Tears on a Sunday Afternoon (10 page)

“Any woman at the tables could’ve followed you into the restroom. You and your friend really made an entrance but I see that he’s taken. So, what do you want now that you’ve gotten my attention?” She sat down on a beige chair and crossed her legs. She might have been young but her upbringing must have had some money input.

Our age difference did not give her the right to ask that question. “Shouldn’t I be asking that question? I’m old enough to be your father.”

“If you were interested in being my father, we wouldn’t be in this room right now. Besides, I already have a father.” She was confident. I liked that. “I’m twenty-one, presently a junior at Columbia, and I’m sure you can tell the kind of men I like. You don’t have on a wedding ring, which means that you’re not married; or you took off the ring because your wedding vows didn’t include forsaking all others.”

“How much time do you have?” I asked.

“This is my father’s restaurant. I’m not fucking you in here.”

Even though the thought had crossed my mind, fucking wasn’t paramount to me at the moment. “You live on campus?”

“Hell no! My father has an apartment in Manhattan that I’m using while I’m at school. We live in Mills Basin on Livery Drive.”

“Who are the friends with you?” I asked, trying to complete her character in my head.

“The boy is Carl and he’s gay. He thinks you’re hot. The girls are my friends. They’re all at Yale, but we went to the same prep school. Don’t be so concerned. I don’t hang around children. My cell number is 927-678-2344. By the way, my name is Brenda.” She stood.

I stowed her number in my phone. “What time is good?”

“That would depend on what you’re calling for.” She gave me the look that only a twist of the lock on the bathroom door would satisfy.

“Got it,” I said and turned my attention to the news. The anchorman stated that they had found some leads in the death of a retired New York City corrections officer in upstate New York.

I didn’t hear the door close, but I knew that I was alone in the lounge. I fell down on the couch as my eyes became transfixed on the TV. As always, the anchorman teased viewers with the intro, then went to a commercial. I had avoided the news because I didn’t want to see my face as a wanted man on the TV screen. But now they had caught my attention so I sat back and waited through the GEICO commercial and two other car commercials.

“Donald!”

The news correspondent said that the dead man had an argument with one of his business partners before he went out into the woods. Even though the old man was in his early seventies, he was apparently involved in the production of methamphetamine. The newsman promised to keep viewers up-to-date as this story unfolded.

“Donald!”

“Yes?” I lifted my head to see Brian standing by the door.

“Julie thought you were in here fucking the young girl, but when she saw her come back and you still didn’t return, she sent me to look for you. What were you watching on TV? You look scared.” Brian walked to the TV so he could see what was showing. But the news had already finished and there was a sitcom repeat on.

“You guys get your food already?” I asked.

“Yeah, we’re almost halfway finished. Yours must be cold by now.” Brian was still looking at the TV.

I got up from the couch. “Well, let’s head back.”

“So what’s up with the little misses?” Brian asked.

“We’ll connect on another day,” I said opening the door to the lounge.

“She’s hot and she does attract attention.”

“You’re right. She’s hot but her attracting all that attention could be because she’s also the owner’s daughter.” I held the door open for Brian.

“People say if you go and look in gold mines, you might find some gold pieces and if you look in sewage tanks, you are apt to find shit.” Brian walked through the door.

“Ninety-nine percent of the time you’re right, but that one percent of shit you find amongst the gold can stink the entire place up.” I closed the door and Brian and I walked back to Julie.

I didn’t know what appealed to me about Brenda nor was I sure that I would ever call her. My cell phone address book was filled with numbers of women that I didn’t call. It would be virtually impossible to remember where I had met them all. Then, there were those that I did meet and fuck but, with just a name and phone number, my recollection of the time we had spent together often proved difficult. If I didn’t call a woman within seven days of meeting her, most likely, I would never call.

Julie and I had been out to brunch a few times and I usually ordered a sandwich or a steak omelet. A deluxe turkey sandwich with Swiss cheese was waiting for me that day.

