Maneater (18 page)

T
he preseason was coming to a close and things were beginning to work out for me on all fronts. My diet was clean, the exercise was getting easier, and I was beginning to feel like a new man. But a few days earlier I'd answered a call on the house phone that messed me up. It was Blow's hot new girlfriend Tee, and as soon as I heard her voice I passed my man the telephone and walked away.

“'Sup, baby girl,” I heard Blow say. “You just called me a minute ago. You missing a niggah or something?”

I wasn't trying to dip on my man's conversation or nothing, but it was hard not to hear him since I was still right there in the room.

“
Who?
” he said like he'd heard something crazy. “For what?” Long pause. “You ain't never asked
me
to come.” Pause. “Yeah, whatever.” Short pause. “Hell nah I ain't jealous. Why should I be? Girl, look at him and look at me.” Pause. “Damn right, so kill that noise.” Pause. “Yeah, cool. Hold on.”

Blow shot me a dark look and threw the phone at me like he was making a pass.

“Ribs! Telephone, niggah!”

“For me?”

There had to be some kinda mistake. I mean, I'd holla at Tee a little bit whenever Blow brought her by the crib, and I'd run into her a couple of times when the whole crew was hanging out, but I couldn't see why she'd be calling the crib for me, especially when she knew her man was home.

I gave Blow a look like, ‘what the fuck?' and when I spoke into the receiver and realized that Tee actually did wanna speak to me, I almost missed the fact that she was inviting me to join her at her cardio kickboxing class.

“Me?” I said. Either she had me mixed up with somebody else, or the girl was crazy.

“Yep,” she said cheerfully. “You're Rishawn, right? I teach a cardio kickboxing class. I want you to come check it out.”

Thanks to Sugar, the exercise bug had taken a big chunk out of my ass and kickboxing sounded like fun. I told Tee I accepted her invitation, and when I hung up the phone and looked at Blow, he was grilling me like I'd intercepted his game pass or something.

“What?” I said innocently. Hell, I hadn't called his girl. She'd called me.

“Nothing,” Blow said, but I could tell he didn't mean it.

I went to class with Tee that night, and it was so cool that I went back the next week, too.

Blow started acting real ill after that. The Polish dude at work had a heart attack and I'd gotten a promotion to interim senior athletic trainer. Unlike the old-head, I was up on the latest technology and took my job seriously. I liked to keep things running smooth and the atmosphere light. I laughed and joked with everybody, and the administrators really dug me.

“I'm about to get a phat raise,” I told Blow one night as he popped in a DVD to watch a movie on our seventy-six-inch plasma screen. It was cardio kickboxing night for me. I was a regular at Tee's class by now, and while I hated to miss a session it was raining like a mahfuckah outside and so windy the trees were damn near bent in half.

Some of the fellas and their girls were over drinking beer and eating popcorn, and I felt like bragging on my temporary raise. “I'm only holding the spot until they can hire somebody else, but the guys upstairs like me so they offered to pay me extra as long as I do a good job.”

Blow dissed me in front of everybody.

“Niggah! I'm the one who got you that job in the first place!” he said real loud. “If it wasn't for me old Pork Ribs would be frying bacon in a Country Kitchen somewhere!” He turned to our friends. “This niggah over here thinking them crackers
like
him! Man, Ribs, you so far up them white folks' ass that every time they open their mouths I see your big fuckin' head sticking out.”

“Man, fuck you!” I said that shit like I was joking, the way I always did, but this time I really wasn't.

Blow laughed and dapped Tomere. “You probably wish somebody would fuck ya hand-humping ass, Ribs. You probably wish somebody would.”

I ate Blow's bullshit right there in front of everybody. I didn't say nothing. But I was beginning to see Blow and all them cats in a whole new light. All of their asses was grimy. They did foul shit to people and never thought about it twice. From his sheisty business dealings to the way he took down the competition, Blow didn't miss no sleep regardless of what he said or did to other people. He didn't give a damn about the next guy. He damn sure didn't give a shit about me.

