Peek at Still Crazy (The book that started the series)

CHAPTER ONE: THE HOMECOMING
KEVIN ALLEN
They say that you can’t go home again. In my case, I didn’t want to, and perhaps, I never should have. I am here in intensive care at Chicago General Hospital, and I may not make it because I let my dick get me into trouble. I stand 6, 3 and 240 pounds of solid muscle. With all the weight lifting that I do, I sometimes forget that I’m not invincible. Something as tiny as a bullet can help jog a brotha’s memory back quick as hell. I’m losing blood fast as a team of white people wheel me from my room in the hospital, to the operating table.
As they move me as fast as they can down the hall, all I can seem to focus on are the lights overhead. They are almost bright enough to blind me, and with the fast motion to the operating room, the lights have a dizzying affect on my head. Being shot is already a pain in the butt. Being shot and dizzy, is just plain cruel. Someone should do something about that. My eyes were getting heavier and heavier, and I heard people yelling at me to stay awake. I wish I could help them, but I am just…so…damned…tired.
WAKE UP!
I woke up in a deep sweat. I looked around and checked myself for a bullet hole and there was none. I looked over at my wife who was still sleeping in bed with me. She was sound asleep. This was the third time this week that I had this dream and I couldn’t figure out why. The drama with my ex-girlfriend is over. So why is it that I can’t sleep? I got up to get a drink of water. I then went to the bathroom to splash water on my face. I sat on the toilet with my head in my hands wrought with guilt. I looked at my wife who was still in the bed, and I thanked God for her. She has been so understanding this year and I feel so guilty for all the things I put her through recently. I feel so guilty that I may never have a peaceful night of sleep again, ever in life.
A FEW MONTH’S EARLIER…
I’m an author. A few months ago I began suffering from some serious writer’s block. I had a major deadline coming up and nothing on paper. This was the last book to be written under my current contract. That means that I stand to make an even bigger deal with my present publisher or something ridiculously huge on the open market from competing publishing houses. That is, if I can get this last book completed. To not get it done means a breach of contract, the possibility of my getting sued, and rumors starting that I know longer have the edge needed to be one of the top African-American authors on the writing circuit. Once that mess gets started, there goes my career, my house, and my luxurious lifestyle.
As the deadline approached, I began to doubt myself and my abilities. I also began to argue more with my wife, Tamara. We were already arguing a lot lately over the bills, not enough quality time with one another, and no where near enough vacation time together. Now we were arguing about my writers block and how getting over it is the most important thing going on for both of us right now.
Tamara is a teacher. Tamara gets the summers off. I don’t have that luxury. This is something that I tell her over and over again when it comes to planning vacations and quality time. She hates my job at times. Most days, I envy hers. She hates the fact that I am always touring, always writing, and always working on marketing my books year round. I have explained to her a million times that the book deal is not as luxurious as most people think. My first deal was for three books at 3.6 million dollars and a percentage of sales. I got the 3.6 million up front. After taxes, that left me with 2.2 million. A lot of people don’t know it, but your marketing, and production of your book comes out of the author’s cut. To make matters worse, if your book doesn’t sell, most of the money that is advanced to you has to be paid back. So I had to bust my ass and make sure that my first book sold enough, so I at least made the money that was given to me. I tour, to keep us in the lifestyle that we have grown accustomed to.
I got my book deal shortly after I got married. When I got the deal, I spent $40,000 on a 2004 BMW Z4 roadster for myself. I bought Tamara a Cadillac Escalade that cost $55,000, and I bought us a six bedroom, four bathroom house in Summerton South Carolina. The house was 6000 square feet. It had ten foot ceilings, three staircases, wooden kitchen cabinets, granite countertops, stainless steel appliances, hardwood floors, a two story foyer, Pella windows, a three car garage with side entry, and a third floor that had a world of possibility. It was our dream home. The cost for our dream home was $689,000. That doesn’t include electric, taxes, upkeep, maintenance and small things like food, clothes and recreation. In order to keep all this stuff, I needed to write. Not only did I need to write, I needed to write well.
