Growing Pains

by Dwayne S. Joseph

  If he played his cards right and the stars remained aligned, then that something could lead to him and Brian being a whole lot closer.

  12

  Deahnna cried.

  She was doing what she had to do. Sacrificing to hold things down. Sacrificing to keep a roof over her head. Sacrificing to put food on the table, to keep the utilities on.

  Her sanity.

  Tiny bits of her soul.

  Sacrificing.

  Three nights a week. Four hours at a time. Twelve hours total. Deahnna did what she never imagined she would ever do or, for that matter, ever have to do. But life’s circumstances dictated the tough, heart-wrenching decision she’d had to make, and so on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights, she left the peace and comfort of her home, hopped on the J train, and took a thirty-minute, solitary commute to a place where the only thing she didn’t reveal was her name.

  Deahnna cried.

  While everyone stared but didn’t see.

  Her tears came down torrentially. Droplets as heavy as lead marbles. As cold as ice. Hard, fast, unrelenting. Unforgiving.

  She cried.

  While she worked her hips seductively. While she gripped a metal pole with one hand and caressed her breast with the other. While Ginuwine’s classic, erotically-charged song, “Pony,” played from speakers all around her. While strangers, both familiar and unfamiliar, watched her intensely with their mouths open, their hands loosely holding on to dollar bills, or sitting heavily in their crotches.

  She cried.

  On the inside. Where no one ever saw.

  Deahnna worked her body like a snake, going down to her knees, the metal pole sitting in the middle of her back. Her eyes stared through the men and women watching her. They all assumed she was staring at them. That was never the case. Deahnna never noticed anyone.

  She got down on her hands and knees and began to crawl slowly toward the front of the stage that she commanded. She licked her lips as though they were coated with honey. She bit down on her bottom lip as if squirming around on the laminated flooring was the best sex she’d ever had. She smiled, and blew kisses to spectators who tossed dollar bills at her.

  Her performance was always waited for with eager anticipation. She was the seductress who wore a mask like Zorro. Deahnna sexed the air around her to the song’s hypnotic rhythm, making everyone yearn to be with her, to touch her, to kiss her, to move inside of her.

  She cried as she sacrificed her self-respect for the extra cash that her full-time job didn’t give her. But she continued to move, to put on her show, to entice everyone to make their hard-earned money hers, until the song came to a merciful end.

  She gathered the many dollar bills lying around her on the stage as people applauded and the club’s owner praised the “big ass” and “beautiful tits” she had, and then quickly shuffled off of the stage, going to the dressing rooms where two other dancers waited their turn.

  She sat down, and no longer able to keep the tears buried deep, she covered her face with her hands and let them overflow and cascade down her cheeks.

  “Deahnna, what’s wrong, girl?”

  Deahnna looked up as a small hand lay on her shoulder. One of the other dancers, Regina Tatum, stood beside her, looking down at her with a concerned frown. Regina was the senior dancer in the club. Senior meaning her age. Forty-five, with weathered skin tinged by age spots, and D-cups that hung just a little too low. A pockmarked face that looked weighted down by makeup. Regina had been stripping for close to twenty years. From LA to Vegas. From Vegas to Chicago. Chi-town to the Big Apple. She’d traveled long and she’d traveled hard. She really had no right being on the stage, but she gave lap dances that drew lines, and she also gave the club’s owner head that made him moan like a cat in heat. Whether she belonged or not, as long as the lines and the owner continued to come, she could dance for as long as she wanted to.

  Deahnna sniffled, reached for a tissue, and wiped her eyes. “Nothing,” she said. “I’m fine.”

  “OK,” Regina said in a “yeah, right” tone. “Whatever you say, honey.”

  “Really,” Deahnna said. “I just have some things I’m dealing with, but I’m OK.”

  “Honey, we’re all dealing with shit by being here, so stop trying to be tough and just talk to me.”

