RIPPED & READY (PART 58)

RIPPED & READY (PART LVIII)

I'm not saying this just to be nasty, but I sincerely wanted to slap the fucking taste out of the smug bastards face. I guess the part that really got me fired up was how he said what he said and then resumed his dog 'n pony show with the “Waiting To Exhale” crew sitting across from us.  The more he ignored me, the hotter I was getting.  Then, like Popeye says, I had had enough and I couldn't "stands" no more. 

Before Todd could get to my hand, I reached across the table and slapped the shit out of D'Andre.  Had he not been so consumed in his flirtatious flaunt, he might have been able to intercept that gift I had just lit his ass up with.  The pop's echo was so loud that nearby patrons all gasped at once. 

Perhaps he would not have gotten as angry as he got if we were alone but, since we had an audience, his ego went into hyper drive.  He jumped across the table, landing on top of me with fist flying in every direction.  At that point all bets were off, we were throwing punches back and forth like “Rock'em Sock'em” robots. 

"I'll kill you faggot," he sneered, missing my face, grabbing my ear, and snatching out one of my silver hoops. 

It was straight O to the fucking N. 

"Since we used to fuck around, bitch ass motherfucker, then what does that make you!" I screamed, landing a right cross onto his chiseled jaw-line.

PLAP!

He was all over me like a swarm of bees.  I was getting stung with lefts and rights, but I also did some stinging of my own. 

POW!

JAB!

CRASH!

Two of the four water glasses hit the floor and splattered into a million pieces.  The way D'Andre was working me over, it reminded me just how strong this nigga was.  He was throwing haymakers like Mike Tyson, and I was struggling to match them (I guess my name could be Buster Douglas, however, It didn't look like I was going to win). 

Once it was clear to me that I was getting my natural ass whipped, I did what anybody else would do to stop the annihilation; I grabbed a steak knife and waved it in his face.  It worked too.

"Yea, walk your ass over here to this, you "got-dayum" son of a bitch, you!" I said, gritting my teeth, aching from head to toe. 

Todd never moved from his spot.

He just sat there watching in disbelief. 

I suppose D and I noticed it at the same time, because we both ceased going at each other and looked in his direction.  

He said, "Are you niggas done making absolute fools of yourself? “Got-Daym” it, we are not 15 years old anymore!  You'll be lucky if we get out of here without them hauling yawls’ asses off to jail". 

The look of disgust on his face had me feeling like an idiot.  I had allowed D'Andre to get me so worked up that I lost my composure in a public establishment and, Alameda County didn't play -- they would lock your ass up and throw away the fucking key. 

Fortunately for us, the manager was this young, African American brotha, who was obviously smitten with Todd, because once Todd started explaining the situation and flirting back with him, Freedom Foster (the manager), calmed the other patrons down and assured them that the situation had been handled.  He offered free beverages to everyone (which I thought was a class act). 

Free (He told us to call him that), was a caramel colored dude, with a splash of freckles on his face.  He was well groomed; hair, triple-fade with a hard line, an oval shaped face, and chipmunk cheeks (I guess Todd really was into the thick brothas). He wore wire rimmed glasses which accentuated his large, puppy-dog eyes.  He was a little thick in the waist, but with the cute face and that big behind....

Hey! 

Once all of the silver and glass wear had been replaced on our table, we sat back down and again started the task of pretending like we were grown as men and not children.  Todd was absolutely disinterested in even addressing the incident that had just occurred.

I suppose the "Waiting To Exhale" crew pegged us all as being homos because they never looked over in our direction again.  

That was fine by me too, because I was sick of all four of them heffas.   

Free was a perfect gentleman to all of us, but by his actions, you knew that Todd's presence was his main focus.  He catered to Todd's every need, and then some.  After we polished off our meal, Free returned to our table with a large slice of 6-layer chocolate cake. 

"Here you go, sir, perhaps you can share this with your friends," he said, blushing. 

"I'd rather be sharing it with you, handsome," Todd told him. 

He gushed. 

We didn't.

I was outdone, but what the hell was I so outdone about, I had a man at home, didn't I?

Nigga, eat your damn cake...