Flip Side of the Game (4 page)

“All I said to Lee was that Mr. James was not all Lee thought he was cracked up to be, and she got pissed,” I explained to Shannon, while she was yelling in my ear about some ole dumb shit and interrupting my conversation with Taj.

“You will apologize!” Shannon yelled. “I will not!”

“You most certainly will! Your mouth is too big, and nobody asked for your opinion.”

“Excuse me? But that nigga is not James Evans from
Good Times
, and Lee's ass ain't Florida.”

“What does that have to do with the price of tea in China?”

“Nothing, but she ain't dating the black knight of the ghetto. She dating the pimp of the pulpit!” Then I hung up. I had to get back to the other line.

“You really need to get it together,” Taj insisted.

He was right, but so what? “Listen, I've explained to you my situation. Hell, Taj, I'm doing you a favor.”

“You're doing me a favor?”

“Yes.”

“Please explain that.”

“I could've just played you, but I didn't. I was straight up with you. Now, listen, I'm willing to be your friend, but the moment you get out of hand, I'ma have to let you know.”

“Oh, so you don't care if I date somebody else?”

“Do you, boo.”

“Really?”

“That's right. Do you. If you like it, I love it.”

“Oh, so you're the master player?”

“Maybe so.”

“Well, I don't like players.”

“Humph,” I said, sucking my teeth. “Don't hate the player, hate the game.”

If Taj felt that he could date somebody else and they would be the freak of the week and the woman of his dreams all at the same time, then go for it!

I turned my radio on, put my feet up, and started singing, “Lipstick is great, ass is straight, and the X5 is outside!” Then I put a human beat box to the end of my song. “It won't be long 'fore Vera have it goin' on.” The doorbell rang, and I did the Cabbage Patch, mixed with the whop, as I opened the door to see Roger standing there with a bouquet of red roses.

“I got us tickets for the Sade concert,” Roger said, smiling and looking stupid.

“Sade?” I asked, totally stunned. Why was he at my door? I hadn't called him. Nobody invited him over here. Tickets to see Sade? Was he serious? Going to a concert to see Sade is something you do with somebody you actually like, not somebody you just bangin'.

“Why'd you do that?” I asked.

“Because today is our one-year anniversary.”

“Are you for real? One year anniversary for what?”

“Since we been together.”

“Since we been together? We haven't been together. We been bonin' for twelve months, but we ain't been together for one day, let alone one year.”

“You mean to tell me that all you care about is the sex?”

“Hell, no!” I wanted to say, “It's all about the Benjamins, baby!” but I figured that would be too much like slippin' on my game, so I decided to apologize and make up a lie about having a bad day. I told him that I just needed a few minutes to get dressed.

This man had it all laid out. There was a stretch X Caliber waiting outside my Brooklyn brownstone, with red carpet rolled from my front door to the feet of the European-dressed driver, who, may I add, looked better than a mu'fucker, especially for a white boy. If I could have positioned my hand just right, I would have tapped that ass while I was sliding into the car. Instead, I winked my eye and mouthed “call me” as he closed the door.

To start the night off, Roger gave me a pair of two carat diamond earrings. We went to Carnegie Hall and watched Sade turn the house out! I tried to get in the mood while Sade was singing, but I couldn't stop thinking about Taj, and Roger kept placing his hand on my damn knee! A couple of times, I gave Roger one of Aunt Cookie's looks that would usually shut 'em down, but not Roger. He was the Energizer bunny, and his mouth kept going and going and going.

This was too much, and when he suggested that we hit Tavern on the Green, I knew that he had officially lost it. Could he have forgotten that he was a married man? Maybe I should have reminded him that his real anniversary was the one that celebrated the day of his marriage to his wife, not me.

“Roger, why are you doing all of this?” I said as the waitress handed us menus.

“Vera, I can't believe you. Most women get all sentimental about things like this, but you're just like whatever.”

“I don't need you to do all of this.”

“Really?” he said, soft and sweet and making me sick at the same time. “That's the nicest thing that you've said to me in a long time.”

