Tale of the Tigers: Love is Not a Game

by Juliette Akinyi Ochieng

  “But, Mom understands things. Hey, she married a black man back in the seventies. When my father left, she could have given me up for adoption or had an abortion, like so many white women did who got pregnant with black

  babies. But she didn’t. She’s also the same white woman that took her half-black child to Africa and gave her books to read like Seize the Time, and Wretched of the Earth, and The Isis Papers.

  “So, what’s the difference between your mom and, say, somebody like Kevin?”

  “Oh, y’all are getting married now?”

  “Don’t play ‘dumb jock’ with me,” said Felice with exasperation. “You know what I mean. What is the difference?”

  They stopped and sat on one of the benches that were strewn around the campus.

  “He’s a man,” Adrienne answered. “White men have been running this country, and running over black people and Indians, and every-damn-body else in the world for hundreds of years.”

  “Well, it seems to me that these white men were given birth to and nurtured by white women.”

  “Yeah, but they run their own women over, too.”

  “Excuse me, but many of these white women are the ones that have enjoyed the fruits of the white man’s conquests. Anyway, what does any of this have to do with the right-here and the right-now?”

  “Now who’s playin’ dumb? You know exactly what it has to do with the right-here and the right-now. One of the white man’s most frequent conquests is that of the black woman. Look at how light your dad is. You remember you told me how he got that way?”

  “Yes, my great-grandmother was raped and so were thousands of other black women, and that’s the reason many of us--except for folks like you--have such light skin.” Felice recited this last like a litany. “This still doesn’t have anything to do with this subject. It’s a different day. Anyway, all the guy did was say ‘hello’ to me. He hasn’t asked me out or even talked to me.”

  “Yeah, but from what you described, the guy is interested.” Adrienne flashed an evil grin. “Boy, wouldn’t there be some crap then! You and the Big White Man on Campus, doin’ the ‘jungle fever’ thing. The Taus would have a flippin’ fit, like the hypocrites they are!

  “Why should they care what I do? They don’t care about me. My biggest mistake was even talking to them, much less having anything to with them.”

  “Yeah, I know,” said Adrienne uncomfortably.

  “I know it’s hard for you to talk with me about this. What I did was...disgusting. But, I did what I did and I can’t change it. I was stupid and I didn’t understand what was going on, though I should have. It’s my fault for not thinking.”

  “Well, I can’t sit here and judge you. You found out the hard way what they were like.”

  “No pun intended.”

  Adrienne grinned. “It’s good that you can laugh about it.”

  Felice shrugged. “It’s either that or jump off the top of the Quad, something I’m not considering--at this point, anyway.”

  “You know I’ve been talking about the Greeks and their crap ever since my freshman year. You took your fall because you were defending me.”

  “Yeah, but I gave them the ammo to get back at me. And thanks for not saying ‘I told you so.’”

  Felice paused, and then continued. “They’re like a pack of wild dogs. Five of them were going to beat up on one person, and a woman at that!”

  “They’re smart, like a pack of dogs, too. They all know that if it had just been one, I’da cracked his head open!”

  “They’re supposed to be so ‘pro-black.’ Yet, they do things like gang up on one black woman, cut another black

  woman’s reputation to shreds, and cheat on exams? They’re the biggest hypocrites on campus.”

  “Well, I did dime on one of their frats about the test and you did threaten them with the police for ganging up on me.

  “I also slept with three of them...best friends. There. I said it.”

  “Well, they screwed up your life way more than mine.”

  Felice sighed. “My relationship with Daniel pretty much went down the tubes after that.”

  Adrienne looked at her curiously. “You never told me what exactly happened between the two of you.”

  Suddenly Felice’s watch beeped. She looked down at it.

  “It’s ten-thirty! My World Lit class is almost over. I swore to myself that I wouldn’t miss any more class. Damn, damn, damn!”

  “Sorry, girl. I know you’re on probation. I didn’t mean to make you late.”

