Lookin' For Luv Read online

  “I’m talking to you, sergeant. And if I remember correctly, the last time you tried that tough-guy shit with me, you were a captain. Now, the next time you or any other trooper fucks with me or pulls me over, I’m going to own this fucking state.” Maurice calmly reached into his jacket and pulled out his cell phone as if the sergeant were no more than a nuisance. “Now get the fuck out my way. Or do I have to call my lawyer?”

  The woman behind the counter was in shock. In thirty years knowing Landell, he had never let anyone disrespect him. Now out of nowhere he was letting some arrogant tourist curse and point his finger at him.

  “You’re one sick motherfucker!” the trooper growled, balling his fist up in his leather gloves but not taking a step closer.

  “Give it up, Landell. You’ve been trying to catch me doing something wrong for fifteen years. I’m not doing anything illegal.” He laughed. “Maybe you’re just jealous, huh, Landell? You should have seen the one I was with this time Landell. Mmm-mmm, was she pretty!” Taking his container of coffee, Maurice grinned as he walked past the officer.

  “I hate that fucking bastard,” Sergeant Landell said, clenching both his fists as Maurice walked out the door.

  “I don’t like him much myself,” the elderly waitress replied from behind the counter. “But he’s a great tipper!” She took the twenty-dollar bill Maurice had left on the counter and put it in her apron.

  The sergeant reached around and took his radio out of its holster.

  “Base, this is Sergeant Landell”

  “Go ahead, Landell,” the dispatcher spat out.

  “I just spotted Maurice Johnson leaving Chance’s Truck Stop. You might want to send a trooper up Interstate Ninety-five to look for a girl.”

  “She’s already been found, Landell. Base out.”

  “That asshole thinks this is some kind of fucking game!” He slammed his hand down on the counter as he sat down.

  “Can I ask you a question, sarge?” the woman asked.

  “Sure, Mary.”

  “I’ve known you for over thirty years, and I’ve never seen you back down to any man like that. What the hell is going on? Is he from the NAACP or something?”

  “That son of a bitch and his high-priced lawyer are the reason I lost my captain’s bars.” Landell’s hatred showed in his eyes.

  “Him?” She was shocked.

  “He happens to make large donations to the Vermont Democratic Party. One day about ten years ago, me and a few of the boys decided to teach him a lesson for abandoning some New York girls out near Interstate Ninety-five. Well, two days later that son of a bitch shows up with a lawyer and sues for police brutality. The state, the governor, I mean, he sued everyone.”

  “I think I heard about that,” replied the waitress, recalling vaguely having heard something through word-of-mouth.

  “Yeah, well, you’re one of the few who heard. Those damn Democrats put such a tight lid on things, it never even made the news. They gave that son of a bitch three hundred grand to drop the lawsuit, then fired everyone involved but me.”

  “Why didn’t they fire you?”

  “Because that smartass lawyer of his said that it would serve as a better example if they busted me down from captain to trooper. It took me five years just to make sergeant again.”

  “That’s a real shame.” The waitress shook her head slowly. “But, you know, what goes around comes around. Someday that man’s going to get what he deserves.”

  The trooper stood up to leave. “You know, I hope you’re right about that.”

  At the same moment Maurice’s wife was sitting by the phone in their bedroom, fuming. This is the fifth time I’ve called that motherfucker! Where the fuck could he be at 3:45 in the morning? I should just forget his ass and go to sleep. She had already tried to sleep but was too upset.

  This was not the first time Sylvia had found herself in this position, waiting for her husband at all hours of the night. Over the years her husband had spent many nights out late, and while he was away she would pace the floors, certain that he was with another woman. Most times he would come home with the excuse that he had been with his childhood friend, David. Sylvia rarely questioned his reason, mostly to avoid a fight. After pacing around the bedroom for another ten minutes, she dialed his cellular phone again.

  “I’m sorry, but the number you have dialed is out of calling range at this time”

  Sylvia slammed the phone against the nightstand in a rage. Grabbing her robe from the back of the bathroom door, she walked downstairs into the study, thinking she might find some clue in Maurice’s date book. On the page for that day, Maurice had penciled in “meet with David, 9:30 P.M.”

