Crazy Love (6 page)

“Damn. Your momma's a freakin' pig,” she said to CoCo, who was oblivious to the mess. She was used to it and besides, she was too young to know that anything was wrong.

Just as Stacie laid CoCo on the couch, her mother stepped into the living room. She was wiping her hands with a dishrag. “Hey, baby, I didn't hear you come in.” She kissed Stacie on the cheek, then playfully poked her granddaughter in the stomach and was rewarded with a wide grin. “Hey, cutie,” she clucked. She glanced over at her daughter's open door and her eyes clouded over. CoCo was momentarily forgotten as she walked to her baby daughter's door and peeked in. She shuddered, then firmly shut the door behind her. “I can't stand to look at it,” she said, then sat down next to Stacie.

At forty-five, Gladys could easily pass for someone ten years her junior. She was a beautiful lady. Her skin was the color of an eggplant and just as smooth. Her hair was pulled back and coiled into a tight bun, and on the rare times when she let it down, it kissed the middle of her back. Years of power mall walking kept her in excellent shape.

“Momma! Why don't you make her clean up?” Stacie protested. Although she and her sister were close, she had no problem voicing her complaints about Nevia. Stacie placed the towel on the couch and laid CoCo on top of it. With the efficiency of someone who had diapered hundreds of babies, she had CoCo's diaper off and a clean one on her in thirty seconds flat.

Her mother shrugged. “She'll clean up when she gets a chance. She's busy at the hospital. People don't stop getting sick, you know. Besides, it's not that big of a deal. I'm just so proud of her, she's thinking about going to nursing school. Did she tell you?”

Stacie shook her head. “That's wonderful, Momma. I think she'll make a good nurse.”

Her mother nodded in agreement, then asked, “Have you read any of those books yet?”

“Oh crap! Sorry, I meant to say no. I've been busy,” Stacie whined, reverting to her preteen years. “I don't have the time.”

Her mother looked at her and rolled her eyes before she walked out of the living room and returned with a book in her hand. “Here, read this,” she said, handing it to Stacie.

Stacie read the title out loud, “Hurston, Novels and Stories.”

“It's a collection of all her works,” her mother said.

“I guess it helps having a mother who's a teacher,” Stacie teased. “I'll read it,” she promised. “Where are my other nieces?” she asked, as the apartment was surprisingly quiet without the kids.

Her sister had three babies. Designer babies, is what Stacie and Tameeka called them. CoCo, the middle baby, was black and Hispanic. Three-year-old Chloe, the oldest, was Japanese and black. Lastly there was Connie. At six months old, she looked like an angel. She was black and Italian. The fathers were picked for their good looks and not necessarily their dick or wallet size.

“She has them. She said something about taking Chloe and Connie to see their fathers. CoCo was napping when she left, so I told her to let her sleep. So what's going on at the law firm?” she asked; she loved hearing Stacie's stories about the people at her job.

“Same old, same old,” Stacie answered vaguely as she played with CoCo.

“Have you been promoted yet?” she asked, and Stacie shook her head. “Well, they should, you practically run the office,” she said. “How long have you been there?”

Stacie shrugged. “About eight years. But I've been having problems.”

“What kind of problems?” Gladys asked, concerned.

“They've been watching me. I've been getting to work—”

At that moment Nevia strolled into the house and Stacie's mouth gaped open. While Stacie had gotten her looks from her father, Nevia had inherited their mother's eggplant coloring, sheath of long glossy hair and even after three kids, her body was still tight. She had no problem with showing it to everyone and anyone. The denim shorts she had on barely covered her rear end, her buttocks peeking out like two ripe peaches. The white halter top was nothing more than two handkerchiefs sewn together with string drawn through. It barely covered her breasts. Chloe was at her side and Connie was sleeping in the stroller.

“Damn, girl,” Stacie said. “Do you have to go outside like that? Momma, look what she's wearing.” Stacie turned to her mother and pointed at her sister.

Gladys simply nodded her head. She and Nevia had argued so much about her choice of clothing that she was tired of it.

“Momma's okay with what I wear,” Nevia said, and pranced into the room. “You're just jealous because your old ass can't wear something like this.”

“Nevia!” Gladys warned. She didn't allow cursing in her home.

“Sorry, ma'am,” Nevia said, feigning remorse. “I see you're still driving that old as—” she shot a look at her mother. “I mean, that old piece of junk around.”

