Burning Desire Read online

  “So, why didn’t you just live with your moms?”

  There was a pause and Stacy’s mind seemed to wander for a time.

  Then she said, “Momma don’t love me. Momma don’t want me. Ever since I was in my late teens she said I was fast, and that I didn’t listen. She prob’ly right. But, still, you don’t throw away your daughter. You gotta give people a chance to grow and mature; and everybody don’t get wise all at once.”

  Well, we will definitely make that a quotable from Stacy, the sociologist.

  “Still, I could never ever throw away my children. I love ‘em too much. And the only reason why Momma got ‘em now is ‘cuz she love ‘em, too. She just don’t love me no more.”

  I got to thinking about the time Stacy and I had together and how she’d pull away now and again to “use the bathroom.” For a time, I thought she might have a weak bladder or something. But now I realized she was probably either on the phone with her children or conducting some sort of business with her ATL ties.

  Children.

  “Ahh, Stacy? You never told me you had kids.”

  “Okay, yeah. Yo u’r e right. But keep it real, Danté. You would’ve never gave me a second look if I told you that.”

  “How can you assume that?”

  “You and I both know that niggas ain’t feelin’ women who are tied down with kids. I done been down that road before. And I don’t blame you, really. If I was in your shoes I wouldn’t want a chick with kids, either. But, you’re a winner, Danté. I never met a guy like you that is so hardworkin’ and ain’t try’na take shortcuts in life. Everybody I knew down there, at least the people I ran with, was slick about shit, and hustling somethin’ or try’na git over. You? Look atcha. Gotcha own business, your own clients who love you— like Ms. Thomas. Didn’t think I knew about her, did ya?”

  Before I got a chance to defend myself, or even to be upset or feel violated, Stacy smoothed her hand along the side of my face.

  “None of that bothers me, Danté. What I’m attracted to is the man right here in front of me.” Her hand was on my chest now, where my heart was beating like a DJ Premier hip-hop track. “Danté, in here is where the real man is. He’s caring. He’s compassionate. And he says he loves everything about me. So, do you expect a perfect Barbie Doll out of life? You want a waif, Danté? Or do you want a woman with some roots ‘n’ some backbone? A woman who has your back like you have hers?”

  I was lost for words. But Stacy didn’t mind filling in the empty air.

  “It was better the way I did it, since now you got to know me better, without my so-called luggage. You proclaimed your love for me with the whole, Stacy, I’m so glad you came into my life and this-that and the third, plus I done sucked you off, fucked ya’ raw, and, as you say, turned your whole life around—”

  Damn, how she laid it all out felt like a progress report from the last two months. And I was frozen there behind the steering wheel, trying to weigh my options: the nearest police station? Bellevue Hospital? Mt. Sinai? Did she leave anything at my apartment that would require us returning there? What’s more important was my health, and I was counting down the hours until my emergency visit to the local doctor’s. I had to get my AIDS test, my urine and blood work, and any other kinda test they could think up— I was ready to take them all!

  But something about Stacy was so real and grassroots that I couldn’t just let her go. And it wasn’t that she had kids, it was that she had never told me about them. Sure, in court that might not be a lie; there’d be no handcuffs or convictions. But in the court of human events, not telling something as big as being a mother of two is just as good as a lie. Deception at its best. And these were the things we disagreed on, right there in my parked vehicle.

  “So, you gonna leave me?” she asked. And I know myself so good that I can say her question was the smartest thing she ever did. However, I refuse to believe that Stacy knew me so well. I refused to believe that she was so much smarter than me that she had me all figured out and knew what buttons to push and which questions to ask. But, in the words of the immortal Sammy Davis Jr.: What kind of fool am I!

