So You Call Yourself a Man (9 page)

The damn plane couldn't fly fast enough to get me back to Seattle. I had to find out what the hell was going on with my family. I still had Jessica's letter in my hand. I must have read it a thousand times, trying to decipher every last word she'd written. I'd been second-guessing myself and every decision I'd made since we'd met seven years ago, but I still couldn't come up with a reason why she might do this to me and our family. Jessica knew how much I loved her. Not only did I tell her every day, but I showed her in ways other guys never would. Deep down inside, I still wanted to believe this was all a sick joke.

After my plane landed, I ran straight through the baggage claim area to the exit for the cab stand. I didn't give a damn about my luggage. I'd get that later. Once in the cab, I gave the driver my address and told him to step on it. Of course, you know I tried to call my house again, but I still got that recording. I even tried to call my landlord, Mr. Hopkins, to see if he knew what was going on, but he didn't answer either. For the next fifteen minutes, I stared blankly out the window. When we pulled in front of my apartment, my hands started shaking so badly I couldn't pull out the money to pay the driver. I was scared, more scared than I'd ever been in my life, but that fear was overridden by my desperation to see if my family was still in our home.

I did have a glimmer of hope when I started up the walkway and spotted my Corvette in my assigned space. In her letter, Jessica had written that she'd sold my prized possession. There was a good chance that if the 'Vette was there, Jessica was just calling my bluff so we wouldn't move back to New York. She might have been the one who suggested we move back East, but after all, she did despise James and Brent. She felt they were bad influences on me. Unfortunately, the feelings were mutual. My friends had never liked her, especially James, and now his preaching was sounding more and more like prophecies.

When I stepped in front of my apartment, I heard voices coming from behind the door. I couldn't make out what was being said, but I distinctly heard both a man's and a woman's voice, and I felt my heart sink. My mind had been clouded ever since the delivery man dropped off my shit along with that Dear John letter. It wasn't cloudy anymore, though. Suddenly I had clarity, and the only thing that was going through my mind was that Jessica had a man in my house and I was going to kill her. No, I was going to kill both her and the man.

I reached for my keys to open the door, but thankfully common sense prevailed. I walked away from the door and headed to my car. Oh, don't get me wrong. I was still gonna kill both of them. Jesus Christ himself couldn't stop me from doing that. But I wasn't about to rush in there with my bare hands to do it. For all I knew, that fool in there with her could have been a karate expert, or even worse, some type of thug with a gun. I had to go in there prepared.

I opened the trunk of my Corvette and pulled out the spare as quickly as possible. Underneath it was a wooden box I'd been hiding for years. No one knew it was there, including Jessica. I took out the box and tucked it under my arm, then placed the spare back where it belonged. I got in my car, looking around to make sure no one was watching before I opened the box. Inside it was a black nine-millimeter semiautomatic handgun with two fully loaded clips.

I stared at the gun, wondering how the hell things had come to this. I'd been a good, faithful husband. Yes, I liked to look at women's asses, but I'd never strayed, even when it came to Tiffany last week. I guess Jessica never really knew how much I loved her. Well, she was about to find out.

I pushed one of the clips into the gun, then pulled back the hammer, sliding a bullet into the chamber. I stuck the gun into my belt, then covered it with my shirt as I stepped out of the car. I walked briskly back to my apartment and waved nonchalantly to my landlord, who was calling my name as he parked his car. I didn't have time to deal with Mr. Hopkins. I had business to attend to.

I stood at the door and pulled the gun out of my pants. I still couldn't make out the conversation behind the door, but at this point, I really didn't care. Surprisingly, I was a lot calmer than I would have thought. I hated the idea that things had come this far, but I loved Jessica, and if I couldn't have her, nobody would. I took out my key and quietly stuck it in the door as I went over my plan in my head.

