“I saw Daney yesterday in the airport,” she admitted. “I’m in Paris right now working on a commercial, and he was passing through on his way to Portofino. He looked good. Hollow around the eyes though, and puttin’ on a brave face that I could see through like glass. He loves you, girl. I think he’s really hurt.”
Fiona listened greedily to her friend’s account of the short meeting. Daney had even asked about her. Mechante had a knack for pulling things from people. Something about her invited confidences, and once given they were rarely shared. The only reason she was telling Fiona this story was because she had a feeling Daney and her friend were meant for each other.
“Don’t trip,” she said, after Fiona had pulled loose the last detail. “Ya’ll are gon’ get back together, watch and see.”
She asked after Natty.
“He good. My album’s ‘bout done. Movie ‘bout to start. I’m grindin’ hard.”
“I thought “Damn” was tight, but “The Journey?” Very nice.”
“Thank you, thank you. I had to fight for that bitch to be the first release,” she said of “Damn.” “Now the label calls every five minutes wanting to hear tracks.”
“You told them hoes to kiss yo’ ass, I know.”
“Hell yeah. Told ‘em they can buy a copy when it come out like the rest of the world.” They shared a laugh. “I just finished a video the other day, and them bitches doin’ everything in they power to see it. I told ‘em we was gon’ wait a minute to release that shit just to make ‘em sweat.”
Mechante laughed softly. “Is it hot?”
“Smokin’.” Fiona ran down the theme, a combo of flashbacks to the 70’s and some unidentified time in the future, both of which Lani and Netty had tricked out with some of the flyest gear Fiona swore she’d ever worn. Soft, custom made cotton bell bottoms in beautiful fabrics Netty had sewn her into at the shoot so that flashes of skin peeked out along the seams. Lani had paired metallic mini-skirts with tiny bustiers dripping with faux diamonds and urged Sugar to create glittery makeup to match.
The choreography was a lot of improvisation with a core set of moves that bounced along with the chorus as Fiona wrapped and unwrapped herself around a beautiful black model they’d found to play the object of her affection. Mercifully he wasn’t just beautiful but could dance and play off her perfectly as she kicked and strutted her way through time and a funky, high-tempo, full-throttle song.
“The director actually gave me two days off to do Oprah.”
“When you doin’ that?”
“Coupla weeks. You know Cleo and Lani got me on starvation rations tryna get ready.”
Mechante snorted. “Bet. You need to tell those control freaks to beat it.”
“I know, right? Cleo even got the director in on the shit. Craft services has been instructed, no, how did he put it? They have been cautioned to bring me only the right kinda food, all of which he insists they approve through her first.”
“Well, he knows La O will ask about his franchise as well as have you perform, so it ain’t like he ain’t gettin’ somethin’ out the deal.”
“And as the rest of the crew eats Italian beef I eat baked apples and organic carrot sticks. I take that back. A gofer felt sorry for me the other day and snuck me a corner of his sandwich.”
Mechante chuckled. “Let me take the resta’ these muh’fuckas money, honey. I’ll ring you back. Shuffle them cards some more, bitch!”
******
Other times Fiona would tell Natty a story during one of their games and he’d look so sad, she actually felt bad for disillusioning him. It was like he really couldn’t believe someone would hurt her so badly, deliberately. He commended her for being strong and for making the right move, away from bull shit. He’d squeeze her close as though he could press the memories from her. And she let him, basking in the warmth and support that seeped from his body into hers.
“I’m sorry,” he occasionally whispered into her flesh, and Fiona loved Natty in those moments.
This love was no better or worse than that she felt for Daney. He didn’t even come into it, really. This new love was too pure for that kind of comparison. Too different. She and Daney were prancing white horses, crayon blue sky and impossibly green grass. They were a warm breeze off an ocean as smooth as glass. She and Natty were rain one minute, and one of Chicago’s signature blistering heat waves the next. They were meat and potatoes. They were real. Daney seemed like a fairytale, and now, as if she was a child, Fiona stared into the past as though at the pages of a memorable book.
