The Man in 3B Read online

  Yeah, I know I sound insensitive, but I don’t do fat. Never have. That’s why I left my first wife, and Connie, as supportive as she was about our financial situation, knew that. Sometimes I wondered if the real reason she wanted me to find a new job was so I could support her Dunkin’ Donuts habit.

  Connie was right about one thing, though. I did eventually find another job about eight months after my unemployment ran out. Now instead of closing deals on million-dollar homes, I was selling furniture at Cheap Sam’s for ten dollars an hour. Oh, I got commission too, which this past week brought my check to a whopping $602.83 after taxes. I used to pull in two grand a week minimum. Considering the fact that my rent on a bullshit apartment in a halfway decent neighborhood was $2,000, we were barely making ends meet.

  That’s why I knew Connie was gonna go ballistic when I got home and told her I only had a hundred dollars in my pocket. Most of my paycheck was in the hands of the strippers at Jiggles now. At the time, all I could think about was that a brotha deserves a good lap dance on his birthday, but now I was dreading another fight with a wife who was big enough to pin me to the floor if she wanted to.

  As I walked across the overpass to the Van Wyck Expressway, I stopped and looked over the railing at the cars whizzing by below. I wished I was in one of the cars, speeding away from Queens, away from this life that I hated.

  “Ha!” I said as I put a foot on the railing. “Who am I kidding? What life? Shit, I died when the housing market crashed.”

  Before I knew it, I was standing on the railing, ready to jump. You know what they say: Alcohol is like liquid courage, and those six vodka and cranberries I’d had were making me think I could go through with it. I could jump off the bridge and end my poor excuse for a life.

  I took a deep breath and lifted one leg. “Good-bye, cruel world,” I said, laughing at the cliché.

  “Hey!”

  The voice that came from behind startled me so much that I almost lost my balance and fell over the side. I put my foot back on the railing and turned around to see a man about my age offering an outstretched hand.

  “Mister, don’t do it,” he said. “Trust me, it’s not worth it. Whoever or whatever it is that’s bothering you is not worth dying over.”

  Believe it or not, I chuckled. “How would you know? You have no idea how fucked up my life is.”

  “I know because I was standing on that very same railing a year ago, ready to jump.”

  I stared at him for a second as I tried to read his face. Was he bullshitting me? If he was just saying that to talk me down from the edge, then I was not in the mood. “Look, I don’t have time—”

  He cut me off. “I got turned down for partner in my accounting firm, found out my old lady was cheating on me with my best friend—who was a partner—and that I had cancerous polyps in my colon. All in one day. Trust me, if anyone wanted to die, it was me.”

  Even if he was up here, I thought, that doesn’t mean he understands what I’m going through.

  “Why’d you stop yourself? Didn’t have the guts?”

  He smiled and shook his head. “No, a fifth of Jack Daniel’s will give you the guts to do just about anything. But as I stood right there thinking about why I was going to jump, I realized a few things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like that bitch I called a wife was just that—a bitch—that colon cancer is treatable, and that there are plenty other ways to make money if I’m willing to put in the hard work.”

  I looked at him, wondering if it had really happened that way. If right before he went splat on the Van Wyck, he’d had some great moment of clarity and found the will to live again. And even if it did happen like that, I still wasn’t sure I wanted to be talked out of jumping.

  Dude was determined, though. He kept on with his speech. “More importantly, I thought about how my being dead would affect my kids. All I would be doing is passing the burden on to them, all because I was having a bad day, got drunk, and killed myself. I love my kids. I’d never do anything to hurt them.”

  He was starting to get to me. That was some deep shit he was talking.

  “You got any kids, man?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I got a daughter. I’m really proud of her. She’s a schoolteacher.”

  “You love her?”

  “Of course I love her. She’s the most important thing I got in the world.”

  “Then why in the world would you leave her this burden? Look, man, I don’t know what’s got you up there, but ask yourself one question. Would you do it if you hadn’t had a few drinks?”

