The Pete Dunne Conversation
BY GREGORY HEDGEPETH
Cover image by Ольга Бережна from Pixabay. Cover art by Gregory Hedgepeth.
“So, you’re really telling me you wouldn’t fuck Pete Dunne? You’re lying, Jameus.”
“I’m not lying. I don’t like white boys,” she said, laying her head against the window of the car, staring out at the city in a daze.
“He’s not white—he’s British. It’s different.”
“He’s just a wrestler.”
“Just a wrestler? He’s the goddamn Bruiserweight.”
“Bettye, I don’t care about that fake-ass shit like you do. It’s just a bunch of niggas in tights, grabbing on each other.”
“Call it what you want, but Pete Dunne could fuck my brains out anytime. He’s almost hideous—but at the same time, he’s absolutely gorgeous. I wish American white boys were like that. Then we could go across the expressway like the bruddas do.”
“Don’t start that shit again, B. At least not today of all days.”
“Bitch, it ain’t never a bad time to fantasize about how much I would let Pete Dunne do to me. I’m just saying—“
“BETTYE!”
“Okay, fine. Damn, you know how I am. Why you acting like I can’t speak my mind?”
“Because it’s my wedding day. I don’t want to spend it fantasizing about fucking some wrestler from Scotland.”
“England!”
“Whatever. I wanted you in the limo with me to keep me calm. Not to play one of your ‘who would you rather fuck’ games.”
“Okay, I’m sorry. Have you even talked to Lattimore today?”
“No, you’re not supposed to talk to your beloved on your wedding day until you’re at the altar.”
“You’re not supposed to see each other, girl. Who said you couldn’t talk to him?”
“Lattimore did.”
“Well, he got it wrong. Call him and settle your nerves.”
Jameus called his cell and got no answer. She decided to leave a message and told him how much she loved and how much she couldn’t wait to be his wife. She ended the message with a heartfelt “I love you” and hung up the phone.
“See? Even just leaving him a message got your ass glowing. You really love him. I can see it all over your face.”
“It’s just so hard to get married these days. It never seems like a good decision until thirty years later. Who wants to wait that long for happiness?”
“That ain’t happiness—it just seems better than being old and lonely. At least for the rest of us. Lattimore is one of the good ones though.”
“That’s what everyone thinks until he pushes your head between the refrigerator for not putting enough mustard on his sandwich. Or slinging dick to every dirty-mouth in New Lorraine who gives him a kind word.”
“You know good and well he’s not like that. Y’all been together since Primary almost. All them times those hoes would press him, he wouldn’t even pay it no mind. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”
“Okay and what about the times you didn’t see it with your own eyes?”
Bettye gave her a cutting look. “You ever caught him straying elsewhere?”
Jameus sighed hard. Her beau had always been faithful. Not even so much as a stray photo or inappropriate conversation had come between them. “No, but—“
“So why are you trying to convince yourself that your man is something other than what he’s proved himself to be?”
“Because niggas lie everyday, B.”
Bettye rolled her eyes as Jameus let out a loud laugh inside the limo and the driver took the last left before the church. “I still can’t believe you’re about to be somebody’s wife, bitch. I always thought I’d get married before you. Your dick sucking skills are trash.”
“Oh my god, are you ever going to let that go? I was like sixteen.”
“It‘s so funny though! You were choking and shit. Everybody just stopped and turned around to make sure you weren’t dying.” Bettye began to double over in laughter as Jameus rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “And then... and then, my dude went soft because he thought we were going to have to call 911.”
Bettye scoffed as Jameus continued to bellow at her expense. Her first orgy experience did not go as planned and Bettye had never let her forget it. “Okay bitch. Damn! It’s not even that funny anymore. We were just kids. I don’t bring up all your embarrassing moments.”
“That’s because I don’t embarrass myself on a consistent basis like you do,” she said reaching across the seat and giving her best friend a hug. “I still can’t believe it’s your wedding day though.”
They began to weep together quietly inside their embrace as the limo pulled up to the church. Jameus began to inhale deeply, trying to catch her breath as Bettye attempted to comfort her. “I’m just going to ask one last question and then we’re going to head inside: are you absolutely sure he’s the one?”
“You just got done telling me he’s one of the good ones, now you’re asking me to question whether he’s the man I should marry?”
“I’m asking for your benefit—not mine. I love Lattimore to death, but I’m not the one who has to lay next to him every night for the next 100 years.”
Jameus sat quietly, contemplating her friend’s question as the driver came around and opened her door. As he stood there for a moment longer than expected, she answered. “He’s the best man I’ve ever met, Bettye.”
“Okay, but don’t compare him to your past. Compare him to your future. How do you know the best one for you isn’t still out there somewhere? Do you think he’s someone you can build with? You could be settling for the best man you’ve met so far.”
The driver cleared his throat as Jameus weighed her friend’s question in her mind and gave her a smile. She took a step outside the limo and rushed inside the church as the thunder rumbled and the rain started to pour.
Gregory Hedgepeth is the editor-in-chief of Vital Narrative Press. You can follow him on Facebook, Instagram or Twitter. Feel free to follow on all three. Or maybe just two. Yeah, two’s probably good—he’s not that interesting. Gregory Hedgepeth is also the author of MISCONCEPTIONS ABOUT SUNRISES, THE YEAR THAT ANSWERED and A COLLECTION OF ECHOES. BUY THAT SHIT.