Last Request

By Ulysses "Stretch" Garrett

Baltimore’s prominent radio-personality and host of the number one, nightly relationship show, “The Love Supreme,” Mason Blake, Jr., hasn’t been in love in a mighty long time. Battling with past pain, he is unable to be vulnerable to women he dates, so he mows through them one fine body at a time. 

Mason’

• Language: English
• Publisher: DopeSince76 Media LLC
• Release date: Oct 14, 2019
• ISBN: 9781733350518

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LAST REQUEST

A Novel

Ulysses Stretch Garrett

Copyright © 2019 by Ulysses Stretch Garrett

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

Published by

DopeSince76 Media, LLC

ISBN-13: 978-1-7333505-0-1 (paperback)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019911201

Editing, Book Cover, and Interior Design by

Jessica Tilles of TWA Solutions and Services

Author Photo: Copyright 2019 Tony Lear

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Acknowledgments

Thank you, God, for the words and patience.

For my family...without you, I’m nothing!

My father, sister, niece, nephew, and to the number one woman in my life, my mom—thank you and this one is for you!

To all my friends and listeners over the years, I say thank you.

To all the Good Brothers of Kappa Alpha Psi Fraternity, Inc., I say YO!

And lastly, to the one who got away—I thank you for being a muse for me to write this book. #DOPESINCE76

Chapter 1

An explosion erupts in my head as I lie in bed, cupping my ears, trying to bar out the sound. In the apartment overhead, neighbors blast that damn Soca music, like they do every Saturday morning at the first sight of light. I lift my head only to put it back down. With eyes shut, I realize the culprit is not the neighbor’s weekly habit, but the pulsating that’s likened to the repeated pounding of kick drums. I have the biggest hangover I have ever had in my life.

Shit, I mutter in a groggy voice when a feminine moan caresses my ears.

Good morning, Mason.

Looking to my left, I focus on the mocha-dipped beauty.

She smiles at me. The sun peeks through the blinds and caresses her face.

Hey, you… I try to remember her name.

As she props up on her elbow, resting her head in her palm, the cotton bedsheet slips down below her firm, supple breasts, her nipples beaming at me, reminding me of the night before. Like M&M’s, they melt in your mouth and not in your hands, as I recall going to town on those bad boys. Now I remember.

Thank you for last night, Tracey.

No, thank you! Her smile brightens up the room more. When you walked in the club last night, I did not expect to end up here. My girls told me you was peepin’ me throughout the night. And, when you came over and talked to me, I was no more good. She giggles, showing dimples deep like a cave.

Damn, not another one-hitter quitter.

Well, you know I’m not blind. When I see someone as fine as you, I better speak up!

My cell phone rings. I set the ringer to extra loud, intensifying the throbbing in my head. I flinch and reach for it on the nightstand. Slide my finger across the screen.

Hello.

Nigga! Where the hell are you? It’s my boy, Xavier, yelling in my damn ear. He’s at the gym. Screeching sneakers and dribbling basketballs are coming through loud and clear.

I’m at the crib, I smile at Tracey, laid up right now.

Laid up? With what chick this time?

I sigh and shake my head.

Get your ass up and down here to this court, man. We are ready to play! Last time I checked, you can’t play four-on-four with seven dudes. Tell slim where she can find the cereal, a bowl and spoon, and get here! He ends the call before I can reply.

He is right, though. I have to go join my boys. We play basketball every Saturday morning. Been that way off and on for fifteen years; the only time we were not consistent was during undergrad since Dave went out of state. Hell, we even played the day Courtney married Krystal. He wanted to play; said it would help him shake the nerves. Xavier told him that was his inner-self telling him to run and run fast.

I return the phone to the nightstand and look at the fine piece of sculptured art reclining beside me. Damn.

Tracey, I enjoyed last night, but I have an ongoing engagement I have to attend.

Yes, I heard. She rolls her eyes. I don’t want to hold you up from your basketball game with the guys. She yanks back the bedsheet and slides her long legs over the edge of the bed. Standing, she bends over to pick up her panties.

