Beyond the Hurt (3 page)

Happy Birthday C Smooth! Consider this the last time I make you an offer. Enjoy. Take it to the head!

              C. Rogers

He sent the bottle to the VIP section where Charles and all his homeboys and special ladies were seated. Lance immediately spotted the exchange and intercepted the bottle and the note. He knew that his boy Charles was too drunk to keep his temper from flaring up. Lance and Charles had been boys since they were in elementary school, playing baseball at the neighborhood park. He was slightly younger than Charles, but they kept a tight knit bond like brothers. Lance always made sure to look out for his boy. If Charles was fighting, Lance was fighting too. As a mother, if Raquel could trust anyone to look out for her son, it was Lance.

Lance slowly motioned toward Calvin to meet him by the side of the velvet rope by their VIP section and signaled to his hip where he flashed his .40 Smith & Wesson, to let Mr. Rogers know that if he was there to start trouble it wouldn’t be a beautiful day in the neighborhood. Calvin Rogers was not one to be intimidated. He took this as an immediate threat and quickly went in his coat for his .45 ACP; he shoved the 250lb security guard to the side and came straight toward Lance with the gun pointed straight in his direction. The deejay stopped the music and all attention was on the two men. All the tipsy scantily dressed women with their five-pound weaves made every effort to maintain their composure through the pushing and shoving. One glimpse of the pistol sent all the club goers into a frenzy screaming and scattering through the nightclub, knocking over drinks and chairs as to dodge any blows or worse a bullet.

Chairs were hurled through the air from every direction. Security created a human barricade like the Great Wall of China for the safety of those in close proximity to the commotion. The security guard quickly knocked the gun from Calvin’s hand and it slid to the floor. The only logical move for any man to do in this scenario was to go to blows and that is how the brawl started. Calvin managed to ease his way out of the club before the lights came up; he had plenty of backup to handle his dirty work. Charles remained oblivious to the whole situation; unknowledgeable that a fight had broken out on his behalf; he was engulfed in his private birthday festivities featuring a young petite sister that became his main attraction. Her conversation was not as nearly as enticing as her body language. She stood about 5’9” in her red, form-fitting tube-top dress and four-inch heels with the strap exposing her French tip pedicure. None of which Charles noticed, considering he was wrapped up in conversation of him showing her his birthday suit, to accompany her birthday sex. However, Raquel made sure to keep Charles from exposing to her the details of where that ended.

Once the lights came up, the party was definitely over. Everyone made his or her move toward the door. The police were called and everyone scattered. It was Charles’ party and his guests, so he was held responsible. Not to mention the fact that Lance was in possession of his unregistered gun.

“You're looking at ten years for two counts of assault, reckless endangerment and gun possession.” The judge mocked, reminding him of what the chargers were against him.

As the judge spoke, several thoughts ran through Raquel’s head.
One thing a mother should always have is loyalty to her family. Even when they make mistakes and do wrong, but it was clearly not his fault. I always make sure that he suffers the consequences of his actions. I just can’t leave that up to the justice system. Not in America. They will eat my son alive. True, I have made jokes and said that he may be better off, but what kind of mother would I be to leave my son out to dry. I didn’t come all the way down to this courthouse for nothing.
Immediately she interjected, “Your honor, my son was responsible for nothing less than having a night out with friends. I can guarantee that my son had no part in this situation. As a matter of fact, at the time of the brawl he got a call from his dad and was talking to him in the alley. I have a written affidavit from him to prove it. Not to mention, his father is on his way here to give his testimony.” When all else fails, lie and have an alibi.

Chapter 3

Lance slowly pulled up to the old-fashioned, yellow, two-story house of his childhood. It stood nestled in the cul-de-sac on the block, bumping his speaker system as loud as he could stand, broadcasting to the neighbors of his arrival. It was 6:15pm and the sun was already beginning to descend on the day. He checked his face in the mirror to make sure his full freshly lined goatee was on point and to ensure that he didn’t have any un-welcomed eye crud. Lance always made sure he was well groomed; the ladies in his life would have it no other way. He was your typical masculine man, but he knew how to dress the part for any occasion. He was a fashion connoisseur in his own right. He placed the car in park and noticed one of his three cell phones was vibrating in the passenger seat. Recognizing Charles’ number on the screen he quickly answered before it went to voicemail.

“Yo my boy, how did court go?” Lance pressed Charles over the phone. He pulled out his house key, walked into his mama’s house and threw his coat and bag on the plastic-covered couch in ritual.             

“You wouldn’t believe what happened man…” Charles began, quickly interrupted by the sounds of Miss Lydia in the background.