A couple of days later, I pulled him to the side and told him I was just about fed on all his mouth, but that niggah was still chumping me every chance he got. Especially in front of Ice Tee. I liked it when it was just the two of us hanging out. She'd challenged me to take a second class each week, and I got turned on just watching her sweat.

But Tee was also spending more and more time at the crib with Blow these days, and the joint was starting to feel cramped. I'd told her to let me know if some decent rentals came up because it was time for me to move outta Blow's shadow and do my own thing. And not because of Tee, either. She made me feel comfortable and I really liked being around her, even though it looked like Blow worked real hard to make me look small whenever she was listening.

But Tee was a real lady. She had some gangster about her too, and would unleash loudly on that niggah whenever he tried to shit on me.

“What kind of damn friend are you?” I heard her scream on Blow one night after he took all the toilet paper out of my bathroom and wouldn't bring me a roll when I hollered for some.

Blow cracked up laughing. “Ribs is
always
in the bathroom. You don't know what that boy be doing in there! Son be getting
down
.”

I was
not
masturbating, and if Tee wasn't out there I woulda told that niggah that!

“Rishawn,” Tee called out. “Would you like me to bring you a roll?”

I panicked.
Hell no!
Sugar had me eating extra vegetables at each meal. I'd just taken a huge green dump and I was scared Tee might fall out from the fumes.

“Uhm, nah, that's okay!” I yelled. “I found a roll under the sink!”

“See?” I heard Blow laugh. “That niggah don't need no damn toilet paper. Go take that boy a bottle of lotion and he'll be straight!”

Tee got on him. “Damn, Byron. You don't have no scruples, baby. Rishawn is your boy, and if you'd leave him stranded like that what would you do to me?”

“I'd do anything for you, baby,” I heard Blow say. “Any damn thing.”

Don't believe that shit
, I wanted to yell, but I didn't. Tee was obviously smart, but I wished she was a little smarter. It killed me to think that Blow was kissing her, fucking her, and getting all in her head. When it came down to Tee, I didn't wanna just be
like
Blow. I wanted to
be
that niggah!

It was torture seeing his hands all over her. So I stayed away from the crib if I thought Tee might be there. I kept up with my workouts and concentrated on getting fit. Sugar had been running the hell out of me and forcing me to push myself harder and harder with my weight training, too. It was crazy to see it, but none of my old clothes fit anymore. Not too long ago looking down on myself naked made me think of a big, fat balloon with a thick string dangling between my leg. Now-a-days, I got out the shower and looked down on myself and the balloon was definitely deflating. My stomach had shrunk like a mahfuckah and I could actually see my dick without bending over. All that exercise didn't fuck with Old Oscar, though. He still looked phat as shit hanging halfway down to my knees!

 

“Wow, Rishawn!” Sugar exclaimed one evening as we worked out together at her gym. “Look at your arms!”

I straightened my right arm and glanced in the mirror. My bicep popped out nicely and I dug it. I raised both arms and fired my guns, and my triceps looked even better! Where I used to have saggy, fatty meat was now a nice muscular bulge.

“Yeah,” I grinned at my reflection. “They're doing a li'l something.”

Sugar rolled her eyes. “A little something? Is that all you can say?” She lifted the end of my shirt and peeked at my stomach. “You're developing real tone and definition, you know. You're hiding your results under all those big clothes you wear. Don't be so modest, Rishawn. Go shopping and buy some new clothes that'll show the world how hard you've been working.”

I shrugged.

“Seriously. I'm sure you feel good, but you deserve to look good as well. Go buy yourself a few muscle shirts and some nice shorts. Show the world what you're working with! You're changing your body for the better, Rishawn, and now it's time to change your outlook, too.”

I smiled at Sugar, then on impulse, I leaned over and kissed her.

On her forehead.

We'd done some real bonding in the gym, me and this girl. There's something pretty damn intimate going on when you're panting and sweating, grunting and farting right next to somebody five nights a week.