  [FOUR]

  MAYBE BEING A helpless romantic isn’t so bad. After all, we were made to naturally interact with the opposite sex, so somewhere along the line (whether or not we decide to accept the fact) we need to choose someone to spend our sex with, to kiss and hold, to laugh and cry with, and to cohabitate with. Yes, animals might spend their leisure time hunting and fucking and procreating, but in the same fashion, humans spend their time sending e-mails and text messages and fucking. Shopping and fucking. Going out to the movies and fucking. Holding down a nine-to-five and fucking. If you’re lucky enough, and you have the energy, you’re always fucking. If you’re more than lucky, and if you’re planning for a future, you’re doing all that under one roof and making babies. But the bottom line is, and I don’t care if you’re Oprah or Bill Gates, you accept, deny, live for, work around, and entirely support the hard or soft concept of fucking.

  So then, to find someone you feel is a convenient, willing, and able-bodied partner would be a bonus, I would think. And not that I was all philosophical about my relationship with Stacy, but you’d have to agree that a decision was in order. In other words, a brother definitely had to weigh his options.

  Things slowed down for us after that night of shocking revelations. We didn’t stop seeing each other, but for the next few weeks we just took more time in getting to know each other, as opposed to having sex and everything else coming second. We both agreed that we had rushed into things, that we fell head over heels for each other, and that this could be the big deal— the relationship that we both longed for. But we first had to work our way through things we did not see coming, like the petty bickering we engaged in, and the silent spells that sometimes came with an attitude. We had to build up on the positives and try to do away with as many negatives as we could. Naturally, being the progressive, business-minded thinker that I am (and I’m not saying I’m the greatest), but I’m accustomed to being an optimist, and to seeing the cup half full, instead of half empty. Stacy, however, had been through some challenging, life-altering events that threatened her well-being, her children’s well-being, and more. So, there was a lot more work to do in convincing Stacy that “the light is at the end of the tunnel,” or the “tough times never last, but tough people do,” or “you are what you believe you are.” All of those positive affirmations might look like hot air to her (or, at least, brand new), while they’re ideas that are painted up on my mental wall, inspiring me to work harder and strive and persist toward my goals in life. My new friend, on the other hand, with this ghetto drama down in Atlanta, and her children being so distant, with access to her by voice alone, was a real tragedy in itself. And now that I knew way more about them, Stacy didn’t mind bringing them up in conversation now and again.

  The other thing that I had to cope with was the feeling deep down inside that I wasn’t supportive enough. I mean, here we were, supposed to be a couple, and I wasn’t anything more than her shoulder to lean on. I wouldn’t be considered the man that “had her back” with all the drama that was going on in her life. Maybe it was because we were so new and that it was way too much weight to take on all at once. Or, maybe (somewhere deep inside) I didn’t feel that it was any of my business. Either way, it was a burden to even think about. But, drama or no drama, I knew I’d have to get to know the kids one day. Naturally, that came along with the package— the bigger picture.

  In the meantime, I was still dealing with Stacy’s occasionally whimpering in her sleep, and there were instances when she’d jump up screaming. Once when she jumped up, she wobbled into my kitchen and grabbed a steak knife. It took me a half hour to calm her down and to convince her that it wasn’t me—I’m not your enemy, Stacy!

  And here I was, thinking that there was only the bat to deal with. I have to say that knowing who your enemy is has to be comforting; because here I am lying in bed
with a woman I see as my best friend, and she wilds out with a steak knife? That evening in my apartment, it was Stacy’s decision to finally see a psychologist. And we both agreed that the visits would help with those demons in her past, demons that sent her into awful crying spells by day, and (sometimes) turned her into an unpredictable rebel at night.

  ——

  AT TIMES I really did need to talk to Pastor Bishop, otherwise I’d be the one needing the psychologist.

  ONE DAY, it got to a point when I was about to throw in the towel (again). It was a stupid argument, really, about her overuse of paper towels. Stacy used paper towels like they were leaves falling off trees— in other words, free for the taking. And it’s not like I’m poor and can’t afford them. It’s just that I don’t want to. My thing is, keep a hand towel nearby. Even the dishcloths tend to be dry on occasion, and she’d pass those up just to get her hands on some more paper towels. Now, maybe if my family owned the company or something, then I’d use paper towels with pride. But, a wasteful person I am not. I like to conserve, especially in my home.

