The Night Before Thirty

by Tajuana Butler

  “Good evening, Louisa and Jessica, and welcome back.”

  “Thank you,” Louisa and Jessica replied.

  “You ladies must be the winners of the Night Before Thirty contest!”

  They smiled.

  “First of all, let me say happy birthday to all of you. I hope you'll enjoy your stay here at our resort. My staff and I will see to it that your visit with us is pleasant and memorable. Also, the owner asked me to extend a special welcome. He left gift baskets for each of you in your suites.”

  “Wow, happy birthday to us!” Lashawnda squealed.

  Everyone laughed.

  “You ladies will be dining in the hotel tonight, correct?”

  “Right.”

  “Great. Ladies, have a wonderful weekend and remember—if you need anything, my staff and I are just a call away.” He walked toward one of the bellboys, who had been trying to get his attention.

  “I like this hotel,” Tanya said passionately.

  “I do too,” Catara agreed.

  “And did you know it's black-owned?” Jessica added.

  “Shut up!” Lashawnda said. “Now, that's a wonderful thing. I'd like to shake his hand and let him know just how proud I am.”

  The women rushed up to their suites. Elise quickly went to pull open the blinds so she could get a look at the view. “Wow,” she sighed. Everyone joined her by the window.

  “I just love the ocean.” Alecia sighed too. The sight took her back to the time she'd spent with William in San Diego.

  “I can't wait to hit South Beach!” Catara said.

  “We're going after dinner, right?” Tanya asked.

  “Yeah, were going to take a stroll down Ocean Drive, take in the sights, and then come back here to get some rest,” Louisa said.

  “Good—I'm gonna need to walk off the meal,” Catara added. She stepped away from the window and was about to fall into her usual pattern of dwelling on her shortcomings, when she caught a glimpse of the gift baskets. “Oh look!” she purred.

  “Oooh,” everyone gushed, and walked over to the baskets to examine their contents. Inside were coffee mugs with the hotel's logo on them and assorted Godiva chocolates and coffees. The notes attached read, Relax and enjoy your thirtieth birthday—the best is yet to come!

  “This is just too much,” Lashawnda gasped.

  “Oh, there's more to come!” Louisa said mischievously.

  The bellhop brought up their luggage and they quickly changed clothes. The women could hardly wait to head down the elevator to enjoy their evening. When they entered the hotel restaurant, they were promptly greeted and seated. After receiving their drinks and giving their dining orders to their waiter, the ladies began discussing their time at the spa.

  “Elise, I must admit, your hair looks so much better,” Alecia said.

  “I know, girl. Going to the hairdresser is another one of those luxuries I've had to let go. I needed this,” she agreed.

  “It didn't look bad before, but I like it better this way,” Alecia said.

  “Thank you.” Elise smiled.

  “I'd like to get a few more minutes with that masseuse,” Lashawnda said.

  “Tell me about it. Not only was he efficient and effective, but he was fine too,” Tanya joked.

  Everybody toasted to the masseuse being fine.

  “Am I the only single lady fiending for just one decent evening alone with a man?” Catara complained.

  “I don't even remember what it was like to be in the company of a man,” Lashawnda said.

  Nobody else commented, so Catara turned to Lashawnda. “So what seems to be the problem—is it us or is it them?”

  “I don't know what the problem is, but believe me, men aren't the only ones who don't know how to treat a woman,” she said before she could stop herself.

  Catara laughed, agreeing, and then stopped short when she realized what Lashawnda had said.

  “You mean women friends, right?” Catara's tone turned serious.

  “Women friends, women girlfriends, whatever. People just don't know how to act in relationships anymore,” Lashawnda blurted out.

  “Uumph,” Catara grunted. She was at a loss for words, second-guessing the sexual preference of the woman she'd agreed to share a room with. She didn't want to be too hasty with her judgment, but she was a little curious. Living in New York had taught her one thing: The only way to find out was to ask. So she did. “Lashawnda, you talk as though you've been hurt by a woman. You're not lesbian, are you?”