“Excuse you,” Stacie said. Her sister was unbelievable. “So what are you rolling in now? Last I heard, you and the city bus drivers were on a first-name basis.”

“That's about to change,” Nevia answered mysteriously. Then in a spiteful move, she lifted CoCo from Stacie's leg and set her on the floor. But CoCo toddled back over to her aunt and pulled herself up on the couch and into Stacie's lap. Despite herself, Stacie stuck her tongue out at her sister.

“What have you gotten yourself into now?” Gladys asked, warily eyeing her daughter.

“Nuthin',” Nevia lied, then began talking really fast, which instantly tipped Gladys off that she was lying. She listened anyway, nodding her head when it seemed appropriate. “Last week, I went over to CoCo's daddy's house. Carlos had some family visiting from Puerto Rico and they wanted to go car shopping, and I hung out with them. So when we got there, I started looking at the cars. Then his uncle offered to buy me a little Honda Accord, wasn't that nice? He's the nicest man I know. The car should be here tomorrow, they have to finish the paperwork and stuff,” she finished, and let out a deep breath as her gaze bounced from her mother to her sister.

“Well—er—that's nice, Nevia,” Gladys stuttered, stunned by the news.

Stacie shot her mother an incredulous look that said: If you're not going to ask her, I will. “Let me get this straight. Carlos's uncle, a man you just met, bought you a car, for no reason at all, other than the fact you thought it looked nice? Is that what you're telling me?”

Nevia nodded. “Yep, that's what I'm telling you,” she said, and inwardly cursed herself. She had to go ahead and blab about the car while Stacie was there. She knew that her sister would grill her like Judge Mathis. “It happens all the time. Some cultures are just more generous than others. Whenever I go over to Carlos's house, his mother always cooks for me and CoCo
and
she sends us home with a plate. Doesn't she, Momma?” She turned wide eyes on her mother, who was watching her with pinched lips.

“Hold up, a car is a lot different from dinner,” Stacie snapped. “And a heck of a lot more expensive, more like fifteen thousand more. And you didn't have to do anything for it?” Stacie questioned. “He just gave you the car—free and clear?”

“No, I didn't have to do anything for it,” she answered. Then, to avoid her sister's accusing eyes, Nevia bent down and peered in Connie's face; who was still peacefully sleeping in the stroller.

“You don't even have a driver's license,” Stacie pointed out. “How do you plan on driving it?”

Nevia sighed and pulled herself upright and faced her sister. “Manny, that's Carlos's uncle, plans on teaching me. He said that he'll take me out for as long as it takes for me to learn to drive. Isn't that sweet?” she asked.

A sudden thought struck Stacie. “Does Carlos know who bought you the car? Or have you even told him about it?” she asked. She knew the answer as soon as Nevia began moving her lips and nothing came out. Her sister had never been good at coming up with a lie at the spur of the moment. Then Nevia suddenly found her voice.

“He's okay with it,” she said. “I told you, his family is very generous and he wants to make sure that his daughter is taken care of.”

Stacie knew Carlos; he'd shoot you first and ask questions later. His boys called him Fierce for both his temper and his quickness with a gun.

Nevia reached over and plucked CoCo off Stacie's leg, causing her daughter to howl. Hurt flashed across Nevia's face and she swallowed a lump of jealousy, then cut her eyes at her sister. Things always came easy to Stacie; she got the best grades in high school, men constantly flocked to her and she got the tight job at a law firm. Now she got my daughter, Nevia thought.

Nevia dropped CoCo back onto her aunt's legs. Her howls stopped and she began gurgling happily. Nevia angrily smacked her teeth, grabbed Connie and Chloe and flounced off to her bedroom, where she slammed the door, rattling several knickknacks on the shelves hanging outside her room.

With her sister out of the room, Stacie angrily rounded on her mother. “Momma! Why didn't you say something to her? You know that man didn't just buy the car out of the goodness of his heart.”

“Maybe he did,” Gladys argued weakly. “There are some good people out there, Stacie,” she insisted.

“Yeah, there are. But not buy-a-stranger-a-car good people,” she said, and dropped her voice lower. “Come on, Momma, what do you think Nevia had to do to get that car?” she asked, as she anxiously looked at her niece.

“Stacie! What are you saying about your sister? She wouldn't do anything like that! The
old
Nevia would, but not now, not now,” she said, vigorously shaking her head. “Your sister has changed,” she insisted.

