Another Man Will (11 page)

“A friend of mine.”

“You got a man here already and you just had to take a paternity test? Who is this guy? Where does he live? Where does he work?”

“His name is Rell. He went to Wagner with us, he is a good man, and he is looking for a job right now.”

“Looking for a job? Really?” she said as she followed me into the kitchen with a scrunched-up face.

“You are unbelievable; weren't you just in court with Kenneth. I guess you never learn your lesson. Do you, Crystal?”

“Dana, listen. I know what I'm doing; please mind your business.”

“Well, how about you please use protection this time and get on some birth control, before you're pregnant again.”

“Dana, you can leave my house and stop talking trash.”

“Trash? No, that's what's up in your bed, Crystal. Anybody can come over and get in the bed with you. When are you going to learn and stop making the same mistakes over and over again? You have to be one of the dumbest people I ever met. I really can't stay here and watch you ruin your life again. Can you tell my niece and nephew I'm outside waiting for them?”

Dana walked out of the house, and I thought about not letting the kids go with her, but they were already getting ready. How did I just get cussed out in my own house?

After they left with Dana's evil behind, I flopped back in the bed, took a deep breath and tried to get back into relaxation mode.

“Who was that, Crystal?”

“My stupid sister Dana.”

“Why were y'all arguing?”

“No reason. She is just always talking a whole bunch of mess.”

C
HAPTER
12

Dana

I
loved visiting my parents' home, even though I was older and so many things had changed in my life. When I was back in the house, it always seemed like time stood still. My mom was still sitting at the kitchen table, watching the little television on the counter, and the magnets from all the vacations we took were still on the refrigerator.

“Mom, how you been?”

“Good, even better since your daddy gave me this,” my mother said as she held out her arm.

“Mommy, that's a nice bracelet. Daddy is always picking you up something.” I took a glimpse of my mother's newest piece of jewelry. I grabbed an apple out of the countertop fruit basket.

“Are you hungry?” my mom asked.

“ No.”

“You sure, Dana? Because I have plenty from last night, and you know your daddy don't eat leftovers.”

“I bet if you don't cook anything else, he would eat it. But, no, I don't want any. Does Daddy ever cook?”

“ No.”

“He needs to sometime.”

“He doesn't have to, I cook for him. You'll see when you finally get a husband.”

“No, I won't; my husband is going to cook for me.”

I loved my parents, I loved their relationship, but I didn't want a relationship exactly like theirs. I think my mom relied too heavily on my dad in all aspects of her life. Growing up, I would ask if could I do something, and she would always say, “Ask your father,” like she didn't have an opinion of her own. I don't know. . . . I guess it had worked for them for thirty-five years. But I didn't think I would ever submit to a man like that. I'd be damned if my children came to me and I said, “Ask your father.” I just thought in this day and age a relationship had to be more equal.

“So, you know Crystal has a new boyfriend already,” I said.

“Huh? How do you know?” My mom was surprised.

“The other day I went over there to take Jewel and Nasir out for a few hours. I call myself, giving her a break, and I heard something upstairs, and I asked her who was it and she said it was a friend.”

“Oh, I'm going to have to have a conversation with her.”

“Yeah, you should. Because that's, like, the last thing she should be thinking about. Being with another man. You know she gets pregnant easily.” I took another bite of my apple.

“That damn Crystal, always doing something dumb. Then this fool Phillip hasn't gave Yvette her money yet. He better hope I don't catch up with him.”

“Mom, what are you going to do?”

“Something. I don't like how he doing my child.”

“Yvette's strong; she will find another job, and she can just take him to court for her money.”

“I know, but it just isn't right. I called her a few times, but she doesn't answer my calls,” my mom said, like she was worried.

“I've been trying to reach her, too. I'll call her later.”

My dad came strolling in the house. I walked over to him and gave him a hug.

“How have you been, sweetheart?” he said.

“Fine. I just came to say hey to Mommy. Then I'm going home.”

“Stay for dinner,” he replied.

