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Latisha N Patterson

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Airing Out Dirty Laundry
by Latisha N Patterson   

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Publisher:  21st Street Urban Editing & Publishing ISBN-10:  0983166943 Type: 


Copyright:  February 23,2011 ISBN-13:  9780983166948

Barnes &
Latisha Patterson
Airing Out Dirty Laundry

Follow 5 friends on an emotional roller coaster ride of lies,secrets,and affairs. You will never know what will happen when your dirty laundry is aired!

Skye Jordan seems to have it all together but when she gets fed up with her long time boyfriend, Omar, things quickly spiral out of control. Omar lets his insecurities get the best of him and instead of saving his relationship he pushes Skye away. Feeling rejected Omar seeks attention elsewhere which leads to a whirlwind of problems.
Damisha “Mimi” loves her single, kid-free life until she meets Jerell. He is the man of her dreams except for one thing -- he refuses to turn in his player card. Sick of the games, Damisha seeks comfort from Chris, who is the total opposite of Jerell. Will she fall in love with Chris or turn into the exact thing she ran away from?
Kori “Coco” owns a salon and is married to Jerome a real estate agent. Coco’s hot temper seems to get her in trouble every time. Jerome’s ex girlfriend Shameka uses their daughter to create drama within his marriage. Naïve to Shameka’s tactics Jerome falls into a compromising situation that is hard to explain. Who should Coco believe her husband or his scorned ex?
Jamyya “Jay” is a devoted wife and mother of four. Bored of the housewife routine Jamyya sets out to spice up her life with a new career.    Just when her life is at its best Jamyya’s mother is released from jail and moves in with her turning her house upside down.
Jasmine “Jazz” starts a new romance with Shawn and is completely swept off her feet. Living out her dreams Jazz is having the time of her life. When secrets surface about Shawn Jazz has to decide if she can deal with the man that she no longer knows.
Go through the roller coaster ride of friendships and relationships when deep, dark secrets are exposed.   Find out what happens when these five women air out their dirty laundry.
Laugh, cry and feel these sistas as they go through experiences that come close to home for many. Is there a light at the end of the tunnel or does a relationship of uncertainty leave one on a rollercoaster of darkness forever? 
Today, it’s all about me. I’m in desperate need of some alone time. I decide to spend a couple of hours at Sylvia’s Day Spa - you know, get a massage, facial, manicure, and pedicure, just pamper myself. Lord knows I need it.

As I’m lying on the massage table, getting one of the best massages ever, my cell phone rings. At first, I ignore it, but someone keeps calling back. I pick up my Blackberry Curve and notice the number on the caller ID. It’s Omar, my boyfriend.

“Hello!!” I yell into the receiver, completely agitated.

“Hey, baby. Why are you yelling? Is something wrong?” Omar asks, sounding shocked by my tone.

“I thought we talked about this. Today is for me. M–E…just me, Omar. I want to relax and be alone for a couple hours. I thought you understood that,” I reply, my anger growing.

“Well, I do … but, umm, I just wanted to talk to you. I miss you. We just wanted to make sure you were a’ight. Skye, you know sometimes out of frustration people say things they don’t necessarily mean.”

I could hear in his voice his feelings were hurt, but at this point I really don’t care. “In this case, I meant what I said. I don’t have time for this Omar; my patience is wearing thin. If everything is okay with Omari, then there is nothing more to say. I’ll see you when I get home.” Click! I hang up the phone before he can utter another word. Damn! There goes my day of relaxation right out the window.

Trying to calm myself, I resume my position on the massage table, and begin reflecting on how things had gotten to this point. My life is so hectic right now. Who would’ve thought Skye Ariel Jordan would be at her wits end! I’ve always considered myself to be an intelligent black woman, with too much style and grace for all this drama.

At twenty-five, I have a pretty decent job at Richmond Premier Staffing. The agency I work for is well-known, and I’m paid a yearly salary plus commission. I’m an account executive, responsible for filling temporary job positions for local companies. My job is the one thing in my life I truly enjoy.

