The Playa Chronicles

by Glenn, Roy

  “Correction, playa . . . again. She stood you up again.” Victor stuffed another shrimp in his mouth. “She stood your dumb ass up again. I don’t know why you bother making plans with her. She’ll call you when she wants you.”

  “Yeah, but this time it was her idea.”

  “Yeah, but she didn’t make it,” Victor said as the waitress arrived. “Bring me another Long Island Tea.”

  “Make it two,” I said, getting up to hit the buffet. I got back to the table just as the waitress arrived with the drinks.

  Victor and I sat and ate quietly until out of nowhere Vic said, “Me and Keisha been talking about gettin’ married.”

  “Get the fuck outta here!” I said, much louder than I should have.

  “Well, it’s more like Keisha talking and me listening.”

  “You ready to get married?”

  “I don’t know, Rick; I really don’t know.”

  “It’s not the end of the world. Besides, marriage ain’t so bad if you marry the right person.”

  “How do you know? You’ve never been married.”

  “Yes, I have.”

  “You been married? When? To who?”

  “Ten years ago. Her name was Donna. Donna Price.” I still get chills every time I say her name, after all this time. “It didn’t last long.”

  “Ten years. How old were you then?” Victor asked. I could tell he was shocked. I’d known Victor for a long time and I’d never mentioned it. Never even told my mother. Didn’t want to talk about it; don’t know why I am now. “I was nineteen.”

  “Young and dumb. How long were y’all married?”

  “Seven years on paper. Actually, it was about eight months.”

  “Rick, I’m serious, I just can’t picture you being married. Why’d you get married so young?”

  “Thought I was in love. I was more pussywhipped than anything else. Damn, that girl could fuck. She turned me out, Vic, man.” Everything I know about the sex, everything I know about satisfying a woman in and out of bed, I know because of Donna. “I moved down here from Boston when I was eighteen years old.”

  “I know the story. You got here on a Wednesday with two hundred dollars in your pocket and everything you owned fit in your knapsack; got a room in the West End and had a job working the grill at McDonald’s by Monday. Yada, yada, yada. What that got to do with you getting married?”

  “Her and her friends used to come by McDonald’s. Vic, I’m telling you Donna was the finest woman I had ever seen. She was the total package. She was beautiful. Pretty smile, with the cutest dimples. She had the kind of eyes that got your attention and looked through you; you know what I’m saying? And a body that makes Tyra Banks look like just another skinny girl from da hood. I caught her eye and smiled at her, and she smiled back a coupla times, but I couldn’t talk to her ’cause I was always on that grill.”

  “Can’t exactly get your mack on smelling like burgers.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t think she’d wanna be bothered a with a burger boy anyway. She was older than me and like I said, she was so fine.”

  “She was that bad, huh?”

  “Hell yeah!”

  “How old was she?”

  “Twenty-two. She lived with her parents a few blocks from me. She didn’t really have a job; she just hung out with her girls all day. They used to boost stuff from stores at the mall. One night after work, I’m sitting out in front of the house, drinking a quart of Olde E, talking shit with the old heads, still dressed like burger boy, when Donna and her crew walked up. I wanted to run in the house, but I figured why bother. I didn’t have no shot at her anyway.”

  “So how’d you get her?”

  “Well, they start talking shit with the old heads. She had a real sexy voice. So I sat there quietly, sucking it all up, and after a while she says, ‘Hey, why you so quiet over there? I don’t trust no real quiet nigga’.”

  “What you say, Rick?”

  “’Cause if I was talkin’, I couldn’t concentrate on lookin’ at you.”

  “Smooth line, Rick.”

  “Wasn’t it? So she says, ‘Why you gotta concentrate to look at me?’ I said, ‘’Cause you the baddest muthafucka I’ve ever seen, that’s why.’ Then I stood up, trying to be cool, drained the quart, nodded my head, and walked off. She said, ‘Hey, where you going?’ I said, ‘I’m going to the store, get me another quart.’ I started walking down the street and she says, ‘Hold up, I’ll go with you.’ ”

  “You was in there.”

