Double Dippin' Page 4

  “I’m not jealous.”

  “You smoke, Tariq?” LaDonna inquired.

  Tariq frowned and shook his head emphatically.

  “We’ll be right back, man. I gotta ask LaDonna something in private.”

  When LaDonna and Shane went into her bedroom, Tariq felt tremendous relief. Maybe he was off the hook. He didn’t want to have sex with Shane’s girl. LaDonna made him nervous because she didn’t act like the girls his age; she acted too grown-up—too womanly. Besides, he really didn’t want to cheat on Shiree.

  He could hear his brother and LaDonna arguing, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying. Then their voices became whispered murmurs. The creak of the bedsprings came next, followed by the violent banging of the headboard against the wall.

  Certain that he was off the hook, Tariq smiled and settled back into the soft cushions of the sofa. He clicked on the television and channel-surfed. Looney Tunes. Hot damn! Yeah, he wasn’t ashamed to admit it; he still liked cartoons.

  Maybe if Shane and LaDonna didn’t take too long, he could still meet Shiree at the pool. He’d told her he’d be there; she’d probably stop speaking to him if he didn’t keep his word.

  Tariq had become so caught up in the cartoons that he hadn’t noticed that the bedroom had gone silent. The bedroom door opened and LaDonna stomped to the bathroom.

  Zipping his pants, Shane emerged wearing a big grin. “It’s your turn, man.”

  Looking panicked, Tariq exclaimed, “What? I don’t want none of that; you already did it to her.”

  “So what! I just loosened her up for you. I know you don’t think I’m gonna take sloppy seconds with my own girl. Now, go ’head, man. You should be glad LaDonna loves me enough to hook you up, too.”

  Tariq felt frozen in place. “I don’t know…”

  Tariq clearly didn’t want to have a sexual encounter with LaDonna, but Shane wouldn’t relent. “Man, if you don’t go in there and get some of that…” Shane shook his head in disgust. “All this trouble I went through for you, and you acting like you scared or something.”

  “I’m not scared!”

  “Well, act like it. Look, we’re brothers. We share and share alike. Right?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Yeah, nothing. You’d do it for me, wouldn’t you?”

  Tariq nodded and gazed nervously at LaDonna, who stood in the doorframe of the bedroom chewing gum and looking bored.

  “Then go ’head in there and get that cherry popped.” Shane flopped down on the sofa, picked up the remote, and stretched his long legs out on the coffee table.

  Looking as if he’d prefer to stand before a firing squad, Tariq entered LaDonna’s bedroom and slowly closed the door.

  Shane went to shoot craps with some old heads outside the neighborhood deli. Rushing, Tariq made it to the pool just before it closed.

  Shiree gave him a wide grin.

  “Oh, now you’re smiling,” chided Shiree’s girlfriend, Tasha. “She thought you stood her up,” Tasha confided to Tariq. “She was crying and everything,”

  “I was not,” Shiree protested and elbowed her friend.

  With his arm draped across her shoulders, Tariq walked Shiree home.

  “Are you all right?” Shiree asked when Tariq seemed satisfied with just tongue-kissing.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Any other time, I’d have to spend half the night trying to make you keep your hands to yourself.”

  He went over his sordid sex act with LaDonna in his mind and cringed. He felt dirty and guilty as sin. Clearing his throat, Tariq said, “I’m a gentleman and I respect you too much to try to get you to do something you’re not ready for.”

  “Aw, Tariq!” Shiree pressed into Tariq, then opened her mouth and kissed him. She stuck her tongue so far down his throat she nearly strangled him. Instead of having his hands smacked away by Shiree, as he usually did when he got too frisky, he had to restrain her from squeezing and caressing his genitals.

  He wasn’t suffering from a case of blue balls anymore, but LaDonna had worked him over with her mouth, sucking him until he felt drained and chafed. Now, the only thing he wanted from Shiree was pleasant conversation and a light kiss or two.

  At quarter to nine that night Tariq left Shiree’s house and walked to the deli where Shane was standing on the sidelines watching a crap game.

  “Give me a few more minutes, man. You got any money left? I wanna get back in the game.”

