by Zane
“Roxie, why is Gina always walking around half-naked?” I asked one evening over pizza at Armand’s in Chevy Chase.
Roxie took another bite of her spinach and cheese garlic bread before answering. “Gina’s not always walking around half-naked.”
“Yes, she is. She’s always half-naked when I come over to your place.”
“And? I mean, I could see if one of my male friends was sitting on my couch in his drawers when you come over. That’s different.”
I swallowed the rest of my draft. “Maybe, maybe not.”
“Wait one damn minute!” Roxie lashed out at me. “Are you implying that Gina and I have something freaky going on?”
“You said it; not me.”
“This is crazy!”
“Well, do you have something freaky going on?”
“As much as I love dick? I think not. You of all people should know better.”
Our waitress returned with the check. I handed her my credit card, never taking my eyes off Roxie. She looked like she wanted to wring my neck.
When the waitress walked away, Roxie continued. “Yardley, let me tell you something. Gina’s my girl. If you can’t deal with her, then you can’t deal with me. It’s as simple as that.”
Was she serious?
“You’d dump me because of Gina?”
“If I have to, yes,” she replied, not missing a beat. “Men come and go, but female friends, true female friends, are hard to come by. If it weren’t for Gina, who would I shop with?”
“Me. I go shopping.”
“It’s not the same thing and you know it. That’s like me playing basketball with you every Saturday instead of Felix and them.”
Okay, so maybe she had a halfway valid point.
“Let’s drop this. You still want to take in a movie?” I asked her.
“No, Yardley. I don’t want to take in a movie. I’m ready to head on home.”
“I asked a simple question. There’s no reason to get an attitude.”
“An attitude?”
Damn, why did I go there? Any brother over the age of twenty should know not to ever accuse a sister of having an attitude. That was the kiss of death.
“You accuse me of doing freaky shit with my best friend and expect me not to have an attitude? Nigger, please!”
Now I was pissed. “Roxie, please don’t address me with the N word. I’m not that.”
“You’re acting like one tonight.”
I paid the check and we left. I drove Roxie home in silence. I was a lot of things, but I was nobody’s nigger. I didn’t call Roxie for two weeks. She was on my shit list and would’ve remained on there if not for one thing.
She’d shown up at my penthouse in a trenchcoat toting a bag of sex toys, determined to prove to me that she loved herself some dick and nothing but the dick. Some brothers might consider what I did punking out, but those brothers have probably never been with a dick slayer.
Thirteen
Rayne
Luckily, Black Sex Goddess offered rush delivery on orders over fifty dollars. I ended up spending almost triple that on an outfit that was guaranteed to make Basil salivate. I bought a black-lace demi bra and matching thongs, garter belt, lace-top thigh-high stockings, and a pair of whorish-looking spike heels.
I went to From Naps to Baps to get my hair done on Thursday, as usual. Boom and I had grown apart somewhat. She knew her ass was wrong for setting me up with her convict brother. The first time I’d shown up for my appointment after the hideous date, she’d been full of questions; like he hadn’t already told her everything or at least something. I decided to play her ass big time.
“So girl, how’d things go with Conquesto?” she asked me, sipping her customary Faygo while she was waiting on a curling iron to heat up so she could work her magic.
“Thank you so much for hooking a sister up,” I replied.
That got everyone’s attention. Yo-Yo, who was shampooing someone in the rear of the salon, ended up spraying water all over the woman’s face. Tamu paused in the middle of touching up someone’s nails. Nia, tossing the remains of yet another Popeye’s dinner in the trash, wiped her mouth with a napkin; no doubt trying to hide her smile.
“Really!” Boom squealed. “See, I knew you two was gonna hit it off smoothly.”
“Oh yeah, we hit it off alright,” I managed to say with a straight face. “Conquesto sure is a sexy man. You weren’t lying about that.”
