Ladies Listen Up Read online

  LADIES

  LISTEN UP

  Darren Coleman

  This book is dedicated to all of the educators across the land; past, present, and future.

  I come from a family of teachers. So to each of you I offer a special, heartfelt thanks for shaping me.

  “…I’ll mourn forever. Shit, I got to live with the fact that I did you wrong forever.”

  —Jay-Z

  Contents

  Epigraph

  The Beginning of the End

  1 …and I Can’t Get Up

  2 Better Love

  3 Crossing the Thin Line

  4 Birds of a Feather?

  5 More Sh#% Than a Little Bit

  6 Do or Die

  7 Protect Ya Neck

  8 Knocking Opportunity’s Boots

  9 After-school Special

  10 A Song Worth Singing

  11 One Way or Another

  12 The Love Experience

  13 A Brand-new Groove

  14 Don’t Push Me

  15 Who Knows Where This Could Go?

  16 Sweet Thing

  17 Ain’t Too Proud to Beg

  18 Taking Candy from a Baby

  19 My Mic Sounds Nice

  20 Under Fire

  21 A Brick Wall Has Got to Fall

  22 Just Like Cats

  23 Out with the Old

  24 Right to Do Wrong

  25 Might Be the One

  26 It Don’t Hurt Now

  One Year Later

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  Reading Group Guide

  About the Author

  Praise

  Other Books by Darren Coleman

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  THE BEGINNING OF THE END

  1

  …and I Can’t Get Up

  You got questions he got answers. I liked the way it sounded the second I read it through my windshield. It was the slogan that was being used to pitch my new radio show. I had driven past the billboard posted on New York Avenue on my way to a Mystics game earlier in the evening. Seeing my face plastered across a sixty-foot billboard for the first time, right next to that blurb, had my head spinning, in a good way. Diego Christian, better known as Dr. C., was coming soon to WJDS, Smooth 99. My own radio show during the afternoon drive, three to seven. A brother was about to blow up. There was even talk of a book and a talk show on TV One.

  I cruised through the remainder of the rush-hour traffic with Jill Scott blasting through the twelve speakers of my Range Rover, her voice soothing me like a glass of Remy VSOP. I drove calmly, like a man in no rush to go anywhere. With the windows down, it felt good to be seen in all my affluence. Call me a pretentious fool, but I’d blown nearly every penny of my advance on the down payment for the Buckingham-blue beauty that got me eye-fucked, surprisingly, by more men than women. I remembered my friends clowning me about my little column for the past year, calling me the hip-hop version of Dear Abby. Now who was having the last laugh? I’d gone from teaching elementary school for thirty-five grand a year and writing my one-page advice column part-time for a thousand bucks a month to hosting my own radio show. Like Don King says: Only in America. I was gonna turn the nation’s capital out first, then maybe the nation. Who’da thought? I grinned from ear to ear at the whole idea as I pulled into the parking garage at the MCI Center.

  Six hours later I was no longer smiling. I was now simply hoping that I’d live to do the first show. What I’d thought would be a discreet outing with one of my favorite women had turned into a nightmare. She wasn’t my girl, mind you. We simply shared an intellectual attraction and a physical chemistry that was too tempting to resist. We’d met at a bar four months back. Oddly enough, she’d been smoking a cigar and made it look sexy.

  She’d offered me one. “It’s a Cuban. This is no habit for me,” she said as she lit the stogie I’d accepted. “It’s just a little conversation piece.”

  I nodded and responded, “Well then, let’s converse.” Ozio’s was packed and we’d found a booth in the back to sit and talk shit.

  “I love your eyes,” she commented. I might have heard that before but never really understood why. “They make you look so innocent, like a little boy.”

  I laughed into a smile when she said that.

  “And those teeth, there’s nothing like a man with a nice, sexy smile.”

  “Thanks, your smile is nice, too.” I wasn’t lying. I realized that my focus was more on her lips. She had big juicy lips like the chick Jill Jones from the UPN show Girlfriends. And truthfully, I had fantasized about a blow job from Toni Childs on more than one occasion.

  The girl continued to compliment me on all the things about me that she found oh so wonderful. By the time she finished, my head was big as a hot-air balloon. The last thing she said almost made me spit my drink out. She leaned in after taking the cherry from her martini into those big lips. “Now, as cute as you are, if you can fuck, then we’re in business.”

  Needless to say, we’d hit it off, in spite of the small fact that she was married.

  Over the next few months I’d found out that she loved to fuck as often as possible, which turned out to be another thing that we had in common.

  She also loved basketball, so this particular evening I took her to see the Washington Mystics versus the Houston Comets. We of course drove separate cars and met at our seats. Because of the hundred-plus-degree heat, she wore a pair of cutoff jean shorts and a pink wife beater. She knew her coming out half-naked like that would drive me wild—as always. We were planning to go our separate ways after the game, but as usual, after we’d fondled each other through the entire second half, she decided she had to come home with me. We barely remembered that the Mystics lost. “Just for an hour and then I’m gone,” she promised.

  I didn’t put up any resistance.

