you thought I was her. She’s already got you in a mood this early in the morning. Shame.”

  Jamie shook his head, as he exited the vehicle and activated the alarm. His little sister knew him too well.

  “What’s crackin’, youngin’,” he asked his younger sister, Aja, laughter in his voice.

  “What’s crackin’ is that you didn’t answer me.”

  “What question did you ask me?”

  “She pissed you off, huh? Already.”

  “Baby girl, what—”

  “Neeevermind. It’s cool,” she caved. “I didn’t call to talk about her anyway. Just heard the tone in your voice and wanted to ask. But we can scratch that. What are you doing later on?”

  “I don’t know. Why? What’s goin’ on?”

  “Wanted to go out to eat . . . with you,” she emphasized. “Just me and you. Is that cool?”

  “Uh-oh . . .” he growled, concerned about what was going on with his sister. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong, D. I just wanna hang with my brother for a few hours—without company.”

  “Aja. Come on, now. Talk to me.”

  “I’ll talk to you at dinner. Am I gonna see you?”

  “You know you don’t have to ask me that. If you need to see your brother, I’m there.”

  “Even though—?”

  “Yeah, even though.” He cut her sentence short because he knew that, ‘. . . I don’t want your girl there?’ was to follow.

  “Damn, you know me so well.”

  “Yep, I do, bighead,” he boasted. “I’m heading into the building now to get some work done. Just text me later with the location and what time, and I’ll be there.”

  “Okay. Cool. Love you, brother.”

  “Back at you, Baby Girl.”

  -4-

  KASSIDI

  My best friend, Yolanda, tilted her head and pursed her lips tightly. “You see me rolling my eyes, right?” she asked in her sarcastic-ass way.

  “Yeah, heffa, I saw that shit.”

  “Well, what else did you expect, Kass? Are you deliberately tryin’ to fuck this shit up before you even get to the altar?”

  Just the direction I knew she would go in. I seriously regretted making her house my first stopping point after work. That was dumb as hell! The position that she always took never tipped the scales in favor of me. Didn’t even know why I continued confiding in her; because here she was, yet again, coming out of her face with the most disrespectful shit she could say—with the most disrespectful delivery she could muster.

  “You sound stupid right now,” I sassed, shaking my head in disappointment.

  “No, I don’t sound stupid. You’re acting stupid. I’m convinced you’re trying to self-sabotage. Been whining for the past two goddamn years about not being wifed up, but then you—”

  “Pssh,” I hissed, cutting her off. “So, because I took offence to him basically saying that giving head is my major contribution to the relationship, I’m acting stupid?”

  “Yeah, you are. And you know why? I’ll tell you. Because I’m almost 99.9 percent sure he didn’t say that shit. In fact, I’m 100% sure that he said something like, ‘you give bomb-head,’ and you took that shit and magnified it into terms that only Kassidi would comprehend.” She waved a frustrated hand in the air above her head. “I swear, I don’t get it.”

  “First of all, I didn’t magnify a damn thing. I’m lying there in all kind of awe and shit because he had just put it down! But then he comes with how blessed he is to get good head and all that shit. Where do they do that at?!”

  “Uhhh, in the damn bedroom . . . uhhh between couples . . . ummm where the man is proud that his woman can blow the fuck out his dick! That’s where! You can’t be serious! The hell is wrong with you, Kass?! You let that man leave the house with that petty-ass shit between y’all?”

  Without answering her, I turned the sides of my mouth up and gave her a daggered glare.

  “Ugh!” she spat. “Of course, you did! Man, you need a life coach.”

  Yolanda got up from her living room sofa and stomped over to her entertainment center to grab the remote control to her stereo system. She aimed at the censor to power it on and then sat back down. But not on the sofa with me where she was before. Instead, she sat across the room from me in her oversized chair.

  “I don’t even know why I expected you to get where I was coming from,” I said to her, my arms folded defensively across my chest.

  “I don’t know why you did either. I’m not endorsing that foolishness.” She shook her head and looked at me with pity in her eyes. “What’s the real problem? Do you not believe that you deserve love or what? Because why so close to the wedding are you dealing in minutiae?”

  “Oh, here she goes with the big words,” I spat.

  “I mean, I coulda just said, ‘Why you dealing in bullshit . . . small shit . . . petty shit. Would you prefer that?” She dismissed the side-eye I gave her and continued. “It’s like you’re trying to push him away. Either that, or you’re doing ignorant shit to make him prove to you that his love is real.”

  I started to fidget with a hang nail on my index finger in an attempt to get it to cooperate. I needed my focus on anything else or it would’ve transferred to me wanting to lay some manicured hands on my supposed best friend. She never took my side. Shit was annoying.

  “Look at me, Kass!” she demanded.

  I did as she requested, but not before taking a combative stance, and smacking my lips. “What?”

