Oh, he loved that white bitch so much. Moreover, he hated that Pogo had picked up on it. He hated that Pogo was minding his business and he hated that Pogo thought he wasn’t in control.
His grip on Pogo’s shirt tightened and he shook the man a little in frustration.
“What’s going on here?”
Graham released Pogo to turn away from the sight of their boss, DiMarco, standing behind them. He swiped at the coke on his nose and heard Pogo fall to the floor and stumble against the door as he rose to his feet.
“Just a little misunderstanding, boss man,” Pogo said. “We good.”
Graham nodded and wiped at his nose again for good measure before turning to face them. “We was just playing around,” he said, leveling his eyes on the silver-haired short and rotund man eyeing them through the smoke rising from the fiery tip of the cigar clenched between his yellow teeth.
DiMarco’s eyes shifted to the floor and widened, and his unkempt, bushy brows plunged downward as he frowned. “I know you mofos not in here fighting over drugs,” he roared, his Italian by way of Brooklyn accent thick and his voice booming as he pointed his cigar toward the floor.
Damn.
Graham knew without looking that he had dropped his bag when Pogo startled him.
“Both of you get your asses outta here,” DiMarco said, pushing past both of them to scoop the bag up and then slam-dunked it into the commode with a splash. “And don’t come back.”
“Boss man, it’s not even like that,” Pogo tried to explain.
Graham looked on as DiMarco flushed the toilet. All the powder gone to waste.
“This my last time telling you two to get outta here,” he said over his shoulder as he barreled through them again as he left the bathroom.
“Graham!” Pogo said sharply.
He looked away from the commode and swallowed down the panic he felt at the fifty dollars headed down to the sewer system. He forced himself to focus. “What?” he asked, his annoyance clear.
“What?” Pogo snapped in shock, his eyes fiery with his own emotions. “He just fired us over your shit.”
Fired? The cocaine was starting to take effect and Graham wanted nothing more than to sit down and let it wash over him for the few moments before his adrenaline would shift and send him into overdrive.
“DiMarco,” Graham called out before easing past Pogo to leave the bathroom and cross the break room to the short hall.
“DiMarco, let me holler at you,” he said, stepping into an office dominated by a large-screen television and an even bigger desk that succeeded in making the portly man appear smaller in comparison.
“There ain’t shit to talk about.”
Graham didn’t want to lose his job. He didn’t know how he was going to explain it to Joy or his parents, who stayed riding his back anyway about his career choices. However, he knew he couldn’t let Pogo go down with him.
“That was my shit and I yoked Pogo up for minding my business about it,” he admitted, pushing his hands into his pockets as he looked down at his ex-boss.
DiMarco barely glanced up from the paperwork he was shuffling. “Then you get the fuck out,” he said without hesitation. “I don’t do druggies. You won’t steal nothing around here to support your habit.”
“You know I don’t steal,” Graham said.
DiMarco finally locked his coal-black eyes on him. “And I thought I knew you didn’t do drugs,” he said. “So don’t show your face around here again.”
Graham opened his mouth ready to release a dozen different comebacks:
“Man, go to hell with your onion-smelling ass . . .”
“Yo, DiMarco, who cares about this barely better than minimum-wage-paying job anyway . . .”
“Make me get out if you so damn tough . . .”
“Yo, your brother screwing the hell out of your no-good wife, probably right now . . .”
And many more, but he didn’t say them. He swallowed back the retorts and just shrugged his broad shoulders as he walked out of the office. He took the opposite direction in the hall leading out of the building and into the crisp and chilly February air. He zipped up the winter coat he wore over his uniform and pulled out his skully to tug over his dreads as he moved wordlessly past the cars and his coworkers. He crossed the lot and kept on walking up the street even as he heard his name called. He never looked back. He never stopped.
Graham stood on the sidewalk outside his mother’s house for twenty minutes. What am I doing here?
He licked his lips, feeling the coolness of them against the warmth of his tongue, dug his hands deep into the pockets of his black puffy jacket, and released a breath that was visible in the coldness. And still he found no comfort.
Graham had been out of work for a week, pretending to Joy that he was at work when, instead, he spent most of his days looking for a new job, at the gym, hanging out with his friends, or sneaking back into the apartment and leaving again before she usually got home from work. That had been his life for the last seven days, but this day—this Friday—the games and lies had come to a head. It was payday, and his routine of cashing his weekly paycheck and handing Joy the majority of it toward bills was undoable.
A cold wind whipped through the cul-de-sac and Graham shivered as it seemed to touch his bones. Still, it was nothing close to the freeze on Joy’s shoulders when nothing went her way. Graham wanted nothing more than to avoid that. Not because he loved her—he cared for her, but not deeply. And not because he was afraid of her—she was half his size and her bark was far worse than her bite. Moreover, not because he was worried about not playing his role as the man of the house—he was only twenty-two.
Living with Joy was nothing but fun times. Plenty of sex. Plenty of coke. And plenty of freedom. They never argued. She was laid back and chill about everything. Her favorite answer to almost any question was “Whatever.”
Who would want to ruin that?
