by Desiree Day
“I ain’t the one. But you…I don’t know another lady who dresses up, makes up and G it up more than you. You’re like a freaking living Barbie doll. And just about proportioned like one,” Tameeka joked.
“Don’t hate,” Stacie teased as she pulled away from Tameeka and admired herself in her full-length mirror. Her makeup was flawless, every hair was in place, and her fifty-dollar bottle of perfume made her smell like a million bucks. She looked better than she expected in the dress. After eating out four nights a week, she was afraid that it would take a toll on her body, but it had done the opposite. At least the food dropped in all the right places, she thought, admiring her Jennifer Lopez-size butt.
Stacie turned sideways and ran her hand over her stomach, which was still as flat as the bottom of a cast-iron frying pan. “I’m getting tired of all this. Dating ain’t fun anymore. I keep hoping for my Prince Charming and all I’m getting are P. Diddy wannabes. I ain’t feelin’ anybody.”
Tameeka gave an exaggerated gasp of surprise. “You,” she covered her mouth with her left hand and pointed at her friend with her right. “Giving up on finding Mr. Right? Nooo way! Hell, you’ve based your whole life on rustling, roping and corralling him in. So what’s really up?” Tameeka sat down on the bed next to her friend.
“That’s not nice,” Stacie pouted. “Just my twenties,” she jokingly corrected her friend. Then her voice took on a serious tone. “I don’t like all the hoping.” She gazed down and admired her toes. They twinkled in the soft bedroom light; the coral-toned polish still looked good after a week. “Hoping and wishing, just like a damn fool.” She stood up and began pacing around her bedroom. “Is he the one? Does he feel the same way about me? Every time I go out with somebody new, I have us married with children before the night is over,” she said, and she looked disgusted with herself.
“Ain’t nothing wrong with dreaming. But you can’t waste your dreams on every damn clown that you meet, ’cause you know that’s all they are. Damn clowns. Take your time, girl.”
“I do…well, I want to…it’s hard. Rather, they’re hard,” Stacie joked, then tried to suppress a giggle, but was unsuccessful and it slipped out between her lips.
“So it all comes back to the dick?” Tameeka said smugly. “It’s always the dick with you, isn’t it? You’re gonna die with a dick in you,” she teased. “You’re gonna be like this when they find you.” She lay down on the floor, closed her eyes and spread her legs open as wide as they could go.
“Whatevah,” Stacie laughed, then tossed a pillow at Tameeka. Tameeka burst out laughing and jumped up and returned to her spot on the bed. “Meek, I don’t want to grow old by myself. I don’t wanna be like Momma,” she said, her voice becoming quiet, “Old, single and still living in a damn apartment.”
“You’ll find somebody, just open your heart, head and eyes and he’ll be standing right in front of you. You’ll be happy with the person He sends you,” Tameeka assured her.
“I hear you,” Stacie replied. Then stepped on the balls of her feet and reached her hands up high to the ceiling. The full body stretch was exactly what she needed.
“Oh, girl! You’re in bad shape. Come meditate with me. It’ll unclog you. All those worries will seep right out,” Tameeka promised, and tugged at Stacie’s hand as she sank to the carpeted floor. Stacie twisted away from her friend and sauntered toward the door.
“Nu-uh, you know I don’t believe in that stuff. All it does for me is make me wanna go to sleep.”
“It’ll help you perform better in bed,” Tameeka sang as she crossed her legs, then hid a smile when Stacie stopped in her tracks. Getting Stacie to try meditation was tougher than forcing Don King to get a haircut.
“No it won’t,” Stacie scoffed, and Tameeka mockingly raised her eyebrow. “Okay, okay,” she said laughing. “Make a space for me, ’cause I’ll be joining you tomorrow. But just so you know, I don’t need any help in that department.” Stacie glanced down at her watch. “It’s time for me to roll, girl.”
“So which one is it tonight?” Tameeka asked; she couldn’t keep track of Stacie’s men.
“The club owner. The six-incher. I’ll be home early tonight,” Stacie sighed as she sashayed toward the door. Before she could make it over the threshold, her phone rang. The tune from the latest Usher song cut through the air.
