He's Just A Friend

by Mary B. Morrison

  Byron parked by the lake, escorted her upstairs, and invited himself in. He sat on the bed and said, “Your mom will be fine, baby. I do understand because my mom has been sick for a while.”

  Fancy prepared two glasses of merlot, and handed one to Byron along with the television remote. “I’m going to take a bath.”

  “Whatever you want to do tonight is all right with me.” Byron removed his shoes and stretched across her comforter.

  Climbing the ladder in her converted closet, brown suede shoes in hand, Fancy placed them in the box. She loved Byron and hated Harry. She wanted to be alone but not really.

  Fancy sprinkled black cherry and Epsom salts in her bath water. She twisted the plastic caps off of four douche bottles, tossed them into a plastic bag, and then sat on the toilet. Slipping into the hot water, Fancy cried. She inserted her finger into her vagina and squished it around. Harry was not getting off that easy.

  Fancy was thankful Byron stayed with her. His company helped her to maintain her sanity. As much as she enjoyed sex, she’d never been raped. And she wasn’t quite sure how to handle the situation. SaVoy often told her, “Prayer will get you through anything. Take your burdens to the Lord, and leave them there.”

  God probably didn’t want to hear from Fancy Taylor. Not right now, anyway. Maybe she didn’t want to hear from Him, either. Where was He when Harry raped her? Where was He when she was a child? And where was He when she was almost convicted of a hit and run? It wasn’t her fault she’d shifted into first gear, plunged her accelerator, and watched her ex-boyfriend’s eyes widen right before he landed on the hood of her car. His body fell into the street. Right in front of her car. He’d think twice before kicking her, or any other woman, in the ass again. Maybe there was a God up there somewhere because something had kept her from shifting into reverse and backing over her ex when he was behind the car.

  “Ooohh,” Fancy jumped, splashing water onto the rug.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Byron said, closing the lid on the toilet as he took a seat. “You look so beautiful.”

  Fortunately she’d followed her first thought and hid the plastic bag of used Massengils. Byron toweled her off, undressed himself, slipped into the shower, and joined her in bed. His big dick grew larger as he embraced her from behind. When he kissed her neck, Fancy jumped. Obviously Byron thought it was his foreplay but Fancy couldn’t shake the feeling of what had happened with Harry.

  She closed her eyes as Byron penetrated her from behind.

  Byron whispered in her ear, “I love you, Fancy.”

  Fancy longed to hear I love you from someone who cared, but all of a sudden she realized “I love you” had many different meanings and was only as sincere as the person who said it. That was the first time Byron had verbally expressed his feelings. Her vagina contracted several times, joining his deep pulsation. Fancy wrapped Byron’s arms around her waist. “I love you, too, Byron,” Fancy whispered. “Tell me something.”

  Byron scooted back. His hand pressed against her shoulder until her back lay flat against the mattress. He gently stroked the side of her face, tucking her hair behind her ear, which reminded Fancy she needed to retie her silk scarf.

  “What’s really on your mind?” Byron asked.

  “Byron, what do you want from me?”

  “That’s easy. Friendship.” Byron kissed her lips, then said, “Companionship.” He kissed her again, then added, “Being on the road all the time gets lonely. I don’t want to ruin what we have. Lots of women say they can deal with me being gone all the time but I know they really can’t. But I do love you.” Byron’s lips pressed against hers.

  “I love you, too,” Fancy said, turning back onto her side. Fancy gazed at her pole that hadn’t been used all year.

  With Byron, I love you was a good place to start. When the sunlight peeped through the blinds awakening her, Fancy rolled over. The space where Byron had lain was warm. Running her fingers between her legs, she was moist. There was no morning horseback riding appointment so Fancy rolled back over. Maybe if she just slept a little longer, her life would become a little clearer, or speed by a lot quicker.

  CHAPTER 17

  Next Friday morning arrived with bittersweet memories of Harry and Byron. After soaking in depression—and locking herself in her apartment—for a week, yesterday Byron surprised Fancy with a deluxe spa-and-dinner package at the Claremont Resort. Then he’d given her a gift certificate to Top Notch Hair Salon so all Fancy had to do was schedule an appointment with Raeshelle. When Fancy asked, “Why haven’t you paid me?” Byron replied, “Why did you wait so long to tell me you haven’t been paid? I’ll call my accountant first thing Monday morning.”

