Up to No Good (14 page)

When he left again, my woman’s intuition kicked in. I was no longer certain that Louis was going to get condoms just because he didn’t want me to get pregnant. Something told me that maybe the trip to the store was a convenient excuse to get out of the house to call the mystery texter.

I ran up the stairs and checked the nightstand by our bed, and sure enough, there was a box of condoms in there. There was only one condom left, so for a moment, I gave Louis the benefit of the doubt. It was possible that he forgot he had one more. But my skeptical side reminded me that it was also possible he was really going out to call someone.

My dilemma was this: After I ’d promised him I would stop being so jealous, I couldn’t exactly confront him now. If I brought up the issue of cheating again, I would have to present him with concrete proof. Anything less and he’d kick me out on my ass. Plus, I wanted the proof for myself. I loved Louis enough that I didn’t want to break up with him unless I was absolutely certain he was cheating. From this point on, I would be searching for real evidence, but doing it carefully, keeping my investigation under the radar.

Man, there was something about a Sunday afternoon game that always got my adrenaline going. Yeah, I was the kind of man who worshiped at the altar of sports, and I’m not talking golf or tennis. I mean real mannish sports, watching athletes give one hundred and ten percent. You got to love everything about the game of basketball.

I was sitting in front of my seventy-two-inch plasma TV complete with surround sound, waiting for the game. I had my snacks and my brew, and I was dressed in my number twenty-four purple-and-gold jersey, ready to cheer on my boy Kobe.

Sister Patricia, one of the lovely ladies from church, had stopped by earlier with a spread of fried chicken, collard greens, mashed potatoes, gravy, and some homemade biscuits. The good ladies of the church knew how to make sure a man got his needs met, which always made me say an extra “Amen” on Sunday.

Of course, I had to politely lead Patricia out of here, because I didn’t want anything to distract me from my game. The last thing on that woman’s mind was cheering for the Lakers. So, after I enjoyed her cooking, I
gave her a little something to remember me by and quickly sent her on her way. Luckily, she had the good sense to leave without putting up a fight. Any woman who knew me knew she was wasting her time trying to get my attention while the Lakers were playing.

The game was about to start, so for me, life was perfect. All I needed now was that son of mine so I ’d have someone to talk trash to as the Lakers whooped some tail. When the doorbell rang, I figured he had forgotten his keys again. I guess I couldn’t expect him to have his head screwed on straight when he had just had the rug pulled out from under him.

“Hi, Mr. Black.” I was surprised to see that friend of Jamie’s smiling up at me. What was her name again? She was loaded down with a pizza box and a six pack of beer. I might have rushed her away from the door if it weren’t for the fact that she was wearing a Lakers jersey identical to mine. That’s when I remembered that Jamie had managed to plan a sort-of date for this girl and Darnel.

“Oh, hi. Uh …”

“Sandra,” she reminded me.

“Right, Sandra. Uh, Darnel’s not here yet.”

“He’s not? Are you expecting him soon? We made plans to watch the game together, remember?”

I stepped aside to let her in. “Come on in. He’s not home yet, but I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

Her hopeful face fell. Poor thing wasn’t seasoned enough to play it off. Older women would know how to do that in a second.

“That’s okay. Could I just call a cab? I got dropped off.”

“If you want. But the game is coming on now, and since you had the good taste to dress appropriately, why don’t you just come in and watch with me until he
gets here?” I took the six-pack from her and led her toward the couch.

“Are you sure?” She couldn’t hide her embarrassment. She was a good-looking girl, and it probably wasn’t every day that a man forgot a date with her.

“What kind of pizza you got in there?” I asked playfully, trying to make her feel more at ease. I felt bad that my son had put her in this position.

“Half pepperoni and half sausage and peppers.”

She seemed to relax as we sat together and ate the pizza. After a while, I called Darnel, but his phone went straight to voice mail. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why he forgot Sandra or where he was spending the day. I wasn’t happy about it, but there was nothing I could do. That boy had to learn to handle his business. I wasn’t the kind of father to tell his children how to live, because there are some lessons you have to learn yourself. I just hoped that girl didn’t hurt him any more than she had already.

