Dogism

by Mark Anthony

  LL and I took a seat in the waiting chairs, and I contemplated whether I should get a manicure. As I sat, I couldn’t help but stare at Toni. She had on a pair of navy blue spandex pants and a white tee shirt that was tied into a knot. With her belly button exposed, I noticed that Toni had what looked liked a red rose tattooed near her navel, and she also had another large, exotic tattoo that was located at the base of her back right near the crack of her butt.

  I knew damn well that I shouldn’t have used my son as an excuse to go to see Toni, but hey. I was there, and there really wasn’t a regretful enough bone in my body that would have made me leave. As I sat with LL, I constantly kept staring at Toni. I don’t know why I did it to myself. I mean, I’m married and all, yet there I was on a Saturday afternoon checking out a beautician.

  I always told myself and believed that nothing would happen as far as me literally cheating, and so far in my marriage it hadn’t, except of course for the five-year thing that I’ve had on the side with Scarlet del Rio. But to me the Scarlet thing shouldn’t really count against me because for one, I had gotten involved with her before I was actually married—even if I met her on the night of my bachelor party, it was still before I had said “I do.”

  Although nothing was ever officially confirmed by the two of us, we acted as if we were a couple, especially from her end. I mean, many people will say I’m naïve to believe that Scarlet had not been with any other man sexually except for me during the past five years. But I know what I know, and I know that Scarlet, despite being a stripper, had been very loyal and faithful to me during the time we were involved, despite the fact that my marriage was and continued to be a very limiting factor for both Scarlet and myself.

  Early on in my relationship with Scarlet, I realized what it was that had caused her to be so drawn to me. See, number one, she is crazy. And number two she is a got-damn psycho bitch. The stalker type. Scarlet really had all kinds of emotional issues, self-esteem issues, and all kinds of drama in her life, and I think from the time I met her, something told her that I was genuinely a good guy with good intentions who represented safety and security and emotional support, which was what she was desperately craving and searching for in a man.

  Scarlet definitely had her issues, but she was like a female version of me when it came to sex—a literal freak and fiend who was willing to sex me at the drop of a hat without all of that unnecessary foreplay. I was willing to overlook a lot of her crazy stunts and her emotional issues. The sex was beyond good, and she kept her body tight. Her waist-to-ass ratio was always in proper proportion, plus, she looked good as hell, and deep down she was really a good person at heart. Really she was.

  And plus, Scarlet was like my dual wife. In the hood she would be known as wifey. Every man, married or single, whether he is willing to admit it or not, has someone other than his wife or his girlfriend who he would consider to be wifey. Wifey is the one he calls when things aren’t going right at home. She has his back, no matter what. She’s down to do whatever, whenever, and wherever. Wifey is the one who knows about the real wife or the real girlfriend and doesn’t flip out about it. In fact, wifey remains faithful to him even though he’s tied down. Wifey puts it on him like no other woman.

  But it just gets harder and harder to stay faithful, especially when I keep feeding my lust hormones with women like Toni. I mean, there I was trying to distance myself from Scarlet and permanently end things between us, and I’d been doing a good job at that for the past three months, yet I still let myself entertain and act on the thoughts of being with yet another woman.

  Toni caught me gazing at her, and she kind of down-played it by waving to LL. Yeah, I was busted, but any man in his right mind would be staring at Toni. Man, everything about her was turning me on. It’s like every move she made was erotic, even if it was just her reaching for a pair of scissors.

  “You’re not getting your nails done?” Toni asked.

  “Nah, I think I’ma just chill.”

  “Why not? I think that’s cool when men take good care of their hands. It says a lot about them.”

  The girl who was sitting in Toni’s chair getting her hair done, abruptly objected to Toni’s statement.

  “Any man with manicured nails is about one of two things. Either he’s gay, or he’s all into himself, which means he ain’t nothing but a good-smelling, pretty dog.”

  Another beautician responded, “That’s right, girlfriend.”

  Toni took the floor as she said, “That’s not true. Just because y’all dealt with the wrong brothas in the past, that doesn’t mean that a good man can’t treat himself to a manicure.”

