“So that’s it...Terri wants you to take the job? Based on what you tell me, this job isn’t something that you aren’t even remotely interested in.”
“But...”
“You gonna let me finish or what? Remember, you came to me, so I can say what the hell I feel like saying. You have been married to Terri for ten years and you can’t even speak up for what makes you happy. It seems to me that she has no problem telling you what would make her happy whether it deals with her personally or it affects you. I’m not trying to split you two up, but you need to decide what will make you happy within the confines of the relationship. You need to ask yourself if you are willing to sacrifice your happiness, just to make her happy. You think she doesn’t like you now─just take that job and then come home day after day pissed off. You have to make a stand. Keep on lovin’ your wife, ‘cause I know you do, but you deserve some happiness also. Hell, I know I ain’t no angel, but Precious and I get along fine. I allow her to be happy and to chase her happiness, as long as it doesn’t tear up our household, and she does the same for me. I wouldn’t want her if she wasn’t happy. Who wants to be with a miserable woman or man for the rest of their life? Not I...Hell, you know the answers to all of the questions you came here to ask me.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Sweet, you are my lifelong friend. What do you want to do? What will make you happy? Then you may have to ask yourself the question, ‘Can I be happy and have Terri at the same time?’ She loves you man. Where you are in your relationship right now is a result of you promising and threatening to be successful and not following through. Shit, you know Mr. Right to a black woman is the man who makes the most money, who doesn’t hit her, who makes her cum when she wants cum, and allows her to have an unrestricted line of credit to do what the fuck she wants to do. Shit! After that, all the man has to do is cut the fuckin’ grass, give her some tongue action every now and then, make pretty babies and make her lady friends real jealous by showing up clean shaven, bald or waved, donning a three button suit and driving a fat ass coupe. Hell, that’s what they want, but they just don’t know how to say it. Damn Black Man, I’m glad you came to me.”
Chapman was comforted to have his friend reaffirm what his lifelong analysis had concluded.
“So I ask you again...What are you going to do?”
Chapman searched for the right words so he could give
Thumper an answer that sounded proper. Thumper extended his arms with his palms facing Chapman like a traffic cop during rush hour.
“Aat, aat...don’t tell me...Just do it.” Thumper picked up the remote control from the arm of his chair and jacked up the volume on the stereo. He noticed a smile evolving on Chapman’s face. “That’s my boy,” thought Thumper, feeling like a proud father when his son finally got it.
Chapman tapped out his cigar in an ashtray and pushed himself to his feet. “Here is the music I wanted you to take a look at.”
Thumper playfully snatched the charts from Chapman’s hand and took a seat on his stool near the fish tank.
“This ballad is tight work. Man, see, that’s why we are friends to this day. You and me ain’t nothin' but some old school R & B, Jazz and Funk Junkies. You wrote this for me right?”
Chapman tried to suppress the boyish grin growing on his face.
“Look at you. I bet you have dreams about playing the bass. You think just like a bass player. You need to just come out the bass closet! Confess your love for the bass and you’ll feel much better. Come here and let me hug you.”
“Go to hell...you are one sick little man. Just look over that stuff and I’ll holler at you tomorrow,” stated Chapman as he exited the door.
“Hey, I need to hear it one time. Tell me what you are going to do, Chapman.”
“Do what I gotta do.”
“You damn skippy. I love you man!” yelled Thumper at the top of his voice.
“Thumper is my best friend and always will be.” Chapman thought driving down the street in his car. Then he began to rehearse how to tell Terri what was really in his heart.
The Squeeze
The Thanksgiving season was upon Fort Lauderdale. Where had the time gone? Terri and I seemed to have ventured into better days. Compared to the ups and downs of the past months, things were looking downright peachy. We were hosting Thanksgiving dinner, with all of the fixings and it was definitely get fat time. She even allowed me to be my old affectionate self again. She was a little tipsy from sipping the cooking wine as she talked to her mother, “Ma Black and my mother “Ma Sweet”. The title “Ma” kept them off of our backs about having babies. Anyway, Terri had to be good and toasted, because she brought up the subject of having babies without even being prompted by the mother hens. They were sitting there looking over the top of their eyeglasses, as if somebody farted and they were looking for someone to pin the blame on. I was safe out of earshot so the ladies could have the run of the kitchen. Besides, I am the official taste tester, and it is a position of honor and it is always held by the most senior male in the family. I knew my official duties didn’t begin until the fixins were almost ready to eat and I took my responsibilities very serious. So, I sat in the living room, with the remote firmly fixed in my hand and dozed off and on during the football game.
“Yeah baby...So when you all think you all gone do that?”, teased Ma. Black.
The mamas were winking their eyes at each other like big time cheaters in a Bid Whist championship.
“Do you want me to give my boy a pep talk to get him ready?”, gibed Ma Sweet.
“No Ma Sweet, that boy of yours is something else. He got mo’ get up and go than I know what to do with,” Terri quips with slightly slurred speech.
“Well, if you know like I know, you better be able to get up and git all of his git up and go, if you want to keep him in the door,” snaps Ma Sweet.
Those two old ladies were cacklin’ like a coop full of hens, and giving high five like the L.A. Lakers.
“You know, Sister Sweet is right. Girl, you got to get waxed while the candle is burning hot. Ain’t no telling when these young men gone die. Hell, at least if he dies, you’ll have some memories to work with at night, if you know what I mean.”
“Honey, I know what you mean. Cause ain’t nothin’ like a real good memory and some fresh D-batteries on a cool rainy night. That’s what keeps me goin’.”
The chatter of the two old hens made Terri scream out loud.
“I can’t believe you two.”
“Why? We weren’t born old. I bet we could teach you young girls a trick or two.”
Ma Black could hardly contain herself.
“I bet the married ladies today don’t even know the wonders that Betadine can do for a relationship.”
“Child...Not even vinegar and water.”
They were hoopin’ and hollerin’ so loud that I had to come into the kitchen to see what was the matter. I stepped into what seemed to be a scene from The Color Purple. There were two old hens and a drunken chick sitting at the kitchen table. Terri slid over next to me and began to pinch me on my butt.
“Honey you should hear what these two ole bitties are trying to put into my head.”
I got a good whiff of Terri’s breath. “Are you alright?”
Terri put her finger to her lips. “Shhhush...Come with me.”
Ma Sweet, with her lip pursed. “Chile, after the conversation