Catt Chasing

by Shana Burton

Jamal corrected her. “What you’re saying is I sound a little shallow to you, right?”

  “I just think your criterion is a little superficial. It’s all about looks and sex.”

  “I said good conversation too,” he interjected.

  “But looks seem to be a huge part of the equation. The Bible says charm is deceptive and beauty is fleeting. It goes on to say, ‘Your beauty should not come from outward adornment . . . Rather, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God’s sight.’ I wouldn’t get so hung up on the exterior if I were you.”

  “You’re not me.”

  “What if you met a woman who was smart, funny, who stimulated you mentally and figuratively, but she wasn’t exactly gorgeous? Would you give her a shot?”

  “Depends . . . what does her body look like?”

  Catt hesitated. “She’s my size.”

  Silence passed between them again. Then Jamal admitted, “I don’t think I’d be physically attracted to a larger woman.”

  “So it doesn’t matter how smart she is or . . . if she doesn’t look like Halle Berry’s twin sister, you’re not interested.”

  “I didn’t say all that.”

  “But that’s what you meant. Men like you miss out on your blessings every day just because women don’t come wrapped the way you think they should. Besides, who’s to say that dime you’re so obsessed with won’t turn into a fat quarter a few meals and babies down the road?”

  “Whatever! You’re still single, so what does your Bible have to say about that?”

  “It says, ‘The Lord Almighty has sworn, surely, as I have planned, so it will be, and as I have purposed, so it will stand.’ My husband will come according to God’s timing, not mine. Having a man isn’t my priority right now anyway. Having a man fall in love with this new fragrance and buying a ton of it for his lady is.”

  Jamal balled up his napkin and tossed it onto the tray. “I hear ya!”

  “And if we’re going to find these men willing to drop their hard-earned paychecks on Telegenic products, we better get out of here,” advised Catt, sliding out of the booth.

  Jamal grabbed his car keys and stood up. “All right, Miss Catt Cason. Let the adventure begin!”

  Chapter 12

  “Well, that’s one city down, nine more to go,” said Jamal, hopping into the SUV after filling it with gas. Their first stop had been met with moderate success. They hadn’t changed the world, but most patrons stopped at their mall station long enough to indulge in a few of Telegenic’s upcoming products, give critical feedback, and be added to the company’s e-mail list.

  He revved up the engine. “You know, I wouldn’t be offended if you offered to drive every once in a while.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Catt toyed with the radio. “I wish we knew some good stations out here.”

  “You were the one who insisted I take out my iPod.”

  “Forgive me for not wanting to endure another three hours of Jay-Z’s greatest hits. A girl can only take so much!” Catt frowned as she switched from country to rock to talk radio. “There’s nothing on that I want to hear.”

  “If you’re looking for the gospel station, let me save you the trouble. As long as I’m driving, we’re going to listen to what I want to hear. John P. Kee, Kirk Franklin, and all of them are not on today’s playlist.”

  “Is this what you want to hear?” she asked, pausing at Al B. Sure’s ’80s hit, “Nite and Day.”

  Jamal turned up the radio and nodded his head. “I’d forgotten all about this song.” A smile spread across his lips, as if the song triggered some pleasant memory. “Yeah, this was the jam back in the day. We had some good times off this song.”

  Catt raised an eyebrow. “We?”

  He laughed a little. “Yeah, me and this chick named Meka. She loved this song. She liked to play it whenever . . . you know.”

  “Whenever what?”

  He grinned. “Whenever she was in the mood.”

  “Oh, was Meka your first love?”

  “More like my first lover.”

  “Humph, I’m surprised you can even remember that many women back.”

  “I’ll admit, I don’t remember every name and every face, but I do remember Meka. She’s the reason I have a special place in my heart for older women.”

  “How old was she?”

  “Seventeen.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Twelve or thirteen.”

  Catt gasped. “Twelve!”

  “Yeah, Meka was the babysitter. She lived across the street.”