  “Hey, it’s not your fault. Anyway, I might as well stay here and tell you now. So here’s the story: I went to Daniel’s room like I used to do every day at my lunch hour. When I knocked on the door, he opened it just wide enough so that I

  was only able to see him and not the room. All he was wearing was a pair of shorts. Since I’m a little taller than he is, I just looked over his shoulder. There was a girl in there-- short, blond hair. She was in his bed with the covers over her. All I could see was her head and her bare shoulders. Shit, she wasn’t even cute.”

  “‘It ain’t the cutey, it’s the booty.’”

  “Guess not.”

  “‘It ain’t the hoochie, it’s the koochie.’”

  “Okay, okay, enough!” Felice laughed in spite of herself. “Are you trying to make me feel better or worse?”

  “Sorry. So ole Danny-boy has a little jungle fever, too...”

  “It was more than just that. He set up that scene on purpose; he knew I came by at that time. I found out from him later that Trevor and some of his little flunkies had spilled the beans to him about me. That was Daniel’s way of breaking it off,” Felice said sadly. “Pretty cold, but how can I blame him? I’m a hoochie.”

  “You’re not a hoochie.” Adrienne said gently. “You exhibited a little hoochie behavior, but you’re not one. You made mistakes. Sure, all these punks around here are going to call you one, but what the hell do they know?”

  “I know. Anyway, when I talked to Daniel a couple of days later, he asked me if it was true. What could I tell him but ‘yes’? I tried to tell him that it had nothing to do with us, but he just couldn’t deal with it. Over Christmas break, I considered leaving school, just saying ‘forget it’ and going in the military or something.”

  “But you came back. That shows courage; just like the courage you showed when you saved my behind. Called ‘em every kind of Uncle Tom in the book. No wonder they had to get back at you.”

  “Now, I’m the one that’s considered the scum. How’s that for ‘BS’? Nobody, besides you, will speak to me now, none of the black people, anyway.”

  “Like I said-dumb.” Adrienne’s evil grin was back. “They’ll start speaking to you when you start dating Mr. Kevin ‘I’m-the-big-Kahuna’ Hart.”

  “Yeah, but I bet you that I will not like what they have to say.” They laughed.

  “Fuck ‘em,” said Adrienne with defiance, pushing her lion-colored mane out of her face. “Do what makes you happy.”

  “Hold up! A minute ago you were telling me that I was consorting with the enemy.”

  “Yeah, well maybe you are. But, it seems to me, that too many black people are our own worst enemy.”

  Two weeks later, Felice was in Crown Mall not having a good time. She was one of the few women in the world who absolutely hated shopping. She especially hated buying gifts, because, if she didn’t have a specific gift in mind, she was forced to ‘shop’--that is, walk around to three or four stores in order to decide what to buy. There were a few other things she found more boring, but not many.

  On top of that, there was no one that she dreaded buying gifts for more than her father. Upon receiving a gift, he had the habit of saying something like, “Oh, that’s such a nice gift. Thank you, sweetheart,” and then never using the gift. The man was absolutely impossible. However, his birthday was at the beginning of March, so she had to get something soon. Once, while in a store with both of her parents, she
had seen him eyeing a leather jacket with some interest, but such a thing was a bit out of her price range-about a thousand dollars out of it, to be exact.

  In Dillard’s department store, she walked by the cologne department...boring cologne. Joseph hardly ever wore any cologne except for when he and his wife were going

  out, and since they had opened the restaurant, that was next to never. Felice had noticed that her father still had the same bottles of cologne that he had bought before they moved to New Mexico.

  If only I had more money, she thought with frustration. Just like everyone else wishes. She didn’t hunger too much for riches. She only wanted a nice house, nice furniture, a nice car, a few nice clothes, and enough left over to be able to give to those that she loved, like her father. Sure, he was a pain sometimes, but he was hilarious and pretty cool, too. She’d at least like to be able to get him a stupid leather jacket. She couldn’t remember her parents ever taking a vacation and going anywhere. She’d like to send them both to the Caribbean or Africa or Europe and out of her hair for a while. They both need a rest and so did she.

