Tyrone could barely get the words out but managed to reply, “No. Everything’s fine.” He took another bite of his strudel. Mercifully the guests returned to their conversations.
Tyrone could feel himself nearing a climax. He was so hard by this point that he was tempted to finish the act right there at the table. His better judgment told him to stop though, because several people kept looking in his direction. He had continued eatina the dessert and. tried to appear engrossed in someone’s conversation, but it was nearly impossible at this point for him to conceal his rapture. He reached between his chair and Sylvia’s to stop her. To his surprise, he did not find her arm, so he nonchalantly glanced over at her, only to see both her hands resting on the dining room table.
“Holy shit!” he gulped, quickly turning to his right to see Blanche Peterson’s hideous snaggletoothed yellow smile six inches from his face. Her breath burned his nostrils.
“Feel good, honey?” she whispered as she expertly squeezed his penis to ejaculation.
Horrified, Tyrone began to choke on a piece of apple strudel.
Oh, God,
he thought in a panic.
I’m gonna die with this bitch’s hands around my dick!
Afraid to stand up because of the predicament he was in, Tyrone struggled to remove Blanche’s hand and zipped up his pants just as Frederick rushed to the table and applied the Heimlich maneuver. Struggling for air, he gasped once the strudel had been dislodged, then he nearly gagged again as he watched Blanche wipe the evidence on her linen napkin. She dropped it on the floor with a satisfied grin.
“Are you all right, Tyrone?” Sylvia reached for her napkin to wipe the apple strudel from his chin.
Tyrone was doubled over, clenching his stomach. Hell no,
I’m not all right. I don’t think I’ll ever be all right,
he thought. He looked up to see Blanche exposing her crotch to him under the table.
Tyrone stood upright and said in a whimper, “Maybe you better take me home. I am feeling pretty nauseated.” He was eager to put as much distance between himself and Blanche as possible.
Sylvia was upset that her special night was coming to an end, but she could see by the look on his face that something was seriously wrong. Bernard approached their table as Sylvia and Tyrone prepared to leave.
“Phew, I’m glad to see you’re all right.” He laughed. “For a minute there I thought your family was going to have one hell of a wrongful death lawsuit.”
Tyrone chuckled and glared at Blanche, who was also preparing to leave.
“The way I feel now, I probably would be better off dead,” he told Bernard.
“Let me make it up to you.” Bernard offered. “A few of us are going to sneak off to the club’s smoking lounge for a cocktail before the show. I would love it if you two would be my personal guests.”
Sylvia desperately wanted to prolong her evening with Tyrone, so she pleaded with him. “Can we stay just for a short time? Bernard’s having a wonderful African art show and auction in the club’s gallery later, and I really wanted to buy you a piece for Christmas.”
Tyrone agreed, since Blanche was no longer in the room. He had never been able to see an art auction, even when he worked security at the Manhattan Gallery. And if she wanted to buy him a piece of art, who was he to stop her?
After thanking Frederick for his lifesaving heroics, Tyrone followed Bernard and Sylvia into a windowless room. He sat down on a small couch next to the door, explaining that he still needed to recuperate. Sylvia joined seven other guests who sat on the floor in a small circle.
This sure don’t look too elite to me,
Tyrone thought to himself.
Bernard stood near the circle of guests and opened a brown cigar box he was holding. He removed a large, clear plastic bag filled with white powder. “This is pure Colombian cocaine,” he told the group as he poured some into a glass pipe. A few of the guests nodded their approval at the quality of the drug.
Oh, no.
Tyrone thought to himself, shaking his head in disbelief.
This motherfucker’s about to free-base right here
.
An attractive, dark-skinned woman from the circle handed a lighter to Bernard and he lit the pipe. He smiled as he took a hit and proclaimed, “I feel like a new man already.”
As angry as the whole scene was making him, Tyrone began to perspire. The cocaine was calling him with a longing he had not felt for quite some time. He silently cursed his weakness.
