Burning Desire

by Relentless Aaron

  STACY

  This was crazy-good. The credit card company got them balls of steel. But I ain’t mad at ‘em. And really, I guess that’s what they do when they sell people’s information to this, that, and a third. Now it was Bank of America offerin’ me up a credit card. Only they came to the table with a card for $12,000. But I ain’t no dummy. I knew how to spin them folks good. Once I got the offer in the mail, I made ‘em wait a week and then I hit ‘em back with the ol; Listen, $12 grand can’t do nothing for me. Of course, I didn’t speak that way; I had my lil’ proper white voice goin’ on. But I told ‘em straight up, If you can’t match my current card for $100 grand, what makes you think I’m ready to do business with you? Actually, I told them, what you’re sending me is really disrespectful.

  Then one thing leads to another, and the manager of approvals gets on the phone. He does some checking on the computer before he says, “Okay, ma’am, we can match the hundred grand if you’ll let us assume the debt for your Chase account.”

  Now, till that point, I didn’t know what he was talkin’ about. But I acted real quick, put José on hold and called my people, who told me exactly what to say. Next thing I know, I’m agreeing with the supervisor, he’s telling me he’s gonna approve a new line of credit for $100 gees. Immediately, I’m thinkin’ like Lincoln, and I know they can’t be serious. I wasn’t fittin’ to shut down nothin’. And at the end of the day, B of A cut a check and made it out directly to Chase. All that did was clear up the money I spent with Chase. And now, a chick with no credibility had herself $200 gees worth of credit. It was about to be on! And the very next thing on my agenda was to go get my man. This foolishness that was keepin’ us apart was fuckin’ with my head. How he gonna argue with me, then disappear like that. Poof. What ever was buggin’ him probably blew over by now, and in a minute he gonna be in love with me as if it was the first time all over again. I know people would think I’m crazy and that I had enough money to go where I wanted and get who I wanted. But I don’t care how much money or credit I got, can’t no amount of money buy a chick a good, dedicated man with a strong work ethic and a wicked backstroke. Plus, I gave this man my heart, my body, and all the fixins. Ain’t nothing more perfect fit than that. Gotta get him back. Period.

  I figured I would get back on my real-estate grind while I’m up. Little more ‘n a year ago I had close to $40 grand in equity built up, and because of some bullshit I lost it all. So, how I see it, it’s only right that I come back bigger and stronger. Not only that, the real-estate market is sweet now that the market is all broke. I been checkin’ around and found quite a few steals. A house that was once for sale at $115K is sellin’ for $40K now. And mansions that entertainers might live in could look like a million dollars, but they can be picked up for $400K and $500K. And to qualify for a $400K loan means 10 percent down. Wow. For $40K I can look and live like a million dollars. Sign of the times, for real.

  When I mentioned my intentions to Momma, she started trippin’.

  “How you gonna buy another house when I already got one? Plus you got these kids growin’ out they clothes every two minutes, and gas prices is just crazy. Just like you, wastin’ your money.”

  “Momma, this is your house. I want somethin’ of my own. Something I can invest in and be proud of. Ain’t that what you taught us? Ain’t you tell us to have our own so we don’t hafta depend on no man?”

  The conversation went back and forth until she got personal, talkin’ about my ex. You know, I fuckin’ flipped when she went there. It didn’t take me long to lose it. I was screamin‘, tears all streamin’ down my face and shit. No question, I was about tired of her shit. So I’m like, Okay, time for this chick to make her comeback.

  I got on my grind quick. I was partying at one of them model events at club Opera, the ones Leo and them be put-tin’ on. I had some lovely form-fittin’ pink dress on. Plus, the lace-up, matching leather stiletto boots I had on were turnin’ heads like never before.

  Naturally, niggas was hollerin’ at me and passin’ business cards by the dozens. Sam, an old friend from school, was tryin’ to talk me into being featured in a YouTube video. He sounded very convincing, try’na make some money ‘n’ all. But I had to tell him straight up, “I’m focused on real estate and nothing else.”

  That was in early September.

