Cheaters (47 page)

“I get lonely, too.”

“Give me a break,” she snapped. “I don’t think so.”

“What does that mean?”

“Stephan, I’m not stupid. I still remember when your friend Dawn said that it was nice to see me again, and we’d never met. How do you think that made me feel?”

I massaged my forehead. “Dawn made a mistake.”

“You better believe she did. A mistake that changed everything between me and you.”

“You act like you’re the only person who gets lonely.”

“Yeah, but you only call when you get lonely. You aren’t concerned about me. If I call you when I’m bored or just want to spend some time, you can’t make it for one reason or another.”

“A madman is outside your door, with a cannon strapped on his hip, waiting for you, and you’re trying to trip on me?”

Samantha looked me in the eye and said,
“Dog ass nigga.”

“What?”

“Does that ring a bell?”

She knew. My eyes said that I knew what she meant.

She explained. “I took off work that Friday and ended up out your way at Ontario Mills. On the way back, I stopped by your place, thought maybe we could do something, and saw that message on your door. I saw it. Bold red letters. Straightforward. Easy to read. And that hurt. It

told me a lot more than you’d ever tell me. That’s why I ended up with Keith that night.”

Pebbles hit her window. Thumped like an irregular heartbeat.

She asked, “Why so quiet?”

I shook my head.

She said, “I’ve been dogging him out because of you. And you’ve been dogging me out. Vicious cycle, huh?”

I was numb. “What do you want to do?”

She stood and held herself.

I asked, “Want me to meet you at Baja? Go ahead and shake him, then we can hook up later.”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

Her voice softened, trembled. “I want you to get the fuck out of my life. Don’t come back, not even if I call you crying.”

I gathered my things, packed up my remorse without arguing.

Samantha locked her door behind me.

My thoughts were still on Chanté, on that door that she’d locked behind me as well.

With my gym bag over my shoulders, I dodged the rain that was coming down, walked upstairs. When I crossed to the other side, an apartment door opened. Two sistas stepped out. Both had to be in their twenties, dressed in heels, jeans, iridescent tops.

I gave a friendly smile and said, “How’re you ladies doing?”

“Fine, and you?” That was the short sister. She was shaped like the Liberty Bell, had healthy breasts and a southern accent so thick I thought she had a speech impediment.

The tall sister with the butt-length blond spaghetti braids looked as happy-go-lucky as Forrest Gump.

Before I could stray two steps they told me their names. The short one was Andrea, the tall sister was Neandra.

I complimented them both, then asked where they were heading. They were going to Aunt Kizzie’s for a book club meeting.

A middle-aged yella fella with wavy hair was on the trunk of Samantha’s car. Rain was falling on his redturning-gray

hair. His short multicolored rayon shirt was unbuttoned with the tail halfway out. Soaked. He wiped water from his eyes and threw a pebble and hit the glass just as we turned the corner. Then he saw us and jumped up like he thought one of us was the woman he was searching for. Then he went back to tossing pebbles.

I was shoulder to shoulder with the women. As we passed by, he glanced at us, then turned his attention back to the window.

“Keith,” Andrea said. “Didn’t recognize you out of uniform.”

“What’s up?” He nodded. His eyes landed on me.

I nodded.

It was the same voice on the answering machine.

He had a leather pouch around his waist. The kind that off-duty officers keep their loaded firearms in. His hand touched the belt, like he was about to go for it. But all he did was drop his head and look at his nails.

I kept on walking with the Liberty Bell–shaped woman at my side. She was the biggest, so she’d be the best shield.

Out of earshot, Neandra smirked. “They’re at it again.”

Andrea said, “That fool’s gonna catch pneumonia.”

I asked, “Who’s at it?”

“That asshole,” Andrea growled. “They were out here two or three times last week arguing. They fight all the time.”

Samantha stepped into the lot. She had thrown on yellow sweats, her blue and white sorority umbrella held high. Keith hopped off the car and headed toward her. Samantha looked around, saw me near Andrea and Neandra.

Our eyes met for a moment.

I was pissed off, but I felt sad at the same time. Sad for her, and sad for me.

She stormed back to her place. Keith followed.