  This conversation was about to erupt into a full-fledged debate. Therefore, I decided to get up and just get the manicure. As I walked over to the nail technician, I gave Toni a high-five for sticking up for the brothas. “You go, girl,” I jokingly said as I walked past her.

  The other beautician sucked her teeth, and sounding as ghetto as ever, she said, “Whateva! Men ain’t nothing but dogs.”

  LL was still in his seat, and after seeing my hands in two bowls of warm water, he asked, “Daddy, what you doin’?”

  “I’m getting my nails done.”

  “Ill, that’s for girls. Ill,” LL remarked as he frowned.

  With half of the shop amused and laughing at my son, the comedian, I felt mad embarrassed. It was cool, though, because the laughter also made me feel very relaxed in the ambiance of Toni.

  After about thirty minutes of getting my nails cleaned, pulled, pricked, and tucked, I sat back down next to my son.

  “Daddy, let me see.”

  I showed LL my hands, and he replied, “Your nails ain’t all that.”

  Those who were in close proximity burst out into laughter as LL was slowly melting the hearts of every woman in the place. The boisterous beautician, whom I later found out was named Shaniqua, egged LL on.

  “Good men don’t get their nails done, right?” she asked LL.

  “Nope?” LL replied as he shook his head.

  “See, even little shorty knows what time it is. I’m telling y’all, if you want a good man, you better find a brotha with some rough, ashy, jacked-up, mechanic-type hands.”

  “And, Shaniqua, what is your man’s name again?” Toni asked.

  Shaniqua rudely snapped back, “I don’t have a man.”

  “Oh yeah, that’s what I thought. Anyway . . . um . . . Lance, don’t even listen to Shaniqua. She’s just going through something.”

  I laughingly replied, “Nah, I ain’t sweating the small stuff. I’m sayin’, I’m a secure brotha. You kna’imean?”

  I want to believe that I’m secure, but in actuality I’m the most insecure man on this planet. It seems that all I do is done so that I can receive positive attention from females. All the time I spend in the gym working out and all those protein shakes that I drink, is definitely not for me alone, and, sad to say, but it’s not even just for my wife’s pleasure when we’re in the privacy of our bedroom.

  What I wear, how I smell, how I’m groomed, the car I drive, and how much I bench press is all done for particular moments, moments when there is nothing but nice-looking women around and I’m able to make good eye contact with them.

  See, women are not as blunt as men in terms of making the first move. Sistas are sly with their game. Excluding the women who are just out there whoring around, most women have game slicker than Luster’s Pink Lotion on a Jheri curl. But with women, I’ve learned that it’s all in the eyes. That’s why I am all about eye contact.

  After I sat back down, I continually tried to look into Toni’s eyes to see what kind of vibe I would get. I stared in a way as to not make her feel uncomfortable, but at the same time, I wanted our eyes to lock.

  Toni kept busy as did the other beauticians. As Toni worked, the salon became increasingly crowded. I’d always heard good things from females about this salon. I was beginning to see first hand what all the hype was about. It was often freque
nted by female stars such as Lil’ Kim, Mary J. Blige, and Faith Evans to name a few. The salon is also a spa, and it’s very spacious and elaborate. It’s decorated with dazzling mirrors, leather couches, a nice big-screen television, and a surround-sound stereo system.

  There was a buzz that filled the air as women canvassed the parquet floors. In that buzz I was able to decipher some outrageous conversations. I wish that I had brought a recorder to tape some of the things that were being said. Some of the conversations and gossip were fit for a trash talk show. Other conversations actually taught me a thing or two. You had your “inspirational speakers,” and of course you had your “Amen /You go, girl” conversations.

  The women involved in those, You go, girl, slapping-each-other-five conversations made me think they were auditioning for a part on Girlfriends. Like most women, these sistas had no mercy when it came to the way they were talking bad about men. Brothas who were not there to defend themselves were being labeled everything from dogs to cheap to no good in bed.