“No, I have to go, but Mommy has something she needs to tell you about Crystal. You are not going to believe it.”

“Please tell me she is not pregnant again.”

“Mommy will tell you. I love y'all. See you later.”

On the ride home I tried to get in touch with Tiffany, but she was still busy with Solomon, her online sweetie. Surprisingly, he was not a weirdo, but Tiffany's perfect match. Every weekend she was on the train, going to see him, or he was coming to see her. I had to admit I was wrong about her meeting an online killer. Life was so funny. I had finally cut off Todd, and she had met the man of her dreams. I missed Todd so much, and it had been hard to ignore all his “Hey, yous” and smiley faces texts, but he couldn't give me all, so I'd take none. I wish he would have been able to get it together. But since he never will, I'm back at square one, looking for love again.

Once I was home I opened my laptop and signed up for DateFairy.com. If Tiffany could meet someone online, I could, too. The site made you answer twenty-five personality questions. Simple things like likes and dislikes. But what made this dating Web site unique was you had to judge everything in terms of personality and compatibility, and not from photographs. The site encouraged its daters not to share any pictures until after they had communicated first.

After answering all the questions, I had several matches. I was so excited to read about my matches. One was a divorced father of five.
Next. Not trying to be a stepmom.
My second match said he was in the gym six days a week.
Never.
I kept scrolling down, and my third match was perfect. He was a six-foot-five chef who lived in Delaware, had no children, did not smoke, and his hobbies were weight lifting and movie watching. I read the rest of his bio, and I liked what he had to say. So I messaged him.

 

 

My date from Date Fairy was named Rob, and we were coming face-to-face for the first time at a waterfront restaurant in downtown Wilmington, Delaware, about twenty minutes outside of Philadelphia. I did feel like such a hypocrite. I had given Tiff so much grief about meeting someone online, and now here I was, doing the same thing. But when you met online, you did get to learn a lot about them through e-mails and texts.

I already knew I liked Rob just from our messaging, or at least I did until I saw him walking toward me. I didn't judge people by the way that they looked; however, Rob hadn't exactly been truthful when he described himself. In his defense, he was six five and had light brown skin, but because he was tall, I hadn't bothered to ask him how much he weighed. Big mistake, because he was a giant. He looked like he belonged on one of those “Help me. I need to lose weight before I die” shows.

The first thing I wanted to do was run. The second was act like my name wasn't Dana. I shouldn't have told him what I was wearing. Then he wouldn't have been able to come right over to my table and say, “You must be Dana.”

“Hey, Rob. Yeah, Dana,” I said as I digested this big giant that was in front of me.

How could he be a chef? He probably ate all the food before it got to the table, I thought. My first clue should have been that he was a weight-lifting chef. That was an oxymoron in itself. I couldn't run, so I was going to have to stay and endure the date. I shook my head as he got comfortable and opened the menu. Then I heard the most repulsive sounds imaginable each time his lungs inhaled air. He was breathing so heavy, like there were pizzas and cheesecakes clogging his windpipe. I thought he was going to have an asthma attack or pass out from lack of oxygen.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Yeah, I'm fine, just a little out of breath. I could tell by your voice you were going to be cute. So what do you think about me?” he said.

“You're good.”

“So tell me some more about you, Dana.”

“No, uh, you go first.” I didn't care that much to tell him anything about me.

“Well, I've been a cook at Olive Garden for the last four years, and I like movies and I lift weights.”

But you don't do cardio,
I thought.

“So what are you getting?” he asked.

“I'm not sure,” I said as I covered my face with the menu.

I pulled my phone out and texted Tiff. My date off of Date Fairy is a giant heavy breathing disaster!!!!

She texted me back. OMG. Ha-ha. LOL. Next date will be better.

I told her I knew it would and put away my phone, even though I didn't care if was being rude or not. When our waitress came over, I ordered a salad and he ordered cashew chicken.