Black folks are funny about their authors. One day we have their full support, the next day, we might not. That’s the business. I’ve tried to tell Tamara everything that I do today counts toward our future. Writing is very touch and go. Times are hard. Some people aren’t interested in reading anymore. Some people simply don’t have the money to shell out to read a book. Hell, these days a paperback is what, $20.00?


MEETING MY WIFE
I’m a Chicago guy. I was born and raised on the city’s South Side. After I received my Master’s degree in Psychology, I went to North Carolina to visit my good friend John Gandy. John had a Popular Blues Band that he did gigs with at night, and during the day he was going to school to be a Chef. He had the summer off from school, so he and I decided to catch up on things and kick it up in the country. While there, I met this fine ass honey colored sister that later became my wife. I tell you, I was hooked on Tamara from the very first moment that I laid eyes on her.
SOUL MATES OR SOUL SEARCH?
They say you can never meet your soul mate in a bar or club. They are wrong. You can meet your soul mate anywhere if it’s meant to be. My boy John was playing his heart out on the saxophone at the local watering hole, and from across the room I could see Tamara applauding him like she was his lady. My boy was seducing my future wife with his instrument, and I was admiring this vision of beauty from across the room.
Tamara stood five feet two inches tall. She resembled Jada Pinkett Smith, with just a hint more breast than Jada has and hella ass. Tamara has light brown eyes, muscular calves, thighs like an Olympic skater, and short fade like Jada Pinkett wears. There are few sisters that can get away with that hair cut. Tamara could rock any style that she wanted and from any angle she would still be—breathtaking.
I needed a way to approach her, but was unsure about what I should say. In my home town of Chicago, I would approach her with confidence because Chicago sisters hate weak ass men, or men that seem unsure of themselves. Up here in the Carolinas, women were just the opposite. They equated confidence with arrogance. There was nothing that sister from the Carolinas hated more than an arrogant black man from some big city. I thought briefly about my approach. I needed to get at her, but I also needed to come correct. I ordered a Rum and Coke for myself and asked the bartender to give me a white zinfandel. I took the two drinks and began to make my way across the room. I ordered the wine because that’s all sisters’ seemed to drink in the Chi when they listened to Jazz or Blues.
“Hi. I noticed that you had no drink in hand, so I figured that I might bring you one.”
I said the shit all smooth and old school like I was Billy Dee Williams or Barry White.
“I don’t drink.”
Damn, I didn’t think about that.
“Oh. Really?”
“Yes, but thank you for the offer.”
“My name is Kevin.”
“I didn’t ask.”
Ouch. That hurt. I started to walk away. Persistence is the key though, I just need to hang in there; kill her with kindness. This is what I thought to myself as I sat there looking crazy with two drinks in hand. I felt so self-conscious standing there looking dumb as hell with two drinks in hand. It didn’t dawn on me that she might not drink and it really didn’t dawn on me that she might not be feeling me. I was hoping to God that not too many people were watching me. Since I already had the drink, I gulped down the zinfandel and chased it with a swig of the Rum and Coke. I then placed the drink on the nearest table and went back to trying to holler at the honey.
“So, I was wondering if I could have a few minutes of your time to get to know you a little better…”
“…Are you an alcoholic?”
“I’m sorry…what?”
“An alcoholic…do you have a problem with alcohol?”
“No of course not, why would you say that?”
“The way that you gulped down that drink, I would think that you had problems with alcohol.”
“Well, you said that you didn’t want it.”
“I didn’t want it, but you could have maybe given it to someone else.”
“I don’t operate like that.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t try to buy one woman a drink and then move on to another after being turned down.”
“Interesting.”
“So how does a brother go about getting such a pretty sister like you to open up and talk to him?”
“I’m talking to you.”