  Promises. Promises. Until Fancy had a check in her hand, she had no choice; she had to return to work. The eight-thirty train was overcrowded. An attractive well-dressed guy smiled down at her. Fancy avoided eye contact and stared out the window as the train zoomed through the tunnel. Fancy worried what would happen when Harry saw her walk into his office.

  “Montgomery Street Station. Please watch your step as you exit the train,” the conductor seductively said. His voice was deep yet soft.

  “Oh,” Fancy said, shaking her head, “this is my stop.” She slowly maneuvered uphill, stepping aside for anyone walking too close behind her. Forget Harry. Even if Fancy were late, Harry couldn’t fire her after forcing himself upon her. By the time Fancy finished suing Harry, she’d be his boss. Fancy and Associates was all right, but Fancy Ass sounded better. If Whoopi could name her company One Ho Productions, Fancy would name her business whatever she wanted.

  Fancy sashayed into Washington and Associates wearing a red mid-thigh oriental dress. Thick spiral curls covered her gelled hairline. Thank goodness Raeshelle agreed to redo her weave right after work. Quickly, Fancy entered her office, locked the door, and closed the blinds. Picking up the phone Fancy immediately called the building’s security office.

  “Yes, I’d like to report a rape.”

  “A rape? This time of the morning? In this building? Did you say a rape?” the man questioned.

  “Yes, a rape. I’m on the fifth floor, suite 701. And my name is Fancy Taylor.” Fancy hung up, still not certain that she’d done the right thing, but she had to do something. Moments later her phone rang.

  “Washington and Associates property management, speak to me.”

  “Is this Fancy Taylor?” The southern accent was unmistakable.

  Fancy smiled, “Yes, Mrs. Lovely. How may I help you?”

  “Honey, did you forget about me? I waited up until late that night for you. You never showed up. You don’t return my calls. It’s been months and I need some help with this place. I can’t afford to move else I’dda been done gone way from here.”

  Fancy’s eyes narrowed at the thought of Harry. She couldn’t ask Mrs. Lovely to repeat herself. Fancy was so preoccupied with her problems that she hadn’t heard enough of what Mrs. Lovely said to respond appropriately. “I apologize Mrs. Lovely. I promise—”

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  “Excuse me, Mrs. Lovely, but may I call you back?” Fancy was in the process of hanging up the phone while Mrs. Lovely protested. Fancy cracked the door. Two men in blue uniforms stood outside.

  “Good. You’re here. Come, in,” Fancy said, opening the door wider.

  The short round guard continued standing outside and said, “Ms. Taylor?” in an authoritative manner. He knew who she was. All of the men and most of the women in the building knew of Fancy.

  “Yes, come in.” Fancy replied, stepping aside to clear his path.

  The guard stood erect, clasped his hands behind his back, and said, “We’ve been instructed to escort you from the building. Would you please get your things and come with us?” His stout chubby fingers reached for her wrist.

  Pulling her hand back, Fancy said, “I think you’ve got things twisted. I’m the one who called you.”

  Harry stood by looking on with
Allyanna. The rest of his employees gathered in small separate groups within ear range. Two more security personnel walked up to Harry.

  “Harry Washington. We’ve been instructed to escort you to our office for an investigation. Would you please come with us?” The taller security guard was kind of handsome but with his blue-collar job and the three kids out of wedlock, a thought of stroking his ego would be a waste of Fancy’s time.

  Harry removed his hand from his pocket and laughed nervously. Adding extra bass to his voice he said, “I think you gentlemen have made a mistake. I’m the one who requested my former employee, Ms. Taylor, be escorted from the building.”

  Fuck you, Harry Washington! I hate you!

  When the taller guard tugged on his handcuffs, Fancy shivered. A flashback of Byron snapping red fur-lined cuffs on her ankles crossed Fancy’s mind. She hoped they’d take Harry to jail and that the inmates would rape him. Maybe then he’d understand how she felt. Fancy had sex with Harry countless times—in his office, lunchtime nooners, even in the basement garage—but that did not give Harry the right to force himself upon her.

  “Sir, I’m just doing my job. You can come willingly or I can use these.” He jiggled the silver metal hoops, then he looked at Fancy and said, “Ma’am you’re going to have to come with us, too.”