  “That's a good question, Catara. You know, I ask myself that very question on a daily basis,” Lashawnda responded and took a gulp of her wine.

  “So you like women?” Alecia asked, frowning.

  Lashawnda turned her nose up at Alecia and directed her attention toward Catara. “I don't date women as a lifestyle choice, but I just got out of a relationship with a woman.”

  “Fascinating!” Jessica said, staring at Lashawnda in amazement.

  Elise was outdone. She couldn't remember ever meeting anyone who had owned up to being a lesbian. She wanted to frown like Alecia did, but she waited. She thought Lashawnda was cool—there was no need to turn on her just because she liked women. She asked, “Why did you two break up?”

  “I caught her sleeping with another woman,” Lashawnda said, trying to laugh it off. “The chick was fine too—I got to give her that. She had nice breasts. I can see why Cicely got with her.”

  Jaws dropped around the table.

  Lashawnda took another drink. “Shit, she was cute. I'll give a sister her props. That doesn't mean that I wanted to jump into bed and join them.”

  The waiter walked up and began serving the ladies. There was uneasiness within everyone, so Louisa figured it was her duty to change the pace of things.

  “Let's take hands and say grace,” she said after the last dish was placed on the table.

  The women took hands and Louisa led grace. “Dear Heavenly Father, thank you for the food we're about to receive to nourish our bodies. May our time together this weekend as sisters be enjoyable, relaxing, and healing. In your son Jesus' name we pray. Amen.”

  “Amen,” everyone responded in unison.

  Louisa looked up and smiled at Lashawnda to comfort her.

  Lashawnda took a deep breath and smiled back.

  The ladies picked up their silverware and began eating.

  Tanya took a bite of her steak and then looked at Lashawnda.

  “What?” Lashawnda asked, dropping her silverware. “Why are you looking at me like that?” She was feeling protective, and prepared to defend herself if necessary.

  “I might be wrong, but it seems to me that you're going through an identity crisis,” Tanya said. “This steak is good!” She took another bite.

  Lashawnda relaxed. She was relieved Tanya hadn't spit out a malicious remark at her. “You're right. I am trying to figure it out.” She dug her fork into her bow-tie pasta. She was just glad that someone still wanted to talk about it. She didn't want to force the issue on anyone, but she wanted some advice. “I always thought I knew who I was, but I wanted a better life. I wanted to be more than I was. I mean, I was a twenty-something grocery bagger at a supermarket before I met Cicely.”

  “What do you do now?” Tanya asked.

  “I'm an executive secretary. I work for Cicely. She saw to it that I received all the training I needed. She gave me a job. I had no education beyond high school before her. I owe her so much, but I don't know if I'm a lesbian.”

  “That's deep!” Jessica said.

  “Since we've broken up, I've wanted to quit my job.”

  “Do it. You can always get another job,” Tanya said.

  Lashawnda sipped her wine, and shook her head, frowning in hopes that her expression would help get her point across. “Y'all don't understand. Working for Cicely was my first real job. She is my only work reference. She's not going to tell another potential employer that I'm a good worker—a damned good worker at that—so
how could anybody else know?” She sipped again. “No one is going to hire me at least until I finish college. And that's way down the line because I'll only be going part-time.”

  “So what you're saying is, you will continue to work for her just because she hired you? And you've built an intimate relationship with her just because she's helped you?” Tanya said.

  “Well, kind of,” Lashawnda replied. She was still unsure why she'd continued to see Cicely.

  “Like I said earlier, you're going through an identity crisis. Cicely knows she's a lesbian. She seems to be proud of it. It's her thing. But you, on the other hand, you don't know if you are, you don't know why you're with a lesbian. You probably don't even know what it truly means to be a lesbian,” Tanya said.

  She chewed on another piece of steak.

  “And you do?” Lashawnda asked.