  “That motherfucking liar!” she screamed as her fist pounded the desk. She knew he was not with David this time, since David had called two days before and mentioned to Sylvia that he and his wife were going to the Bahamas the following morning. She lifted the date book, and a slip of paper fell to the floor. It was an index card with 1-900-BLACK-LUV scribbled on it.

  Sylvia was puzzled for a minute, until she figured out what the number probably meant. The reality of the situation hit her like a ton of bricks. Years of denial had built a protective wall around her ego, but it was shattering in seconds.

  Don’t tell me that lowlife has resorted to using a date line!

  Her shock quickly became anger. Not quite sure what she should expect to hear, Sylvia dialed the date line. She had to know if her husband had actually used the line to leave a personal ad. Sylvia listened to one man after another, amazed at the number of ads.

  I can’t believe all these men call this date line. What the hell has happened to the black male that they have to stoop to this?

  For forty minutes Sylvia kept searching the ads for Maurice’s voice. Each time she heard, “Hi, my name ...” she’d skip to the next message, listening for Maurice’s voice. She knew she’d been on the line a long time but was determined to keep listening until she’d found it. Her jaw dropped as she finally heard her husband.

  “Hi, I’m Maurice. Are you sick of the typical guy who takes you to dinner and expects you to pay half the bill? Are you looking for someone who’s actually going to take you to dinner? Then I’m the man for you. I’m a thirty-two-year-old romantic who would love to make every day Valentine’s Day.”

  “Thirty-two, my ass!” Sylvia shouted at the phone, becoming angrier by the minute.

  “I’m six foot one with light skin and blue-green eyes. If this appeals to you, leave me a message in box number twenty-nine sixty. I can’t wait to hear from you.”

  Sylvia shook her head in disbelief, and the tears streamed down her face. Even after suspecting Maurice of cheating, she never actually expected such a slap in the face. She had stood by her husband through twenty years of marriage and was repaid with this kind of disrespect. She had done without for so many years so he could pursue his doctorate degree. She even wrote half his damn papers, and it was her daddy’s money that had paid his tuition. She practically raised their daughter single-handedly, and this was what she got in return? Now that they were financially successful, he was out there, offering to spend their money on some phone-line bimbos. Sylvia was furious.

  Realizing the phone was still in her hand, Sylvia came up with an idea born from her anger. Two could play at Maurice’s game, and she was determined to get revenge. The BLACK-LUV line was her perfect opportunity. She continued to listen to the messages of these men until she heard a man who would be perfect for her scheme.

  “What’s up? My name is Tyrone,. I’m a six-foot-three, dark-skinned brother. I’m lookin’ for a woman who wants to put all the BS aside and have great sex. You must be drug and disease free. Serious inquiries only. Please leave a message at Box twenty-nine eighty-eight.”

  Sleeping with another man would be the best way to hurt Maurice’s overblown ego. At that moment she wasn’t even concerned with the idea that she was lowering herself to his level. She just wanted to hurt him lik
e he had hurt her. Punching in the numbers, she responded to Tyrone’s ad in a dead serious voice.

  “Hi, Tyrone My name is Sylvia. I’m a married woman with a cheating-ass husband, and I’d love to get with you for some great sex, not to mention a little revenge. Call me on my cell phone, and I think we can help each other out. It’s 555-6523”

  Satisfied with her plan, Sylvia went back to bed. Unlike before, she fell right to sleep and slept like a baby. She never even heard Maurice sneak into the bed hours later.

  8

  ANTOINE AND SHAWNA

  Keisha had been up since 6:00 A.M. braiding Mrs. Williamson’s hair for her daughter’s wedding. As she cracked her knuckles to relieve the tightness, all she could think about was a hot bath and her warm bed. She stood back and admired the job she had done, then patted her customer on the shoulder.

  “Looks like we’re done here, Mrs. Williamson. Now, you best get home so you don’t miss your own child’s weddin’!” Walking to the front of the store, the two women chitchatted about the wedding while Keisha made change from the register.

  “Listen, congratulations again, and please give my regards to Helen. She’s gettin’ a real catch in that Rob Dash.” She smiled.

