by Curtis Bunn
“Yep,” Tranise said. “I should be exhausted, but I’m not. I’m too excited, I guess. After the step show, Kwame dropped me at my hotel. I showered and changed and he went home and did the same. You have to see this cute little black dress I wore. It was a hit. Kwame picked me up around midnight and we went to the party.
“I thought I was going to have to tell him that I needed my space once we got there,” Tranise added, “but he was very cool. It was a lot of people. A great party. I saw more people I hadn’t seen in a long time. And I saw Felicia.”
“Oh, boy. How did that go?” Charlene said.
“It went okay, I guess,” Tranise answered. “She was with Brandon, so I think he was a little awkward because he was clearly flirting with me at the other party. They were standing nearby as people kept complimenting me on how I look. I know that ate her up.
“We never made any kind of connection. Brandon spoke to me for a hot second; he seemed uncomfortable that his wife would see him and say something. So, he kept it moving.”
Tranise was surprised at herself. Seeing Brandon with Felicia would have turned her stomach back in the day. Last night, it gave her a thrill, like the challenge to break her man was official. She was a goody-two-shoes chick in college. Maybe breaking out of that comfort zone over the weekend would be a sign of growth for her. At least, that was her twisted thought.
“So, you spent a lot of time with Kwame but you seem excited about seeing Brandon,” Mary said. “What’s up with that?”
“Kwame is really, really nice; I like him,” Tranise said. “He’s mature and respectful. But he’s also almost four years younger than me. That’s getting in my way.”
“The older you get, the less his age is a factor,” Charlene said. “You get him now, you can mold him into what you want him to be. If you do it right, in a year he’ll be good and trained.”
“What would you know about training someone,” Tranise said, after laughing. “Only thing you’ve trained is that weave you used to wear.”
“That was a good weave, I’ll have you know,” Charlene countered. “Only you and Mary knew it wasn’t my hair.”
“Anyway,” Tranise said, “I like him. I’m not jumping into anything. I’m just getting to know the man. But you know what was funny? It seemed to me that Brandon was a little jealous to see me with Kwame. He saw us together at The Broadway and then again that night. He was a little dismissive of Kwame to me. Kwame noticed it, too. He said, ‘I thought your boy was married. He sure seemed agitated to see you with me.’”
“He has no room to be agitated or anything else,” Mary said. “His ass is married. Period.”
“Don’t choke on your biscuit. Damn,” Tranise said.
“No, it bothers me when guys think they have territory over us,” Mary said. “Not only is he married, but his wife is pregnant. And he knows that you know his wife. Seems to me you need to put him in his place.”
“Like you put Rodney in his place last night?” Tranise snapped back.
“All right, now,” Charlene jumped in. “We’re not getting bitchy with each other. We’re all grown folks and can do what we want.”
“I wasn’t trying to be bitchy, Mary,” Tranise said. “I wasn’t. I was just saying—”
“You don’t have to explain,” Mary interrupted. “I will explain this much: I’m not married, so I can do what I want to do. That doesn’t mean spending the night with Rodney was the morally right thing to do. It wasn’t. I was trying to make the point of how married men, with no shame, approach single women. And even have the audacity to get bent out of shape if he sees you with someone else. That bugs me. I’ve had a lot of married men come at me, and I think it’s such an insult.”
Tranise absorbed her friend’s words. “I agree with you,” she said. “I do. You know I have always had this thing for Brandon, and now he’s finally showing me some attention and I kind of like it. It doesn’t mean I will sleep with him. That makes me just as bad as him. I have to admit that I like getting attention from him. But going the distance? I don’t think so.”
That was the ideal way to end their breakfast and head over to the massive tailgate party on campus. “But y’all make sure I’m not alone with him,” Tranise said. “I know what I should do. But my body doesn’t.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
LET THE CHASE BEGIN
Jesse and Don
Instead of taking a nap, Jesse had Don take him to Kappatal Kuts next to the 7-Eleven on Brambleton Avenue, across from campus. He did not have time to get a haircut before leaving and Don pointed out that he looked like a “rag-a-muffin.”