All she asked for was help on the bills because she refused to take care of a grown man.
And that brought him to this moment standing outside his mother’s house. Shit. Another woman he didn’t want to disappoint.
Too late for that.
Graham stiffened his spine and took off up the steps before he lost his nerve and walked back to the train station. He was just about to ring the bell when the door opened and his mother filled the doorway dressed in a shirt and slacks and a sweater that was two times too big for her.
“I wondered how long you were going to stand out there,” she said, all of her usual warmth missing as she turned to walk into the den.
As Graham shut the front door, he could smell the scent of his mother’s perfume made stronger by the heating system warming the house. He paused and allowed the feeling of sadness that filled him. He hadn’t seen his mother since he told her he was moving in with Joy. Not even for Thanksgiving or Christmas. Joy had surprised him with trips to the Poconos where they snorted enough coke to equal the snow outside their cabin.
“I’m waiting, Graham,” his mother called out to him.
Shaking his head, he fought the urge to take a bump of the coke snuggled in his wallet and forged ahead into the den to find his mother sitting on the sofa with both her legs and her arms crossed.
Not a good sign.
“How you been, Ma?” he asked, taking off his coat and dropping down onto the sofa beside her. He leaned in to hug her and she leaned back to continue to eye him.
“What do you want, Graham?” she asked again, her voice stiff, her eyes shifting to take in every aspect of his face.
He fought the urge to wipe his nose or sniff as she continued to assess him like only a mother could. When she began to shake her head slowly and released a heavy breath, he felt his nerves go on alert. What she see?
“I wondered if you could let me hold something, Ma?” he asked, biting the bullet because he’d rather face a lengthy speech from his mother than go back to Joy’s empty-handed.
“Where
is my Graham?” she asked in a soft voice filled with an emotion that could be anger or pain.
He frowned in confusion and nervously laughed. “I’m right here, Ma. You a’ight?” he asked.
“I see you but I don’t see my son . . . just whoever it is you have become,” she said. “Because see, my son would never go weeks without calling and months without seeing me. Barely taking a moment out of your life—and not a second more—to call me on the holidays. Really, Graham?”
“Ma, I was out of town—”
“No, you out your ass and your damn mind,” Cara snapped. “That’s what the hell you’re out of, son, especially if you’re strolling in here treating me like a bank.”
Graham shifted his tall frame to sit on the edge of the sofa as he dropped his face into his hands. “Ma—”
“Let me hold something?” she said in a mocking voice.
Damn. Graham flopped back against the sofa.
“I’ll let you hold a belt before I take it back and whup your big grown ass,” she snapped. “I’ll let you hold the Bible before I pray you find your mind that you lost.”
He bit the inside of his mouth to keep from responding as he looked at his mother. Just sit, take it, and get the money when she done. He knew his mother would not turn him down. He knew that.
“I called your father while you were out there trying to work up the nerve to come in. He’s on the way,” she said, rising to her sock-covered feet and pacing back and forth before the lit fireplace.
Aw man. Shit just got drawn-out. His parents hadn’t joined together against him since he went to live with his father.
“Ma, I just lost my job and wanted to hold something ’til I get back on my feet,” he admitted.
“And how many jobs have you lost over the years, Graham?” she asked, pausing in her pacing. “Correction: how many jobs have you taken to avoid using the smarts you have?”
Graham remained silent and stood up to walk into the kitchen to open the refrigerator. He sniffed and cleared his throat as he pulled a bottle of juice from the shelf.
“Why’d you lose this one?” she asked from behind him, sounding tired.
He closed his eyes as he drank the juice in large gulps. “The cold weather slowed up business,” he lied, turning to face her and avoiding her eyes.
Ding-dong.
Cara pushed up off the door frame where she had been leaning to walk down the hall.
Graham grabbed a piece of paper towel to blow his nose. He scowled at the blood soaking the material. The fuck?
At the sound of his father’s voice, Graham quickly jerked more paper towel from the roll by the sink and swiped at his nose as his heart pounded and raced erratically.
“We’ll get to the bottom of it,” he heard his father say just outside the kitchen entrance.
Graham turned and ran water on the paper towel and quickly wiped his nose again just before they entered the kitchen. Pushing the damp paper towel into his pocket, he turned to face them. “Hey, Pops,” he said, taking in the small flecks of gray now lightening his father’s closely shaven head.
Tylar sat a plastic Walgreens bag on the island. “Hey, stranger,” he said, removing the navy trench he wore over a sweater and jeans.
His father had become a supervisor at the sanitation department, and his days of wearing uniforms and picking up trash on one of the trucks had been over for the last year. Tylar hadn’t put as much effort into the success of his relationships. He was just shy of a year of his second divorce... and living with the woman that helped ruin his marriage.
Graham leaned back against the sink and crossed his arms over his chest as his father took his turn assessing him.
“What are you on?” Tylar asked, his face grim.
Graham’s face filled with surprise for a few seconds before he forced himself to look unmoved.
“What are you on?” his father asked again.
“Man, Dad, what are you talking about?” Graham said.
