Getting to the Good Part

by Lolita Files

  “True dat? When did you start dropping that phrase? Ain’t that a little too hip for you?”

  “Probably something I picked up from Rick,” she said with a chuckle. “Mr. Homeboy-in-a-Suit.”

  “I can’t even picture you saying it, let alone hearing it come out of your mouth!”

  “Girl, you’d be surprised at the stuff I’m picking up,” Misty laughed.

  “I don’t think I want to know,” I giggled.

  “So where we going for dinner?” Misty asked. “You wanna hit Justin’s or the Shark Bar?”

  “Mmmm,” I moaned, thinking of the liver and grits at Justin’s and that good ol’ macaroni and cheese the Shark Bar had. “I’ve got an even better idea. Let’s hit the Soul Cafe.”

  “That’s a bet,” she said. “Maybe we’ll even catch a glimpse of Mr. Yoba.”

  “That wouldn’t be so bad,” I replied. “Last time I was there, I saw Bryce from Groove Theory. That’s a fine mofo.”

  “Ain’t he though?”

  “What you doin’ looking?!” I laughed. “You’s off-limits now, girly. Ain’t you got somebody?”

  “I ain’t blind,” she said.

  “I hear that.”

  “Maybe we can go get our boogie on at Nell’s when we finish dinner.”

  “Are you serious?” I asked, thoroughly surprised. “Tomorrow’s a workday for you. You know when I go to Nell’s, I make it an all-night thang.”

  “So?!” she quipped. “I can hang!”

  “What’s your man gonna say?”

  “See ya tomorrow, probably,” Misty returned.

  “Gon’, Miss Divine! Sistah-girl jumpin’ bad on a negro!”

  “Rick doesn’t own me, Reesy. He’s secure and encouraging. That’s why I’m diggin’ him so much.”

  “Diggin’?” I grinned. “Girl, shut up with these hip phrases. I don’t know how much more of them I can take from you!”

  “So where we meetin’?” she said, trying to change the subject.

  “In front of the restaurant.”

  “Okay. Forty-second between Ninth and Tenth, right?”

  “Choo got it, man!” I said in a chica-chica voice.

  “Thirty minutes,” Misty said.

  “Twenty-five,” I challenged.

  “It’s on,” she replied.

  “Bye, fool!”

  I hung up the phone, laughing. She was a mess, but she was my best friend.

  Still it was hard adjusting to this new Misty.

  It was bad enough that she wasn’t around much these days. On top of that, she was picking up all manner of freaky phrases along the way.

  Rick was really leaving an impression on her. She wasn’t one to just start dropping street lingo like that. We’d been friends since the second grade, and were going into our third decade together. And you can best believe we’d been running our mouths with each other the whole time, gabbing it up every day that had passed since that first moment on the playground.

  Yet, for all that crazy stuff she’d heard me saying over the years, our diction still remained as separate and as different as could be.

  I smiled to myself as I got up from the couch and went rummaging for my shoes.

  Bump the shoes. Hell, I was going to Nell’s later. I needed to funk up my whole look.

  I rushed off to the bedroom, mentally picturing what I could slip into.

  I had to get dressed and be in front of the Soul Cafe in a matter of minutes. I thought I’d let my braids hang down tonight.

  A sistah was feeling a little footloose and fancy-free.

  Exactly twenty-five minutes later, I stepped out of a cab in front of the Soul Cafe.

  I stood there on the sidewalk with my back to the entrance. On time and ready to dis, I glanced around for Miss Divine, who was nowhere to be seen.

  I turned to my left, looking for her to come walking up the street.

  “Mmmm-hmmm,” I muttered under my breath. I should have known that she wouldn’t have her butt in place on time.

  “Mmmmm-hmmm, what?” a voice behind me challenged.

  I smiled, my back still turned. When I faced her, she scooped me up in a big ol’ hug.

  “Hey, baby!” she squealed.

  Misty was all smiles and giggles, looking fresh and perky in a lime green mini-suit. It was her typical corporate-cum-sexy fare.

