"The Boys Are Back in Town" = Robert

This post is the first in a brief series called “The Boys Are Back in Town” [TBABIT]. I have been thinking of writing this series for a while, but it wasn’t yet complete. I was waiting for one more person to pop up and, it took a while, but he finally did.

TBABIT is a series that focuses on each of my long-term boyfriends. They are all exes now, but at one time they were a super-significant part of my life. I was just saying to my male BFF that, not to toot my own horn, but every single dude who I’ve dated long-term has f*cked up in some way, which lead to our breakup. And every single one of them – except my high school/early college ex – had come back to me suggesting that he never should’ve let me get away.

But then, yesterday, the final chicken came home to roost and my story was complete. So, again, I don’t want to toot my own horn, but: toot toot, beep beep. What goes around comes around, peoples. Remember that.



#1 – Robert

Robert and I met during my junior year of high school and his senior. I went to his prom with him, he accompanied me to mine the next year. We went on dates. Real dates where he would scoop me in his little white sports car, greet my parents, and pay with his own well-earned money. We had a good relationship. We spent holidays together, mostly with my family (which was a plus). He humored my idiosyncracies, encouraged me, and we trusted each other unconditionally.

We dated through my last two years of high school. When I got to college, we both lived in the same dorm, him on the eighth floor and me on the sixth. He had already been there for a year and I was just beginning. We spent a lot of time together. This was the first time in our relationship that we weren’t under the watchful eyes of our parents and we took full advantage – at first.

In the middle of my first semester of college, Robert decided to get a job. He would go to school and then go to work for three to four hours in the evening. But, it got to the point where he would expect me to be home when he got home from work, and he also expected that I would go to the dining hall and get him dinner so that it would be waiting for him when he got home.

To me, this felt too much like marriage. You go out and work and I am supposed to be sitting, waiting at home with dinner on the table? That will not work for me. And, I was only 19.

There had been a few days that Robert had come home and I wasn’t waiting for him and there was no dinner to be found. He was getting irritated, but I was too busy with my new college friends to notice. One night, I had been out with a few other girls from the sixth floor. When we returned home, there was a big “1” scrawled across the dry-erase board on my dorm room door in red marker. My roommate asked if I knew who had written the number.

I told her I didn’t have a clue.

A few days later, I had gone out to study at the library with one of my classmates and when we got back, there was a big “2” scrawled in red marker across the board on the door. Ok, this was a pattern. I erased the board and headed upstairs to see what was going on with Robert.

“How was your day,” I said, plopping down on his small twin bed. “Hey Kyle,” I said to his roommate, a tall, gangly white guy with a buzzcut who was sitting on the bed across from me. He waved at me and put his headphones on and went back to reading a magazine.

I leaned over to kiss Rob, but he turned his face so that I got a mouthful of cheek.

“Damn, no kiss for me,” I said, laughing.

“You weren’t there again,” he said with a straight face.

“What?” I said.

“You weren’t there again,” he repeated.

“Um… ok.”

“That was the second time.”

Ahhh… it was all starting to make sense now. “Have you been the one writing on my door?” I asked.

“Yup,” he said without hesitation. “That was your second strike. Three strikes and you are out,” he said seriously.

I began laughing uncontrollably. So loud, in fact, that Kyle heard me despite the music blasting in his headphones and looked up from his magazine.

“Negro, you cannot be serious,” I said, sobering up. “Don’t threaten me.”

“I’m not threatening you. I am just letting you know how I feel,” he said.

I stood, looked at him for a moment, and then went back to the sixth floor.

It was pretty much downhill from there.

The girls I was hanging with were boy crazy. They weren’t hos or anything, they just had info on every guy on campus. Plus, I was meeting a new guy every day in some class or at some on-campus event. As I began to assess the situation, I realized that Robert and I had a great high school relationship, but once I was exposed to the different types of guys that were accessible, I was losing interest in him – quickly.

In particular, I had a friend, Kenny from Boston. He and I were tight. We rolled together everywhere. And, though we never crossed the line from friendship to benefits, he opened my eyes to the possibility of a guy who was smart, cool, cute and fun to be around. Robert was a big deal at St. John’s College High School, but once I was exposed to the other guys on campus, I felt like he was small potatoes. And Robert was treating me more like a wife than a girlfriend and I felt as though I was being taken advantage of at the tender age of 19. My reasoning is all effed up, I know that now. But what can I say? I was young, dumb, and hella immature.

