The Super-Duper Ch. 01

"Wait, you beaten up Jules' dad? Why did you do that for?" Somalia had given her a brief synopsis of what occurred on that night, including the terrible ending. "Oh, Molly, I'm sorry. My goodness, he sounds like an asshole and his friends sound like they're assholes too."

"Yeah, but I try not to be too angry at him. After all, he is partly responsible for giving me Julian."

"If you see him, during our time here, will you talk to him? Better yet, will you tell him about Julian?" she asked.

Gumby watched Somalia place her spoon down, onto the plate. Her eyes were downcast. She didn't see the tears, at first.

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up. It wasn't my intention to hurt you."

"No, it's fine. I'm fine" Somalia informed her. The statuesque woman dabbed her face with the linen napkin.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I am okay. There are times when I think about telling him. He's not hard to find. But, then I feel angry and bitter and then I don't want him to be a part of Jules' life. I remember writing him a letter, a few days after I found out about my pregnancy, but I was too chicken-shit to mail it."

Deciding to lighten up the mood, Gumby said to her "Is this before or after the Thanksgiving fiasco?" She watched Somalia's light up a bit and a smile creep up on her face, as she thought of a memory.

"It was before I've come home for Thanksgiving break."

"I still can't believe that you announced your pregnancy to the whole family, right before you asked Ian to pass you the peas," Gumby chuckled.

"Then, there was Jennifer crying in the bathroom, talking about how her Thanksgiving dinner party was ruined," Somalia added as she resumed eating.

"Then there was your mom's face..." Gumby fell into a fit of giggles. It was during her laughter that both women watched Chelsea Harper prance through the restaurant. "She's cute," Gumby commented.

"For a bobble head," was Somalia's reply.

"Honey, when I am eating a woman's cootchie out, I am not thinking about that woman's intelligence. In fact, I am not really thinking at all."

"Well, that particular one my dear is strictly-dickly. From what I can remember, she was a big-time hoe."

"Honey child, do you know how many cootchies that I sucked, licked and nibbled on that belonged to women who were trollops in high school?"

"Oh my God," Somalia groaned. "You and your mouth sometimes..." Both women watched Chelsea enter the Falcon Room. Gumby huffed in disgust. "What?" Somalia asked.

"Forget about ole' girl," Gumby declared. "I just saw what she's working with in the back. Ole' girl doesn't have any ass. You know I like my women to have curves. Home-girl has the longest back—

Her comment was cut off by Somalia's laughter. "You know that you're a fool sometimes, right?"

She resumed eating her dessert. Gumby reached over and tried to take the vanilla wafer that was wedged in the lump of mousse. Somalia slapped her hand and it retreated. "No greedy, you already ate yours." She chuckled when she heard her friend's disappointed grumble. Her hearty laugh was cut short when she heard a greeting.

"Hey, Big Roe."

Somalia almost bit into her tongue, from the shock.

'No, it can't be' she thought.

She glanced over at Gumby and seen the woman's face paled, as well as, her eyes were wide. If Somalia did not know the identity of the man who was standing behind her, the expression on Gumby's face had let the cat out of the bag. She felt like she was having one of those panic attacks that she heard so much about. Her heart was beating so fast that she thought that it wasn't going through some type of cardiac arrest, at first. She didn't want to look at him. She wanted to become invisible. She wanted to break out in a run and head towards the nearest exit. Her mind briefly entertained the thought that if she prayed long enough that God would allow her to melt into her seat.

The sound of "Molly" in a growl was what snapped her out of her daydream. It had come from Gumby, who was staring at her. With a great amount of reluctance, Somalia glanced over her right shoulder and stared at the object of the many wet dreams that she endured for ten years.

Somalia heard the light gasp that fell from her lips and she silently cussed.

'Damn, sweet baby Jesus..."

Her thought drifted off while she took in all of the rugged beauty that Tristan Caldwell possessed. He was one of the few blessed people in this world who looks greater as they aged, Somalia believed as she took inventory of him. He still had the same facial features of his youth, but now there were a few minor changes. She took note of the scar that marred the flow of the angular, right eyebrow. The full, cupid bow-shaped top lip and the pink-fleshed bottom lip that made up his mouth was now framed by a blonde mustache and goatee with a 'soul patch'. He was now sporting longer hair that was styled in layers and was down to his well-muscled shoulders. His shoulders were the starting point of Somalia's survey of his physique. When they were younger, she always thought that his physique resembled a football's wide-out player. Now, it was more of a linebacker, thanks to additional pounds that he packed on over the years. Even though his body was shrouded in clothes, Somalia could still see that he worked out in someone's gym. The hunter green-colored, long-sleeved shirt that he wore molded onto the muscles in his arms and against the slopes of his narrow waist. Her eyes were slowly drifting down and were stopped short on their journey, when she felt a sharp pain in her left shin.

