Player Haters (8 page)

“Oh, I said, maybe that’s the problem. Maybe you were so concerned about the material things that you forgot the little things that made her wanna make love to you in the first place. When was the last time you sent her flowers?”

“I’m embarrassed to say it, but it’s been a while. Probably when she stopped working last year.” Mimi placed her other hand over mine, and in a comforting gesture began to rub my hand between hers. “Maybe you’re right, Mimi. Maybe I have neglected Di. We almost got divorced a few years back because she thought I was cheating. I’m not gonna jump to conclusions. I need to sit down and talk to my wife.” I pulled my hand back from Mimi’s, realizing we were getting a little too comfortable.

“Well, that’s not exactly what I’m trying to say. I mean, she could be cheating. I wouldn’t rule it out if I were you.”

“I have to rule it out. I love my wife.”

“You do?”

“Yes, I do,” I replied, kind of surprised by her question. “Thanks for the dinner invitation, Mimi. Maybe one day me and my wife will take you up on it. But for now I gotta go home. I’ve got a lot of making up to do.”

“Well, let me give you my number just in case things don’t work out and you wanna talk.” She reached in her handbag and pulled out a pen and paper, jotting down her number. She handed it to me, then surprised me by leaning over and kissing me square on the lips. “I’m here for you, Wil. You can call me anytime.”

“How ’bout another round on me, ladies?” Tim smiled at Desiree and she eyed him seductively as he refilled our drinks for the third time.

“You tryin’ to get me drunk so you can take advantage of me, Tim?” Desiree picked up her glass and winked at him flirtatiously. “Because if you are, it’s working.”

Tim’s smile remained as he walked to the other side of the bar to help another customer. If I didn’t know it before, it was pretty damn obvious now that they both planned on leaving together. Desiree nudged me with her elbow and I shot her an evil glare.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Didn’t I tell you that fool tried to get with me last week?” I was too through.

Desiree rolled her eyes. “Please, Melanie. Stop trying to play Mother Teresa. I know Tim ain’t shit. But I’m not trying to marry him. I’m just trying to get my swerve on.”

“Get your swerve on? You gotta be kiddin’ me. You really gonna give him some after he tried to talk to me?”

“Why I gotta be giving him some? Why can’t I be gettin’ some?” She sucked her teeth. “It’s been over three months since I had some, Melanie! Three months,” she repeated. “I can’t take it anymore. I need some dick. I need some dick bad. So I might as well make sure it’s some good dick. And I know Tim got some good dick. You should see the things I’ve written about him in my journal.” She gave me this pitiful, deranged look that begged me to understand.

“Fuck it!” I threw my hands in the air. “It’s your life. If you wanna make a fool outta yourself, then by all means, go right ahead. Just don’t come crying to me if he plays you.” I pulled my last cigarette out of the pack and lit it.

“Look, don’t be coming down on me because you’re pissed off at the world and feeling sorry for yourself.”

“I’m not pissed off. And I’m damn sure not feeling sorry for myself,” I snapped.

“Please, Melanie. You goin’ through them cigarettes like they’re breath mints and you got a hot date.”

“So what? I smoked a few cigarettes. That doesn’t mean anything.” But I knew it did and so did Desiree.

It was a well-known fact that the only time I smoked more than a couple cigarettes a day was when I was upset with a man. I was now on my second pack, which had been full when we left the house. So you can imagine just how upset I really was. It had been over two weeks and I hadn’t heard one word from Prince. I hated to admit it, but he’d played me. Thank God I didn’t give him any ass, ’cause instead of just feeling sorry for myself I’d probably be in therapy somewhere. God, I hated men and their fucking lies. If they’re not gonna call, I just wish they’d just say they’re not gonna call. I mean, if you’re not gonna use it, why even ask for the number?

“Fuck that nigga Prince, Melanie. He ain’t the only dick on the block.”

I looked up at my friend, who I know was trying to comfort me, but was doing a horrible job. “No, but he’s the only one I want.”

I lowered my head, fully prepared to wallow in my self-pity, but was forced to lift it again when I felt the stinging pain of Desiree slapping my arm.

“Oh, my God, Melanie! Look over there. Look!” Desiree kept slapping my arm repeatedly as she pointed across the bar. I knew she must have been pointing at some cute guy, which was the last thing I was interested in at the moment, so I tried my best to ignore her. But she wasn’t having it. She grabbed my arm and squeezed it so hard I dropped my cigarette.