“Why do you keep your ringer so loud?” Tameeka grumbled. “It’s irritating.”
Stacie playfully stuck her tongue out at her friend, then clicked on her phone and was immediately showered with gut-wrenching sobbing. Her heart painfully beat against her chest. “Who’s this?” she asked, and when she didn’t get a response, she repeated it in a worried tone of voice.
When the caller identified herself, Stacie’s legs threatened to buckle, forcing her to lean against the doorjamb for support.
Tameeka pulled herself up from the floor and hurried to Stacie’s side. “Who is it?” she hissed, and Stacie shook her head, waving her away. Tameeka angled her ear next to the phone, but the words were so mushy that she couldn’t make out what the caller was saying.
“Slow down,” Stacie encouraged lightly, although her heart felt as though it was going to burst against her chest. Her face was gray and her hands were shaking when she clicked off the phone.
“I don’t believe it,” she muttered, her expression dazed. “I don’t fucking believe it,” she repeated.
“What?” Tameeka asked. “Tell me!” she insisted when all Stacie did was stare through her.
“That was Momma. Carlos just burst into the apartment and snatched Nevia, and she doesn’t know where he took her. I knew this was going to happen. I need to get over there.”
“Me too, I’ll go with you,” Tameeka said, jumping to action. “You think he found out about the car?”
“Don’t know,” Stacie said as she ran through the door with Tameeka on her heels.
“We’ll find out when we get there.”
17
Single Father’s Guide to Dating Tip #11
Blind dates are to single fathers as manners are to children—they just don’t go together.
Jackson grinned like a schoolboy as he watched the ball fall into the hole and the lights of the machine light up. He loved playing the pinball machines at Dave & Buster’s.
“Good one,” Tyrell congratulated him. “How’s Jam?”
Jackson pulled his attention from the game. “He’s fine, man. He scared us for a minute. Now he’s back to his old self.”
“Has he been having a lot of attacks lately?” Tyrell asked, concerned.
Jackson shook his head. “No, this is his first one in a long time. He’d been running around all night. He usually keeps his inhaler with him, but he lost it and his second one was in my truck. Now we have one in every room in the house. But what’s going on with you? Haven’t heard from you in a minute. Now that you got a girlfriend,” Jackson taunted, then watched with dismay when he lost the game. He nodded toward the tables; he and Tyrell sat down and ordered beers.
“I’m good. Life is good. The job is good,” Tyrell answered. “Hey, man, my girl got a friend…she’s tight. I can hook you up.”
“Why are you pushing this so hard? She must be jacked-up.”
Tyrell shook his head. “Naw, man. Not even. Tameeka thinks it’s a good idea for us to double-date.”
“Tameeka thinks so? So you a punk now?”
Tyrell frowned. “Why do I have to be a punk just because I try to keep my lady happy?”
“Punk!” Jackson goaded.
“It ain’t like that,” Tyrell said. He took a gulp of his beer, then, “I have a situation for you.”
“Whassup?”
“What would you do if your girl had given her key to another dude and it wasn’t her man?”
Jackson eyed his friend. “Tameeka gave her key to a dude? That’s crazy, man. You gonna let her do that to you?”
Annoyance ran up Tyrell’s spine. “It wasn’t her apartment, she
gave him keys to her store.”
“Wow! That’s even worse.”
“How’s that?”
“That’s where ole girl spends most of her time. That’s where she’s making the money. She’s playing you, man.”
Tyrell shook his head. “She said he needs it just in case she locks herself out.”
“If that’s the case, she should give you the extra set.”
“That’s what I told her. But she doesn’t want to ask for the key back. She said she’s scared.”
Jackson blew out a stream of air. “Scared? Scared of what? You need to control that shit. Either she’s with you or she isn’t. Get your shit straight, man.”
“I have it under control,” Tyrell reassured him.
Jackson nodded, but didn’t say anything.
“So are you gonna do it or not?”
“The blind date thing?” Jackson asked, and Tyrell nodded. “Well, make it worth my time. Whaddya got for me, brotha?”
