Single Mom

  I said, “Okay, what if, ah, Moesha wanted to borrow a million dollars? Would you charge her fifteen percent interest?”

  “Who, Brandy?” he asked me.

  “Yeah, Brandy,” I said. Her television sitcom about black adolescence and family was so popular that I had forgotten the young singer’s real name.

  “Oh, man, I would charge her twenty-five percent interest!” he answered excitedly. “She has her own TV show, and she got a record deal. She’s paid!”

  I looked at my wife and said, “The boy sounds like a money mogul.” And maybe it’s even in the genes, I pondered to myself. My son was beginning to remind me of his grandfather, my father, Walter Perry Senior. My father had made a killing in suburban real estate over thirty years ago during the mass American migration from the big cities, mainly white migration. My father was one of the few black men to capitalize on suburban property by using white partners to do most of the meeting and greeting with home buyers and developers, while he masterminded the game plan and bought up more property. Of course, his white partners eventually caught on and started their own companies, but by that time my father had already become a multimillionaire. In fact, I was surprised that not that many people knew about it. My father had done an excellent job of remaining behind the scenes with his wealth, and I had done an equally good job of keeping my inheritance under wraps from Denise. Nevertheless, I had to admit that sometimes I had nightmares of her finding out and taking me to court for millions. Therefore, I made sure that I was never late or short with giving her money for my son. I also had to make sure not to give her too much extra, because I didn’t want her getting too curious about my wealth.

  • • •

  When we got back home that evening, Denise’s phone call was at the top of my list of things to do.

  “Where are you going?” Beverly asked me.

  I didn’t want to make the phone call from our bedroom and have my wife listening in, so I planned on making the call from the den.

  “I’ll be back up in a few minutes, honey. Go ahead and go to bed.”

  Beverly gave me an inquisitive look. “You’re not planning on calling Denise tonight, are you? I mean, it is kind of late, and we all have to work tomorrow.”

  It was close to eleven o’clock, and my son was well on his way to dreamland. I was beginning to wish that my wife was too, because I needed to make that call to Denise while the questions were still burning. It was eating me alive!

  “Look, I’ll just be up in a few minutes,” I repeated. I knew that an argument about it would only waste more time.

  Beverly sighed and said, “Walter, you need to calm down and think this thing through. Now just sleep on it and call her tomorrow. Okay, honey? I mean, we all had a good time today and I don’t think that you should ruin it with this late phone call. She does have a right to go on with her life, and I’m sure that she wouldn’t have her kids around anyone who would have a bad influence on them. Now just stop overreacting to this thing and come back to bed.”

  Beverly was being quite persistent. I stood there frozen for a moment. My wife did have a point, but I still wanted to make that phone call. The next thing I knew, Beverly had pulled me back to the edge of the bed and was rubbing my weak spot through my pajamas.

  “Is this phone call more important than us?” she asked me. “Because I want my husband in bed with me, right now.”

  Before I knew it, I had a hard-on. That’s a damn good sign in any marriage! As long as your partner can get you aroused in two seconds flat, every problem in the world has the ability to fade into oblivion without extensive headaches or the need for psychological therapy.

  I smiled and asked, “Do I need to close the door then?”

  Beverly smiled back at me. “I don’t think it would be good for us to be a bad influence on little Walter, either. So I think it would only be right to close the door,” she told me with an extra little squeeze on my tool.

  I forgot all about that phone call to Denise. I went and checked to see if my son was asleep in the guest bedroom. Once I saw that he was asleep, I crept back to my bedroom, softly shut the door, and happily climbed into bed with my wife.

  “So, what do you think about my son now?” I asked her as I kissed her bare stomach and worked my way up.

  “I think he’s very bright, as I always did, but he’s also a little rough around the edges, just like you’re being with my nipples,” she answered with a smile.

  I chuckled and softened up my foreplay. “Sometimes it’s good to be a little rough,” I told her.

  “Yeah, but don’t overdo it. Okay?” she said with a hint, as I worked my way back down. “In some places it’s good to be gentle and polite.”