  “That’s sick, Jamal! What would a practically grown woman see in a twelve-year-old?”

  “I was a little big for my age. Besides, there’s no age limitation on game and swag. Even at twelve, I had both.”

  “Yes, but there are law limitations on sex with children. She should’ve been arrested!”

  Jamal frowned. “Why are you trying to make it seem like she was some kind of pedophile?”

  “Because she was!”

  “It wasn’t like that,” he recalled dreamily.

  “I’m almost afraid to ask what it was like.”

  He smirked. “But you’re dying to know, aren’t you?”

  “No.”

  He laughed. “Stop lying. If you quit acting so sanctimonious for two minutes, I might tell you.”

  She sucked her teeth in defiance, but she didn’t say anything. He was right: she was dying to know what happened.

  “It was like this,” he regaled. “Meka used to come over to babysit when my mom had to work late. I told my mom I was too old for a babysitter, but she insisted on it because the neighborhood we lived in wasn’t all that safe. Anyway, one night, Meka came over when I was already in the bed asleep. She crept into the room and started touching on me. It caught me off guard, but Meka was fine so I wasn’t about to tell her to stop. When she saw that I was awake, she asked me if I wanted to touch her too.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I didn’t say anything. I let my fingers do the talking. Next thing I knew, Meka was taking off her clothes and gave me the best three minutes of my life . . . up until that time at least. I never complained about having a babysitter after that.”

  “Did you tell anybody?”

  “I told my cousin Bone. He was fifteen. After I told him, he asked her about it and she ended up giving him some too. She kept both of us very happy. She and Bone ended up having a kid together.” He sighed. “Good ol’ Meka . . .”

  Catt shook her head in disbelief. “I don’t believe you.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “Do you know what I was doing at that age? Still playing with Barbie dolls and playing kickball outside with my friends. Sex was nowhere on the menu.”

  “I was into sports and all that too, but after Meka showed me the light . . .” Jamal shook his head. “It was like, ‘Forget football. This is the best thing out there!’ Chasing girls became my favorite sport from then on.”

  Catt became serious. “How can you not see that both you and your cousin were victims of sexual abuse?”

  “Call it what you want, Catt. All I know is this song is making me want to give Meka a call right now.” He began to sing along in bad falsetto.

  “If this story is true, it certainly explains a lot. I see now why you have such a dysfunctional way of relating to women. I think that’s often true with abuse victims.”

  “Whatever.” He turned down the music a little as Al B. Sure faded into a song by Howard Hewitt. “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “I told you about my first time.” He nudged her with his elbow. “Go on and spill the tea about yours.”

  “I didn’t ask you to divulge that information. In fact, I’m wishing you hadn’t.”

  “You didn’t seem to have a problem with my sordid tale of lust and underage sex while you were listening to it.” He thought about i
t. “Then again, I forgot you’re a preacher’s kid. Is there even a losing virginity story to tell?”

  “Are you asking if I’ve ever had sex?”

  Jamal turned to her. “Have you?”

  She averted eye contact with him. “You’re very nosey, Jamal.”

  “Hey, we’re going to be on the road for a long time. According to you, we might as well make the time pass by getting to know each other, right?”

  Catt was quiet and stared out of the window.

  “Well . . .” egged on Jamal.

  “Well, what?”

  “I’m waiting. Are you a virgin or not?”

  She exhaled, embarrassed and annoyed. “No.”

  Jamal perked up, amused. “Oh, so Daddy’s little girl isn’t as innocent she wants everybody to think she is. Does the bishop know you’ve been lettin’ some dude tap that?”

  “My father and I don’t discuss my sex life.”

  Jamal was shocked. “There’s a whole sex life?”

  Catt shook her head. “I’m so not getting into this with you!”

  “Come on now, stop being bashful. Everybody in this car is grown, and I’m not going to run out and tell Pastor Daddy that his daughter likes to get her groove on every now and then.”