Our food came right out, and I was ecstatic, because I wanted this date to hurry up and be over. However, this fat boy was taking his time eating his chicken. I didn't know why he was fronting—slicing and dicing his chicken up.
Keep it real, and shove the breast in your mouth so I can go,
I thought. I wanted to go home and watch television, anything but be here on this date with him.
Yuck.
And then the waitress asked if we would like to look at the dessert menu, and he said yes.

“Do you want dessert?” he asked.

“Oh, no, sorry. I can't. I have to get up early tomorrow.”

“I understand. I won't get any, either.”

I gave him a half smile.

He paid our bill and began walking me to my car.

“So did you have a good time? You want to do this again?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah, great time.”

He tried to give me a hug, but I pulled away and said, “See you next time.”

C
HAPTER
13

Yvette

I
was trying not to lose hope that I was going to get my money back from Phil. Over the last few weeks I'd called, begged, threatened, and prayed that he would return my money. When none of that worked, I called his father to see if he could talk to him. I explained to his dad all the reasons why his son was wrong, and he agreed with every single one, but all he had to say was that Phil was grown and he couldn't make him do right. Which was true, but sad at the same time. Everyone had been calling, but I didn't feel like talking to anyone, because they all kept asking me the same questions about Phil. “How is it possible?” “Why didn't you have an attorney look over your paperwork?” “Can't you do something?” If there was something I could do, I would have done it already.

The only thing I was certain of was that none of this would have happened if I hadn't gone to Toronto. I should have stayed home, paid my bills, and been at work when Phil was making his anonymous phone calls. If I had been there, he would have never got through and Frank wouldn't have had the chance to snoop through all my files.

So far I'd had consultations with two different attorneys, and they both had said the same thing—that our home was community property before we were divorced, and I would have to show proof that we planned to split the proceeds from the sale of the house, since it was sold after the dissolution of our marriage. It was going to be costly and hard to get my share, but it could be done. However, I would need at least five thousand dollars for a retainer. So basically, to get my money, I was going to need money, but I had none.

In the meantime, while I was waiting for Phillip's dumb ass to come to his senses, I had bills to pay. I'd already paid my August rent, but I didn't know how I was going to pay September, and I had so many other bills and the children to take care of.

And speaking of my children, I couldn't wait until they went back to school. It was hot, and they were driving me crazy with their constant bickering and fighting and bugging me like babies in this little apartment.

I applied to at least ten positions a day. Most companies wanted you not only to submit a résumé, but also to fill out an application on their Web site. I couldn't understand why, if I had my résumé and it had my name and address and everywhere I ever worked on it, I had to fill out an application, too. At the moment I was applying for an administrative position at Drexel University, and I began inserting my information into the application, because I wanted to be hired. During the process Mercedes came in, interrupting my concentration.

“What do you need, Mimi?” I asked.

“Mom, I'm bored.”

“How are you bored? You have your toys, books, television. You'll have to find something to do, because I'm on the computer and I'm not in charge of your entertainment, Mercedes. Go out and play.”

“All my good toys are at that storage place, and I don't like the kids around here. I want to go back to our old neighborhood. When are we going to move to our new house?”

“Soon. Go play.”

A few moments later she stuck her head in my bedroom again and said, “Mom, uh, I wanted to know what we were having for dinner.”

“I don't know. Let me finish this, and then I'll tell you.” I turned my attention back to my application.

She left my bedroom, and a few seconds later she knocked on my door again. Without looking up I said, “What do you need now, Mercedes?”

“No. It's me, Mom. Can I go out and play ball with Semaj?” Brandon asked as I lifted my head up.

“You can go, but come back in an hour so you can eat.”

The verdict was still out on his new friends and this neighborhood. Our Germantown neighborhood seemed pretty good, but it really was either-or. If you went three blocks south, there were nice large colonial houses, but a couple of blocks west and boys were hanging on the corner in front of several liquor stores and Chinese stores. Semaj was Brandon's age, but way more thuggish. I'd met his mom. She looked like a baby herself, and I knew she had, like, four younger kids, so her attention was definitely not on him. I got the feeling he did whatever he wanted.

