I’ve passed by this place a jillion times but never had a reason to go in. From the outside it looks like a plain old brick building with no signs or cars parked out front. But inside it’s Sodom and Gomorrah meets Old Country Buffet. It’s decadent and seedy. It’s a very exclusive, high-scale restaurant, reserved for entertainment industry types. Kris must be a gold card member here at the Velvet Manx; the valets, the hosts, and a few of the girls all showered her with hugs and kisses when we came in. Kris winked at the bouncer and told him, “That’s my baby brother. He’s sixteen, but he’s cool.” The bouncer nodded and waved for us to pass. Kris just got it like that. I love that shit!
As soon as we enter the main dining area, I notice how drop-dead gorgeous all the servers are. It’s like we’re at Hooters … but better. This must be the part-time gig for every high-paid model in the city. Only Kris would know about something like this.
“So what you drinkin’, Diego?” Kris turns to ask me as our mesmerizing server leans over, exposing a waterfall of cleavage. I feel like I need a glass to catch every ounce of titty being wasted on the table.
“I’ll take an iced tit—I mean, iced tea, iced tea,” I say while Kris orders a vodka cocktail called a Raspberripolitan. The waitress smiles at me and winks at Kris.
“So what’s the problem, baby brother? I take it the math loss isn’t the only thing on your mind. I know when a love problem is brewing, especially with my favorite, most cutest little brother in the world,” Kris says as she lights up a long, thin cigarette she pulled out of a fancy silver case.
“Well, the math loss is just the dagger in the heart.” I’m trying to think of a way to tell her about my ambitions for Roxy without sharing my biggest secret, my Truelove identity. “You remember the girl I met this summer, the one I became real good friends with?”
“How can I forget? Every time I talked to you over the phone when I lived in Hotlanta, you never missed an opportunity to talk about her … you love her, don’t you?” I was getting to that, but Kris is obviously not the beat-around-the-bush type.
“I guess you can say that. But the thing is … I kind of screwed it up for us. We tried the whole ‘sex for the first time’ thing, for both of us, and it didn’t turn out.”
“You mean it didn’t turn out too well?”
“Nah, I mean it didn’t turn out.” I can’t believe I’m about to tell her this. “I couldn’t last, okay. I didn’t know what I was doing. I was embarrassed, big-time. I stopped calling her because I felt like she wouldn’t want to be with me anymore, but that wasn’t the case. By the time I figured that out and missed her to death, she had started going out with some basketball hero and now she’s gone….” I just ran it all off for her. My chest burns, my eyes swell, and I feel relieved, like a constipated man at a laxative convention.
“Diego, it’s a common thing with guys your age. Believe me, men twice your age still can’t keep a cork on it before the real party starts.” Kris chuckles like she’s heard this story before.
“That’s what she told me almost right after it happened.”
“Well, why didn’t you believe her?”
“I felt like she was just being nice and it was something she was obligated to say…. I don’t know. I’m stupid, right?” I say as Kris flirts with one of the servers. She puckers up and blows a kiss, then gets back to our conversation.
“Where were we? Oh, yeah … you should have listened to her. I’m sure she was sincere.”
“I was just so embarrassed, and it seemed like every great thing that we formed was ruined by that one brief, lightning-quick experience. I thought that I would forever be viewed in her eyes as only a friend, which was cool, but I fell for her bad, Kris.”
“So how does it feel? All this time without her?” she asks.
“You know, I’ve learned that no matter how many relationship magazines you read or what romance expert you may get advice from—and no offense to you—the best person to listen to is yourself,” I say to Kris. It’s like everything is coming down on me, like common sense just arrived on the late bus.
“You’re right, Diego. When it comes to love, we’re all just looking for the right answers outside of our hearts, when everything we need, every step we need to take, is inside of us,” Kris says softly, obviously recalling a personal experience.
“So why don’t we listen … you know, to that inside thing?”
“Sometimes—well, most of the time, it’s frightening listening to your own heart. It just seems easier to take the advice of someone else.” Kris takes a long drag from her skinny cigarette, and then exhales a streamlined flow of smoke. “To tell you the truth, the people who hound me every day for love advice would be better off stepping out on faith and going with their own feelings. The heart don’t lie, baby.”
“You got that right. Sometimes that advice from someone else may just be a bunch of BS,” I say as an image of J wearing that stupid mask comes to mind.
“It’s not over for you, D. Get back on that horse, boy,” Kris encourages.
“Oh, it’s over, Kris. Have you ever heard of this local kid named John-John McAfee? That’s her new boyfriend, friend, whatever. I’m done.”
