Monica was bent over in her chair crackin’ up. She had to put both hands over her mouth to keep from laughing in his face. And who could blame her? Some of the lines you hear are so weak you’ve got to laugh to keep from crying.
“Lord, I need a drink,” Monica said as she wiped her face with a Kleenex.
No sooner did she say that than the waitress arrived at the table with anonymous drink offers. We all accepted and ordered our usual, double shots of cognac. After receiving the drinks we sat up straight on our stools and waited for the man or men who paid the tab to make the next move. Please lord, don’t be another clown like that last one, I was thinking.
“Whoever paid for this Martel better get over here in a hurry,” April said.
“Why is that?” I asked.
“Because this drink is like an hourglass. Once it’s empty, his time is up.”
Right on cue, two fine looking men walked up to the table. One of them was light skinned, with a stocky build. And the other, who just happened to be the man I was trying to flirt with earlier, was slim with hazel eyes and tight buns. Mmm, Mmm, good.
“Hello ladies,” the slim one said, “my name is Lawrence; this is my partner Dexter. Mind if we join you?”
“Hell no! I mean, be my guest,” I said enthusiastically. “My name is Denise; this is April, and the tall beautiful one over there is Monica.”
“I hope you’re enjoying your drink,” Dexter said as he purposely looked in April’s direction.
“Yes, I am. Thank you very much.”
“What about you, Denise?” Lawrence flirtatiously inquired.
‘You’re fine, I mean it’s fine, thank you.”
It didn’t take long to tell that April and I had been chosen. Monica was the odd man out this time, which didn’t happen all that often. Not surprisingly, she took the opportunity to make light of the situation.
“So what am I some kind of charity case?” Monica joked.
“Oh no sweetheart, that’s not it at all. I just figured a woman with your height would prefer a taller man,” Lawrence apologetically explained.
“You’re right about that, sweetheart. So do you have any friends who are 6’5”’ and over?”
“As a matter of fact I do, but unfortunately they’re not here tonight.”
“Oh well, be sure to tell them what they missed.”
Monica was ready to party, but nobody would ask her to dance. The men were obviously intimidated by her beauty and height. For some reason it seemed as if all the men in the club were less than six feet that night. April joked with her saying. “Didn’t you know this was six foot and under get in free night?” Finally, after several good songs played, a cute guy who was about 5’2” asked her to dance. At that point, all she needed was an escort out onto the floor; after that he could drop-dead. The minute she hit the floor, she started showing off. Her nieces had just taught her how to do a new dance and she was giving lessons. Oh yes, Monica could dance her ass off.
April and I were waiting for the DJ to play a Steppers song. We were completely out of practice on the latest dances, but Steppin’ was smooth and simple. It’s like riding a bike; once you learn, you never forget. For those of you who don’t know what Steppin’ is, ask someone from Chicago or the Midwest. In some cities it’s called Bopping, Ballroom, The Hustle, Swinging Out, or Hand Dancing. But nobody does it better than we do in Chitown, nobody. As I was saying, we were too far behind the latest dances to go out there and embarrass ourselves, but that didn’t stop Monica. She was having a ball and showing her age. While the entire crowd was swaying back and forth to the rhythm shouting, “Hey Ho, Hey Ho,” Monica’s old ass was yelling, “The roof, the roof, the roof is on fire.” It was apparent that she was a little tipsy and out of party practice.
Finally, after what seemed like forever, the DJ played a couple of Steppin’ records, Forevermore by Anthony David and Algebra, and a classic steppers cut, Imagine This by Mike James. We quickly assigned Monica to purse-watching duty and slid onto the floor. April and I were shocked to discover that both Dexter and Lawrence could really throw down. They were shuffling and turning so precisely you would have sworn the practiced all their moves together. I was impressed, and so was April. When the songs ended, we returned to the table laughing and joking like old friends, I was really having a great time. For the next two hours we were pampered and flattered more than we had been in years. Kevin, Tony, and Raymond were distant memories, or so I thought.
I didn’t notice right away, but Monica was running back and forth to the bathroom every ten to fifteen minutes. I just figured she either had a weak bladder or was checking somebody out. Then it dawned on me she was making a booty call to Raymond. I was sure of it. Why else is she peeking inside her purse to see if anyone is calling her cell at 1:00 a.m.? I thought to myself. My suspicions were confirmed when she pulled me aside and told me she had to leave.
“Denise, I hate to be a party pooper, but I’ve got to go.”
“I don’t believe you Monica,” I said with disappointment. “You just caught Raymond fucking somebody yesterday and you’re running back to him today, and at 1:00 a.m. in the morning.”
“You don’t understand girlfriend. Raymond just needs his space every now and then. And just like I told you, I’ve invested too much time into training him.”
“You’re the one who’s trained Monica, or should I say dick whipped?”
“Look, I don’t have time for this right now. Tell April I’ll talk to her later, bye.”