  I chuckled again and went on about my business of enjoying my wife.

  The Night Shift

  D., what’s happenin’, partner?! I ain’t seen you around I here for a long while, dawg! What’cha been into? I see your old lady’s been doing fine. She got her own office down on Halsted Street in Greektown. I saw her down there just last week.”

  I shook Barry’s chubby hand and smiled at him. I was on the near West Side, close to ten o’clock on Monday night. I was planning to visit an old girl I used to see before reporting to my new job by eleven-thirty. The night-shift position I was starting was at a paper company in that same area.

  Barry lived on the near West Side all of his life, shooting the breeze on the street corners and selling good weed. I met him years ago, around the same time I started seeing this girl, Kim. I used to hang out all over Chicago. Since I played basketball in high school, and I had gang affiliates from the Disciples spread out all over the city, I could go any-damn-where I pleased!

  I said, “I’ve been doing a little bit of this and a little bit of that, man, just trying to keep these ends meeting.”

  Barry nodded. “Yeah, we all gotta do that.” He looked as out of shape as he used to, with his fat, meaty head and bowlegs.

  “You still selling that good weed you used to sell?” I asked him. I was just curious. I wasn’t thinking about buying any.

  He looked at me and frowned. “Shit, dawg, I’m still livin’ ain’t I? And if I’m livin, I’m sellin’ it. Why, you want a dime bag?” he asked me.

  I shook off the temptation. “Naw, man, I gotta get ready for this new night job in a few hours. I’m gon’ try out this midnight shift down at this paper company on Roosevelt.”

  Barry started laughing. His teeth looked like they needed some serious cleaning. Maybe he’d been smoking too much of that weed of his and not brushing his teeth much. I’d had to start taking better care of my body and hygiene once I rededicated myself to keeping a job. Then I started noticing all of the poor habits of the other guys. I don’t think I paid it much attention before.

  “The night shift, hunh?” Barry asked me. “Man, I’ve been working this night shift out here for twenty years,” he said, referring to selling weed on the streets. I don’t think he ever got arrested for it either. He always kept his money low-key. I don’t even think Barry ever owned a car. He just borrowed them when he needed to.

  “Yeah, well, maybe I’ll check you out some other time,” I told him. “I’m on my way to Kim’s spot before I make it to this job.”

  He started smiling again. “You still knockin’ Kim, hunh?”

  “Naw, not really. I just looked her back up recently.”

  Barry nodded. “Yeah, well, it do sound convenient and all, especially if you’re gonna be working the night shift on Roosevelt. You can just pop on past Kim’s spot, get yourself some food and ass, and roll back out for work.”

  He made it sound like I was a damn swamp leech, but that’s exactly what I was planning on doing, establishing a convenient association with an old girl I used to screw.

  I said my good-byes to Barry and headed to Kim’s apartment. First I had to buzz her on the intercom to get into her aged-looking, four-story building.

  “Who is it?” she asked through t
he rusty, fake silver box. It shocked me. I didn’t realize how loud the thing was.

  “It’s J.D.”

  “Okay,” she answered, buzzing me in.

  I made my way up the musty, narrow staircase to her apartment on the third floor and stopped before I knocked on her door. She had a son, too, a six-year-old. I was wondering if he was there, and if he was asleep. I didn’t feel like staring into the curious eyes of her kid. He always made me feel guilty about sleeping with his mother. And he always wanted to play with me as if I was his father. That just made me think about spending more time with my own son.

  “Long time no see,” Kim said when she opened the door. She was wearing a one-piece blue dress that stopped at her smooth, muscular thighs. It was the kind of dress that you could easily slide right off whenever you decided to get busy. I tried not to stare when I first walked in, but I couldn’t help it. Kim had run track all her life and she had the best body, except for Neecy, that I had ever wrestled buck naked with. Kim wasn’t that bad looking in the face either. In fact, she was pretty, she just had an ugly attitude that could scare guys away from her. She always liked me, though, and I wasn’t afraid of her.

