I was so deep into this conversation that I wanted to shout. I wanted to shout OPHELIA KING, DAMMIT!
Because I knew she was the key component here. I knew this Willis guy wasn’t comin’ clean with the major, and that it was likely Chavez (the officer who wasn’t present) who had some kind of allegiance with Ms. King. But I held my tongue. This seemed to be working out in my favor, and I didn’t wanna screw it up. There was also the conflict here: sure, this was no big deal to the police, and maybe it was Ophelia who called the police, maybe following Dancer and me until we had the van shaking? But then again, with me this was still feeling like a violation, especially after what I had been through just a month earlier at the mansion. The other thing was, I didn’t want to see this get any more complicated than it had. Okay, yes: Ophelia King was probably using the police to attack me for jumping her daughter’s bones. But how could I blame her? If it was me, I’d probably use a nuclear warhead if I could to interrupt some stranger trying to make moves on my daughter. Probably.
Thing is, I know I’m a good man. Sure, I have my sexual pet peeves, but who doesn’t? And really, what part of sex is considered normal? Is it the act itself? Is it the state of mind you need to have to get aroused in the first place? And what is and isn’t considered permissible by religious standards, or even by pornographic standards? I mean, isn’t this all just semantics and don’t we all just wanna be loved to the limit? What’s so bad about that, Ms. Ophelia King? Didn’t you engage in the same so- called ungodly activity to bring Dancer to life? So why not cut a brother a break?
I was talking to a wall to think that what I had to say could be heard by Dancer’s mom. It was that much harder when you considered the emotions of a mom and what type of man she might consider worthy of her daughter’s coochie.
OPHELIA
I’ve gotta say I felt so evil to use my resources like I did, to get that man locked up. And I’m supposed to be the woman to keep men out of jail? But we’re talkin’ about my daughter here. And I can’t explain it any other way— I don’t care how mad Dancer is at me. But finding love has got to be more challenging than Mom bringing home a stray pup from the hospital. She can stay locked in her studio for a month if she wants. Mom is right in this case.
“Lieutenant Chavez, please.” I couldn’t sleep until I knew Danté was out of custody. Plus, I had Dancer back and I had settled down from the high; all the commotion near the railroad tracks. The railroad tracks! Jesus, I’ve raised that girl so much better than that. Sex in the back of a van near a railroad track!? I coulda screamed when I heard this. When I got the call from Chavez. It sure pays to have friends in high places.
“Hey, Lieutenant. I was just thinking that I might’ve gone too far to have that boy locked up, and I was wondering— Really? I see. Well, does he need bail or anything?”
When I hung up the phone it dawned on me that nature had taken its course. Apparently the girl named Stacy got involved. It was the one noted in Danté’s or ga niz er; the girl that Pastor Bishop talked about when I called. And so it was true: he did have a woman he loved, and who loved him. I only hoped Danté could get back to being himself, with the family that loves him. He did seem like a good man, and if that’s the case he should find some resolution in his life. Every good person deserves resolution and closure.
STACY
This has worked out so much better than I expected. I mean, I expected to break up their little rendezvous. But I didn’t think the police would actually let him off the hook without so much as a citation? Because, even though Danté and I have been going through our issues, he’s the last person I want to see hurt. In the end, the truth is, his hurt is my hurt. And now that I’ve reached a certain level of success, I didn’t want any more hurt. No more pain.
“Why you lookin’ at me like that?” I asked Danté. He was sitting in the passenger’s seat of my brand- new Lexus, the very place I’ve pictured him over and over again. “Why do you think I wanna hurt you, Danté? All I ever wanted to do was love you. We had so much going. We were soul mates. We are soul mates.”
It didn’t matter how Danté was staring at me. All that mattered was that I had my man back. Sure, he was a little (what did they call it?) insubordinate. But that was, I guess, a consequence of the big picture. But wow. I can’t begin to explain how incredible it feels to have him back. And I couldn’t wait to give him that warm welcome home that he deserved.
