Darius Jones

by Mary B. Morrison

  “That’s fine. Do you have the bag with Darius’s loc?” she asked, opening her palms. She lit several candles.

  Her face was smeared with a black shiny paste. Eyes, dark and deep like mine. Lips, painted white and wide like the warriors that paraded in Zulu. Locs, down to her waist. Cowrie shells dangled from her ears, hung around her neck, and decorated her wrists and ankles.

  “Yeah, I have it.” My voice was faint and I was on the verge of fainting.

  “Give it to me.” She sounded exactly like and reminded me of Diahann Carroll when she played Elzora in Eve’s Bayou. She was quiet for a moment. She opened the bag, then said, “Ah, I see you have one loc. Very good. And you’re sure it’s his?”

  “Positive.”

  “We’re safe here. No demons will bother us,” she said, lighting a large white candle. “Sit facing me. Fold your legs like a chicken wing.”

  I prayed she wasn’t going to pull out a dead chicken, reenact Lisa Bonet’s scene in Angel Heart, and splatter chicken blood on me. I’d pepper-spray, then zap any live or dead sacrificial animal with my Taser.

  “That won’t be necessary,” she said. “Place the back of your hands on your thighs, open your palms, and close your eyes. Now, take three deep breaths with me.”

  With the first breath, I began to relax. The second one, I went into a meditative state. By the third breath, the background noise faded. I only heard her voice.

  She chanted, “Goddess Aphrodite. I summon you on this full moon. Please, come.” She was quiet for a moment.

  “Thank you, oh goddess, for coming. Bambi is in need of your loving favor. She comes today in search of love. Not just any love. Bambi has brought the loc of her desired lover, Darius Jones. I ask your special favor that you bond Darius Jones with Bambi in a way that he will only have eyes for her.”

  My left eye opened. I didn’t see any goddess. Was this chick scamming me?

  “Your energy is interrupting my connection. Be quiet.” She became quiet again. She picked up a scalpel. “Lean your head forward, my child.”

  Oh, hell, no.

  “I cannot continue if you refuse to cooperate.”

  Reluctantly, I leaned my head toward her. She massaged her fingers below my net stocking cap down to my scalp. “What on earth is all of this? I need a few strands of your hair. Yours.”

  Didn’t trust her precision by candlelight. I took the scalpel, made a slit at the base of my full lace stocking cap, sliced the tip of a braid from the middle cornrow, handed it to her.

  She sprinkled our hair with dust, then rolled our hair together beneath her palm like she was shaping a breadstick. “I sure hope that’s not ashes from a dead person,” I whispered. She dug a hole between us and buried our hair in the grave’s dirt. She dipped her fingers into a bowl, sprinkled liquid on top. Smelled like charcoal. “Please don’t set me on fire,” I pleaded.

  She hissed, “Will you be quiet? I can’t hear myself think.” She breathed in and out. “From this day forth, your love for Darius will grow.”

  I interrupted her. “Hold up. Wait. Wait. What do you mean my love for Darius will grow? I need for him to love me.”

  She hissed again, “You are too impatient. You are selfish. And you have a very dark side. You should be grateful I’m doing this. Do not think I do not see what you did to your parents. In order for Darius’s love to flourish for you, you must first pray for their forgiveness, then you must do something nice for someone. Your parents do not know it was you who killed them but I do.”

  I thought, after what they’d done to me, my parents deserved to die. I had not come here for this bullshit.

  The two-headed lady stared into my eyes. The candlelight illuminated her face. “Then you can leave now.”

  Damn, how did she do that shit and who did she think she was?

  She stared at me. Her silence penetrated me. “Stop wasting my time.” She motioned to blow out the candle.

  “I’m sorry. I will do a good deed.”

  “You must do a good deed or your love spell will not work.” She paused, then continued, “Maintain focus. Meditate. Every day you must think good thoughts of Darius. When the time is right, he’ll come to you.”

  “What if I have bad thoughts about his wife?”

