Darius Jones (15 page)

I
t felt good to be back in D.C. in my bed. The sheet was too restraining. The ends wrapped around my body. I kicked, tugged, then snatched the cover over my head. I wasn't ready to get up.

DJ covered his head too. “Mommy, I'm hungry.”

“Not now, DJ. Go back to sleep.”

He cried. “But I'm not sleepy.”

“Then just lay there and be quiet before I spank you.” I wrestled with Darius's energy. This was no dream.

Lowering the sheet below my eyes, I peeped over the edge. I saw an image of Darius sitting at the foot of my bed. “Ashlee, please forgive me. I never meant to hurt you.”

I didn't believe him. He spoke those words to manipulate me. To convince me not to fight for my parental rights. Now that I had my son, I didn't want DJ. If only to prove to Fancy that I was the better woman, I had to have Darius. I wanted to curse the image of him sitting on my bed like I'd done when I was in LA at the hospital.

Darius's mouth, eyes, and shoulders. Drooped. His spine curved toward his feet.

Ashlee, don't fall for it. You're daydreaming.
I sat up.

DJ sat up too. “Mommy, please.”

“Get out the bed and go stand in the corner until your grandmother gets here. And shut up all that crying for nothing. I'll feed you when I'm ready.”

The streetlight shining through a crack in my blinds let me see DJ's upside down smile. I loved my son. I was afraid not to have him close to me. I needed DJ more than he needed me. I went to the corner where he stood, gave him a hug. “Mommy loves you.”

I gripped the sides of my head. “Darius, I can't take anymore. If you lie to me or hurt me again, I will kill you.”

“I'm sorry, Mommy,” DJ said. “I didn't mean to hurt you. Please don't kill me.”

I sighed. “DJ, be quiet.” I sat on the floor beside my son. I replayed memories of Darius in my mind.

“I know, Ashlee. I don't blame you. I deserve to die.”

“Darius, do you remember when we were twelve and we'd plan on running away from home? You'd told me, ‘Make sure you pack a toothbrush, and lots of clean underwear and socks.'

“I'd asked you, ‘Is that all? What about food?'

“Then you told me, ‘I don't know. My mom always says, “Darius, you got your toothbrush? And extra underwear and socks?” so I guess that stuff must be pretty important.'”

I was the one with Darius, holding his hand, when he'd gotten his HIV test results. Darius was so scared that he might have it too. When he found out he was negative, I was the one he twirled around like a ballerina. I was always there for him.

The room became cold. DJ hugged my neck.

“You cold, baby?”

He said, “Hungry.”

I changed the thermostat from seventy-two to eighty. I peeped out the blinds across the street at Jay's house. The only lights were the streetlights. My God, had I slept all day? Had I fed my son since we'd gotten off the plane? Where was my mother? She was supposed to be at my house when I got here. She was probably at some man's house.

“DJ, honey. Just stand in the corner until Mommy gets it together.” My thoughts went from my mom, to DJ, back to Darius.

I remembered the first time Darius made love to me. His strong hands covered mine on the exercise bar above our heads. He eased the spaghetti strap of my gown over my breast and caressed my nipple. We straddled the exercise bench. He leaned me over, entered me from behind. Everything felt so right. So wonderful.

I thought with Maxine being out of the picture, Darius and I would get married. Along came Ciara and she stood at the altar beside him. When things didn't work out with Ciara I thought, here's my second chance. Darius threw me a curveball and Fancy slid into home plate.

I heard a car engine. I raced to the window. My mom parked her rental car in front my house. She had on a waist-length off-white coat with a plush black collar, black tapered pants, knee-high boots. An oversized shiny black purse hung on her shoulder.

Beep. Beep.
She remotely locked the car, headed to my door.

“DJ, it's your grandma,” I said. Didn't want my mother to see him standing facing the corner.

“Yay! Grandma came to get me!” He ran to the door. His smile vanished when he looked up at my mom. He went back to the corner.

“Well, that's no way to greet your grandmother. Come here and give me hug,” my mom told him.

Somberly, DJ went to my mother. His arms hung beside his thighs as my mom hugged him. “I'm hungry, Grandma.”

“Ashlee, this isn't going to work out. Maybe you should send him back to his father,” she said, removing her coat. “You look a mess. When was the last time you and this child ate?”

I'd almost forgotten how distant my mom and I were. She didn't want me when I was a kid, insisted I stay with my father. “I was just getting ready to feed him. Are you hungry too?”

“You learn how to cook yet?” she asked, following me into the kitchen. “Go put on some clothes. I'll fix us something to eat.”

I hated when my mother referred to my son as “this child” or “him.” Didn't know who treated me worse, Darius or my mother.