Robert and I were approaching our 3-year anniversary and things were very rocky by this point. By the time the actual date rolled around, we still hadn’t decided on any plans. I went looking for him around dinner time, because it was unusual for us not to go out on a dinner date for our anniversary. I found him in the fitness center playing basketball. He acknowledged me… sorta. And I left and went back to the dorm.

Later that night, he came into my room and sat down in the chair.

“It’s our anniversary,” I say.

“I know,” he says.

“You smell,” I say. “Why didn’t you take a shower before you came down here?”

“You never used to think I smelled bad before.”

“Well, things have changed. I don’t think I like you anymore.”

“I don’t like you anymore either,” he blurted.

“Wanna break up?”

“Uh huh,” he said.

“Cool.”

He got up, walked out, and we didn’t speak again until six months later. Our 3-year relationship was over - just like that. Miraculously, I never even saw him on campus. Funny enough, this was the easiest, least painful, most sane breakup I have ever had.

After our six month hiatus, we weren’t immediately friends. But, we were always civil to each other. Eventually, our contact become less and less frequent until, finally, there was no contact at all. Not even a birthday call or a Christmas text. Nada. Zip. Zilch.

Up until yesterday, I hadn’t heard form him in three years.

Yesterday, my mom calls me at work and said: “You’ll never guess who called us [she and my dad]!”

“Who?”

“Guess,” she says, excitedly.

“Mom. I am at work. I don’t want to guess. Who?”

“Robert!”

“What?!” I nearly drop the phone.

“Yeah, he said that he looked us up on the internet, got our phone number from our website and wants me to pass his number along to you. Now, please call him, because I don’t want him to think that I didn’t give you the message,” said my mother being her ever-so-polite self.

“Ok, will do.”

I stared at the information that my mother had relayed to me, but hesitated to dial the number. What could he possibly want?

When we finally spoke, it was a 2-hour conversation. During the course of our talk, he told me that he never cheated on me (not even once), he told me that the highlight of his dating life was our relationship, he said that I was the only woman he ever completely trusted and hat he knew for a fact that I had never cheated on him either. And, then, he said it. Robert admitted that he had fucked up and wondered aloud where we would be had we stayed together. I didn’t even entertain that last part.

“Your problem was that you had changed,” Robert explained.

“Your problem was that you hadn’t,” I said.

And that was that.

Yet another case of the chickens coming home to roost.

The satisfaction wasn’t as sweet with Robert because our breakup wasn’t bitter, but with him uttering these words, the circle is complete.

“The Boys Are Back in Town” Part II = Jeremy, coming soon. (That one is an interesting story…)

Ascot - Part Deux

So, Ascot is coming to my town, huh? This could get interesting, I think. He would be here in two and a half weeks. The sexual chemistry was palpable. But, I couldn’t possibly sleep with him on his first visit down here, could I? I mean…

No, of course I couldn’t!

I write back immediately, thanking him for his response and telling him that I’d love to meet up with him while he’s here. We go back and forth like that for a few days, telling each other about how much we enjoyed the other’s company and what we were hoping would happen when we finally saw each other again.

A few days before he was to arrive, my boss told me I was being sent to New York overnight to work an event we were producing. JACKPOT! I wouldn’t have to wait long at all to see Ascot. Though our primary mode of communication had been email for the weeks that we had known each other, we had also spoken a few times by telephone. He’d talk incessantly about some Wall Street bullshit and I’d encourage him just to listen to that accent that reminded me of sand, seashells, and sunshine. I couldn’t wait to see him in person! In the brief time we had been chatting, our chain of emails became a full-time job. I was wondering how he was able to get any work done while also keeping up with our correspondence. Apparently, Wall Street wasn’t as busy as I thought it was.

I decided not to tell Ascot I was coming to the city. It would be a great idea to just surprise him when I got there!

After I arrived in the city and checked into my hotel, I called Ascot at his desk to let him know I was in town.

“I’m in New York! We have an event tonight at BB King’s and you are welcome to come hang out. It should be pretty good.”

Silence.

“Hello?” I said.

“Er, how long will you be here?” he said.

“Leaving tomorrow.”

