Authors: Lori D. Johnson
“Oh, no, he didn’t!” Nora said as she rattled the doorknob. “You all right in there, Faye? You want me to dial 911?”
“We need to talk,” Scoobie said, over Nora’s banging and shouting.
Shaking my head at the insanity of it all, I went over and unlocked the door. “It’s okay,” I told Nora. “Let me just go ahead and talk to this man so he can hurry up and be up out of here.”
She shot Scoobie the ol’ evil eye and said, “Yeah, okay, but first time I hear anything that sounds like a struggle, I’m calling the police.”
While Scoobie invited himself to a seat on my bed, I lit up a cigarette and started pacing.
He followed me with his eyes for a couple of seconds, then said, “Whatever possessed you to start that nasty little habit? In the event that no one’s ever told you, it’s incredibly unattractive.”
“Good,” I said, blowing a big cloud of smoke in his direction. “I’m glad you hate it. Now go ahead and state your case, if you would, so we can say good night already.”
He grabbed my hand as I walked by him and made me sit down on the bed next to him. “This boy, Carl,” he said. “I mean, what could you possibly see in him? He drives a ten-year-old Toyota Corolla, for goodness’ sake. And where’d he take you for dinner, huh? Taco Bell or Burger King?”
Scoobie knew he was wrong for that. I shouldn’t have dignified it with a response, but you know I did. I told him, “Look, Carl and I are friends and that’s all you need to know—period. End of discussion.”
“Fine,” Scoobie said. “So let’s talk about us.”
I stared at him, shocked that he could even look me in the eye and say that shit. Ever since our paths had crossed that night in the mall, I’d been waiting for Scoobie to come all the way correct with me. His apologies, his cash offerings, his nonstop testimonies to the many wondrous changes the Lord had made in his life were all fine and dandy. But there remained one white elephant of an issue between us that Scoobie in all of his newfound righteousness had yet to even acknowledge. The time had come for us to stop dancing around the bad boy and tackle it head-on.
I took one final drag on my cigarette before I got up and buried it in an ashtray. “Fine, you want to talk about us, Scoobie? Then let’s do that. Let’s talk about
us—
all of us—me, you … and
our son
.”
Even though I’m not the type to go out looking for trouble, for whatever reason, man, trouble never seems to have any problem finding me. There I was sitting in my own living room, minding my own business, when I heard this car pull up.
The only reason I ventured outside at all was because I
assumed it was my ex. She’d called earlier, while I’d been out with Faye. She’d left a message asking if I’d mind her stopping over and making some warm-weather adjustments to the wardrobe the girls keep at my place. When I finally caught up with her to give her the okay, she told me she wouldn’t be able to make it by until late.
So on hearing a car drive up to the condo around 9:30, I stepped outside to make sure she got in all right. But instead of Bet, who do I spy, sliding out of his pretty vanilla-colored ride, but Faye’s old flame.
I’m standing there thinking to myself,
Now, I know this joker is not out here delivering Fudgesicles and Mr. Goodbars this time of night, or is he?
I was on my way back into the house when dude called out to me, “What up, chief?”
Thinking he was only trying to be polite, I told him, “You got it, man.”
That’s when dude paused and then, with what was most definitely a smirk plastered across his smug, high yella mug, said, “That I do, my brother. That I do.”
Who does this joker think he is? Like it wasn’t bad enough that he was slipping by after dark to see my woman, but then he’s gonna turn around and try to sell a brother wolf tickets, to boot? Oh, hell, no!
I spent the next thirty minutes peeping out the window and wondering what ol’ boy was doing over there and just how long he planned to stay. By the time Bet rolled up, I had worked myself into a full-fledged steam.
She took one look at me and said, “What’s wrong? I warned you I’d be late. If you had something else to do, Carl, you should have said something.”
“It’s not you” is what I told her before hurriedly relieving her of the empty box and the stack of summer wear she’d pulled out of the car.
“How come the kids aren’t with you?” I asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from me and my problems
as I led Bet to the room our daughters share on the nights and weekends they spend with me.
She launched into a whole big to-do about the twins and some pajama party, but you know how women are, man. Even though ol’ girl was running her mouth a mile a minute, it didn’t stop her from immediately noticing the clothing I’d bought Ben and foolishly left laying across one of the girls’ beds.
