Whos Loving You (4 page)

Damn. I can’t believe I let Red Velvet ride my dick like that yesterday. That shit was fucking cosmic. That woman’s pussy was certifiably a lethal weapon. Aw, man, it’s a good thing I have a healthy heart, or she could’ve fucked me into an early grave. And the way she swallowed my dick…
I had to stop thinking about her.

Sitting in my car, parked outside my parents’ house, scrolling through the extensive list of text messages Honey had sent, I squeezed my hard-on, trying to make my erection subside. Since my breakup with Honey, I’d kept every single one of her messages. My voice mail was always a few messages away from full. I’d saved Honey’s messages so I could hear, “Hey, baby. I miss you,” anytime I wanted.

Damn! Out of all the respectable, beautiful black women in the world, why did I have to fall for her? Couldn’t she see how much I cared about her? I seriously wanted to press the
CALL BACK
button to talk to her. “Damn, that Red Velvet pussy was sweet and exactly what I needed to take the edge off. Trevor was the man for that one,” I said aloud.

If Honey would’ve whispered in my ear, “Grant, I used to be a whore,” I could’ve eased out of her bed, gotten dressed, and never seen her again, instead of holding her in my arms and falling in love with her. I hated to admit it, but I’d been more than pussy whipped. I had put my business on hold for two straight weeks to help Honey find both a place to live and a great location for her business. I’d introduced her to my personal banker so she could open her accounts. I didn’t lay up with women after sex, sharing my goals, my dreams, and my fantasies, the way we’d done. Honey had had plenty of time to tell me the truth. Whatever her truth was.

I’d known immediately that Red Velvet had been paid to fuck me. That was obvious, and I’d treat her as a paid client if I ever decided to call her up. Good thing she’d left last night. Said she had to get back to her son. I respected a woman who kept it real up front.

Looking at my parents’ large pale blue Victorian with royal blue trim, I couldn’t believe my father refused to sell that house and move out of D.C. There were lots of nicer and newer developments in Virginia and Maryland. I shook my head, thinking I’d actually invited a hooker to meet my mother. I laughed. Man was I a fool for that one. “Next time…Nah, forget Honey. There won’t be a next time for her,” I said aloud.

Looking up from my phone, I smiled hard. My dad was standing in the front door, waving. “Son, come on in here. Breakfast is almost ready,” he called.

“In a minute,” I called back, wondering if my mother had ever cheated on my father.

The heart of a man wasn’t hidden; it was ripped out of his chest, then buried six feet deep, the minute his heart was broken by a woman for the first time. For me, that woman wasn’t Honey, but Honey reminded me of Valerie Jamison. Experiencing such excruciating pain was something I’d never forget. No matter how hard subsequent women strived to eradicate the pain or kindle the pleasure, only one woman had been sweet enough to penetrate that barrier.

Other women I’d met thought that they knew every damn thing and that the ex-lovers they complained about were all idiots incapable of making good decisions. What women didn’t understand about black men was that we suffered in silence with major discontentment with ourselves for countless reasons, including a lack of financial stability; but being illiterate, unemployed, racially profiled, incarcerated, taken for child support, wanted for alimony, and verbally castrated by white men and black women; feeling inadequate; and being unable to support our families. The number one reason was that, like most black women, the majority of black men were fatherless. Men were tired of living up to the unrealistic expectations of women, who were never satisfied. The black man wasn’t trying to get over; he was trying to get by. I knew Honey was pissed off at me, but did she once stop to consider how I felt? I doubted it.

Opening the front door, Dad waved again, this time frantically.

“Okay, old man,” I called, getting out of my car. “Calm down.”

I had been living on my own for ten years, and my parents were always happy to see me. My dad was the greatest father. He did his best to ensure I never became a statistic. I couldn’t lie; I was fortunate to have him in my life. I vividly recalled my dad being present at every stage of my life, beginning with him videotaping me being born.

“You’re looking mighty sharp in that button-down shirt, son. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to outdress me,” he said, running his hands down his sleeves. Then he fingered his cuff links and smiled. “I bet you don’t have a set like these. Your mother gave them to me this morning. An early thirtieth-anniversary present.”

