by Donald Welch
“Oh, that’s fine with me,” Zenora said. “Denise, count me in on distributing flyers, stickers, placards—anything you need. One of my salons is in your district, so of course I’m going to help. I got some neighborhood kids who can also do a good job for you.”
“Zenora, I have another favor,” Denise said. “I’m going to need a Spanish-speaking person in the campaign headquarters most of the time to help with the Latino vote. But I won’t be able to pay them much money. A volunteer would be better.”
“That’ll be no problem. I can get plenty of volunteers for you. It’s about time these politicians woke up to the fact that there is a Latino vote in this city.”
“And can I count on you, Mira?”
“Sure can. You didn’t even have to ask. In fact, Jeanette and I were talking about helping you last month when one of the staff asked us about the procedure for voter registration. Maybe we can have a candidates’ night at the club. Let’s talk about it after Nicky’s wedding.”
“Mira, you got a deal. Thanks so much.”
NICOLE ESCAPED to her bedroom. Freda was working her last nerve with her judgmental attitude toward Mira! Sometimes she could be so crass. She was going to talk to Freda about it after the wedding, but right now she needed to keep things light. But first, Nicole decided to give Tisha a call in spite of what Valerie had said earlier. The call went straight to Tisha’s voice mail. Maybe she turned the ringer off so that she and Kimmy can rest, Nicole thought.
She decided to get back to her little soiree before Freda or Keisha demolished Valerie and Denise. Just as she reemerged into the living room, the phone rang. Valerie reached it first and announced that Renee was on her way up.
“Hey, Ms. Freda. What’s up, girl?” Mira gave Freda a hug.
“Well, what do you know? It’s SWV, Sisters Without Voices,” Freda joked as she joined Keisha on the sofa and sipped on her drink while she looked at Zenora, Mira, and Valerie.
Keisha laughed and said, “Oh, that’s some cold shit!”
Mira said, “That was cute, Freda. SWV, huh? I used to love their—”
Before Mira could finish, Freda interrupted, “I bet you did.”
“—music!” Catching the eye of Zenora and Keisha, Mira smirked and asked, “So, Freda, tell us—when is your CD coming out? Oh, I’m sorry. You have to get a deal first.”
Everyone knew Freda did not enjoy being the butt of jokes, especially when she wasn’t the one telling them, so before Freda could respond, Mira warned, “Don’t come for me, and I won’t come for you.” Mira walked toward Nicole and smiled as she handed over her gift. “Hey, baby, here you go.”
“Aw, thanks, Mira! Oh, there’s the door. It’s Renee.” Valerie opened the door for Renee, who burst in looking exhausted and talking on her cell phone. Renee gave a quick wave of the hand to everyone and headed to the bar.
Nicole said to Mira, “But you know you didn’t have to buy me anything.”
From across the room, Keisha shouted, “Yes, she did! What is it?”
Nicole, ignoring her, turned her attention back to Mira. “Where’s Jeanette?”
“Home. She’s taking it really bad.”
Valerie hugged Mira and asked, “What, the flood?”
“No, she’s dealing with that shit better than I am. She’s more upset that we couldn’t have Nicky’s party at our club tonight. She had been decorating for it up to the last few days. Then the pipe burst in the basement, which sort of ruined everything, especially since she had discovered a small leak over a week ago. As a matter of fact, we made an appointment for a plumber to come out this coming Monday. So until then, the water has been shut off in the entire building.”
“How’s that going to affect the business in terms of you guys being open all next week?” Zenora asked.
“I really don’t know. It’s really now just a wait-and-see situation.”
Sensing her chance to get back at Mira, Freda added, “Well, from a legal standpoint I hope you guys—oops, no pun intended!—I mean, you girls, have really good insurance, because if there is any other water damage outside of your building, it can be very costly. What do you think, Denise?”
“That’s absolutely correct.”
“No, we’re cool. I believe we’re gonna be okay in that area. Basically the damage appears to have been confined to our basement, but that didn’t stop Jeanette from feeling she is to blame. I tried talking her into coming out tonight, but she said she wouldn’t be much fun. Besides she knew this was Nicky’s bachelorette party and felt I should just hang out alone with my girls tonight.”