I sit up in bed and watch one last time as she maneuvers into the silk garment, taking her time to slip one leg in at a time. Deep down I know this will be the last time I will see her, so I take it all in. Damn.

She faces me and props her hands on her hips. By the way, nigga, where can I find your bowls, spoons, and what kind of cereal do you have?

I laugh, fall back, and drown into my bed.

***

Heading to the gym to join the crew for our Saturday basketball game, the traffic is thick on Liberty Road. Scrolling through the music library on my phone, I select Eric B & Rakim’s Know the Ledge and turn it up as loud as the Bose speakers will allow. I love great hip-hop music. Some may call it classic; I call it better than what’s out right now.

Bopping my head to the bass, I reminisce on last night…and Tracey. Although I enjoyed her, she is just another unfulfilling encounter I seem to have with women. It’s not unusual for me to have sex with a woman only to lose interest after an orgasmic ending. Thinking back to my endless and uneventful past relationships, they all seemed to end up at the same place—nowhere! I guess I keep trying to live up to this persona of being a radio personality. I admit, early on, I enjoyed a variety of women and the pleasure of not committing to anything or anyone, but I’m not kidding anyone but myself.

I’m thirty-five years old. I’m single and supposed to be enjoying life. I have a great one, to be honest. I’m the number one radio host in Baltimore, making a shitload of money, with a great family and a ton of friends. What more can I ask for? A woman? Hell no! I don’t need one. Having one will just complicate things. Dating multiple women works for me; I can have a variety and enjoy them all. Fuck love! Yeah, that’s it, fuck love! But, I know better. Variety is my justification for my actions.

I get to the gym to see the guys shooting around.

Well, if it isn’t the Black bachelor. How many roses did you hand out last night, kid? Hold up, scratch that; we all know America don’t wanna see Black folk romance one another on television. So how many Limearitas did you pass out instead? Thank you for making your presence felt this morning, by the way, Xavier belts out.

I toss my gym bag into the corner and lace up my J’s. Courtney, Dave, and Xavier stood there with that look on their faces that teenage girls have when they’re gossiping.

So, how bad was this jawn, Mas? Dave asks.

She must be a serious dime since this fool is crazy late, Xavier adds. Out of all my boys, Xavier is the most outspoken and has no filter. I’m single because of my inability to commit, but this fool is single just because he is an ass!

She is seriously tight! Body is crazy and the sex was dope! Now granted, I was messed up from four tequila mules, but she was a beast.

Courtney gives me a look of displeasure, as he takes a jump shot about two inches inside the three-point line.

So, will you be seeing her again? he asks. He knows the answer, but Courtney has been my man for over twenty years and he knows me the best. He knows about the countless failed relationships over the years and he knows the root of my problem—my father!

I shrug off his question and dribble past him to shoot a left-handed lay-up.

C’mon, Court! You know this dude will not see her again. Dave laughs.

This is Mr. B’more. Mr. Radioman. Mr. Get New Ass Daily aka The Most Interesting Man in the World, Xavier belts.

They both enjoy a hearty laugh on my account. This is why I love these dudes. They ride me and let me know when I’m wrong.

Our weekly competition arrives, some dudes from Dave’s job at the airport. We start the game. Courtney makes his way over and stands next to me.

Mase, we will talk more about this later, man. Real talk, he whispers.

I give him a nod as I check the ball with the lanky white dude and yell, Ball in!

***

Driving home from the game, I think about what Courtney said. It is clear he will not let this go and will corner me eventually. I turn on the radio until I find the most ratchet song to clear my mind from real life. I’m just about to hit the highway when my phone rings. It’s Mom. When I answer, I hear her voice chime through my speakers in my truck from my Bluetooth service.

Mason? Hello. Are you there?

Yes. Good morning, Ma. How are you this morning? I chuckle.

