Scream My Name. Kimberly Kaye Terry
“I was ’bout ready to take her unappreciating ass home when she stripped out of her clothes. And oooh wee! Girly had it going on! Apple Bottoms all the way, if you know what I’m sayin’!” He chuckled. “Well, you know, I thought it was time to make that move, yanno? I mean, it was time to get down to the dirty, dirty!” Andre’s voice, as he was now fully into his story, was high-pitched. So much so that Leila had to adjust the volume on her radio.
“So after she gets all wet, swimming and whatnot, it’s time for Andre to show baby girl how I make a girl wet. Don’t need no water, no swimmin’, the only strokin’ she’d be gettin’ was from Daddy Long Stroke, if you get what I’m sayin’.” He laughed again at his lame attempt at witticism.
There was a full five second pause after he spoke.
“You still there, Carmelicious?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’m here, Boo.”
“Oh. Okay. So what you think about all that?”
“Do you really want to know what I think about you and your Philly steak sammiches, your cheap-ass dating practices, and your Daddy Long Strokes? I think you need to buy a clue, sweetheart. Now. Do not walk. Do not amble. Do not skip. Run. Run to your nearest clue dealer, barefoot and naked if you need to, and buy your ass a clue. If you really want to get a woman nice and wet, treat her with respect. Dignity. Take her to a restaurant where you don’t talk into the head of a big-ass clown to take your order. Pull out her chair. Compliment her if she’s looking fly when you pick her up for a date instead of telling her to change clothes. If she needs you to help her out, not just with the financial, but with whatever, if you call yourself her man, do it. Hell, take out the trash for her without her having to ask your rusty ass. See, Boo, that’s what really gets us women nice and wet.”
With that, a very loud dial tone hummed, before Carmelicious continued. “Maybe I should change the name of the show to Nice and Wet. What do you all think?” the DJ laughed. “Alright now, ladies, after educating the latest booga boo for the day, it’s time for your honey-colored, self-proclaiiimed doctor of love and ’lationships—and yeah, y’all know I stole that line from Babyface—to roll out!”
Leila, still chuckling over the latest “booga boo” that Carmelicious ministered the long hand of justice to, eased over into the next lane. The road had cleared and she was finally able to pick up speed and maneuver out of the early morning rush.
“I’ll catch you all tomorrow. Now it’s time for Mr. Clancy O’Neil to take over and start your workday off right with the R&B that gets your heart thumping, your feet tapping, and your booty moving…on your number one smooth R&B station, from yesterday and today, the one the only KLJS. But I’ll see you here bright and early Monday morning. Now it’s time for Mr. Clancy O’Neil to take over and start your Friday workday. And ladies, if you run across a man with a greasy-assed sack lunch with a Philly steak sammich and a smile…run, do not walk, in the opposite direction from that fool as fast as your two feet will carry you! Your girl is out of here for the day, but remember Carmelicious’s three S’s: always play it sexy, smart, and safe. Y’all be good, but if you can’t be good, be delicious in your naughty!”
When Carmelicious said her trademark closure and a Queen Latifah oldie, “Ladies First,” came pouring out of the speakers, Leila adjusted the volume on her remote, seeing her exit coming up soon.
She quickly swerved in front of the SUV in the next lane with an apologetic wave so she could make the turn, and exited. When a horn blasted her, she glanced over her shoulder and cringed when she saw the oversize vehicle behind her narrowly miss being hit by a much smaller car riding its bumper.
As Leila rode along the exit, she bit her bottom lip in worry when she saw the vehicles trying to avoid a collision. She reached the light and strained her neck to see the two cars, but was unable to.
Sending a silent prayer upward that she hadn’t unintentionally caused a fender bender, she sped through the intersection as soon as the light turned green, checking the time on the dash, her heart racing, hoping she hadn’t missed the appointment with the investor.
2
Leila found a space to park in the underground lot, grabbed her briefcase, jumped out of her car, and wearing three-inch heeled black boots, she sprinted as best she could across the cement floor of the garage. When she came to the elevator, she quickly stabbed a short manicured nail on the elevator button, hoping against hope that with the repeated jabs, the elevator would get there sooner.
No such luck.
Impatiently, she checked her diamond-chip antique watch—one of the pieces of jewelry she’d inherited from her great-aunt and uttered a small curse under her breath.
When the elevator doors finally opened, she briskly walked inside and fumbled in her purse to retrieve the slip of paper with the floor for the offices she needed to go to. Pressing the lobby floor button, she waited as the slumbering elevator rose, thinking she could have simply walked up the flight of stairs and arrived there sooner.
When she’d spoken to Jacob Swabb’s assistant, she’d been told she’d have to get a pass from security before they’d allow her to go to their offices.
Once the laboring elevator reached the lobby, she walked across the tiled floor, the heels on her boots echoing a loud click, click, click across the tiles, toward the main elevator.
Within seconds of pressing the UP arrow key, the elevator doors opened smoothly and Leila breathed a sigh of relief.
“Miss, I’ll need to see some identification, please.” Leila glanced around and sighed as she spotted an older uniformed man with an obvious limp slowly ambling toward her.
She forced a smile on her face as she fumbled in her purse for the necessary ID.
Afterwards, she turned away before his voice halted her. “Who you comin’ to visit, Ms. James?” he inquired, hoisting his already high-waist pants farther up his body, his hand coming to rest on the nightstick holstered to his wide hips.
“I’ve got an appointment with Jacob Swabb,” she dutifully supplied.
“You’ll have to come this way to sign in, young lady.” The old man nodded his head toward the kiosk desk where another guard, at least ten years older than he, sat in one of the upright chairs.
Damn, just what she needed. A geriatric watchdog to make her even later than she was.
She walked alongside the limping old man, and in her side vision, sized him up.
She could take him down. Easily.
Her stilettos added three inches to her already impressive five foot, nine inch frame, making the top of the old guard’s head reach to about the midpoint of her breasts.
One feign to the left and a swift reverse mad dash to the right. Yep.
That’s all it would take.
Old man, you’re going down, she thought.
She could reach the elevator, be inside, and on her way up before the old man knew what hit him.
“Lee Lee, God don’t like ugly…”
Guiltily, Leila hung her head at her mean thoughts as she imagined Aunt Sadie bringing her to task just as she’d done so many times when she was alive.
After what felt like forever, the guard pulled out a large black book and Leila waited impatiently as he fumbled with his glasses before scanning the book.
“Hmmm.” He looked away from the book and glanced at Leila over the tops of his bifocals. “You sure you have an appointment with Mr. Swabb?”
“Yes! Please, I don’t have time for this. Mr. Swabb is waiting for me!” Leila took a deep breath and forced herself to lower her voice at his bushy, white upraised brows.
“Well, looks like you gone have to wait. ’Cause see here, if you had