  “So, you got a new job in this area, do you?” She was leading me into her living room area with her ass jingling in front of me. I knew she didn’t have anything on underneath her dress. I guess she had the same idea that I had, sex for old times’ sake.

  As soon as I took a seat on her green couch, she pulled out this fat joint with a lighter and offered it to me.

  I looked at her like she was crazy. I didn’t want to get high, I just wanted some of that body. “I got a new job to go to in a couple of hours, girl. What’s wrong with you?” I asked her.

  She smiled and lit it up for herself. “That just makes more for me then.”

  We used to get high and go at it every time I hung out with Kim. I guess that some things never change for some people.

  “Did you buy that from Barry?” I asked her.

  “Naw, I got my own shit now,” she said.

  I looked over at her twenty-seven-inch TV and her Aiwa stereo system. Outside of the building she lived in, Kim was doing all right for herself. “You still work at that restaurant?” From what I remembered, she worked in a restaurant close to downtown on the near South Side. Chicago was basically broken into three sections, North, South, and West. Near or lower meant that you were close to the downtown area, and far meant that you were not. Blacks lived on the South Side and West Side. Whites lived on the North Side and Southwest. The East Side of Chicago was basically the waterfront of Lake Michigan. I grew up in North Lawndale, located on the far West Side, but like I said, I went anywhere that I pleased.

  Kim shook her head and exhaled the smoke. “Naw, not at that same one. I work at a new restaurant now, down on Adams Street.”

  Adams Street was even closer to downtown. That meant that she was probably making more money, which would explain her upscale-looking apartment, or at least from the inside.

  Her weed was pretty strong, but I still didn’t get tempted. I didn’t want to go to work smelling like I was high either, so I clicked on her floor fan and moved it right in front of me.

  Kim started to laugh. “This job must be real important to you.” She had these sexy, Chinese-type eyes, and you could never tell when she was high. Kim’s eyes always looked small.

  “You damn right this job is important to me!” I snapped at her. “They’re paying eight-fifty an hour!” Kim had never been to jail like I had. It took me nearly two years to get a job after I came out, and most of them were temporary positions where I had to start all over again after a couple of months. I was looking for something permanent that paid me something, because minimum wage was a damn joke! So I wasn’t planning on screwing up my new job opportunity. Good ones didn’t come along too often.

  All of a sudden, Kim turned sour on me. “Maybe you shouldn’t be here at all then. Because I don’t want to be the cause of you losing your good job and all. So, urn, why don’t you come back when you’re not working?”

  She started walking toward her door as if I was leaving. I looked at the clock and it was only ten-thirty. I had at least another forty-five minutes to blow, and Kim was still looking good to me. I figured I could talk to her and calm her down for fifteen minutes, dig in to her for twenty-five, and wind things down before it was time for me to go.

  “Hey, Kim, come on back in here, sis’. I didn’t mean to get like that on you.”

  She slowly walked back into the living room. I patted my lap for her to sit down, but she ignored me.

  “You know, you’re blowing my high with all this job shit, man. I mean, you make it sound like you’re all greater-than-thou all of a sudden,” she said to me. “You gon’ just come up in here expecting to get all up in between my legs, and then won’t even get high with me! And then you gon’ turn on my damn fan so you won’t smell like you on, for some damn job! I mean, if you feel like that, Jay, why did you even come here tonight? You knew you had to go to work. Because see, I’m off tonight, and I do enjoy myself when I’m off!”

  She was getting pretty loud with me. I looked around and said, “Calm down, girl, you might wake up your son.”

  “My son is over his grandmother’s.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know that,” I said.

  We were both quiet for a couple of minutes.

  “Shit!” Kim snapped again. She even put the weed out. I couldn’t believe I had pissed her off that much. “And I went and took a shower, for this shit!” she said.

  When she said that, I started to laugh, and my pants began to tighten up on me. Maybe it wouldn’t take fifteen minutes to talk her into it after all.

  “You’re telling me you’re all showered up and whatnot, hunh?” I asked her with a grin. “Come here, Kim.”

