The One I've Waited For

by Mary B. Morrison

  My door slid up. I shook my long, dark, wavy hair behind my shoulders, eased on my shades, let my black-and-white checkered stilettoes kiss the asphalt. Standing tall, I adjusted my blazin’ fuchsia halter minidress that flared out from the band under my boobs. I entered through the side door, then went directly upstairs to the rooftop.

  CHAPTER 10

  Alexis

  I didn’t want to be in this place or any other joint, but I couldn’t bear being alone in that huge house my father had left me. Found myself at the bar again. Not caring about a man, woman, the baby inside of me, and myself, I was prepared to turn up.

  Life was fucked up. Every day I struggled not to let my situation consume my mental. The baby was a full human being . . . yet, I rationalized that terminating my pregnancy was like eating scrambled eggs. Almost every one digested unborn chickens.

  Tom, Dick & Hank was buzzing with laughter, loud people. A few notable celebs were in here. That was the norm. R&B boomed through the patio speakers. Chicks on fleet wearing designer everything flaunted their assets for well-dressed men.

  Heads turned toward me. The eyes of dudes with girls shifted in my direction trying to make a connection. Keeping it moving, I gave a few dudes my two-second stare with a quick wink. Two made them watch me. A three second glance meant the chick might be worthy of pursuit but she was probably thirsty and no longer a challenge.

  My hook replayed in my head, “Beatin’ lames at their own damn game.” Men really were shallow. I didn’t understand why women took these niggas seriously.

  Undoubtedly, I was the baddest female in this spot.

  Sitting on the wicker barstool, I noticed my feet were swelling. This pregnancy had already started changing my body. In another month I wouldn’t be able to camouflage my stomach. Under no circumstance was I kicking off my five inches. If I had to be a mom, I was giving birth in heels.

  “What would you like, sweetie?” the mixologist asked.

  Oh, snap! Consumed with my situation, I’d forgotten my brother needed me. I typed, U bartending at Cheesecake tonight, chick?

  “I’ll come back to get your order. Here’s a menu,” she said, placing the single laminated sheet on the counter.

  Soon as I pressed send to Spencer, I said, “Goddamn!” Julio Jones had just walked in. If I weren’t with child, the cute female he was with would have to hitch a ride home. Real women were grown and sexy. Cute was for kids.

  “Excuse me?” the mixologist said, placing her hand on the counter.

  Bitch, the triple X flick in my head is not about you. I’d undressed that player and was doing the unimaginable. Pointing at my cell, I sent my brother a follow-up, Meet me at Tom, Dick & Hank now, then told the mixologist, “Let me have a mai tai.”

  Spencer replied, CUN 30 flat

  Gulping half of my drink, I scanned my social pages. Wanted to get that instant buzz, take a woman home and sex her, but I needed a man to fulfill my mission. My jaw dropped as I read, EBONY WATERHOUSE LEAVES THE CAST OF SOPHISTICATED SIDE CHICKS ATL.

  Praying it wasn’t a rumor, immediately I called the person who could confirm. One ring, then I heard, “This is Devereaux. Leave a message.” “Sis, don’t give away my part. Please. I am Ebony Waterhouse. I can do this. Call me back,” I said, then pressed end. I should’ve had that role all along. Devereaux knew that though she refused to hire me. No personal invite from the casting director. This was my time! Had to reinvent myself as Ebony’s replacement.

  A very pregnant waitress sat a plate of wings, greens, mac and cheese, and a second order of fried shrimp, baked beans, and French fries in front of the couple to my left. I had to handle my unfinished baby business before it was too late for me to maintain my spotlight.

  Fighting back tears again, I gazed at the Museum Bar across the parking lot. The external structure had all the original features of the Baptist church where people once worshiped God.

  Church.

  Couldn’t remember the last time I’d been. Oh yeah, that was when Spencer sat between my mother and me. Prayer could solve my problem. A part of me didn’t feel deserving of anyone saving me, including God. I hadn’t earned the mercy and riches the Lord had recently bestowed upon me. People who lived by the Bible, I did not envy. They were sinners too.

