by Renee Tyler
“I love that you paired it with gold Giuseppe crystal toe ring sandals, and a pink pompon Balenciaga bag. I thought I wanted to dress it up, but I see it looks good casual too.”
My mother is a label whore. I have no idea who’s keeping her with a steady flow of trendy brand-named labels, especially since she’s supposed to have put an end to dating men. She’s supposedly exclusively only dating Jesus. I’m now giving Raiel the side eye. Last I checked, she was still working part-time as a medical assistant. I was with Charity when she purchased that three-hundred-dollar dress on her current baller boo’s charge account. If my mother is surviving only off of her part-time job, she couldn’t afford a three-hundred-dollar dress and her Lexus lease.
My mother has been eyeing Marcus and I suspiciously, trying to figure out our relationship. Marcus isn’t making it any better touching and staring at me adoringly. I want to die laughing, because I don’t know how she hasn’t figured out Marcus’s and I game. He knew that she was wearing Rag and Bone, and had on Gucci sandals. I didn’t know a straight man that was that well versed in fashion. I’ve told Marcus and Charity all about my mother. He knows she’s less likely to call Shane over if she thinks I have a man, especially one that she feels can provide for me. She gets up to look out the window for no particular reason. I know she was checking to see what kind of car we’re driving. She made sure to ask in a roundabout way if we rented the Audi, or if it belonged to someone. When Marcus winked and said, “It’s mine, but I always let Laurie drive,” my mother looks on impressed. Charity almost chokes off her food, and I have to stifle my giggle.
When we get up to leave, my mother calls me in her room to talk.
“So be for real with me, Laurie. Are you dating Marcus? Is that who’s taking care of you in Georgia?” I roll my eyes and her neck snaps back. I immediately straighten up.
“Ma, I have a job and I purchased a condo on my own. I live by myself. No one takes care of me besides me,” I say, trying really hard to keep the irritation out my voice. There’s only a fifteen-year age difference between my mother and me, but I was never her friend. She demanded that I respect her at all times. Regardless of her excessive dating or lack of paying me much attention, I wasn’t one of those kids that called my grandmother mom and my mom by her name. Un-uh Raiel—didn’t play that; didn’t matter if she acted like a mother half the time or not.
“So, you just went to another state, got a job, and bought a condo all on your own. L’oriel, you don’t even know anyone in Atlanta. How’d you just so happen to wind up there and get a place? And even though you lost weight, don’t think I didn’t notice your hips have spread. Those are elephant trunk hips. So you need to think real hard before you lie to me again. So you just up and went to Georgia and bought your own condo? With what money?” I drop my head, close my eyes, and try to control my breathing. I can’t believe my mother can’t see past who she is as a person. She is not me, and I am not her—and what the hell is elephant trunk hips?
“Yes. Ma. I did. Why can’t you believe that no one takes care of me? Is it because someone is still taking care of you? How are you able to still afford the expensive clothes you wear?” Astonishment flashed across her face. I know she didn’t think I noticed she’s still rocking expensive gear and driving a new Lexus. I know she leases, but still, how’s she affording the car note and insurance? Thanks to me hanging out with Charity and Marcus, I was learning the cost of the brands that I’d grown up watching my mother wear, so now that I know better. I know she isn’t maintaining her lifestyle on her own. Now I’m suspicious of her with all that I’m dating Jesus; I don’t need a man. She’s full of it. She’s just gotten better at hiding relationships.
I knew she kept a steady flow of men, but now I know she’d always had someone caring for her. She couldn’t keep up her current lifestyle with the money she makes from her job. She doesn’t have any other source of income that I know of.
“Little girl, you don’t need to worry about who’s taking care of me. I’m your mother. I have every right to ask how you’re able to provide for yourself. You just up and leave your husband. Then you come back here with some guy and girl I’ve never seen you with - driving an Audi. What am I supposed to think? You didn’t even tell me you were living out of the state until today. I want answers. Are you involved in some illegal mess?” I place my hands on the side of the temples and began to massage.