  The employees mumbled and whispered as the four guards escorted Fancy and Harry out the office. During their questioning, Harry did what any other rapist would have done. He lied. Laughing. Joking. As though no crime had been committed.

  “Anyone in the office can verify we’ve openly had an affair since Ms. Taylor has worked for me. I won’t deny that. But I did not rape her.” Harry leaned back in the chair.

  “That’s a lie! I did not consent to him ramming his dick inside me that night! He’s lying! Here’s the evidence!” Fancy pulled a plastic bag out of her purse and shook it in Harry’s face. “Semen and blood! I fought him. That’s how he got that scar on his face! Ask him! Ask him!”

  Harry’s eyes widened as he stared at her red thong without blinking. He sat up. His bottom lip was moving up and down but no words came out of his mouth.

  “Ma’am. We can call San Francisco PD and you can file charges if you’d like. But at this point it’s up to you because he can file assault charges against you. I’ve seen far too many cases where nobody wins, both parties press charges, and both parties end up doing time. Maybe you two can work this out without involving the police.”

  Fancy yelled, “They can’t arrest me for self-defense! Call the cops!”

  Harry’s shoulders stiffened. Fancy didn’t give a damn about Harry. But she did care about Byron. What would Byron think of her? Would pressing charges against Harry ruin her chances of marrying Byron? Byron had just confessed his love for her.

  “Wait.” Fancy wrapped her fingers around the phone cradled in the guard’s hand. She looked at her acrylic nails and was thankful the edges were now flush against her cuticles. “On second thought, don’t call the cops. I’ll handle this.”

  Harry followed Fancy to the elevator bank. When the doors closed, he lamented, “I can’t believe you’re serious.” He leaned closer, then stepped back when the doors opened.

  Fancy didn’t respond; she disregarded his gossiping staff, casually walked into Harry’s office, and sat in his chair. “Okay, rapist. Here’s the deal. One hundred thousand dollars and I’ll go away quietly.”

  Harry closed the door and said, “What? You must be kidding. You’re not worth a hundred grand. Get your ungrateful ass out of my office.”

  “Oh, so now all of a sudden I’m ungrateful. Whateva.” Fancy picked up Harry’s phone and dialed nine, one . . . “You sure about this? ’Cause I don’t care if your ass do time or you lose your business.”

  Harry took the receiver from Fancy. “Let me think about this. I’ll call you next week. But whateva you do, do not”—he pointed at her wide-heeled black baby doll shoes—“do not step foot in my office. Ever!”

  “Next week, by Friday, or I will call the cops,” Fancy said, rolling her eyes away from Harry.

  Fancy went into her office. She gathered her purse, her photo, and left. She was more upset because Harry wouldn’t admit what he’d done was wrong. He honestly believed everything was her fault. The sexual act alone was nothing Fancy wasn’t accustomed to. The violence, that was unacceptable. Unforgettable. Did she do something to deserve Harry’s horrible treatment?

  Naw, Fancy thought, shaking her head, no way. If her phone did not ring by five o’clock Friday, she was going to have Harry arrested, on his job, early Monday morning where everyone could see. She might even call “Seven on Your Side” news. And if Byron left her for standing up for her rights, he could kiss her ass, too. When Fancy arrived home, she called Byron but he was unavailable so she called Desmond.

  “What’s up? You wanna come over? I haven’t seen my best friend in a while,” Fancy said, thinking about all the unanswered messages Desmond had left on her home and cellular voice mail.

  “Let me call you right back,” Desmond replied.

  “Okay.” Fancy hung up her home phone and answered her cell phone.

  “Hey, you.”

  Fancy smiled. “Hey, I just called you!”

  “You wanna go out? I’ll be by in a half hour to pick you up. I have fantastic news!” Byron said.

  “Sure! I’ll be ready.” Fancy hung up the phone, showered, and was ready in twenty minutes. She sat at her vanity applying her lipstick. The tan designer minidress was perfect for a Friday night outing. Life was too short for Fancy to be miserable. Besides, Harry was probably somewhere screwing Allyanna or some other ungrateful female.

  The buzzer rang from the outside call box so instead of letting Byron in, Fancy happily raced downstairs. When the elevator doors opened, Desmond was in the lobby talking to the doorman.