“You been out shopping today?” she asked, after a quick look at the outfits and their still-attached price tags.
“Yeah,” I told her. “My friend Faye suggested I keep a few extra things over here for Ben.”
Generally all it takes is the mere mention of my son’s name for Bet’s jaws to start getting tight, so I was surprised when she broke into a smile and said, “Sounds like things between you and your friend are starting to heat up. Squirrel told me you were taking her to the Jarreau concert.”
Leave it to my cousin Squirrel to be out spilling the beans behind my back. “Yeah, we went,” I said, not really sure if I was ready to let Bet in on my feelings for Faye.
Bet opened the girls’ closet and started pulling items out, but I could tell she was eager for me to fill her in. When I didn’t, she said, “So … when do I get to meet her?”
I was like, “Uh, I don’t know about that, Bet. This thing is still fairly new. I don’t want to rush anything or make Faye feel like I’m out to jump the gun on her.”
“Carl, I’m not out to cause you any trouble. I just think that if Faye is going to be spending time with our two girls it might not be such a bad idea if she and I had at least one face-to-face meeting. After all, I didn’t waste any time in introducing you to my friend Charles.”
Yeah, I met Bet’s new man, all right. And don’t think I’m not still having nightmares about it. As hypocritical as I know it sounds, just the thought of some joker other
than myself being all up in the ex’s Kool-Aid makes me downright ill. It doesn’t help that this dude—
Charles—
is one of these six-four, Armani suit–wearing, proper-talking types who before you can even finish shaking his doggone hand is shoving all up in your face the fact that he’s rolling with a brand-new, fully loaded Hummer and an f-ing “esquire” behind his name.
I don’t doubt Bet’s motives when it comes to her desire to meet Faye. In the two years since we’ve been divorced, she’s told me on numerous occasions that she’d love to see me stop humping around and make a serious commitment to one woman. To continue to do otherwise, in her opinion, is to only put myself at risk for contracting something that’ll permanently take me out of commission and ultimately break our little girls’ hearts.
In yet another feeble attempt to redirect the course of our conversation, I said, “Hey, you want me to come over tomorrow and fire up the grill for you and the girls like I did last year on Memorial Day?”
Bet shook her head and said, “No, actually Charles is having us over to his place for dinner tomorrow. That’s why I was out so late this evening. I’ve been over there helping him season the meat and what have you.”
Yeah, I bet you were over there seasoning his meat and what have you
is what I mumbled to myself. I’m saying, man, that’s what I call TMDI—too much damn information!
Rather than stick around and let the heifer continue to gag me, I politely excused myself and went back into the living room, where I resumed my pathetic peek-and-pout by the window.
Yes, I do have a child, a son, who on his next birthday should be turning all of twelve. His entrance into my life was marked by his father’s all-too-sudden exit. Instead of dealing with me or our situation head-on, Scoobie took off on a cruise to the Caribbean with a handful of my credit cards and everything I had left in the bank, and in the company of some other woman.
Suffice to say, neither the child nor the circumstances surrounding his birth is something I’m generally open to discussing. Until now God, Nora, and my gynecologist are about the only ones I’ve ever fully trusted with any of the details. Although they shouldn’t have, the facts came as news to Scoobie as well.
“Our son?!”
he said, jumping up from the bed as if it had teeth and had just bitten him solidly in the behind. “What do you mean
our son?
Didn’t you—I mean, damn, Faye, all these years I just assumed you went ahead and had an abortion.”
You know it took everything in me not to clue home-boy in on the word “assume” and its nasty little habit of making a right natural ass out of “u” and “me.” But rather than take that route, I just hit him full-fledged upside the head with the truth of the matter—“Well, you assumed wrong. He was born in Oklahoma, where I’ll have you know, I moved with Nora’s help in order to keep my folks from finding out.”
“Is that where he is now?”
“Don’t you get it, Scoobie? You left me a wreck in more ways than one. I wasn’t in any condition to take care of a child—financially, emotionally, or otherwise. I gave him up for adoption. Where he is now is anybody’s guess.”
Scoobie sank back down on my bed, buried his head in
his hands, and moaned, “I didn’t know, Faye. I didn’t know.”
