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The Blackbirds, by Eric Jerome Dickey
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New York Times�bestselling author Eric Jerome Dickey delivers his next delectable erotic romance.
�
They call themselves the Blackbirds. Kwanzaa Browne, Indigo Abdulrahaman, Destiny Jones, and Ericka Stockwell are four best friends who are closer than sisters and will go to the ends of the earth for one another. Yet even their deep bond can’t heal all wounds from their individual pasts, as the collegiate and post-collegiate women struggle with their own demons, drama, and desires.
�
Trying to forget her cheating ex-fianc�, Kwanzaa becomes entangled with a wicked one-night stand—a man who turns out to be one in five million. Indigo is in an endless on-again, off-again relationship with her footballer boyfriend, and in her time between dysfunctional relationships she pursues other naughty desires. Destiny, readjusting to normal life, struggles to control her own anger after avenging a deep wrong landed her in juvi, while at the same time trying to have her first real relationship—one she has initiated using an alias to hide her past from her lover. Divorced Ericka is in remission from cancer and trying to deal with two decades of animosity with her radical mother while keeping secret the desperate crush she has always had on Destiny’s father . . . a passion with an older man that just may be reciprocated.�
�
As the women try to overcome—or give in to—their impulses, they find not only themselves tested but also the one thing they always considered unbreakable: their friendship.
- Sales Rank: #17721 in Books
- Brand: DUTTON
- Published on: 2017-04-18
- Released on: 2017-04-18
- Original language: English
- Dimensions: 7.96" h x 1.13" w x 5.29" l,
- Binding: Paperback
- 544 pages
- DUTTON
Review
Praise for The Blackbirds
"An epic story about an epic quartet [of friends]." —Essence
“In this sensual tale, words stoke the body and the imagination. With prose that is both witty and current, Dickey chronicles the pothole-filled journey four modern black women take to find love.”�—Kirkus�
"Dickey...once again stirs a juicy mix of steamy sexuality with soap-opera drama...fans will be pleased to recognize characters from the author's previous novels." —Library Journal�
"[An] empowering story of four women friends.... [featuring] relatable voices and feelings to difficult issues."�—Booklist�
"Sure to get your blood boiling (in a good way)." --USAToday.com's Happily Ever After on The Blackbirds
“Eric Jerome Dickey truly shines in this novel.” --Bookish.com
"Eric Jerome Dickey is about the best novelist going right now in terms of writing about romance and sex from the woman’s perspective. And The Blackbirds proves to be no exception." --Electric Review
Praise for Eric Jerome Dickey and his novels
“Dickey’s fans flock to his readings. . . . He’s perfected an addictive fictional formula.”—The New York Times
"Dickey has the knack for creating characters who elicit both rage and sympathy."—Entertainment Weekly
�"If you’re looking for something extra steamy to keep you warm, reach for this enticing romance novel.”—Metro on Naughtier than Nice
"Dickey has deft control of each voice, and the Los Angeles backdrop is so well drawn that it becomes a character in its own right."—Publishers Weekly�on Naughtier than Nice
"Must-read romance . . . A cerebral, sometimes sensual, sometimes suspenseful, and quite a memorable ride." —USAToday.com's�Happy Ever After on One Night
From the Hardcover edition.
About the Author
Eric Jerome Dickey is the New York Times bestselling author of more than twenty previous novels as well as a six-issue miniseries of graphic novels featuring Storm (X-Men) and the Black Panther. Originally from Memphis, Dickey now lives on the road and rests in whatever hotel will have him.
Excerpt. � Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
***This excerpt is from an advance uncorrected proof***
Copyright � 2016 Eric Jerome Dickey
INDIGO’S BIRTHDAY MONTH
CHAPTER ONE
The door to the airplane opened and the four women were so terrified they were unable to cry out. The fear was tangible. Legs were weak. Palms sweated. Hands trembled.
They were ten thousand feet in the air.
A second later, Kwanzaa Browne took a deep breath and yelled into the wind.
Destiny Jones and Ericka Stockwell looked down at the earth and screamed.
