Darius Jones (12 page)

A
fter Jada cancelled lunch, I sat at the bar inside CUT, at the Beverly Wilshire, ordered another dirty Goose martini, then clicked on Darius's Facebook page. His last posting, Gotta go put up some shots before I lose it. Baby mama drama. Just sayin', was hours ago. “It's okay, my Darius,” I whispered. “Mama's gonna make it all good for us.”

Admiring my engagement ring, I switched to the ABC News highlights of the day on my iPhone. I loved the pureness of the all-white decor of the restaurant. The ambiance was serene. Soft instrumental jazz resonated throughout the place. I saw the media practically shoving microphones in Jada's mouth as she parted the crowd. Her hair and clothes were soaked. It wasn't raining. She was the only one dripping wet. At her age, had to be a hot flash. Better her than me.

I called Jada. Was about to hang up until I faintly heard her say, “Hi, Bambi.”

“I saw the news. I'm still at CUT. I've got an idea to minimize your media attention. If you still want to meet, I'll wait as long as you'd like.”

“No, it's okay. I need to be alone.” Her sadness sounded like the onset of depression.

I offered, “Need help with DJ?” hoping she didn't. I hadn't called Ashlee today but hopefully that kid was with her by now.

“That's a good idea. What am I thinking? That's a horrible idea. DJ isn't used to being with nonfamily members. I've got to get some rest before Ashlee drops him off. I'll call you tomorrow.”

“I'm here anytime, day or night, you can depend on me.”
And if you believe that, bitch, you're too damn trusting.

Jada whispered, “Thanks,” then ended our call.

A toast. I held my glass in the air. “Another job well done, Bambi. Cheers, bitch.” I tossed back the vodka, swallowed an olive, almost choked. “Damn, this is my lucky day.” I started to close my tab when I saw Grant Hill walk in. Waving as though I knew him, I stood, then motioned for him to come in my direction.

“Hey, I saw your story on the news. I'm so sorry to hear about your twins. Sit. You look like you could use a drink.” I didn't wait for him to answer. “Bartender, two more of the same, both with two large olives. Make that three olives.”

I had his attention the second I mentioned his boys. Grant sat on the edge of his stool, placed one foot on the foot bar, the other on the floor. The imprint of his big dick made my pussy twitch.

Grant's eyes focused on mine. His navel pointed in the opposite direction of the bar. His body language said he didn't want to be rude but he had to go soon. “Thanks, I could use a drink. But just one. I have to get my sons' mother's things from her room upstairs.” He stared at his feet. Blinked several times. Became silent.

I loved it when men volunteered too much information. I gave him a moment, touched his thigh, then let him know, “I can't disclose what I know but I can help you get your boys back.”

Grant eyes widened, then narrowed. He stared at me. “Are you serious? Or are you bullshitting me?” His navel faced me. Desperation kept him on the edge of his stool. “Why should I believe you? I don't even know you.”

Hunching my left shoulder, I said, “You're right. You don't have to believe anything. But I guarantee you I know more than you about where your boys are.” I motioned to the bartender. “Close me out.”

Darius should be done shooting around and Fancy should be dead. Shit was constipated, backing me up. The bartender placed our drinks on the bar, along with my bill. Grant was fine. I wanted to fuck his brains out but I didn't have all day to seduce him. I had to go check on Rita and the twins.

Grant said, “Please don't leave. Give me a moment,” then headed toward the men's restroom.

Damn, he had a sexy ass stride. I had to accelerate my mission to fuck that man. I put my hands inside my purse, opened my bottle of Cialis, shook two five-milligram tablets in my hand, placed them on my tongue. I picked up the green plastic toothpick holding his olives, inserted them in my mouth. Pretending I was sucking, I pushed those tablets inside the olives with my tongue. I put the olives back inside Grant's martini.

Before he sat on the stool, I handed him his drink. Surprisingly he slid all three olives off the toothpick into his mouth. “A little unusually crunchy but good. When you're starving, everything tastes good.”

Well, I sure hoped he was starving for this good pussy between my legs. Swallowing my olive whole, I said, “I totally agree.”

In fifteen minutes Grant's dick would be rock hard and deep inside my pussy. “What you think about those New Orleans Saints going to the Super Bowl?” I asked, trying to keep his mind off the boys.

