Nasty (21 page)

After one visit, she never returned. She intuitively knew following their advice meant she’d never wean herself off their “couches.” No, she had chosen a different “couch.” One of her own design. Sex was the best medicine. And the more the better. Throw in a couple of vodka martinis and hot bubble baths, and she could feel real psychological progress.

First off, she no longer felt like a victim. After dealing with all the men she had had in the past three or four months, she now knew how the world worked. There are the users and the used. Unfortunately, when she was young and couldn’t protect herself, she was used. Though he denied it, and swore that he truly loved her, she was convinced Harrison used her to cover his alternative lifestyle.

Nicola now knew that by living a life driven by lustful needs, where she chose her mates and discarded them at will, she was
in the coveted role of the user. Somehow, she didn’t think a goal of traditional therapy would lead her to that conclusion. The therapists wanted her to spend years and years in self-analysis where one day she could claim to be a whole person who had no guilt about what had happened to her.

Well, she took a speedier course through the therapeutic melée. Very shortly, after her past revealed itself to her, she figured out that she didn’t commit the crime of abusing a child—her adopted parents preyed on her.
She
was the victim. There was no need for her to take a guilt trip. Burning those bastards was justifiable.

She looked at the time. Nicola jumped out of the tub and prepared for her trip out of town. If she was going to make her evening flight, she had to speed it up. The Williams Brothers had called her earlier that day to let her know they were doing shows in the Miami area. Nicola missed the three diminutive men who had brought her so much joy and pleasure.

Driving in the backseat of a limousine, en route to JFK International Airport, she remembered that she was supposed to spend time with Carlos. He wanted to do something “special” with her. She hadn’t even paid attention when he told her about his plans. She cancelled her date with Carlos. Sent him a text message. She never even considered his feelings when she invited three of the naughtiest, sexiest little men in the world to spend three days with her at her South Beach home.

L
incoln Powell was a successful, fifty-five-year-old corporate attorney, who stepped in after Pops had died and had helped guide Tarik’s career. Carlos and Tarik were grateful for his counsel. Thanks to his expertise, Tarik had received more than the usual percentage of profits. This was highly unusual for a new artist. Fortunately, they had planned very cleverly from the beginning, and were presenting the record company a complete package. All they really needed a label for was distribution and a broader promotional campaign.

To celebrate closing the deal, Uncle Link, as the young men called the man that had been Pops’ best friend, took them all out for lunch at Ava’s Place, the famous soul food restaurant in Harlem. A favorite haunt of celebrities and political powerbrokers, Link usually took his high-profile clients there after he won their cases.

Waiting for their meal, Tarik sat at one end of the table, doodling abstract stick figures on a pad. His mind was a gazillion miles away. The irony of discovering that his absentee father was “lurking around” and dying was just a bit much on his plate.

He’d wished him dead so many times and now that it was a real possibility, he didn’t know what to make of things. Here he
sat at the top of the world. His career was slammin’, he had found his soul mate in Sherry, but still, just hearing about Eli Griffith made everything null and void. Instead of extreme joy, he was experiencing painful anxiety.

Carlos, sitting on the opposite end of the table, was just as cheerless as Tarik. Nicola had left for an out-of-town business trip. She sent him a text message. Not even a phone call. When he tried to call her back to suggest that he tag along…he could only reach her voicemail. It killed him to realize that he had done the very same heartless thing to the women he had dated.

Uncle Link was at a loss. He thought the two young men would be in a great mood after their successful business negotiations. “Tarik…Carlos…is everything okay? You both look like someone died. This is supposed to be a celebration. You two have worked so hard for this moment. Why the gloomy faces? Is everything okay at home? Is…is Ophelia alright?” asked Link with sincere concern in his voice.

“It’s okay. I got a little something nagging me on the brain, that’s all.” Tarik stared at both Carlos and Link. Realizing how his mood was freaking them out, he switched back into his usual jovial self to reduce the growing tension. “But, it’s alright, everybody. It’s all good. I’m here listening. You know I’m down with whatever you guys say. ”

Tarik changed his mood, but not Carlos. He kept calling on his phone…trying to reach Nicola. Link, disturbed by the young man’s behavior, asked, “Carlos, who on God’s earth are you trying to reach on that phone?”

