Take Her Man

by Grace Octavia

  “Really?” I grinned and gave a thumbs-up to Tasha. Step three: “Say You, Say Me” was in full effect. He was reminiscing just as the plan predicted. “We did have some great times there,” I said.

  “Yeah, I don’t think I would’ve made it through my residency without you.” I could feel Julian smiling on the other end of the line. “You really stuck by my side…bringing me lunch every day.”

  “Well, I was just being myself. I know you hate cafeteria food.” I winked at Tasha. “Any good friend would’ve tried to help you.”

  “Friends…that’s actually why I’m calling.” Oh no, he was about to bring up the thing with Miata.

  “Okay,” I said, ready to explain myself.

  “I need to talk to you about something.”

  “What?”

  “Well, it’s really important, but I need to see you in person to talk about it,” Julian said. I heard the hospital page him over the loudspeaker in the background.

  “When and where?” I asked. Tasha rolled her eyes. I was being too easy. “I mean, let me know as soon as possible when you’d like to meet because I’m very, very busy right now,” I added. Tasha smiled, giving her sign of approval.

  “Troy, I just got paged to the ER,” Julian said quickly. “I’ll call you later to set things up.”

  “Okay, bye,” I said and hung up the phone.

  What the hell was going on? Had Miata told Julian or not? I wanted to turn the car around and head to the NYU Medical Center. I had a damn emergency! I wanted to know what he had to say. I threw the phone into the backseat.

  “What?” From the corner of my eye, I saw Tasha looking at me. “He said he has something to say,” I said. I was confused. A million things were running through my mind. Did he want me back? Did he want to be friends? Was he marrying Miata? Did he need a damn kidney? What was it, dammit?

  “Hmm…” Tasha let out in a knowing way.

  “‘Hmm’? What does that mean?” I asked. “Is that a bad sign? Tell me, Tasha.” I made a sharp right and nearly ran over the curb.

  “Damn, don’t kill me, girl,” Tasha said, putting her seat belt on. “It doesn’t mean anything. I’m just surprised.”

  “Surprised?”

  “Yeah, that he’s come to a conclusion so fast.” She pulled down the passenger mirror and smoothed her hair.

  “What kind of conclusion?” I asked, slamming her mirror shut.

  “It’s like this: Women think too much. We’re always worried about what men want or how they feel when they’re really quite simple. Men are just like black or white—one or the other.”

  “So what’s your point?”

  “Well, what I mean is this: Either Julian wants to be with you or he doesn’t. Case closed.” She opened the mirror again.

  “But what about the thing with Miata?” I asked. “You think it’s about that? Damn, I made a fool out of myself.”

  “Please, ain’t nobody tell you to roll up on a ghetto girl if you wasn’t ready to fight.” Tasha laughed at me. “But, to be honest, I don’t think she told him anything about what happened. If she did, he would’ve said something right away or not even have called you again. Men don’t like female drama. Tasha paused. “This bitch is slicker than I thought. She didn’t tell Julian.” Tasha laughed. “Whew…her ass is slick. Miata is a smart girl. She has her own little plan in effect with Julian. And if she knows men don’t like drama, she’s not going to bring any to him. She wants you to tell him about the fight so you sound dramatic and crazy to him. That’s why she said all that crazy shit to get you all riled up. She was playing you, Ms. Lovesong. She probably wanted you to hit her and get your dumb ass arrested.”

  “So I could look like the crazy one,” I agreed.

  “And then Julian would see it and then—”

  “Dump me.”

  “Exactly.” Tasha laughed. “I told you this bitch is smart. We have to really get on our game. Your next move has to be tighter than a virgin’s cootie cat.”

  “You’re so nasty,” I said, laughing.

  “I know, but you’re my friend, so that makes you nastier because you should know better.”

  When I handed my keys to the valet at my parents’ apartment building, I realized that I had to talk to Tasha about how I felt she was handling her infertility before we went upstairs. I decided I wasn’t being a true friend if I didn’t tell her how I really felt about her actions. Though I was her friend and I would stand by her side no matter what, I couldn’t support her lying to her husband.