Omar and I have a beautiful two-year-old daughter, Omari. She’s so precious, and the only good thing that came out of this dysfunctional relationship. Omari has a golden-brown complexion and green eyes like mine, but she looks exactly like Omar. There is no mistake, she’s his daughter. She even has black curly hair and a small round nose like her father. The only difference is the chubby cheeks that carry her deep dimples.

We’ve been together for about four years. Omar is the hotel manager at the Marriott Courtyard located in the West End of Richmond. He makes way more money than I do, so I guess you could say we are financially stable. We live in a two-story brick house in a middle class neighborhood called Glenden Hills.

Don’t ask me why we have a five-bedroom, two-and-a-half bath house when it’s just the three of us. Omar wanted to go all out when it came to purchasing a home, so we ended up with this big house. It’s a lot for just three people. The subdivision was new, and we got our house built from the ground up. I picked out everything.

Omar’s an excellent provider and a great father. Omari adores him. He spends a lot of time with her. He reads her bedtime stories, gives her baths, and tucks her in at night. I don’t even take her to daycare or pick her up, because he does that too.

Omar has proposed to me millions of times. Of course, I always turn him down. I’m not ready for marriage. I can barely deal with having him as a boyfriend.

On the outside looking in, one might say I have a good life and a good man. Yeah right, on the surface, maybe. No one really knows or cares to understand how I feel. Omar is too clingy and emotionally needy. It’s like he has to be with me 24/7. He’s smothering me with way too much love and affection. I don’t know how much more I can take. Lying here thinking back, I’m trying to remember if I missed something, like a sign - a bright neon sign that said, “Run, this nigga is crazy!” Who knows? Everybody always says, “Love is blind.” Well, now it seems I have 20/20 vision. This brother seriously has some deep-rooted issues, and I don’t know if I’m equipped to handle them. My mother and father both think he’s God’s gift to the world. All of my friends, except one, are envious of my relationship with him. I guess my girl Coco is the only one with some damn common sense. Everyone else always takes his side.

What about me? What about my feelings? I always find myself asking. My married best friend, Jamyya, says in disgust, “Skye, you’re too spoiled; everything is not always going to go your way. You have to compromise sometimes. That’s what relationships are all about. Omar loves you and just wants some attention. He’s a good man. I don’t understand your problem.”

I quickly reply, “Compromise; yeah, that’s what I want him to do. He’s always underneath me. I need some space, Jamyya. Why can’t anyone understand that?”

I find myself having this same conversation with her day in and day out. Frankly, I’m tired of all this shit. I hate to admit it, but maybe I am spoiled. I guess being the only child does that to you. My dad and I are also really close. You got it - I’m daddy’s little girl. So, yeah, I’m used to having things my way. So what?

It all started four years ago when I met Omar at a VCU vs. ODU basketball game hosted at the Siegel Center downtown. I should’ve known I was going to pull a bunch of niggas, ‘cause my gear was hot like fire. My girl, Coco, is a stylist, so my hair was definitely laid. Those honey-blonde highlights she added to my hair drew more attention to my green eyes. I’m about 5’6, have a golden-brown complexion, and long wavy hair. And yes, my hair and eyes are real. There’s nothing fake about me at all. My hips and butt are kind of big for my size-4 frame but that’s what the guys like, so I use that to my advantage.

When I walked in, all eyes were on me because I was “fresh to death” in my dark denim Seven jeans, red fitted T-shirt, and red Jimmy Choo pumps. Hmm … you couldn’t tell me anything. My dad had bought me a pair of two-karat diamond earrings and a diamond necklace with my name on it, so you know my neck and ears were blinging. Actually, my whole crew was turning heads. I can’t be hanging out with no “bamas.”

I roll with a crew of five. Yeah, the Fabulous Five, that’s us. It’s Jamyya, Kori, Damisha, Jasmine, and me. Jamyya and I go all the way back to middle school. Kori who everybody calls Coco is what I call “ghetto fabulous”. She grew up around Creighton Court projects, but she stayed fly. Coco always had the latest gear.

Can you believe that one time, Coco got the new Dooney & Burke bag before I did? I know what you’re thinking, but it was authentic. Me and my crew didn’t mess with the bootleg, counterfeit, Chinese store shit.

