I’m up late doing what I do—checking and answering Truelove mail. And like any other jealous dude who’s fighting to win his girl back from a basketball player, I’m checking the local events on the web for any John-John McAfee sightings. The first site I hit up is whatthadeal.net; it’s up-to-the-second with all the concerts, parties, and social events going on in the city. Well, well, well, look at what we have here:
Tonight: 11:30/Four Seasons,
2400 Philadelphia Ave Northwest
The Pre-McDonald’s All-American High School
Basketball Game Celebrationm
Local phenom John-John McAfee will also be celebrating his eighteenth B-day
She can’t be there. Why wouldn’t she be there? They have been like a couple for almost two months. She’d be there, right? I hope she isn’t there. It’s a school night; her moms wouldn’t let her be out that late, would she? I’m losing it. All I keep seeing is John-John and his boys entrapping Roxy in some wild orgy in the highest and most expensive suite in the hotel. He’s got his filthy, disease-infested tongue down her throat and his long, skinny, skeleton-like fingers going in and out of her skirt, her blouse … her. If it wasn’t a little after midnight, I’d go over there. Maybe I will. Maybe I’ll just call her. That’s it, I’ll call her.
After three rings her voice mail comes on; I knew it. I’m outta here. I’ll pack some Mace and a pair of Pop’s old brass knuckles. I hope I can make it there in time. If I find out that punk has laid a fingernail on her, I’ll chop him down like an oak tree. I know she wouldn’t just (my phone vibrates) … is this … she’s calling me back!
Me: Hello! Hello!
Roxy: You just called me, right?
Me: Uhhh … yeah, I did. What’s happenin’? You good?
Roxy: Boy, it’s twelve sixteen. I got school tomorrow. Don’t you? What you doin’ up?
Me: Can’t I just call and check on you? We’re still friends, right?
Roxy: Check on me for what? You’ve been catching secondhand smoke from J again?
Me: Naw, I’m just sayin’ … I was really just wondering what you were up to, you know…. You and your all-star boyfriend….
Roxy: Come on, Diego, I thought you knew me better than that. I don’t care about any of that stuff.
Me: You didn’t have anything, you know, big going on tonight?
Roxy: I was supposed to go to John-John’s eighteenth birthday party at the Four Seasons, but I got a big lab practical tomorrow.
Me: I thought that maybe you were … you know, up in the suite and maybe he would try to … you know …
Roxy: No I don’t know. You think I’m one of these little groupie chicks around here? You know I don’t get down like that.
Me: I just figured that he was in a good position to take my place completely.
Roxy: Completely like, sex completely? You think I’d just let him hit it, just like that, huh?
Me: It’s not like that at all.
Roxy: Sex is really no big deal to me. But obviously it is to you….
Me: No, Roxy, listen. Let’s get off of that. Are you going to the game with him?
Roxy: I’m going to the game and afterward maybe dinner with his folks. Why?
Me: I’m just sayin’, I might be there. I really want to see you.
Roxy: I’d like to see you, too, Diego Montgomery. It’s always good to bump into you.
Me: Well, I’m sorry for waking you up. Sweet dreams, Roxy. And good luck on your practical tomorrow.
Roxy: Good night … Supreme.
Me: Good night.
She called me Supreme! She called me Supreme! She’s my Naima and I’m her Supreme. I know I’m back in there now. All I have to do is finish … whatever that means. John-John doesn’t deserve another second of her time. Something’s gotta give, real soon.
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THE PRESCRIPTION Dr. Dexter Truelove
STEEL-ROTTING, ACID-BASED GUILT
What up, Truelove,
Last weekend my cousin and I went to this little West Indian basement party, and the set was crazy! The music was live, the hips rotated and twisted nonstop, and the food was ridiculous (I recommend the beans and tripe, curry goat, and roti). I also met a superfine girl from Trinidad. We were together for most of my time at the party. After sweating completely through our shirts, we snuck off upstairs to a bedroom and got kinda familiar. Nothing really happened, but we took off our drenched shirts, kissed, and rolled all over the bed. It was hot, I can’t lie. We exchanged math, but I haven’t called her yet. The thing is … I kinda have a girlfriend.
While I’ve been thinking about my little Trini shorty, the guilt of what I almost did at the party is killing me a little. I love my girl and I want her to trust me. It was just a one-night thing and I had fun. If I tell her what went down at the party, do you think it’ll erase my guilt?
What’s real, natty-boi?
First off, beans and tripe is on point. Nothing wrong with a little organ meat, baby.
I can feel your dilemma, brotha. West Indian women, especially Trini girls, are out of control; bangin’ ain’t even the word. I’m not going to act like Mr. Do-Right and say run off to tell your main girl what you did, so take a deep breath. This is what you really need to do. I believe you when you say you love your girl, but just because you had an almost slipup doesn’t diminish that love for her. The only thing you’ll do by telling her is plant a seed of doubt. Don’t believe everything you read in all of these crazy relationship journals. I’m giving it to you real.
On the flip side of that, you can’t go out on the weekend and get all sweaty and half-naked with beautiful Caribbean girls. Come on, man. We all slip up here and there, but you have to check yourself. If you really love your girl, you will avoid putting yourself in situations that may lead to something freaky and sweaty and … nekkid. If you behave the way you’d like her to behave when you’re not around, the guilt won’t eat its way through your gut. Keep it real with yourself and with your girl.
You won’t be needing that number, so pass it to ya boy, Doc. I got a killer windup I know she’ll love.
One!