When they reached the tiny restaurant, spicy aromas tickled Heather’s nostrils and Ava smiled at the sight of her reaction.
Ava ordered the curry chicken while Heather tried the brown stewed chicken.
“Here, taste this,” Ava said, sharing her chicken. Heather was hooked. Her waistline would be in trouble if she didn’t watch it. She had found a new lunch spot and said as much to Ava.
“Stick with me, chickylicky, and we’ll go places.” Ava winked, taking a sip of ginger beer.
Bored to the gills, a few days later, Heather called Jamal, the guy she met grocery shopping in Pathmark a couple of days before Thanksgiving, and left a message on his answering machine. Since her phone number was blocked, she didn’t worry. She had no way of knowing, but Jamal betrayed the brotherhood and hung around the house for three nights afterward hoping to catch her next call.
Heather, however, had a game plan of her own. There was no next call.
Unbeknownst to her, Jamal had a game plan too. His buddy was a security guard at Pathmark. After describing Heather to a T, he put out an APB and a week later got the call. He hustled on over to Pathmark and spotted her in the parking lot as she was loading her groceries in the trunk.
Heather slammed the trunk shut and ran smack into Jamal just as she turned toward the driver’s side.
“Oops, sorry,” she said, at first not recognizing him.
“Heather?” He feigned surprise.
“Hey, I know you.”
“It’s Jamal. We met inside a couple of weeks ago. How’ve you been?”
“Fine,” she said simply. “And you?”
“I’m good. Just waiting for your call,” he admitted. “Why don’t you just give me your number and put me out of my misery?”
Heather took a long look at him. He really was a cutie with his Caesar haircut, his faint beard, and the smoothest chocolate skin she had seen in years. “I hope I don’t live to regret this.” She toyed with him, her head cocked ever so slightly to the side.
“This is your lucky day. Ever been to Vegas?” he asked.
“Why?” she said, laughing.
“You just hit the jackpot.”
Heather gave him her cell number, which he quickly placed in his BlackBerry. “We’ll see about that.” She got into her car and started the ignition, driving off with the reflection of Jamal, still grinning, in her rearview mirror.
Before she even got home that night, he called. “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t give me a bogus number. I know how you sisters operate.”
“Only when necessary,” Heather admitted.
“Then I just hit the lottery,” Jamal surmised.
“Imagine that,” she laughed before hanging up.
That weekend Heather and Jamal went out on their first date. She insisted on going Dutch, but he wouldn’t hear of it.
“You might as well have Monopoly money in your wallet. It’s no good tonight,” he told her as they had dinner at the Cheesecake Factory.
She rolled her eyes ever so slyly.
“Deal with it,” he added.
That was just the beginning. Heather and Jamal went out every night for the next week. Each night Jamal insisted on paying. Each night Heather ate like a little bird, but behind closed doors she gorged on pork chops, macaroni and cheese, and ice cream. They saw movies, went to a comedy club, and just hung out in Manhattan. Then, Jamal started buying things for Heather—things that didn’t require sizing like earrings and bracelets.
When she protested, he hugged her unexpectedly, catching her off guard.
“Wow, you smell good. What are you wearing?” he asked.
“I can’t tell you all my secrets.” She grinned.
The next day Jamal bought her a gift set of her favorite perfume, body lotion, and shower gel.
It was almost as though her every wish was his command.
“How’d you know?” she asked.
“I have my ways,” he said simply.
“You don’t have to do all this.”
“I know. I want to.”
“Jamal, you’re scaring me. I barely know you.”
“You deserve to be wined, dined, and devoured,” he said lustfully. “And I’m just the man who’ll do it.”
“I called you three times last week,” Charisma told Heather. “And all I got was your answering machine.”
“What have you been up to?” Tangie added.
“Didn’t I tell you? I met someone. I’ve been kinda busy,” Heather said between bites of her egg-white omelet.
“Details,” Charisma insisted.
“His name is Jamal and would you believe I met him at Pathmark? I’ve seen him just about every night this week. And he loves buying me things,” she admitted.
“Already?” Tangie asked. “Sounds intense.”
“He is,” Heather said.
“And you?” Charisma asked.
“Not me.” Heather looked at her sideways.
“I bet that’s driving him crazy,” Charisma laughed.
“Hey, behind every successful woman is herself,” Heather said.
“Just make sure that stalker Cole isn’t behind you.” Tangie shook her head.
“Don’t even mention his name,” Heather warned her.
Cole was the nut who staked out her house, her job, anywhere he thought she might possibly show up to talk to her. “See what happens when you feed stray dogs? That’s why now I treat ’em rough and tell ’em nothing.”
“Hey, whatever works,” Tangie told Heather. “Are you gonna eat your bacon?”
“Here, you can have it.” Heather handed her the saucer. “I do not need these extra calories as big as my butt is, and it’s the holidays too.”
“I know what you mean, but I keep telling you, Heather, you gotta hit the gym. Just come one time. I’ll even work out with you,” Tangie promised. “Get that butt moving.”
“And be part of the butt parade? I’ll get back to you,” Heather said.
“Never mind. I know what that means,” Tangie sighed.
