Fixin’ Tyrone (2 page)

Mia was thirty-two years old, professional, and college-educated. She had two children with two different fathers, but any man who considered her babies a hindrance was welcome to lose her number. Mia knew she was attractive; she never needed makeup to enhance her beauty. Finding a man was never a problem for her. Finding one who wasn’t married, unemployed, uneducated, an ex con, a pimp, a gigolo, a hustler or a player was the hard part. That had proved more difficult than finding the Holy Grail.

But Eric had a government job, drove a Beamer, had his own home, and (this is going to blow your freaking mind) he had
no
children. Not a one. He had never been married and, unless Mia totally misread the previous hour’s activities, he was not gay. Eric watched the
news
! That may be no big deal to some, but Mia had dated guys who didn’t know the difference between
Enron
and
Exxon
. They could rattle on and on about how Kobe shot the lights out last night but couldn’t find China on a globe if their life depended on it.

“The water’s hot,” Eric said.

“I know this is going to sound cliché,” Mia said, “but I don’t usually do this.”

“What? Take showers? I couldn’t tell. You smell like an autumn breeze.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah,
okay
, but I’m talking about you, and me, in the shower
together
.”

“Why?”

“’Cause we’re still new. I mean, we made love. That was good—”

“That
was
good.”

“Yes, that was good, but I’m still not totally comfortable around you.” She smiled and blushed, but he didn’t notice.

“So . . . you don’t want to take a shower?”

“Yes, I’m going to take a shower. I just want you to know that I don’t usually do this with a guy I’ve only—”

“You’ve got a great body,” he said.

“Thanks, but—”

“Come here.”

* * *

They showered together. Eric’s two-bedroom flat wasn’t the most spacious, but his bathroom was larger than most, and the tub easily accommodated them without any awkward squeezes. All squeezes were soft and sensual.

He lathered up a mesh sponge and washed her back. From behind he soaped up her breasts and belly, but when he went down further, it was almost too much for Mia to bear. She turned to face him and found the space between them compromised.

“Wow,” she said, looking down. She felt like a kid at the candy shop.
Is that for me?
She took the sponge from him and rubbed his chest and stomach.

“You’re beautiful,” he said.

Mia looked up at him and he kissed her, slowly. She dropped the sponge and caressed his throbbing member. Any doubts about Eric’s strength were vanquished when he grabbed her buttocks and hoisted her into the air. Mia wrapped her legs around his waist and he smoothly entered her again.

You’re moving too fast
.
This is not good
.

The warnings were blaring, but Mia was finding it harder and harder to listen to her inner voice. The bathroom filled with steam, and she imagined they were making love in a hot spring. Eric was more vocal this time, which allowed her to be more vocal. His thrusts were slow, but hard; rough, yet passionate.

He turned and leaned her against the back tiles and they stared into each others’ eyes. He sucked her neck and she nibbled his ear. Her breaths became heavy and pained, and, when he climaxed this time, they were very wet and very close; breast to breast, belly to belly, cheek to cheek, soul to soul.

A TO Z AND THEN SOME

Eric made margaritas at midnight. They ate leftover pizza at one, and lay in bed and talked until just past 2:30 a.m. They slept together, spooned with visions of plum drops dancing in their heads perhaps, and might have lived happily ever after, but the damned margaritas did them in. Mia woke in the wee hours of the morning with a need to go to the bathroom. She sat up in bed and stepped on Eric’s discarded britches on her way off the bed.

And something rattled under her foot.

She yanked her leg up with a start. Still half asleep, Mia believed some poisonous reptile had slithered into the house. But when she looked down, even in the scant light she saw that it was only his pants crumpled there. She lowered her foot again cautiously until her big toe came in contact with the buzzing again. What she felt made her arms grow cold. Her heart sank like lead in her chest.

Mia tried to allay her fears:
Why does it have to be that?
she wondered.
Why do you always think the worst?
Eric having his cell phone on vibrate didn’t mean he was a player. Maybe he was a gentleman. Maybe he wanted to give her his undivided attention that evening.

That was a possibility, a wonderfully charming one at that, but it wasn’t going to fly with Mia. Not tonight. She didn’t know Eric well enough. No one was making a business call this early, and if he was on call at work he wouldn’t have the phone on vibrate. Mia didn’t think it was one of his homeboys, either.

What if it’s an emergency? If someone got arrested, they would call at any time
.

That was her optimistic side talking, but Mia had been through too much bullshit with too many shiesty Negroes to allow herself to be blindsided yet again.

The phone stopped vibrating.

Mia looked back and saw that Eric was sleeping soundly, snoring a little, in fact. Watching him slumber, the pain tugged at her heart again. He was perfect. Dammit, why did it have to be like this with him? Why couldn’t she meet just
one
honest man? Was that so much to ask?

You don’t know what’s going on
, she reminded herself.
It could be legit.
And maybe that was true, but Mia would be damned if she wasn’t going to find out. And not tomorrow or next week, either. She wasn’t going to wait until she had so much of her time and heart invested; losing him would feel like losing an arm or leg. No, she would know this very minute.