The plan was to surprise Jessica and her friend, possibly even catch them in the act of intimacy. I was going to shoot the man first because brothers were always trying to play the hero. Jessica I wasn't worried about because she was only five-five, a hundred and thirty pounds, so if she jumped bad, I could take care of her with one hand. Once I shot the dude, I'd make Jessica explain to me where things went wrong between us, then I'd take one last look at that phat ass of hers before blowing her away. Once that was all said and done, I'd go in the kitchen, grab a cold beer, and chug it down. I'd then sit down at the table with a pen and paper and write my last will and testament. I wasn't about to explain myself or my actions. I'm sure anyone who found our bodies would be able to figure that out. I just wanted to make sure my kids went to Brent instead of my trifling-ass brother or Jessica's parents. I knew he and Alison would take care of them like they were their own. When I finished writing my will, I'd probably smoke one last cigarette before sticking the gun into my mouth and pulling the trigger.

Turning the knob slowly, I pushed the door open. The short, stout brother sitting on the sofa watching
my
TV didn't even notice me as I crept up next to him. The first question that came to my mind was,
What the fuck did she see in him?

“You're a lot fatter than I expected,” I told him in a low, even whisper. I had the gun pointed at the side of his head.

“Oh, shit. Please don't kill me, mister,” he pleaded. He shut up when I pushed the tip of the gun against his head.

I couldn't help it. I laughed when I saw a puddle forming on the leather sofa and realized he had pissed on himself. “Damn, you a nasty motherfucker.” I continued to laugh, but stopped abruptly when I remembered it was my couch he had pissed on. “Do you know how much this sofa cost?” He didn't say anything, and I didn't have time to dwell on stupid shit that wouldn't matter in ten minutes. Besides, piss stains on the couch weren't half as bad as the stains his brains were going to make when they splattered on it.

“Where is she?” I demanded.

“In the bathroom.” I couldn't believe he hadn't attempted to move out of that lake of pee he was sitting in.

“Call her.”

He hesitated, so I pressed the gun harder against his head. That got him talking. “Honey?” he croaked. “Honey, come here for a minute.”

Who the fuck was he to call my woman “honey”? I wanted to pull the trigger right then and there, but I didn't because I wanted Jessica to see him die.

We both watched the bathroom door open, and to my surprise, it wasn't Jessica who stepped out, but a tall, brown-skinned woman in her early thirties whom I'd never seen before. What confused me even more was that she was wearing the silk robe and slippers I'd bought for Jessica on Mother's Day. I think it took a few seconds for her to realize what was going on, but when she did, she screamed. I didn't give a damn about her screaming. I just wanted to know what the hell was going on. And where was my wife?

I motioned with the gun for the woman to sit down next to the man, then I moved in front of them. Out of nowhere, she hopped up off the sofa, feeling her pants. She looked at her ass, then the man. “Did you pee on yourself?”

“Yeah, he did,” I said with a laugh. The woman rolled her eyes, shaking her head as she moved to a dry spot on the opposite side of the sofa.

“Is there anyone else here?” I moved the gun from him to her, then back to him.

“No, just us,” the man replied as he began to beg for his life again. He actually started to cry. “Please, mister, you can have everything we got. Shit, you can even have her. She don't suck dick, but the pussy's pretty good. Just don't hurt me, man.”

“You trifling, punk-ass little bitch!” the woman shouted. “I don't suck your dick 'cause it's so small I can't hardly find it. Mister, will you shoot this motherfucker, please?”

I laughed. These two were like a comedy act. Only problem was, I didn't have time to catch the show.

“Where is Jessica?” I demanded. Suddenly forgetting their little disagreement, they stared at me as if I was insane. I lifted the gun, moving it back and forth between them as I asked my question again. “Where is Jessica?”

“She's gone, Sonny.” I glanced over to my right, and standing in the doorway was my landlord, Mr. Hopkins. He took a few steps toward me with his hands up.

“Gone where, Mr. Hopkins?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I don't know, Sonny. All I can tell you is, she had two young men with her yesterday when she gave me the keys. She said they were her brothers.”

“Mr. Hopkins, Jessica doesn't have any brothers.”