  I wasn’t sure about the answer to that, but I was sure about one thing: “I’m a complete fucking failure. I hate this life. I just want it to be over.”

  He nodded his head sympathetically. “I can relate. But what you have to understand is that dead is dead. Once you step off that bridge, there is no do-over, and you’re not coming back, and your daughter’s gotta deal with the pain. Did you know suicide runs in families?”

  My heart raced as my alcohol-soaked brain tried to process everything. A few more inches and I’d be on top of one of those cars down there. I couldn’t help but wonder if it would hurt or if I’d die instantly. And what if I didn’t die? What if I just ended up some helpless, disfigured vegetable who had to wear grown-up diapers the rest of my life? With my sad, pitiful luck, that’s probably exactly what would happen. Yeah, I might have considered myself to be a dead man walking, but now that I gave it some thought, I knew he was right. Dead was dead, and there was no coming back from that. I took another look over the edge, and all of a sudden, I was afraid.

  “What the hell am I doing?” I asked myself.

  “You’re doing the right thing, brother. Just take my hand so I can get you down from there.”

  I took his hand and he guided me down to the sidewalk.

  After I’d calmed down a little, I asked him, “Was that the truth? Were you really up there a year ago?”

  He looked at the railing. “Yeah, I was really up there. You still wanna die?”

  “Not right now. I can’t promise how I’ll feel next week, a month from now, or even tomorrow, for that matter, but I thank you for your words today.”

  “Not a problem. Here’s my card. I’m here anytime you wanna talk. Name’s Martin Cain, but my friends call me Cain.”

  I took his card and put it in my pocket. “Nice to meet you, Cain. I’m Avery Mack.”

  “Avery, you mind if I give you some advice before we go our separate ways?”

  I shook my head. “Not at all. Seems like you got all the answers anyway, right?”

  “First off, stop worrying about what everyone else thinks. Secondly, start living for you and what makes you happy, because that’s what everyone else is gonna do.” He patted my shoulder and started to walk away. “Call me when you’re ready to talk. I think we’ve got a lot in common and we can help each other out.”

  Krystal

  4

  “I can’t believe you’re really going through with it,” I said as I stared across the table at my best friend. Monica and I were having lunch in the outdoor section of B. Smith’s restaurant in the waterfront resort town of Sag Harbor. Monica had just dropped the bomb on me. Instead of spending the night in our summer rental, curled up in front of the TV, drinking cheap champagne, eating chocolate-covered strawberries, and watching the newest episode of Mob Wives, she was going to play peek-a-boo with her jailbird ex-boyfriend Rodney, who I couldn’t stand.

  Now normally I wouldn’t give two shits what Monica did in her room behind closed doors. I mean hell, she was a grown-ass woman, and this wouldn’t be the first time she had male company. The thing that was getting my panties in a bunch was that her fiancé, Wayne, who she was marrying in three weeks and who I happened to like a lot, had just left this morning to go back to the city.

  Monica peered over her knockoff Gucci sunglasses, showing off her hazel eyes that set off her bronzed skin and light brown weave perfectl
y. She was a big girl, but she carried her weight well, and her gigantic titties and ass attracted men of all races.

  “Damn right I’m going through with it! Rodney’s got some of the best dick I’ve ever had, and his head game is off the charts. Can you say multiple, multiple, multiple orgasms?” she sang. The expression on her face made me think she was about to have an orgasm just talking about it.

  I shook my head. “Girl, I heard you and Wayne last night. Didn’t you get enough then? I mean, damn, it sounded like y’all was going at it all night long.”

  “We were.” She smiled proudly, sitting up in her chair as she pushed her sunglasses back on her face. “And under normal circumstances, yes, it would have been enough, but…”

  “But what? You gonna sacrifice your future for a fuck with a man who just got outta jail?” I gave her this look that said, Have you no shame?

