by Donald Welch
The door to the apartment was open, and he walked in to dim lights, heavy laughter, and drinks flowing. The man surveyed the whole scene but did not take his eyes from Tisha—not for one moment.
“Tisha.” No response. “Yo, Tish.” He said this even louder and with more anger, getting the attention of everyone in the room, causing Denise to come out of the bathroom and ask Nicole, “How many people have keys to your place?”
“You might want to try locking your door.” It was Roland.
Fear overcame Tisha, who scurried around to grab her shoes and handbag. She eyed her silk scarf on the floor and quickly tied it around her neck. Approaching her husband, she stuttered, “Hey, honey, you know everyone. Is everything okay? I left a note for you.”
“Everything is fine. Let’s go,” he said.
Denise stopped in her tracks. “Wait a minute, Roland. We’re still partying—everything isn’t done.”
“Tisha is done,” Roland said, glaring at Denise. “Say good-bye to your friends, baby. You’re a mother—you need to be home.”
“Honey, I left Kimmy with Granny. She’s fine. Uhmm, I was coming home in a little bit. May I stay with my girls?”
Freda blurted out, “May I?”
“Yeah, bitch,” Roland said, turning around to stare at Freda, “she said, ‘may I.’”
Freda removed her heels and earrings. “Oh no, he didn’t. Muthafucka, I’ll slap you to sleep.”
Keisha picked up an empty wine bottle from the bar and stood ready for the confrontation.
Zenora and Nicole ran over to stop Freda, while a nervous Valerie remained by the bar for cover. Renee and Denise stood off to the side, each wondering guiltily if the inevitable ugly scene unfolding before them would affect their careers in a negative way.
Roland tried to take a different tack. “It’s getting late and I don’t want to worry about you leaving here all by yourself.”
“I’ll be all right. Somebody will walk me to my car.”
Impatient, Roland grabbed Tisha’s arm. “Get your shit, and wait in the lobby for me.”
Mira angrily broke through the pack and approached Roland head on. “Get your hands off of her.”
Tisha tried to aid the situation. “It’s okay, Mira. Roland is right, I probably need to get going now. Kimmy will wake up and start crying.”
“Are you going to be all right, Tish?” Denise asked, her face revealing her concern. She could tell Tisha was scared and embarrassed.
“I’ll talk to—,” Tisha said before Roland cut her off and pulled her to the door.
“Of course she’s all right. She’s with her family. Her real family,” he said, looking over at Mira.
“Somebody’s got to say something to this bastard. Roland, I know and you know that you are a poor excuse for a man and that any man who hits on a woman is a punk-ass bitch. We all know what’s going on. We know you hit Tisha!” Mira shouted.
Roland stood over Mira and looked down on her. “Look at Mira tryin’ to be the man up in this piece. Sorry, bitch, your dick ain’t big enough.”
Nicole retreated to the sofa—her nerves were getting the best of her.
Mira pushed Roland, and her shiny blue steel switchblade jolted out from its case.
Nicole screamed, “I need you to leave, Roland. Just get out of my house now!”
“I’m leaving, and let me tell you menless bitches something: Tisha is my muthafuckin’ wife. She does what the fuck I tell her to do. By the way, this is the last time you’ll see her over here. You feel me?”
Mira wasn’t going to let that go. “Tisha is a grown-ass woman, and she can come and go as she pleases.”
“You know what, bitch, if you were a real man, I’d kick your muthafuckin’ dyke ass.”
Mira said, “’N’ if you were a real man, b-i-t-c-h, I’d be scared.”
The women headed toward Roland—Keisha armed with her wine bottle, Freda with her stilettos, and Renee with a candy dish. Denise stepped in front and said, “And if Tisha ever decides to drop your ass, understand I will represent her and hang your ass out to dry. I will use all my power to have them send you to Graterford, where the brothas will take real good care of you.”
Roland applauded Denise sarcastically before reaching in his pocket to pull out two one-dollar bills, which he then tried to shove in her cleavage, but Denise slapped his arm away. Roland let the money fall to the floor and applauded her response. “Good job, Denise. Good job.” Then Roland made one last obscene gesture at Mira before leaving.