Damisha, better known as Mimi, is my girl from way back too. We went to the same high school. Everybody was hatin’ on me and Mimi ‘cause she’s half Filipino and half Black. Well me, I just look good, plain and simple. You know how girls are when you got long hair and light eyes. They instantly become jealous. So me and Mimi became friends because I wasn’t intimidated by her beauty.

Jasmine, whose nickname is Jazz, is the youngest of the bunch. She moved in down the street from me and didn’t know anyone, because she had just moved there from Philly. So me, being the nice person that I am, invited her to join my crew, which is nothing short of a privilege.

During half-time I decided to go get something to eat from one of the concession stands. “Anybody want to go with me to get something to eat?” I asked the girls.

“I’ll roll wit’ you, Skye,” Jazz replied, getting out of her seat. People were everywhere. I turned as we approached the concession stand and accidentally bumped into a tall fine chocolate brotha.

“Excuse me. I didn’t mean to bump into you. My bad.” I was embarrassed.

“Shawty, that’s a’ight just be more careful next time,” he replied, laughing in a low tone. “No, I’m just joking. My name’s Omar. What’s yours?”


“Really, Ma, what’s your name?”

“My real name is Skye. That’s what my parents named me. Do you have a problem wit’ dat?” I asked with an attitude, holding up my chain.

“Naw, actually it’s kind of fly. It’s just different, that’s all,” Omar said smiling.

Damn, he sure does have some pretty dimples, I thought to myself.

“So, do you have a man, Miss Skye?”

“Not at the present time, but then again, I wasn’t looking.” I stood there with a smirk on my face and my hands on my hips.

“That’s a shame. You might pass up something good.”

“Like you?” I questioned with my eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, like me. Why don’t you give me your number so we can hook up sometime?”

“You’re not crazy, are you?” I asked in a joking manner.

“Only a crazy person would dignify that with an answer.”

I looked at him with inquisitive eyes, but gave him my number anyway. What could it hurt? A brotha as fine as he is couldn’t be all that bad. I stood still for a moment, taking in everything about his physical appearance until Jazz screamed my name, which broke me out of my trance.

“Skye, come on here,” Jazz said very curtly.

Damn. I had almost forgotten what I had come out there for. I made a U-turn and headed toward the concession stand to get a hot dog.

“Let me find out a man got Skye all hot and bothered, don’t know which way to go,” Jazz teased.

“Girl, shut up. He was cute, but it ain’t all like that,” I said as I handed my money to the short lady behind the counter.

“Jazz, did you want a soda or something?”

“Yeah, I’ll get a Pepsi and some onion rings.”

“Make sure you got some gum for that onion breath,” I joked, and we both laughed and headed back to our seats.

“Girl, what took y’all so long? I was about to call the search team to come find y’all,” Jamyya said, laughing at her own sarcasm.

“You know Miss Fly had to stop and have a conversation with every man that looked her way,” Jazz said jealously.

“Actually, I bumped into this tall, fine, chocolate brotha, and he asked me for my name and number,” I said, matter-of-factly.

“Really?” Jamyya said in a questioning manner.

“Yep, he is the cutest one I’ve seen so far tonight.”

“So, what’s the deal with him? Did you give him the digits?”

“Hell yeah, I gave him the number! I told you he was fine. Anyway his name is Omar, and he’s about 5’10”. He’s got dark brown eyes, pearly white, straight teeth, the deepest dimples I’ve ever seen, and his smooth milk chocolate skin made my body shiver. That’s about all I know”.

“She ain’t lying, neither. Mr. Omar had my girl gone as soon as he flashed that Colgate smile,” Jazz said laughing.

“Seems like you noticed a lot. No wonder it took you so long to come back,” Jamyya said, cutting off Jazz.

“Oh, yeah, I almost forgot. He’s got long pretty cornrows, and he was G’d up in his LRG outfit.”

“Mmm, guess I missed out. Maybe next time I’ll roll wit y’all. These lazy heifers don’t ever want to mingle. We walked around for about five minutes then ‘grandma’ said her legs were tired. So we came back to our seats,” Jamyya said, looking at Coco and Mimi smiling.

“Who’s ‘grandma’? I asked, looking at Jamyya

“Coco; this heifer just had to ruin the fun.”