Even with sweat rolling down her face Sugar was still one of the most attractive chicks I'd ever seen. Her body was blinding in its curves and proportions, and sometimes when she bent over to pick up a weight, I still caught myself peeking down the front of her shirt, eyeing those knockers and hoping to see a quick wink of brown nipple.

But Sugar didn't fuck my head up anymore. She didn't make Old Oscar get crunk and start causing trouble each time she was near. I really liked Sugar, but I wasn't off the charts sexually attracted to her anymore. The girl was just nice. Nice and friendly, and somebody that I dug talking to and hanging out with. Sugar was becoming like a little sister to me, and when I busted niggahs in the gym peeping her phat ass I didn't get jealous anymore or wish I was them. I got mad and wished I had the balls to knock a nig on his ass for disrespecting her like that.

One thing did bother me though, and that was the fact that Sugar was still hanging with Nap. I had to admit it. My boy had
changed
. At least in some ways. Nap was still the same cheap, scheming, egotistical asshole that he'd always been, but the difference now was the dude had his nose open. It was laughable the way he hounded Sugar, and some of the shit she told me about him was so damn incredible I couldn't believe it.

“Your boy is stupid,” Sugar told me in the gym one day. It was raining outside so we were running side by side on the treadmills. My wind and endurance had improved, but Sugar could still outrun my ass. She could talk, laugh, and even sing at the pace we were going at, while the most I could do was nod or gasp a one-word answer every now and then.

“He had me riding around going nowhere in his 750i last night. He wanted to show off those thirty-two-inch rims he just got.”

“I seen them. Tight.”

“They're all right. You know he likes to show off. New ride, fresh rims, got me sitting next to him in the front seat…all he needed was some crazy paparazzi out there snapping his picture and he would have been straight.”

She was right and Nap's ego was real funny, but all I gave it was one good chuckle. We were running at top speed and one chuckle was all I could afford.

“Actually,” Sugar continued, and I noticed that not only wasn't she sweating, she wasn't even breathing hard. “He looked stupid as fuck driving around wearing that damned football helmet. I don't know why he does that.”

I gasped out a real long answer. “He does it all the time. It's his trademark. He gotta be known and noticed.”

“Well, he's about to mess around and get noticed by the wrong people. He wants to start a women's clothing line under Nappy Fade, you know. He's been stealing ideas from that hot urban wear collection called Birthday Cake. He bought up samples of their entire line and then hired some guy to sew him some
very
similar designs.”

I nodded, legs pumping, arms stroking. Nap was always looking for a way to make illegal money. Everybody knew that. I wasn't surprised that he was biting off somebody else's designs. That cat wasn't gonna spend his money on a good idea if someone else had already spent theirs. That was Nap's life philosophy.

“He wants to use me to launch his ad campaign called Nappy Dugout,” Sugar went on, “but I don't like dealing in underhanded shit. I'm all about conducting business, but stealing other people's ideas smells like some foul-ass monkey business.”

“Yeah,” I managed to say. “Nap is known for monkey business. He's dirty. I thought you knew that.”

I had vowed to match Sugar's speed, but just those few sentences had taken everything out of me. I pushed the panel button to reduce my pace, then held on to the sides of the treadmill so I could catch my breath.

“Oh yeah, I know,” Sugar answered as I slowed down to a quick walk. There was an evil look in her eyes and her voice came out cold and deadly. “I know exactly how dirty Nap can be. That's why I chose him.”

A
few nights later I had taken Sugar's advice and was out shopping for new clothes when I ran into Honey. Normally, I would have been straight embarrassed to let a fine chick like her catch me buying elastic-in-the-waist pants and XXXL plaid shirts from the Big & Tall man's rack, but I was feeling pretty damn good as I stood in the mirror modeling a size 38 slacks in the regular men's section.

“Rishawn!” she called out.

I had already peeped her in the mirror, but now I spun around to face her.

“What's good, Honey? How's it going?”

She walked toward me with her eyes wide, her mouth opening and closing.