  “What is it, babe?” she queried, her tone much softer than before. “Why are you trying to sabotage the only man that took you seriously enough to wife you? What is that? For years you went on and on about how all of us were getting our guys, having our babies, and moving forward. All that talk about 75% of black women marrying before they turn age 35—and you’re right there! How your biological clock was ticking so loudly you could hear it! Then you meet a man that dated you—like, for real dated you—and proposed. Damn, girl! What more do you want?” She grew quiet for a few seconds as though her mind had traveled to a
whole other place. “Or . . . damn,” she gasped. Her eyes narrowed inquisitively.

  She got up from her chair and came to sit next to me. Her eyes were on me hard, leaving me insanely curious about what she was about to say.

  “Or . . . damn, what?” I asked, when the curiosity got the best of me. She shook her head slowly, as though she was disgusted with me. “Or what, Yolanda?” I pressed.

  She continued shaking her head in slow motion. “I’m not even sure that if I ask you this, you’ll be honest.”

  “I’m getting so annoyed. Just stop being dramatic and ask the damn question.”

  “Okay.” Yolanda hesitated a few seconds, then . . . “Did you just accept his proposal because you want to be married that bad?”

  It was like a loud crash came through the walls and splattered debris everywhere. And then no sooner than the crash, the silence around us was deafening. Louder, were my thoughts. I no longer heard the music that was playing in the background, the birds that had been chirping like crazy in the front yard—nothing.

  What finally broke the silence was the inner tug urging me to get out of my best friend’s house. I needed to leave before she and I no longer shared a sisterhood. I stood from my seat without saying a word.

  “Where are you going?” I heard Yolanda ask me as I made my way to the front door.

  “Home.”

  “But Kass!” I heard her call out. When I didn’t respond, I heard her, “So, you’re just gonna not address any of the conversation that you started! I’m not running behind—”

  I don’t know the rest of what she was going to say because I had slammed her door by then.

  -5-

  CYNTHIA “CYN” SALDANA

  Cynthia Saldana’s shoulder-length, chestnut-colored body waves brushed against her naked shoulders as the strands blew freely. They were at one with the soft desert wind. She stood looking out over the beauty of Las Vegas from the top floor of her luxury apartment. Her arms were outstretched, her hands tracing along the thick, shiny railing as she inhaled the air between her plump lips. Cynthia, had enough money to have an estate in any of Vegas’ exclusive neighborhoods; but being near the strip was comforting to her. It was the place that groomed her, made her into the self-made woman that she was today. From stripper to successful businesswoman, she had it all and loved seeing it from the top of the world.

  Her view afforded her that. It was stunning at that time of evening, and gave Cynthia the same euphoric high it always had. It was a high that even great sex couldn’t take away—as evidenced by the boy-toy that lay asleep in her king-sized bed. He was a gorgeous specimen, well-endowed and ate the cookie like a true monster. However, Cynthia honestly felt nothing when a man penetrated her. Not even one as talented as he. It was just momentary physical pleasure, in her book. One that, unfortunately, left just as quickly as it came. What Cynthia was waiting for, what she craved, was something much more meaningful, that seemed to never come—the penetration of her soul.

  It was through no fault of their own. No man had what it took to get her further than the bedroom. They could have the brief pleasure of her body, but they would never have her heart. Ever. Only one man had ever affected her entirely—mind, body and soul. Having sex with him breathed life into her. Having him as hers made her feel whole. Even when she tried to put his face on the face of others to make the experience meaningful, it never worked. It never would work. They weren’t him.

  A shot of adrenaline pierced through her as his deeper-than-chocolate face slid into her mind’s view, causing Cynthia’s heartrate to increase. Pit, pat. Pit pat, is what it felt like pulsating against her chest cavity, loud enough to tickle her eardrums. Those affects always took place when she thought of him, and she thought of him often. Her chest rose and fell, a reaction driven by her longing. The memories ambushed her all at once; like shooting stars in a midnight sky: their long telephone conversations, walking hand-in-hand on the beach in San Francisco. Weekend trips to the Ritz in Dana Point, his soft lips on her, the love they made. Thoughts of him basically awakened desires that, even after all this time, she still wasn’t able to fight.

  For five years she was his woman. Five years. She did any and everything to be who he wanted. She even considered leaving her business behind to devote more time to the relationship. It was one of the things he’d complained about—that she was too ambitious. As much as she didn’t want to leave what she built behind, she was prepared to do it for him. But then, one day he just broke things off without any real explanation. Took her heart, put it in his pocket, and disappeared with it. Yet, even after he abandoned her, Cynthia still welcomed him into her bed, without question, whenever he was in Las Vegas. And each time ‘they’ happened, she fantasized that before he returned to his life, he would declare his love for her and say that calling things off was all one big mistake. That’d he’d pull a Mr. Big and tell her, “You’re the one . . .” But, that was just false hope.

