by Cydney Rax
When Rachel and I were little girls, her mother, Brooke, would always try to make sure that her daughter was dressed in outfits that were newer and prettier and better tailored than mine. At first I didn’t understand, and I hardly paid attention to Brooke’s shenanigans. But as I got older, I started to retain certain events more and more.
I was eight; Rachel was four.
“See Rachel’s new shoes, Marlene? Aren’t they cute?” Then she’d stop and blankly stare at my shoes, which had holes in the bottoms and soles that were falling apart so you could see what color socks I had on. When Brooke would interrogate me like this, I’d blink my eyes several times trying to stop the tears from spilling and soaking my face. But I’d always nod my head in agreement with Miss Brooke only because she was my elder, even though I barely wanted to. “Yes, ma’am, Rachel’s shoes are so pretty. I have some just like them at home. I’m wearing these old shoes now because I don’t want to mess up my nice ones.” Rachel’s mom would smirk at me, and I’d turn away feeling ashamed. I’d glance down at my shoes and hope that when I got home, I’d really find a pretty new pair waiting on me.
And when I did arrive and the shoes I dreamed of wouldn’t be there, I’d search our house, going from room to room looking for Blinky That’s when he was jobless and extra cash was scarce. Mom was going to school and her job didn’t pay much. So Blinky spent a lot of time holed away in the dark den; the windows would be covered up with pages from an old copy of the Alexandria News Weekly (he was born in Louisiana). Blinky would be propped up on his La-Z-Boy with an unlit cigarette bobbing from his mouth. And he’d be wearing his usual sleeveless undershirt and some raggedy-looking slacks that had holes in them from countless accidental cigarette burns. I’d grab his big arm and crawl onto his lap, whining. One day I told him, “Daddy, Rachel got some new shoes. Where mine at? I want some, too.”
“You can’t have everything your sister has.”
“Did you buy them for her?”
“I don’t have any money. Brooke’s ‘friend’ got them for her.” I knew it meant another man who was sweet on Brooke and would try to impress her by giving Rachel presents. “Get away from me, Pretty Girl.”
“Don’t call me that. Miss Brooke says I’m ugly. Am I ugly, Blinky?”
“Pretty Girl, you’re not ugly. Why do you think I call you Pretty Girl?”
I shrugged my shoulders, confused.
“Then why Miss Brooke say I’m ugly? She always says Rachel is prettier than me. And Rachel has nice pretty dresses, too … and shoes … She is prettier than me.” It’s like I discovered the truth on my own. And I loudly burst into tears and covered my face with my chubby fingers. Blinky patted me on the back. Then he reached in his pocket and handed me a crumpled five-dollar bill, which, at the time, felt like a hundred dollars. I couldn’t buy a new pair of shoes with the money, but knowing he cared enough to stop me from crying managed to calm me down for a moment.
The next time I saw my little sister, Rachel, I flashed my five-dollar bill in her face and stuck out my tongue. She raced to her room and came back holding a couple of crinkled five-dollar bills, plus a quarter. I guess Brooke’s friend gave her that money. I burned with jealousy shut my eyes closed, and waited for my sister to disappear. But she never did.
Jeff turns into the driveway of his modest, one-story frame home. Within seconds, the garage door automatically opens. Jeff pulls in next to another car whose body is completely cloaked with a sheet of light blue fabric. He jumps out of his car and waits for me, then walks over to the covered vehicle.
“Even though I have a garage, I still gotta protect Ella with the indoor car cover; it’s actually called WeatherShield fabric, and it’s great at protecting my baby from nicks and scratches.”
“Ahh, so she’s special, huh?”
“You better believe it. It’s a classic that I enjoy maintaining. Ella is the kind of car that everyone knows is mine whenever I take her out for a drive.”
“Well, let me see her.”
“Of course.” Jeff grins at me and reaches in his pocket. He retrieves a set of keys and inserts a tiny key inside a lock that is attached to the car cover. The lock pops open, and Jeff completely pulls the fabric off his Mach 1.
