Flip Side of the Game

by Tu-Shonda L. Whitaker

  “Excuse me?”

  “Excuse you? Well, maybe this time, but the next time you try and play me for stupid by talking to some other man while I’m here, I won’t be returning. You understand?”

  “Yes,” I responded out of shock and surprise. Had I just been read? And if my genital area wasn’t soaked and wet from the ambiance of being told what to do, my feelings would’ve been hurt. But shit, I had to hit this nigga off right then and right there, ’cause he had my coochie all the way live!

  I didn’t say a word. I just stood in front of him and slowly slid the straps of my black silk nightie off my shoulders, revealing the beauty of my 38Cs, and then I straddled across his lap, making him lay back and allowing him to feel as if he had been hand delivered to the moon.

  “You know, baby,” Taj said after I finished wearing his ass out, “making love to you is sweet as hell, but I’m out. I’ll call you in a few days.”

  “What?” That was usually my line. What the hell was he talking about? “What did you say?”

  “I said I’ll call you in a few days.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Excuse me? Didn’t you just tell me not that long ago that I shouldn’t hate the player?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, then I’m taking your advice.”

  “But.”

  “No buts, baby. Plus, you just tried some ole ghetto slick shit, and I didn’t appreciate it.”

  “Well.”

  “No wells.”

  Oh, this mu’fucka was ’bout to piss me the fuck off! How the hell was he tryin’ to act like I didn’t just get finished knockin’ his ass down? And now that he done conveniently came all over the place and got my coochie filled with so much cum that my ovaries were probably drowning, he thought that he could look me in my face and say that he’d call me in a few days? Oh, I don’t think so, ’cause Vera don’t roll like that!

  “Look, Taj,” I said, letting him know that I was pissed the hell off.

  “Look Taj what?”

  “Stop cutting me off, goddamnit!” He shot my ass a look. “Didn’t I just say that I was sorry?”

  “You said you were sorry? Vera, please, who you think you talking to? This is Taj, baby.”

  “I know who you are.”

  “Well, then you should know that you didn’t apologize to me.”

  “What do you think all of what just happened between us was?”

  “Sex.”

  “Sex?”

  “Sex. Sweet-ass, soaking wet, bustin’-a-nut sex. That’s it. But I’m with you, baby. You’re a freak to the core, and if you played the other part of your game correctly, the part where I like to be treated nice and more like your man, then we would be straight. However, if for one minute you think that you can talk to another brotha in my presence and all you have to do is hit me off, then you really don’t know who you’re messing with.”

  Oh, no his ass didn’t. I’m mistaken, right? This fool done stole all my lines. What the hell was this?

  Before I finished my thought, Taj reached over me, grabbed his clothes, got dressed, and walked out of the room.

  “When should I expect to hear from you again?” I heard my dumb-ass yelling.

  “We’ll talk,” he yelled back.

  “We’ll talk?”

  “Yeah, baby. My hair appointment for you to twist my dreads is Thursday.”

  “Hair appointment? Thursday? It’s Sunday!”

  “Very good, baby.” And the nigga left.

  Fuck him, though. Vera got this.

  It had been three days, and I couldn’t continue to take this. Was this what was called being in the doghouse? Was this nigga playing me? But you know what? Fuck him! Yeah, fuck him! Vera got this.

  I ran some bath water, splashed in some Bath and Body Works’ raspberry bath oil, lay back, turned on the shower radio, and closed my eyes. WBLS was playing the Quiet Storm and Natalie Cole (of all goddamn people) was singing about how to keep a good man, ’cause all of sudden she’s catching hell.

  As soon as she went off, here comes Xscape singing “Who Will I Run To.” I had to laugh. Why the hell is a group named Xscape singing about who will they run to? Hell, just leave. Get it? Escape!

  Oh my God, and this was the killer, Whitney Houston’s, “Saving All My Love for You”! Oh, no she didn’t! Whitney had officially lost her damn mind. She was gonna have to save her love, ’cause Bobby couldn’t stay the fuck outta jail. I knew I had a lot of nerve, but these brokenhearted bitches were gonna have to shut the fuck up!

  Before I could turn the radio off, the phone rang. While getting up to answer the phone, I couldn’t quite lift my leg up high enough, so I tripped getting out of the tub and slid on the floor.