  “You must be careful,” she warned. “For the mind, at times, resides in another world. When you dream, you’re having an outer body experience. You’re in the afterlife with angels and demons. That’s how you have nightmares and sometimes can’t move or feel like you are suffocating. When you dream you attach the faces of the living to humans and animals that are dead. That is why you cannot kill a person in your dreams and they cannot kill you.”

  The candle flickered. She was right. I was impatient. Was she alive or dead? All I knew was that I was anxious to be with Darius. I wondered what he was doing. Wondered how much longer I had to sit here. Wondered how I could speed up the process.

  She paused. When I stopped thinking, she continued talking. “And sometimes you have dreams with happy endings, if you know what I mean. Daydreams are not in the afterlife. However, depending on how deep you go into a dream, you may,” she clapped, then said, “not come out. You’ll become schizophrenic. I have granted you your desire. You are now connected to Darius. To answer your earlier question, both.”

  “What question?”

  She shook her head. “If you have problems remembering, you are going to have a hard time being with Darius.”

  “Can the spell be broken? Can anyone keep me from my Darius?”

  “Those are two separate but very good questions, my dear. Yes, the spell can be broken but I cannot break it,” she warned.

  This situation had become more complicated than I’d envisioned. “Then who can?”

  “He can. You must never let him cut off his locs. Your spell is controlled by his hair.” She patted the spot where she’d buried our hair.

  “Anything else?”

  “There is one woman standing in your way. She can block your connection. Even I cannot remove her. She has spiritual powers. She can’t control your mind but she can read you. Your advantage is, she doesn’t know she possesses the gift. Stay away from her. If you get too close to her, you will encounter major problems.”

  Great, another layer of complication. “Who is she? What does she look like?”

  “That I cannot tell you.”

  “I thought you were supposed to know all the answers.”

  “I said I cannot tell you. I did not say I do not know. Your time is up and I must go tend to the leftover sinners on Bourbon Street,” she said.

  As the sunshine cloaked the graveyard’s ground, I tried but could no longer see the two-headed lady’s black smeared face or wide white lips. “Please, don’t go. I’ve changed my—”

  Before I could ask her to cancel my love spell, she vanished. Her voice echoed, “Remember everything I’ve told you. Be mindful of your thoughts, Bambi Bartholomew.”

  “Oh, my God! Come back!” I yelled. “Come back!” Frantically, I felt my hands, my finger.

  My engagement ring was gone.

  CHAPTER 42

  Ashlee

  It felt good to be back in D.C. in my bed. The sheet was too restraining. The ends wrapped around my body. I kicked, tugged, then snatched the cover over my head. I wasn’t ready to get up.

  DJ covered his head too. “Mommy, I’m hungry.”

  “Not now, DJ. Go back to sleep.”

  He cried. “But I’m not sleepy.”

  “Then just lay there and be quiet before I spank you.” I wrestled with Darius’s energy. This was no dream.

  Lowering the sheet below my eyes, I peeped over the edge. I saw an image of Darius sitting at the foot of my bed. “Ashlee, please forgive me. I never meant to hurt you.”

  I didn’t believe him. He spoke those words to manipulate me. To convince me not to fight for my parental rights. Now that I had my son, I didn’t want DJ. If only to prove to Fancy that I was the better
woman, I had to have Darius. I wanted to curse the image of him sitting on my bed like I’d done when I was in LA at the hospital.

  Darius’s mouth, eyes, and shoulders. Drooped. His spine curved toward his feet.

  Ashlee, don’t fall for it. You’re daydreaming. I sat up.

  DJ sat up too. “Mommy, please.”

  “Get out the bed and go stand in the corner until your grandmother gets here. And shut up all that crying for nothing. I’ll feed you when I’m ready.”

  The streetlight shining through a crack in my blinds let me see DJ’s upside down smile. I loved my son. I was afraid not to have him close to me. I needed DJ more than he needed me. I went to the corner where he stood, gave him a hug. “Mommy loves you.”

  I gripped the sides of my head. “Darius, I can’t take anymore. If you lie to me or hurt me again, I will kill you.”

  “I’m sorry, Mommy,” DJ said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Please don’t kill me.”

  I sighed. “DJ, be quiet.” I sat on the floor beside my son. I replayed memories of Darius in my mind.