She forgave Natty, who had done nothing wrong, and he leeched some of the pain from her. He pulled it out effortlessly, from old and new wounds, as though under his large, skilled and sympathetic hands all the bad memories, the worries, the myriad mistreatments and hurts could tumble free like marbles from a sack.
Fiona loved being with him. Loved how easy it was for him to be himself around her. She liked their energy, that he valued her mind enough to bring her his troubles, and her spirit enough to listen when she laid down hers. Very simply, he made her feel good. Just seeing his face made her smile.
“Isn’t that why people get together?” he asked her, when she told him so.
She nodded silently, and he dragged her out to get new towels for his apartment. Not the one above the studio, this was the beautifully furnished right half of a brownstone right off of Oak Street. The left flat was kept as a guest cottage.
“Lani and my cousin Plum,” he said of the decor, but he was missing the little touches. He’d let his sheets and towels get raggedy because he only had two sets. He mentioned Bed, Bath and Beyond, but she shook her head and chose two new sets of the best Bloomingdale’s Home had to offer because he told her he wasn’t interested in comparison shopping, and when she was in the vicinity of someone else’s Black card neither was she.
When they got hungry midday and she discovered his cupboards were bare, he would have ordered in, but she insisted they go to the grocery store. There she stocked his freezer and fridge with basic foodstuffs and made them chicken tacos.
He liked watching her bustle around the kitchen. After he set the table, he stood near the stove getting in her way, stealing kisses and squeezes until she popped him upside the head and told him to sit his narrow ass down. He just laughed, and the sound made those feel-good tickles spread like when she stretched her shoulders just the right way.
He told her about a beautiful red haired model he’d dated who’d been so nuts she actually bit him once in the midst of a rage. She responded with a tale of a light skinned brother who’d been nice to everyone but her after they started dating, delighting in screaming at her at the top of his considerable lungs while he told her how selfish and stupid she was.
“Why you think we play games like this?” she asked. “You like hearing all this fucked up shit?”
Natty looked at her like she was crazy. “Of course not. I wish no one had ever hurt you. That you’d never allowed the wrong men to get near you. Then we could just have fun and fight and fuss and make music all day. But since you did, I want you to get over it. That’s why I encourage it when I see this shit come out of you. It’s better to purge and puke than to try and swallow throw up. Don’t you think?”
Fiona made a face at the graphic image, but she nodded. “Absolutely. God knows I haven’t had anybody to talk to.”
She smiled at him, and he grabbed her in one of his sweet, rub and squeeze kisses. She loved Natty because she knew he was sincere, that his friendship was true. Sometimes, it floored her, the depth of the feeling. That she could still feel it when her heart had been broken so many times before. Sometimes she couldn’t help herself. She’d laugh out of sheer joy, and he’d blink at her, startled.
“You’re a trip,” she’d grin. Then she’d kiss him, first in gratitude then deliberately until he got hot and came after her.
He’d push her back on the bed with her legs dangling over the edge, and carefully arrange her puss
y so that it was poised on the edge of the mattress. He’d spread her thighs as wide as he could comfortably press them and maybe a little more when he forgot and got carried away. Then he’d lick and suck and eat at her wet flesh until she screamed.
Sometimes afterwards he’d lie on the bed beside her and fall asleep. Fiona would nap too, snug and safe when he pulled her into his arms during a dream. She’d wake him up in 30 minutes to an hour sucking his dick or stroking him with long, agile fingers until he was hard enough for her to ride. Then they were out for the night, snoring, sprawled in each other’s arms like lumberjacks after a hard day in the trees.
He slept over with her and the girls some nights, enjoying the attentions of three or four women like a man with lots of female relatives. Fiona just stood by grinning, proud of her little female family. They’d easily embraced Natty’s new role in her life. Except for Sugar, they’d all known and liked him for years.