She kissed me on the cheek and shot out the door like her house was on fire, or should I say her pussy? All I could do was shake my head while walking back to the table. For the very first time, I realized just how pitiful I must have sounded trying to defend Kevin all those years. This was too deep. My mind was reeling; how do women allow themselves to become so caught up? I was thinking. Needless to say, my night was ruined. I asked Lawrence for his number, gave him a hug, and went home with plenty to think about. April was enjoying herself and decided to stay a while longer. She was flying out of town the next afternoon and wanted to make the most of it. I didn’t blame her one bit. Dexter was cute, fun to be around, and a perfect gentlemen.
First thing Monday morning, I called my job and requested a week’s vacation. During the next few days, I didn’t talk to anyone. I switched off my cell phone and didn’t open my e-mails. I needed time for myself. Every morning at 7:00 a.m., I got up and went to the gym for a heavy workout and swim. I even treated myself to a nice dinner a few nights just to celebrate being me. But what I enjoyed most was taking steamy hot bubble baths by candlelight. Yes, I was really beginning to feel good about myself; for the first time in a long time I made myself top priority.
By Friday afternoon, I was ready to return my calls, which had piled up considerably over the last five days. I quickly fast-forwarded past the telemarketers and annoying family members. The remaining messages were truly shocking.
(Beep) “Denise, this is Monica,” she said sounding depressed. “I just got back from seeing my doctor. He told me I had Herpes. I’m too old for this shit! Raymond has got to go! Please call me as soon as possible, bye”
(Beep) “Denise if you’re there pick up; this is April. Oh well, I guess you’ve heard the bad news by now. Poor Monica, when will she ever learn? Anyway, I have some great news myself. I’m flying to Nassau for the weekend. No, not with Tony; I’m going with Dexter Saint Jock,” she laughed. “I had a couple of tickets lying around that my neglectful husband was too busy to use. Now, I know what you’re thinking; two wrongs don’t make a right but it damn sure makes it even. Call you when I get back, bye girl!”
Before she hung up, I could hear the Bob Marley song playing in my head, “I shot the sheriff.” April was on cloud nine and I couldn’t have been happier for her. She deserved all the love and attention she could get. Too bad Monica didn’t wake up before she got burned. Anyway, there was still one final message to retrieve, one that would test my se
lf-respect and my resolve.
(Beep) “Denise this is Kevin. I just called to tell you I’m sorry. I know I haven’t been right lately, but I miss you baby. Give me a call so we can work things out. I’ll be waiting; I love you.”
Boy I hated it when he did that. Every time we broke up, he tried to sweet talk me into forgiving in. And like a fool, I fell for it each and every time. I told myself over and over again. “Not this time Denise. Don’t let your heart sell out your brain.” I didn’t know what to do. Should I call? I contemplated. Or should I just let things fade? I decided to think it over for another day. Besides, Monica had provided me with enough drama for one day. When I called her later that evening, she had already confronted Raymond about the STD and accepted his apology for slipping up, as he put it. There was no point in wasting my time dogging him. Her nose was wide open and he could do no wrong. After giving her two cents worth of advice, I turned my attention to how I was going to respond to Kevin’s apology.
When I woke up Saturday morning, I decided not to bother calling Kevin. I figured I’d leave him hanging the way he had done me on so many occasions. With that settled, I went about my routine of working out and relaxing. I felt like a new woman. My mind was at peace and my confidence level was high. All I needed was someone to talk to, not Monica or April either. I needed to hear a man’s voice. Yes, Lawrence was definitely on my mind, but I wasn’t ready to get deep in another relationship so soon. He made it perfectly clear he wanted more than a friendship. As he put it, “I’m not interested in being some woman’s girlfriend with a penis. Either you’re sexually attracted to me or you aren’t.” At the time I was offended, and a bit disappointed with his attitude. I assumed he only wanted to sleep around with every woman he met, but I was wrong. What he was trying to get across was, “My time is valuable and I prefer to spend it with a woman who is interested in having an intimate relationship with me. At the very least, I should have respected his honesty, which I do now.
By nightfall, I was curled up on my leather sofa listening to V-103 on the radio. The dusties were sounding great and a cool breeze was blowing through the patio window. I was feeling so good that I decided to break out my six month old bottle of wine and get drunk while re-reading Terry McMillan’s, “Waiting to Exhale.” And just when I was getting to the good part where Bernardino sets her husband’s BMW on fire, the phone rang. Without thinking, I instinctively picked it up. What a mistake that turned out to be; it was Kevin.
“What’s up baby, why didn’t you return my call?” he said trying to sound hard.
“I’ve been busy,” I replied with an attitude.
“Well, can we talk?”
“I don’t have anything to say. You’re the one who dumped me, remember?”
“Yeah, I know, and I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry, alright, sorry and tired. I’m sick of being on this emotional rollercoaster!”