  “Shut up, Jamal.” Catt opened her book and pretended to read.

  “Okay, I promise to be as quiet as a mouse while you tell me about your first time.”

  She turned to him with a scowl on her face. “Why do you even care?”

  “Why are you making it such a big deal? Are you ashamed because you didn’t wait until your wedding night?”

  “You should be ashamed too!” she squealed.

  “I’ll tell you what—we can both repent after you tell the story, so spill it. Who was he?”

  Catt sighed and closed the book. She still refused to look at him. “His name was Stanley Johnson,” she said at last.

  “Stanley? You gave it up to a dude named Stanley? I can already tell he was lame. How old were you?”

  “We were both sixteen.”

  Jamal sighed. “Ah, freak-sixteen! I remember those days . . .”

  “We were not freaks, at least I wasn’t.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that. So what happened?”

  “Stanley was a boy I met at church, my first real boyfriend. He was real sweet and very quiet, very serious about reading the Word and understanding the Lord.”

  “He couldn’t have been too serious if he deflowered you.”

  “Well, he loved the Lord, but he was still a teenage boy with raging hormones.”

  “I see.”

  “Anyway, we would read the Bible together sometimes. One day, he came over to my house. My parents trusted me, and they really trusted him, so they didn’t mind him coming over even if they weren’t home. On this particular day, we were reading The Song of Songs to each other.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s a book of love songs between Solomon and a Shulammite woman. It’s very romantic.”

  “Romantic Bible verses?” he asked incredulously.

  “Yes. He says things to her like, ‘Your navel is a rounded goblet . . . Your waist is a mound of wheat encircled by lilies. Your breasts are like two fawns, like twins of a gazelle.’”

  Jamal glanced over at Catt. “That’s that Old Testament game right there! I may have to add that one to my collection.”

  “I guess all that talk about legs and breasts and Solomon tasting the choice fruits of the woman’s garden were just too much for Stanley. This was pretty erotic stuff for two sheltered sixteen-year-olds.”

  “That’s a little erotic at any age. Maybe I should be reading the Bible more.”

  “As we were reading, I noticed Stanley kind of looking at me with this strange twinkle in his eyes, like it was the first time he realized that I wasn’t just his sister in Christ but a developing young woman. The more we read, the hotter the room got. By the time we got to, ‘My beloved thrust his hand through the latch-opening, my heart began to pound for him,’ we just couldn’t take it anymore.”

  “Are you sure this is in the Bible?”

  “Yes, I can’t make this stuff up! We were so fired up that everything we believed about chastity and waiting for marriage was out the window. For that moment, he was Solomon, I was the Shulammite woman, and we got it poppin’ in the garden, or rather, the air mattress in our basement.”

  Jamal howled with laughter. “Who loses their virginity while reading the Bible?”

  Catt stomped her foot. “It’s not funny, Jamal!”

  “All right, I’m sorry,” he apologized, still recovering from laughing. “What happened after that?”

  “We both felt so guilty afterward that we spent the next two hours in prayer and repentance. Stanley never came back to my house after that, and I stuck to reading David and Goliath or Daniel in the lion’s den.”

  “Wow . . . this is the first time I’ve ever heard of the Bible getting people into trouble.”

  Catt shuddered, still mortified by the entire ordeal. “Believe me, it’s not my proudest moment!”

  “Did you tell your parents?”

  “Are you serious? Did you tell yours about Meka?”

  “And mess up a good thing? No way!” he chuckled. “So was that the first and last time?”

  “With Stanley?”

  “With anybody.”

  “Maybe . . .” She winked her eye at him. “Maybe not.”

  Jamal looked at her with a new appreciation. “You’re not as prudish as I thought. I bet there’s no telling how many surprises and secrets you’ve got in that head of yours.”

  Instead of disputing it, Catt played coy and flipped open her book. “It’s a long way to New York.” She reclined the seat back. “No need to tell all my secrets within the first three days.”