He chuckled. Damn, he had the sexiest smirk and perfect white teeth. “Well deserved and long overdue. I hope they win. I bought tickets but I'm not going. You can have them,” he said, downing his drink.

“Really?” I touched his thigh above his knee, slowly slid my hand toward his dick, then back to his knee.

“Hey, that ain't cool right now,” he commented, scooting back on the stool.

My touch gave his dick a wake-up call. I arched my back, to give him a full view of my cleavage. “I'd love to have them.” I handed him my card. “Bartender, one more round.”

“I can't. I have to go. I'll send you the tickets to”—he looked at the card, then said—“this PO Box. Bartender, charge the last round to room 1221.” Grant adjusted his dick. It got bigger each time he touched it while looking at me.

Seductively, I said, “No, I want to thank you. Why don't we take these drinks up to your room and I can explain to you in private how I can help you find your boys.”

W
e made our way to room 1221. He sat the tray on the coffee table.

“You don't have to drink the martini if you don't want to,” I said, sitting on the edge of the bed. I patted the space beside me. “Come. Relax for a moment.”

He hesitated to sit next to me. Fully clothed down to his shoes, he stretched out on the bed, rolled onto his stomach. I rubbed his shoulders. “Wow, you're tensed.”

I hadn't met a man that didn't enjoy my massages. Alternating between soft and firm, I massaged Grant's shoulders and the nape of his neck. His firm body felt so amazing my eyes scrolled upward. I felt his body gradually sinking into the mattress. I straddled him, stroked lower, kneading his shoulder blades. Then I pressed my pussy into his lower back.

“I don't know what's happening. I feel strange and embarrassed.” He squirmed on the comforter.

“Turn over for me.” I slid my pussy over his ass and down his thighs before standing.

He hunched his shoulders, rolled over. His dick imprint was huge.

I unbuttoned, then removed his shirt. Sat beside him, then massaged from his biceps down to his thick fingers. I could ride that middle one and squirt all over him. “Let me massage the edge off,” I said, unzipping his pants.
Yeah, with this good pussy.

I slid his pants under his ass, down his thighs, and over his feet, then removed my clothes. I grabbed a wet towel, freshened him up, placed my sunglasses on the desk facing us, opened the gold packet and slid the condom on with my mouth. Slowly, I mounted his big beautiful dick.

I was ready to get the orgasm that I needed. I prayed when I was done cumming, his erection would subside in less than thirty-six hours. And he'd have to pray that the incriminating video I was recording didn't ruin his chances with Honey.

Grant was speechless when I eased down on him. In slow motion, I slid up and down his dick. My pussy danced on his pole. We both needed this outlet. I placed his thumb on my clit, then moaned softly.

He stroked my clit while staring at me. “You're so beautiful. What did I do to deserve this? You feel so good, I can't hold back.”

I rode him a little harder, a lot deeper, constantly hitting my spot. He was not cumming without me. The sex was better than I'd imagined but not better than the days I'd dreamt about fucking Darius.

Grant's body shivered. I waited until he stopped moving, then I dismounted him and removed the condom. Grant stroked his dick. Not in a sexual way. He looked confused. Probably trying to figure out who I really was. Why he'd fucked me. How he would explain to Honey what took him so long. And when in the hell his erection was going to subside. He looked pitiful, like a dog that was stuck and didn't know what to do. His problems, not mine. Men were so easy. Too easy.

“Maybe if you take a shower,” I suggested while putting on my pants. “I'll see what I can find out today. Call me tomorrow.”

S
oon as Grant closed the bathroom door, I was outta there and headed to the Safeway in Long Beach to buy stuff for his boys. I browsed the aisles for baby formula. I stood there in a quandary reading. Soy. Lactose-free. Isomil DF. Similac with Iron.

“Damn. Another reason not to have kids. Rita said no powder. Or was it get powder?” I tossed one of each in the basket and added a gallon of 2% milk just in case. I chose the Pampers Swaddlers for newborns, pacifiers, bottles, baby wash, baby powder, and four newborn outfits because I was leaving Rita with the twins for the next two days. I picked up a dozen frozen meals for Rita's breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

“Wow, you look good, mama, to say you just had a baby,” the clerk said as she scanned my groceries.