  “Big time. On the way she says, ‘So you think I’m fine, huh? Is that why you be staring at me every time I come to the burger stand?’ I said, ‘Yeah.’ I didn’t think that she even noticed; much less gave it a second thought. She said she’d been checking me out too. Said I looked kinda cute in burger wear. Picture that. So we get to the store and she asks me to buy her one too. We get back to the house and her girls are gone. So we leaned up against a car, talking and drinking and shit. We drained those quarts and went and got two more. On the way back, she asks me if I smoke weed.”

  “Stupid question.”

  “Anyway, she says she got a coupla joints. So I said let’s go up to my room. Next thing I know, I’m tasting all parts of tongue and rubbing titties.” Now I’d gotten some pussy before I met her, but I swear, I was like a virgin to her. The first time I fucked her, or should I say the first time she fucked me, she put her foot in my chest and kicked me out the pussy. Told me she didn’t know what I was doin’, but it wasn’t fuckin’. She was right. I was just poking and stabbing at it. Donna taught me how to move in rhythm with her. Picture that. It was Donna that made me understand that there was more to sex than just busting a nut.

  “Take your time, Rick. Get into the actual act,” she said.

  Told me that penetration was fine, but she didn’t get off on just fuckin’. Donna taught me how to do that too—how to use the flat of my tongue and the tip of it to make a woman feel different sensations; to pay attention while I was down there; to listen to her moan and the sound of her breathing; to open my eyes and look at the expressions on her face. That’s how you know what’s working from what’s not: feeling her thighs on your arms and feeling them quiver; the sounds of her toes curling up against the sheets.

  “We were married six months later. She was gone eight months after that.”

  “What happened?” Victor asked.

  “She left me.”

  “How come?”

  “She found out the grass was greener some place else. We were living in that little room. She wouldn’t work; me working at Mickey D’s. We never had shit, just fucked all the time. That wasn’t enough for her. She met this nigga who was ballin’—had money and shit—so she left me for him. For a couple of months after she moved out, she’d still come by and fuck me. Tell me that she loved me, but that a girl’s gonna do what a girl’s gonna do.”

  “Huh? Where have I heard that before? All of them got that same rap, Rick.”

  “I know.” But it didn’t make a difference. Donna was my first love and I couldn’t keep her. You never get past that, at least I didn’t. Never will.

  “Don’t sweat that shit, Rick. She’d probably kick herself in the ass if she knew how you raised up.”

  “You’re right, she probably would.” I used to use her to inspire me; made me into a hustler. That’s the only way a black man can make it. I’m not talking about doing anything illegal, although I’ve done that too. I’m talking about being out there taking advantage of opportunities. That’s why I used to keep changing jobs; always trying to do better, make more money. I was determined never to let a woman say she wasn’t being taken care of. Donna taught me a whole lot more than just how to satisfy a woman sexually. A man has to be the total package to keep a woman. If one thing is lacking, she’ll creep on him, every day of the week.

  After Donna left me, I spent a lot of time at Mr. George’s house. If you wanted it, you could either find it at Mr. George’s or find someone
there who knew where to find it. He ran a liquor house in the West End. Been doing it for years. Mr. George sold beer, dollar shots of liquor, and dime bags of weed. Anytime, day or night, there’s always something going on at Mr. George’s house. It wasn’t a big house, just a small shotgun house. Everyone hung out in the living room. There was a long hall, which lead to the kitchen, bathroom, and two small bedrooms. Over the years he had become the father I never had. I never knew my real father. Never even knew his name. When I was growing up and would ask my moms, “Where my daddy at?” She’d always say, “You ain’t got no daddy. I’m your daddy.”

  After Donna gave me an education about women, Mr. George educated me about life. He taught me how to hustle. I came to him and said I needed to make some money, mistakenly thinking that if I had some money, Donna would come back to me. Mr. George laughed at me when I told him that. “Boy, don’t you know a young girl like that ain’t what a smart nigga like you need. If you wanna make money, fine, I’ll show you how to make money, but know the reason you making that money ain’t to give it all to some bitch like that,” he said.

