Chapman was so appealing to the point where some women would have gladly taken the shit that Terri imagined was going on just to be able to say that they got to stand in his sunshine. He tried to tell her he was in love with her and only her. But, that was like trying to tell an anorexic that she’s not fat. What you say, to a black women who has been hurt before or has seen her mother, grandmothers, sisters or friends dragged through the mill, has nothing to do with reality. Many sisters don’t believe anything a brother tells them. He would tell Terri that he saw the women that were in his face as future buyers of music and a good PR program never hurt anybody who was serious about becoming a recording artist. He did have a point, but could you imagine a slightly insecure Terri, going for what the creative man she was falling with was trying to explain to her? She was, definitely not going for his explanation, and he truly felt this in his heart. “I’m just being nice to ‘em baby.”, he used to say, before he would lean over to kiss her on the forehead to reassure her of his level of commitment in front of everybody on “The Set”. I do admit that him kissing her in front of all of those girls used to blow me away.
When they had good times, they seemed to have had the relationship that was most likely to succeed among all of the young couples on campus at that time. But, when they were bad it seemed like the world would end for them and me. I was caught up in their lives like it was reality soap opera. I guess I knew even then that the possibility of me finding a good man was growing slimmer and slimmer as the time ticked on by. I was living vicariously through Terri and Chapman’s relationship. So, them breaking up was the last thing I wanted to happen. This was as close as I had ever been to true love, outside of my mother and father’s relationship.
My Mama and Daddy had love in a different way. My daddy used to keep him a woman in every port of call. He was a preacher, and a damn good one as far as showmanship went, I finally concluded. Reverend Richard “Big Dick” Dixon. Big Dick is what people used to call him behind his back, because he was known to put the ladies to sleep, and I do mean like anesthesia. Like the Temptation’s song, my “Papa was a Rolling Stone”. They said that daddy had a stone-cold sledge hammer in his slacks. I think the example he set in front of me is why I have not been able to find a dream man. He was tall and good looking and you could never stay angry with him for long. Not a minute. He is a major contributor to why I am by myself. I have been measuring all of the men I get close to with a subconscious ruler expecting them to be the man my father was. Liars, with personality to boot. I wanted a good man. A big Teddy Bear like my father, fun and funny; but a partner who would be loyal and true to me, and only me. I missed the love train once, but, I bet you I won’t let it happen again.
I often wonder why my mama stayed with my dad. A good woman is what she was, God rest her soul. My daddy was a good provider and a good father to me. One thing was for sure, when he came home from being on the road, he would give my mom much money and whatever strong lovin’ he had left. Apparently the lovin’ was so good, she would shout, quote scripture and even speak in tongues sometimes. My daddy would come home from the road and park that big caddy in the yard for the whole world to see. So, you know mama had to get a fresh hairdo at Miss Gerri’s beauty parlor for the occasion. That’s right, a wash and set, complete with those tight curls all over her head made by the curling iron that you had to heat up on the stove or in the special heater that looked like a small oven. Then she would come home and style that thing herself. She would put me down to bed and read me a story and I would be sound asleep when the games began. I would wake up in the middle of the night to go tee-tee and I would see mama in the bathroom with a hairdo that looked like Don King’s, and with a smile on a mile wide. I remember asking mom if I would ever find happiness with a man, and she just told me to pray and trust in the Lord. I have been doing that for quite sometime now. I guess I must be facing in the wrong direction or kneeling the wrong way when I pray, because I am still by myself.
Terri is not like my mom, because she refuses to share a man. I do understand her position. I wonder sometimes if Terri is just spoiled. Is she supposed to have it that good, and always complain? I tell her how good her man is and she always tells me that I can have him. She just doesn’t know. Had I not been so tied up in running track, I would have been Mrs. Kenya Sweet. But still, my heart says that no man is worth destroying a friendship.
Out of Control
“Girl you must have been out there on cloud nine. I have been tapping of your door for a minute. You have to stay on your toes while you are at work. As hard as it is for black women to get a job like this, you sure don’t need any negative strikes going into your files this late in the game. So don’t let them catch you with your guard down,” Terri preached.
“Oh, here is the information you asked me to get for Chapman.”
Terri reached for the information with somewhat of a smirk on her face. Silence dropped over the office like a curtain on a tacky Broadway play. Dropping her head, and then lifting it up again, Terri looked puzzled.
“Can I ask you something?” Discomfort, lightly etched on Terri’s face.
“What do you think?” Kenya pushed her bottom as far back into her chair as she could.
”Never mind...I’ll ask you later.”
Terri turned and headed out of Kenya’s office, down the hall back to her own. She tossed the information on top of her desk, knocking over a crystal elephant that Chapman had brought back for her from a Caribbean tour the band had done a few years back. Her first impulse was to let the elephant fall and shatter into a thousand pieces. But, in an instant of nostalgia, she changed her mind. She dove over the chair in a desperate attempt to save what was hers. She caught it just before it hit the floor. Regaining her balance, she placed the elegant elephant on the desk where it previously rested. Sitting down, she noticed that the elephant’s tusk had pierced her palm. A few drops of blood appeared on the surface of her skin and tears began to cascade down her face. Wiping her hand with a napkin from an old food takeout utensil packet revealed that the cut was truly superficial. She then covered her face with her hands.
“I got to get a grip. I must be in control. I can’t let them see me like this,” She whispered through the quiet sob of tears. She then sprang to her