“Yeah, but you aren’t giving me a chance to really get to know you.” I said with a smile.
“That’s not true. Your name is Kevin. You are obviously a city boy. My guess is that you are from Chicago, Detroit, or New York. You are obviously presumptuous, and you’re an alcoholic.” She smiled as she turned her back to me to listen to John play. John was now playing Your Love is King by Sade. I have to admit, my boy was doing it with his damned saxophone. I wished he would put it down and go back to playing the piano or something. I looked at him and gave him the universal “cut” sign in hopes that he would jump into the next set or something. John winked at me and I knew in a minute or so he would wind things up.
Tamara was rocking back and forth to the music and her rhythmic movements were driving me mad. She had on this all black dress that hugged her hips and ass and had my ass just going wild! Tamara had on three inch heels, and I swear that she had the best looking legs that I have ever seen on a woman in my life. The dress was shorter than the law should allow, and her legs looked like they went on forever. I remember thinking to myself, If the legs look this nice, I bet the sex is the bomb! I was staring at her legs and I let out a smile that said I was willing to whatever it took to have a taste. I then heard someone clear their voice and when I looked up, Tamara was looking me dead in my mouth.
“Don’t be looking at me like a three piece dinner!”
“I’m not.”
“Yeah, you are.”
“Well, I’m sorry baby. I just can’t help myself. What can I say? You’re stunning.”
“Kevin, what makes you think that I’m here alone?”
“What makes you think that I care?”
I could feel that South-Side confidence welling up in my chest, and it was hard as hell to keep it under control. This girl was fine as hell and I wanted her. I didn’t give a fuck if she was married, a nun, or was promised to a Saudi Arabian Prince. I was going to step to her and try to make her mine. She was going to be my lady even if I had to whip the ass of every country ass brother in this bar.
The first set was over. John stopped playing and was conversing with his band as they decided what they were going to play next. The Jukebox kicked in and overhead music began to play. Tina Turner’s Private Dancer came on. I remember thinking to myself, “What the hell?”
“Did someone have an eighties flashback?” I joked.
Tamara didn’t look like she appreciated the joke very much. Apparently she was a huge fan. Seeing my mistake, I decided to correct my mistake.
“Let’s dance.”
“Yeah, right.”
I grabbed her little ass by the arm and brought her to me. She tried to resist, but when she felt the power in my arms, I guess she decided to go with the flow. I was all the way committed now. She was either going to find me charming or she was going to go the hell off.
“I don’t want to dance.”
“Girl, come here!”
She cut me a look that said she was not accustomed to taking orders.
I pulled her to me. Her mouth might have said no, but her body was feeling me. As I pulled her up close to me, I held one of her hands in mine and kept the other around her waist like a gentleman. Back and forth we danced. She took in my Drakkar cologne and I took in her Red Door by Elizabeth Arden. The way that we danced, it was obvious that we both had previously taken lessons. She probably took dance at her mother’s whim. I took dance because my football coaches said that it would help with my eye-hand-coordination.
I danced with Tamara close to me. I held her in that few minutes like she was mine and like I never had any intention of ever letting her go.
“You are pretty light on your feet.” She said.
“Not bad for an alcoholic from Chicago, Detroit or New York.”
“So which is it? I mean, where are you from Kevin?”
“I’m from Chicago.”
“The Windy City.”
“That’s right.”
“So what do you think my boyfriend will say about your pulling me on the dance floor like this?”
“I think if he’s smart, he will politely ask to cut in.”
“And your response will be?”
“My response will be, I’m sorry playa, the lady is spoken for—she’s with me now.”
[laughing] “Oh, so you’re just going to gangster me from my man?”
I held her even closer to me. I held her so close that she could feel both my heartbeat and my passion.
“Now that I have you in my arms—I’m never letting go.”
