Chapter 1- Can't Say No

Is it better to say "How do I?" or "How can I?"

It has nothing to do with semantics. It's just a simple request for information that all has to do with implication. Implication is the key word. I'm single at 35, with no kids, stuck in a job that I hate and it's not until Clarence Clapper stands up that I understand the implication of it all.

I'm single at 35 and nothing seems like it's changing.

"How can I do that" can be taken to mean that you didn't know you could do that, which can be asked rhetorically to imply that doing something is so against one's nature they do not believe it possible. "How do I do that" implies that the speaker knows or believes it is possible, but simply lacks instruction as to procedure.

"How do I do that?" Clapper asks.

The room gets quiet. Clapper literally interrupts Waverly Kingston to say that. Waverly Kingston is a bitch. There aren't many other ways to describe it. On paper, she's a success story. The kind of woman that little girls aspire to be. She's attractive, successful and extremely thorough. She's the CEO of her own business consulting firm and married to one of the richest men in Philadelphia. Don't let the fake smiles at fundraisers fool you though. Waverly Kingston was a bitch. Maybe it had to do with being a woman in a male-dominated industry. She felt like she had to overcompensate for her vagina and heat flashes that everyone's start to notice happen more and more often. Maybe it had to do with the secret that her husband was having an affair. A secret that spread like wildfire across the office.

"You should figure it out," she tells him, "That's what we pay you for right."

I hadn't even been paying attention until that moment really. My head jolts forward as if I just took a shot of espresso. I'd been pretending to take notes on the computer, hitting a key in the boardroom every few minutes.

Clapper was my best friend. We'd gone to college together. He'd found me this job. He'd been working here for 10 years. 10 long years. You would think Waverly Kingston would at least know him by his name but she resolved to just call him, "You..."

"I'm not taking that for an answer," Clapper responds.

"Oh you aren't?"

The room gets quiet. All the senior members of the consulting team all of a sudden look uncomfortable. People didn't stand up to Waverly. Not ever.

I give Clapper a look. The kind of look that tells my friend, "What the fuck are you doing, dumb ass" without actually saying it. The kind of look that tells him he needs to cool the fuck out before he does something he'll regret.

"It was a smart question."

She smiles, "Funny how people here don't have degrees but all of a sudden have smart mouths."

It's a dig. Clapper had gone to school with me, but he never finished. Halfway through he had his kid and never had the opportunity to go back.

"I didn't disrespect you. You're not going to disrespect me."

"What you going to do about it?"

"I quit."

That's when it happens. That's when Clapper gets up and walks out of the room. I don't realize it at that moment but it changes my life forever when he leaves. Waverly doesn't give a fuck. I can see it in her eyes. 10 years down the drain. Just like that.

I'm single at 35...and nothing seems like it's changing.

~

I go to Clapper's office after the meeting. The meeting doesn't last for an hour. I don't see him. His entire office is cleared out. I get to my own office right after and shut the door. When I get to the desk I see a note there.

"Dinner on me at 6. Prepare to get fuckin' wasted. – C. Clapper"

I sit at my desk. This is not happening. Clapper was having money trouble. He needed the money. I remember when we were young. The old group. The old squad. Clarence, Romelo, Labron and me. Clapper was the only white boy but everyone thought he fit in because he was a white boy with swag. He had the blonde hair and kodak smiles. The girls all went crazy for him and Clapper was a lady's man. He was always the happiest one in the group. Then he started working for the Kingston firm. And everything fell apart.

I sit at my desk unable to work.

I've been here 6 years. No promotions. Barely any raises. There was this promise that the Kingston firm was where it was, but Waverly worked us as slaves and in the end...she screwed us over.

There's a knock on the door.

A part of me thinks it's Clapper. I hope it's Clapper. I run to the door, ready to see him. I'm hoping he went to Waverly and groveled for his job back.

"Vicorio...what the hell are you doing here?" I ask answering the door.

