“Mark? What are you doing here?” I asked, surprised.
“You know I be in New York all the time. Where you been at? You must have got married on me?” he said as he hugged me.
“Not yet. I had a baby, though.”
“Yeah, you got a baby by who?” he asked, scrunching his face up.
“You don’t know him,” I lied.
“Damn, that’s supposed to be my baby.” He laughed, but I was seriously thinking the same thing. I wanted to have his baby so bad, but his sperm would not cooperate.
“What about you? You get married yet?” I asked.
“Hell no. Who you here with?” he asked, changing the subject. He looked around and grabbed my hand. I pointed to Angelique. She looked over, saw I was going to be a while, and told me she’d be back. Mark ordered a round of Patrón and began dancing with me. We caught up briefly, but I had to leave him to catch up with Angelique and them. I gave him my number and told him to call me later and began to walk away.
“Where you going?” he asked.
“To find my friends.”
“No, stay with me a little longer,” he said, biting his lip and pulling me in to dance with him some more. I looked around and didn’t see Angelique anywhere, so I agreed and danced off a dozen more songs and took more shots with him.
By the end of the night Mark demanded that I leave with him. All I could say was okay, because my panties were already about to explode after all the dirty winding we were doing. Plus, I remembered how spectacular his dick was and he always took out a couple stacks at a time. I texted Angelique that I was good and I would pick my car up from her place in the morning.
Mark was staying at the Soho Grand hotel. We were both out of it, but all over each other. I couldn’t wait to get him inside of me and he didn’t waste any time undressing. My dress came off as soon as the door shut. Damn, it was the only thing I could think of as his pants hit the floor. His man was thick, juicy, and long like I remembered. I got on my knees and treated him like he was royalty. I began to taste and savor every inch of his dick. He loudly moaned and exhaled as I consumed him. He then stood up and bent me over the dresser, spreading my legs apart, and penetrated my body. Our bodies came together hard, like a fist hitting a palm, making a loud tapping noise. He had my breasts bouncing and my ass clapping together every time he pounded my insides. He demanded for me to take every inch. I kept pulling back, unable to accept all of him.
If I didn’t know better, I would think he was on Viagra or something, because no matter what I did he would not release. We were both sweaty and panting and I gave it to him until I almost passed out. When we were finally done, he slapped my ass and said, “Damn, I missed your ass, Philly.” He then picked up the room service menu and turned on the television. I went into the bathroom and took a shower. By the time I came out of the shower wearing the hotel’s white robe, the food was there. He ordered us jumbo cocktail shrimps, fries, and cheeseburgers. The food was perfect to calm my drunken, unsteady stomach.
I had the best night. Mark was a babe. After one night with him, I remembered why I used to be so into him. But it was daylight and it was time for me to leave. I was trying to gather my things and he was no help. I kept trying to wake him to ask if he had seen my phone. He threw his phone at me so I could use it. I dialed my number and “Good Pussy Groupie” appeared on the screen and my phone began ringing. I was in shock that Mark had my name listed as a groupie on his phone. Wow, that was crazy. That’s all he thought of me. Damn, I thought as I looked over at him. He wasn’t shit. But I should have known that by now. I let him play me again.
Not only did I fuck him all night and not get anything out of it, I had a history with him and he thought I was just a groupie. I didn’t ask to stay with him, he was the one who had handcuffed me all night. Whatever. I found my phone underneath the bed. I put my clothes on and walked out of the suite without saying good-bye, after erasing my number out of his phone. Fuck Mark Owen again. I got his groupie.
Chapter 8
Cherise
Sometimes, if I didn’t have anything better to do, I would entertain Gavin’s conversation. Gavin should be happy, because he is very handsome and has a great career. But something was missing with him. There are more than enough women to go around here, but he still doesn’t have one. I think he turns even the most desperate women off with his negative persona. His whole life is humdrum and he just complains and gossips more than the average woman. I guess that’s the journalist in him. In this phone conversation, he was trying to explain to me why he didn’t like taking his dates out to dinner. It was funny to get him riled up and hear him complain.
“So why didn’t you want to take her out to dinner, Gavin?” I asked as I flicked through the channels on my television.