18
Why Blind Dates Are a Bad Idea!
He might be the featured pic on www.uglypeople.com
He might try to do the booty dance with me since he probably hasn’t had a date in years
He might be weird
They should be here any minute,” Tameeka whispered excitedly as she nodded toward the restaurant’s entrance. She wasn’t sure if she was more excited about seeing Tyrell or the fact that her best friend was meeting his best friend. She crossed her fingers and silently prayed that everybody would get along tonight.
Stacie pasted on a fake smile and silently prayed that the evening would be over soon. God, I hate blind dates, they’re nothing more than an organized way for losers to meet. And I don’t need any help meeting anybody.
They were standing in front of a mirrored wall and Stacie turned to admire her reflection. “You look too good to be on a blind date,” she complimented her reflection. All the men in the restaurant silently agreed; they couldn’t keep their eyes off her. With her white miniskirt and pale pink silk blouse paired with a waist-length denim jacket, she captured all the men’s attention. “Don’t forget that I’m hooking up with Barry tonight,” Stacie said to Tameeka. “So I’m going to eat, then leave.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Tameeka said impatiently. “Barry the doctor, I know. Just relax and enjoy the evening.”
“Do you think I should call Momma and Nevia?” Stacie asked Tameeka. Ever since the hysterical call from her mother, Stacie had been calling home every day.
“I thought you called them today?” Tameeka asked as she scanned the crowd.
“I did,” Stacie answered. “But I want to call them again.”
“They have your number. They’ll call you if something happens.”
“I know. But I feel like I need to check up on them,” Stacie said, worriedly. It had been another false alarm. Carlos hadn’t snatched Nevia, he’d only forced her to go to a party with him.
“They’ll be okay,” Tameeka reassured her.
Tyrell wandered into the restaurant and at his side was a reluctant Jackson. After a full day of begging and promising to detail Jackson’s car, Tyrell finally got Jackson to agree to go out with Tameeka’s friend. But anybody looking at Jackson could tell that he didn’t want to be there; he was seething inside, and his handsome face was locked into a mask of disinterest. But that didn’t stop the women from panting at him as he walked by.
Jackson strolled next to his friend, unaware of the attention he was getting. He hated blind dates. He hated them about as much as he hated to see the Lakers win their second straight championship. Already bored, his gaze roamed idly over the crowd, looking for his date; there were a lot of ladies sitting together who smiled and looked like they wanted to eat him for dinner, but something told him that they weren’t waiting for him and Tyrell.
He continued his haphazard search and was about to give up and tell Tyrell he was leaving when he zeroed in on two ladies, and his pulse began to race. He squinted. The hairstyle was different, but the face and body were the same. It’s her. Calm down man. Shake it off, he told himself. He slowed his step just enough to allow himself some time to get himself together.
“That’s my man!” Tameeka squealed proudly and leapt up from the table, running into Tyrell’s arms. “Omigod!” Tameeka shrieked as she shifted her gaze from Tyrell and focused on his friend standing silently next to him. She tugged at Tyrell’s arm. “J is Jackson? Ain’t this a trip? I—we—met him at Houston’s.” She turned to Stacie and said, “Stace, don’t you remember?”
Stacie rolled her eyes and nodded. Of course she remembered him. Knew who he was the minute he sauntered into the restaurant. Ah! The brother who doesn’t know how to use a freaking phone, she told herself. At least he could’ve called me. She glanced down at her shoes, a pair of cotton candy pink leather sling backs from Nine West, and her nose wrinkled. She took a couple of calming breaths, then asked, “How’s Jameel?”
How’s Jameel? he thought. How’s Jameel? The first thing out of her mouth should be an apology for not returning my call. Jackson kept his emotions in check as he smoothly answered. “Not too good. His asthma has been bothering him. Poor guy was sick all day. He was sent home early today from school. As a matter of fact…” He gave them an apologetic look, then pulled out his cell phone, stepping away to make the call. By the time he got back to the table the waiter was there to take their orders.