I wondered what he would think when he walked inside. Her sheets were tossed. Sex spiced the air. Condom wrapper was in the trash next to her bed.

The kindhearted southern sisters walked me to my car.

Neandra reached into her purse and took out a bone-colored business card. She handed it to me, “Call me.”

I responded, “Sure.”

I tossed her card before I made it out of the lot.

I ran into Thaiheed at the 24 Hour Fitness in Chino. The gym was nicknamed The Dungeon because there aren’t any windows, so except for the front doors, no sunlight could get inside. I was on the front row of Ed’s high-impact aerobic class, working to sweat a poison named Stephan out my system, grunting out some of the stress caused by a backstabber named Karen and her cohort Craig, when I looked over and saw Thai standing in the window by the Stairmaster.

He waved. Those gray eyes sparkled when he saw me.

In between doing squats and lunges, I waved back.

He smiled and walked away, headed toward the free weights.

After I finished working my abs in Ed’s class, I wiped some of the sweat off my neck and arms, put on my gloves, then headed for the weights too. Worked on my biceps, did a little with my triceps. Thaiheed stared me down in the mirror.

He came on over, and we ended up working out together.

We laughed. Had a good time pumping iron for about thirty minutes or so.

Since I was boyfriendless, damn near friendless, pretty much spiritless, I needed something positive right about now. One thing I did feel bad about was only seeing one brother at a time. Traditional dating had always been my downfall. Then I wouldn’t despise Craig so hard. Then I wouldn’t be thinking about Stephan so much. I should’ve always kept somebody on the back burner.

After the workout, I showered, changed into a Fila sweatsuit. When we met out front, he asked if I felt like

hanging out. It wasn’t like I had anything special to do. We walked across the lot to Kelly McQue’s pool hall.

He took a couple of easy shots, said, “I’m thinking about riding down to Temecula for some wine tasting this weekend.”

“Really?”

“I might drive through Old Temecula and eat at that Mexican restaurant that used to be a bank.”

“Yeah. We had a good time down there. They have excellent crab enchiladas. You should bring me some back.”

“I can do better than that. You want to tag along?”

I shrugged, then surprised myself when I said, “I’ll let you know by Friday. If you go Sunday, I might go.”

He asked, “Want to catch a movie tomorrow night.”

“No can do. Tammy’s play is opening tomorrow night, so I’ll be on the front row cheering.”

He asked, “How’re your girls doing?”

A chill ran through me. I wanted to say one of them was getting ready to commit adultery, and the other has been tipping behind my back and sleeping with the brother who shattered my heart, but I said, “Fine. Both of them are happy.”

In that breath, I didn’t feel too good about my friends.

Or myself.

Or much of anything.

I said, “Let’s go somewhere and have a drink.”

He smiled. “Sure. Follow me up to Shelly’s. We can grab some grub. Have some drinks.”

And drink we did.

An hour later, both of us were eating seafood pasta and tipsy. Sipping wine, eating seafood. Talking. Flirting.

Thaiheed had moved to another apartment off the 210 in Duarte. He wanted to show it to me, because he said there were some houses on the market up his way. So I left my car at the restaurant and rode home with him. His excuse was lame, but I didn’t feel like being alone.

Thaiheed’s place wasn’t too far from Raging Waters. He bad it fixed up like a romantic home, a peaceful chateau. Hand-carved African statues made of ebony and soft woods. Busts from Haiti and Kenya.

I told him about Stephan.

He said, “So, he’s your man?”

“Nope. Just a friend. Even less than that now.”

I told him what had happened at Stephan’s parents’ house.

Thaiheed said, “He played you.”

He said what I was already feeling inside.

Thaiheed was playing me close too, telling me how much he’d missed me. Apologizing for that ordeal with Peaches.

We started kissing. Not because I believed him, I just wanted to be kissed. I didn’t necessarily want to kiss
him
though, so I closed my eyes, let the buzz from the alcohol take over, and pretended he was somebody I wanted to kiss.

We lay down on the leather sofa.

I wanted to just be held until I went to sleep. He wouldn’t go to sleep. He wouldn’t stop kissing me.

One thing was leading to another.

Tammy was leaving, so I wouldn’t have her in my corner for a long time. Karen’s backstabbing ass wasn’t my friend anymore.