“I see that you’re back to babysitting, Donald,” Julie commented as I was about to bite into the sandwich.

I put it back down. “My dear Julie, what’s a man supposed to do?”

“Be a man, Donald, and show some kind of control. You’re not fifteen anymore,” Julie scolded me.

“Why should I?” I asked as I ate some of the French fries.

Julie always chided me for my promiscuous ways. I sometimes wondered if I had a sexual problem, but that would mean I was symptomatic at a very early age. There are a million different ways to handle stress. For me, sex was the only one that worked. I didn’t have a drug, gambling or any other dependency so I considered myself lucky.

“One day, Donald, your dick will kill you,” Julie said and continued to finish her food.

“As long as it doesn’t stab me in the heart. I hate blood.”

That ended the conversation. The rest of lunch was all about the food.

“How are you doing, Donald?” Malcolm asked.

I didn’t want to be there, much less talk to my father-in-law. “Fine.”

“Well, your face doesn’t look it,” Malcolm said, a glass of champagne in his hand.

We were attending an event in Lauren’s parents’ clubhouse, located by their private dock. My presence as Lauren’s husband had been ordered, not requested. I had walked in with Lauren on my arm like a dutiful husband, which was indeed a painful experience. Malcolm had already introduced me to a few of his business partners who, for a lack of a better word, I found very “creepy.”

“I see someone over there that I need to speak with,” I said, turning around in a bid to make my exit.

“Donald, have you met Peter and his wife, Kathleen?”

I tried my best to hold on to the apple martini, even though I wanted to ball my hand up into a fist. I had only met Peter once as he was leaving the office. He was a much taller man than I remembered.

He stared at me strangely. “You look familiar.”

Malcolm chuckled. “He should, Peter. Donald was one of the main engineers who redesigned your building.”

I stretched my hand out to shake Peter’s and Kathleen’s hands. “Nice to meet both of you.”

The smile etched on Kathleen’s face did not change; she appeared neither nervous nor uncomfortable. She was so at peace in the arms of her husband. They were indeed a wonderful couple. They reminded me of so many of those pay-per-view movies with the strikingly handsome white man and the extremely beautiful woman getting together after going through some terrible times. They didn’t merely get together; they were born to be together.

“I have to pay more attention to the people who come and work in my building,” Peter said.

“Don’t worry about that, Peter. The security system we’ve installed would need the CIA and the FBI combined to take it down,” Malcolm boasted.

“And we all know that that’ll never happen,” Peter added.

I laughed at their dry humor. “Sorry, someone is waiting over there for me. It was a pleasure meeting both of you.”

I walked over to the bar and started a conversation with a man that I had never seen before. He was an associate of one of Malcolm’s business partners. His specialty was foreign imports. After conversing on our employment, he left because he saw someone that he recognized.

I motioned to the bartender. “Let me have some Grey on the rocks.”

“Coming right up.” He turned to prepare the drink.

“Can I have a Socialite?” my wife, who had walked up to the bar, said to the bartender once he returned with my drink.

“One Socialite coming up,” the bartender said.

I glanced at Lauren, then got back to my drink.

“My father said we have to mingle together,” Lauren said as the bartender sat her drink in front of her.

“We do?” I emptied the drink in my mouth and motioned for the bartender to refill.

My wife followed suit with her drink.

The bartender looked at both of us and went to refill our glasses. We had two more refills before my wife slid her hand in mine and we headed back out to mingle. It was going to be a long night. It was painful enough driving there with her, but the return trip was destined to be even worse.

Later on that evening, we joined Dora and Malcolm and took a picture as one happy family. Time and faith prevented me from throwing up. My stomach rattled like a pinball machine as the picture was being snapped. My only recourse for the evening was knowing that, soon, I would be able to tell all of them to kiss my black ass.

“Bye, Mom.” Lauren waved to Dora before getting into my car.

