My Mans Best Friend (9781622860241)

by Henderson, Tresser

  I stroked my hair turning my head quickly hoping Jaquon didn’t see me with Red Bone. It would make his day to see me with this man, just so he could go back and inform Derrick about my little rendezvous.

  Cooper was Red Bone’s real name, and he swore up and down he was the Mack Daddy of smooth brothers. He looked as though his brotherhood was in question due to his light skin, curly hair, and green eyes acting as kryptonite to the ladies. And, yes, he lured me in nicely, but not with his hair or his eyes. He had me when I saw him sporting a Rolex and a Dolce and Gabbana velvet blazer with a crisp white shirt and black leather and suede moccasin-style Penny Loafers. He screamed money.

  Of course, I couldn’t act like I was taken by him. That’s why I walked by him in my Asian-style printed dress accentuating my exposed back. The Jimmy Choo’s lengthened my legs, making them sparkle like a trickling river on a sunny day. Soon as I passed him, he eyed me, just like I knew he would. I caught the eye of several other prospects also, but none of them interested me. That’s because they were screaming, “I’m broke. Can you buy me a drink?”

  Sitting down at an empty stool at the bar, I beckoned the bartender and asked for an apple martini. When he brought me my drink, he pointed at Red Bone and said it was taken care of. I lifted my glass and nodded in his direction. He smiled, and I said, “Gotcha!” to myself.

  Moments later, he came over and introduced himself tome.

  “My name is Zacariah.”

  “Zachariah?” he questioned.

  “No, it’s Zacariah. Za ... car, as in car ... rhea, like diarrhea. Zacariah.”

  “Okay, I got it now. It’s a beautiful name for such a beautiful woman,” he said, looking at me lustfully.

  This was the only part I hated about telling anybody my name. Every time anyone saw it, they thought I was a guy called Zachariah. I loved my name because it was sort of unique. I didn’t hear many individuals with it, but sometimes it did become a burden with so many pronouncing it incorrectly.

  Red Bone was a prosecuting attorney, which explained his pricey attire. He bragged on himself like he was giving a bio on how fabulous it was to be him. He told me about his forty-four hundred square foot home in the Hills, his Porsche coupe that he paid $83,000 for, and his collection of vintage cars. He had looks and money, but nothing else of interest to talk about. He bored me beyond belief. It was all about him, him, and please, let’s talk about him some more. I had to sip my drink frequently to keep from yawning in his face and playing narcoleptic to his tiresome banter. Laughing when he laughed not knowing what the hell he was talking about, I acted like what he was saying was law itself. I really wanted him to shut the hell up and invite me to a nice, luxurious suite for a quick nightcap.

  I snapped back to attention when I saw Essence and Jaquon walking in my direction. I couldn’t let him catch me so I quickly excused myself and proceeded to the ladies’ room. Maneuvering my way there, I cussed at myself, hoping Jaquon didn’t see me. I didn’t want to get busted, but I damn sure wasn’t ready to leave without doing what I came here to do. I would not be a happy woman if I couldn’t jack this man for some of this money he’d been talking about most of the night, but I would sit in this restroom until the place shut down so Jaquon wouldn’t see me with him. I knew if I tried to exit, Red Bone would see me and make a scene somehow without even trying. Maybe if I wished hard enough, Essence would follow me in here. But hell, if I could make wishes come true, then I would wish for my own damn money and wouldn’t need a man to give it to me.

  Most people would wish for peace on earth and some other crap I’m not interested in. Me, I would wish for wealth beyond my wildest dreams. I mean, wealth that could afford me a big house with servants and a pool in the backyard. I would want a closet full of designer clothes and another full of pricy shoes. I would have cars, jewelry, and a plane to fly me anywhere my heart desired. Forget peace on earth. Call me selfish. Now, if I had unlimited wishes, maybe, but from the cartoons and fairy tales, you usually only got three and I wasn’t about to waste them on a world that didn’t give a damn about me.