The barbershop almost immediately became a staple in the community when Junius opened the doors in 1988. He brought in talented barbers Sporty and Kevin Rodgers and it was on. Kappatal Kuts was a fixture, the place to get that fade tightened up or to hang out and hear some of the most radical and hilarious social commentary from workers and clients alike.
The Friday night wait was long, which gave Don time to catch up with Bert, who came over to meet him there. And it allowed them to absorb the madness that comes with many urban barber-shops.
The DVD man came in offering bootleg versions of the latest movies, followed by the cake lady with a cart of red velvet, pound and chocolate cake slices for sale. Then there was the seafood man, who came in, believe it or not, with frozen shrimp in sandwich bags.
“Being here right now is tripping me out,” Jesse said. “I feel like I’m nineteen years old again. The barbers may have changed, but the energy is still the same. And I wish Charlie Wong’s was still across the street. That was my Chinese food spot.”
On the TV was Jeopardy, the game show. Patrons and barbers were struggling to answer questions, which started ten minutes of side-cracking jokes.
“Man, y’all ain’t gonna answer none of dem questions,” Macho, a barber, said in a deep, deep Southern accent. “You need to watch Jeopardy For Da Hood. That’s a show you might answer a question or two.”
His client egged him on.
“So, what kinda questions would they be on Jeopardy For Da Hood?” he asked.
Macho jumped right on it. “Questions like, ‘How many rounds does a nine-millimeter hold?”
The packed shop erupted in laughter.
“Or, ‘If you have one hundred dollars’ worth of food stamps and steal fifty dollars’ worth of food stamps from yo baby daddy, how many food stamps do you now have?” another client chipped in.
“How about, ‘How many baby mommas does the average drug dealer have?’” another client contributed.
“I got one,” another barber shouted. “What is the ratio of baking powder to cocaine in an ounce?”
And on and on it went. Finally, Laurie Hunt, a classy female barber in the shop from New York, jumped in. “You all need to stop,” she said. “If you heard white people making these jokes, you’d be ready to kill somebody. Remember last week, when those teachers in Georgia used slaves in a worksheet for math word problems? She could have used anything in the world, and she used slavery with some black kids. And you all were personally offended, as you should have been. So, I know you’re joking. But let’s joke about something else.”
“Ah, Laurie, lighten up,” Macho said. “Deez jokes are for present company only. And you know dey funny.”
“No, they’re not,” she said. “They’re offensive.”
“You rather we talk about women?” he said. “You really would be offended den.”
“I’m telling you this feels like college all over again,” Jesse said, leaning into Don’s ear. “Gotta love it.”
After another twenty minutes or so, Jesse got in the chair and out. He and Don went across the street to the jazz concert at the Douglas Wilder Center on campus, where local artists provided a beautiful evening.
When it was over, while standing in the lobby to canvass the women who were leaving, they encountered many friends from their days in school, including Jeff Jones, a former baseball player
who ended up in divinity school. Jeff was as affable and funny as anyone on campus, so learning he had become a born-again Christian surprised Jesse and Don.
“I guess we shouldn’t be surprised, really,” Don said. “It can happen to anyone.”
“I know what you’re saying, but listen to how that sounded,” Jesse said. “You said it like he got laid off from a job or was stricken with a disease or something.”
Laughing, Don said, “I know, right? I guess that was a bad way to put it. I meant that you know someone one way and it’s always a surprise when they make a dramatic change. But when I think about it, there was always something spiritual about Jeff.”
“Look at that,” Jesse said, pointing across the lobby. It was James Granderson, a long-time business professor who retired two years earlier.
“Mr. Granderson can’t stay away from Norfolk State,” Jesse said. “He taught here, like, forty years or something ridiculous like that. He was my boy, though. I took his classes and he would give me an A as long as I went to the store and bought wine for him.”
“What?” Don said.
