Bad as in Good (2 page)

Even though the fog blurred the shower door, I could tell she finally stared me down as if she had a real interest in carrying on a conversation with me. “I dunno. We have a lot of things to talk about.”

Her suggestion that we had more to talk about beyond how soon I could help her move her things out of the apartment I paid all the bills for was amusing. I smiled. “No, I can call yo' family and find out the soonest time they can help you move yo' shit out my place.”

Under her breath she mumbled, “
Your
apartment? You're talking all hurt as if you didn't see any of this coming, Riq. What did you expect me to do?”

My smile dropped. She knew what comments to say to get a response. At first, I tensed my jaw to hold back what I wanted to
come out, but I then decided to give her what she wanted. “If I fucked every bitch that came my way and lied to you about it, then had the audacity to come in your face and tell you, ‘You should've seen this coming,' how quick would you have your brothers over here to try and kick my ass? How soon would all your girls have my picture up on ‘He-a-dog.com'? But because you felt a lil' neglected since I'm out there working to be a good man for you and be the man you been dying to make me into, you decide to go out and fuck some other dude, and I'm supposed to have
seen this coming?”

I rarely ever cursed at her. If I ever slipped up, she'd turn her nose up and lock the coochie down for a week as my punishment. But seeing as I had no desire to gain entry between her legs anymore, I had free reign to curse all I wanted. Before I knew it, she pulled out the heavy artillery. At first, I was strong. I went in there with my shoulders back and legs spread, ready to come in and shut things down. How could I ever underestimate her?

With a crack in her voice, she said, “I'm sorry, Riq-ee. I know I was wrong.” She sniffled and dropped her head in her palms. She stood in the shower crying, letting the water beat down on her head and seep through the satin cap she pulled over her hair. She was vulnerable. “You're never home. I got lonely. I didn't know things would lead to this, baby. But I never meant to hurt you.”

When she started crying, the love I had for her resurfaced. I wanted to run inside and hold her like she was begging me to do. I wanted to be the man I've always been for her. My shoulders dropped and my anger shifted toward concern, but as quickly as it shifted, it shifted back. “You never meant to hurt me? Then what were your intentions when you laid up with the dude? Did you think I'd cheer you on? Throw you a mothafuckin' parade?”

She paused. She realized that it would be best to keep her apology to a minimum. She was losing the grip she had on me, and it was
heartbreaking for her. Still, I couldn't ignore the pain and embarrassment she put me through. “How can we fix this?”

It was evident that I cared. It was obvious that she wasn't some chick I kept on the sidelines 'til the right woman came along. She was supposed to be
it
. She could tell by the fact that I practically stalked her the night before that I wasn't in this as a hit-it-and-quit-it relationship. Somehow, the fire was gone. I couldn't fight for a woman who couldn't fight for me in the face of her lover. I couldn't fix a relationship that had clearly ran its course. My mama was gonna have to put the grandkids on hold for a while.

“We can't.” I hoped this didn't change me. I liked being the nice guy who cared for his woman. But how far did that get me when my woman can't even care for me. I opened the door to the bathroom and said, “You might wanna get yo' shit out by Thursday, 'cause the trash get picked up on Friday.”

•  •  •

Even though half of the work day had already passed, I still decided to go in to work late. I couldn't deal with Deja's crying in the shower. I needed to remind myself of the coldness I developed toward her. If I allowed myself to become victim to her tears, then I'd never leave. And soon, I'd become the typical, cheating black man who couldn't stay faithful to his girl because he was too afraid to commit to a woman he could barely trust in the first place.

I tried to keep my work life separate from home, but when I saw my coworker, Damien, I couldn't help but show the stress at home on my face. We sat in my cubicle shaking our heads at the audacity of women.

“You caught her with the guy?” he asked me.

“Tonguing him down and everything. She ain't even come home 'til this morning.”

“Damn.” Damien shook his head. “What did you do?”

“Kicked her ass out. What else could I do?”

“Where she at now?”

“Hell if I know. I ain't really kick her ass out yet. I told her she goin' to have to find another place to stay by Friday before the trashman comes.”

