“And your party’s name?” the maître d’ asked as he glanced down his nose at the reservation book.
“Joseph Blayton,” Regina said, checking the bar to see if there was an empty stool she could occupy until Little Joe arrived.
“Ah yes. Mr. Blayton.” The maître d’ looked up quickly. “I was not aware he was honoring us with his presence tonight, but I will gladly show you to his table.”
Little Joe’s only been out like a month, and he already has his own table at Flash Inn again? Regina wondered to herself as she followed the man. Hmph, it looks like he hasn’t wasted any time reestablishing himself.
“Hey, Jean-Paul, I got this,” Little Joe’s voice rang out behind her. He kissed her on the back of the neck before she could turn around, then pulled the chair out for her. “I thought I was early, but here you are beating me to the joint.”
“You’re looking good,” Regina said as he sat down across from her. He was wearing a green cashmere V-neck sweater, with no shirt, so his fine, silky chest hairs peeked out.
“So are you,” Little Joe said, flashing the diamond gold tooth. “Doesn’t she look good, Jean-Paul?”
“The miss certainly does,” Jean-Paul said, giving a slight bow in Regina’s direction. “I’ll send the waiter over with your menus. May I bring you something from the bar?”
“Just bring two of my usuals,” Little Joe said, never taking his eyes off Regina. He was staring so intently she lowered her eyes.
“Stand up and let me take a good look at you,” he said after the waiter left.
“Oh please.” Regina gave him a little wave of her hand.
“I’m serious. Stand up so I can take a really good look.”
Regina leaned across the table and said in a loud whisper, “I’m serious, too. I’m not going to stand up to be appraised like some show dog.”
“Why you always gotta be so damn obstinate?” Little Joe said with a chuckle. “I ain’t seen you in, what, sixteen years? It don’t make sense I wanna take a good look at you?” He put his hand over hers. “What if I say ‘please,’ huh? Will that help? Well, please, then. I ain’t asking you to take off your damn clothes; I just want you to stand up, that’s all. Please.”
Regina gave an inward sigh and slowly stood up next to the table.
Little Joe smiled warmly as he languidly looked her up and down. “It’s kinda warm in here. You don’t wanna take off that jacket?” he said, leaning back in his seat.
Regina tried to shoot him an angry look when she took off her jacket, but as she walked over to the coat hook on the wall a few feet away, she was feeling a bit giddy about the approving looks she knew he was sending her way. She let her hips sway seductively but not too overtly when she walked back over and took her seat.
“Damn, it’s good to see what I’ve been missing all these years,” Little Joe said with a grin. “What are you, in your thirties, right? And a mother, too? You keeping yourself in real good shape, girl. What? You got a personal gym in that brownstone of yours?”
“No,” Regina said. She opened the menu the waiter had brought to the table and flipped through the pages. “But I go to the spa a couple of times a week. I try to keep myself up. But you should talk. I mean, look at—” She suddenly squinted. “Wait a minute. How did you know I live in a brownstone?”
Little Joe chuckled. “Don’t get paranoid. I lost your number and had to get it from information, and since there was more than one Regina Harris listed, the operator asked if I wanted the one in the one hundred block of 119th Street. So I took a guess and picked that one. And since there’s mostly brownstones on that block, I took another guess.” He took a sip of the drink that the waiter placed in front of him. “I guessed right, huh?”
“Except one thing,” Regina said as she twirled her drink with the plastic stirrer. “I’m not listed.”
“Really? How come?”
“I like my privacy,” Regina said with a slight shrug.
“Why? You got something you needing to hide?”
“No, but . . .” Regina paused. “Little Joe, back to the original point. How did you know I live in a brownstone?”
“The new point is why the hell you had ta go fuck up a perfectly good lie by being unlisted.”
“That’s not the point. Tell me how—”
“Stop arguing, woman, and let me just sit here and look at them beautiful eyes of yours,” Little Joe said. “You always had the most beautiful eyes I ever seen on a woman. And damn if you ain’t got more beautiful now that you got a couple a years on you. You are one amazingly beautiful woman, Regina. You are just amazing. My little Satin Doll.”