Tech-savvy she’s not, and Mom hates when I talk to her using the Bluetooth. She says, It’s like listening to someone scream at you in a tunnel. I’m the only child between Mason Blake, Sr., and Sonya Collins. Dad has three or more other children from his many romps around town, but I’m not close to any of them. Though, I wish I were. I wonder if they ever had a relationship with him unlike me. I wonder if he ever attended any of their school functions or graduations.

…so are you?

I catch the end of her statement. Am I what?

Boy, what did I tell you about listening to that hip-hop when I’m talking to you? I see you never pay attention. I asked you were you ready for the awards banquet in a few weeks.

Oh, yes. You know it, lady! I’m very excited and can’t wait, to be honest with you. And, for the record, there is nothing wrong with listening to a little Juicy J every now and again. I’m going to put you down on some of this goodness right here. I laugh.

Mason, if it isn’t Stevie, Marvin, Aretha, or Luther, I don’t want any parts of it. Oh, Luther! You know how I get about him. She pauses. Baby, you know I hate that I will miss this event. This will be the first of your achievements I will miss in your thirty-five years of life. I’m so upset about it. She sighs.

Mom is recovering from hip surgery about a month ago and is immobile. She is my best friend and supporter; being there for me in everything I’ve done. She cheered so loud at my youth basketball games and shouted, That’s my baby, at my high school and college graduation after being instructed not to do so. She even learned how to throw a curve ball when I was a kid and then taught me. I love her so much and will do anything for her.

Uh, look here, Sonya Collins, I’ll give you a pass this time. You have accumulated enough leave over the past thirty-five years. I chuckle.

My parents never married, thus the different last name. According to Mom, they dated off and on for a few years until I was born and then he was like Casper—ghost! Chalk that up as another reason I don’t think highly of relationships and marriages. I fear I will be like him. What a great role model I had in Mason Blake, Sr.

I know, baby, but I would love to see my one and only son being honored for something he believes in. You know this will only magnify your availability with the ladies. I was just talking about you to Sister Jean at the church and she was telling me about her grandniece that she thought would be great for you. Humph! When can I expect you to bring home someone to meet your poor old mom? Mason, I’m not getting any younger and I would like to enjoy my grandkids. Boy, I’m down to one good hip here! She sighs.

Tell you what, Bionic Woman. I’m not sure when I will get there, but with that new hip of yours, I’m sure you will bounce the kid to the moon.

Humph!

Oh, and stop yapping ‘bout me to the rest of the church hens, please. I laugh.

Boy, I will do what I need to do to get you right. You are a great man, son. You are nothing like your father and I thank my Lord and Savior every day for that. It is time for you to stop being picky—or whatever it is you got going on—and find your soul mate. I want you happy! I won’t be here forever and I can’t have you left behind alone. She whimpers. Humph!

Mom’s words resonate through me like a jellyfish sting—strong and sharp and yet she is so right. But, it is a lot easier said than done. I know I need to buckle down, focus and find that one for me. It won’t be easy, though. I exchange a few more pleasantries with her and say my goodbyes.

***

Back at the crib, I drop my bag at the door, my keys on the table and beeline to the kitchen. I eye the box of Capn’ Crunch cereal on the counter. Pick it up, look inside and smirk. Tracey helped herself. She didn’t leave me any, but she washed the dishes I left in the sink. How nice of her. Maybe I will call her and go on an actual date—the lady with the M&M’s breasts. That thought passes when I realize it was a one-night-stand…or was it?

Heading to the bathroom, I turn on the shower to extra hot and watch the steam billow above the shower curtain like smoke from a chimney. I disrobe, hop in, and let the heated water absorb my thoughts and tears as I hang my head.

***

The swank lounge nestled between Baltimore and Washington, DC, is lively. A great morning of beating down Dave’s co-workers in hoops deserves a victory night of hanging out. The District Lounge is a nice spot to chill, listen to some great music and take in some great sights. It’s Saturday night and I’m off from the radio, so no work just means a good time to cut up and kick it with my boys.

Courtney walks back to the table with our second round of drinks. We grab at the brown bottles of Modelo Negra like little kids at the store reaching for candy on the shelf.

