Murder in Germantown (6 page)

I was not going to allow her to eat me alive, so I popped in
TP3
(
12-Play Part 3
by R. Kelly for all of the R&B remedial) and commenced a lonely drive to nowhere.

CHAPTER 12

I was calmed after another trip to Germantown. I had gone to Maplewood Mall, which was the epicenter of the area when the area was being developed. The one block had a law firm, insurance company, literacy project, clothing boutique, nutrition emporium, hair salon, and barber shop. That was why I was there to see Vergil, my barber at Clipperz. Vergil had been named after the Italian poet. He was more like the Greek God of Male Hair Precision.

Later, I pulled up to my street in Olde City and drove my blue-black BMW 750LI into the driveway. Don't be fooled. It was not a long driveway. It extended from the curb about the length of a SUV and led to a two-car garage beneath the living room.

The downtown Pine Street condo was darkened. I knew that Dajuan was home, thanks to his Range Rover being parked in it’s spot. I was sure that he had been rehearsing the apologetic lyrics that would ebb in one of my ears and flow directly out of the other one. Of course, I was not rude or pompous. I was very demanding and expected the best. I came into this world in the ghetto, and I crept out of there with no intentions of returning. More importantly, I detested being cross and violated. Cheating was a major violation. Sure, I practiced law and mastered the art of deception. Not in my home, though.

Before I disembarked, I decided it was a good idea to apologize to Ariel Greenland. Make amends, you know? For Brandon's benefit, certainly, not my own. I dialed the Lowes and asked for room 917. I heard the desk clerk tap, tap. Then tap, tap, tap.

"I'm sorry, but Ms. Greenland has checked out, sir."

"Are you sure?" I asked disbelievingly.

"Of course, sir."

"Could she have changed rooms?"

"Let's see. No, sir."

Before I could fully thank her, she had hung up on me. Deliberately, I was sure. Served me right for treating her like a hostile witness.

Out of the car, I grabbed my briefcase and walked up the five stairs to one of the living room entrances. The other one was accessible from the side of the condo. I opened the door and was greeted by Ms. Pearl circling my feet. Her stocky, round head, and white, silky coat was adorable and she wanted her routine hug, but I was in no mood to grope her. I kicked off my sneakers and slipped on comfortable moccasins. No outside shoes were allowed on the white carpet. I glanced at the large clock that had been created by a drummer cymbal. It was 11:30 p.m. I perused the wall covered with photos of Dajuan in the company of R&B crooners and diva's. I stared at the baby grand situated as the living room centerpiece. I desired to take a saw to it. One wall was taken up by a gold leather sofa. I plopped on it and shimmied out of my blazer and shirt. I planted my feet on the earth toned marble coffee table, choc full of music tomes. The entire living room screamed, Dajuan Jones. I had to escape to the bedroom.

The futuristic, electronic master bedroom was where I found Dajuan feigning to be asleep. I knew that he couldn't wait to find the best moment to broach the topic of my disrespect from earlier when I hung up on him. I slipped out of my gear and took a quick shower. I stepped out of the shower five minutes later and all of a sudden the brass quarter notes as shower curtains said "Dajaun" and they too had to get the saw.

I was actually tired, but did not want to get into the bed considering I would have to share it. In the living room at the marble-topped sideboard, I fixed a double vodka gimlet. I sat at the kitchen table and enjoyed a slice of rum cake topped with maraschino cherries. It was palatable.

With the remainder of the cocktail in hand, I retreated to my den, aptly dubbed my home office. At the desk, ensconced in a comfortable executive chair behind a mammoth desk, I checked my personal E-mail. I then logged into my PEPCO account and paid the electric bill, and then on to the daunting task of deleting spam mail. I had Beyonce's Irreplaceable booming as Dajuan walked in. I pretended not to see him and continued to sing the break up track.

Dajuan's smooth and creamy peanut butter complexion glowed. His curly, close-cropped hair was disheveled and his bushy eyebrows rivaled Einstein's. He sat with his exposed six-pack on the love seat and hid his deep brown eyes in the palm of his hands.

"Ray-Ray, come here," he said.

It was more of a mumble, but I ignored him, nonetheless. Yes, I was being obstinate, but I felt obligated to be. Some people needed to be taught a lesson. He asked me to join him again, but added a "please" at the beginning and end of his request. Talk about redundant.

"I'm getting the bills paid before my son is utility-less. What's crackin' though?" I asked, having brought the Ebonics from Germantown with me downtown. I spoke as if I didn't have a worry in the world.

"Blackface, that can wait."

He called me a pet moniker during a time of war. I guess I should have said that everything was okay.

"Really?" I asked dragging the word out sardonically.

"Look. Can you please come and talk to me?"

He must have just played a Jodeci CD, or something.

"I am talking to you, DJ."

"I need to holla at you. Straight up!" He growled with a touch of aggression in his voice.

I desired to be a kid and lay out all of his cheating, filthy antics, but I decided to remain calm.

"You should've been hollering about us when you made your bed. Now lay in it," I said right on cue with Beyonce.

I wanted to laugh, but I held my composure. I was talking to him and replaying what I should have said to Ariel Greenland.

He stood and slithered to the desk and looked at the computer monitor. After careful review, he hissed, "This bullshit can wait."

He then pushed the power button on my PC. He reached to turn off the monitor and I grabbed his hand. I violently tossed it aside.