Regina lowered her eyes and unsuccessfully fought back a blush. Why it was that Little Joe got to her the way he did, she couldn’t understand, but there was no denying he did. Always had. He was rough, gruff, and so sweet all at the same time. Thug romantic. That’s what Little Joe was. Thug romantic. And it was appealing. Maddeningly appealing. And hard as hell to resist. But damn, I really should be trying harder, she thought. What the hell is wrong with me? I’m not fifteen anymore. She shook herself and took a sip of the drink and grimaced. “What’s this?”
“A whiskey sour,” Little Joe said as he opened his menu.
“Yuck,” she said, putting it down on the table. “Too strong for me.”
“Maybe I’m trying to get you drunk.” Little Joe grinned. “You know, you never used to complain about whatever I ordered. You used to just drink it and smile real pretty at me.”
“Well, that was before—”
“See, like that little smile you’re trying to fight right now.” Little Joe leaned over and chucked her under the chin. “Stop trying to be a badass, Regina. You’re too sweet.”
“Well, I might not be as sweet as I was when I was a teenager, you know,” Regina said, and leaned back in her seat. “Like you said, I’m grown now. People change.”
“Yeah, okay, right.” Little Joe signaled for the waiter, who hurried over to the table. “Pierre, my date has decided she doesn’t like her drink. Bring her whatever she wants.”
“Of course, Monsieur Blayton.” The waiter turned to Regina. “If you please, mademoiselle, what is it I can bring for your pleasure?”
“An apple martini, please,” Regina said as she pushed the whiskey sour away from her.
“Very good, mademoiselle,” the waiter said, removing the drink. “And are you ready to order your meal?”
“We’ll need a few minutes. Just get her her drink,” Little Joe said before she could answer.
“Very good, monsieur,” the waiter said, and turned to hurry away.
“Pierre,” Little Joe said before the man could leave. “Yo, man, look, man, I ain’t mean to be rude and shit. Everything okay?”
“Everything is doing so very fine, monsieur. Thank you so much for asking. And I thank you again for being so kind to my son. I trust you’ve received his note of thank you?”
Little Joe gave a slight nod. “I haven’t checked my mail lately. But that’s good. Shows he’s got good breeding. I’m glad I could help. Tell him I said to bring home good grades and we’ll call it square.”
“What was that all about?” Regina asked Little Joe after the waiter left.
“What was what all about?”
“Um, his son,” Regina said. “He was thanking you about something regarding his son.”
“His son was on the waiting list to get into Grays University. I made some calls and helped him out,” Little Joe said nonchalantly. “Let’s drop it.”
“Grays? You got connects at Grays?” Regina said incredulously. “That’s one of the top schools in the country!”
“I thought we decided to drop it.”
“You decided. I didn’t agree to anything,” Regina said with a laugh.
“Look at you, getting all assertive and shit.” Little Joe raised an eyebrow. “I’m have ta get used to this new Regina, huh?”
Regina put her hand over Little Joe’s. �
��Yeah, but it’s gonna be okay.”
“Promise?” Little Joe asked with a smile.
Regina nodded.
“Yeah, well, remember that kid Warren that used to be a bartender at my club, JoJazz, back in the day? Well, he was working his way through school. When I went over, I tried to hit off my employees, and him I made special arrangements for. I gave my lawyer money for him to get his master’s if he finished his bachelor’s. He did, and damn if he didn’t go on to get his doctor’s degree . . .”
“His doctorate?”
“Yeah, well, doctor’s, doctorate, what the fuck, whatever. Anyway, now he’s head of the Political Studies program at Grays. So about a week ago . . .” Little Joe paused and looked at Regina. “In fact, that day I saw you on Eighth Avenue, ain’t that some shit?” he said, using the old name for Frederick Douglass Boulevard. “That day, I came in here and Pierre was telling me about his son on the waiting list, so I gave Warren a call. School was starting the next week, and he managed to get the kid in. That’s all.” Little Joe chuckled. “Maybe Pierre should be thanking you, shit. I was in such a good mood after seeing you I woulda done anything for anybody.”