All the drama proved to be too much for Nicole. Her body started shaking, in the early stages of a diabetic attack.
“Quick, get something sweet—juice, candy, anything sweet. Now!” ordered Denise.
Valerie scurried to the refrigerator for juice, and Freda headed to the bathroom for a cold compress.
Twelve
Hurricane
ROLAND BERATED Tisha as soon as he shoved her in the car. He sped through the streets, running through traffic lights and narrowly missing a pedestrian crossing the avenue. Tisha was afraid to warn Roland about his reckless driving and was glad their baby was not in the car during his tirade.
Roland began to dig in. “You take the bus back to that ho’s place to pick up yo’ car tomorrow. I work all day, and you out here dancin’—out with hoes and dykes and strippers. That dyke is the only one who stood up for you. Are you fuckin’ her, too? And you, the mother of my child? Bitch, you must be crazy if you think I’m going to put up with that shit. I married a ho.”
Tisha knew she ought to remain stiff and quiet when Roland reached this level of anger, but she tried feebly to defend herself. “Honey, I was just—”
“What? What did you say? I dare you to cry. What are you cryin’ ’bout? What?”
“It was just a—”
“I didn’t tell you to say shit. If I wasn’t so tired, I’d throw your ass out this car.” Roland spit in her face and then gave her a look that dared her to wipe it off. “You can’t be no mother. You don’t even look as good as you used to look. Better yet, I’m goin’ to teach you a lesson when you get home. As soon as you get out this here car, take all of yo’ clothes off because I’m goin’ to give you a beatin’ you’ll never forget. Somebody’s got to teach you a lesson. ’N’ why you coverin’ up yo’ neck now? It wasn’t covered up when I caught you shaking yo’ ass in that apartment. If you think you got some marks on your neck now, wait till we get home, ’cuz I’m goin’ to put some marks on yo’ ass. You’re too stupid to see that you’re hangin’ out with bitches who ain’t got no man—and one of ’em thinks she is one. Then there’s Nicky, who’s goin’ to marry some punk-ass doctor. But you’re the only one who’s got a man at home. Me.”
Tisha was immune to his ranting. She had no more tears to give. Once inside the house, no words are spoken. Tisha headed straight upstairs with her head bowed low. She heard the click of Roland’s large metal buckle releasing the belt from his pants. She knew what was coming and counted each step up the staircase.
Thirteen steps. Thirteen steps.
Downstairs, Roland poured a stiff drink of Cutty Sark Scotch. Courage. He knew he had to keep order in his house and in his life, just as his mother, Melba, had done. He ascended the stairs. Thirteen steps. His wide black belt wrapped around his hand. Roland walked into their bedroom, where Tisha was sitting, ready for her punishment.
He closed the door.
Thirteen
Someone to Watch Over Me
BACK AT NICOLE’S, everyone was in a very somber mood. Stress and anxiety had caused Nicole to have a diabetic attack. However, once the girls gave her something to drink and calmed her down, Nicole rested comfortably in her bedroom. A Musiq Soulchild cut from his latest CD played on the radio. Mira was outside smoking a cigarette, resuming a bad habit that she’d once had under control. She couldn’t believe she had been so close to cutting him, which could have meant her going to jail.
Valerie watched over Nicole in t
he bedroom. Keisha sprawled across the sofa, engaged in another gossip rag, but her mind was preoccupied with Tisha. Freda had dozed off. Zenora confessed to Renee that she wished she had warned the others earlier about the marks on Tisha’s neck and that maybe she should not have had the stripper come like Denise said. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
“We didn’t know Roland would burst in like that,” Renee said to comfort Zenora. “And the stripper was really fun. I know I enjoyed him—even though he was black. The fault is not with you. Tisha is the one who put herself in that predicament, not us. But did you see how much she enjoyed herself while she was here? This was probably the best fun she has had since she married him.”
Zenora felt somewhat relieved by Renee’s words, but she was still upset by the happenings of the evening. One thing was for sure: She was not in the mood to meet Ernesto later.
Mira returned to the living room, trying to fan away any evidence of her smoking, and roused Freda from her light nap.