  I led her to one of the Victorian-style couches that no one ever sat on in the lobby of the building. “I need to ask you something and I don’t want you to be mad,” I said, trying to go slow on her. Tasha could get really defensive at times and I didn’t want her to simply dismiss my thoughts and walk away. She would.

  “Okay.” She sat down next to me.

  “When are you going to tell Lionel about wanting to have a baby?”

  “I don’t know,” Tasha said. “I guess I have to now. Unless I plan on using someone else’s sperm.”

  I chuckled at the thought. She’d make headlines with that one. KNICKS PLAYER’S WIFE KNOCKED UP BY NEXT MAN. She’d be all up in “Sister2Sister.”

  “Seriously, Tash. He has a right to know about all of this,” I said. “I know I said I’d stick by you but you have to know I don’t approve. I know Lionel. I’ve seen the two of you together and I know he will stand by your side.”

  “I know that.” Tasha looked at me.

  “So what are you afraid of? Why do you think he’ll say no?”

  “It’s not about him saying no. It’s about me. I know that already.” She paused. “I’ve never had to answer to anyone. I left home when I was just a teenager and since then I’ve made up all my own rules. I’ve done it on my own. Even marrying Lionel was my decision.” Tasha looked down at the marble tile and played with her wedding ring as she spoke. “So when I decided to have a baby, I just wanted it to be my decision.”

  “But having a baby isn’t about one person’s decision. It’s about two people coming together and agreeing that they have enough love to give that baby.” I grabbed her hand. “You have to make sure Lionel is ready for all this.”

  “I’m just afraid, I guess. I’m afraid to give all that away…the control, you know? To let someone else make that decision for me.”

  “Tasha, marriage doesn’t work like that and we both know it. You said it yourself the other night to Tamia,” I said. “My parents have the oddest relationship, but I did learn one thing from watching them.” I paused and reached over to turn Tasha’s face back toward me. “And it’s that you have to make decisions together. You have to give up some of your power in order to be more powerful with your husband. And you’ve got to do that with Lionel. You have to tell him, Tasha. And not just about in vitro—about everything. About wanting and trying to get pregnant behind his back. You have to tell him so you two can try to understand why you felt a need to do what you did. You can’t keep secrets like that in a marriage. He deserves to know. And if he’s a good man, like I know he is,” I said, staring into her eyes, “he’ll stand by your side and forgive you.”

  Tasha put her head on my shoulder.

  “You’re right,” Tasha said. “He doesn’t deserve this.” She paused and a tear rolled down her cheek. “I can’t promise anything tonight, but I am going to tell him. I just have to find the right time.”

  “That’s enough of a promise, Ms. Lovestrong,” I said, patting her knee. “That’s enough.”

  “Mommy?” I called, walking into my parents’ living room. “I’m here.” As usual, everything had been changed since my last visit. My mother was a compulsive decorator and this time the decor was Indian, reflecting my parents’ recent trip to India.

  “Hello, Troy,” Desta said, rushing out of the kitchen. Only a few years older than me, Desta was stunningly beautiful. Her skin, dark as Pepsi-Cola, was smooth and clear. She had enticing brown eyes, a
nd though my mother said she plowed through the fridge like a racehorse, she never went a pound over 120.

  “Hi, Desta.” I smiled. “This is my friend Tasha,” I said, turning to Tasha, who had made herself cozy on the new sofa my mother had had shipped from Bangalore.

  “We’ve met already,” Tasha said, waving. Desta smiled pleasantly and nodded her head again.

  When Desta was just seven, both of her parents died of AIDS and she was sent to live with distant relatives in Kenya. The people were really nice to her, but she said they couldn’t afford to have her, so they sold her to be married when Desta was twelve. The man was much older than her and he beat her so severely, Desta’s first child died in her womb. When she was twenty-four, she secretly applied to a program that allowed women to come to America to work, and luckily she got in. So on her twenty-fifth birthday, she left her home in the middle of the night, leaving behind her three children. She told my mother it broke her heart but that she knew it was the only way she would ever be able to do anything for them.

  “Your mother outside,” Desta said. She pointed to the terrace. “She wait for you.” I pulled a reluctant Tasha up from the couch and headed outside to the terrace.

