Never Again Once More

by Morrison, Mary B.

  With all the pressures riding on his shoulders, Darius would have sworn he’d died and gone to hell, because it was sinfully hot. The only thing that was missing was Satan sitting on his shoulder with a pitchfork yelling, “Burn in hell, Darius Jones, and bring as many victims with you as possible. Your My Dear can’t save you now. Your soul is mine!” Laughter rang out as four little boys, each wearing shorts with no shirts, whisked by Darius and Heather. One day he would truly have to account for his sins.

  “Are you okay?” Heather asked.

  The feel of Heather’s hand on his back made him more paranoid. Darius wanted to sacrifice his locks so his scalp could breathe, and if he did kiss his dreads goodbye, it would be a first. Suddenly, Darius realized he had never surrendered anything. He scratched his head and replied, “I’m fine. It’s just too damn hot here. Didn’t anybody tell them summer was over? I can’t wait to get back home.”

  The limo escort, who had remained silent until now, chimed in, “Man, dat’s why we move so slow. Look around. See anybody in a hurry? If ya do, they ain’t no native for sho’.”

  “Aren’t you sweating with that black suit on?” Heather asked the driver as he loaded the trunk with their bags.

  “Baby girl, JT don’ sweat. Don’ drink enough wadah fo’ dat. A sip here and a sip der’. Drink alcohol instead. In Nawlins that’s the law, ya know. Everybody’s gotta one-drink minimum, pe’ day. And the chillins ain’t no exception. Oooooouuu wee.” JT bucked his eyes wide right in front of Heather’s face. “JT got a li’l taste waitin’ for ya wid some ice in the limo. Try it for ya self.” JT opened the door. Darius motioned for Heather to get in. The ride in the limo to the Ritz Carlton downtown on Canal Street was about a half hour with traffic. Darius checked in and let the driver—who delivered to the doorman, who delivered to the bellman—deliver their luggage to the suite. Unlike Wellington, Darius was conservative with tipping. He handed each of them a ten-dollar bill.

  When Darius unlocked the door, Heather walked in, glanced around, and said, “This is the type of room I want for the conference.” Then she fell backward on the king-size bed and pretended to make a snow angel. “I’m starved. Let’s get some crawfish and oysters on a half shell.” Heather reached over, palmed Darius’s ass, and laughed heartily. She had dyed her brunette hair blond for several years because it made her appear younger. The tapered style showed off her catlike eyes and girlish freckles.

  Darius straddled Heather. He unbuttoned, then unzipped her black cotton slacks. The salt-and-pepper-colored hairs between her thighs didn’t match the ones on Heather’s head. Her pant legs were turned inside out as Darius dropped them to the floor. He unbuckled his baggy black jeans, kicked off his tennis shoes, the pair Miranda missed her chance to see, grabbed his penis, and started penetrating Heather as if this would be their last time together. That was the way he felt.

  Heather’s hands forcefully pressed against his chest. “Darius, wait. You forgot to put on a condom.”

  “I didn’t forget.” Darius leaned into Heather’s hands as if he were doing calisthenics as he thrust harder. “You know you’ve wanted to feel this big dick inside you with no wrapping for a long time. Don’t fight it, bitch. I bet it feels better than the one you have at home.” Darius moved toward the bottom of the bed, carrying Heather with him until he was standing. Heather’s back landed against the wall, and her legs dangled about his waist. Darius braced her with his hips as he clinched her breasts. He bit her nipples harder than the way Heather liked it. As Darius released himself inside Heather, he dug his fingers into her titties as though kneading a lump of dough to make a dessert.

  “Darius! Not so rough. My husband will be furious if he sees any marks.” Heather unsuccessfully tried pushing him away again.

  “Welcome to the city that care forgot,” Darius said as Heather’s feet hit the floor.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Heather asked, slapping Darius upside his head.

  Without flinching, Darius said, “Oh, if you stay in New Orleans long enough, you’ll find out.” He slapped her on the ass. “Let’s shower and get dressed. You said you were starved.”