  One hour turned into three. The next thing I knew, it was one in the morning and shit was hitting the fan with the force of a bull charging toward a matador.

  Usually great at thinking on my feet, I was stuck. Honestly, I was as nervous as a tick in a forest fire. My heart was beating so hard it almost leaped out of my chest with each knock. This was indeed some bullshit of my own design and I was neck-deep in it.

  I could swear he was staring straight at me as if he had X-ray vision. Though I couldn’t really make out the details of his frame, he reminded me of a black Mr. Clean. The nigga was at my door with a tight body shirt on. His arms were folded and the grimace on his face let me know that he wasn’t going anywhere, not peacefully at least. Just as I pulled my eye from the peephole he banged again. “Open this motherfucking door. I know she’s in there. If I have to kick this motherfucka down, I swear, I’m going to kill you both when I get in there.”

  I tipped away from the foyer and tiptoed across the hardwood back to the steps. I ran up the steps and back into the room. She was draped in a sheet, tears in her eyes. “It’s him, right?”

  “Yeah, I guess it would have to be your man.” She had seen his pickup parked out across the street.

  “Oh shit,” she panted out. Her face showed the fear of someone facing the gravest of danger. “I don’t know how the hell he found out.”

  “What difference does it make? His swole ass is down there right now about to kick the damned door down.”

  Her hands over her mouth, she shook her head. “Ohmigod, ohmigod.”

  “Yeah, exactly.”

  “So, what do you think we should do?” At that moment the door sounded like it was being kicked in. The booms that echoed up the steps were way too loud to be coming from a fist. Then the nonstop chimes of the doorbell began again. Even the incessant ringing gave away his intentions and serve
d to further escalate my fears of how this was all going to turn out.

  I slipped on my jeans and a pair of sneakers. Hands trembling, I was disgusted at my own fear. I breathed deep, trying to pull it together, then grabbed a T-shirt and moved to my closet. On my tiptoes I reached for, and found, a small case. When I pulled it down and popped the lid, her brows went upward. “What are you doing?” came frantically from her lips when she saw me put the clip into the weapon.

  “He just threatened to kill us both. He’s not playing down there.”

  “You can’t just go down there and shoot him. Are you crazy?”

  “No, but I’m not going to let him bust in here shooting and kill me.”

  “Hold on, think rationally,” she said, panting. “I don’t even think he owns a gun.”

  “Well, it’s not like they’re impossible to get if you need one for a special occasion. Like someone fucking your wife.”

  Just then she picked up the phone. “We just have to call the police. I’m not going to be able to go home for a few days, but—”

  Before she could finish I heard a loud boom followed by the crunching of wood. Without a doubt my front door was off the hinges. The fool had just kicked in my door. I ran to the steps and looked down as he made his way in over the pieces of wood in my foyer that had formerly been my door. He looked straight ahead into the rear of my house, trying to see if we’d escaped out the back door. It probably would have been a good idea, but now it was too late. I did what I could, which was to stare down at him and wait for his next move.

  His posture was aggressive, yet unsure. I scanned him once over and was surprised that he was a handsome enough brother. It was obvious that he was one of those types that lived in Bally’s or Gold’s. A broke version of LL Cool J was what he looked like. I wondered for a moment why his wife had begun the affair. As he stepped forward the glare from the moonlight hitting the steel in his hand caught my eyes. He did indeed have a gun. I looked down at my own hand, not believing that I was actually holding a loaded weapon of my own. I had never fired it at a human being and wasn’t sure that I could. I was a lover, not a fighter. Now, I wasn’t a sucker by any means, but I was far from a gangster. Realizing that I had the jump on him if I took it, I wished for a moment that I was one.

  At that moment I wondered if I was within my bounds to shoot at him. Could I sneak down and shoot him in the back without going to jail?

  I had enjoyed the sweet music that I’d made with his woman. Now it appeared time for me to pay the piper. My life or his? I pondered. This man had crashed down my door and had a shiny, silver revolver in his hand. I wondered if the brother was prepared to kill as he’d promised.

  Just then he peered up the stairs and spotted me. As he asked the words in a deep James Earl Jones voice, my whole life passed in front of my eyes.

  “Where is my wife?”

  I stood there silent. I asked myself how. How did it come down to this? I thought about everything that I’d done from the beginning to get here. A chain of events began to play out right there as I traded stares with my lover’s husband in the middle of the night.

  I thought about all the things that had made me act the way I did. My upbringing, my selfish desires to have it all, right or wrong. It might have been the fact that I was so good at hiding who I really was most of the time that women were always falling in love with an illusion. From the time I was eight, nearly every woman I came in contact with called me charming.

  I grew into a handsome and confident brother. I was intellectually inclined, with a strong sense of street savvy. Women loved me, not only because I knew what to say to them, but because I even knew how to listen.

  It was all about to blow up in my face, though. It looked like I was headed to jail or to the morgue. I couldn’t hear him talking anymore even though his lips were moving. He moved toward me and I was startled as his wife yelled out from the top of the steps.