“Mother…”
“Ray,” my grandmother interrupts in a scolding tone. “If you don’t leave that girl alone. Bird has been gone for months, and that’s the most you can worry about is who’s taking care of her? Has Bird ever given you a reason to think she wouldn’t tell you the truth or be involved in something illegal?” My Gram enters the room and pulls me into a hug. “My Baby Bird. I’m proud of you,” she says as she wipes the tears that have escaped, though I tried really hard to keep them at bay. “You’ve always been so smart. I always knew you’d land on your feet. Shane was treating you poorly, you were miserable. Just like I saw your misery, I see your joy. You’re happy.” She kisses my cheek and whispers in my ear, “Stay that way.” She grabs my hand and walks me to the door. I know it’s to protect me from my mother. She’s standing back annoyed at my Grams interference. She felt there was something she needed to get to the bottom of. I know Raiel; our conversation is far from over. I hug my Gram tell her good-bye, and thank her. I hug my mom as well, but it’s tense. Marcus takes the driver seat, and I slide into the passenger side. When he pulls off, I let loose crying until we pull into our hotel, while Charity consoles me.
When Monday arrives, I’m a bundle of nerves. I don’t know what to expect. I haven’t been able to keep anything down. I had never been to Detroit’s 36th district court before. I wasn’t aware that they almost make you strip naked before they let you in. I made three trips back out to the car because of the things I had at the bottom of my purse that I’d forgotten about. The back and forth further jolted my nerves. The only thing I took solace in was knowing that I’d totally emptied the contents of my stomach, so I wasn’t in any danger of losing it on the court room floor.
When we make it into the court room, I hear Marcus mutter, “I see his ass still hasn’t gotten a suit that fits.” I look up and smile, and greet my lawyer Mr. Barish.
The process wasn’t as bad as I thought. Mr. Barish pushed for a thirty-day finalization of my divorce instead of 90, especially since Shane didn’t show in court, and the judge granted his request. I hugged and cried on Mr. Barish’s shoulder outside the court room. In thirty days, I’d be a free woman.
῀
The drive back to Atlanta was exceptionally quiet for the three of us. We’re always laughing and talking, but our trip home had been filled with emotion. We’d went to see Charity’s father, who owned a car repair shop. Charity shared all of her father’s features, including his butter pecan complexion and fine coiled hair. Charity keeps her hair cut in a short Mohawk-type style. She says she hates her long hair because it makes her look twelve. She also dyes it honey-blonde; she thinks she’s too light for her natural dark brown. She, like myself, is her own worst critic. Charity is beautiful; she has the type of beauty that causes many to stare; large, caramel-colored eyes, round cherub face. She’s another one that people try and figure out what she’s mixed with. However, unlike myself, she is actually of mixed heritage; her father is Portuguese, Irish, and Black. Charity doesn’t speak about her mother at all. I do know she’s black, she’s alive, and lives in Detroit. However, where she lives in Detroit has never been mentioned. If Marcus knows, he’s never said. I know he and Charity went to school together all through high school, but neither Charity nor Marcus ever mention her mom. I hear all types of stories about her dad. Charity and her father walk off into his personal office for a private conversation that immediately changed Charity’s mood. She has yet to reveal what their conversation was about, but she’s been quietly brooding and every so often wiping tears.
Marcus�
� parents were our last stop before we headed out. His parents are a very affectionate lovely couple. Marcus is the spitting image of his mother. With all the stereotypes of homosexuality, you’d think Marcus didn’t come from a two-parent home, or that his father detested him—no, quite the opposite. His journey into homosexuality wasn’t the average story you heard either. Marcus wasn’t raped or abused. He didn’t feel as though he was born gay.