  “You leaving? You just called me. I’ve been worried about you. But I see I shouldn’t have,” Desmond said, staring at the dress he’d bought her months ago for her birthday.

  “Oh, I thought you were going to call me back. But then my friend called so I made plans. Go home. I’ll call you when I get in.” Fancy kissed Desmond on the cheek.

  Desmond’s jaw clenched, then he did a half nod upward. “You a trip.”

  Fancy hugged Desmond. “I need to talk to you, baby. I’mma call you. Later. I promise.”

  Byron was double-parked. When he opened the door, Desmond walked away and said, “I don’t believe this shit.”

  Fancy leaned toward Byron, then tilted her chin sideways. Byron kissed her cheek. “So, where are we going?”

  “It’s a surprise!” Byron ran his hand over her silky smooth legs. “I really like how you take such great care of your body.”

  Fancy’s July rent was due next week. Maybe it was time to move in with Byron, that way every day would be payday, and Byron could feel her legs anytime he wanted. But if Harry paid her as promised, Fancy could relax. If not, she’d have to think of asking Desmond or SaVoy for a loan. Or, despite her feelings for Byron, she’d have to find a sponsor.

  Byron parked on a hilltop overlooking the Pacific Ocean and escorted her inside an unmarked building. The hallways were dimly lit, with muscular men in dark suits and sunglasses standing at each of the three doors.

  Byron flashed a key—the small gold key she’d rejected in exchange for the Benz—and the man in the suit stepped aside. When the door opened, another one opened, then a third double-automatic sliding glass door parted.

  Oh, my gosh. Fancy could smell the millionaires in the air. A woman walked up to Byron, handed him a drink and said, “What would your guest like, Mr. Van Lee?”

  Fancy answered, “Cristal.”

  The woman left and returned so quickly Fancy blinked twice.

  “A toast,” Byron said, “to friendship and more.”

  Fancy smiled, then repeated Byron’s words.

  “You know you’re special when I bring you here. In seven years, I’ve
only brought two other women here.”

  Well, there wasn’t anything wrong with Bryon’s ability to remember. Fancy glanced around the room.

  “Let me introduce you to some of my friends.” Byron walked ahead of her, then stopped at the bar near the biggest big screen television Fancy had ever seen. “Excuse me fellas, I’d like to introduce my lady, Fancy Taylor.”

  When the heads turned in unison, Fancy smiled and softly said, “Hello.”

  A voice from behind them said, “What’s up? Where you been?”

  Casually, Fancy turned around.

  “Man, where’ve you been?” Byron asked Darius.

  “Brazil. Okinawa. Amsterdam. Paris. Spain. Trinidad. London. Speaking of London, man, did you see that?” Darius shook his head, then said, “That all-star, all-pro, first-round draft honey from England in the platinum lounge?”

  All the men nodded as Byron shook his head.

  How rude. Did Darius not see Fancy standing next to Byron?

  Darius said, “She’s freaky man. Her girlfriends look okay, but they’re willing to tag.” Darius’s eyebrows shifted upward. As he smiled, all but two of the men left the room.

  “Give me a minute. Don’t go nowhere. Let me take this call.”

  What call? Byron’s phone hadn’t rung.

  “Hello.” Byron paused. He nodded and said, “Yeah, okay. I’m on my way.”

  Byron kissed Fancy and said, “Sorry, baby. I’ve gotta go.” Then he asked Darius, “How long you in town?”

  “Until tomorrow. But I’ll be here for a minute.”

  Byron nodded, then walked ahead of Fancy. “I promise. I’ll make it up to you, baby.”

  Make up what? Fancy thought as he drove toward the San Rafael Bridge.

  Byron’s hand roamed inside her dress and cupped her breast. “Why don’t you take care of me, baby?”

  Fancy leaned over Byron’s lap and eased her lips over his head. She released just enough saliva to lubricate her strokes. Fancy stroked and stroked and sucked and stroked, hoping Byron would stay the night at her place or take her to his.

  Byron’s cellular phone vibrated. When he lowered his hand, Fancy noticed the caller ID. Home? What the fuck did that mean? Quickly she repeated the number in her mind several times as she deposited Byron’s semen into a napkin.