  Heather passed on dining out and ordered room service. That was fine by Darius because he needed to clear his head, so he had JT drop him off at the Riverwalk. Darius had replaced his T-shirt with a white muscle tank to adjust to the heat. As he stepped out of the limo, he experienced a Mardi Gras flashback. Darius pictured King Zulu and King Rex meeting up at the riverfront for Lundi Gras last year. That was his best stateside vacation ever.

  Darius roamed down to the tall Jax building that used to be a beer factory but was now a huge mall. As he walked by, an air-conditioned breeze made its way through a crowd of shoppers entering the renovated brewery. Darius sat at the bank of the muddy Mississippi, watching the Cotton Blossom boat sail away. The contaminated water may have well been running through his veins, because he felt bad about how rugged he’d handled Heather. Surrounded by strangers, Darius held his head in his hands and allowed the tears for My Dear to flow freely. Then he picked at his nails. “Oh, fuck! I really did scratch Heather.”

  Drying his eyes, Darius keyed in the numbers to the hotel. “Darius Jones’s room, please.”

  “Hello.”

  “Hey, Heather. Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was really scratching you. Are you okay?”

  “My back is a little sore, and my boobs look like sliced beets; but other than that, I’m fine.”

  “You want to meet me at The House of Blues? The show we were supposed see starts in an hour.”

  “Sure. That’s why we came here, right? To have a good time.” Heather’s voice lacked excitement.

  “I’ll have JT pick you up. I’m already near Café Du Mondé, so I can just walk from here.”

  Darius made his way down Decatur Street and over to The House of Blues. The entrance was tucked away in a French Quarter alley. There was no waiting, so he decided to sit on the restaurant side and order some red beans and rice to coat his stomach for the alcohol he’d consume later. When Darius lifted his head from the menu, he couldn’t believe his eyes. Ginger was standing at the bar staring at him. Shit!

  “You know what you want yet?” the waitress asked.

  Darius shielded Ginger’s view with the menu. “Yeah, an exit out the back door.”

  “Oh, your woman must be here. This happens every night. For fiddy dollars I can bail you out.” The waitress opened her hand.

  “How?” Darius didn’t hesitate to pull out a fifty.

  Stuffing the money in her bra, the waitress said, “Move over to the table in the corner.”

  When Darius stood, Ginger called out, “Darius? Is that you?” Her ass knew damn well who it was.

  The waitress stopped Ginger in her tracks and said, “Excuse me, miss, Mr. Marley would like his pri-va-cy.”

  “Who? What? Who are you?” Ginger scanned the room as though looking for a manager.

  “I know you want to say hello to him, but he’s asked not to be disturbed. Don’t have me get security on yo’ ass.”

  “Certainly, just give him a note for me. Can you do that?” Ginger scribbled a message and handed it to the girl along with a five-dollar bill.

  The waitress pointed at Ginger. “Okay. But no more notes.” Then she walked over to Darius. “I don’t know how long this is going to work. I think you’d better leave before your other woman gets here. You are expecting another woman, aren’t you? Otherwise you wouldn’t be hidin’.”

  “Yeah, and she’s standing in the doorway.” Darius slumped in his seat.

  “Brother, if you mean that white woman? You are on ya own.” The waitress took his menu, stuck Ginger’s cash and note in her bra, and went into the kitchen.

  “Oh, hey. There you are,” Heather said as she slid in the booth with Darius. “Have you ordered yet?”

  “No. Let’s go.” Darius tried to stand before Heather completely sat down.

  Ginger walked over and sat
in the same booth facing Darius and Heather. “Funny meeting you guys here.” Ginger winked at Heather. “What’s up?” Then Ginger stopped the waitress and said, “I’d like to have a menu and my five dollars back.”

  “Gladly.” The waitress handed Ginger a menu and kept walking.

  “Ginger, you look lighter. Did you get a facial today?” Heather returned the wink and attempted to spark a conversation.

  Darius felt Ginger’s heel pierce into his shin. “Ouch! Damn! Heather, excuse me. If you ladies don’t mind, I’m going into the other room.”

  Heather stood so Darius could get up. “I’m tired. I think I’ll go back to my hotel and rest.” Heather stretched and yawned.

  “Bye.” Ginger waved to Heather and followed Darius.