  Deahnna smiled. For the most part she got along with all of the dancers in the club, but she’d developed an especially close bond with Regina. She frowned as Regina looked at her sympathetically. After a few seconds, she frowned and said, “I hate doing this job.”

  Regina raised her eyebrows. “Don’t we all, honey.”

  “I never thought I would ever have to do something like this.”

  “Believe me, I never planned on making this a career. I wanted to be a doctor or a lawyer. But I followed the wrong crowd when I was younger, and got caught up in things that took my dreams away.”

  Deahnna shook her head and thought about Brian. If he ever found out what her real part-time job was . . . And then there was Jawan. The man who’d come in like a white knight. If he ever knew . . .

  “I have to get out of this, Regina. But life is just so damned hard and unfair.”

  “I know, honey,” Regina said, her voice soft.

  Deahanna wiped her eyes with the tissue again. “I . . . I have to find something else.” She’d looked for other part-time jobs, but the problem was that in order to make what she made at the club, she’d have to put in a lot more hours. She looked at Regina. “I met someone,” she said with a smile.

  “Really? He doesn’t come here, does he? Because let me tell you, those relationships never work.”

  “No,” Deahnna said, shaking her head emphatically. “He’s actually a teacher.”

  “Hmm. I see. He doesn’t teach sex ed. Does he?” Regina said with a laugh.

  Deahnna laughed too. Something she hadn’t done all night. “No. He’s an English teacher.”

  “Sounds nice.”

  “I have a date with him tomorrow night.”

  “Good for you, honey.”

  Deahnna pressed the tissue to her eyes again. “He . . . he knows I work a second job, but he doesn’t know what it is. What if he starts asking me about it? I can’t tell him what I do. I didn’t regret agreeing to the date before, but now I’m really starting to.”

  Regina squeezed her shoulder. “Honey, you’ve been here for six months now, and as long as I’ve known you, you’ve never talked about a man, which means this guy must be special.”

  Deahnna smiled and nodded. “He is.”

  “Well then go out tomorrow night and have a good time, honey.”

  “And what if he asks about this job?”

  “You lie.”

  “But to establish a relationship based on a lie—”

  “Is the smart thing to do right now, honey.” Regina looked over her shoulder as applause and whistling erupted from the stage. She looked back to Deahnna. “Looks like I’m on. Listen, trust me on this. Go out and lie about what you do, honey. Tell him that you work for a cleaning company. Go with the flow. Let the relationship get established. When and if you need to tell him about this place, he’ll hopefully know you well enough to know that this bullshit is all about doing what you have to do. Not what you want to do.”

  “I . . . I guess.”

  Regina leaned over and gave her a kiss on her forehead. “Trust me, honey, let him get to know you. Once he does, if you do have to tell him, he’ll know that something like this can’t define you. Gotta run. There are pervs and dollar bills waiting.”

  “OK. Hey. Thanks, Regina.”

  “Anytime, honey. See you on Saturday. Have details. Especially of the sex.”

  Deahnna laughed. “I don’t think that will be happening. It’s only our first date.”

  “And?” Regina blew her a kiss and left the room, leaving her alone.

  Deahnna thought about Jawan. He’d been on her mind since their phone conversation. She’d said that sex wasn’t
happening, but she couldn’t deny that sexual energy had existed between them the night of the dance.

  Sex.

  It had been awhile since she’d had any, awhile since she’d really even thought about it. But since the night of the dance, she’d definitely had a tingling between her legs.

  She’d meant it when she said she didn’t think anything would be happening, but in the back of her mind, she couldn’t help but think that maybe she should be prepared for the unplanned.

  13

  Yo . . . sup B . . . You down?

  Brian clenched his jaw and deleted the text message he’d just received from Tyrel. He’d gotten numerous messages from Will. This was the first correspondence he’d gotten from Tyrel since their near blowup at Will’s house. Brian slid his phone back into his pocket.

  Was he down?

  To rip off Old Man Blackwell. A man who knew his mother well. A man who’d always given him smiles and respect.