Mia daintily slipped out of bed. She crouched over the pants on the balls of her feet. With the stealth of a ninja, she wriggled the phone from Eric’s pocket and tiptoed to the bathroom without making any noises louder than her hurried breaths. She locked the door behind her, flipped on the lights, and sat on the toilet wearing only her bra and panties.

The light was bright in there, and sitting with the phone in her trembling hands, Mia felt naked, exposed as the dirty sneak she was. Her heart thumped like techno music. Her mouth was dry. What if he woke up and went straight for his phone?

He had his way with me,
Mia told herself. Because he had her in
that
position, she had every right to know
everything
about him. But that wasn’t true. This was a clear invasion of privacy and she knew it.

She looked at the phone’s display. It read SIX MISSED CALLS.

Damn, six?
Was it the same person or six different sluts? The only way to find out was to push the button glowing under the word LIST. The phone would display the missed calls, the phone numbers, and the names Eric saved them under. The only problem was that once Mia pushed that little green button, there was no going back. If the missed calls proved to be legitimate, she would not be able to change the display to read SIX MISSED CALLS again. She might be able to sneak the phone back into his pants, but Eric would know she looked through it.

Mia paused with her thumb on the button. Was it worth it? Eric was a good man. He treated her good, made goo
d
love to her. He had a car and a job. Lord, a car an
d
a job, and a house
,
too. What would he do when he found out she’d been on his cell phone? Mia felt they had a connection, but men don’t like women who invade their privacy. Even some honest men would rather be alone than with a jealous woman.

And that was just it; Mia
wasn’t
a jealous woman. She’d never stalked a man. Never called more than twice if he wasn’t answering.

That’s why you’ve been hurt so many times
, she told herself, and that was painfully true. So many guys. So many lies. Mia
never
cheated on a man. She broke up with plenty, but she was always honest with them. She always tried to spare feelings.

Mia made a decision and planned her excuse:
I’m sorry, baby; I just can’t take this kind of chance no more. I’ve been hurt too many times—too many men cheated on me. I wanna be with you, and I wanna trust you—but I just couldn’t sleep ’til I knew who was calling you all night. I know it’s wrong, but I gotta protect myself sometimes, you know? Look, if you don’t want to be with me anymore, I understand, but I just want you to know that I’m sorry and I only did it because I like you so much . . .

Her speech ready, Mia held her breath and pushed.

All of the calls came from the same person, but pushing the button still didn’t tell her who. According to the phone, the caller’s name was simply “
D
.”

Damn.
Mia’s frustration was now with herself. All of that fret, all of that sneaking, and she still didn’t have the information she wanted.
D
could be a first or last name.
D
could be male or female.
D
could be the supervisor at the post office.
D
could be his dad, for all she knew.

Call the number
—but that was out of the question. It was bad enough she was going to have to explain to Eric why she was a
freaked-out schizoid.
She’d be damned if she’d have to explain herself to one of his relatives, too. She felt like crying. This was—

The phone began to vibrate in her hand. Mia stared at it in shock. It was
D
again
. Seven calls!
Answering it was out of the question, but her traitor thumb pushed the green button anyway.
What are you doing? You’re an idiot!
But the deed was done.

The house was deathly silent, and Mia thought Eric would hear her very heartbeats through the bathroom door. She held her breath and brought the phone to her ear, saying nothing. She waited for what felt like an eternity, and the caller finally spoke.

“Hello?” It was a female’s voice, and though this was the terrible thing Mia expected, she actually felt relief for the time being.

I knew it!
But she still didn’t know anything.

“Hello?” the voice said again. It was a
rough-
sounding voice, not rough-
raspy
, but rough-
mean
. The voice sounded like someone
country;
someone who made grits and babies and kicked ass for a living.

“Uh, hello?” Mia whispered.

“Who
dis
?” the caller wanted to know.

“Um. Listen, I’m sorry.” Mia thought fast. “Eric’s asleep. I heard this phone vibrating. I was half asleep too—I thought it was mine. I didn’t mean to answer his phone.”

“Who is you,
bitch
?” the caller spat. There was acid in that voice. Mia knew then that she had been right all along.

“Who are
you
?” Mia asked. “
Bitch
, you the one answering my
husband’s
phone!”
Husband? That’s wrong. Just plain, old wrong.
Mia’s face went slack as if tranquilized.

“Eric said he wasn’t married.”

“Who is this?
Candy
?”

“No,” Mia said. This was terrible and getting worse.

“
Sheila
?”

“No.”

“
Brenda
?”

“No—look, I don’t know who you are or who those people are—”

“I told you,
I’m
his wife. If dis
Candy
, ho, I already told you to leave my man alone. With yo
trifling ass
. You need to quit playin’.”

“Listen,” Mia said. “My name is Mi—um, Meesha. I didn’t know Eric was married. God. I shoulda known, though.
I shoulda known
.”

“What? You a
new one
?”

A new one?

“Okay, I’m really confused right now,” Mia said. “I didn’t know he was married. There are no women’s clothes over here. No family pictures. If, if he has a lot of girlfriends, I definitely didn’t know that, either. How many . . . I mean,
God
, this is
sick
.”