  My mother was sitting at the table yapping away on the phone. She was saying something about needing more bricks to finish the porch on the new Habitat for Humanity house she was building with her sorority sisters.

  “Well, would you want to live in a house with no porch?” she said, holding the phone beneath her chin and balancing a cigarette in one hand and a glass of wine in the other—it was a skill she’d picked up a long time ago. She smiled when she saw me and Tasha and nodded for us to walk over to the table. “I know they’re poor, Mr. Councilman, but they deserve options, too.” She skillfully took a pull from her cigarette and stood up to kiss me on the cheek. “Look, if you can’t give me what I want, I’ll just call Judge Shivers up and see what he’s willing to donate. Maybe you’ll match his offering.” She paused. “He is running for your office next year, right? Let me remind you of the black Greek’s voting stronghold in the community.” My mother had him right where she wanted him. Votes. I loved watching her play hardball. Lord knows she could raise some damn money. Get donations from a poor man. “Well, thank you. I knew we could come to a compromise. I’ll look for that check in the mail,” she said, smiling. She was wearing her favorite orange and black sari, another Indian import. “Yes, and it’s great doing business with you, Mr. Councilman.” She hung up the phone and grinned mischievously. “Darling, I can’t believe you’re here,” she said, kissing me on the forehead again.

  “You invited me, Mom.” I sat down at the table. She had it set up for a formal dinner.

  “Don’t get smart with me, girl. You’re still on my bad side, after that stunt you pulled last week at the theater—not speaking to me.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Smith,” said Tasha, my ineffective distraction.

  “Hi, baby,” my mother replied, kissing Tasha on both her cheeks. “Troy didn’t say you were coming over. Are you staying for our dinner?”

  “Dinner and some of your famous Bloody Marys, I was hoping,” Tasha said.

  “Oh, flattery will get you young ladies everywhere in life.” My mother smiled. “Desta,” she shouted, “I’ll need another setting.” I counted two settings on the table. “And a pitcher of my Bloody Marys.”

  “Daddy’s not here?” I asked.

  “No, he had a thing at the country club. You know your father.” She stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray. “Besides, I wanted to spend time with my little girl. Seems like everybody gets to look at you these days except for me. I see you’re finally losing some weight. And what happened to your hair? Please don’t tell me that’s a perm! What did Lucy do to you?”

  To this, I preferred to say nothing. I sat and looked away from my mother, imagining that I was someplace else. I called it my Vow of Silence. When I was just a small girl, I realized that the best way to get my mother to leave me alone was to ignore her. If I said something, she’d keep going, but if I said nothing, she’d shut the hell up. It was nothing personal. It was just the only way I could ensure that we’d both survive the whole mother-daughter thing.

  “Fine then…” she said finally. “This is the thanks I get for trying to comfort you during your time of need? You can’t even talk to me?”

  “Mom, it’s not like that,” I said as Desta set the pitcher on the table. “I just know how you can get about my breakups—”

  “How do I get?” she said, cutting me off. Even Tasha had to smile at that one. Everyone knew how she got.

  “Well, ‘crazy’ comes to mind. You kind of take it too personally when I break up with someone…heck, you take it too personally when I have an argument with someone. That’s why I can’t tell you everything.”

  “Lies. All lies,” she cried in her dramatic Scarlett O’Hara voice. “Troy, I’m your mother and I just want to protect you. I don’t want you to get your feelings hurt. No real mother does.”

  “But it’s a part of life,” I said, pouring the red concoction of Bloody Mary into my glass.

  “I know, darling, but I have to be there when things go bad for you. It’s my job.” She pinched my cheek. “I’ve been on this earth for a long time. I’ve been hurt many times. And I think the only reason I was able to get back up after folks knocked me down is that I knew I would have you someday, and I’d be able to use my experience to help you get through.”

  “Oh, Mom. That’s so sweet,” I said. I got up and gave her a hug. She was a piece of work, but as my father always said, she meant well. My mother had a huge heart. And while I was always trying to push her away, she never let me go. Plus, she gave me good advice…sometimes.