Vicorio. He walks in and there is this whiff of that Bond cologne. I'm talking about the 400 dollar bottle that they sell at Saks Fifth Avenue. He has on an Italian suit, probably Zegna or Armani. It's black and has this slim, sleek silhouette that just captures Vicorio's personality to a T. His suit has the tapered waists and tight hips with a very light cloth. It's very European, just like him.

"You don't seem happy to see me, Nile," he states.

No one says my name like Vicorio. His Italian accent makes my name sound so much more sexier than it is. He pronounces my name like Nye-ELLE and it rolls off his pink lips as he brushes his hands through his pitch black hair. He was trouble if I ever saw it. His dark eyes, his tan skin, and his European stubby 5 o'clock shadow make him seem like he's not even trying to be this sexy.

"I thought you were out of town."

"I came back and you know you were the first person I had to come see," he tells me.

"I've been meaning to talk to you..."

"About?"

Vicorio smiles at me. He sits on my desk. He makes himself at home with all this cockiness and self-assurance that I fucking hate.

"Us ending this...whatever this is," I tell him.

It wasn't a relationship. I knew it wasn't. Vicorio knew it wasn't too. He's sitting there with all this money and all this class and he just seems to be so full of himself. He knows he has the world given to him on a platter and he acts like it.

"Ending?" he laughs.

He gets up. For a moment my chest sinks in when I think he's leaving. He's walking to the door. A part of me wants to call out to him but I know I need him out of my life. Vicorio is trouble. He always has been. He always will be. I feel a sense of painful relief when he puts his hand on the door. A thousand weights lifted up with every step of his Salvatore Ferragamo shoes. A final release when his Bond cologne dwindles finally as he leaves.

So many nights I dreamed of this moment.

Get off me demon.

Stay back Satan.

And now it was happening. Right...now...

"I'm not leaving you alone," he tells me instead, locking my office door.

"What are you doing?" I ask him, "It's over. You have to get out of here Vic...Vic...Vic..."

He's in my face before I know it. The Bond cologne of death invades my nostrils like the Allies invading Germany. His hands control my waist like a puppeteer, placing me in the position he needs me. Pulling my strings. Pulling my HEART strings. I feel his breath up against my nose. It's cool. It smells good. It smells like Vicorio. And his tongue tastes like Vicorio when he slowly pushes it in my mouth. It's as though Vicorio isn't a person to me. Vicorio is a thing. Vicorio is my weakness. My self-reliance that as I'm getting older this was it. This was as good as it gets.

So when he drops to his knees in my office, unzips my slacks, squeezes my semi-hard cock out of my drawers and engulfs it with his Italian lips, I do nothing. I stop resisting.

I throw my head back.

My entire body shivers. He goes up and down. His lips pressing up against the head of my dick. His fingers making their way to my ass until he inserts them directly into me. He fingers me as though he's searching for something inside of me. Something that I'm hiding. Something that I never want to give up. Deeper, harder, stronger. Give. Me. More.

I strain my chest, "Ugh...I'm cumming."

His fingers deep in my asshole twist and turn. They spiral. It's as though he's found my g-spot and kept going. It's as though he's is doing a prostate exam. His fingers do a motion within me. A motion as he looks up with his eyes. Our eyes meet. His dark pain in mine.

And the motion is as though to say, "Come hither..."

And I give him what he wants. Just like the loser I am. Pain, fear, annoyance, pride, and regret are all swallowed like him swallowing my nut inside of him.

And I can't say no. It sickens me. I'm single at 35 and I can't say no.

"You still want to end this?" he asks me.

He knows my answer. He can see the weakness. He saw it from the very first moment that I met him. There I was in my Honda and he pulls up with his Rolls Royce, smelling like money and self-satisfaction with strong eyes. I used to think he squinted so much to be sexy. Now I knew better. He squinted to see all my weaknesses, all my vulnerabilities, all my pain. He squinted to see all those things so he could get a better job at them.