"Ow, what-the-fuck!" she screeched. She faced the shin-kicking culprit, who smiled sweetly as to say that she was aware of Somalia's ogling.

"Why don't you say 'hello' to your friend, Molly? It is impolite to not say anything, when they greet you" was Gumby's response.

Somalia turned back to face Tristan and like a shy little girl, she mumbled a 'hello'.

"Hello, once again," he chuckled. "How are you?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she said softly.

"Molly, why don't you get up and give him a hug? It's impolite, after all, if you don't," Gumby informed her. When Somalia didn't get up right away, Gumby added, "Go on, get up and give that man a hug! You haven't seen him in over ten years!"

'I wish she would just shut the fuck up,' Somalia thought, before getting up from her seat and taking a few small steps up to Tristan.

She walked into his personal space and wrapped her arms around his thick and solid torso. She soon felt his heavy, solid arms wrapped around her. On her end, she hugged him with the same kind of non-emotional energy that a person would put into a hug for a co-worker. Tristan, however, was more emotionally-invested with his embrace. She felt his grip tighten around her torso and his face nuzzle against the curve of the right side of her neck. She could've sworn that she heard his nose take an inhalation, as if he sniffed her. They hugged for an extra minute, before parting ways. She thought he was reluctant to let go, which made her heart swoon and her loins salivate. A quick sense of shame washed over her, when she realized her reaction. A moment of uncomfortable silence had fallen upon them as they stood there, in each other's personal space, in the middle of the restaurant. He was gazing down at her, while she stared at the floor.

The silence was broken by Gumby, with an "I'm going outside for a moment. I need a cigarette break. Tristan, why don't you sit down and you guys can catch up. I'll be back."

Somalia knew it was a ploy for her to have some private time with Tristan. Gumby doesn't smoke. In fact, Somalia knew that Gumby abhor cigarettes. She gave Gumby's retreating form a death stare, before sitting back down in the booth, with an eager Tristan sitting across from her.

'Okay, girl, you can do this,' her brain told her. Out of nervousness, her hands fumbled with the plate that held her dessert.

"You can finish your dessert; don't let me stop you," he instructed.

She resumed eating her dessert, in hopes that he would believe that she was still hungry and he didn't make her nervous.

"So how's life been treating you, Roe?" Tristan asked.

She allowed a bit of mousse to melt in her mouth, before answering his question. "Life's been good for me. I've had some rough patches along the way, but I've jumped over those hurdles. But, in the most part, life has been great for me."

"Good for you. I'm sorry to hear about those rough parts, but I am happy that your life is going great for you now."

"Thank you," she said to him, before licking a bit of mousse off of her bottom lip. She saw that his eyes zeroed in on her mouth. A shudder ripped through her, she felt a brush creep into her cheeks and her pussy's walls tightened. 'Oooh' she moaned, inwardly. "So" she moaned out, inadvertently, "how's life been treating you?"

He shifted in his seat, before answering.

"Life's been great for me. After we left Walcott, I had gone to—

"Cornell," she answered. She could tell that he was surprised that she would remember that tidbit. "I remember, but who can forget that, especially with the sweet ass gift you received from your father." A big smile grew on his face at the mention of his gift. Seeing his lop-sided grin on his face made her belly feel like there were butterflies inside of it.

"Yeah, she was a beauty," Tristan remarked as he strolled down memory lane, by talking about the 2000-edition, red Corvette that his dad bought him. "I only had the car for the total of three months before I totally wrecked it—

"What?" Somalia gasped, with wide eyes. "How did you wreck a car like that?"

"A car accident," he answered. "I'd gone to a party with a friend, who I thought was my designated driver, but homeboy had other intentions on that night. I was passed out in the passenger seat when the crash happened."

"Was anybody—?

"Hurt badly? No, luckily, no one was hurt too badly. I ended up with minor scratches, including this nifty scar above my right eye." Somalia taken a glance at the scar.

"I know that your mom was pissed off about the car," she mentioned.