Little Joe opened his menu again. “You wanna get calamari for an appetizer? You see I’m asking, right? ’Cause I don’t want you making no sour-ass face like you did for the damn drink I ordered.”
“No, calamari’s cool,” Regina said. It wasn’t my imagination, she thought. Little Joe really is cool as all hell. How many people would bother taking care of his people like that before they went up the river? But isn’t that something? Some kid from Harlem made it through college, got his master’s degree, and made it to PhD level because of the heroin that Little Joe was selling back in the day, and was now helping other kids make it. It’s a crazy-ass world.
There was a twinge of something . . . something she couldn’t name . . . but she tried to ignore it as she looked over the entrées. It was just a really small twinge, but one that refused to go away. After all, I was supposed to be his girl. Why hadn’t he—
“But, you know, I gotta give it to Warren,” Little Joe cut into her thoughts. “I was away, what, sixteen years? And that kid Warren did my whole bid with me. I mean, he wrote me letters from day one. Well, a lot of people did from day one, but after two, three, four, or five years people stop, you know? I know I’ve done some shit in my life, but I did good by a lotta fucking people, don’t ya think? But it’s always about whatcha done for me lately, ain’t it? Warren stuck with me the whole time. All damn asshole, motherfucking, bitching, goddamn years, he kept in contact, ya know? Even came out to visit me a few times after they transferred me to Lewisburg. Anyway, I’m gonna have the rack of lamb. Whatchoo gonna have?”
Regina face turned crimson as the twinge of resentment quickly turned into a twinge of guilt and then from a twinge to a pang and then to an overwhelming wave. “Lewisburg? That’s in Pennsylvania, isn’t it? I thought you did your whole time in Leavenworth. In Kansas.”
“I got transferred ten years in.”
Regina bit her lip as she studied her menu, speculating about what Little Joe was thinking but not saying. That she would have known had she stayed in touch. But Christ, she thought, I was only sixteen when he got sent up. And I may have been his girl, but I was only one of them. And maybe I would have tried to visit him if I didn’t have to worry about running into . . .
“So how’s your wife?” she asked out loud.
Little Joe guffawed and signaled the waiter over. “Pierre, bring me another drink. I’ll wait for the lady to make up her mind before I order my food.”
“So,” Regina said after the waiter hurried off, “what about your wife? How’s she doing?”
“What wife?” Little Joe asked, and drained the little bit of liquid left in his glass.
“The wife you had the whole time you were messing around with me,” Regina said. “You know, the one who was sitting in the front row of the courtroom when I went to your first day of trial.”
“Don’t act like you ain’t know I was married,” Little Joe said with a growl in his voice. “I told you that shit the first time I took your little ass out.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t know,” Regina said huffily. “I’m just asking how’s she doing.”
Little Joe shrugged. “Far as I know, she’s doing fine. I heard she moved up to Syracuse.”
“You heard she moved to Syracuse?”
“Yeah, well, we got divorced after I had been up eight years.”
“Oh damn, I didn’t know.” But I would have, had I stayed in touch, Regina thought again.
“I ain’t mad. Shit just works out like that sometimes. She was a good woman and all, but you know a woman’s got needs. And you know”—Little Joe gave a little chuckle—“you don’t get conjugal visits when you’re doing time with the feds.”
“No, I didn’t know that.” Regina didn’t know what else to say.
“Of course, it would have been nice to get any kind of visit from just any-old-body. But what the fuck, ya know?”
“Little Joe . . . ,” Regina started, but was startled by someone coming up and bumping her chair.
“What’s up, my ace? My boon! You old gray dog!” a huge man with a booming voice yelled as he snatched Little Joe up from his chair and pulled him into a bear hug. “What’s up, pimp!”
“Get the fuck offa me, motherfucker. You trying to smother me or some shit?” Little Joe laughed as he struggled free. “What’s up, Hulk? Damn if it ain’t good to see you, you old ox. How you doing, man?”