Sixty-two minutes and several space and tabs later, I finally completed the application and hit
UPLOAD
. I felt like I'd accomplished something, until an error message appeared and then the screen froze. I'd sat here for an hour, filling out that application, and it didn't even get saved.
Forget it,
I thought.

It was time to make dinner. I walked into the kitchen and then went into the living room, and Mercedes began to tell me everyone who had called me.

“Mom Mom and Pop Pop both said to call them. Aunt Crystal said to call her when you get up, and Miss Geneva said it is real important and that she needs to talk to you.”

“Thank you. Just continue to say what I told you to say whenever anyone calls. I'm asleep or in the shower.”

“Okay. Can I sit on the steps?”

“Go ahead. Take your dolls or a book out with you.”

Mercedes gathered a few of her dolls and went to sit on the steps. I watched her from the front window and began to make dinner. I looked down at the ringing phone. It was Geneva again. I finally decided to pick it up myself.

“Hey, Geneva. Sorry I haven't called you. I've just been out of it, trying to figure all of this out.”

“I know. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I'm good. A little frustrated, but good. It's really crazy that he has every dollar I have in his possession and won't give it to me.”

“I know, but can't you cash one of your CDs or go into your savings?”

“I wish. That's all gone. I used everything I had saved on our down payment for the house and on remodeling the kitchen.”

“You don't have anything left?”

“Nothing, and I know I could probably get money from my dad, but I don't feel like asking anyone for anything.”

“I know. Well, it is not a lot of money, but I can loan you a few hundred. I would give you more, but Eric is the only one working right now.”

“No, I'll be fine. You have your own family. Don't worry about me. I'll be all right.”

“I know you will, but I've been trying to think of ways to help you. How about if you try talking to Phil?”

“Geneva, I tried. He doesn't want to hear anything I have to say, and I'm not trying to get any angrier.”

“Well, I think he is doing all of this because he is upset. And probably is still in love with you. You know men can dish it, but can't take it. Maybe if you apologize, he'll forgive you. You were his wife just a couple of months ago. And do you think he really wants to see you and the kids without? I doubt it.”

“You might be right.”

“Just really try to reason with him. Break down and cry if you have to. Change your approach and you might get new results.”

“All right, that's what I'll do. I'm going to try to talk to him. It can't hurt. I'll do it tomorrow.”

 

 

If insulting and threatening hadn't worked with Phil, I would try another method, called tears. Geneva had a point. He did once love me. So maybe if I went to him crying and upset, he would get weak and help me. I knew I had to confront him one-on-one and catch him off guard. I decided to meet him at his job, right before he got on the bus he drove. His 52 bus pulled out of Wynnefield Station promptly at 7:09 Monday through Friday. I arrived at 6:37 a.m. and waited for him to drive up.

I was looking for his Chevy pickup truck, but to my surprise, he pulled up in a shiny new white Ford Explorer. He backed into a parking space a few cars in front of mine.
So this was how he was spending my money
. He was wearing his bluish-gray uniform and a navy sweater vest over top of it. He took his duffel bag out of the trunk, hit the alarm, and then threw on his sunglasses and headed for his terminal. I got out of the car and began jogging up to him. I think I startled him, but I began crying and leaning into him before he could react.

“What the hell are you doing here, Vette? You can't be showing up at my job.”

“I know. I just wanted to talk to you.”

“I'm at work. We can't talk right now.”

“But, Phil, please. I need to talk to you, and your bus doesn't leave for another fifteen minutes.”

“Okay. What do you want?”

I grabbed his arm and hugged it, burying my face in his shoulder. “Look, Phil, I'm sorry if I hurt you, but what you are doing right now is affecting not just me. You're hurting Mimi and Brandon. How am I supposed to take care of them with no money and no job? I know you are mad at me, but this is not the way to get back at me. Please, stop all of this. Please.” I lifted my head and let him see all the real emotion displayed on my face. I thought I saw something that looked like a hint of remorse.

Then he stepped away from me and said, “You are really going to have to figure it out, because there is nothing I can do for you.”