“Because I don’t feel like driving to a restaurant, paying for parking, and then waiting for a table. I don’t feel like going through all that. I work all week, restaurants are overcrowded and overpriced, and I don’t feel like waiting in long lines just to eat. I eat out so much I don’t want to go out to another stupid restaurant, get fat, and be unhealthy. Can I get a nice home-cooked meal, how my grandma used to cook?”
He just kept going on. I was pushing the mute button and laughing at him. I laughed and said, “Ladies want to go out on dates when they first start dating you, Gavin.”
“But don’t women know there are things we can do other than eat and go to a restaurant and spend money? Let’s do something different. Let’s go rock climbing. Let’s go to the gym and work out. Eating is not telling me anything about you.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Gavin. You are not going to ever meet a woman who doesn’t want to be wined and dined.”
“There’s some out there. When are you and I going out again?”
“I don’t know,” I said as my phone beeped in my ear. I took the phone away from my ear and I looked down at the screen. It was Toni. Gavin was still rambling on. I interrupted him and said, “That’s my sister. I will call you back.” I clicked over to answer Toni’s call.
“Hey, sistah.”
“Don’t sistah me. What were you doing?” Toni asked.
“Talking on the phone. You just saved me from another dead-end conversation with Gavin.”
“Gavin—oh, that reporter guy. You should date him.”
“No, I shouldn’t,” I snapped.
“I’m telling you, date the one who likes you more. It beats a blank. So I see you are not doing anything—get dressed so you can go out with me. I’ll be at your house in ten minutes.” I told her okay, but as soon as I hung up I closed my eyes. About fifteen minutes later she was at my door. I let her in and sat back on the sofa and yawned.
“How did you fall asleep that fast?”
“I’m tired. It’s called working hard,” I said. She sat across from me wearing this cantaloupe-colored ruffled silk shirt, dark jeans, and black heels. Her honey blond hair was short in the back and flicked up in the front. Her gold hoop earrings completed the look. She looked like a fresh-faced teen instead of a thirty-one-year-old stepmother.
“You look cute,” I said as I sat up.
“I know. That’s why I need to go out,” she said, striking a pose.
“Where is Dave—you know, that man you are married to?”
“Who?” She laughed.
“Your husband?”
“In the house where he should be. He begged me to stay in and wanted to watch a movie. I said nope, I have plans. He had fun for all these years—now it is my turn.”
“But he is trying.”
“Whatever, I don’t care. He wants to be the best husband now that he has no money. I think not. No, keep going out and doing whatever you want. Forget about Dave. I need for you to get dressed and go out with me,” she said as she pulled the covers off of me.
“I really can’t, Toni.”
“Let me ask you a question. Are you getting hyphenated this year, or what?”
“W
hat?”
“You know, your Cherise Long-hyphen-Smith or Cherise Long-hyphen-Thompson.”
“Toni, you are crazy. I need my hyphen, but you have yours and you don’t want to go home to the man who gave it to you. Okay, makes sense. I’m going to sit right here and get my rest,” I said, pulling the covers back over me.
“ ‘I’m going to sit right here and get my rest.’ You sound like an old lady,” she said, mimicking me. “What you need is a life.”
“I need a career more than I need a life. I have to get up early. I have a big meeting. Then I have to work the rest of the day. I do not want ugly eyes. The last thing I need are viewers writing in, saying I need more rest and ‘buy her some eye cream.’ ”
“So I have to go out alone,” she said as she stood up and headed for the door.
“Yes, ma’am. Maybe next time. Have fun, but not too much fun.”
“I’m not listening. Good night—have fun at work.”
I always got to work at least a half hour ahead of schedule. I walked into the busy newsroom. Something was always going on. Lights, cameras, and lots of live action. I loved it. I fed off of the news. When I was younger, I didn’t even know what a newswoman’s proper title was, but I knew I wanted to be one. I looked it up one day and learned the correct name was anchorwoman. I remember thinking, What a dumb name. I thought anchors had something to do with boats and sailing. I didn’t like the name, but I decided at about eight I wanted to be one on television. Every time I would watch the news, there was this pretty woman on television named Lisa Thompson. She was just so smart and pretty, and I wanted to be just like her. I wanted to tell the news, talk to the people, and get to the bottom of the story. She represented everything that I wanted to be: beautiful, intelligent, successful—and she was brown like me. I knew if she could be on television, so could I.