"Hell yeah, but she was more pissed about the underage drinking. But she didn't have to be angry at me about the car, though. I was already angry with myself, ever since my dad had given me the car and...you known the rest..." his voice trailed off and for the first time, his green eyes left her face and drifted down to the table top.

Somalia, indeed, knew the rest of the story. She was aware of what happened to Tristan's father, a few weeks after giving that extravagant gift to his son. He was murdered, an act that was a consequence of being a Good Samaritan. His dad was at a community center, where he volunteered, in his old community in the Bronx. A few neighborhood youths were bothering a kid that was an active member of the center. Tristan's father tried to fend off the kids, when one of them pulled out a gun and shot his father.

Feeling the somber moment starting to seep into her newly-minted good mood, she decided to change the subject. "After I graduated from Walcott, I attended Brown University."

"Oh yeah, what did you study while there?"

"I studied accounting," she told him.

It was a lie. For the four months that she attended the Ivy League school, she was an undecided major. She changed from the attended course, which was accounting, into 'undecided', once she realized that she didn't have the passion for the subject any more. But, she couldn't think of anything else to participate in. Somalia wasn't going to let that tidbit of info out.

"Accounting seems like a good major. I studied Finance in Cornell, but look at what good it did me," he said to her.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I am so used to everybody knowing the story that I am not used to having to tell it again and again," he explained. "Once I received my degree, I did what most kids did: gotten a 9-to-5 in Corporate America. My mom was happy and I am sure that my dad would be. But, I wasn't happy. I didn't like my job. I didn't hate it and I was grateful for it, but I didn't like it. I worked there for about two years and then I quitted my job."

"So what do you do now?" she inquired, while praying, 'Please don't be a bum. Please, don't be a bum. Please, don't be a bum...'

"Please, don't laugh, all right?"

"I won't; I promise to you" she said to him. 'Please, don't be a bum...'

"I am a mechanic," he confessed. He gazed her, hoping to see her reaction, whether if it was negative or positive. "I own my own shop. It's over in Clinton Hill—

"Brooklyn? You own a shop in Brooklyn?" she said, incredulously.

"Yes?" he said. He didn't sound confident at that point.

"That's great," she said, genuinely amazed and happy for him. She noticed a gust of air escaped him, as he sighed. "That's wonderful, Tristan. I wish I was able to find my passion. I, like you, am working a job that is great for me. It allows me to provide for myself, but I don't love it. I remember hearing a motivational speaker say once that a career should be of something that a person loves to do, even if they were doing it for free."

"It's true," he said to her.

"Yeah, it's easier for you to say, ever since you discovered what you love to do. But for us, Aimless Janes and Clueless Joes, it is annoying. The only thing that I am passionate about is all focused on my little boy—

"You have a baby?" Tristan asked.

Somalia realized her snafu and wanted to bang her head against the table.

"Yes, well, not really. I mean, he is no longer a baby, even though I still coddle him like one. He hates it, but I love to do it."

"How old is your boy?"

"Eight," she lied, once again.

"Eight, wow, you don't look like you're a mother of an eight year-old boy."

"Why?" she asked with her brow furrowed in confusion.

"Because you don't look stressed the hell out, that's why."

A loud cackle escaped her mouth and she had to cover her mouth to keep more from coming out. A few patrons had sent disapproving glares in their direction.

When Gumby returned from her "cigarette break" she found Somalia lying on the booth's cushioned bench, while Tristan was sitting across from her. For a split second, she was alarmed. But, then, Somalia emerged from her hiding spot with pearls of tears in the corners of her eyes and her face was flushed. Her whole body trembled from laughing too hard. Inwardly, Gumby had done her usual celebratory cheer, as she learned that her friend was finally having a good time.

~oMRo~

"Holy shit, Big Rhonda has changed a lot," Dante remarked, as he straightened out his tie, as he stared at his reflection in the bathroom's mirror.

"Yeah, she lost a lot of weight," Ethan commented, as he urinated into the urinal that was mounted on the wall.

"Big Rhonda hasn't lost all of her weight, man. I know where it's at man. It's in her tits and ass," Eli joked.

Dante laughed uncomfortably at Eli's joke while Ethan and Eugene just glared at him. No one could see Tristan's facial reaction, due to his back was turned because of his usage of the urinal. But every one of them could see the muscles in his back tensed. A wave of tension had floated through the club's bathroom. After a brief time of silence has swum through, Eli spoke up.