  “Nah, I'm not gay. But I know what it means to be in and try to embrace an environment that isn't your own and doesn't even suit you,” Tanya said.

  T WAS THE beginning of my senior year in high school, several months before I met Chris. I was a wild child, but smart. I made good grades, but the thought of graduating terrified me, probably because no one encouraged me to go to college or suggested employment options. So I rebelled.

  I started smoking weed and drinking every weekend. My friend Angel and I used to put our money together and give it to her cousin at school on Friday mornings. By the end of the day, we'd have two joints. Her mother went out every weekend, so I spent the night with her every time I got a chance. We would get so high!

  One night Angel's uncle let her borrow his car, so we went riding around the neighborhood. We ran into some guys who were hanging out on the streets, and stopped and flirted. It turned out they were gang members. One of them, the one who seemed to be the leader, was confident, charming, and he took an interest in me. His name was Steve. Before long we began dating, and I tried to adapt to his way of life. There was always talk of getting somebody back for something they did, or letting people know who's got the juice. You know, things like that.

  I was turned on by the control he had over the other members. Those boys did whatever he said, exactly the way he asked it to be done. He had a temper on him, and I saw it displayed, but I didn't care because he didn't direct it toward me, at first. Plus it felt good to be accepted. That gang was like a family and because I was Steve's lady, they accepted me and let it be known that they had my back no matter what.

  I didn't know who I was back then, but it didn't matter, with him being in my life. Whatever he was, I supported and embraced; therefore, I became whatever he stood for. That is, until the night I lied to my mother and told her I was spending the night with Angel, but I stayed with him instead. He had his own place.

  We got into bed around eleven-thirty p.m. and started fooling around. I wasn't a virgin, but it was going to be the first time I ever slept with him, so I was nervous but excited. We'd just started kissing when the phone rang. Steve answered and the intensity of the conversation caused him to jump out of bed.

  He hung up the phone and said, “We got some business we need to handle, and I need you to go with me.”

  I looked at the clock. It was midnight. So I asked, “Can't I just stay here until you get back?”

  “No, I need you,” he insisted.

  I hesitantly got out of bed and got dressed. We jumped into the car and headed for the highway. Steve was speeding like a maniac.

  I asked him where we were going.

  He said, “Don't worry about it—you'll see when we get there. But we have about a two-hour drive ahead of us.”

  I attempted to sit back and relax, since it was going to take a while to get to where we were going, but he wasn't having that.

  “I need you to watch out for five-oh,” he said.

  I sat up in the seat and tried to spot anything that looked like a cop.

  I began to get nervous. “Why don't you slow down a bit?”

  He shot a look at me that sent chills through my entire body. Then he said, “Why don't you shut the fuck up and watch out for the mother-fucking police, like I told you?”

  I went from caring for him to being terrified of him. I didn't know where we were going or when I'd see Chicago again, and I was too frightened to ask. One thing was for sure, I knew that I needed to keep an eye out for the police. I spotted several along the way. I often wondered what would have happened if we had been stopped by a cop, but we weren't.

  Anyway, we pulled up to this warehouse, where two guys were waiting for us. Steve opened the car door and jumped out. He went around the corner with them. A few minutes later, they came back, each holding crates, which they put in the trunk of his car. Then they shook hands and dispersed. Steve got back into the car and said, “All right, we're headed home.”

  Just like that—no explanation, nothing.

  At this point, I was fed up with the secrecy and his domineering attitude. On the way home, we were driving fast, but not nearly as quickly as we had been, so I calmed down a bit.

  “So what are in the boxes?” I asked.

  “You ask a lot of questions,” he said.

  “You got me up at all times of the night, speeding out of town, and now I'm riding around in a car with you and some boxes in the trunk. After all that, I think I deserve to know what's in the boxes.”

  “You need to be careful about what you ask for,” he said. “Now, sit back. I got everything under control.”

  We sat in silence until he was ready to talk.

  “Don't be mad at me,” he said.

