4. Not My Type #2
“Shit,” he said with a chuckle. “I guess my ass is out the running because there ain’t no muhfuckin’ way.” He threw his hands up playfully, and I couldn’t help but smile.
“Okay, well tell me about your dream wife, was it Ms. Lil’ Skirt, or Ms. Can-I-Get-You-Anything-Else?” I said the last part in the most overly sexual way that I could, making him laugh. At this point we were going laugh for laugh, and I was pretty sure that I was in the lead.
“Nah… Well, I don’t know. I don’t know either of them like that to know, and I never really thought about having a wife before. It was never in the plans for me.”
“Well, think about it now and tell me what comes to mind.” He licked his lips and sat back, contemplating for a few moments before he spoke again.
“I deal with a lot of shit. My ideal woman would have to be someone who I could come home to after a day of chaos and find my peace.”
“So, a doormat? Someone who just shuts up and goes with the flow so they don’t stress you out?” I challenged. If he wanted someone to walk all over, this arrangement wouldn’t make it past lunch. My mom always tried to drill that particular brand of obedience into me, but it never quite stuck.
“Nah, like a best friend. Yes, call me out when I’m wrong, but still be that anchor in this shit storm we call life. It’s really that simple.”
“And here I thought you would start spouting off measurements and butt sizes,” I said, realizing that I may have read him wrong just a little bit.
“I mean, shit. Anybody who knows me, knows that I only fuck with the baddest bi—” He stopped cold when I shot him a death glare. “The baddest women, so that’s automatic.”
“Hmph, so I guess I’m not your ideal pick either.” I cringed at the self-deprecation in my voice because I didn’t mean it like that. I knew I was pretty, but not necessarily what he was looking for.
“Nah, you pretty as fuck, Destiny.” My cheeks warmed and I looked away. “I just don’t understand why you’re ashamed of your body.”
“Ashamed of my body?” I scoffed. “Now, what gave you that impression?”
“I mean, every time I see you, you’re so covered up. It’s seventy-six degrees outside. You ain’t gotta do all that, Ma.”
“So, because I’m not out here showing my body to everyone, that means I have to be ashamed of it? Maybe I just love it so much that I want to keep it exclusive? Everyone isn’t allowed to see what’s sacred to me,” I corrected.
“Okay, that sounds all philosophical and shit, but I feel like that’s what somebody trained you to say—probably your weird ass daddy to keep you under his control.
He did it so well that you didn’t even realize you were on the end of his puppet strings.
I can hear it in your tone that somebody told you that shit over and over, and now you’re just regurgitating it back to me. ”
“That is… not true!” I argued, while also cringing at the fact that it was kinda true.
Since I was young, my parents harped on modesty, assuring me that the path to heaven and a good husband was not paved with booty shorts and low cut tops.
Since I had more curves than the average even at a young age, I started dressing in baggier clothes and layers because even a simple tank top somehow created a scandal when I put it on.
“I’m just saying. This might work out for both of us.
I know I didn’t make the best first impression, but I’m really a cool ass nigga.
I’ve seen enough to know that your pops is controlling.
He thinks you’re weak as fuck and won’t stand up for yourself.
I can also tell by one conversation with you, that’s not true.
You seem smart, like you got your head on right.
If we go through with this, then I wanna be cool with you.
I got enough people I gotta watch my back around.
I don’t need that shit in my home life.”
“He… He said that about me?” I asked.
“In not so many words. He’s disrespectful as hell. That’s why I beat the fuck out that nigga. Ol’ weird ass.” He sucked his teeth.
“You did that?! You put your hands on my daddy?” I gasped, covering my mouth.
“I used a gun.” He shrugged carelessly.
“You pistol-whipped my daddy?!” I hollered out, forgetting we were in a restaurant. He gave me a look to tell me to shut up and I popped my mouth shut. We both went silent as the waitress put our food down. He waited until she was out of earshot until he spoke again.
“He deserved that shit. Like I said, I’m a cool ass nigga, until you try me. What I’m proposing could possibly free you. I know you work at the church and shit. How much is he paying you?”
“Five hundred every two weeks,” I said with a shrug.
“The nigga stole all that money on top of what he was making and only paid you thirteen thousand a year?”