“It's going great! Especially for
you!
”

She reached out to hug me, and I took her in my arms and kept my lower body at a distance as I patted her back. It was a strange feeling because normally, one of two things woulda happened when I was giving a cute chick a friendly hug. Either my big-ass stomach would get in the way, or Old Oscar would jump up and start performing his one-man show. This time, nothing happened at all, and there was a big gap between our lower bodies as we embraced up top.

“You're looking good,” Honey said, and I could tell by her smile that she really meant it. “Something good must be happening in your life because almost everything about you has changed for the better.”

“Well, you know,” I gushed, ducking my head like a shy choirboy. “I been taking care of biz. Doing a little of this and a little of that. You know how it goes.”

“Well, whatever you're doing, keep it up because it's working for you.”

She dropped her gaze and looked at the pants I was trying on.

“Nice cut. You'll need to find a tailor who can hook that snazzy cuff up again after you get them hemmed, though.”

I looked down. I hadn't even thought about that.

“And that shirt looks real nice with the pants. A perfect match. Where'd you find it? I think Tomere would look good in that color, too.”

Busted. Now I was embarrassed. The shirt was a knit polo with a flat collar. I usually went for the striped cotton joints because they were loose enough to camouflage my man-breasts. I'd thrown this baby on just to see if anything had changed. Yeah, my stomach was flat and trim, and my pec muscles were hard, but my nipple area still consisted of two muffin-looking lumps. I pointed toward the rack. “They're right over there.”

Honey turned in the direction I was indicating, then quickly turned back to me with a strange look on her face.

“Listen, Rishawn,” she said quietly. “Can we talk for a moment?”

I shrugged. “Whattup?”

Honey led me over to a mannequin stand. She sat down on one side of his bare feet, and I sat on the other.

“Look,” she said and reached for both of my hands. “I hope you won't be offended by what I'm about to say, but I can tell you've been making some positive changes in your life, and I believe I know of something that might help you progress even further.”

“Something like what?”

“Like surgery. Breast reduction surgery.”

What the fuck?
I pulled away.

“No, listen,” she said, tightening her grip on my hands. “I work with a top black surgeon and he's got a lot of experience with those types of surgeries. You're a prime candidate for that kind of procedure because you've managed to lose a lot of body fat and gain some great muscle definition at the same time.”

“I ain't even done yet. I still got a ways to go.”

“That might be true,” she insisted, “but you can't lose breast tissue the same way you lose body fat. You can't just burn it off, no matter how much you diet or how hard you exercise. There are a lot of men who have excess tissue in the breasts. It's a hormonal imbalance, but it can be reduced by surgery.”

“Sorry, I don't dig hospitals,” I told her.

Honey smiled and her whole face glowed.

“We do the procedure right in our office. No hospital stay is necessary. It's so fast and routine that we usually begin at eight and we're done before lunch.”

“I don't mess with needles, either. And what about all the people who never wake up after doing stuff like that?”

“There are risks with any surgery, Rishawn. But we take risks every day. You took a risk just by driving to the mall and getting out of your car. Anything could have happened to you on your way here, but it didn't.”

I still wasn't going for it.

“Listen,” she said and took out her business card. “I graduated high school and started college when I was sixteen. By the time I was twenty-three I had my PhD. I'm a licensed anesthesiologist, and I look at every one of my patients like it's my sister or brother laying there.”

“I didn't know you had a sister.”

“Well, I'll tell you a little secret. I've got two sisters. And one brother. But that's not the point. The point is, you don't have to walk around feeling self-conscious about something you can overcome. I've been told that you're a really good guy, Rishawn. Somebody who cares about other people.” She laughed. “Why you hang around in such shitty company goes right over my head, but I like you, and I think you should at least consider what I'm saying. I could put in a good word and get you a priority consultation if you want me to. And later, if you choose to go ahead with the surgery, you can rest assured that I'll be standing right beside you the whole time.”

