CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED and SEVENTY-EIGHT
Tanesha picked up her tea and turned on the iPod.
And time passed.
And the love songs? She felt what she was sure every girl felt while listening to these songs: handsome Mr. It was singing directly to her. She’d listened, and re-listened, to a few love songs before she realized why Jennifer, Valerie’s publicist, was so excited to meet her. In every love song, Jeraine whispered something to Miss T.
Jennifer had asked her if she was Misty. Tanesha had no idea what she was talking about. After the third or fourth love song, Tanesha looked up ‘Mr. It and Misty’ on the Internet. Unbeknownst to Tanesha, there was a big controversy about ‘Misty.’ The gossip columnists speculated that Misty was short for Melissa or Millicent or Marissa. Every gossip magazine had a favorite girl who they believed was Misty. A bunch of girls had come forward saying they were Jeraine’s beloved Misty. You could even buy tight skank T-shirts with a picture of Jeraine on one side and ‘I am Misty’ on the back.
Yet, every time and in every language someone asked him who was Misty, Jeraine said there is no Misty.
Because there wasn’t a Misty.
There was a Miss T.
All of his love songs were for her.
Just as he’d always said, he’d done all of this for her. She’d always thought he was just talking his usual bull. His music whispered something else.
He loved her, all of her. He’d truly done all of this for her. Still listening, she watched dawn’s light creep into the city and wondered what she was going to do.
She was startled when he touched her shoulder. She pulled the iPod ear buds out of her ears and hid the device under her.
His finger touched her cheek where a renegade tear lingered. His eyes took in her face.
“What are you doing out here?”
“Listening to your music,” Tanesha said.
“I thought you were never, ever going to listen to that crap ever,” he said.
“I figured if you were willing to look at my house, I should be willing to listen to your music.”
“You wrote all of this for me?”
“I’ve told you over and over again,” he said. “You never believed me.”
“You screwed a billion women!”
“I’m an addict!” Jeraine said. “One drop of booze or blow or pot or any mind altering substance and I want all ‘dem bitches. I have a problem! I’m working on my problem! Are you going to work on your problem?”
“My problem? Oh, since you have a problem, I have to have a problem?”
Denver Cereal continues tomorrow…