“Sugar,” he laughed, when they were introduced, and she knew he was remembering that first conversation in his bed.
Occasionally he made breakfast for her. It was the only meal he knew how to cook, and he only knew how to make pancakes and scrambled eggs. They always had both.
Their life together was peppered with social events, but when they were alone together she loved the peace. Natty liked shaving while she lounged in the tub. He’d beg her to use bubbles so when he finished his toilette he could reach in and play with her while they popped.
They talked on their cell phones side by side as he drove them here or there with Flora babbling in her car seat in the back. Mostly though, they lived and breathed music, with little, grudgingly given breaks for Fiona’s pre-production movie work.
“Damn” stayed in the number one slot for more than a month. When the video came out, Fiona got so much press she purposefully shut down. Andrea reluctantly acquiesced, knowing when Fiona got that militant look, any efforts to force her hand would meet a thick, concrete wall.
“The Journey” was released, and things really began to heat up. The label insisted she do more press for the album. Reluctantly she confirmed some rumors and laid others to rest. She also began a few new ones as more pictures of her and Natty began to appear in the papers and circulate on the Internet.
They neither confirmed nor denied they were having a relationship, and their stoicism seemed to add fire to her star over the next few weeks. Photographs surfaced of them holding hands and flew around the Internet like they had propellers and a diesel engine. Then her new song bumped the old new one from the top of the charts. It was a rare phenomenon, but Fiona only smiled modestly. Together or apart they would only say they were working very closely together on her upcoming album, for which the clamor was horrific. Especially after she appeared on Oprah.
Right after she broke it off with Daney she’d welcomed the frenetic pace Andrea and Cleo demanded, but when Netty and Sugar joined in, Fiona thought she was losing her damn mind. She couldn’t even smoke to take the edge off their constant bull shit. She’d promised Natty and the girls she wouldn’t, and she could hardly find a quiet, private minute to renege. The afternoon before her appearance on Oprah she took two Valerian root right in front of her entourage and locked herself in her room.
“The first one-a you bitches to knock gon’ be fired,” she told them, slammed the door, and slept blissfully until Natty busted his way in a little before nine. She sleepily fucked him, and they talked about nothing until Cleo, who must have been listening at the keyhole to hear their low voices, yelled,
“You niggas need ta go the fuck ta sleep!”
Oprah was Fiona’s first TV performance in over a year, and she was debuting material from her upcoming album, an album that had been nearly four years in the making. She had not one but two number one hits, a love life that was more interesting than Obama’s battle to do his own job, and there was the movie to consider. Since the first film had been a box office hit, everyone was waiting eagerly for what the studio press machine promised would be an explosive summer sequel.
Andrea was practically frothing at the mouth. She and Cleo were glued to their phones. The only time either stopped talking was to shout some instruction at Fiona or to each other.
Netty and Sugar treated her like a mannequin, turning her this way and that and talking over her head as though she wasn’t there. They were determined that she would look more beautiful than ever before. Fiona quickly grew numb from their endless attention. She was secretly glad to relinquish most of the control into their skilled hands, but even more happy to escape their clutches and slip into the comfortable arms of her musicians. Men like Natty who loved her a little, whether hypnotized by the beauty of her voice, her body or her spirit, but sought to change nothing.
Lani had finally stopped tweaking Fiona’s choreography and had turned her laser on the backup dancers, all of which she’d hand-picked for “The Journey” video and culled down to the best of the best for Oprah. They were firmly under her thumb, a flock of beautifully built does, big eyes bugged in perpetual headlights.
The performance was fabulous. Her voice was strong and pure, sucking up and spitting out the soulful, seductive lyrics like she’d never been away from the stage. Members of the audience hooted and hollered and some even jumped to their feet clapping as her vibrato tossed and tumbled love words into their eager ears. They watched, lapping up every expression, every twist of her full lips, every sultry lift of her lashes and every sensuous movement of her hips and hands as she strutted around the stage.