I nodded my head to Malcolm and Dora and reversed out of the driveway.

“You have to give me another child. My mother insists that we should try for a girl. They’re so in love with Emerald,” Lauren said, leaning back into the car seat.

If looks could kill, there would have been one dead lesbian in the passenger seat next to me. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Donald, why are you acting so surprised?” Lauren asked.

“Because, Motherfucking Bitch, you are crazy. I’m not having any more kids with you. I’d rather go and have my shit surgically removed right this second.” I dreaded the thought of such extreme but possibly necessary measures.

“Mom wants us to try for a girl and you know Daddy won’t stop until we do it. He said he’ll
talk to you
and I know what that means.” Lauren looked away. “Donald, I don’t hate you like you do me. With all your faults, you’re still a good father to Emerald. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

The bitch actually seemed genuine when she said that. “Well, Malcolm’s going to have to kill me because there’s no way in hell I’m gonna touch your ass.”

“Donald, do you actually think I’m looking forward to having sex with you? I’d rather swallow a bucket of raw fish gills. Believe me, I’ll have to be under the influence, of something, when we do it.”

“Don’t worry about that, Lauren. We’re not going to be doing anything; except I’m going to keep fucking whomever I want while you’re eating Annette’s pussy. That’s all we’re gonna be doing. Get that through your cobwebbed head.”

The alcohol in my head made me step on the gas much harder than needed. The tires screeched as I took the corners.

“Donald, why don’t you get it through your head? You’ve been bought. My father owns every piece of you. He has your balls in a vise grip and, when he squeezes it, he determines how high you jump. Do you honestly think he’s going to take no for an answer? My mother wants a granddaughter and she’s going to get a granddaughter. I don’t like it, but I’ve accepted it. Don’t act like you’re fighting for some kind of rights; you have none. So, take whatever drug you have to and let’s make this child.”

Every pole that I passed looked like a good way to end it; both of us wrapped around a fucking pole in Brooklyn. Alcohol would’ve been the main culprit. The only thing stopping me from doing that was Emerald. I lived for him. In thirteen days, I’d prance up to Malcolm and tell him to go fuck himself. Money bought power and only power would set me free.

“You think I’m your father’s puppet? My grandmother always told me that every dog has his day and even the biggest dog would one day go down with a whimper. I’m going to repeat myself one last time. I’m not having another child with a lesbian bitch. I don’t care if your father’s God, it’s not happening.”

I pulled the car up into the driveway. The lights in the master bedroom immediately came on.

“Well, I tried to make it easy on you,” Lauren said, getting out of the car. “But your dumb, motherfucking ass won’t listen. I’m not going to let our son see you all fucked up, so we’ll be traveling soon.”

“You’re not taking my son any fucking where!” I shouted. “Now go upstairs and let she-man beat the shit out of you.”

For a minute, Lauren looked like she wanted to cry as she turned and walked slowly into the house. She realized that I was right. Annette always started an argument with her whenever we went to a function. An argument that usually ended with Lauren getting her ass whipped.

Emerald was fast asleep and I wasn’t in the mood to listen to two bitches that night. I put the car in reverse and backed out of the driveway. I maneuvered through my phone book for Brenda’s number and dialed.

“Hello, Brenda,” I said as I turned onto the main road.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“One-thirty.”

I pictured Brenda wiping her eyes and sitting up on the bed. “What do you want?”

“It’s one-thirty,” I repeated.

“You’re a smart one, aren’t you?” She paused. Then she spoke her address slowly and repeated it. “Call me when you’re outside the building. I’m going to come down. We can go by the South Street Seaport.”

There was a rustling noise in the background as I imagined her getting ready.

I had no desire to drive all night. “But it’s closed.”

“Exactly,” she said; a mischievous edge in her voice.

“I’m not going to have a child with you,” I said, losing my reality for a minute.

“What?!” Brenda exclaimed.