“I’ll have the steak, and”—Stacie looked coyly up at the waiter—“Rudolf, can you make sure that it’s medium well? The last time I was here it wasn’t cooked right. It was too dry and I got a tummy ache,” she said softly and grimaced prettily.
“Sure thing, Miss Stacie. I’ll taste it myself if you want me to,” Rudolf offered. It took her less than five minutes, but Stacie knew the waiter’s name, how long he’d been working at the restaurant and his favorite color. In that time Stacie had him falling over himself trying to accommodate her.
Tameeka watched the scene with amusement; she was used to the treatment her friend got from men whenever they were out, but Jackson wasn’t.
Jackson silently studied her over the top of his wineglass; she was the type of woman who used her looks to get men to do things for her. She was the type of woman who never returned a dude’s call. Hell, he knew her type all too well; Atlanta was full of them, they practically grew on the trees.
Jackson set down his glass and turned to Stacie. “So you like men tripping over themselves trying to please you?”
Amused, Stacie let out a peel of laughter. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“Puh-leeze. I won’t be surprised if the dude comes back cradling a full bottle of Cristal. And I bet my life he won’t be offering us any.” Stacie shook her head and rolled her eyes. But ten minutes later Rudolf proved Jackson right. Not only did he bring her an unopened bottle of champagne, but he also promised to later present her with a free dessert.
Jackson watched as Stacie oohed and aahed and thanked Rudolf so effusively for the champagne that he turned red.
Rudolf stopped by at least a dozen times to check on Stacie. Jackson turned to Stacie. “So is Your Royal Highness happy with her dinner?” he asked. There was contempt in his voice. Stacie heard it and didn’t like it one bit.
“Excuse you? What’s your problem?” They locked eyes with each other from across the table. “You’re jealous, aren’t you? You’re jealous because Rudolf is paying me so much attention. Do you wish it was you? Do you want Rudolf’s attention?” she asked innocently.
Tyrell spat out his wine, Tameeka’s mouth gaped open in surprise and Jackson was opening and closing his mouth, too pissed to speak.
“Hell no!” he managed to utter. “I am not jealous of you or your new friend Rudolf. I think you are the most selfish, self-centered, self-absorbed person that I have ever met. Your royal highness.”
Stacie continued to calmly eat, unfazed by Jackson’s outburst. “If you want to call me Royal Highness, that’s fine. But I gets
what I want.” Then to prove her point, she sliced off a piece of lobster, holding the impaled seafood up for Jackson’s inspection, then stuck it in her mouth. She had originally ordered the shrimp scampi, but Rudolf upgraded her meal, at no extra charge, to lobster. “On second thought, I kinda like the name.” Smiling, she turned toward her friend. “Meek, that’s my new nickname, Royal Highness.” Deepening her voice, she said, “From this day forward I command everyone to start calling me: Your Royal Highness.”
“Oh, you are really over the edge,” Jackson grumbled. “I can think of a better nickname for you,” he said as he glared across the table at one of the most spoiled ladies that he had ever met. He put a finger to his head and pretended to be in deep thought. “Umm, what about spoiled brat. No, overgrown baby,” he concluded, then snickered at her.
“Whatever,” Stacie answered as she continued to calmly eat her dinner. “I don’t see anything wrong with having standards.”
“That’s what you call it?” Jackson guffawed. “That’s a creative way of saying that the world revolves around me and I want everybody to do as I say.” Tameeka and Tyrell watched the exchange with wide smiles. They knew that there were going to be sparks between the two, but they didn’t know that they were going to turn into a forest fire.
“Fuck you!” Stacie shouted. “Screw you. You ugly Yogi Bear–looking motherfucker.” She had popped out of her chair and was standing over Jackson, using her forefinger as a dagger, pointing it in his face. Jackson remained in his seat and glowered up at her. Tameeka and Tyrell exchanged glances. Tyrell wasn’t sure what to do. He had never seen his friend act this way before. Tameeka reached over and squeezed his hand. He wasn’t sure if it was to reassure him or to put him on alert for a full-blown all-out war; either way, he was ready.