Damn. That’s right.
How could I forget? Honey had my mind so preoccupied. I’d order something extra special for my parents later today. Dancing my way into the living room, I stopped in front of Mom, hugged her, and said, “Good job.” Then I glanced at my cell phone before silencing the ringer. “Where’s Benito?”

Dad shook his head. “We had to put him out this morning. I’m sure he’ll show back up, complaining he’s got no place to go. Son, is that woman still calling you?”

I couldn’t lie to my father. I nodded.

“Did you ask her to stop?” my dad asked.

“She’ll get tired eventually,” I said, following my dad into the dining room. I sat in my seat, the same seat I’d sat in since I was a kid.

Dad got quiet for a while. Then he said, “Son, I raised you better. She deserves closure. I hope you’re not one of those men that enjoy having women chase you.” He stared at me, peering above the rim of his black-framed eyeglasses. “When it comes to relationships, women are smarter than us. She might stop calling for a week, a month, maybe even a year, but trust me, if she stops, it won’t be because she got tired. Forget about Honey for a minute. Isn’t your big meeting about partnering with Trevor Williams today?

I smiled, thinking back to yesterday morning. Wonder-pussy was not going to influence my decision. I had my professional reputation riding on the merger, not to mention the ten-million-dollar preapproved business loan I was prepared to take out for my half. If I followed through with the plans, I couldn’t afford to lose, either. The real-estate deals with Trevor appeared solid, but I wasn’t sure what was going on with that strip club Stilettos. That was the part that didn’t feel right. I knew sex and strip clubs were lucrative, but they were also seedy. One bad decision or incident at Stilettos and the Atlanta city government would place a moratorium on the development of all our hotels and condos. If that happened, we could lose hundreds of thousands of dollars each day.

Shaking his head, my father stared at me. “Son, never make a business decision or a marriage proposal based on emotions. It always seems good on the surface. Take time to scratch a little.”

On high school graduation day, my friends got keys to cars. My father handed me the deed and the keys to my first home. I continued making sound real-estate investments. Every income stream from every piece of property I owned was attached to the 411-unit condo building and hotel I was developing in Atlanta. Partnering with Trevor would give me collateral leverage to build additional properties.

Mom entered the dining room. She stood behind Dad’s chair, as she often did to quietly show her support of my father.

Dad said, “Back to Honey. Son, your mother came to me. Ain’t that right, baby? But…” Dad paused, then continued. “I chose her. Not because she’s beautiful. Not because she’s white. I chose your mother because she has a loving heart.” He turned around, slapped Mom’s behind, then said, “And a big booty. Son, never marry a woman who believes you are responsible for her happiness.”

I watched my mother massage my dad’s shoulders. He stretched his neck side to side. Mom scratched his back.

“I love you, Ma,” I said, easing out of my chair to kiss her cheek. My mom was my number one lady, and my dad was my hero. “I disagree. I am supposed to make and keep my wife happy. Isn’t that right, Mom?”

Mom’s eyes widened, and she looked toward Dad. “I’ll be back. Tell him,” she said. Leaving the room, Mom glanced over her shoulder at dad. “Tell him now.”

Dad exhaled. “Yes. But deep down inside, an unhappy woman is bitter about something someone else did to her, and she expects you to make up for it,” he said. “You can’t make a fractured woman whole. Honey wasn’t prostituting because a hooker showed up at her high school on career day, telling her about the benefits. Something happened to her. That’s not your fault. Let her go. Please, son, marry a good woman, one with a loving heart and a big butt like your mother, and notice whether her eyes light up for you so bright that you can feel the goodness resonating from within her. That is the woman who will never forsake you. It’s better to learn to love a good woman than to fall in love with a bad one.”

I heard my mother yell from the kitchen, “Baby, snap out of it. She’s got you in a trance.” Reentering the dining room, Mom insisted we eat. She placed hash browns topped with sautéed onions, fluffy scrambled eggs, turkey sausages, and wheat toast, neatly arranged on a plate, in front of me and another plate in front of my dad.

She placed my plate down first. Oh, oh.