“Uh-huh.” Boom giggled, bouncing back and forth on the heels of her feet like she wanted to break dance. She looked around at her co-workers. “I told you guys Conquesto is the shit. Ya’ll always tryin’ to playa hate on him when he comes up in here.”
More eyes rolled at that moment than tires on the Beltway during rush hour.
I sat back and let Boom rant and rave about her brother while she finished up my hair. Every time she made a statement about him, I made it a point to agree with her. After I paid her, I got down to business.
“Boom.” I struck my time-to-whup-some-ass pose.
“Yeah, girl?”
“You know good and damn well Conquesto’s a loser. Why’d you do that to me?”
She genuinely looked stunned. Great actress. Wrong audience. “What you talkin’ ’bout, Rayne? You said you had a great time.”
“I was being sarcastic.”
“Sarcastic?” Boom pretended like the definition of the word escaped her.
“I know he’s your family and all, but he’s not the dream lover you market him to be. You need to refrain from doing any further matchmaking.” I didn’t say the words. I hissed them.
“I was tryin’ to help you out!” she lashed out at me. “You’re always comin’ up in here lookin’ all sexually repressed and shit!”
“First of all, I’m not sexually repressed,” I stated with confidence, lying through my teeth. “Secondly, that’s none of your damn business. If you want to date convicted felons, cool, but don’t set me up with any.”
“You don’t have to worry about me doin’ your ass any more favors.”
Tamu leapt up from her manicurist table. “Dang, ya’ll not about to kick off the shoes, take off your earrings, and break out the Vaseline, are you?”
Boom and I both glared at Tamu, who looked like she was ready to microwave some popcorn and empty out the Faygo machine to watch the female version of the Tyson-Holyfield fight. I couldn’t help but laugh. My laughter set off a chain reaction and before long, everyone was laughing; even Boom.
Boom walked me to my car so we could discuss things womano a womano without a bunch of instigators around. Conquesto had come back and told her some BS about me wanting to fuck him but him refusing me because I seemed too desperate and he didn’t want to set off a fatal attraction scenario.
By the time I finished breaking the entire date down for her—the real date and not the imaginary version he’d made up—she was surprised I hadn’t slapped Conquesto upside his head. She obviously didn’t like cheap-ass men either. She was pissed off about him asking me to purchase my own movie ticket.
For me, forgiving Boom was a necessity. I couldn’t afford to lose a hellified hairdresser over a man. No way, José! We’ve never talked like we used to since the Conquesto fiasco, but I still feel comfortable enough to let her work on my hair.
While I stood there in the mirror primping for Basil, I admired the fantastic job Boom had done. I glanced at my clock. Fifteen more minutes before Basil was due to arrive. Decision time. Was it better to take the subtle approach and put something on top of the lingerie that would keep my sexual readiness at bay, or was it better to answer the door damn near naked and get straight to the point?
By the time my doorbell rang, I’d come to the conclusion that a head-on attack was the best course of action. I swung the door open, greeting Basil in my Black Sex Goddess getup. His jaw almost hit the floor. He had a dozen roses tucked safely under his arm. They almost hit the floor also, but he managed to hold onto them. His lips star
ted trembling and he turned around and placed his back to me. He looked down at his wristwatch.
“I’m sorry, Rayne,” he whimpered. “I must be early. I haven’t given you time to get properly dressed.”
Was he kidding?
“Umm, Basil, I am dressed,” I replied seductively, reaching out in the hallway, grabbing him by the back of his shoulders, and pulling him back into me. I slipped my tongue into his ear canal and relieved him of the roses. “Are these for me?”
“Ye…ye…yes,” he stuttered. “I thought you might like them.”
“Of course, I like them. I’m female.” I used my free hand, lifted his coat jacket, and started palming his ass. “All female.” Basil started making these gurgling sounds. Scared the shit out of me. “You okay?”
“I’m…I’m…I’m fine.”
I let go of his ass. “Turn around and look at me. I spent a lot of time and hard-earned money to make sure I looked good for you tonight. Appetizing even.”