“Don’t be like that, baby; you know how much I care about you.”
“If this is how you treat someone you care about, I can do without it. And stop calling me baby; I’m a grown woman, and it’s about time you found that out.”
At that moment an old song by the Jones Girls came on the radio, “You Gonna Make Me love Somebody Else.” I stopped listening to Kevin’s begging, sat the phone on my lap, and tuned into the song. The opening lyrics said it all.
You gonna make me love somebody else, if you keep on treating me the way you do.
I aint’ did nothin’ to you. I just love you with my heart, heart and soul
Every time I need some lovin’, why do you turn cold, turn cold?
Now, I ain’t dumb and I ain’t stupid, I know you need love like I do.
Cause if you ain’t lovin’ me, I wanna know who in the world you lovin’? Tell me if you don’t want me around.
Amen to that! I shouted, “These sisters must have made that song especially for me.” When I picked up the phone, Kevin was still begging and going on about how much he loved me.
“Denise, you know I love you baby. Nobody will ever love you the way I do,” he boasted. “Don’t you still love me?”
I paused, took a deep breath, and thought about all of the hell he put me through over the years. And in a calm and convincing tone I responded.
“You must have the wrong number; love don’t live here anymore,” and hung up.
AFTERWORD
In the game of cheating there are no happy endings, only rude awakenings and hard lessons, lessons that I hope men and women will apply to their own relationships to help build them up and not break them down. It took me over forty years of making mistakes and taking women throughout hell before I finally understood how much damage lying and cheating can do. The baggage our women carry in their suitcases is often put there by us. We criticize them for being dramatic and defensive without realizing that we are writing the script. It’s funny when I think about it. Not once in my entire life have I ever heard a single man say to me, “Michael, always be honest with women; it will make your life so much easier.” Like most young men growing up, honesty was never an option for me. Lying has become second nature to most men. We never consider that a woman will be okay with dating us even if we’re involved with other women. We take away their choice when we start out the relationship with a lie. And even if she turns you down, at least you have her respect. What’s bigger than that?
Honesty also has its price. If men are going to exercise their option to see other women then they have to be prepared to accept that women may want to exercise that same option to date and have sex with other men. This is where things get complicated for most men. While they point fingers at women for being possessive and insecure, they are the ones who really have the problem. You see, men are more possessive and more insecure than women, at least when it comes to sex and sharing. Until men are mature and secure enough to take in what they dish out, we will repeat this vicious cycle over and over again. Freedom for one must mean freedom for all. If you can’t stand the heat, then get out of the kitchen fellahs. It’s time for us to man up and be honest about who we are and give women the choice to share or not to share.
But in all fairness, women must also be open for the truth. I was recently at a film festival in Miami. I asked all the single ladies to stand up. There were approximately three hundred in the theatre. I instructed them to sit down if my qualifications for a partner were not compatible with theirs. My first requirement was that they not want more children or to be married. About two hundred of them immediately sat down. Then I said they must be sexually adventurous. Another fifty took their seat. Then I told them I needed a woman who accepts that I could not promise to be monogamous. As you might expect, there were only four women left standing. Three of them were over forty and the other young lady appeared to be in her mid thirties. So, out of three hundred women, it only took four different criteria to eliminate ninety-eight percent of the single women in the room. No kids, no marriage, sexually adventurous, and no monogamy. But the real lesson was yet to be taught. Moments later a gentleman stood up and shouted, “I want to be married and I’m monogamous!” The theatre erupted in cheers. After the applause died down, I asked the women, “Why didn’t you cheer when I was being honest about what I wanted?” A woman sternly said, “Because women want honesty until you tell them something they don’t want to hear!”
I’ve been echoing this point throughout the book because it is crucial in moving our relationships forward. Until women are cheering just as loudly for the single man who admits he doesn’t want kids, marriage, or monogamy, the cheating man will continue to tell the love-starved woman the things that make her cheer, trust, and eventually open themselves up to be hurt. Honesty can be a difficult thing for a man who doesn’t have a lot of options. But it can be made more difficult by women who say they want it and then only celebrate it when he’s singing their song. Honesty is honesty, and women have to be prepared to embrace it even when it’s not what they want to hear.
ABOUT
MICHAEL BAISDEN
Michael Baisden is undeniably one of the most influential and engaging personalities in radio history. His meteoric rise to #1 is redefining radio with the numbers to back it up. The show is syndicated by Cumulus Media and is heard in over 78 markets nationwide with over 8 million loyal listeners daily. His career began when he took a leap of faith to leave his job driving trains in Chicago to self-publish his book, and began touring the country selling books out of the trunk of his car. Through the power of his sheer determination Michael carved a unique niche as a speaker, radio personality, and social activist. He is always in the lead when it comes to helping those who don’t have a voice. “I’m not one for just talking, either do something or get out of the way!”
Never Satisfied: Do Men Know What They Want? Page 25