  Snapping back to the here and now, I wondered why Essence didn’t come after me. This way I could tell her the deal and she could get Jaquon out of here. But no, that was too easy and nothing ever seems to come easy for me.

  My entire life consisted of hard work. My mother and father were alcoholics who fought all the time over who drank the last can of beer or emptied the liquor bottle and put it back in the cabinet empty. I went without food sometimes due to their drinking. I went to school with dirty clothes and an uncombed head, which caused me to get picked on as a child. The only reason I got to eat lunch at school was because it was free due to our financial shortcomings and I was lucky then that Mama had sense enough to complete the needed forms. Funny how I never had food in the house, but my parents could find some change to scrap up to go pick up a pint of this and a can of that.

  When I hit my teen years, I had basically learned how to survive on my own. Family turned their nose up at me because I wasn’t worth the time or trouble. I was the nappy-headed child created by the alcoholic twosome. So that left me on my own. I stole. I schemed. I even robbed to keep my head afloat. That was, until I learned that men could take care of me if I took care of them. I used my body to get what I wanted. I had to do what I had to do to survive. By the age of twenty, I had lost my father. All that drinking caught up with him, and he died of cirrhosis of the liver. Even when the doctors told him he had to stop drinking or he would die, he let their words fall on deaf ears.

  I guess Mama was still living. I didn’t really know since I moved away from her and most of my family right after my dad passed away. His death only sent her spiraling further into the bottom of bottles. What reason did I have to stay, and I have never looked back. They didn’t give a damn about me then, so why should they care about me now? I needed them when I was child, but I was not worth receiving the love I knew I deserved. So here I stand. Yes, I have a good man at home, but our relationship could end whenever. So I had to keep the money coming in to be able to take care of myself. I loved Derrick, but I loved money more.

  Zacariah

  Pacing the mushroom-colored tile floor, I noticed I was not alone. I was so deep in my thoughts that I didn’t notice a pair of legs behind the white stall door. Homegirl was either doing the number two or drunk as hell and couldn’t find her way out. As long as I had been standing here, I should have heard something, but there were no sounds coming from the other side of the door. Some toilet paper should have been pulled or some flushing should have been happening by now, but nothing.

  “Hello, are you okay in there?” I asked.

  The chick didn’t say anything.

  “Hello in there, are you okay?”

  The stall door clicked, but the door never opened. I wanted to push it open, but my mind led me to all of the horror movies I had seen. Soon as I pushed this door open, a maniac would jump out and bludgeon me to death.

  “Get it together, girl,” I whispered to myself. Then I started to wonder, was I the crazy one here? I’m the one talking to myself out loud.

  When I got ready to step forward, the stall door eased open. Out stepped this short, skinny female with mascara running down her face. It was clearly evident she had been crying. The mascara made her eyes resemble a raccoon’s. Her appearance scared me for a minute because she stood there looking bewildered and not saying anything. She was not an ugly chick. She was actually a very pretty woman. And for me to say that in her state of disarray, you knew she was nice looking. She was just having a moment taking her to a not-too-good-looking status. She looked at me, but it was like her spirit had disappeared from her body.

  “Are you okay?” I asked wanting to reach out to her but thought better of it.

  She stepped out of the stall, shaking her head no. Her arms started to hug herself tightly as more tears streamed down her cheeks. Even though she was cute, her body was that of a crackhead. She had no cu
rves at all, and her breasts looked like those of a girl just starting puberty. I started to run out and go pick her up a Southern dinner with mash potatoes and gravy, macaroni and cheese, and a nice slice of lemon pound cake to help put some weight on her. Then again, maybe her eyes were watering because she just finished throwing up all the food she ate. You never know these days. Women were doing whatever it took to get skinny.