“Don’t worry, Danté. I have all your valuable stuff in my trunk. I didn’t wanna see anything happen to it out there near the deserted area.”
“What valuable stuff?”
“In your van. And what ever happened to the Blazer? Oh, it doesn’t matter. I can buy us ten Blazers if we need it.” I couldn’t understand why he had this crazy look on his face. I mean, was that what they meant by crazy love? “And I had your truck brought to my house, so that’s safe, too.”
“What the hell?”
“Baby, it’s okay. Really. You need to know that what ever it is, I got you. Listen, I couldn’t wait to tell you this. I know you gonna be mad at me, but let me tell you the whole story before you trip. Remember I was cleanin’ up at your apartment back in the Bronx? I used to or ga nize your papers, your mail, and so forth? Well, baby, it will take a lot of explainin’ and a lot more understandin’ on your part, but you and I are the proud new own ers of a five-bedroom home right here in Fulton County. I can’t wait to tell you how I did it.…”
DANTÉ
I felt trapped. It wasn’t just that she had all my personal property and my van in her possession. It didn’t have anything to do with her showing up at the police precinct to bail me out or rescue me; it was so much more than that. To end my run- in with the Fulton County Police Department, there was no bail. I found out that Chavez, whoever he was, screwed up seriously by going along with Ophelia King’s influence. To let Dancer go without so much as a record and to put me through the ringer, so to speak, was (as I thought) dead wrong. Favoritism, I figured it to be, althoug I’m sure there was some other legal or official terminology for it. Either way, to squash things and keep everyone happy and healthy, I guess Major Chambers put her foot down and cleared me of all charges. She was real, extra, super-duper nice to me, too, even passing me her business card and mentioning that I should call her if I had any issues. Wow. And did I ever have an issue now.
I walked out of the police station sometime later expecting that I’d have to take a cab or something to get to my van, and look who pulled up in the shiny white Lexus. It was her again, only she didn’t feel threatening, at least not to a man who was down on his luck.
“Hey, superstar.” If she was trying to be dazzling, it worked. She had some form- fitting jeans on, a tube top that allowed for a good look at her chiseled midsection, and a jeans jacket to match her slacks. “Goin’ my way?”
Don’t ask why it was so easy for her to talk me into the ride, but I didn’t see a reason why I shouldn’t. I didn’t see her as a threat. Not at all. And now we were together in the warm, leather seats of her car, driving Lord knows where, to a house she said she bought for us?
“Where we headed?”
“I was thinking it’s Friday night. I was thinkin’ we might need to get a little weight off our minds. Mind if I treat you to a drink?”
IT WAS a good thing this spot had food, ‘cause I was starved. I didn’t take the time to add it all up, but I had cum real hard earlier that night; there was the whole exhaustive altercation with the police, and now I was in the hands of a woman who I had been having head- throbbing nightmares about. A brother could use a good chicken dinner right about now.
Club ABC was so busy with well- dressed black folk that I couldn’t help being proud for the own ers who put it together. The music was on some just-r ight soul tip, the flat plasma screens all over the place either had the sports, the videos, the news, or advertisements goin’ on all at once, and the furnishing wasn’t cheesy. It was a comfortable at-home plush atmosphere with sect
ional couch arrangements and cushioned stools parked at a generous amount of high tables.
Within minutes, Stacy and I were seated at an intimate setting for two, set apart from the crowd of a hundred or so. Soon thereafter, I was munching on a salad and waiting for the barbecued- shrimp platter we’d ordered.
“I see you still on the eating-good routine.”
“Sure. I love to eat good. And this is close to the only unfried foods they have on the menu. Salad and shrimp work fine for me. How come you not eatin’?” I said.
“I just enjoy watchin’ you. A couple of these will do me right. I’m celebratin’, baby.”
I couldn’t figure it out, but sitting across from Stacy felt okay. Talking to her felt so familiar. Together with the food and drinks, this all was no different than one much- needed massage on my mind and body.
And that’s just what it became awhile later.
