by Braya Spice
My heart started pounding fast.
“Well, that’s when Lavante got on the phone and said that you were really a man.”
I exhaled deeply. That piece of shit, that muthafucka was still trying to wreak havoc in my life. Maybe to him it was just a joke, a way for him to hate. But that shit could have got me killed. After all this time I couldn’t believe he would say such a lie about me. I mean, it wasn’t like I had done him wrong, and as a result, we broke up. He had misled me, hurt me, and I had moved on. How could he be so bitter about that and spread lies about me?
“Allure, is it possible that when I get out of here that we can—”
“No. But I do accept your apology.”
“It’s just that. Look, I flipped out because I was raped by my father when I was like ten. So the thought that I had been kissing and touching a man pretending to be a woman enraged me.”
I wondered if it would have come out, this wee bit of information, if I had dated him longer. Or would it have continued to be a skeleton in his closet? And with him being damaged about it, what type of boyfriend would he have been to me? I was also confused. Was he a man who thought he had been tricked and reacted, or was he just a violent man? Then I figured there was no need to ponder this. He was something that didn’t happen. And since things turned out the way they did, it wasn’t meant to happen, either.
He could have simply asked me the truth, and if I had deceived him and had really been a man, he would have had the right to whip my ass. And I couldn’t help but feel that he really was a broken man with deep issues, someone I didn’t need in my life, so I was happy that things happened the way they did. Although I didn’t enjoy the ass whipping, the truth had been revealed. Lavante was a lying-ass, hating-ass dick. And I knew he would have his day one day.
“Look, I don’t mean to be insensitive, but you seem to have a lot of issues you may have not dealt with yet.”
“Yeah. I’m thinking about getting counseling.”
“You know what? I really think you should. You are a handsome and cool man. I really liked you and enjoyed being around you. But you ain’t my problem to solve. And the fact of the matter is you assaulted me. I wouldn’t be able to look at you in the same way. So the answer is no. Good luck.”
Before I gave him a chance to respond, I hung up the phone. Maybe I was harsh, but that was the kindest I could be to him after what he did to me.
I had completely forgotten that Andre was on the other line. But I was too shaken up by what I had just learned to call him back.
I started spending more time with Andre. The weekend after I got that crazy phone call from Bryce, Andre took me on a date to the Santa Monica Pier. He had just got off work and came in his uniform. I knew it was a bit shallow of me to not give him as much of a chance in the beginning as I gave Bryce, because I was more attracted to Bryce. I was still a little grossed out by all the sweating, but Andre seemed like a nice guy. Maybe he had some type of condition that caused him to sweat. He always carried a small towel to clean his face.
As we walked and talked, he seemed to be so confused about the fact that I was still single. “So tell me this, Allure. Why is a woman like you on the market?”
Let’s see, I thought. Because the men that I have been with weren’t shit. First, there was Greg, a psychopath. Then there was little dick Lavante. Let’s get to James.... I don’t know what to make of his ass. Then Bryce ... That situation was another disaster. I can’t catch a break for shit.
But I simply replied, “Just haven’t found the right person yet.”
“Are the pickings that slim?” he asked me as we walked.
“Hell, yes. Think about it. A large number of black men are incarcerated, and what is left out there is gay or with nonblack women, or they are bum types of dudes. The cards seem to be stacked up against us. So what’s a black woman to do?”
He laughed. “Don’t believe the hype. There are plenty of good brothas.”
I certainly hoped so. And I hoped Andre was one of them.
As we walked, people standing near and walking past stared at us. I had never gone anywhere with a man in blue. I felt special. Like I got a cop on me.
“You seem like you’ve been through a lot, Allure. I get that.” He sat on a bench, then grasped my hand and pulled me down to sit on his lap.
Shit. I had learned one thing. It was not to share my past with a man. So I was wondering how I had let on about my troubles. I asked in a saucy manner, “How you figure that?”