“Goddamnit, Desiree, look what you did. That was my last damn cigarette.” I pulled my arm free with a scowl.

“Don’t worry about that. I got a whole pack in my purse.” She reached in her bag and handed me a cigarette without even looking in my direction. “God, did you see him? Isn’t he fine?”

“I don’t know,” I told her as I lit the cigarette. “I wasn’t looking. I don’t give a damn about these sorry-ass guys in here.”

“You will when you see this one. Look over there. Look! Isn’t he fine? Now I know what you meant by love at first sight, ’cause that’s my future husband.”

I looked in the direction she was pointing and gasped. The man she was talking about was none other than Prince, and Desiree was right. He was looking good, all decked out in a double-breasted white sport coat with a black turtleneck and slacks.

“All right now, put your tongue back in your mouth, ’cause I saw him first.” Desiree had opened her compact and was busy fixing her makeup. I know I should have told her right away that the guy she was fawning over was the guy I was agonizing over, but she was so excited, I didn’t wanna pop her bubble. Not yet, anyway.

“What about Tim?” I finally muttered.

“Please. Why settle for hamburger when you can have steak?” She tugged on my arm. “Come on, I gotta go to the bathroom and straighten out my hair before I meet my future husband.”

“But…”

“Ain’t no buts. Come on. And stop looking at him like that. He’s mine, remember? I saw him first.”

On that note, I followed her without a word. When we arrived in the bathroom I knew I had to tell her who her future husband really was, but she was talking a mile a minute.

“Oh my God, Melanie! Did you see him? Did you see him? That man is so fine. I don’t give a damn if he’s got a woman or not. Hell, I don’t care if he’s married. I gotta get me some of that tonight. Mmm, mmm, mmm. He is too fiiiiine.”

She was so excited, I don’t think she even noticed I hadn’t spoken a word. Finally, she stopped babbling long enough to apply her lip gloss, and spotted me in the mirror with my arms folded across my chest.

“What’s wrong with you?” She placed her hand on her hip and glared at me in the mirror. “Look, I know you ain’t mad because I seen him first.” She turned around. “Come on now, Melanie, you the one who made up that rule. Whoever sees a man first gets first crack at him. Besides, I thought you was still stuck on that nigga Prince.”

“Desiree.” I sighed. “That is Prince.”

Her jaw almost hit the ground.

“What! You lying?”

“No, I’m not.”

“That fine ass nigga out there is Prince? The same Prince you went out with two weeks ago?” I nodded and she kept on talking. “The same Prince you been waiting to hear from?”

“Yep, that’s him.”

“Damn! Why the fuck didn’t you tell me? If you made me fuck up with Tim, I’m gonna kick your ass.” She rushed out the bathroom and I followed. A few minutes later, she seemed to have forgotten about Prince and was busy flirting with Tim again.

I just wish it had been that easy for me. For twenty minutes, all I could do was stare at him. I was tempted to get up and approach him, but I didn’t want him or his friends to think that I was sweatin’ him. Especially after he played me the way he did. So I sat there, frozen in my seat, staring, smoking Desiree’s cigarettes, and feeling sorry for myself. I should’ve never let Desiree drag me in here in the first place. I know she called herself trying to cheer me up by taking me out to dinner and all. And we did have a good time at Bronx BBQ over by Green Acres mall, but when she suggested we stop by here for a drink before heading home, I should have refused. I knew Prince hung out here. I also knew I wasn’t ready to confront him.

“Hey, you all right?” Desiree grabbed my hand when I reached over to take another cigarette. “Look, you better take your ass over there and talk to him, ’cause you ain’t gonna smoke up all my cigarettes.”

“Please. What the hell am I gonna say to him?” I snatched her pack off the bar.

“How ’bout ‘Why didn’t you call me, nigga?’” She got a smile out of me for the first time.

“Now, you know damn well I’m not gonna say that to that man. That is not my style.”

“Well, it’s mine. You want me to talk to him?”

“What’re you gonna say to him?” I asked inquisitively.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “You know me. I’ll think of somethin’.”

“That’s what I’m afraid—” I hadn’t even finished my sentence when she jumped off her bar stool and was halfway across the dance floor, headed for Prince. A few seconds later, my heart was in my mouth and Desiree was in Prince’s face. Not long after that, she was pointing in my direction and the two of them were staring at me. Whatever was said after that was brief, because Desiree was walking back toward me in no time.