  “Hello?” I said, trying not to sound desperate. “Vera,” Roger said, “listen.”

  I said this nice and slow, “What . . . the . . . fuck . . . do . . . you want?”

  “Hold the hell up. Why are you talking to me like this?”

  I just hung up and jumped back in the tub. I couldn’t stop thinking about Taj. Technically, I should’ve been mad as hell, but I was trying to be a big girl about the situation and not sweat it. I must admit your girlfriend was pissed.

  Just then the phone rang again. I got out the tub, grabbed a towel, and answered the phone.

  “Hello?” It was a telemarketer. What the fuck! To hell with this. I had more things to do than to be soaking in the tub and thinking about Taj. Hell, he wasn’t my man.

  An hour into doing absolutely nothing, I lay on the chaise in my bedroom and pressed play on the DVD. I decided to watch Love Jones, which was totally the wrong move, because as soon as Lorenz Tate started reciting poetry, I got pissed the fuck off. But I was forced to watch the whole movie. What else was there to do?

  I thought I heard the phone ringing, but when I picked it up, I realized it was the phone on the TV. Then I thought I heard the doorbell ringing, and when I jumped my fat ass up to answer the door, I realized that it was for the Brownstone next door. Instantly, I got pissed off. That’s when I could have sworn that the phone was ringing again, but then I thought about how, technically, the shit hadn’t rang but twice since last night, and it was now six o’clock in the morning, so my phone must have been broken.

  I called the operator and said, “Hello, this is Vera Wright-Turner.” I gave her my phone number. “Uh, my phone isn’t working.”

  “Really? What seems to be the problem?” the operator said.

  I realized at that point that I had officially lost my mind. “Sorry to bother you. It seems to be okay now.” I hung up the phone and then called Shannon.

  “Hey, Shannon.”

  “Hey, boo. What’s up?”

  “Nothin’, chile. Men, girl.”

  “Men? Oh, hell no,” she said. “I know the playette can’t be complaining about men.”

  “Who said I was complaining?” I snapped.

  “Your nasty-ass attitude.”

  “Well . . .” I decided to just spill it. I had to talk to somebody. “Taj was over here, and I was talking to Roger on the phone.”

  “He caught you?”

  “Yeah, girl,” I admitted.

  “Then yo’ ass was dead wrong.”

  “Dead wrong? I’m not married to him!”

  “And you won’t be getting married doing dumb shit.”

  “Dumb shit?”

  “Dumb shit,” she said. “Stupid moves.”

  “So what should I do?”

  “Apologize.”

  “Oh, hell no! He wanna play tough, two can play at that game.”

  “Yeah? Well, you do that and see how far that gets you. And when you got another bitch sneaking in during your in-between time of playing a game, take your beating like a champ.”

  “I really didn’t call you for this,” I insisted.

  “Yeah, you did. You knew what you were going to get when you called here. That’s why you called me, as opposed to Lee or Angie. You knew they
would pacify yo’ ass, and you needed to be knocked in the head with the truth.”

  “Bye, Shannon.”

  “Love ya, girl, but I gotta go anyway. I’m ’bout to get my swerve on!”

  Fuck it. I called Taj at his apartment, and his voice mail came on. “Hey, Taj. Vera. Hope all is well. Call me when you get a chance.”

  Then I slammed the pillow over my head and felt stupid. Fuck him. I think it’s some ice cream in the refrigerator.

  In between the first swirl of caramel and chocolate chunk, the phone rang. I peeped the caller ID and saw it was Taj. I didn’t answer the phone.

  “Hey, Vera,” he said into the answering machine. “Figures you wouldn’t answer the phone. I’m sure I peeped your card, but anyway, when you’re done—”

  I snatched the phone off the receiver. “You didn’t peep no card of mine.”

  “Hello?”

  “You heard me,” I said, tight-lipped.

  “Hey, baby!”

  “Don’t ‘hey, baby’ me!”

  “Damn, lots of attitude. Do I suspect a problem?”

  “No, no problem. No problem at all. As a matter fact, I have to get up and go to the shop right about now.”

  “It’s seven o’clock in the morning.”

  “It sure is. Great answer. Ciao, bella.” I hung up on the mu’fucka!