  The suit was one of those numbers that could go from work mode to boogie, depending on how you accessorized and fixed your hair. Today, her hair was a tumble of loose curls falling all around her shoulders, framing her face and showing off the beauty mark on her upper left cheek.

  Misty and I were about the same height—five-seven. She was the brown one, I was the redbone. (I really hated that term—it had been slung at me by brothers one time too many like it was a badge I should wear with pride.)

  And while I had a true dancer’s figure, all tight and firm, Misty was the voluptuous one, with curves galore. Now, don’t get me wrong. She wasn’t plump or full-figured by any stretch of the imagination. She was, actually, a perfect size seven, just like me.

  But she had those breasts that men were always flipping over. Those things had gotten us into situations one time too many, and I really think she secretly got off on that mess. And while she was always complaining that she didn’t have the high, round sistah booty I’d been strapped with, it apparently never stopped her from getting any play. The two of us always got our share of attention whenever we hung out together.

  “Hey girl!” I grinned, hugging her tightly.

  “I’m soooo proud of you!” she whispered, squeezing me back. “Let me look at you!”

  She leaned away from me, still holding my hands, and studied my face.

  I was beaming. It felt so good to be sharing this moment, at last, with my sistah. My braids were hanging loose, and I was feeling rather funkdafied in a short, kicky little slip dress and some strappy sandals. My dress was a dark shimmering blue that made my skin give off a glow.

  “Girl… you look good!” Misty exclaimed.

  “Look who’s talking! You’re knocking ’em dead in that lime green suit!”

  She did a quick twirl.

  “You likes?”

  “I likes.”

  “Compliments of Vera Wang, baby.”

  “Girl, Vera Wang hooked you up!”

  A couple of brothers walked into the restaurant, checking us out as they stepped inside. From the looks of things, they liked, too.

  She grabbed me by the hand.

  “C’mon! Let’s get this party started right!”

  Misty grabbed the big handle on the door, gave it a strong tug, and the two of us stepped inside the darkened restaurant.

  There was a sistah at the entrance, standing sentinel behind a hostess stand. One of those exotic types that I’m sure brothers went for with a vengeance when they saw her at the door.

  “Two for dinner?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Misty chimed.

  The sistah gathered up two menus.

  “Right this way, please.”

  We followed the hostess onto the raised dining area. The room had a warm, golden glow, with an interesting array of booths and tables, with beige slipcovered chairs, that really had a way of getting your mind in just the right mood to relax.

  I loved the ambience of this place. Tonight, it was thick with people dining, but it still managed to feel intimate. The smooth sounds of Erykah Badu’s first album, Baduizm, were pouring from the speakers. The song “No Love” was playing. It added to my bouncy upbeat feeling as we were led to our table.

  I could feel the eyes of brothers and sistahs alike following us as we weaved through the room. The hostess seated us at a small table near the center.

  “Your waiter will be right with you,” the exotic sistah smiled.

  “Thank you,” Misty and I answered in unison.

  We stared at each other foolishly, then burst into giggles.

  “Let’s get some champagne,” Misty whi
spered, leaning forward. “We have so much to celebrate!”

  “That’s a great idea!”

  Within seconds, the waiter materialized at our table.

  He was a dreadheaded brother, fine as wine. He had hazel-colored eyes and was quite sexy. He looked like an actor I had seen somewhere before. Who was it?

  “Can I start you ladies off with a cocktail?” brother cooed.

  Misty took charge.

  “Give us a bottle of Veuve Clicquot. Yellow label. Do you have that in stock?”

  The brother smiled, opening the wine list and pointing it out to her.

  “Great! Then we’ll have that for starters.”

  The handsome dreadhead glided away.

  “What happened to Perrier Jouet?” I asked in surprise. “I thought that was your favorite?”

  Girlfriend had been drinking P.J. for years. Usually wouldn’t touch nuthin’ else.

  “I’ve been trying something new these days. It’s not half bad. Just trust me on it.”

  “It’s your dollar, baby. Slang it as you will.”

  The sexy dread arrived with the champagne stuck inside one of those chilly ice bucket stands.