“You see, I tol' you shit like this is what happens.”

“Tol' me? Man, when did you tell me all this? If I woulda known my woman would be out doin' dirt, I wouldn't have contemplated waiting fo' her new man outside in the parkin' lot fo' 'bout twenty minutes.”

Laughing, Damien said, “I tol' you that females can't be trusted.”

At first, when Damien would stroll by, peekin' his bobblehead over my cubicle wall and shiftin' his bug eyes my way spouting that nonsense about how women couldn't be trusted and how all of them would ho themselves out for a cheeseburger and a fifty-dollar shot at fame, I'd roll my eyes and humor him. At the end of the day, he was still alone, secretly wishing he had a chick to come home to. But now, I was actually sittin' there listenin' to him. In the midst of my pain, he was making perfect sense. “I hear you.”

“Are you really hearin' me?” He rubbed the bottom of his chin and stared up at the ceiling. “Bitches nowadays are always on to the next—bigga an' betta' things. So when a bitch try you like this, ain't no surprises. It's in her nature to do men wrong.” Damien stopped rubbin' his chin and stared at me with bright eyes and a stern jaw. “Fall of man has always been at the fault of women. Shit, I ain't goin' to fight nature. You see me comin' into work cryin' 'bout some random broad who can't keep her legs closed to get attention?”

“Deja wasn't some random broad, but…” I took a deep breath. “I do hear you.” I must've been sleepin' through life. Everyone else
saw this comin' but me. “Fo' real, Damien, you ain't neva fall for a female before?”

Damien smiled and went back to rubbin' the scraggly hairs under his chin. My question made him revisit a past that he liked to keep in his back pocket. Rather than use bad experiences as learning lessons, he used them as looking glasses for what life had planned for him. “There was this one chick, bad bitch, too. Dark, chocolate skin. Hazel eyes, long, thick hair, thick thighs, small waist, and big ol' titties.” He chuckled and slapped his hands together. His face lit up as his memories poured back into his present. “I was seventeen and had a scholarship to play ball. She tol' me she loved me.” His smile dropped and the light in his face turned to darkness. “I let the good schools go and decided to go to college at one of the two-year schools around the way. Long story short, I ain't play ball after high school no mo', and I found out on
Maury
that she was pregnant wit' some fool's baby an' couldn't find out who the daddy was. Bitch had twelve mothafuckas who weren't the daddy.
Twelve
, man. I went berserk. I called her every dirty name in the book. One week later, she had a restraining order filed against me and I'm dropping out of junior college. At the end of the day, she was hopin' my ball playin' could take her hoeing to the big leagues.” He rolled his eyes. “Eight years later and I'm adjusting insurance claims, tryin' not to blow my damn brains out in my ten-by-ten cubicle. I'm tellin' you, man, females ain't shit.”

“You mean to tell me that one shiesty female turned you cold for life?”

Damien stood up and shrugged his shoulders. “It only takes one.” Before walking back to his desk, he said, “I mean it is what it is, though. All I know, I ain't the nigga 'bout to change the locks on a bitch.”

Any other day, I would've felt disrespected. You talk about my woman, and it was time to get down. Today, the first time in ever, I was indifferent. I pursed my lips at his comment as if his blatant disrespect for the deficiency in my relationship was called for. However, as I replayed the recent events in my head, I realized that it really was. It was completely called for to disregard a relationship I spent four years creating, 'cause there was nothing left of it to defend.

My mama raised me to be a good man to women, treat them right, and not hurt their feelings. But where were all their mothers? Where were the mothers that were supposed to encourage their daughters to be good to their men, treat them right, and not sleep around? I had to come to grips with the reality that my mama must've lived in a world where that advice rang truer. Nowadays, bitches ain't shit.