I looked her deep in her eyes when I said it. She knew that I was serious. Perhaps the whole day and way that we met was corny. Perhaps to most folks it sounds silly. In that small moment in time, the moment that I looked her in her eyes I knew…I loved her.
We danced every song that was played during the break. I held her close, and by the third song, she held me back. By the fourth song, she smiled a smile that warmed my heart.
“I see that you met my wife’s younger sister, Tamara.” John said.
“Tamara? What a lovely name.”
“Man, you danced with her all this time and you never asked the sister her name?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Tamara smiled.
My last name is Allen. I said to Tamara.
Tamara smiled and said, “Why are you telling me?”
“Because one day you’re going to take my last name.”
I held her tight and smiled at her. She motioned for the bartender.
“Can I get some service over here?”
“I thought you didn’t drink?”
“This is a special occasion.”
The bartender walked up and asked, “What will you have?”
Tamara said, “White Zifandel.”
I smiled to myself.
“Tamara, I need to borrow Mr. Chicago here for a moment. Perhaps you have some other business that you should attend to.”
I looked at John puzzled and so did Tamara. Then Tamara had a look on her face as if she had forgotten something and just suddenly remembered what it was. John pulled me away from Tamara to talk before the next set began. I was slightly pissed because I was really feeling Tamara and I sure as hell didn’t want to let her go.
“Dawg, what’s up? I was really feeling her. I was hoping to holler at her.”
“You know… she is here with someone else tonight.”
“No shit? Wow.”
“So what are you going to do about it?”
“I don’t know. What should I do?”
“Maybe leave her your number and let her tell him goodbye on her terms since she is obviously feeling you.”
“Naw, fuck that. Besides, if she is with someone, where’s the nigga at?”
John smiled and pretended to take a sip of his drink so not to be immediately noticed.
“Her new boyfriend is the brother in the red jacket; the cat in the corner that’s mean-mugging your ass.”
I turned and looked at him. It was hard as hell to not break out laughing.
“The brotha with the perm?”
John almost spit out his drink laughing.
“That’s the one. Don’t sleep on him. He is in the gym everyday and rumored to carry a piece. This ain’t Chicago. This is the south. Let her deal with him. I’ll catch up to you later and give her all your info, cool?”
“Man, fuck that. If I leave, she’s going with me. In fact, that’s the plan. When you finish your set, hit me on my cell.”
“Still the same ol’ G. hunh? A’ight, I will give you a call later. I got your back though if some shit jumps off, and it might.”
John went back to finish his next set and when I looked up, Tamara was talking with her date. I can’t call the brotha her man, because if he was, then he should have spoken up when I was all up on her. What kind of nigga let’s a man dance three or four dances with his woman and then buys her a drink. Either her date was very secure, or stupid. I was strapped, but I didn’t want to start any shit down here. Besides, I just received my Master’s degree. I was here to celebrate. The conversation between Tamara and this other cat looked like it was getting heated, so I figured that I would go and save my future wife from what was obviously a poor choice in men. This MF looked like an extra from the 80’s group Ready for the World.
“Tamara, let’s go for a drive.” I said interrupting the two of them.
“Tamara, who is this nigga?”
Nigga? He has got to be kidding right? This fool looks like he just escaped the plantation, ran into a time machine, appeared in the eighties and got jumped on by ten stylists who gave his ass an S-curl.
“Now that’s a word that I would be careful with. My name is Kevin. What’s your name brotha?”
“That ain’t none of your motha fuckin business!”
“Keith…stop.” Tamara interrupted.
“Keith? I had a boy named Keith once. He died a few years back. He was cool as hell though. I’ve always thought men named Keith were rather level headed. Listen partna, I’m sorry that this went down like this. She said that she was here with someone, but I didn’t believe her.”
I tried to have Tamara’s back. It was obvious that this was the thing that she had forgotten.
“What do you mean you didn’t believe her?”
“Well, I was talking to her, flirting with her, and no one stepped up, so I assumed she was alone and simply blowing me off.”
