“Momma . . .” Malaika started, then: “We’re in San Bernardino.”
“You’re in San Bernardino?”
That blue-collar strip of desert was less than two hours away.
Dana ran her finger through her braids and mumbled, “Are they back to stay or visiting?”
Malaika’s end was filled with static, fading in and out. She must’ve been on a cordless phone, walking around the house.
“Yes, we’re in country.”
“How long have you been back in the States?”
“Six months.”
“Six months? Why are you just now calling?”
“I called last week.”
“Last week? Well, why didn’t you leave a message?”
“I spoke with the same female who just answered. She said that you didn’t live there, that I had the wrong number.”
My eyes went to Dana. Her eyes went to the carpet.
“Vincent, this is long-distance, so I’ll be brief. I just wanted to call and thank you on behalf of Kwanzaa—”
“Where’s Kwanzaa? Put her on the phone.”
“She’s not with me.”
“Where is she?”
Malaika wavered. “I just wanted to acknowledge your gift.”
“Can I talk to her?”
A lengthy pause. “That wouldn’t be a good idea.”
“What do you mean, not a good idea?”
“She’s adjusting to our positive lifestyle—”
“What, you think my lifestyle’s not positive?”
“I’m not saying that.”
“What are you saying?”
“This is a difficult situation. Stressful to all parties. I don’t think it would be fair to her to get her confused at this point.”
“Confused? I’m her daddy, nothing to get confused about.”
“I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
Dana’s breathing roughened. Her knuckles popped when she opened and closed her hands. She said, “Vince, sweetie, don’t beg her.”
I shushed Dana, then asked Malaika, “Where can I reach you?”
“I’ll contact you if the need arises.”
“If the need arises? C’mon.”
Dana said, “Vince, sweetie—”
My heart thumped. I shushed Dana so I could hear Malaika.
“Don’t disrespect me in front of her.” She hopped off the bed. “Sweetie, Vincent, don’t shut me out.”
I rubbed the bridge of my nose to fight the new stress. “Malaika, let me talk to Kwanzaa.”
“I can’t do that, Vincent.”
“Malaika, c’mon—”
Dana snapped, “That’s enough, Vince. Don’t beg. Don’t stand in my face and beg—”
“Dana, stop.”
“Vincent.” That was Malaika. “Is everything okay over there?”
“Enough is enough,” Dana cried. She came across the room, stood in front of me, nose to nose. “Baby, listen, understand what I’m saying. I just don’t think you should have to beg to see—”
“Malaika, lighten up.” I put my hand over the phone, muffled my irritation, and said, “Dana, c’mon now, baby, chill.”
Her response was a harsh whisper, pure frustration. “No, I’m not gonna chill. I’m watching you suffer. And that hurts me.”
“Look, Vince,” Malaika sighed. I imagined her massaging her round chin, just like she used to do when we were married. “I’ll have to see how you’re living before I even think about risking my daughter’s well-being.”
“She’s my daughter too.”
“If we do let you see her—”
I repeated, “We?”
“—at first it’ll be from a distance.”
My tone turned extreme: “Why from a distance?”
Malaika said, “I don’t want you confusing her.”
I paused long enough to realize what she was telling me. My tone was squashed by apprehension. “She thinks your husband is her daddy?”
Me and Dana were eye to eye when I said that.
Malaika’s voice was fractured: “He is the only father she knows.”
“That’s your doing.”
“Those are my terms if I let you see her. No compromise.”
Dana said, “Hang up the damn phone, Vince.”
“Stop pulling the cord!” I snapped at Dana, then, since I had no real power, I spoke cordially to my ex: “Whatever you think is best for her.”
Malaika hung up on me. At least that was the way it seemed.
Dana was in the corner, breathing hard, the telephone cord dangling in her hand like she’d jerked away my life support.
By then my head was pounding. I snapped, “What is your problem?”
“I’m the one over here scrubbing the skid marks out of your funky-ass drawers, and the moment she calls, you’re ignoring me, disrespecting me.”
Dana stood toe to toe, dared me in her own way. When I walked away, she followed, practically walked on my heels. I pushed her off me.