He chuckled. “When you smile, Miss Feisty, it’s not full. It tightens up. And I don’t know.... There’s a look you give. You look depressed.”
I looked away as he wiped a thick layer of sweat off of his face.
“You’re not supposed to talk about your past relationships,” I said. But I was contradicting myself, because basically my tears confirmed his statement. “I been through some stuff that has changed me, changed my whole outlook, took away a little of my joy. That stuff doesn’t allow me to feel as good as I can.”
“Why?”
“Because I can’t find a man to love me. Truly love me. Treat me right. To have that feeling, just know they really want to be there. For all the right reasons. I can’t find it.”
“Find what?”
“A soul to touch mine, be in sync with me, lift my daughter’s heavy ass out the car when she falls asleep, unclog the sink when it gets stopped up, and really, really look at me and love at least ninety-five percent of me. Someone who will be decent to me. Who wants to grow with me and be there as much as I wanted him to. That’s what I can’t find. And it seems like such a minor thing that I’m asking for. Pure, wholesome, unconditional love.”
He just stared at me for a long time. It looked like his eyes got a little watery.
“Allure, let that love find you and you can’t go wrong.”
“But in the meantime I’m lonely, and when I want to be held, kissed, and comforted, what do I do? And if it never comes, then what?”
He chuckled like he was on to something that I was not. “Baby girl, it already has. You just don’t know it, and, girl, now that I found you, I’m not letting you go, that for sure.”
I smiled, thinking, I’m tainted. I don’t fall for that shit no more. Promises. Go on with that shit. But part of me still believed in all that romance shit, still believed that there were decent men out there looking for good women. That made me believe him, and it overpowered that tainted side of me.
I allowed him to hold me tight, and when I pulled away, I let him kiss me softly.
Chapter 23
Andre invited me over for dinner. I was flattered, but then warning signs went off in my head about going to his home. So far all the times we had hung out, we’d been in public places. Truthfully, I trusted Andre, but I still felt like I needed to be cautious. But he told me that his sister would be there, along with his friend and his friend’s wife. So I thought, Cool. It made me feel a little important that he had invited me over to mingle with his sister and his friends. He had to be really serious about me if he wanted me to meet people in his world.
“Why don’t you bring your daughter?” he suggested after our movie date. The dinner party was the next day.
“I haven’t known you long enough for you to meet Sierra. Sorry. But she did say to tell you thank you for the Barbie doll you bought her.”
I gave him a peck and slipped out of his patrol car. He always took me on dates in it. I didn’t mind. In fact, it was exciting. He even did the sirens for me one day, and we ripped down the street. The only thing I didn’t like about Andre was that he always tasted like cigarettes. He said he didn’t smoke, but I knew he was lying. Because he always had this cigarette taste when he kissed me or I kissed him.
So the next day I got myself all pretty in preparation for dinner. To be honest, I was a little worried that he was already established and I wasn’t. I was a twenty-four-year-old single parent. But I had goals I wanted to accomplish. I hoped t
he fact that I was in college and working was enough for his sister and his friends.
The dinner was on a weekday, so Crystal agreed to watch Sierra. The dinner didn’t start until eight, and by that time Sierra would be in bed. I took my braids out, and my sister brought her gear to my home so she could wash, press, and flatiron my hair before putting a bunch of curls in it. It looked really nice.
My sister stood on my porch as I was leaving.
“Now, if anything goes down you not cool with, call me, Allure.”
I nodded my head. Ever since that Bryce situation, my sister has been hella paranoid.
“You got my Taser gun, too, right?”
I laughed. “Yes, I do. But like I said, his sister, his friend, and his friend’s wife will be there.”
“All right, well, if anything goes down ...”
“Crystal, I will be fine. Andre is a po-po.”
“That don’t mean shit! He could have a secret life.”
“He’s a cop, girl. I’ll be okay.”
“All right.”