Denise checked her voice mail. She had nine messages, and the first was from Domenick, assuring her that the campaign-office fiasco was being addressed and that painters would be there the first thing Monday morning with mint green paint.
“That’s a relief,” she said aloud. She listened to her other messages, and one from her campaign manager caused her to call out to the other girls.
“You guys aren’t going to believe this! My campaign manager left a message that the Philadelphia chapter of 100 Black Men will be sending a campaign check for twenty-five thousand dollars.”
“Are you serious? That’s great!” Zenora said.
“Yes, that is fantastic! I was getting a little concerned about contributions. The checks were coming in, but the amounts were too low to cover my expenses.”
Freda asked, “Mira, were you smoking again? I thought you stopped that nasty habit.”
“I did stop, but after tonight, I needed something to calm my nerves, and I knew nobody over here had any weed. So I just walked up to Seven-Eleven and bought a pack of Salems. I just smoked one and threw the pack away. How’s Nicky doing?”
Valerie came into the living room to inform the girls that Nicole was still sleeping.
“You know, I never did like his ass,” Keisha said, and the others murmured in agreement. “I remember when Tisha started dating him. She turned him down a number of times, but he was persistent. Tisha’s rule was to never go out with anyone who came to the office as a client. I don’t know why she broke it.”
Denise said, “That’s right. She was assigned to his case when she was a social worker. He surely did pour on the charm, and then the next thing we hear, they’re getting married and having a baby.”
Renee added, “Then before we knew it, he had Tisha thinking that her whole world revolved around him. Everything just happened so quickly.”
Mira said, “I’ve got a bad feeling. She’s got to get out of there before it’s too late. Isn’t there anything we can do legally, Denise?”
“Not really, unless we actually see him hit her or she asks us for help. If she doesn’t want to press charges, there’s nothing anybody can do.”
Mira said scornfully, “That’s just like the fuckin’ law—waiting until shit happens before doing something about it. I say we wait for him one night after he gets off work and jump him!”
“You know I’m down with that,” Freda concurred, and they slapped a high five in accordance.
Keisha warned, “Girl, this is not Set It Off, and shit, we’ll get caught. I can’t do the jail thing—I’m too cute.”
Nervously pacing the floor as she thought of another solution, Mira said, “We really ain’t got to do it, Keisha. I’ll bring a U-Haul truckload of diesel dykes from my club to kick his ass. You know like those lumberjack bitches who be all like ‘What, nigga, what?!’ He won’t know what hit him.” Mira air-boxed as she relayed her plan to destroy Roland.
“Y’all know my granny is from the islands, right? She be sayin’ in her dialect, ‘Mira, Mira, you want me to fuck him up, do you? All we need is a piece of him clothes: old pair draws, sock, or anything I can have. I light a candle, put a picture of him in a box, and take it to the backyard and bury it. That nigga will lose his eyesight for three days, I tay ya. Or when him sleep—and you make sure that nigga sleep—have Tisha sprinkle a little Cajun cayenne pepper mixed with a pinch of garlic salt and white vinegar on his manhood garden downstairs, then lay a pigeon fedder in the bed with him. Now, Mira, make sure that a pigeon fedder. Cover him up and leave the room. He’ll get deathly ill for seven days straight. He tink it a virus or a cold that him can shake. He’ll get worse and worse, and every time he go to take a little dick piss, that shit will burn like acid.’”
Keisha said, “Shut up with all that mojo shit.”
Mira, still talking in a West Indian accent, said, “I’m serious, Keisha, or better yet, put a little eyedrop in his coffee that will knock that nigga out for forty-five minutes.”
“Jesus, Mira, I didn’t know your grandmother was from the islands. What island?” Valerie asked.
“Coney Island in New York.”
The loud chatter and laughter brought Nicole out of her room. She assured everyone that she was okay and couldn’t believe her nap had lasted more than an hour.
“Denise, I’m sorry I spoiled the entire party for everyone.”
“Don’t be silly. Plus, there was no way you could have known that jackass Roland was going to show off like that.”
“Has anyone talked to Tisha since?”
