Unconditionally Single (9 page)

S
hould a woman stay in an abusive marriage for better or for worse? Was
or
the operative word? Had Onyx’s husband been abusing her before she married him? There must have been warning signs. Isolation. Control. Did her husband tell her what to wear? Did he start off slapping her? My mama had told me slapping was not a sign that a man loved me. If a man slapped, he’d punch. If he punched, he’d stalk. If he stalked, he’d kill. Good thing Onyx left him or he may have killed her before she could’ve killed him. Spending each day in fear was no way for a woman to live.

Some men needed to present a note from their mother: “May cause nausea, diarrhea, vomiting, abdominal pain, migraines, weakness, heartburn, depression, low self-esteem, retardation, epilepsy, insanity, bleeding, muscle pain, thoughts of suicide, allergic reaction, bruising, rash, hives, hypertension, itching/swelling (especially of the face, tongue, and throat), dizziness, trouble breathing, heart attack, and mortality in women with high self-esteem. The risks of your marrying or dating my son are greater than the benefits. If you can survive his side effects, you are one helluva woman.”

I had lots of questions but after almost suffering whiplash when she slammed on the brakes, I wasn’t initiating a conversation with Onyx about anything. One day I’d like to marry a good man who’d love my son and me. Maybe I’d meet him in Hollywood and marry him before I achieved stardom. That way I’d know he wasn’t marrying me for my money.

“Make yourself at home, Red Velvet,” Onyx said, standing at the foot of the stairway in Honey’s mansion. “Eat, sleep, chill until it’s time to go to Stilettos. You’ve got one hour to relax. You can nap on Honey’s chaise but do not get in her bed.” Onyx trotted upstairs.

Goddamn!
I tripped out big time. Touring Honey’s first floor, I was amazed at her foyer, her kitchen, her office and hallway. I could not believe the countless number of C-notes lamenated beneath the clear marbled floors. If the hundred-dollar bills were real, we could rip out the floors to pay her ransom.

“Now this is a mansion worth featuring on a major cable show. I’d call it Divalicious Cribs, with your host Velvet Waters. Forget all those famous rappers and ballers, they need to highlight how female mil-lionairesses do it up,” I said, stretching across the white mink spread on Honey’s bed.

I scrambled to the bottom of my purse, pulled out my cell phone. Nine missed calls. I left the ringer on mute, called my mother back first, to check on her and my son.

My mom answered. “Velvet Waters, child, where are you? Your agent has called here three times saying you’re not answering your phone. Ronnie is worried sick. And you know I’m worried too. It doesn’t take that long to celebrate with Honey. Lunchtime ended hours ago.”

“Ma, Ma, please calm down. I’ma call my agent next. I’m fine. Honey is missing. We’re trying to find her,” I explained, hoping my mother would understand.

“Missing. As in lost?” Mama asked. “She’s a grown woman. Grown women don’t just come up missing.”

“No, Ma. As in kidnapped. Valentino is holding her for his fifty-million dollars. He wants his money back.”

“Lord, Jesus. Yes, indeed. Protect my baby and Honey. Velvet, you’re not making sense. None. Honey is too smart to be missing. Do not get involved in her games. You have a lifetime opportunity in front of you with this movie. Don’t blow it. Ronnie deserves this break. Me too. Get yourself home right this minute.”

My mother had started researching private schools for Ronnie, a nice home for us to buy, good stock investments, and a retirement plan for me. I was only twenty-six. I did not need a 401(k) plan. We lived in a good neighborhood a few blocks from the Twelve Hotel where I used to work. Ronnie was in a decent public school. Having money, millions of dollars, would afford us a better lifestyle, but Mama said it was up to us to live a better life.

“Sorry, Mama.”

My mother scolded, “Sorry my behind. You don’t owe Honey anything.”