“I can’t turn around,” he whispered.
“Why not?”
“I have to go, Rayne.” Basil was halfway down the hallway to the elevator before my name left his lips.
“Why are you leaving?” I shouted after him, totally confused. I took a few steps out into the hallway.
He jumped into the elevator and peeked around the corner. His eyes were watering and his lips were still trembling. “I’ll call you tomorrow, Rayne. I promise.”
I was stunned. What the hell was going on?
“I’m sorry, Rayne!” I heard him yell as the elevator doors eased shut.
I suddenly realized that I was standing exposed in the hallway and made a beeline for my door. As I was about to close my door, I saw it. I almost missed it because of the dark green carpet. I squatted down and touched it with my fingertips, drawing it up to my nose. It wasn’t urine. It was exactly what I thought it was. It was semen.
“Damn, a virgin!” I yelled out with delight.
I ended up eating the Mongolian beef and escalloped potatoes alone, but I was relishing the thought of discovering a bonafide male virgin in his late twenties. He had to be a virgin. There was no other explanation for him squirting his pants like that when I’d barely touched him. No wonder he hadn’t hooked up with anyone. That was cool by me, though. I was determined to turn Basil’s ass out.
Chance and I spent the following afternoon in Georgetown Park Mall doing Chance’s favorite pastime: shopping. I’d always ponder over the same outfit for two or three walk-bys before I purchased it. Chance spotted an outfit she liked and whipped out her credit card at the speed of lightning.
During a lunch/foot rest break at the deli, Chance was once again afforded the opportunity to get her laugh on at my expense.
“Chica, what the fuck is wrong with you? You keep picking up these whack ass men!”
“Basil isn’t whack,” I stated defensively, taking a bite of my chicken breast on wheat. “I think he’s sweet and has a ton of potential.”
“Potential?” Chance guffawed. “A twenty-nine-year-old male virgin?”
“Yes, I see this as a good thing. I can mold him into what I need in a man.”
“You’ve been messing with that ciggaweed again, haven’t you?”
“Chance, you know good and well I haven’t messed with that since freshman year in college.”
“Humph, ain’t a damn thing wrong with smoking weed,” she said, referring to the regular chronic she and Ricky partook of. Chance took a sip of her lemonade. “You’re acting like you’ve been smoking something. Getting all worked up over a virgin. You need a man that’s already been schooled on lovemaking; not some fool that cums in his drawers the second you touch his ass.”
I ignored Chance and concentrated on my food. Once I made my mind up about something, it was a done deal.
“And to think you were sitting up in church fantasizing about getting some,” Chance continued on her rampage. “All that over a man that’s probably never seen a coochie, rather less eaten one.”
“Chance, please!” I smacked my lips. “I’m trying to eat here.”
Chance moved her potato salad around on her plate. It looked three days old and the mayonnaise had started to darken. “Didn’t you spend a grip on some lingerie from that slut catalog?”
“Black Sex Goddess,” I corrected her.
“Yeah, the slut catalog.”
“Chance, look.” I could feel myself getting angry. “I like Basil. If I want to take it upon myself to transform the brother, that’s my business.”
Chance fell out laughing. I didn’t see a damn thing funny.
“Now what, Chance?”
“I was thinking about the idiots you’ve gotten tied up with since Will.”
“Don’t bring Will’s name up, please!”
“Okay, whatever, but you must admit you’ve met some fucked-up men.”
She had a point, but I wasn’t even trying to hear it.
“First there was Gideon, that fool you met over the telephone who turned out to be old enough to collect Social Security.”
I cracked a smile. That had been a ridiculous situation. I’d called to bless out a credit collection agency over a threatening notice I’d received that didn’t pertain to me. The man who answered had this Barry White thing going on with his voice. I was immediately turned on.
For two months, we chatted on the telephone about this and that. Casual conversation turned into phone boning and phone boning turned into the yearning to actually hook up and do the wild thing. Only thing was Gideon said he was thirty-four, tall, handsome, and sporting a Jag.
