The Next Best Thing

by Deidre Berry

  Nadia was living upstairs in 10E when I first moved into the building. I’d gone down to the fitness room one day to get my workout on, and there was this tall, pretty, multiethnic chic who was actually smiling while she went hard on the StairMaster. I don’t know about you, but to me it was an indication that she had to be an extreme nutcase. I mean, really. How many folks actually enjoy strenuous exercise? So, I was all set to keep my distance from this kooky broad, but Nadia ended up disarming me with her bubbly, down-to-earth personality. It turns out that she is a bit on the nutty side, but then again, so am I.

  We instantly hit it off, and it wasn’t long before we were as close as sisters.

  “That’s all fine and good,” Nadia said after I told her about my dinner with Nelson last night. “But what I really want to know is did you get some?”

  “Is your mind always in the gutter?” I asked.

  Nadia shrugged. “Pretty much.”

  “Well, sorry to disappoint you but Nelson was just being neighborly when he invited me over for dinner, and it wasn’t even about trying to hook up or anything like that. He just genuinely wanted to get to know me.”

  “So let me get this straight: he’s a writer who loves to cook, he reads, he’s sweet, sensitive, and he didn’t try to hit that? Girl, that brother is gay!”

  “Now, there you go. Why can’t a guy have all those qualities without his sexuality being questioned?” I asked. “Besides, the man happens to be a widower.”

  “And? I know plenty of gay guys who happened to be married to women.”

  “Nelson is not gay, okay? Trust me on that.”

  “Girl, I’m just messing with you,” Nadia said. “So did y’all express interest in dating each other, or what?”

  “Not hardly!” I scoffed at the very idea.

  “Why the hell not? And please don’t tell me it’s about that tired ass ‘don’t shit where you eat rule’ again.”

  “That’s the main reason,” I said. “But even if I did decide to violate my rule, Nelson has way more baggage than I’m ready to deal with at this point.”

  “And you don’t?” Nadia said, raising an eyebrow at me.

  “Please! You don’t see me getting emotional and teary-eyed at the mere mention of Roland’s name.”

  “No, but is there any reason in particular why you’re sporting that ring?” Nadia asked, referring to the five-karat Cartier bridal set that I wore on my left ring finger.

  “Oh, this little old thing?” I said, admiring the way the princess-cut diamond caught the sunlight and sparkled brilliantly. “It has no special meaning to me other than the fact that it’s beautiful, and it really sets off my French manicure, don’t you think?” I wiggled my fingers in Nadia’s face so that she could get the full effect.

  “Yeah, that sucker is pretty tight,” Nadia said with a trace of envy in her voice. “But why would you even want to wear the ring of a man who disrespected you the way Roland did? Knowing what it represents.”

  Nadia can be a little slow at times, so I enunciated to make sure she got it this time. “This ring has no sentimental value to me anymore. It is just a ring! I put it on earlier just to look at and admire, I got busy cleaning, and just forgot to take it off.”

  “Humph! Well, the way I see it, there are at least three other fingers you could be wearing that thing on. Apparently, Nelson isn’t the only one still emotionally attached to the past.”

  I sighed, wondering how in the hell I had been sucked into discussing any of this stuff in the first place. My intention when I came up here was to read A Piece of Cake by Cupcake Brown, and to relax in peace.

  But just as I had been settling in, here came Nadia, the Wendy Williams of our building with a stack of fashion magazines, a mini-cooler full of Arbor Mist—oh, and as always, plenty of gossip about the neighbors.

  “Oh!” Nadia said excitedly. “You’ll never guess who that tramp in 1B is cavorting around with now.”

  “Who?” I asked, shifting my weight in the chaise to keep my butt from falling asleep.

  “Eddie!”

  I peered over the top of my Dior sunglasses to get a better look at Nadia. “You mean, the old-ass security guard that works around here?”

  Nadia nodded adamantly. “Girl, yes! I was on my way down to the sauna when that old man came creeping out of 1B, zipping up his fly and sweating so bad I thought he was having a heat stroke.”

