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Authors: Terry McMillan
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I had already scraped the bark off, itwas good and dry, and I musta sat there for twenty minutes, just staring at the texture. How smooth it was—the same way her skin looked. I couldn’t concentrate on no damn wood. She was working her way inside my mind and pressing down. Franklin, you getting it bad all over again, man. Doing the same shit you always do. Smell pussy and gotta go after it. But this feel like I’m smelling somethin’ more than just pussy. There’s somethin’ wholesome about this woman, something right about her, and that’s what scares me. This is exactly how I always end up on the damn railroad tracks. All stretched out and ready to get run over. But not this time. Besides, this woman been to college, and she probably think I ain’t even in her league. And on top of everything, Zora—whatever her last name is—ain’t nowhere in my constitutional plans. Period. And she live too damn close to even think I can just wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am her. So fuck her. Let Eli—or whatever his name is—help her get settled, since he’s such a damn good friend.
I went downstairs to break up the monotony, get some fresh air. Lucky was sitting on the stoop, looking pitiful.
“What’s up, dude?” I asked, but I already knew.
“That fucking Lady Libra—the whore—came in fourth in the fifth.”
“How much?”
“I don’t even wanna talk about it, man,” he said, throwing his palm toward the ground. It ain’t nothin’ I can say to Lucky after he done lost some money. I wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t stealing from those old folks at that nursing home. I can count the days he wins. I didn’t wanna watch him feel sorry for hisself, so I went back upstairs and popped open a beer. It
was
nice and cool in here. Last winter when I was working on this office building, they was getting rid of all these old air conditioners, so I brought two of’em home. The other one is still sitting in the back of my closet. Everybody I knew cried broke when I tried to sell it.
I turned on my box, stepped out of these sweaty clothes, and dropped ’em in the middle of the floor. I grabbed my
Daily News
, pulled the box around the corner, out into the hallway, and took it in the bathroom. The dude I share it with—this motherfucker—like to hang his drawers and shit on a clothesline he put up. I keep taking it down. He used to use up all my damn toilet paper and soap and keep his false teeth in a glass overnight. I cussed the motherfucker out I don’t know how many times, but since he cripple and everything, I won’t hit him. Now I keep all my stuff in my room. This is the kinda shit you gotta put up with when you live in a rooming house.
Damn, sweat was dripping from underneath my arms. I took a whiff. I wasn’t exactly smelling like roses. I forgot to put on deodorant at the gym, so I threw my newspaper on the floor, got in the shower, and lathered everywhere with Lifebuoy. Today I was gon’ be one clean man. I heard static on the box, so I stepped out the tub to put it on the right station. One day my ass is gon’ get electrocuted. Dr. Ruth came on. I like to listen to her show sometimes, but the last thing I needed to hear about right now was how to go about making love. I already know how to satisfy a woman, so I switched to WBLS and turned up the volume. They was playing a cut from Ashford & Simpson’s new
Street Opera
album—“Working Man.” It’s a baad side. They write music that’s for real, and Valerie don’t look bad either.
I finished, rinsed off good, wrapped the towel around my waist, picked up my box and paper, then walked back to my room. I fell across the bed, wet, ’cause this is how I like to dry off. I switched on the TV and turned the radio down. That’s when I noticedmy fingernails was still caked with dirt, so I reached over to the dresser and got my file. What time is it? The clock said one. Damn.
I know one thing—if Vinney don’t pay me tomorrow, we gon’ see what
I went downstairs to break up the monotony, get some fresh air. Lucky was sitting on the stoop, looking pitiful.
“What’s up, dude?” I asked, but I already knew.
“That fucking Lady Libra—the whore—came in fourth in the fifth.”
“How much?”
“I don’t even wanna talk about it, man,” he said, throwing his palm toward the ground. It ain’t nothin’ I can say to Lucky after he done lost some money. I wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t stealing from those old folks at that nursing home. I can count the days he wins. I didn’t wanna watch him feel sorry for hisself, so I went back upstairs and popped open a beer. It
was
nice and cool in here. Last winter when I was working on this office building, they was getting rid of all these old air conditioners, so I brought two of’em home. The other one is still sitting in the back of my closet. Everybody I knew cried broke when I tried to sell it.
I turned on my box, stepped out of these sweaty clothes, and dropped ’em in the middle of the floor. I grabbed my
Daily News
, pulled the box around the corner, out into the hallway, and took it in the bathroom. The dude I share it with—this motherfucker—like to hang his drawers and shit on a clothesline he put up. I keep taking it down. He used to use up all my damn toilet paper and soap and keep his false teeth in a glass overnight. I cussed the motherfucker out I don’t know how many times, but since he cripple and everything, I won’t hit him. Now I keep all my stuff in my room. This is the kinda shit you gotta put up with when you live in a rooming house.
Damn, sweat was dripping from underneath my arms. I took a whiff. I wasn’t exactly smelling like roses. I forgot to put on deodorant at the gym, so I threw my newspaper on the floor, got in the shower, and lathered everywhere with Lifebuoy. Today I was gon’ be one clean man. I heard static on the box, so I stepped out the tub to put it on the right station. One day my ass is gon’ get electrocuted. Dr. Ruth came on. I like to listen to her show sometimes, but the last thing I needed to hear about right now was how to go about making love. I already know how to satisfy a woman, so I switched to WBLS and turned up the volume. They was playing a cut from Ashford & Simpson’s new
Street Opera
album—“Working Man.” It’s a baad side. They write music that’s for real, and Valerie don’t look bad either.
I finished, rinsed off good, wrapped the towel around my waist, picked up my box and paper, then walked back to my room. I fell across the bed, wet, ’cause this is how I like to dry off. I switched on the TV and turned the radio down. That’s when I noticedmy fingernails was still caked with dirt, so I reached over to the dresser and got my file. What time is it? The clock said one. Damn.
I know one thing—if Vinney don’t pay me tomorrow, we gon’ see what
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