“Yes, I tried calling her and got her voice mail. She called my voice mail back and said everything is fine,” Renee said.
“And what about Kimmy?”
“Oh, she’s still at her grandmother’s.”
Zenora asked Nicole, “Are you sure you’re okay? Should we call Alan?”
“God, no. He’ll worry all night. I’m fine. I just got too excited, and what went on tonight caused me to forget to eat on time. C’mon, let’s open my gifts.”
They were like children at a party rather than bachelorettes as they clustered around Nicole on the sofa.
“Which one should I open first? They’re all so beautiful and too pretty to unwrap,” Nicole said.
“Girl, all the money I spent on that gift, you better open it,” demanded Keisha.
Nicole closed her eyes and grabbed a gift from the pile. The box was from Mira and contained a beautiful Waterford crystal picture frame with a photograph of the girls taken at the engagement party. Of course, everyone oohed and aahed and wanted Mira to provide them with additional copies of the picture.
Next was a gold envelope wrapped in matching organdy ribbon from Keisha: a five-hundred-dollar gift certificate to Bloomingdale’s, Nicole’s favorite store. Nicole was ecstatic.
From Renee she received two first-class round-trip airline tickets to Barcelona, Spain. Nicole screamed, and Zenora said, “If Alan doesn’t want to go, I’ll gladly take his place on that trip.”
“This must be from Zenora,” Nicole said. “I recognized the fuchsia paper, the same color as your shop.”
“Yeah, I just noticed that, too,” Freda said. “Everything you got is that color. Reminds me of Puerto Rican purple. I bet you make them Ricans wear it to bed.”
“Now you caught on.” Zenora smiled.
Nicole opened the oversized gift bag, which contained Victoria’s Secret lingerie and three complimentary visits for a full spa treatment at Z’s shop. Freda tried to talk Nicole out of one of the passes, but it didn’t work.
Valerie’s gift was a burgundy leather-bound family Holy Bible embossed with Alan and Nicole’s names.
“This is from Freda. God knows what could be in this,” Nicole said about the next gift she picked up. She took a peek inside the gift bag and quickly slammed it shut. “I’m not showing this. I’m not.”
That aroused everyone’s curiosity, and they convinced Nicole to take whatever it was out of the bag. Reluctantly and embarrassed, sh
e complied, pulling out a very realistic replica of a ten-inch penis.
Freda said, “Yeah, girl, that’s for those lonely nights when Alan gets on your damn nerves. Raheem will take care of the job, and he don’t ever talk back!”
When the entire piece was exposed, Nicole noticed a bracelet of blue-white diamonds wrapped around the base. Nicole was surprised by the ten-incher, but the diamond bracelet took the gift over the top.
Freda said, “Dicks and diamonds, they’re a girl’s best friends.” Everyone laughed.
“First of all, let me thank you all for my beautiful gifts,” Nicole said as she tried to keep her emotions in check. “In spite of everything that happened tonight, I am so happy. How many girls can say that? You know what I mean. I’m marrying the man of my dreams, my best friends from high school are my bridesmaids, I have a great job at the bank, a new home is being built from the ground up for me. I am truly blessed.”
Mira lit some candles and dimmed the lights for a second time. She then passed out crystal glasses and the magnum of champagne she had brought for the festivities.
Keisha said, “I’m blessed, too. I ain’t got no man right now, but that’s cool. I own my own business, own a Lexus and an Explorer, my health is on point, I’m beautiful, and—”
“Okay, we get it, you’re blessed,” Zenora said.
“Naw, all kidding aside,” Keisha said, “I’ve got eight amazing women to call friends. I tell you all everything about me. Y’all know stuff my own momma don’t know.”
All the bachelorettes raised their glasses to toast life, love, and friendship.
Renee took a sip of champagne before saying, “Uhmm, delish. But do we really tell each other everything? I mean, think about that. We all have mad love and respect for each other, but do we really tell each other everything?”
“Well, there’s some shit that just ain’t none of your business,” Freda said.
Denise added, “There is always a secret or two that people wouldn’t share with anyone, but that’s a natural thing.”
Renee said, “I’m sure there’s one thing that would shock each of us if we knew of it.”