“I see,” he says. “I have time to grab a sandwich in about an hour.” It was 2pm.

Huh? I come all the way to NY and he only has time to “grab a sandwich”? I definitely didn’t think he’d be bouncing off the walls with excitement at the news of my arrival in the city, but I certainly didn’t think that he would sound like he was doing me a favor by squeezing in a damn sandwich. Well, I don’t have to be at the venue until 6:30pm, so I could conceivably get a quick lunch with him.

My hotel is at W. 55th and Broadway. He is on Wall Street. At this point in my life, I know little to nothing about the New York City Subway system, but I figure I can find my way. I walk to the nearest train station and ask the man in the booth how to get to Wall Street. He gives me what I think are decent directions. It takes me forever to get down there, but when I finally emerge from underground, I am thinking: Wow! So this is Wall Street. Although it was late afternoon, there were people moving about all around me dressed in power suits and chatting away on cell phones. My eyes scan each building and I am in awe as I pass the Stock Exchange, Deutsche Bank, and Merrill Lynch. When I finally arrive at Ascot’s mammoth building, I call him and tell him I am outside.

He exits the building and I am stunned as I think, he looks better than I remember. He is wearing a black pinstripe, 3-piece suit, with a white shirt and a purple tie. A little flashy for a finance guy, I think. But, then again, this is the same dude that was wearing an ascot when I met him. In 2003. But I digress. He spots me and a wide grin spreads across his handsome face. We walk towards each other and he leans down and gives me a hug. He smells amazing.

“You smell amazing,” he says to me, as though reading my thoughts.

“I was just about to tell you the same thing!” I laugh.

“There is a deli around the corner that serves great corned beef sandwiches,” he says.

Um… deli? Like, was this mofo really serious about “grabbing a sandwich”?

I mask my disappointment and simply say, “Great!”

We walk toward the deli and there is an easy silence between us. There is no real rush to say anything. Our arms are swinging next to each other in rhythm. His swings forward, mine swings back, his swings forward, mine swings back. On one of my forward swings, he grabs my hand and starts holding it just as we turn the corner. I feel beautiful and romantic, this is New York and I am on Wall Street, holding the hand of an investment banker on the way to grab a late lunch. Could this get any better?

We get to the deli, he asks what I want. I tell him. He orders while I find our seats. We sit by the window and watch the late afternoon foot traffic on the street outside. We eat our sandwiches and talk about everything. Our knees touch and our eyes are flirting. Every now and again there is a break in the conversation and we smile at each other shyly.

Finally he says, “Sorry about the modest lunch. You kind of sprang your visit on me and I didn’t have time to plan anything. Plus, I have been so swamped at the office, I barely had time to grab lunch today, so. It is what it is.”

Did this negro really just say ‘It is what it is’? This is too funny.

“It’s cool,” I say. “I wanted to surprise you, so really it’s my fault.”

He doesn’t say anything. Ha! I guess the reason I am eating corned beef right now is because it really is my fault. So much for being spontaneous.

“So, are you going to be able to make it to the performance tonight?” I say as I chomp on my dill pickle.

“Oh,” he starts, wiping his mouth, “I don’t think so. I am just swamped with work right now. I’ll be working late.”

I pick apart my sandwich. Remove the top slice of bread.

“No problem. I just thought you might enjoy it. Wanna have dinner later?” I ask.

“Um… I don’t think I can make that tonight.”

“I am leaving tomorrow. So… if you can’t do something later tonight then I don’t think we’ll be able to see each other again before I leave.”

“Uh… yeah. I’m sorry about that.”

He’s ‘sorry about that’? What does that mean?

“Sweetie,” he says. He wipes his mouth with his napkin and pushes back from the table before continuing. “There is something that I have to tell you.”

He begins to tell me about his ‘friend’ Ana. They had met a few months before through a mutual friend when he and the friend had visited Argentina. She is visiting the States and has been staying with him for the last four weeks. The two of them are supposed to be having dinner with friends tonight to mark her departure in two days.

“So, she was here when I met you,” I say.

“Yes, she decided to go out with our mutual friend, rather than attend Belle’s party.”

“I see,” I say. All of a sudden, I can’t swallow my pickle. There is a lump in my throat and the food wouldn’t go down.

“We are just friends, though,” he says.

“Have you slept with her since she’s been here?” I ask.

