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Authors: Dwayne S. Joseph

Growing Pains (14 page)

BOOK: Growing Pains
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“OK.”
“Unbelievable.” Deahnna stood up and headed out of the room. Before walking out, she turned, looked at him, and said, “And for the record, young man, not that I owe you an answer, but no, I did not fuck him.”
Question answered with a lie, she turned, walked out of the room, and slammed the door shut behind her. She went to her bedroom to change, shaking her head.
As she removed her pants, her cell phone rang from inside of her purse. She reached for it, certain that it was Heather calling for details again.
But it wasn't.
She groaned. It was the strip club's manager, Marvin. Deahnna thought about ignoring the call, but ignoring calls from Marvin sometimes led to termination, and with the outstanding bills, the rent, and the groceries she had to buy, she couldn't afford to let the job go. No matter how much she hated doing it, stripping made for a necessary amount of extra income.
She hit the talk button. “Hello?”
“Hey, Deahnna. I know you don't work on Wednesdays, but I need you.”
“Marvin—”
“Just hear me out. I just got a call from a friend of mine. His boy is getting married and they want to have the bachelor party at the club in two weeks.”
“Marvin—”
“Deahnna. These are high rollers and they're not afraid to dole out the cash. I know you need the money, so before you say no, just say yes. I promise it would be worth it.”
Deahnna sighed. As much as she wanted to say no, Marvin was right. She wasn't in a position to say no.
Reluctantly, she said, “OK. I'll do it.”
“Good. You, Regina with her old ass, and Rhonda will be on. I'm feeling generous, so I'll split the money sixty/forty instead of the usual seventy/thirty.”
Deahnna frowned. “OK.”
Marvin ended the call without saying good-bye.
Deahnna tossed her cell on the bed, sat down, and covered her face with her hand.
Money.
It was a crime the way it held her hostage.
20
“Fuckin' liar. Fuckin' bitch.”
Brian slammed his fist against the wall and cursed his teacher again.
“Right to my goddamned face!”
He slammed his fist against the wall again and lay back on his bed. He hadn't intended on disrespecting his mother with his question. The words had really just slipped out. But shit, she was out past two in the morning with his lying-ass teacher. What the fuck was he supposed to think?
“Lyin' bitch!”
Whatever respect he had for his teacher had just been lost. All the nigga had to do was say yes. That he was feeling his mother. That they had a date planned. Brian wouldn't have liked it, but he would have had to respect him for being upfront about it. But instead of being a man, what did the nigga do?
“Lyin' motherfucka,” Brian said through his teeth.
He sat up, swung his legs off of the bed, and slumped forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He shook his head. He hadn't seen his mom pissed like that in a long time, and for a split second, he thought she was going to flip out and smack him. He would have to apologize again, he knew, but after she'd calmed down enough to know that his apology was sincere.
As for his teacher . . .
He'd have words for him, too.
Brian let out a breath as a police car sped by, its siren screaming from the streets below. Just a couple of weeks ago, life had seemed so simple. School, his boys and, for the most part, their harmless escapades, and his relationship with Carla. Two weeks. It had all been gravy. Now he could barely focus on his schoolwork—something that had always come easy to him. His friendship with his boys, particularly Tyrel, was there, but definitely not the same. And his drama-free relationship with Carla was now ultra-complicated.
He groaned.
He'd finally called and sent text messages to Carla, apologizing for the way he'd run out on her, but just as he'd taken the liberty to ignore her many attempts to reach him, she too wasn't giving him the time of day. He missed the hell out of her. Missed her smile, her laugh, her soft hands, her kiss. More importantly, he missed her company. Her presence always made any of his cloudy days clear and blue.
He reached for his cell phone on his night table, found her number, and hit the talk button. She wouldn't answer, but it didn't matter. He just wanted to leave another message, telling her again how sorry he was.
“Hello?”
Brian snapped his head back. “Carla?” he said, his voice filled with surprise. “Is that really you?”
Carla exhaled into the phone. “It's me,” she said, her tone even.
Brian straightened his back. “I . . . I didn't expect you to answer. I'm glad you did.”
“I got tired of ignoring your calls.”
Brian smiled. “I've missed you,” he said. “I'm really sorry for freaking out the way I did. That shit just caught me off guard, you know.”