We were in this brand- new home that Stacy said was recently built. She had shown me around, pointing out that she was still in the planning stages for furniture, as well as the paint she wanted. The home smelled so new and everything was so untouched and fresh, and it was all so intoxicating but also conflicting in my head. I knew I deserved this and that I’d one day have it all, but for it to be handed to me on a (so to speak) platter like this was something out of a storybook.
“And this is the master bedroom. Isn’t it lovely,” announced Stacy. And she spun around with her arms outstretched like a fourth Dream Girl.
Your closet.Yourside of the sink. The his- and- hers towels. In this room is where you can set up your little desk to keep all your papers, invoices, and stuff related to clients. You’ll have your own office right here at home, baby! And she did this throughout the house: this will be mine; that will be yours. And so what if the smallest closets and smallest bedroom were set aside for me. It got to a point where I thought, Up until now I kept everything in a cargo van, so what the hell.
If the purpose of showing me the house and all the talk about how she was gonna upgrade me and whatnot was meant to get a broke man excited and all absorbed into this new Stacy experience, the nit was surely working. The drinks we’d had earlier didn’t hurt, either. Of course, I was tellin’ myself that I was clear-headed. But truthfully, she could’ve told me the sky was green and I would’ve believed it, especially with the great food and white wine. Because, at this point, what reason did I have not to believe her? And as for Stacy, she was very animated about it all, so buzzed and so talkative and tossing all sorts of promising futures my way. She was full of suppositions and dreams already fulfilled. This will be the baby’s room. This will be the guest room. This room will be for my shoes and clothes. I can’t lie: I was standing there spellbound, feeling a little like Cinderfella, if there was such a character.
Somewhere after midnight Stacy popped open another bottle, some 150-proof cognac this time. I urged her to make mine a real small shot. I heard it wasn’t good to mix liquors, but I was sure a little bit wouldn’t hurt. After a somewhat uncommitted toast, my host, rescuer, and sponsor put on some Isley Brothers, and even on an MP3 player with miniature speakers, this music was soothing. And that’s the mood I was in, soothed and relaxed like some clay; putty in Stacy’s hands.
The drinks were enjoyed in a warm Jacuzzi, where we talked more about the future, as well as Stacy going to great extents to remind me about our past. Remember when we first met in the elevator? Remember when I gave you hell that night at the bowling alley? Remember when we went to see Keyshia Cole and Donnell Jones and I met that actor? Remember when we got all crazy at Uno? Stacy’s recalls were bouncing around in my head, and I honestly tried to put the pieces together, but I kept on drawing a blank. At a certain point, she gave up, frustrated with me, but in a friendly, understanding way. And she went back to all the jibber- jabber and how the basement would be the family room and how there would be another “private” area down there where she could hide from the world.
“And I can’t wait to get you the new Cadillac Escalade, and a new wardrobe, and—” On and on and on she went with what she was gonna buy, while in my mind I’m wondering, Why do I need a new Cadillac Escalade? And, What’s wrong with the clothes I already have? And, Kids? Don’t we hafta be in love first? All those questions in my head were battling with the mother of all questions: Where she’s getting all this money?
We took turns executing hot-oil massages and I came to love the softness of her skin and the fullness of her breasts. Something told me her breasts had been augmented, but I was too buzzed and too excited to care. It was all good, as far as I was concerned. The intimacy graduated to kissing until both of us embraced in the oily water, inevitably becoming one body. I found myself attached to Stacy even though images of Dancer still popped up in my mind. From the Jacuzzi, to the large jet- stream shower, Stacy and I eventually headed for the bedroom. I was still toweling myself dry when she switched on the iPod and set it to play one of those old-school songs by Lenny Williams.
“Remember we used to let this play back in Park Chester? And we used to make love all night with the windows open?”
I tried to keep from making a face; to keep from showing the confusion that was there anytime she brought up the past.
