Kiss And Tell I: Malinda Williams

I am no longer sleeping with Malinda Williams. Our relationship was brief— it had to be. Enduring relationships are never built on lies, and, considering that ours had such a deep falsehood as its foundation, it was doomed from the start.I met her at a Manhattan bar where I served as senior janitor. I was having a dry martini when she walked up and asked if I was, by any chance, Samuel L. Jackson.

Now, first of all, you must understand that this is Malinda Williams.

So, after I gave the obvious answer, she made a tentative observation.“You sure sound different in real life from the way you do in ‘em movies. You sound like you’re from like Africa or somthin’”

“Of course, I sound different in the movies. It’s called ‘acting’” I replied, but I said it in such a way that she was not offended by the sarcasm or put off by the rudeness. Instead she was irresistibly drawn to my earthy African charm and found my then-bald head irresistible.

We proceeded to enjoy a wild and energetic romance; we left the streets and parks of New York littered with stolen kisses and memories and citings for lewd public conduct. It was paradise until 51st State came out and sucked. She demanded that I give her back the dollar fifty-five she had spent on tickets. I was in a corner. I had to tell her the truth. Either that or part with my hard earned money, and you can bet I wasn’t going to let go of $1.55 over that crap-pile of a movie. She yelled a bit, and cussed a lot then she walked out finally, after calling me a “triflin’ nigga”. Last time I saw her, she was getting into a cab with Taye Diggs. I was inconsolable and could not stay in New York anymore. I handed in my resignation and caught the next plane back home.