by Donald Welch
“I’m just saying, it’s a possibility. He’s always nice around us—most of the time, anyway—but I’ve called the house a number of times, and there he is in the background, screaming. When I ask her what’s up, she says he was just upset about something at work. But you’re right, you can’t intervene in grown folks’ business when you’re really not sure what’s going on.”
At that moment, Nicole’s intercom system buzzed. It was the front-desk clerk letting her know she had visitors. Nicole jumped up and started back to her bedroom.
“It’s time. The gang is beginning to arrive, so let me get dressed. Do me a favor, Val? Do not let Freda or Keisha in my bedroom. Every time one of those hoochies comes in my room, they leave with an outfit. Especially Freda.”
“No, they don’t.” Val started laughing as she pushed Nicole toward her bedroom. The bell outside the apartment chimed, letting Valerie know someone was at the door.
“Coming!” Val shouted out.
ON THE OTHER SIDE of the door stood Freda and Keisha. As they waited for the apartment door to open, Freda said, “Now, Keisha, don’t start no shit with this girl tonight.”
“Girl, what are you talking about?”
“Bitch, don’t play with me. You know what I’m talking about. Don’t start in with your teasing and shit on Val. Nicky called me earlier to say Val’s closing didn’t go through today.”
“Aww, shit—what happened?”
Just then, Valerie opened the door and greeted both of them with hugs. “Hey, Freda. Hey, Keisha.”
“Where’s Nicole?” Keisha shouted.
Freda looked toward the bedroom and yelled, “Come on, girl! It’s time to get the party started.”
Keisha made her way to Nicole’s latest editions of fashion magazines. After picking through them, she settled instead on reading her own selection of gossip rags, which were her full-time entertainment. She stretched away from the magazine to grab a handful of chips and parked in a comfortable spot on the sofa.
“I can’t believe it,” she blared out.
“Believe what?” Valerie took a look over Keisha’s shoulder to see what the excitement was all about.
“Oprah is pregnant, chile!” Keisha exclaimed.
“Really? Is she showing?” Valerie strained her neck, trying to spot photos on the pages of a pregnant Oprah.
“Now, you know Keisha believes everything in those tabloids,” Freda said.
“It says it right here, in big bold black letters.” Keisha pointed to the headline. STEADMAN MAD! BECOMES DAD WITH PURSE-HOLDER OPRAH WINFREY!
“Wait, Keisha. Isn’t she a little beyond her child-bearing years?”
Freda answered, “Fifty-four, no more eggs.”
Keisha responded, “That means absolutely nothing when you have that much money. They can create you some more eggs. Says right here that gal pal Gayle is furious because she’s the one that wanted more kids.”
Freda eased her way down the hallway toward the bedroom. “Where’s Nicole? Nicky, Ms. Freda’s here, girl. Where you at?”
“Yeah, I want to see her, too,” said Keisha as she got up to join her.
Valerie quickly intercepted Keisha and Freda and nervously motioned for them to stop. “Uhmm, Nicky told me not to let either one of you in her room.”
“Why?” Freda asked.
“That’s what I wanna know,” Keisha chimed in with hands on her hips, giving Valerie a hard look.
“Because—ah—ah—because she doesn’t want anyone to see her outfit before she comes out. Yeah, that’s it.”
Rolling her eyes, Freda threw a nasty look to Keisha. “Oh, okay, it’s like that, huh? She thinks I want to borrow something. Well, she’s wrong—I don’t. Besides, Nicky’s shit ain’t all that. I was just gonna holla at her, that’s all. Let me go over here and get my ass a drink. You want something Keisha?”
“Girl, you know I start the evening off with a Heineken. Make sure it’s cold. I don’t play that room-temperature shit. That’s that white-people shit. If it ain’t cold, I don’t want one. And speaking of her clothes, she did have on a bad business suit the other day when I stopped by the bank to see her. I was like, ‘Girl, I don’t borrow nobody’s shit, but that suit was tight!’”
Freda passed Keisha a Heineken and joined her on the sofa.