“Hey, this is so cool.”
I extend my hand toward the hood.
“Don’t touch it. I got it waxed recently and …”
“Oh,” I say, embarrassed. “Well, she looks wonderful, and I can’t wait to ride with you, Jeff.”
He quietly nods then rushes to refasten the cover again.
Jeff says, “C’mon, let’s go inside.” I follow Jeff as he unlocks the side door that leads to the house. We enter his place, first passing through a tiny room that has a washer and dryer, and then I find myself in the kitchen. Leftover dishes are sitting on his dinette table. I notice half-eaten sandwiches sitting on napkins, and bottles of soda with missing caps line the kitchen counter.
“Excuse the mess, beautiful. It’s not usually like this. I haven’t cleaned up in at least two months; been too busy hustling and trying to make that paper.”
“Oh, no problem,” I say with an encouraging smile, but inside I am disgusted. I am not very tidy myself, but it’s only because I get so busy I don’t always have time to straighten up. I do a halfway job of cleaning at least once a week, though, which is better than nothing. I am not sure if Jeff’s excuse is the real reason, especially since he invited me over. Well, I’m no shrink, but I have an idea.
The signs of depression aren’t that hard to figure out. Quiet as it’s kept, men get depressed, too, and I’ve learned it takes a man much longer to get over a breakup than it does a woman. I mean, it’s only been a couple of months since Rachel broke off the engagement. So it is possible that he still … no, I won’t let my mind go there. I am not about to be anybody’s rebound woman.
“Honey, you can be transparent with me. If you are a messy person I like to know these things up front.” I laugh and say sheepishly, “So tell me. Is this the Jeffrey Williams way?”
“Baby Doll, you’re going to find out what the Jeffrey Williams way is.” He winks, yet looks embarrassed. Blushing, I go pick up a dirty plate and fork and take both items to his kitchen. The stainless steel sink is filled with old, cloudy-looking dish water whose bubbles have long disappeared. I take a deep breath and pull out the plug, allowing the water to drain. After I replug the sink, I turn on the faucet and squirt out a glob of liquid detergent.
Dang, I must really be feeling this man, I’m thinking to myself.
“Hey you don’t have to do that. You’re company.”
“I am not company, Jeff. I mean, I am, but I want to be more than just a guest. You know what I’m saying?”
He grins and nods, and I do my thing, taking a rag and washing the plates and cups and utensils while listening to Jeff talk.
“Man, I’m out there on the streets hustling every day. From sunup to sundown I chase paper. I can make two grand to thirty grand fixing up and selling properties. So far I own six properties, and before it’s over I want to own twelve.”
“Why you own so many houses?”
“Trump is my inspiration. He started buying one property at a time. And that’s what I’m doing. I just want to see how far I can go.”
“Are you a slumlord?” I ask with a playful grin.
“No, baby, no, I know how to treat people. I am fair; just pay your rent on time, and we’ll be best friends.” He winks.
“Oh, so you have good tenants, huh?”
“Uh, yeah, they’re fairly good. If they’re not, I evict them. And I sue them if I have to.”
Hearing Jeff talk about his work turns me on. I love a man about his business. And he sounds so strong and sure. He’s got his own thing going, and that’s good because my life is busy, too. I think we’ll complement each other just fine.
“Only thing about me is I love money, but I don’t trust banks.”
“Oh, so you don’t trust me?” I
ask and snicker.
“Baby girl, you aren’t the bank; you just work at the bank.”
“I know … but why don’t you trust them?”
“Their interest rates are a joke, and I just want to always be able to have access to my money anytime I want.”
“That’s what the ATM is for.”
“Yeah, and ATM stands for Always Taking My Money.”
“Jeff,” I say, giggling. “That’s so cruel.”
“Cruel, but true. The fees for using an ATM are outrageous. Plus, in an emergency, the ATM’s can be tied up, broken—shoot, some folks even steal those machines, load ’em up on the back of a big pickup and drive away.”
“Nevertheless, you can still get your money, Jeff; it’s not like your cash is only in one specific ATM.”