I walked out the gate and slipped into my car. She watched me from my porch steps.
When I got to Andre’s house on the west side of Long Beach, before I could even knock, the door was thrust open and Andre gave me a bear hug. “Hey, baby!”
“Hey.”
He looked me up and down. “You look nice. Come on in.”
He grabbed me by my hand and led me into his living room. And to be honest, it was the most primitive-looking living room I had ever seen. It didn’t make sense since he was a cop. I thought cops made a good salary.
There was one black suede couch, and a boom box sat in a corner of the room. A small TV sat on a plastic crate, and a picture of a bowl of fruit hung on the living room wall.
But hell, he was a bachelor, so maybe that was why it looked the way it did. Maybe it simply needed a woman’s touch.
There was a woman sitting on his couch.
“Allure, this is my sister Wanda.”
I walked closer to her. I held out my hand. “Hello.”
She gave me a blank nod and rolled her eyes. She didn’t shake my hand. Half-dead-looking bitch, I wanted to say, but I kept my smile pasted on and turned away, but not before I inspected her. The bitch looked tacky, anyway. She had on a faded red, oversized Nike shirt and a pair of pink leggings. Her hair was thin and greasy looking and had a pick comb in it.
“Where is your friend and his wife?” I asked.
“They haven’t arrived yet.” He ushered me into the dining room, which had a small table, the type you folded and took to picnics, and there were only two chairs. The dining room was attached to the kitchen, and only carpet divided it from the kitchen.
“Sit down, baby.”
I sat and laid my purse on the table. I saw that his sister was still sitting in the living room, with the same expression on her face.
“I hope you like spaghetti.”
“I do.” I stood and walked in the kitchen. “You need some help?”
“Yeah, stir the spaghetti sauce. It’s simmering. I’ll be back.” He rushed away.
I stirred the spoon in the little pan, which contained what looked like mostly sauce. I hoped he had some chicken to go with this shit, because it wasn’t enough for five people.
Ten minutes later, when he came back into the kitchen, his face was wet with sweat. And his eyes were super dilated.
I was used to the sweat but not to his wide-ass pupils. My eyes narrowed. “Andre, you okay?”
“Yeah.” He walked out of the kitchen past the dining room. I followed after him into the living room.
His sister sucked her teeth and marched out of the living room.
“What wrong?” I asked.
“Nothing. You ready to eat?”
“I guess. But shouldn’t we wait for your other guests?”
“They said they’d be running a little behind and to start without them. Come on. Sit down and I’ll serve you.”
We walked back into the kitchen.
I wondered why he didn’t wait for them to arrive. But since I was probably going to feel shy in front of them and his sister, anyway, maybe it was better to eat before they came.
I sat down at the table in the dining room, and a few moments later he placed a plastic bowl in front of me with the spaghetti in it and a plastic fork. What the fuck indeed?
He sat across from me and winked. Then he hopped up again and left the dining room.
I dug in, expecting to taste ground beef, noodles, and a marinara sauce, but chewed on noodles, tomato sauce, and wieners instead. This shit is nasty, I thought. I was struggling to eat it when Andre came back again and took his seat. His sister followed behind him.
She went straight to the stove and fixed herself some of that shit. But instead of joining us, she went into the living room.
He pierced her with a long and hard look for what seemed like five minute but was probably only one.
“Are you gonna eat?” I asked as he continued to mean mug her.
She tossed her eyes his way and munched on that spaghetti like it was filet mignon.
Then Andre hopped up again. “I’ll be back, Allure.”
Now, I didn’t know what the problem was between him and her, why they kept tossing each other looks. But I wondered why he kept going from room to room. I assumed Andre had diarrhea. Poor thing, he must be embarrassed to have that on a date. Why else would he keep running back to the bathroom? And as far as the sweat was concerned, he always sweated. As for his sister and them looks he was casting her, maybe it was because she was being so damn rude. She wouldn’t talk to me, and she wouldn’t sit with us to eat. If Crystal had behaved that way when I had a dinner guest, I would be giving her mean looks too.
