The Enemy In My Drink

By Racq Symphony

Mason, an architect living in Montgomery, Alabama, finds himself molding into the image of the father he barely remembers. Just like his father, he often finds himself drinking alone and ultimately he finds himself in the middle of a love triangle with two women from the same city: Melody and Sharee’. When they find out about each other, what will be Mason’s fate?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Racq Symphony
• Release date: Sep 29, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463626139

Racq Symphony

A native of Montgomery, Alabama, Shakita Racquel Dixon was born on March 22,1984. She is a graduate of Sidney Lanier High School, class of 2003 (2002 respectively). In the 9th grade, while attending Bellingrath Junior High, Shakita realized that she had a gift of writing. She developed a passion for writing short stories, screen plays and books that possess movie-like fluidity. Once she moved on to high school, she put down her gift of writing in order to raise her daughter and provide a better life for her. After graduating high school, Shakita moved to Florida escape the harsh realities that Montgomery had presented to her. She eventually ended up enrolling in college. She obtained her Associates and Bachelors degrees as well as multiple certifications, none of which satisfied her writing thirst. In late 2015, thanks to her new found friends and her best friend, Shakita regained her passion for writing and paired it with her love for music and through both music and writing, she birthed out Racq Symphony Publishing, LLC. She has successfully self-published her first four novellas under her pen name, Racq Symphony. A Philanthropist, Shakita has served in several leadership capacities in the workforce as well as a few churches, including her current church. She brings life and light to love, matters of the heart and matters of business through her writing, experience and her life.

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The Enemy

In My Drink

RACQ SYMPHONY

Written and Published by Racq Symphony

Distributed by Racq Symphony Publishing

© 2019 The Enemy in My Drink.

All rights reserved.

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This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

No part of this eBook may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express permission in writing of the author.

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Drown him for me…

Scene 1

…After that third drink, I knew what I was capable of. Then I heard him say to me again, What the fuck are you waiting for, Mason?

Truthfully, I was waiting on the last little bit of whiskey to sink into my system and then it was on. My parents named me Mason. Mom said I was born with big, strong black hands, just like my father. I wouldn’t know what his hands look liked. I don’t remember much about him. Mom said he drank himself to death, said the drinking was hard labor on his liver. I see pictures of him holding me all the way up to age two, but I don’t have the memory of his embrace.

The owner of Club Envi, Marcus Wright, and I had been friends since middle school, so his club was like my second home and he was as close to family as you could get. I sat at my usual booth, tucked in the back of the lounge, near a window that had sheer black curtains that swept the floor. The table cloths on each table were jade. I sat there with my rustic black duck bill cap on, the one my granddaddy gave me, in my midnight black button down, long sleeve shirt, black jeans and onyx colored boots, sipping on my third glass of the finest Tennessee Whiskey Jameson had to offer. I loved the way it taste. Mom said my father loved a good Whiskey too. Said Whiskey was his other woman, but he never loved it more than her. The subtle invisibility of its capability at first sip and strong bitterness at the end. This was a man’s man drink and I was man enough to have had three so far, living up to my father’s drunken legacy.

I could hear the whistling of the wind from outside. The humming of the night rustled under my feet and mixed in well with each kick from the bass drummer and acoustic guitar player. House music, they call it. It felt like a calculated romance to me. My father was a musician too. Mom said he could sing the blues better than B.B. King and boy could he play that guitar. She had these old V.H.S. tapes of him singing and playing that I would watch when I felt like I needed to be reminded of the stock I was made of. She said that’s how he stole her heart. Guess I got it honestly. I took a pull from my hand-rolled Hiram & Solomon Traveling Man cigar, released the smoke from my mouth between sips. I glanced down at my watch, then to my black iPhone, waiting for her to send the text that she was ready for me to come over. My sweet, feisty Melody.

Melody was the woman every man wished for and a whole lot of woman she was too. I met her one day while I was downtown, standing across the street from the Dexter Ave King Memorial Baptist Church a few years ago. I was just standing there, admiring the building, wondering how long it took them to build it, how many bricks it took to lay that foundation that still stands strong til’ this day. After graduating high school, I moved out of Montgomery to go to college. I majored in architecture at Cornell University, graduating at the top of my class, 4.125 GPA. At least I could use a part of me that came from my father to build my mom a house, something with my bare, strong black hands. Melody loved my hands. Always wanted them all over her body. She walked right past me, long flowing black locs with wine red tips falling from her scalp. The way her hips swayed in those black and hot pink hospital scrubs she was wearing caught my eye. I knew I had to have her.

She was feisty BBW and her high cheek bones made my dick stand at attention every time she smiled my way. She had full lips and full hips. That day she had on scarlet red lipstick, the kind of red that resembled blood. It was bright, but dark at the same time. I walked up to the bus stop where she was standing and introduced myself. The side eye she gave me could’ve sliced my face from ear to ear. Mean ass. I told her that I wasn’t there to hurt her, but that I wanted to get to know her, that I like what I saw and wanted to take her out.

She said the only way I could take her out was to give her a ride to work so she didn’t’ have to ride that stank ass bus that