“Grant, your father is right. She’s not the one, baby,” said Mom, placing her hand on Dad’s shoulder. “Go on and tell Grant the truth. If you don’t tell him before I return, I will. I’ve got to go to the hair salon. Call me later and let me know how things went.”

I was grateful my parents had taught me how to be a good man before becoming a father, lover, friend, or husband to a woman. I knew the woman I wanted to marry was Honey. Hopefully, my dad wouldn’t try to decide for me. Despite her lies, Honey had a sweetness I couldn’t deny. I just prayed she didn’t hurt me like Valerie had.

“Uh, uh.” Dad cleared his throat, looked directly into my eyes, then said, “Son, why are you still worried about that woman? Your brother already told you she’s bad news. Besides, if for no other reason, you don’t want to date a woman who’s dated your brother.”

“Not date, Dad. Marry. I want to marry Honey.”

A man never forgot his first love, and I’d never forget Valerie Jamison. In Economics 101, I fell hard for her the moment I saw those never-ending legs reaching from her ankles to her torso. We dated our freshman and sophomore years, but I couldn’t give Valerie enough of me no matter how hard I tried. Valerie lived for the spotlight. Depending on what sport was in season, she fell in love with the most popular athlete on campus.

A puff of air shot out of my nostrils. Placing a forkful of hash browns in my mouth, I tried eating my breakfast. “Since he has so much to say, let him say it to my face. Where is he?” I asked.

“I already told you I put him out,” my dad said emphatically. “He’s trouble. You made up your mind about that merger?”

Nodding, I said, “I’ma go for it.”

“Don’t. You’re not thinking clearly. Give it some time. Take every detail under consideration, and then consult with your lawyer for a month or so.”

“But—”

“But nothing. This Trevor guy needs you, dammit. You don’t need him. Just like Honey. You don’t need her, either. You’re wealthy, smart, successful, young, and good-looking. The right woman will come along.”

Yeah, right.
What made any woman the right woman?

I never expected Valerie or any other woman to want me solely for my physical appearance. What if I got hit by a car or disfigured in a fire? What if my dick stopped working? Would the woman I loved still love me? I wanted the woman who would unequivocally answer yes, without hesitation.

I was no athlete like my brother, but my body would beg to differ. I worked out five times a week. The definition from my Adam’s apple to my dick formed a straight line; I had no bulging belly like other guys. My smooth six-pack abs were accented by parentheses. And my tight ass sat high above my thighs. I knew women wanted to fuck me before finding out I had a big dick. Damn. Where’d I put that card I got yesterday? Had I missed the party?

Biting my bottom lip, I couldn’t get Valerie off of my mind. When she’d said she was pregnant with my first child, the first words out of my mouth were, “Will you marry me?” I didn’t ask her to marry me before our baby was born because I felt obligated. I loved Valerie with all my heart. I wanted to do all the right things for and with her. But when Valerie said that she couldn’t keep my child, and that she’d had an abortion the day before she’d told me we were pregnant, I felt like my heart had stopped beating. I couldn’t breathe.

My dad picked up his plate, then said, “Keep thinking about everything, son. That’s good.” Then he walked into the kitchen.

I sat at the table, stirring my eggs in with my hash browns.

A few months later, Valerie got pregnant with the star quarterback’s baby. I’d never seen her so happy, until she discovered four other women on campus were also pregnant by him at the same time. Valerie ended up joining the seventieth-percentile ranks of those girls and black women who were single parents, while the quarterback walked down the aisle with his high school sweetheart shortly after going pro and clinching a thirty-million-dollar contract.

Valerie dropped out of college, and I couldn’t say I was sorry that I didn’t see her again. Why did black women claim they wanted a good man, then carelessly and continuously give themselves to men who were unworthy of them? If I ever saw Valerie again, I’d ask her one question. “Who’s loving you?”

My dad walked back into the dining room, placed his hand on my shoulder, and said, “Son, stand up and look at me.”

“All right.” Slowly, I pushed back my chair.

As requested, I faced my father and listened. “Son, your brother says she’s a murderer. That she killed a man,” said my dad. “Your mother and I are afraid that she might kill you, too. I hope that’s convincing enough. If you don’t let Honey go for yourself, do it so you won’t kill your mother. I can’t live without my wife.”