CHAPTER THREE

Debbie’s Chicago Tragedy

For 7 weeks, Debbie Rose was attached to her computer, as if it was her personal life support system. Her interactions with David, a virtual boyfriend over the Internet, had all of the elements of a long distance relationship. He lived in New York, and Debbie was from Chicago’s south side where even the poverty-stricken still enjoyed the luxury of one and two-family houses. Debbie’s mom was one of those home renters who would soon be able to purchase and retain equity in her home. Then she could finally begin to build a nest egg for her family. It was hard to accomplish average progress as a single mom, struggling up the workforce ladder. Sometimes an affair with a new boyfriend, or some new sugar daddy, would assist her with that extra push. But when those relationships faltered it felt as though she had taken one step forward in order to take two steps back.

The one blessing that Debbie’s mom had going for her was her job as assistant to Mr. Felton, one of Chicago’s most aspiring Black entrepreneurs. Thanks to his unconditional helping hand, Ms. Rose was secure even in her times of grief. On the days when Debbie or her brother Raymond were home sick from school, Ms. Rose was given the day off with pay. There were two or three instances when Ms. Rose’s car broke down, to the point that Mr. Felton made it his obligation to talk to a friend who owned a dealership. By her boss’s suggestion, Ms. Rose visited this same dealership and she was suddenly offered a deal that she couldn’t refuse; a new car with a $3,000 discount, not to mention the monthly payments that didn’t begin until 3 months after she drove the car off of the lot. Talk about a deal!

Just when it seemed that everything was going Mama’s way, the Rose family experienced a big family tragedy. Debbie, Raymond and Mama Rose had been quietly enjoying the Jamie Foxx show when a crash sounded. It was so unexpected that it almost blended in with the television, like some sound effect. But in fact, broken glass littered the couch and Debbie’s brother instantly fell over to the floor. Seconds later, it was clear that a bullet had ripped through the back of young Raymond’s head. A stray bullet had shattered the living room window and took his life. Just like that. 13 years old.

This was extremely traumatic for the Rose family. Reducing the Rose family to a simple mother and daughter relationship.

Ms. Rose cried nightly for more than 2 months. And yet, again her boss supported her leave of absence. Paying her salary the whole way through, as well as Raymond’s funeral arrangements. In a note that accompanied a huge boxed delivery, Mr. Felton wrote: This could never replace the fond memories that you will always have for your son. But maybe this kind gesture will be accepted as a token of my condolences.

The note was attached to a brand-new Pentium computer.

Thanks to Mr. Felton’s generosity, Debbie began to learn more and more about the new technology, vowing to one day move her mother out of the urban decay that had caused their family so much heartache. In time, Debbie’s favorite place to be was on the Internet. The salary from her part time job at McDonald’s supplemented this extracurricular activity. As a cashier, Debbie would outlast all the other teenagers who worked various jobs. One after another they were fired because of stealing, giving extras to friends (an extra burger here, an extra shake there) or constant lateness. She wondered if this was only happening where she worked.

Debbie’s take-home pay was usually about $190 a week after taxes. She’d pay $5 towards her $20 monthly internet service fee, $30 to the hairdresser for her Saturday afternoon ritual and she’d give $75 to her mom to help with the bills. She had already contributed what she considered her life savings to pay for the circumstances surrounding Raymond’s funeral.

“WELCOME!”

Debbie’s online service was easy to use and she caught on quickly to the routine sign-on. She clicked the icon that flashed on her monitor, signifying “No” that she didn’t want what was being sold in the pop-up advertisement. Next, a mini news flash appeared in the screen.

“YOU’VE GOT MAIL!” The computer’s voice bellowed audibly through the attached speakers. Debbie smiled since she was expecting an e-mail from David, her New York Internet love interest. She clicked the mailbox icon and waded through the junk mail until she hit pay dirt. She opened the mail that was titled “BOY WANTS GIRL”. That was David’s wit. And it made Debbie curious and anxious to always hurry to her e-mail. David was always saying something new and exciting. Everything he did seemed to make her day.

“HI DEBBIE! I felt in the mood for some poetry today . . . Hope it hits your spot . . . ” As Debbie scrolled down the message, she focused her glossy eyes on David’s beautiful words:

If love is a flower, then you are its seed
If love is the power, you are its energy;
Love will not perish, so long as you give
Because your love I’ll cherish, for as long as I live.