Two hours later, we sat on the edge of the sofa, waiting to see how this tied game would play out. Darnel was still a no-show. I would have to school that boy about leaving a woman waiting. But in spite of being stood up, Sandra got over her initial awkwardness and seemed to enjoy watching the game with me.

“No!” Sandra jumped up when Gasou missed a three-pointer at the foul line. We were sweating this game out like slaves in the summertime heat. Last thing I wanted was to hear from my friends for the next month about the Cavaliers beating the Lakers.

“Oh my God, oh my God!” she screamed as Kobe stole the ball from LeBron James and made a helluva three-pointer just before the bell. Pandemonium broke
out on the court and in my living room as we screamed and shouted, hollering like fools.

After a few moments of high fives and victory dances in front of my couch, Sandra must have realized what she was doing and felt a little silly.

“Um, I guess Darnel’s not coming, huh?” she said, breaking the celebratory mood. I shook my head, disappointed for her. “Can I use your phone now to call for a ride?”

We were having such a good time I almost forgot I wasn’t the one who’d invited her over. Most women were only into sports to keep a man interested, but I could tell B-ball was really her thing.

“Hey, I’ll drive you home,” I offered.

“No, that’s okay. I don’t want to make you go out of your way.”

“It ain’t no thing. I’m looking forward to flossing this jersey all over Queens.” I laughed.

On the drive to Jackson Heights, I found out Sandra was the top salesperson at the gym where she worked.

“But I really want to sell real estate,” she admitted.

“Really? I been try’na get Jamie to get her license for years, but the girl is lazy. I told her she could make a lot more money as a salesperson than my office manager. ’Course, she’s not worrying about money as long as she can stick her hand in my pocket.” As much as I tried to sound annoyed, I could never be mad at Jamie.

“Are you kidding? That would be my dream. When I was in high school, I wanted to be an architect, but my dad died, and we just didn’t have the money, so it didn’t happen.”

“How old were you?” I usually assumed all young women were just like Jamie—a little spoiled and definitely
self-centered—but Sandra was more serious, and now I knew why.

“Sixteen when my dad died.”

I changed the subject to something brighter. “Sorry to hear that. Wanna get something to eat? Go over to T.G.I. Friday’s over on Queens Boulevard and rock our number twenty-fours?” I asked with a laugh.

“Really?” She seemed genuinely surprised that I was being so nice to her. When I looked back over at Sandra, I saw something I had missed earlier—interest. It’s not that I had never dated a woman younger than myself, but in general, I ruled them out. They were way more trouble than they were worth—too hormonal, not to mention that ticking time bomb called a biological clock, ready to rear its ugly head at any moment. Women in my age group were definitely the way to go. They were generally through with baby fever and were getting their children up out of the way—or, even better, their children were already gone.

I was too damn old to deal with the drama, no matter how fine a specimen Sandra was. Yeah, there were just some things you don’t do, especially when the woman in question is a friend of your daughter. Now, that would be more drama than anyone could deal with. If I thought Jamie was jealous of the many women in my life now, I could only imagine how she would react to someone her own age, friend or not.

I could feel Sandra looking at me, and I tried to give her my best fatherly smile.

My phone rang. I looked down at the caller ID. Speak of the devil; it was Jamie calling. Did this girl have ESP or something?

“Daddy, did Sandra show up?”

“Yeah, but your brother didn’t. I called him twice, but he didn’t pick up the phone.”

It didn’t surprise me that Jamie called to follow up on Darnel. She couldn’t stay out of either of our love lives, no matter how much I warned her.

“Daddy, he is such a fool. Girls like Sandra don’t come around every day. Where was he?”

“Darnel is grown, and I am not his keeper.” I had to keep myself from screaming at her sometimes.

“Well, was Sandra disappointed?”

I glanced at Sandra before I answered. She was checking me out with a look in her eyes that said she had probably forgotten all about Darnel by now.

“Sandra’s right here. She waited around for Darnel and ended up watching the game with me. I was taking her home, but we decided to stop and get a bite to eat first. You want to meet us?” I knew Sandra wouldn’t get any ideas about this being a date if Jamie came along.

