“It takes two. It’s not like you resisted.”
“I didn’t know you were engaged!”
“I’m sorry.”
Alexis threw back the covers. “Feel sorry for your fiancee, who has a man who needs to fuck other women to measure his love for her. You’re sick,” Alexis said as she dressed.
“Can we at least be friends?” Daxton pleaded, grabbing her arm. “I’m outta here! Not only are you a dog, but you’re crazy?’ She pulled out of his grip, grabbed her purse, and left.
She hailed a cab home. And this time there were no more tears.
2
A month later, Alexis found herself on a night out on the town with Diedre. Since the Daxton incident, Alexis stayed close to home, eating, sleeping, and writing in her journal. Diedre called every other day to check on her, and she even brought over her favorite buffalo wings from the Wing Wagon in Park Slope when she could. Finally, Diedre convinced her to come out of confinement and have a little fun. Alexis thought that fun was the last thing she needed, because usually trouble was just around the corner.
The Lab was a small club for “average folks” on Twelfth Avenue. Before she pulled up, Alexis tried calling Diedre several times. Each time, she got her voice mail. It was 10 p.m., and Alexis was beginning to wonder if she had the right place at all. There was The Lab in Brooklyn and one in the city. She swore that Diedre had mentioned meeting in the city. Frustrated and getting colder in her car, Alexis parked and walked inside.
From the looks of the outside, it didn’t seem like much would be going on inside. It was still early, but as soon as she stepped in, she felt completely out of her realm. Though it was March, Christmas lights adorned the lining of the bar and the walls of the small interior. Women with red weaves and tattoos walked back and forth with knee-high patent leather boots. Some danced with men, who looked like someone out of a Boyz n the Hood movie. Mostly in jeans and white T-shirts, the men smoked, danced, and held the wall up as they catcalled the women prancing by. “Yo, boo. Let me see you smile,” said one guy in a sweatsuit when she sat down at the bar.
Alexis clutched her purse and checked her cell phone for messages, but there were none. She became increasingly uncomfortable as the guy continued to stare at her, chewing his gum loudly.
“Can I have a glass of chardonnay?” Alexis asked over the loud rap music.
“Sure,” said the short, stout bartender, who looked nice and professional. Alexis breathed a sigh of relief, knowing at least he looked normal.
The bartender laid down a plastic cup in front of her. “Five dollars.”
Alexis picked up the plastic cup like it was dirty. “I said wine, not water.”
“It’s wine.”
Alexis smelled it, and she turned her nose up. “In a plastic cup. Don’t you have regular glasses? I’ll pay extra.”
“Sorry, but here, there be too many fights. Plastic cups are for safety purposes. Do you want it or not?” he asked, suddenly turning from polite to annoyed.
“Thanks,” Alexis said, throwing down the money with a dollar tip. She sipped at her plastic cup slowly, praying that by the time she was done, Diedre would walk in.
“If you wanna have sex wit no strings attached, let me hear a what, what, what, what—”went the rap that was currently thumping.
No, no, no, Alexis said to herself, shaking her head. This was not her scene. She had stopped dancing to rap at twenty-five and preferred Jill Scott to Lil Jon. About twenty minutes passed when she looked up to find the ladies’ room. She caught the sweatsuit guy again, still undressing her with his eyes.
The club was dark, and she couldn’t make out his face very well. Just those eyes. Jet black eyes that didn’t even seem to blink. Alexis breathed in deeply, her eyes darting around the room just in case Diedre was there looking for her. She felt glued to the seat. More and more men and women gathered on the dance floor, dressed in jeans, elaborate cutout, skin-tight dresses, and with men in baseball caps bopping to the beat.
It was almost midnight, and everyone did seem to be having a good time. No one seemed to care who knew what, who was wearing what, or who was with who. People just danced, drank, and danced some more. One woman looked about fifty-five, with Shirley Temple curls, red knee-high boots, and black catsuit. She spun around on the dance floor, dancing wildly to any tune that played. Alexis smiled at her, figuring that this woman was probably making up for lost time. A few other men gave Alexis the eye, but eventually they went about their business.