  To me, that kind of talk gets sickening after a while. Throughout my life, I’ve learned something about women who participate in those slapping-each-other-five conversations: their memory is way too short. Most of those women are constantly complaining about being dogged, hurt, or disappointed by men in the same way. To me, you would think they would remember the warning signs and realize when they are dealing with a dog. But no, they always con themselves into thinking this one or that one is different. And when this one or that one turns out to be the same as the rest, women turn around and label all men as no good.

  Whether or not men are the problem, one fact remains about the Amen/You go, girl women. These women are always dishonest with themselves because usually right from jump street they see the warning signs of a dog, yet they con themselves and say, “But he’s different.”

  To me, the You go, girl conversations are nothing but a big justification party. Women need to start owning up and accepting a big chunk of the responsibility as to why many relationships have no substance.

  During the many conversations that were going on, I managed to finally lock eyes with Toni for about three seconds. After that time, I felt as though I was a crack fiend who’d had his hit for the day. I was convinced that Toni’s eyes hadn’t just caught mine in a passing glance. Rather, she wanted to look my way. Her look let me know what she thought about me. In those three seconds, she told me that she liked dark-skinned guys. Her eyes told me that she thought I had it going on.

  Before long, it was time for LL to get in the chair and get his hair cut.

  “LL, can I cut your hair now?” Toni asked.

  LL didn’t respond.

  “Come on, LL. Don’t show out in here. Let Toni cut your hair,” I admonished.

  As LL made his way to the chair, I remarked to Toni, “That was fast. It didn’t even feel like we were in here for an hour.”

  Toni responded, “Well, I figured while my other customer is under the dryer I’d take care of LL. I mean she’s gonna be under there for about a half hour. Plus, my other appointment called and said she was gonna be late.”

  As Toni adjusted a cape around LL’s neck, she asked, “So, LL, how old are you?”

  LL kept silent, but he managed to put four of his fingers into the air.

  Toni responded in an alto tone as she said, “Wow, four years old. You’re a big guy.”

  LL smiled. Toni was making him feel very comfortable.

  “So, LL, how would you like your hair cut?”

  “I want it like my daddy.”

  “Lance, he is sooo adorable,” Toni said while smiling in my direction.

  Toni quietly asked me if it was alright for her to actually cut his hair the way mine was since I have a Michael Jordan–style baldhead. Unbeknownst to Toni, I seductively made my way closer to her and said, “Yeah, it’s no problem.”

  I was standing as close to Toni as I possibly could. The smell of her Gucci Rush perfume was like an aphrodisiac. As I pointed out to Toni the sensitive areas of LL’s head, I contemplated just pulling her close to me and giving her a kiss. Fortunately I had enough self-control to not do that, but my heart rate was definitely accelerated, so I decided to stand back a little.

  LL was very calm in the chair. He’s not like most kids who cry, kick, and scream when they get their hair cut. As I stood next to Toni and watched her work, she advised me that I could take a seat if I wanted.

  I responded, “That’s okay. I like being close to beautiful women.”

  After I said that, Toni looked at me. She didn’t smile or respond. I was wondering if I had just blown my cover. I had to change the subject quick.

  “So, Toni, how long have you been doing hair?”

  “Oh, for years, but I really got serious about it when I turned eighteen.”

  “That’s good. And you’re how old?”

  “I’m twenty-four. Why?”

  “No reason. I was just asking, you know, being that you said you started seriously doing hair at eighteen.”

  “Yeah, I really just do this during my breaks. I’m in graduate school at Howard University.”

  “Oh, word. That’s kinda fly, an ambitious, intelligent, and talented woman.”

  Toni smiled.

  Whew, I thought. Back on track.

  LL was just about finished. It didn’t take long to shave his little head. Toni asked if it was alright if she put alcohol on his head to prevent any infections or bumps. I nodded in agreement. As Toni sprayed the alcohol onto LL’s head, he squinted in pain for about ten seconds. She then sprayed hair spray onto his scalp and applied powder to his neck.

  To make LL feel good she said, “Now let me see my little man . . . Um, um, um, you gonna have all the little girls going crazy over you now.”

