Daaimah S. Poole's Blog, page 2

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(Excerpt)

Prologue

"Your father is dead," my mother's voice said dryly over the phone. "Huh? What father?" I sat up straight, my heart picking up speed.

"Your biological. He passed away a few days ago." Her tone was calm and casual. I didn't say anything. I think I was in shock.

"Nicole, you there?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'm here," I said as I clutched the phone tight and processed that the man I never got to call father was no longer walking this earth. "How do you know?"

"I read it today in the obituary section of the paper. His funeral is Saturday."

"Really?" I asked, knowing it was true, because after retiring from the post office my mother read that column every day, right after checking her horoscope. Every once in a while she ran across a death notice for someone she knew.

"Well, I have to go. I just thought you should know. I'm going out and Ernest got overtime."

"Okay, I'll call you when I'm on my way home from work," I said as I slumped in my chair, dazed. I loved my mother to death, but why would she think it was a good idea to call me in the middle of my workday and give me that kind of news? She was acting like it was no big deal to tell me that my father is dead. Especially under the circumstances. The circumstance being, I had seen my father only once in my life, back when I was thirteen, and that was fifteen years ago.

I never missed having a father until I was in the second grade. I remember my best friend Tia's father coming up to our school and bringing cake, ice cream, and balloons to our classroom for his only daughter's birthday. Tia came back to school on Monday bragging about how she had the best dad in the world. Then this other girl named Felicia joined in and started talking about her father and all the fun they had together. That's when it clicked. Where was my dad? But worse than that— who was my dad? I didn't even know his name. I suddenly realized I had never heard his name and didn't have a clue what he looked like. He was completely absent from my life. I had no pictures, and no memories. I couldn't even recognize him if he walked past me on the street. For years I asked my mom who was my dad, and why wasn't he a part of my life, and she would never answer me. One time she told me he was in the army and the next time in the navy. Then she told me he got killed in Vietnam. I believed her until I found out that the war ended before I was born.

When I was thirteen, I begged her to tell me who my father was, like so many times before. She usually would tell me to leave her alone and get the fuck out her face. But this time I didn't leave her alone, because I had to get an answer. I was working her nerves. And just so I would get out her face she finally told me his name. The words came out of her mouth real slow . . . "Ray-mond Haw-k." She would have been better off not telling me his name because once she did, I had more questions. "Where is he? Where does he live? Why doesn't he come around?" I asked breathlessly.

She explained to me that she met him through a friend when she used to hang in south Philly. She told me that he really was in the army and that she had gotten pregnant with me right before he went to basic training. She said by the time he got back from training, she tried to tell him she was pregnant, but she found out he was already married to a woman he met near his base. She said she confided in his cousin and told his cousin to tell him she was pregnant, but she never heard anything from my father, so she left it alone.

I still wasn't satisfied and wanted more information. So, the next day she went to work and I searched through her dresser drawers for my birth certificate. I found it and his name was on it. I went to the white pages and called a few Raymond Hawks. By the time I got to the sixth name I was tired and hoped I didn't get another answering machine. The sixth name on the list was the only address in south Philly. He lived on Wharton Street in a neighborhood where my mom used to hang out. I figured he had to be the right Raymond Hawk.

I rode the number 7 bus to south Philly. I felt nervous and excited at the same time. Throughout the bus ride, I couldn't stop thinking about what was going to happen next. I didn't know how my father was going to react to meeting me. I wondered if he would reject me, or would he love me like a father should?

I got off the bus, one block away from his house. I walked up to Twenty-fourth Street and made a left. I saw a store on the corner with a big sign that read, "Delicatessen," and brick row houses in every direction. I looked at the address and went straight to 2416. Taking a deep breath, I walked up to the top step and knocked on the door. As I waited for someone to answer I became a little nauseous and my palms were dripping sweat. A woman with reddish-brown kinky-curled hair answered. Her skin was light brown with specks of freckles scattered on her nose and her cheeks. A pair of black, round glasses sat on the tip of her freckled nose. She was wearing a pink terry cloth robe and blue-and-white flowered nightgown.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"Uhm, is Raymond Hawk here?"

"What's this about?" Her eyes narrowed suspiciously as they began to rove up and down, peering at me through her black glasses.

