Double Dippin' (7 page)

She couldn’t look at him. She was too ashamed. She ran jittery fingers through her salt-and-pepper hair. Without looking up, she muttered for him to go get ten dollars out of her pocketbook. “Buy you and your brother some sodas and whatnot. It’s ninety-five degrees, y’all gonna get hot sitting around that swimming pool.”

Shane vaulted up the stairs. Her pocketbook hung on a hook in the bedroom closet. He quickly scrounged around for her wallet, retrieved it and parted the
section where the folding money was stashed. There was a ten and a twenty-dollar bill tucked inside. He took both bills.

Ms. Holmes still sat with her head hung low. Shane gave the tortured woman a quick kiss on the top of her head, tossed her a big smile and hurried out the door.

“Tariq! Tariq!” Shane stood outside the high green fence that separated the squealing, happy swimmers from the perspiration-soaked outside world.

Tariq was chasing Shiree around the pool, playfully threatening to throw her in the deep end. When he finally heard his brother calling his name, he immediately stopped joking around, assumed a serious expression, and trotted to the gate.

“What’s up, man? Ain’t you getting in the pool?”

“Naw, I’m gonna go see LaDonna.” He gave his brother a wink.

At the mention of the hot-to-trot LaDonna, Tariq lowered his gaze and then looked back at Shiree, who sent him a patient smile as she waited for him to come back and continue their game.

“I just stopped by to bring you some ends.” He stuck a ten though an opening in the gate. “Mom…um…Miz Holmes said to get yourself something to drink and whatever.”

Shane felt bad. Ordinarily, he’d give his brother half of any money that crossed his palm. He felt like he was cheating the only person in the world to whom he’d give the shirt off his back. He’d fight anybody over Tariq. Fuck it—for real, for real—he’d probably even die for Tariq. That’s how much he loved his brother. So he felt like shit, giving him ten dollars instead of fifteen. But he didn’t have time to go to the store and break the twenty. LaDonna had said she was expecting her man Easy to drop by, so Shane had to hurry up and Tariq had to settle for just ten.

Tariq wasn’t expecting anything, so he was thrilled with the opportunity to buy Shiree a couple of hot dogs, a Honey Bun, and a soda. “Thanks, man,” Tariq said with an earnest grin.

Shane stuck his hand through the hole in the gate that was too small for
them to slap palms. Their hands met, their curled fingers briefly interlocked. It was a gesture of affection that meant
I’ll see you later, bro
.

LaDonna better not be messing around. That girl always kept him waiting while she talked on the phone, or messed with her hair, or ironed her clothes. That shit burned him up. He wasn’t in the waiting kind of mood today.

After playing around in all that fat wet pussy at home, Shane was seriously ready to stick his dick into something. Yeah, he was ready to get his fuck on.

LaDonna didn’t disappoint. She greeted him wearing a see-through negligee that belonged to her mother and led him to her bedroom. Shane gawked at her junky bedroom and her clothes-strewn twin bed. “What the fuck happened in here? I thought we was pressed for time—it’s gonna take an hour just to clear some space to get in the bed.”

LaDonna gave a sigh that implied that Shane was being unreasonably fastidious. “We can use my mother’s bedroom,” she said, aggravated.

They went to the master bedroom, which was uncluttered and contained a queen-sized bed. During intercourse, LaDonna moaned loudly and scratched Shane’s back as if he were driving her wild. She offered him her legs to hold high in the air, allowing even deeper penetration.

Later, spent and thoroughly satisfied, she lit cigarettes for herself and Shane. “I’m finished with Easy,” she announced in a matter-of-fact voice.

“Oh yeah?” Shane said, taking a puff. He really didn’t give a damn. “What happened?” he asked, hoping she wouldn’t go into too much detail. He was ready to go shoot craps and wasn’t planning on sticking around.

LaDonna huffed in indignation. “That punk ass had the nerve to slap me in my face.”

“Damn,” Shane said, sounding disinterested as he stepped into his pants.

“That’s all you can say? I just said Easy slapped me in my face. You ain’t mad or nothing?”

“That’s between you and your man. I ain’t trying to get in between no domestic violence bullshit.”

“So what are you saying? It’s just sex between us?”

Shane groaned in exasperation. “Yeah! You told me you already had a man and you’re the one who told me not to catch no feelings for you. So I didn’t. Now you all upset, trying to make me out to be the bad guy. I ain’t the one who slapped you, so don’t be going off on me.”

Shane was tying his shoelaces when LaDonna scooted over to him and started rubbing on his crotch. “You right, I did tell you not to catch no feelings for me, but that was in the past. Things are different now. I really dig you.”

Sighing, Shane stood up. “You better get back with Easy, because I’m not trying to be your man.”

“Why not?” she demanded, wrapping her arms around his neck as tears burned her eyes.

“I like having my freedom. I don’t want to be tied down to one girl.” He wiggled out of her grasp. “Chill, LaDonna. You need to get back with Easy. Damn, that brother was hooking us up with smokes, weed, liquor and shit. Why you gonna fuck that up?”

“So what you sayin’ now? You was just using me for the shit Easy be bringing around?”

“Look, I don’t feel like listening to a lot of bullshit; I got shit to do. I’ll see you later.” Shane sauntered to the front door.