“From the windows, to the wall, till the sweat drop down my balls—”
“That’s it,” Alexis said out loud as she hopped off the barstool. She thought if she wanted to be degraded, she might as well go home and replay what happened with Daxton.
“Yo, boo.”
Alexis walked quickly through the crowd, stepping on several feet, wanting to get away from the sweatsuit guy, who stayed hot on her heels.
“Boo, I don’t bite. Slow down.”
Pissed, Alexis stopped dead in her tracks. “I am not Boot’ she shouted in his face. “Please go away.” She spun around and continued walking.
The sweatsuit guy jumped in front of her and blocked her path. “I was just giving you your cell phone. You left it on the bar.”
Alexis grabbed the phone from him. “I apologize,” she said, embarrassed. “I thought you were—”
“Trying to talk to you?” he said as they both moved to the side under the DJ booth to get out of the way of some people passing by.
“Yeah, well, you were staring at me all night,” she said, squinting to get a good look at his face in and out of the light. “But thanks.” She turned to leave.
“Hold on, I was staring at you all night, wondering when your man was coming through,” he said, his voice deep and smooth.
Alexis took another good look at him. He was about six feet of rugged good looks. His right ear, hands, and neck were decked out in diamonds and platinum. To Alexis he looked like some blinged-out rapper. She thought all that jewelry was tacky and obnoxious. “Well, that’s nice of you, but I really have to go.”
“Let me at least buy you a drink since your man stood you up,” he said, his eyes scanning her fitted white turtleneck and gold-sequined skirt. “Damn, you look good enough to eat in that skirt.”
“Excuse me?” Alexis said, clutching her pearls. “I think I’m a little overdressed.”
“Look, you wanna stand here all night, or you wanr something to wet your throat? What you drink? Alize?”
“That is grain alcohol. I don’t do that,” she said, taking a bit of interest in his persistence.
“Champagne?”
“Not at this place,” she hissed. They both stepped out of the way to let a group of women pass.
He laughed. “Water?”
“I can work with that.” She smiled back and followed him to the bar. She thought the least she could get from a wasted evening was some conversation. The last thing she wanted was to go back to her lonely apartment.
“What’s your name?” he asked as he waited for the bartender to bring their drinks.
“Alexis.”
“Like the car,” he said, grinning. “Now I thought a bourgie girl like you would have a name like Muffin.”
“I was born before that car. It’s just my name.”
“What’s your last name?”
Alexis smirked, adjusting the white pearls around her neck. “Wheels.”
“Ha!” he laughed. “Your parents had jokes or they were visionartes.
Alexis surveyed his gray Sean John sweatsuit and sneakers. She wondered how old he was, what did he do. She thought he would look much better in a sweatsuit that was his size, perhaps two sizes smaller. “And your name?”
“Rasheen U-Allah,” he said.
“Interesting,” Alexis said, rolling her eyes. Alexis figured he was probably also a rapper or producer. “And you’re a rapper.”
“Nah, I’m a brick mason, but I produce music
on the side for my boys,” he said.
“Of course.” Alexis sighed. “Just what this world needs—another music producer.”
But Rasheen didn’t flinch at her comment. “Yo, you wanna get some breakfast after this? I know IHOP be open late,” he said, handing her the drink.
“It’s almost two a.m. I don’t eat breakfast this early,” she said, thinking that the last time a guy asked her to leave a party and hang with him landed her on her back.
“Come on, boo. Live a little. Get that sexy ass moving,” he said, rocking his body to the music. A tattoo of a black Christ on his left arm peeked out from under his shirtsleeve.
Alexis eyed his moves and could tell he had more where that came from.
“I was watching you all night, and you’re mad tense up in the face. How old are you? Like thirty-five?”
“Please, I’m not even thirty yet,” Alexis said, sucking her teeth. But she did feel like she wanted to have some fun, let her hair down some, preferably with Diedre, who by now she had given up all hope on. “I have to go.” She gulped down the last of her water as she stared at his blue drink.