“I mean it,” I said. Then I thought to myself,
I don't need you to spend your money on me like this. I would much rather you spend it on that cowhide Chanel bag I've been eyeing at Neiman's.

“Damn, Vera, you are so sweet,” he said, looking deep into my eyes, as if he were actually sexy. “I knew you could be devoted to me. I have a question, though. How come you never call me on the weekends, and why are you always hanging out with your girlfriends? That needs to stop.”

“Excuse me?”

“What's the problem?”

Roger
, I thought to myself,
you old and gray-headed mu'fucker, please trust me enough to allow me to be screwing another nigga on yo' ass!
Then I looked at him, smiled, and said, “You are so much of a good man that I can't wait for the day when we'll be married and you'll be able to see how much you mean to me.”

“Do you realize how beautiful you are?”

Before I could process how ridiculous he was sounding, I heard a voice that placed me in the mind of tranquility. When I looked up, Taj and some skinny little bag of bones chick were being escorted to the table directly across from where Roger and I were sitting.

“Excuse me, Roger,” I said, sliding my chair from the table and standing to greet Taj and his friend.

“Hi,” I said to the young lady as I gave her a quick overview. She had on Star Jones shoes, which were ran over and cheap, a Rainbow Shop polyester pantsuit—hmph, if only I had a match!—and her hair hadn't been done since 1981! I had this chick beat hands down. I arched my back and practically threw my titties in Taj's face.

“I'm Vera,” I said, holding out my hand as a polite gesture. “Oh,” she said, seeming startled. “I'm Aiesha.”

“Very nice to meet you. Interesting suit. What, Target?”

“I didn't catch who you were,” the bitch said, pointing to herself and then to Taj. “I didn't catch who you were to either one of us.”

“This is Vera,” Taj said with a sly smile. “She's a very dear friend of mine.”

A dear friend? “Oh, Taj,” I said, sounding concerned. “This little date seems nice, but if you don't mind, Keisha.”

“Aiesha,” she said, correcting me.

“Whatever. Please sit here and talk to Roger for a moment. Roger, honey, I need just a second to tell Taj something. I don't want him to be embarrassed, so give me a moment to tell him this alone.” Then I hit 'em both with a plastic-ass smile.

Stepping into the foyer, Taj asked, “May I help you?” sounding cocky as a mu'fucker, giving me the screw face. “What seems to be the problem?”

“What is all of this?” I asked.

“What is all of what?”

“The chick in the other room.”

“Excuse me, but does ‘don't hate the player, hate the game' sound remotely familiar to you?”

“Your point?”

“My point?” He chuckled. “You made these rules. Now, let me explain this to you, when you say something, you have to be comfortable with the delivery and the reception. Therefore, when you made your little player comment, you left the door wide open. Understand?”

“Yes, but—”

“No buts,” he said, cutting me off. “We're being rude to our guests, so if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to my party.” He winked his eye, threw on his best Billy Dee voice, and said, “
Ciao, bella
.”

After dinner, I went home and got right in the bed. I tossed and turned for hours. I thought the heat was up too high, causing me to sweat, so I turned the heat off, despite the fact that it was January. I changed my nightie at least three times, but the smoothness of the change in the material, or the prettiness of color, made no difference. I was uncomfortable from the inside out, and for the first time, I was willing to admit that I was upset.

What did they talk about? I wondered. Did he tell her how he grew up on South Fourteenth Street with Malik, Kaareem, Raheem, John, and Big Stuff? Did he tell her how Taniesha was his first girlfriend, but she joined the army and left him for Uncle Sam? Did he tell her how his mother died but left a spirit so strong, that she raised him and his siblings from the grave, while his father helped along?

And, if they didn't talk, did they make love? Did he hold her the same way he held me, tight and close, like running waters? Did he whisper to her and call her his Almond Joy?

I got up, sat in my oversized Laura Ashley recliner, and looked out the window. The last thing I remembered before hearing the phone ring and realizing that I had fallen asleep in the recliner was how pretty the sun looked sneaking into the sky. “Yes?” I said, answering the phone.

“You're still up?” It was Taj.

“No, I've been 'sleep all night,” I said, lying, but relieved to hear his voice. I was forcing myself to sound indifferent.