  By October first, Sam, the realtor, was proposing to me across a table in Starbucks in Lithonia.

  “Are you serious, Sam? You chose a time like this to propose? Why didn’t you just wait till I hit the megamil-lions and pop the question as they cut the check? Damn. ”

  “I assure you, Stacy. My proposal has nothing to do with money. I’m doing pretty good in my profession; got you as a client, right?”

  I rolled my eyes, thinkin’ that if this was the best line he could come up with—

  “Okay, so you’re right. But can you blame a brother? You’r eanobvious male -magnet. You’re set financially. You got the baddest ride I seen in a long time. And, yes, you have a head on your shoulders, too. So, I figure there’s no better time than now.”

  I was giggling at Sam, while at the same time asking his forgiveness for laughing in his face. Then I said, “If that ain’t the lamest sack-a-shit attempt I ever heard, Sam Albert. A luxury truck? Financial security? A woman’s figure? That’s what you want in a relationship? Nigga, you got a lot to learn about women. You really got a lot to learn about you, and what you really want, ‘cuz the shit you just said? Don’t you ever say that shit to a real woman. You want her for her ride, her financial stability, and because she’s a male-magnet. Are you serious, Sam?” I said this, but then I touched my palm over his hand to let him down easy. Wagging my head now: “You probably do real good with the ladies, don’tcha, Sam. Okay, sure, you’re probably having a dry moment now, and I know we known each other for a minute, and it’s probably convenient for you to speak your mind at a time like this, but… not me, Sam. I’m not the one. Plus, if you want the truth? My man is waitin’ for me. He’s somewhere in New York right now, but soon as this closing is over tomorrow, soon as I get my house right, I’m gon’ get my man.” I said these words while I showed Sam a picture of Danté and myself on my cell phone.

  “That’s your man?”

  “Sure as the sky is blue. That’s my future husband. My future baby-daddy.”

  Sam cocked his head back some. “He’s in… New York? You su re? “

  “I’m sure. What’s that look for? You know Danté?”

  “Ahh, I got news for you. Stacy, I don’t know how to tell you this, but this Danté fella? He’s”— Sam stuttered for a second—”he’s fuckin’ some rich lawyer’s daughter down in Cascade. I just walked in on him last week. A broker was showing us a mansion with a studio in the basement. Except”— Sam cleared his throat— “ the studio was a little busy when we walked in.”

  The frozen, angry look on my face was more for the rich lawyer’s daughter he spoke of than it was for Sam himself. And just then, the business meeting turned real personal. None of the smooth jazz playing in Starbucks, the customers gliding in and out of the entrance, the busy workers and their rituals— none of it mattered.

  What drink can I get started for ya?

  Will you be having whipped with that?

  Should I leave room?

  None of it existed for me because I was too busy daydreaming and floating in a place called nowhere, and, although he didn’t know it, so was Sam. But I couldn’t even see Sam; just his lips were moving. His lips were answering every single one of my questions. Names. Address. When.

  THAT NIGHT, I had to plan my attack. I was thinkin’ about fire bombin’ a rich lawyer’s house. I was thinkin’ about layin’ in wait for some you ng, wannabe singer to come drivin’ down a long oval driveway so I could ram my truck into that bitch’s car. Every-and anything goes at this point, ‘cuz at the end of the day, no rich bitch— I don’t care if she is a lawyer— is gonna get in my way. As far as I was concerned, her si
nger-daughter was out of her lane. Danté was my territory. My property. And they might not know it, but I had a surprise for all of them.

  [ELEVEN]

  OPHELIA

  I’M TRYING TO maintain some sense of a steady schedule, but it’s near impossible. Both large and small clients are late with their payments. And that’s my fault, really, for being too lenient and allowing payment plans. And it’s all added up, weighing on my shoulders. In the end, it all amounts to bills backed up and an unbalanced bank account. If things get way out of hand, bill collectors call, or worse, the sheriff comes with papers to serve. Embarrassing.

