Unconditionally Single (8 page)

T
he raw essence of a woman could captivate a man when he least expected it.

A blank canvas. A beautiful woman, a model image. Abstract. Concrete. An attentive artist. One brush. Four basic colors. I’d start with the soul of her eyes. The softest strokes. Gentle hues hovering under arched brows. Lips, shape of a wide slanted heart. The tip of the brush gliding long, swerve, then curve. Inward. Outward. Hips, dip with the tip of her crevice. Swirl. Dab. Dip. Stroke. Feather. Flutter. Stroke the left breast. Sign…Trust. Frame. Knuckles to nails, I traced each finger of Honey’s hand in my mind. I could describe every part of her body in detail.

I’d dozed off dreaming about Honey. Turbulence caused me to open my eyes. Glanced at my watch, then out the window. “Is this the right time?” I asked Jada, lifting my head from her shoulder.

“Yeah, our flight was delayed. We sat on the runway for a long time. Didn’t want to wake you. You smiled a lot. You must’ve dreamt about Honey.”

I nodded and smiled praying Honey was safe.

Jada sharing with me how much she’d loved Wellington gave me hope that Honey and I would soon experience that inseparable, immeasurable, unbreakable, never-ending love. I wondered if Jada regretted not having a child for her husband. I alternated resting her head on my shoulder. I wanted a platonic friend, a confidant.

“Jada?”

“Yes, Grant.”

“What if?”

“If what?”

“What if everyone in the world had one solid relationship built on trust? A relationship that doubt could not stain, where lies would not exist, and infidelity would never penetrate. One perfect union amidst an endless sea of imperfections. One—”

“True love,” she whispered. “Sweet as a songbird humming. A love so strong the eye, one eye, our third eye would weather every storm, together. One—”

“—Ness,” I said. “A bond. Unbreakable. An eternal light of not forgiveness but understanding.”

We both whispered, “What if?”

“Grant?”

“Yes,” I said, afraid of where we’d gone. What she’d say next. As our plane landed on the runway, I didn’t want to mislead Jada but the words we shared were melodic.

“You’ll find Honey. I’ll help you. And I should tell you you’re a wonderful man.”

“And I should tell you, you’re beautiful.”

I traced her cheek to her chin with the back of my pointing finger, then held her hand tighter. My thoughts shifted to the first day I’d met Honey. Honey was my age. Jada was twenty years our senior, old enough to be my mother. Jada’s energy resonated with me, making me create a reason to prolong our time together. Perhaps because she reminded me in ways of my mother. Maybe because I feared the unknown.
Ding.
I unbuckled my seat belt, stood, stepped back, then waited for her to step out in front of me.

“Do you have anything in the overhead compartment?”

She smiled, pointed. “That’s my laptop bag.”

I retrieved the silver bag with the initial B inside the letter D. A diamond sparkled in the center. Brilliant marketing. I hung her bag on my shoulder, placed my hand above her hip, on her waist, waited for her to exit. My hand drifted from her waist to her hand during our journey to baggage claim. Our connection was natural and innocent, I thought.

“Let me know which suitcase is yours.” Facing the carousel, I stood three feet behind her.

“If you’re always this pleasant, I can see why a woman has captured your heart. I should be so lucky,” she said, glancing over her shoulder, penetrating more than my eyes.

Down, boy, down.
This was inappropriate for my dick to stand up. I was attracted to Jada’s intellect, success, beauty, energy, and her magnetic appeal, not her vagina. Not many women possessed so much yet remained humble. But I was ready to find my Honey.

“You’re phenomenal. I can see why Wellington cherishes you,” I said.

“Correction,” she said softly. “My husband is deceased.”

I leaned toward her, hugged her from behind, then said, “Not in spirit. He’s still protecting you.”

Batting back tears, she said, “Oh…that bag is mine,” pointing at her customized luggage with BD on the front as she backed into me.

I stepped around her, picked up her bag. “I need to make a few calls. It was wonderful meeting you. I’ll give you a call later when Honey is safe.”

“No bags for you?”

“I have a home here.”

Her smile ignited mine. “Me too, but I always need something.”

She’d opened a door that I had to close. Slowly, I smiled at her.

“Take your time, Grant. I’m in no hurry. I’ll wait for you. Inside the bookstore, whenever you’re ready.”

