by Weber, Carl
“Oh, there’s nothing wrong with me. Just getting a little exercise. I probably should have taken the elevator instead of the stairs. These bags are a little heavier than I thought. I think I might have overdone it.” I closed my mouth when I discovered that now I had gone from being unable to speak to rambling like an idiot. Miraculously, he didn’t seem to notice my crazy behavior. In fact, he was still flirting.
I swear to God I felt my knees tremble when he leaned in close to me and whispered in my ear, “A woman who likes to keep in shape. That’s very impressive. But between me and you, everything already looks to be in shape.” He pulled away. “So don’t hurt yourself, you hear me? I can’t go having my new neighbor all sick and laid up. At least not until I get some food in my house so I can make you my homemade chicken soup and nurse you back to health.”
Thank goodness that wall was there to hold me up.
“Baby, I don’t care if that soup comes out of a can…”
Oh no. What the hell is wrong with me? I’m a married woman. Connie, get yourself together, girl, before you make a bigger fool of yourself than you already have.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to call you baby. It’s just I call my husband—”
He stopped me. “Your husband? Listen, I apologize for my forwardness. I’m not trying to cause any trouble, especially since I just moved here. I’m really sorry. I didn’t see a ring.”
So it wasn’t in my head. This gorgeous man had been making a pass at me. I had to smile. My ego hadn’t had a boost like this in years.
“I stopped wearing my rings a few years ago when they got too tight. You know, um, I’m not quite the same size I was on my wedding day.”
His eyes traveled down my body, and unlike the way Avery looked at me lately, this guy seemed to like what he saw. Damn, it felt good to be admired that way. I tried to switch to a more neutral subject before I got myself into trouble.
“You, uh, must be the new man moving into 3B that I’ve heard so much about.”
His pleasant, happy face became stern. “What exactly have you heard? I just got the keys twenty minutes ago. I haven’t even moved any of my stuff in yet.”
I was a little taken aback by his reaction. “Oh, nothing bad,” I said to reassure him. “I just heard that there was a new man moving into 3B, that’s all. We look out for each other around here, but everyone kinda keeps to themselves,” I lied.
“Oh, I see. That’s good, ’cause I’m kind of a private person, and I like to keep a low profile myself.”
Hah! With that face and that body, no way you’re keeping a low profile.
Fortunately, I hadn’t spoken out loud this time, but I still felt the heat on my cheeks. This man had me thinking all kinds of crazy things. It was time to get out of there, because there was no telling what I might say or do next.
“Well, neighbor, it was nice meeting you. I guess I better get these groceries inside and start dinner,” I said, hoping to escape whatever power he seemed to have over my good sense.
His eyes were all over my curves once again, and I swear he looked like he wanted to pour chocolate over every single inch of me and lick it off. Or maybe that was just the fantasy I was having in that moment. Either way, I thought I would melt into a puddle right there in the hallway when he took my hand, kissed it, and said, “Well, pretty lady, your husband’s a very lucky man.”
“Uh…” I’d lost the power to speak again. All I could do was give him a stupid grin—and yet he still looked at me like he thought I was something special. This was one sexy mutha.
“I’ll see you around, neighbor,” he said.
I nodded, wishing he would stand there and hold my hand forever.
“By the way,” he said, “I didn’t get your name. Mine’s Daryl. Daryl Graham.”
I finally regained the power of speech and said, “I’m Connie Graham.”
“Hey, how ’bout that? We could be related. Is Graham your maiden name or married name?” He stared at me and waited for an answer, but I’d barely heard his question because I was so wrapped up in those sexy-ass eyes of his.
“Huh?” I whispered. “Did you say something?”
“I said your name’s Graham, just like mine. Maybe we’re cousins or something.”
I said my name was Graham? Oh. My. God. There must be some kind of correlation: the sexier the man, the stupider I become.
I tried to laugh it off. “Oh, you must have heard me incorrectly. My last name is Mack. Connie Mack.”