Bernard took one more hit, then bent to hand the pipe to Sylvia. She accepted it without even looking in Tyrone’s direction.
Unable to watch Sylvia smoke, Tyrone closed his eyes. Smoke from the pipe seeped into his nostrils, and the cocaine angels began to sing his song. “
Tyrone, come to me. Tyrone, come here.”
A vision of his two daughters entered Tyrone’s mind, and he regained his willpower. He stood up and walked out the door, bumping into Frederick, who had been standing guard.
“Is there somewhere I can get a cab around here?” he asked Frederick desperately.
“No, sir, but I can have the club limousine take you anywhere you would like to go,” Frederick answered. “Excuse me, sir. I don’t mean to intrude, but is there something wrong?”
“Is something wrong?” Tyrone pointed to the door he had just come through. “Frederick, do you know what’s going on in there?”
“Unfortunately, sir, I do,” he answered shamefully. “And to be quite frank, it sickens me.”
“I know what you mean,” Tyrone said, still in disbelief. “I’ve worked too hard to fuck up my sobriety now.”
“You’re in recovery,” Frederick said with a smile. “That’s good. I picked up a nasty heroin habit in Vietnam. I’ve been clean now almost twenty years. But I must admit, I always feel uncomfortable when they have these private parties in the smoking lounge.”
“So why don’t you call the cops, or, even better, say something to management?”
Frederick smiled kindly. “They don’t pay me eighty thousand dollars a year to run and tell their secrets. I have three children in college who depend on me”
Instantly Tyrone could relate. “Eighty gees, huh? For that kind of loot I’d keep quiet too.” He handed Frederick some keys. “Look, Frederick, I’m gonna catch that limo back to Jamaica. But I want you to hold Sylvia’s keys for me and make sure she gets home safe.”
“I will take care of it personally, sir.”
Tyrone turned to walk down the hall, and Frederick called after him, “Oh, sir! The young lady. Miss Sylvia?”
“Yeah.” Tyrone was standing by the front door, hanging up the jacket that Frederick had lent him.
“This is the first time she’s been in the smoking lounge.” He gave Tyrone an understanding look.
“Thanks,” Tyrone said as he walked out the door. “And you have a Merry Christmas.”
17
KEVIN AND ALICIA
It was four days after Christmas. Kevin and his friends had just finished a delicious southern dinner prepared by his mother. She had insisted that all of them take a second serving of collard greens, candied yams, and turkey wings. The air in the kitchen was heavy with the scent of fresh-baked rolls and the tangy barbecue they had all enjoyed.
“Mrs. Brown, this food is so good, it makes me wanna go back to New York and smack my mama,” Tyrone joked, sucking on a turkey wing so he could get every last drop of the delicious flavor.
“Did you say smack your mama? Why in the world would you wanna do that, Tyrone?” She looked over at him with her hands on her hips.
“Yes, ma‘am, I did say smack my mama. I need to smack her, ’cause she can’t cook this good.”
Mama joined in as they all laughed. She had enjoyed having Kevin’s friends over for the holidays. It had given her a chance to cook some of the special things the doctor said she couldn’t have because of her high blood pressure. A big southern woman, Mama stood about five foot nine with black hair heavily streaked with gray. Sixty years old, it was not unusual for people to ask if she was Kevin’s grandmother instead of his mother. But Mama took it in stride. She had always been mistaken for older than she was, and for her it was just a part of life.
At the age of thirteen Mama dropped out of school to help care for her ten brothers and sisters. Two years later she was nicknamed “Mama” by the local townspeople because she always had at least one small child following behind her. Now she was still known as Mama to most of the residents of the small southern town of Hopewell, Virginia. And just like the old days, she still had her two grandchildren in tow wherever she went.