“Is that you, son?” his mama called out to him. Lance made his way into the aroma-filled kitchen. “Get off that phone walking in my house; you know I don’t play that!” Lydia slapped her son across the back of his head playfully as he kissed her on her cheek. Lydia Brown made it a point to schedule a weekly dinner with her one-and-only son. It was their special time together. She knew between all of the women her son ran between, none of them knew how to take care of him. Plus she was out of touch with men in her age bracket, so she settled for mother-and-son-date-night to keep her life exciting. The only hearty meal he would eat was through her kitchen. She felt the only way for him to maintain his 6’0” 220lb muscular frame was to nourish him with Louisiana, Southern home-style cooking, which she knew the hood rats had no clue how to conjure up.

“That’s Moms. You know how that goes, don’t want to get her all worked up. I will get at you later! One!” Lance immediately hung up the phone, knowing his mom didn’t play, plus he knew she was cooking his favorite meal: succulent fried chicken, ox tails and gravy, golden-brown baked macaroni and cheese, okra, corn, and tomato medley and sizzling hot water cornbread. Lydia had a tendency of going overboard when it came to her son, as if she was in competition with the women he dated. There was no way in hell he was going to jeopardize a home-cooked meal. None of the females that he frequently entertained could hold a knife to his mom’s cooking. As a matter-of-fact, they didn’t even cook at all. He spent the majority of his TSA cash taking them out to expensive restaurants and buffets.

“Lance baby, what’s going on with Charles? Is everything okay?” Lydia questioned, concerned about her son’s childhood friend after he ended his call. She overheard him mention Chuck and knew he had been previously involved in some altercation through the grapevine.

“Everything is good, Mama. I’m good; he’s good, we all good ’n da hood. Don’t trip” he joked as he picked off a piece of the cornbread and shoved it into his mouth before his mama could snatch it out of his hand or it burned his fingertips.

“You ain’t gonna want to eat yo’ dinner! And your hands are dirty, Boy!” she scolded, covering the cornbread, swatting again in his direction.

“What am I? Five? I am a grown ass man, and believe me, I will eat all my dinner!” he responded, patting his chest. “I got this!”

“Boy please, sit yo’ tail down! I need to talk to you.” Whenever she mentioned needing to talk, he braced himself knowing she was going to dive nose deep into his business. It was probably the reason for the Thanksgiving meal she prepared. “Now, there is this beautiful, really nice young lady I met a few weeks back and she came in the bank today,” she started without fail.

“No, Mama…nah! Hell nah!” he demanded, shaking his head and hand in unison. He knew exactly where his mama was going with the conversation and this was his attempt to stop her in her tracks before she got too deep into his life. “Mama, I got
hoes
, bad
broads, tricks and chicks,
you name it. I don’t need no nice lady, you trippin.” Sometimes he forgot to whom he was speaking and blurted out to her as if she were one of his homeboys. As soon as the words parted his lips, he regretted it.

“Let me remind you that I am yo’ mama and not one of them raggedy street boogers you run around town with, you better respect me in my house.” She popped him playfully on his hand, but topped it off with her
you are not too old to get your butt whooped
face and continued with her original statement. She believed the adage
I brought you into this world; I can surely take you out
. “Now I don’t care for these ‘heifers’ that you are running around town entertaining. This woman is extremely beautiful, professional and I think that she would be a great catch for you and an awesome mother for my grand babies!” She paused from draining the drippings from the chicken to look her son square in the face. “You are not getting any younger and I am steadily getting older and this house is empty. I could use a few crying babies to attend to.”

“Check this mama, you know I got Darnise, you remember her?” Lydia looked down in anguish at the mention of the girl’s name, “she is playing the role of my main chick right now, and I’m not sure if I’m ready for her to give up her starting position. She is a
baaaddd
one and she knows how to make a
brotha feeeel goooood.
” He closed his eyes and licked his lips, thinking back to last night.

“Boy!” she shot him a quick glance, started in his direction with the hot grease in her hand and popped him again, this time more forcefully. Lydia was not impressed with Darnise one bit. She did not respect her as a young lady. The fact that her legs were open to any and every beck and call of her son outside of a married relationship turned her stomach.

“Mama, Mama, Mama, you know I am playing. Look, I ain’t no good dude.  It’s my own fault. I like dem
ho’s
,” he pleaded in his best rendition of Lil Jon. “This girl probably goes to church, has a good job, and is looking to settle down, right? And she is probably a virgin, knowing you,” he asked inquisitively.

Lydia pulled out a chair and rested her plump body down next to her son to rest her partially swollen feet and get more intimate for him to understand the severity of her quest. “I believe this girl will be the one to turn things around for you. I feel it in my spirit. She is a teacher at Third Street Elementary, so she definitely has that maternal instinct. She comes into Bank of America at least once a month, so she can handle her finances, she won’t need your measly handouts.” She took a breath and waited a brief moment before continuing. “I want the best for you, and yes she goes to church and you know you need some Jesus! A single, young girl like her is hard to find.” The last thing that Lydia desired for her son was to be anything like his father, the man who walked out of her life when he was only five years old. She made her fair share of mistakes allowing herself to love men who failed to return the same affection. It was her mission to see to it that he didn’t do the same to another woman.