  “So it gets juicier than Bible sex with Stanley?”

  Catt bared a sly smile. “Boy, you have no idea!”

  Chapter 13

  Silver Springs, Maryland, was on the agenda for the day. Both Jamal and Catt had worked up an appetite catching whiffs of cooked delights floating in from the food court as they started the round of customer presentations and promotions for the day. By 2:00, both were ready to eat just about anything that could be steamed, fried, baked, or broiled.

  Jamal took Catt to a European-style bistro across the street from the mall. “After you,” he said, holding the door open for Catt.

  In jest, she curtsied and smiled, then walked through it. “Thank you, kind sir.”

  A waiter led them to a table almost immediately.

  “By the way, I liked the way you handled yourself with those customers today,” he noted. “I’ve been watching you. You can go from being a little flirty with the men to being that sista-friend with the ladies to being ‘grandbaby’ to the seniors without batting an eye or breaking a sweat. I’m starting to see that there’s a lot more to you than you let on to the rest of the world, isn’t there?” guessed Jamal after they’d placed their drink orders.

  “Sometimes what you see isn’t always what you get,” she hinted.

  “I guess we never had an official get-to know-each-other-Q-and-A session since you pretty much dissed me when we first met.”

  “I wasn’t that bad,” scoffed Catt. “Even if I was, it wasn’t like you didn’t deserve it. You were a complete jerk from the moment I first laid eyes on you.”

  “Well, I’m human. And if I remember correctly, you weren’t too welcoming yourself. You did try to get me fired, after all,” recalled Jamal. They both laughed.

  “You didn’t let that deter you.”

  “No, I didn’t. Something about you struck me the second I saw you,” said Jamal, looking at her intently. “I knew you were something different.”

  The waitress came by with their drinks, and they placed their food orders.

  “Anyway, I don’t want to talk about work anymore,” began Jamal once the waitress left. “I want to talk abou
t you.”

  “What about me?” she asked, stirring sugar into her tea.

  “For starters, where are you from? How old are you? Tell me about your family, your hobbies. Do you have a man, any kids?”

  “I was born in Jacksonville, but we moved to Charlotte when I was still an infant. It’s the only place I’ve ever considered home.”

  He nodded. “Okay, that’s a start. How old are you?”

  “You’re not supposed to ask a woman her age, Jamal. Being a player, I thought you knew that.”

  “I’m not playing right now. I’m sitting here trying to get to know you.”

  “I just turned thirty-one. What about you?”

  “I’m thirty-six and a Scorpio. What do you like to do? There’s got to be more to you than church and Telegenic.”

  “There is. I enjoy reading and singing. Believe it or not, I’m actually a bit of a sports fanatic.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, I love sports—except basketball. I suck at basketball. I like basically everything that has to do with the outdoors. I love to travel too.”

  “Do you get to travel much?”

  “Sometimes, in fact, I just got back from Belize right before you started working at Telegenic.”

  “Belize, huh? Must be nice.”

  “Oh, it was! I went snorkeling for the first time, jungle cruising, trekking through the rainforest. And the beaches were just breathtaking, especially at Ambergris Caye where I was staying.”

  “It sounds wonderful, but it doesn’t seem like the kind of place that a person goes to alone.”

  She sipped her drink. “I never said that I went by myself.”

  “Oh, so you do have a man.”

  “No, I don’t have a boyfriend. I went with a few friends of mine. We spent a year planning for that trip.” He looked puzzled. “What?”

  “Nothing . . . I just never pictured you having friends.”

  “I have friends, Jamal, and, occasionally, I even have boyfriends! I told you, you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

  “All right, so tell me about these boyfriends of yours.”

  “Well, I haven’t had a serious relationship in a while, not since Greg.” Her ex-fiancé was not a subject Catt was eager to discuss, especially not with Jamal. “What about you? Do you think you’ll ever stop philandering long enough to settle down?”