Everybody will tell a lie in certain situations, whether by mistake or on purpose. It doesn't matter what their position or status is at the time. Presidents, politicians, policemen, clergy, spouses, fiancés, friends, and even children create lies in situations to escape something. The word alias, when viewed as an acronym, breaks down the true meaning of hiding the truth. A-L-I-A-S; A Lie In A Situation. Everybody tells one!
Michael Cassaderia, a self centered 6'2" African American popular basketball player, and recent graduate of the University of South Florida in Tampa, discovers that although a man can be content with one woman in a relationship, the right woman with the right persistence at the right time can penetrate a solid foundation and vice-versa. College women, especially sorority sisters like Shannon Munroe, Trish Allen, Sophia Reyes, and Rosita Crews are experts at creating a lie in a situation; an alias story. Unfortunately, vulnerable men are often their targets. While Michael succumbs to their tactics and devises his own lie to go incognito and rendezvous with Sophia, his lonely, neglected, and often abandoned fiancée, Chantel Prasad, generates her own unique little lie to catch up with an ex-boyfriend. What's good for the goose becomes great for the gander! Any man who lies and misleads his woman to cheat on her deserves to be lied to and cheated on. But, the real question is...Can he take it?
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"A.L.I.A.S"A LIE IN A SITUATION
By Miguel Cassaderia
AuthorHouseCopyright © 2011 Miguel Cassaderia
All right reserved.
Chapter OneIt's the summer of 2008, June 7th to be exact. Michael Cassaderia is sound asleep in bed next to his fiancé, Chantel Prasad. She was wide awake and disgusted as she listened to the world renowned balladeer, R-Kelly, on the radio singing, "When A Woman's Fed Up." She pulled and stared at her beautiful silky black hair, but immediately jerked her own hand away angry about the cost she had paid to have it styled to impress Michael and perhaps have an explosive but sensual night of passionate love making. The camisole she had on still bore the $150 price tag affixed to it. As she looked at the price tag, she silently said, "Thank God I forgot to remove the tag!" Since Michael had not come home at a decent hour of the night, and she had already gone to bed before he came in. She doubted whether he had even noticed her wearing it; moreover, the way it accentuated her well rounded curbs and sleek, but sexy body. She was of Indian descent and her elegant beauty combined with her well rounded symmetry and self confidence made her more than the total package for any man. But, she had a weakness for Michael. She loved him and wanted to become Mrs. Chantel Cassaderia.
His pager beeped from inside the nightstand next to the bed. Chantel covertly retrieved Michael's pager, memorized the last number paged to it, then erased the number and powered the pager off hoping to not disturb his seemingly peaceful sleep. She wrote the number on a piece of paper and placed it inside the brassiere area of her camisole, then removed Michael's wallet and cellular phone from the nightstand also, and eased inside the bathroom. She called the number she had retrieved from his pager on his cellular phone. A woman's voice answered, "Hey sexy. How are you?" "Who is this?" Chantel asked sharply! The woman hung up. Chantel proceeded to go through Michael's wallet and cellular phone silently while maintaining a sharp eye on him through the barely cracked open bathroom door. As Michael grunted a little and appeared to roll over, she quickly emerged from the bathroom and placed his phone and wallet back into the nightstand; almost forgetting to leave the pager. She then sat down on her side of the bed, folded her arms and began to inquire of him.
"Michael?" snapped Chantel.
"What Chantel?" Michael asked coldly as if disturbed by her awaking him.
"Would you ever cheat on me?" she sighed?
"Baby we've been together for a long time. I'd never cheat on you!" said Michael with emphasis. "What would make you ask me a thing like that?" He rolled over and faced her. "Is there still no trust between us?" he asked. "You need to stop listening to R—Kelly and start having trust in our relationship!"
"Well baby," Chantel exclaimed. "I was watching Oprah and this girl was talking about her man who had just recently graduated from college like you did. He claimed he was going to play basketball everyday like you do. But, in all actuality, he was bouncing balls with her best friend."
"Oh" ..., Michael dragged slowly. "So, since I just graduated from college and I get to play ball a little more often, you're assuming there's a connection between what was happening on Oprah's talk show and my love for the game?"