It’s funny to visit his home and see pictures of him with his arms wrapped affectionately around his prom date that’s a female, and pictures of him in his football uniform. Marcus says he actually used to date girls exclusively, and he didn’t do it to please his parents. At one time, he was genuinely attracted to women. However, when he started college he fell in love with a man, and though he struggled internally at first, he eventually decided to quit fighting what seemed natural. Since he didn’t feel as though he should straddle the fence, he chose not to live life as bi-sexual. His parents didn’t agree with his change in lifestyle at first. However, they’ve grown to respect and support him. When you see them look at him, they have nothing but love and adoration for their son. Though Marcus is only four years older than me, I truly look up to him. He’s the most well-rounded, well-adjusted person I know, but I finally got to see he has a great foundation.
Chapter 5
Troy
Brittney’s head has been bobbing up and down in my lap for almost 10 minutes, and I still wasn’t aroused. I have to applaud her for her dedication, because the average female would have given up by now. Brittney was a fine video model, with mocha-colored skin, regal features, a small waist, and a superior ass. Brittney looked as if she was a descendant of African royalty. She and I had been messing around off and on for years, especially whenever I was in LA. She never failed to bring me pleasure. However, she was doing nothing for me tonight. I had grown to crave a sweetie with green eyes and a honey-bronze complexion.
My fingers twitched every time I picked up my phone. My need for L’oriel had grown to monstrous proportions, but my stubborn ass refused to call. Now it’s been over a month, and I’m growing desperate. I’ve never felt this way about a female before. Initially, I figured it was because I wasn’t getting any, so I’d become infatuated with the last girl I smashed. Well, that theory is all fucked up because the girl that was sure to get me off couldn’t even get me up, and I still can’t get L’oriel off my mind.
I drag my hand down my face and tap Brittney on the head. She stops and glances up at me.
“What’s wrong, Troy? You stressed, Baby?” she says after pulling my limp penis from her mouth. She climbs up my body and plops down on the side of me, spreading her toned mocha-colored thighs. I slide my body up the bed and swing my legs off to the side. Resting my elbows on my thighs, I take a look at my wood lying lifelessly. After a beat, I stand and grab my boxers. “Troy?” Brittany questions from the bed. Once in my boxers, I finally turn to give her eye contact. I feel like a bitch because I don’t even have the desire to get ole girl off. I know she wants it; her legs are still spread wide, and I can see her creamy arousal. Her chocolate nipples are peaked in the center of her large globular breasts. However, she’s on her own tonight. I know I’m fucked up because those big titties and all that wet goodness hasn’t even caused a stir in my boxers.
“I can’t do this, Brit.” She gets on her knees and crawls towards the foot of the bed where I’m standing, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth.
“You’ll want it after you taste this sweet stuff.” She puts her hand between her thighs and whimpers a moan, sucking air through her teeth and sexily curling her lip.
A few months ago, the sight would have caused me to pounce, but still nothing. Her hooded eyes land on me and she brings her fingers towards my mouth, placing her essence on my lips. I step back, rebuffing my natural instinct to lick my lips, refusing to have any other woman’s nectar besides L’oriel’s in my mouth. I inwardly groan as confusion and hurt from my rejection cross her face.
“What’s up Troy, since when does this happen?” she says, pointing toward my dick that hasn’t even stretched or yawned. I close my eyes, trying to figure out a way to tell her she’s not getting any from me tonight.
I end up forgoing decorum and blurt out, “We ain’t fucking tonight. I’m kind of with somebody.” I grab my clothes and begin to shuck them on. Suddenly, I feel the need to get her out of my condo as quickly as possible. I feel like I’m cheating. Her neck snaps back and the corner of her mouth twitches.
“When has that stopped you before?”
I pull my shirt over my head and pause. She’s right; it never stopped me before, which terrifies me even more. That means I wasn’t as in love with Alexis as I thought. If she had the power to momentarily weaken me, what damage could L’oriel do? That girl had the potential to wreak havoc on my life. Hell, she already had me fucked up.
“Look Brit. I’m sorry I brought you up here. I need to figure my shit out.” I pause, gauging her reaction. I don’t want this situation to turn volatile; some women don’t take rejection too well. When I see she’s not going to start throwing shit, I continue. “I got an early flight to Miami in the morning. I’ll take you back home.” She huffed and climbed out of the bed, and began collecting her clothes.