Was my mom serious?
“Mama, you didn’t feel that way when you asked Honey to find Alphonso, make him pay child support so I’d quit stripping for extra money. She found him. She got me seventy-two thousand from him and she didn’t charge us one cent. I can’t come home, Ma. Not until I know Honey is safe. I love you. Kiss my baby and tell him I love him. I’ll be home soon. I promise. Bye, Ma.”

“Vel—”

I hated hanging up on my mother but there was no sense in arguing with her. I wondered where Honey was, whether or not Valentino had hurt her. “This mink is nice,” I said, rubbing it. I couldn’t sleep. It was almost time to leave for Stilettos and I hadn’t heard from Sapphire or Grant. Mama called back. I let her call go to voice mail. She wasn’t changing my mind.

I called my agent. Got his voice mail and left a message. “Hi, this is Velvet Waters. I apologize for the delay in returning your calls. I had a family emergency. I’m still on schedule and will be in LA in a few days. Call me back.” Felt like I was rambling so I ended the call. Better go upstairs and see if Onyx would let me wear some of her clothes. Honey’s bed felt so good, I couldn’t move. I lay my head on her white mink pillow, then closed my eyes.

Tap. Tap.

I rolled over, then called out, “Come in.”

Onyx opened Honey’s bedroom door. “What the hell! Are you deaf! I told you not to get in Honey’s bed,” Onyx yelled.

I had to straight stare at her for five minutes before responding. If I kept being passive, Onyx would think she could talk to me any way she wanted. If I replied to her in the same way she approached me, either she’d hear how crazy she sounded and stop it or I’d have to fight my way out of this situation and take my ass home.

“Onyx, what is your fucking problem? I have a child. I am not yours. You said, ‘do not get in.’ I’m
on
the bed, not
in
the bed.
In
means under the covers, not on top of the covers.” I got up off the bed. Stood by the edge in case I had to hit her ass with Honey’s gold lamp.

“Don’t make me beat your ass,” Onyx said, staring at me.

Moving closer to the lamp, I said, “And you know me well enough to understand I ain’t going out without a fight. I’ll stomp your ass if I have to.” Bitch done lost her mind.

Onyx’s lips tightened. Casually she said, “I apologize. It’s just that I’m so stressed. Come with me. Let’s get you dressed.”

Cautiously following Onyx into her room, I asked, “You hear from Sapphire or Grant yet?”

“Grant called. Said he’d meet us at Stilettos. He might be a few minutes late. He had to take care of a few things first.”

Why hadn’t Grant called me? “What could be more important than finding Honey?”

“Exactly,” Onyx said, walking to her bedroom closet. She opened the door to a mini boutique, said, “Find something sexy to wear,” then quietly sat in her rocking chair by the window.

I stood in the closet’s doorway. There were dozens of dresses with tags on them. Onyx had dresses from simply sexy to formal, casual, and high fashion. Above her dresses were stacks of Michael Kors, Jimmy Choo, and Marc Jacobs shoes.

“I was thinking about asking Trevor if I could strip tonight. Lure Valentino in with a lap dance, then Sapphire can do her thing,” I said.

“Not tonight.” Onyx kept staring out the window. “Velvet, I keep telling you this is not a game. We’re—”

I interrupted her. “Why you keep talking to me like I don’t understand?”

“Because you don’t. You have no idea what’s really going on. We’re dealing with a pimp and murderer who seems nice and charming but he won’t think twice about killing us for his money. Valentino will charm your pussy off you, then cut your throat. My life depends on what you do and you’re not stripping tonight. Shaking your ass on stage will make you an easy target for anyone in the club to take you out.” Onyx walked to her nightstand, opened the drawer. “Put on something sexy, and keep this with you,” she said, handing me a .9 and a holster. “Strap the holster high upon your thigh.”

Staring at the gun in my hand, I thought,
I am no murderer.
I’d never pulled the trigger on a gun, not even at a shooting range. I wanted my mommy. “I’m going home.”