"One of my best friends just got let go," I state.

"Whose your best friend?"

I've been seeing this man for 5 years. 5 fucking years and he didn't know who my best friend was. It's not as though I was asking him to remember my favorite color or movie. Some relationships that worked but in this fucked up situation I was in there was none of that.

"You've met him like a dozen times. Blonde hair...Jesus, Vicorio. C'mon, you remember Clarence right?"

"Clarence who?"

"Clarence, Clarence," I state.

Why the fuck do people think you will remember someone by saying their name twice?

"Oh yeah. Yeah him. I'm sorry baby. Jet lag..."

He was probably lying. He probably still didn't remember Clarence. Not the time when we went to drink at the bar the one day and Clarence bought us drinks the whole night even though Vicorio clearly made the most money. He probably didn't remember the time he stood me up at the movies and Clarence showed up instead because Clarence knew how I hated watching movies alone.

"I hate asking you for anything," I state at that moment, "But Vicorio. I'm begging you. Clarence's ex-wife has him in this nasty custody battle. It's a lot of stress. He doesn't have money for his lawyer and he doesn't want to lose custody of his kid. Jr. is just 13 and the kid is doing great with Clarence. Him switching it up and having to go somewhere else...it wouldn't work. You know I never ask you for anything. Anything at all. But I'm begging you here. If not for me, if not for Clarence, then for Jr. Can you do something to get Clarence his job back?"

"How do I do that?" he asks.

"How do I do that" implies that the speaker knows or believes it is possible, but simply lacks instruction as to procedure.

"Talk to Waverly."

There. Instruction. Procedure. He had everything he needed.

"No. That's not what I meant. I mean, how can I?" he asks.

"What?"

"How can I possibly talk to Waverly on your behalf? Let's be reasonable Nile. That would be too suspicious. After all...she's my wife."

Vicorio walks out the door. Slamming it right in my face.

~

I arrive at dinner defeated. I arrive with my head down. The guy who is the personal nut rag for his boss's husband. At first it started with me thinking this was one big `fuck you' to my boss. This was a ride: A figurative amusement park and oh, fuck, what a ride Vicorio was. I thought it was just for my amusement. It was for shits and giggles. As though my body was an instrument of revenge that I had hopes of controlling. Until I started to fall for Vicorio and the sick merry-go-round just speeds up and I realize I can't get off. Even when the merry-go-round swings to the bottom and I can see the ground. And I want to hop off and make a run for it...it speeds up. It's too late. And I'm all the way up in the sky once again with no hopes.

Up down. Up down.

Shit isn't that amusing anymore.

"Yo fix ya fuckin' face," Clapper states, "I'm the one who got fired today, goddam it."

I meet Clapper at our favorite spot. The Brewery. It's a bar in downtown Philadelphia where a lot of business people came after work. It was our spot. The spot where you hung out in, loosen up your suit, pushed your briefcase under the table and got fucked up. Clapper was clearly ahead of me, from the harsh Whiskey on his breath and the uneasy movement in his eyes.

"You drunk?" I ask.

"No shit Sherlock. I told the waiter I had a sexy friend who knew how to do some tricks with her clitoris. Been getting free drinks all night for the hookup."

I look at Clapper sideways, "Clitorus? I don't know that Pokemon."

"Not you dumb ass...him..."

Just at that moment, I turn and I'm annoyed when I see someone walk out. Romelo. He's stands at 6'1". He has that handsome look on his face. Romelo didn't have a job but you wouldn't think it by how smoothly he walks in the room. Someone told him one time that he looked like Colin Kaepernick so he goes around telling everyone his name is Rome Kaepernick. Romelo is handsome, but he just has that sneaky look on his face. Maybe it's the fact that his hair is always perfectly trimmed. You can't trust someone who always has a perfect line up.

