Pick up Lines
By Michael T. Owens

Women outnumber men in Atlanta ten to one-and believe me, I've had my share. But what can I say? Ladies love me! I know what they wanna hear, when they wanna hear it, and how they wanna hear it. See, the secret is having a smooth opening line. I gotta million of them. Sometimes they work, sometimes they don't-success depends on the delivery. If the delivery is good, it can knock a chick off her feet. If the delivery is lame, then her fist will knock a man off his!
I'll be the first to admit sometimes the routine gets kinda old. Half the time I find myself approaching women simply outta habit and not 'cause I'm actually seeking anything. It seems like for every decent chick I meet, I gotta run through twenty lame ones. That's a shame. Shoot, I know how to treat a woman but I ain't trying to be no chick's second father. And I really ain't trying to be the 'Bank of Leron King' to these broads either. It would be nice if I could take the good qualities from each one and create a whole new bombshell chick. But then again, if I had magical powers like that, I'd put it in a can, sell it, and become a millionaire. In the meantime, I'm just Leron King, a twenty-four year old Security System Technician and wannabe novelist in Atlanta.

I'm not a big baller or anything but I do okay. My apartment doesn't have much furniture: a brown sofa, chair, coffee table, stereo, and a Playstation on the floor near the TV. The place ain't spotless but it ain't filthy either. Let's just say it's easy to tell a man lives here. Gotta nice-sized bedroom, a big bed, black sheets, and a stuffed puppy sitting between the pillows-chicks think it's cute. On the sides of the bed are tall wicker baskets with long colorful feathers sticking outta them. Sitting on top of the bookshelf, overlooking the room is an antique bust of Shakespeare. My English teacher gave it to me back in high school. Above my desk is a picture of Michael Jordan dunking. I wish I was out playing ball right now but I need to finish this chapter. Maybe some Viagra mixed with a lil' ginkoba will help me think harder- I've been typing the same page for an hour and a half. I finally decided to stop being lazy and actually sit down to write a book. Everybody always said I should. They said I write really good-really well, whatever. I've been trying to get a lil' writing done before heading out to kick it with the fellas tonight. If these chicks stop calling every ten minutes, maybe I can get something done.

"Hello?"

"Hey sexy, what are you doing?" I smack a hand against my forehead when I realize it's Tierra on the line-annoying, talk-way-too-much Tierra. I shoulda looked at the caller ID before picking up. She's a vegetarian chick studying massage therapy; we met at a self-improvement seminar. Now she calls, calls, and calls. If I tell her I'm sleepy-she'll still keep talking. If I tell her I'm tired-she'll still wanna talk. If I tell her I gotta piss-she'll stay on the phone and wait! I never heard anybody talk as much as this girl. I mean, I like a stimulating conversation, but this chick talks about nothing-nothing at all.

"Nothing much," I yawn, trying to give her a hint. "I just got in and I'm kinda tired."

"Oh, you poor thing. You want me to come and give you a free session?"

I made the mistake of letting her spend the night once. She's been trying to come back over ever since and I'm running outta excuses.

"I'm fine, I'm just gonna take a nap." It's a weak reply but it's the first thing to pop in my head.

"Well, I've gotten much better since the last time. I'm doing really well in my classes. We've been learning how to open, release, and channel the body's stored energy..."

"Oh, really?" Even though I'm not interested, I feel obligated to act like I am.

"…Yeah, but before energy can be released, the coccygeal, dorsal, lumbar, and cervical regions of the vertebral axis must be relaxed."

No, your mouth needs to be relaxed, I think to myself as she carries on.

"The secret is all in the fingers. You have to know how to use your fingers to promote the proper movement of energy. You should take a class too, you'd learn a lot-oh, did you just call me? I heard the phone ring five minutes ago, but I was painting my nails and I couldn't answer it in time."

Why did she call me and ask if I called her? I hate these stupid games. "No, it wasn't me."

"Oh," she responds, like she's surprised I didn't call. "Well, what are you doing tonight? Want some company?"
Even if I were stuck home alone watching the All in the Family Marathon, I still won't let her come over! "Me and my boys kickin' it tonight-probably hit a club or something."
"I think it's nice that you hang out with your friends sometimes. I don't have any problem with that. I'm not one of those women that need to be up under her man twenty four-seven. I believe in giving a man his space. I know I need my space too, so my girlfriends and I go shopping or out to dinner, things like that-just us women having fun." I'm short of breath just listening to her ramble. "Well, call me later on if you want, my girls are out of town and I'll be home all alone-all night."

I know why she's gonna be home all night. No man wants to listen to her mouth flapping nonstop! I already made that mistake once.

As she talks my ear off, I think back to the first time I went to her crib. She said she prepared a meal fit for a "King." When she answered the door, she looked so good; I wondered if she was dessert! Petite and fit, with the sun tattooed on her back, she had the clearest, most gorgeous skin I've ever seen.