The message ended with David’s usual signature send-off . . .

“Stay Sweet, Black Queen.”

Debbie was awestruck by the words in the poem, but his signature always felt like a killjoy. Ever since she could remember, her Camay skin color had a negative stigma in the Black community. There was always the presumption that she thought herself above being Black, just because she liked to walk with her head up. But it was never that way. They quipped that she was “acting white,” because she had proper dialect or that she spent so much time at the computer. Wrong again. Debbie was definitely from the mean streets of Chi-Town, with those mean streets even intruding into what she thought was her “safe” home. But why was it that when a girl wanted to better herself that folks from the hood (who could care less about bettering themselves) would try to bring her down? Why was it that her light skin scared folks with darker skin? After all, she wasn’t prejudiced, so why should others be that way? That bullet that killed her brother didn’t care if he was light or dark; so then, why would anyone else care? Why were people so damned miserable???

Although Debbie had these questions, she never voiced them. She didn’t get up in people’s faces and fight them over their ignorance. Instead, she simply recorded it all. You high yellow, bitch. Wanna be Black. Or worse: “You bourgie heffa.”

Debbie hated these titles and found it increasingly hard to love herself for who she really was with all of the negative comments directed at her skin color. The hate began to let up a bit when Vanessa, Halle and Jada felt as if they were representin’ her as they boldly challenged the adversities of light skinned folk with their raw talent. Still, Debbie was ashamed that her neighbors and classmates ignored her inner and outer beauty because of her lighter skin tone. Yet there was no disputing Debbie’s beauty. She might have been the spitting image of a young Dorothy Dandridge, except that Debbie had a head of natural bronze hair.

As Debbie grew older and more aware, she aspired to be aggressive, to achieve, and to capitalize on her gifts one day. She didn’t quite know how or when, but life would reveal its greatness to her. On that goal she was determined. And, as of lately, it was David’s words that were reminding her of her great potential during their pen pal pursuits. As pen pals, the two were often online at the same time. They would constantly communicate with one another in words or pictures and still maintain the mystique that long distance relationships create. The networking could have carried over to telephone calls for more candid, more intimate conversation. However, the Internet made their inevitable intimacy seem more substantial; bigger than life. At the same time there was more mystique and, well, this interaction was just damned inexpensive and convenient.

David initially read Debbie’s ad in the singles area of “NET NOIR”, a community of like minded blacks on the Internet. The two became an item in the Ebony chat rooms. And although more than 78 others answered Debbie’s ad, David was the first mover. Once he downloaded her photo with the help of his high-speed modem, he realized what a prize he lucked-up on. She was beautiful with big glassy eyes like the women in magazines. She had high cheekbones and alluring full lips, like the ones he admired in music videos. In the photos that David first received, he could see that she sported a hairstyle that was popular amongst girls today. So, for all he knew he had struck it rich. Debbie was everything he imagined. With no artificial flavorings. And to further protect his stake, so that he wouldn’t miss out on his “sure thing,” he persuaded Debbie to refrain from letting anyone else see her images on the Net.

“It’s not really safe enough yet . . . plus, you don’t want everybody and their mother to have your face on their computers. You never know what kind of grimy, slimy dudes are out there.” David tried his best to thwart any other possibilities of someone finding this “dime” who resided somewhere in the middle of Chi-Town. And suddenly, paranoia hit.

There was a period of months when the AOL Internet service incurred a heavy burden; trapped in their own universe of trying to satisfy an overwhelming customer base. Customers were growing angry since they had grown so dependent on access; auxiliary numbers were exhausted and members were forced to either keep trying to get online or go elsewhere. These complications created a dilemma for David. He had been hot and heavy on Debbie’s ass. More and more, day by day he had been working on his goal of earning her trust. His overall objective was to lure Debbie to New York. However, through all of their communications and chat room ventures, David never pushed for her phone number and she never offered. So the conflict forced him into a desperate search to find her. He worked his own process of elimination, first digging into a list of 35 McDonald’s restaurants in Chicago. He eventually found the right franchise on his 11^th attempt, and then he lied about an emergency of some sort.

“Mickey Dees,” the young voice sang with a slight squelch.

“Hi. I’m looking for Debbie Rose?” David announced, trying to sound sure of himself.

“No sweat. Hold on.” The response was promising and David felt relieved that this would be a cinch.

