The Playa Chronicles (11 page)

“That’s right.” My answer took away some of her steam. But it just gave her an opening to get back to her point. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Go ahead.”

“You said that the fool knows how you feel about me.”

“Right. She knows I love you.”

“How can you say you love me and still mess with other women?”

“One had nothing to do with the other.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“One had nothing to do with the other.”

“How can you say that? If you really love me like you say you do, how could you have messed around on me for as long as you did?”

“I didn’t have to be in love with somebody to want to have sex with them.”

“
You’re not understanding
what I’m saying, but we’ll get back to that in a minute. Did you want to have sex with Yvette?”

“No.” Then I thought about it. “I knew that I had no intention of having sex with her, but I knew that I could if I wanted to. She set herself up to get tossed up. That’s all she was about. To be honest, that’s the real reason I went to lunch with her.”

“Because you knew you could? I don’t get it. Why would you put yourself in that position if, as you say, you had no intention of fucking her?”

“That’s exactly why I felt like I had to.” April looked at me like I was from another planet or something. I smiled at her. Women have a hard time with male logic, just like men have no clue when it comes to female logic. And women never understand playa logic. Sometimes I don’t understand it, or how that logic has led me to do some of the things I’ve done. That unwritten rule that says, find and conquer as much pussy as you can. That one rule has led me to have sex with so many women. Some I didn’t even like and knew that I had no use for once I was done. I started to break that point down for April, but I decided against it. All it would do is force April to ask for more details, and she didn’t need to hear all that. It would only destroy the trust we were trying so hard to build. “Because I had to know. I had to know for myself if I could be in that type of situation and not capitalize on it.”

I looked at the blank expression on April’s face and knew she still didn’t get it, so I broke it down. “Nobody knows better than I do that I am a flirt, and what I am capable of doing. I knew that I’d be in that type of situation again, and I had to know if I could even draw the line, much less not cross it.”

“Okay, on some twisted level that makes sense. But once you saw that you could draw the line and not cross it, why did you keep talking to her?”

“She was just fun to talk to.”

“Fun, huh?” April folded her arms across her chest. “Now, you see what that fun got you?”

“Yeah, yeah, I see what it got me.”

“Didn’t you see how she was?”

“Yeah, after a while I knew she was a pest. That’s why I stopped taking her calls. That’s when she came here.”

“That’s what scares me, Rick. A normal woman with some sense would see that you don’t want to be bothered with her and move on; find a man of her own.”

“She got a man.”

April’s eyes narrowed and her face contorted. “Then why is she at you?”

“He ain’t on his job.”

“So she wants you to be her part-time lover.” April smiled.

“I don’t like the song, but yeah, she’s just looking for a fuck buddy.”

April laughed and kissed me on the cheek. “Look, Rick, I appreciate you being honest with me about all this. But the more I find out about you and how you were, the farther you slip into the friend zone.”

Will she show up?—is the question I have to ask myself far too many times. It’s like I never know with Vanessa. It had been a couple of months since Laura called about Yvette stalking her, and since then, I’ve seen less and less of April. It’s gotten to the point that now she doesn’t even return my calls. Ain’t that a bitch? I cut everybody loose to get with April and now she ain’t tryin’ to get with me.

I would like to spend more time with Vanessa, but that ain’t happenin’. I finally learned not to make any plans with her. The only time I know that she’s gonna show up is when she calls me and says, “I’m on my way.” And even then, it might be a while before she gets here. So I just sit around here every night, waiting. Hoping really, that she’ll call me. At least the odds are in my favor. She’ll show up at least four nights out of the week. I try to act like it isn’t bothering me when she doesn’t show. But it bothers me—bad some days. I should just put a stop to it. Yeah, give her an ultimatum. I reached for my new friend, Mr.
Stoli
, and poured another shot. I lost count of how many I’d had. The television was on and the remote was in my hand. But I wasn’t watching anything. Just like last night.

What was I doing?

What was I thinking?

Give her an ultimatum?

You sound like a fuckin’ fool. What was I supposed to say? Please spend some time with me. Why don’t you ever have time for me? How come the only time I see you is bedtime?

I turned the glass up and hit myself again.

Is that all I’m good for?

Am I just a cheap trick to you?

“If that’s the case, she needs to start droppin’ some money on a bill or something.” I laughed out loud. The words sounded so familiar, but I’d never said them because now it’s me that’s turned out. She had me in ways that nobody, including Donna, has ever had me. Sitting here like a fool.

I flipped the channel again—animal programs. For the next forty minutes I sat there watching the king of the beast. Now that is a true pimp. All he does is sit around, fuck all the lionesses in his pride, and fight off other lions that want to fuck them. He doesn’t even have to hunt for food; he sends the lionesses out to stalk and kill their pry.

Sweet.

Every once and a while, I’d look over at the phone. A dumb English comedy came on, so I turned the TV off; sat in the dark, feeling around for the stereo remote. Something told me to put an end to the suspense and turn the light on. But I resisted. Common sense finally got the best of me and I turned it on. With that small task out of the way, I raised my glass, tilted my head back, opened my mouth, and poured the contents of the glass into my mouth to celebrate my triumph. Another trick I’d mastered lately. I turned the stereo to some mellow oldies. Smokey Robinson & the Miracles’ “The Love I Saw in You Was Just a Mirage” was playing
.

“Thanks for telling me, Smokey, but
I
already knew that.”