“His girlfriend, Nicola. Good luck with that one.” Tarik’s eyes widened as the waitress placed huge plates of smothered chicken, macaroni and cheese, and collard greens with corn bread on their table.

“Nicola? I met her at the party at your mom’s. Beautiful girl. How is your mother doing, by the way? I heard she had met with, what’s his name, Eli Griffith, her first husband?” He was obviously trying to get into Ophelia’s business. He had waited so long to make his move on her that he was pissed at the thought that some other man had beat him to it.

Carlos smiled for the first time that day. Since Pops’ death, his mother had never looked at another man…that is until Eli came back on the scene…and with his diagnosis, he knew nothing was happening there. Mama Ophelia needed the company of a good man, and Uncle Link fit that description.

Trying to encourage the six-foot, ruggedly handsome man from Pops’ hometown in Florida, he said, “Don’t worry, Uncle Link. The dude’s dyin’. You still have a chance with our mother.”

Upset that he’d been caught, the lawyer who was never at a loss for words, started babbling like an idiot and slipped back into a thick Southern dialect that only surfaced when he was upset. He blurted, “But…but…I…I…I wasn’t trying to…you know…get with your mother…that was…uh…never my intention. Um…um…help me out here, boys, please!”

Both Tarik and Carlos started laughing. Everybody liked Uncle Link. Having him for a stepfather would not be the worst thing to happen to the family.

“Chill out, Uncle Link. By the way, the dude, Eli Griffith? He’s my father. Pass me the hot sauce, Carlos. Would you, please?”

T
he thin, curvaceous model wore a G-string, diamond-studded pasties, and a pair of “fuck me so hard I go into a coma” pearl-lined stiletto pumps. She lured Tarik into a tiny room where there was only a bed inside. A long-stemmed rose lay on top of a white satin comforter.

Looking at her with wanton lust and desire, he held her tightly in his arms and kissed her red, plump, juicy lips. He then lifted her up, threw her down on the bed, and crawled on top of her writhing body. His song, “Don’t Say No to Me Tonight,” the first single from his debut album, played loudly in the background.

“Cut…cut…cut…Tarik…baby…I ain’t buying it!” Kevin Rivers, the director, got out of his chair and stormed on the stage. He headed straight for Tarik. “You’re holding the girl like she was a head of cabbage! You threw her down on the bed like she was a sack of fuckin’ potatoes! LOOK AT HER…SHE’S GORGEOUS! You don’t treat a woman who looks like that that way!” Frustrated, he threw his hands up in the air. This was the thirtieth take for a scene that should’ve been finished two hours ago.

Tarik rolled off of the girl, happy to be away from her. It wasn’t natural, being with a woman other than Sherry. He hated making the music video. Why couldn’t he just perform on stage? That’s what he loved doing. Not this Hollywood fake stuff.

The video director was frustrated. He could not make Tarik relax. At his wit’s end, he finally turned to Sherry for help. She had tried her best to run the shoot all day with her suggestions. Just to get some peace on the shoot, he made an ultimatum that either she zip it up or get off the set. She chose to be quiet. For the past two hours, she had not made a single comment.

Begging her now for help was a tad ego deflating for the award-winning film director. He was pissed that he had to do the shoot at all. Unfortunately, his nasty little cocaine addiction had gotten him tossed off the coveted “A” list and on to the “I better do music videos if I want to pay the mortgage” roster.

“Okay… okay… Ms. Sherry…what do you think I should do? Your man is eating up precious money. I can’t shoot this shit and make it look right. I ain’t that good.”

Sherry triumphantly rolled her eyes at the director and jumped off of her seat. She grabbed Tarik’s hand and pulled him over to a private corner of the set.

In a quiet but serious voice, Sherry looked at her husband and begged him, “Honey, these kind of videos are part of the process of making you a star.”

Tarik interrupted, “But, baby, I can’t wrap my mind around it, and I’ve been distracted with the Eli thing. My mama is hanging out with him and…”

“Sweetie, we’ll deal with that Eli issue after the video. For now, this is the
only
thing we need to think about. You need to know that I want you…
no
… skip that. I
need you
to be sexy as hell with that woman in that video, just as if it were me.”