He looks down at his hands in his lap. No words come out of his mouth, but his silence says it all.

“Ok,” I say, balling up my trash and standing up. “Thanks for lunch. I am going to get back to Midtown so I can get ready for my event tonight.” I spin on the heel of my brand new black boots and am on my way out of the door.

“Wait,” he says, grabbing my arm to stop me. “I never meant to hurt you. She really is just a friend and will be going back to Argentina in a few days. This all happened before I met you. If I had met you first, it would be you back at my house, not her.”

I looked at him and felt like laughing because his words were so unconvincing. But, I wanted to believe him. So, my heart softened a little bit – and I did (believe him).

He walked me outside, where it had begun to rain.

I raised my umbrella and began to walk away. He grabbed my arm again and pulled me into his chest. He smelled so good. My head started to spin. He pushed me away from him slightly and looked down at me, and I knew what would happen. He was going to kiss me.

Our lips touched, softly at first. And then, he began to kiss me with more passion. And, you know what? The earth actually moved. (Well, not exactly. A train was passing beneath us and I could feel the vibration under my feet.)

When we finally broke apart, he said, “I hope I can still see you when I come to town to visit my father.”

Still lightheaded from the kiss, I say, “Of course. I am looking forward to it.”

He hails me a cab and slips $40 in my hand. “For the fare,” he says. “See you in DC.”

“Yes, see you in DC,” I say dreamily.

He leans into the car and kisses me on the forehead.

Ascot’s spell did not break for 20 minutes. I was sitting in traffic and the Sikh driver asked me to repeat our destination. It was then, and only then, that I got pissed. Not so much that dude had another woman staying with him in his home when he met me, not so much because he carried on by email and phone with me as though he were in love and unattached, not so much because he told me he was banging her, but because he lied to me about it.

A sinking feeling hit my stomach. And, all of a sudden reality set in. He is a liar, I am thinking.

Just then, New York didn’t seem so romantic, Wall Street had lost his charm and I belched because the corned beef had given me heart burn. So much for getting my groove back. I am done with this city and I am done with this man, I resolved.

But that wasn’t the last time I would hear from Ascot...

Celeb Sighting #1: MA$E

In 1997, a number of significant things happened to me. In June of that year, I graduated from high school. And, in August, I started my first semester at the University of Maryland, College Park. Also that year, my mother’s father – my beloved Grandfather – was diagnosed with cancer. It was a shock, but we were dealing with it. Grandpa was the oldest boy in a family of 14 children. So, when the word came down that he was sick, all his siblings decided to travel to DC and celebrate Thanksgiving with my family. That was the last year my Grandpa was strong enough to put his special touch on our 20 lb turkey, but nobody else felt much like preparing anything for our big dinner. So, the responsibility fell to me at 18 years old and to my 16 year old cousin. We made everything else, including desserts – food enough to feed 30 people. By the time I helped to clean up the kitchen and chitty-chatted with my family members, my cousins and I decided to take a ride around DC to relax.

That night, Usher was having a party at Republic Gardens, but my younger cousin wouldn’t be able to get into the party since she was under 18. So, instead, we decided to cruise around in my car for a few hours. After we had driven all the way downtown and made it back to the DC/Silver Spring border, we decided that we were hungry. Everything was closed. It was Thanksgiving afterall. But, one place was still open – the Tastee Diner, a rinky-dink greasy spoon establishment with hot coffee and hot food. (“Hot” doesn’t necessarily equal “good”!) We called my BFF who lived a few blocks away from the diner and asked if she wanted to come out. She took a pass since she was feeling slugging from the tryptophan (sp).

We pulled into the diner and ordered our food. I don’t remember what I ordered, but I remember what happened next like it was yesterday. The day after Thanksgiving, my younger cousin, BFF and I were planning to attend the Puff Daddy concert. Now, Biggie had died earlier that year and it was sort of a big deal to see Puffy at this point. (Those of you who are aware of my Diddy obsession are giggling just a little right about now.) Plus, I had recently fallen in love with Diddy’s protégé, Ma$e, a slow-talking rapper from Harlem – as if you didn’t already know that! My crush on Ma$e was public knowledge on Maryland’s campus. In fact, a male friend of mine had copped a life-sized poster of Ma$e from a record store that was closing nearby and it was hanging on the wall in my dorm room.