Before accepting it, Keisha touched the bottle with her hand to test its temperature. “It’ll do. Thanks, girl,” Keisha said before she raised the bottle, toasting Freda.
“I like all of Nicole’s clothes. She has always had good taste.” Val smiled.
“Please, like I said, she do a’ight.” Freda added, flipping through the photo album that Valerie and Nicole were looking through earlier.
“You look nice, Freda,” Valerie offered.
“Thanks, girl. But when don’t I look nice? Let me go on and step this off for y’all.”
Freda began to model her outfit as if she were on an haute couture runway. “Got it at Bloomingdale’s King of Prussia Mall—skirt a hundred and seventy dollars, pumps two eighty-five, blouse—”
Nicole entered the room and interrupted: “Blouse, mine!”
Caught by surprise, Freda tried to play it off. “Oh, girl, this is yours? When did you give this to me? I mean lend it to me?”
“I didn’t. You lifted it when you left here last week.”
“I know you ain’t tryin’ to say I stole your blouse, ’cuz I will take this off right now. I just didn’t remember, that’s all.” Freda started to unbutton the blouse.
Nicole gave her a stern look because she knew Freda was bluffing, causing Keisha to burst into a laugh.
“Bitch, I don’t believe you’re going to let me stand here and take this blouse off, forcing me to go back to your closet and find me another one that matches my damn skirt.”
They all laughed.
Nicole put her arm around Freda. “Girl, I’m not mad at you. It’s just sometimes I’ll go to my closet to put on a particular article of clothing only to find it’s not there. Then that’s when I know either you or Keisha was the culprit.”
Keisha added in her two cents: “Yeah, bitch, you do be stealing.”
Nicole continued her playful warning. “And another thing, you’ve tried that same tired stunt before—threatening to take off something. So save it. It looks good on you. Just keep it. Besides it was a gift from someone—I can’t remember who—and I never really cared for it. It really isn’t my style. It’s nice and expensive, but it’s more you than me, Freda, so please keep it.”
Freda rolled her eyes. “Well, I’m not so sure I want it now. I mean, you putting my ass on front street ain’t cool. I just didn’t remember that it was yours.”
“Keep it!” Nicole demanded.
“Well, since you insist, I will. Thanks, girl.” She hugged Nicole.
“You’re welcome. But why are you so dolled up? It’s just us girls tonight.”
Just as Freda was about to answer, Keisha interrupted with another announcement from the headlines of the tabloid.
“Now you know that this makes no sense! J. Lo is getting an ass reduction. Would you look at this picture?” She tried to show the article to Nicole and Freda, who ignored her. Valerie was the only one who rushed over to get a look.
“Put that shit down. In fact, I’ve got some good news,” Freda said. “I had an audition earlier today.”
That drew everyone’s attention, but Keisha still had one eye on her J. Lo article.
“You know the seventies singer Freda Payne, my mom’s old friend from her club days?”
“Freda Payne. ‘Band of Gold,’ right?” Nicole remembered. “Wow, I haven’t heard that name or song in a long time. That’s a classic oldie. We used to karaoke that one to death. Is she still performing?”
Keisha broke in, “Hell yeah, that diva is still singing, and she can rag her ass off. I saw her on TV for a Quincy Jones tribute honoring his life. You know they used to go together. Well, anyway, Nancy Wilson and Chaka Kh
an were on the show, too. They looked nice, but when the camera panned across the room and focused on Freda, I was like, Who is this bitch looking this damn good? Then the name flashed up on the screen: Freda Payne. The bitch is class personified!”
“You do not have to say bitch. And why must you always curse? It’s not necessary,” Valerie said.
“Ah, bitch, shut up!” Keisha said as she rolled her eyes.
“It’s just a figure of speech, and you know I talk like that. Anyway, in his autobiography, he told the story of how they hooked up.”
“Can I finish my damn story?” Freda said impatiently.
“It’s not all about those damn celebrities and stars you’re reading about. I’m trying to share some shit about my career with y’all. Damn! Is it possible that I have a moment?”
“Girl, go ’head and tell us your story,” Keisha said as she got up and went to the bar for another beer.