“Nothing. I’ll be there in forty.” I pressed the end button. I needed rest, but first I wanted pussy.

I called Brenda from outside the apartment and waited for her to come down. I was the focus of the doorman’s attention as I stood leaning against the Mercedes Benz S500. If I had been a betting man, I’d have predicted that he would’ve called the police when I pulled up at that time of the morning if I had come there in anything less than a Benz.

Brenda sashayed out of the apartment lobby dressed in a short denim outfit. While the skirt did nothing to highlight her beautiful ass, the shortness showed off her beautiful long legs. I held the car door and watched her get in. As she sat down, the skirt rose even higher up her thighs. I looked back at the doorman and winked. He scowled at me. I wasn’t mad at him. While he was slightly older than me, I’m sure he had constant wet dreams about Brenda. There he was, opening the door for her as she came in and out of the building, smelling whiffs of her perfume and taking in the beauty of her youth and the elegance of her style. In his mind, he might have dreamed about her surrendering herself to him on the carpet in front of the building. Him delving into the lushness of her garden, shredding her skirt and taking her places only his mind could imagine. No, but that was not to be the case. Instead, he had to open the door for her to run into my arms, for me to take her places only his mind could dream of. Yes, and when I brought her back, he would be waiting there to open the door to let her in and wait again for someone like me to take her away again.

“So, what made you decide to call me?” she asked, lifting up her bare feet to lay them on the dashboard.

“Your smile,” I said, looking down at her legs.

“You’re funny.” She giggled. “You’re as interested in my smile as our president is interested in democracy in Iraq.”

I was trying hard to find a blemish on her beautiful legs but to no avail. Her legs were also lean and firm, the markings of a runner. “How many miles do you run?”

She looked at me. “Very observant. I run four times a week, about five miles every time. Are you concerned?”

“Concerned about what?”

“That you wouldn’t be able to keep up,” she said with that mischievous smile that nearly made me want to let go of the steering wheel and leap into her arms. Yes, even though this young woman was twenty-one, she had definitely taken Seduction 101 and maybe 202.

“I see that a nice ass is not good enough for you,” I said, knowing that she would know exactly what I’m talking about.

“A nice ass. Please, look around. Most black women and Spanish women have nice asses; even white women are coming up in that department. A nice ass might get a guy to fuck you a few times, but if that’s all you’ve got, he ain’t gonna come back.” Her chemically whitened teeth glistened invitingly. “We sisters can’t depend on our pussy to get a man. There are too many out there with that same thing. You’re a beautiful man. What does it take for you to make a second call?”

“You’re putting me on the spot here, aren’t you?” I asked, parking my car across the street from the South Street Seaport. The place was deserted, as expected. I came out the car and waited for Brenda to get out. She got out and crossed to the driver’s side. She slipped her hand into the crook of my arm and we started to walk across to the seaport.

“So, are you going to answer me?”

The gentle breeze bathed me with the exquisite scent of her perfume.

“Right now, what I look for in a woman is peace of mind. I don’t want to argue and I don’t want to fight. Looks are important but, as you said before, it’s not everything. I want sexiness, but intelligence also. I want strength but humbleness.”

The sound of her shoes hitting the pavement was like a time clock going on and on. We walked past the restaurant and ducked in a corner as we saw a guard passing on the other side. Her breasts rubbed against my chest; rushing even more blood into my already engorged penis. Even though the guard had long been gone, we stood in the corner, our bodies pressed hard against each other. I reached out and slowly removed her jacket. As I let her jacket fall to the ground, I reached down to part her quivering lips with my tongue. As they opened up, I sucked on them ever so gently, feeling her nipples hardening against my chest. She invited my tongue into her mouth and made a sensuous dance with it. I gazed into her eyes and her lust for me was never-ending. I kissed her forehead and traced her face with soft, fluttering kisses, eventually returning to the softness of her mouth. I released her lips momentarily as I unbuttoned her white blouse.