“Oh, Daddy, I can’t. Louis is mad at me about something, but you’re the best. And when you talk to Darnel, tell him to call me, ’cause I’m pissed.”

I disconnected the call and told Sandra, “She said she can’t come.”

Sandra’s smile let me know that she didn’t mind that Jamie wouldn’t be joining us.

I watched Keisha drive by on her way to work at exactly 8:45 A.M., just like she did every Monday morning. I was parked about two blocks away from her place, crouched down low in my truck so she wouldn’t see me when she passed.

Two minutes later, I was headed toward the apartment. I took a nervous breath as I put my key in the door. I knew I shouldn’t be doing what I was about to do, but I needed some answers to the questions that had been tormenting me ever since the night I caught her and Omar together.

Although everything probably seemed fine to Keisha, I was slowly dying inside, and my uncertainty was getting worse. She’d told me that it had only happened that one time with Omar, but doubt kept creeping into my mind. Sometimes when we were together, I thought I saw a look pass over her face, and I ’d wonder if she was hiding something. Maybe she was daydreaming about some other guy, or worse, maybe she was daydreaming about sex with Omar.

If we were ever going to be truly happy, if our relationship
stood any chance of surviving her infidelity, then I needed to get past my doubts. I loved the hell out of Keisha, but this was no way to have a relationship. Once I knew unequivocally that it had happened only once and that there were no others before Omar, then nothing else would matter—and that included my family. Once I knew that my woman was really my woman, then it was us against the world.

The night before, an idea had finally come to me about how to get the answers I needed without starting another fight with Keisha. It meant betraying her trust, but at this point, the only other option was to end the relationship, because I couldn’t keep living this way.

I ’d spent the afternoon with Keisha but had promised my father I ’d watch the game with him and Sandra that night. I was headed out the door to go to his house when Keisha started kissing on my neck, telling me she was horny. Well, one thing led to another, and the next thing I knew, she was bent over the kitchen table and we were making love doggy style. I mean, we were going at it like two deranged animals. Ever since our wedding fiasco, we’d had plenty of wild sessions like this. It was something we hadn’t really done in the past, and although the passion turned me on, even this change in our lovemaking set off some sort of alarm in the back of my mind. This rough, wild sex really seemed to excite Keisha. What bothered me most was that it was exactly how she and Omar had been doing it when I caught them. Keisha had been so into it that night that she hadn’t even realized I was in the room until I bashed Omar’s head with the lamp.

Nothing was easy for me anymore. Everything left me wondering if I was missing some sort of clue, like maybe Keisha was making a fool out of me and I just hadn’t figured it out yet. Then again, maybe I was just
paranoid. Whichever one it was, I had to find out the truth.

It didn’t help my uneasiness when her phone rang in the middle of our lovemaking last night. I was so deep into what Keisha and I were doing that I might have been able to ignore the phone, except that it was a ring tone I ’d never heard before. Shit, she hadn’t even given me my own ring tone.

I slowed down my strokes.

“Don’t stop,” she demanded as she held on to both sides of the kitchen table. “Please, baby, don’t stop. I’m about to come.”

But I did stop. I stopped when I heard the beeping sound her phone made when someone left a message. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but something just didn’t feel right. The mood was totally lost. At this point, I was so distracted that I couldn’t keep my erection. I pulled out and sat in a chair at the kitchen table.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, and noTVery nicely. Before this whole mess, nothing would have stopped me from finishing the act with my girl.

I shrugged my shoulders, unable to put all my feelings into words.

“Dammit,” Keisha cursed under her breath. “I’ll be right back.” She turned around and left the kitchen. When I heard the bathroom door shut, I grabbed her phone off the kitchen counter and anxiously pushed the buttons to display the number of the missed call.

The screen displayed PRIVATE, which meant the caller had blocked the phone number. Well, I tried to reason, maybe that was why the ring tone was different. I knew plenty of people who refused to answer calls from blocked numbers. But then again, maybe the unfamiliar ring tone meant Keisha had assigned a “special” tone to some other dude. I put down the phone
and tapped my forehead lightly against the countertop, wishing I could shake loose the suspicions that wouldn’t leave me. God, I never used to think like this. Why couldn’t my mind just go back to prerehearsal dinner thoughts?