“Figure your shit out? You damn right you need to figure your shit out,” she continued mumbling curse words to herself while snatching her clothes off the floor and putting them on.
When I return to my condo, I change the sheets, shower, and brush my teeth. I lay across the bed with my cell phone on my stomach. I’m trying to decide what I should say. How do I explain my month-long absence from her life? Or even explain that I want her like I’ve never wanted anybody else?
What I had with Alexis was a partnership. I had control over that. I had control over my feelings. I don’t have the same type of control with L’oriel. I’m so drawn to her. My heart does all this shit I only read about in books and movies. She makes me feel powerless to do anything except love her, and make sure she’s happy. I’m so worried about her being displeased with me for not contacting her. I never cared or thought about how a woman would feel about me not contacting her. It’s hurting me knowing that I’m potentially hurting her. What is this? I want to be mad at her. She lied. She withheld something so important from me, yet I’m powerless to stop caring about her; wondering what she’s doing, what she’s thinking, if she needs anything.
My stomach is actually twisted in knots. I’ve wielded control of my emotions over to a woman that’s married. It just didn’t sit well. I picked up the phone and scrolled my contacts, seeking the advice I should have sought immediately. When the line picks up. I don’t even formally greet him.
“Kev. I need to holler at you, man.” I almost have to laugh at the desperation in my voice. This girl has come into my world and already turned it upside down. I haven’t been successful at cutting off my feelings. I found myself going through my phone laughing at our old text messages, really becoming amused at her excessive use of emojis, then her teasing me for preferring not to use them at all. I told her I’m a grown ass man. I’m not about to put no smiley faces and shit in a text message. Reminiscing and feeling I need to let the shit go is how I ended up calling Brit. I thought I wanted to release my feelings sexually and get lost in her lush curves. However, that had been a disaster. When I dropped Brittney off, she slammed my car door so hard I just knew she broke it. I couldn’t even be mad because I left her horny and frustrated.
Kevin Turner is my pastor and mentor; he always knows how to get me out my own head. Kev was my uncles age; he became my voice of reason when my uncle started acting my age. Once I started really making money and introduced my uncle to the celebrity social circle, he became less of a father figure and more of a friend. Kev understood where I was in my life. He’d grown up with my uncle and tried his hand at street dealing briefly before surrendering to a higher calling.
I had also discovered that L’o
riel was a member of Kevin’s church, which I attended as well. Kev never revealed anything to me about L’oriel as he counseled each of us. However, as any man of the cloth, or as a man period, he kept our conversations private and gave advice without giving or hinting at information to the other.
“Troy. What’s going on man?” I can hear the sleep in his voice. I’m suddenly aware of the late hour. It’s nine-thirty here, but well past a decent hour in Atlanta. “My bad, Kev. I hadn’t realized the hour. I can holler at you later.” I hear the rustling of covers.
“Naw. I’m up now. What’s up?”
I tell him about L’oriel, and how I found out about her husband.
~
L’oriel
Charity was my fashion savior. She put me on to a consignment shop that sold high-end labels for a fraction of what you would pay in the store. Thanks to her, I had a Zimmermann purple silk drape skirt with a high waist, a sand-colored side-tie silk top with a plunging neckline, and Victor and Rolf purple open-toe cut out heels. I was literally drooling over this ensemble at Neiman Marcus, but was too cheap to spend over 900 dollars on just one outfit while Charity was making her weekly shopping run with her new boo’s charge account.
After calling me the cheapest person she knew, Charity brought me to her favorite consignment shop. She said it’s where she shops when her relationships end. I literally did a happy dance cabbage patch and all in the middle of the store when I saw the exact same skirt and shoes for less than half the price.
Now I was standing in the mirror in my room feeling incredibly sexy and happy. I still had a sizable amount of money in my savings, and was adding to it. I love Charity, but she’d sacrifice a bill in the name of high-end fashion. I didn’t share that same sentiment. Even purchasing this outfit from the consignment shop was still a splurge, and it would be a while before I indulged again.