  “SO THEN you’re gonna have to stop acting like it’s a vacation cruise,” said Pastor Bishop when I sat down to have a talk with him. “You two need to find some other things to do when you’re together, other than, I’m guessing, the obvious. How about mapping out a strategy, a plan of action as to how you will live your lives, how you will spend your money, and how you will feel fulfilled. And, Danté?”

  “Yes, Preach?

  “Figure out what your contribution in life will be. You are two healthy human beings. So there must be something you can do that is beneficial to others around you.”

  “I think I do enough of that for the both of us, Preach.”

  “Well, I’d imagine you’re speaking about your work, right?”

  “Exactly,” I said, my mind focused on the workday ahead.

  “But, young Danté, my question to you is, would you do that job, fix those windows and caulk those cracks in people’s bathrooms, if it didn’t pay you?” He waited for a response, but I was stumped, as though this were a trick question. “And that’s my point, young man. You don’t have to address this now, because it’s supposed to require deep thought and evaluation. But just consider it from time to time: what would you do in life that was so fulfilling to you that you wouldn’t care to get paid for it?”

  “Alright. I gotcha, Preach. Glad I stopped by. You always help me to keep things in proper perspective.”

  “It might also serve you well to stop by this Sunday. Maybe you’ll bring a— umm, friend?”

  “You’re one funny man, Preach. I can’t promise, but I’ll try.”

  “I know you will.”

  WHEN I got home that day, I was surprised to find Stacy waiting for me outside on one of the benches that leads to the building entrance. That threw me off for a second because she had the key to my apartment. So, I’m immediately guessing that she lost the key, or—

  “What’s wrong? You lock y’self out?

  Stacy rose to give me a hug, wagging her head.

  Muffled in my embrace, she said, “Just couldn’t wait to see you.”

  I exhaled my relief, but I can’t lie, it was good to feel the hug after a long day.

  “Did you eat? Why don’t we hit Uno’s to night?” I suggested.

  “That’s a plan,” said Stacy.

  After a shower and a change of clothes, Stacy and I walked arm in arm through the park, along Wood Avenue, over to the oval and Uno’s restaurant, where it was very likely that I would see a resident, a neighbor or two. By this time— honestly—I didn’t give a shit.

  Once we were seated I said, “So I was thinking about what you said last night.”

  “Which part? We talked about a lot last night.”

  “The part about your children, and getting us a house down in Atlanta. And I say, let’s check into it. I’m kinda tired of the same old grind, and it’s been a little miserable since my dad and gramps passed. So, yeah. Let’s check it out. It might just be the change I need.”

  Stacy got up, although we had just been seated. She shot around the table and nearly tackled me on my side of the booth.

  “Oh GOD! Are you serious?! Really!?”

  “Yup. I’m serious. I can’t stay in one place forever. And besides, you make me very happy. So wherever we need to lay our heads to be together, I’m with it. I also did some numbers, checked my credit, and I even spoke with a couple brokers from down there. And it’s entirely feasible— if I can clear my schedule and my workload— that we can shoot down there by August first.”

  Stacy uttered an eerie, crying scream that had to arouse just about everyone in the restaurant. I turned to face those who were closest to us, assuring them that all was okay and that she’s just a little happy.

  In timely fashion, our waitress came over and asked, “I hear you need drinks over here?”

  In a most joyful voice, Stacy said “YES! Oh, God. He’s gettin’ me, I mean us, a house! Isn’t that great!?” Stacy was teary-eyed, with her arms draped around my shoulders. She pulled herself in and snuggled her face into the crook of my neck and uttered appreciative sobs. I couldn’t stop her. I just had to let the moment be. But my face said it all, how Stacy took my one little mention of a visit all the way to the real estate closing within seconds. What an imagination! Or, better yet, what weight she loved to put on my shoulders!