I hated Darius because I loved him. I didn't want Fancy to die but wished she'd go away. My having DJ meant seeing more of Darius. I had to find a way to make him mine again. As long as Fancy didn't give him a child, I had a chance. Not sure how but I sensed Darius was coming back to me.

Would he love me the way he loved Fancy? Or would he end up hating me more than ever?

T
he head doing the most thinking was below my waist.

I hadn't had Slugger polished since my wife was in the accident. It was cool to get sidetracked once in while when she was healthy. But sliding to the left on her under the circumstances didn't seem right.

This actually might be the best time to relieve my stress. What she didn't know wouldn't hurt us. A lil' head was on my big head's brain tonight. Tomorrow I'd be in Cleveland, maybe. Maybe not. I hadn't had a real workout in a few days. Releasing myself tonight, putting in OT in practice tomorrow, I should be ready to match up with LJ provided Ashlee was bluffing about the custody hearing.

I stepped out of the Playhouse and stepped on Alfred Hitchcock's star. Hope that wasn't a sign of what was to come. Strolling down Hollywood Boulevard, I left my car parked around the corner from the Playhouse. The fresh air helped my dick cool off. One step at a time, I was clearing my other head. I walked on Count Basie, Dr. Seuss, Fats Domino. That shit was close. Shortie at the club could've caused a volcanic eruption in my pants. That's how close I was to cumming when she rubbed her torpedo tits on my dick.

Women had no clue how tempting other women were. That “Just Say No” shit didn't apply to our dicks. Wasn't that fucking simple. If it were, we'd decline new pussy every time. I stood on Diana Ross, looked up at the Hollywood Guinness Museum wondering what man held the world record for receiving “the longest blow job.” If she fell asleep with his dick in her mouth, would that time count in her favor?

Continuing my stroll, sometimes I prided myself in doing the right thing. And I wanted credit for that shit if I ever got caught. What the hell was I saying? I'd never been caught. If it should happen, I'd deny that shit until I was six feet under and they threw dirt in my face.

A few steps later, I'd trampled on Marilyn Monroe, Jay Leno, Little Richard, Vanessa Williams, Angela Bassett, and Michael Jackson. I was almost at my destination. One more hour before last call for alcohol. California's two
A.M
. cutoff for serving adults liquor was dumb. “Let's put all the party people who are totally fucked up out of the clubs at that same time. Let all the intoxicated morons who get behind the wheels of their cars try not to kill anyone before they reach their destination.”

I loved that New Orleans didn't have a last call for alcohol. I'd partied there several times until the sun came up. I wasn't a heavy drinker but I could have my first or last adult beverage in the Big Easy whatever time I chose. New Orleans was a strange animal. My chances of getting shot by a nigga who had been drinking were higher than my odds of getting hit by a drunk driver.

New Orleans. Yeah. I was wrong for fucking that white girl Heather like she had four legs. I was angry with Maxine, glad I hadn't tested HIV positive, and all I remembered that night was somebody's daughter had to pay for my frustrations. Too bad it was one of my mom's top executives. I didn't give a fuck about Heather or the fact that I left the hotel from being with her and ended up at the Intercontinental on St. Charles Avenue fucking Ginger. New Orleans was like that. That place made me want to sin the second I got off the plane. The longer I stayed, the more voodoo pussy I'd gotten into. Those New Orleans women knew how to pop that pussy, and oh, my God—Slugger was on swole—thinking about that project chick sucking my dick on Tchoupitoulas. She was so bad, I had to pay her ass for an encore.

On my way back to Heather's room, I'd stumbled upon Colette's around the corner at 822 Gravier Street. Now that three-story sex club was a beast. Chicks and chicks, chicks on dicks, private rooms with chicks, orgy beds stacked with chicks, and they had a damn eight-room bed and breakfast on the third floor with eight different themes. I could've stayed in the dungeon or slept in a low to the floor oriental bed and I could've brought more chicks from the club to a private room. Only in New Orleans.

Bill Cosby was beneath my feet. Then there was Etta James, Stevie Wonder, Sophia Loren, and Earvin Magic Johnson. By the time I stood on the the Dead End Kids' star, I was at My House.

The bouncer opened the gigantic double oak doors. I knew the routine so I waited until the oak doors closed. When they opened the double glass doors inside, I entered the club. The owner was clever for building the best soundproof club in Hollywood. People on the street never heard a beat. They'd just walk on by.

I loved the lay and the layout of My House. I went upstairs, sat on the king-sized bed facing the Jacuzzi and chilled.

“What would you like to drink?” the waitress asked.

I ordered another double Suprema.

“Hey, Darius. Shouldn't you be in—”

“Yes, Cleveland. Yes, I should.”

