Torn Between Two Lovers (6 page)

You ever hear the phone ring and just get a feeling you shouldn't answer it? Well, that's exactly how I felt when I heard the old-school ring tone signaling that someone was calling me from a restricted or private number. I almost never answer blocked calls, because it was usually my crazy-ass stalker Peter calling to harass me.

The only reason I was reaching for my phone was because of the off chance it was Big Poppa calling from his house phone to apologize for the shit he pulled recently. I had finally convinced him that we needed to start spending time together outside of my house—hell, outside of my bedroom. I needed him to prove that, after all this time together, I was more than just a fuck to him. He had never agreed to go anywhere outside the gates of my community, and whether or not it meant ducking my crazy stalker to do it, I needed a date with Big Poppa to prove that our relationship was deeper than just the physical.

Big Poppa agreed to go to the movies with me, but on one condition. He chose a theater way the hell out in Fredericksburg to be sure that we wouldn't run into anyone who knew him. Well, I was so happy to finally be going out somewhere with him that I didn't even complain. Besides, it gave us the opportunity to take a crazy-long route to get there so that if Peter did happen to be following us, we could lose him along the way.

We reached the theater pretty certain that Peter was not around—I guess even stalkers take a day off once in a while—but Big Poppa's plan to stay anonymous almost backfired on him in a big way. Would you believe he spotted a couple of his wife's friends in the lobby? This motherfucker got so nervous that he ducked out on me. While I was standing in line to buy popcorn, he told me he was going to the men's room, and that was the last I saw of him. The really messed up part about it was that he was the one driving, and I ended up stranded. Do you have any idea how much it costs to take a cab from Fredericksburg to the west end of Richmond? Eighty-one dollars and fifty cents, that's how much. I knew this because that's how much it cost me to get home. So it didn't matter which one it was—Big Poppa or Peter, either one of them was going to get a piece of my mind.

“Who is this?” I snapped.

“Jerome, I need your help, man.” I recognized the voice right away. It wasn't Peter or Big Poppa; it was Ron, and he sounded distressed. I guess I thought him up, because he'd been weighing heavily on my mind since I called him by accident last week. Despite everything that had happened between us, I'd be fooling myself if I didn't admit I cared for the man and felt responsible for his well-being. Especially since the way he was talking about dying and wanting to be dead seemed more like a cry for help than anything else. So, if he really needed me, I was going to be there for him. I owed him that much, since it was my fault he got shoved out of the closet.

“Ron, what's the matter, man?”

“Jerome, I'm in trouble. I need your help bad.” He sounded like he was on the verge of tears.

“Just tell me where you are and what you need.”

“I need you to bail me out.”

“Bail you out of what? You're not gambling, are you?” Ron liked to gamble. He'd shown me that side of himself the few times we'd snuck off to Atlantic City. But I'll tell you now, if he wanted me to pay off his gambling debts, he was ass out.

“No. They arrested me.”

“Arrested you! Arrested you for what?”

“Assault. I had a fight with a guy. Can you just come down here and bail me out? You're the only one I can count on. They're gonna send me to County if I don't get bailed out soon.”

Wow, I was blown away by what he'd said: I was the only one he could count on. I felt honored and a little guilty at the same time. I was pretty sure that before my stalker outed him, he had lots more people around who would have helped him. There was no way I could turn him down now. “Okay, I'm on my way. How much is your bail?”

“A thousand dollars,” he said. My stomach tightened a little at the thought of putting out that much money. “But this guy just told me you can get a bail bondsman and it will cost you only fifteen percent.”

“Don't worry. I'll take care of that. Where are they holding you?”

“Danville city jail.”

“All right. I'm on my way.”

I was relieved to hear I would have to pay only fifteen percent, but the truth was I would have paid the whole thousand if need be. Guilt, fondness, love…I didn't quite know how to define what I was feeling, but I definitely cared about Ron, and I wanted to be there for him in his time of need.