  A shadow hovered in my peripheral. I didn’t shift my gaze when I heard a masculine voice say, “Hey, beautiful. Let me refresh your drink.” If a female had said the same, we’d be locking eyes. There was plenty of time for me to home in on a dickatunity.

  “Sure,” I said, looking at the club, lounge, eatery across the parking lot. Real wine had replaced communion grape juice; appetizers fed sinners instead of the bread of Jesus. Lounge sofas and chairs were more comfortable than the old wooden pews that had been removed.

  Not many people in the world were holy.

  Ho-ly? Definitely. The guy offering me a drink was no different from the random men I’d invited to my house lately. Taking home a stranger wasn’t my concern when I was at home. Although I’d never killed anyone, I wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger if a dude went left. Guns were in every room of my mansion and that included the bathrooms.

  I already knew the man to my right wanted me to stroke his salami. All these ATL losers wanted to do was cum and go home to their woman, man, husband, wife. I had no pleasantries for the guy standing beside me. The sound of his voice indicated he wasn’t Spencer. Soon as my brother got here, we were walking across the parking lot for a change of venue. I was tired of seeing the big-belly waitress rub her stomach every time she dropped off a check.

  The bartender picked up my drink, gave me a fresh one.

  I told the guy next to me, “Thanks.”

  “Am I that ugly you can’t look up?” he joked.

  Whateva. I wasn’t laughing. I’d already made up my mind that I wasn’t spreading for him. It was too early to make a dickcision. Shifting my eyes up and to my right, I froze. Wow!

  “I’m West-Léon,” he said not needing an intro.

  It was the West-Léon, the lead actor in Devereaux’s television series Sophisticated Side Chicks ATL. My heart raced. Pussy damn near did a somersault.

  Extending a smile, then my hand, I said, “I’m Alexis,” withholding my surname.

  He smiled with his eyes. “You’re gorgeous,” he said as though he was interested in more than a one-night stand.

  A guy’s intentions were masked in his tone, mannerisms, and his words.

  There was the above normal pitch “you’re gorgeous” that implied his dick was interested in not being acquainted with my pussy, just dropping a load or two, any ho would do but I’d prefer you.

  Then there was the crackling “you’re gorgeous” that clearly displayed his low self-esteem. I know you’d never date a dude like me but I’m out to get lucky.

  And I despised the deep throat, “you’re gorgeous” fake-ass nigga that was more impressed with himself than he’d ever be with me. Those were the ones I rough fucked in their ass.

  “You married?” I asked West-Léon, already knowing he hadn’t claimed a wife on social.

  Practically showing all of his super-white teeth, he shook his head.

  “I need you to say yes or no.” Men in Atlanta did that nonverbal shit then when the Mrs. started calling and texting, or he couldn’t answer or return a weeknight call, dudes fell back on that I-never-said-I-wasn’t-married drama-king bullshit.

  “No. I’m not married,” West-Léon said, then bit his bottom lip.

  Hesitating to tell him I was Devereaux’s sister, I inquired. “Are you cohabitating, in a relationship, or gay? I did say ‘or’ not ‘and.’ ”

  “I like you,” was his answer. “But I’m not on set. That means I’m not here in an entertainment capacity.”

  Yeah, yeah, right. Soon as I unlocked my cell to see if I had any texts or missed calls, my jaw dropped. To my dismay, Chanel and James strolled in. Covering my drink with a napkin, I told West-Léon, “Excuse me. I see someone I ne
ed to say hello to,” then picked up my purse.

  This was the first time I’d seen them together since our threesome at my old apartment.

  “Hi, Alexis,” James said, placing his hand on Chanel’s lower back. “Don’t start a scene. Please. We can dis—”

  Slap! Slap! Wham! My hand found its way to Chanel’s face and James’s. Two for her stupid ass and a hard one for his dumb ass.

  “Ah!” Chanel grabbed her face, stood behind James. “Don’t just stand there. Protect me,” she cried.

  “Get that bitch outta here!” I demanded, reaching into my purse.

  James grabbed my hand. He knew what I was reaching for. I snatched my arm away.

  “Don’t touch me, you deadbeat!” I yelled at James. “You have the audacity to prance that bitch in front of me while I’m pregnant with your baby! Bitch, you’d better get and stay behind his ass every time you see me!”

