What They Want: A Novel - Hardcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

New York Times bestselling author Omar Tyree is the winner of the 2001 NAACP Image Award for Outstanding Literary Work -- Fiction, and of the 2006 Phillis Wheatley Literary Award for Body of Work in Urban Fiction. His books include Boss Lady, Diary of a Groupie, Leslie, Just Say No!, For the Love of Money, Sweet St. Louis, Single Mom, A Do Right Man, and Flyy Girl. He lives in Charlotte, North Carolina. To learn more about Omar Tyree, visit his website at www.omartyree.com.

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Chapter 1: Under Pressure

"I don't know what to do."

That's what she told me. This was several years ago in the prime of my modeling career. I was twenty-seven years old and on a break at a photo shoot in Cancun, Mexico. We were relaxing at the beach on a beautiful late afternoon right before the sun had gone down over the Gulf of Mexico. The sky was light blue mixed with fluffy gray clouds and a fading orange sunlight. The sand was warm, and the slight breeze was just enough to get your attention but not enough to cause a chill. The entire scene was as beautiful as a naked girl in a perfect picture. And I was loving every minute of it.

"Did you hear me?"

Of course I heard her. But at the moment, I was busy framing the sandy brown skin of the local Mexican mommies against that beautiful backdrop. They continued to walk by and sneak peeks at me under our oversized umbrella. They were more interested in me than the white boy models. Ten of us were there for a summer swimsuit issue of Fabulous magazine, and I was the only black man. I guess you could call me the token sex god.

"Terrance, I'm talking to you."

No, it was more like she was bothering me, and I didn't feel like dealing with her conversation. I was taking a much-needed break from my hustle, and I planned on enjoying it. Talking about the future of a tug-of-war relationship was work. Now why would any guy want to work in such beautiful surroundings unless he absolutely had to?

"This is what I'm talking about. You never acknowledge me when I'm trying to talk to you. You're so fucking rude. You know that?"

She was being rude to me. I had been working my tail off down there in the baking heat of Mexico. But did she care? Evidently not. She only wanted to address her issues. I was rarely the type to argue, but that never stopped her from trying to provoke me.

"Hello? Is anyone home? Earth to Terrance."

I finally looked into her Gucci sunshades, under her straw sombrero, and asked her, "Andrea, what do you want me to say? I'm not gonna tell you what to do. I thought you told me you were a grown woman. Well, you make your own decisions then."

As much as I was paying attention to the local girls, who were shaking their tail feathers with purpose and flirting all around us, Andrea's beauty was stunning. There's nothing like a fine black woman with a history of strong mixed genes. Everything about her look was perfect; five-nine, one twenty-five, flat stomach, strong thighs, pretty feet, luscious lips, long, thick hair, flawless skin, photogenic like a baby, and curved like sculpture. But none of that mattered to me. I wasn't going to allow her looks and insatiable attitude to hold my emotions hostage.

"I'm not asking you to tell me what to do. I know I make my own decisions. I just want to discuss things with you."

She paused to see if I would respond to her, but I wasn't up to it. Discussing things with women took a lot out of a guy, especially when those things involved relationships. It wasn't the kind of shoot-from-the-hip discussions I would have with guys about our feelings for a woman. You said what you felt and moved on. But discussing relationships with a woman held infinite consequences. Every single word you used was a trap. So I learned to use my words sparingly with most women.

"Do you want me in your life or not?" Andrea asked me. "Just let me know something."

I turned away from her. I liked the girl, I really did. But I didn't want to be bonded to her. We were doing just fine with our loose arrangement. I go on a job, take her with me, love her down, and keep it simple. Then another guy came along and started putting pressures on her, which she in turn passed on to me. Only I wasn't up for playing that game. I refused to compete with another guy over a woman. There were too many women out there for that. So I pleaded the Fifth Amendment and remained silent. I knew that anything I said to her could be held against me.

"Well?"

Instead of answering her question, I thought about the other guy she had started dating on the side. I hated jealous guys. If the girl wasn't into you, then let her be. It's that simple. But this guy Jayson Walker, one of those briefcase-carrying number crunchers, had made it his personal mission to try and take her from me. There were plenty of other fine women out there to choose from, but he just had to chase after her.

Guys who live and die for the dollar swear that everything, including every woman, has a price tag. So I blamed Andrea for even getting involved with the guy. Then again, a girl had to eat, and I was not offering her free access to my bank account, like he was. But even with all his money, I held the keys to her heart. That only made him chase her harder, and I wanted no part of that game.

Andrea finally lost her patience with me. She stood up to leave and I didn't plan on stopping her.

"You know what? I don't even know why I'm trying so hard with you."

Once she climbed to her feet, she looked down and noticed my lack of urgency. "So, you're not even gonna try and stop me. Like, you don't even care."

Actually, I did care. I just wasn't willing to allow my feelings for her to get in the way of what I wanted for myself. I loved my freedom, and I wasn't willing to sacrifice it to make permanent room for her.

Despite Andrea's beauty, the girl was struggling to launch her modeling career next to mine, and she hadn't been successful at it yet. What can I say? Modeling was a tough business, not everyone could create a solid living from it. I was one of the fortunate few who could. Nevertheless, I couldn't stand the pressure that she was putting on me because of Jayson Walker and his income. But how could I tell a woman that I didn't want to afford her? I mean, I could. With my five-figure-a-day rate for modeling jobs, I definitely had enough in the bank to carry her for a while. I just didn't want to.

Why should it be necessary for a guy to economically provide for a woman? She needed to find a regular job to hold her over until she could catch her break. She had plenty of time on her hands. She was only twenty.

In my grand scheme of things, since I knew she liked me so much, I figured I would allow Mr. Walker to continue to provide for her while she snuck off for rendezvous around the world with me. Crazy, ain't it? But that's what I was thinking at the time. I was young and very cocky.

I was so cocky that I didn't believe she had the courage to leave me. She had tried to leave me several times in the past year, but she always came crawling back. I guess she was hooked on my stroke and my character.

Yeah, she wasn't going anywhere. She was only bluffing.

Before she strutted away from me, she said, "You know, he asked me to marry him. He even bought me a ring."

That got my attention. I looked up into her sunshades. "He did what?"

I didn't believe her.

Instead of her trying to convince me, she dug inside her beach bag and pulled out a black ring case to hand over to me.

You believe that shit? She must have had it all planned out to surprise my ass with. I was afraid to even touch the thing. But I was curious.

I opened the case and found a nice-size diamond engagement ring. It was all round and raised like a dome. It looked expensive as hell, too. That changed everything for me. The shit was serious!

I looked up and asked her, "So what did you say to him?"

She continued to stare at me through her sunshades.

"What do you want me to say?"

It was another trap.

I said, "He didn't ask me to marry him. What are you talking about?"

She wasn't going to get me that easily.

She said, "Well, you know I don't want to do that, but . . ."

She was still undecided.

I said, "But what?"

She shrugged her shoulders and looked away.

She looked back at me and said, "I've just been thinking about this modeling and...