  The waitress seemed to feel a litt le out of place, as if this wasn’t her excitement to experience. To help things along, I ordered drinks for both of us: strawberry daiquiris.

  “And please hurry. Before we have our first child,” I told her and at the same time rolled my eyes.

  While Stacy was sitting on my lap, so elated from the news I’d brought, I couldn’t help feeling uncomfortable, the two of us all squeezed into this confined space.

  She was all smooches and kisses, and then she suddenly let up and focused her big, beautiful eyes on mine.

  “Wait a minute. Did you just say our first child?”

  Before she screamed again, I held my hand over her mouth.

  “Okay, let’s not go too far. That was something of a joke— an answer to you saying he’s gonna buy me a house. Stacy, you move entirely too fast. But, like Tupac says, I’m not mad atcha. That’s the energy I love about you: that spontaneity. And I want you to change none of that. I’m inspired by you, the craziness— the whole nine. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like some breathing room?”

  We chuckled about how silly we looked all squished like we were. But, before Stacy shifted back around to her seat, she asked me, “So, when did you finally decide?”

  “I didn’t decide anything, Stacy. I’m just taking a trip down with you and speculating on some real estate, that’s all. And besides, I think seeing your children will be a plus and maybe it will heal what ever you’re going through. So, if the only thing that’s stopping you is having somebody by your side that will have your back, I’ll be there. I ain’t gonna let nothin’ happen to you. And, for the record, you can’t go through life being afraid. You do what you gotta do. For you and for your children. Remember that most people are cowards. Hot air and tough talk. Nobody’s livin’ like a cowboy today.”

  Stacy looked at me like I was crazy.

  “I mean, like back in the day they used to wear their guns on their waist and they used to challenge each other to a duel out in the middle of town, in the middle of the streets. Ain’t you ever stopped to take a look at some of those old movies on cable?”

  “A h h, nooo?” she said with a hint of sarcasm.

  “Well, I have. And things ain’t what they use to be. People are held accountable today for their actions. Plus, everywhere you look, Big Brother is watching.”

  “Big Brother?”

  I nodded and said, “Yup. The cameras in the streets, in the parking lots, on top of buildings, in the sky. You just can’t hide from shit anymore.”

  “Sounds like you’re upset about that,�
�� said Stacy.

  “Very funny. But, hardly.”

  Then she said, “Never mind all that, I got some good news, too.”

  “And what would that be?” I asked this in a sarcastic way, but I was genuinely curious as to what good news she had.

  In a singsong voice she said, “I got a credit card. I got a credit card!”

  “Wow. That’s great. But be careful. That’s the trap. They put a little bit of money out there for you to spend, and then you owe interest for life.”

  She shrugged that off and showed me a black-and-platinum card.

  “Ain’t no way I gotta worry about that, with this.”

  I took hold of the card. “Damn. They’re making these offers look more and more appealing every day. Maybe I need to get me a card. So what are they offerin’ you, a thousand?”

  “Um, excuse me, but this is way past offer. This is the actual card. And it’s not a thousand, mister-I-got-it-goin’-on.”

  “How much they approve you for?”

  “Well, the paper says a hundred thousand.”

  “What?! Show me the paper.”

  Stacy pulled out an envelope from her purse. The paper was ripped, except for the part about the approval.

  “Shit! And I thought I was doin’ something. Girl, you bet t a cou nt yo u r blessings. ‘Cuzinth is economy, they don’t come up off of this much credit for just anybody.”

  “Whatchu try’na say? I’m not worthy?”

  “No-no-no, I’m not sayin’ that. I don’t really know much about your money situation.” That is, if you don’t count your tellin’ me about banks, losing your house, and foreclosure. “You never shared any of that with me. But I’m just sayin’, watch out. Spend it wisely. Don’t take out what you know you can’t put back. That’s all.”