The Bachelorette Party

by Donald Welch

  “Well, sometimes that’s all I want. Thank you very much.” Freda rolled her eyes.

  “Dr. Alan Lovejoy…that’s my man, y’all. I have never had a brotha treat me as good as Alan treats me. The surprising thing is no one would have ever thought that he and I would hook up after all these years. Ladies, I have hit the jackpot. He is kind, considerate, loving, supportive, and—”

  “—Corny,” interrupted Keisha.

  “And you know what? You’re right. He is corny, but I like his corniness. I love the fact that he really thinks his jokes are funny even though nobody laughs but me, or when we go dancing and he thinks he’s Usher, but moves more like Kid Rock. He’s just being himself, and I love that. So I’ll laugh at the corny jokes and dance with Kid Rock. It’s all good because I know he loves me. I am his princess, and he definitely is my prince.”

  Silence.

  Keisha returned to the bar for another drink and broke the quiet in the room.

  “Will somebody put this bitch on Lifetime TV for Women so some of those lonely bitches who need to hear a sappy story can hear hers, ’cuz I don’t want to! Now, shit, I’m over here for a good time, and I want to see some eight-packs, bubble asses, and swivel sticks in my face. I want it to be HBO after midnight up in here, not no doggone Bobby Jones Gospel on Sunday. Now, hell, who hired the snacks for the night?”

  “Zenora,” Freda responded.

  Keisha and Nicole looked at each other, and then responded in unison, “Zenora?”

  “Aw, hell naw. It’s gonna be like a Spanish fiesta up in here,” warned Keisha.

  At that very moment, the door opened, and Denise entered. After swiftly walking across the room, she put her bags down and rushed toward the bathroom, but not before addressing each girl with a flip snide remark. No one moved. They all appeared to be stunned.

  “Hello, all. I’m sorry I’m late. There was so much to do before I got here.”

  Passing Keisha, she snatched the tabloid out of her hand. “You know you really need to stop!”

  She noticed the blouse that Freda was wearing was a birthday gift she had given Nicole.

  “Hmmm, nice blouse, Freda.” She then turned to Nicole and said, “If you didn’t like your birthday gift, honey, I would have easily exchanged it.”

  “Girl, did Denise give you that blouse?” Keisha instigated, and Nicole interrupted with a more important matter.

  “Forget that. I want to know how Denise got a key to my condo.”

  Freda was pissed and went back to the blouse issue. “Had I known she gave you this damn blouse, I would have never taken it—I mean borrowed it. Nicole, I’m going home to change. I will not have Denise ragging on me all night about this blouse.”

  Nicole restrained Freda from leaving and said, “No, you’re not going anywhere. Pay her no mind. Denise is just being Denise.”

  “And she’s going to be worse now more than ever,” added Keisha, “with the election a few months away and her caseload. I’m surprised she had time even to throw this little get-together for Nicky.”

  “Look, this party was not my idea,” Nicole said. “I told her it was not necessary, but you know Denise.”

  “To be honest, I have no idea why she would want to leave her successful law practice and enter dirty-ass politics,” Freda remarked as she made her way to the dining room table to grab a snack.

  “Ha! Like lawyers aren’t dirty,” Keisha said.

  “Keisha!” Nicole warned.

  “I’m just saying, what’s more crooked than some of these lawyers? Granted, I’m not referring to Denise. Although she can be a drama queen, and there are times I can’t stand her ass, but, I think my girl’s one of the honest ones,” Keisha said, unaware that Denise had reentered the room.

  “My, my. Keisha Jameron defending my honor.” Denise smirked. “Well, sort of…What is the world coming to? Frankly, my sisters, you know I’ve always been one who bores easily with my own success. I’m always reaching for that next level of perfection.” Denise took a drink from the bar before continuing “Law is just the beginning. There was a time when all I had my sights set on was a judgeship. However, the mere thought of wearing the same black gown all day, every day, petrified me.”

  “There she goes, blowing her own horn again,” Keisha mumbled under her breath.

  “Seriously, though, girlfriends—becoming councilwoman will allow me to have a lot of say in our local politics here in Philly. And I will still be able to keep my practice, at least until I run for mayor.”