  Who did he remind me of?

  I eyed him closely. He cut his eyes back at me, smiling slyly as he worked on uncorking the bottle. It ceremoniously popped.

  He glanced at me and grinned.

  Talk about a freaking metaphor. Shit.

  He poured a bit into a champagne flute and offered it to Misty.

  She sampled it quietly and nodded her approval.

  He filled our glasses halfway, then stuck the bottle back down in the bucket. He shot me another quick seductive glance as he walked away.

  “Stop flirting.”

  “I’m not flirting.”

  “You’re such a liar!” Misty laughed. “You’re in mack-mama mode if ever I saw you!”

  “Anyway… ,” I replied.

  “Anyway… ,” she sang, mimicking me.

  We giggled in unison.

  Misty raised her glass.

  “To you, girl.”

  “To moi,” I grinned, raising mine.

  We clinked and sipped. I licked my lips, savoring the taste.

  “Umph! Not bad, not bad.”

  “Told ya.”

  Our sexy waiter returned with a basket of warm bread. I took a good, long look at him.

  “Shaza Zul!” I exclaimed, remembering at last. He looked at me strangely, then smiled.

  “Are you ready to order?” he asked.

  “I am,” Misty proclaimed. She looked over at me. “Go on, girl. Order first. It’s your celebration.”

  I already knew what I wanted.

  “Let me have the jerk chicken.”

  “What do you want as your sides?” sexy Shaza asked.

  “I’ll have the mixed greens and the candied yams.”

  “And you, miss?” he said, turning to Misty.

  “I’ll have the same thing,” she replied, “except with macaroni and cheese instead of candied yams.”

  He jotted it down.

  Erykah’s music was still streaming through the speakers. “Drama.” My favorite cut off her first CD.

  Little did I know how prophetic the title of that song was about to be.

  “Is that it?” the waiter asked.

  “Bring us some lobster sausage as an appetizer,” I added.

  “Anything else to drink?”

  “Two Amaretto sours,” I replied.

  His right eyebrow went up. He turned to Misty.

  “And you’ll be drinking?”

  “One of the Amaretto sours is for her, fool,” I interrupted.

  He chuckled to himself. I smiled back sweetly in return.

  “Of course,” he grinned, shaking his head. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Wit’ yo’ sexy azz,” I mumbled.

  He heard me. I know, because he was laughing and shaking his head as he walked away.

  “You’re a mess, girl,” Misty chuckled.

  “I’m just a red-blooded African-American female, is all.”

  “Translation… hoe.”

  “Hey, now! Watch that!”

  We laughed.

  “So what did you mean about that Shaza Zul thing? What was that?”

  “That’s who he looks like!” I replied. “Remember the guy from the show A Different World? The one Freddie was dating? He had reddish-blond dreads and hazel eyes. He was in Janet Jackson’s video “Again.” The one where they get caught outside in the rain.”

  “Oh yeah,” Misty said, nodding. “He does kinda look like him.”

  “Mmmm-hmmm,” I agreed. “He is a sexy mofo if I ever saw one!”

  “You need to sit your little hot ass down,” she said. “So tell me this… how can you order all that food and still have the figure you have? My body registers every little thing I consume. If I swallow a gulp of air, my thighs are wearing it the very next day.”

  “Gotta work it out, baby! I burn off everything that comes into my body. Exercise, exercise, exercise!”

  “Hmph!” She snickered. “Maybe I need to join you for a few sessions of that. Fat’s showing up on me in some strange places of late.”

  “What are you complaining about? You look great. I see that regular sex is just like milk.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Does a body good.”

  Misty clucked her tongue, at herself for falling for my stupid little comment.

  Sexy Shaza came back with our Amaretto sours.

  I didn’t waste any time. Immediately, I raised mine in another toast. I waited for Misty to raise hers.

  “To the opening of Black Barry’s Pie,” I piped. “You gon’ be there for me, right?”

  “Of course I am! Wouldn’t miss it for the world! When is it?”

  “We rehearse for three months. Then, it officially opens on June fifteenth.”