  Cyn wanted to beg him to rethink the decision to leave her life, but pride wouldn’t allow that to happen. So, she did what she did best—acted as though it didn’t matter. And now, because of her ego, she had to live with the fact that he now belonged to another woman. There would be no more impromptu Vegas visits. There would be no more, ‘One day he’ll come around’. It was just permanently over. To make matters worse, he didn’t even have the decency to call and tell her that not only was he with someone, but that he’d proposed and would be marrying her! All within a year! She’d given him five! It wasn’t fair.

  Though anger and hurt had settled in, neither emotion was potent enough to stop the persistent throbbing of her bud against its hood. The blood was a constant, intrusive, rush. It hummed violently, craving—him. A single tear managed to escape from the corner of Cynthia’s eye as she slowly lost the battle to cave to desire. She didn’t want to want him. She wanted to hate him, to forget all about him.

  You’re weak! she scolded herself. Weak!

  And in her weakness, she brought one hand from the railing and pressed firmly against her mound. Rubbing, stroking, caressing. “Ahhh, ahh, mmm,” she cried. Her eyes closed as she married the moment, her hips moving against her own touch. The more pressure she applied, the better it felt.

  “Mmm . . . mmm . . .” she moaned repeatedly, wetness seeping from between the folds of her petals. The feeling was phenomenal, magical even. What made it especially so was that it felt as though she was sharing her experience with him. Her peak was near, her stroke quickened, tears falling from her eyes as she surrendered to the moment.

  And then she came—with a vengeance.

  “Jamie. Baby . . . Yesss, baby . . . Yesss . . .” she moaned.

  Rapture made its way to her face in a broad, satisfied smile. Her descent from the plateau she had reached began to bring the calm she sought so desperately, before self-pleasuring. She slowly drew her finger from inside of her creamy center. “Ahhh,” she sighed, slowly opening her eyes, only to find her lover standing mere feet from her. She’d been caught! She shrieked loudly, in embarrassment at him having witnessed her private moment.

  “Uhhh! Alonzo . . . What are . . . you—?”

  “I could ask you the same goddamn thing, Cyn!” he shot, sharply cutting into her inquiry. “Who the fuck is Jamie?”

  -6-

  JAMIE

  Camino Restaurant, Berkeley, CA

  When Jamie walked into Camino, and saw not just his sister, Aja, but his aunt Gloria, he knew immediately, that he’d been set up. All that emphasis Aja had put on dinner just being the two of them, and now, there the queens of ‘tag team’ both sat. Judge & Jury is what he jokingly referred to them as. Jamie chuckled to himself and shook his head as he approached the table. His reaction and the look on his face caused them both to snicker, loudly enough for him to hear.

  Once he reached the table, Jamie issued a round of kisses on both their cheeks, then took his seat. They were something else. But they were also the two most important women in hi
s life, so they got a pass. They always had his back, no matter what. And, since Jamie was the only man in the immediate family, the two of them never ventured far from, “Mama Bear”, mode.

  Jamie grabbed his dinner napkin from the table and put it on his lap, then sighed loudly. “I shoulda known,” he commented, after taking a sip of the water that the waiter had literally just placed for him.

  “Hi sweetheart,” his Aunt Gloria beamed. “You’re looking stylish this fine evening.”

  Her smile brightened, showing damn near all of her beautiful teeth. As usual, she was dressed casually-cool in jeans, a buttonless blazer with a shirt beneath that Jamie felt could have used less cleavage. Her hair, as usual, was braided in curly braids that fell wildly around her dark-brown, oval-shaped face. She had the look of a woman in her late 40’s, but was a month away from her sixty-first birthday.

  Jamie shot his sister, Aja, a look that she knew well, then replied to his aunt. “Auntie, what brings out tonight?”

  “Don’t front like you don’t know, Jamie,” Aja stepped in, her tone sarcastic. “We’ve been waiting for you to get comfortable,” she said, placing her purse in the empty chair next to her, and her cell phone on the table.

  Missing was the loving voice she spoke with when she’d called her brother earlier in the day. She sat her phone down on the table and proceeded to toy with a strand of the sixteen-inch Malaysian hair that she’d begged her brother to buy for her a week earlier.

  “Aja, calm all that down,” Jamie said to her low enough for it to be missed by his aunt.

  “Sweetheart, what brings me out,” his aunt commenced, “is this whole wedding business.”

  Jamie sucked his teeth. He wanted to say something badly, but knew better than to be disrespectful to Gloria. Not only would she rip him a whole new one, he’d have to hear from everybody else in the family about how he’d lost his damn mind talking to her that way. He was really trying to be as non-confrontational as he could be, but it was proving difficult. Seemed everybody around him wanted some type of aggressive response.