THE BLACKBERRY BLUES
I will never forget the time I visited my good friend, Brian, in Los Angeles. The plane ride was surreal. From the sky, the rolling brown snow covered hills of California looked like gigantic scoops of chocolate ice cream sprinkled with white powder across the top. I had never been to the City of Angels before and I was more than excited about my weekend getaway. I couldn’t wait to ride the Ferris Wheel at the Santa Monica Peer, sunbathe on Venice Beach, and window-shop on Rodeo Drive. After I settled into Brian’s West Hollywood apartment, we decided to dine at Natalie Thai, a chic restaurant located in Culver City, right outside of Hollywood.
After hours of reminiscing about high school and cracking jokes about our ditzy waitress, Brian finally asked me about my love life and I couldn’t wait to spill the beans. I tried to mask my giddiness, but I couldn’t help gushing about my new man and how wonderful our relationship was. “Dave’s such a good catch,” I raved between sips of my apple martini. He has his own house, a car, and a job. We’ve only been seeing each other for a few weeks, but he’s good to me and we can’t keep our hands off each other,” I beamed. What I really wanted to say was: my new boo is handsome and he can really lay the pipe if you know what I mean. “He may just be the ONE,” I blushed.
I explained to Brian that on the very day I met Dave I promised myself to cut all ties with my ex and move on with my life. I had enough of my ex’s verbally and physically abusive ways. Being with Dave was like a breath of fresh air, a painkiller that eased my bruised heart.
“You must really like this guy because you can’t stop blushing,” Brian teased opening one of the fortune cookies that came along with our check.
“I sure do,” I said cracking open my fortune cookie. “Good sex like Dave’s only comes once in one hundred years!” I slurred, feeling the effects of my martini as I read my fortune. I’m not a heavy drinker so after only sipping half of my martini, my speech and coordination became slightly impaired; however, I snapped out of my drunken stupor after I read my fortune. It read: “It’s not too late to change your path in life.” My mind raced and my heart pounded because that fortune seemed like a bad omen. And I pay attention to signs. “This fortune’s a little deep, don’t you think?” I yelled across the table to Brian as I handed him my fortune.
“Mimi, it’s only a silly message, don’t worry about it,” Brian assured me after we paid the bill and headed for the parking lot.
Just before we got into Brian’s car, my cell phone rang. It was Dave.
“Look at that, my baby is thinking about me,” I bragged. “Hello,” I answered in that airy Marilyn Monroe voice I use when I want to sound sexy.
I must have said ‘hello’ three times before I heard anything on the other end of the line. Instead of a voice, I heard a faint and eerie sound, maybe a moan. Within seconds, the moan grower louder and more intense. The moans became so loud that Brian shot me a funny look when he heard them piercing through the phone.
“What kind of freaky ish are y’all into?” Brian asked.
This phone call really caught me off guard, but I couldn’t let Brian sense it. “See, I put that thang on Dave so good, that he probably wants to have phone sex.”
“That’s disgusting,” Brian snapped. “Can’t he wait until you get back to Philly?”
After thirty seconds of listening to Dave’s impromptu phone sex session, I thought he would have said something over the phone. Instead, thirty seconds turned into one minute, and one minute turned into two minutes of moaning and sickening suspense.
“Turn that radio down,” I motioned to Brian as I listened more carefully.
“Do I hear sheets ruffling?… Is Anita Baker singing in the background?” I asked myself, straining my ears to make out the various sounds. “Is that a bed squeaking? Did the radio announcer just say, ‘This is Tony Brown on the quiet storm’?” I asked myself out loud, totally forgetting that Brian could hear me.
“A bed squeaking… what kind of porno is that? Isn’t Tony Brown a DJ back in Philly?” Brian asked.
“Brian, pull this car over cause something’s not right.”
Before Brian could park the car, the moans reached a feverish pitch and a woman screamed out, “Give it to me!”, “Slap my ass!” “Ohh baby, don’t stop.”
“This ain’t no porno,” I cried, “This ish is all the way live! Brian, listen and tell me what you think,” I said jamming my cell phone against his ear.
After a few seconds of listening, Brian’s eyes grew wider than sweet rolls. “Uh… I think your man called you while he was having sex with another woman.”
“What,” I gasped holding back my tears.
“Don’t torture yourself. Just hang up the phone.”
“Are you crazy,” I snapped at Brian, “I have to make sure it’s him.”
Nine minutes and thirty-five seconds later, I heard the moment of truth.
“Yeah baby,” a silky distinctive baritone voice said, “Is that how you like it? Tell Daddy you like that deep stroke.”
“Oh no,” I screamed into the phone. “It’s really him ‘cause that’s how he talks to me when we’re making love. He’s having sex with another woman,” I bawled.
Thirty seconds later, the call dropped.
It took a moment for me to digest everything. “What just happened?” I asked myself aloud.
“It sounds like your man is getting it in with another chick, a white girl at that,” Brian said with a silly smirk.
“A white girl! That’s not funny, Brian.” Before I knew it, I balled up my fist and punch the dashboard.
“Don’t be messing up my car ‘cause your man is banging another chick,” Brian warned as we pulled in front of the House of Blues on Sunset Boulevard. “I’m still making car payments!”
“Brian, I’m sorry,” I said wiping a tear. I had to calm down and I knew that my girlfriend, Rhonda from Philly, would be the only one able to talk me off the proverbial ledge I found myself standing upon.
“Hello,” Rhonda answered in a half conscious voice.
“Girl, I’m sorry for calling you at two o’clock in the morning,” I began.
“Mimi, it’s okay. What’s up?”
“You won’t believe this, girl.”
“What, what happened?” Rhonda asked with much concern.
“Dave called me and I heard him having sex with another girl.”
“Noooo,” Rhonda replied in a deep voice she uses to express extreme disbelief, “you have to be joking.”
“Girl, would I call you at two o’clock in the morning with this mess if I was joking?”
“Damn… how do you know it was him?”
“I heard his voice,” I sobbed.
“Are you sure it was him?” Rhonda asked in that deep voice.
“Yes, I’m sure. He guards that Blackberry with his life, he wouldn’t let someone else use it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I heard sheets ruffling and the bed squeaking.”
“Damn…the bed squeaking, too?” Rhonda asked.
“Maybe your number was the last one he dialed and he hit redial by mistake.”
TO BE CONTINUED…
© 2013, Shalena D.I.V.A. – Personal Branding| Content Marketing| Product Creation. All rights reserved.