He took a few more steps. “I'm sorry to hear that, but now that you mention it, Jessica did seem awfully friendly with one of those young fellas.” He put out his hand. “You need to give me the gun, Sonny. You're scaring these nice people.”

I'd forgotten about them. “These nice people are trespassing. And I think they know something about where my wife is.” I pointed the gun at the man, who started to cry again.

“No, you're the one who's trespassing, Sonny. As of yesterday, this apartment legally became theirs.”

“How? My lease isn't up 'til the end of the month. I still got twenty days plus my security deposit.”

“Jessica gave up tenancy, so I gave her the security. I guess you forgot the apartment was in her name. If I remember correctly, you insisted on that.”

I let out a long breath. This had to be a nightmare.

“If she gave up tenancy, why is all our furniture still here? Damn, she didn't even take down one picture.”

“The lady who used to live here sold us everything in the apartment for twenty-five hundred dollars, and that included her car,” the woman snapped out boldly. She was no longer funny. She was starting to piss me off.

“Twenty-five hundred dollars! That car's worth twenty thousand dollars.” I felt like I was going to be sick. I had rebuilt that car from the ground up.

“Well, it's ours, and we got a bill of sale and a signed title, so we ain't giving it back.” She must have forgotten I had a gun, she was running her mouth so much. I pointed the gun at her head. I don't think her coward-ass man forgot, though.

“Look, man, she don't speak for me. As far as I'm concerned, you can have my half of the car. Just don't shoot me, aw'ight?”

“You one pussy-ass nigger, Darin, you know that?” she shouted at her husband. “Shoot him, mister. Please shoot him. I'm Catholic, so I can't get divorced. But if you shoot him, I'm a free woman and I swear I won't tell.” That crazy-ass wench almost sounded sincere.

“Give me the gun, Sonny.” Mr. Hopkins lit a cigarette, and I wished I had one.

“You still haven't told me why, Mr. Hopkins. Why would she do this? Why would she give up all her stuff?”

“Give me the gun, Sonny, and let's go have a drink. I'll explain what I know down at the bar.”

“What about them? They gonna call the cops?”

Mr. Hopkins looked at the couple. “No, they're not gonna call the cops. Not if they want the next couple of months' rent free, they won't. Am I right, Mrs. Brown?”

“How many months?” the greedy woman asked.

“Three,” Mr. Hopkins replied in an annoyed grumble, and the woman smiled. “Now, come on, Sonny, give me the gun. I think we both need a drink.”

After a few seconds, I dropped my shoulders and handed him the gun. Then I walked over to the wall and took down my family portrait. We walked out of the apartment to the sound of the couple fighting over the piss puddle on
their
new couch.

“Hey, Michelle, you got any beer?”

“I don't know. Look in the fridge. I'm trying to get dressed,” she shouted from her bedroom. “Next time you come over here, you need to bring your own damn beer.”

I got up from the sofa and frowned as I headed to the kitchen. I'd been trying to work things out between Michelle and me since we'd taken Marcus to the hospital a month ago. She wasn't making things easy, though, despite her comments at the hospital. You'd think she'd be grateful that I'd pulled myself away from my family after a hard day's work, then made up another lie to my wife to come babysit Marcus, but I don't think she gave a damn. In fact, I think she was starting to take it for granted that I'd be there whenever she needed me. I felt more like her personal slave than I did a father to her son.

This was the tenth time she'd asked me to babysit since she told me I was Marcus's father. In my heart, I still wasn't sure if I believed he was my child, but I was playing the happy camper until I could get a paternity test. In the meantime, I was stuck as Michelle's all-too-often babysitter. What was supposed to be a once-in-a-while thing was starting to get out of hand quickly. I didn't know how much longer I could take this shit, or how long it would take before Cathy started to get suspicious. So far she hadn't questioned my late-night excuses for leaving the house, but it was just a matter of time.