Maybe that makes him sound classier than he really is. His name is fucking Romelo, fucking, Jackson. And no...not like the Jackson family. The closest anyone in his family had ever got to fame was when his ghetto sister Chardonnay flashed her titties at a 76ers game during Kiss Cam. He has light skin, a lot lighter than my brown skin and he tells everyone he's mixed which is a fuckin' lie. The only thing Romelo is mixed with was self-image insecurities and fuckboy tendencies.

"Ok I need to get out of here," I state standing up at that moment.

"Nile give him a chance," Clapper tells me.

"You really still tripping about our disagreement?" Romelo asks standing over me probably to prove that he's so much taller than I am, "We are best friends. You going to let a 5-minute argument come between years of friendship?"

"5-minute argument?" I ask, "5-minute fucking argument he says."

"Calm down," Clapper states.

I'm getting hyped. I know I am. I'm not even the drunk one. Clapper had some nerve bringing Romelo here though. The guy had a habit of showing up and trying to make peace over what he's calling a 5-minute argument.

"No. 5 minute argument. That's what he's calling it Clarence. A 5-minute argument. Like this is some fucking workout plan. 5 minute. Like this is a goddam microwavable meal. 5 minutes. 5 minutes argument after you slept with my fiancé!" I slam my hand hard on the bar.

I slam it so hard that Clapper spills his drink.

It was several years ago. I finally met someone who took my mind off Vicorio. His name was Pharaoh Shakur. And he was just as powerful as his name sounded. All dreads and self-power and pride. He had that thing that I'd never known with the men I'd met. Pharaoh treated me like a fucking king. And I found him in my best friend Romelo's house getting teabagged and I'm not talking Organic African Rooibos tea. I'm talking Romelo's nuts in his mouth. That's how we found out Romelo was bisexual.

"I did it to prove he wasn't the one for you," Romelo states.

It's the same thing that he said in our legendary 5-minute argument. The 5 minutes ended back then with me knocking Romelo right in his fuckin' head while Clapper and Pharaoh broke us up.

I feel like a repeat of that five minutes.

This time I wanted to break my record. It's only been 4.

I reach over to Romelo and Clapper seems to read my mind. He knows me too well and I hate it. Clapper grabs me up at that moment and pulls me away. I'm beyond pissed especially with how Romelo addresses the situation.

Clapper pulls me to the other side of the bar. We're alone. I want to punch Romelo at that moment just seeing him again. I'd blocked him 6 times and he still managed to swindle a new number somehow to try to contact me. It's like I can't escape the guy. I wanted nothing to do with him and it just sucked because we clearly had all the same mutual friends.

But Romelo was not my best friend. Not anymore.

Best friends didn't do what Romelo did to me.

"Can you please calm down?" Clapper asks me, "Look at me. Nile. Look at me. Eyes here. Ok good. Now breathe. Remember those exercises from counseling."

"I got counseling because of THAT motherfucker."

"3...and 2...and 1..."

"1...and 2...and 3..."

"Good there you go. From the diaphragm. Good. How do you feel now?" he asks.

Pissed. That's how I felt.

"I told you not to bring him around Clapper," I state, "I told you."

Clapper nods, "Listen this is business."

I'm confused, "Business?"

"The next phase of our careers. The next phase of our lives. Working for Waverly is over."

I'm beyond confused why Clapper has me here with this guy. Romelo is at the bar. He's flirting with the bartender. Probably trying to swindle her out of some more free drinks. She's falling for it. Girls seem to do that when it came to Romelo. And it blows my mind. Do they not see the half-cocked sneaky little smile? Did that shit not sound suspicious to them? Did they think that Romelo would really be the guy who would be around when they woke up the next morning? I can't count how many fights I got into in college because Romelo would screw people and leave with their wallets the next day. That's Romelo for you.

Romelo is going to be Romelo, though. Clapper is the one who has me confused right now. I'm confused why he's talking about business when the guy just walked out of his job.

