My alarm went off just before sunrise like it had for the last few years blaring loudly into my ear before I mashed the snooze button down returning to sleep for a few seconds before the next alarm sounded from my phone. I accidentally swiped it off the mattress onto the hardwood floor of my bedroom reaching for it, but the bottle of hooch remained upright on the edge of my modest bed. I wasn't a drinker by any means, but recent events left me with a need to imbibe. I rolled over on my stomach feeling the hangover so much, that it felt like my brain could actually fall out of my head onto the floor beside my phone.
"Shit." It hurt so bad just trying to regain my phone from the floor without making any sudden moves or sitting upright, but I managed.
I found myself staring up at the ceiling for the hundredth time in the last three days since I been shit canned as part of an elaborate con hatched by my ex-boss and his niece who'd also taken the time to hook up with me in what was turning out to be the thick girl equivalent of the monkey's paw curse. I was haunted by the image of Laila's deep olive colored body in tandem with her Uncle Kumar's evil laughter. The latter part of that vision was a mental construct manufactured by my bruised ego. I had little doubt of some form of celebration on his part at getting the better of me in a struggle I hadn't known existed until it was over.
"Hello?" My phone's face lit up with an incoming call which I answered out of sheer boredom; it turned out to be my Aunt Yvonne.
"You coming over tomorrow?!! You coming to the cookout, boy?!!" She yelled into my ear setting all my synapses on napalm fire. I yanked the phone away from my ear as she continued.
"I-I don't know, Auntie."
"BOY, YOU STILL LAYING UP ON YOUR ASS, HUH?!! YOU BETTER GET ON UP AND GET AH JOB BEFORE YOU GET PUT OUTTA THAT APARTMENT!! YOU COMING TO THE COOKOUT?!!" My aunt subscribed to the scream until you get what you want school of thought.
"It's more of a room; I can manage for a while with my savings and unemployment."
"Yeah, you coming to this cookout and you gonna be talking to your Uncle Billy, boy!!" In truth, I had nothing but love for my uncle, but his choice of women left over from the seventies, left much to be desired. Yvonne was probably my seventh marriage relation after the explosive dissolution of his sixth union. She was this really skinny female in her late forties with these abnormally wide hips which left you wanting when you saw how flat her ass actually was; not that I was looking all that much. My Uncle Billy and myself, shared similar interests female wise for your information. He was the one relative who always seemed to know what to say when the chips were down or when you needed some sage advice.
"You know what Auntie; think I'll stop by for a few minutes."
"YOU'D BETTER; DON'T MAKE ME COME GET YOU, BOY!!" Yvonne faux-threatened as I pulled the phone away from my ear a second time.
"Please."
I begged off the buffoonery, clicking off as the day began in earnest. I knew I had some responsibilities to attend to having already filed for unemployment the day I was canned. Even after hanging up, the stinging betrayal lingered about my person. I tried to go back to bed but sleep eluded me, and I could find nothing to eat in a fully stocked fridge. I sat at my desk surfing on my laptop for some other employment while letting television noise accompany my job search. Laila's face taunted me nonstop making me realize that I had to find something to purge her from my system.
Mental sleuthing took over my time when I discovered that I could still log into my company email. When I was employed there, my interpersonal situation could best be described as "clean up guy"; the person who made sure all the "T's and I's" were where they should be. It made since that Mr. Kumar would forget to lock me out of the system as I found myself reading the in-house log which denoted Laila's addition and immediate promotion in my former office. There was an accompanying photo of her with her shitty uncle holding what appeared to be a department award and a bouquet of roses. She looked like she'd won a pageant, or something dressed smartly in a tan business suit. I found more photo with the article that made me bristle so much, I thought I'd burst into flame. Another photo revealed her and Mr. Kumar with executive committee, the higher ups I'd never had a chance of meeting all standing around her like doting parents. I noticed a very familiar old fart in the background, the same guy from the stalled elevator.
I wanted to think it was all some coincidence but his hand on her right shoulder told the tale of the screw job that robbed me of my livelihood. I'm sure it was happenstance that he was inside the elevator on that fateful evening, but he'd definitely snitched to Gloria about my salacious activities that night. I felt criminalized like some sort of pervert finding an attachment that led to Laila's resume. I don't know why it was posted, maybe just to rub my friends still working there faces in the nepotism. Laila's resume turned out to be two pages of information that revealed her privilege on an international level. There were a veritable who's who of prime Fortune 500 were she'd either interned or worked before landing in my office. She was highly educated sporting a wealth of extracurricular activity that seemed to be leaning towards running her own company one day. It was a foregone conclusion that slapped me in the face like a tossed brick. We were world's apart, but I'd had the edge in experience in my location making me her target.