As I went into the kitchen to grab a beer, I passed Michelle's room and did a double take. She was standing in front of a mirror, putting on her makeup. Her hair had been recently done in a light-brown curly weave, and she was wearing a short black miniskirt, heels, and a black halter top. Her outfit left nothing to the imagination, and she looked more like she was going to the club than to work.

“Do you mind?” she snapped, closing her bedroom door.

“Sorry,” I told her.

I continued into the kitchen, wondering if the door being open and the dramatic way she closed it might have been her way of flirting. Why else would she be wearing something sexy like that if she had to put on her uniform in a minute to go to work? It didn't matter what she wore; I wasn't interested. And without giving it another thought, I went and got a beer and some chips from the top of the fridge so I could sit down on the sofa and watch some TV.

About ten minutes later, I hollered down the hall to let Michelle know she was running late for work. She didn't answer, but pranced out of her bedroom, spinning around like she was on a DKNY runway and Donna Karan herself was taking the pictures. She'd changed her outfit too. This time she was sporting a pair of red skintight hip-huggers with a matching Baby Phat halter top and six-inch stilettos. I had to admit she looked damn good, even as I wondered why the hell she was dressed like that to go to work.

“How do I look, James?”

“You look aw'ight,” I told her nonchalantly.

I'd been through this game with her when we first started messing around a few years back, so I wasn't about to start complimenting her on her appearance, no matter how good she looked. Last thing I needed was for her to start getting the wrong idea about us. I was there because I had to be, and anything else was out. It was not that kind of party.

“What do you mean aw'ight? I don't look good?” Michelle pivoted on one foot and put a hand on her hip. She expected an answer right away. When I didn't give her what she wanted, she spun around and walked back to her bedroom. “You know, I think I'm going to wear my black leather pants. I'll be right back.”

“You better chill with your little fashion show or you gonna mess around and be late for work.”

Again she didn't reply, but five minutes later she emerged in a pair of tight black pleather pants and the black halter top she had on earlier. She looked absolutely hoe-ish, and there was no way I could see her going to work wearing that. Then again, maybe she had a training class or something.

“How about this? Now, this looks good, doesn't it?” Michelle sauntered past me, then twirled so I could get the full effect. Once again I didn't respond, but I did look at my watch.

“What time you gotta be at work?”

She stared at me silently for a few seconds. “Why?”

“'Cause it's nine o'clock. Don't you have to be to work at nine?”

There was hesitation in her eyes.

“I ain't going to work tonight,” she spat, the look on her face finishing the sentence with,
Mind your own damn business.
What she forgot was the fact that me sitting there made it my business.

“What? I don't believe this shit.” Something inside me began to churn and the words “stupid ass” felt like they were being written on my forehead. I didn't even like how my voice was beginning to sound—like the voice of a chump. I was starting to get pissed. “If you ain't going to work, then what the hell am I doing here?”

“You here to babysit,” she said as if it was law and I didn't have any say in the matter.

“Oh, really? So while I'm babysitting, where you think you goin'?”

“I don't think anything. I
know
I'm going to the club with my girls. It's ladies' night at the Q-Club. They're having male strippers and everything.” She was grinning like a Cheshire cat, and all I wanted to do was knock that smile right off her face.

“I thought you said you needed me to babysit while you were at work, Michelle.”

“Well, you thought wrong. I told you I needed you to babysit. I never said anything about going to work.” She actually had the nerve to laugh, and I was one step closer to knocking the shit outta her.

“Well, if you're going out, you better find a babysitter, 'cause I'm outta here.” I stood up and started walking to the door, but she jumped in front of me.

“Where you think you're going?” Michelle was in my face, her finger stabbing at my chest.

“Home to my wife and children,” I told her bluntly. “I gotta get up at six in the morning for work. I don't got time for these games.”

“You're not going anywhere until I get back from the club.” She lifted her finger until it was about two inches from my nose. “Don't piss me off, James. I was planning on coming home early, but I could stay out all night.”