  Sitting on a bar stool next to Darius, Ginger said, “What’s up with you and Heather?”

  “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m the boss. We’re on business.” Darius motioned for the waitress. His stomach was fiercely growling.

  Ginger sarcastically said, “You mean like our business trip tomorrow?”

  Darius sighed heavily.

  “Are you staying for the blues show?” Ginger positioned her leg between his.

  “That’s why I came to this side. Are you staying for the blues show?” Darius mimicked Ginger’s tone.

  “Only if you want me.” Ginger kissed his neck.

  “Suit yourself.” If Ginger knew what was best for her, she’d stop coming on to him. His dick was getting hard watching her give head to a cherry stem she’d snagged from the bartender’s stash while the dude wasn’t looking. How did Ginger know he was in New Orleans? And what was up with the winks between Ginger and Heather? Was his game getting sloppy?

  “I’ll go.” Ginger opened her purse and placed a room key in his hand. “I’m at the Intercontinental. Don’t keep me waiting.”

  Darius slipped the key in his pocket. Ginger shook her ass all the way to the exit. “Um. Um. Um. Women. Did you see that?” Darius asked the bartender. “That’s why men make better poker players. Women would rather lose the game, than fold. And being the gentlemen that I am, it’s my duty—”

  “To suck that head and pinch that tail.” The bartender made a fist and stretched out his arm.

  Darius did the same. As their knuckles connected, his male ego heightened. “Here’s the money for the food. Tell the waitress I decided to be dinner instead.” Darius squared his shoulders, stuck out his chest, and walked over to the Hotel Intercontinental.

  Chapter 31

  Can a woman ever understand the heart of her man? The functional purpose of the organ was far less complicated than the emotional aspect. Who was Wellington’s woman? If he gave his heart and soul to one and his physical affection to another, and undoubtedly loved one more than the other, was love then the deciding factor?

  Wellington’s flight into L.A. was delayed due to weather conditions. It was a clear day in Oakland and even clearer when he arrived in Los Angeles, so the inclement weather had obviously been the airline’s way of avoiding compensating the passengers. Jada had given Wellington so much to think about, the extra time was actually appreciated.

  Simone wasn’t Jada. But then, Jada wasn’t Simone. Simone had never lied to him. She always supported him one hundred and ten percent. Even when he doubted the solidarity of their relationship and broke up with her, Simone didn’t abandon him. Jada, on the other hand, lied to him and showed minimal excitement when he shared his dreams. Without saying, “Ba, this is all for you. For us.” Wellington desperately wanted Jada to see that she was the vision behind all of his dreams. The dagger that had plunged and scarred his heart had desertion engraved on the stainless steel blade. During their most challenging moment, Jada had dumped him.

  His adoptive mother, Cynthia, would say, “Treat a man like a dog and he’ll stay if you let him. Treat a man with dignity and respect and he’ll walk right over you to get to the woman who treats him like shit. Shit doesn’t just happen. Bullshit makes shit happen. And nice women finish right along with nice guys. Last. Too bad the good ones don’t pair up before they become bitter.”

  Wellington had other issues to think about. Darius’s behavior and his infection, if true, would tumble like falling dominos.

  “Could you please open my window so I can get some fresh air?” Wellington asked the taxi driver.

  “I can crack for you. Don’t go all the way down,” the driver replied.

  “Thanks.” The entire ride to his Inglewood condo was one long blur. When the driver pulled in front his building, Wellington pulled on the latch, but the door didn’t unlock.

  “I get that for you. That’ll be twenty-one dollars and eighty cents.”

  After Wellington paid, the driver opened his door and retrieved his bags from the trunk.

  Stepping into his condo, Wellington noticed his place looked almost the way he’d left it, except cleaner. The maids had done an immaculate job. He tossed his bags in the bedroom corner. Plopping down in the plush chair next to the window, he dialed Darius’s number.

  Answering right away, Darius said, “Hi, Dad. What’s up?”

  “Where are you, son?” After what Jada had told him, Wellington hoped Jazzmyne wasn’t right.

  “New Orleans. Why?”

  Wellington shook his head. “What’s your purpose?”

  “You know me. Working to please.”