  I was mad that he called Donna a bitch, but I didn’t let on.

  “You wanna make money to get you a better crib, fine. You wanna make money to buy you a nice ride or some fancy rags, cool. But if you planning on giving it to some bitch, you best get the fuck out my house.” He took me in the back room and he put me to work baggin’ up dimes. That’s how I got over Donna. Sitting in that room by myself every night, baggin’ it up, thinking about Donna, thinking about the future, making my mind strong, focused.

  “Excuse me for a minute, Rick. I think I see somebody I wanna get to know.”

  “You ain’t ready to get married,” I said, as Victor made his way across the room to the bar where two attractive, young ladies were sitting. After a while, Victor stood up and started waving for me to come over. “I really ain’t tryin’ to do this,” I said and made my to the bar anyway.

  “Rick, this is Yvette and this is Beverly. Ladies, this is my friend, Rick. Have a seat, man. Bartender, another Long Island.”

  “No, man, I’m out,” I said, but I could feel Yvette’s eyes on me. I could tell she was on me. I turned to get a good look at her, but it was dark.

  “Gotta check in, huh?” Yvette said as she looked me up and down.

  I considered that to be a challenge. “I don’t punch a clock for anybody, but I do have something to do,” I said, trying to stay on task. “Vic, I’ll get with you Thursday.”

  “What’s happening on Thursday? I wanna go.” Noticing the enthusiasm in her voice, I gave her a second look. Yvette looked away and took a sip of her drink. In the dimly-lit bar, I didn’t get a good look at her face. All I could tell was that she was dark-skinned with short hair, and a bit too much makeup, wearing a red skirt trimmed in black with a jacket to match. She turned back to me and crossed her legs.

  “We’re just gonna help a friend move. You look pretty . . . strong. You wanna help us?”

  “No,” Yvette replied without hesitation. “I’ll pass.”

  “Manual labor ain’t your thing, huh?” I handed her my card. More out of instinct than anything else. I really wasn’t interested. “Well, give me a call sometime. Maybe we can get together and have lunch. I promise you won’t have to lift anything. Nice meeting you ladies.”

  Yvette

  I got into the office at seven-thirty Monday morning; I spent the entire morning reviewing the last details for the presentation I was going to give later that afternoon. By eleven o’clock, I felt pretty worn out and was about to go outside to get some air when the phone rang. I looked at the display on the phone. It was Patty, the receptionist calling. “How are you doing this morning, Patty?”

  “Hi, Rick, I’m fine. I have an Yvette Prentiss for you.”

  Not recalling the name, I asked, “Who is Yvette Prentiss?”

  “One of your many women, no doubt,” Patty quipped playfully.

  Suddenly it hit me. She was the one Victor introduced me to at the DoubleTree. I started to tell Patty to take a message. “I’ll hang up. Give me a minute or two, then go ahead and put her through, Patty.” A little harmless conversation won’t hurt. But that’s how it always starts, playa.

  “Okay.”

  Patty put the call through right away. I smiled and answered. “This is Rick.”

  “Hello, Rick, this is Yvette Prentiss. I met you at the DoubleTree.”

  “I remember. How are you doing?”

  “Not bad for a Monday. What about you, working hard?”

  “As a matter of fact I am. I was working on a proposal. I have to give a presentation this afternoon. If they accept my proposal, I’ll present it to the client in a couple of weeks.”

  “Oh really,” Yvette said with a hint of excitement and curiosity in her voice. “I was callin’ to see if I could take you to lunch today.”

  “I’d love to, but I can’t. I really have a lot to do today, but what about tomorrow?” I said, almost out of reflex. I was a little intrigued, but not really all that interested in her.

  “Sounds good. What time?”

  “Call me tomorrow and we’ll see how the day shakes out.” Giving myself an opportunity to back out if I changed my mind about seeing her. It was dark when I met her, so I didn’t really remember what she looked like.

  “Okay then, I’ll call you tomorrow. I’m looking forward to seeing you again. Don’t work too hard.”