All right, Negroes, calm down, he shouts over the music. "The next round is on Xavier and after that, I’m ghost. My wife needs me home tonight. I promised her we would watch the first season of A Different World together once the kids go to sleep. So that means I throw on my Dwayne Wayne glasses and she pretends to be Whitley Gilbert and it’s on!" He laughs.

Man, we all know that the Denise year was the wackest of them all. Shit, Dwayne wasn’t even checking for Whitley then. You should skip to seasons three or four, I say.

At that moment, three bad-ass ladies walk by our table and one of them says, Dwayne in a southern drawl like Whitley. We laugh as they pass by.

On the real, Court, Xavier interjects, you should be Ron and have Krystal pretend to be Whitley’s nerdy friend from that season…what was her name? Oh, yeah, Millie! I would love to have me a Millie. All nerdy and shit, but a freak in the bedroom. I would steam those glasses all up!

We sip our beers and laugh at the dumbness known as Xavier.

Xavier Nettles has been my boy since the ninth grade. He’s the comic relief to make you laugh when your spirits need lifting. I remember the day we all first met at Woodlawn High School. It was the middle of the school year when he transferred in from New Jersey. We were in gym class, in the wrestling room above the gym. The place was hell hot that day, God knows why. Mr. Yestes, our gym teacher, was an older-than-death-looking man, who wore shorts all year long, even in the dead months of winter. He was six-foot-two with long, lanky arms and legs. He wore his hair slicked back and perfect like Pat Riley’s hair when he coached the Showtime Lakers with Magic Johnson. Mr. Yestes would call no one by their name, but referred to everyone as squirrels. I’m not sure why, though. We all just went along with it. We had gym at sixth period, my freshman year, and by the end of the day, teenage boys stank and being in that hot room intensified it more. I remember Xavier running into the room late, trying to adjust his shorts. Mr. Yestes saw him and looked at his watch.

Well, you’re late there, squirrel! Who are you, son?

Xavier surveyed the room of adolescent, pimpled-faced boys looking at him. My name is Xavier Nettles, sir. I just transferred and today is my first day.

Mr. Yestes shook his head and told Xavier to fall into line with the rest of us. As Xavier made his way, his legs buckled and he fell to the mat.

Mr. Yestes looked at him with dismay. You all right there, squirrel?

Yes, sir. But I’m sorry, this room smells like old vagina and cigarettes and it is affecting my allergies. May I go to the nurse’s office? Xavier shouted.

The entire class broke out in laughter as Mr. Yestes blew his whistle for silence. He shook his head and excused the new kid and the rest of us fell into place to learn how to shoot and pancake one another on the old vagina-smelling mats. After that day, Xavier became best buddies with Court and me.

With men and women, Xavier’s rationale comes from far outer space. This is the same man that bags the finest women with his foolishness. Let me or anyone else try that stuff and let the slapping, kicking, and cursing to hell begin. A complex guy, but I love him like the brother I never had.

Dave leans in with his drunken ass. All right, dudes, if you could live the rest of your life wealthy and healthy, but with no pussy, would you do it?

We pause, look at one another, and laugh.

"I don’t know about y’all, but I needs my ass like a diabetic needs insulin," Xavier belts.

That is a dumb but good question, I say. Having good health and wealth is a good thing, but not having any loving to go with it is like being sent to space with no gear. I’m just saying. Can I get a little of both here?

Drunk, Dave turns in his chair and stares at Courtney. Court, you’re the only married mofo in here, so tell us what you would want. Wealth, health, or ass?

Courtney takes a sip of Modelo Negra and chuckles. You dudes are idiots! I’m getting all three at no cost since I’m married. I am in a very happy, loving relationship. I’m not worried about monetary wealth. I’m rich in the love of my wife and kids, and I get ass anytime I want.

Bullshit! Xavier says. The only time you gettin’ wifey tail is when the kids are sleep or when your wife is in one of those deep, coma-like sleeps!

We laugh and continue to drink our beers.