“Anyway, there’s a European tour of the legendary female singers of the 1970s and 1980s, and her people were holding auditions for two backup singers. I really want this job because she is going to let each girl perform a solo number while she changes outfits. It’s a seventeen-city tour beginning in two weeks.”
“That’s great, Freda,” Valerie said. “You know you already got it. You can sing, you’re stunning, and you were even named after her, right? Come on, you’re in.”
“I don’t know. The audition was really hard. She performs all genres of music, and in her show there’s jazz, pop, R and B, and Broadway. People think that just because you haven’t seen a particular artist in quite some time or they don’t have a record on the top of the charts that they’re sitting in some small run-down apartment crying broke. But Europe is where a lot of artists go and have lucrative careers way after the hits have stopped.”
Keisha interrupted. “Look, if she was really cool, she’d just give you the spot. Audition for what? She does know you can sing, right?”
“Yes, but it doesn’t work that way. Besides, I don’t want it to be given to me just because she knew my mom. I want it because I was the best bitch that walked up to the mic. You feel me? As a matter of fact, I didn’t even bring up who I was until after the audition was over and I got a callback notice. She was shocked because she hadn’t seen me since I was a little girl. She said she reached out to my mom several times, but hadn’t heard back from her.”
“Where was the audition?” Valerie asked.
“The Apollo Theater in Harlem. We had to be there at nine a.m. last Monday for an open call. Usually I don’t do open calls, because they’re like a cattle call—everyone and their momma standing in line and some that shouldn’t be because they can’t sing. It was long and tedious, but I made it through. But you know what was wonderful? Having the opportunity to perform on that legendary stage and then walking through the building glancing at all the photos of all the singing artists adorning the walls. I did my best at my callback audition this morning, and I’m one step closer to getting the spot. I’m just going to claim it, plain and simple.”
“That’s the attitude, Freda. Not the bitch part, but good for you,” Valerie said.
Taking a swig of her beer, Keisha added, “Yeah, right. Listen, in that business, it’s who you know, and stars do favors for friends all the time. I would have told her by the time I got there who I was. Shit! I would’ve made that bitch remember my name. Why don’t your mom and her talk anymore?”
“Who knows? I’m not in contact with my family much, you guys know that. And with my mom being so heavily committed to the church, I’m sure that she doesn’t want to talk to Freda Payne. It reminds her too much of the past.”
“Girl, your momma still one of those Witnesses?” Keisha asked.
“Keisha! That’s rude,” Valerie said.
“What’s rude about it? I just asked was she still one of Jehovah’s Witnesses.”
“Yes, she is,” Freda said matter-of-factly.
“I’m not saying this about your momma, but they asses can be annoying. I remember on Saturday mornings when I was growing up, they’d be on their street patrol. When they came up on our porch, my grandmother would close the blinds, turn off the TV, and make us be quiet. They knew we were home because they would actually see the blinds closing. But that didn’t stop them, because like clockwork they returned week after week until one day when my grandmother just got fed up. She opened the door, stood on the porch, and waited for them. They greeted her with a smile and said, ‘Good morning, sister, how are you today? Would you like to know about Jehovah?’ And my grandmother said, ‘First of all, all my sisters are dead; second, it’s not such a good morning because I didn’t hit the number; and third, I don’t wanna know no Jehovah! I’m a United Methodist, and I know Jesus—so get off my porch and don’t come back here no more.’”
Everyone laughed.
“And as for stars doing favors for friends, Keisha, if that’s the case, how come your brother didn’t just hook me up when Channel Ten held its first annual Sing-Off on the Air Concert Series?”
“You won the damn contest, didn’t you?” Keisha remarked.
“Yes. After standing in line for over three and a half hours and being number 155 in line. But I didn’t mind it, and I won fair and square.”
“That’s the way to do it, girl,” Nicole said.
“That’s how playas do it, baby. I knew I had to bring it because most of those girls in line were at least a decade younger than me.”
“My brother is the anchor, not the producer at the station,” Keisha said. “He does not book talent. Seriously, how would that look?”