  I was knocked out when the sheriffs came with the court order. But a 5:00 a.m. knock at the door is what woke Ray Ray. And Ray Ray got to arguing with the sheriff, and before long there was a back and forth that grew loud enough to get Dancer and Toni out of bed. I’m told there was a little face-off down there and that it was Preston’s sensibilities that put a stop to it all. I’m so glad for that. But I had more pressing matters to conquer. The reason the sheriff came was for the mortgage. Sixty-five hundred dollars a month. And if I’m any later than thirty days, they send the dogs. This is the first time something like this has happened to us, and it was truly embarrassing to be served like this. So, of course I was up in arms and ready to shoot at everyone who owed me money. I put a list together with Angela and came to a grand total of eighty thousand dollars that was owed to me. Again, me with the relaxed payment plans and the sniveling clients. Well, no more mister nice guy.

  While Angela got on the phone and gave hell to some of my late-paying clients, I got down and did a little dirty work myself.

  “After all, Mary, I don’t provide layaway-plan law; I’m a professional who gets results. And that’s the way I expect to be paid, like a professional who gets results. I was in court every day last week, on time, representing you even when you didn’t come on time. There’s gas, lunch, other paying clients I have to push aside. It’s a lot. So, I understand your woes. I get it that the economy is hurting. But that’s not my business. Because what ever the economic climate, Mary, I’m here to represent my clients.…”

  “… If it rains, I don’t work any less, Charles. Nor do I limit my performance. When it’s too hot out, I don’t cry the blues. I just dress appropriately, and I get in there and go to work. That kind of performance is expert per for-mance; Charles, it’s not just talent. Blame economics and cry the blues to everyone else but me. I’m the one who’s either keepin’ the business alive, keeping attackers off the back, or else keeping someone’s butt out of jail. Somehow, one of those applies to you, so I can’t have you or any other client treat me like I’m not a priority. My bills need to be paid just like yours.…”

  “… No, you need to cut that off. And I need to be refunded every dime that you’ve taken out since July. I did not authorize any consistent payment schedule, and I don’t need this ser vice on a monthly basis.…”

  “… Two fifty a month? For what? No, sir. We needed that service just one time. We don’t do name searches that often. Please take us off your list, and please refund what you took from the account for the past two months. Thank you.”

  A new priority was in place in my home. I needed to tighten screws, buckle down on spending, and call in those outstanding loans. ‘Cuz that’s what they were. If you’re owing me money and if your debt is outstanding, I’m no less a lender, and you are but a borrower. And that’s how I found myself addressing people, no matter if you were a friend, family member, or a corporation. I found myself caught between attacking my clients and the moochers who were preying on my bank account. And at the moment, nothing else was more important than the money. Because if I could help it, I wasn’t about to experience another of those embarrassing sheriff moments ever again.

  AS IF time froze, I took a seat and stared at the T V. Barack actually won the election. He won! I was so full of emotion and didn’t know how to release it. I cried. I laughed. I gave hugs to whoever came into arm’s reach, got some love. Think about it: after generations of struggle here in the South, from lynchings to the White House. Wo w. If I were to write a book, that’s what it would be called: From Lynchings to the White House. We’ve endured so much as a people, and there are so many misdeeds, inhumane acts, and ungodly injustices that blacks have surrendered, submitted, and succumbed to that there was just no way to seek redemption. Men, women, and children, killed. Human rights deferred. Injustice and abuse of authority, rampant. And all of it has weighed on the conscience of Mother America like a bloody boil. Naturally, growing up as a young girl in the South, I’ve seen a lot. And what can a woman possibly do to right all the wrongs? I’m just one person making my own minuscule contribution to the universe. It’s not like I’m a big politician or a big spiritual leader who can move congregations. But then, seeing this in my lifetime has made my two cents of contribution so worthwhile. My struggle to do good, to walk in righteous footsteps, and to proceed with power and purpose has finally been endorsed by this significant achievement. I can honestly say that Barack is me; that he pushed through muddy waters and climbed the highest mountain imaginable to eventually win the world’s highest office on my behalf.