"No! Well, not exactly," she said. "They were discussing the obvious signs of cheating in a relationship; like hanging out late, hiding pages and text messages, not paying bills on time, and those one and two word replies made while talking on the phone when your significant other is nearby. These are some of the same things you've done!" she hissed. "I mean, even you yourself have said, 'All men are alike'."
"Sure I did," he said sarcastically. "But, I didn't mean that all men cheat." He got out of the bed and walked into the bathroom to wash up. Chantel followed him and stopped at the bathroom door and leaned against the entrance. "Men have this macho attitude. Sometimes a man doesn't like his woman all up in his business," he said with exaggerated sweetness. "It's hard to explain!"
"And what about the signs?" Chantel asked profoundly.
Peering sharply, "What about trust?" he asked. "Look!" Michael said. "If it disturbs you that I keep certain things private just ask me about them and I will explain. But, you must learn to trust me," he said.
"I guess you're right," Chantel stated as she slightly paused to consider the matter. "So, when are we going to set the date for our wedding?" Chantel asked this attempting to catch him with his guard down.
"What time is it?" Michael quickly inquired.
"You mean today's date?" Chantel asked in belief that Michael was about to actually set a date for them to be married. "Its ..."
Interrupting her, Michael said, "No baby! The time?"
Looking at the clock on the nightstand, "Its 11:15," she replied. Chantel was now curious as to why Michael was so eager to know the time. He just couldn't be leaving in the middle of a conversation concerning their wedding date she thought to herself.
"Oh shit," he yelled! "If I don't hurry I'm going to be late." He turned on the shower water. "Will you make me a breakfast sandwich please?" He asked. "And by the way, the camisole looks nice on you," he said just to try to compliment her and ease her mind a little.
In frustration, Chantel asked, "Did you even listen to the question I asked?" She totally ignored the comment about the $150 camisole that did not get broken in last night and still had the tag attached.
"I did," Michael replied. "I'm sorry baby. Can we discuss that tonight after dinner? You're not planning on leaving the country anytime soon are you?" Michael asked.
Chantel began to respond, "No, but...."
Michael interrupted her. "Then there is no need to be impatient. Besides, I love you and I'm not moving to the Motherland anytime soon. Then again," he replied.
"Oh, shut up Michael!" Chantel interjected. "That's not funny at all. Have you seen the flea powder?"
"Flea powder?" Michael asked. "Is there a dog hidden somewhere in this house?"
"No!" Chantel exclaimed. "We better not get any either."
"Oh, flea powder" he exclaimed! "That's a good one!"
Chapter TwoCory cruised through the Jackson Heights projects shortly after copping three pounds of "hydro". He was driving his freshly painted black box Chevy with chrome rims which he had paid cash for, but had the title put in his mother's name. He did this to prevent the car from being confiscated should he ever be caught with drugs or drug paraphernalia in the car. He would simply have his mother, Ms. Adell Todd, to report the car as having been stolen or maintain that she didn't know he had drugs in the car.
As Cory turned onto Second Street, the extremely loud music and thundering bass being pumped through the six "twelve-inch" speakers concealed in the trunk of the car, to include his long dreadlocks and gold grill immediately captured the attention of Officer Basta Chicherone of the Tampa Police Department (TPD). Chicherone was covertly parked nearby and monitoring all ingoing and outgoing traffic in the area. His ears were suddenly filled with the lyrics, "If you're looking for me you can find me on the block disobeying the law" as the Soul Survivor track of Akon and Young Jeezy played in Cory's car. Chicherone gave Cory his full display of lights as he quickly whipped in behind him to pull him over. He didn't think Cory would hear the siren.
Cory immediately tossed the Swisher Sweet he was smoking onto the floor mat and stomped it out as he simultaneously lit a Black & Mild cigar to attempt to cover the smell of marijuana which consumed the air in the box Chevy. He turned down the music and rolled down the driver's side window awaiting the Officer's approach. Cory coughed as Chicherone made it to the door. He noticed Chicherone's fat and un-athletic body and attempted to intimidate him or throw him off balance by asking the first question.