I'd objectified myself in her eyes with the plain faced, yet decadently shaped "intern" zeroing in on my predilection for curvy women the instant we met. Sex had been her method of attack, invasion if you will as I fell hard for the act. That oh so delectable iron fist in a velvet glove had delivered a knockout punch that destroyed my livelihood with deadly accuracy. In short, I'd played myself for a fool obviously falling into a box she had ready for me. It wasn't the first time I'd been stereotyped and probably wouldn't be the last with her having me pegged as some sex starved primitive, a thirst zombie. There was no running away from the fact that she'd likely wanted to sample a black guy in some respects. This unfortunately was a recurring element of my work life that had popped up the moment I started working at eighteen. At first it seemed cool screwing around with some of my coworkers, having sex with women I didn't normally see in my daily life who were usually a little older. But after that "itch" was scratched, things would invariably go off track and get weird. It was a lesson in ethics, I was still learning.
I had to place blame somewhere and the standard bearer for this situation lie in my acute proclivity for curvy women with big to huge derrieres; hell, even ranging into what some would call BBW territory. I scrolled back in my mental Rolodex to my first encounter with one Shelly Finkel, this voluptuous pear shaped Roma girl who worked the corner store in my old neighborhood. My phone rang out of nowhere interrupting my thoughts.
"Hello?" No one said anything for a few seconds before the call was disconnected. I didn't recognize the number.
I finally passed out again for another couple of hours waking up around midday face palming as I realized that I was supposed to that family gathering. Auntie Yvonne most likely would start carpet bombing me with additional calls if I didn't show up. I was leery of seeing my uncle after thinking it over as I showered and dressed in a collared shirt and slacks with some nice dress shoes to finish my look. Uncle Billy had chided me early for dressing like everyone else not wanting me to become another hood drone. I'd developed my much more overt mature look getting heckled hard by my friends called an educated lame for the most part. It was all about projecting the look of success and I'd grown into that role with his encouragement. I caught an uber over to the house finding the party in full swing bringing with me a small bouquet of flowers for my aunt and two six packs for my uncle who would undoubtedly be holding court with his friends.
As predicted there was already a full party going on with groups of people congregating around the bungalow styled home that had been in the family since the sixties owned by various family members which was a rarity in our ethnic group. Uncle Billy himself had been given the home decades earlier after marrying my "second auntie, Hettie", this woman I only remembered because of her massive breasts. Ironically he'd cheated on her with a flat chested woman, her polar opposite with a big, flabby butt that seemed out of place on her thin frame. Uncle Billy never missed a beat citing a few tears later that while he loved Hettie, he couldn't get past the fact that she challenged him on everything while her flat, deflated looking pancake butt gave him no joy carnally. I was one of the few people who understood where he was coming from having been sexually imprinted at an early age for women of a certain look. Partialism is what it was scientifically referred to in some circles and I worked to manage it over time even dating some women that didn't fit my particular aesthetic. I didn't see my uncle right away or Auntie Yvonne passing through the house leaving my gifts on the kitchen table to hit the backyard. There was an unexpected blast from my past waiting in the yard.
There she was larger than life itself standing in my uncle's backyard talking with some other girls I didn't recognize, probably associates of hers. Micha Le' was known to travel with a pack of loud, cackling self-appointed "IT GIRLS" in the hood and I didn't want any part of that nonsense. It had been a few years since we last met at a mutual acquaintance's house party. She'd always boasted an incredible hourglass figure, but the years seemed to have added a little extra to her frame making the young woman a veritable brick shit house figuratively speaking. Her skin retained its milky pallor along with the freckles which seemed isolated to the center of her narrow, oval shaped face. Her hair whether or not actually real or an elaborate weave, was made up in this intricate braided design on the sides with a wealth off curly bangs over her forehead which flowed into a shoulder length ponytail at the back. I couldn't understand why she chose the garish candy red hair color which contrasted with her milky complexion. Micha Le' was dressed in this peach colored, jersey styled tank with some jean print jeggings and open toed wedge sandals that gave her an extra bit of height over her friends. She seemed to notice my eyes on her instantly, facing me with a snarl.
"WHUT YOU LOOKING AT?!!" Micha Le' bellowed.