  Now, when the morning’s rush came into the shop, the old ladies, the gossip mouths, and some of Aunt Cookie’s girlfriends, the last thing I needed was to hear how Aunt Cookie was creeping. It almost made me sick. How the hell was she getting extra dick when I hadn’t had any in three days, not to mention she lives with my Uncle Boy?

  And to make matters worse, Aunt Cookie’s girlfriend Ms. Janet told me that somebody needed to talk to Uncle Boy, ’cause all he seemed to be doing was crying and explaining to anybody who would listen that Gladys Knight had a midnight train for him to catch, and as soon as daybreak hit, he planned to be on the next thing smokin’. This shit couldn’t have come at a worse time.

  Immediately, I called Uncle Boy and whispered into the phone in an effort to keep the shop out of my business. “Don’t cry, Uncle Boy. Don’t leave. Don’t do that.”

  “Uncle Boy, don’t do that? Naw, you misunderstandin’ yo’ Uncle Boy. I’m tired of yo’ Aunt Cookie.”

  “Uncle Boy, Aunt Cookie loves you and you know that.”

  “Well, if lovin’ me is wrong, then goddamnit, don’t be right.”

  “Uncle Boy, you been drinkin’?”

  “Naw, baby,” he said with a slur. “I been caught up.”

  “Caught up in what?”

  “A one-night love affair!”

  I couldn’t take it anymore, so I made a few phone calls, one to Shannon’s mother and the other to Lee’s mother, who in turn, informed me that they left Aunt Cookie on Utica at Ms. Carol’s house, hosting an all-night card party, and if I wanted to catch the last game, I needed to hurry.

  I hung up the phone and asked DeAndre to please finish my client’s hair while I went to see about Aunt Cookie.

  When I arrived at Ms.Carol’s, I could hear Chaka Khan’s “Whatcha Gonna Do for Me” blasting down the hallway. I knocked on the door and Ms. Carol yelled, “It cost two dollars to get up in here!”

  “Ms. Carol, I just came to see my Aunt Cookie.”

  “That’s what they all say, and the next thing I know, they got a hand goin’. Cough it up, honey chile!”

  “I got the two dollars!” Aunt Cookie yelled from behind the door.

  Aunt Cookie, Ms. Carol, and two other women all had men counterparts sitting around the small card table. None of them seemed to mind that I was there and knew for a fact that each of them, including Ms. Carol, had their own live-in boyfriends.

  So they sat with their sister-girl, young-looking forty-nine- and fifty-year-old faces, with hot red and mellow pink lipstick on, big wigs, and hoop earrings, all the while chewing gum and taking turns slamming down cards and yelling, “Six, no uptown!”

  Aunt Cookie had on a tight catsuit with her stomach poked out just a little. Her makeup was flawless, and her blue eyeshadow hadn’t missed a beat. She had one of the biggest asses in Brooklyn, which always got attention, and she was workin’ it as she walked around the room introducing me as Babygirl.

  “Whatcha workin’ wit’, Babygirl?” Aunt Cookie asked, sounding slightly drunk and making googly eyes at Earl Gatling.

  “I’m workin’ with a drunk-ass old man crying on my phone, talking about how he taking a midnight train to Georgia!”

  “Who? Boy?”

  “Who else?”

  “Hell, Boy ain’t from Georgia, his ass from Uptown.”

  “Whatever,” I said, “but word on the street is that you over here,” I said, pointing to Earl Gatling, “screwing around with what’s-his-name.”

  “Oh, wait a minute, Babygirl. Step off now. This is grown folk bidness.”

  “Aunt Cookie, you need to get home!”

  “I will. Earl just stopped by to see me. He be gone in the morning, because his wife be back in town.”

  “His wife?”

  “Yeah, baby. You know how I do it. Aunt Cookie ain’t stupid now. Ain’t nobody like Boy, and if I’ma creep, then the next nigga got to have as much to lose. Now, you go ’head to the shop, and I’ll meet you there. Let Aunt Cookie take care of Uncle Boy, ’cause what I can do, you can’t handle.” She winked her eye, threw her hips to the side, and strutted her stuff.

  Marvin Gaye was banging the hell outta the high note of “Let’s Get It On” as I was leaving.