  For example, my first boyfriend, Champ (I know it’s a stupid name but it was sexy back then), was an Alpha I met my sophomore year after pledging. Champ was the spoiled son of a politician. He was at the top of his class, on his way to law school at Harvard, and he drove a gold CLK—big-time during those days, even for Howard. I’d set up a chance meeting between my mother and Champ at my sorority’s spring tea. She hated him. Her exact words were: “He’s a smug bastard. He’ll ruin your life.” I held on to Champ for dear life after that—out of sheer defiance. But the very next semester, a new crop of freshmen showed up on the lawn, one being Lori St. Croix, a Creole from New Orleans who took a liking to Champ. Anyway, he started disappearing off and on, and pretty soon he disappeared altogether. We split up before the Christmas break.

  “So are you going to tell me about Julian now?” She smiled.

  “Nope,” I said, remembering Champ. I didn’t want her to speak her prediction about Julian into the atmosphere. I couldn’t let her doom my plan like she had before.

  “Tasha,” my mother said, cutting her eyes at me.

  “Hmm?” Tasha managed, sipping on her Bloody Mary.

  “Do you keep things from your mother?”

  “Well, since I haven’t spoken to Porsche in two years, I suppose I do keep things from her,” Tasha said matter-of-factly. Though my mother, an avid soap watcher, knew who Tasha’s mother was, I’d never told her about their relationship. I figured it was for Tasha to tell.

  “Two years?” my mother frowned. “It must be hard for you.” She put her hand on top of Tasha’s.

  “Not for nothing, Mrs. Smith,” Tasha said coolly after finishing her second Bloody Mary, “but I’d memorized the entire menu at the Beverly Hills Hotel by the time I was twelve.” She watched Desta put the food on the table. “And I had a nanny. Her name was Consuela. I spent so much time with her when I was a little girl that I called her Mommy. My mother fired her right in front of me when I was fourteen. I was heartbroken when Consuela left. I felt like a member of my family had died. Right there I decided that I hated Porsche.” Tasha looked at me. She’d never told me that part of the story. I figured it was the Bloody Mary working her magic. I just hoped she didn’t end up in the cabana again. “So, no, not
speaking to my mother is not hard for me. It’s pretty damn easy.”

  Everyone was silent around the table. Even Desta was standing by the door, looking as if she was about to burst into tears.

  “Time for a refill,” I said, grabbing the pitcher.

  Desta disappeared inside and came back with her own glass.

  Proud Mary: A Bloody Toast to the Queen

  Mix up this Bloody Mary in your blender the next time you’re expecting some girlie guests. Full of alcohol, this sipper will make all your visitors feel right at home. Mary will weep and Martha will moan. Just be prepared to collect some keys and turn drinks into an impromptu sleepover.

  The Bad Ass Bloody Mary (Makes a Pitcher for All to Enjoy)

  Ingredients:

  23 oz. tomato juice

  23 oz. V8 juice

  1 tbsp. horseradish

  1½ ounces of vodka

  ¾ oz. Tabasco sauce

  1 tbsp. Worcestershire sauce

  1 oz. lemon juice

  1 tsp. freshly ground pepper

  ¼ tsp. celery salt

  Garnish:

  1 sliced lime

  celery sticks

  celery salt

  Directions:

  Combine ingredients in a blender and mix. Pour over ice into a tall glass rimmed with celery salt. Garnish with a celery stick and twist a lime slice over the glass edge.

  *If you like it very spicy, add 1⁄8 tsp. of ground red pepper.

  One Confused Man and One Confused Womb-Man

  The ride home from dinner was eerily quiet. What my mother said to Tasha must’ve really affected her. So far, she’d successfully avoided all conversations about Porsche. Though people in the industry knew exactly whose daughter Tasha was when she stood in the stands at Lionel’s games and photographers often put snapshots of Lionel and Tasha next to Porsche’s in magazines, no one ever confronted her about her estrangement from the soap star. Even the producers of MTV Cribs, who’d done a special on Lionel and Tasha’s New Jersey home, didn’t mention it when they aired the show. Everyone gave Tasha her space, but Mary Elizabeth just wasn’t that kind of person.