“Well, what did he say?” I asked nervously.

Desiree sighed, so I knew whatever news she had wasn’t good. “I don’t know how to tell you this, Mel, but he said you’re full o’ shit.”

“He said what?” I jumped out my seat and glared at him across the bar. I was about to walk over there and give him a piece of my mind, but I hesitated when I realized he was glaring back just as hard as if I were the one who’d wronged him.

“Calm down, girl. Ain’t no need for a scene.” Desiree guided me back to my seat.

“No, I won’t calm down, Desiree. I waited two weeks for that man to call me. And he’s got the nerve to say I’m full o’ shit? Fuck him! What else did he say?”

“His exact words were, ‘Don’t come over here talkin’ about that chick Melanie ’cause she’s full o’ shit. If she didn’t want me to have her number, she should have just said so.’”

“Shoulda said so? What the fuck is he talkin’ about? I gave him my number.”

“He told me you gave him some bogus shit.” Desiree tried to hide a smile, probably because we were known for that kinda shit. But I wasn’t smiling. I was heated. I knew I’d given him the right number.

“Prince is the one who’s full o’ shit.”

“Well, that’s not what he said, and he’s sitting over there waiting for an apology.”

“An apology! Well, I hope he don’t wait too fucking long, ’cause I ain’t got shit to apologize for.”

“Look, Mel.” Desiree could probably tell from the number of curses I was shouting just how angry I was, and she tried her best to calm me down. “Why don’t you go over there and talk to him? He seems like a nice guy. Maybe you did write the number down wrong. That man is too fine to lose over a mistake.”

“Please, Desiree, stop trying to defend his ass. I ain’t write shit down wrong. I know my phone number. Can’t you see he’s tryin’ to play me? That nigga got game.”

“Yeah, but…”

“But what?”

“But that man is off-the-charts fine. Maybe you should go over there and talk to him. I mean, you ain’t gotta apologize. Just talk.”

“Talk to him for what? So he can run some more game? No, thank you. He ain’t no different than the rest of them no-good men I’ve fucked with, Desiree. He just got a prettier face. If you want him, you can have him. I ain’t got time for games. I’ll see you back at the house.”

“Not tonight you won’t. I’m going home with Tim, remember?” She smiled from ear to ear.

“Yeah, whatever.” I finished my drink in one gulp, then picked up my purse and headed for the door. I’m not gonna lie, I was hoping Prince would follow so I could talk to him outside in private without Desiree’s knowledge. I even waited outside for him for ten minutes, but he never came out.

Diane and I walked up to the hostess of Legal Seafood in Huntington, Long Island, holding hands. We were dressed cleaner than the preacher and his wife on a Sunday morning, and all eyes in the restaurant were upon us. Diane was wearing this red strapless dress I loved because it accentuated all her full-figured curves in just the right way. I was wearing my dark-blue, double-breasted pin-striped suit with my matching gangster-style hat.

I’d asked my sister, Melanie, to watch the kids so I could take Diane out to dinner. After talking to Mimi, I was convinced that my intimacy problems with Diane were not all her fault. Maybe I had been working too hard lately. Like so many married couples, we’d neglected the little things that had made our relationship so special in the first place. Not that Diane ever complained, but she had mentioned that we never seemed to go out anymore without the kids. And that shit Mimi mentioned about stay-at-home moms being bored and using Internet chat lines really scared the shit outta me. So I figured a little dinner at a fancy restaurant, a couple’a tickets to a comedy club and a token of my affection from Zales, and I might just get back in her good graces.

“Hi, my name’s Wil Duncan. I have an 8:30 reservation.”

The hostess looked in her book, then smiled. “Right this way, Mr. Duncan.” She picked up two menus and gestured for us to follow her. She escorted us to a small candlelit table in a corner. Diane and I settled into our seats and held hands across the table.

“Wil, this place is lovely.”

I glanced around, nodding my approval. “Yeah, it is nice, isn’t it? Sure beats the hell outta Ghetto Seafood.”

“Ghetto Seafood?” My wife gave me a strange look.

“Yeah, that’s Trent’s nickname for Red Lobster.”

“Why’s that?”

“He said if you ask a black or Hispanic person to name two seafood restaurants, most of them can’t name but one. And that’s always Red Lobster. Thus the name Ghetto Seafood. To the average black person, Red Lobster is a five-star restaurant.”