“Well, imagine how ‘off guard' I was when I missed my period,” Carla said, the pitch in her voice rising slightly.
Brian frowned. “I know. I really didn't mean to be like that. It's just . . .” He paused, brushed his hand through his hair, from the back to the front. “I mean, a baby, Carla. Damn.”
“Yeah, damn,” Carla repeated. “Well, luckily for you, you don't have to stick around. But me, I'm stuck.”
“You don't have to be stuck though.”
“Brian,” she said in a don't-go-there-again tone.
He exhaled. “I know, I know.”
“I told you I don't believe in doing that, so it's not an option. Anyway, like I said, you don't have to stick around.”
Brian cradled his forehead in his hand, cleared his eyes, and ground his teeth together.
So different,
he thought.
Two weeks ago, things had been so fucking different.
He took a slow, deep breath. Let it out slowly, and said, “I'm not trying to go anywhere, Carla. I . . . I love you.”
On the other end, Carla began to cry softly.
Brian took another deep breath. He hated to hear her cry.
“I . . . I'm scared, Brian,” Carla said, her voice a wavering whisper.
Brian breathed out. “I know. I am too.”
“My mom is going to kill me.”
He nodded. “Yeah. Mine too.”
“She doesn't even know I'm having sex.”
“I'm sure my mom knows, but she doesn't think I'm doing it unprotected.”
“We really screwed up.”
He nodded again and sucked in his lips. “Yeah, we did.”
Carla sniffled. “What . . . what are we going to do? I mean, I want to finish high school and go to college,” she said, her sobbing heavier.
Brian gnawed on his bottom lip. He wanted to finish school and go to college too. He said, “We'll figure something out.”
“I . . . I wish you were here. I just want to lie in your arms.”
Brian smiled. “I can come over after your mom falls asleep.”
“Are you sure?”
“I'm sure. Just text me when she falls asleep.”
“OK. I love you, Brian.”
“I love you too.”
Brian ended the call, set his phone on vibrate, and then put it down and lay back on his bed. He closed his eyes, not to sleep, but just to relax.
Two weeks ago.
His mom and his teacher.
His boys and Old Man Blackwell.
Carla and their baby.
Damn, how quickly it all changed.
21
Jawan was on cloud nine.
He thought he'd been there before, but he'd been wrong. Cloud eight. Maybe. Or, if he was really being truthful, his relationship with his ex, Kim, had really hovered somewhere around seven. Seven and a half on the best of days.
Kim.
She'd broken his heart. Chewed him up and spit him out. One night before he was going to pop the question.
He'd had everything planned out. Barry White on the iPod, food—restaurant prepared—on standby, expensive champagne that had been painful to buy, but, for the occasion, worth it. He'd purchased twelve of her favorite candles—ocean mist—to position strategically in the living room, the bedroom, the bathroom around the tub. Locations where he was sure they would cap what was undoubtedly going to be a yes, with bouts of passionate and uninhibited lovemaking.
He was ready. Had been for months. But he wanted to wait until the right moment. And there was no better moment than the night of their second anniversary.
But the night before . . .
He'd been away at what was supposed to have been a three-day, mandatory educational workshop. It was supposed to end on a Friday afternoon, but the instructor for the workshop became ill, so they cut everything short by one day, therefore Jawan arrived home early Thursday evening. Kim hadn't been expecting him until Friday night.
He could have called her to tell her about the change in plans, but he wanted to surprise her. The drive home would be about four hours, putting him in Brooklyn by ten
P.M
. At that time, Kim wouldn't be sleeping, but she would be watching TV, wearing the silk leopard-print robe with just a thong on underneath. She liked to sleep that way. No bra. No T-shirt. Just the thong.
Jawan had missed her, and, on the ride home, he thought of nothing else but getting rid of the robe and thong the minute he walked into her place using the key she'd given him. What hadn't been in his thoughts was the image of opening her front door and seeing her stark naked, riding her happily married boss—whom he'd met at her company's Christmas party just a few months before—in the reverse cowgirl position.
Things had been ugly.
Kim screamed, hopped off of her boss, quickly covering breasts he'd been anxious to devour, and called his name. Then asked what he was doing there.