I sat at my desk in my cubicle and checked my e-mails. I had to prepare for the morning meeting. In the meeting we usually discussed what stories we’re going to cover and be assigned to. If it was a slow news day, you were supposed to be enterprising and come up with new story ideas. Because I was new to the city, I didn’t have any strong ideas. Just as I logged off my computer, my news director, Thomas Oliver, came over to my desk and said, “I need to speak with you in my office.”
“Yes,” I said. He asked me to please close the door. As soon as I went to close the door the sports director, Paul DeSantis, entered with a cup of coffee and had a seat. I was seated and waited for them to tell me what was going on.
“We like the job you are doing. You have showed a lot of growth in the short amount of time you have been here.” Okay, I’m doing a great job, so what’s going on? I thought.
“As you know, we had to let Phillip Goodwin go because of that whole underage sex scandal investigation. Anyway—well, we wanted to speak with you about bringing some femininity to our sports team in the interim.”
“But I’ve never covered sports before,” I said, puzzled.
“We know, but you’re pretty and have an infectious smile and people will like you, whether you know sports or not. And we can guide you. You will pick it up easily, and your photographer, Gary, can assist you with anything else you may not know.”
Paul butted in and said, “And the other stations that have women on their sports team—their numbers are through the roof. So what do you say?” Thomas looked over at me, waiting for my response. I knew I didn’t really have a choice in the matter. They were asking me to help them out for a little while.
“And my salary?” I asked.
“For right now, it will stay the same. However, as soon as we can get a strong replacement in, you will be first in line for the news desk. Michelle Hartley, who does weekend anchor, is taking maternity leave in the spring and you’ll have her position.”
I knew I had to say yes. If I did them this favor, I would definitely get rewarded and be on the fast track to becoming an anchor.
I walked into the conference room for the meeting and all eyes were on me. Richard Hall was an old, Uncle Tom, still-in-the-streets reporter. He wasn’t that fond of me, he never had anything pleasant to say, and always grimaced at me. But it is not surprising. Tammy Chan on weather, Bruce Nichols, and Audrey Brooks were the night correspondents. I was still the “new reporter” and I was still encountering a little hate, and now, with this promotion, I didn’t know what people would think. In this industry, everyone is out for themselves. Your job can be in jeopardy as soon as a prettier, wittier girl or guy comes to town. I knew I had to work hard to get what I wanted. I tried not to be jealous of anyone and didn’t expect for anyone to hand me anything.
Paul started the meeting. “Good morning. By now you have all heard that Phillip Goodwin is no longer with the Action 7 team. We have decided to temporarily replace him with Cherise Long while we look for his replacement. This will take effect immediately.”
I looked around the room. No one really had anything to say about his announcement. There were a few short claps and then the meeting returned to normal.
When the meeting was over, I got one snide remark from Richard Hall. “Four months on the job and a promotion already. Congrats. It must be nice.”
I started to respond, but I didn’t. He was just mad that he had been working at the station for five years and had never been promoted.
Chapter 9
Tanisha
I emptied out my studio apartment. When I first arrived, all I had were the clothes on my back and the first two weeks’ rent. Over time, I was able to make a room into a home. I had a small beige velourish sofa with dark brown wooden arms, a twenty-seven-inch television, a futon bed, and a cheap DVD player. My place looked full, but it only took one big trash bag to empty it out. I gave all my belongings to the lady downstairs, Justine. She was very thankful and said she would give the clothes to her granddaughter who lives over on 7 Mile. Leaving Detroit was going to be bittersweet. It had been the loneliest twelve months of my life. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen next, but I was ready to go home. I looked around the room one last time and flicked the lights off and began walking to the bus stop.
I took the bus downtown to the train station. As I exited the bus, my heart began to beat rapidly. I was beginning to feel like I couldn’t breathe, and my chest was becoming tight. I was very nervous, but I still walked toward the ticket window in the train station.