  Keisha walked Mrs. Williamson to the front door and held it open for her, waving good-bye. Outside she turned to lock up the shop and was startled by a voice behind her.

  “Excuse me, miss” Keisha turned to see a very tall woman standing close to her. She was not in the mood for any more customers.

  “Look, miss, I’m sorry, but we’re closed on Sunday except by appointment.” Then she took another look at the woman and thought she might reconsider. That woman’s braids look like something out of a creature-feature movie.

  “I’m not here to get my hair done.” Shawna smiled, looking at a folded-up piece of paper. “I was hoping you could tell me which apartment Antoine Smith lives in. He gave me this address, but the apartment number is really unclear.”

  “And who are you, his sistah?” Keisha said with attitude. “I don’t give out that type of information to just anyone.”

  “No, I’m not his sister. My name is Shawna, and Antoine and I are supposed to go out on a date.”

  Shawna could see the shock and hurt on Kcisha’s face. Automatically she assumed the woman must be involved with Antoine or maybe an ex-girlfriend. She didn’t want to cause a scene.

  “Look, never mind. Is there a pay phone around here? I’ll just call him.”

  Keisha didn’t reply at first She was still upset that Antoine was going on a date. But she snapped out of it when Shawna spoke again.

  “Does he have a girlfriend or something?” Shawna didn’t like the look Keisha was giving her, so she backed up a bit.

  “Yeah, he’s got somethin’, and it’s me! Why? You got a problem with that?” Keisha took a step closer, looking like she was ready for a fight.

  “Oh, no. I’m really sorry. He told me he was single. I didn’t know he had a girlfriend., I swear. This is one really big misunderstanding. When you see Antoine, tell him that he should lose my phone number.” Keisha smiled as Shawna turned to walk away.

  Damn. Why the hell would Antoine go out with a bitch like that when he could have me? That chick’s so tall, she could eat a bowl of soup off his head.

  Antoine had been watching the exchange between Shawna and Keisha from his bedroom window, hoping Keisha would leave before he went downstairs. He couldn’t hear their conversation, but their body language said enough. It was obvious Keisha was trying to start trouble. He rushed down the stairs to break up their little meeting, arriving just as Shawna was stomping away.

  “Shawna. Where are you going? I thought we were supposed to go out.” He caught up to her and grabbed her arm to slow her down.

  “Look, don’t touch me! Don’t speak to me! Don’t call me! Just run over there to your little girlfriend, where you belong!” she yelled, shaking her hand to free herself from his grasp.

  “Girlfriend! What girlfriend?” He turned to Keisha, who was doing everything she could to avoid eye contact.

  “Antoine, I don’t know what she’s talkin’ about.” Keisha pointed at Shawna. “I never told her that I was your girlfriend.”

  “Oh, you dirty liar!” Shawna shouted.

  Antoine looked directly into Shawna’s beautiful eyes. “Do you really think I would have asked you to come to my apartment if Keisha was my girlfriend? That woman is not my girlfriend. She’s my landlord.”

  She wanted to believe him. Looking smugly at Keisha, she decided Keisha was jealous and had made up the story. Antoine definitely wouldn’t have chased after her if Keisha were his woman. She decided to go on her date after all, even if it was only to get revenge on Keisha.

  “Okay, Antoine, I believe you.”

  Without taking her eyes off Keisha, Shawna took Antoine’s arm and led him down the street to her car. As they drove past Keisha, she was shouting something and shaking her fist. They couldn’t hear through the windows, but they both knew it wasn’t a friendly good-bye.

  “I’ve had my eye on that man for too damn long to let you have him. This ain’t over yet you gorilla-haired bitch!”

  In the car Antoine and Shawna avoided discussing the incident but made lots of small talk. A half hour later they were in Flushing Meadow Park. Antoine spread a blanket out as Shawna unpacked the picnic basket. Amazed at the spread she had prepared, Antoine could not help thinking he had found a pot of gold.

  “Most women throw a couple of sandwiches, some fried chicken, and a six-pack of beer in a shopping bag and call it a picnic. But, Shawna, you’ve outdone yourself. Look at all this great stuff Shrimp cocktail, crackers with Brie and pate, kiwi, and my favorite chocolate-covered strawberries. My God, you even have a wicker picnic basket. I don’t know anyone who has a wicker picnic basket.”