  Was he down?

  To disrespect Old Man Blackwell in order to respect bonds of a friendship that went back so far he couldn’t remember a time without it. Tyrel and Will. The two musketeers in their three-musketeer tandem. One for all and all for one. No blood existed between them, yet to say they weren’t brothers just didn’t make sense.

  Was he down?

  Blackwell or his comrades, who struggled to survive in the war of life.

  Brian shook his head, dragged his hand down over his face, and exhaled heavily through flared nostrils. He shouldn’t have had to make a decision like this.

  “Hey, Brian.”

  Brian looked up. His teacher, Mr. White, was standing in front of him. He’d been so caught up in his thoughts and dilemma that he’d never even noticed his teacher approach him. “Hey, Mr. White,” he said, his voice low.

  “Do me a favor and hang out after class, OK?”

  “I have something to do,” Brian said.

  “Just give me a few minutes. Maybe fifteen, tops.”

  Brian opened his mouth to protest, but then closed it. “OK,” he mumbled.

  His teacher nodded and then walked off. Brian frowned and wondered what his teacher wanted. Hopefully it had nothing to do with his mom.

  Despite the fact that Mr. White had insisted he’d had no intentions with his mother, Brian still had his doubts. He’d watched their interaction at the dance from afar. He’d seen the look of interest in his teacher’s eyes. He wanted his mother whether he admitted it or not. Although Brian liked and respected, and even trusted to a certain degree, his teacher, that want in his eyes bothered him. He took a breath and let it out slowly. He had enough on his mind as it was. He didn’t need any more shit to deal with.

  His cell phone buzzed again. Another message. He pulled it out from his pocket, held it beneath his desk, and looked down at it. It was a note from Carla.

  My mother had to go into work to cover for someone. I need to talk to you. Come over after school.

  Brian texted back: Talk about what?

  Thirty seconds passed, and then: Just come over. It’s important.

  Too much shit, Brian thought.

  He replied, OK, and then slid his phone back into his pocket. Fifteen minutes later, the bell rang, letting everyone know that the school day had ended.

  While the students rushed out, Brian remained seated. When the room was empty, Mr. White approached him with a paper in his hand. He put the paper down in front of Brian. Brian looked at it. His exam. With a C- on it.

  “You want to explain that to me?” his teacher said.

  Brian looked at the paper, then at him. “It looks like a C-,” he said nonchalantly.

  Mr. White nodded. “On your paper,” he said. “You want to tell me why?”

  “What do you mean why?”

  “I know you know the answers to these questions, Brian, yet you answered some incorrectly, and there were a couple that you just didn’t answer at all.”

  Brian raised his brow and shrugged.

  “What’s going on, Brian? This I-don’t-care façade isn’t working. I know you. I know you care about your grades.”

  “Nothing’s going on,” Brian answered. “I just screwed up. Didn’t study properly.”

  Mr. White frowned and looked at him, his eyes clearly stating that he wasn’t buying Brian’s bullshit. “Are you in any trouble?”

  Brian said, “No.”

  “What about your mother?”

  Brian shook his head. “No.”

  “Are your boys in trouble?”

  “Nah. They’re good.”

  “So then what’s the deal? I don’t want Cs on your papers to become the norm.”

  Brian bent the corners of his mouth downward and kept his lips tight as he exhaled. “Nothing’s the deal, Mr. White. I just screwed up on the test. That’s it. It’s not going to become routine.”

  His teacher looked at him, his eyes still filled with skepticism. “Screwed up, huh?” he said.

  “Yeah.”

  “So I guess that means that I should expect the usual with your next exam.”

  “Yeah.”

  His teacher nodded. “And there’s nothing going on? Nothing on your mind? Nothing that you need to talk about?”

  Brian grit his teeth and remained silent for a brief moment. He needed to talk to someone, but he was part of a three-man cartel. There was no one he could talk to. He shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “I’m good.”