  She smiled, but I noticed something strange in her eyes, like she was unsure or a little concerned.

  “What’s with that look?”

  “What look?”

  “That look. I know you well. Something funny’s going on in that head of yours. I can tell. Don’t tell me you’ve got a work conflict or something like that! I’m giving you three months’ advance notice!”

  “I don’t have a conflict,” she insisted.

  “You better not.”

  Now, all that time, I still had my drink raised. I lowered my glass. My arm was getting way too tired. I could have caught a cramp waiting for her to raise hers.

  “Are your folks coming?” she asked.

  “I didn’t tell them about it,” I said casually.

  “What?!” she shrieked.

  Heads in the restaurant snapped our way.

  “Why the heck wouldn’t you tell your parents about something this significant?!”

  I sighed heavily. Misty knew me. And she knew Tyrone and Tyrene. Very well. I don’t know why she was tripping so hard.

  “Because,” I said, “if they came, the pressure would be too much for me. I wouldn’t even be able to concentrate during the show. Even if I couldn’t see their faces, I’d feel them there, just staring at me. They’d be asking a million questions. Wondering why I even wanted to be doing something like this to begin with.”

  “And? So?” Misty persisted. “They’d still be proud of you.”

  “They’d critique me to death,” I replied. “Tyrene would politely remind me that I have an MBA. I don’t need that. I’m still feeling this whole thing out for myself. I don’t need her mouth interjecting her two billion cents.”

  “Damn, Reesy,” Misty said. “That’s your mom.”

  “Don’t try to give me a guilt trip, Misty,” I sighed. “You know Tyrene is no ordinary mother. I’ll have her and Tyrone up when I’m more comfortable with my role in the show. After I’ve gotten my part down pat, and know for sure that this is where I want to be.”

  Shaza Zul arrived with our lobster sausage.<
br />
  I immediately forked a piece onto a saucer, and reached for a warm jalapeno roll from the basket of bread.

  Besides, I wanted to change the subject from the issue of Tyrone and Tyrene.

  “Mmmm,” moaned, savoring the meat. “This is too good.”

  Misty watched me, unable to resist. She forked a piece, too.

  “You know I don’t need to be eating this,” she said with a smile.

  “Good,” I mumbled, my mouth full. “More for me.”

  I buttered the roll and bit a large chunk out of it.

  I needed to take a drink to wash the whole thing down. I raised my glass again, in an effort to renew my attempt at a toast.

  Misty finally followed suit.

  “To my off-Broadway debut on June fifteenth,” I said, talking around the lump of meat and bread in my mouth. “Be there or be axed!”

  “To your off-Broadway debut,” she repeated.

  I took a quick sip of my Amaretto sour. While I was sipping, she continued the toast.

  “And to me and Rick moving in together. Effective June fourteenth.”

  I almost spat my drink out.

  “Whaaaaaaattt?!!!!!!!!”

  Misty visibly flinched.

  I sat there, swallowing, gulping, semi-gagging, trying to choke the chunk of bread and sausage down.

  I swallowed the whole lot and sat there for a few more stunned moments, frantically clearing my throat.

  “Ummmmmmmm!!” I screeched, doing my best to open my clogged esophagus.

  “Are you all right?” Misty whispered.

  My eyes narrowed.

  “No!!” I hissed loudly, my voice tinged with anger. “I am not all right. When did all this come about?”

  “Keep your voice down, Reesy.”

  “Fuck that!! When did you decide all this?!!”

  I locked my gaze onto her, trying to see if she would tell me the truth or give me her usual song and dance, do-si-do-ing around the issue.

  Misty looked at me, but was unable to hold my stare. Her eyes began to wander around the restaurant, looking at everything but me. The backlit sconces in the shapes of mathematic symbols. The open warehouse-type ceiling. The waiters and the walls.

  “We actually just decided to do it a couple of weeks ago,” she mumbled. “Things seem to be going really well, and we’ll both have a little time off around then. So we decided that’s when we’re gonna do it, if everything is still moving along like it is.”