  Apartment 1B, also known as Ursula Jeffries, is one of the many single women in our building, and someone who Nadia is skeptical of because of the steady stream of male visitors in and out of her condo.

  Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.

  Ursula does have an unusually high amount of male company, but as far as being a real-live ho? I doubt it. More than likely, Nadia is just being catty.

  All either of us knows about Ursula for sure, is that she works for the Kansas City Tribune, and is what the old folks call “some-timey.” Sometimes she will speak to you, and sometimes she won’t.

  “Maybe she’s doing some kind of research,” I said, trying to give Ursula the benefit of the doubt.

  “Yeah, she’s doing some research all right, and I hope she catches the crabs with her nasty ass!” Nadia said. “Speaking of nasty…”

  Nadia’s mood soured as Mitchell from 4C walked out, giving the guided tour to a slutty-looking redhead who wore so much makeup she resembled Bozo the Clown.

  Fortunately, I don’t know all of the gory details, but Nadia and Mitchell dated briefly last summer, which has now resulted in the two of them not being able to occupy the same space at the same time and be civil about it.

  “Don’t look now, but the cat done drug in something mangy again!” Nadia purposely said that loud enough for Mitchell to hear, which he did, because he immediately came over flashing that lopsided grin he’s convinced is so irresistible to women.

  Mitchell is one of our building’s most eligible bachelors, and I’m not exaggerating when I say that he has boned just about every woman in the building, except for me. Even some of the married ones.

  “Tori, you look as gorgeous as always,” Mitchell said.

  “Thank you,” I said, graciously allowing him to kiss the back of my hand. “Looks like you have a nice tan going on there.”

  “Tina and I vacationed in Cabo last weekend, and we had tons of fun in the sun, didn’t we, baby?”

  Tina/Bozo giggled, as she and Mitchell proceeded to try and swallow each other’s tongues.

  I shielded my eyes from the disgusting public display of affection, while Nadia made loud retching noises as if she were vomiting.

  “Still haven’t gotten a handle on that little drinking problem of yours, huh?” Mitchell asked Nadia, finally acknowledging her presence.

  “You know, I gotta give it to you, Mitch,” Nadia replied, looking Tina over with a frown. “You are the only man I know who has this endless supply of blow-up dolls. Cheap ones at that.”

  “Tori, do me a favor and tell your friend to get over it.” Mitchell said, then steered Tina back into the building.

  “See,” I told Nadia. “That’s a perfect example of why you should never shit where you eat.”

  “Believe me,” she said. “That’s a hard and fast rule for me, from now on.”

  Twenty minutes later I was once again, deeply engrossed in A Piece of Cake.

  “I kicked Byron’s ass to the curb the other day,” Nadia announced out of the blue. I thought she had fallen asleep while sunbathing, but apparently not.

  I kept reading, pretending not to have heard her.

  Nadia and my nerves do not always mix. She can be such high drama that you have to be in a certain mood to deal with her, because she will wear you out if you let her.

  “I kicked Byron’s ass to the curb!” Nadia said again, only this time she shouted close to my ear, making it impossible for me to continue ignoring her.

  “What for this time?” I sighed, snapping the book shut.

  “Beca
use I warned him that if he didn’t show up for my Grandma Lilly’s seventy-eighth birthday party, then the two of us are finished. He didn’t show up, so that’s it. Finito!”

  I would be applauding Nadia if Byron were a horrible bastard who treated her badly, but I like him. I think Byron is good for Nadia because he puts her on a pedestal and seems to have mastered the most important factor in dealing with her, which is giving her whatever she wants, and doing it with a smile.

  “Nadia, the man’s job transferred him to San Diego,” I said. “You can’t expect him to drop everything and come to Kansas City just to satisfy one of your whims.”

  “No, no, mami. This was not a whim. I told Byron about this months ago and he knew that this was something that meant a lot to me. Besides, he makes special trips to Kansas City whenever he wants to fuck me!”

