Baby Momma Drama Page 4

  Jordan Brown was every faithful boyfriend’s worst nightmare. A six-foot-tall pretty boy, Jordan was the heir to the Brown Funeral Home business in Petersburg. Proud of his reputation as a ladies’ man, Jordan was known to carry on six and seven different relationships at the same time. Most of them were with other people’s wives and girlfriends, and lately I suspected he’d been after mine.

  I had tried to stop their friendship on several occasions by explaining to Monica that he was planning on seducing her, after which she’d be thrown to the side like a used condom. But for months she kept telling me that he was just a friend and that I should grow up. Maybe I was acting like a jealous teenager, but I had been warned about Jordan Brown.

  My best friend, Joe, who had grown up in Petersburg, knew Jordan well. He told me in no uncertain terms, “Keep your woman as far away from Jordan as possible. He’s a master street psychologist and he preys on weak-minded, materialistic woman.”

  Of course I responded as most overconfident brothers would. “My girl is too smart to fall for that pretty boy’s shit. She gets everything she needs right here from me.”

  Joe, being the true friend he is, quickly burst that bubble.

  “Dylan, man, I don’t know how to tell you this, but Monica’s the most materialistic woman I’ve ever met. I can just envision Jordan pulling up in that brand-new Mercedes sport. Monica would be daydreaming about how to spend his parents’ loot as soon as she got in his ride. She’s a prime candidate for a brother like him, ’cause she can’t see past the green.”

  I didn’t admit it to Joe, but it took me exactly five seconds to realize he was right. I looked over at my Ford Taurus. Monica always hated that car, even though it was less than a year old. I guess after being with her for six years I had put aside what I really knew to be true. Monica didn’t come to college to get an education; she came to get her M.R.S. You know, as in Mrs. Filthy-Rich Doctor’s Wife. She came to meet a husband, a rich husband, and although I was on the right track, I wasn’t there yet, and she sure didn’t believe I was gonna get there.

  Because I knew how much Monica craved wealth, I din’t trust her around Jordan. I tried to put my foot down and forbid her to see him. Finally, she quit the bowling team they were on and swore that she would never hang out with Jordan Brown again. Matter of fact, she said that they weren’t even friends anymore. At the time I had been relieved., but as I drove to Riverside on Thanksgiving night, I decided it must have been a well-calculated lie just to get me off her back.

  “That sneaky fucking bitch!” I yelled as I passed the cab that had probably dropped her off.

  Monica hadn’t walked out of the store because I yelled at her. When we were in the store her beeper went off just as plain as day. But instead of running to the phone in the store as she normally would, she must have gone outside to use a pay phone. Now there was no doubt in my mind that it was Jordan who had beeped her.

  I pulled into a space in front of Jordan’s town house apartment and thought about how much Monica really meant to me. I was nervous about losing her, and afraid of what I was about to discover. Maybe it was all my fault. Maybe I should have just given her an engagement ring so that we could get on with our lives and have a baby.

  But that weak shit didn’t last long. I couldn’t believe that I was actually contemplating buying an engagement ring for a woman who had just left me a half hour ago without a word to go see some other brother. I stormed toward the apartment intending to pull her ass out of there. But I stopped dead in my tracks when I looked at the window and spotted a silhouette of two people embracing. Taking a deep breath, I slowly crept up to the window, peeking through the space where the curtains met. What I saw next was much worse than a simple embrace. It was tragic. Monica was naked, bent over Jordan’s coffee table with a straw up her nose, snorting cocaine like it was going outta style. Jordan was sitting next to her with a straw in his hand, eagerly waiting for her to finish.

  “Monica, you stupid bitch! What the fuck are you doing?” I yelled at the top of my lungs.

  I must have scared the shit out of them, because Monica let out a piercing scream.

  I was about to put my fist through the glass when Jordan poked his head through the curtain to see what was going on. There I was, staring angrily at the man who was about to screw my girlfriend, and the only thing between us was a pane of glass. I wanted to put my fist right through that glass and punch him in the fucking nose, but the last bit of common sense I had told me that I’d cut my hand to shreds. I’m sure Jordan suspected I was about to do something crazy, because he took a step back. He was scared; I could see it in his eyes.