“Let me get your number.”
Alexis sighed and gave in. She didn’t want to have to deal with him following her out the door. “I’ll take yours too,” she said, as he wrote it down.
He licked his lips, which were full and made her want to taste them. Alexis had to keep her eyes off them.
“Here you go. Call a brother up. While I’m still on the market.” He laughed.
“Later,” Alexis said, turning toward the door. She already wished she hadn’t given him her digits. He wasn’t even her type, with his flashy jewelry and thug style. But he had some flair and flavor to him. She liked his confident swagger that just oozed with masculinity. She wanted to hop on and ride him all the way home. But she had a feeling she’d be hearing from him real soon.
AROUND NOON ON Monday, Alexis and Diedre finally caught up with each other. They had lunch at Simone, a small French cafe in Brooklyn Heights, overlooking the water.
“—and when I got home, hair finally done, clothes laid out, guess who starts running his mouth,” Diedre explained, slicing her strawberry crepe. “I thought he was working a late security shift at the building, and he was home on the couch talking about I ain’t going anywhere tonight. I tried to call, but the fool hid my cell phone and my damn car keys.”
Alexis shook her head the whole time and rested her elbows on the wicker table. What perplexed her more than Diedre’s story was that Diedre seemed like she was showing off because she had a man. “So because Prince didn’t want you to go, you left me hanging? Now you know that is foul. You could have called.” Alexis was still quite upset with Diedre because she herself would never stand a friend up for a man.
“Honey, you don’t understand how Prince gets,” Diedre said as if she were talking about a three-year-old. She dabbed her mouth with her napkin and asked the waiter for more champagne. “He took my phone and he wouldn’t leave me alone long enough to sneak a call. What he does is usually get me in the bed when he wants his own way. And chile, I love every minute of it. Sometimes I get him mad just for the extra orgasms.”
“And you like being manipulated, and having a man yank his leash around your neck anytime you misbehave. That is just plain wrong,” Alexis said, smearing more orange sauce on her Grand Marnier-infused crepe, but she was hating on Diedre’s constant dick supply.
“That is my business. And I don’t have a problem with Prince. I have my moments too. I am not going to blame a man who wants to be with his woman on a Saturday night, while his friends are running in and out of clubs.”
“So just be grateful he wants you is all you are really saying.”
“I said I was sorry, Alexis. We are not children. I am thirty-two. You are twenty-nine. My man is my first priority at all times. I love you and we cool, but when you finally get a man, you’ll see what I mean.” Diedre took out a small compact mirror and applied a gold shimmery lipstick, one to match her gold eye shadow.
Alexis had to admit that Diedre’s conservative style has changed drastically since Prince, and she was looking better, younger, more lively. But she didn’t think Diedre was doing it for that. “Finally? I rather be alone than to have some man throw some good dick on me anytime he wants his own way or tell me when and where to go.”
Diedre’s mouth twisted to the side as she waited for Alexis to think.
“Well,” Alexis said, swirling her hot tea. She smiled. “That may not be all that bad, especially right now. I have run out of batteries for my vibrator, and I would love to have a man controlling me every now and then.”
“Now you keeping it real. Come on, girl. This ain’t games. And Prince is a good man. He may have been in jail, he may have only an eleventh-grade education, and he don’t have a driver’s license, but he is all the man that I need. He fixes my car, my mind, my body, and gives me every last dollar of his three-hundred-and-forty-four-dollar weekly check. I don’t take it, but he still would buy me flowers or help with a bill or two, if he can. He can cook a mean-ass homemade chicken soup. I can talk to him, and he makes me feel sexy, even with my morning hair and breath. And in the bed, his sips my clit like sweet nectar, wraps his tongue around my pussy like a—”
“There you go again,” Alexis said, pushing away her finished plate. “Too much information. And don’t you know it’s a cardinal rule that you ain’t supposed to talk about your man’s good sex skills with your horny, single friends.” Alexis smirked mischievously.