  By the time the crowd realized what was happening, the show was over. Too late for live video posts.

  I didn’t care that both of them had placed an engagement ring on my finger. Doing an about-face, I strutted to my seat as though nothing that shouldn’t have happened, happened.

  The two years I’d dated James, he had reason to, yet he’d never popped up on me. How fucking coincidental now that Chanel was his main, they were going to be late getting to my destination. Now his bitch, my ex-bitch, knew what she was up against for real. She got exactly what she deserved for hawking my social media pages. She had another smackdown coming if he didn’t get her outta here in sixty seconds.

  I sat. Texted my mother, I’m not going to be like you! This baby has got to go!

  Why the hell were James and Chanel still on the rooftop? I stood. Took a step in their direction.

  West-Léon firmly placed his arm around my waist, handed me a fresh drink, then said, “You ever thought about acting?”

  Either he hadn’t heard me say I was pregnant, he didn’t care, or he was like a lot of men. Anxious to fuck hot pregnant pussy.

  I liked this guy. I was definitely taking West-Léon home . . . right now.

  Firmly, I told West-Léon, “Close the tab. Let’s go.”

  Dropping a fifty on the bar, he said, “Right behind you. Ladies first.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Blake

  A wakening to birds chirping at sunrise, I eased from under the soft white linen, opened the French double doors, then walked onto the spacious balcony of Bing’s chateau overlooking a valley of rolling green hills. A picturesque backdrop of Douglas fir stood over 150 feet in the distance.

  I could live here with him. Forever was a long time.

  The first man to genuinely worship me was on the other side of the closed white double doors that led into the bedroom where our naked bodies intertwined in saliva, sweat, and tears well beyond midnight.

  No man had cried while making love to me. Last night was a first.

  Thought he was going to propose during our horse and carriage ride yesterday through Buttes-Chaumont Park. No man had ever asked for my hand in marriage. Perhaps this relationship would culminate with an all-too-familiar ending. I had an uncanny way of screwing things up even when I wasn’t trying.

  The closed doors opened wide. The most handsome man in the world stood before me. Seeing Bing completely nude, recalling the sensation of him cumming inside of me—my body tingled all over.

  “Cappuccino or mimosa?” he asked, welcoming me into his arms.

  One long kiss followed another, and another. Our tongues danced.

  Learning it was okay for me to have it all, I smiled, then said, “Both.” Needed my caffeine fix. The cocktail would help take me to a place of promiscuity. That and help take my mind off of my girls.

  “Both it is,” he said, gesturing for a hug. Holding me close, he pressed his lips to mine several times, then slid out his tongue.

  I never tired of sharing affection. Mother’s instincts surfaced. Something was seriously wrong with one of my girls. Trying to relax the tension in my mouth, I touched his chest, then stepped back.

  “I’ll be in in a minute.” My frown should’ve been a smile.

  “Stay here. I’ll bring everything to you,” he said, then asked, “You okay?”

  Had to stop worrying about what was happening in Atlanta. My feeling bad for not responding to anyone’s texts, churned in the pit of my stomach. Access to the world was splendid but what were Bing’s long-term intentions?

  This time I answered, “I’m good.” Lie number one had escaped my lips.

  A lingering stare from him preceded, “We’ll talk later, sweetheart, about what’s bothering you.”

  Quietly, I did an about-face. I touched the rail, then jerked my hand away as though I’d been shocked. Removing my robe, I let it fall to the white travertine tiles. Inhaling all the fresh air that I could, I filled my lungs to capacity causing my chest to hurt. Bing was right. Paris was spectacular. Living here would require adjustments, especially since I was his woman, not his wife. A part of me wanted to respond to my daughters. This was a great time to resist and see if they could depend on one another if I moved here. My worst fear was they’d abandon one another the day I left the country or the day I died. Whichever came first.

  “Here’s your mimosa, sweetheart,” Bing said, placing the flute in my hand. “I’ll be back shortly with our cappuccinos.”

  “Thanks,” I said, then softly kissed his cheek.

