Sixty-Nine (12 page)

Randall reached out his hand toward her to see if he could again reach her new side. His eyes, half-bloodshot but lust filled
and hopeful, invited her out to play just a little longer.

Kandi lay still, rubbing her pleased vagina and offering a look of
you’re next, you lucky girl
.

Magnolia looked at Randall’s large right hand and saw the bling of his Dolphins Super Bowl ring on his long, thick middle
finger.

And she was gone just as quick as he came.

Completely and utterly bothered.

D
arla’s father lived in Daytona Beach, Florida, in the same mid-century home Darla grew up in.

She hadn’t actually taken the time to drive up and see him in about five months. And she knew better. It just seemed that
each time she had intentions of seeing him, she just couldn’t motivate herself to go. Seeing him lonely reminded her of what
it’s like to be frozen in time.

The day was in the mid-seventies. Not a cloud in the sky. The perfect day for a four-hour drive to the place she’d called
home. A drive away from her life of trying to make ends meet, trying to find a way to live her dream.

In her black jeans with a coral top and bronze sandals, Darla walked in after her father opened the screen door.

Wearing khaki pants and a dark plaid shirt, he headed back barefoot across the parquet floor to his favorite place in his
house, the right side of his hunter green sofa in his sunroom, the side with the cushions that, through the years, had conformed
to the shape of his backside.

“Hi, Daddy,” she said, with a sweet tone.

Though he walked like he was forty, he sat back down in slow motion and gave a grunt. His sciatic nerve had always acted up,
radiating down his right side for years. He stretched out his legs. “What’s going on with you, darlin’?” His television was
tuned to a gardening show.

Darla’s father had robbed the cradle. Her mother was about ten years younger. But gray hair just barely made its visit, even
though he was almost seventy. He was a sepia tone, almost five-ten, and had a slight beer belly.

Darla walked to him and leaned down to kiss his high forehead that matched hers. “Missing you. I need to get by here more.
And missing Mom.”

“Me, too,” he said, offering a sad smile. “You want anything to drink or eat? There’s some Kool-Aid and orange juice, and
some leftover turkey chili.”

“Oh, I’m fine, Daddy. Thanks.” Darla took a seat next to him on the sofa, patting him on his thigh. “So. You look good.”

“Thanks. I feel good. You look good, too. Still wearing your hair short I see.”

“Yes. It’s easier.” She patted the back of her head and then fluffed up the top strands along her forehead. “And you know
I love my bangs.”

“It’s nice.”

“Thanks.” She inhaled his compliments, which was his usual nature to offer. The nature she’d grown to love. And another thing
she loved about him was that he never talked about her weight. She was getting to be about the same size as her mother, but
he never said a word. He liked a woman with a little meat on her bones.

Darla exhaled, wondering why she didn’t make the drive more often, and slipped off her shoes, crossing her legs at the ankles.

He looked back toward the TV screen.

Darla watched him closely. “Do you get lonely sometimes? Any friends or anyone you spend time with?”

“No. I don’t get lonely and I don’t have any friends.”

“Okay. And no ladies?”

He looked at her with a raised brow. “Especially not that.”

“I know.” Darla glanced all around. It was a three-bedroom house with the master on the main.

He rarely even went upstairs. It was basically going to waste, but the home was paid for and he took care of himself fairly
well. Even when she was little, he was always the one to cook and clean. He loved to barbeque so he grilled all the time years
ago. Today, his place looked tidy, but his furniture, drapes, and televisions were old. They were the same items he and Darla’s
mother had when Darla grew up. He was old school. He’d never think of getting a cell phone or a computer. In his mind, he
lived just fine. He was just missing his wife. It was just that simple.

Darla asked, almost as though she was just checking, “Daddy, if I needed to move in with you, could I?” It was her plan B
solution. She dared not ask him for money. He’d worry.

His bushy eyebrows reacted as he looked at her. He asked, “Why? Are you okay?”

“I’m okay. It’s just that I’m thinking about opening a store, or some type of business. If I do, I might need to save as much
money as I can, and staying here would let me do that while I run the store and see how it goes.”

“What kind of store?”

“A clothing store.”

“Really? I didn’t know you knew anything about that.”

“Other than a merchandising class in college and that summer job at the Gap years ago, not much experience, but I think I
could do it. Didn’t you and Mom own a burger joint for a minute when I was born?”

“We did. Your mom knew about the restaurant business from managing one before we met. And me with my accounting, we worked
it out, darlin’.”

“That must be where I get it from. My independent spirit.”

“Yes, you do have that. Where would you open the store?”

“I was thinking Miami, but if I moved in, it would be a place out here. Not sure if it’d be cheaper. Just thinking though.”

“I see. The answer is yes. You know that. Having you here would breathe some life into this old house.”

“Well, thanks. Looks like this house is just fine though.” She sat back and crossed her legs, facing him. “But who knows,
maybe I’ll settle down again and won’t have to bother you.”

He resumed his focus on the TV screen, but took her hand. “Maybe.”