“The change of venue certainly wasn’t her fault. We all understand. Besides, since it’s just gonna be us, there was no reason why we couldn’t have it here at my place.”
“See there, Nicky, Mira understands. None of us were supposed to bring our men. I mean, our significant others. I have got to learn how to be more politically correct,” Freda said.
In a warning tone, Nicole said, “One more time, Freda. One more time.”
Mira interrupted, laughing. “Nicky, it’s okay. I know Freda’s got jokes. She’s just trying to be funny.” She gave Freda the finger.
“Now, did y’all see that?” Freda yelled. “I was trying to be nice, and Mira takes it to another level by giving me the middle finger.”
“Oh, shit,” Keisha said. “This is turning into a bad stage production of an all-black version of Cats.” Noticing that Renee was still on her phone call as she passed her on the way to the bar, Keisha added, “Bitch, get off the phone. You’re rude. You’re at somebody else’s house. Ain’t shit that important. Get off the phone!”
Putting her phone on mute, Renee lit into Keisha. “Keisha, I am taking a very important phone call about my career. It’s my agent. Now I realize that you live your life through the celebrity of others, but I am one. So do me a favor. Get lost. Thanks, dear.” And with that, Renee resumed her call. “Sorry, Josh. Sure. I’ll be available on Monday. Ten o’clock, you say? Josh, be a doll and try to arrange for it to be pushed back to at least eleven. I won’t get back in Manhattan until late Sunday night, and ten o’clock is just not going to work.” Renee listened for a moment and apparently did not like the response, because she said, “Well, that’s what I pay you for, Josh. Make it happen.” Her call continued as she walked out of the room.
Mira said to Freda, “No, I just feel that with comedy in your act, you might get a little more attention. I mean, Rosie O’Donnell started out as a comedian, but she also does Broadway musicals, and she can’t sing either. You shouldn’t limit yourself, baby.”
Sensing that Freda needed a lifeline, Keisha tried to assist. “Perfect example, Mira. Rosie O’Donnell, huh? You two have so much in common.”
“Okay, stop it!” Nicole said, exasperated. “Everyone! Denise, you’re not even helping me with this.”
“Why should I help? I say let these cats claw till we see blood. And whoever wants me to represent them and shows me their purse, I’m on board.”
Everyone laughed.
Renee reentered the room, happy as a lark. She sashayed her way over to Nicole, tossing her long blond tresses over her shoulder and sporting fake eyelashes as long as Venetian blinds. She handed her gift to Nicole. “I wish you and Alan all the best, Nicky.”
“Oh, thanks, Ree Ree,” Nicole said, giving her a hug.
Renee joined the other girls on the sofa. “I’m waiting for the day when I meet my Prince Charming.”
Keisha snorted. “You mean your white knight in shining armor, don’t you?”
“I meant Prince Charming, Keisha. No one said anything about color. That’s your hang-up, not mine.” Not missing a beat, Renee turned her attention to Nicole’s hair. “Oh, your hair looks fabu! Those highlights do so much for you. You remind me of a darker-skinned Jennifer Aniston. Gosh, Zenora really hooked you up. Great job, Z.”
Keisha, still fixated on Renee’s comment, said, “Hold up, bitch. My hang-up?”
“Ye
s, your hang-up. I just choose to date white guys, that’s all. Brothas just don’t do it for me.”
Mira giggled hysterically and said, “I know what you mean.”
“It’s not racial, just a preference. Besides—been there, done that. Renee DeVoe doesn’t apologize to anyone because of whom she dates. I know what I like.”
Zenora maneuvered her ample hips on the edge of the sofa, shifting, and offered her thoughts: “You know my take on all that. As long as he is slim, over six feet, has a job, owns a car, can spell cat—’cuz I’m too old to be a kitty—and has at least eight, I really don’t care what nationality he is.”
Looking toward Zenora, Valerie innocently asked, “eight what?” which sent the entire room into hysterical laughter.
An annoyed Zenora answered, “Teeth, Val! Eight teeth!”
Still confused, Valerie searched for an answer from one of the faces in the room.
Nicole said, “Pay Z no mind.”
“Z, we all know you’re Ms. United Nations. But I thought you were just into the chulos,” Freda teased.
