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Authors: Tresser Henderson

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BOOK: My Mans Best Friend (9781622860241)
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I nodded, knowing better than to say anything to defend Zacariah because Mama was right.
“The nerve of her marching herself in here like you were suppose to jump when she wants you to,” she said getting up from the table and wiping the spot where my glass was sitting.
“Mama, I'll talk to her.”
“And say what? You should have got her straight right where she stood.”
“I was trying not to disrespect your house, Mama.”
“Well, she didn't mind disrespecting it. This house is more yours than hers.”
“But you are my mother who I respect and love.”
She smiled, letting some of the anger residing within her subside a bit. I wanted a moment of peace, and I didn't appreciate the way Zacariah acted, but I couldn't deal with her now. I came to see my mother and no one, not even Zacariah, was going to interfere with that.
“Well, I'm glad you came by to see me.”
Standing, I said, “You're my mother, and I love you,” wrapping my arms around her.
“I love you too, baby. But I don't want you to leave yet. I'm going to cut you a slice of this cake.”
“Mama.”
“I don't want to hear it. The Lord must have known you were coming by today for me to make this cake. Now give me a few minutes and I'll cut you some.”
“Okay,” I said smiling at her reaching into her white custom cabinet and pulling out a container to put the cake in. I looked around the kitchen thanking God for me being born to such a great woman. With my hands in my pocket, I pulled out five one-hundred-dollar bills. I knew Mama wasn't going to take it, but I always found ways to leave it with her.
“Here you go. I cut you three pieces,” Mama said, handing over the lemon pound cake that smelled delectable. I leaned in and kissed her on the cheek again, slyly slipping the money into her apron pocket.
She felt my hand and said, “Boy, I told you I don't need any money.”
“Love you, Mama,” I said, jogging out of the kitchen smiling.
Kea
Too many nights I have sat alone, on this couch, in this room, looking at the ivory-colored walls wondering, “Where the hell is Jaquon?” The television played while my heart was jumping out of my chest in anticipation of his arrival. Running to the door, I wondered if the footsteps in the hallway outside of our apartment door were his. I peered through the peephole trying to see who it was. Again, it was not him. It was some guys going to the apartment right across the hall from me. They were laughing, giving each other dap. One was a white boy, and the other was black. Both were dressed in jeans and a white tee. Soon as Sheila, my whore of a neighbor whom I also named Freak-a-Leak, opened the door, some sensual music scurried past her. She had the music blasting. I was surprised no one had called the cops to complain.
She stood there scantily dressed with a matching bright red bra and panty set covered by an opened silk robe hanging from her shoulders. Her long micro braids swooped over her left shoulder as her bright red lips smiled at the men, welcoming them. You could clearly see she didn't bother to close her robe, exposing her entire body. Her size triple D breasts damn near toppled out of her bra, almost knocking at my door, and the G-string screamed to be freed from her substantial behind.
“Come in, boys,” she said smiling, stepping back to let them enter. I knew then it was going to be a freak fest over in her living quarters. Probably why she had the music so loud, to drown out the screams of passion they were about to utter. At least somebody was getting some.
I walked back to the sofa and slumped down into the plush cushions. With each minute passing, my anxiety level increased. I had already called Jaquon several times just for it to go to his voice mail. Voice mail, that evil contraption set up for individuals just like him. For individuals who said, “I don't feel like talking to her right now,” leaving your voice floating in a cell phone message nightmare.
I knew he was screening his calls. He had to be. What other reason would he have to not call me back? How dare he see my name pop up and not answer the phone, like I wasn't important to him. He had been gone all day without so much as a phone call. Granted, he worked, but he got off over five hours ago. He didn't call to see if I needed anything or just to let me know he'd be home later. I wasn't adequate enough for that. I guess that's what I got for being his at-home bootie. You know, that bootie at home that you know is going to always be there no matter what he does. I will never matter as long as Jaquon stayed in the streets playing Casanova. Bastard!
This was getting old, and I was mad at myself for crying my man's blues because he was out doing everything under the moon with whoever was willing to play a part in sexually pleasing him. And I knew there were enough playthings to go around. You got your freaks, bobble heads, and spread eagles. Those who will try anything, those who like to suck anything, and those who will do anything with you and your crew.