“I don't know, Momma…” Stacie said, shaking her head, hoping that her sister wasn't backsliding into the life she had left, where drugs and money ruled and bodies were disposable commodities. What the hell did Nevia have to do to get that car? Stacie wondered. The phone rang and she stretched over and brought the receiver to her ear. She blanched when she heard the familiar voice. “Nevia!” she yelled. “It's Carlos!”

W
ho the hell is Mohammad?” Tyrell repeated. He had sprung out of bed.

“Nobody,” Tameeka stuttered. The flush of her orgasm cooled down to a clammy veil.

“So you just call out any dude's name?”

“He's nobody,” Tameeka insisted, then tugged at Tyrell's hand, pulling him toward the bed.

Tyrell snatched his hand back. “Who is he?”

Tameeka hung her head. “An old boyfriend,” she admitted.

Tyrell exhaled. “So whassup?”

“Nothing. There's nothing between us.”

“There must be something between you two if you're calling out his name,” Tyrell fumed.

“It's nothing. Honest, baby. I don't know why I did it. I wasn't even thinking about him,” she answered truthfully. “I was totally enjoying your body.”

Tyrell cradled her face in his hands. “If you got something to tell me, now is the time to do it before we get too deep in this.”

“There's nothing to tell, I made a silly mistake.”

“You'd better tell me if something changes. I don't like surprises.”

Tameeka nodded. “I will. Now make me scream, Tyrell.”

 

That was two days ago. Tameeka shook the memory away before glancing at Tyrell, who grinned, then winked at her.

“Hey baby, where do you want this?” Tyrell held a candle sporting a leopard design. “A whole box of them just came in.” Things had been going well despite her accidentally calling out Mohammad's name.

“My wild thang candles are here,” Tameeka squealed, then rushed over to Tyrell and kissed him as if he was the one who actually manufactured the candles and hand delivered them. “Put those over in the corner,” she demanded. “I'm going to create a special display for them.” She tilted her head to the side and studied the candles. Then she said, “Something wild and funky,” she decided.

Tyrell did as she requested, then sauntered back to her side. It was two o'clock on a Tuesday afternoon and he was helping her out at Heaven on Earth.

“Open this and see what's in it!” she ordered, and shoved an oblong box in Tyrell's hands. He opened his mouth to say something, but clamped it shut; he swallowed his irritation and instead slit the box open and examined its contents. That was the third time today that Tameeka had bossed him around as though he was one of her employees. This wasn't what he had in mind when he agreed to spend the day helping her around her store.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She was across the store helping a young lady who had come barreling through the doors; she was looking for some vitamins and nothing else. She was pretty adamant about that. Now her basket was not only filled with half a dozen bottles of vitamins, but candles, a miniature water fountain and books on stress release. He shook his head in admiration: Work it, girl!

Tyrell returned his attention to the books and began unpacking them and lining them up on the bookshelf. The routine job was repetitive, down…up…stretch…down, and pretty soon he eased into a rhythm that suited him just fine because it allowed him to slip into daydream mode.

Several pictures flashed before his eyes. He and Tameeka exchanging wedding vows, he and Tameeka buying their first house as man and wife, then he and Tameeka bathing their firstborn, Tyrell Jr. I'm blessed. I am truly blessed, he thought to himself, then broke into a wide grin and began whistling softly.

The visions were still fresh in his mind and the music on his lips as he reached up to place a book on the shelf. Suddenly, Tameeka snatched it from his hand. He was instantly snapped back to reality. Tameeka's eyes were bright with rage. “These don't go here!” she barked. “I told you not to shelve anything before checking with me first.” She began pulling down the books that had taken him more than a half hour to put up. “I'll do it myself. Maybe you should work the cash register. You should be able to handle
that.”
She was bent over, returning the books to the box, and didn't see the hurt and embarrassment on his face.

“Um—baby?”

Tameeka continued to box the books as though she hadn't heard him. So he called her again. This time she answered, “Give me a minute. I need to put these books back in the box.”

“Tameeka!” Tyrell barked, and Tameeka was so startled that she dropped the stack of books she had been holding.

“What's wrong?” she asked.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Oh…,” she said, relaxing, then went back to the books. “I'm listening.”

“I—want—to—talk—to—you—in—private,” Tyrell hissed.

Bea was standing a few feet away and had been keeping a concerned eye on them. Experience told her that something was going to burst. The day a woman starts treating her man like a child is the day that he's gonna start looking for a lover instead of a mother. “Young people,” she clucked, then eased over to Tameeka and Tyrell.