“Don’t push me. That’s your first and last time pushing me.”
“Don’t get up on me like that, Dana.”
“Help me understand this, Vince. If she loved you so much, why did she walk out on you and marry somebody else just like that, huh? That might not even be your baby.”
“How can you say something like that?”
“Because I know women.”
“You don’t know Malaika.”
“Well, from what you told me, that makes two of us.”
I gritted my teeth, wished I hadn’t told her so much.
“You should get a blood test,” she said in an unrelenting, logical tone. “Ten years from now you might be in court crying because you just found out that child that you’ve been supporting wasn’t yours. Let me correct that. If we were married, we might be in court crying because that child that we’d been supporting with our income wasn’t yours.”
She was in my face. I eased her off me. “What’s wrong with you?”
She shoved me away from her, said, “I never should’ve gotten involved with you. Never should’ve let you put your damn dick inside of me. You got me sucking on your damn dick to please you, and when that bitch calls I ain’t about shit. It’s always some other bitch . . .”
The back of my neck feeling dirty and gritty, I headed for the door. Had to get away from the madness, had to escape this space that was closing in a foot with every breath.
“Vince, don’t walk out on me.”
I waved her away. Stopped with my hand on the doorknob.
“You going out there?”
“Just might.”
“Well, can I go?”
“Get away from me.”
“I’m sorry. But you should see yourself.”
“Get the f—” I started. “Look, get away.”
“So, I don’t mean shit to you?”
I shuffled down the stairs, had to catch my breath.
In my mind I was cursing the world out, damning everybody from here to eternity. I strolled toward the bungalows on Edgehill, kept meandering until I made it two short blocks over to Audubon Middle School.
My baby was back in the States. Had been here since God knows when. Nobody contacted me. Made me less important than a single blade of grass in a field of dreams. They’ve always had my phone number, always had my address. Somebody could’ve at least bought a stamp and sent me a
fuck-you-nigger
postcard.
Malaika had my flesh-and-blood calling a stranger daddy.
Damn.
I sat on the concrete, whispered,
“Focus. C’mon, focus.”
After my head cleared a bit, when my heart cooled and its beat was close to normal, I dusted the grit off my butt, and admitted that I didn’t handle that too well. That call blindsided me, woke up a lot of hidden feelings, denials that had been plastered all over our four walls.
I didn’t want to lose Dana too. Didn’t want to relive the pain. I hurried back up Stocker, damn near sprinting, went upstairs so fast that my feet touched every other step. I needed Dana to understand where I was coming from.
A thin river of smoke clogged the air. A glow prettier than a golden-orange sunset was dancing on the walls.
A fire was in the kitchen.
The blaze was dancing on top of the white gas stove. Fumes from the burning had blackened the wall, were reaching up for the ceiling. The last-chance smoke detector kicked on just as I got inside.
“Dana! Fire!”
The flames lit up the room enough for me to see Dana was biting her nails, gazing out the front window, ignoring my yelping and fanning and throwing tap water on top of a pile of papers that had a riot-sized blaze going. She didn’t turn around or flinch. When I got the crackling fire out, I stepped across what felt like a broken window. My silver frame was on the floor, smashed. I coughed and gagged and spat into the sink, waved away the smoke and saw what was burning were my child’s pictures.
My voice became shrill. “What’s wrong with you!”
She stepped up to me and snapped, “They don’t give a shit about you.”
I pushed her off me. She stumbled three, maybe four steps, then came back at me. Her right hand came up in a blur, with the fury of a tigress. That was a slap heard around the world, a blow that made my world turn bright red. My face stung, pain from her wide swings.
In that moment I hated her. Hated Malaika, hated Dana.
The next thing I knew, Dana was across the room, upside down, sprawled in front of the sofa, holding her mouth. The tips of my fingers were stinging. My reaction scared me. But I was too far gone. I was in a zone called the fuck-its. That was when a brother stopped giving a fuck. And I had the mother-of-all-fuck-its.
She touched her lip, glared up at me with I’m-gonnahav’ta-kill-your-ass eyes. She sprang to her feet, about to charge at me with her fists doubled, but something she saw in my face scared her.