In my mind, I pictured the different faces of women who could turn his head, give him head, and make him bury his manhood deep inside them. Breasts large and lips softly glossed over sucking him as he whispered, “Suck it, baby. Daddy likes it when you suck it like that.”
I was going crazy with my thoughts, but these thoughts were images demonstrated to me firsthand. I saw it with my own eyes.
Over a year ago, I followed him because I got tired of him telling me he was hanging out with the guys. As much time as he spent hanging with the guys almost made me think he was gay. I mean, a few of his friends were fine. Maybe he enjoyed being with them for sexual purposes.
I quickly disregarded this assumption because I knew Jaquon loved women. Maybe he loved them enough to be cheating. So one night I decided to follow him. To my dismay, he led me to some female's house. She opened the door with a smile plastered on her face as she welcomed him with an embrace and a kiss. I knew then I should have kept my behind at home, but like most females in this situation, I had to see more. I honestly started to convince myself that what he was doing wasn't that serious and Jaquon wouldn't hurt me like this. So I needed more proof.
I got out of my car and began to snoop. I searched every window of her house until I found them in her bedroom.
Homegirl didn't waste any time as she lay him down and began to strip for him. The lust on his face let me know he was enjoying every minute of it. I wanted to break the trick's window, but my eyes told my body to wait. I had to see more.
When bobble head whipped out his manhood and choked herself with it, I was done. Jaquon moaned and gripped her head as she sucked him long and deep. He pumped his hips up and down as she swallowed as much as she could of him. The look Jaquon was giving her was the same look he gave me when we made love, and that was the straw that made me lose all common sense.
I searched until I found a brick that was decorating her flower bed. I went back to that window before she could mount him and threw the brick through it. Glass shattered everywhere. Both of them jumped up trying to get away from the flying shards of glass, and that's when Jaquon saw me. I told him, “It's over,” and walked away.
That window cost a nice piece of change that I wasn't ready to give up, but the court told me I had to. So I paid it, or rather, Jaquon paid it for me because he felt so guilty about what he had done to me. Needless to say, like a dummy, I took him back. I decided never to follow this man again because I didn't know what my next reaction would be.
Temptation had devoured Jaquon up and literally spit him out. He enjoyed the attention from women, and it wasn't like they didn't know he was my man. This area wasn't that big for tricks to not know Jaquon and I were in a relationship. I dressed him, caressed him, put blood, sweat, and tears into him. Now, trifling women were coming out of the woodwork to get worked by his wood, leaving me at home trying not to get any splinters.
Looking over at the socket to make sure the phone was plugged in, I clicked the phone on making sure a dial tone greeted me. It did. The sound of the constant buzz sent more anger through me because it just proved Jaquon wasn't thinking about me. Did he not see the sun had disappeared from the horizon and stars lit up the sky to indicate another day ending? Soon, morning would emerge, and I wondered if he would beat the sun home this time.
I picked up the phone and dialed his number again.
“Yo, what up? This Jaquon. Leave me a message and I'll get back to you when I get a chance. Holla.”
“Jaquon, this is the tenth time I've called you. Where the hell are you? Why haven't you found the time to call me back? What is so damn important that you can't answer your damn cell phone? If you are not going to answer the damn thing, then why do you have it or are you screening your calls? I know that's what you're doing. You better not be messing around on me, Jaquon, or I will make your life a living hell! You better call me back soon,” I threatened, slamming the phone down into the base.
Picking up the remote, I flicked through many channels which didn't have anything interesting to capture my attention until I came across the Oxygen station. One of my favorite shows was on, “
Snapped
.” Bouncing my foot trying to release my anger, I knew I could be one of these women. I knew I could have a story told on me about how I killed my man. Some women did it for money. Some did it because they were in an abusive relationship. And some did it because it was easier to get rid of their partner than divorcing them. In my case, and like a lot of other women, I would be doing it because he cheated. I would be the woman who had had enough of her man's adulterous ways and decided to take revenge into my own hands.
I pictured myself taking him into our bed one last time as an act of getting my last groove on. I know it sounds crazy, but the man got skills when it came to having sex. After, I would make him a dinner to die for. Then this man would die from it. Arsenic poisoning would do.