After dinner Tyrone and Kevin moved their stuffed selves into the living room, where they played spades with Kevin’s two sisters, Phyllis and Whitney. Antoine and Mama moved into the parlor. He was reading
The Philosophy and Opinions of Marcus Garvey
and she was working on a needlepoint design that she planned to donate to the church for their New Year’s bazaar.
In the living room Phyllis and Whitney laughed as Tyrone teased Kevin.
“Damn, what the fuck did you play that card for? Can’t you see I’m cutting diamonds?”
“Watch your mouth,” Kevin scolded, hoping Mama hadn’t heard his cursing. “Look, brother. You play your cards and let me play mine,” he told Tyrone.
“That’d be fine, ’cept that I bet your sister Phyllis dinner and a movie, remember?” Tyrone looked at the score sheet with disappointment. “With you as a partner, it looks like I just might be paying up, huh? And somebody I know was bragging that he invented the game of spades.” He cut his eyes at Kevin, and his sisters giggled.
Before anyone could play another card, Tyrone’s cell phone rang. Kevin grew impatient as the phone rang for a fourth time.
“Aren’t you going to answer it?” he pleaded.
“No, they’ll call back later.” Tyrone dealt the cards. “Right now I got to take care of some of the damage you done.”
“Don’t you think that’s a little rude?” Kevin sounded desperate. His sister Phyllis gave him a strange look.
“Yo, Kev. I know who it is, aw’ight? I really don’t want to talk to her. Just chill.”
“Look, Tyrone, answer the phone,” Kevin demanded. He was tempted to grab the phone and answer it himself. “I left your cell phone number on Alicia’s answering machine in case we went out.”
Pulling his cell phone out of Kevin’s reach, Tyrone, frowned and answered the call.
“Hello?” The expression on his face changed. Kevin’s sisters felt the tension from both men. He was practically shouting into the phone. “Listen to me. I don’t want to hear your apologies. This is the third time you’ve called today, and you’re really not saying anything new. I’ll talk to you when I get back. Bye.”
Without wasting a second he disconnected the call. Tyrone looked at Kevin and shook his head.
“Yo, man. You need to get a grip. You been calling Alicia ten times a day, leaving messages all over New York. If she hasn’t called you back by now, buddy, she ain’t callin’.”
“You know what, Tyrone,?” Kevin’s voice was angry but quiet, because he knew Mama was still in the next room. “When I want your fucking advice, I’ll ask for it.”
He stood up so fast that he knocked over the card table, then stormed out the front door. His sisters looked at each other with eyebrows raised, then turned to Tyrone for an explanation.
“Well, ladies, looks like our game is over” was all he could say.
Outside, Kevin sat on the steps of Mama’s porch and whistled for the family dog, Blue. The golden retriever had been Kevin’s dog since long before he left for college. Blue came running around the house, and as he patted the dog, Kevin smiled for the first time since he had been home.
“You still love me, don’t you, Blue?” Blue gave him a lick on the face as a response.
“Blue’s not the only one who loves you, Kevin.” Mama startled him as she opened the screen door. She sat next to him on the step and put her arm around her son’s shoulders. “This old dog of ours has been around a long time, hasn’t he?”
“Yeah, almost twelve years. I remember when he was a puppy and knocked over that can of blue paint.”
Mama laughed. “Your daddy said right then and there that we was callin’ him Blue.”
“Yeah, Daddy didn’t even get mad that day.” Kevin smiled as he remembered his father.
“Those were good times. Your father couldn’t get mad. He had just finished this here house. That can of blue paint was the last bit of trim for this house.” Mama looked up at the two-story colonial that her husband had built fifteen years earlier.
“I still can’t believe Daddy built this house all by himself.” Kevin looked up at the house in amazement.
“Yeah, he started the day you was born, and it took him eight years to finish. But he promised me that his son was going to live in the prettiest house on the block. And he did it too.”
“Yeah, he did, didn’t he?” Kevin touched the blue trim of the porch. “You know what, Mama? It’s still the prettiest house on the block.”