I felt so alone. So sad.

Thaiheed didn’t waste a moment getting naked.

I was stripped to the bone, bare, except for my panties.

I didn’t feel comfortable. It didn’t feel right. I told him to grab a condom and wrap up that pickle.

All of a sudden, I wasn’t tipsy anymore.

I don’t know what I was thinking about, but I tried to push him off me before anything could really happen. I couldn’t go through shit like this over and over again. He wouldn’t move, so I stuck my nails in his back, whapped him upside his head. He fell off me cursing and plopped on the floor.

He yelled at me, “What’s your damn problem?”

I focused, tried to explain to him how I felt about Stephan, how I felt about what I was doing to myself, let him know that sex wasn’t why I came over, explained to him how I
didn’t
feel about him. When I was putting my clothes back on, he started roughhousing me. He grabbed my bra and threw it across the room; took a strong hold on my wrists; pushed me around.

“Thaiheed, I’m not playing with you.”

“You gonna let me waste a condom?”

I wrenched my wrists free and shoved him. I yelled, “Stop.”

He snapped, “Why you change your mind?”

“Because,” I told him while I grabbed my sweatsuit. “I’m just trying to get back at Stephan.”

“Then get back at him, then.”

“It don’t work like that, partner.” I yanked on my sweat pants, my T-shirt, my jacket, grabbed my cross trainers. I demanded, “Take me back to my car.”

He flipped out and tried to tear my clothes back off me.

I yelled at him, “What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with you? You owe me.”

“I owe you?”

“All that damn money I spent on you. Loaning you money to get this done to your condo, to pay for that, all the gifts I gave you, the drinks I’ve bought for you and your friends—”

“Let me go.”

I broke free and started throwing stuff at him. Knick-knacks from Africa. The lamp. He growled, came at me like he was Jack the Ripper. His gray eyes had darkened. Lines popped up in his forehead. I was scared as fuck of that wild animal expression, but I told myself to get out of this jungle and be scared later. He grabbed me, and before I could get loose, we were wrestling and he ripped my Fila jacket. I grabbed between his legs, squeezed and twisted like I was trying to make orange juice.

He begged me to let him go.

I squeezed harder, growled, “You let me go, I’ll let you go.”

“Okay, okay, all right. Don’t twist ‘em, don’t—”

The short bastard let me loose.

And I took my time about letting go of his family jewels.

The moment I let go, the maniac lost his damn mind and attacked me again, ripped my jacket some more.

I was screaming and scratching. I got loose and made it to the phone on the wall in the kitchen. I picked it up and dialed 9-1, and dared his ass to make a move toward me, or I’d dial the last -1. He backed off, then I put the phone down. I was huffing and cursing. Sweating like I was back in aerobics. He apologized a thousand times. But as soon

as I smashed the phone in the receiver and raced for the door, he cut me off and hit me in my face with his fist.

I screamed, “Oh, no.
Hell
, no!”

I raced for the phone, but he beat me to it that time.

I ran into the kitchen and grabbed some of his cutlery knives. The big ones. By the time he caught up with me, I had two blades in one hand and one in the other. He got bad and dared me to cut him. That was all I needed to hear. I swung and he tried to block me with the cordless phone he had in his hand. But my knife cut into his flesh. When he felt that blood squirting out his hand, he dropped the phone and backed off.

“You cut me!”

“Damn right.”

“Get away from me.”

“Negative,” I shouted. “In five minutes one of us will be dead as hell, and it ain’t gonna be me.”

I chased him all through that apartment, had him diving over counters, throwing pillows, yelling like a punk. Blood was dripping everywhere, getting on the carpet and everything he touched. He yanked the Venetian blinds down, then tried to open the window and jump out.

I yelled, “Go ahead. Jump out from the third floor.”

“Chanté, back off. Leave me alone. Okay, okay, you win.”

“Oh, no, partner, this party ain’t over.”

I went after him.

He turned over furniture and tried to get away. Wherever he darted off to, I was there, knife first. He ran into the bathroom and tried to slam the door before I could catch up, but I managed to get one of the blades between the lock and the door jamb, slid it up and down, poked it at him, and tried to slice and dice his hand off.