  As I sipped my beverage, all the messages from my girls bothered me but not enough to reply. Holding back tears, I refused to let them steal my joy. They were definitely aware of where I was and whom I was with. I’d appreciate a “Have a great time in the ‘city of love,’ Mama” text, or a simple “I love you, Mama” message would’ve made me feel they cared about my happiness.

  Alexis. She was the darkest of my children in every way. Let her tell it, we treated her like the black sheep. That was a damn lie. I loved all my children equally. She was the one who demanded more. No matter how much I gave her, how much any person did for her, she was never satisfied. Maybe having a life dependent upon her to survive would make her compassionate.

  My fingers tightened around the rail. I flinched. Remembering how Alexis had fucked Spencer, I sipped my mimosa. That little girl didn’t respect the fact that even though Spencer was a year older than her, he was my man. Mine! Was. She’d destroyed what could’ve been good for me. Now I’d never know. I didn’t want Spencer back. I simply hated why and how our love for each other ended. I pleaded with the wobbling in my legs not to let me down the way my daughter had.

  Alexis could get rid of her baby the way I’d done with my first and last. Ruby, my eldest sister, was the only one who held all my secrets. She’d gone with me both times. Fourteen was too young to be a mom and our mother was already struggling to feed us. Plus, I couldn’t tell my mom that I had been raped by . . .

  The second termination, I was too damn old to be the same fool a fifth, make that sixth time. I blamed myself for sneaking downstairs in the middle of the night to steal a glass of milk. When I closed the door, there he stood, in our kitchen, naked.

  Gazing over beautiful terrain, I thought, Don’t do what I hadn’t done to you, little girl. Supporting Alexis’s termination would make me relive memories of two of the worst men I’d encountered. Not that any of the other deadbeats I’d gotten pregnant for were much better.

  Aborting her child at this point would be murder and possibly illegal. That little girl was the devil’s best friend. I could never trust her. She didn’t want to see anyone happy. Even if my ex had begged to lick her pussy, out of respect for me! She . . .

  I sipped my mimosa, which was still half full. I hung my head questioning, was I a horrible mother? All of my girls needed me and all I wanted to do was to enjoy time with my man.

  The countless messages that I suspected were on my cell would not ruin my last day in this glorious paradise. I hadn’t powered on my phone since the carriage ride.
Last night I’d buried that device in my purse where it would stay until I was ready to respond.

  I was glad this was our last night in France. I was ready to get back, not to Atlanta, but to Charlotte. Had to talk to Ruby. Needed to return to work, sit in my corporate office at the bank, and address our customers’ financial concerns before my arch nemesis coworker stabbed me in the back.

  I thought, When Spencer sees how happy I am without him, he’ll regret that he cheated on me. If he’d never crossed the line with my daughter, I wouldn’t have had to give him back his relationship ring, and I could’ve maintained my dignity. Bing was exactly what I needed. A mature man, a gentleman, and a businessman.

  “Listen to the birds. That’s the sweetest music,” he said.

  I glanced over my shoulder. Bing place two cappuccinos on the white round wrought-iron table, then embraced me from behind. Pressing his lips to the nape of my neck, he continued, “You know man learned to whistle by mimicking birds,” then blew a seductive tune into my ear. His hands settled on my naked hips.

  Shivering as a small orgasm pleasured my vulva, I embraced his energy.

  My man exhaled a sweet, “Nice,” to me acknowledging he liked the way I moved.

  “Like the invention of planes,” I commented, then suggested, “Let’s have a seat. I want to soak in every remaining second of our trip.”

  I’d learned late in life that there were other ways to reach a climax than penetration and oral copulation. Trading my mimosa for my morning caffeinated beverage, I said, “Thanks for loving me the way I’ve never been loved before.”

  “Cheers to you. Those other men were fools. The second I laid eyes on you I realized you were the one. I like that you made me wait. That you weren’t impressed with my net worth.”

  I’d heard other men say they could tell right away when a woman was the one. Of course they’d never mentioned that to me. Bing was a first. I inhaled, switched to my flute. Let the next taste of champagne and orange juice glide onto my palate. Savoring the liquid for a few seconds, I swallowed, let the nectar consume my senses.