“And if you had known,” I said, “you really think it would have made a difference?”
To my utter shock and disbelief, he looked up at me with his eyes red, his face wet, and said, “Back then? To be honest, no, probably not. But that was then, Faye, this is now. If we’ve got a son floating around out there somewhere, then we need to find him.”
“Find him for what?” I said. “Haven’t we complicated his life enough as it is? Face it, Scoobie, it’s too late. The boy is twelve. I’m sure by now he’s settled in with some nice family who loves him and—”
He cut me off with, “But what if he’s not? What if he’s stuck in the system somewhere, bouncing from one foster home to the next? What if he’s been neglected? Mistreated? Abused?”
I told him, “Like I haven’t spent more than one sleepless night thinking about all those things and more? But what’s the use, Scoobie? It was a closed adoption. Finding out anything with regards to either his well-being or his whereabouts is virtually impossible. Don’t think I haven’t tried.”
“I don’t doubt you have,” he said. “But I haven’t. I run in a lot of different circles these days. Chances are better than good that I can come up with a connection to someone who can help us.”
“Yeah? And then what? We find him and the three of us reunite to become one big freaking dysfunctional family, destined to live unhappily ever after? Man, get real—”
He jumped up again, only this time he grabbed me, locked his arms around me, and whispered, “Faye, I’ve been in love with you since I was fourteen years old. All it took was bumping into you that night at the mall for me to realize that not much has changed as far as my feelings for you are concerned.”
This wasn’t anything like the brief exchange we’d had at the mall. It had been years since he’d held me that close. A part of me wanted to pull away and never look back. Another part of me longed to feel him even closer. Durn near choking on all the days and nights of hurt I’d endured because of him and his trifling ways, I said, “What? And that’s supposed to make it all right? After twelve years and all the dirt you did, I’m just supposed to forgive, forget, and welcome your sorry ass back with open arms just because you say you love me?”
With tears streaming down his face like rain, Scoobie said, “You want the truth? Well, the truth is, Faye, yes, I was a low-down, dirty dog for leaving you when you needed me most. But you know what? I was scared. I thought you’d gotten pregnant deliberately as a way of tying me down and keeping me from realizing my dreams. So yeah, I ran. That’s what boys do. But I’m a man now—ten times the man I was before. And as a man, I’m coming to you and asking—no, not asking—I’m begging you, baby, for just one chance—one chance to try and make this right.”
Okay, before you go getting it twisted, let me just say that it wasn’t all the crying or even the fact that the brother broke down and used the L-word that sucked me in and kept me there. More than just a few of the things we touched on that night struck sensitive nerves with me—from Scoobie’s long-overdue admission to having been both a dog and a coward, to my own confession to indeed having gotten knocked up in a weak, illogical, and totally immature attempt to keep dude in check. And then there was the guilt we now both feel about the birth and subsequent abandonment of the little boy who carries our DNA but neither of our names.
In essence, what Scoobie and I had was our very first ever no-holds-barred conversation. We dumped it all out there—the good, the bad, the ugly—and sorted through
each and every one of the messy bits and pieces until we were both satisfied. It was extremely cathartic, if nothing else.
But I told Scoobie before he left, “Just because we’ve talked doesn’t necessarily mean I’m ready to let you back into my life just yet.” We’d been standing outside under the porch light saying our goodbyes, and his quick response had come in the form of a kiss—a soft, wet, and teasingly sweet kiss, followed by an all-too-sincere-sounding “Take all the time you need, baby. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”
It was close to eleven when dude finally brought his rusty butt up outta there. I might have been willing and able to just let it go if I hadn’t seen them kiss. Yeah, she kissed him, and unlike the time before it wasn’t any of that quick, friendly peck on the cheek kind of action either. As far as I could tell, it was all lip and quite possibly more than just a little bit of tongue.
To say I was disappointed in ol’ girl is putting it mildly. After having spent nearly a full day and a half with me, and a good portion of that laid up in my doggone bed, she turns around and lets dude slip up in the mix like it ain’t no thang. I had a good mind to call her up and ask if her revolving door was gonna be spinning through the night or what? But you’ll be happy to know, I didn’t show out this time.