Anyway, my cousins and I were discussing the concert that was to happen the next day and as we were discussing, a dude with dreads walked in and sat at the counter. With his back facing us, I was able to see that the black leather jacket he was wearing had “Bad Boy Entertainment” stitched in white. My cousin snickered. “How pressed,” she said.

“I know! What a bama!” I giggled. “You would have to be really pressed to walk around in a jacket like that unless you worked for them or something.”

Just then, the door to the diner opens again and a bald-headed chubby dude with slanted eyes walks in and sits at the counter next to the guy in the Bad Boy jacket. My cousin looked up from her plate and says, “I know that guy. He’s from this group called The Lox.” (This was Jadakiss, in case you didn’t guess that by now.)
“Oh, I guess that guy does work for Bad Boy, then.” Hmmmm…

We go back to eating, but never in all my years would I have been prepared for what happened next. My back was facing the door, so I wasn’t able to see who was walking in until they came around to the other side of my table. My younger cousin was facing the door. She picked up the bottle of ketchup and started pouring some on her onion rings. All of a sudden, her mouth dropped and, from behind me, I hear someone say in a slow drawl, “Why are you putting so much ketchup on your onion rings?” My cousin squealed.

I look back and it’s… MA$E. Yes, that’s right. M-A-dollar sign-E was standing right next to our table. All at once I feel the need to sneeze, cough, burp, hiccup… the first sob hit me and it was more like a shudder, and then…. Tears?! OMG! I am SUCH a bama. I finally got a chance to meet Ma$e, the man who’s picture I awakened to each morning. Who’s crooked grin encouraged me as I made my way out of my dorm room onto class. And, there was that grin – in the flesh – and what do I do? I cry. I could not get control of myself. I was a mess. He walked to the booth behind ours and sat down. I hurried to the bathroom and cried a little more, washed my face, dried it and then gave myself a pep talk before heading back out to the dining area.

When I got back to the table, he was standing by my cousins and chatting them up, like he had known them for years.

“You ok?” he asked me.

I stare stupidly, but cannot find my voice! Tears welled up again, but I fought them off. You are such a loser, I am thinking to myself. I had met a few celebs before and had never been starstruck. But this time, I just couldn’t help myself. I had dreamed of this man. Oh the things I promised myself I would do if I ran into this man in person and all I could manage were a few strangled sobs?

My cousins asked him for an autograph and I just stared, my food sitting forgotten on my plate due to a sudden loss of appetite. Finally, I was able to speak.

“Can I get one, too?” I say softly.

“She speaks!” he laughs. That grin. I feel dizzy. He grabs my napkin and asks me my name. I tell him and he writes “MA$E Loves [Lovely Brown Girl]”. I swoon. He orders pancakes. Their driver comes in and they begin to argue. He says “Ok, if you don’t do it, I’ll just call Puff and you’ll be fired. No question.” The driver storms out. I am thinking, Wow. He can call Puffy RIGHT NOW if he wants to. I am so impressed.

Ma$e gets his pancakes and starts chowing down. By this time, other members of his entourage have joined him, including (apparently) a few backup dancers… or jumpoffs… or, jumpoffs that serve as backup dancers. Whatever. One of them looks at Ma$e eating and says, “You sure are eating those pancakes sloppy” and he says “That’s not the only thing I eat sloppy.” And he winks. I feel sick.

He continues to chat with my cousins (since I have become mute) and the other people in the diner. Countless swear words pepper his speech, which also included numerous sexual innuendos. His security guard (married) also tried to get my cousin to come back to their hotel room (she was 16, remember? And she had told him that. Repeatedly. He was undeterred.)

By the end of the encounter, my infatuation with Ma$e had seriously diminished. He wasn’t nearly as charming or witty as I thought he’d be. He was, however, much cuter in person.

At any rate, I attended the concert that next day and thoroughly enjoyed myself. The person who stood out to me that night was Puff, not Ma$e. And a new celebrity crush was born. BFF was so upset she chose to stay home that night. Spotting Ma$e in Downtown Silver Spring in 1997 was kind of a big deal... But, I assured her she didn't miss much. Anyway, when I returned to school after my Thanksgiving break was over, I was over Ma$e.

But the poster stayed on the wall. As immature, obnoxious, and unimpressive as he was, that lopsided grin was still worth the wall space…