I would smile at him sitting across the table from me and ask, “Baby, are you enjoying dinner?”
He would say, “I don't know what I did to deserve this. You sexed me, you are not arguing with me, and you cook like it's Thanksgiving. I'm in heaven right now.”
“Baby, I'm doing this because you deserve it.”
Next thing you know, we would go to bed, fall asleep, and the next day, I'm the only one to wake up to see the sun's rays shine bright.
The only thing stopping me from going through with this is the fact that I knew karma would catch up to me. Picturing myself in handcuffs as the police led me to the mug shot section, my mind would be a mixed slate of emotions. No tears would fall. Just a sense of relief that this man was out of my life for good and he could no longer inflict pain on my heart.
“Turn to the side,” the officer would say as I held up my ID number that would represent me as I began to complete a sentence of life in prison without the possibility of parole. County-issued jumpsuits would now be my gear of choice, and a roommate would accompany me for the next lifetime. This could easily be me. And it scared me because I knew I was capable of hurting this man to the point of having to pull jail time. But I knew he wasn't worth it.
The phone rang, drawing me out of my deep thoughts, and I fumbled with it as I quickly grabbed it.
“Hello.”
“What you doing, girl?” my best friend asked happily.
“Dammit.”
“If I knew I was going to get all that, I wouldn't have called you,” Terry responded.
“I thought you were Jaquon.”
“What has Jaquon done this time?” she said, saying his name like it burned her lips.
“That's it. I don't know what he's doing right now. He hasn't called me since he got off of work. I'm sitting here now trying not to contemplate premeditated murder.”
“Girl, you need to get a grip. You know he isn't worth any time in prison.”
“I know, but it would make me feel so much better.”
“So would leaving him, taking all his possessions, cleaning out his bank account, and stepping. You can do that without a prison uniform having to be involved,” she said.
Terry couldn't stand him, because she was also aware of all the turmoil Jaquon had put me through. She had been my friend since ninth grade and has always had the confidence that says, “I can do anything that a man can do.” She was single with no children and didn't want any until she met the right man to have them with. She was smart and beautiful, and this was why she's an excellent attorney. Who knows, I might need her services one day.
“It's not that easy,” I told her.
“But killing him is?”
“At least if he's gone, I wouldn't have to see him, especially with another woman.”
“That bastard would haunt you in your dreams if you took him out, and you still wouldn't get the peace of mind you're searching for. Now I know you don't want to leave him, but if you want to keep your sanity, then I would advise you to find another place to stay,” Terry suggested.
“Why do I need to uproot myself?”
“Uproot him. Kick his behind out then.”
“I can try, but he's not going to go anywhere. This apartment's in his name,” I sighed, immediately wishing I hadn't let those words escape my lips. I knew Terry was going to go off.
“What do you mean in his name? Didn't I tell you to get your name on that lease too?”
“Yes, but I hadn't got around—”
“All that time you spend moping couldn't have been spent on getting your name on the lease, Kea? You have been there for how long?”
“Three, four years. I don't know. I can't think.”
“I know it's been long enough to make that happen. I do know that. You never should have moved in together without your signature, giving you a claim to the place. I schooled you better than that.”
“I know,” I replied, regretting that I brought it up.
“Big mistake, and so was he. I told you that man was no good,” she said proudly.
“I
know
. Please don't rub it in.”
“Great looks and a big Johnson don't mean anything in a relationship. Whoa! Did I just say that?” Terry paused rethinking what she said.
“Yes, you did,” I confirmed her mishap.
“Let me step back and reexamine that thing again. I mean Jaquon wouldn't be good in a relationship. Looks and a big Johnson are like Porterhouse is to a steak. It's almost like hitting the lotto. A good job and faithful to go along with those two things would be richly appreciated. I'm talking Oprah-rich too.”
“You are not helping,” I said.
“I'm just saying.”
“I'm not thinking about his Johnson right now.”
“That's a lie because you thinking about his manhood being buried between the legs of some hoochie,” Terry said. “That's why you stressing now.”
BOOK: My Mans Best Friend (9781622860241)
9.94Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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