"Can I ask why you pulled me over?" Cory exclaimed, in fear that Chicherone may want to search the car as most officers pulling over a young black man with dreadlocks and a gold grill request to do.
"What is your name son?" demanded Chicherone in hope that he may know the family of the young man he had pulled over due to familiarity with the area. Chicherone was a "traveling man" and loyal to the Masonic Order of life.
"It's Randy Miller fool!" said Cory, as he adjusted his face and grilled with the meanest unit he could display to expose his gold teeth.
"What was that?" asked Chicherone, peering down sharply at Cory; arms folded and eyebrows raised to indicate he was carefully listening to what Cory was about to say.
Cory saluted Chicherone in a very insulting manner.
"Randy Miller sir; officer!" he said sarcastically.
"Do you have any aliases like Shine, Lep, Dread, Buggar, or Fat Larry?" asked Chicherone. "It's some new questioning we must ask now." He said this not actually expecting Cory to admit to an alias; although Cory had already given him Randy's name as an alias to his unawares.
"None at all," Cory said.
"You mind if I search the vehicle," asked Chicherone as he intentionally poked his head inside of the car to look for any contraband that may be in plain view.
"Hell yeah I mind," Cory insisted! Then he pulled a drag of his Black & Mild and blew the smoke into Chicherone's face to back him up a little. "My momma don't want you going through her shit. And, you still ain't told me why you pulled me over either?" inquired Cory. "Now, you wanna call my momma and have her come over here?" Cory continued. He assumed the officer would not want to deal with an upset black woman in the middle of the day and bring more attention to himself than what was absolutely necessary.
"No, that's o.k. Mr. Miller," replied Chicherone. "Besides, I noticed the light on the rear bumper when I pulled you," said Chicherone referring to the Masonic emblems that were already on the bumper when Cory purchased the car. "Someone in the family must do a lot of traveling?"
Cory realized that this would be a great opportunity to play on the officer's intellect. "Yes, I do; From the East side to the West side two birds at a time." Cory said.
"Double eagles; two birds at a time," remarked Chicherone. "I get it!" Chicherone paused a few moments as he reminisced about his initiation as an Entered Apprentice in the Masonic Lodge and listened to dispatch over the radio. Adjacent to his police cruiser was Lee White and the real Randy Miller who approached unnoticed.
Lee was about 5'7" tall. He was African American with a medium build and had a stuttering problem which often made him the joke of every conversation; although his friends often pretended to not notice it. He was very insecure in relationships; an instigator; an excellent liar; and very observative. He loved to hangout at 3 Deep Productions, the recording studio, to record his rap songs. Randy was his best friend.
Randy was 5'9" tall. He too was African American and enjoyed the dream someday of becoming a popular artist in the Hip-Hop industry. He rarely got into any trouble and maintained a clean background. He was close friends with Cory and known for unusual courage when he was drunk.
Lee stuttered with involuntary disruption of his words as he addressed Randy. "R-R-Randy?" He said. "Ah-ah-ain't that Ca-Ca-Cory the haters got p-pulled over there?"
"I think it is," said Randy. He gazed in the direction of all of the lights flashing from the police cruiser; yet, remained unseen.
Chicherone received confirmation from dispatch that the box Chevy was listed to a Ms. Adell Todd and had not been reported stolen. "Everything is O.K. sir," said Officer Chicherone. "You drive safely now brother Randy Miller," he said as dispatch alerted him to a possible robbery in progress. He scrambled backwards in a tactical manner to his police cruiser.
"Oh, I will. Thanks!" said Cory. "Hog Head Cheese lookin mutha fucka," Cory yelled as he and Chicherone both sped off in different directions. Cory turned his music up again. DJ Khalid's "We're Taking Over" track was playing as Lee and Randy observed Cory's departure from the scene.
"Da-da-did Cory ja-ja-just use your name with that hater? Lee strained to ask.
"He did, didn't he?" replied Randy. Randy yelled towards the direction of Cory's car. "Cory! Stop using my name boy. Next time Ima give ya da business," he shouted as he put up his hands in a boxer's set position and shuffled his feet. "You better find a different A-lie-ass," he said.