  The woman was dressed in a short black slip dress with a Chanel bag hanging from her shoulder. Her hair was jet black and bone straight sweeping her shoulders. I wanted to snatch her bag and tug on her hair to see if it was all hers because it looked too pretty to be real. Her nails were done. Diamonds dangled from her earlobes and despite her anorexic state, her skin was flawless. The only thing throwing me off was the fact she had kicked her shoes off in the nasty bathroom. Disgusting, I thought because I knew there were a lot of different germs eating away at the bottom of her feet, mainly urine and fecal matter.

  “Are you here alone tonight?” I asked.

  She didn’t respond, walking to the sink, looking at the lights above the mirror.

  “Do you want me to call a friend for you?”

  She shook her head no.

  “What about your man?”

  She immediately made eye contact with me, and I wanted to run away. Her stare was so frigid I thought ice daggers were going to start shooting out of her eyes.

  “Why do men cheat?” she asked with a slow, sorrowful voice. “Can you answer that question for me?”

  Finally something, I thought. “I don’t know. It’s in their nature,” I offered.

  “I’m a good woman. Why does he not love me enough to be faithful to me? I’m really a good woman.”

  “Honey, I don’t know. All I can say is drop him and move to the next man.”

  “I tried to leave him, but he begs me to come back to him and I ... and I ...,” she said with tears streaming down her cheeks again. Her quiet demeanor soon changed into uncontrollable crying. Through her weeping she continued to try to talk saying, “I believed him, and I know I’m grasping at straws, but the love I have for him makes me take him back. He professes his love to me all the time, and I ... I ...”

  “Believe him,” I said completing what I think she was trying to say.

  She nodded. “I can’t take it anymore. I really can’t. He’s killing me, and he doesn’t even know it.”

  “Look, give me the number of a friend of yours and I’ll call them to come pick you up. I think you really need someone right now,” I said trying to convince her.

  “It doesn’t matter because they can’t save me now.”

  “Save you?” I said looking at her with a questioning gaze.

  She dropped her eyes to the floor and said, “Nobody can help me now.”

  Homegirl reached in her purse and pulled out the biggest butcher knife I had ever seen. I maybe exaggerating, but it was gigantic. I thought she was reaching for some foundation or eyeliner to get her face spruced back up—but a knife! I thought she was going to come at me with it so I jumped back. My instincts were to run out of there, but I realized she was closer to the door and I was too damn far from it. I wanted to scream, but nothing came out. Only dry air entered as my mouth remained opened sucking in air at the sight of that butcher knife. I was coming close to hyperventilating. I wanted out of there, and I was on the other side of the restroom trying to make myself disappear into the painted brick walls. Didn’t women have to pee anymore?

  Usually this door was a revolving source of women’s reactions to consuming way too many drinks or the need to freshen up their makeup. If I wanted to be in here by myself, the space would be full to capacity.

  I tried to play it cool, like I wasn’t afraid of her holding this weapon, but I didn’t know if it came across that way since I could hear myself panting like I had run a marathon. That alone confirmed my panic state.

  “It doesn’t matter anymore,” she said twirling the blade, looking at it as the light hit it. Her mind had left the building, and I was looking for a window to push her out of.

  “Just put the knife down. What is that weapon going to solve?”

  “Peace. Revenge. Satisfaction,” she said with a voice so eerie I truly feared for my own safety. She seemed like the type that would take other people’s lives before she took her own.

  Dropping her purse to the floor she turned to look at me. Was she about to stab me with the knife? Fear had me glued in place, and all I could say was, “Just put the knife down. It’s not worth it.”

  “I’ll teach him to cheat on me,” she said serenely. She began to raise the knife in the air. I wanted to scream, but still nothing would come past my lips. Was she coming closer to me or was it my imagination working overtime?

  I managed to mumble the words, “Put the knife down,” hoping she would comply, but she just looked at me with that same blank stare she had when she walked out of the bathroom stall.

  Closing her eyes, she lifted the knife above her head. I backed away some more until I was against the wall. She then placed her other hand on the handle and whispered, “Please forgive me for what I’m about to do,” and plunged the blade.