“Yes,” Jesse said. “On top of that, he was banging a lot of the students.”
“Come on, man. You lying,” Don said.
“No, I’m not,” Jesse insisted. “I even caught a friend of mine’s girlfriend in his office one day. He caught her cheating on a test and had a ‘meeting’ with her. She had a look on her face that said, ‘I’m busted.’ I never said anything to my boy. But it was obvious what was about to go down.”
“That’s crazy,” Don said. “But not surprising, I guess. Wait, look at that.” He used his eyes to direct Jesse to a young lady who passed by with a can’t-miss booty.
“Do you know who that is?” Jesse said. “Hold up. We might have some action tonight.”
He left Don standing there confused and caught up with the young lady.
“Excuse me,” he said and she turned around. She was a little older, her face was slightly rounder and there was a little bit of a midsection that was not there seven or eight years ago. But there was no mistaking: It was Lynnette Commons, a woman who one night found herself in a sex train at Jesse’s apartment when she was a sophomore.
She got there because she liked Jesse and they ended their movie date at his place. She got drunk off of a six-pack of Miller beer with Jesse in his bedroom while some of his friends played Spades in the living room. Having a buzz turned her into something Jesse didn’t expect.
She came out of the bedroom, blouse unbuttoned, showing off her ample breasts, and flirting with the other guys. Jesse was taken aback at first but he quickly went with the flow when one of his buddies came to him and said, “We can run a train on this girl.”
Jesse didn’t respond. He watched as she danced and teased and basically dared the men to do something. Well, they did. She was ushered to the back where one-by-one, the men took their turns. She might have been drunk, but she functioned as if she were coherent.
She passed out about the time the last guy was done. Jesse let her sleep for a few hours. When she woke up, she got dressed and Jesse took her back to her apartment off of Little Creek Road. Neither of them said a word about what had happened.
Jesse drove back home wondering what was wrong with Lynette. Maybe she just got off on pleasing a bunch of men, he’d rationalized. He had been with her alone before that escapade, and she did not seem as lively as she was with the gang bang. But she did not drink that first night, either. In any case, she was forever known among a small group of guys as “The Miller Freak.”
“Lynette, how are you? You might not remember me,” he said.
She looked at him for a second. “Oh, my goodness,” she said, moving in for a hug. “How are you? What’s your name?”
“I’m Jesse. It’s been a long time,” he answered. “You look good. Look like life is treating you well.”
“It is,” she said. “I live in Connecticut now. It’s cold in the winter, but I enjoy it.”
Jesse’s mind started to race. She did not have on a wedding ring and she was alone. He wanted to get Lynette back to his hotel room. If she was anything like she was at nineteen, he was in for a good night. And she would be good for Don, who was not quite himself. Jesse noticed but had not said anything to him about it.
“So what you up to now?” he asked. “I’m with my man over there, Don. We’re talking about going to the all-black party. But we’ll probably go to the room and have some drinks first. You’re welcome to join us.”
“Oh, that’s sweet of you; I appreciate the offer,” she said. “But I gave up drinking a long time ago. I’m actually going to catch the end of a prayer service at my friend’s church somewhere over in Ghent.”
“A prayer service? Really?” Jesse said. He was confounded. He did not expect to hear that come out of her mouth.
“Yes, I turned my life over to Christ about two years after graduating from Norfolk State,” she said. “It has been the best thing that could have ever happened to me. Earlier this year I was named assistant pastor at my church in Norwalk. God is good.”
Instantly, Jesse felt a level of guilt. He was about to proposition one of God’s spokespersons.
“That’s awesome,” he said as Don walked up. “Don, this is Lynette. She was at school during our time.”
“Oh, I remember you,” he said. “I didn’t know you, but you’re kind of hard to forget.”
Lynette smiled, but was not sure if he was paying a compliment or referring to her notorious drunken sex binges. They chatted for another minute or so before she said her good-byes and walked off. Don and Jesse stood there admiring her substantial ass.