I’m sure he knew I was full of shit. There’s no way someone could mistake Mack for Graham. He knew I’d just called myself Connie Graham, but he was so sweet he let it slide so I wouldn’t be more embarrassed.
“Yeah, I probably heard you wrong. Well, Connie Mack, I’ll be seeing you around.”
He kissed my hand once again, and then he floated off into heaven. Or maybe he took the elevator or the stairwell. Heck, I don’t know. All I knew was that I had to hurry inside, so I could make dinner before my husband got home. I’d planned on giving him the blow job of his life as a birthday present, but now that Mr. 3B had me all worked up, we were going to have to rethink things ’cause Connie Mack was gonna need a little something herself.
Benny
2
I was looking out my bedroom window, laughing at the neighborhood women ogling the new tenant in 3B as he came out of the building. He headed toward the U-Haul truck that was parked in front, and every pair of eyes on that stoop was glued to him like he was a big, juicy steak and they hadn’t eaten for weeks. I watched as he gave them a friendly nod, then disappeared into the back of the truck. Don’t get me wrong. He was a handsome enough man, but those sisters were losing their minds with the way they were acting, especially now that he was out of sight. If they knew I was watching them as they flashed their breasts or wiggled their asses at him when his back was turned, they’d probably keel over and die.
But all that came to an abrupt end when my father, Ben Senior, came walking down the block. Normally when he approached, the women of the neighborhood were all quick to speak. Some even flirted with my old man, but today they had nothing to say. No need for leftovers when fresh meat had arrived, I guess.
Ms. Nancy, as I called her out of respect, who had led the women in their antics, practically sprouted angel wings when Pop approached. Not that she was an angel by any stretch of the imagination. Ms. Nancy had been seeing Pop behind her husband’s back for quite a while. Considering how often she’d sneak up to our apartment in the middle of the night or after her husband left for work, I’d say she was pretty smitten. She knew my dad didn’t play that junk, and if he had seen her lifting up her shirt the way she did, they’d be over. I think she could already sense that he’d been looking for an excuse to kick her to the curb.
What she didn’t know was that one of the other ladies who hung around our stoop, her friend Ms. Pam, had been making overtures toward Pop for quite a while. Ms. Pam was a thirty-five-year-old bombshell that all the older men on our block had been trying to get with. From the way she and Pop were giving each other eye signals, it looked to me like tonight was the night he was going to seal the deal—that is, as long as Ms. Nancy didn’t pick up on it and find some way to cock block.
As you can probably tell, my father is a ladies’ man. He is also a New York City fireman. Even more importantly, he is my hero. There were not a lot of men like Pop, and although I had a hell of a lot of respect for his uniform, I had even more respect for him as a man. He’d raised me by himself since I was eight without one complaint. He’d sacrificed his entire life for me, and I’d never wanted for anything growing up. As a kid, I told him and everyone who would listen that I wanted to be just like my dad.
“Nah, son, I don’t want you to be like me,” he’d tell me. With his hand on my shoulder, he’d look down at me and say, “I want you to be better than me. I want you to use that brain of yours and make me proud.” I looked up to my father then, and now at twenty years old and
in my second year of college, I still looked up to him.
Turning my attention back to the street, I watched my father give one last signal to Ms. Pam. He seemed to purposely ignore the other women on the stoop as he headed toward the truck, probably going to introduce himself to our new neighbor.
Instead of watching it all from the window, I decided to go downstairs to be part of the action.
“Benny, come here, son,” Pop said when he saw me come outside. “I wanna introduce you to another Knicks fan.” Our new neighbor was wearing a Knicks jersey. Pop was a die-hard fan.
I carefully maneuvered my way past the ladies to avoid getting cursed out, then walked over to the U-Haul truck, where my father was standing next to our new neighbor.
“Benny, this is Daryl Graham. Daryl, this is my son, Ben Junior. We all call him Benny.”
“Nice to meet you, Benny.” Mr. Graham had been holding a big box. He placed it back in the truck and shook my hand with a firm grip.
“Pleasure’s all mine, Mr. Graham,” I replied.