"I'm his daughter, Nicole," I said.

"Daughter? Raymond only got one daughter and she's in this house playing with her toys."

"My mother said he is my father." I unfolded the birth certificate that was clutched in my hand.

She bent down and examined my birth certificate. "How old are you?" she asked, breathing hard, her eyes narrowed at me.

"Thirteen," I said, straightening my shoulders.

She flung the birth certificate at me. "That's impossible!" Then she screamed at the top of her lungs, "Raymond, get out here . . . now!"

I got the first glimpse of my father as he came to the door, out of breath. He was a tall, beautiful man with smooth, Indian, deep red-brown skin, like mine.

"Yeah, baby," he said, looking out the white screen door to see why she was yelling.

They both stared down at me and she said, "This young lady says she's your daughter. Is that true?"

He looked at me, startled, and then he started backing up a little as he shook his head, saying, "No. No. I don't know her. She's not my child."

"You sure there's not something you forgot to tell me?" she yelled as she swung out and punched him in his side. He bowed over and she walked away from the door. As he was bent over I recognized even more features that looked just like mine. We had the same straight black hair, mink-like eye brows, and long eyelashes.

"Who told you I was your father?" he asked, frowning.

"You dated my mom, Lois Edwards—they call her Lolo. She was friends with one of your cousins." I let out a breath as I waited for his face to change.

"Lois?" He wrinkled his brow and scratched his head. "I don't know anybody named Lois. Look, I'm sorry, I never met your mother in my life. I'm not your father, but I hope you find him." And then he closed the door in my face. I could hear the woman cussing him about me.

Hurt and confused, I stood there for a moment. I thought about knocking on the door again and demanding that he admit that he was my father. But all the lies my mother had told me over the years started swirling around in my head and I decided to just leave.

As I walked back to the bus stop my sadness and disappointment turned to anger. I was in tears for the entire hour- long ride home. I wanted to kill my mother. Why did she insist on lying to me? In my mind my mother was a stupid, lying whore. How could she not know who my father was? How could she keep this information from me in the first place? I asked myself those questions until I got off the bus and ran home.

I usually tried to stay out my mother's way because she was just so evil. But being scared of her didn't stop me from barging into her room and disturbing her nap.

"Mom, how could you? I went to that man's house in south Philly and he said he wasn't my father," I screamed.

"What man!" she said as she jolted upright.

I explained the entire story to her in detail, even throwing in how embarrassing it was to be told he wasn't my father. She didn't even respond to me as I cried and kept asking over and over, "How could you?" When she didn't respond, I ran out of her room in tears.

Ten minutes later, she came out of her bedroom with a baseball bat in her hand and ordered me to get in the car with her. I wasn't sure if I liked the way she planned on handling the situation, but I got in the car and put my seat belt on. What else could I do? We were at Raymond Hawk's door in less than fifteen minutes. I was surprised that my mom knew exactly where he lived. She blew her horn repeatedly in loud, drawn-out stretches. Then she got out of the car, stomped up the steps to his house, and hit the door several times with her balled-up fist. Two children, a girl and a boy, who looked to be about seven or eight years old, peeked out the window.

"Raymond, open this door," my mom yelled. He came to the door with his eyes bugged out, gawking at my mom like he was seeing a ghost.

"Raymond, why did you lie to this child?" my mother demanded.

Instead of answering the question, he walked away and the freckled-faced woman took his place in the doorway.

"He ain't lie to her, he ain't her daddy. He told her the truth," she yelled, with her hand planted on her small hip.

With her nose turned up, my mom looked her up and down and said, "Listen, you need to mind your fucking business. This ain't got shit to do with you."

"It's got a lot to do with me because it is my husband you are talking about," the lady yelled back.

"I don't want your broke-ass husband. I have a man."

The woman didn't have a quick enough response and just stood with her mouth open. The neighbors and other people passing by on the street were beginning to tune in to the screaming match.