  I didn't say anything. I realized that night that I didn't like him or anything he stood for. We couldn't get back to Chicago quickly enough. I just wanted to be away from him. I knew that something wasn't right about those boxes.

  “Aw, so you're not talking to me!” he said.

  “To say what?” I asked.

  “Tell me how much you want me, just like you were doing at my place before we left.”

  “I'm not feeling that right now,” I said.

  “So what you trying to say?” he demanded.

  “I already said it,” I replied.

  “Nobody, and I mean nobody, acts like that with Steve! Don't you know I will bitch-slap you, bitch?” he yelled and threw his hand up as if he were going to, but stopped short.

  I was shocked.

  “Nah, nah. I ain't gonna hurt you,” he snickered slyly.

  I didn't know what to think. We were about an hour from town, and I just kept telling myself to try to remain calm until I got home, then get the hell away from this fool.

  The next thing I know he pulled off the freeway.

  “Why are we stopping?” I asked.

  “Because I need to show you something,” he said.

  “What?” I asked.

  “You wanted to know what was in the boxes, right?” he said as he turned the car down a deserted, dark street.

  “I did want to know, but I'm cool,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant.

  “No, you want to know, so I'm going to show you.” He turned off his headlights and kept driving slowly down the long street. It dead-ended to an area that looked like a park.

  “Get out!” he yelled.

  I sat there in shock.

  “Get out!” he barked.

  I opened the car door. I knew he was going to leave me there, but Steve got out of the car and walked around to me. I was shivering inside, but I tried to appear cool.

  “Come on,” he said and we walked to the trunk of the car. He opened it and grabbed a screwdriver that was on the floor of the trunk. He used it to wedge open the top of the crate. He got it open—inside were countless numbers of guns.

  “That's what's in the crates. Guns,” he said calmly. “Now are you satisfied?”

  Steve put one of the guns in his hand and gripped it tightly.

  “You're not angry with me anymore are you, baby?” he said.

  I managed a smile.

&nbs
p; “Let's just take a moment to get back to where we were back at my place.” He leaned in and started kissing my neck.

  I was disgusted.

  “You want me, don't you?” he whispered.

  I couldn't answer. I didn't want him, and I couldn't form my mouth to lie. I tried to say “Yes,” but it wouldn't come out.

  “You do want me, don't you?” he whispered again. This time he rubbed the gun on the side of my face.

  I knew the gun was probably not loaded, but the idea that it was in that crate and the possibility of a stray bullet being in there—on top of the fact that we were in the midst of a dark nowhere—freaked me out. I couldn't move. I was young, and I couldn't think. I didn't know what to do, so I stood there, speechless.

  Steve started slowly unbuttoning my blouse. Then he pulled it down my arms. It was a fall night and kind of cool out. And that hawk attacked my bare skin. I was literally shaking. Then he pulled my skirt and my panties down to my ankles.

  “Don't do this,” I cried. Tears began to stream down my face because I knew that this man was going to take me and that there was nothing that I could do about it.

  He pulled his pants down. Then pointed the gun at the ground. “Lay down,” he said.

  “On the ground?” I asked.

  “Lay down,” he said again.

  I slowly walked over to the grass and lowered myself onto the ground. I kept saying silently, I can't believe this is happening. I can't believe this is happening!

  I was being violated, raped; but it wasn't like on television, when some woman is caught alone and is struggling to get away from her attacker. I didn't fight him and there wasn't rage in his voice or his actions. The atmosphere was calm. I could hear crickets chirping. Steve slowly climbed on top of me. He actually caressed me. Then he stuck his dick inside of me, and as much as I loathed him and the situation, after a while it felt good. I had mixed feelings lying on that ground—one part of me wanted to throw up or scream for help, but there was something inside of me that was enjoying his slow, even-paced stroking.

  Steve kept the gun right by my face.

  “I wanted to be inside you since the day I met you, and I know you've wanted me too. I can tell by the way you touch me and the way that you look at me,” he whispered.