  Tariq stuck a hand in his pocket and then checked his Timex watch. They had a nine o’clock curfew. It was important to stay in Ms. Holmes’s good graces so they wouldn’t have to move again. “We gotta go, man,” Tariq said, hoping Shane wouldn’t give him a hard time. To his surprise, Shane left the crap game without putting up a fight.

  They made it home on time and sat in the living room watching TV with Ms. Holmes. Later that night, Ms. Holmes went upstairs, put on her night clothes and terrycloth bathrobe, and returned to the living room to watch the eleven o’clock news.

  Tariq yawned and rubbed his eyes.

  “You act like you had a rough day, bro’,” Shane teased.

  Tariq’s broad grin progressed into another wide-mouthed yawn. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed. Good night, Miz Holmes.”

  “Good night, sweetheart. Pleasant dreams.” Ms. Holmes switched her gaze to Shane. “It’s getting late, honey pie. Aren’t you ready for bed?”

  “I’m not sleepy. Can I watch TV with you?”

  She considered his request and shrugged. “I don’t see why not. It’s summer time now and you don’t have to get up early for school. Sure, you can stay up for a little while.”

  Shane settled into the cushion next to Ms. Holmes. Watching the evening news, however, was boring and before long, Shane was snoring. Ms. Holmes was too involved with the latest government scandal to give Shane a strong shake and send him up to bed. When his head lolled to the side and slumped down to her shoulder, she just smiled and patted the side of his head.

  The anchorman switched to the next news report, the successful armed robbery of a Brinks truck, which had taken place at a strip mall not too far from her house. Bristling with excitement and trying to get a closer view of the scene, Dolores Holmes leaned forward. Her sudden change in position caused Shane’s head to slip from her shoulder to her ample bosom.

  Her heart went out to the poor motherless child. The urge to nurture was innate and overpowering and since Shane was sound asleep, what harm would it do to treat him as if she were his natural mother?

  She patted his head and pulled him in closer, cradled him with one arm, and rocked him gently as if he were a young child.

  Shane nuzzled against her bosom, moaning softly as his lips brushed her terrycloth-covered breasts. Alarmed, Ms. Holmes shook Shane’s shoulder. He didn’t awaken. In his sleeping state, Shane was like a baby whose mouth sought the comfort of his mother’s nipple.

  Panic ran through Ms. Holmes, who stood up so abruptly, Shane toppled onto the floor. Startled and confused, Shane rose clumsily. His bloodshot eyes locked onto his foster mother’s eyes and requested an explanation.

  “You were having some kind of a dream,” she explained, feeling embarrassed. “Now, go on upstairs, honey, and get yourself some rest.”

  She watched Shane climb the stairs. He looked as if he were sleepwalking.

  An uncomfortable feeling washed over Ms. Holmes. There was no denying it, her nerves were badly rattled. Times like this, she could sure use a shot of liquor, but instead she reached for the Bible she kept on an endtable next to the sofa. Hopefully, she’d find some scripture that would settle her uneasy soul.

  CHAPTER 7

  Shane was up early the next morning. Before either Tariq or Ms. Holmes had awakened, he’d scrubbed down the front porch, swept the sidewalk in front of the house, and had started trimming the hedges in the backyard.

  Startled from sleep by the loud buzz of the power hedge trimmer, both Tariq and Ms. Holmes wore cu
rious expressions as they ambled sleepily to the back door and gawked at Shane as he struggled with the power tool. Shane’s face glistened with perspiration and his T-shirt was soaked.

  “What on earth? Boy, cut that thing off and put it down. You’re liable to cut off your fingers!” Ms. Holmes fussed, but the pride was evident in her tone.

  “I can do it,” he insisted, sounding winded. “I’m almost finished; I just need Tariq to get me some trash bags and a broom. He can sweep up the mess I’m making,” Shane said with laughter.

  “It seems like my handyman, Mr. Watkins, just trimmed those blasted hedges for me. Mr. Watkins must not be cutting them down low enough; those dang things grow fast as weeds.” She turned to Tariq, who was still rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Go get your brother a glass of ice water and then run upstairs and put something on so you can help him. I’ll get the trash bags ready.”

  “Miz Holmes,” Shane called and then cracked an impish smile. “Go check out the front of the house.”

