"Why do you have to go, Shon?" Bekka whined from the bed. She brushed her frazzled locks away from her face. "This is the first time we've made love in almost three weeks."
She playfully poked a toe in Shon's side trying to get his attention. Shon ignored her. Instead, he continued to tie his shoes, thinking how best to end it. It was over between him and Bekka, for good this time.
He and Carmen had become good friends during the many nights they played the video game Shooter. Shon was almost sure she liked him, judging by the hints and looks she'd been giving him lately.
Shon vowed not to mess things up as he did with Jeannie. Now, he was all about taking things slow.
Shon was glad when Carmen called and asked him to come to the funeral reception of Jeannie's father. He wanted to pay his respects and give Jeannie and Carmen any support they needed.
He stood up from the bed and pulled his shirt over his head. Bekka peered up at him, batting her eyelashes. Shon was unmoved. "This was the last time, Bekka. It's over."
"What?!" Bekka screeched. Shon merely looked at her as he buttoned up his jeans. He looped his jacket over his arm, waved goodbye, and left before Bekka could stop him.
Bekka jumped from the bed, naked as the day she was born. She grabbed her robe from the floor, pulling her arms through the holes. She belted the sides loosely at the waist. Shon was halfway down the hall to the elevator when she caught up with him.
"Is it that Jeannie Jones slut?"
Shon rounded on her, his face a mask of anger with narrowed eyes and clenched jaw. "She is not a slut, Bekka. Her father just died, and I'm going to give her my support. Not that it is your business what I do."
Bekka's eyes leaked big fat crocodile tears that splattered on the front of her crimson robe.
Shon wasn't having any more of her nonsense. "We had an arrangement, remember? I've finished the paper, and now we're done. It's over. Don't contact me anymore."
The elevator dinged and Shon hurried inside, disappearing from Bekka's view. As soon as he'd gone, her fake tears ceased all together.
Bekka wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand then stomped back to her apartment, slamming the door behind her. She marched into the kitchen and headed straight for the freezer to take out a quart container of rocky road ice cream.
She yanked open the silverware drawer, which made the utensils clang like chimes that were out of tune. She selected a serving spoon and then shut the door with a bang.
Bekka pried off the container's lid with greedy fingers. Ice crystals flew in all directions, immediately melting on contact. The top rolled into the sink and lay there like a blank eye, judging her decisions.
The scorned woman went into the living room and flopped down on her couch. There she dug out a hefty spoonful of sinful goodness, opened her mouth, and let the slippery mass slide down her throat. She tapped the cold spoon on one cheek then the other, hoping to stop the flames of humiliation caused by Shon's rejection.
"Damn him," Bekka muttered to the silent room. "No. Damn her."
Bekka hollowed another spoonful out of the container, swallowing it whole. Soon, the quart was empty. Her belly groaned in protest at the massive calorie intake while her heart worked overtime to process the copious amount of fat she'd ingested.
Stomach sloshing, Bekka waddled into her bedroom. She grabbed her phone from her nightstand and speed-dialed her sister, Suelma.
When Suelma answered on the fifth ring, Bekka heard people chattering and music thumping in the background.
"Hey-y-y-y, s-s-sis."
Suelma is drunk again, Bekka thought, rolling her eyes. Her sister liked to get down when school wasn't in session as their father wouldn't allow it any other time. Well, she'll sober up once I tell her we have a mission.
"Suelma, we have a problem," Bekka barked into the phone.
"Hold on, let me get someplace where I can hear you better." Suelma got into defense mode, ready for action. She loved nothing better than to ruin a life.
She placed her sister on hold while she navigated through the students milling around on the outskirts of the dance floor. When she reached a quiet alcove away from the raucous laughter and disco beat, she spoke, "What's up?"
"You remember that girl called Jeannie Jones? The one I told you about?"
Suelma gritted her teeth. "Yeah, I know who you mean." She remembered her all right. She was the one Professor Gable had defended that day she wore her pink sweater dress. The day she'd come on to him after class. Ever since then, her professor wouldn't even so much as look at her.
"Well, she made Shon break up with me."
Suelma let out a war cry. That basic bitch? That cardboard cutout of a Ms. Goody Two Shoes? It was on and poppin'. No one messed with the Freeman girls and skipped away unscathed.
No one.
"What do you have in mind, big sis?"