ILWMH [DISCONTINUED]

His Name is Anthony

Old English. The best liquor to drink my problems away. As the background voice of Eric's faded away, I downed my drink one sip at a time. "Yo, I haven't seen you drink this much since your 18th birthday. 'Renzo are you good?," Antoine asked taking the bottle out of my hand.

"Fantastic," I replied nonchalantly, snatching the bottle back.

"I know you're not still pressed about that situation that happened yesterday?," Eric intervened taking the bottle away.

"My nigga, I'm good. Damn!," I yelled with hostility.

"Look the best thing is for you to talk to her. Communication is the key to relationships," Eric remarked sitting next to me- who the hell was he to give relationship advice?

"Relationship advice from Mr. Eric Wright himself," I chuckled propping my elbows up on my thighs. "And I ain't speaking to the broad. She's acting like a stranger. She ain't the girl I grew up with."

Eric shook his head. "This is some soap opera bullshit. Look I'm going to New York tomorrow and when I come back I want this shit to between you all fixed," he murmured. He then started coughing uncontrollably while grabbing some water.

"Do you think you'll run into Cube?," Yella asked out of nowhere. I turned my head in Eric's direction observing the smirk on his face.

"I don't know. Honestly I'll be glad if I do. I wanna get the group together," he admitted looking down at his pager.

"Nigga what? Dre is doing his thing at Deathrow. You know he can't make a move without Suge's approval. Also, you and O'Shea didn't end on good terms well none of us did. I don't see it happening," I proclaimed standing up.

"Fuck Death Row. I can make it work," Eric guaranteed. Good luck. There are too many egos.

"Aight man. I'm about to jet. I gotta get my son from my mom's."

Walking into my mom's house, the stench of chitterlings hit my nose. My mom was on the phone with one of her female friends while Marvin Gaye was playing from the stereo in the living room.

"Ma, where's Ali? You got all this music playing and you're all on the phone-"

"Boy, don't you see I'm on the phone!," she hollered. I took it upon myself to roam around the house. The nursery was empty and Ali was nowhere in sight. I entered the living room where my mom had just hung up the phone.

"Shanya had picked up Ali. She said something about moving out of the house with Ali."

"Yeah, she's trippin'. She goes from playing victim to trying to take my son away. I gotta go see my son. I'll see you later, ma," I told my mother before kissing her cheek.

After I stepped out the door, my pager beeped on my hip. Looking at the unfamiliar number, I took out my Motorola mobile phone to dial it.

"Who this?," I answered walking to my car.

"It's Tasha. I spoke to you a few days ago over the phone. Lorenzo, I need to talk to you. I know you may not remember me but can you please hear me out?," she replied while there was shuffling in the background.

"Alright, I'm listening," I told her while turning on the a/c in my car. She exhaled before telling me, "I meant in person, Lorenzo." She told me her address which was all the way across town in the Hollywood Hills. She hung up immediately, giving me no choice to decline.

After about an hour of trying to find my way through the hilly terrain, I eventually pulled up to an enormous white house.

"Is she living in a museum or something?," I muttered slamming the car door. I pounded the door knocker about five times until a little boy answered the door.

"Mommy! There's a man at the door!," he called out, not taking his eyes off of me.
Have I seen this little boy before? He looked so familiar-I just couldn't put my finger on it.

"What did I tell you about answering the door? Go to your room, now," the lady warned sternly. She turned back to me. "Hello, Lorenzo. Can you please come in?"

I exhaled deeply, not knowing what to expect. I sat down on her plastic covered white couch. White. Everything was fucking white.

"Like I already told you, my name is Tasha. We first met in San Diego when the group was on tour. You autographed my hand along with your hotel room number. My son. Our son was conceived that night."

"So, I drove all the way here for you to say lil dude is supposed to be mine?," I interrogated standing up.

"His name is Anthony. And what do you mean supposedly? For God's sake he looks just like you! I don't want your money nor do I need it. I'm not begging you to be in his life, okay? But, you do need to learn the truth and so does Anthony."

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I tried to process the information as much as I can. Wow, man. What a week for me.

"What more do you need?! Will a DNA test make you man up and take care of your responsibilities? Huh?!," Tasha snapped pounding on the glass coffee table.

"Actually, that would be a great idea. Numbers don't lie. Women do. If he's mine I'll step up and-"

"Lorenzo, please don't send money like these celebrities do every month. Actually take care of Anthony. I'm tired of him asking if he has a father."

That is if I am the father. "Yeah, alright. I gotta go home to my wife. See what's up with her."

She got up and escorted me to the large heavy front door. "Goodbye, I can't wait to say I told you so when you get these results."

I jogged to the car and turned it on seeing that it was still early in the day. Making my way home, I saw that there was a moving truck outside my house.

"I know she can't be fucking serious," I muttered slamming my car door shut after getting out.

I spotted her coming out the house with Ali asleep in her arms.

"Are you serious?! Are you really serious?! You gonna try and take my-Give me my son! Give me my damn son!," I yelled walking up to her snatching my son out of her hands.

Ali's eyes popped open, locking eyes with me. Once he realized he was in my arms, he closed his eyes again.

"What else do you want me to do? This is too much for me to handle. I understand I was wrong but you don't have to crucify me for it. Did you know how much it hurt that you have another child out there?," she yelled.

"Supposedly."

"And look she don't need your services anymore. Jet!," I told the truck driver banging on the trailer with my left hand and balancing Ali with my right. The driver looked around clueless until I gave him a stern look. He pulled off almost immediately.

"Shanya, Lord knows I love you to death but, if you take my child away, I might go crazy," I said half-jokingly. We stared at each other for a moment before she slowly flashed a grin.

"Can we please talk about it? Please," I dragged, grinning and rocking Ali all at the same time.

Brushing past her with my shoulder, I looked back seeing that she was still frozen in the same place.

"Shay Shay," I called bouncing Ali in my hands.

She turned around piercing me with her brown orbs. She hesitantly followed me into the house, slowly closing the door.

"Okay. Start talking," she proclaimed sitting down on the couch and taking Ali out of my arms. However, we both needed an explanation.