  The words “fuck me!” seemed to bounce off nearby buildings and echo throughout the entire city just as Jan and George, the conservative Republican couple from 4E, came out for a dip in the pool. The appalled expression on their faces was priceless.

  Nadia is a mess, straight up and down. If she knew better, she would do better, but sadly she is thirty-one years old and still under the misguided delusion that every man she meets should be thrilled to have the opportunity to spoil her rotten. If not, she dumps the poor chump and moves on to the next unsuspecting sugar daddy, which besides being a massage therapist is how she was able to buy her condo in the first place.

  I tell Nadia all the time that she suffers from a chronic case of the “next best thing syndrome.” You know you are afflicted with NBTS when you’re involved with someone, and no matter how much of a good thing you have going on, you are still constantly looking around for someone even better to come along.

  Men suffer from it because music videos and Jermaine Dupree being with Janet Jackson has given them all hope that no woman is unobtainable. No matter what they themselves may be lacking in the looks department, they too, do not have to settle for anything less than their idea of perfection.

  When it comes to women and NBTS, personally I think romance novels are responsible for the unrealistic notions of love and romance that some of us have.

  I am really thinking about starting a petition to have those things come with warning labels, like cigarettes.

  WARNING! There is a direct link between romance novels and NBTS. If you are not extremely careful, regular consumption may greatly impair your ability to distinguish fantasy from reality.

  “So who’s next in line?” I asked Nadia. “Knowing you, you already have another victim scoped out, and lined up.”

  “T. C.” said she, with a glint of mischief in her eyes.

  “As in Terrell Cunningham?” I asked in disbelief.

  “That’s the one,” Nadia confirmed with smug smile.

  Terrell “T. C.” Cunningham is the Kansas City Chiefs’ premier wide receiver, a six-foot-three-inch bi-racial cutie with a lean, perfectly muscular body, and the smoldering good looks of a young Rick Fox.

  Several months ago, I headed up the Houghton Foundation’s annual celebrity charity event, which benefits local disadvantaged kids. Nadia doesn’t even like kids, but she literally begged me to put her on the guest list so that she could come rub elbows with some of the city’s wealthiest bachelors.

  I gave in against my better judgment, and Nadia showed up wearing five-inch spiked heels, and a risqué little Mariah Carey–type number that accentuated her ass and cleavage so much, mothers were literally covering the eyes of their children when she walked past.

  Nadia’s tactic worked, though, because guys swarmed around her that night like flies to sheep shit. She ended up giving her phone number to Terrell, who coincidentally had just signed a seven-year contract with the Chiefs, as well as a lucrative endorsement deal with Reebok.

  “It was months ago when you met him,” I said. “Why is he just now calling?”

  “That’s just how athletes are.” Nadia shrugged dismissively. “They travel all over during the off season, and come back to town right before training camp is about to start.”

  “I don’t know, Nadia. If he was feeling you all that much, it wouldn’t have taken him months to touch base with you.”

  “Will you stop knocking my hustle and just be happy for me? Terrell could really turn out to be the one.”

  “Poor T. C.” I shook my head, genuinely sympathetic. “That boy has no idea that he’s about to be eaten alive, does he?”

  “Not a clue!” Nadia said, laughing wickedly.

  I shook my head and sighed.

  As I listened to Nadia lay out her sinister plans for Terrell, I wondered how it was possible that Oprah has been on the air for over twenty years, yet there are women in the world who are still this damn stupid.

  The present moment is the only moment available to us, and it is the door to all moments.—Thich Nhat Hanh

  SATURDAY

  Back in my condo, I slip the ring off my left hand and stare at it for the longest time, before placing it back into my jewelry box under lock and key.

  I wish I had the nerve to do something dramatic with it like they do in the movies.

  I thought about sending it back to Roland along with a dead rat and a dozen black roses full of thorns. Tossing it out my car window while on the freeway, grinding it up in the garbage disposal, and even flushing it down the toilet.

  But hell, five karats is five karats, and I am just not that courageous. Or that crazy.

