by Candice Dow
She propped her elbows on the table and I took note of the large Tiffany bangle that hung around her small wrist and the Cartier watch on the other. The diamond band on her right hand blinded me and I tried to defer my attention from her jewels to focus on her beautiful brown eyes. Her long hair swept back and forth over her shoulders and complemented her contemporary chic attire. She wore jeans and a black top that hung low enough to imagine cleavage, but mostly it was her bare contoured chest that was exposed. A large green Juicy Couture leather bag accentuated her basic outfit. She was the epitome of effortless class.
I didn’t doubt that she would keep her promise to call. There was just something there. You know that thing when you know the other person finds you just as attractive as you think they are? Still, it was hard for me to pry myself from the seat, because I wanted to find out more about her. She stood when I kissed her hand. Even with high, high heels on, her head met my chest. If she picked me, I planned to reaffirm what she already knew a man should do for a woman.
Not that I am a slacker by any sorts, but if I were going to hang out with Ms. Fatima and her Cartier watch, I needed to Will-Smith-up my attire. That’s the process whereby you add designer pieces into an average wardrobe. I headed over to Macy’s and splurged with the assumption that I would receive my first check in a couple of weeks.
After tossing nearly a rack full of clothes over my arm, I looked in the ladies’ department for things I thought would look nice on Fatima. I planned to woo her. She wouldn’t know what hit her when my tenure was done.
On my way home, I stopped at the florist and bought my mother fresh flowers. It had been awhile since I surprised her. As I continued my previctory celebration, I grabbed some dinner for the only lady that’s down for the cause in my life.
When I opened the door to the apartment, I called out, “Hey, lil’ mama.”
She waved to me as she walked from the bedroom talking on the phone. Her strong accent implied that one of her sisters was on the other end. When I handed her the flowers, she said, “This boy. He thinks he can give me flowers for rent.”
I bent down and kissed her cheek. “Hey, Ma.”
“What is this?”
I put our food on paper plates. “Where did you get this roti from, boy?”
“Your favorite place.”
“This boy.”
That was her way of saying she was happy. She continued cackling on the phone as she ate her food. I sat in the living room and studied my script. My mother said, “All you do is read these scripts. When is someone going to hire you? You’re too handsome to be out there looking for work. They should come get you. I know you’re tired of waiting tables.”
As she spoke to me, her sister talked loudly on the other end. “Your auntie asks, ‘What is wrong? Why you don’t have no woman?’”
“Women take up too much time and cost too much money.”
As they found joy in my inability to land an acting role and lack of love, I shook my head. Those voids were in the process of being replaced. I pretended to laugh hysterically, “Ha-ha-ha!”
“Don’t get cute with me, boy.”
I stood and headed to my room. When I grabbed the overstuffed shopping bags, she asked, “Anything for me?”
Speaking into the phone, she said, “I don’t know where he get money from, but he stay sharp as a tack.”
After I put my new clothes away, I knelt down and prayed. When I got up, my cell phone rang and the caller ID stated PRIVATE CALL.
I anxiously answered. Fatima’s sweet voice trickled through the line: “Hi, it’s Fatima.”
I gasped. “Now, I can breathe again.”
“Not so fast. I’d like to invite you to a second audition.”
“Give me the time and place and I’ll be there.”
“I’d like to meet you at Lotus tonight.”
Lord, you sure answered this one on time. “I’ll be there.”
When I hung up, I jumped up and sifted through my closet. I was going in for the kill. Everything had to be right. I rushed out for a shape-up on my already freshly cut hair. The barber reshaved my face and I was ready to sweep Fatima off the dance floor.
Scene 8
FATIMA
On the way to the theater, Mya and I discussed the two that made the cut. She accurately recalled them both. She imitated Number Five’s stance. “He’s like WHOA. You know I saw them in their underwear.”
“Stop playing.”
“How’d you think I narrowed them down?”
The taxi driver peeked in the rearview mirror. My eyes asked Mya to hush. She shooed her hand. “Whatever. I’m not thinking about him. Anyway, like I said, I picked them based on their…”
We burst into laughter. “Did I say I was having sex with them?”
“Uh, there was a scene in the script labeled Sexual Encounters and you asked that they consent to an HIV test.”
“Shhh…”
“Why are you worried about what he thinks?” She frowned at the back of the driver’s seat. “Sex! People talk about it. And most adults are having it.” She laughed, adding, “Just because you haven’t had it in three years!”
“Three years, two months, and thirteen days.”
“Dang, Tima. That’s like an eternity.”
“Time just slipped away.”
I got quiet as I thought about my last sexual encounter. Mya interrupted me, “Well, anyway. I hooked a sister up. You’ll be satisfied with either of them.”
“You’re bad.”
“You need some bad.”
“I need companionship, damn it.”
She waved her hand. “Whatever.”
By the time the performance was over, it was nearly eleven o’clock. We rushed to the club and Number Five was already there. I pointed him out. “There’s Five, right there.”