 

Okay, I admit that shit. I was vain. I didn't have to do a whole lot of soul-searching to arrive at my decision. All I had to do was take a good look in the mirror. The rest of my body had shaped up way beyond my expectations. It was time for the man-breasts to go!

A week after running into Honey I gave her a call and she got me an appointment. The minute I'd decided to go ahead with the surgery I had become a beast. I'd doubled up on my workouts, especially my runs, and told myself that if I lost another five pounds my chest would look even better after the surgery. The consultation with Honey's surgeon was a blast. He was my fraternity brother, and he made the procedure seem like it was a small thing that he did on the regular.

“Trust, frat,” he told me, hitting me with the secret frat shake as I went out the door. “You're gonna get great results, man. You'll definitely see a difference that you like.”

I was convinced. I hadn't been naked in front of another man for as long as I could remember. But Honey had been real correct about ol' boy. Dude made me feel comfortable, like seeing a condition like mine was a real small thing.

They had an open appointment near the end of the following week, and I told them to put my name down on the list. I was required to take a quick physical and yeah, I had to get a mammogram, but I wanted that damned surgery so I planned to take a few personal days off work and get all that done.

Later that night I pushed Honey's digits real quick, just to thank her, and she sounded real excited for me. “I'm happy for you, Rishawn,” she told me, and I could tell she was smiling on the other end of the phone. “Like I said before, I've heard about you helping people out when they're down, you know. That means a lot to me. So if there's ever anything else I can do for you, just let me know, okay?”

“Yeah, cool,” I said, but then a quick thought crossed my mind. Since Honey had been sweet enough to give me the hookup at her office, I felt like I owed her a little solid too. I didn't have no special services I could offer her in return, but I did have something that was valuable as hell.

Information.

“Yo, listen Honey. I know you and my boy Tomere been swinging pretty hard, and if you happy with him then you know I am. But I just wanna pull your leg to a little something, cool? I mean, you been so nice to me that I don't wanna see you walking around blind and in the dark on something that could really, like, effect you, nah'mean?”

“What are you getting at, Rishawn?”

“I'm getting at you, Honey. Or at least I'm trying to. I want you to understand that most of my friends ain't like me. Some of them cats on the team can be kinda devious, and Tomere is one of them.”

There was a brief pause and then Honey said, “Is that right?”

“Yeah. That's right. I mean, he's my boy and we go way back, but you're a cool person, Honey. I just don't wanna see you get hurt.”

“Oh, I've got Tomere all figured out, Rishawn. I'm all up in his Kool-Aid. Hell, I've got access to almost every area of his life. What do you think could be going on with him that's so bad it could hurt me?”

There was something funny in her voice, and I backed off. “Nothing. I mean, it's really nothing, when I think about it. You're just a lot older than the girls that Tomere usually goes for. That's all.”

She laughed. “I just turned twenty-five, Rishawn. That's not old! Especially if you consider the fact that I've either been in college, grad school, or medical school for the past nine years.”

Shit.
Honey was hot and brilliant and she was way ahead of 99 percent of sisters her age, but she was still about ten years over the hill as far as Tomere went. I didn't wanna say my boy was no pedophile or nothing, but he usually liked them right around the little titty stage, between thirteen and sixteen. If Tomere hooked up with a fish much older than that he usually tossed it back.

“You're right,” I agreed. “Twenty-five is very young, especially when you look eighteen.” And Honey
could
pass for eighteen, too. Her whole package screamed “hot young
mami
,” even though her stacked credentials made it obvious that she was older.

“Just keep your head up and your eyes open,” I said, giving my final warning. “I ain't trying to drop no dimes or nothing, but I hang around a lot of crazy dudes, and let's face it, we all have our inner demons.”

Honey laughed. “I hear you, Rishawn. And good looking out, too. But really, I'm not the one you should be worrying about. You didn't drop any dimes on your boy. I can see right through his ass. I know all about his grimy little demons and trust me, just like the cream always rises to the top, where I come from the trash always gets taken to the dump.”