“What about the couple of thousand I put toward the down payment and the money I put up for the kitchen? You can't keep that money, too.”

“Vette, I don't want to talk about this anymore. You have to leave, and I don't need you causing a scene.”

“Please help me, Phil. I don't know what I'm going to do. I don't have any money; I don't have anything.”

He just shook his head, as if he didn't have any control over anything.

“So you really are going to let me sink. You'd rather see me fall than help me.” I cried more and sobbed louder, still hoping to get a different reaction out of him.

Instead he yelled, “I don't care either way, and you need to get out of here.” His yelling infuriated me. I couldn't pretend any longer.

“I wouldn't be here if you weren't a thief.”

“Don't call me a thief.”

“That's what you are if you take something that is not yours. What does that make you? A real man does not steal from a woman, only one with female tendencies. You fucking bitch.” I was furious, and I wanted my money.

“Listen, I don't have anything for you. You can get out of here with all of your nonsense. And don't come back up here, because next time I'm going to call the cops on you.”

Phil left me standing there and boarded his bus and took off. I walked back to my car, feeling even more frustrated than when I arrived. I didn't know how I was going to take care of anything. Just thinking about my situation I became angrier and angrier, and I felt like I had to do something to him and now. I got in my car and caught up to his bus. He was going to give me mine and now. I had tried the nice way. Now he was going to pay up or get fucked up. I followed his bus a few stops. Passengers were boarding the bus and getting off.

I wasn't sure what I was going to do. I was thinking about pulling in front of his bus and blocking it from traveling, but he could possibly go around me. I decided to pull over. I threw my car into park, hit the locks on the doors, and sprinted over to the bus. An elderly couple was exiting the back of the bus, and when they got off, I hopped on. A few people were looking at me as if to say, “Why is this lady sneaking on the bus?” I didn't care anymore if anyone was looking or listening. Phil was looking at me through his rearview mirror. He shook his head and told me to get off the bus.

“I'll get off this bus when you give me my money, you crook. You are going to give me my money, now Phil or else.”

“Vette, get the hell off my bus before I call the police.”

“Call the cops! I dare you. So I can tell them to lock your ass up.”

“I'm warning you, Yvette.”

“Fuck your warning, Phillip. How about I tell all your passengers how you stole my damn money, you bitch. Huh? Or tell them how you smoke weed every day. Call the police so I can tell them to give your ass a drug test. I know you still roll up every weekend. Excuse me, everybody on the number fifty-two bus. I'm sorry y'all have to start y'all's morning like this, but I need to let everyone know that your driver, Phillip McKnight, is a drug addict and a thief, and he likes to date girls that are barely legal—so that makes him a borderline pervert, too. He owes me twenty-five thousand dollars and he needs to pay or I'm going to whoop his ass right now.”

One lady was on my side, she said that wasn't right. But most of the passengers weren't interested or amused; they just wanted to get to work on time. I became a little apprehensive when I saw a girl pull out her cell phone and start recording, but unfortunately, it didn't stop me from causing a scene. I began walking toward Phil.

“That's it. I'm calling the police.” He pulled the bus over and pulled out his cell phone.

“Call them, you punk ass. You want me off this bus, then give me what you owe me.” People were still looking, and I was getting closer to him.

He must have seen the anger in my eyes, because once I was a few feet away, he said, “Don't do anything you will regret,” and got ready to block a punch, which he knew I would throw at any moment.

“I'm not going to regret anything. I don't give a fuck. I'm going to show you I'm not playing with you. I want my money. I should have known better then to have married you. Your mother and father ain't shit. So why did I expect any better of you.” I lifted my hand and let my palm make contact with the bridge of his nose. The smack was so loud, the entire bus jumped. He ducked in the corner of his driver's seat, making sure not to hit me back or allow me another good shot.

I got in a few kicks and punches before I heard sirens. I didn't want to get arrested, so I pressed the button to open the door and ran back to my car. I saw an ambulance, not a police car, going the other way, but I was still scared and got the hell out of there.