I watched her turn the bowl up and suck the remaining liquid from it into her mouth before rising to her feet and heading past me into the kitchen, up to the stove. She gave herself another helping.
I tried to stir up a conversation with her. “The weather has been crazy, hasn’t it?” I asked.
“Terrible.” She pierced me with the same look her brother had given her.
I put my head down and stirred my food with my fork, wishing the nasty shit would vanish off of my plate. I didn’t want to eat it, but I didn’t want to be rude.
“Well, they said it was gonna rain tomorrow.”
“Humph.” She didn’t even bother sitting down. She scarfed the spaghetti down as she stood.
Noodles, cut-up wieners, and sauce dripped from the bowl as she ate. The food dripped on her Nike shirt, her pink leggings, and her dirty-ass feet, which I just now noticed, and onto the floor.
I kept a smile on my face.
Then suddenly she shoved her bowl down on the counter and rushed off again, mumbling, “Muthafucka.”
Five more minutes went by, and I didn’t see either one of them. What in the hell is going on, and where in the hell are his other guests? I thought.
The doorbell rang.
“Andre? Wanda?”
I rose to answer the door. His other “guests” were a weird-looking white dude with a cigarette in his mouth and an even trashier-looking black chick. What the fuck?
I stepped back and closed the door, uncomfortable about letting them inside. They opened it right back up and came inside. My heart started beating. This shit was not right.
I went to go find Andre.
I stomped to the back of the house, yelling, “Andre? Andre?” I turned a corner and saw a set of bedrooms. I went inside both of them. Both were empty, empty meaning they didn’t have no damn furniture in them or Andre or Wanda. I turned another corner. “Andre?” I jumped when I spied his sister leaning against a wall, her eyes closed. “Where Andre?” I demanded.
She pointed an ugly-ass finger at a half-closed door. A sly smile curved on her lips.
I ignored her and raised my fist to knock but dropped it when she said, “He dressed. You can go in. You are his girl, aren’t you?” I cou
ld have sworn I heard her chuckle.
I cut my eye at her and shoved the door open, and when I saw what I saw, I screamed, more horrified than I had ever been in my life, like I saw a ghost. I backed up and bumped into her. She stumbled but regained her balance, muttering, “Damn.”
I backed away, my heart beating faster by the second, and then ran from the hallway to the dining room to snatch up my purse. Then I continued to run! Run! Run!
But I couldn’t get the image of what I saw out of my head. Andre was sitting on his toilet, had a crack pipe in his mouth, and was sucking on it. It wasn’t a cigarette flavor I had been tasting when I kissed him. It was a crack flavor. And all the sweating was from the crack! Why the fuck hadn’t I figured it out? Stupid! Stupid Stupid! This was why he didn’t have much furniture, and come to think of it, this was why he always drove his patrol car. He probably didn’t have a car.
My feet wouldn’t stop moving. I ran out the front door. Just in case he came outside, I jogged in place at my vehicle until my shaking hands were able to unlock it. At least my legs and feet would still be in motion.
But he didn’t.
The sister did, though. After I had hopped in, closed and locked my door—I didn’t bother with my seat belt—and started my ignition. I busted a quick U-turn and looked in my rearview mirror. She waved at my car and smiled as I sped down the street. It was the first smile I had gotten out of her ass all night.
“You’re back early,” my sister commented when I arrived home.
I didn’t say shit, just asked, “Where is Sierra?”
“Still asleep. Why?” She inspected my face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I tossed my purse next to her on the couch. Then I slid down to the carpet, staring off into space.
My sister was silent.
How could I have been so blind as not to see that I had been dating a crackhead? I started laughing. At first it was a quick chuckle; then it got louder, came from my belly. I clutched it and tossed my head back, slapped my thighs with my free hand.