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“I got myself a sponsor, to fill up a drink for me, to fill up my tank for me, to put something in the bank for me. I got myself a sponsor. “~Teairra Mari

Life as a pro athlete’s baby mama isn’t bringing in the big money Adrienne Sheppard expected. Now she’s determined to get wifed… Young Zakiya Lee will do anything to escape living with her troubled sister… Tanisha Butler needs to redeem her one mistake—and reclaim her man… And sports reporter Cherise Long has a “no athletes” romance rule. But as different as these women are, they can’t resist the same temptation: to win the ultimate gold ring…

Soon Zakiya is pregnant by the NBA’s hottest new draft pick—but the pressures of 24/7 fame are driving her to the brink. The superstar Tanisha left behind is playing the field. And the NFL pro Cherise gave her heart to is trapped into marrying his greedy baby mama: Adrienne…and Adrienne will do whatever it takes to keep him. Now all four women will find that the price of wealth is higher than they expected

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(Excerpt)

Prologue

“Your father is dead,” my mother’s voice said dryly over the phone. “Huh? What father?” I sat up straight, my heart picking up speed.

“Your biological. He passed away a few days ago.” Her tone was calm and casual. I didn’t say anything. I think I was in shock.

“Nicole, you there?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m here,” I said as I clutched the phone tight and processed that the man I never got to call father was no longer walking this earth. “How do you know?”

“I read it today in the obituary section of the paper. His funeral is Saturday.”

“Really?” I asked, knowing it was true, because after retiring from the post office my mother read that column every day, right after checking her horoscope. Every once in a while she ran across a death notice for someone she knew.

“Well, I have to go. I just thought you should know. I’m going out and Ernest got overtime.”

“Okay, I’ll call you when I’m on my way home from work,” I said as I slumped in my chair, dazed. I loved my mother to death, but why would she think it was a good idea to call me in the middle of my workday and give me that kind of news? She was acting like it was no big deal to tell me that my father is dead. Especially under the circumstances. The circumstance being, I had seen my father only once in my life, back when I was thirteen, and that was fifteen years ago.

I never missed having a father until I was in the second grade. I remember my best friend Tia’s father coming up to our school and bringing cake, ice cream, and balloons to our classroom for his only daughter’s birthday. Tia came back to school on Monday bragging about how she had the best dad in the world. Then this other girl named Felicia joined in and started talking about her father and all the fun they had together. That’s when it clicked. Where was my dad? But worse than that— who was my dad? I didn’t even know his name. I suddenly realized I had never heard his name and didn’t have a clue what he looked like. He was completely absent from my life. I had no pictures, and no memories. I couldn’t even recognize him if he walked past me on the street. For years I asked my mom who was my dad, and why wasn’t he a part of my life, and she would never answer me. One time she told me he was in the army and the next time in the navy. Then she told me he got killed in Vietnam. I believed her until I found out that the war ended before I was born.

When I was thirteen, I begged her to tell me who my father was, like so many times before. She usually would tell me to leave her alone and get the fuck out her face. But this time I didn’t leave her alone, because I had to get an answer. I was working her nerves. And just so I would get out her face she finally told me his name. The words came out of her mouth real slow . . . “Ray-mond Haw-k.” She would have been better off not telling me his name because once she did, I had more questions. “Where is he? Where does he live? Why doesn’t he come around?” I asked breathlessly.

She explained to me that she met him through a friend when she used to hang in south Philly. She told me that he really was in the army and that she had gotten pregnant with me right before he went to basic training. She said by the time he got back from training, she tried to tell him she was pregnant, but she found out he was already married to a woman he met near his base. She said she confided in his cousin and told his cousin to tell him she was pregnant, but she never heard anything from my father, so she left it alone.

I still wasn’t satisfied and wanted more information. So, the next day she went to work and I searched through her dresser drawers for my birth certificate. I found it and his name was on it. I went to the white pages and called a few Raymond Hawks. By the time I got to the sixth name I was tired and hoped I didn’t get another answering machine. The sixth name on the list was the only address in south Philly. He lived on Wharton Street in a neighborhood where my mom used to hang out. I figured he had to be the right Raymond Hawk.

I rode the number 7 bus to south Philly. I felt nervous and excited at the same time. Throughout the bus ride, I couldn’t stop thinking about what was going to happen next. I didn’t know how my father was going to react to meeting me. I wondered if he would reject me, or would he love me like a father should?