“One way to Philadelphia,” I said to the woman behind the glass window. She typed my destination into her computer.
“Okay, sweetie, that will be one hundred and twenty-four dollars.” I pulled out the money and handed it to her. She counted the money and swiped a marker across the money to make sure it was real. Then the cashier handed me a napkin and said, “Honey, why did you run here? It’s okay—the train doesn’t leave for another half hour.” I thanked her for the napkins. I walked to the restroom and saw beads of perspiration covering my entire face. I wet a few paper towels and wiped my face. I looked into the mirror and tried to stop all the crazy thoughts I was having. I knew I was about to do the right thing, but it didn’t make it any easier. Just not knowing what was about to happen next frightened me. But on the other hand, I couldn’t continue to live my life in fear and in limbo. I still wasn’t sure exactly how I was going to pull everything off when I got back home, but I did know I was tired of running.
The train pulled into the station, and I boarded. I took a seat in the middle of the train by the window, and took several deep breaths. It was going to be a long ride home, but I couldn’t wait to see my children and my baby. I wasn’t sure if I was going to try to see my family first, or go straight to the police to turn myself in.
Seventeen hours later I arrived in Philly at the 30th Street Station. I was very tired and couldn’t believe I was home. Everything was busy—people walking to and from trains, rushing home from work. During the course of the ride, I decided I wasn’t going to call anyone—I was just going to turn myself in. I didn’t want to ch
ange my mind or get scared again. I was home, and needed to get the unpleasant out of the way first. I walked outside the train station and jumped into a Yellow Cab. The cab took me to the Roundhouse, the central police station on 8th and Race Streets.
God, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean it. Please have mercy on me, I prayed as I walked into the police station. There were a few people seated in the waiting area. I walked past them. I was shaking and full of anxiety as I approached the bulletproof window. I saw a female officer in her early thirties with red hair, wearing brown reading glasses and snug navy blue uniform pants and a light blue, creased shirt. She was sitting at a desk, typing something. I knocked on the window and she got up from her desk and walked over to the window. I was still going over what I was going to say in my head. My name is Tanisha, and I murdered a woman last year in FDR Park. I’m here to turn myself in. Or maybe I’ll say, I’m wanted and I’m here to turn myself in. I didn’t know what to say, so when the woman came up to the window and said, “What can I do for you?” I said in almost a whisper, “I need to turn myself in.”
She leaned her ear over to the window and said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you. What did you say?”
I didn’t want to scream, but I needed her to hear me, so I spoke up a little louder and clearer. “I need to turn myself in.”
She looked at me, alarmed, but then all she said was, “Okay, have a seat. Someone will be out to speak with you.”
Someone will be out to speak with you, I thought. I just told her I was there to turn myself in and all she could say was have a seat. Wasn’t she supposed to march out with the handcuffs and throw me in jail immediately? I stood dumbfounded for a few seconds. I didn’t want to have a seat, because I’d had too many months and weeks of excitement and frustration and not knowing inside of me. I had to tell what happened. Maybe it was a sign. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to turn myself in—maybe I was supposed to just keep on going. I reluctantly took a seat as my hands and legs began to shake nervously. Instantly, I thought about running again. I looked at the door, then back at the officer. I looked around the room. I looked back at the window. The officer had sat back down. Was she crazy? What was she doing, just sitting? I thought about going back up to the window again. If she didn’t call me in five minutes, I was going to leave. It was 6:14. She had until 6:19. I took a deep breath and waited. One minute, two minutes, and then at 6:19, nothing. I looked up at the window again and the woman wasn’t even at her desk. This overwhelming feeling took over my body and I couldn’t wait anymore. I got up out of my seat and briskly walked out of the police station door. There were a few officers outside smoking cigarettes. They didn’t pay me any attention as I hurried past them. I walked down the block and the first cab I saw, I flagged down. The cab stopped and the driver asked in a thick African accent, “Where you going to, miss?” I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know what to tell him. We got a few blocks away from the station and I began sweating again and tears streamed down my face. I started wheezing and my chest was becoming tight again.
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