I'd just put my coat on and was about to head out the door when someone rang the doorbell. Without even looking through the peephole, I opened the door, and to my surprise saw Big Poppa standing there with a bottle of wine in one hand and a bag of groceries in the other. He had to pick now to apologize?

“Going somewhere?” he asked.

“I have to go help a friend.”

“Well, I'll be here when you get back.” He tried to step inside, but I blocked his way.

“No, you won't. I can't even believe you came over here after that shit you pulled. You didn't even call me and tell me you were leaving.” I was pissed.

“Please, what did you expect me to do? Sit there and hold your hand? Those were two of my wife's friends, and I was supposed to be up in Charlottesville seeing my people. What the hell do you think they would think if they saw me sitting next to you sharing popcorn and a drink?”

“Nothing!” I said adamantly. “We were watching
Iron Man 2,
not
Brokeback Mountain
. You could have introduced me as your cousin. The least you could have done was circle back and pick my ass up.”

“You know what, Jerome? You're right. I fucked up. I'm sorry, okay? I'm very, very sorry.”

“Sorry ain't good enough this time.” I reached for the door.

“Okay, then, how about this? Will this make it up to you?” He held up the bottle. “Your favorite wine. And guess what?” He showed me the bag of groceries, then winked at me. “I got the little scallops you like.” He stepped closer to me. “I'm going to sauté them in a little olive oil, garlic, and butter and serve them over angel-hair pasta. And when we finish eating…” He smirked. “Well, do I have to say it? You know what I do best.” He started swerving his hips like an exotic dancer.

Shit. I almost dropped my keys. You know I'd be lying if I said it didn't sound great. Big Poppa was a hell of a cook, and who doesn't know that there's no better sex than makeup sex?

“Seriously, Jerome, I'm sorry. Can you let me make it up to you?”

I bit my lip and silently cursed. Why was it I could never say no to this man?

Ah, what the hell. An hour for dinner, fifteen or twenty minutes for a quickie, and I could still be in Danville in three hours.

“You got a lot of making up to do. I hope you're up to the challenge.”

He smiled broadly. “Challenge is my middle name.”

 

I finally made it to the jail in Danville, only fifteen minutes before they shipped Ron over to County. I was thankful to have made it in one piece. Trust me, I'd pushed my poor Lexus to the limit to make the drive in a little less than two hours. I normally didn't like to drive that fast, but Big Poppa had me leaving my place much later than I expected when he turned what should have been a quick blow job and a good-bye into a mini-marathon. He must have sensed something was wrong, because he didn't leave my house until sometime after four in the morning. He rarely ever did that unless his wife was out of town, and believe me, I knew she was home.

Call me obsessed, but I always knew what his wife was up to. Neither Big Poppa nor his wife knew it, but I kept track of their Facebook pages like they were my own. That woman friended me and she didn't even realize who I was. It's amazing just how careless people are about giving up their personal information on social networking sites like Facebook, MySpace, and Twitter. An hour before Big Poppa showed up at my door, she'd updated her status to say she was watching a Lifetime movie in her big, comfy bed. Chick movies—no wonder Big Poppa took the opportunity to get out of the house.

Speaking of Big Poppa, he was full of surprises tonight. As I was walking up to the window to pay Ron's bail, I received an unexpected call. Why the hell Big Poppa wasn't in bed snuggled up next to his wife by now, I don't know. Most of the time after we had sex, it took him a day or two to call me if I didn't call him first. I should have just hit the
IGNORE
button on my phone, but like I said before, I just couldn't say no to the man.

“Hello,” I said groggily, as if I had been sleeping.

“Where the hell are you?” No mistaking his attitude; the man was pissed about something. I strolled toward the exit to continue the call outside, because it felt like this conversation was about to get serious.

“I'm…I'm—” I was about to say I was in bed, but I had my own suspicions about this call. Had he doubled back to my house and found I wasn't there? Jesus, I hoped not. “Why? Where are you?” I tried to throw it back at him.

“Jerome, don't play games with me. I called your house phone five times. I know you're not there. Now, where the hell are you?”