I took a deep breath, exhaled. “Thanks. I won’t keep you. I’ll call you later.”

Sitting on the edge of a bench outside the bookstore, I powered on my cell, dialed back the number Benito had called me from. The phone went straight to voice mail. I ended the call. Dialed again.

“Hey, bro. You late. You here?”

Grinding my teeth, I answered, “Yes, I’m here.”

“Man, I’m dead broke. I mean dead like a copper Lincoln. Can you let me hold a few thousand? I’ll pay you back. I need a place to stay.”

There was no reason Benito should be broke. He had multiple football championship rings he could pawn. His last name should’ve been Simpson for more reasons than their being brute but not so bright star athletes. Benito blew his money trying to impress everybody except his son and his son’s mother. Our parents kept his ass out of jail by paying his child support and he still had his empty hand out.

“Look, where are you?” I asked him, resenting bailing him out again.

“At this fleabag motel, bro, gettin’ bit by bedbugs and stuff.”

Grinding my teeth, I nearly fell off the bench. Sitting back, I asked, “Where is the motel?”

“Oh, I’m at…on Piedmont Ave. Not far from the botanical place.”

“Stay there. I’ll meet you. I’m going to set you up in one of my one-bedroom furnished condos for three months at Buckhead Premier Palace. I suggest you get your act together by then or you’ll be back at that fleabag motel.”

“Thanks, bro, but can I get a two-bedroom? I’m with a male friend. We can’t share one bed.”

What the hell?
I was so damn mad I stood up. “What the fuck you need two bedrooms for? Let him get his own place. Your trifling ass is never satisfied.”

“My boy Valentino needs his own space. Seriously,” he said. “But one is cool if that’s all you got. We can share. He can sleep on my couch.”

His couch?
“Sure, no problem. I’ll see you around seven.”

I hadn’t figured finding Valentino would be that easy. I’d postponed asking any questions about Honey until I was face to face with Benito and Valentino. I prayed I’d find Honey at the motel with them, rescue her, and take her home.

“Nah, man. We got to meet Sapphire and Red Velvet at Stilettos at eight. Can you come sooner? Oh, and I need to use one of your cars too. My prepaid phone is about to die. Can you get me a cell phone too, bro?”

I wanted to throw my cell phone into the store, knock the books down like dominos. I looked up and saw Jada smiling at me. Instantly I became calm. “I’ll be there at six,” I said, then ended the call before he asked for something else.

I realized I still had Jada’s suitcase. Rolling her bag into the bookstore, I stood behind her at the counter.

“That’ll be six dollars,” the cashier said.

I placed my hand on top of Jada’s. “I got it,” I said, handing the cashier a ten-dollar bill.

“For you.” Jada handed me a cold bottle of water. “It’s hot outside.”

“Thanks. Look I have a lot on my mind—”

She interrupted. “But I’m not ready to leave you. Would you mind joining me for a quick bite? I can send a few text messages to my people. See if we can locate Honey.”

There was that beautiful inside-out smile again, warming my heart. Jada’s lips parted. I held my breath, hesitated then said, “Sure.” I didn’t want to rush to meet Benito. Plus I had to send a few e-mails to make arrangements for the two-bedroom condo, a car, and cell phone for him.

“We have to take a taxi, if that’s all right with you,” I said.

“My driver is outside. He can take us, if you don’t mind,” she said.

Damn, what else should I have expected from such a classy woman? I steadied her laptop atop her luggage, then followed her to the limo. The driver held open the door. I put my hand on Jada’s waist, waited until she was inside, then I walked around to the opposite side.

When the driver closed my door, Jada moved closer to me. She placed her head on my shoulder and once more, I left it there. Tapping the e-mail icon on my iPhone, I e-mailed my management company and my personal assistant to meet me at the motel with keys to the condo, my Benz, and a new iPhone.

Continuing to respond to other e-mails, I recalled how Honey felt about emotional infidelity. I ignored Jada’s head on my shoulder.

W
hy did women in love play games, pretending they were not in love?