“Huh?” Tarik couldn’t believe what she was saying.

“Baby, the girl is gorgeous. And she’s nice, too. I had a lovely little conversation with her earlier.” Sherry embellished the “nice” and the “lovely” part. What she actually did was to inform
the little video-hussy with the perfectly chiseled face, that if she messed with her husband, the next person she would need to see would be a plastic surgeon.

“And, Tarik, just in case I’m making you nervous, I’m leaving right now. I trust you, baby. This is just a video. Ain’t nothing real about it.” She pulled Tarik closer to her and kissed him on the cheek. “See you later tonight.”

As she walked out the stage door, he could not help but admire how good she looked from behind. He loved big asses and Sherry was well endowed. He wanted to tear it up right then and there. He couldn’t wait to get home and make love. He looked for the director and told him he was ready to continue. Completely relaxed, he gave Kevin Rivers exactly what he asked for. It turned out to be an excellent video.

Riding home alone that night, Tarik thought about the song choice for the video: “Don’t Say No to Me Tonight.” He had written it the night he’d begged Sherry to make love to him. His mind drifted back to that moment.

“You mean you want us to do
what
?” Sherry stopped preparing their lunch, and came out from behind the counter in what Tarik thought was a threatening manner. He loved the girl for her fiercely strong personality, but he hated to admit that sometimes the five-foot-two little giant intimidated him. Sherry flopped down next to him on the couch and stared up at him in a defiant gaze.

“Well, we’ve been together for almost a year now, and I was just wondering when—”

Sherry cut him off. “Six months ain’t a year. I told you before, Tarik, ain’t no punk in me. Don’t play me for stupid, baby!”

“Goodness, woman. Okay, six months. Look… I…I love you and I want to make love to you. Why won’t you let me make love
to you, baby?” Tarik tried to pull Sherry closer to him, but she jerked away and started laughing at him.

“Who does that crap work on? You sound like a broke-down old blues record. I hope you’re not putting stuff like that on your CD.”

“But…but, baby—”

“Don’t baby me. I’m not blind. I see all those little groupies at the clubs with their tongues hanging out. Why don’t you go get yourself some from one of them?”

“Now you’re insulting me. You know you the only one. Hell, I’d even go on
Maury
and take a lie detector test for you, girl.”

“You don’t have to do all that. Look, I do feel…special when I’m with you. Since my Benny died overseas, you’re the first man I’ve let get this close to me and Javon. But I’m not a one-night stand, and I’m not ever gonna be just a notch in a rapper’s…”

“I’m not a rapper; I’m a neo-soul stylist. I keep telling you that.”

“Whatever. When my son’s father died, I wanted to crawl up under a rock. But I didn’t. I had to take care of Javon. I didn’t chase after the first man I saw to give him a daddy either. No, I finished college and became the best mother and woman I know how.”

“And baby…you ’da best.”

“I’m not running a hotel up in here. If and when we decide to do that thing you want so badly, it’ll be because we’re committed to each other and if we pass the test.”

A questioning grimace quickly replaced Tarik’s easy smile. “What test you talking about?”

“You know…HIV…syphilis…herpes. You’ve seen those ads. When you have sex with a person, you’re sleeping with everybody they’ve been with. And honey, as fine as you are…and
between just you and me, you are a very fine and good Black man.” Tarik blushed, but it was only temporary because she added, “But you sure ain’t worth dying for.”

Tarik laughed at the memory. Queen Sherry. His lady. She didn’t take no shit. But she always gave a whole lot of love. It was an entire year before she gave the green light for “the test.” By then he was so smitten with the woman, he proposed the day the doctor revealed their results. They were both squeaky clean.

They married at the Brooklyn courthouse a few months later. Their wedding night was their first time together. Tarik realized he had only had sex with other women. It was very different when you loved the person. It was the best loving he ever had.

Loving and living with Sherry proved profitable in that she had an extremely healthy work ethic, a trait he knew he lacked. With Sherry as his muse, he changed his ways. He now wrote prolifically and practiced his music faithfully on a daily basis. The discipline he developed led to the success he was now enjoying in his career.