Shit! This was going to be a problem. While I was flattered that he was finally showing interest this way, why couldn't he have waited until I helped Ron straighten out his dilemma? I mean, I'd waited all this time for Big Poppa to show that he cared; another week wouldn't have hurt. I had to remain on the defensive.

“I stepped out for a minute. Is there a problem? What's up?”

“Stepped out! At six o'clock in the morning? Where the fuck are you? With some nigga?”

“No, not exactly. I'm helping out a friend.” I tried to act like it was no big deal, but this was huge. Big Poppa and I had had our share of arguments, but I'd never heard the anger that I was hearing in his voice. He knew I had sponsors, and he'd never expressed jealousy before.

“Helping him out? How the hell you helping him out? With a blow job? I knew you were acting funny all night, trying to rush me out of there all fast and shit.”

“Look, if it's any of your business, I'm bailing out a friend who got arrested.” Hey, you know what they say: nothing better than the truth. Except that Big Poppa didn't believe it.

“You fucking liar. What's wrong? All of a sudden I ain't got what you need?”

“Don't go there, all right? You know how I feel about you. I'm not the one with a wife I go running home to every night.”

“No, you're the one who risks both our lives with about fifteen different bed partners. Now, I want your ass home before I get there, or you can expect a foot in your ass.”

Oh, no, he didn't just threaten to hit me! Look, I loved the guy, but who the hell did he think he was talking to? Now I was just as pissed off as he was.

“Excuse me? I know you're not talking to me, 'cause I wanna know what damn army you plan on bringing to help you get your foot in my ass. I think you're starting to take that Big Poppa shit a little too literally, wouldn't you say?” He was silent, so I continued. “And as far as me going home, you want me home, then pack your bags and move in, because I don't answer to anyone unless they sleep in my bed every night, and that damn sure ain't you.”

“What you trying to say?”

“Think about it. You'll figure it out.”

I hung up on him and then turned off my phone as I proceeded to the magistrate's window to pay Ron's bail.

I sat down and waited for him to be processed and released. The magistrate said his processing would take about a half hour, so I read an old newspaper someone had left on the bench. I hadn't gotten through half of it before I looked up and saw Ron walking down the corridor toward me.

The sight of him after all this time apart really stirred something inside me. I remembered his phenomenal body, but I'd completely forgotten just how handsome he was, and the closer he came, the more I wished I could just reach out and grab him. How the hell did I ever let this man out of my life? He looked like some kind of African god. A whole host of emotions rose up within me as he approached. So much had been going on in my life lately, with the loss of my best friend and my job, Peter's continual harassment of me and my friends, and now Big Poppa showing his ass. Seeing Ron made me long for the carefree times we had had together before things got so complicated. Big Poppa should be careful, I thought, because for the first time, I could imagine him being replaced.

By the time Ron was standing in front of me, my mind was swimming. I know it was shallow, especially after all that we'd been through, but all I could think of was that I wanted to sleep with this man again in the worst way.

“Thanks, Jerome,” he said, his voice showing the innocence of his youth. He was almost twenty years my junior, but when I was around him, I was the one who felt like I was twenty.

“You don't have to thank me. I'm always going to be here for you.” I stood up to hug him, but he took a step back.

“Don't…don't kiss me,” he whispered, lifting his hand defensively as if he wanted not only me, but also everyone else in the building to see the invisible barrier between us. It was actually quite comical, because his words told one story, but his eyes told me something entirely different. He was checking me out, and there was no doubt in my mind that he was undressing me with his eyes. He wanted me. He just didn't want to be classified as gay.

“I wasn't gonna kiss you. I was just gonna shake your hand and give you a little embrace. Man, it's been a long time, but if you don't feel comfortable with that, I understand.”

“Well, I don't feel comfortable.”

I nodded my understanding.

“I do appreciate you coming down here and bailing me out and everything. I'm just trying to put all that other stuff behind me.” I wanted to tell him that he couldn't put who he was behind him, but that was something he'd learn with time.