  I could not understand what had gotten into my friend. All she ever talked about was how she couldn’t wait to get married so they could live together and Wayne’s dick would be at her disposal all the time. Now out of the blue she was talking about that degenerate Rodney like he was Valentino himself. She was starting to sound like those whores from back home that we were always talking bad about.

  She rolled her head on her shoulders sister-girl style. “Don’t look at me like that. I know what you’re thinking, and under normal circumstances, getting some from Wayne would be more than enough. But Krystal, Rodney’s what you call a game changer, and well, I can’t pass up a chance to be with him. Life is too short. Every time he touches me, he takes me to places I’ve never been.” She said that shit with so much emotion that I almost wanted to try Rodney out myself.

  “Girl, I know you didn’t have me pay five hundred dollars for a bridesmaid’s gown, and you’re not going to get married. My God, Monica, Wayne loves you. He just bought you a house. He wants to spend the rest of his life with you.” I sat back in my chair and folded my arms. Like I said, I liked Wayne. He was a nice guy and he didn’t deserve to be hurt.

  “What are you, crazy? Of course I’m getting married. I love my boo.” She was moving her hands as she spoke, and her huge titties were bouncing up and down to emphasize every word she said. “Rodney is just, just… you know… the one. I know he ain’t marriage material, and I damn sure wouldn’t leave Wayne for him, but I can’t help but sleep with him. Besides, I might not get another chance to be with him the way he keeps violating parole and getting locked up.”

  Now I was really confused. Was she actually going to risk her relationship and health to sleep with a guy that wasn’t even, as she put it, marriage material?

  “Do you even hear yourself, Monica? You sound like you’ve lost your mind. Is he worth it?”

  “Yes, he’s worth it, and yeah, you’re right, I probably have lost my mind. I know I sound crazy, but I’m still going through with it because he’s the one.”

  I wanted to grab her by the neck and choke her. “You keep talking about him being the one. What exactly is the one?”

  She sighed. “He’s the one guy that can ring your bell without even trying. He makes your palms perspire and your insides moist just thinking about him. Every woman has one, but most of us want to run when he comes around because we know we’re about to do something we shouldn’t. But you can’t resist. It’s like you’re a drug addict and you’re trying to quit… so you tell yourself one more fix and I’m done.”

  She looked at me like I was supposed to respond. I only folded my arms and raised my eyebrows like I thought she was crazy.

  “Oh, come on now. Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

  I stared at her silently for the next five minutes as she continued to try to explain herself. Finally, she gave up and changed the subject to the shoes of a woman who had walked past our table. I’m sure she thought that I was judging her. Funny thing is, I was actually a little jealous.

  “Daryl Graham,” I finally mumbled as she continued to rant about how ugly the woman’s shoes were. The words came out of my mouth almost as if I was afraid to say them. I wasn’t even sure she’d heard what I said until she abruptly halted her rambling.

  “Dow Jones?” she replied.

  “Daryl Graham,” I repeated, annoyed by her mispronunciation.

  “Darnel who?” She waved her hand like his name was insignificant. “Who the hell is he, and what does he have to do with those ugly-ass shoes she’s wearing? Please don’t tell me he’s the special-ed designer who made them.”

  “No, he doesn’t have anything to do with those shoes.” She looked clueless, and I contemplated changing the subject for a second before I finally admitted, “Well, for lack of a better word, he’s the one.”

  She peered over her sunglasses. “Excuse me?”

  “Daryl Graham is the one. He’s my version of your Rodney.”

  Monica leaned forward in her chair like she was ready for some juicy details. “Where the hell did this Daryl Graham come from, and why haven’t you told me about him? I done heard about Sam, J.R., Slim, and some dude named Michael, but you ain’t never told me about any Darnel.” She actually sounded hurt.