  Zacariah

  I had never seen so much blood in my life. How could so much blood come out of one skinny person? I couldn’t move. I was paralyzed in a state of panic. To see this woman plunge that enormous butcher knife into her stomach instantly made my stomach throb.

  The door opened at the time she wounded herself so another woman witnessed the attempted suicide. She did what I couldn’t do and screamed. Moments later, herds of people came scampering in and around the bathroom door while the body of the skinny chick lay on the cold tile floor. Her eyes were bulging, and she was making a gurgling sound, like she was trying to catch her breath. Blood oozed from her mouth as she continued to try to breathe. Each breath taken was a struggle, sounding like it was her last. Then she stopped moving or saying anything. Her body lay still as her hands fell from her wounded abdomen unto the floor. Her eyes were still open. Is she dead? I thought, and Why would she do something like this to herself ?

  Several bouncers pushed their way through the crowd to get to what everybody was looking at. Once they saw her lying on the floor, one of them kneeled down beside her to feel her neck for a pulse, but he said he couldn’t feel anything. Another came over wanting to remove the knife from her abdomen, but the bigger bouncer pushed him away, telling him he could not remove it. He didn’t want to risk any more damage being done, just in case she did have a faint pulse he couldn’t feel.

  My feet were rooted to this spot. I was watching as they frantically tried to stop the bleeding. Then I heard sirens in the distance, hoping they would get here soon to save her. Three other bouncers began to clear the area to let the paramedics through.

  That’s when I felt a warm hand on my bare shoulders. It was the woman who walked in and saw the incident with me. She was trying to get me to leave the scene. She pulled me into her and escorted me out of the area. With all eyes on us as we both exited, people were whispering and some were loudly asking what happened over and over again. Neither the woman nor I said a word.

  Red Bone was in the crowd, and he came over to me, putting his arms around me, also asking, “What happened ?” I scanned the crowd to see if I saw Essence, but neither she nor Jaquon were in sight. Good, I thought.

  After answering Red Bone’s questions, I got another hundred asked by the bouncers, the manager, EMT, and the police. I had nothing else in me and wanted to tell them all, “You should have all stood together so I could have explained the incident once.” They could’ve at least tape-recorded my story so I wouldn’t have to keep repeating the same thing. Or maybe that was their way of interrogating me. Ask the same question several times to see if they got several different answers. But the only story they were going to get from me was, “She plunged that blade in her own stomach.”

  By the look on a couple of the officers’ faces, I could
tell they thought I was responsible. I was the only one in the restroom with the victim. Salt and Pepper they were. One was white and the other black. Both were of burly stature, and both had pen and paper out scribbling my feedback. Maybe they thought I did it and made it look like she did. Maybe I was one of those females trying to get rid of the competition ruining her relationship with her man. Or maybe it was because I was black. Whatever, I was not happy with them scrutinizing me with suspicion like a criminal. If it wasn’t for the other woman walking in at the time of skinny girl’s stabbing, they’d probably be putting handcuffs on me reading me my rights.

  But I had Red Bone by my side. Plus, the lawyer in me watched enough court cases to know I could talk my way out of this. Where was the blood on my hands? Why wasn’t any blood on my clothes? Why were my fingerprints not on the weapon? If I wiped my hands off, where was the evidence? Check the toilet, my purse, the pipes of the sinks and the stalls. I was innocent, and this was a crime that was not going to be pinned on me. Open-and-shut case it was. Just the thought of them thinking I did this ticked me off.

  After the police questioning, they did their jobs keeping the area secure. When the paramedics wheeled the wounded woman on the gurney past everyone, Red Bone gasped, making me jump.

  “Angela,” he said loudly attempting to run over to the wounded woman.

  “Stand back,” the police officer said grabbing him.

  “But that’s my wife! That’s my wife,” he said hysterically. The officer looked at him, and then at me. I knew what he was thinking as more doubt registered on Salt and Pepper’s faces. Damn, I would think the same thing too. In that moment, I was guilty until proven innocent in their minds. I was the other woman with the victim’s husband.