The following week Heather’s car died. She was on her way in to work Friday morning when her car took its last breath. She was on Springfield and Merrick when it stalled.
She tried the ignition, but it just wouldn’t turn over.
Heather put on her hazard lights, reached for her purse, and fumbled inside for her cell phone. She called the library, letting them know her car had died. What the heck was she going to do?
Just as she was about to call AAA, two men in blue overalls got out of a red truck, knocked on her window, and offered to give her a jump. Thank God for miracles. Lord knows she didn’t have AAA money, not this week, anyway.
The two men pushed her through the intersection and to the side of the road directly behind their truck. Then they turned their truck around so that the two front ends were only a foot apart. They quickly got the jumper cables from the truck’s rear and fastened the cables.
Heather gave the car a little juice, and it started up in no time. She offered to give the men a few dollars, but they wouldn’t hear of it. Before long, she was safely at work, but she had to stay late to make up the time she had missed that morning.
As she left the building and walked to her car, she silently prayed that it would start. Unfortunately, it did not. She sat in the darkness for a moment, her forehead pressed against the steering wheel as more fortunate drivers whizzed by.
Who would she call? Her mom was working until midnight and Charisma was too far away. She dialed Tangie’s job. She had left an hour ago. She tried Tangie’s cell phone. It went straight to voice mail.
After a long sigh, she called Jamal. “Jamal?” she practically cried. “I’m stranded outside of work.” That’s all she had to say.
“Stay put. I’m on my way.”
She put on her gloves and waited. She could have called a cab or hopped on a bus, but she didn’t want to just leave her car on the street. In the meantime, she called AAA.
&
nbsp; Jamal arrived first. She was never so happy to see him. He parked his car behind hers and got out.
“You are a sight for sore eyes,” she said, leaning over and opening the front passenger door. She gave him a big hug once he was seated.
“How’s it going?” he asked her, getting in and kissing her gently on the cheek. “Here, I stopped and brought you some hot chocolate.” He removed the large cup from the Dunkin’ Donuts bag and handed it to her.
“Thanks, you’re such a honey. I knew I could count on you.” She took a sip. It was the perfect temperature.
“Mmm. Would you believe this is the second time this car stalled today? Unbelievable, but I called AAA. They’re on the way.”
They sat in silence for a moment until Jamal spoke. “We can go sit in my car if you want. I have heat and music.”
“Heat and music, huh? That’s one helluva combination. I’m down,” Heather admitted, her nose beginning to run.
Just then the tow truck pulled up. “Thank goodness,” she said as they got out of the car.
They tow-truck operator tried to start the car’s engine, but it was dead. He then got out of Heather’s car and asked her where she wanted her car towed to. Heather often had her car serviced at Big Apple Tire on Baisley Boulevard and 166th. The tow-truck operator took Heather’s AAA membership card and ran her car through the machine. A few minutes later he gave her a receipt and began hooking up her car to his truck. Minutes later, her car was history as she watched both vehicles disappear in the distance.
Jamal turned to Heather. “Hungry?” he asked.
“A little.”
“What are you in the mood for?”
“I don’t know. What do you feel like?”
“We can eat out, get take-out, or I can whip up something at my house.”
“You cook?” she said, stifling a yawn.
“Don’t act so excited. I make some mean turkey burgers.”
“Really?”
“Really. It’s settled. You’re coming home with me.”
“And then you’ll take me home?”
“Yes, and then I’ll take you home.”
Jamal drove off and headed home. Traffic was bearable for a Friday night, and in no time they were pulling up to his second-floor rental. By now it was after eight and Heather’s stomach was growling big-time.
“Oops, excuse me,” she said to Jamal, embarrassed that he’d heard her stomach music.
“Please, don’t worry about it. Chef Jamal has just the thing for you.” They climbed the stairs to his domain.
“Make yourself at home,” he told her as he switched on the living room lights and unzipped his leather bomber jacket.
“All righty,” Heather said, looking around at the black leather sofa and giant-screen TV. It was definitely a bachelor pad.
“Sit down. Can I get you anything?” he asked her as he returned from the kitchen, drying his hands on a paper towel.
“No, I’ll wait,” she said, sitting on the sofa.
Jamal went in the back and changed into a T-shirt and sweats. He popped a CD in the stereo and Ne-Yo filled the air.
“Can I help?” she asked him.
“No, everything’s under control.”
Heather found that to be an understatement as they sat at the kitchen table half an hour later. Jamal had prepared turkey burgers smothered with onions and peppers, yellow rice, and broccoli.
“You got skills,” Heather told him as she took another bite of the burger. She knew she should have skipped the potato bun, but she couldn’t resist.
“I do a’ight,” he said, chewing on a broccoli stalk and they both laughed.
“Your friendship might put a hurtin’ on my diet.”
“Hold still.” He leaned across the table and removed a grain of rice from her lower lip. “Now you’re perfect.”
Heather blushed. “Trust me, there is nothing perfect here.”
“Well, I like ’em thick.”
“Is that right?”
“You’ll see.” Jamal gazed deeply into her eyes.