Onyx handed me a short black dress, then said, “Like I told you, you can go home
after
we find Honey. If Valentino doesn’t bring her with him tonight, I’ll have to put you and the other girls on a stroll or two.”

“I ain’t no prostitute,” I told her. “I’m not strolling anywhere.”

“I won’t keep you out there long. You’ll only have to solicit information.”

“Don’t get me confused. I used to be a stripper, not a ho,” I told her.

“Bitch, don’t make me go there,” Onyx said with a stern face. “Shut up and get your ass dressed…now! Sapphire is on her way.”

Good. I was tired of trying to reason with Onyx. Maybe I could talk sensibly with Sapphire.

A
toilet. A motherfuckin’ porcelain pot with a plastic seat. Whosoever created this bitch was sho’ nuff my nigga. Sitting down, the tip of my nuts marinated in the bowl and I didn’t give a fuck. For a nigga who was used to dumping his insides three times a day, pissing around with Lace’s ass this morning, then dealing with Benito, I was backed up. Lifting my balls, I tightened my abs, took a deep breath, then let it all out.

I’d locked myself in the bathroom to keep Benito from walking in on me. That nigga didn’t have manners. How the hell did Lace live with him for three years? Those two couldn’t have been more wrong for one another. Nigga’s dick must’ve been a magic stick.

“Oowee! Look at that pile of shit,” I said, flushing my defecation, urination, and frustrations. “Who was the recipient of all the shit and bullshit in the world?” Maybe I could chop up Lace’s body, then literally flush her ass.

I turned the shower handle to H, stepped in, put my head under the water, then closed my eyes. I was in a one-star motel. I’d give this cheap-ass place no stars, if that was a rating. This was the kind of joint johns rented by the hour to get their trophy waxed, bang a bitch’s skull against the wall—cause the headboard was so damn cheap it would break—then go home to their wife and kids. One day soon, I’d build another mansion bigger and better than my spots Sapphire seized in north Las Vegas. I’d take my chances trying to overpower Lace but I wasn’t fucking with Sapphire. I bet if I looked between her legs she’d have two giant intimidating jaw-breaking balls.

I admired my naked body. The push-ups I’d done in prison the short time I was in that hellhole cut a nigga in the right places. A clean ass, asshole, and a close shave had done wonders for my fucked-up attitude. Staring in the mirror, I told myself, “Tonight is gonna be smooth.” I began blow drying my hair, then the boxers that I’d hand washed in the shower. I felt crisp, like new money.

Flapping my silk underwear, I held them in front my nose, sniffed the crotch, then put them on. I was happy, smelling good, revitalized. Damn. The only thing missing was some good tight pussy and a bottle of cognac. I’d never worked this hard to get shit.

Knock. Knock. Knock.
“V, pack yo’ shit, man,” Benito said, grinning as I walked out of the bathroom slinging my hair.

I asked that nigga, “What are you talking about? I ain’t got nothing to pack. You neither.”

“My brother is on his way, man. To pick
us
up. Said we could stay in one of his condos in Buckhead rent free for three months—a two bedroom. And we can leave that stolen car across the street at the mall. Grant said we can use one of his cars.”

Should I kick Benito’s dumb ass or kiss him for telling Grant where we were? “How you know that nigga ain’t settin’ us up?”

Benito shook his head. “Our mama wouldn’t like that.”

“Your mama?” I swear I wanted to smack him upside his head. “You mean the white lady you despise? That mama?”

“She still loves me. My stepdad too. I’m irresistible, V.”

“Check this shit here out, nigga. When your brother gets here, we don’t know shit about Lace being kidnapped. He’ll believe us because she’s not with us. And even if she shows up here with him, act like you haven’t seen that bitch in a long time. Kiss her.”

Benito bobbed his head. “Oh, you want me to play dumb.”

I shook my head. “Shut the fuck up and listen. Let me do the talking. Can you handle that?”

Benito scratched his ass, nodded.