Lance lifted his hand to rest on his mama’s chocolate brown chin, which at this point was a bit moist from all of her slaving over the hot stove, “I hear you mama, but I’m good! Now I’m hungry as hell…I mean heaven and I am ready to eat.” It was far more difficult for him as an adult to focus and listen to her motherly wit, he knew deep down that, she was right, but he wasn’t ready to throw in his player card. Life was
too
good.

A thunderous banging jilted them out of their conversation. Not two seconds later, there was a loud thud against the door, like a ton of bricks landed on the front porch. The banging continued as if the entire Oakland swat team was outside of his mother’s house ready to complete a drug raid.

“Lance, I know you are in there, I see yo’ car outside. Open this damn door!” The banging continued, becoming louder and more violent. Lydia didn’t budge, just gave him her,
I don’t want to deal with this mess today
face and motioned for him to take care of the situation, before she had to go outside and handle it herself like she had to do as a teen when she and her girlfriends had problems with the jealous girls in the neighborhood. Lydia was all too familiar with Lance and his run-ins with his women. He had his car keyed, towed, windows busted and tires flattened and two out of the four incidents were at the hands of Darnise, and her ghetto cousins.

The one thing that Lydia couldn’t stand more was the nasty, stank-attitude girls that her son seemed to attract. It never failed, once one of his side chicks learned about Darnise or vice-versa, they made it their mission to make his life miserable. And each and every time, Lance gave them his infamous
“I’m a man and I am not ready to settle down yet, take me or leave me speech,”
they maintained their position—on the side with no hope of promotion. He prided himself on how he was able to string women along. His boys often joked with him about being the real life version of Bill Bellamy in
How to Be a Player
.

Lance quickly tiptoed to the door trying not to make too much noise, looked through the peephole to see who was disturbing his dinner-date with his mama. He already knew from the loud banging just whom it was, however he needed to take extra precaution if she happened to bring back up this time as she often did.

“Lance, I’m sorry! I made a mistake. I want you back! I don’t mind giving you the time you need. Just open the door and hear me out!” She peered through the window in search of a response still banging on the security gate. The voice became restless and desperate, the anger seemed to transfigure into distress. Lance waited a moment before cracking the door open. He held the door slightly ajar with one foot in his fresh Jordan’s to ensure that if she tried to bust the door down she would not have any luck. The space between the wall and the door was still not wide enough for him to make out the physique of the distraught woman. He pulled the door back a little farther, enough to stick his head out and check out the scene. To his surprise, it was not who he imagined it to be.

The somewhat slender, caramel complexioned woman was perched down on the steps with her head buried in her lap sobbing profusely. Lance was a player type of guy and tried his hardest to keep the ladies from disturbing his cool, but he was definitely a sucker for tears. He believed a woman should never have to cry out of relational pain especially on the account of him. Seeing that the coast was clear from any ambush attack, he opened the door and stepped out to console her.

“Look baby girl, don’t cry. You know I hate to see you like this…but I told you not to come by here. We are not together like that. What the hell is wrong with you?” Lance checked his surroundings once more; he was raised in the hood so he was watchful for anything and everything. He inched closer to her, kneeled down and placed his hand on her back. He began rubbing in a circular motion. The woman remained still and she continued to weep with her face shielded by her thighs. She gradually lifted her head, wiping the tears and smudged make-up on the sleeve of her powder pink sweater. She pulled a tissue out of her Louis Vuitton purse, with a faint whimper, dabbing her tears to avoid smearing her make-up any further.

“I don’t know why I let you do this to me?” she managed to choke out between sobs. “All I want to do is love you and you treat me like I ain’t been down for you. I do everything for you. Anything you need, I get it and give it.” Her demeanor slowly began to change as she reflected on her words and what once was sorrow swiftly transformed to anger yet again. She hopped up in a reverse pin drop spin and landed her open palm right on his left cheek. She switched up her arm and with a balled fist clocked him upside his head with her left. Immediately, she began throwing punches, landing each pound on his neck and back, any part of his body she could connect. With every blow, she spat expletives, driving her pain into his back. She kicked, scratched as he protected his face with his arms.

Lance was not in the business of putting his hands on a woman, but he was a true believer in self-defense and restraint. “Bitch, get yo’ hands off me.” He violently grabbed her by her slender fragile wrists, flung her around one time stifling her attack and slowly shook her to the ground. Her legs dangled off the side of the porch as she attempted with all of her might to squirm herself free. He wiped the sweat from his brow and let it soak into her tightly fit jeans. Although, she was definitely not at her best in this moment, it was difficult for him to resist touching and skimming over her curvaceous body.