  “What the hell?” DeAndre was saying as I walked in the shop, frowning his nose up. “You smell like Black Love incense. You been hittin’ a joint?”

  “Please, DeAndre.”

  “Then what’s your problem?” Shannon asked, untangling her double strand twist.

  “Aunt Cookie cheating on Uncle Boy.”

  “That’s why you smell like blue lights and wooden beads?”

  “Whatever. But can you believe that Aunt Cookie is cheating on Uncle Boy, and she think the shit is all good?”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “She lives with Uncle Boy, and she’s cheating with a married man. She, of all people, has no business cheating!”

  “Oh, no you didn’t, diva!” DeAndre said. “What about yo’ sugar daddy?”

  Sugar daddy? Oh, hell. I practically forgot about Roger, but I wouldn’t let them know that. “But still, my Aunt Cookie and my Uncle Boy?”

  “Gettin’ they groove on!” DeAndre said.

  “Hey-hey now!” Aunt Cookie said, coming in, throwing her hips around and having the nerve to be glowing! “Show me whatcha workin’ wit’!” she said to everybody in the shop. “How y’all?”

  All the women in the shop were making plans to go to dinner, a church function, or to see a man, and they seemed to be having a good time getting themselves hooked up. All the overhead dryers were filled, and the three weave operators had been sewing on hair for over an hour. The manicurist seemed to be making mad loot, ’cause there were already two women with their nails drying, one woman in the chair, and another one with her feet soaking for a pedicure.

  Fifty Cent’s “Get Rich or Die Trying” was banging in the background, leading nobody to notice how Rowanda came in well dressed, pretending to be clean. I ignored the hell outta her. I was embarrassed, and if it weren’t for the memory of the ass-beatin’ I got from Aunt Cookie when I spit in Rowanda’s face, I would’ve done it again.

  “Hey, Cookie!” Rowanda said.

  “Hey, chile! What you doin’ here?”

  “Yesterday was my birthday.”

  “That’s beautiful, baby. Happy birthday,” Aunt Cookie said.

  “Well, I don’t have two dollars!” I said, trying to shut Rowanda down before she even got to the part where she needed two dollars for something to eat, or two dollars for something to drink, or to get to a job, or any other shit that the typical fiend would create.

>   “She ain’t asked you fo’ two dollars!” Aunt Cookie snapped. “Yesterday was your mother’s birthday. Show some respect.”

  “My mother? Please.” Then I rolled my eyes and proceeded with handling my client’s hair.

  “I ain’t come for no trouble,” Rowanda said. “I just was wonderin’ if you would do my hair. See, I got money. I got a whole ten dollars.”

  “Well, the ten dollar doobie shop is down the street and around the corner.”

  Aunt Cookie shot me the evil eye. “Step to the side for a minute, Vera,” Aunt Cookie said in a demanding tone.

  “What is it?” I snapped.

  “Now, look. That there is yo’ mama. Treat her nice for once. She trying, Vera.”

  “Be nice? Be nice? That chickenhead put me in a drawstring garbage bag and placed me on the street like overnight trash!”

  “You gonna have to get over that.”

  “Really? Well, until I do, she won’t get her hair done up in here.”

  “Hey, baby,” Taj said, walking into the midst of commotion. Now, personally, this mu’fucka had a lot of nerve, but I was relieved as hell to see him.

  “Where did you come from? Your hair appointment is not until tomorrow.” Now, take that, put it in yo’ pipe and smoke it! Teach yo’ ass not to call me for three days.

  He shot my ass such a look that I instantly took it down, but I still ignored the hell outta Aunt Cookie and Rowanda.

  “Taj,” Aunt Cookie said, “speak with Vera! She acting like she don’t have no Christianity!”

  “What’s up, baby?” he had the audacity to say, sounding as if something was wrong with me.

  Well, wasn’t a damn thing wrong with me! Didn’t nobody in there know what it was like to have a dopefiend for a mother. Nobody knew what it was like to wanna eat but have to wait until everybody had their dope. Nobody knew! And here Taj came, who hadn’t called me in three days, and he thought that I should what, pour my heart out to his ass? Hell, no. Not Vera.

  “Ain’t shit up!” I said, taking the cape off my client and winking my eye to let her know she looked good. “But I’m not doing Rowanda’s hair. Understand?”