“I was thinking about you,” he said.

“Really?” I snapped. “Was that before or after ole girl left your apartment?”

“Would it bother you if she just left?”

“Not at all.”

I could hear him smiling. “Open the door.”

“What?”

“Open the door. I'm outside.”

When he walked in, he immediately stepped into my personal space, and he continued until I bumped my head against the wall and had nowhere to turn. His breath was hot and heavy, and I enjoyed the radiance. I was melting with each word, with each touch. My nipples were erect, and my vagina had relaxed, waiting for him to take over.

He placed both of his arms on the sides of my head, resting his hands on the wall. Softly kissing me on the lips, he said, “So, are you ready to change your standards?”

“No.”

“Why are you lying?”

“I'm not.”

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop lying and tell the truth. It's a lot sexier when you tell the truth.” His breathing was rapid, and he was smelling of Cool Water as he started kissing me on my neck.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Exactly what you need me to do.”

“You know I can rap,” Taj said out of the clear blue, and for no reason in particular, other than to hear himself speak. I think he liked the sound of his own voice. Why else would he say some stupid shit about how he liked to rap?

“That's really nice. I guess in your human beat box days they called you M.C. the M.D.?”

“Hilarious! Do you think I have been a doctor all my life?”

“Yeah.”

“Please. You don't know the half of it.”

“Half of what? What, you used to sling rocks? What were you, a baller? Please, Taj.”

“And if I was, I wouldn't tell you. Yo' ass would sell me out in five minutes.”

“Oh, no you didn't. I'm a down-ass chick.”

He cracked up laughing, but I didn't think the shit was funny. He said, “You are so corny. You have outgrown the project shit, so stop tryin' to be down.”

“Anyway,” I said, nixing his comment, “what half don't I know?”

“My better half. She's in Newark with my three kids.”

My heart dropped. “What? What kind of game are you playing?”

“Aw, I peeped your card, caught you caring about the game.”

“Look, what's your point? I'm laying up here in the bed with you, naked, and all you can think to say is a buncha stupid shit!”

“What's the problem? I thought you liked it that way.”

“What way?”

“Games and shit. Zero commitment.”

“I never said anything about games, but zero commitment, yeah, I can dig that.”

“Then why would you care if I have a wife and kids?”

Usually I didn't care, but this time was different. “Do you have a wife and kids?”

“No.”

“Then there's no point to this conversation.”

“There is a point.”

“What?”

“You're in love with me.”

“In love with you? Negro, please! Let me tell you what I love. See, the new Louie V. Japanese Line, I love that, the new Manolos with the water colors and the embroidered beads, I love those.”

“Oh, so you're shallow?”

“No, I'm just not committable.”

“Why not?”

“I'm just not.”

“But why not?”

He was beginning to push my buttons and piss me off. “Look, what are you driving at? You want me to love you, fine, I love you. But I got a crackhead for a mother, a child molester for a father, and a humdinger that raised me. Take it or leave it.”

“Me take it or leave it? You have to decide that. All I want is you.”

“That's a part of me.”

“It may be who you've been, but it doesn't have to control who you are. Do you think you're the only person that had it rough? What do you think South Fourteenth Street in Newark is, the suburbs? You really don't know the half of it. The ghetto is filled with dreams. From the dopefiend to the bum on the street, everybody has a dream, but it's up to you to make your dream come true.

“Hell, nobody would've thought that Taj Bennett would be somebody's doctor. Vera, let me inform you, I was slingin' rock and paying for medical school at the same time. What kinda shit was that? I was trying to save lives, and all the while selling shit that would take 'em away. And to top that off, my mother was dead. My brother and sister don't even remember her.”

“At least you have memories of a mother. I had two fiends trying to raise me!”

“How'd you feel about that?”

“How'd I feel? Hell, wasn't everybody but the schoolteacher and the social worker fiends? Please, you have to be shown different to know different, and living with an old-ass dopefiend who shot up the welfare check and the food stamps ain't no picnic.”

“Why not?”