She knew without vanity that her body was near flawless in a tiny LBD missing its back and most of the front. Her skin appeared gilded, shining with color like the long chain dangling a gold medallion that read ‘Feef’ over the crack of her ass. Her hair was a crown of shiny natural curls, pushed high to reveal the long, delicate curve of her neck.
The interview was perfect. La O tried to initiate some love talk, but Fiona was about nothing but music and movies, and her lively personality stretched both into a veritable fountain of quips, jokes and full belly laughs.
To an innocent, ‘How’ve you been?’ she replied,
“Girl, I’m hungry,” and she shook her head pitifully, blinking mink lashes to grand effect as she cast an imperiled look on the queen of TV. “You have no idea. I ain’t had more than a serving of food, carefully screened and prepared far more often than I’d like, raw, at one time, or drank more than water or sugarless tea, in weeks! Soon as I leave here I’m goin’ somewhere and stuff my damn face. I’m talkin’ murder some filet mignon, and I dare anybody, Cleo, Lani and Netty,” she leaned closer and closer off stage with every name, “To stop me.” The audience cracked up.
La O told her she looked wonderful, which began a detailed discussion of her diet and exercise post-baby.
“Thank you. I earned this body, child. Believe me! I feel absolutely wonderful, and I’m strong too. I’ve lost all the little weight I gained pregnant. Most of it came off almost immediately after momma’s angel got here, but after dancing and training for the album and my movie almost every day for the last two months, I could probably kick a hole through a wall! My boy Peter kicked it off, roping me into doing his lingerie show and ordering Liani Cambridge to whip me into shape!” she said, imitating Peter’s recognizable southern accent to great effect. “But lately I can’t stop thinking about ice cream. Butter pecan, black walnut, cookies n’ cream, my dairy-kissed fantasies are endless. And I ain’t been near enough to even sniff any in so long, all I can do is miss it.”
Natty came to pick her up for dinner right after taping. When pictures of her getting into his black Benz hit the news Daney grimly read the latest gossip, and threw himself even more firmly into his work.
He smiled until he thought his face would crack and reveal the unrelenting anger he felt when he allowed himself to remember Fiona was giving her love to someone else. It wouldn’t have made him feel any better if he knew that she was missing him too.
Fiona wa
s busy enough to hold most thoughts of Daney at bay, but sometimes at night, when it was quiet, and her cell phone had been banished for the day, she thought of him while she was in bed with Natty.
She loathed this so much she’d make love to Natty in a fury, sweeping him helplessly along until one night, as he lay on his back trying to catch his breath, he said, “If I didn’t already love you, I’d love you.”
She froze then shifted restlessly, ready to get up, but his hands clamped down on her ass, holding her in place on top of him.
“I said I loved you, not that I was in love with you.”
She raised her head and gently licked his kiss swollen lips. “I love you too, you know.”
“You’re beautiful,” he told her.
“So are you.”
“Does it bother you?”
Fiona cocked her head to the side as she considered his question. “It gets in my way,” she said after a while. “People are always trying their luck. Like I’ll be tryna have a conversation with a man, and I might be stoned and just gettin’ around to the point. He’ll latch on to the conversation but veer it into some comment about my looks.”
“Gimme an example.”
She thought for a minute and reached into her nightstand drawer for a joint. The doctor had come by and pronounced himself fairly pleased with her condition, and Natty relented when she begged to be allowed to smoke. She bargained successfully for a full day’s indulgence providing she consumed no more than two joints. Now he watched as she lit up, inhaled, exhaled.
“This cat I knew back in the day stopped by. He called before he came, but I wasn’t expecting him. I had these raggedy ass lavender sweat pants on, and the elastic at the waist was shot. Before he arrived I was just lettin’ ‘em hang off my ass, but I had ‘em hitched up while he was there.” She inhaled again, and passed, watching him take a hit, while he watched her.
“After a while I fold the waistband over twice and tuck it like we used to do our pants hems in junior high, remember?”
Fiona Love Page 18