She looked down at his wide hand, his aging fingers and pronounced veins that ran from his wrist and up the back of his hand.
And he still wore his gold wedding band. She held his hand with both of hers. “One thing’s for sure, I won’t be having any
kids, so, sorry I never gave you any grandkids.”

“You and Aaron weren’t meant to have any, so being that God took him home, it wasn’t meant to be.”

“True.”

“Don’t apologize to me for that. I’m fine. You just do what you need to do to make yourself happy. And if that’s opening a
business, then fine.”

“I’m trying. I’m trying to do the right thing. I’m trying to make you proud.”

“I’m already proud. And your mom’s proud too.”

“Daddy. Seriously though, I think maybe I might want to marry again.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” he asked.

“I get lonely. It’s been five years.”

“I get lonely, too. But in honor of your mother, here I’ll be. Now what you do is up to you. You’re a grown woman. I can’t
tell you what to do. All I can say is be true to your heart.”

“My heart is the reason I haven’t moved on. It’s my head that tells me it’s time to be open to meeting someone new.”

“Then that’s what you need to do. Just do the right thing.”

“The right thing. Wow. That sentence sounds simple, but sometimes, Daddy, haven’t you ever done something you knew was wrong?
Didn’t you ever give in to temptation? Just throw caution to the wind and be crazy. Wild. Take a risk.”

“Not much. I pretty much had drama-free years with your mother. My life with her was spent living according to our vows, and
my life after she passed has been spent according to my devotion to her memory. Now if something is telling you to move on,
that’s your decision, just the same as whether or not you open a store. Your heart will keep you faithful. Listen to your
heart. Not faithful to someone, but faithful to yourself. I’m being faithful to myself based on who I am. You be faithful
to yourself based on who you are. All the rest is just part of the learning lesson of life.”

“I hear you, Daddy.” She focused on the words of wisdom he’d spoken, and his handsome profile. “You really do look good.”

“I feel good, darlin’.”

“Now that makes me happy.”

He picked up the remote and aimed it toward the TV, pressing off. He turned toward Darla. “So, you’re forty now, right?”

“I am.” She turned toward him a bit more.

“Then it just might be time to start living. You were a good wife. Aaron will always be with you in spirit. Only you know
what he’d be okay with, but you’re the one who’s still here. Being here makes me happy. You do what makes you happy.”

She smiled. “True. I understand.”

“And when you’re ready to move in, just say so.”

“Okay, Daddy.”

“You look beautiful, Darla. Your mother had you when she was twenty-four. She died when you were sixteen. When she passed
away, she was forty like you are now. Live.”

Darla’s heart thumped. “Yes, Daddy. I will.”

His eyes were in mourning. “Darla, do you ever wish heaven had a phone?” He stared at the wall, at a photo of him and his
devoted wife.

“Yes, Daddy. I surely do.” Darla looked at the photo, too. “I’d dial that number every single day.”

He nodded and said, “Me, too.”

After an entire afternoon of talking, heading to Home Depot for the new patio furniture he’d had his eyes on, a new gas grill
he’d been wanting to buy, and then to lunch at one of his favorite places to eat, Applebee’s, Darla and her father arrived
back at his home, and said their good-byes as she left.

Darla kept an eye on her father, who watched her walk to her car. She got in and pulled out of the driveway, and kept looking
back at him, watching him stand in the doorway, just as she did every time she left, never knowing if it would be the last
time she’d ever see him. He’d promised to grill for her soon. She looked forward to that. Unlike some females’, her father
had been there from day one, and she was thankful for that. He raised her with values and unconditional love. And he was all
she really had.

I love you, Daddy.

A
fter another night of hanging out at young Armani’s bachelor pad, the sexual athlete himself, getting smacked up, flipped,
and rubbed down, bachelorette Rebe walked away at a snail’s pace under the new morning sun. She wore a royally sexed up look
on her face, doing the
morning after I got some
walk of shame, stepping barefoot to her car with her teal blue high heels in her hands. Her head hurt and her stomach cramped.
But she had a smile on her face.

She drove home at ten in the morning, blue skies and zero traffic, listening to the most appropriate song on her radio, “Sexual
Healing,” by Marvin Gaye.

Releasing her mind was just what Rebe needed. She was finally able to feel what it was like to go beyond the thoughts her
mother had put in her head, or to be more exact, forced into her head, since she was a child, always labeling Rebe a sinner
who equated to a whore. Now it was all about Rebe’s own, grown woman sexy healing.

Rebe looked ahead, not worrying about the past, just being whoever she wanted to be and doing whatever she wanted to do, without
criticism, judgment, or repercussions. She was a stripper, soon she’d try out a swinger’s club for the first time in her life,
and she was having regular fuck sessions with a man young enough to be her son.

Still, she’d made a point of not having Armani over to her place, just because of his age.

Her no’s were now yes’s, on her terms.

And the new medicine she was on didn’t hurt either.

When Rebe arrived home, the garage door trundled up and she pulled her car into the garage, parking next to Trinity’s Mustang.
Every time she saw that car it still reminded her of Randall, but nonetheless, she hummed the Marvin Gaye tune, even after
turning off the ignition, and walked into the house through the door that led from the garage to the kitchen.

“Trinity,” she called as she entered.