“You can call me Daryl,” he said, then turned to Pop. “Very polite young man you have here, Ben. He’s pretty tall too. He play any ball?”
Pop put his hand on my shoulder. “Benny here played forward in high school. Had a full ride to Hofstra too, but we turned it down.”
Daryl looked confused, and I couldn’t say I blamed him. I mean, how many people turn down full scholarships?
Pop explained, “You see, Benny here’s a little bit of a brain. He got a full academic ride to Fordham University up in the Bronx, so he traded in his sneakers to pursue a degree in electrical engineering. He’s doing pretty well too. I’m proud of him.”
“As you should be.” Daryl nodded approvingly and turned his attention to me. “So, how’s college working out for you, Benny?”
“Pretty good. I’m maintaining a 3.8 grade point average.”
Pop spoke up. “It would have been a 4.0 if it wasn’t for that schmuck racist who taught psychology. Not one black person got over a B.”
“Pop, he doesn’t wanna hear all that.” I shot him a look and he raised his hands as if to surrender.
“All right, all right. I’m sorry, son,” he said as he reached into the back of the truck and picked up the box Daryl had been holding. “I hope you don’t mind, but that movie’s gonna have to wait. I just volunteered to help Daryl carry his boxes upstairs.”
“Oh, man, I didn’t realize you had plans with your son,” Daryl said. “Listen, Ben, I can take care of this. Last thing I wanna do is come between you and your son.” He looked at me. “You do know you’re one of the lucky ones, right? I lost my dad when I was about fifteen.”
I liked this dude. “As a matter of fact, I do. But it’s cool. There are lots of ways a father and son can spend time together—like helping a new friend move into his apartment.” I smiled and leaned in to take a box from the back of the truck.
Pop tilted his head in the direction of the women on the stoop and said, “Too bad you couldn’t get your little entourage over there to help. You’d probably be finished by now.”
“What entourage?” Daryl asked.
“You mean to tell me that you didn’t notice you have an audience?” Pop clarified.
Daryl glanced in their direction and shook his head. “Man, I’m not even paying attention to them. Only thing I’m worried about is unloading this truck.”
“Well, their lazy asses ain’t gonna help you. I can tell you that. I got a week’s salary that says not one of them offered to lift a finger to help you out.”
My father looked to the women on the stoop. Their ears were deaf to anything he had to say, but their eyes were still clearly focused on Daryl. Lucky for Pop that his snide remark had gotten by them. The women in our building really knew how to stick together when they weren’t stabbing each other in the back.
“Now that you mention it, no, they haven’t offered,” Daryl said.
“Take my advice when it comes to the women in this building. Hit it and quit and don’t get too attached ’cause all of ’em ain’t nothing but a bunch of gold diggers and whores.”
Daryl had nothing to say but nodded his understanding. I couldn’t read his expression, but somehow I got the feeling Pop had gone a little too far calling them whores.
“Anyway, let’s get this stuff upstairs,” I suggested to change the subject.
“You look like a strong young man so why don’t you start with this?” Daryl transferred a heavy box from his hands to mine. “I’ll grab something off the truck.”
As Pop and Daryl went into the truck to unload more boxes, I looked down and realized what I was carrying.
“Oh, wow! Is this the new system Bose just put out?” I called out.
“What do you know about that?” Daryl asked, exiting the truck. My dad followed behind him, his arms full.
“My boy’s a bit of a tech nut,” Pop answered for me. “If it’s got circuits and wires, he knows about it.”
“Well, that’s all right,” Daryl said. If I hadn’t just met the guy, I’d say he sounded almost like he was proud of me. At the moment, both Daryl and my father wore the same smiles on their faces. “And that’s good to know because I’m not. Maybe if I throw you a few ends, you can help me out with setting up some of my equipment. I’m sure a college kid like yourself can use a little money from a side hustle.”
“No doubt,” I answered as Daryl led the way into the apartment building.
The elevator arrived and we all piled on. I was the last one in, closest to the buttons, so I pressed three and we headed up.