  “Girl, get real! These white folks are not going to allow that!” Freda shouted.

  “Really? You’d like to become mayor one day?” Nicole asked while rolling her eyes at Freda.

  “President, actually, Nicky. But I’m patient.” Denise turned toward Freda. “And, white people will not be the determining factor if a minority female is ever elected as Mayor of Philadelphia. The Latino vote is the key to any hopeful candidate. Just check out all those Puerto Ricans in North Philly. And besides, some of your cousins still refuse to vote.”

  “I don’t vote,” Freda said somewhat defensively.

  “Precisely, Freda, which is why you will register for this next election, even if I have to drag you to voter registration myself, and you can work with me at my headquarters. Once my campaign office opens, I’ll need all of you to stuff envelopes, make phone calls—all of that volunteer groundwork that wins elections. Now, where is everybody?”

  Keisha turned around on the sofa to look at Denise. “Denise, ol’ pal, did I hear you say we would be working as volunteers?”

  “Of course. I don’t have big money coming from the political parties. I’ve got to do this mostly on my own. That’s where my friends can help. But first you’ve got to register to vote.”

  “I’ve been hearing from the bank execs that the incumbent is practically a shoo-in for the primary,” Nicole said.

  “But I’m going to give you all my support. Yes, and even volunteer. Right, Freda?”

  “Okay, I’m volunteering if everybody else does, but you better put some fine-looking volunteers in that office working with me. I’ve got to get paid somehow, if you know what I mean.”

  “Oh, Freda, must your mind always be on that?” Valerie questioned in disgust.

  “Like what, Valerie? See, I bet you can’t even say it: sex, dick, sex, dick, sex, dick.”

  Valerie threw her hands up to her ears, tired of Freda’s cursing and teasing.

  Seeing Valerie’s distress, Nicole changed the subject back to Denise’s campaign. “Well, you know you have my support both financially and otherwise. I can give you a few hours of office time when Alan and I return from our honeymoon. I can’t speak for Zenora, but I’m sure you can put her down for funding and volunteer office time. Now you know one of her shops is in your district, so she might call in a favor when you win this election.”

  Reluctantly Keisha chimed in, “I’ll help, but I ain’t working with no ugly men. Put some of those good-looking law clerks up in there, so I can show them what justice is all about—yeah, just-us. Ouch!”

  All Denise could do was shake her head.

  Keisha continued, “Yeah, Freda—you can get a few of your men who wear those ankle bracelets to do something, ’cuz you know they ain’t working.”

  “Watch it,” Freda warned.

  “Where is everybody?” Denise asked. “I know Renee is running late from her taping at the studio because I spoke with her on the phone. She’s taking the Metroliner from Penn Station and arriving at Thirtieth Street Station in about an hour from now.”

  Valerie responded, “Well, Mira is having water-pipe problems at the club, but she promised to be here. Zenora was called to do some celebrity’s hair in Center City. She called to say she’ll be late, too, and Tisha can’t make it.”

  At that moment Denise stood and caught a glimpse of herself in the wall mirror hanging above the sofa. She concluded that her lateness had been justifiable and fashionable; theirs was
rude and ghetto.

  Nicole changed the subject. “Denise, how did you get a key to my place?”

  Keisha, still buried in yet another tabloid magazine, added, “Denise probably has one to the White House.”

  “Not yet, darling, but in due time.” Denise winked and smiled at Keisha.

  “I’m still waiting for an answer,” Nicole said.

  By that point, Denise had made her way back to the bar for a refresher. Before dropping each ice cube slowly in her glass, she wondered if it was Tiffany or Waterford crystal she was drinking from. “Nicole Yvette Lawson!” she said, punctuating each of Nicole’s names with another ice cube.

  “Oh, shit, girl—she said your whole name.” Freda laughed.

  “Now, you know that we agreed two years ago, after you had your last attack, that I should have a key to your place. Remember how you couldn’t get to a phone? It’s a good thing your housekeeper was here.”

  “Yeah, I remember that shit,” Freda said. “Girl, you had us all scared.”