“Ahh . . . who’s calling,” the same voice returned and caught David off guard. Unprepared, he blurted a hasty response.

“Her brother—” he said without thinking, squeezing his face hard and cursing at himself once he realized what he’d said. The messenger on the other end of the line was unaware of the lie or the Rose family’s tragedy.

“Yo baby, yo . . . he says he’s your brother.”

David could hear the muffled conversation through the receiver and cringed when he imagined Debbie’s face.

For Debbie, on the other hand, the mere thought of her brother on the phone had stopped her heartbeat for a few strokes. It had been about 3 years since his murder and frankly, she had missed the last two visits that her mom made to the cemetery. Before anger could overcome her, guilt did. She took gloom with her to answer the call. The cashier next to her took a moment to whisper into another employee’s ear—the big secret.

“Hello?” Debbie held her breath while her mind recalled a couple of still photos of her late brother, Ray Ray. And then the anticipation.

“Debbie, I’m sorry to disturb you at work, but I didn’t know how else to reach you. I haven’t been able to get online for weeks . . .” Debbie could hear David trying to explain his life away in hopes that she would not hang up. But, honestly, her mind was somewhere else.

Raymond.

“Oh . . .” said Debbie with a subtle sigh of emotion. It wasn’t but a second or so later that she replaced her anguish and pain with that pleasure—the snapshot photo that David had emailed her. He was tall and tan, like she was. Plus, he was handsome. There was determination in his eyes. And he had the confident posture, wearing preppy clothing . . . all the stuff she liked.

“Hi.” She felt awkward.

“Sorry again. Is there another time I can call you? At home, maybe?” She could tell that David relaxed some, less discomfort. And Debbie eventually became excited herself about David’s call, figuring that he must have wanted her bad enough to call long distance; to call her place of work. Plus she had missed him too. And his voice! She had no idea how mellow and secure! She liked it. She liked him. And now she could put his face and name with a sound. Now, she was even curious to know his body.

The following weeks brought the two closer. David would intentionally schedule his phone calls in increments of 3 days, then 5 days and even a week apart. Debbie, in the meantime, melted into his mold like soft butter. She moaned when it was time to hang up and she cheered when he called again. Her nostrils flared and her folds moistened with desire.

Growing up with a single parent made it difficult to feel independence, so this was feeling just right. Ms. Rose became extra obsessive in the years following Ray Ray’s death. She wanted to know where Debbie was throughout the day and she wanted her home in bed by 10 PM.

Meanwhile, Debbie’s social life was a shambles. Girls her age were flaunting it all at the Big Skate Roller Rink, at the amusement park and at the school basketball games. The neighbors on the left and right of the Rose home had daughters. There were 5 girls altogether. They did all types of girl-things together. It was stressful for Debbie to see them all together for different outings like dates for concerts and parties. She felt left out and could do nothing about it. Part sympathy and part obedience kept her from arguing with her mother, but it also kept her on the computer.

And now Debbie was getting older. The madness had to stop. After all, she was practically a virgin.

Like a Virgin

One particular experience tested her chastity just two days before the big tragedy. Robert Bass, the former all-star from South Chicago High School’s basketball team, visited Debbie while on spring break from the University of Illinois. He slipped in and out of the house with great ease (while her mom was at work) between 3 and 5 PM Monday through Wednesday. Debbie was off from work on these days and was entertained by the hulking college pro, with his soft kisses and his tender touch. Robert’s last day at the Rose home was the most eventful.

The two had never consummated their relationship. They never fucked. But Debbie had recently turned 18 and Rob felt it was his sacred duty to break the ice. One more virgin on his belt wouldn’t make him or break him. However, Debbie was different. She was so protected throughout his final high school years that he could never get close like he could with the school cheerleaders. And Lord knows he wanted to. Debbie was developing attractive breasts and they held up so tight that she was the underrated school gem. Even under a thick sweater she was shapely. Sometimes Rob would swear he could see her nipples through a winter bomber. Or maybe that was his imagination; but no matter. Intentionally, or not, this was the fantasy that Debbie sold daily. In the summertime all of the boys in her classes kept perfect attendance, if only to soak up the vision of Debbie in a t-shirt, halter top or skirt. All she could do was blush, unaware that she was the focus of many wet dreams in Chi-town.