“Who in the hell are you calling a heifer? Everybody ain’t a hoe who’s on the prowl for every man she sees,” Coco retorted, loudly cutting off Jamyya.

“I was just joking. Chill out. What got your ass all on your back?” Jamyya asked, trying not to get upset.

“Girl, she’s just mad ‘cause she saw André with some chicken-head hanging all over him,” Mimi said, trying to whisper to the rest of us.

“Thanks for telling all my business, Mimi,” Coco said, rolling her neck.

“You’re welcome. You know they were going to find out anyway. Everybody knows I can’t keep a secret,” Mimi said laughing, hoping to lighten up the situation.

A week went by before Omar finally called me - not that I was sitting around waiting. I believe it was a Sunday evening, around seven o’clock. I was just chilling in my room watching the Lifetime Movie Network. Suddenly, my cell phone started to ring. I looked at the caller ID, but didn’t recognize the number.


“Did I catch you at a bad time?”

He had such a deep voice.

“No, not really. Who’s this?” I asked, acting as though I didn’t know who he was.

“My bad, ma, this is Omar, you know, the nigga you met at the VCU vs. ODU game last week.”

“Yeah, I remember. What’s really good wit’ u?”

“Nothing much, just been working. I had some free time today so I thought I’d give you a call and see when we could hook up. You know, go get a bite to eat, catch a movie or something.” His voice was so sexy.

“Umm, well I don’t have much going on this week. When would you like to hook up?”

“Friday, around eight o’clock is good for me.”

I nonchalantly answered, “Yeah, that will work.”

We continued to have small talk, the usual basic get-to-know you conversation. Omar appeared to have it all together at twenty-three years old. He was three years older than me, but I liked that. I needed a mature man. He’d graduated from VCU two years ago with a Bachelor’s degree in Hotel and Restaurant Management. He was currently working at the Marriott Courtyard as a shift supervisor, but he aspired to be the manager. You’ve got to start somewhere. At least Omar had goals he wanted to obtain.

Omar was a perfect gentleman on our date. He picked me up from my house at exactly eight o’clock. He didn’t come empty handed. He arrived with a bouquet of pink chrysanthemums. He opened and closed the car door for me, and even pulled out my chair at the restaurant. Not once did he try to make a move on me. After dinner and the movie, he drove me straight home. He kissed me gently on the cheek and walked me to the door. This guy was different from anybody I had ever dated before. I called up all my friends and said, “I think I’ve got a winner. Omar is definitely a keeper.”

Soon, I would find out how wrong I was.

After six months of dating, I decided to introduce Omar to my parents. This was going to be good. Mr. Omar Keith Rhodes was about to meet Vivian and Paul Jordan. At this time, I was still living with my parents in their tri-level home located in Springdale Estates. My mom said to me, “Skye, darling, your father and I would love to meet this young man you’re so fond of. Why don’t you invite him to Sunday dinner?”

Reluctantly I replied, “Sure, that sounds great, Mom. What time should I tell him?”

She pulled up a chair to sit beside me. “Is something wrong, dear? Are you embarrassed of us?” I could hear a hint of hurt in her voice.

“Oh, nothing like that. I just don’t know how he would feel about it. Meeting parents is like taking the relationship to another level. I’m not sure if he’s ready for that type of commitment,” I said, wondering if she would change her mind.

“Well, honey, just ask him and see what he says. No pressure. Just ask if he would like to come to dinner Sunday at six o’clock.”

“Alright, Mom, I’ll let you know what he says.”

Embarrassed? Ha! I think to myself, how could I possibly be ashamed of my parents? My mom’s forty-two years old, but she looks young. Everyone always mistakes her for my older sister. We do look a lot alike. My mom is about 5’8” and has a smooth pecan brown complexion. Her eyes are green just like mine. She started getting gray hair, so she dyed it spicy cinnamon. The color looks great on her short, spiked haircut. Even after having me, my mom still has a great figure. She’s a size 10. Her job is the bomb. She’s the regional manager for Victoria Secret stores. So, you know my lingerie drawer is off the hook.