“I take it everyone's asking you that same question. I can't wait to see you match up with LJ,” she said. She had the most amazing mouth. Juicy lips. Long legs. Big breasts. And a nice ass.

Damn! How much of that was an illusion? With all the butt pads, push-up bras, body magic, lip plumpers, instant weaves and wigs, my eyes could be playing tricks on me.

“Mind if I join you for a cocktail?” she said.

“Only if everything I see is real and you don't have the same shit under your skirt that I have in my pants.”

She laughed, tossed her head back. She straddled me, put my hands on her breasts. “Squeeze hard. These are all mine.” Then she put my hands on top her head. “You can pull, run your fingers through my hair, whatever you'd like. This is all me.” She did an about face, sat her ass in my lap, grabbed my hand, and stuck my finger in her pussy. Her pussy quivered. My dick damn near busted my zipper. She stood. “I'm one hundred percent one hundred,” she said. “Now may I join you?”

I scratched the back of my neck. The waitress handed me my drink. “Give her whatever she's having.” I patted the space next to me. “On second thought, let's take this downstairs to the sectional.” I had to get off that bed or she was going down on me in the club.

“I'll have what he's having,” she said, following me to the first floor.

I wasn't interested in conversation, didn't hear what she was saying. She was drinking and talking and I was drinking and fantasizing. Watching her lips, all I knew was, “Hey, let's get out of here.”

“Ready when you are.”

Standing on the Dead End Kids, I looked across the street at the Church of Christ Scientist. Better not go that way. I remembered, “Damn, my car is at the Playhouse.”

“Don't think you'll fit in my little two-seater Corvette in the garage across the street. I'll walk with you.”

The mile walk back to my black whip with tinted windows took forever. The Playhouse was closed. Hollywood Boulevard was busy with tricks on the stroll. We turned on Wilcox, got in my car. I wasn't taking her to my house or to a hotel.

“We can do whatever you'd like,” she said.

Those amazing lips came toward me. I hadn't kissed another woman in a sexual way since I'd married Ladycat. Kissing was too personal. I didn't know her name. Didn't want to. I unzipped my pants, reclined in the driver's seat, and pulled out Slugger. Even I had to admit Slugger was a handsome dude. Perfect circumcision. Smooth head. Wide body. Long shaft. Big nuts.

She smiled at him. I closed my eyes as she eased her mouth over my head. Her hot wet mouth and tongue swirled around my head. She took her time suctioning the underside of my giant mushroom head in and out her mouth.

I exhaled, savoring the moment. This shit here was the ultimate stress reliever. Felt like my dick was going to explode. Slugger couldn't get any bigger.

She made me a liar. She gripped my dick at the base, tightened her fingers, then pushed down into my nuts as she kept sucking my head. She wasn't trying to deep throat but I wanted her to go deeper so I grabbed a handful of her hair and pushed her head down. She gagged but didn't resist. Ready to blast off down her throat, I pushed a little harder.

“Aw, damn. You ready? Here it…aw, shit.” The waves kept hitting the back of her throat. She kept gagging. I couldn't stop cumming. I had to make her swallow it all. When I was done, I let go of her hair. “I'm sorry but you were so amazing.”

I slid my wallet from my pocket and handed her a grand. “If I had more cash on me, I'd give it to you.”

Bright lights beamed through my window. Cameras flashed. “Stop right there. Get out the car.”

“Aw, fuck! Bitch, you set me up?” Instantly my dick slumped to my nuts.

“Who you calling a bitch?” she said, throwing the ten hundred-dollar bills in my face.

“You too, miss. Step out of the vehicle,” a woman said.

I zipped my pants. “Get out,” I told the chick in the passenger seat.

I didn't know what to think or do when I saw standing in front of me that bitch ass retired cop Sapphire who had showed up at my house unannounced questioning me about Grant and Honey's twins. No police. No police cars. Just a fucking cameraman snapping pictures of me and the trifling ass female who'd just sucked my dick. Glad I made her swallow.

“Come here,” Sapphire said, walking to the trunk of my car. “I told you, Honey is my friend. I need you to step up your game. I do believe your mother either has the twins or she's responsible for the twins' abduction. The pictures he took, ah, consider them collateral. You tell me what I need to know. I'll give you all the digitals as opposed to giving them to the media. Plus I'll tell you who the owner of that white pickup truck is.

“Deal?” she asked, extending her hand.

Sapphire was low down. I'd heard how cops pressured innocent people to confess to shit they didn't do. I wasn't doing that to my mom. And if Sapphire could find the owner of that white pickup in a day, might take me longer but I could find the owner too.

“No deal.”