"Hi, come in," she said cheerfully. I entered what looked like a museum. Incense burned low, releasing soothing fragrances, nude art covered the walls, and she didn't even have a television-she was one of those 'culturally aware' alternative chicks.

"I'm on a long distance call, I'll be done shortly. There's some finger food on the table, help yourself," she said, walking to her room.

A tray covered with sliced carrots, celery sticks, and whole-wheat crackers sat on the coffee table. I guess she thought I was a hamster or something. Passing on the treats, I casually walked around the living room. A huge oak bookcase sat in the corner loaded with thick books. Wholistic Health Today, The Art of Reiki, Lifestyle Management, and Basic Reflexology Techniques were some of the titles. I pulled outta book entitled Metabolic Detoxification. Tierra walked in as I read the back cover.
"Okay, I'm back-oh, Metabolic Detoxification, that's a good one," she said, standing with her hands on her hips. I nodded hoping to avoid a long explanation-a bad habit of hers. It didn't work. "... It tells you how to rid yourself of unwanted toxins so your body can function better..."

"Cool, sounds interesting." I quickly placed the book back on the shelf.

"...Detoxifying your body gives you renewed energy and vitality..."

Again, I nodded.

"...See, the body's toxins are stored mostly in the fat cells. As the individual cells shrink, the toxins are released and-"
"Mmm. Mmm. Something sure smells good, what's for dinner, sweet thing?" I asked abruptly to shut her up.

"My world famous barbecue."

I rubbed my hands together. "That sounds good."
"

It is. You wash up, and I'll go in the pharmacy and get everything ready." She once told me why she called the kitchen a pharmacy but I wasn't listening. I guess it was a health freak thing. After washing my hands, I went in the kitchen to help speed things up-I was starving.

"You need any help with anything?"

"Um...just put the glasses on the table. Did you want to fix your own plate or do you want me to fix it?"

"You can fix it, it's no big deal."

"Okay. I only asked because some people don't like others fixing their food, that's all. I had a friend who used t-"

"I'm not too picky, I eat everything."

"Good."

After fixing my plate, she handed it to me and sat down with hers. Ready to dig in, I hesitated. Something looked strange. What in the world is this? I thought. Did she just run in a forest and scoop up the first thing she saw? Starving and impatient, I picked up my fork-I didn't wanna be an ungrateful guest. I smelled barbecue but didn't see any chicken or ribs for that matter.

"Okay, this may sound like a silly question, but where's the barbecue?" I asked, calm and relaxed.

"Leron, it's on your plate," she laughed.

Puzzled, the only recognizable thing on my plate was the rice. "Where?"

She leaned over and pointed it out. "Right there. That's barbecue tofu."

I tried to keep from showing disgust, but couldn't. "Barbecue tofu?"

"Yeah, try it. It's good, you'll like it. Besides, you'll eat anything," she said and smiled, resting a hand under her chin.

I eyed the food like it was a bad science experiment. "Hmm, and what's this?" I pointed to a leafy green spinach type dish.

"That's steamed kale...and that's curried cauliflower served over brown rice...and those are roasted chick peas with garlic and pine seeds. And I blended some fresh carrot and beet juice for us to drink."

Gritting my teeth, I realized I'd been hoodwinked. Suckered. Bamboozled. Shanghaied. Led astray. I'm a meat man and she was trying to feed me bark, twigs, and leaves? My facial expressions said it all.

She took a small nibble of her tofu. "Oh, come on it's not that bad, Leron. What kind of food do you normally eat?"

"Frozen dinners and red punch," I said proudly. Her nostrils flared and I felt another wordy lecture coming.

"Ewww, that's terrible! Those things are loaded with salt and saturated fats," she yapped. "...And red punch? That stuff isn't even made with real juice..." And yapped. "...It's full of sugar. You're just feeding the yeast in your system; and the more you feed it, the more it grows..." And yapped some more. "...You know yeast leads to prostate cancer and other health problems, right? My Uncle Ricky..." Blah. Blah. Blah. I tuned her out and ate my meatless meal-pissed!

I won't even bother mentioning what happened the rest of the night. Let's just say I left with sore ears and an upset stomach. I ended up home on the toilet late at night reading an old Ebony Magazine.

Slowly, I fade back into the telephone conversation.

"As fine as you are, you gonna be home alone on a Saturday night?" I ask, trying to sound a lil' interested, gotta keep all my options open. I don't believe in burning bridges-plus she has a bangin' body. She's a sweet girl but when she opens her mouth-that's a problem!

"Yes," she sighs, "you'd be surprised at how many girls like me spend Saturday nights at home...well, I don't want to hold you up; I know you're tired." As she talks, I think when did my being tired ever matter? "I'm going to let you get some rest; you're going to need it if we hook up later tonight! Be good."
I hang up, write some more, and then pick out my clothes for tonight. Gotta be sharp, I only got one number last time so I gotta redeem myself.