  Garbed in a cotton nightgown, robe, and bedroom slippers, Ms. Holmes happily indulged Shane and waddled to the living room. Her slippers flapped loudly as she rushed to see what other surprise Shane had in store for her. She tightened the sash of her robe and opened the front door. Ms. Holmes shook her head in amazement. The porch and sidewalk, spotlessly clean, gleamed in the early morning sun. “Shane! Boy, you’re something else. The front of this house hasn’t looked this good since the day I bought this place.”

  Ms. Holmes hustled to the kitchen cabinet and pulled out several plastic trash bags. Her heart was warmed by Shane’s initiative. It saddened her, however, that she hadn’t gotten the boys when they were little. Oh, the years she’d wasted trying to help out the parade of unappreciative, fast-behind girls when she could have devoted herself to these two well-behaved and beautiful twin boys who were a pleasure to behold.

  Had she gotten hold of them while they were still young, who knows…maybe they’d think of her as their real mother.

  Oh well, no use crying over spilled milk. She was their foster mother and she’d fight those city people tooth and nail if they ever tried to uproot and remove the boys from her loving Christian home.

  While Shane and Tariq finished up in the backyard, Ms. Holmes went to her bedroom to get dressed. There was a tap on her bedroom door. “Miz Holmes?” Shane called on the other side of the door.

  “What is it, baby?”

  “Do we have any Band-aids?”

  The bedroom door swung open. “What’s wrong? Did you hurt yourself?” Her eyes were big; her voice filled with concern.

  “Just a little nick.” Shane was squeezing his middle finger, trying to keep the blood from spurting.

  “Oh my Lord!” Ms. Holmes rushed Shane into the bathroom and ran cold water over the wound. “It’s not too deep, thank goodness. Well, young man…No more hedge-trimming for you. Sit down.” She nodded toward the side of the bathtub. Shane sat down and Ms. Holmes applied an ointment and carefully covered the cut with three Band-aids.

  Shane watched her work on his finger and then looked up with tear-glistened eyes. “Miz Holmes?”

  “Yes, honey pie?”

  “Can I…” His voice cracked. “Never mind.” He shook his head and then lowered his head self-consciously.

  “What’s wrong, Shane? You can talk to me about anything.” Ms. Holmes lifted Shane’s chin, forcing him to meet her eyes. “I want you to talk to me about whatever is on your mind.”

  “I wanna call you Mom,” Shane blurted and then burst into tears.

  Ms. Holmes instantly sat beside Shane and gathered the crying teenager in her arms. “Of course you can call me Mom. There’s no reason to feel ashamed about needing some motherly love.”

  It felt natural to comfort a distressed child. However, she didn’t realize that her slightly opened robe, partially revealed her triple D-sized bra and exposed talcum-dusted cleavage.

  With his face pressed into his foster mother’s bosom, his tears mingled with talcum powder, the distraught boy was slowly soothed by her womanly softness. When his wandering hand desperately sought and rested upon her enormous cups, Ms. Holmes’s first impulse was to swat his hand away.

  But while her confused mind struggled to accept the gesture as being as innocent as an infant’s flailing arms or a groping two-year-old, Shane stuck his hands beneath her robe and deftly unhooked the back closure of her bra.

  She knew she should push him away, but the boy was in such a peculiar state, Ms. Holmes didn’t think he fully realized what he was doing. Perched on the side of the bathtub, Ms. Holmes sat trance-like while Shane, whimpering and crying, tentatively touched and then began to squeeze her breasts. In a matter of seconds, Shane’s lips attached to her nipple. Helplessly, she allowed him to suckle one breast and then the other as if he were a newborn babe.

  When Dolores Holmes finally came to her senses, she gently pulled her nipple from Shane’s mouth. Her heart was thumping hard against her chest as she shook her head and wagged a finger. “Boy, I can’t let you do that anymore. That’s what babies do to their mommas—not big boys like you. Do you understand?”

  “I’m sorry, Mom,” Shane muttered. He looked perplexed.

  She patted his arm. “You didn’t mean nothing by it, I know that. But other people wouldn’t see it that way. Now you can’t speak a word of this to a soul. Do you hear me?” Fear of unimaginable consequences caused Dolores Holmes’s voice to rise.

  “Yes,” he said and nodded his head.