“Why not? Why not? Because in a dopefiend's world, they don't give a fuck about you. Children have to be born grown, and the only stops they are allowed to make is to get off the bottle and learn how to go to the potty, otherwise, they are an inconvenience. Do you know how many times I have heard, ‘Vera, you fuckin' up my high! Go sit down. You ain't that hungry'?”

“How many times?”

“For eight years! Eight fuckin' years!”

“And then what?”

“Then Aunt Cookie came and she loved me, no matter what.”

“No matter what?”

“Yes, no matter what. No matter how many nights I stole food and hid it in my room. No matter how many nights I cried to see Rowanda.”

“Why did you cry to see Rowanda?”

“Because I thought I needed her.”

“Why?”

“I don't wanna talk about it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can't.”

The room went silent, and deep in my mind I could hear Rowanda cry. I could hear her when she said, “I'd rather be dead then to have a man bust a nut in my baby's bed!” And when she found Grandma naked and bleeding, she swore to me that she would never leave. She swore that she would always be here, and she lied. She lied. I tried not to let too much snot drip from my nose as I cried into the hairs on Taj's chest.

He rubbed my back and said, “All you gotta do is let it go, baby. All you gotta do is let me in.”

 

 

“Roger,” I said the next morning, getting directly to the point, while I was giving myself a fresh pedicure, “you are not coming over here.”

“But why not?”

“Because I said no!”

“You know, Vera, when I get a moment to catch you, I'ma break yo' ass! You starting that shit again.”

“What shit again?”

Just as I said that, Taj came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, and he had his cell phone to his ear.

“Roger, I gotta go. Call me later. Smooches. Taj, who are you talking to?”

“Excuse me? Who am I talking to? Well, it certainly isn't Roger.”

“You heard my conversation?”

“Yeah, I heard you, but it's all good. Which is exactly why I'ma step and give you the space you need to play this cat and mouse game.”

“Cat and mouse game? You the one mackin' on the line in my bathroom!”

“Baby, let me tell you something,” he said, taking off his towel and rubbing baby oil across his chest and into his nipples. “I don't have to play those games. If I want to talk to a young lady, I don't need your permission. And for your information, I was checking my voice mail. But you check this, don't disrespect me again, because I don't play that shit. I got the player's hustle down pat, so stop trying to play me, because if I gave it back, yo' ass would break!

“Now, I may be a doctor, but I can be just as ghetto as you are, so don't be fooled. And believe this when I tell you, the next time you try and play me, you can kiss me, my friendship, and the tolerance I have for your ass good-bye!”

“Excuse me?”

“Excuse you? Well, maybe this time, but the next time you try and play me for stupid by talking to some other man while I'm here, I won't be returning. You understand?”

“Yes,” I responded out of shock and surprise. Had I just been read? And if my genital area wasn't soaked and wet from the ambiance of being told what to do, my feelings would've been hurt. But shit, I had to hit this nigga off right then and right there, 'cause he had my coochie all the way live!

I didn't say a word. I just stood in front of him and slowly slid the straps of my black silk nightie off my shoulders, revealing the beauty of my 38Cs, and then I straddled across his lap, making him lay back and allowing him to feel as if he had been hand delivered to the moon.

“You know, baby,” Taj said after I finished wearing his ass out, “making love to you is sweet as hell, but I'm out. I'll call you in a few days.”

“What?” That was usually my line. What the hell was he talking about? “What did you say?”

“I said I'll call you in a few days.”

“And why is that?”

“Excuse me? Didn't you just tell me not that long ago that I shouldn't hate the player?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, then I'm taking your advice.”

“But.”

“No buts, baby. Plus, you just tried some ole ghetto slick shit, and I didn't appreciate it.”

“Well.”

“No wells.”

Oh, this mu'fucka was 'bout to piss me the fuck off! How the hell was he tryin' to act like I didn't just get finished knockin' his ass down? And now that he done conveniently came all over the place and got my coochie filled with so much cum that my ovaries were probably drowning, he thought that he could look me in my face and say that he'd call me in a few days? Oh, I don't think so, 'cause Vera don't roll like that!

“Look, Taj,” I said, letting him know that I was pissed the hell off.

“Look Taj what?”