“Look, Marlene, I know what I’m talking about. Even if you can get to an ATM and get a cash advance, the banks charge you interest on all the money that you owe on your credit card, not just the amount of the cash advance. It’s highway robbery, bank-style. So my theory is never, ever trust a bank. And I love that I don’t pay fines because I … I store my money in unconventional places.”
“Oh, yeah, like where?”
“Only special people get to know special things about me.”
“C’mon, Jeff, tell me,” I plead, anxious to hear more.
He merely shakes his head. I soften up and decide to back off.
I proceed to vigorously scrub and rinse off plates and skillets and pots, then wipe down the counters so that everything looks and smells fresh. Then it hits me that doing housework does not look sexy. Not on a first date. So I toss aside the dish rag and slink over to the couch where Jeff is now seated. His big-screen TV is on, and the volume is turned up high. NBA game. Lakers versus Celtics. I hate basketball, because it seems like the same plays keep happening over and over again.
“Ooo!” I squeal and clap my hands like I’m deliriously happy. “Who’s winning? Who’s giving a beating and who’s taking a beating?”
Jeff’s eyes light up and he grins. “You love b-ball? Have a seat. I knew there was something I liked about you.”
I giggle, sit next to Jeff, and toss back my hair with a flick of my hands. I can sense that Jeff is staring at me more than he’s looking at the game. I pretend not to notice and continue grinning, trying to always look happy and act positive and drama-free.
The game is being replayed from when it first aired earlier. It lasts another hour, late into the night. Jeff and I chitchat while the TV is on. I gotta pretend like I know who the players are, but I don’t recognize anybody on the court except Kobe, and that’s only because he was in the news for the rape accusation. Otherwise, I wouldn’t know that man if he passed me on the street. But I mentally take notes, pay all kinds of attention. I know men love women who are excellent listeners. And I want to do all I can so that Jeff will turn his mind to me, and keep his mind off Rachel.
During one of the commercial breaks, Jeff smiles and nudges me. “Tell me some of your sexy stories.”
“Huh?”
“Every woman who has ever dealt with a man has a sexy story. Come on. Tell me.” His grin is irresistible.
So, praying my honesty won’t backfire, I stare at him and say, “Okay, a long time ago I was messing around with this guy named Too Damn Fine.” I pause for a beat. “Jeff, why are you looking at me like that? That’s what they called him.”
“That’s a nickname. Okay, keep going.”
“Too Damn Fine loved to wear his do-rags underneath a big black-and-white fitted cap that he’d tilt to the side. You know, a hat like a fedora. Anyway, his jeans always fell below the waist so that you could see his boxers. And he loved wearing muscle tees to show off his you-know-what.”
Jeff laughs. “Keep going.”
“So, obviously I couldn’t let the fam know I was interested in this guy. They would have tried to talk me out of it. And the more someone tells me I can’t do something—.”
“The more you eat Chinese food?”
“Shut up, you’re so silly. That doesn’t make any sense.” I scream and laugh and lift my hand to pretend like I’m going to playfully punch him.
“Okay, keep going.”
“Hey, I do love me some kung pao shrimp and pork egg foo young.” I smirk and wink at Jeff. “Anyway, me and Too Damn Fine would have to sneak around just to be with each other. I’d go out of my way to dress in church clothes, but I’d also carry a big ole backpack with me so I could change into my fun gear as soon as I got into his car.”
“Ooh, you’re so scandalous.”
“No, Jeff, don’t call me that. I had to do what I had to do to be with the guy I loved. That’s just how I roll.”
“I see,” he says, staring at me. “What kind of car did he drive?”
“Uh, a whatchamacallit. I remember it was an American car, black on black. The shocks were terrible, but he said he did that on purpose. He wanted people to notice him when he drove down the street. Real arrogant, just how I like ’em.” I laugh. “Anyway, he, oh, I remember now. He drove a mean-looking Charger. I love sporty cars. And he liked driving with all the windows rolled down and would pump his music so loud you could hear him coming blocks away.”