D
amn. I was standing in this storm, strolling down the dark streets of Lake Underhill in wet socks holding on to a pair of five-inch boots, one with a broken heel, the other one scuffed up beyond recognition. My cell phone battery was dead. I couldn't call my girl Loraine, and I stupidly left my wallet in Tariq's front seat. I couldn't even use a payphone to call a cab. My freshly relaxed hair was ruined, my makeup was running, and I'd be sniffling come morning. “I hate men,” I whispered to myself. All I wanted to do was get home, pop open a bottle of Johnny Walker Black Label, and throw back a good, hard drink. Usually after a first date, I'd go home and sip on a tall glass of Riesling while Sade played in the background. Tonight was different; tonight, I needed to yank Tariq's picture from the top drawer of my nightstand, stick it in a trashcan, and set it on fire—not before I gave Loraine a good tongue-lashing for thinking that Tariq and I would actually be a
good match
. I wiped the snot that slowly dripped from my nose. Throwing my hands in the air, I kicked the big puddle of water in front of my feet. Tonight was the last damn straw. I freaking hated men.

When I got home, I had to ignore the awkward glances I got from my neighbors who couldn't understand why a pretty girl like me
would actually be walking home in the rain. When they tried not to stare at me, I wanted to say, “What the hell's your problem? You never saw a black girl come out the damn rain before? Mind your damn business!” Instead, I ended up faking a smile while I kept my head down and searched for my keys.

Before I could unlock my door, Alonzo, the wiry banker from down the hall, shot me a smirk and waved. I tried to ignore him, but my wet hands couldn't find my keys quick enough.

He yelled out, “You all right?”

I utilized the overly expensive therapy technique I had learned in my sessions and breathed deeply. “I'm good. Trying to get to bed.”

“Did you need any help with anything? You look like hell.”

I couldn't take it after that. I shot him an evil glance and flared my nostrils. Realizing that he'd crossed the line, he stopped walking closer to me and dropped his goofy smile. But before I gave him the chance to tuck tail and run, my neck started rolling, my finger went to wagging, and my lips started snarling. “I said I was all right, damn. Can't a girl walk into her damn home without everybody in this got-damn apartment building trying to figure out what's wrong? I had a bad night. It's not like I came here with a wounded Siberian tiger under my skirt, rocking a shaved head and bright-orange nail polish. Can I walk into my apartment, Alonzo? Can you give me that courtesy, please? Shoot!”

Alonzo opened his mouth to speak, then snapped it shut quickly. Without another word, he nodded and turned on his heel. Walking back into his apartment, he yelled back, “Have a good night.” He then slammed the door shut behind him.

Confident in my victory of finally getting to tell
some
man off, I found the key to my apartment and walked inside. Dropping my keys, purse, and shoes to the floor, I grabbed my Johnny Walker bottle and headed for my bathroom. I stared at myself in the mirror.
I tried to wipe what was left of my running eyeliner. I looked like Tariq had given me two black eyes instead of kicking me out of a moving vehicle. I brushed the few strands of hair stuck to my face behind my ear and wiped the smeared foundation from my dimpled cheeks. I took a deep breath and tried not to remind myself of the hundred and fifty hard-earned dollars I had spent on my not-so-fresh relaxer two days prior to my date. My wet hair sat on top of my head, limp and dead, like the rain had a vendetta against me. I couldn't understand how an almond-eyed, full-lipped, earth-yellow complexioned bombshell like myself would find herself walking home in pouring rain as my overly expensive MAC makeup melted off my face.

I stripped naked and examined how my round breasts, slim, waist and wide hips would scare a man off. Halle Berry ain't have nothing on me, but I was being treated like Ron Berry. Dang, I hated men. After stripping naked and dunking myself into a warm bubble bath, my fingers got to dialing. When Loraine's groggy voice scratched through my phone's receiver, she got the tongue-lashing that had been waiting on her.

“Girl, I am so damn mad at you.”

“What happened?”

“What happened?
That fool put me out his car.”

Loraine's pause only revealed how she was trying to contain her laughter. “No, he didn't.”

“Girl, I am not playing. While we are actually driving down the 408, we get into a fight over his presets. Girl, he got mad at me for changing the dang station, and then he puts me out the car…in the rain.”

“I can't believe he'd actually do that. You must've done something else to set him off.”