  “Tell Monica to come outside, motherfucker!” I screamed as he quickly closed the curtain.

  I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to control the rage that was building inside me if I saw Monica. For the first time in my life, I truly understood why some guys hit women. I was so full of anger that I just wanted to hurt somebody, and Monica was my first choice. I pounded on Jordan’s front door.

  “Open this fuckin’ door, Jordan, or I swear I’ll kick it inl” I kicked and screamed as I pummeled the door. “I want my woman back, you cokehead motherfucker.”

  I raced to my car and leaned on the horn. Jordan pulled back the curtain, and his eyes widened as he saw the autographed baseball I snatched off my dashboard. I threw it right at him. It felt so good to watch it shatter the window right in front of his face.

  “That’s right, motherfucker!” I returned to his door “Send my woman out here right now or I’ll throw somethin’ else!”

  To my surprise, a few seconds later I heard the click of the lock and the door open. She was coming out easier than I thought. But it wasn’t Monica who opened the door. It was Jordan. He must of taken another snort for courage, ’cause I could see the white powder all over his upper lip.

  “Tell my girlfriend to come out here. I want to talk to her,” I demanded.

  “Well, she don’t wanna talk to you.” His voice was cold as ice. “Now get your black ass outta here ’fore I put a cap in Yo’ ass”

  “Is that so, motherfucker?”

  I clenched my fist, planning to smash it against his head. Now granted, he’s six feet tall and I’m only five foot seven. Most people would think he had a pretty big advantage against me. But I was a semifinalist in the Virginia Golden Gloves 140-pound weight class my senior year at college, so as far as I was concerned, Jordan was in for one hell of an ass-kicking.

  “You must be one stupid-ass motherfucker!,” Jordan said flatly. He lifted his right hand and pointed a black nine-millimeter handgun at my face.

  I couldn’t believe I had been so stupid. Never once in my arrogance did I look at his hands. Now I was face-to-face with the wrong end of a gun and scared shitless. I was sure that if I moved he would have blown me away and claimed self-defense. I could feel the sweat beginning to form on my brow, and the anxiety attack I had when I first saw them embrace was nothing compared to what I was going through now. I couldn’t move, so I did the only thing I could think of to be sure I’d live to see the next day. I begged. That’s right, I begged. I looked Jordan in the face and I pleaded for my life.

  “Don’t shoot me, Jordan.... Please don’t shoot me.” I was shaking, and tears slid down my cheeks. “Look, man, you can have Monica.... She ain’t worth dying over. Just don’t pull that trigger, man.” I must have looked pretty damn pathetic, because Jordan started laughing.

  “Look at you, you little punk. I thought you were supposed to be some tough guy from New York. You ain’t shit. I should shoot your ass just for cryin’.” He cocked the gun and I could hear a bullet slide into the chamber. “Motherfucker, you broke my window, didn’t you? Who’s gonna pay for my window?”

  “I will. I’ll pay for it Just don’t shoot me,” I begged.

  “Oh, my God! Put that gun away, Jordan!” Monica yelled from behind him. At least she had managed to cover herself up, even if she was wearing a man’s bathrobe.
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br />   “Please don’t let him shoot me, Monica. I don’t wanna die,” I whispered, choking on the salt from my tears.

  “He’s not gonna shoot you, Dylan.” She tried to reassure me with her calm tone. “Please, Jordan. Put the gun down. He ain’t worth it. I already made my choice. I’m stayin’ with you.” Monica put her hand on Jordan’s arm and slowly brought it down to his side.

  At that point I hauled ass the twenty feet to my car, jumped in, and put the car in reverse. I nearly drove right into the crowd of tenants that had come out of their apartments to watch the free show. Before I could put the car in drive, Monica was at my window, knocking frantically. Looking past her, I could see that Jordan was still busy inspecting his broken window. I rolled down my car window.