I got off the bus, one block away from his house. I walked up to Twenty-fourth Street and made a left. I saw a store on the corner with a big sign that read, “Delicatessen,” and brick row houses in every direction. I looked at the address and went straight to 2416. Taking a deep breath, I walked up to the top step and knocked on the door. As I waited for someone to answer I became a little nauseous and my palms were dripping sweat. A woman with reddish-brown kinky-curled hair answered. Her skin was light brown with specks of freckles scattered on her nose and her cheeks. A pair of black, round glasses sat on the tip of her freckled nose. She was wearing a pink terry cloth robe and blue-and-white flowered nightgown.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“Uhm, is Raymond Hawk here?”

“What’s this about?” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously as they began to rove up and down, peering at me through her black glasses.

“I’m his daughter, Nicole,” I said.

“Daughter? Raymond only got one daughter and she’s in this house playing with her toys.”

“My mother said he is my father.” I unfolded the birth certificate that was clutched in my hand.

She bent down and examined my birth certificate. “How old are you?” she asked, breathing hard, her eyes narrowed at me.

“Thirteen,” I said, straightening my shoulders.

She flung the birth certificate at me. “That’s impossible!” Then she screamed at the top of her lungs, “Raymond, get out here . . . now!”

I got the first glimpse of my father as he came to the door, out of breath. He was a tall, beautiful man with smooth, Indian, deep red-brown skin, like mine.

“Yeah, baby,” he said, looking out the white screen door to see why she was yelling.

They both stared down at me and she said, “This young lady says she’s your daughter. Is that true?”

He looked at me, startled, and then he started backing up a little as he shook his head, saying, “No. No. I don’t know her. She’s not my child.”

“You sure there’s not something you forgot to tell me?” she yelled as she swung out and punched him in his side. He bowed over and she walked away from the door. As he was bent over I recognized even more features that looked just like mine. We had the same straight black hair, mink-like eye brows, and long eyelashes.

“Who told you I was your father?” he asked, frowning.

“You dated my mom, Lois Edwards—they call her Lolo. She was friends with one of your cousins.” I let out a breath as I waited for his face to change.

“Lois?” He wrinkled his brow and scratched his head. “I don’t know anybody named Lois. Look, I’m sorry, I never met your mother in my life. I’m not your father, but I hope you find him.” And then he closed the door in my face. I could hear the woman cussing him about me.

Hurt and confused, I stood there for a moment. I thought about knocking on the door again and demanding that he admit that he was my father. But all the lies my mother had told me over the years started swirling around in my head and I decided to just leave.

As I walked back to the bus stop my sadness and disappointment turned to anger. I was in tears for the entire hour- long ride home. I wanted to kill my mother. Why did she insist on lying to me? In my mind my mother was a stupid, lying whore. How could she not know who my father was? How could she keep this information from me in the first place? I asked myself those questions until I got off the bus and ran home.

I usually tried to stay out my mother’s way because she was just so evil. But being scared of her didn’t stop me from barging into her room and disturbing her nap.

“Mom, how could you? I went to that man’s house in south Philly and he said he wasn’t my father,” I screamed.

“What man!” she said as she jolted upright.

I explained the entire story to her in detail, even throwing in how embarrassing it was to be told he wasn’t my father. She didn’t even respond to me as I cried and kept asking over and over, “How could you?” When she didn’t respond, I ran out of her room in tears.

Ten minutes later, she came out of her bedroom with a baseball bat in her hand and ordered me to get in the car with her. I wasn’t sure if I liked the way she planned on handling the situation, but I got in the car and put my seat belt on. What else could I do? We were at Raymond Hawk’s door in less than fifteen minutes. I was surprised that my mom knew exactly where he lived. She blew her horn repeatedly in loud, drawn-out stretches. Then she got out of the car, stomped up the steps to his house, and hit the door several times with her balled-up fist. Two children, a girl and a boy, who looked to be about seven or eight years old, peeked out the window.

“Raymond, open this door,” my mom yelled. He came to the door with his eyes bugged out, gawking at my mom like he was seeing a ghost.

“Raymond, why did you lie to this child?” my mother demanded.

Instead of answering the question, he walked away and the freckled-faced woman took his place in the doorway.

“He ain’t lie to her, he ain’t her daddy. He told her the truth,” she yelled, with her hand planted on her small hip.