Diane laughed. “You know, as much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. If you say you’re going to Red Lobster, everybody black gets excited.”

“Does that include you?”

“You damn right. I love me some Red Lobster.”

Diane and I both laughed as the waitress came and took our order. When she finished, we handed back our menus and I reached across for Diane’s hand again.

“Di, can I ask you a question?”

“Of course. What do you wanna know?”

I lowered my head, slightly embarrassed. When we first were married, Diane and I used to talk all the time about everything and anything, but since the marital problems we’d had a few years ago, talking wasn’t that easy for us. I guess that’s why Mimi and I had become so close. I really needed a woman to talk to. I just wish it could be my wife.

“Do you still find me attractive?”

Diane gave me this where-the-hell-did-that-come-from look as she took a sip of her wine.

“Of course I find you attractive. I’ve never met a man I’ve been more attracted to, Wil.” She looked me directly in the eyes. “What’s this all about, anyway? I hope it’s not about the other night. Look, I’m sorry. I just wasn’t in the mood.”

“No, it’s not about the other night,” I lied. But it had everything to do with the other night. And every other time the past two months she’d made an excuse not to make love to me.

“If it’s not about the other night, then what is it about?”

I held her hand a little tighter and leaned in a little closer. “I just wanted to know if you were happy with me. I mean, I’ve started to grow this mustache, and you haven’t even noticed it.”

She cut me off with a frown. “Yes, I have. I was just afraid if I said something you might shave it off. I’ve been trying to get you to grow a mustache for years, remember? I think it’s sexy.” She winked at me.

“You do?” I raised both eyebrows, grinning. Her words made me feel like a man again. God, I loved my wife so much. And it was nice to spend quality time with her away from the kids. It really did make me appreciate her. After my conversation with Mimi the other day, I was starting to realize just how far apart we’d actually grown.

“Oh, and by the way, I’m very happy with you, Wil.”

“Really?”

“Really.” We both smiled.

“I know this is a little late coming, but I have something for you.” I reached in my pocket, then handed her a jewelry box. “I was gonna give this to you on our anniversary, but I wanted you to know how much I love you now.”

Diane opened the box and her eyes were as wide as they could be. “Oh, my goodness, Wil. I don’t know what to say. It’s, it’s beautiful.”

“Here, let me put it on you.” I took the box from her hand and placed the diamond bracelet around her wrist.

Diane leaned over and kissed me. “I may not say it enough, but I love you, too, Wil Duncan.”

After we had dinner, Diane and I made our way over to Governor’s Comedy Club. The comedians weren’t big-time, but those white boys were funny nonetheless. One of them even made fun of my gangster hat. All in all, we had a really good time and the night wasn’t even close to being over yet. Or that’s what I thought until I pulled into the parking lot of the Kew Motor Inn.

“What are we doing here?” Diane looked up at the motel, then looked at me with this expression that almost looked like fear.

“I thought it might be nice to get a room here and reminisce. I mean, it’s the first place we ever made love. And we haven’t been here in years.” I leaned over to kiss her, and she pulled back.

“We can’t do this, Wil,” she stated flatly.

“Why not?”

“Well…I know I should have told you before, but I didn’t wanna ruin our night.”

“Tell me what?”

“Well.” She paused like she was searching for an answer, or dreaming up an excuse. “I’ve been cramping ever since we left the restaurant. I think I’m about to start my period.”

“Oh, really?” She nodded her head and I sat back in my seat. Skepticism was written all over my face. I wasn’t about to call my wife a liar, but something was seriously wrong with her story. Diane’s cycle was like clockwork, and she wasn’t supposed to get her period for at least a week and a half.

“Well, that’s okay. I already paid for the room. Why don’t we just go upstairs and cuddle?”

“I don’t wanna cuddle. If I start cuddling with you, I’m gonna wanna do something. And I don’t wanna get all worked up if I’m not gonna get some.”

“So what are you trying to say? You wanna go home?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m trying to say,” she answered matter-of-factly.

“This is fucked up, Diane.”

“Look, Wil, I’m sorry, all right? I can’t help nature. Why don’t you try being a woman for a while?”

“Why don’t you try being a wife,” I mumbled as I backed out of the parking lot. I glanced at the diamond bracelet I’d given her earlier and wished I could take it back.
God, why can’t she just be like Mimi?