Before he put his hand on the doorknob, a sneaker hit the door. “Fuck you, Shane,” she screamed. Her hair was tousled, her lipstick was smeared. Yelling and screaming, with her eyes bugged out, she looked kind of crazy. She reminded him of his mother. His expression softened.

But then she said, “I’m gonna tell Easy everything about us and you better believe Easy don’t play that shit. He’s gonna fuck you up so you better watch your back!”

Being threatened made him furious. Shane picked up the sneaker she’d thrown at him and winged it toward her. The loud
thwack
of the sneaker meeting her forehead gave him immense satisfaction as he left her apartment, slamming the door.

“S
hane!” Ms. Holmes said sharply. Shane and Tariq had just gotten in; it was an hour past their curfew. Tariq paused, prepared to share the blame, but Shane motioned for him to go upstairs.

“I know, Mom. I know we’re late. It won’t happen again.” Shane gave her a charming smile, which Ms. Holmes chose to ignore.

“This is not about your curfew and you know it,” she said harshly.

A shadow fell over Shane’s face. “What’s it about?”

“I told you to take ten dollars out of my wallet. Only ten!”

Shane’s face broke into a hateful scowl as he reared back in indignation. “Yeah?”

“So why did you take all the money I had?”

“You trippin’,” he said, his lips spread in a disrespectful smirk.

“Boy, don’t you use that tone of voice with me.”

“Why not? You trippin’, ol’ lady.”

Dolores Holmes flinched, but didn’t utter a word. Shane was obviously challenging her authority and she didn’t know what to say. What could she say?

“I ain’t steal nothin’ from you. You must be getting forgetful, like the way you can’t never find any of them reading glasses you got all over the house.”

Ms. Holmes’s lips began to tremble. There was a huge lump of fear in her throat. What sort of child was she dealing with? What had she let herself in for?

Shane stomped into the kitchen. Ms. Holmes couldn’t imagine what he was going to do next. To her surprise, he yanked the calendar off the nail that secured it to the wall. It was the calendar she’d gotten from church. Shane
seemed unusually preoccupied with the calendar, turning pages and running his hands over the blocked dates. There was an important Bible passage on every month and Ms. Holmes wondered if Shane was about to quote some scripture about what they had done.

But he had an even bigger surprise in store. “The eighteenth?” he asked, his thick brows curved into an arch.

“What?” The question took her by surprise. Ms. Holmes didn’t have the slightest idea what he was referring to.

“It says here the social worker’s s’posed to visit.” He cut an eye at his foster mother. “You know, she’s s’posed to talk to me and Tariq on the eighteenth?”

Hot flames of fear flicked around her collar and moved up to her face. “I guess that’s the right date,” Her voice quavered.

Shane marched back into the living room. “So how do you think she’s gonna feel about what me and you been doin’? Ain’t that child abuse?”

Ms. Holmes picked up the
Daily News
, which was sitting on top of the coffee table. Breathing hard, she fanned her face fast and furiously with the newspaper.

“Nervous?” he taunted. “I know I would be nervous if I was you!” He turned and stomped up the stairs.

Rocking and moaning and crying for Jesus, Ms. Holmes raised her hands to her mouth, muffling her woeful cries.

“What’s wrong with Miz Holmes?” Tariq wanted to know. “What did she want to talk to you about?”

“You know how holy and sanctified she can get. She said she was scared I was heading for trouble. She thinks I’m hanging with the wrong crowd.”

“She’s right!” Tariq said with a snicker.

“Anyway, man. She started reading me the Bible and started getting all worked up when she got to the part about the blood of Jesus. I think she got the Holy Ghost or something. I don’t know what’s wrong with her. She’s trippin’,” Shane explained with devilish laughter.

“Aw, don’t say that. Miz Holmes is nice. You’re the one who wants to call her Mom, so why you making fun of her?”

Shane shrugged. “I don’t know, I’m tired. And you know I don’t like nobody trying to force all that Bible stuff down my throat.”

By the next morning, fifty-seven-year-old Dolores Holmes looked like she’d aged twenty years. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying throughout the night. The worrying about being accused of child abuse had her heart racing out of control.

What would her pastor think? What would the members think? They’d call her a sinner and sinners such as herself had no business sitting with the saints. She swallowed hard and rose as she envisioned being escorted out of the Holy House. Joining the church after years of sinning and drinking had been her salvation. She shook her head bitterly. Lord, she was sorry she had ever taken in these two boys.

“’Morning, Mom,” Shane said and bent down and kissed her on the cheek.

Ms. Holmes’s body stiffened like a rail. “Where’s Tariq?” she asked nervously.

“Still ’sleep,” Shane responded. His voice was normal and no longer held the threatening tone of the night before.

Ms. Holmes turned her back to Shane and started pouring water in the coffeepot. “What do you want for breakfast?” she asked in a dull voice, her shoulders slumped from the strain of her transgressions.

Shane crept up behind her. He wrapped both arms around her thick waist. “I’m sorry, Mom,” he whispered in her ear. “I’m so sorry. Somebody spiked the punch at the party me and Tariq was at. He didn’t drink none but I think I had the rams.”