  “I know, Ashlee. I don’t blame you. I deserve to die.”

  “Darius, do you remember when we were twelve and we’d plan on running away from home? You’d told me, ‘Make sure you pack a toothbrush, and lots of clean underwear and socks.’

  “I’d asked you, ‘Is that all? What about food?’

  “Then you told me, ‘I don’t know. My mom always says, “Darius, you got your toothbrush? And extra underwear and socks?” so I guess that stuff must be pretty important.’”

  I was the one with Darius, holding his hand, when he’d gotten his HIV test results. Darius was so scared that he might have it too. When he found out he was negative, I was the one he twirled around like a ballerina. I was always there for him.

  The room became cold. DJ hugged my neck.

  “You cold, baby?”

  He said, “Hungry.”

  I changed the thermostat from seventy-two to eighty. I peeped out the blinds across the street at Jay’s house. The only lights were the streetlights. My God, had I slept all day? Had I fed my son since we’d gotten off the plane? Where was my mother? She was supposed to be at my house when I got here. She was probably at some man’s house.

  “DJ, honey. Just stand in the corner until Mommy gets it together.” My thoughts went from my mom, to DJ, back to Darius.

  I remembered the first time Darius made love to me. His strong hands covered mine on the exercise bar above our heads. He eased the spaghetti strap of my gown over my breast and caressed my nipple. We straddled the exercise bench. He leaned me over, entered me from behind. Everything felt so right. So wonderful.

  I thought with Maxine being out of the picture, Darius and I would get married. Along came Ciara and she stood at the altar beside him. When things didn’t work out with Ciara I thought, here’s my second chance. Darius threw me a curveball and Fancy slid into home plate.

  I heard a car engine. I raced to the window. My mom parked her rental car in front my house. She had on a waist-length off-white coat with a plush black collar, black tapered pants, knee-high boots. An oversized shiny black purse hung on her shoulder.

  Beep. Beep. She remotely locked the car, headed to my door.

  “DJ, it’s your grandma,” I said. Didn’t want my mother to see him standing facing the corner.

  “Yay! Grandma came to get me!” He ran to the door. His smile vanished when he looked up at my mom. He went back to the corner.

  “Well, that’s no way to greet your grandmother. Come here and give me hug,” my mom told him.

  Somberly, DJ went to my mother. His arms hung beside his thighs as my mom hugged him. “I’m hungry, Grandma.”

  “Ashlee, this isn’t going to work out. Maybe you should send him back to his father,” she said, removing her coat. “You look a mess. When was the last time you and this child ate?”

  I’d almost forgotten how distant my mom and I were. She didn’t want me when I was a kid, insisted I stay with my father. “I was just getting ready to feed him. Are you hungry too?”

  “You learn how to cook yet?” she asked, following me into the kitchen. “Go put on some clothes. I’ll fix us something to eat.”

  I hated when my mother referred to my son as “this child” or “him.” Didn’t know who treated me worse, Darius or my mother.

  I hated Darius because I loved him. I didn’t want Fancy to die but wished she’d go away. My having DJ meant seeing more of Darius. I had to find a way to make him mine again. As long as Fancy didn’t give him a child, I had a chance. Not sure how but I sensed Darius was coming back to me.

  Would he love me the way he loved Fancy? Or would he end up hating me more than ever?

  CHAPTER 43

  Darius

  The head doing the most thinking was below my waist.

  I hadn’t had Slugger polished since my wife was in the accident. It was cool to get sidetracked once in while when she was healthy. But sliding to the left on her under the circumstances didn’t seem right.

  This actually might be the best time to relieve my stress. What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt us. A lil’ head was on my big head’s brain tonight. Tomorrow I’d be in Cleveland, maybe. Maybe not. I hadn’t had a real workout in a few days. Releasing myself tonight, putting in OT in practice tomorrow, I should be ready to match up with LJ provided Ashlee was bluffing about the custody hearing.