  Mr. White nodded again. “OK. I’ll take you at your word. I’ll see you next Monday.”

  Brian gave a nod back, then gathered his book bag and rose from his desk. About to walk away, his teacher, who’d gone back to his desk, called out to him.

  “Brian, before you go, I just want you to know that if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here with a closed mouth and an open and nonjudgmental ear.”

  Brian’s heart beat heavily, and for a brief moment he toyed with the idea of opening up. There was a sincerity in his teacher’s voice, something reassuring about it that he found trustworthy. He stared at Mr. White as the teacher watched him. Open up, he thought. He wanted to, needed to. But how do you tell someone that you’re a thief?

  Brian gave a half smile. “Thanks,” he said, and then quickly left the classroom.

  14

  Fifteen minutes later, Brian was ringing Carla’s doorbell.

  She wanted to talk about something important. He didn’t know what she wanted to talk about, but she’d never wanted to talk about anything important before.

  He took a deep breath as he waited for her to open the door, and blew it out slowly.

  Will’s near screwup at Patel’s Laundromat. The decision about Old Man Blackwell’s, and the near fight with his best friend. The struggle to remain focused in school. Now Carla wanted to talk about something important. The storm was looming closer. He could feel it.

  The door opened.

  Carla looked at him for a short second, and then stepped to the side and said, “Come in.”

  No smile. No hug. No kiss.

  Very different from the last time they were together.

  Whatever the important topic was, it wasn’t going to be good.

  Brian said, “Hey,” then walked in, giving Carla a quick peck on her lips as he passed by her.

  Carla closed the door and then turned toward him. She was wearing a blue New York Giants T-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants, and had New York Giants slippers on her feet. She loved football and bled New York Giants blue.

  Carla was very much a what-you-see-is-what-you-get type of girl. Jeans, sweats, T-shirts—these were the things she preferred to wear. She liked makeup and liked to get her hair done every week, but other than that, she was not the type of female to feel the need to dress to impress all the time. That was one of the things Brian liked about her. She was an around-the-way girl in the truest form. She kept it simple, but was always sexy with it.

  Brian looked at her. Used X-ray vision to see the curves he knew very well beneath
the clothing. He was there because she wanted to talk about something important, but they had the house to themselves. He couldn’t fight the stirring in his black South Pole jeans.

  He put his bag down. “You look good,” he said, the tone in his voice indicating that he was hoping talking wouldn’t be the only thing they would do.

  Carla frowned, folded her arms across her chest, and said, “I’m pregnant.”

  Nothing more.

  Brian stopped breathing.

  He just stared. His gaze going from Carla’s eyes to her stomach.

  Pregnant.

  That meant there was a baby inside.

  Brian stared. Didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. Just stared.

  “So,” Carla said. “Say something.”

  Brian swallowed saliva that wasn’t there, but still didn’t move, blink, breathe, or speak.

  “Brian,” Carla called out. “Brian, say something.”

  Brian’s gaze traveled up from her belly to her eyes. Tears were running from them, and trailing down her cheeks.

  He hated to see her cry. He finally breathed, and then said, “Are . . . are you sure?”

  Carla nodded and brushed dark brown hair away from her face. “Yeah. The test is positive.”

  “The test could be wrong.”

  “I took four of them. They all had the same result.”

  “Four? What the hell? What made you take the test in the first place?”

  “I missed my period last month.”

  Brian clamped his hand behind his neck. “Last month? Shit. Why are you just now telling me this?”

  “I was sick last month with the cold, remember? I didn’t know if somehow the cold made me miss it.”

  “Colds don’t affect a fucking period,” Brian said louder than he intended.

  “I just wanted to be sure, all right?”

  “Fuck, Carla! How can you be fuckin’ pregnant?”

  Carla wiped tears away furiously with the back of her hand as her face grew red. “What do you mean how can I be? Your ass was the one who insisted on us not using any condoms.”