“Stop cutting me off, goddamnit!” He shot my ass a look. “Didn't I just say that I was sorry?”

“You said you were sorry? Vera, please, who you think you talking to? This is Taj, baby.”

“I know who you are.”

“Well, then you should know that you didn't apologize to me.”

“What do you think all of what just happened between us was?”

“Sex.”

“Sex?”

“Sex. Sweet-ass, soaking wet, bustin'-a-nut sex. That's it. But I'm with you, baby. You're a freak to the core, and if you played the other part of your game correctly, the part where I like to be treated nice and more like your man, then we would be straight. However, if for one minute you think that you can talk to another brotha in my presence and all you have to do is hit me off, then you really don't know who you're messing with.”

Oh, no his ass didn't. I'm mistaken, right? This fool done stole all my lines. What the hell was this?

Before I finished my thought, Taj reached over me, grabbed his clothes, got dressed, and walked out of the room.

“When should I expect to hear from you again?” I heard my dumb-ass yelling.

“We'll talk,” he yelled back.

“We'll talk?”

“Yeah, baby. My hair appointment for you to twist my dreads is Thursday.”

“Hair appointment? Thursday? It's Sunday!”

“Very good, baby.” And the nigga left.

Fuck him, though. Vera got this.

 

 

It had been three days, and I couldn't continue to take this. Was this what was called being in the doghouse? Was this nigga playing me? But you know what? Fuck him! Yeah, fuck him! Vera got this.

I ran some bath water, splashed in some Bath and Body Works' raspberry bath oil, lay back, turned on the shower radio, and closed my eyes. WBLS was playing the Quiet Storm and Natalie Cole (of all goddamn people) was singing about how to keep a good man, 'cause all of sudden she's catching hell.

As soon as she went off, here comes Xscape singing “Who Will I Run To.” I had to laugh. Why the hell is a group named Xscape singing about who will they run to? Hell, just leave. Get it? Escape!

Oh my God, and this was the killer, Whitney Houston's, “Saving All My Love for You”! Oh, no she didn't! Whitney had officially lost her damn mind. She was gonna have to save her love, 'cause Bobby couldn't stay the fuck outta jail. I knew I had a lot of nerve, but these brokenhearted bitches were gonna have to shut the fuck up!

Before I could turn the radio off, the phone rang. While getting up to answer the phone, I couldn't quite lift my leg up high enough, so I tripped getting out of the tub and slid on the floor.

“Hello?” I said, trying not to sound desperate. “Vera,” Roger said, “listen.”

I said this nice and slow, “What . . . the . . . fuck . . . do . . . you want?”

“Hold the hell up. Why are you talking to me like this?”

I just hung up and jumped back in the tub. I couldn't stop thinking about Taj. Technically, I should've been mad as hell, but I was trying to be a big girl about the situation and not sweat it. I must admit your girlfriend was pissed.

Just then the phone rang again. I got out the tub, grabbed a towel, and answered the phone.

“Hello?” It was a telemarketer. What the fuck! To hell with this. I had more things to do than to be soaking in the tub and thinking about Taj. Hell, he wasn't my man.

An hour into doing absolutely nothing, I lay on the chaise in my bedroom and pressed play on the DVD. I decided to watch
Love Jones
, which was totally the wrong move, because as soon as Lorenz Tate started reciting poetry, I got pissed the fuck off. But I was forced to watch the whole movie. What else was there to do?

I thought I heard the phone ringing, but when I picked it up, I realized it was the phone on the TV. Then I thought I heard the doorbell ringing, and when I jumped my fat ass up to answer the door, I realized that it was for the Brownstone next door. Instantly, I got pissed off. That's when I could have sworn that the phone was ringing again, but then I thought about how, technically, the shit hadn't rang but twice since last night, and it was now six o'clock in the morning, so my phone must have been broken.

I called the operator and said, “Hello, this is Vera Wright-Turner.” I gave her my phone number. “Uh, my phone isn't working.”

“Really? What seems to be the problem?” the operator said.

I realized at that point that I had officially lost my mind. “Sorry to bother you. It seems to be okay now.” I hung up the phone and then called Shannon.