shut the water off and pulled back the shower curtain. Terri was standing there as if she were ready to pounce on me like a lioness on the Serengeti plains. I looked at her, tilted my head to the side, smiled and shook my head at the intense amount of pressure she was suddenly placing on me.
“So that’s what it’s about? The money?”
She whirled around on a dime and walked out of the bathroom. I dried myself and wrapped my towel around me. When I entered our bedroom Terri was facing the mirror putting on her make up, and jewelry. I moved in very close to her to touch her playfully. She recoiled from me like an angry elementary school girl.
“Oh it’s like that huh?” I asked poignantly. She didn’t even open her mouth to respond.
“You really want me to take this job, don’t you?” Silence. “I will look at it and let you know what I think. I am not big on being caught behind a desk.”
She finished applying her makeup, grabbed her COACH bag and leather folio, picked up the food tray, and turned to walk out of the room.
“You going to leave without even saying ‘Bye Dog’? I guess it’s war again huh? So what? You want me to lie to you and then change my mind later?”
Terri still refused to talk about it. “It’s all about you. Terri’s got to be happy...nobody but Terri. Baby, no matter what you do or how you act, I am always going to respect you and back you and that is all I’m asking from you. I love you and…”
“What’s love got to do with it?” With one hand her on her hip and the other miraculously flailing about with the food tray in it, accenting the high points of her statement and never dropping a plate.
“If you don’t know, I can’t tell you. You have a good day.” My retort was sharp as I shook my head.
She continued into the kitchen, placed the food tray on the counter, and threw the paper plates and napkins into the trash. Me like a statue, stood watching her walk away from me and our conversation. Terri had been the poster child for intimacy less than an hour ago. In a flash, her attitude changed and now she’s a double for one of the lead Zombies in the remake of Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” video. The sudden change in her behavior was all due to the fact that I didn’t say yes. I am supposed to blindly agree to do something that’s not congruent with my gifts or my spirit. She sashayed out of the kitchen, into the garage and out of my life for the rest of the day. Feeling like a fool for even thinking that what happened earlier was real, I was reminded of “Manipulation 101”.
Her Way or The Highway
Here I am, driving down the street blasting the Tom Joyner Morning Show with the air conditioner on high with my windows open. “Chapman Sweet must be a fool. If he passes on this golden opportunity his ass is G-O-N-E, gone. Any real man would take the job whether he liked it or not. He has always been on this happiness kick. Fuck happiness. Forgive me Lord? Forgive me. Brothers are always cryin’ about how hard times are. How misunderstood they are. Ain’t that a bitch? I bet you if my name was Heather, or Becky, and I had long blonde hair, that Negro wouldn’t even think twice about taking that job. What’s a little discomfort for someone you love so much? What about all of those beatings sisters have taken, lonely nights, being stuck with fourteen head of children when he decides he doesn’t want to play mama and daddy anymore? Forgive me sweet Jesus, please forgive me. Then he skips across town to play pussy with his new whore for the month? Shit like this, pisses me off. He is definitely going to get the ice treatment from now on.”
I was wiping tears from my eyes, as my car glided down the street toward the guard gate to exit the neighborhood.
“Damn this! I do everything to make his game look good. I buy his clothes from Burch’s Haberdashery, cook his food and keep myself looking damn near like I did when we first met. Okay, I will admit I have cut way back on the sex, but, shit, I’m too tired to throw my legs up when I want sex, I know I am not going to jump and throw my legs up when he wants sex. I said, ‘Get a new car.’ Noooo, he is going to drive that piece of shit until it’s riding on the rims. I told him, ‘I am not going to get up out of my bed, late at night, to go pick his black ass up from the side of the road.’ Hell, we got the money. So, what’s wrong with overextending a little bit? Everybody in America lives above his or her means. Shit, that’s what they make credit for. We both work, and we both need to be making top dollars whenever we can. His crazy ass is still holding onto his dream of being a recording artist. That raggedy ass band, with all of those wannabe’s is never going to get larger than Dade, Broward and Palm Beach County. I mean, they all right, but I don't have the heart to tell him he isn’t ever going to be no damn Earth, Wind & Fire or Najee. Playing at Bayside three nights a week, a Superstar does not make. Negro needs to wake up now, before it's too late and the party is over.”
The Tom Joyner Morning Show is still playing on the radio when Melvin “The Hair Dresser” Perot comes on the air to attempt to heal the heart of some fool, who is stupid enough to call in and air all of her business to the world via a nationally syndicated radio show.
“Caller, are you going to let Melvin try to heal your heart this morning?”
“Yes Tom.”
“What’s wrong child?”, whines Melvin.
“Melvin, I am Takisha from Miami, Florida. I am what you would call a blue eyed soul sister.”
What Takisha said was so funny, Terri began to pay attention.
“Do you mean blue-eyed like Tina Marie, or blue eyed like you bought blue contacts at the flea market?” The cast members on the show were laughing so hard they couldn’t even attend to the caller’s question.
“I am blue-eyed, as in I have blonde hair. Some folks would call me a white girl. I am not prejudiced at all. My man happens to be a black man. He’s a professional football player.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less!”, snaps Sybil.
“...He makes great money and treats me very well.”
“You don’t have a problem. You have a dream.” Sybil chimes in.
“True, true...” Takisha agrees.
“And a lot of sisters are mad at you for being able to have that dream,” says J. Anthony Brown.
“Well he and the coach don’t get along very well. He said the coach is a racist, and threatened to trade him if he doesn’t close his mouth and stop talking about race based problems on the team. I don’t see any problems. I believe the coach is a nice man. He always smiles and winks at me. Besides, if my husband keeps talking, I’m afraid he might get traded to some place like Phoenix where he will get less money and be cursed to work in a very soft media market. I just can’t live on less than a five-thousand-dollar-a-month allowance.”
“Ooohh girl...Leave him, I’ll be his ‘Love Bunny’, screams Melvin.
“Please stop. I’m actually getting’ a strong visual,” mumbles J. Anthony Brown.
Terri is so angry at what she is hearing; she turns the radio off and snatches the knob off the stereo console. “That bimbo sounds like she has the IQ of a damn field mouse, and that brother is kissing her feet every chance he gets. He’s probably complaining about some real issues and that skank is only thinking about her monthly allowance?! And Chapman thinks I’m trivial when it comes to real issues. I’m only trying