I checked Darius's Facebook page. Still no update. “Come, on, baby. I need to know where you are.”

“That'll be one hundred thirty-seven dollars and fifty-two cents.”

That bitch scanned me harder than the groceries. “I'm straight.” I slid my Visa.

“You trippin', Mommie? I was simply giving you a compliment. Don't get me confused. Here's your receipt.”

I left her holding the receipt in the air, pushed my shopping cart to my car. An hour later I parked in the garage at my house, unloaded the groceries. Rita was on a down comforter asleep on the floor with the boys beside her.

“Hey, Rita.” I nudged her.

Yawning, she stretched her arms above her head. “Hey, Bambi.” One of the babies started crying.

I grunted, “Shut him up quick.” Did she always have to call my name so loud? I placed my purse on the island. “Here, organize this stuff. I have to get ready for my trip.”

“Trip? Where you going now? How long am I watching my, I mean these boys?” Rita said, getting off the floor.

I didn't miss the “my” part. “Not long. I brought you some frozen dinners. This should hold you until I get back in a couple of days. Oh, and I forgot to tell you. Never ever under any circumstances go in the room at the end of the long hall. That's sacred. That was my parents' room.”

Rita's brows damn near touched the ceiling. She started trembling. She couldn't speak. I ran to the room, opened the door. Everything was the way I'd left it. My mother's coffin was to the left of my dad's. After their double ceremony, instead of burying my parents at a cemetery, I had the funeral director deliver the coffins to my house at midnight.

I shut the bedroom door, asked Rita, “Why are you shaking?”

She shook her arms and legs. Jerked her neck. “A little stiff from falling asleep on the floor, I suppose.”

“Shut him up! I can't take all that whining.” I didn't care if he was two days old.

Rita sung softly. “Hush, little baby, don't you cry. Please, don't cry, little baby.” Rita sounded like she was about to cry. I had zero tolerance for that kid.

“I don't want you sleeping on my floor. Sleep in the first bedroom on the right or the other bedroom directly across the hall from the one on the right,” I said, pointing down the opposite hallway away from my parents' bedroom. “The boys can sleep with you. But don't open the other bedroom door that's straight ahead. That's my room.”

“What am I going to do all day without watching television?”

“There's hundreds of DVDs. Watch movies.” I went into my bedroom, closed the door, braided my hair. I attached my brown shoulder-length lace wig, changed into my black Baby Phat sweats, and black tennis shoes. I dropped Darius's loc in a plastic bag, then zipped it tight. I locked my parents' bedroom and mine with a key.

“You sure do change your look a lot,” Rita said. “How come?”

“Because I entertain for a living.”

“Entertain? Oh, you one of them girls. These babies for your boss?”

Don't play dumb with me.
I left Rita talking to herself while rocking that crybaby in her arms. The other one seemed content lying on the sofa beside her. Tonight, I'd sleep at the Marriott near LAX.

I had to stay on top of things. My two choices were: Kill Fancy. Or follow through with having an unbreakable love spell cast upon Darius. The two-headed lady said not to call her. She'd know when I was in the French Quarter. I hoped she was telling the truth.

My flight to New Orleans was departing in the morning.

I
'd become a prisoner in my home.

Grant called every ten minutes. I wanted to turn my phone off but was afraid to miss a call from Darius. First Grant didn't want me around. All of a sudden he's leaving demanding voice mail messages that are filling up my mailbox. I'd grown tired of checking and erasing each message.

“Jada, I know you have my boys. Return them to me immediately or I'm coming to your house to get them.”

“Jada, I know you know where Luke and London are. I won't have you arrested if you tell me where my boys are.”

“Jada, you haven't witnessed my bad side. I will do whatever it takes to get my boys back.”

“Jada, I'm on my way to your house,” was the last message I'd received, fifteen minutes ago.

I wish he would.
Getting out of bed, I opened my blinds, stood on my balcony in my cream camisole and satin baby doll shorts. I exhaled fresh air, thanking God for the sunshine. California was breathtaking. Admiring the peaks of mountains—some covered with snow, others with trees—I felt in love again with myself. I wasn't reluctant to deal with Grant. I feared the next conversation with my son.