On the day that Rob first touched Debbie, he felt as if he’d violated a heavenly angel. But it was indeed his goal to “break” this forbidden zone of hers. He absolutely lusted for the cameo bombshell. All of it building up to this one visit. The first two days of his spring break were cordial and sweet, with a subtle kiss to end his stay. But the 3^rd day ended with both of them drenched in sweat after heavy necking and fondling. Rob licked her neck so good she stretched herself out on the couch like a feast. He took the cue and knelt down beside her to begin a head-to-toe review of her. Beginning at her forehead, he smoothed the back of his tongue down the slope of her nose to her upper lip. She wanted to return a kiss, but he held her down gently and then reversed the motion of his tongue to tease the edges of her nostrils. The eyelids, cheeks, earlobes and cleft in her neck kept him busy for 20 minutes more. He was beginning to drive her crazy. When Rob reached Debbie’s cleavage, breasts and nipples, she experienced the pleasure long enough to feel a burst in her abdomen. It frightened her and she pulled away from Rob like the plague. Still, Debbie made arrangements to see him again on the following day. She could see he felt awkward and maybe he didn’t expect to go as far as they had. But nevertheless, Debbie was apologetic and submissive, and she eventually surrendered.

They went up to Debbie’s bedroom hand in hand. She advocated the heavy action by pulling the curtains and shades. She locked the door and then switched on her York stereo. The CD’s that were positioned in the tray contained her all time favorites: Mint Condition, Brandy, R. Kelly, Aaliyah and, of course, Beyoncé was at the top of her list. And no need to play DJ, since her stereo was programmed to play songs at random.

After Debbie scurried to adjust their environment, she turned to slowly approach Rob with her arms extended around his neck. She passionately shared her tongue with his. After a moment, she stepped back for him to get a full eyes’ view and began a sort of strip tease to Brandy’s “Almost Doesn’t Count”. Somewhere during the song, Debbie even sang a line into Rob’s ears, making it ever so clear that “almost doesn’t count.” It didn’t take another song for Rob to shed his sweats and join her, curling his toes deep in the room’s pink carpet.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Rob asked seriously.

In truth, Debbie was scared to death while she tried her best to imitate a scene that she once saw in a movie. But the excitement, coupled with her desire, pushed her to the edge. And, although she didn’t say it in words, she was quite ready to jump. She couldn’t answer Rob directly, so instead she reached for him. With her arms circling his head above her, she pulled his mouth to hers. Her tongue answered his question most definitively.

In the darkened room, Rob hovered over Debbie’s nude body in his boxers. He held her back up off the carpet in an arch, while her upper body and arms stretched back. Mint Condition’s “Breaking my Heart (Pretty Brown Eyes)” kept the pace as Rob reached into his sweats laying on the floor next to them. In his wallet he kept a single condom for emergency occasions. This was an emergency of the best kind. Debbie watched as he maneuvered the rubber onto his erection. His hands explored her own wetness. Controlling every moment, he quietly conjured a mouthful of saliva and let it fall from his lips into the folds between her legs. With his pelvis he caused the perfect amount of friction to work the moisture around. With the tip of his erection wet and slippery, Rob slowly entered Debbie. Very slowly. She winced at his first probe. When an inch had hidden inside of her she reached back as far as her body could stretch and grabbed fistfuls of her pink carpet. Now she whimpered along with an accompanying tear. Rob began to go for another inch when suddenly Debbie’s door swung open. Young Ray Ray came home early from Little League practice and was now standing like a statue in shock with two hands covering his silent holler. Debbie did everything but drop-lock the latch on her door. And now the two surprised teens fell limp and disappointed, scrambling for their clothes. In the end, their private passions and unlived fantasies were left scattered amidst the room’s musty aroma.

It was now 4 years later that Debbie found herself in a hopeless attraction to New York and David Morton. She evaded the possibility of having to face her mother to explain. Instead, she left a 3-page letter, complete with the phone number to her old classmate Jackie, who was staying in New York. Jackie and her mother managed to escape their unbecoming circumstances of an abusive husband and father for a final frontier in Queens, New York, which was where Debbie was headed.

So, Debbie cleared her bank account, booked a flight at a bargain price and headed for New York. With some laser pictures, a bag of letters, and memories of innumerable telephone calls, she flew blindly into this new adventure with her new Internet love interest. David’s world was waiting for her.