Her boss, Rick—Rick, who was twenty years her senior—cursed with eyes wide open, grabbed a pillow, placed it over his crotch, put his palms up, and begged Jawan to let him explain.
Jawan, completely out of body and mind, reacted before thoughts even materialized. He rushed, pushed Kim out of his way as she tried to stop him, and leveled Rick with a right to his jaw, knocking him out cold.
Jawan could have been in some serious trouble that night. But Rick had far more to worry about than pressing charges. His tail between his legs, and fearing a beating from his wife far worse than the one Jawan had given him, Rick never pressed charges.
Jawan, his heart shattered, simply got into his car and drove away. That night the food order was cancelled, the champagne bottle was smashed, and Barry White became Linkin Park. The next day, the ring was taken back to the store. After the millionth call, Kim finally got the message that he had no intention of speaking to her ever again.
Looking back on it, he really should have thanked Kim. She'd saved him from making the biggest mistake in his life. But he hadn't seen it that way at the time. For a long while, Jawan swore off of relationships. When the urge came, and it did because he was a man, he sought out cheap one-night stands. No feelings, no attachments. Just fucking to relieve the need. To hell with ever placing his heart in a woman's hand again. For two years he lived that way.
And then he chaperoned the dance.
And now he was on cloud nine. Hell—soaring above it.
He smiled and closed his briefcase. Enough grading papers. It was time to get home. Grady needed to be fed. He needed to eat. And then he needed to hear Deahnna's sweet voice—something he found he was needing more and more.
Deahnna Moore.
He shook his head.
She had to be a sorceress, because that was the only way to explain how the hell she'd shattered the wall he'd put up after Kim.
He smiled, stood up, and reached for his coat when his cell phone rang. He looked at it, wondering if Deahnna had beaten him to the punch. Hoping, actually.
But she hadn't.
He answered. “Nick the Dick with the ball and chain!”
His cousin laughed. “Not yet, dude. Not yet.”
“Practically.”
“But not yet,” his cousin insisted.
Jawan laughed. “So what's up, man. You didn't call to tell me that you backed out, did you?”
“Nah, dude. No backing out. I'm all in swinging from the vines, just like I did in
Zartan: King of the Vagina Jungle.
”
Jawan cracked up. “That's a horrible title.”
“Yeah, but the DVD sold out the wazoo. And I won an award for best performance of the year.”
Jawan shook his head and laughed.
“Anyway,” Nick continued. “I'm about to go and wrap up this shoot with twins.”
“Of course,” Jawan cut in.
“Yeah, of course. You know Nick the Dick is in high demand. Anyway, I wanna let you know that the bachelor party has been moved up. We're gonna be out there in two weeks. It'll be on a Wednesday night, so you're gonna need to get a sub for you for the next day, because we ain't leaving the party 'til six in the mornin',” he sang like Snoop Doggy Dogg.
“A Wednesday?” Jawan asked.
“Yeah, dude. My man, Doug, has a friend who owns a strip club in the city. We had to do it for that night because I won't have any free nights until my wedding night. I gotta go away for a couple of weeks to film in a special location. Puerto Rico, baby!”
Jawan nodded. “Nice.”
“I'm about to be daddy damn Yankee up in that bitch!”
Jawan laughed. He morally couldn't do what his cousin did, but he did envy the lifestyle just a little.
“So anyway, dude, the details should be in your e-mail by now. I just wanted to call and make sure you get that sub lined up early.”
“OK. Will do.”
“Cool. Oh, how's it going with the teacher? You still seeing her?”
“She's not a teacher. She's my student's mother. And, yeah, things are still good.”
“Cool. Well, a'ight, dude, I'm out.”
“OK, man. See you in a couple of weeks.”
“Definitely.”
Nick ended the call and ran off to do his hours of hard labor, while Jawan slipped his cell into his pants pocket. “A Wednesday,” he said. There'd once been a time when Wednesday had been the first of six days in a row of partying for him. But those days were long behind him.
He shrugged one shoulder. It wouldn't be the first of six, but he had a feeling he might need at least six days to recover. He laughed and slipped into his coat. Wednesday was two weeks away. Right now, he had a cat to feed and a cloud to continue floating on.
BOOK: Growing Pains
12.61Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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