I couldn’t be any more pleased with my father either. My father is forty-six years old and wears a pair of small round frame Hugo Boss glasses. He’s kind of tall, about 5’11”, and his complexion is a shade darker than my mom’s. He has a full beard with a low haircut, and unlike mom, he doesn’t dye his gray hair. My father has a nice build, too. His waist is a 36 and he has wide, broad shoulders. I always feel so safe in his arms. To him, I’m still a little girl. My daddy buys me everything ‘cause he has plenty of money. He works at Merrill Lynch as a financial advisor. With parents like these, what would a girl have to be embarrassed about?

I called up Omar and asked him to dinner on Sunday.

“Oh, now you want me to meet your parents,” he said excitedly. He had been asking to meet them for a while, but I declined. I didn’t know if I really wanted to take this relationship to the next level. To me, Omar was just too nice and considerate. Something had to be up with him. This good boy act was killing me.

“Yeah, I feel it’s time,” I responded after several seconds of silence.

“What time should I come?”

“Be here at six. My mom’s a good cook, so come hungry,” I said, trying to sound cheerful about the whole thing.

Sunday came quicker than usual. This was a special day, so mom pulled out all the stops. She cooked roast beef with potatoes and carrots, macaroni and cheese, collard greens, corn pudding, homemade biscuits, and for dessert, strawberry cheesecake. My parents don’t drink soda so she made Lipton ice tea.

Omar arrived on time, as usual, which gave him extra points with my dad. My father is very big on punctuality. I was still upstairs getting ready, so my mother opened the door.

“Come in, honey, and have a seat. Skye will be done in a couple of minutes,” Mom said with a warm smile.

“Thank you very much for inviting me, Mrs. Jordan. These are for you,” Omar said, handing my mother a bouquet of white Calla lilies.

“Oh, honey, thank you. You are such a nice young man. Please, call me Vivian. Omar, this is my husband Paul.”

“How are you doing, Mr. Jordan?” Omar asked timidly.

“I’m fine son, please have a seat. No need to be shy. I’m not going to interrogate you. We just wanted to meet the young man that was taking up so much of our baby’s time,” my dad stated, trying to ease Omar’s nervousness. Dad and Omar chatted, getting to know one another while mom finished last minute preparations in the kitchen.

I came down the stairs.

“Hello, Omar. I hope my dad’s not harassing you,” I said half-jokingly.

“No. Not at all. Actually, your father’s pretty cool.”

“Everything is fine, honey. Why don’t you go help your mother in the kitchen?” my father said waving me off.

“Good idea, ‘cause I’m starving,” I said, rubbing my stomach as I approached the kitchen.

I helped my mom put the food on the table. “So mom, what do you think?” I asked anxiously. I couldn’t wait to know what my parents thought about Omar.

“Well, honey, your father seems to like him a lot. I haven’t had a chance to talk to him, but he seems like a nice young man. Look at those Calla lilies he brought me. That was a very sweet gesture.” My mom was smiling.

“Yeah, Mom he’s always like that. That’s what worries me. He seems too good to be true.”

“Well, honey, some people are just genuinely nice. Maybe he was brought up in a good Christian family. Have you met his parents?”

“No, I’ve been making excuses to get out of it, but since he has met y’all, I’m supposed to meet them this coming Sunday.” My voice was full of skepticism.

“Honey, I’ll talk with him at dinner and let you know what I think. It wouldn’t hurt to meet his family. Maybe it’ll give you some insight about him,” my mother said reassuringly.

My mother and I were interrupted by my father. “Is the food ready?” he asked. “This young man and I want to eat.”

“Yes dear, come on in and have a seat.”

My father sat at the head of the table and my mother sat at the other end. We ate, and my mother got her chance to converse with Omar. I must admit the evening turned out pretty well. Omar stayed for nearly three hours before leaving. I walked him to the door, and he kissed me lightly on the lips.

“Your parents are wonderful, Skye, you are lucky to have them.”

“Yeah, they are very special people,” I said, feeling sleepy.

“Goodnight Mr. and Mrs. Jordan. Dinner was absolutely delicious,” Omar said, heading out the door.

“Goodnight,” my parents yelled simultaneously from the other room.

It was a hit. Both my parents liked Omar very much. Picture that. I wish I was into him as much as they were.


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