  LL replied, “The girlies are already sweatin’ me.”

  The other females in the shop fell out in laughter.

  “Oh, he is too much,” Toni said while laughing. She reached for a bowl of candy and gave LL a Blow Pop and a pack of Now & Laters.

  “Thank you,” LL said.

  “You’re welcome, sweetie.”

  I asked Toni how much I owed her. She informed me that they charged seven dollars for children’s haircuts.

  As I reached into my pocket, I advised Toni that I would be bringing LL back in about two weeks. Then I nonchalantly handed her thirty dollars. After cordially telling her to take care, I took LL by the hand and prepared to leave. As we were walking out, LL stopped at a wall mirror to verify that his haircut was tight. With LL having no objections, we continued on our way out the shop and headed toward my car.

  LL and I were about to start the car and pull off when I heard Toni yell my name before she ran over to the car.

  “Lance, you know his haircut was only seven dollars, right?”

  “Yeah, I know. I gave the rest as a tip.”

  Toni asked, “Are you sure?”

  “I wouldn’t have given it to you if I didn’t want you to have it.”

  Toni was quiet for a second, then she looked at me and said, “Thank you. So, you’re gonna be back, right?”

  “Definitely.”

  Toni offered me her million-dollar smile as she reached into the passenger window and pinched LL on his cheek. I started up the car, but didn’t pull off until Toni had vanished out of my sight. As I drove off, I was feeling good. My calculated moves were working. The radio in my car was blaring, and I had a Kool-Aid grin on my mug. I was happy because I was envisioning all the possibilities between Toni and myself.

  THREE

  My wife thought LL looked cute, but she had objections to me letting him get a baldhead. Her reasoning was that if we allowed his hair to be cut too short at such a young age then there stood the possibility of his hair remaining short in the future. I simply told Nicole that LL wanted a baldie and that her theory was not a proven medical fact, just some old wives’ tale.

  Fortunately for me, my wife didn’t put up much of an argume
nt. She isn’t the argumentative type, and neither am I. I would have to say that’s one of the reasons why we’ve remained together for so long. However, that isn’t the only reason our marriage is healthy. My wife and I are both God-fearing Christians. Yeah, I know I don’t come across like the God-fearing type, but in my own way, I really am. My wife and I attend church service every week, but by far, we are not just Sunday Christians; we are quite active in the ministry. We often lead Bible studies, we open our house for Christian fellowships, and we regularly pray together.

  I might not look like the religious type, but I know the Bible from cover to cover. Yet the struggles that I have with lusting over women seem to keep me entrapped. My wife and I can talk about anything. I often tell her about my struggles, but my insecurities keep me from being totally honest. I’ll tell Nicole about women who might have come on to me at work, or I might tell her about a past girlfriend who called the house to say hello, but never deep details or dark secrets, such as my affair with Scarlet. See, I’ll tell my wife insignificant things because I know that she’s a very secure person—actually, she’s too trusting. But then again, if according to God, a man and a woman become one at marriage, I guess she is only doing what is natural by trusting me.

  By me only telling Nicole part of the real deal, subconsciously I feel as though I’m confessing to her all of my shortcomings. But half truths are what have done man in since the time of Adam and Eve. I would never tell my wife about the many times I’ve sneaked and watched porno movies or the many times that I’ve found myself gazing at the dirty pictures in the X-rated magazines at the local candy store. Not to mention the few times that I’ve found myself placing dollar bills into the garter of some naked, big-butt, hips-gyrating female at the booty bar.

  One thing I’m certainly not proud of is the fact that I have a unique ability to hide my dirty deeds from everyone. Yet even though I’m not proud of that unique ability to be a double person, there is something I can guarantee and take to the bank right now and throw away the bank book because it is never gonna come out. In fact it will probably go to the grave with me, and that is all the dirt that Scarlet and I have rolled around in. Rest assured that I will never spill the beans to Nicole as far as Scarlet is concerned. Besides, now that I’m ending things with Scarlet, there really would be no future reason to bring it up to Nicole.