“Yes, I have heard of him, and I don’t give a damn who he is. You’re my lil’ brother, dammit! Diego fuckin’ Montgomery! That’s somebody, baby.” Kris pumps me up. I may not be the tallest, the coolest, the most popular cat in the city, but what I am is enough. I may never be the best lover, but I don’t really care. There’s a lot of things I’ll never be. Can’t dwell on those things.
“So what should I do? What would you suggest?” I ask Kris, prepared to take a tight set of mental notes.
“When it comes to relationships, the good ones, there’s a common bond that only those two people share. It can’t be broken by anyone. You and Roxy have that bond, Diego. Don’t lose her to this guy. Even if it means confronting him and letting him know how god-awfully important Roxy is to you.”
Kris throws out something I’ve never thought about, that is—until after the game the other night. It sounds like suicide, but if this is what it’s gonna take, I’ll swim across the Potomac in the middle of December with a bikini on, some big goggles, and one of those rubber caps on my head. I’d then get out and smack the taste out of John-John’s mouth, pick the taste up off of the ground, then shove it back in his filthy mouth.
“You think that would be wise? You think I should confront him and let him know where I stand? I mean, I’ll do it. Maybe I need to think about it, because—”
“What’s there to think about? I heard on the radio today that his agent is holding a big workout session hosted by the kid’s school. There’s going to be, like, twenty pro scouts attending. That would be the perfect time. It’s tomorrow. Need a ride? Some backup?” Kris pushes me not to give up on love. She reaches across the table, grabs my hand, and squeezes it. She believes in me—just me. She’s probably my biggest fan, not Truelove fan, but Diego Montgomery fan; that’s something that we all need every now and then, a built-in fan club.
“I just might do it. It’ll eat me up for the rest of my life, knowing that I didn’t do everything I could’ve to get her back. Thanks, Kris.”
“Don’t thank me, just get that girl back.” Kris winks. “Here’s one more thing that may help you feel better, boost up that confidence.” Kris passes me a flyer for a jazz historian competition next week held at a spoken word/jazz club called Pharaoh’s Brother. First prize is a free lifetime admission to the club and free brunch at a greasy spoon called the Place on the Other Side of the Road.
“If anybody can win first prize, you know it’s ya boy. Thanks again, Kris.” My big sis is so good to me.
“Don’t mention it, baby bruh. Now, if you would excuse me, I just spotted an ex and a couple of friends sauntering into the reserve area. You gonna be all right out here by yourself?”
“Yeah, I’ll be okay. Go ahead and … enjoy yourself.” Kris leaves the table and is lured through a frost-covered glass door near the rear of the restaurant. I’m sitting at the table by myself—talk about a fish out of water. I look like a schoolboy at the Playboy mansion on a Saturday. I still have my backpack on.
I’m walking toward what looks like a salad and sweets bar. I grab a couple of fancy rolls and head back to my table. I’ll just enjoy my lunch, wait on Kris, and take down a mental plan of action to face John-John.
I would snatch up a salad if I hadn’t seen two of the girls already accidentally dip their nipples into the ranch dressing. I hate when that happens.
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THE PRESCRIPTION Dr. Dexter Truelove
CUT HIM OUT, TURN HIM LOOSE
Dear Dr. Truelove:
I still can’t believe I’m typing this; advice columns really aren’t my thing, but you intrigue me. I saw your little stunt at the McDonald’s All-American game—pretty entertaining. Nevertheless, here’s the deal: I have two guys, only one of me, and I’ve been seriously considering giving one of them his walking papers. The thing is, the one I’m giving the boot is such a sweet guy. I know he’s going to make somebody a great boyfriend, but not me. I’ve weighed my pros and cons for both and I think I’ve made the right choice.
I’m a sweet girl myself, Dr. Truelove. I’m not a heartbreaker, so how do I let this brotha know that we have to sever ties and at the same time make sure that I’m not letting the right one get away? Help me, Doc!
Peep game, Poprox279:
I’m glad you got a chance to check me out at the game. Got plenty of surprises left, baby. Stay tuned.
The line about it being ‘two of them and only one of you,’ I like that a lot. It says that you’re not quite into threesomes (yet), and it also says that you really care a lot about the winner—the one not getting kicked in the ass, the keeper. I wish you had given me more detailed information on the fellas … like names—just jokin’, baby. If there’s anybody who can respect anonymity, you know it’s me. You know what’s best for you and your heart. Who do you see yourself with months from now? Who do you like spending your time with? Which one do you have the most in common with? Which one do you think of the most when you’re apart? These are the questions that can help you avoid holding on to the loser and pushing the star into the arms of another.
Sometimes, Poprox279, these things work out on their own. You never know, these two guys may decide for you. I know you don’t want to serve as a bearer of effed-up news, so maybe the benevolent powers of love are at work and will save you from being a heartbreaker for one and an unbelievable, living dream come true for the other.
One!