Mya squinted. “Where?”
“Right there in the white tee.”
Her face crumbled. “In the white what?”
“Tee.”
“Not the one with that huge-ass cross around his neck?”
I nodded. He strutted toward us and gave me a hug. Mya looked like she could yank my hair out. In between giggles, I reintroduced them. She pointed at him without shame. “You weren’t wearing all of that when I…”
“Nah, I was just wearing my boxers. Remember?”
We laughed. Mya didn’t. He asked, “Would you guys like a drink?”
We nodded and told him what we wanted and he walked to the bar. Mya frowned. “He looks like a thug.”
“He’s fine though.”
“Okay. Did the script say that it was important that the main character’s real personality reflect some of the basic characteristics or what?”
“Girl, we can fix what we don’t like.”
“Trust me. I do this everyday. Acting is just acting like yourself with guidelines.”
“So what are you trying to say?”
“If you pick him, you’ll have a thug on your classy arm.” She paused. “Isn’t that why you got rid of the dude from the dating service?”
Before I could explain that he was so much finer than that guy, he walked back toward us, holding our drinks. He said, “I got an Apple Martini.”
As I reached out for my drink, he handed Mya hers. We nodded approvingly. He got a checkmark for taking care of me and my girl. Just like Derrick used to do when we were broke college students. I winked at her and she winked back.
Number Five grabbed my hand and pulled me to the dance floor just as the music slowed and Mary J.’s “Be Without You” blasted through the speakers, then he pulled me close to his chest of steel. I laid my hand on the left side and leaned my head on the other side. He felt good. This felt good. We were on the same beat. As my body began to enjoy this type of closeness, the hands on my watch glowed in my eyes and our bond was disrupted by the stroke of midnight. I backed up and told Number Five that this portion of his interview was over. Though he was reluctant to leave, he was delig
hted to know he hadn’t been totally dismissed yet. After a few close hugs, he said his good-byes.
When I walked off the dance floor, Mya was in the same place I left her, shaking her head no. I smiled. “What?”
“You know I used to envy you finding Derrick when you were nineteen, but not anymore.”
“Why?”
She rolled her eyes. “’Cause you must still be nineteen if you’re even considering him.”
“Whatever. He’s a sweetheart. We’re going to change his clothing.”
“A thug is a thug.”
“Derrick was a thug.”
“Thugs don’t launch their own magazines. Thugs don’t teach people how to invest. Do you need me to continue?”
“No. I get where you’re coming from.”
Why is she being so uptight about this? She nudged me. “Isn’t that Number Four?”
Mya grunted. “Now I would pay him any day to play my boyfriend.”
“My companion. Damn it!”
She waved her hand. “Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. I’d pay him. That other character looks like a slickster. He’ll mess around and take your money and never…”
She was interrupted by Number Four’s presence. As we hugged, he gave me a quick peck on the cheek. He looked at Mya. While he expressed his gratitude to her for presenting this opportunity to him, he tightened his grip on my hand to assure me that though he looked and spoke to Mya, I was still the center of his attention. He wore a fitted rose-colored button-down that accentuated his muscular torso. Though his face was completely bare, his eighty-five degree angular jawline gave him a no-nonsense stance. It wouldn’t surprise me if I found out that he wore foundation even off the job, because there was not a blemish on his skin. As I stood there entranced by the way his fuller bottom lip opened and closed and only partially revealed his smile, it dawned on me that ten minutes had passed. Don’t even ask what we talked about. When five more minutes passed, his appeal crept down the Richter scale, because no one had a drink in their hand. I smirked at Mya. She laughed at what she knew was bothering me.
When he asked me to dance, I said, “I need a drink to dance.”
“Okay. Apple Martini, right?”
I nodded. He walked away without asking Mya what she wanted to drink and I teased, “See, at least the thug asked you if you wanted a drink.”
“Girl, men nowadays aren’t into taking care of your home girls. Things might change once you start paying his ass. At least he looks the role.”
“He is fine. Who was working with the most?” I asked.
“I’m not telling you. They had on boxers. I couldn’t tell the exact size anyway.”
“C’mon. Tell me. It was Number Five. I know it.”
“I’m not telling.”
“I know.”
“You think you know.”
I grunted. “I felt it.”
We laughed. “A’ight then. You don’t need me to tell you.”
Number Four came back with two drinks in his hand. When he handed Mya a Cosmo, she thanked him and rolled her eyes at me. He had obviously read the scene: When hanging out with me and my best friend. I smiled. Either he was a damn good actor or he was technically my type. I wasn’t sure.
After I took a few sips of the drink, I sat it on a bar table. Finally, we stepped onto the dance floor.
Instantly, our movements synchronized as we grinded to the same beat. He sang the words to every song in my ear. We bounced, we dropped down, we leaned back, and we rocked with it. Our transitions were continuous and unrehearsed like we had been partners for years. Through it all, his suave composure was never compromised. With those skills, he could be paid above scale.