Tameeka was holding a book and staring, dumbfounded, at Tyrell. Bea grabbed the book out of Tameeka's hand, then patted her on the shoulder. “Go on, baby, I'll take care of this.” She watched as Tameeka followed Tyrell back to her office.

Inside the office, Tameeka was sitting on one end of the couch and Tyrell on the other. Tameeka crossed her arms over her chest and rolled her eyes at Tyrell. “So you wanna talk? Well, talk!”

“You need to chill, bossy lady.” Tyrell said it as gently as he could.

“What?” Tameeka sputtered, then pointed to herself.
“I
need to chill?” When Tyrell nodded, she let loose. “Let me tell you something. Where the hell were you when I had to work twelve-hours days, seven days a week—by myself, mind you—because half my friends and almost all my family members thought that a black woman couldn't own a successful wellness store. Where the hell were you when I had to sleep on that cot right there.” She pointed to her army-issued cot, which she'd picked up from an army surplus store. “Because I was afraid that if I got in the car and drove home, I'd fall asleep at the wheel. Where were you—”

“Hold up…time out.” Tyrell grabbed Tameeka and pulled her into his arms. Holding her body against his, he began talking softly. “I'm not disrespecting you or taking away your accomplishments. You're my queen, I told you that when I first met you and you'll always be. But baby, you can't talk to me like that. You heard the old saying: It's easier to catch bees with honey than vinegar. Well, throw a brother some honey once in a while, that's all I'm saying.”

Tameeka pulled out of his arms, then glared up at him; his mouth was twitching at the corners as if he was trying to suppress a grin. That made her even angrier. “Well, I'm not bossy. When it comes to my business, I know how things should be run. I didn't get to be the owner of a store by letting people tell me what to do!” she shouted, and soon her whole body began shaking; she was making soft hiccupping sounds and crying quietly at the same time. After some time the room was quiet. Then Tameeka looked up at Tyrell.

“You must think that I'm the most horrible person in the world, don't you? Don't lie…tell me the truth,” she demanded, and Tyrell shook his head.

“I'm not thinking anything like that. If I was I would've told your bossy ass off in front of everybody. You've gotten a little swollen, that's all.”

“And you decided to stick a pin in me?” she joked, suddenly feeling better. She grabbed Tyrell's sleeve and began wiping her face.

“Hey, do you see Kleenex stamped on my sweatshirt? Go get some tissues.”

Tameeka hopped up and grabbed some tissues and wiped her face. “So how bad am I?” She had tossed the soiled paper in the garbage and was sitting comfortably in his lap.

“Well, this is you on a good day,” he said, and began mimicking her. “‘Put that down, I can do it better. Don't touch that, you don't know what you're doing. Sweep the floor, at least you can't mess
that
up!'”

Tameeka's heart banged against her chest. “I don't do that,” she protested, horrified at Tyrell's portrayal of her.

“Yeah, you do,” Tyrell said. “And it makes me feel like shit,” he admitted.

“Oh baby, no! I didn't mean to,” Tameeka exclaimed as she gently stroked his face.

“I could be somewhere else on my day off. But I chose to come in and help you out. I really want to spend some time with my lady.”

“Do I really sound like that?” Tameeka asked quietly.

“Yep. You sound like a drill sergeant whose jock strap is two sizes too small,” Tyrell answered, breaking it down for her.

“No I don't!” she argued heatedly, then her voice suddenly softened. “Yeah, I do. Bea's told me so…on many an occasion.” She laughed self-consciously, then continued. “She says that I treat people as though they were mindless idiots. But I don't mean to,” she said, and hung her head, ashamed at her behavior.

“I hope you don't,” Tyrell answered.

“It's just that I'm so stressed. I have to deal with upset customers, vendors who want their money, I have to make sure that the rent is paid on time, I—”

Tyrell placed his hand over her mouth. “Be quiet!” he instructed. “You're making excuses,” Tyrell said. “And excuses are like credit cards—everybody has them. So you gotta come better than that, baby,” he said before removing his hand.

Tameeka sighed. “I don't have time to think about how I talk to people.”

Tyrell stood up, stretched and sauntered to the door. He had his hand on the doorknob, then he turned back to look at her. “You'd better start thinking about how you talk to people, because if you don't, you might not have anyone around to listen to you.” He strolled through the door leaving Tameeka gaping; a heartbeat passed before she raced after him.