With her nose turned up, my mom looked her up and down and said, “Listen, you need to mind your fucking business. This ain’t got shit to do with you.”

“It’s got a lot to do with me because it is my husband you are talking about,” the lady yelled back.

“I don’t want your broke-ass husband. I have a man.”

The woman didn’t have a quick enough response and just stood with her mouth open. The neighbors and other people passing by on the street were beginning to tune in to the screaming match.

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Essence® bestselling author Daaimah S. Poole brings you the sizzling tale of two ex-best friends who can't forgive, won't forget…and will find out what matters most…

Nicole Edwards has a married man habit that she just can't kick.

However, nothing can break up her longtime friendship with her best friend Tia. But when a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity comes along, Tia takes her new boyfriend's advice to sue Nicole's mother after a car accident.

Now Tia has a new home in South Carolina… and one furious ex-friend out to grab some of the good life for herself. And when wealthy businessman Dre starts burning up her sheets, Nicole sees a future as sparkling as the engagement ring she's expecting… …until Tia turns up broke, with a new baby in tow…and news that Dre isn't the man he seems.

And between lies, lust, and betrayal, Nicole must gamble on whom to believe, what she really wants—and a choice that may cost her everything…

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Essence® bestselling author Daaimah S. Poole brings you the sizzling tale of two ex-best friends who can’t forgive, won’t forget…and will find out what matters most…

Nicole Edwards has a married man habit that she just can’t kick.

However, nothing can break up her longtime friendship with her best friend Tia. But when a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity comes along, Tia takes her new boyfriend’s advice to sue Nicole’s mother after a car accident.

Now Tia has a new home in South Carolina… and one furious ex-friend out to grab some of the good life for herself. And when wealthy businessman Dre starts burning up her sheets, Nicole sees a future as sparkling as the engagement ring she’s expecting… …until Tia turns up broke, with a new baby in tow…and news that Dre isn’t the man he seems.

And between lies, lust, and betrayal, Nicole must gamble on whom to believe, what she really wants—and a choice that may cost her everything…

We Take This Man

Dwight and Tracey Wilson are living the ideal life with their two children in a brand new home in Florida. They are both excited when Dwight is offered a promotion at work, but the downside is that the job is located in Maryland.

After much discussion, Tracey decides that she does not want to leave their new house. Dwight makes the decision to accept the position and return home on weekends.

Alicia Dixon has spent her life hating and not trusting men after her father mistreated her mother, but she can't help but fall for the new guy in her company…Dwight.

They both try to fight their attraction to one another, but it proves to be a losing battle-Alicia is everything that his southern wife is not.

Click here to pre-order on amazon

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Dwight and Tracey Wilson are living the ideal life with their two children in a brand new home in Florida. They are both excited when Dwight is offered a promotion at work, but the downside is that the job is located in Maryland.

After much discussion, Tracey decides that she does not want to leave their new house. Dwight makes the decision to accept the position and return home on weekends.

Alicia Dixon has spent her life hating and not trusting men after her father mistreated her mother, but she can’t help but fall for the new guy in her company…Dwight.

They both try to fight their attraction to one another, but it proves to be a losing battle-Alicia is everything that his southern wife is not.

Click here to pre-order on amazon

Sassy and savvy Kayla Johnson is a serious college student at Philadelphia’s Temple University. She’s also a fine-looking woman, with ginger-colored skin and more curves than the Liberty Bell. But if Kayla’s all that, how come she can’t find a man worthy of her charms?

When Kayla sets off on a manhunt for Mr. Right, she finds herself hooking up with every hustler, nut, and fast-talking player in Philadelphia. There’s Emar, the basketball hotshot who makes his best moves off-court; handsome Terry, who gets downright scary during a weekend in Jersey; and Reese, who’d be da bomb if he’d only drop his white girlfriend. But it’s Kayla’s relationship with smooth and sexy Wil that really rocks her world and teaches her how to fight for a man—and for her own independence. Because love doesn’t get truly crazy until it’s the real thing…and the only people who don’t get played are the ones who stay out of the game… READ AN EXCERPT

My life is a complicated one. I used to go out a lot, meet a lot of people, but now I don’t feel like meeting anyone. My ginger brown complexion, long brown hair, and nice shape definitely turn heads. But I don’t care about heads turning anymore, because I’m content with life. I used to think I needed a man, but now I know better. Actually, now I see I don’t need one at all. I wish other women would realize that, too. Getting on talk shows arguing over men who lie and cheat and writing books about men. Who needs a man anyway? I don’t. I met a man who proved it to me. Here is my story.