  “I probably will.”

  For the rest of the day I sat at my desk doing my work and thought about how I would tell Laura it was over between us. It shouldn’t be too hard. I’d already laid the foundation. Laura really didn’t have time for me anyway.” She’ll understand. No she won’t. She’ll think it’s about April. Which it is.

  I picked up the phone and called Laura. As always, I got her voice mail, both at work and at home. I considered taking the easy way out and just leaving her a message that I couldn’t see her anymore. Laura deserved better. After all, her only crime was falling for a man who had someone.

  Knowing the kind of person I am, I wondered could I really be a one-woman man. I’m a flirt by nature. I enjoy talking to women. I preferred the company of women. And all that’s fine, as long as I keep my pants on. I decided a live test was in order and if she called, Yvette would be an excellent subject. I’ll have lunch with her and that will be that.

  Yvette called the following morning; I made arrangements to meet her for lunch. We planned to meet at one-thirty at Macaroni Grill on Ashford-Dunwoody. I arrived early so I could see her coming. Yvette got there at one-thirty on the nose and walked straight for me. I watched her walk; I looked her up and down—young girl, maybe twenty-two years old. She was fuckable, but that wasn’t why I was here. This is only a test. I would have to keep telling myself that to keep me on task.

  She wore a purple suit, buttoned to the neck with no collar. Her short skirt highlighted her big legs. The girl looked good. I stood up to greet her. “Yvette,” I said, offering her a seat.

  “How you doin’, Rick? I hope you haven’t been waiting long?”

  “Not really. I got here a little early.”

  “Wanted to see me before I saw you, huh?”

  I smiled, knowing that she had busted me. “Something like that.”

  “I don’t blame you. You probably didn’t even remember what I looked like. Well, now that you see me, what do you think?”

  I started to say “You’re fuckable,” but I thought better of it. She wasn’t the prettiest woman I’d ever seen, but she was sexy. Very sexy. Her movements were suggestive. That dress fit her and she wore it well. “You look very nice. That color agrees with you, it highlights your beautiful complexion.”

  “I ain’t too dark for you? I know how y’all light-skinned men get sometimes.”

  “I ain’t light skinned, I’m brown skinned.” I hate it when people call me light skinned.

  Yvette laughed. “Anyway. Y’all want a woman
to be skinny as a rail, have long, stringy hair and be damn near white.”

  “No, Yvette, that’s not my type.” I paused to contemplate just exactly what my type was. It didn’t take long. I compared her to April. “How tall are you?”

  “Five, five,” Yvette said as the waiter arrived. He introduced himself as Tony and told us he would be our server. We didn’t seem to care. “Who you comparing me to, your woman?”

  “Yes,” I said, glad that I got to this part early on in the conversation.

  “You live with her?”

  “No.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “April.”

  “So how do I rate?”

  “I’d say you stacked up pretty nicely.” I remembered what Victor said about honesty being so liberating. “I think you wear too much makeup, but other than that, I’d say you rate very highly,” I exaggerated, ’cause telling her that April was much prettier than she was, somehow seemed a little inappropriate.

  By this time, Tony was feeling pretty left out of the conversation. He said that he would give us some time to look at the menu and return. Before he left, I ordered a drink. “I’ll have a Cuervo Margarita. On the rocks, no salt.”

  “And for the lady?” Tony asked.

  “The same,” Yvette said, dismissing him with her left hand.

  “So what, you work around here, live around here?”

  “No, I work around here. I stay in the Swats.”

  “Where?” I asked.

  “Southwest Atlanta.”

  “Oh,” I said, feeling a little old, not being up on the latest slang.

  “Where do you stay?”

  “I live in Decatur.”

  “I’m out that way all the time, whereabouts?”

  “Off Miller Road and Covington Hwy.”

  “I know where that is. I got a girlfriend that lives in some apartments out past Panola. I’m out there all the time,” Yvette said; then she paused a minute. I could tell she was waiting on the causal invitation to stop by some time. When I didn’t offer one she moved on. “I work down the street at Rivinia. I work for a collector.”