Indigo Abdulrahaman had done this several times, and still she had been anxious and quiet on the two-hour ride north. Her palms had been sweaty all morning, same as Ericka’s.
Kwanzaa shouted, “For the last time,�black people don’t jump out of planes.”
Ericka retorted, “Kwanzaa, I love you, but I will kick your rotund ass out of this plane.”
Indigo snapped, “You’re jumping, Kwanzaa. This is one of my birth- day requests.”
Destiny laughed another nervous laugh. “Must we argue about every-damn-thing?”
Destiny, Indigo, Ericka, and Kwanzaa were attached to their instruc- tors with harnesses. They were moved toward the door, and one after another they rolled out, having paid to jump out of a perfectly good plane for no reason other than to do so for kicks, and were in free fall, accelerating toward earth, the ocean to the west, mountains here and there, the wind in their faces. They were flying, cheering, arms out like they were all Team Supergirl.
In that moment they were weightless, without problems, high above
Santa Barbara.
The g-forces were incredible. Intense. Emotional.
They all released that same orgasmic sound at the same moment.
It was a unified screaming, a shrill they imagined was heard around the world.
When they were together they were in their second childhoods. That was what Ericka loved the most, capturing what she had missed as a child. Everything she did, she did as if it she would never get a chance to experience it again. As she fell she looked at the world. She noticed everything. She wanted to remember every sight, sound, smell, every noise, and all that she felt. This was life. She took nothing for granted. Nothing.
She had thirty-five things on her bucket list. She planned to do them all before she died.
CHAPTER TWO
Some weekends they were all channeling Beyonc�, on the roof of the Standard Hotel, imbibing and dancing like they didn’t care, dresses short and heels high. Some weekends they were indulging in a few cal- ories at the world-famous Hawkins House of Burgers in Watts, then down at Venice Beach bowling before Rollerblading to Santa Monica, maybe hiking the hills at Runyon Canyon. Most evenings, while Ericka was at her dining room table grading papers and doing lesson plans, Kwanzaa and Indigo were in the Crenshaw-Imperial public library studying until it closed. Destiny would come in from her job at FedEx and study until sunrise, nap, and then zoom to USC. A time or two, they were all broken-down Taylor Swifts, in someone’s apartment in pajamas, hair every which-a-way, four bottles of wine from Everett Ridge Winery in Sonoma County on the table, bitching about men, or bitching about bitches, or giving their thoughts on thoughtless thots, drinking and doing shots, crying, hating the men they had loved and fucked, or had fucked with love, or laughing about the men they had stopped loving long after the men had already stopped loving them and were already fucking the fucking love out of someone else.
But there was more to them than conversations about men and love. Many days they had talked to each other and the topic or issue was not a man, so with flying colors they had passed the Bechdel test, that is unless the issue of oppression and blatant racism was considered a man.
When the need had arisen, wearing Guy Fawkes masks, they were with thousands of protestors, a multicultural protest that had kicked off at L.A. Live. There were black lives matter signs, fuck the police signs, people carrying upside-down American flags to symbolize that the country was in distress. They all held colorful motorcycle helmets in their hands as they marched arm in arm in the night through down- town Los Angeles toward Ninth and Flower, loud, boisterous, blocking traffic, while others in the demonstration carried banners that read stop the police terror! murders by police must be stopped now! LAPD tried to surround the protesters by circling the crowd. Kwanzaa was terrified, but Destiny held her hand. Indigo was yelling in Yor�b� and Ericka cursed the system in English. Sirens blared. Helicopters shined down lights. Kwanzaa, Destiny, Ericka, and Indigo fled by demonstra- tors cuffed with zip ties, being thrown in police buses to be taken to the grown folk’s Hoosegow. They ran toward their vehicles. On normal days there were at least two helicopters patrolling the sky from 8:30 a.m. until 4:30 a.m., looking for lawbreakers and people to criminalize, flying over corruption hot spots and disturbing communities with noise pol- lution, inspecting the infrastructure, and providing backup and eyes for officers who had boots on the ground. Every helicopter in the city was hanging over them at that moment, a thousand suns shining down, and that infamous Nightsun was maddening.