First I’ll tell you all about the boah, Emar. I met him one cold, rainy Wednesday morning as I was walking across Temple University ‘s campus. I know the exact time, 11:40, because I was coming from an anthropology class I had forced myself to attend. Once I arrived at the class, I was told my professor would not be in. Damn. I had gotten up for nothing. I was mad as hell. I can’t believe I’m only a sophomore and still have two more years of this shit.

It was one of those days when you just wanted to stay under the covers. That day, the sun must have gone on vacation and a nasty gray sky was subbing for it. It had to be about twenty-seven degrees outside, with freezing rain. I had on a gray sweat suit with a white tee hanging out and my Nike jogging sneakers. I was wearing my big coat, but the cold air was still going through my layers. Besides my coat, the only thing that somewhat protected me was my umbrella.

In no way did I feel attractive. I knew everybody else was feeling the exact same way–except for this one girl who was coordinated to the tee. Now, how some women manage to look like runway models when it’s pouring down raining, I will never understand.

She was carrying a green, navy, and maroon plaid umbrella and wearing a navy beret that was tilted to the side with her hair peeking out. She also had on a navy wool pea coat with a maroon scarf wrapped around her neck that set it off just right. I was impressed. Here it was, I almost couldn’t wake up and sis was looking like she was about to pose for Vogue magazine. All she needed was a poodle to walk and she would have been picture-perfect.

Well, back to my story.

It was cold and I was heading back to my small dorm room at Hardwick Hall when out of nowhere this guy came and got under my umbrella. I gave him a look like, “What the fuck?”

He smiled, and all I saw was his perfect gleaming white teeth, slanted eyes, and oak brown skin. He was about 6-feet 4-inches tall, with jet black hair. He also had a goatee and a little bit of peach fuzz above his lip.

“What’s up, sis, can I get under here with you?” he asked with a huge smile.

I didn’t say yes or no. He didn’t give me a chance. All I knew was somehow he had steered me around and I was now walking in the opposite direction of my dorm.

“Where we going? I don’t know you. Getting all under my umbrella like that. I never saw you on campus. You could be a killer.” I jerked my arm away from his grip. Who the hell did he think he was, anyway? He was cute, but he wasn’t all that.

“My bad. I’m not no killer. I don’t bite and you never saw me ’cause I’m always on the road. You don’t know me? You like basketball?”

“Yeah, I like basketball. Just not college ball. Why?” I said, shrugging. ”Why not college ball?”

”’Cause you don’t know none of the guys who are playing. It’s just a bunch of nobodies running up and down the court.”

“I guess I’m one of those nobodies. I’m Emar Gerson and I play point guard for the Owls,” he said, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe I didn’t know who he was.

“Really,” I said, embarrassed. “Yes, really.”

“Where you got me walking to anyway?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

“I don’t know. You want to get some coffee or something?” he asked as he glanced at his watch.

“I don’t drink coffee, but maybe I can get a tea or something.” So I walked with this cute stranger to the coffeehouse, which was in the middle of the campus student activity center. It was packed. Like us, everyone was trying to stay warm.

As we made our way in, it seemed as if everyone was speaking to Emar, who just nodded his head up like, “What’s up?” and kept walking. It made sense that everyone knew him because he was a senior and had been at Temple four years, plus he was a star basketball player. Watching him, I was so intrigued with his coolness that I almost bumped into some airhead freshman girls who were just all in the way.

“Hey, E,” they said, giggling.

He didn’t respond. As a matter of fact, he acted as if he didn’t know them. He kept me from colliding into the blushing girls by nudging me slightly out of the way. Emar ordered my tea and his coffee and found a table for us. I grabbed us some sugar and poured pack after pack into my hot, steaming tea. Then I leaned forward and inhaled the vapor of this man who stood before me. It was a long, deep breath. Whooph. Emar was the mar, short for marvelous–or was it just that I could marvel all day?