“Your mother cleaned out your old room a few weeks ago and found weed hidden in one of your shoes,” Tylar said, reaching in the bag to remove a box. “Since you weren’t answering either of our calls, we’re both glad you showed up.”
Graham felt relief until he spotted that it was an at-home drug test. His heart set off faster than a greyhound let loose on a racetrack. Boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom.
Tylar pushed the box across the smooth top of the island toward his son. “What are you on?” he asked again with concentrated eyes.
“Y’all not piss-testing me,” Graham said in reply, afraid that their search for weed would expose that his habits had advanced. “I just wanted to borrow money, not get treated like I’m on parole or some shit.”
Tylar pointed his finger at his son. “Watch your mouth.”
“It’s bad enough you threw away your private school education and never went to college,” Cara said softly. “But we never raised you to smoke weed. Is that why your motivation to do better—be better—is shot to hell?”
He looked from his mother to his father. Her eyes filled with sadness and his with anger. They tripping off weed? Humph. They don’t know the half.
“I gotta go,” Graham said, pushing off the counter and circling the island to walk past them out of the kitchen.
He heard their footsteps as they followed him.
“Don’t call me until you’re willing to prove to me you ain’t some pothead, boy,” his father said sternly.
Graham snatched up his jacket, just wanting to be free.
“Me either, Graham,” his mother added.
He paused before the door to look at them over his shoulder.
“We love you and we’re here for you,” Cara said in the moment just before he walked out the door and closed it firmly.
Chapter 9
Joy
Three Months Later
As the water pulsed against the defined contours of his body, Graham stretched his arms above his head and deeply inhaled the steam rising out of the shower. Sometimes it felt like the only peace he got inside their apartment was his moments in the shower. It was inside the 36 inch by 42 inch tiled stall that Graham didn’t have to deal...
With Joy’s slick backhanded comments or stony silence.
With his parents’ disappearance from his life... after his disappearance from theirs.
With having no job and no ends to tide him over until he found a job.
Graham rotated his head and squeezed his washcloth to free it of the water. He’d washed every possible spot on his body. Nevertheless, when he thought of Joy awaiting him outside the door, he grabbed the soap and started his shower over. He smoothed the soap over the thin and soft hairs covering his muscled chest and then his arms before he glided down to do the same to the deep grooves of his abdomen... the tight ebony curls surrounding the base of his thick and long dark chocolate shaft... and to his muscled thighs and square buttocks as well.
A draft suddenly blew across his nude suds-covered body and he whipped his head to find the bathroom door open and Joy’s friend, Inzia, standing in the doorway boldly eyeing him.
Graham paused and made a face. “Excuse me?” he said with attitude.
Inzia eyed his dick with a bit of a smile curving one corner of her mouth before she glanced over her shoulder. “You’re right, girl. He is hung like a horse,” she said, giving him one last look before she backed out of the frame and closed the door.
Graham was still standing there with his eyes on the door that caused another rush of goose bumps across his body. What the hell was that all about?
Still covered with soap, he stepped out of the shower. He paused and puckered his brows at the sound of feminine laughter reaching him through the door.
“He’s not bringing any cash to the table, the least he could do is fuck me well,” Joy said.
“I know that’s right,” another woman said.
“So it’s good?” another asked.
He didn’t h
ear Joy’s words but the giggles and laughter sounded off again and the echoing of slaps had to be high fives. Graham felt his entire body flush with embarrassment. Not only was Joy discussing his sex with her friends outside the bathroom where he showered, she belittled his worth to their household and sat by while her friend checked out his body.
He was a man, and most men would be flattered, but he felt small and unnecessary to her life. A sorry-ass burden.
It didn’t help that he knew he made it his business to sex the hell out of Joy because he knew that was all he had to offer her at the moment and he wasn’t ready to give up everything she provided him, including a ready and steady supply of cocaine.
Crossing the floor to step back into the shower, he finished rinsing off before stepping out. Still wet, still naked, and not caring, he opened the bathroom door and took a bold step into the bedroom. Joy and her friends were lounging on the bed with one of her antique mirrors in the center of them with cocaine already cut up and arranged into neat lines, waiting to be snorted with a rolled hundred-dollar bill.
Joy’s eyes got wide while her two friends’ mouths got even wider as he strolled right up to them with his dick swinging back and forth across the tops of his thighs. He bent over and picked up the rolled money to snort two lines—one for each nostril.
“Damn,” one of them whispered under her breath.
Graham gave Joy a hard stare as he rose to his full height and then stroked the length of his dick. He smirked when her lids lowered over her eyes a bit and she licked her bottom lip.
“Y’all travel home safely now, ya hear,” Joy said, rising to her knees on the bed as she began to pull the V-neck cashmere sweater over her head.
The friend Graham didn’t know chuckled a bit as she rose to her feet and strolled out of the room without looking back. Inzia licked her finger and then dipped it into the coke before she rubbed it around the inside of her mouth and on her gums. “One for the road for those bad-ass kids I teach working my nerves all day today,” she said, smacking her lips.
The Pleasure Trap Page 9