"You trust me?" Clapper asks.

"This isn't about you. You see that over there, Clapper?" I ask, "That there is the devil. The devil with pearly white teeth and snakeskin shoes."

"You want to work for Waverly forever?"

"It gets me by."

I hadn't gotten fired. The job paid the bills.

"That's how it's going to be? All about you huh? You should have walked out when I walked out. I would have done it."

"Clarence..."

"No, fuck that," he states shaking off his blonde hair which he does when he gets in his feelings, "Whatever happened to the promise?"

The promise was something that happened a long time ago. I remember it. I remember all four of us in middle school. Too young to know what we were talking about. It was me who brought it up. The promise that we all would keep.

"If one of us makes it, we all make it," I state.

"You forget about that?"

"Clapper, I was talking to Vicorio. He is playing hard but I know I can convince him to get you your job back. I'm not going to let my godson go to that bitch of a mother," I state.

I loved Clapper's son, Jr. Clapper's mother wasn't qualified to raise Jr. Mother was a loose term for this woman. She was on drugs. She got so sprung she started to fuck for the product. All this while Clapper was trying to make the most of his life, jumping from job to job to support the family. She was no help. All she cared about was the drugs. She literally offered Jr. up to one of her tricks for extra money. Of course, she cleaned herself up and it was her word against Clapper's at this point.

"I don't want the job back," Clapper tells me, "Romelo has a plan. A better plan."

"Romelo always has a plan."

"This one is different. This one involves all of us."

"
"Labron doesn't even live in Philly anymore. All of us aren't here..."

Labron. The words are still so heavy on my tongue. Clapper looks over at me.

"You still sore about him leaving?"

"It's just...you know me and Labron."

"The straight friend you fell in love with."

"Clapper."

I give him a hard push. Clapper was the only one who knew my secret. I was always in love with Labron. Back then I was the gay one in the group. This was before Romelo revealed himself as being bisexual. Back then these three guys were like my big brothers even though I was the oldest. They protected me. They held me down. They didn't make me feel left out for being the gay friend.

"Remember when we all came to prom as your date because you were too nervous to invite your boyfriend at the time? And Romelo and me got pissed because you only wanted to dance with Labron the whole time."

I smile.

"Labron was the best dancer."

"Bullshit...you were obsessed with him. And it's damn near incest because we were like brothers."

"Well I would have gladly committed that sin," I confess laughing at how obsessed I was with Labron, "I did invite my boyfriend at the time, by the way. I told him to respond to me when he got home. Never got that reply. You and Labron spent the whole night convincing me he was homeless."

We laugh at the table at that moment.

"Romelo picked out our tuxedos," Clapper tells me.

He was right. I hated that he was right though. Romelo was a different person back then.

"Fine..."

"Fine?"

"I'll hear him out. Just for old time's sake."

Clapper is beyond happy when he goes to call Romelo over to the table we are sitting at. By the time Romelo gets back to that table I just regret even being open to the conversation. The guy literally pulls out all these sheets of paper as though this is a legit business plan. We were friends. I just didn't get why he didn't skip all the theatrics and talk. Still, I remained silent, even when I look over the sheets of paper that he's using in order to look professional and realize this looks like something a 15-year-old drew up for Civics class.

"I'm glad you are taking the time to..."

"Skip the bullshit. Get to the point," I tell Romelo.

I had no time for pretending like things were good between us. They weren't. They never would be. I knew that much.

Romelo sighs, "I want us all to go into business together."

"What business?"

"You know how Labron sends us all those organic skin care products. We all said he had a gift."

I remember the products. Labron's skincare products were all natural and they were damn near miracle workers. I swore it was the reason the four of us looked so good even now. I had to admit. Regardless of the differences we had, we were four handsome ass men and Labron's skincare definitely did help.

"You want to go into skincare. You don't know shit about skincare?"