  “I need you to come home right away. There’s an emergency,” Wellington said.

  Darius cleared his throat. “Is Mom all right?”

  “Yeah, she’s fine,” Wellington responded as he picked up the remote.

  “Then so. What’s urgent?” Darius’s voice trembled.

  Wellington heard the old familiar broken speech pattern. Something was definitely wrong, and Darius knew exactly what it was. As a child, whenever Darius stuttered, juggled his words, or hesitated to speak, Darius knew his parents had discovered whatever he was trying to hide. “We can’t discuss this over the phone. When will you be here?”

  “I was headed to Vegas tomorrow; but I’m exhausted, so I’ll come home instead. Plus, I have some unfinished business I need to tend to.”

  Unfinished, huh. “Anything your old man can assist you with?” Wellington said.

  “Handle it I-I can,” Darius said.

  “Call me as soon as you get in, son.”

  “Bye, Dad. Sure.”

  “Bye.” Wellington keyed in zero, zero, one, then hit the talk key. He fumbled the TV controller in his hand, but didn’t turn on the television.

  “Hello.” Jada picked up in the middle of the first ring.

  “How are you?” Wellington asked.

  “I’m okay.”

  “All right. Listen. I’m at my condo. I’m going to shop for some food. Dinner will be ready by six. I’ll get your favorite. Call me back when you can talk.”

  “All right, bye.” Jada hung up the phone.

  Instead of going out, Wellington logged on to the grocery Web site and e-mailed his shopping list. He took a shower. Put on his silk boxers. Lit some candles. Turned on Luther. Chilled a bottle of champagne, which had been delivered with the other groceries, while the TV watched him.

  Startled by the doorbell, Wellington grabbed his robe, walked into the living room, then peeped through the hole. Jada looked wonderful.

  Wellington smiled. “Hey, come in,” he said as he opened the door.

  When Wellington went to close the door, Lawrence stepped into view. “Hey, man. What’s up?”

  Wellington faked a quick smile and said, “Hi, Jada.” Then he responded to Lawrence, “Hey, man. Have a seat in the front. I’ll be right there.”

  “I’m not staying.” Lawrence looked Wellington up and down. “But maybe I should.”

  “I told you that won’t be necessary. Wellington and I need to discuss some personal matters concerning our son,” Jada said.

  “He’s just as much my son as he is Wellington’s,” Lawrence responded.

&nb
sp; “Don’t go there, man. Jada will call you when we’re done with our conversation. No disrespect.” Wellington opened the door wider.

  “I’ll call you when I’m ready to be picked up,” Jada said.

  “Don’t bother. Have Wellington drop you off.” Lawrence’s voice sounded deeper than usual.

  “No problem. I can handle that,” Wellington said as he closed the door behind Lawrence.

  Looking at Jada, Wellington asked, “What was that all about? And why did he drop you off?”

  “He thinks we’re having an affair. Can you believe that? Anyway, I asked him to drop me off because we were in the area and I didn’t feel like riding home just to get my car. After ten years of marriage, he actually believes I’m cheating on him. I’ve always been faithful to Lawrence.” Jada went to Wellington’s bedroom and lay atop the leopard body-length pillow.

  “I should be so lucky. If he only knew,” Wellington said as he placed the other animal print body pillow between them and lay on his back. “So do you know any more than what we discussed earlier?”

  “Not really. But Theo is investigating,” Jada said.

  “I—”

  “I know. You asked me not to tell him; but time is of the essence, and Theo is loyal and trustworthy,” Jada said.

  “You’re right.” Wellington stared at the ceiling. “I talked with Darius a few minutes ago, and he’ll be home tomorrow.”

  “What did he say?” Jada flipped onto her back and sandwiched the pillow between her legs.

  “I didn’t tell him over the phone.” Wellington admired her out of the corner of his eye.

  “Good. Where do we go from here?” Jada asked.

  The last time Wellington had responded to that question, he remembered saying, “Judge Judy.” That was when he’d divorced Melanie. Now he wished he could respond, “To the altar.” But instead he said, “One day at a time.”

  “Do you remember when Darius was one and he pulled off that little girl’s diaper at the mall?” Jada laughed.