  She came just close enough for me to grab her onto my knee. Then I slid my hands under her dress, up her thighs, and to the treasure palace.

  “I shouldn’t even give you none,” she teased me. She pushed my hands away. “You don’t want to go to work smelling like pussy either.”

  I started to laugh. “Wait a minute. You said you took a shower, right? And if I smell bad, then we can take another one.”

  “Whatever, Jay. I don’t even feel like it no more, man. How’s Denise doing?”

  I looked up at her and frowned. “Yo, why you always asking me about her when you get mad and shit?”

  “Okay, well, how’s your son doin’?”

  I tried not to let it get to me. “He’s tall,” I said. “That boy’s six-five already, and can play ball better than me; better than I ever could. He’s gonna be something else to watch. I can’t wait to see him play high school ball.”

  Kim thought she was slick. Asking me about my son was the same as asking about Denise. Kim wanted to get serious a long time ago when I first started seeing her. I didn’t know how to break everything to her in one setting, so I told her that I was still seeing my old lady, Neecy. It was a lie at the time, because I felt guilty about not telling Kim about my son. The truth came out in the end though. Kim caught me shopping in a shoe store downtown when Little Jay was around seven. Kim was pissed off at me, but she never really let me go, either. Then she ended up getting pregnant by some knucklehead who was scared to death of me. I think she did that shit just to get back at me, which was sad. I still felt guilty about that. That probably added to my discomfort whenever I was around her son. Kim should have just found some other guy and gone on with her life. She was attractive enough to find someone nice. I never could understand why she was so weak for me. Denise damn sure wasn’t. Or at least not anymore.

  Kim looked down into my face and asked, “Do you ever miss being with her?”

  I couldn’t believe she was asking me that. She still had not gotten over her jealousy. Neecy and I had not even touched each other in thirteen years. I started to ask myself why I had even come back to see Kim. She was picking up from where we l
eft off years ago.

  “You know what,” I asked her, “why do we even do this shit to each other?” I was throwing up my hands with the whole thing.

  “I don’t know,” she answered. She stood up and walked away from me. “You need to ask yourself that question.”

  I didn’t have anything to say. I had no answer for myself. Did I want some sex that bad? I wasn’t so sure about my reason for being there. Maybe I just wanted to see how she was doing.

  “You know, I wanted to marry you at one time, Jay,” Kim said to me. “Even though I knew you had been to jail and you couldn’t really provide for me, I just loved being around you. I felt like I was somebody important when I was with you.” She looked at me and started laughing, as if the shit was an old joke that used to be funny.

  “Yeah, that’s just because of what I was a part of back then,” I told her. My fifteen minutes were up, and it didn’t look like I would be getting any skin that night. Maybe that was my problem with Kim, I never took her seriously. All I really wanted from her was good sex. It was real good when we were both high. Outside of being physical, we had never communicated any real feelings to each other. I think Kim understood that, and without us being in that special sensitive state that marijuana gives you, we were both scared of the truth.

  “So what are we doing now?” she asked me. “Because I don’t really understand this. Are we just fucking each other? Are we friends? I mean, what the hell are we?”

  I was stuck again, and my time was running out. Why was I thinking so much about the time? I guess I was still taking Kim for granted, and I was still not communicating with her.

  “I don’t know,” I finally answered. What else could I say? I wasn’t going to tell her that she was my fuck partner, even though it would have been the truth. It didn’t seem right to say that. Or maybe it was right, to just tell the truth like it was. But how many guys in their right mind would do that? In fact, maybe we were all out of our minds. Maybe relationships just didn’t work for men. It seemed like the only time you were happy with a woman was while you were chasing her or having sex with her. Everything else was like being in prison again, where you can’t do all that you would like to do. I think love and all that emotional stuff is at its purest form when you’re young and don’t know anything about life yet. Because once you get older and you know more, that love shit can really get complicated on you and drive you out of your damn mind! That’s why men try their best to stay away from that shit. Because when it hits you, there’s nothing you can do about it. You end up strung out like a man about to be hanged, waiting to die or to be given mercy.