  I stepped out of the Playhouse and stepped on Alfred Hitchcock’s star. Hope that wasn’t a sign of what was to come. Strolling down Hollywood Boulevard, I left my car parked around the corner from the Playhouse. The fresh air helped my dick cool off. One step at a time, I was clearing my other head. I walked on Count Basie, Dr. Seuss, Fats Domino. That shit was close. Shortie at the club could’ve caused a volcanic eruption in my pants. That’s how close I was to cumming when she rubbed her torpedo tits on my dick.

  Women had no clue how tempting other women were. That “Just Say No” shit didn’t apply to our dicks. Wasn’t that fucking simple. If it were, we’d decline new pussy every time. I stood on Diana Ross, looked up at the Hollywood Guinness Museum wondering what man held the world record for receiving “the longest blow job.” If she fell asleep with his dick in her mouth, would that time count in her favor?

  Continuing my stroll, sometimes I prided myself in doing the right thing. And I wanted credit for that shit if I ever got caught. What the hell was I saying? I’d never been caught. If it should happen, I’d deny that shit until I was six feet under and they threw dirt in my face.

  A few steps later, I’d trampled on Marilyn Monroe, Jay Leno, Little Richard, Vanessa Williams, Angela Bassett, and Michael Jackson. I was almost at my destination. One more hour before last call for alcohol. California’s two A.M. cutoff for serving adults liquor was dumb. “Let’s put all the party people who are totally fucked up out of the clubs at that same time. Let all the intoxicated morons who get behind the wheels of their cars try not to kill anyone before they reach their destination.”

  I loved that New Orleans didn’t have a last call for alcohol. I’d partied there several times until the sun came up. I wasn’t a heavy drinker but I could have my first or last adult beverage in the Big Easy whatever time I chose. New Orleans was a strange animal. My chances of getting shot by a nigga who had been drinking were higher than my odds of getting hit by a drunk driver.

  New Orleans. Yeah. I was wrong for fucking that white girl Heather like she had four legs. I was angry with Maxine, glad I hadn’t tested HIV positive, and all I remembered that night was somebody’s daughter had to pay for my frustrations. Too bad it was one of my mom’s top executives. I didn’t give a fuck about Heather or the fact that I left the hotel from being with her and ended up at the Intercontinental on St. Charles Avenue fucking Ginger. New Orleans was like that. That place made me want to sin the second I got off the plane. The longer I stayed, the more voodoo pussy I’d gotten into. Those New Orleans women knew how to pop th
at pussy, and oh, my God—Slugger was on swole—thinking about that project chick sucking my dick on Tchoupitoulas. She was so bad, I had to pay her ass for an encore.

  On my way back to Heather’s room, I’d stumbled upon Colette’s around the corner at 822 Gravier Street. Now that three-story sex club was a beast. Chicks and chicks, chicks on dicks, private rooms with chicks, orgy beds stacked with chicks, and they had a damn eight-room bed and breakfast on the third floor with eight different themes. I could’ve stayed in the dungeon or slept in a low to the floor oriental bed and I could’ve brought more chicks from the club to a private room. Only in New Orleans.

  Bill Cosby was beneath my feet. Then there was Etta James, Stevie Wonder, Sophia Loren, and Earvin Magic Johnson. By the time I stood on the the Dead End Kids’ star, I was at My House.

  The bouncer opened the gigantic double oak doors. I knew the routine so I waited until the oak doors closed. When they opened the double glass doors inside, I entered the club. The owner was clever for building the best soundproof club in Hollywood. People on the street never heard a beat. They’d just walk on by.

  I loved the lay and the layout of My House. I went upstairs, sat on the king-sized bed facing the Jacuzzi and chilled.

  “What would you like to drink?” the waitress asked.

  I ordered another double Suprema.

  “Hey, Darius. Shouldn’t you be in—”

  “Yes, Cleveland. Yes, I should.”

  “I take it everyone’s asking you that same question. I can’t wait to see you match up with LJ,” she said. She had the most amazing mouth. Juicy lips. Long legs. Big breasts. And a nice ass.

  Damn! How much of that was an illusion? With all the butt pads, push-up bras, body magic, lip plumpers, instant weaves and wigs, my eyes could be playing tricks on me.

  “Mind if I join you for a cocktail?” she said.