“Keep going, Little Mama.”
I love that Jeff called me “Little Mama” and that he really seems to be listening to everything I tell him.
Jeff is going to be mine.
“He picks me up. I start removing my church clothes and put on a halter top and some shorts right there in the front seat while we’re driving down Scott Street, right past Frenchy’s Chicken. And he drives us to Hobby Airport. And we keep going until we reach the roof of one of the parking garages. And we climb onto the roof of his car and peer up at the sky to watch the airplanes fly over us. It was so romantic, so beautiful.”
“Okay, but when does the sexy come in?”
“Don’t interrupt. I’m not done yet.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“So, oh my God, I’m almost embarrassed to tell you this. I don’t want you to think I’m a freak.”
“I swear to God, I won’t think you’re a freak.”
I take a deep breath. “Okay, Too Damn Fine grabbed me around the waist and pulled me against his big ole chest, and we starting slobbering each other down, feeling on each other like two high schoolers. I heard the sounds of planes taking off; shoot, for all I know other travelers might have been parked near us, but I didn’t care. Baby boy, when I felt Too Damn Fine’s private parts poking against me, I lost it.”
“Damn.”
“That’s what I was saying. I was rubbing my cheeks against this man’s face, kissing him like I’ve never kissed a man before, and we had sex right there on that roof.”
“Eww, Too Damn Fine had him a big-time freak.”
“Jeff,” I squeal, and this time, I actually punch him with my fist. He stares at me with tenderness, which surprises me. I am happy, though. He could have looked at me with disgust. He could have asked me to leave, told me I am not the woman for him. But it’s cool I can tell him my sexiest secrets, and he still seems to be down for me. I like that about him.
“I always wondered about you, you know that, don’t you?”
Feeling warm and self-conscious, I shift nervously in my seat but remain silent.
“I mean, it was a little while after I got with your sister.”
“Do you regret choosing her over me?”
“What?” he spits out.
Oh, heck. It seems like I’ve made him mad, something I don’t want to do. It’s too soon to make the man mad.
“No, I mean I understand that you loved her from the beginning and that’s cool, but I was thinking since you said you always wondered about me.”
“What I meant, Little Mama, is that even though I met both of you at the same time, and yeah, I kind of hit it off so well with Rachel that we kind of did our thing from there, I never forgot about that night when you and I …”
Mmm. Jeff is talking about how all of us met. We were at a mutual friend’s house. A woman named Gail who knew a million people decided to host a party during the NFL championships. There were approximately a dozen men in Gail’s house and thirty-five women, and Jeff was one of the men. He was introduced to me first, and Rachel later. A couple of sparks passed between us, and we held a nice, brief, flirty conversation. Then he left me standing there so he could mingle. I guess, from a man’s standpoint, there was so much eye candy in the house, why be tied down to one woman? Later on, he met Rachel, and they connected so strongly that he ended up talking to her for the rest of the day.
When I was ready to go home, that’s when he found out that Rachel and I were half sisters. Jeff was nice and polite. He acted like he hadn’t eyed me only hours before meeting Rachel, but I let it go. How could I make claims on a guy I just met? Especially since he and Rachel went on to become a couple a month later. Once they started hanging out, I’d be very friendly with him. He’d act fun-loving with me, too. I felt a little hurt, but accepted that they were lovers. When they got engaged I even bought them a congratulatory gift. But I never forgot what might have happened between me and Jeff. And now that they’ve broken up, here’s my chance to continue our initial, albeit short, encounter that had me wondering about him ever since that party. Maybe he wondered about me, too. Shoot, he might be my future husband. You just never know. I sure plan on finding out what the future holds for me and Mr. Jeffrey Williams.
— 3 —
RACHEL
You Gotta Protect Yourself
Marlene didn’t come home until almost one in the morning. I seriously wonder what she could have been doing all that time. I pretended to be asleep when I heard her open the front door. We live in a split bedroom apartment, and she went straight to the left side of the unit and didn’t come to my side to say good night, “Hey dog,” nothing.