Valerie and Freda stared at Keisha, who backed down after realizing that what she’d just said conflicted with her previous argument. “Okay, fine—I get it.”
“How is Kevin, Keisha? I saw him on the air the other night. Is he losing weight?” Nicole asked.
Although she’d never told Keisha, Kevin was Nicole’s first. Nicole was sixteen, Kevin was eighteen, and it just happened. They were both junior camp counselors at a summer Christian camp in the Pocono Mountains. They were there for three weeks and had a little adventure of their own. Nicole had always had a crush on Kevin, so giving in to his advances was not that difficult. He never looked at her the same after that, and they were both surprised that they had gone as far as they had. Their friendship became more like a brother–sister thing after that night. Nicole never regretted it, because that’s when she became a woman.
“You know my brother thinks he’s the finest brotha in Philly. He’s at Gold’s Gym twenty-four–seven. I told him he should just take some of his money and invest it into his own gym. Actually, I spoke with him earlier today. I had to cancel our dinner so that I could meet up with Freda on time.”
While Freda made her way to the snack table, she remarked, “Yeah, but I see your brother with too many sistahs! When a brotha is that good-looking, and he ain’t married yet, he’s screwing any- and everything but a goldfish!”
Keisha and Nicole laughed.
“Freda!” Valerie said in an embarrassed tone.
But Freda continued, “Oh, excuse me—everybody but Valerie, who at twenty-eight is still a virgin.”
They locked eyes, and Valerie reminded her that her sex life was none of her business.
“That’s true, girl, because I don’t know how you do it or, should I say, don’t do it. Because I have needs. At least three or four times a week. Needs, bitch! Needs!” Keisha yelled dramatically.
Valerie excused herself and disappeared into Nicole’s bedroom. Usually she could tolerate Freda and Keisha’s badgering—but not today—not with all she’d been through before arriving at the party.
Nicole said to the others, “Valerie will be okay. You know how embarrassed she gets about personal stuff like that. I thought I told you to lay off that teasing today. She’s had a big disappointment and is not taking it too well.”
Without remorse, Keisha remarked, “Why? Shit, she should be embarr
assed. Twenty-eight years old and the only dick she sees is when she walks that ol’ mangy dog of hers.”
Eight
I Sing Because I’m Happy; I Sing Because I’m Free
SPEAKING OF DICK, I know there has got to be a few honeys coming by this piece tonight, ’cuz Ms. Freda is ready for a little fun,” Keisha said as she and Freda looked at Nicole.
“Don’t ask me. Denise and you guys were in charge of this night. But let’s make one thing clear: I don’t need any strippers. So if you guys have any of this happening, remember—it’s for you, not for me, because I have Alan.”
Keisha started gagging.
“Ooh, girl, you all right? What’s the matter?” Nicole asked, concerned.
“Excuse me, I just threw up in my mouth,” Keisha said, and Freda broke out laughing.
“That’s cold—you know that’s cold, girl,” Nicole said, playfully slapping Keisha on the arm.
“Alan is all right. I mean, I like the brotha, but he’s a little on the corny side,” Keisha said.
Freda teased, “You didn’t think that when y’all dated.”
“Thank you!” Nicole slapped five with Freda.
“Okay, bitches, we were ten! The closest we ever came to any kind of contact was when I made him share his last Lemonhead candy with me. He bit it off and gave me half. Like I said, he’s all right, but he ain’t never been a snack that Ms. Keisha wanted to nibble on.”
“I gotta agree with my girl here. Alan’s cute, cool, and he’s a doctor, but a little too straitlaced for my taste. I like a brotha with a little more edge. You know, like T.I. or Fiddy,” added Freda.
“Well we all know that, Ms. Freda. If he ain’t been on lockdown at least once in his life, you don’t want him,” Nicole said as she and Keisha giggled.
“Now, wait a minute. Randall ain’t never been on lockdown,” Freda said of her latest love interest.
“No, ’cuz they ain’t caught his ass yet! I done told you, girl—leave that rough trade alone. None of them are worth anything but a fuck, and that’s it,” Keisha said.