“I don't give a damn when you come home. I'm not going to be here.” I took a step toward the door and she took a step to block me. When I tried to get around her again, she stepped in front of the door so it would be impossible for me to open it without physically moving her. I didn't want to lay my hands on her, because they might take on a life of their own and do things I'd vowed I would never do to a woman.

“Get outta my way, Michelle.”

“I said no! Now, you gonna babysit tonight so I can go out, or I promise you I'll make your life a living hell.”

“You think you haven't already? Now move, damn it!” She folded her arms defiantly and I took a step closer. I really needed to get out of there before I hurt her. She was pulling something out of me that had never surfaced before, and the funny thing is, I really didn't care. Yes, I knew if I hit her I'd end up in jail, but I was starting to think it might just be worth it.

“Why, so you can go home to that bitch of yours?”

“You calling my wife a bitch?” I could feel myself start to hyperventilate, the muscles in my neck and shoulders bulging. At the same time, my hands were now balled up into fists. There was no doubt in my mind that things were about to become physical. I think Michelle sensed it because without saying another word, she stepped out of my way. “Tell Marcus I'll try to call him tomorrow,” I said.

She sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes, which made me smile when I walked out the door. I'd finally stood up to her. I felt like a prizefighter who'd been getting his ass whipped the entire fight but found a way to knock out his opponent in the final round. It felt good to finally win one. I was going to have to be sterner with Michelle in the future. She wasn't the type you could reason with. You had to tell her how it was going to be. Now that I looked back on it, I wished I had stood up to her on day one.

“Hey, James,” Michelle shouted after me. “You might wanna hear this before you go home.” I turned to see her standing on the walkway about fifteen feet from my car. She was grinning so wide, I knew something bad was about to happen.

“What do you want, Michelle?”

“Oh, nothing…. I just thought you might wanna hear what I'm about to tell your wife.” She flipped open a black cell phone that I hadn't even noticed was in her hand. My heart almost stopped when she started pushing numbers and raised the phone to her ear. “Hello, Mrs. Robinson, you don't know me, but my name is Michelle, and—”

She never finished the sentence. Within seconds, I had knocked the phone out of her hand and the two of us were scrambling on the ground, trying to get it. I never hit her once, but when it was all said and done, I had her pinned to the ground with my body, and the cell phone was closed in my hand. Despite being on what you might call the losing end, Michelle was laughing her ass off.

“What the hell is so funny?”

“We used to wrestle just like this back in the day, when you had to go home and I'd take your keys because I didn't want you to leave, remember?”

Yeah, I remembered all right. After we wrestled, we'd always ended up making love again before she'd let me leave. I looked in her face, and for the first time since she'd told me Marcus was my son, the glow was back. We stared at each other for a few seconds without saying a word. I don't know if it was the fact that we'd just finished wrestling or what, but I had this crazy urge to kiss her, and I'm sure she would have reciprocated if I had. I brought my lips closer to hers as I considered going forward with my urge. I knew if we kissed, we were going to end up in bed doing all the freaky shit men do with their mistresses that they won't do with their wives. And that was the trap: the kinky shit, shit I wanted to do with Cathy but was too afraid to ask, that had you coming back again and again for more.

I lowered my lips even closer to Michelle's, but before I pressed them against hers, I thought,
Why can't I ask Cathy to do the kinky stuff Michelle would do? After all, she is my wife. That's why we're married.
And on that note, the glow was gone and I had no more desire for Michelle. I pulled my head back and pushed myself off her. I could tell from her expression she was disappointed, but she didn't say anything.

Just then, her phone rang, and we both knew it was Cathy calling back.

“So, I guess I'm going to the club now, huh?” I nodded and she said, “You better let me answer it, because she's just gonna keep calling.”

I took a leap of faith and handed her the phone.

“Hello?” I watched as she listened, praying she wasn't going to do anything stupid. “Yes, I'm sorry about that, Mrs. Robinson. I must have dropped the signal. Like I was saying, you don't know me, but my son is in the same grade as your son, James. I was wondering if you could tell me who to call to get him in the Little League.”