“That’s the girl I told you about one time; who came to the house and did four, five guys,” Jesse said.
“That’s her? Get the fuck outta here?” Don said. “Well, I mean, what’s up? Why did we let her get away?”
“Man, you won’t believe this,” Jesse explained. “She’s saved. Not only is she saved, but she said she’s an assistant pastor at her church in Connecticut. And—get this: She’s going to catch the end of a prayer session somewhere right now.”
“Well, damn,” Don said. “That’s two of Jesus’ folks we ran into in, like, ten minutes. Maybe He’s trying to tell us something.”
“Yeah, like it’s time to start drinking again,” Jesse said.
“I’ll drink to that,” Don said, and off they went to the ABC Store.
“Virginia still has these backward-ass liquor laws,” Don said. “How you gonna have a liquor store where you can’t by beer and wine? And how they gonna make you finish your drinks by two a.m. but your club stays open to four? That’s some dumb shit.”
“It’s because it’s a Commonwealth state,” Jesse said. “But I’m told they are breaking away from this ABC crap and allowing private citizens to get liquor licenses and open up independent liquor stores. And guess what? All the allotted licenses were purchased in a heartbeat.”
“Shit, I wish I had opened a liquor store,” Don said. “Good times or bad times, people will drink. I go and open a neighborhood convenience store . . . It’s hard to survive, man. Wal-Mart in particular is the everything store. And our people, well, I love us, but I guess I don’t understand us. They’d rather drive ten minutes away to shop at Wal-Mart over walking to the corner to support a black-owned business in their own neighborhood. It makes me sad, to be honest.”
“I hear you,” Jesse said. “Is that’s what’s on your mind? You’ve been having a good time. But you do seem a little preoccupied at times.”
“Yeah, well, I’m waiting on a call from my accountant. It should come today or tomorrow,” Don said. “I need an investor or my days are numbered. Probably have to go back to stinky-ass corporate America.”
“Well, D, let’s hope for the best, man,” Jesse said. “We’re about to do the right thing: Get drunk to get your mind off the situation.”
And they did just that. Don slowly drove as Jesse poured R
emy Martin. They sipped and talked and wanted to light up a joint, but didn’t want to smell like it at the party. Before long, the effects of the cognac started to kick in.
Jesse said, “Do you know it’s actually safer for us to smoke weed and drive than it is for us to drink and drive?”
“Ah, shit, here we go,” Don said.
“I’m serious,” Jesse went on. “There was a study that recently came out. People who drink and drive are three hundred and eighty-five times more likely to have a fatal car accident than those who are sober. At the same time, a study for nineteen years in the sixteen states that have legalized marijuana shows a nine percent drop in traffic deaths.
“And you know why? Because people who are drunk think they are Superman or Wonder Woman. They take more risks. Weed smokers take it easy, drive slower and know when they are too messed up to drive.”
“You might have a problem, knowing all this stuff,” Don said.
“No, man, I read this online,” Jesse said. “The University of Colorado did the study. I’m just telling you what I read. But it does make sense, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, it does,” Don said. ”And since it does, maybe I should stop drinking until we get to where we’re going.”
“Good idea, homey,” Jesse said. “Don’t mind if I keep drinking, do you?”
“You’re funny,” Don said.
With the liquor loosening his tongue, Jesse talked and talked. “You know, sometimes I drink just to be social,” he said. “This is one of those times I’m drinking to be social and to escape my life.”
“I’m the one with problems,” Don said. “If I don’t get the call I need to get, I’m out of business. You’re a lawyer in Philly, making good bank—and you’re single. Trust me, don’t look at not being married as a problem.”
“Nah, it’s not that. I do miss the good days of marriage—all five of them,” he said, laughing. “But I’m worried about my little sister. She got caught up with this guy that from the moment I saw him, I thought, ‘He’s not right.’ I told her that and I told him that. About eight months later, she marries this guy. Comes home talking about they eloped. Who elopes these days? It was his idea because he knew I would have talked her out of that dumb shit.