“Oh no, honey. I speak my mind to whoever. I’ll just probably have to cut you if you even think about sampling,” she said, playfully pointing at her with a knife. “Let Prince try to stray with some chick, I’ll make him bring that heffa home, and I’ll fuck her probably better than he can. After that, he’ll be so traumatized with his sex skills, he wouldn’t dare stand even close to another woman.”
“You are insane!” Alexis and Diedre laughed as they leaned into each other at the table. A few diners rolled their eyes at them. “That Prince should put a whip appeal on your behind.”
“Please tell me you at least got a prescription for love at The Lab. Preferably from a tall cutie,” Diedre said, her eager grin showing off her white bright teeth.
“Come on, if I did, it was only to kill time. Every guy there looked like he just got released. And I swore I saw some guy with some device on his ankle. It wasn’t exactly my forte. Why did you even suggest that place?”
“Because I wanted to expose you to something different. Don’t you be tired of going to those pretentious bourgie spots where men introduce themselves as “Hi, I’m Larry. I am VP of Investment Banking at Chase. I have a house, no kids, and I am probably the best thing you will meet in your life. I don’t need you, so let me bore you with my fabulousness.”
Alexis roared with laughter at Diedre’s funny face and fake anal retentive voice.
They both were having a good time, just as they had back at boarding school. Alexis thought that was what she needed on Saturday night. “You do that so well. And I gotta be honest—most men in there looked like they were VP of Office Mail.”
“Did you meet anyone? Even let a man get close enough to you to smell his cologne?”
She thought of Rasheen. “I did.”
“And?”
“He was staring at me the whole night. He didn’t even talk to anyone else. When I was about to leave, I forgot my cell on the bar, and he went behind me and made sure he gave it to me. Then we talked. He seemed nice, but not my style.”
“Haven’t you learned anything? What is his name?”
“Rasheen U-AUah. Sounds like a Five Percenter. Probably was in jail.”
“Did he say he was.”
“No, but I know.”
“I think we better end this little lunch, because you got some work to do. You better go home right now and call that man. He seems interesting. What if every man who looked at you thought you w
ere a rich, conceited snob?”
“But I am.” Alexis smiled.
“Bad example.”
ALEXIS RETURNED HOME just in time to watch Dr. Phil. She put her feet up on her cream leather sofa, grabbed a box of Cheez-It crackers, and nestled herself in to watch an hour of “Is It Him or You?” a segment on chronically single women. That was the last thing she wanted to hear, but perhaps it was some sign. She loved being home watching her favorite shows, lunching with friends, and getting her pampered spa treatments every two weeks. In fact, she was a reoccur-ring client at Prive, who called just a few days before each appointment. Her lifestyle wasn’t one she was ready to take down a level or two. She wanted to stay where she was or increase it with a man of higher financial status. Diedre came from the same background, but somehow was able to maintain her status. Prince lived with her and drove her car. But Alexis wasn’t quite ready to go that route. She expected a man to at least have his own space. She would even move in together with a man if she was engaged with a set wedding date and at least one deposit down with a vendor. She would not even dare let a man get in the driver’s seat of her Benz, let alone borrow her car. Her worst nightmare was for a boyfriend to get a speeding ticket while driving her ride and hike up her points and insurance.
More for enjoyment than for money, Alexis would buy and sell art by her favorite painters, like Basquiat, Picasso, and Frida Kahlo at small galleries throughout the city or at private parties at her father’s home in Westchester. Lately, however, all her time seemed to be consumed with thoughts of men and her single status. She loved having her own nights and being an honorary member of the Strong Black Sister Brigade, but as the days passed, she craved the love and security only a man could give her.
Alexis peeked at the caller ID on her phone when she heard it ring. Her heart nearly flew out of her mouth. It was Leonard. She couldn’t understand what he possibly could want.
Just before the last ring, she picked up. “Hello,” Alexis said, in a long-drawn way.
“Can I talk to you?”
“Who is this?”
“It’s Leonard. Did you forget so soon?”
Mr. Satisfaction Page 21