  Ms. Holmes managed to avoid Shane for the rest of the morning, but by late afternoon when it was time to shop for groceries, she called Shane and Tariq, who were playing with their Super Soakers in the backyard.

  “Did you call us Mom?” Shane asked in a normal voice as if he’d been calling her Mom all of his life.

  Tariq did a double-take. He looked at Ms. Holmes to see if she’d heard Shane and then he shifted his gaze to his brother. “What did you call Miz Holmes?”

  “I called her Mom; it’s cool. She wants us to call her Mom.”

  Embarrassed, Ms. Holmes glanced away. She nervously adjusted the hem of her dress, covering her knees—unconsciously trying to cover her sins. Some kind of mother she was turning out to be. She’d have to sit down and have a nice long talk with Shane. What he’d done—what she’d allowed him to do—was unnatural and it could never happen again.

  In the Acme Supermarket later that day, Ms. Holmes steered the cart and absently perused her shopping list. Tormented by thoughts of hell and damnation, she couldn’t concentrate on the scrawled list of household items.

  “Mom?”

  It wasn’t a term she was accustomed to, so she continued to ponder the shopping list.

  “Mom!” Shane persisted. Both Ms. Holmes and Tariq shot confused glances at Shane. A muscle twitched in Ms. Holmes’s face.

  “Start calling her Mom. She’s our mother now,” Shane told Tariq. “She’s gonna be our mother forever; we ain’t moving nowhere else. Ain’t that right, Mom?”

  Ms. Holmes nodded dully. What had she done? How had she allowed something innocent and good to turn to devil’s work? Shane hadn’t realized that what he’d done was wrong; he was just starved for love. He wasn’t responsible for his actions; that ol’ Satan was always busy. She’d have to try to explain to Shane that she was willing to be his mother but she just couldn’t give him what he’d missed out on as a baby. He was a big boy and he’d have to behave like one.

  With the shopping completed, Tariq steered the cart up to the cashier. The bill came to seventy-eight dollars and thirty-nine cents. Ms. Holmes opened her wallet expecting to find five crisp twenties, but instead there were only four. She gave the cashier the bills and looked off in thought. Hmm. She shrugged off her doubt as she accepted her change and decided she’d probably miscounted the money.

  “Come on, boys; let’s load these groceries in the car,” she said cheerfully. But her forced cheerfulness flew out the window, the moment Shane
called her Mom.

  “Yes, honey?” she nervously responded.

  “Can me and Tariq have twenty dollars?”

  Ms. Holmes almost choked. “Twenty dollars apiece?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Shane answered respectfully.

  At first, Tariq looked as surprised as his foster mother, then he scowled at his brother as if appalled that Shane would request such a large sum on his behalf.

  “What do you two boys need all that money for?” She gave Shane and then Tariq a disapproving look, although she was already envisioning herself pulling up to the ATM machine. “Huh, what do you two need all that money for?” she repeated, attempting to delay the inevitable transaction and desperately needing to make sense of the strange events that had transpired that day.

  “Pretty please, Mom,” Shane cajoled. “We just wanna go out and have some fun. Me and Tariq don’t never hardly have no spending money.”

  Too weary and guilt-ridden to disagree, Ms. Holmes double-parked and withdrew the money from the closest ATM.

  Instead of riding the bus, Shane and Tariq saved money by walking to the movie complex on Fortieth and Walnut Streets. The movie Shane wanted to see didn’t start for another hour, so the boys walked to the arcade on Spruce Street. Inside, Shane sauntered over to the arcade attendant. “I need change for a twenty.”

  The attendant counted out twenty dollars in quarters.

  “You’re gonna spend all your money in here?” Tariq asked in amazement. “I thought we were gonna catch a movie later.”

  “Don’t worry; there’s more where that came from.” Shane pulled out another twenty and gave Tariq a wink.

  “Wow! Where’d you get that?”

  “Shootin’ craps,” he lied. Shane had actually lifted the twenty out of Ms. Holmes’s wallet. It wasn’t the first time he’d taken money from her and it wouldn’t be the last.

  CHAPTER 8

  Shane sat at the kitchen table looking sullen and mean. While Tariq devoured the ham and eggs and guzzled down orange juice, Shane sat slouching and defiantly refused to touch his food.