  “Exactly, so I have a key. In fact, I have one for Valerie, Keisha, Zenora—”

  Freda murmured, “She ain’t got a key to my place, because I don’t play that.”

  “True, Freda, true. I don’t. Could it be because you always have to move?” Denise said sarcastically.

  Keisha couldn’t resist the opportunity to fan the flame.” Oh, shit—no, she didn’t!”

  “Skank!” Freda said, rolling her eyes.

  A smiling Denise threw it back to her. “Love you, too.”

  “Okay, you two,” Nicole said. “Come on, now. Stop! You’re right, Denise, I forgot about that.”

  Denise went to retrieve the key from her purse and said, “Now, if you want it back, I will just give it—”

  Nicole stopped her. “—Of course not. Please keep the key. And Freda, I know you guys were all scared. I was, too. Diabetes is no joke. It taught me a valuable lesson, though. I will never let my work schedule prevent me from eating or taking my medicine on time. I’ve been dealing with this disease since I was born. I should have known better. Anxiety and stress will set it off every time.”

  Denise added, “Nothing is more important than one’s health.”

  “You got that right. Girls, we are no longer twenty-one. Exercise, diet, and living a stress-free life is my goal from now on,” said Keisha, who munched on another handful of potato chips while reaching for her third cold beer.

  Freda chimed in. “Shit! I’m doing exactly what sistah Jill Scott sang about. ‘Living my life like it’s golden.’”

  All the girls joined in and sang a few bars with her.

  “I ain’t got time to let too much shit get to me. That’s why I’m going all-out on this singing thing. Tomorrow is not promised. Hell, I’m thirty,” Freda said.

  “Whaaat?” Keisha said in mock shock. But her attempt at a joke fell flat, and Freda became defensive.

  “Bitch! Don’t try it. We were all in school together. Yo’ ass will be thirty in a few weeks, too.”

  Everyone laughed, including Keisha, who grabbed the TV remote control and pointed it at Freda. “Okay, hold up—I’m gonna need you to turn that shit down.” She pressed the button on the remote.

  Freda ignored her and kept talking, “Seriously, though, I’m—”

  Keisha picked up the remote again and, with a straight face, remarked, “No, bitch! I muted you. What? There’s no batteries in this thing?” She tapped the remote as everyone laughed.

  When the laughter died down a bit, Freda turned serious. “I’m smart enough to know that my landing a solo record deal is slim. Even though I’m not into old-school music, this Freda Payne opportunity will be good for me. European audiences are so different when it comes to artists—they’re more loyal. They get behind them, and they become fans for life. No one cares about the age thing. Black female singers work all the time over there.”

  Her focus went to the wall mirror, where she saw tears in her eyes. “Who knows, maybe some rich European man will snatch me right up and I really will be living my life like it’s golden.”

  Nicole went over to Freda and held her hands in hers. “You have charisma, and you can sing your ass off. Look at you—five or ten years can be knocked off your true age. It just hasn’t been your time yet, sweetie. This just might be it. I hope so. We all do. We have your back—right, ladies?”

  Keisha responded, “Hell yeah,” while Denise nodded in agreement.

  Still sounding a little insecure, Freda said softly, “I know, but sometimes I get a little scared. I mean, what if I don’t really make it? What if I’ve peaked? I don’t even know what else I’d do. It just seems that everyone else is getting their turn but me.”

  “I’ll tell you what you’ll do. You’ll use that business degree from Hampton and get your ass a job,” Denise sternly remarked.

  “Ugh! Nine to five scares me, I just can’t.”

  “Bitch, you working nine to five now! Maybe not every day—but you are working nine to five,” Keisha said.

  Nicole reassured her. “But she won’t be for long. Stay positive, Freda. Go in there and do your thing. Claim what’s yours. You got this. Now, come on—where’s my Freda? Where’s that confident sistah that has it all together?”

  As she hugged Nicole, Freda smiled. “Thanks, girl. You’ve always had my back.” She rolled her eyes at Denise.

  “What? We’ve had your back, too. How many times have you performed at one of these tired-ass Philly clubs and I made sure my firm purchased a block of tickets to see you do your thing?” Denise said.