“True. But ain’t no shame in my game. I’m serious—size does matter with my ass—but I do prefer Latinos.”
Denise’s cell phone went off. She considered letting it go directly to voice mail, but then remembered that it could be Domenick calling about the painters, so she answered it. “Hello? Yes, this is Denise. Hold on a second.” She nodded at Nicole and went into her bedroom to take the call while the girls continued their conversation.
“What’s so special about Latin men? I think Enrique Iglesias is really cute. I saw him perform live during the Puerto Rican Day Parade in Philly last summer, and he was so sweet. I still have the signed picture in my apartment.
‘To Val, from Enrique.’”
“He’s a little young for me, but I think he’s okay. As far as what makes Latin men so special? We ain’t got all night. Besides, this is supposed to be Nicky’s night, not Zenora’s sex secrets revealed.”
Denise returned to the room with an annoyed expression on her face. “Well, it looks as though we’re going to have to wait a little longer for my gift, Nicky. It seems my surprise was delivered to the Loose Balloon. The change in venue was obviously not communicated. Jeanette signed for it, and I’ll pick it up later.”
Nicole probed, “Denise, what are you doing? Have you hired strippers? Because if you have, I told you guys that I—”
“Calm down, it will be well worth it—you’ll see. So what’s this I hear about Zenora’s sex secrets?”
Crunching on a carrot stick from the vegetable tray, Keisha said, “Oh, Ms. Z was just making mention of the fact of how Latin men were the shit.”
“Really? I’d like to hear more about that.”
“Yeah, girl. Personally, I’ve had more luck with them in the romance department. The sex is great, of course, but there’s so much more to it than sex. We all know I’m a romantic.” A round of heavy sighs, snickering, rolling of the eyes, and laughter filled the room as Zenora continued.
“The attention they give me, not being afraid to show their sensitive side—that’s a turn-on for me.”
“Sensitive usually means he’s in touch with his feminine side,” Freda said. “What, he wants you to suck on his nipples and put your thumb up his ass? ’Cuz I heard those Spanish boys be into that freaky shit.”
“Well, we all know you know about the freaky shit, don’t we, Ms. Freda? So I’m sure whatever Z is doing, you can top it,” said Keisha.
Valerie slipped out of the room, not wanting to hear any of the sex talk, and she took a seat on the patio to get some air.
“No, I’m talking about sensitive. You know, like he might cry with me during a romantic movie, or allow me to hold him after making love instead of him always having to hold me. He’ll wine and dine me, tell me his fears and dreams—”
“Oh, I feel you. In other words, you just want a bona fide sissy, huh?”
“No, she doesn’t,” Renee said, rolling her eyes. “I feel you on that, Zenora. It isn’t always just about hitting it and then rolling over to sleep. White guys treat me with respect and tender loving care, like a delicate flower, and I like that. I’m special, and I deserve to feel that way all the time. I demand it on the set at work from my colleagues, my friends, family. It’s a given. It’s about respect, something I was never given when I dated black guys. I mean, there’s only been two that I can really remember dating since I’ve been an adult. But even that was two too many.”
“Now, wait a minute. There are plenty of brothas that do the same thing,” Nicole said as Denise, Freda, and Keisha shook their heads affirmatively. “I mean, my Alan is very sensitive and caring in and outside of the bedroom. I like the fact that he is very tender with me. This may sound strange, but Alan makes love like a woman.”
The room became silent.
Cautious looks were thrown around the room as each of the women tried to figure out what in the hell Nicole meant by that.
Denise decided that it was a good time for her to join Valerie on the patio for some air. She took her phone with her to attempt to track down Domenick once more.
“It’s not all physical, but emotional as well, girls.” Nicole laughed.
“S-H-I-T, Ms. Keisha ain’t gon’ lie. Wining and dining and bringing me flowers is cute and thoughtful, but girls, sometimes I likes it raw. Shit yeah, y’all know what I’m talking about. Sometimes you just want a brotha to rip your panties off with his teeth, like a toddler opening gifts on Christmas morning.”
The sound of laughter from inside carried to the patio where Denise and Valerie were talking.
“Hey, Val, you okay?”