  “You do now, handsome.” She handed him a bottle of white wine and a corkscrew. “Will you open this?”

  Antoine opened the bottle of white wine and poured it into two crystal goblets. He handed a glass to Shawna, who raised hers in the air.

  “I would like to propose a toast,” she said gleefully “Here’s to the start of something beautiful.”

  “I’ll second that,” he replied, gazing in her eyes as he dipped a chocolate-covered strawberry into some whipped cream and fed it to her. Unfortunately their romantic moment was soon interrupted by an obnoxious voice.

  “Shawna, is that you, girl? Girl, I hardly recognized you with them braids in your hair. What you doin’ out here?” A large, voluptuous woman walked toward them. “Henry, Henry, come on over here, sweetie. You remember Shawna, don’t you?”

  A very short, baldheaded black man approached and greeted them in an unusually high-pitched voice. Before Shawna could answer, his female companion was talking again.

  “Girl, I ain’t seen you since the coon died. You still workin’ at the club?” She shook her hips and breasts for emphasis. “Thank God I don’t need to work in there no more. My Henry takes good care of me. Don’t you, sweetie?”

  She spun around, not waiting for Henry to answer. She was shewing off her new skintight tiger-print jumpsuit.

  What a hootchie, Antoine thought, noticing her outfit was two sizes too small and accentuated bulges in all the wrong places.

  “You know, Henry bought me the matching bra and panties too. But he don’t like me to wear the bra.” She laughed as she shook her large breasts.

  Unable to take any more, Antoine stood up to introduce himself. He hoped to shut the woman up for a few seconds. The large woman never gave him a chance, because as soon as he stood, the woman looked Antoine up and down.

  “Mmm! Mmm! Mmm! Girl, where did you find this handsome man? Damn, he’s fine. You done gone and found yourself a triple-A number-one stud, haven’t you?”

  Embarrassed now, Shawna finally interrupted her friend by introducing her to Antoine.

  “Antoine, this is Lola and her friend Henry. They’re friends o
f mine from work.”

  Lola interrupted once again. “Friend? Henry ain’t my friend no more, girl. He’s my fiance. We’re getting married, ain’t we, sweetie?”

  “That’s right, baby. But we got to go now. I need to get home for my treatment.” Henry squeaked in his cartoonlike voice.

  “That’s right. This man got asthma so bad, when he wants to get some, I gotta always be on top.” She patted Henry’s balding head. Henry pulled on Lola’s arm to signal it was time to leave, but before he could make a step, Lola’s eyes fell on the feast spread out on the picnic blanket.

  “Shrimp! I love me some shrimp. You don’t mind if I have some, do you?” She had already poured half the bowl into her greedy hand. With her mouth full of shrimp she said, “Well, girl, I gots to go. You take care of this here fine man. Oh, and good luck with your operation, girl.”

  Shawna cut her eyes at Lola as she walked away. For a few seconds both Shawna and Antoine sat in silence. Neither was quite sure what to say, until Antoine broke the silence.

  “What operation, Shawna?” he asked, needing to have an answer.

  “It’s nothing to worry about, Antoine. I’m just having some minor cosmetic surgery done in the spring.” Shawna tried to reply as casually as she could. Their date had already had such a rocky start, she didn’t want her surgery to become a major issue. She put both hands on her breasts. “They’re a little small, don’t you think? So I’m having breast implants put in.”

  Imagining Shawna with larger breasts made Antoine smile. She was already so beautiful, he could just imagine how perfect she would be with implants. He leaned over to give her an understanding kiss, figuring they could discuss it later. Shawna was relieved that he had not made a bigger deal out of her revelation. The rest of their picnic was picture perfect.

  9

  TYRONE AND SYLVIA

  Slamming the door as she stepped out of the taxi, Sylvia rushed across the parking lot of the Sheraton Hotel in Flushing. She was nearly forty-five minutes late for her sex date with Tyrone and was cursing under her breath. Traffic had been terrible coming from Long Island. She hoped Tyrone would still be waiting for her.