Darius, at times, had said words that could stop my heartbeat for the three seconds that could've killed me. When I should've been there for him, I was selfish and foolishly chasing Grant. If I'd been there for my child, Ashlee wouldn't still have DJ and I wouldn't have been banned from the hospital.

“Lord, where is my child? Please keep my grandbaby safe. What a mess I've gotten myself into this time.” Ashlee hadn't returned DJ. Nor had she responded to any of my calls.
Maybe I'm overreacting. Maybe Ashlee is keeping him for her two days.

I stared at the entrance gates.
I can't believe this
. A black Town Car with tinted windows entered my driveway. I hurried into my bedroom, slipped on my sheer robe, then opened my front door.

The driver opened the back door. A pair of brown square-toed men's shoes planted on my cobblestone. His beige slacks and button-up collared shirt loosely hugged his body. His broad shoulders squared, chest protruded.

I stood in the doorway as Grant casually approached me saying, “You left me no choice.”

“You've always got a choice. You made yours. I did the same. Please leave my house now.”

He bypassed me, entered my house. “I'm not leaving until you tell me. I can be here five minutes or forever.”

Once upon a time I wanted him forever. Now five minutes was too long. “Who in hell do you think you are! You are a heartless selfish son of a bitch! You deserve whatever happens to you.”

He shook his head, sat on my sofa. “And you are old and desperate.”

“I'll tell you what's old. Your calling me ‘old.'” I sat beside him. “I wasn't so old and desperate when you proposed to me on Fisher Island. Or when you had the violinist play what used to be our song. Or when we used to finish each other's sentences.”

Softly he said, “‘The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face.'” He nodded like his memory had returned. “I'd forgotten about that.”

Selective memory is what I'd call it. I stood in front him. Tied my belt in a double knot. “Grant, do you remember telling me, ‘Jada Diamond Tanner, I, Grant Hill, promise to be your faithful husband. To forsake all others, to make love only to you, and to never have sex with another woman as long as we are one. I promise to never sweat the small stuff. I want to share my dreams, my goals, my life with you, never taking you for granted. And I promise you that divorce is not an option…if you, will you, Jada Diamond Tanner, marry me?' Do you remember those words, Grant? I certainly do.”

He laughed. His laughing was getting old too. His finding humor in what's important to me was no joke. I'd give him a moment to erase that stupid smile. When the time was right, I got one for him.

“Damn, what did you do, record it?”

“No, I listened and I believed you were telling me the truth.”

“I was. But things changed unexpectedly.”

I pulled his arm trying to make him stand up. He pulled back. Kept sitting on my sofa like he was the man of my house.

“So, how in the hell did Honey end up pregnant supposedly by you?”

“Look, I didn't come here to relive my proposal or to explain why I never stopped loving Honey.”

Smack!
“Get the fuck out of my house. Now!”

Grant leapt from the sofa, started roaming my house. “Not until I'm sure my boys aren't here. I've got people helping me. You will not get away with this.”

Stomping on his heels, I followed him into my entertainment room. “You don't know what love is, Grant! You don't know how to love! You're heartless. And you're careless with your words.” I picked up my cordless phone. Was this thing still working? When was the last time I'd used my home phone? I pressed the talk button, got a dial tone.

“You've got one minute to get out or I'm calling the police. Speaking of police, where was your Honey when you went to jail? She probably set you up! But you're so dumb, you think that's love. Or maybe you're feeling guilty, huh? For all the wrong things you've done to her.”

Grant roamed though my bedrooms, then back to the living room. “You don't want me to leave you. You say all these bad things about Honey hoping it'll make me love you and not her. I can't change my heart. I tried with you. But I never stopped loving Honey. Never. And you're right. She didn't bail me out. But you know what? I can't blame her for that. When I broke her heart, I didn't bail her out of the pain I caused her. If she'll let me make it up to her, I'ma do right by Honey this time. And like it or not, those are my boys and I'm going to find them. Just pray I don't find out you had anything to do with their kidnapping. I know a man is not supposed to hit a woman. I won't make you that promise,” he said, walking toward the front door.

“Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.” I laughed at his back. “Poor little Grant, living in a shoe, screwed so many women, you don't know what to do. Well, let me help you out. Go fuck yourself!” I yelled, then slammed my door.

He'd made me numb. I was done with him.