  10

  Okay, I have to confess. I feel like a hypocrite right now, because I did not tell Nadia the whole story of what happened last night over at Nelson’s place.

  The version I gave her ended with dessert, and then me going home.

  But what really happened was this:

  Nelson and I polished off the mango tarts, plus that second bottle of wine.

  After the Pinot was gone, we mutually decided that it was much too early for the night to end, so I ran my happy ass over to my place, and grabbed a bottle of champagne.

  You know, ball till you fall, and all that.

  We were in his living room, and I was admiring that nice, big Brunswick pool table of his, when he asked, “Do you play?”

  “Not really,” I said like a helpless damsel. “I’ve tried to learn, but I never could quite get the hang of it.”

  I was lying my ass off.

  Actually, I’m pretty good at shooting pool. My father started teaching me the game when I was nine years old, and I’ve been perfecting my skills ever since.

  “Are you up for a quick lesson?” Nelson asked.

  “Sure…”

  So I let him coach me as if I had never picked up a pool stick in my life.

  I had mixed feelings about that at first, though, because I constantly tell my goddaughter Alicia that women should never dumb down for any man, but the reality is that there are a certain amount of innocent little games that have to be played in order to sway a man.

  And make no mistake about it, I wanted that man.

  Who wouldn’t? Nelson is a tall, modern-day Adonis with golden brown skin, boyishly handsome looks, and the body of life.

  DSWYE rule, be damned!

  So there I was, flouncing around the pool table, trying to be as coy and cute as a drunk, horny woman could possibly be.

  I chalked up the pool stick Nelson gave me, and positioned my body over the table just the way he showed me.

  “That’s it,” he said. “Now lean into it a little more.”

  I complied, making sure to stick my ass way out where he could get a real good look at it.

  “Good!” Nelson said, excited that I was catching on so fast. “Now, when you get the white ball lined up exactly where you want it, hit it as hard as you can.”

  I followed Nelson’s instructions and broke the balls apart with a loud Thwack! Balls went flying across the table, dropping in pockets one after the other until only three balls remained on the table.

  “Hot
damn!” I said, trying to act surprised.

  Impressed with my “natural” ability, Nelson pumped his fist like Tiger Woods, then gave me a high five. “Way to go, Tori!”

  “I’ve got a very good teacher,” I said, leaning across the table again with my ass in the air.

  I was concentrating on dropping the six ball in the far left corner pocket when I felt a hardness brushing up against my backside, which I knew right away was definitely not his pool stick.

  Nelson’s obvious arousal gave me the courage to initiate a kiss. It was just a peck on the lips at first, but it quickly turned into a deeply passionate tongue-wrestling match that sent an overwhelming surge of throbbing heat straight down to my clitoris.

  His lips were soft, and the kiss was good, but after a couple of minutes, I could sense Nelson’s hesitation.

  “What’s wrong?” I murmured breathlessly.

  “I can’t do this,” he said, backing away from me, looking flustered. “I’m celibate.”

  “What?” I blinked rapidly several times, looking at him as if he’d said he had a third testicle.

  He repeated “I’m celibate” with no real conviction, so I didn’t buy it for a second.

  I don’t know where she came from, but this aggressive diva suddenly emerged from inside of me, and she was not taking no for an answer.

  I put a finger to Nelson’s lips to silence him, and proceeded to plant kisses from his neck all the way down to his lower region where I unzipped his pants and pulled them down around his ankles. He stepped out of his pants while I reached inside his Calvin Klein boxers, pleased to find that what I was looking for was a very nice size and was every bit as hard as the Arabic alphabet.

  “You sure you want to do this?” I asked, looking him in the eye as I took a condom from my purse and ripped it open with my teeth.

  “Oh yeah…” he said softly. “This is exactly what I want to do.”

  Nelson squeezed the tip of the condom while I rolled it down over his magic stick.

  Nelson pulled me to my feet, and unzipped the back of my minidress, which immediately fell to the floor in a heap, leaving me standing there in my black lace La Perla bra and matching panties.