Читать книгу All The Wrong Places - G.I.F.T.D - Страница 6

Boon

“I’d rather be with you, yeaaaa…said, yeah…girl, I’d rather be with you…” Bootsy Collins sang from the speaker of Boon’s cellphone. It was Mela’s ringtone, his girlfriend of six months. Daniel “Boon” Watson was 5’11 - average height for a man. He was not very muscular, but had a nice build on him, nonetheless. The feature that attracted ladies to him most, was his hazel eyes, which he inherited from his Panamanian mother. His tanned, brown complexion came from his African American father, a native of South Shore in East Chicago.

“Sexy, how is work?” Boon asked, as he answered his Samsung Galaxy Note 5.

“Boring, as usual.” Mela’s response was dry.

“Well, how ‘bout we grab some White Zinfandel or a little Merlot, a karate flick, and some takeout? Let me bring you some fun, girl.” Boon turned on his inner Casanova.

“I think I’ll pass on the karate and takeout, but the Merlot don’t sound half bad.” Mela sounded less than interested, but Boon didn’t make much of a fuss.

“Seen,” he replied; a word his mom used as a statement to mean understand. “Do I pick you up or are you coming over?”

“I’ll drive there. Look, my boss is coming. I’ll be there later,” Mela told Boon and they hung up the phone. Boon felt uneasy when the call ended. His thoughts raced back to the day he first saw Mela.

Mela and Boon had met at The Taste of Chicago, a yearly event that took place around the Fourth of July in Grant Park, Illinois. Jamela Howard, he soon discovered, was a graduate of DePaul University - just as he was. Upon seeing her, Boon was instantly attracted to Mela. She was about 5’8, with flawless, chocolate skin and a Coke bottle figure. She sat in the park with a few other women in lawn chairs, with a plate in her hand, glowing in the sunlight. Boon was with some of his teammates from the basketball team of Simeon High School, class of 1998. When discussing how they’d met, Mela always mentioned that she liked the confidence he showed by approaching her in front of her friends. As Boon gazed off into space, his doorbell rang.

“Who is it?” Boon yelled, as he got up to walk towards the door. He waited, but there was no answer. “Who is it?” He yelled, again, as he got to the door. Boon lived in a loft in the South Loop, located Downtown. With no kids, being the youngest of four children had its spoils. Not to mention, he worked as a law clerk at a prestigious law firm. He was currently in law school, studying to be a criminal defense attorney. Upon graduation, he hoped for a position as a litigator at the firm that currently employed him.

“Open the door, nigga, it’s Yo. Got a nigga outside while you in there beatin’ ya meat and shit.”

“Hold up!” Boon retorted, snatching open the door.

“What’s up, potna?” Yo reached to dap Boon up.

Johan Benoit, also known as Yo, was Boon’s ace. They had known each other for the better part of the last two years. They met when Boon moved to South Loop after graduating from DePaul. Yo was 6’2, athletically built, and mixed with Puerto Rican and Haitian. He had long, curly hair that he wore, more often than not, in a ponytail. His skin was a golden-brown hue and he had chronic-induced, bloodshot eyes from smoking weed all day.

“Ain’t shit. Come on in. Lemme go on and beat that ass again.” Boon stepped aside to let Yo in the house, looking forward to the match. They both smoked weed and loved playing Madden and NBA 2K14 on Xbox One.

“Shiiiit! I bet me and Carmelo finna torch you,” Yo bragged, taking a beer from the fridge, before sitting on the couch positioned directly in front of the 72-inch, flat screen TV mounted on the wall.

“Whatever, nigga. Roll up, I’ma be right back.”

Boon went to use the restroom. Yo’s phone rang just as Boon came out and went to the fridge to grab himself a beer.

“Shoot,” he said, answering the phone. “Wit’ my boy, playin’ the game and smokin’. What up, tho’?” Yo spoke, while Boon set the game up. Boon could not hear the other party on the phone. “Oh, yeah? Hell yeah, we can do that.” Yo listened for a second. “I’m in for the day. Bring some Trojan Magnums wit’ you. Okay, cool,” Yo said and ended the call.

“You know you supposed to buy ya own rubbers, right?” Boon quipped.

“Fuck these hoes. I ain’t payin’ fa shit. I take that back; I pay the hoes no attention.” Both guys laughed.

They played six games. Boon won four of the six, during which, Boon had to warn Yo about his mouth. Yo was a sore loser and always resorted to name-calling and bragging about having more money and bitches than Boon.

“You pussy-whooped! That’s the real reason you got one bitch!” Yo shouted, during one heated exchange.

“Mela ain’t no bitch, dog! Watch yo’ muthafuckin’ mouth ‘bout my lady, man, while you up in my shit too, nigga,” Boon shot back.

Yo smirked and apologized for getting out of hand. “My bad, homie. That next ounce of Kush on me; matter fact, I owe you. You know I be takin’ shit too seriously,” Yo told Boon, as he got up and walked over to throw his empty beer bottles away.

“I’ma need that bud, too,” Boon said, half-joking, as he dapped Yo up.

“I gotcha. Just come through tonight. If the music up loud, just come on in. You know I like my shit up loud as fuck,” Yo said, walking out the door.