“Well, he paid for my car and apartment too.” The natural impulse to defend him had me considering everything Brick said.
He did me wrong. I had done the research for what a person in my position was getting paid, and I was on the lowest end, even with my bills included.
The worst part was that I was so proud of myself that I had just negotiated a raise.
A few months ago, I was only making four-hundred and fifty.
“I feel like you missed the part where the nigga stole millions on top of the money he made, but I’m not even trying to go there with you. I want us to enter into an agreement of our own.”
“What do you have in mind?” I asked, trying not to sound too eager. If he was willing to at least double my pay, then I could really get my savings up. I wanted to put money up for a new car and school, but every time I got a good flow going, something would come up.
“We can treat this like a business deal. I get my company and you get your pops’ life or whatever. After the last of my brothers gets married, she’s supposedly retiring, so we can dissolve it then.”
“Like a divorce?” I asked, face twisted up.
“Whatever you wanna call it. I’d like to think of it as more of an end of terms.” I swallowed the lump in my throat at the thought of planning my divorce before I even planned a wedding.
None of this was following any of the plans I had for my life…
but what choice did I have? He gave me a moment before continuing.
“In the meantime, you can live your life on your own rules, with your own money. I’ll make sure you have a monthly allowance as well as a payoff at the end—”
“How much?” I asked, cutting him off.
“Ten, and we can negotiate the payoff later”
“Ten what?” I asked, squinting so I could hear him better.
“Ten thousand,” he answered like it was nothing.
“Ten thousand… dollars?” I repeated, nearly choking on my lemonade.
“Fuck, Destiny,” he huffed. “Fifteen. Take it or leave it! I’m not goin’ no higher!”
“Sold,” I shot back, quickly shaking his hand before he could change his mind.
“Aight cool. One thing though. I’d be the laughingstock of The Sleigh if niggas knew that I had to pay a woman to be my wife…
So, we need to keep that part quiet. I mean, you can tell the people in your circle, but as far as everyone else is concerned.
We met, fell for each other, or whatever niggas be doin’, then got engaged…
Send me your ring size and some shit that fits your style and I’ll hit up my jeweler this week. ”
“Okay,” I said with a nod, starting to warm up to the whole situation. He seemed to have a little common sense. At least I wasn’t being shipped off to some maniac.
“So, will we be expected to live together?”
“You know any niggas who don’t live with their wives?” he asked with a smirk.
“Okay… Stupid question. Am I expected to sleep with you?” I asked with a suspicious brow and a narrowed gaze. I would call the whole thing off if he thought he could buy me like some loose woman. Daddy would just have to figure it out.
“Not unless you want to,” he said as his voice deepened and his eyes bore into me.
“Brick!” I cleared my throat nervously.
“My fault, that shit just comes naturally.” He shook his head like he was trying to force the lustful spirit from his body.
“I actually think it might be for the best that we keep shit neutral. It’s less messy that way.
You’ll be at the crib, but I’ll make sure you have your own space.
” I felt my shoulders sag with disappointment but couldn’t pinpoint why.
It wasn’t like I wanted him to want me. Or did I?
I mean… we would technically be married, so it wouldn’t necessarily be wrong.
The idea of having to wait to give it up until I met my second husband may have been too much to bear, but for fifteen thousand a month, I could just keep squeezing my legs together like I had been.
After we set a few more ground rules, we finished lunch and went our separate ways. I left feeling like this whole thing really could work out in my favor.
* * *
A few days later, I awoke from a mid-afternoon nap to a knock at my front door.
I had completely stopped going to work, and if Daddy had a problem with that, he could sue me.
I was sure that promising me off to pay for his debts would stand up in court for a few days off.
The more I thought about it, the more I realized that Brick was right.
Even though I didn’t want him to die, it was high time I got away from him and his controlling ways.
All I could do was pray that I wasn’t jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire.
I shuffled to my front door and opened it without looking, jumping back when I saw the huge man in a black suit. It took me a moment, but I recognized him as the man who was always with Brick’s mom. It was only then when I realized that I had never learned his name or heard him speak a single word.
“I have a delivery from Mr. Brick West,” he said. His voice was just as deep as I expected but had a playful undertone.
“Um. Thank you?” I said slowly as I accepted the small bag and gorgeous spring floral arrangement.