Sniffing the air, I said, “Go wash your resistible ass, nigga, before he gets here.”

C
hoice. Free will. Every man had it. Few women exercised it.

It was a man’s world. The disproportionate number of confident, competent, and caring women made it that way. I could date Jada, sex Jada and marry Honey, sex Honey and marry Jada, or date them at the same time, brainwashing them with empty promises of becoming Mrs. Grant Hill, but I wasn’t a user.

No matter what men did, women heard what they wanted. A man could explain or apologize his way back into a woman’s heart before her tears dried. Women could not take their expectations out of the equation long enough to tap the core of men. Women’s expectations were rooted in learned behavior from their single mothers, widowed grandmothers, unmarried siblings, out-of-relationship girlfriends, and nosy ill-intent coworkers. Women were pre-programmed for relationship failure.

I wanted to marry the woman who was an extension of me. She’d complete my thoughts, my sentences, my goals…my life. Honey was that woman. But could Jada do the same?

No doubt, I’d fantasized about fucking Jada. Most men’s dicks functioned on autopilot. I was no exception. Sex bonded women to men. Beauty bonded men to women. Having a wife that other men envied made a man stand tall, stick out his chest, hold her hand, beg her to stay after he’d messed up. If a man didn’t fight to keep his woman, he didn’t love her. For my Honey, I was ready to go ten rounds nonstop.

My concern was women incubated their issues for days, weeks, months, and years. Would Honey remind me that I’d fucked Red Velvet? Would I tell Honey I had sex with Sapphire before proposing to Honey? After? Was Honey dead? Alive? Would I drop the flawless five-carat diamond solitaire in Honey’s champagne glass, toast, then propose to her? Home was where the heart was. My heart was with Honey. My hands were on my iPhone. Jada’s hand was on my thigh.

Jada’s driver parked in front of my favorite restaurant on the Chattahoochee River. Tucked away on the water, I loved the serene ambiance of this place. It was my getaway to dine alone or with my clients. I considered Jada a potential client. I held the door for her, led the way to the bar, pulled out her stool, then made sure she was comfortable. Jada had an elegance about her that resonated, “I am a WOMAN.” I was proud to be in her company.

“I think I heard the bartenders talking about a car being stolen,” Jada said as she kissed my cheek, barely missing my lips.

I shook my head. “Here? Not here.”

“I think so,” she said.

Not my car. Not my problem. I was solely concerned about finding my woman. I had to wait an hour for my personal assistant to meet me at the motel, wasn’t sitting in a bag of fleas with my brother that long. Eating made sense since I didn’t know if I’d have that chance later. “What would you like?”

Jada’s eyes softened along with her voice. “A stiff one. A stiff one would be really nice.”

Hmm, innuendos. I was not following her lead. “A bottle of champagne, two salads, and an order of crab cakes,” I told the bartender, then asked, “Was someone’s car stolen from here?”

“We’re on top of things. This has never happened before.” He handed me a business card. “The license number, make, model, and color are on here. If you see the car, give us a call.” They couldn’t be too on top of things if he expected me to look for the car.

The pianist started playing. Jada smiled. “Um, I love Ricardo Scales.”

Impressive—she knew the artist. Beautiful, smart, and she enjoyed smooth jazz. Nodding, I sang the jazz rendition of Roberta Flack’s “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face.”

Jada gazed into my eyes. “I’ll never forget the first time I saw your face. When you rushed onto the plane, I looked into your eyes, looked at you…” She paused, then said, “And I saw the most handsome man. But I also saw worry in your eyes and I prayed your seat was next to mine.”

Was I blushing? Yes, I was. I placed my foot on the bar beneath her stool. “Why did you want me to sit next to you?” I sipped champagne while listening to her sultry voice.