"I know how to pitch. I can pitch my way into Queen Elizabeth's royal jewels. Leave the sales up to me. You and Clapper are good at business management. You always wanted to have your own business. And Labron is the key. He manages the product."

I look over at Clapper. I see how his face is lit up. He's already sold.

"Labron will never go for it," I state, "He's...gone."

None of us had heard from Labron in years. I'd heard more from Romelo even though I was going out of my way to avoid him. Labron had disappeared. He was gone. He started a whole new life.

"We can work on that," Clapper states, "He's coming to town. We'll...talk to him about it."

"He'll never agree."

"If he does?"

"He won't."

"But if he does. Will you be down?" Romelo asks.

I think about it. Going into business with Romelo was like crawling in bed with a snake. I trusted Clapper completely. I just wish we could take Romelo's idea and subtract Romelo from it. My mind is telling me this will be a horrible idea.

"Where will we get the money from?"

All of us were making just enough to get by at this point.

"Vicorio," Romelo states.

I look at Romelo hard. Romelo knew damn well what I have been going through with Vicorio. He knew everything that had been going down. The nerve of this fucking guy to bring Vicorio's name into that.

"Why the FUCK would Vicorio help us out with that?"

"Because we have leverage," Clapper states, pulling out his phone.

I'm shocked what I see there. It's a recording. It's a fucking recorded video of earlier in the office. It's a video of Vicorio and me getting down to business in my office! I look at it and I'm shocked.

"You recorded me?" I ask Clapper, "You fucking set up a camera in my fucking office!"

"I..."

"HOW COULD YOU!"

Clapper turns to Romelo, "I told you he would be pissed. I told you it was a bad idea."

I knew it. I knew this was all fucking Romelo. Clapper could be so gullible at times. He wasn't dumb. He was just so goddam gullible. You could tell Clapper the sky was falling and he'd try to catch it.

"You..." I state.

That's all I can say. All the malice. All the anger. All of that is in my tone right now as I look over at Romelo. I am beyond pissed right now. There is no other way to say it.

Clapper shakes his head, "It's not just him. You know what Waverly emailed me when I left the office? She told me I would never be able to work in this town again. She's going to blacklist me in the city. You know she is good for it. She's done it before."

Romelo grabs Clapper's phone, "I know you're mad, but we knew you wouldn't go for it if you knew in advance. This is leverage. Vicorio will give us the money we need for this."

"You know what..." I start getting up off the table, "Fuck this. I'm out of here."

"You are so used to mediocrity aren't you?" Romelo asks, "You always have been. Always so fucking scared of your own shadow Nile. But one thing about your shadow, no matter how scared you are of it, it follows you everywhere you go as long as there is light. You can try turning that light off but you can't see in the dark Nile. You can't see in the motherfucking dark."

"Say what you want. At least I have a job. Unlike you. Somehow you managed to get Clapper to leave his career and join you in this stupid get-rich-quick scheme. I'm good. I'm stable."

I get up and start walking away.

That's when I hear Clapper seeming shocked by asking Romelo, "Oh my god, Melo...what the fuck did you just do?"

I stop in my tracks.

I turn. I know Romelo has done something. I know he's done something really bad.

"Actually, you don't have a job anymore. And if Waverly is as bad as you guys say she is, you're never going to work in your field again. No one is going to hire you. So I guess we're all in the same boat," Romelo states, coldly, "You made us a promise back when we were kids. We're going to do that promise. One way or another."

"What...did...you...do?" I ask.

Romelo ignores me, "We're going to need another investment. Our leverage is gone."

Romelo walks past me. He leaves the bar and I'm just standing in place. I knew that Clapper had let the devil back in our lives and right now I think Clapper was believing the exact same thing. Clapper looks at his phone and his mouth is open.

"What did he do?" I ask.

"He sent your sex video to Waverly."

I was 35 and single. And without a job. And I can't say no...

 

 

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