“I looooooove youuuuuuu. I neeeeeeeeed youuuuuuuuu
Oh- oh- oh- oh- oh- ooooooooooooooooh”
After swallowing down the last of my drink, I went to lie on an air mattress that sat about two feet from the floor. And as if she needed to give me an excuse, Stacy said, “It’s just temporary until my furniture arrives. Remember, I just moved here two days ago.”
Babble on, sister. I wish I could’ve just come out and said shut the fuck up because every other minute there was an excuse, a promise, or something sensational coming from her mouth. I just wondered if there was a normal thought in her brain; like the stuff that average, broke folks like me might want to hear about. At what point was I supposed to say, None of that highfalutin shit you talkin’ matters to me! But of course I kept my mouth shut because that would’ve ruined the moment— a moment that had encouraged me to grow hard and erect and ready to find a home, figuratively.
A DUD. That’s what happened when we finally got into it. Yes, my dick was hard and I was excited and ready to make it happen with this girl. But I didn’t really need to get off, since that had been my reality just hours earlier, with a woman I really had feelings for. Forgive me, Father, but for the moment I was just going along with this to get a head start and to maybe end the struggle ahead of me. Blame it on the cognac if you will, but I was feeling real scruple-less right now. I was ready to start livin’! Except, lil’ Danté had other plans. The erection I took to the mattress started to die fifteen minutes into the blow job she administered. It wasn’t her fault, I can attest to that because she was doin’ marvelous work down there, like she was a professional at it. Like she was once a—
And that’s when my erection got soft, even with my eyes squeezed shut, trying my damnedest to maintain. It was a no- go. The images of this woman somehow manufacturing these feelings in my mind, the thoughts that this was all contrived and phony caught me off guard, like some swift left hook to my conscience. Those images mixed with thoughts of Dancer and how she must be crying her eyes out. The police came into the picture with the flashing red and blue strobe lights and I felt myself rocking, like Dancer and I were in the van; only it wasn’t Dancer and I, it was me rocking inside Stacy’s mouth, trying like hell to keep this up when it was already feeling so over. I did start to grow stiff again. But then my eyes eased open and I could see Stacy’s sudden smile there in the glow of the moon’s light. At that instant I got a strange look into her mind (through her eyes), and I got this weird idea that she thought she was succeeding here! But I also sensed some sort of deception in those eyes of hers, even as she went back to work on me. Somewhere under my closed eyelids I saw the white Lexus parked out there where the police had trapped us off. And then I thought about the ride from the poli
ce precinct… in that same white Lexus? Oh shit. Of course! It wasn’t Ophelia who called the police. It was Stacy. And she sat and watched it all from her car! And that did it for me. I fell back off my elbows and crash-landed into the small pile of pillows.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” she asked.
I lied and said, “Maybe it’s just been a long day. I have been through a lot.” And maybe there was a little truth in that. But I also knew my body and mind. And my mind was telling my body that this was just not happening.
Stacy shrugged and shifted her body so that she was lying against me.
“It’s okay, boo. I understand. Besides, there’s more to love than making love, right? Remember you used to say that to me? Well,” Stacy touched her finger to the tip of my nose before she said, “I’m in agreement. Let’s go to bed.”
And that’s just how it was left. I dozed off into the dead silence that rural America ensures. No dogs barking. No police sirens. No shouting neighbors. But that’s just what I was seeing and hearing in my sleep. The phone was ringing and someone was asking for their sink to be fixed because we can’t wash our dishes. A police siren was shooting past and at the same time someone was blasting Big Pun. My dad’s head reaches under the sink where I’m working and says, Hey, soon as we finish this I wanna head over to Home Depot over near Whitestone. They’re closing and everything is half price. From the conversation under the sink I somehow found myself in the back of an ambulance, where I’m crying man-tears, trying to be tough while my grandfather is lying on a gurney, the EMS workers going through various procedures to keep him alive. Somewhere along the rocky ride through the Bronx streets I realize it’s not my grandfather but my father on the gurney. The image faded to black and there was a flat line.
Burning Desire Page 23