The music starts to vibe as the ladies are moving in slow, fluid motion like characters in a Spike Lee movie. There are a lot of attractive women out tonight. All races, colors, and creeds are representing. I feel like a diplomat from the United Nations up in here. My goal is not to do my typical routine and pick up the hottest in the spot. I want to enjoy my time with my crew and chill.

I feel a pair of eyes on me. The heat from the stare is burning the hairs on the nape of my neck. The heat you feel the first time you touch the stove at your Nana’s house and she scolds you.

Just like I ignored my grandma, I ignore my judgment and turn around to see whose laser eyes are piercing me. I look over at the bar. A group of women wearing their finest Freakum dresses. Thank you, Beyoncé! The woman hawking me stands out from the rest. That cream-colored dress is hugging her body tight in all the right places. Her bare legs glisten as nude-colored stilettos accentuate calves cut to perfection. Yeah, a definite gym rat. She needs those strong legs to hold that entire ass she’s carrying.

She smiles at me.

Oh, she wants to play that game.

I get Xavier’s attention and motion him to follow me over to the bar. Once he sees the bar of beauties, he jumps up with more energy than Tiger Woods when he sees a white woman.

Hey, Courtney. Do Mason and me a favor and babysit Dave for a second. We have some kitty taming to do! he brags.

Courtney looks at him with confusion as he opens his mouth to respond, but we disappear before he can catch a breath.

We make our way over to the group of three women at the bar. My eyes never veer away from the one in cream. Xavier wedges between the two ladies who aren’t in cream. They are also nice-looking ladies. One woman is a dark-skinned sister with a natural, a very nice smile, and smells like vanilla. The other woman has a simple snatch back hairstyle, wears glasses, and has a butter complexion. She looks Puerto Rican or Dominican. I acknowledge the two as I position myself next to Lady Cream.

How are you ladies doing tonight? Long week at work and just getting some much-needed weekend fun? I say.

They laugh.

That is an understatement, for sure, says the one who smells like vanilla.

I’m sorry for my bad manners. My name is Mason and this here is Xavier, I shout over the music that seems to go full blast at that moment.

Nice to meet you guys. My name is Kendra and these are my girls, D’Jana and Erica, says Lady Cream.

We learn that Kendra and her girls work for the Department of Defense. There are a lot of government employees living in the DMV (DC, Maryland, and Virginia) area. I buy a round of drinks for everyone as we stand at the end of the bar and chat it up with the government women. Xavier was keeping D’Jana and Erica entertained.

So, you know, D’Jana, you are killing me with that vanilla scent right now! I don’t know whether or not to bury my head in your chest and smell you or taste you like a bowl of pudding! he exclaims.

I cough as I sip my beer and look at him with the death stare.

The Afrocentric one laughs and shakes her head as she lets him know that either is fine with her. He is doing his job with them and I am none the more pleased.

Kendra is not only stunning but smart and focused. She’s a graduate of the University of North Carolina with a degree in Criminal Justice for undergrad. She got her Masters in Criminal Justice from John Hopkins. So far, I am a fan of hers. She is thirty-six, with a seven-year-old son, and has yet to walk down the aisle. She tells me that she and her son’s father were engaged until he decided marriage wasn’t in his future and left her for a white woman he met on Match.com. The more and more she tells me her story, the more I get squeamish and uncomfortable. I would rather be in the conversation Xavier and his two beauties are having, as I hear him ask the one wearing glasses if he could call her Millie.

So, how has dating been since your unfortunate situation? I muster.

With a slight turn of her head, she brushes her hair out of her eye and smiles. The way the light hits her face draws me into her more. Things are things, I guess. I could be that bitter woman that hates dudes, but I’m not. Things happen for a reason and I got something out of the situation that I won’t ever replace in life. Her smile is intoxicating, making me forget about my previous hesitation.

"So, what did you get out the situation? I mean, dude left you for a white woman that he met online! Was she one of those Rachel Dolezal types that are white, but claim to be Black or is she pure Caucasian? That had to be some