  And while I’m telling myself these things, Angela was closing the doors to my office. She did this usually when guests were in the reception area, or when she was leaving me to enjoy privacy as I consulted with clients. This time, however, it was apparent that Angela was looking for her own time alone with me.

  “Ophelia, I need to talk to you about something.”

  “Looks serious. Why don’t you have a seat.” And as she did, I had to say, “By the way, I want to tell you that you’re doing an excellent job showing the house. I know these are difficult times and the house will eventually sell. So just keep up the good work. We’ll drop the price again and see if we can’t get it moved for six hundred.”

  “At that price, I’m gonna need to call a few people who’ve already seen the house. I’m most certain to find us a buyer.”

  “Good. Then it’s done. So, what did you need to talk to me about?”

  “Ophelia, this is a little difficult to bring up, because I’ve only been working with you for six months, and I never get into your family business.…”

  Up until Angela mentioned family I couldn’t imagine what might be so important. In one day we had jointly pushed my delinquent clients to make due on at least half of the money that was owed to the King Firm. Thanks to Angela’s tough Jamaican attitude and my aggressive courtroom approach, we got it done. So, what ever Angela had to tell me, I was all ears.

  Angela took a deep breath and appeared to brace herself. Then she said, “It’s about your house guest.”

  “Yes?”

  She stalled before she said, “First I need to tell you something else. Ophelia, I promise this won’t happen again. I really screwed up big-time, I know. It was just, well, he forced himself.”

  I could feel my skin stinging and my heart pounding. “Preston?”

  “I, no— uhh, I’m so sorry, Ophelia. I never meant to violate your trust in me.”

  The fire in my eyes was intense. I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. I invited this man in my house and he forced himself on my para legal?

  I could already see myself cursing this man and tossing him out of the house on his head and cutting my losses. After all, what, am I gonna get disbarred for my house cleaning?

  Just as I began fuming, the phone rang. At the same time, Angela was wagging her head and trying to say something. I put her on hold and took the important call. It was Bo.

  “FOUND OUT who your boy is, Ophelia. Want me to come and see you? Or should I let you have it now?”

  I was thinking that what ever Bo had to tell me now didn’t matter. I almost said what I was thinking, too. But I was more curious than anything else.

  “Yeah, Bo. Why don’t you let me have it now.” I braced myself for what I was already prepared to write off and disregard as irrelevant nonse
nse.

  “Well, for one thing, his name’s not Preston, it’s Danté. I took the lead you gave me, met the maître d’ at McCor-mick’s. She remembers him coming in late for dinner, and she set him up with a reservation at Ruth’s Chris. At Ruth’s Chris he was the last diner and they even had a credit card receipt to show me. You’re not supposed to know how I got that type of access, Ophelia.”

  “Right. Just like I don’t know how we solved so many other unexplainable fact-finding missions.”

  Bo chuck led and went on with his find. “So, his real name is Danté Garrett. He and his family run a business called Mister Fix-It, a company out in Park Chester, a section of the Bronx, up in New York. But, get this: I remembered you said something about him wanting to get back to his father and grandfather.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Turns out that’s not even possible. Both of them have passed away from the big C.”

  “Cancer?”

  “Prostate cancer. Might be hereditary. But, sure is the sky is blue, his elders are MIA.”

  “What about his mother?”

  “No info on that yet. Still have my hounds out. I did also find his address. Called the super. Turns out he hasn’t paid rent in three months. They asked me some questions, but of course I haven’t said a word.”

  I was doing math in my head, counting the two months he’d spent in the hospital and the two months he’d been with me.

  “Oh. One more thing. Once I knew his real name, I did some checking with New York State Department of Motor Vehicles. He drives a turquoise Blazer, plate number A72 98FD. When I checked with Atlanta PD; they pulled it up right away. The vehicle had been impounded from being left on the street for so many days with tickets building.”

  I sat there at my desk, staring at CNN and the postelection commentaries, opinions, and talk of where the Obamas would be spending Thanksgiving. The images got me to thinking about Thanksgiving and how we might be throwing down. I was already tallying the food list in my head, along with how many people would be coming and who would bring what. I figured all this even as Bo was still explaining things.