  “Pleeeease stoooop.” Her voice pierced my state and almost snapped me out of my trance. My hands trembled and I thought about all the letters I’d responded to, all the advice I’d given.

  I heard the words that I’d read that day play through my mind: One day, Diego. You’ll get yours.

  Then I thought about all that I had to live for. Things were going to be different for me. I had something to live for. As the dirt I’d done all began to flash in front of my eyes, it became so clear to me. It had never been worth it. Then just like that, I heard the boom, the echo, and then I lost my balance. It was over just like that.

  As I lay on my back and closed my eyes, I thought of her.

  2

  Better Love

  July 2004

  Alicia and I had been through a lot during our whirlwind romance. Watching her approach me now, it was not hard to get caught up in how incredible it was that we’d wound up together. I had more than love for the woman; I held a deep admiration for her. She brought out the best in me at a time when I’d found it easy to care about only one person—myself. Until the day she’d crossed my path, I’d done nothing but blaze a trail of heartbreak and devastation in the lives of all the women I’d come across.

  I remember the night we first met in front of Circuit City in Landover. I was headed into the store to grab a copy of the DVD of Bringing Down the House. She was leaving, with one already in her bag. She caught my attention, or rather her hips did as they swayed back and forth. As she moved past me I lifted my eyes to meet hers, and she did something that was totally atypical for a D.C. chick: she gave me a friendly, unassuming smile as she walked past. I was already grinning by that time. There was something uncanny about her looks. Her skin had a smooth radiance and I instantly noticed her full lips. She reminded me of the singer Tweet, only prettier.

  Then, just as quickly, I looked down at her finger and noticed the engagement ring. It wasn’t a hell of a rock by any stretch, but whoever he was, he had gotten her to wear it. Out of impulse I called out to her, “That fiancé of yours is a lucky man.”

  Before I could turn to continue on my path, she replied, “Somebody needs to tell him that,” never breaking her stride.

  The words reverberated through my mind and stopped me in my tracks. It was an invite if I’d ever heard one. I wasn’t sure why but I yelled out, “Hold up.” She didn’t pause, but I gave chase and caught up to her as she hit the alarm to her car. Now I was standing in front of her as she had her hand on the handle to her car. “This is nice,” I said, referring to the convertible Beemer she was driving.

  “Thanks.” She was smiling again.

  I didn’t waste any time. “So you mean to tell me that the brother doesn’t know what he has? What could possibly be his problem?”

  She laughed. “You don’t know, brother. I could be the problem.” She placed her bag of DVDs in the car and then folded her arms across her chest. She had small breasts but the BCBG tank top couldn’t keep her nipples from making noticeable prints in her shirt.

  “I somehow doubt that.”

  “Oh yeah, and why is that?”

  I looked her into her eyes and confidently stated, “If I told you, you wouldn’t even understand. In fact, you might write me off as a lunatic.”

  “You think?” Another smile and bright teeth were showing again. “I’m pretty open-minded. Why don’t you try me?”

  I smiled at her. I caught her staring directly into my mouth this time. “All right,” I responded. Staring directly into her eyes, I said, “You have a kind and honest face and it’s hard for you to hide your emotions.” I noticed her face was now stone; she was waiting for something more. I added, “You want your man to do right, ya know, to appreciate you to the fullest. But even though you got the ring…you still ain’t feeling all that you need from him.” She was quiet for a moment. The next thing out of my mouth was “Sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  She interrupted me. “No, it’s all good. You just took me away for a second right there.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve been to
ld I can do that from time to time.”

  Just like that, the conversation and the courtship started. It was a quarter to eight on a humid summer evening when we exchanged names. The time between the start of our conversation and the time for us to part ways seemed to fly by.

  The store had been closed for forty-five minutes when we saw the employees begin filing out of the side entrance to go home. We realized that we had been talking for two full hours. I had to wonder how or why a woman who had accepted a ring from a man would stand outside and talk to a stranger until he was no longer a stranger.

  She’d told me that her wedding was coming up on Labor Day weekend. I wasn’t really in a relationship, just a few bodies here and there that I laid up with when the need arose, so I didn’t bother mentioning my status. Finally her cell phone rang and she said, “Diego, it was so nice meeting you. A sistah gots to get home, though.”

  “So, this is it? I’ll never see you again?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t really see how that would be good,” she almost sang.

  I’d sat there talking to her for two hours and never once had it crossed my mind that she wouldn’t be giving me at least a work number. At this point the ring didn’t matter to me. She had mesmerized me with her soft sensuality. She was curvy and sexy, yet she didn’t carry herself in an overly sexual way. Even so, I had thought more than once that she looked like she would have some good pussy. And with men, that’s what the looks and the initial attraction are all about. A pretty face doesn’t mean much unless you can get the chance to look down into it while thrusting away on top of a sister. If a relationship or love springs forth from that, then that’s all the better, but it’s not necessary for satisfaction.

  “Listen, I know you had to have been feeling this good conversation the same as I have. As a matter of fact, I can’t recall ever connecting like this with anyone. So unless I’m just tripping, I know you want to at least give me your work number.” I may have sounded like I was begging if not being pushy.