I looked over into the box Daryl was carrying and couldn’t believe what I saw on top of it. “No way. Please tell me that is not the new iPad.”
“Oh, that?” Daryl said nonchalantly. “Yeah, a friend hooked me up. I haven’t had time to figure that thing out yet.”
“I told you my son’s a mechanical genius. I bet he’ll have you operating that thing like a champ in no time,” my father said, putting in a good word on my skills.
“I don’t know about a genius,” I said, looking over my shoulder at Pop, who still had a proud grin on his face.
As the elevator doors opened, Daryl said, “I have a friend who hooks me up with all that stuff.”
He said it so casually, but it didn’t come across as bragging. I liked that about him. There was nothing worse than a man who tried to make another man feel inferior by flaunting his worldly possessions. And then he said something that made me like him even more.
“You’re free to come mess around with my stuff whenever you have time. I’m sure you could teach me a thing or two.”
Pop put his hand on Daryl’s shoulder. “Oh, I’m quite sure he could. Benny is a techie, a mechanical genius, a gadget geek… you name it. I hope you meant it when you said he could come over, because I have no doubt he will.”
Daryl stopped in front of his apartment door and turned to face us. “One thing you’ll learn about me is that I mean everything I say.” He looked at me. “I mean it, son. Feel free to come over anytime.”
I couldn’t wait to get my hands on some of Daryl’s stuff.
Avery
3
It was a good thing I wasn’t driving, I thought as I walked home from Jiggles strip club, drunker than I’d been in a very long time. “Happy fuckin’ birthday to me,” I muttered as I stumbled down the sidewalk toward home.
Yes, it was my birthday—my fiftieth, to be exact—and I had spent it alone at Jiggles, ogling the tits and ass of some of the best-looking women I’d seen in a while. Most men would leave a place like that and head home to their wives, where they would make love in the dark, fantasizing that it was a stripper underneath them. Me, I couldn’t stomach the thought of touching my wife, not with the way she had let herself go. It was more than the fact that I was turned off by fat women. Her weight gain pissed me off because her ever-expanding waistline was a symbol for how much everything in my life had gone to shit. Ev
ery time I looked at her I was reminded of how far I’d fallen.
See, five years ago I was on top of my game, well on my way to becoming a millionaire as the top-selling mortgage broker for Option One right here in Queens; but when the bottom fell out of the housing market, I became a casualty of my own success. One day I’m the darling of the company, making six figures, newly married to one of the finest women you’d ever wanna see, rocking his and hers Mercedes, and living in a big-ass house out on Long Island. Then the next day, the housing market is in the toilet and they’re letting me go without notice. I think that was the first time, other than when my kid was born, that I actually shed tears as a grown man, but trust me, it wasn’t my last.
With the economy the way it was, the job market was so tight that I couldn’t get a job at McDonald’s, let alone another mortgage company or bank. By the time my unemployment ran out, both of our cars had been repossessed. I can’t begin to tell you how much of a loser I felt like, standing there with my wife, watching those bastards tow away our cars. By that time, I was four months behind on an upside-down mortgage, and like half of America, I just gave up and stopped making payments altogether. Six months later the bank foreclosed on our house and sold it on the courthouse steps for half of what I paid for it. Things were so bad that I ended up filing for bankruptcy. It was an awful time in my life, one I don’t think I could have ever prepared for. I mean, who prepares to be a goddamn loser?
My wife, Connie, tried to be supportive. She’d say things like, “You’ll find another job. Things will get better. You just wait and see.”
She was trying to remain upbeat, but by that time, I was so damn depressed I could barely even look at her, let alone listen to her perky, Susie Sunshine encouragement. It got to the point where I was basically ignoring my wife, and she started drowning her sorrows in junk food.
While I was losing all the material things in my life, my once sexy, superfine, curvy spouse was packing on the pounds—lots of them. She said she’d only put on fifty pounds since I married her five years ago, but I was willing to wager it was more like seventy-five to a hundred. Once upon a time I couldn’t wait to get home just to look at her, and now I was embarrassed to walk down the street with her fat ass.