Heather stood. “Why don’t I clean up the kitchen,” she said, more as a statement than a question.
“No, no, no. You go chillax, and I’ll clean up.” He shooed her out of the kitchen.
Heather was so exhausted that she didn’t even protest.
She sat back on the sofa and drifted off to the clanking of pots and pans and running water. She turned ever so slightly when Jamal gently shook her.
“Heather?”
She barely budged.
“Heather?
When she didn’t wake up, he took a blanket from the closet and draped it over her body and returned to his bedroom to watch the Knick game. They were playing on the West Coast, and he tuned in just in time for the opening tipoff.
Jamal removed his T-shirt and sweatpants before sliding under the covers of his full-sized bed. Only the light from the television invaded the room’s darkness.
Halfway through the first quarter, he heard Heather stirring from the living room. A moment later there was a knock on his slightly ajar door.
“Jamal?”
“In here.”
She pushed the door open. “I guess I fell asleep.”
“It’s all right. You had a long day. Come here.” He motioned.
“I’ll give you the best seat in the house.”
Heather hesitated only slightly. “I have a cop friend on speed dial.”
“Hey, come check out this game. The Knicks are leading. You don’t see that too often.”
“Okay, but watch yourself.”
“Don’t worry. I know you’re quick on the draw,” he said, referring to her speed-dialing technique as he sat up in bed.
“And don’t you forget it,” she said as she plopped down on the bed next to him.
“Cold?” he asked.
“A little.”
“Here, get under the covers.”
She glanced at him sideways. “You must take me for an amateur.”
“You know me better than that.” He grabbed a pillow with one hand and placed it behind his head, his triceps catching Heather’s eye.
“If I weren’t a gentleman, I wouldn’t have rescued you tonight and offered to drive you home when you’re ready. I mean the offer still stands. I can take you home now if you like.”
“I’ll let you know when,” she said, sneaking a peak at his boxers before lying down next to him.
“Comfortable?”
“Uh-huh,” she said as she lay on top of the covers.
“Your clothes’ll be wrinkled by morning,” he warned.
“There’s a robe in the bathroom behind the door if you like.”
“Who said I’m spending the night?”
“My bad,” he said and they both laughed.
“Where’s your bathroom?” Heather asked on second thought.
“Down the hall, second door on the left.”
“Be right back.” She slid off the bed and headed down the hall. A white terry cloth robe hung behind the bathroom door. A wicked smile formed on her lips. She removed her shoes, panty hose, and cardigan and kept on her sleeveless tank and skirt. Then she tried on the robe. It was long enough to conceal her skirt. Perfect. She sashayed back into Jamal’s bedroom and stood at the foot of his bed.
Evidently, just the vision of her in a robe with nothing on underneath bought a smile to his face.
“So you like ’em thick, huh?” she asked him.
“Oh yeeeah.” He grinned. “I like ’em thickali-cious.”
Imagining herself as an exotic dancer, Heather did a little dance, her eyes fixed on his. She opened the robe and his grin disappeared before the robe hit the floor. When she started removing her top and skirt, the grin reappeared.
His breathing deepened by the time she stripped to her bra and panties, teasing him with her gyrations. She squeezed her breasts gently as she licked her lips, rolling her tongue around the perimeter of her mouth.
“Damn,” was all Jamal could say. Heather grabbed the sides of her panties and pulled them down ever so slightly, ever so slowly, feeling his eyes glued to her body. In one quick motion, Jamal cut the distance between them in half.
They both laughed as he wrapped his arms around Heather’s ample body and gently unhooked her bra. The sight of her bare breasts nearly took his breath away. He reached for the light switch to get a better look.
“No, don’t,” she said, pulling his hand away from the wall. He flipped the switch on anyway. “You are so hot. I just want to see all of you.”
Men were all alike. Disgusted, Heather bent down and picked up her clothes from the floor. “I’m ready. You can take me home now.”
12
Tangie
Tangie was convinced that there were four personality types of men in the world: the diplomat, the military, the clergy, and the politician. She said as much to Charisma and Heather one night over Charisma’s delicious carrot cake.
“So what type was Blade?” Heather asked.
“He was hotheaded but great in bed,” Tangie decided.
“What a combination. I don’t know which one of his heads was hotter. He was straight-up military-thug.”
“All military men aren’t thugs,” Heather insisted.
“No, but most thugs have a military-type mentality,” Tangie said.
“Oh my goodness, she’s even starting to sound like a therapist.” Heather shook her head.
“Don’t hate me ’cause I’m analytical,” Tangie replied.
“When did you become so analytical?” Charisma asked as she got up from the kitchen table to fix some herbal tea to go with the carrot cake. She put the water on to boil and placed a box of assorted teas on the table along with cups, saucers, plates, utensils, sugar, and milk for Heather. Heather always had milk in her tea. It didn’t take much time for the teakettle to start whistling, and before long they were all enjoying Charisma’s homemade cake and soothing tea.
“What can I tell you?” Tangie shrugged her shoulders.
“I’m just keeping it real.”
“Okay, but you can’t be analytical without being anal,” Charisma told her.
“That’s not true,” Tangie said.
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