  “Dylan, are you all right? I’m sorry about the way this happened. I never wanted to hurt you.” She had tears rolling down her cheeks, and I almost wanted to feel sorry for her.

  “I told you this was gonna happen, Monica.”

  “Dylan, I’m sorry, but it just wouldn’t have worked out,” she said sadly. She only looked back once as she returned to Jordan’s side. He put his arm around her and led her into the apartment.

  “I’m sorry, too, Monica,” I muttered as I slammed my foot on the accelerator. “I’m sorry, too.”

  4

  Jasmine

  I’d been driving around Woodhaven projects with an attitude for nearly twenty minutes. I was trying to find building 10, but the numbers weren’t running consecutively and it was confusing the hell outta me. I was so frustrated I was about to give up and head to work, which I was already late for. But of course, that’s when I spotted the building I was looking for right in front of me. I pulled over to the curb and got outta my car with my attitude still intact. This was the last place I wanted to be on a Friday morning. Derrick was gonna owe me big-time for this.

  You see, at the end of our visit on Thanksgiving Day, like most of my other visits, I was on the verge of tears. The inmates were allowed five minutes of physical contact to say good-bye to their loved ones. For Derrick and me, it was usually one five-minute kiss, and we had to be torn away from each other when our time was up. But this time Derrick broke our kiss prematurely because he had something to say. Something he knew I wouldn’t like.

  “Baby, I need you to do me a favor.” He lowered his head.

  “Sure, boo. What is it?” I tried to kiss him again, but he’d only let me give him a peck.

  “Well, I ...”He paused.

  “What is it, Derrick? You know I’ll do anything for you.”

  “Would you?” He looked directly into my eyes. “Would you really do anything for me?”

  “Yes, Derrick.” I nodded without hesitation. “You know that. You know I’d do anything for you.”

  “Yeah, I guess you would. But this is different.”

  “Different how? Haven’t I proven myself over the years? Haven’t I shown you that my love is unconditional? Whatever you want, I’ll do it”

  “You sure?”

  I took a deep breath before I answered him. I was praying he wasn’t going to ask me to bring him drugs like he’d done Wendy. ’Cause I was not about to do that.

  “Yes, Derrick, I’m sure.”

  “God.” He exhaled loudly. “I can’t believe I’m about to ask you this.”

  “Don’t worry about it, boo. Just ask me.”

  “Ah‘ight” He paused and I waited silently. Finally, he asked me, and I knew why it was so hard for him to get around to his question. “Would you ... Would you bring Wendy a hundred dollars? I didn’t get nothin’ for Tyler’s birthday, and she spent all her welfare check on his birthday party, so she ain’t got no money.”

  “Are you serious?” I leaned as far away from him as I could get. “You want me to give my hard-earned money to your baby’s momma? Have you lost your mind? I ain’t bringing that bitch shit!”

  I glared at him. He had set me up with his little humble act. He knew he could get me to say I would do anything. To say I was insulted by this blatant lack of respect was an understatement. I was flabbergasted. What the hell made him think I’d bring that bitch anything other that my size 8½ Timberlands? And the only reason I’d bring her those was to put my foot in her ass.

  “Don’t act like this, baby. She needs the money for my son. You know I wouldn’t ask you something like this if it wasn’t important.” I stayed out of reach as he tried to hug me. That wasn’t gonna work, so he tried another angle. Guilt. “I thought you said you’d do anything for me. What happened to that unconditional love you were so adamant about a few minutes ago?”

  “I came to my senses when I realized you was tryin’ to play me for your baby’s momma.” No guilt here. “How you sound, asking me to bring another bitch some money? A bitch I can’t stand, at that!”

  “Will you keep it down? There’s other people around here. And I’m not tryin’ to play you. The money’s not for Wendy. It’s for my son.” He was getting an attitude now, but I didn’t give a shit.

  “That’s bullshit, Derrick.” I put my hand in his face. “That bitch ain’t getting her hair and nails done with my money.” I pushed him away and he stared at me. His eyes were getting smaller with anger by the second.