"Oh, calm down, 'Roid Rage, I am just making a joke," stated Eli, sounding as if he was offended at their absurdity of being offended. He tossed a small bundle of tissue in the trash receptacle before strolling out of the bathroom.

Once Eli had disappeared, the mood suddenly lightened up. "So, did you ask her about your boy?" Eugene asked, as he started to clean his hands in a sink.

"No," was Tristan's reply, as he was about to flush the urinal. "I didn't think it was the right time to ask."

"What's his name again?" Kassim inquired.

"His name is Julian and he's ten."

"She named him after Pop-Pop?" Eugene asked, referring to Tristan's and his beloved grandfather, who passed when they were kids.

"I think so; I don't know" was his answer.

"Well, when it's time for you have your son over and if you need help with any and every thing that involves kids, you know you can call me, man" Ethan informed Tristan.

"Thanks, man" Tristan said to his friend while feeling his body warm up with adoration.

"And that was an offer that had come from a man, who accidentally left his kid on the roof of his car, when he left the hospital with him," joked Dante. The group of buddies laughed. Ethan threw a balled-up piece of paper at Dante.

"Hey, man, that only happened with my first one and it happened one time!" was Ethan's excuse.

"But, you left your kid on the roof of your car, man!" Eugene pointed out. Ethan and Eugene proceeded to lightly rough-housed in the bathroom, which transferred out of the bathroom.

"I can't believe Tristan Caldwell, the mother-effing man, have a kid!" Dante commented, as he and Tristan was leaving the bathroom. "If he's anything like his pops, then that kid must be slaying the little girls in his elementary school, man."

~oMRo~

"Are you having fun?" Gumby screamed into the ear that belonged to her sister-in-law.

She had to scream due to the loud, abrasive music that was playing in the nightclub. Both women were in the V.I.P. section of Club Ice, sitting in a large booth with a large, round table. The guys had gone to the bathroom and Chelsea had deserted them to speak with a small group of men, who took up space in the booth next to theirs.

"Yes," Somalia lied. With the aid of the strobe lights, Gumby was able to see Somalia's face to see that the young woman was lying.

"Are you really having fun or are you lying to me?"

"I am having fun."

Somalia was not having fun. In fact, she thought that she was having an anxiety attack. She felt so nervous. She felt scared and she felt paranoid. After that conversation with Tristan at the restaurant, she thought everything was all right with her. Her nervousness was gone. Then, when she met up with more members of The Crew, she felt that anxiety returned in ten-fold. The same emotions that stayed with her in high school had returned. Everything was going so nicely at that moment, but she was waiting for 'the other shoe to drop'. It's a routine that she experienced time and time again with these people. There were times when she was invited to their parties, only to have them totally diss her and/or humiliate her. So, why should this moment be any different from the other times?

"No, you're not," Gumby said to her, as she watched Somalia take a gulp from her drink. "And can you slow it down, when it comes to these drinks please?"

"I'm fine," Somalia stated, as she taken a large gulp of liquor.

"No, you're not, you are drinking Hennessey and watered down Coke and this is your fourth drink! Stop and take a break!" She snatched the glass out of Somalia's hand and placed it on the table.

"Party-pooper," Somalia said to her friend.

"Drunk" was Gumby's reply.

"I'm not a drunk!"

"I'm drunk" Somalia slurred, in a tune.

"Molly, shhh, we're back at the hotel," Gumby notified her.

"But, I'm drunk," she whined. A few seconds of silence goes on by and then there was a "Gumby?"

"What?"

"Why am I flying?" Even though her speech was slurred, her fear was evident.

"Baby, you're not flying. You're being carried right now," explained Gumby.

"Okay, mommy, okay" she mumbled before drifting off into alcohol-induced unconsciousness.

Back at the club, Tristan could tell that Somalia was drunk, even before she could decipher it. The obvious sign was the slurred speech that she spoken to the guys. Her body swayed, her eyes were glazed and unfocused. She smelt like she washed herself and her clothes in a tub of liquor. He suggested to her sister-in-law that they should take her back to the hotel room, before she could do anything to hurt herself or others. She competent enough to walked to his rented Land Rover, but when they arrived back at the hotel, she could barely lifted her finger. So, he carried her through the posh hotel lobby with her family member following behind him. He could feel the eyes of the hotel's staff members staring at him as he walked to the elevators, with Somalia carried by his arms. It was when the trio was traveling in the elevator, to the twentieth floor, when she woke up.