  As things were, however, her father spent up to eighteen hours a day in the restaurant. Her mother usually would come home early to bring Felice’s little brother home from school, but neither of them had very much time for their children, or each other. Felice had to admit that they had far less time to hassle her anymore. Her father would arrive home around ten, stinking from sweating his way through dozens of orders of Creole recipes. He’d then take

  his shower and go straight to bed, barely having spoken to his wife or his two children. His son would already be in bed. Felice promised herself that one day, both her parents would be able to relax and that she would be able to give them anything they wanted, and even things that they didn’t know they wanted yet.

  Maybe one day-but not this one. Felice walked by the shirts and ties. Cologne, shirts, and ties...oh my. She wanted to get something that she knew he would treasure and use, something that he was interested in, something that was relevant to him, not just anybody.

  If that was the case, the first thing she needed to do was get out of Dillard’s and probably get out of the mall, period.

  She walked out of the department store and looked around. Right in front of the department store’s exit was a bookstore. That was the ticket! Her father was a voracious reader, though he rarely had a lot of time for it anymore. However, reading was one of the few things for which he made extra time.

  She walked in. In the Black/African American interest section, there were slim pickings. There wasn’t much demand for such things here and Dad already had a

  good­-sized selection of such books anyway. However, the Latino and Native American interest sections were large and eclectic. Her father liked history. Maybe he would like to read something about Native Americans, a subject that he had only a superficial knowledge of, as far as Felice knew. One title, In the Spirit of Crazy Horse, jumped out at her. She picked up the thick, heavy book, opened it and read the jacket. It was about an FBI raid against the American Indian Movement, the injustices that followed and the history behind it; kind of like what happened with the Black Panthers. Her father would be enthralled. She tucked the book under her arm.

  Intent on what she was doing, she nearly walked into someone. A very tall someone, she quickly judged, since, being rather tall herself, she found herself looking at the second button on a man’s lumberjack shirt.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going,” she said amiably as she looked up. It was Kevin Hart.

  “Hi,” said a smiling Kevin.

  Felice felt an unexpected surge of happiness. Why? She fought it down. “I didn’t mean to run in to you. I was so intent on getting this book that my mind was a world away.”

  “That’s okay. I get that way sometimes, too. Hey, don’t you go to NMU?” asked Kevin casually enough.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve seen you around campus a few times.”

  “I remember you saying ‘hi’ a couple of times,” she said, feigning nonchalance. “You’re the quarterback of the football team, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, I am,” he sighed.

  “Well, you don’t sound too happy about it,” she chuckled.

  “It’s not that I don’t like it. Obviously, I love it or I wouldn’t be doing it. It’s just that sometimes I’d just like to be anonymous, you know? I just like to be alone, I mean really alone. Like, I like to come here to the bookstore. Nobody expects a jock to know how to read, much less want to buy a book.”

  Felice laughed. “Yeah, you got a point there.” She looked at him. His gaze was almost tangible. He wasn’t exactly undressing her with his eyes, but seemed to be trying to look into her--the actual her. Being undressed by men’s eyes was something she was starting to get used to, but this intense scrutiny, was something else again.

  The gaze only lasted a few seconds. He seemed to shake himself out of it. “What’s your name?” He asked, pretending he didn’t know.

  “Felice.”

  “Felice...Felice...what?”

  “Felice LeCroix.”

  “LeCroix. French, eh?”

  “Yes. My dad’s people are Louisiana Creoles.”

  “Really? That’s interesting. My name is Kevin Hart.”

  “Yes, I know.” They laughed and shook hands.

  “Well, you might not have. I didn’t want to seem too conceited.” They smiled at each other.

  “Did you grow up here?” he asked.