She sang, “The first time ever I kissed your mouth.” This time Jada kissed me on the cheek as I turned my lips away from hers. “Honestly, no man has captured my attention the way you did. I was instantly drawn to you. I tried making things work with Darius’s dad after my Wellington passed away.” She shook her head, exhaled, then continued, “What I realized was, I didn’t want to be with Darryl. But I didn’t want to be alone either. He helped me through the tough times, then I let him go. Wellington was my soul….” Her words trailed off.

Honey was my soulmate. Quietly, I held Jada’s hand. Gave her, gave us, a moment of silence to reflect on what was going through our minds. The first thing I’d do when I saw Honey was tell her how foolish I was and let her know how much I loved her.

Sipping champagne, Jada’s smile returned. “I like you, Grant. Honestly, I want us to be more than friends. I hope you can make it to the game tomorrow night.”

As in lovers? “I could use a platonic friend right now,” I said. “But first I have to find my Honey. I love that woman so much. I don’t want to mislead you or ruin your impression of me.”

Glad the food was placed on mats in front of us, I began eating my salad.

Jada gently rubbed my thigh. “Not at all. I admire your determination to find Honey. I wish more men were so loyal. There’d be fewer heartbreaks. But if you don’t mind me saying, I’m attracted to you. And I also want to know about your Honey. You see, once a woman gets an image of another woman in her mind, she can never erase it. If you tell me about Honey, I will never forget her. And I look forward to meeting her one day.”

The pianist started playing “A Taste of Honey” by the same artist. Drifting into the melody, I devoured my crab cakes, tossed my napkin on the plate when I was done.

“You ready?” Jada tapped my hand. “Are you ready?”

“Oh, I apologize. I zoned out for a moment. What did you say?”

Jada clung her flute to mine, took one last sip. I had another fifteen minutes before I had to leave. I closed out the tab, then suggested, “Let’s take a short walk along the river.”

We walked outside, sat on a bench facing the river, and shared our philosophical opinions about love, our dreams, and aspirations while watching the sunset.

“You have any children, Grant?”

“No, but Honey and I plan on having two, maybe three,” I said, thinking about how beautiful Honey would look pregnant with our children. Her golden belly would radiate like a ball of sunshine. I’d rub her stomach every day while talking to our child inside her womb. I was going to be the best dad, just like my father. “You want more kids?”

“No. It’s a little late for me, agewise. But it would’ve been nice to have reared Darius in a home with his real father. Wellington was my second husband. My first was Lawrence, a great man who did all the right things for me. I ruined that marriage, ruined him. I simply wasn’t ready for marriage but I was tired of raising Darius by myself.”

I talked with Jada like I’d known her for years. After a while I noticed whenever I mentioned Honey, she’d rant about Wellington. I changed our focus. “What’s it like being the mom of a professional basketball player?”

Jada laughed. “I encouraged Darius to be whatever he wanted. That way he’d have no regrets about what he should’ve done with his life. He’s married and has the perfect wife for him. Fancy was the only woman who held Darius accountable for his promiscuous actions. Then I have a stepdaughter by my first husband. Her name is Ashlee.” Jada fanned the air. “That’s a long story. That poor girl has lost her mind behind Darius. She’s angry he didn’t marry her after she had his baby—”

We’d taken a wrong turn in the conversation. Jada’s life was too dramatic. My thoughts had drifted back to Honey. The sun faded, exchanging places with a rising moon. I could tell that the story was going to be long and convoluted, so I interrupted, “I need to get going. Have to put my brother up in one of my condos.” I smiled, escorting Jada back to her limo. “I guess we both have interesting stories. I’ll have to tell you about my brother, Benito, at a later time, over drinks, at happy hour.”

We laughed together.

Settling in the backseat, again she lay her head on my shoulder. When we arrived at the motel, I wasn’t ready for our time together to end but I had to deal with reality. Quickly, she kissed my lips.

“Bye, Grant. I’ll check on you tomorrow and let you know if I find out anything on Honey.”

“Thanks.” The driver opened my door, and in front me Benito stood grinning.