All men had symptoms of sexual ADHD. If her ass detoured, he’d disappear. Women had to learn, “Say what you mean and mean what you say.” Women needed to save their tears for worthy causes. Men on earth did not have the patience of Job. Men initiated pursuit but they really wanted to be pursued, wanted women to pick up their slack on building a solid relationship while they scoured for new pussy. Women wanted men to pursue them. Women feared being judged as easy or sleazy so they’d hold out a second too long and let a good man get away. That would send him into the arms of someone else.

Was Santonio in the arms of someone else? When was he going to call me?
I may have been a bit anxious but I wasn’t in denial.

Honey wasn’t fooling anyone except herself. She not only wanted Grant, she loved and needed him in her life. My job as her friend was to honor what she wanted and never tell her my truth. I’d fucked her man. She probably knew or had sensed the sexual tension, but I was over Grant. Every pussy battle wasn’t worth the fight, especially if a woman won the war but lost her man.

Exiting the freeway, my ring tone played, “Can’t be gettin’ mad! What you mad? Can’t handle that!…” A 212 area code appeared. I started to let the unrecognized number go to voice mail but then decided to answer. “Hello?”

“Hey, beautiful. How are you?” he said.

“You must have the wrong number,” I said. Who’d call me beautiful?

“It’s Santonio Ferrari. Maybe my greeting was too personal for my first time calling but you are beautiful.”

I blushed. This man was off to a good start. “It’s okay. Good hearing from you.”

“I have a meeting in a few minutes so I can’t talk for long. But are you available for dinner tomorrow night?”

I had so many questions for Santonio. “I’ll make time,” I said. Feeling like an infatuated teenager, I smiled.

“Great, I’ll call you when I get to Atlanta. I can feel your smile. Bye, beautiful.”

The detective in me wondered if he’d called me beautiful because he’d forgotten my name, didn’t want to call me the wrong name, or if he referred to all women as beautiful. I added his 212 number in my phone to the 704 area code I’d programmed from his business card.

Parking in the lot, I entered the fast food restaurant looking for Honey. I was happy to find her but wasn’t prepared to see the woman I’d given fifty million to looking nearly homeless. Honey was seated at a table in the back corner of the restaurant. Clothes dirty. Hair slightly tangled. I sat in the booth beside her, noticed a small cut under her chin.

“My God, what did they do to you?” I hugged her, held her.

She cried in my arms like a baby. Other than myself, Honey was the strongest woman I knew. I sympathized with her. This was the side of a strong woman that men seldom saw. We bled. We hurt. We cried. We broke down. We did things we weren’t proud of but more importantly, we survived the best way we knew how. We picked ourselves up, brushed ourselves off, and kept going.

Unable to speak, Honey swallowed her words.

“Let’s get you out of here, my friend.” I let her lean on me until we got to the car.

I helped Honey into my SUV rental, then I got in, started the engine, and drove toward Interstate 75, merged north. “I’ma make a quick stop at my favorite restaurant off the Chattahoochee River and order us seafood to go. I’m starved.” A drive-through would’ve been more convenient but whenever possible I ate the best of everything.

“I hate this shit!” Honey yelled, throwing something out the window.

“Honey,” I softly said. “What was that?”

“My gun.” She cried. “Some creep named Ken Draper,” Honey said, wiping her nose with her palm. “I shot him. I hope that bastard dies. I mean…” Her words trailed off as she twirled the tip of her hair around her finger.

“Honey,” I said, “did you kill him?”

She snapped. Her head whipped in my direction. “I just shot the motherfucker in his hands, I didn’t kill him. God, I pray I didn’t kill him.”

“His hands?”

“Yes, his hands. They happened to be covering his dick,” she said, staring out her window.

Okay, she was just getting started with her retaliation against men. I undetstood her so well because Honey was like me. Once I became angered and started knocking off pimps, I couldn’t stop until I changed my environment. My current hit list was a dozen long. In order to stop killing, I needed to retire but I couldn’t. I was addicted to my job. I had to help Honey calm down before she went insane.

I called my boss.

“Bleu, you in Atlanta yet?” he asked without saying hello.

“Boss, I need a condo in a gated community and a personal bodyguard in one hour. I have to place Honey Thomas in protective custody. And, yes. I’m here.”

“You found her already, Bleu? How?”

“Yes, but until I arrest Valentino and Benito, I have to protect her. I’ll give you details later. And see what you can find out about a shooting involving a Ken Draper.”