I huffed and angrily stood to leave the office when he put his hand on my shoulder. I yanked away, and turned around. I stepped deep into his space, and said, "Do not fucking touch me, dude, or..." I turned to leave and then added, "Try me!" I had had enough of being tested in one day.

In the bedroom, I found Brandon asleep in our bed. He was obviously hidden under the covers accounting for how I missed him earlier. He was supposed to be at my grandmother's for the weekend. Had I known he was home I would have been home for our Friday pizza and board game night, and not in a hotel arguing with his mother. Rather than argue with
Buck
Rogers
, I took Brandon to his room and lay him in his red Ferrari bed. I returned to my own water bed and found my enemy on the other side of it with his head rested on his lap.

"You're not going to sleep," he told me, as I put on my
Waiting
to
Exhale
CD.

The CD severely irritated him. He knew that I loved to send subliminal messages via music.

"Look, fall back," I told him.

I had left my tax-paying citizen persona in the garage. I relaxed, pulled my luxe sheets over me and opened James Patterson's latest thriller,
Cross
.

Albeit, I was not comprehending the words fully, I was on the second paragraph when my novel took flight across the room. Before it landed, I was on top of Dajuan and prepared to drop a barbaric blow to his eye socket when my eyes looked deeply into his. I could see, feel, taste, touch, and smell his sorrow. He was hurt. Badly! Hurt that he'd hurt me. Hurt that he tore a hole into our already controversial home.

"Hit me." He seethed. "Go ahead. I'm not going to fight you back. Go ahead. Fuck me up!"

His eyes reddened and tears rained down his face.

All I could do was let all of my bottled up tears break through the dam and look directly into his eyes wholeheartedly and asked, "Why me?" And I seriously needed an answer.

He pulled me to him and embraced me tightly.

"I never meant to hurt you, baby," he whispered, and kissed my ear lobe. "I am so sorry."

He kissed my lips gently. Once. Twice. And then we shared a passionate kiss. I immediately had a flash back...

CHAPTER 13

...It had been a game of cat and mouse. It had been lovely. It had made me feel sixteen again when I was a Germantown boxing star, and had accepted that I was at least bisexual. Our meeting each other couldn't have been written any better by Shakespere.

It was spring and Aramis and I had been at a cocktail party amongst the tri-state area rich. We had been celebrating the first issue of
Brotherly Love
, a rag for the affluent African American Philadelphian man. The old money was there. The movers and shakers, too.

We left them at the downtown Ritz Carlton and walked to the Tower Records store at Broad and Chestnut. Inside Aramis perused rap albums while I searched the upstairs DVD new releases. I found nothing and went to the rap section. Yes, I immediately noticed Dajuan, but I typically ignored what I couldn't have. I never stalked straight boys or forced them to feel uncomfortable around me. However, Aramis informed me that Dajuan was admiring me. Allegedly. Aramis loved to point out down low men or prospective ones. I ignored Aramis' wishful thinking, and casually checked for myself. He may or may not have been right.

I had been taught that you didn't have evidence, if you couldn't put it through the five senses test. So I proceeded with Aramis in tow to the check-out counter. The clerk bagged my Lil Wayne
Carter
2
CD as Dajuan exited the store.

It was night, Sunday, and downtown was not a ghost town, but if you did not live in the area, you were not there. Aramis cooked up the idea to stalk Dajuan. I was committing a crime before I took the bar exam. Dajuan looked back occasionally and Aramis assured me that Dajuan adored the chase, but being the coy guy that I am, I did not comprehend my straight best friend's ideology.

Two lights down on Walnut Street, Dajuan turned right and one minute later so did we. Boy were we in for a surprise. Dajuan was thirty feet from the corner looking at the Banana Republic display and I was prepared to continue past him, but his eyes were locked onto me like an Iraqi stealth bomber behind Air Force One. Aramis counted to three very quietly, and he then said, "What's up?"

Not to me.

To Dajuan.

I wanted to disappear.

We ended up exchanging numbers and the rest was history.

CHAPTER 14

Back from memory lane, I had to face that daunting demon. I rolled from on top of Dajuan and was still shaken up. He glared at me and then scooted closer to me. He wrapped his arms around me tightly. I was glad that he didn’t talk. I didn’t either. We both needed a drink and to think. One careless word and someone was going to be choked out. And he knew it, too. He did not speak. There was a loving sway to our embrace which screamed so loudly at us. The million dollar question was, were we listening?

I sat back on the headboard and Dajuan rested his head on my lap. He could not face me. I knew that the music taunted him, so I grabbed the remote control and cued R. Kelly’s
Chocolate Factory. I Will Never Leave
played and I cued Ginuwine’s
Differences
to follow. Dajuan began to tremble and held me tighter. He spoke to me. He did not look at me and his words were a whisper.

“
I do not know what happens after this, but know that I am sorry and if we end right now, do not ever meet with a nothing-less disgrace like myself. And if you do, don’t fuck with him.”

“
I know that I said some crazy things, but I didn’t mean them. And I am sorry that I called you nothing-less.”

“
Don’t take it back. You meant them and if I look deep within, you would be right about them. I have never loved anyone, but my mother, more than you. When I met you, you gave me the drive and determination to conquer any goal and encouragement to achieve anything. You became my rock and I threw that all away when I cheated.”