The night I met him outside of Giant in Calverton, Maryland, a spot right off the Beltway so I could hop right back on if need be, I sat in my car waiting for him. It got to the point where I knew he’d stood me up. Then I took a closer look at the older man that had been leaning up against the pillar in front of the one-hour cleaners since I’d arrived. Naw, it couldn’t be, I told myself. I couldn’t overlook the fact that he had on a gray suit, the same color Gideon said he’d be wearing that day.
I exited my car cautiously, figuring the lighting was playing tricks on my eyes and the man was really buff and only a few years older than me. When I got within a few yards of him and he called out my name, exposing a set of dentures, I wanted to scream.
I couldn’t leave Gideon there looking pitiful. After all, one should always respect their elders. Even my proud-to-be-a-whore momma taught me that. I psyched myself up to go through with the date. The date didn’t last long; only until Gideon got arrested.
First, he tried to insist that we take my car. I told him that I was low on gas and that we should take his Jag, my eyes searching the parking lot for the candy red dream. That was when he claimed that his Jag was in the shop and he’d borrowed the car of a friend so he could make it out to meet me.
Turned out he was driving a banged up ancient Yugo. Didn’t they stop making those about twenty years ago? We went all of five miles when Gideon asked if I wanted to skip dinner and go straight to a motel. I glared at him under the streetlights on Route 29 as we sped past each one. Beady, wrinkle-ridden eyes glared back at me. I was about to curse his ass out with a vengeance when blue lights started flashing behind us and the siren almost shattered my eardrums.
Gideon hesitated, like he was debating about pulling over. I immediately grew frightened and had to get my anus muscles under control so I wouldn’t shit in my pants. Was he one of those men you only read about in newspapers and see featured on America’s Most Wanted?
Gideon finally pulled over in front of an all-night golf driving range. I was elated that he’d picked that spot. Dozens of avid golfers were digging balls out of buckets and knocking them out on the grass to join thousands of their friends. The more witnesses to what was about to go down, the better. If Gideon were some kind of serial rapist or killer, he’d be more reluctant to start some drama in front of a bunch of people.
I willed the police officer to wa
lk right up to the car, rip the driver’s side door off the hinges (an easy feat with such a cheap-ass car), and yank Gideon out by the collar. He didn’t. The usual “can I see your driver’s license and registration” speech started spilling from his lips.
Gideon had frozen in place and then the lies started rambling off his lips. I was in awe of how fast he was making them up. His name wasn’t Gideon anymore; it was Samuel. He wasn’t thirty-four anymore; he was fifty-eight. No, he didn’t have the registration. No, he didn’t have his license on him. No, he couldn’t recall his Social Security number. What kind of game was this man running?
The police officer must’ve been wondering the same thing. He instructed Gideon to step out the car, frisked him, threw the cuffs on him, and called for backup. He escorted me out the car, at which point I quickly started delving out the facts. I’d only actually met him that night. He was someone I knew from the phone. He’d told me the car was a friend’s. He was known to me as Gideon; not Samuel.
The officer told me to have a seat in his car while he and the other officer who’d arrived searched the Yugo for drugs, guns, or whatever. They said they had no choice but to take Gideon in. He tried to argue with them, but unless he could prove who he was, he was headed to lockup. And to lockup he went, with me trailing a safe distance behind in a second squad car. The police officer told me I should’ve considered myself extremely lucky that he pulled us over for a busted taillight because anything could’ve happened. I agreed.
When I arrived at the station house, they directed me to a pay phone where I called Chance and asked her and Ricky to come pick me up out in the middle of nowhere. I went to the 7-Eleven next door to get some coffee while I waited. They showed up an hour later.
Chance wasted no time going off on me in Spanish. Ricky tried to drown her out with his latest bootleg go-go tape, but Chance wasn’t having it. After a volume-button battle, Chance finally turned the music completely off. I endured her rampage all the way back to Georgetown.