Destiny wasn’t going to leave anyone behind to be taken to Hoosegow. Kwanzaa became the passenger on Destiny’s colorful yellow, white, red, and blue CBR, Ericka became the passenger on Indigo’s motor- cycle, hers too a CBR, only new and customized, painted bubble-gum pink with red rims to match her new hair color.
Two CBRs roared like lionesses.
Indigo sped away first, Ericka holding her waist. Destiny pulled away next, Kwanzaa her passenger. Kwanzaa had her face shield flipped up. Her middle fingers were flipped up as well.
Destiny’s personalized tags on her motorcycle read: cunxtu
See. You, Next. Tuesday.
CHAPTER THREE
Of the four women, Indigo was the tallest. She was gorgeous, and what enhanced her loveliness were her confidence and an attitude born from two Nigerian parents telling her from her first breath how beautiful she was, which coupled with an understanding of her true unsullied beauty. She was given the African-born truth before American society told her she was too dark-skinned to be searched for if she ever went missing. Straight Outta the Prestigious Hancock Park, Indigo was the first of her family born in the United States, therefore she had dual citizenship and dual accents. She claimed Nigeria more than she ever would America.
Straight Outta Windsor Hills, Ericka was a hair shorter than Indigo and the oldest in the crew. She was recovering from a divorce, a mar- riage to a man of the cloth that had been a marriage from hell, and she in remission from cancer. She’d lost her once-wavy hair during chemo. It was growing back, but she kept it cut close on the sides and back, let it grow long on the top, had the hair dyed blonde and colored the tips of the top cancer-survivor pink. Ericka joked that she attracted Euro- pean men who didn’t like their women too white, and black men who didn’t like their women too African. She was the woman they loved to have on their arms. She joked about shallowness, but in the heart of her heart she hated both biased mentalities.
Destiny Jones was Straight Outta View Park, the land of doctors, lawyers, entrepreneurs, and entertainers. She wore a thousand and one wavy sisterlocks, all bleached and cascading down her back. Destiny Jones had a face that looked the same now as it did when she was fifteen and attending private school in Bel Air and used her bleached dread- locks to conceal her facial features. She was the silent one in the crew, unless talking to her three girlfriends.
Kwanzaa was two inches over being five feet tall, but she packed seven feet of beauty into those sixty-two inches. Her complexion was smooth; Ghirardelli chocolate personified, with subtle orange under- tones, insinuating that her Middle Passage ancestry was amalgamated with the Trail of Tears. Two weeks ago she’d cut her hair in anger, was uncomfortable with having short hair, then immediately found hair that matched the texture of what she had mangled, and now she wore her top-shelf, custom handmade twenty-six-inch Brazilian hair with lace closure, flipping her mane every other second, as if a wind machine was always blowing in her mind.
Most helpful customer reviews
41 of 41 people found the following review helpful.
The Blackbirds: A Review
By Nikki-Michelle
First I must say, this book is most definitely one of Eric Jerome Dickey’s greater works. The Blackbirds is over five-hundred pages of greatness. Although you certainly don’t need to, I would suggest you read prior works of Eric Jerome Dickey’s before reading Blackbirds. While we are introduced to new characters like Indigo, Nancy, Eddie, and Cristiano, we’re also get reacquainted with old characters like Destiny and her father, Keith, from Chasing Destiny and Dr. Debra Dubois and Ericka Stockwell from Friends and Lovers. It was good to see Mrs. Jones, Destiny's mom, and Lola Mack (Sleeping With Strangers/Waking With Enemies) are still friends although we only read about them in passing. We also get to see old background characters like Kawanzaa Browne from Liar’s Game, Hakeem Mitchell from Cheaters, and Leonard DuBois, Jr., whom Debra was pregnant with in Friends and Lovers.