“I’m wishing I was looking good as you, bro. Man, you are a sight for sore eyes,” Hulk said as he pounded Little Joe on the back. “Yo, Little Joe, man, I just got back in town, else you know I woulda found your ass before now. How long you been out? Two weeks? And looking sharp as shit. Don’t tell me you back in the game already. And hey, man”—Hulk pulled a white envelope from his pocket—“you know I got a little something for you. A little WAM for my man.”
WAM? Regina inwardly whistled. She wondered how many envelopes of “walking-around money” Little Joe had collected from his old hustler friends?
“Hulk, man, you know you ain’t have to do that,” Little Joe said. He quickly took the envelope and slipped it into his jacket’s inside pocket. “But I heard you been coming off like a kingpin. Holding it down and shit. I wanna be like you when I grow up.”
“Shit, man, I’m still trying to be like you, Joe,” Hulk said, eyeing Regina approvingly. “What I gotta do to pull something like that?”
“Yeah, Hulk.” Little Joe’s voice suddenly turned cold as he folded his arms over his chest. “You remember Regina, right?”
“Oh yeah. Hell yeah. How you doing, girl?” Hulk nodded at her. “I ain’t seen you in a minute, but you looking good.”
Regina was sure she’d never met him, but before she could say anything to the man, he turned back to Little Joe.
“So where you staying, man?” he asked.
Little Joe stood there for a moment, not saying anything. “Yeah, man, we’ll talk, but right now you messing up my game,” he said finally. “Why don’t you give me your number, and I’ll give you a call later tonight or something? Aight?”
Hulk looked crestfallen but said, “Well, yeah, man, make sure you do that, okay? ’Cause I really wanna get with you about some stuff. You know, pull your coat about some shit. You sure you okay and shit?”
“Yeah, man, I’m tight.” Little Joe stood there, his arms still folded, a dismissive tone in his voice.
“Well, okay, man, here’s my numbers. Make sure you call me before you make any moves, okay?” Hulk reached out to give his card to Little Joe, then placed it on the table when Little Joe refused to unfold his arms. “I’m out, then. See ya later.”
Little Joe waited until the man was out of sight before sitting back down, his jaw tight and his eyes hard. Regina reached over and patted his hand. “You okay?” she asked softly.
“I’m f
ine. I just ain’t like the way the motherfucker was looking at you.”
“Don’t tell me you’re jealous,” Regina said in a teasing voice.
Little Joe shook his head. “Naw, it wasn’t even about you.”
“Well, what do you mean, then?”
“The motherfucker disrespected me,” Little Joe said through clenched teeth. “He ain’t know if you was my wife or my sister, talking shit like that to you.”
“Or your daughter,” Regina said as she reopened her menu. She knew she was just being mean, but she didn’t care. Little Joe could have played it off a little bit and at least pretended it was about her instead of about him. But then, it was always really about Little Joe, wasn’t it?
“Very funny. You ready to order?”
“You know what?” Regina closed the menu, placed it on the table, and picked up her purse. “I’m not even hungry. Why don’t we just call it a night?”
Little Joe’s face tightened even more before his lips curled into a sneer. His body language relayed that he was going to tell her to go to hell, but suddenly, he took a deep breath and shook his head.
“You know what, Regina? We’re not going to call it a night. Because I’ve been thinking about you for the last sixteen years, wondering how you were doing and if you were making out okay,” Little Joe said in a soft voice. “We’re not calling it a night because I’ve missed you, and when I saw you the other day, all the feelings I had for you rushed back and almost choked me. We’re not calling it a night because we owe it to ourselves to get reacquainted, and see if what we had was real or just a man with some money buying some tight pussy. We’re not calling it a night because we need to see if what we did all those nights together was just fucking or making love. We’re not calling it a night because we need to see why after all these years I’m still crazy about your crazy ass, and why you’re still crazy about me. ’Cause you are, aren’t you? Or are you gonna play like you’re not.”
Regina sat frozen in her seat.
“You can’t play it off, can you?” Little Joe reached over and held her hand. “You want to find out the same things I do, don’t you? Ain’t no shame in admitting it.”
Satin Nights Page 7