I rushed to meet her halfway. She screamed for her life, stumbled backward toward the sofa. The smoke detector kept chanting its maddening song. Dana screeched at a bone-crushing volume, “Let me go, Vince!”
We tussled over the love seat, fell hard to the carpet, rolled on the floor. She raced on hands and knees. I chased on knees and hands. She was fumbling for her purse. I caught her, grabbed her waist, flipped her over. Everything in her purse fell out. Including her stun gun. That had to be what she was trying to get.
I grunted.
Dana kicked. Fought. Wriggled. Twisted. Tried to knee me off her. Pushed my chin back with the palm of her hand. Dug her nails into my back.
I pinned her down, held her until she wore down.
I struggled to unzip my pants.
Salty moisture dripped into my eyes. Burning pictures, all I could see were the burning pictures. Heard Malaika’s cold-hearted voice telling me I couldn’t see my baby.
Pushed. Shoved. Abused. Cheated on. Ridiculed.
Somebody had to pay.
I held Dana down with one hand on her neck, my pants down at my knees. Wiggled myself around, tried to force my way inside her. She slapped me, shifted side to side to buck me off.
Then I stopped.
Wondered if I was losing my motherfucking mind.
Tried to find myself in my frenzy.
Stunned eyes. We grimaced. Panted. Faces dank head to chin.
Dana’s features slipped into innocence, like glitter on a child’s drawing. Then I had a vision of my own baby. The baby who came from me. Created by my sperm. I thought of someone trying to do this to Kwanzaa, someone trying to control and violate her when I wasn’t around to protect her, to save her from somebody like the man I’d become right now. Somebody with the fuck-its.
I let Dana go. Let go of all the anger. Said I was sorry.
She took short, ragged breaths. Nostrils flared. Her mouth almost opened. Her hostile eyes widened. First she pulled her knees deep into her chest, then she snarled, leaned over and slapped me. Again, again. I backed up. Her braids fell and swayed when she came after me.
I tried to get away. She reached up and grabbed the back of my neck and tried to yank me back. I fought to escape the madness. Sweat had left me slippery; she lost her grip, then struggled to grab part of my shirt, and when I stumbled backward, it ripped. Buttons popped off and spun.
Then I was going for the stun gun, but she cut me off.
We struggled, bumped into the furniture until she cornered me in front of the beat-down sofa. She was stronger, determined; she pinned me down. I wanted to fight, wanted to tell her to get the hell off me, but I was too weak from my spiraling emotions to do anything.
She jumped on me. I tried to shove her off without throwing her into the stereo and hurting her head. Her hand lunged between my legs and gripped my dick, squeezed it, twisted it. I thought she was going to yank Mr. Happy off my body, but she was trying to force me inside her. I squirmed, fought to keep her from sitting on me. I didn’t want to go there, not in the middle of lunacy and madness.
Then I was tired of fighting.
Tired.
She put her hand on my cheek.
Made me look at her, absorb her passion until I relaxed.
She whispered, “I know how you fucked her.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I know it all.” The words floated from her face. “Vince, I know.”
She put soft kisses on my eyes. Ran her fingers through the sweat on my face. So much passion was inside our anger. I touched her skin, kissed her hand. Dana relaxed and licked around my lips. She flirted her fingers between my legs and took control with a loose grip, kept kissing me, brought me to her, led me inside a warm, wet place.
She went into the rocky bump and grind. Her body did a slow hum, like she was keeping tempo with a gritty song inside her mind. We fought each other some more, me with my grunts and groans, her with her stroking and dancing without a single word. I didn’t want to come. Didn’t want to give her my seed. Fought it. Then it felt so good I didn’t want her to ever stop. I tried to hold back. It was there. Heat rising to the top, weakening my muscles, the beginning of a flood seeping out the gates, numbing my body with a bittersweet recipe of agony and pleasure. I tried to push her off me before it was too late, but she wouldn’t move.
My breathing changed from pants to harsh breathing. I became light-headed and jerked around inside her. She shrieked out pleasure that sounded like anguish, pumped fast and hard like she was trying to get all of the pain and fury out of her system. Trembled and repeated what I had just done.