Whew, that was a lot to get out. After Reading The Blackbirds, I had to literally sit still for a moment and think. This book took me on a journey through love, loss, death, independence, friendship, and the discovery of self. The story itself was so profound that I don’t feel I have the right words to explain it let alone enough words to do it justice, but here we go.
Indigo Abdulrahaman is a beautiful, yet complicated woman. She knows what she wants and who she wants. She’s not afraid to go after it either. And I tell you what, if you think you’re going to disrespect her by going after “who” she wants, you've got another thing coming…or you’ll at least end up at Vickie Secrets buying another set of thongs.
Kawanzaa Browne is one of the women in The Blackbirds whom I identified with the most. While the last time we seen her she was a little girl, hiding behind her mother’s legs just as she met her father for the “first time”, she has grown into a beautiful young woman. The heartbreak she felt behind what her ex-fianc� had done hit too close to home. But when a woman’s fed up, she meets a man who is one in five million and one who is twice the man her ex-man could ever even imagine being.
Ericka Stockwell was thirteen years old the last time we saw her. Now she’s in her mid-thirties and in remission from cancer. Like all of us, Ericka is sick of cancer and has decided to live everyday like it’s her last. The antagonistic relationship between her and her mother is something that I can’t even put into words. Mrs. Stockwell needs to have a come to Y-H-W-H talk or it’s quite possible that crossing the wrong person is going to send her to meet Jesus way before her “Christian” soul is ready. But in the midst of all of Ericka’s trauma, she finds light, love, and surprisingly, her destiny.
Speaking of destiny, the last time we saw Destiny Jones she had gone on a revenge spree that left a trail of broken, battered, and bleeding bodies in her wake. The one thing we learned about Destiny is she isn’t the one you want to cross and think you’re going to just get away with it. Even still, the court of public opinion can be brutal and even though people knew what had happened to her, Destiny is still seen as the villain. So the villain is who she became…at least in one scene.
This is where Mr. Dickey took me on a journey of self-discovery. Throughout the book, Destiny’s chapters resonated with me more than any of the women. Yes, he managed to show me a little bit of myself in all of the women throughout the book; however, Destiny’s chapters had my emotions popping like fish grease. I cried. I laughed. And then I cried while laughing. Why? Because she’s Destiny Jones, bih, and she ain’t scared of you, mamafunkers!
I could go on and on and on and on about this book, but I think I may have already said too much. One thing I must note, I want to say thank you, Eric Jerome Dickey, for telling and showing Black women that we are beautiful—flaws and all— in every color, shape, and size. Mr. Dickey showed us the good, the bad, the ugly, and the downright disgraceful side of Black women. Black women aren’t merely investigated under some kind of biased microscope in this book. We’re celebrated in this book. The balance was so perfect that I cannot find anything I don’t like about The Blackbirds. Ericka’s very last chapter left me a snotty-nosed crying mess. I wasn’t ready! All-in-all, I give this book five pages (think five-stars). Nikki-Michelle recommends this book.
3 of 3 people found the following review helpful.
I am so sad this book came to an end......
By ArabQueen
Amazing. Soul stirring. Accurate. Deep. Scary. Truthful. Honest. And so very, vey, much more. Eric Jerome Dickey outdid himself with this one. I think I've said this at least 13 times but this time I truly mean it. Outstanding read. Honestly, I am so busy that in the last several years it has taken me months to read a 600 page book.
I started this book 2 weeks ago and went to Las Vegas on vacay with the husband for 6!days but I managed to get a read in at every turn. And I do mean AT EVERY TURN. I highly recommend this book.
1 of 1 people found the following review helpful.
Maybe a prequel reminding (or introducing) the characters will make it easier to "jump in" this novel but its a good read if you
By amazon customer
Unlike previous works, this story was slow to start but once I recognized the characters (long time readers of EJD will figure them out) it picked up and ends well but the beginning made me give it 4 instead of 5. Ended up going back to re-read to reestablish the origins but this book CAN be read as a stand alone. Just be prepared to push through the first part. Maybe a prequel reminding (or introducing) the characters will make it easier to "jump in" this novel but its a good read if you hang in there.
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