“I’m in here,” Trinity said from the family room.

Rebe followed her daughter’s voice and the sound of the television, and then her eyes leapt. “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” Trinity sat on the micro-suede sectional without looking up.

“What is Chyna doing here?” Randall’s one-and-a-half-year-old daughter was sitting in Trinity’s lap, playing with a toy telephone.

“What do you mean what’s she doing here? She’s your stepdaughter.” Trinity angled her eyes toward her mother, looking as though
her own actions were routine. Her tone did have a sly bit of sarcasm.

Rebe noticed, and her antenna went up even higher. “Oh no, she’s not.” She placed her keys in her purse and tossed it onto
the sofa chair.

“How can she be my stepsister and not your stepdaughter? Come on now Mommy, did you take your manic meds? Or maybe it’s those
new ones your gynecologist prescribed for your low testosterone. And also, you’re on Avitan, right? Did you skip a pill? ”

Rebe wondered if her ears were playing tricks. “Trinity. I’m gonna count to three.” She took a grip of her mind and waited
for it to rewind, looking away and then back, as though it made a difference. But her flushed skin said it didn’t. “Trinity,
maybe when you get your own place you can make these decisions, and talk like that to whoever is in your house, but this is
my home, and as much as I don’t want to feel like this, I do. That is trifling Randall’s baby with the white girl he left
me for. Actually, the truth is, he left us for.”

Trinity giggled as she held her sister. “Mommy, please. He didn’t leave me. And that night you went looking for him and found
him, if you hadn’t gone off and kicked him out, he’d probably still be here. It’s just that you went berserk.”

Rebe’s blood pressure was rising. She could feel it. “You know what? I did not go berserk. I don’t know what he told you.
And I’m telling you now, you’d better be glad this baby girl is here, because I don’t think I’ve gone upside your head in
about six years, but today would be just the day. And it just might be if you keep flapping your lips out of disrespect to
your mother. I’m not having that.” Rebe stood over them both.

Chyna looked up at Rebe and so did Trinity. “Mommy. You…”

Rebe took a half step closer. “Mommy, you, what? Say it, Trinity. What? Please say it. Because I’m about ready for you today.”

Trinity ducked her head and shielded Chyna’s face with her hand. “Mommy, don’t hit me. I wouldn’t want to end up getting my
head split open like your mother did to you. Are any of those bottles labeled chill pill?”

Rebe bit her lip and balled up her fist. Her voice was big, and it was pissed off. “Bitch.” She took a deep breath, looked
at Chyna’s on-edge expression, and spoke one tone lower. “Trinity. Put that child in the room and come back in here. I give
you two minutes.” She stepped in the direction of the stairwell.

“No.”

Rebe’s jaw was tight. “I give you two minutes to come in my room. And if you don’t, I’m coming back down here and your ass
is mine, Chyna or not.” Rebe’s head seeped smoke from her ears. Her mind was on fire. She stomped her heavy feet that carried
her heavy heart upstairs into her bedroom, and slammed the door with a force reserved for a WWE wrestler.

All that could be heard from downstairs was evil shouting. “Your own mother’s in jail for killing your brother. My Uncle Maestro,
who I’ll never ever meet, other than in heaven. Don’t you think you should learn to curb your temper?”

The three sentence-missiles hit as if seeking a double target. Rebe’s heart and her back.

Rebe’s ears shook. Forehead was sweaty. Eyes blinked like a tornadic wind was in the room. Nostrils flared. Goose bumps formed
on her skin, even on her fingers. She could feel the tattoo with her brother’s name on her shoulder bubbling up like it was
boiling syrup. Her mind insisted that she sit on the end of the bed, where she found herself panting, forcing herself to breathe
normally. Heart arrhythmia was in overdrive. The video in her head shifted from the fantasy of her beating the hell out of
her daughter, and the reality of her mother beating the shit out of her. Rebe couldn’t turn it off, and found herself reeling
with anxiousness. She leaned forward with her elbows to her knees, and shielded her face into the palms of her hands, and
she cried as a voice asked,
Where’s that hammer? Get it.

Two seconds later she hopped up and yanked the door open, sprinting back into the family room with a red face and a deep frown,
ready to put her daughter in her place. Ready to teach Trinity a lesson for having such a fast mouth.

She entered an empty room. No Trinity. No Chyna. The TV was still on, but they were not there. “Trinity, where the fuck are
you?”

Nothing.

“Trinity.” Her words reverberated in her head and it shook.

Nothing.

“Get the fuck in this room, now.” Her own ears popped. With tears still flowing, she ran through the house, looking in every
room, and ended up heading out the front door. The garage door was open, but Trinity’s car was gone.

Rebe screamed up toward the sky and felt a rumble in her stomach, suddenly running to the side section of the lawn where she
vomited, repeatedly, and violently. She heaved and gagged and remained bent over and waited. Her breaths got shorter. More
tears flowed from the forcefulness of her expulsion.

She stayed in place with her mouth open, working hard to catch her breath, her nose running.

While she wiped her lips with her hand, she said the same four words she’d said every single solitary day of her life. “Mother,
I hate you.”