As our batteries began to die, we swayed together. He looked into my eyes and wiped my forehead with the balls of his thumbs. My body went limp. Before I allowed him to dance into my heart, I swerved off the dance floor. This is a job interview. I have to stay focused.
When we walked over to Mya, her smile stretched the width of the club and I rolled my eyes in my head. Our expressions conversed, as she obviously thought Four should be hired. He rested his arm around my shoulder; goose bumps appeared and the hair on my arms stood. My heart fluttered. I wanted to suppress the reaction, but I all I could do was get away, fast.
After I overexaggerated my fatigue, the three of us left the club. He stepped into the street and hailed a taxi for us. Mya winked at me. I ignored her and gave him a hug before I got in.
Mya folded her arms. “If you don’t hire him, I may hire him as a backup.”
“Shut up!”
“I’m serious. You’re fooling around with 50 Cent and you got a man with class that you’d possibly like without paying him. You’re crazy.”
“That’s the problem. I’m not supposed to really like him. I’m just supposed to like having him around.”
“Tomato, tom-a-toe.”
“Mya, I’m not trying to get caught up. He’s just an actor and I’m the director. This is not real.”
She sucked her teeth. “So, who are you going to choose?”
“I don’t know. It’s harder than I thought.”
“It really ain’t. I think you’re being silly. You need to have another audition.”
“For what?”
“To see who you’re about to hand a ten thousand dollar advance to.”
When her comment struck me over my head, I agreed, “You’re right.”
“Hell, you might need three or four more.”
“Now, you’re pushing it.”
“Honestly, even actors can act only for so long. Although, this is a real nontraditional role, you want someone with integrity.”
Her knowledge seeped in as I began to plan for the final round. I asked, “Where do you think I should meet them?”
“Somewhere neutral where neither guy is in his element.”
“How about Central Park?”
Her smile and nod approved of my location. I said, “You think that’s good.”
“I think it’s perfect. It will help you to see the real person. And this time, give them several hours.”
I scheduled the auditions two hours apart. Number Five arrived at 110th and Lenox. On time. Right location. At least he was a punctual thug that followed directions well.
The brim on his New York Yankees cap cast a dark shadow over his fine face. Of course, he wore the thug uniform. A white tee and jeans. He handed me a bouquet of lilies. I sniffed them and swallowed my desire to ask him why he consistently wore white tees when I specified designer T-shirts: Nike; Giorgio Armani; Sean John. C’mon, man, get with the program.
He hugged me. The strong guns surrounding me were his lifelines. We walked down close to the water. My fellow bench buddies, who usually smile when I walk up, seemed to be tense as we approached.
I smiled at an older white guy. He waved rapidly. What’s up with that? The lightbulb went off after my middle-aged white girlfriend changed benches when we sat near. Oh snap! They were afraid of my companion. Uh-oh. Bad sign.
When he asked if we could go somewhere else, I realized that he’d sensed their reaction too. I stood and fake rolled my eyes at the people treating him like hired help. That microsecond of a gesture distanced me from him by almost twenty steps. Hold up! What happened to the part where you’re supposed to stand and wait until I’m ready? As I trotted after him, I was nearly tackled by a Hispanic chick with a stroller. I paused to grant her right-of-way. When I looked up, it appeared he was even farther.
The girl called out: “Manny! Manny!”
You’ve got to be kidding! I picked up my pace just enough to be a few steps behind her. She yelled, “Where the hell you been, Manny?”
Manny looked like he wished he could disappear, while I was amused by the episode. Do people really act like this? Her neck rolled a mile a minute. “You told me you were going to get the kids this weekend. What happened?” She pointed her finger at him. “You’re a damn liar. Where you been?”
As I ca
sually slipped passed them, I wondered if this was a setup or if this was a mere coincidence. If it was the first reason, he didn’t want the job. If it’s the second, damn if I want him to have it. I ran my index finger back and forth across my throat. Fired. No Baby Mama Drama was another thing in bold letters. He was fine, but his jewelry and his baby mama didn’t fit into my script. I dropped his cheesy flowers in the nearest trash receptacle. See, I tried to help the economy out and be an Equal Opportunity Employer.
With two hours to kill, I walked up Lenox to 120th to Settepani Bakery. As I devoured my cheesecake and made updates to my script and the contract that I planned to give to Rashad, I laughed. Did I really have a choice? Hopefully, he wouldn’t do anything stupid. Though I feared the tingle he gave me, he was pretty much my only choice. This was too much work. I didn’t have enough energy for another round of auditions. If he screws up, the script idea is over and I’ll keep my money in my damn pocket. Or better yet, I’ll buy a damn robot.
I walked back to the meeting location around two. My head throbbed as I stood on the corner without a companion at ten minutes after two. I took a deep breath and called Mya.
I said, “My pressure is up.”
“What’s the problem now?”
“Don’t act like I’m getting on your nerves.”
“But you are.”
I laughed. “That’s a shame. What are friends for?”