Lee laughed and interjected, "That's ah-a-alias fa-fa-fa—fool!" They began walking away.
"Yeah, alias!" Randy responded. "Alias or A-lie-ass. It's all the same damn thang," he said with his hood slang. "See Lee, if you tell lies you would be a Lee Ass which is short for a lying ass Lee," Randy said. "Doesn't matter if you're using a fake name or lying to your girl about where you're going. It's still an alias," Randy insisted.
Looking towards the sky and placing his right index finger on his temple as if thinking deeply, "Wa-Wa-We should do a song about this sha-sha-shit. Da-Da-Dudes be lying and cha-cha-chics do too," Lee said.
"You think we'd go platinum?" Randy inquired.
"H-H-Hell yeah!" yelled Lee. "Maybe even tr-tripple pl-pl-platinum. George Bush gave an alias story to Congress to endorse the war and p-p-people still talking about dat sh-sh-shit today, he said.
"You're right!" Randy said sharply. "It's been statistically proven that people would much rather hear a good lie rather than listen to the truth; like the time your girlfriend, Lisa, tried to come on to me," he said teasingly.
Lee immediately stopped and raised both of his hands in the air. "What?" He exclaimed. "La-La-Lisa tried to come on to you?" He asked.
"I'm just kidding fool! She never did," Randy said with a smile. "I'm talking about lies from people like Jim Jones; David Koresh; Marion Barry; Clarence Thomas; O.J.; Fara- ..."
Lee interrupted him. "I get da damn picture da-da-dawg! And, your ass better not have been about to say Farrakhan. The brother is about the truth! So you had to be talking about Farah Faucett," Lee said.
"Oh you know Farrakhan ain't lying bro!" Randy expressed as if he was serious and sincere. "Not the Minister!" He emphasized.
Lee quickly switched back to the subject of his ex-girlfriend, Lisa. "Fa-Fa-For real Randy? Da-Da-Did Lisa ever tr-tr-try to come on to you? Huh? You can tell me. I'm serious. I ain't gonna be mad," he said.
"I told you she didn't fool!" Randy said. "Now come on," he said as he started to walk again. "Let's go over these lyrics again before we get to da studio."
Chapter ThreeChantel reentered the bedroom with Michael's sandwich and some chips in a zip lock bag. Michael was still in the shower. She took another peek at the number she had retrieved from his pager, but decided not to confront him about it and possibly ruin the discussion about their wedding date which was to take place that night. His cellular phone rang, and he dashed from the shower in a towel to secure it from the nightstand. He answered the call as he reentered the bathroom, locked the door, and started the shower water again. Chantel placed the zip lock bag onto the nightstand and layed down to relax as she pondered what to do. She strained to eavesdrop on Michael's conversation from the bed.
"Big Mike here! Holla atcha boi," Michael answered. "I'm on my way right now. OK.... OK", he said before pausing to hear the caller tell him there's money bet on the outcome of the game. "I'm on my way," he repeated. He shut off the shower and quickly dried off and slipped into his gym shorts. As he entered the bedroom again, Chantel decided to ask him about the call he had just received. She was hoping his response would open an avenue for her to address the woman's voice from earlier without upsetting him.
"Why did you turn on the shower before starting your conversation?" She asked in a sarcastic manner. "And, who was it Michael?" She continued; suspecting another woman.
"Just one of the fella's rushing me to the gym boo," Michael said as he leaned over and kissed her on the forehead and surveyed her body once more in the camisole. "You know I'm the man! I'd invite you to tag along, but I wouldn't want you to be the only woman there," he stated. "There are always some cocky dudes just hanging out and if one of them tried you there would be some shit."
"But, I can handle myself Michael," Chantel explained. "I'd love to be there just to see you play," she said.
Excerpted from "A.L.I.A.S" by Miguel Cassaderia Copyright © 2011 by Miguel Cassaderia. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Most Helpful Customer Reviews
This book deals with close relationships where not only loved ones cheat on each other, but friends, colleagues, business associates, as well as police officers and politicians lie in situations where there is something to gain or lose.