 
I turned off the radio and stood up a lot faster than I should have. The moment of reality, when you realize that you’re drunk or pretty close to it. I wandered around turning on lights, looking for something. “What was I looking for?” I tried to retrace my thought process. “I was going to
lay
down. I got up. I said, ‘Damn, I’m fucked up.’ Then I thought about Vanessa. If she did make a cameo, I’d be too drunk to do anything.

I know what she comes for.

But I ain’t saying
nothing
.

I was going to take a shower.

Then what?

I wandered around for a while, thinking that if I saw what I was looking for, I’d remember I was looking for it. I went into the bathroom and turned the shower on.
What if she calls while you’re in the shower?
I thought. Then all of a sudden it hit me. “My phone . . . I was looking for my phone.” Now that I knew what I was looking for, I resumed my search. Forty-five minutes later, I still hadn’t found it, but the house was cleaner than it was when I started.
 

I got in the shower, thought about Vanessa, and tried to focus. The water was hot. I liked it that way. There is nothing better than a hot shower to clear your head. Makes you see things clearer; gives you a new prospective on things. If there was something that demanded a new prospective it was this . . . I started to call it a relationship, but that wasn’t what we had, Vanessa and I. We had sex—great sex, fantastic sex, mad sex. Might as well call it what it is.

Sex.

In a relationship, people do things with each other. I had to get to that state of mind, for my own peace of mind. If I didn’t, I knew I was going down. Going down slow. And for what?

For Vanessa?

Well now, let’s think for a minute. I don’t know anything about her, not really. I don’t know for sure where she lives. I wasn’t really sure if the she actually lived at the house that I dropped her off that first night. She never gave me a cell number. Any time I call her, no matter what time of day or night it is, the same female voice answers with that same Why-does-your-dumb-ass-keep-callin’-for?-You-should-know-she-ain’t-here voice, that always pisses me off. Why was she playing this game with me? I was keeping it real. Maybe she was being real about it from her point of view. I mean, she never gave me any indication that she had any other purpose for me other than to make her cum. And if I got mine in the process, that was all the better. Maybe I was the one who wasn’t being real with
myself
about it.

I stood there, thinking about every time we’d been together, and for a while I lost myself in the rhythm of water. I really enjoyed being with her. For me it was more than just her sex, which was a formidable force to be reckoned with, to say the least. It was the way we were together. I dug talking to her. She’s funny and she can talk intelligently about anything. The few times when we did actually go somewhere, we, or I should say I, had the best time. I can only hope that she felt for me the way I felt for her. I watched the soap roll off me and I knew that wasn’t the case. I represented one thing to her. I got out of the shower, dried myself off and
laid
across my bed. Staring at the phone, willing it to ring, hoping it was Vanessa doing to the ringing.

I was getting too comfortable with my depression and I could see where it was leading me. I was drinking more than I should be and not focusing on business. I wondered what it was going to take to make me see that I was traveling quickly down the wrong path, and the reason was Vanessa. I should break it off with her.

What a concept
.

But that would be too much like right. And besides, I knew sooner or later, she would come around and we might be able to have something. Was I fooling myself into thinking that this was something more than good sex to her?

“Yes!” I screamed out loud.

But nobody heard me, not even myself.

The rest of night passed without incident and I went to sleep. On the way home from work the next day, I stopped at the liquor store and picked up another bottle of
Stoli
. I hadn’t finished the one I had at home, but I didn’t want to run out and have to take a chance on leaving the house and missing Vanessa.

It was getting close to eight o’clock and I realized that the only thing I’d eaten today was bag of chips. I dug up a coupon and called Pizza Hut for delivery. They told me that I could pick it up in thirty minutes, but it would be at least an hour before delivery. I didn’t care. I wasn’t leaving the house. I turned on TV, poured a drink, and watched Biography. Halfway through Investigative Reports and my third shot of
Stoli
, my pizza came.

I ate a slice and took a shot. A pattern I continued until there were only two slices left. A little after eleven the phone rang. “About time.” I snatched it up on the first rang. It was Victor. He said he called because he hadn’t heard from me in about three weeks and just wanted to make sure I was all right. “Three weeks. Has it been that long?” I rushed him off the phone and I felt stupid for doing it. All this for a woman who ain’t interested. Not really. Not interested in anything other than getting tossed. “You got to pull up. Put a stop to this, one way or the other. ’Cause this ain’t it for you.” I turned off the television and began walking around the house, listing all the reasons why I should stop this madness, one more time. I knew all the reasons why I should. I could only think of one reason to let her stay.

I stopped.

“Is that enough for you?”

I stood completely still and thought carefully about an answer. I fought the impulse to yell “yes” out loud, ’cause I was just as preoccupied with fuckin’ her as she was with fuckin’ me.

I walked to the couch and
laid
down. If that’s the case, what needs to happen here is that I need to get a grip on myself and take this thing for what it’s worth. Stop trippin’ about what she’s gonna do and “get a life.”

Then it hit me. If I was gonna get a life, why does it have to include her? I had one before I met her, and she was the reason I didn’t have one now. That was a lie and I knew it. I was the reason I didn’t have a life anymore. But the fact of the matter was she had to go. There was no reason for me to believe that things would ever change between us. And if it did, it wouldn’t be anytime soon. If I allow her to stay, I know that even with a refreshed attitude on her part, I would still want more.

“She gotta go!”

It felt better saying it loud. So I said it again. “She gotta go!”

I got up and went to bed. Every once and a while I’d say it again. The more I said it, the more pumped I got. The next time she calls I’ll lay it all out for her. Tell her . . . What will I tell her? That I don’t want to see her anymore because she turned me out and I can’t take it. That she got me so turned out that I just sit around here and hope that she’ll call.