  “Actually I grew up in L.A.--Los Angeles, that is, not Louisiana. But my dad grew up here. My grandparents moved here from Louisiana before my dad was born.”

  “Interesting. Ever been to Louisiana?”

  “Yes, I have,” Felice frowned, loathing the memory. “It

  was hot and muggy and they have mosquitoes the size of airplanes. I hated it.”

  “That probably made for some pretty big bites.”

  For whatever reason, the mosquitoes had loved her. She had black marks on her legs for six months after that trip to her ‘homeland.’

  “You wouldn’t believe how big.”

  “Yes, I would. I have some relatives who live in south Texas. In case you’re interested, my German great-grandparents migrated from back east and we’ve been in the southwest ever since. My great-grandfather was one of the first graduates from that illustrious institution that we call, uh...home. So, do you like it here? It has to be real different from L.A.”

  “It bites the big Kahuna.”

  Kevin threw back his head laughing. “I’ll take that as a ‘no.’”

  “That’s right. There’s next to nothing to do here. Everything shuts down here at sunset. Even this mall shuts down at six today, on a Saturday, no less. Not that I like shopping, but six? Be serious. Saturday is when everybody has time to shop late. Talk about hick town.”

  “Careful, there,” Kevin said mildly. “You’re talking about my home town.”

  Felice recognized the taste that suddenly was present in her mouth: the taste of foot. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to insult...”

  Kevin grinned. “Don’t worry. It is a hick town. I should know.”

  “It’s just that I didn’t want to move here, but I was sixteen when we moved, so I had no choice.”

  “How did you like high school here?”

  “I had already graduated when we moved.”

  Kevin whistled. “Wow, pretty impressive.” Then he paused and looked at her a bit nervously. “So...how old are you now?”

  “Nineteen.”

  “Oh. So are you buying a book for a class?”

  “No, it’s a gift for my dad. It’s his birthday on the first of March.”

  “No kidding? I’m here looking for a gift for my dad, too! It’s his birthday, on the first of March!”

  “Wow! My dad will be forty-five. How about yours?”

  Kevin grinned. “The same age. Maybe they’re twins, separated at birth.”


  “I don’t know. Does your father try to control your every move?”

  “Not too much. But maybe it’s because I’m not a girl. Face it. A woman brings out the worst in a man, especially, if the woman is his daughter. I’m an only child, but my cousins catch it from my uncle, so I know what you’re

  talking about.”

  “What kind of book do you want to get for your dad?”

  “I don’t have a clue. My dad’s a lawyer, so he has books all over the place. I was beginning to think that buying him a book might be kind of boring. What kind did you get? That might give me an idea.”

  She showed him the book. He opened it and quickly read the jacket.

  “A good idea, but my dad already has a lot of books on Native American culture. He’s done some work for the tribes.”

  “Does he have any other interests?”

  “He likes golf, but I don’t think he’d want to read a book about it.”

  Felice thought for a second. “I have an idea. If you’d like, I’ll show you a place that might have something he’d like.”

  “Okay,” Kevin said casually. “Maybe, between us, we can figure out what an old guy might want.”

  After Felice paid for the book, they walked out of the store, with Kevin feeling both a sense of rightness and a

  sense of fear. As they walked, they continued to make casual, “getting-to-know-you” conversation. He could smell a light scent of coconut whenever he got within a foot of her. He covertly glanced down at Felice’s short hair. That’s where the scent was coming from. He resisted the urge to plunge his nose into it. She was so...naturally beautiful, no makeup--no fake nails. And she didn’t wear what Malik referred to as ‘ho’ clothes, though she had the body for it.

  But, hadn’t Malik said she was a ‘hoochie?’ Kevin found that he didn’t care. Besides, she didn’t seem to have the standard prerequisite: an air head. A girl that brought her father a book on the American Indian Movement couldn’t be too stupid. She talked about her family and her friends, not herself, also not airhead-standard. She was asking him a question.

  “Kevin...”

  “Huh? Oh, sorry. What did you say?”