Looking over the skyline of the city, Valerie answered softly, “Oh yeah, Denise, I’m okay. It’s just been a really, really long day. I don’t want my mood to spoil the evening for everyone else, but I just can’t get my mind off the closing this morning at the Realtor’s.”
“Oh yes, how did that go?”
“It didn’t. Without going too much into it, let’s just say the seller didn’t have all the legal paperwork. And with it being Friday, nothing can be done until Monday morning.”
“Well, the good thing is at least your dream of owning your own day care center is becoming a reality. Monday may seem a ways off, but a lot can happen between now and then. It’s something that you have worked toward for such a long time, so forty-eight hours is not going to make a difference in determining the fate of your future.”
“I know, I know. But when you’re so close to something and it means so much to your heart like this does—when there’s a fork in the road, if you’re not careful, the anxiety and stress will get the best of you.”
“Oh, you don’t have to tell me about stress and anxiety. Even with cutting down the number of cases that I have taken on in the last year, fund-raising and my campaign, at times, have been more than I can deal with.”
“You’ll do fine. You’ve always been able to handle the everyday trials and tribulations of life with ease. This will be no exception. I’ve admired your tenacity, your go-get-it spirit, since we were in school.”
“Thanks, Val, but even I sometimes wonder if it’s all really worth it.”
“Of course it is. You are one of the most recognizable and prominent women in the city of Philadelphia. Whatever’s happening, it will only be a minor setback, I’m sure.”
For the first time in a long time, Denise felt her eyes well up. Still keeping her composure, she turned to Val. “That means more to me than you’ll ever know, especially coming from you. Because I know that’s a good place. So, changing the subject, missy—if there’s anything I can do to make things run smoother on Monday from a legal angle, call me. No matter how busy I am, we’ll get it done.”
Denise’s cell phone started to ring. She looked at the keypad. Domenick. “Finally,” she said. “Hello, Domenick. What’s going on? Did you get my message?” She listened carefully to his explanation. “Okay. As long as i
t’s taken care of tomorrow, I’ll be fine with it. No need to apologize. Mistakes happen. Okay. Thanks a lot. I will talk to you on Monday.” She hung up the phone and let out a heavy sigh.
“Problem?”
“Problem solved. For now, that is.”
Ten
Stranger in My House
THE WOMEN INSIDE were still in conversation about men, and Zenora had taken center stage. Swaying her hips and arms rhythmically from left to right, she began, “Yeah, treat me like the queen I am, and handle this fine brown frame. Massage my feet, baby—suck on my toes, papi—nibble on my—” Now well under the influence of alcohol, Keisha and Freda testified with shouts of approval and glee.
Freda jumped to her feet like she was at a Holy Ghost revival. “Okay, that’s enough. You’re getting my ass all hot up in here. Hallelujah and amen!”
The women fell out, fanning themselves like they had just been saved and born again—except for Mira, who used the opportunity to taunt Freda. “Oh, really now?”
Freda snapped back to reality. She composed herself and threw a warning look at Mira as she shouted, “Oh, hell to the naw! You better sit yo’ ass down somewhere. The only fish I like is from Bookbinders Seafood restaurant down on Delaware Ave.”
Zenora—stretched out on the floor on her back, cooling herself off with a magazine, and repeating something totally inaudible in Spanish—managed to say to Renee, “Speaking of Latin men, what’s up with that fine Spanish snack on your soap opera? Jorge Medina.”
Renee, midway through making herself a margarita, responded, “First of all, he’s black.” Renee’s pronunciation—block—never failed to raise an eyebrow. “He plays Latino. Mr. Medina’s real name is Jackson Weldon, and I am not feeling him.”
The combination of alcohol and her weight caused Zenora to struggle to get up off the floor. Holding on to both the coffee table and the edge of the sofa, she pulled herself up. Sitting back on the sofa, she said to Renee, “Well, girl, he is fine.”
“I’ll admit, he has his fans. I’m just not one of them. Of course, I had to get at him straight from jump. I was like, ‘You, listen up. Unfortunately for me, we have to do this love scene, but I need you to remember, this is all acting. When that director yells cut, that’s exactly what that means.’ God! He pissed me off today because during the kissing scene, he went too far and tried to tongue me. Oh, my God, I’m actually getting sick again.” Renee laid her head back on the sofa cushions.