  “You know what? Just forget it. Just take your selfish ass on the bus and don’t come back. I knew I shouldn’t have asked you to do shit for me. I’ll get somebody else to help me. Somebody that cares about me.” He got up and turned away from the table. Damn. He always could find a way to get to me. I hated the thought of leaving before we made up, and he’d just made it very clear the only way we were gonna settle this was for me to say yes.

  “Okay,” I sighed finally, giving in. “I’ll do it I’ll bring her the money. But don’t ask me to do this again”

  He turned around. “You mean it?”

  I nodded, but I wasn’t about to take the pout off my face. He tried to kiss me but I resisted. I was willing to do this ‘cause I didn’t wanna fight with Derrick, but his request left such a bad taste in my mouth I didn’t want him to touch me. He knew he was sending me to deliver money to Medusa herself. That bitch was gonna throw me nothin’ but attitude, and he knew it. There was nothing left for us to talk about, so I said good-bye, gave him a quick peck, and got the hell out of there. The ride back to Richmond was the longest one of my life.

  “Who?”

  I was jilted out of my thoughts as a female voice boomed through the apartment door. That was no easy feat, considering the stereo was playing loud enough for the entire complex to hear.

  “It’s Jasmine. Derrick’s girlfriend Is Wendy here?”

  The sound of the stereo faded as someone called Wendy to tell her I was there. I heard footsteps approaching.

  “What you want?” Wendy snarled as she swung the door open. Her nappy-headed friend, a size 20 if she was anything, was standing behind her with hands on her hips. I wanted to laugh. The two of them looked like supermodels for Projects Weekly. Both of them were wearing beat-up house-coats, and Wendy had a weave I’m sure she’d done herself. “I axed you a question. What you want?”

  “Derrick asked me to stop by and drop off a birthday present for Tyler and—”

  Before I could finish my sentence and tell her about the money, she snatched the gift bag I was carrying.

  “Hey, what’s wrong with you?” I demanded, but she ignored me. She took the wrapped present out of the bag and shook it.

  “I bet she bought something cheap,” she mumbled to her friend.

  “Only if you consider a Game Boy cheap,” I replied. “That thing cost me almost seventy dollars.”

  “Seventy dollars! You spent seventy dollars on a Game Boy?” Wendy laughed and her friend joined in. “I coulda got Little Gerald to steal one from Kmart for twenty. Damn, you stupid.”

  “I don’t deal with stolen merchandise.”

  “I don’t deal with stolen merchandise,” she repeated sarcastically. “Well, you better stop dealing wit
h Derrick, ’cause everything he buys is off the back of a truck. Where you think he got those chains you wearing around your neck?”

  “From Zales,”I lied. “I was with him when he bought them.”

  “Whatever.” She waved her hand at me. “Come on, Stacey. Jerry Springer is about to come on.”

  Yes, she was about to walk away without even so much as a thank-you for the gift. I wondered if her son would even get it. Probably she’d already thought of some way to sell it and keep the cash for herself. Speaking of cash, I still had some in my purse that I was supposed to be giving to her. It took every ounce of strength not to just turn and leave right then. But I had promised Derrick I’d give her the money, and I did not want another fight with him if I didn’t follow through.

  “Wait a minute. Derrick wanted you to have this, also.” I reached in my bag and handed her an envelope with her name written on it. She grabbed it, ripped it open, and smiled.

  “Well, Stacey. It looks like I’m going to Summer Jam with y’all after all”Again she didn’t bother to thank me, or even speak to me, for that matter.

  “For real?” her friend asked with excitement.

  “Yup, ’cause Derrick came through like I knew he would.” She high-fived her friend, then the two of them started dancing in the doorway like I was Ed McMahon and they’d just won Publishers Clearing House.

  “Um, I hate to break this to you” I interrupted their stupid dance. “That money’s not for you. It’s for your son.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll make sure he gets it,” Wendy snickered as they both looked at each other and burst out laughing.

  “Look. Tell Derrick I said thank .. ” She stopped herself. “Forget it. I’ll probably see him before you do. I gotta bring him a package Thursday.”

  “He didn’t tell me you were going up there this week.”