  “His name is Daryl, Monica, okay? Daryl. And there wasn’t much to tell. We were seeing each other when you were away in the navy. It didn’t work out, and you were nowhere to be found.”

  She lowered her head. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry I was MIA back then.” Monica and I didn’t talk much about the time she spent in the navy, probably because it was the best time of her life and the worst time in mine—including my short-lived time with Daryl, which I’d totally fucked up.

  “Look, I know it’s too little too late, but you wanna talk about it?” she asked.

  I looked my friend directly in the eyes as I tried to figure out why I hadn’t ever mentioned Daryl to her. Maybe it was because she’d never seemed interested in that time in my life. Maybe it was because I didn’t want to share my time with Daryl with anyone. Or maybe I’d let the best thing that ever happened to me slip right through my fingers, and I thought she’d laugh at me. Truth is, everything between him and me happened so fast and seemed to end just as quickly. Whatever the reason, I guess it was time I told my best friend about the one that got away.

  “Yeah, I guess I owe you that much,” I said as I began to explain.

  Connie

  5

  Before I walked out of my apartment, I turned one last time to look at my husband snoring on the sofa. It wasn’t the same fake snoring I’d heard from him last night when I wanted to get intimate and he claimed to have a headache. It broke my heart to think he’d pretend like that to avoid making love to me. I was already upset that he’d had the audacity to come home after midnight the other night with some cockamamie story about how he’d attempted suicide and was rescued by some man named Cain. I let it slide because it was his birthday, but he must have really thought I was stupid, because I was sure the only person he knew named Cain was some stripper named Candy Cane, and she was probably the one who fleeced him out of his share of the rent money.

  With all that being said, I still loved the man’s dirty drawers and wanted to make things work between us. Somehow I was going to have to get my sexy back, and the bottom line was it all came down to my weight. It had to be, because every other area of our marriage was covered. Shit, what more could a man ask for? He had a faithful wife who kept a clean house, made all his favorite meals, and was willing, ready, and able to take him for a ride on the love train anytime he was willing. It had to be my weight.

  “Avery, honey, I’m going out for a while. I’ll see you later.” I shook him once and he stopped snoring, but he never lifted his head.

  “Where you going?” he mumbled, his head still buried in a pillow.

  “I’m going for a run. I’ll make you some breakfast when I get back.” I was feeling good until he turned his head and raised an eyebrow.

  “A what? You’re going for a what?” The skeptical look on his face ma
de me second-guess myself. Maybe I had set too lofty a goal.

  “Okay, maybe not a run, but a jog,” I replied confidently, which only caused him to stifle his laughter.

  “Okay, a light jog, all right?” Then before he could say another word or make another gesture, I said, “A walk, dammit. Just a walk, okay? Do you think I can do that?”

  “Look, I don’t care what you do as long as your fat ass does something.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, holding back tears.

  “If you don’t know what it means by now, Connie, I don’t know what to tell you. I’m going to work, so I won’t be here when you get back.”

  “Why? I thought this was your Saturday off. I was hoping we might go to a movie or go out to lunch. It’s beautiful outside. We never do anything together anymore.”

  “Look,” he said, “I’m having a hard enough time coming up with my share of the rent. I need the overtime. I’m trying to get them to give me Dave’s management position when he leaves next month. Besides, do you know how expensive movies are these days? We can’t afford to go to the movies.”

  “I don’t know why not. I’m sure it’s cheaper than a lap dance,” I mumbled under my breath.

  “What’d you say?”

  “Nothin’. I said, ‘I love you, honey.’ ” I bent over and kissed him. “Think I can get some tonight? It’s been almost three weeks.”

  He glanced at me with this less than sympathetic look on his face. “We’ll see, if I don’t have a headache.”

  Dammit, had it really come down to this, me begging my own husband for some dick?

  “Forget it. Just make sure you have your share of the rent when you come home.” My good mood totally ruined now, I shot him an evil glance, then headed out the door straight for the elevator.