“If she was blowing you off, you obviously didn’t get the message.”
“Nah, I didn’t. Anyway, I didn’t mean any disrespect, but she’s leaving here with me. So why don’t I buy you and your boys a round of drinks before she and I call it a night?”
I might as well have been trying to teach deaf brothers to hear. This guy Keith was getting more and more upset, and his boys were clowning him. The louder he got, the calmer I became.
“Nigga, you got to be out of your goddamned mind if you think that you are leavin here with my lady!”
“Keith, I’m not your lady. We just started going out and it was kind of nice and all, but I don’t know if I am ready for a full blown relationship yet and things just aren’t working out exactly as I thought they would and…”
Tamara was talking and I had to politely interrupt her.
“… Look Bruh, rather than cause a scene and get embarrassed by either her or me, why don’t you just call her tomorrow and you and she get some closure then…”
“…Excuse me! I speak for my goddamned self, you are about to join his ass and be alone!” Tamara said.
I smiled, and stood quiet. I gave her a look that said my bad.
“I’m sorry sweetheart, my bad. Please…continue.”
“Keith, we’re done. I am walking Kevin here to his car and in a few minutes you and I will talk and get some closure tonight as to why we can’t see each other anymore. I will be back in a few minutes.”
[Turning to me] “You—outside.”
I followed Tamara outside and she was fuming the entire way. While she was thinking about choice words for me, I was checking out her ass. She was bodied up so nice that I was thanking God for the opportunity. The more pissed she became, the harder she walked. The harder she walked, the more that ass bounced. She had a walk when she was mad that made people shudder in fear. She is only like five feet, two inches tall, but that little fine MF can be a dynamo when she wants to be. I just met her and already I knew she was about to curse my ass out. It would be the first time that she fussed at me. Little did she know that there would be hundreds of times more that she might verbally tear my head off. I didn’t mind one bit. That’s how sexy my baby is. She turned around to let me have it, and I was all smiles.
“For starters Kevin, I’m a grown ass woman, are we clear?”
“Yes baby. Crystal clear.”
“I pay my own bills, I run my own life and if you see me beyond tonight, there need to be some ground-rules.”
“Ground-rules, got it.”
“You don’t speak for me!”
“Got it.”
“You don’t run me, make decisions on my behalf, and you are not to interrupt me like that again.”
“Got it. I was just trying to help you out and provide a diplomatic solution to the situation.”
“No you weren’t. You were trying to find an excuse to pull that nine millimeter out of your back. Either that or you were looking for a reason to start some shit. That tough guy shit, is not cute at all. Neither is your arrogance, or presumptions.”
I was shocked. How did she know that I was strapped? She hadn’t known me twenty minutes and she already understood my every move. That shit was turning me on.
“Anything else?” I asked. I smiled a huge smile at her.
“No, I guess that’s it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
“Can I get a small peck on the lips to make up for our first fight?”
“A kiss…are you kidding me?”
“I think I’m crazy about you.”
“That shit sounds corny.”
I took her by the hand and tried to lead her to my car.
“Come on, let’s go for a drive.”
“Kevin I just met you! I’m not getting in the car with you.”
“Then follow me to my hotel. I’m staying at the Hilton. We can have drinks in the lobby and talk.”
“I said that I was going back in the bar.”
“Fuck Him.”
“What?”
“Fuck Him. Come on, kick it with me. You’ll have more fun. Besides, you don’t need to go backward and retread old ground. Let’s move forward.”
“You know, you talk a lotta shit.”
“Yeah, yeah I do. So how about it? Follow me to the Hilton?”
Tamara looked at me like I was crazy and I gave her one of my million dollar smiles that showed every tooth in my head.
“Please? I promise I’ll behave.”
Tamara shot me a look that said that I was full of shit. Shortly after that though, she gave me a half a smile which later changed into a full smile. She shook her head as she headed to her car. She knew she would have a better time with me anyway.