  Keisha added, “Thank you. And I know you ain’t trying to say that I don’t have your back. I promote your ass everywhere I go. Shit! Beyoncé and Ashanti ain’t got nothin’ on you.”

  Everyone looked at one another and remarked in surprised unison: “Ashanti?”

  “My bad. Okay, Beyoncé and Alicia?”

  “That’s better,” Freda said. “Ashanti is cute and she can carry a tune, but let’s stay real. I’m in a whole different league. But whatever or however, she got there, and that’s where I want to be.”

  Nine

  Get Here if You Can

  VALERIE RETURNED to the living room, and Keisha teased, “Girl, I forgot you were even here. What were you doing back there all that time? Playing with yourself?”

  “No. For your information, I was trying to reach Tisha on the phone, seeing if she’s okay.”

  “Tisha? What’s wrong with her?” Denise asked.

  “We’re not quite sure. She called earlier and said she wasn’t feeling well. She didn’t think she was going to make it tonight. I think it’s one of her migraines.”

  Denise was annoyed. “We were all supposed to be here.”

  Nicole said, “Denise, would you relax? Everyone will be here. Actually, I forgot that today was Renee’s last day of filming on Tomorrow Will Come. No telling how long it took to tape the last scene for the week.”

  Freda laughed and remarked, “Tomorrow Will Come, that’s a dumb-ass name for a soap opera. I don’t watch the show anyway, but why is she the only black chick on there and playing someone who wants to pass for white?”

  “That’s the name, Freda. And it’s just a character. It’s not really Renee,” Nicole said.

  “And where’s Mira?” Denise asked.

  “Mira is still waiting at the club while the broken water main is being repaired. She and Jeanette had a few other things that came up at the club as well,” Valerie said.

  The mere mention of Mira’s lover brought a frown to Freda’s face. “Is she bringing her? It’s supposed to be Dickville tonight, not Dykeville.”

  Keisha guffawed, but Nicole became angry. “Now, that’s enough Freda! Who Mira chooses to be with is her business. And Jeanette is who she chose. Let it be. She’s been our friend since all of us were in school, and we all knew then that Mira was a lesbian. We love her, so respecting her lifestyle is not even an option—we just do.”

  Feeling a lit
tle guilty, Freda responded, “Girl, I’m just playing. You know I love that girl. It’s just—I don’t get it. Besides, it’s nasty!”

  Valerie and Denise shook their heads at Freda.

  Nicole continued, “That’s just it—it’s not for any of us to get. We’re not gay. We don’t have to get it.” Nicole got up and went into the kitchen.

  “Well, it’s strictly dickly here. I’m just goin’ to put that out there,” Keisha added while waving her hand at everyone.

  “I say, to each his own,” Denise said, “or is it her own? Personally, there’s nothing another woman can do for me except my hair, my nails, and if she’s got a rich brother, introduce him to me.”

  Valerie said, “I like Jeanette. She’s really cool. We take a Pilates class together, and there’s never any talk about sexual preferences. And even if there were, it’s just two friends discussing life. And to me, that’s very normal.”

  The telephone rang, and Keisha answered. “It’s the front desk. Zenora and Mira are coming up.”

  Valerie opened the door, and Zenora entered carrying an elaborately wrapped gift, while Mira brought a chilled magnum of champagne.

  “Hey, everyone,” Mira said, her upbeat attitude not showing any stress from the mishap at her club.

  “Hey, y’all. Sorry I’m late,” Zenora said. “For a minute there, I wasn’t sure I was going to make it. I got an emergency call from the actress Vanessa Bell Calloway, who was supposed to come to the salon, but was stuck at her hotel waiting for her agent to arrive. That meant I had to go to her hotel suite, ASAP, where I gave her a primo style and did her makeup. You know those celeb sistahs can be very demanding.”

  “Yeah, but it’s those emergency calls that bring in the big bucks and helped you with the seed money for your salon,” Valerie said.

  “True, true,” Zenora said as she put down her stuff.

  “I’m grateful for the clientele, but with high-end clients, sometimes you got to be ready for anything.”

  “And just so you know, you both have been drafted to help with Denise’s campaign. We all have been,” Freda announced to Zenora and Mira.