“I’ll call you back with the location within the hour. Ken Draper?” he repeated.

“Correct,” I said, ending our call.

“I don’t need no protective anything. Changed my mind. Take me home,” Honey insisted. “I want to sleep in my bed.”

“I know. With Grant. And you will, but right now my priority is to keep you safe,” I told her, exiting the freeway.

“Grant won’t want me after he finds out who I really am and what I’ve done. I don’t deserve him. Call my mother, my father, and Grant, and tell them all that I’m dead,” Honey cried.

Yep, she was losing control. “You’re making me nervous. You’re not making any sense. Why do you want to lie about being dead?” I asked her, then said, “I have to keep you safe for a few days, so why don’t I just tell Grant you’re missing? We don’t need to get your parents involved. After Valentino and Benito are incarcerated, and you’re mentally ready, I can let everyone know you’re safe. Actually that’s a great idea. Everyone will be excited to see you. Is that okay?”

Honey yelled in my face, “Hell, no! You calling me crazy?”

“No, sweetheart. You are not crazy. You’re stressed. You can do whatever you like. I’m recommending a safe place for you to stay for a few days. You decide.”

“Fine,” she agreed. “A few days, that’s it.”

Entering the parking lot of the restaurant, I self-parked facing the river, hoping the water would calm Honey. “Stay here. Do not get out of the car. I’m going to get us something to eat. What would you like?”

“Nothing,” she said, folding her arms and squinting. She stared at the water, squinted more.

I got out the car, locked the doors with the remote. I’d hear the alarm if she got out. “Can’t be gettin’ mad! What you mad? Can’t handle that!…” I checked the ID, then answered, “Yes, boss.”

“I’ve got your condo and Hunter is your personal bodyguard. You ready for the location?”

Damn, Hunter was already here? He was the one who’d be in protective custody from his bookies. Honey might be safer going home.
I went to the bar, grabbed a napkin. “Ready,” I said, writing the address and suite number for a condo at Buckhead Premier Palace. “Thanks, boss.”

“Ken Draper was found in a cemetery an hour ago and rushed to Grady. He’s in intensive care and being charged with first-degree murder. That’s all I have for now. How are you involved in this, Bleu?”

“I’m not. Your ass is covered. Thanks, boss.” I ended the call. By the time commuters drove over Honey’s gun on the freeway, her .45 would be destroyed. One phone call and I’d make sure Honey was never associated with Ken. I was already preoccupied with finding Valentino and Benito. The police could handle Ken.

I ordered a broiled seafood platter, gumbo, clam chowder, a Caesar salad with chicken, and a Bloody Mary. I held the drink under my nose, inhaled. Santonio…what was he like? In bed? Out of bed? I took a sip. “Umph, umm.” I bit the celery stick.

Fucked one now and then, but I’d avoided dating cops during my career. Figured we had too much in common. Would I be compatible with Santonio? What was I going to wear to dinner? My glass was half full when my order arrived. I paid the bill, left a generous tip, removed the lid from the clam chowder, crushed a sleeping pill, stirred it in, sealed the lid.

Carrying two bags out the door, I hurried to the car, pressed the button to silence the alarm. “Honey, what are you doing? I told you not to get out.”

“Look,” she said, pointing across the river. “Over there, between the trees. That looks like the car Valentino and Benito were in.”

Oh, great. Now she was hallucinating. “Honey, get in the car. You’re tired.” I put our food in the backseat.

“Just look,” she insisted.

I opened my glove compartment and got my binoculars, peered through them. “I’ll be damned. There is an SUV over there.”

“With the windshield blown out?”

“Yeah,” I whispered in disbelief. It was eerie how things were happening.

“That’s the car they used to kidnap me. I shot the windshield out before they drove off.”

“Get in,” I told Honey, then phoned the local police, reported the abandoned SUV. “Let’s eat here. Wait until they arrive.”

I gave Honey her chowder, ate my gumbo. We shared the seafood and salad. Honey told me about her day. I told her about mine, about Santonio. When the police arrived, we left. I’d call them later. Before I entered the freeway, I looked over at Honey. She was asleep—perfect. I prayed she’d stay asleep until I arrived at her condo. That way she’d have no idea she was less than six blocks from her house.