After a store run to get some Merlot and candles, Boon was back at home, doing some studying. He also drove to Jewel’s on Roosevelt Road to grab a copy of Think Like a Man for him and Mela to watch. Although six months wasn’t very long, in terms of relationships, Boon really liked Mela. He’d had relationships in the past, but none of them lasted very long. Women always told him he was more of the “homeboy” type. He was determined to work this one out. Bootsy Collins sang in his ear, just as he was slowly beginning to doze off, letting him know that Mela was calling.

“Hello,” he answered, after fumbling to get the phone to his ear.

“Were you sleeping? I can wait and come tomorrow, if you want,” Mela said.

“No, nah, baby; I was getting bored, reading this study guide for class. I’m awake; got Merlot on chill and a nice massage waiting for you,” Boon said.

“Sounds good. I’ll be there in about 15.”

He ended the call, got up, and put his book away. Boon cut on some Tyrese, lit four candles, placing them in each corner of the living room, and set out the bucket of ice with the Merlot in it and two champagne flutes. He turned off the lights and sprayed a little Acqua di Giò cologne to erase the cannabis scent. Finally, the mood was set - and not a moment too soon. Mela used the key he’d given her to unlock the door, as he went to wash his hands and grab the massage oil that he had forgotten. He’d bought it from an adult, novelty shop. It was supposed to cause a fierce arousal for both males and females.

“Boon?” Mela called, when she stepped into the dimly-lit, glowing living room.

“Right here, sexy,” Boon replied, setting the oil on one of the end tables. Approaching Mela, he grabbed her coat, scarf, and workbag.

“Boon, you didn’t have to—”

“Sure I did. You deserve to be pampered after a hard day’s work,” Boon interjected.

He walked Mela to the couch and sat down beside her. Boon popped open the bottle of Merlot and began to fill both glasses.

“Boon, you are a great guy; handsome, smart, ambitious, and a great lover. I couldn’t possibly deserve you,” Mela murmured, as she reached for her glass.

“Don’t say that. I dig what we got; seen? I can’t wait to see what the future has in store for you and I,” Boon said, in a voice he was sure would melt Mela. He slowly leaned in for a kiss.

“That’s just it, though,” she mumbled, turning her head to avoid the smooch. “I don’t want that future.”

Boon did not see it coming; just as he had not seen the majority of the other relationships falling apart.

“What… why? I don’t understand, Mela.” His heart skipped a beat, during his retreat.

“I mean… I like you, Boon, but it isn’t strong enough to pursue anything more.” Mela sipped her wine and sat the glass down.

Boon was baffled. “I am there for you. I give you money. We go out. What’s missing, Mela?” Boon retorted, “You sit there and rundown how great of a guy I am, and then you stab me like this?” Boon’s hurt reflected in his voice.

“I didn’t want to hurt you, but I didn’t want you to keep feeling like this was deeper than it is.” Mela stood and went to gather her belongings. “I’m sorry, Boon. Someone will come along and love you how you want them to. It’s just not me.” She sauntered to the door, and just like that, Mela was gone.

Boon sat there dumbfounded. He halfway expected her to walk back in and tell him it was a joke. After 10 minutes had passed, he knew it was not so. He sat in the candlelit dimness for another 30 minutes, wondering what the fuck just happened. He finally got up to go to his footlocker by his bed. Inside, he kept pictures and small forget-me-nots of the serious relationships he had been in. There had only been five before Mela. Holding the empty massage oil bottle, he would put it in the footlocker, along with a picture of Mela.

“I need to smoke one. A nigga nerves is fucked up,” he said to himself. Boon left the box open and went back to the living room to call Yo. Damn voicemail. A second call only went to voicemail again. “That nigga probably got that music blastin’. Lemme go catch this nigga before his company gets there.” Boon rushed out the door.

*

It was a short trip to Yo’s spot. Boon stayed on the fifth floor, in unit 571 and Yo lived in unit 365, on the third floor. Boon took the stairwell down to the third floor. Since he was a kid, he had a serious elevator phobia and avoided them - when he could. As he approached unit 365, Yo had been true to his word. Music, loud as ever, filled the halls. He paid his neighbors, handsomely, not to file complaints. “These bitches love Sosa.…” Chief Keef was blaring through the walls of the loft. Boon knocked, but knew he couldn’t be heard; hell, he barely heard the knocking himself. The nigga said just come in, Boon thought, and then twisted the knob.

“Yo,” Boon yelled. He knew he wasn’t loud enough. When he went towards the radio to turn it down, he saw shifting and moving through a small opening in the bedroom door.

“I’ma go see what this broad look like, since this nigga ‘get so many bitches’,” Boon mouthed, as he tiptoed towards the room.

When Boon got to the door, he could hear what he thought was flesh slapping against flesh. They already fuckin’. Fuck that, I’m goin’ in, he thought.

He heard the woman moaning, “Ooh, Johan. Fuck me right…there. Beat this pussy, boy.”

Boon pushed the door and stuck his head in. He saw Yo’s back to him and the woman bent over the dresser.

“Oh…oh…oh, shit. You fuckin’ the shit outta me,” she moaned.

Yo’s tearing this bitch up.

The girl put her hands on the dresser, and as she turned to look back at Yo, Boon felt his stomach balling in knots. It was Mela.