by Pat Tucker
“Peta, are you already on water?” I screamed.
“Shit, I was on water while we were still downstairs. Ivee, we can’t keep up with your lush behind. You could probably drink a sailor under the damn table,” she said.
“Thank you for that compliment.” I drained my glass.
Everyone cracked up with laughter again. When the waiter came to our section on the patio, I waved him closer.
“I want you to bring a round of Patrón,” I whispered when he leaned in to me.
He pulled his head up and looked like he tried to get a head count. Since everyone was talking and paid no attention to me, they couldn’t talk me out of the last round of the night.
The evening was perfect. The DJ was on point, and all the pretty people must’ve gotten a free pass to hang out. I loved the vibe and atmosphere, and I especially loved the fact that my girls seemed to be having a real good time.
It didn’t matter if it was the headaches at work or Zion and his many issues, drinks on Thursday night made it all better. Or maybe the drinks simply made me feel so good, I was only under the impression that it was better. Either way, when the waiter came back, none of it mattered anymore.
I noticed a few eye rolls, but when all was said and done, they’d drink since the premium liquor had been bought and paid for.
“Okay, y’all; c’mon! It’s the last shot of the night,” I announced.
Everyone was slow to claim their shot glasses, but I didn’t let that deter me. The waiter placed a cup of lime wedges in the center of the square coffee table that sat between the two sofas we occupied.
“C’mon!” I grabbed one of the tiny glasses and stood. I waited for everyone else to pick up their shot glasses, and then we began. When I saw the shot glasses hoisted in the air, I started our mantra.
It wasn’t as loud and boisterous as it usually was, but in unison, we all shouted.
“Up to it! Down to it! We do it because we’re used to it! Fuck those that don’t do it! Now let’s get fucked up!”
We took our drinks to the head at pretty much the same time, and then dropped the glasses when we were done. As usual, the liquid burned as it blazed down my throat. I winced, swallowed hard, and blinked my watering eyes.
“Now, y’all know that was niiiice,” I said.
23
PETA
Two weeks later, I watched my daughter leave for the school bus stop and pitied myself. Quite a bit had happened to me, and I couldn’t understand why when it rained, a tsunami had to follow. It was the first time since I could remember that I didn’t want to go to happy hour. I was simply not in the mood.
Bills from the trucks’ vandalism were taller than a mountain. I decided to have the ladies double up on the two remaining trucks that were not damaged, but that quickly became a nightmare. They couldn’t get along.
As I sat and thought about all that had happened, it dawned on me that I’d never called about Kyle’s child support check.
The simple thought of his name flooded my mind with memories of the last time we were together. The vision was imprinted on my brain. As usual, it was completely unexpected, but it happened. I tried to block the thoughts, but it didn’t work that way. Kyle and I were together more now than during our marriage. The last encounter was last Thursday night, and he had caught me again when I was vulnerable.
“You leaving already?” I asked as I met him at my driveway.
“Y’all gonna get enough of running the streets every week,” he said.
“Really? Why’s that?” I asked.
I felt good, and that meant trouble wasn’t far behind. It didn’t matter that I had recently had Gordon. Kyle was at the right place at the right time.
“Where’s your purse?” Kyle asked.
Suddenly, I looked around and realized I didn’t have my purse. It was gone!
“Oh, shit! I ’ont know,” I slurred.
“Maybe it’s in the car,” Kyle suggested.
He followed me back to the driveway, reached around me from behind, and opened the door. His scent drove me wild. I wasn’t sure if it was his cologne mixed with this fresh night air, but it did something for me. When Kyle climbed into the back seat, for whatever reason, I slipped behind the wheel.
“This shit is crazy, Peta. You go get shit-faced with your girls, and for the life of me, most times, I don’t even know how you make it home.”
One minute we were searching the vehicle, the next, I was in the back seat on my back, and Kyle was between my legs. Everything in me screamed to stop him. There were so many issues I had with him and the things he had done to make my life miserable.
But when my lips moved, it was in response to his tongue’s push for entry. I sucked his lips, his tongue, and it felt really good—so much so that I didn’t want him to stop. My brain felt like it was on autopilot, and the only message that seemed to register was, Do it, girl! Do it, and enjoy it!
“Jesus, Peta, why you do this to me?” he moaned.
His voice sounded so intense, it was as if he needed me.
We tore at each other’s clothes. The small space somehow intensified the action, and I couldn’t help but react to everything he did.
“Damn, Kyle. Damn you,” I cried.
It didn’t take long. He tore at my shirt, pulled a breast out of my bra and found my stiffened nipple. When he suckled, it felt like the right thing. Everything felt so good, my blood was on fire. My heart felt like it was on speed, and I was so excited.
I clawed at his head and shoulders, and did whatever I could to keep him where he was.
When he came up for air, I sucked at his mouth. He had undone his belt and zipper. He pulled back momentarily, placed the edge of the black-and-gold wrapper between his teeth and ripped it open.
“Hurry, Kyle; hurry.”
I was hungry and on fire.
Once he shielded himself, I grabbed and welcomed him like no man had ventured there in months. Kyle did it all the right way. He knew exactly where to find my spot and what to do once he was there.
“Oh, God, Kyle. Oh, God!”
When he pulled back, I wanted to beg him not to stop. I looked deep into his eyes, and suddenly I felt something strange. I frowned.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
His eyes turned wild, he panted lightly, and I could feel his wild heartbeat.
It was almost as if I’d somehow caught a glimpse of us as we made out like horny teenagers on steroids. I stopped and drew back a little.
“What in the hell are we doing?” I asked.
“Shit, we gettin’ it in,” Kyle breathed.
I felt ashamed. I was drunk, scared, and my world had suddenly spun completely out of control.
“I need to stop this. We can’t be carrying on like this. Damn, Kyle, you’re remarried. We need to stop. And all that showing up on Thursday nights—when you know good and well that I’m vulnerable?”
As I talked, I tried to pull my clothes together. All the crap from my purse had spilled out on the floor of the back seat. It was dark, but I tried to feel around for as much as I could.
“So, that’s it? We just gon’ leave it like this?” he asked. He sucked his teeth, and I could see the veins throbbing at the side of his temple, but I didn’t care.
“Kyle, you need to go. Go!”
He fumbled with his pants and tried to get himself together. I felt sick to my stomach. Gordon may have worked my nerves and been a pain, but he wasn’t my ex who was married to some other chick.
“You coulda at least let me get my nut,” Kyle murmured as he eased out of my car.
I really felt like shit then. Long after Kyle had left, I sat in the back seat of my car and cried. Every damn thing in my life had fallen apart.
The incredible pounding sensation that ricocheted through my head jarred me awake. I jumped up and looked around with wide eyes as I tried to catch my bearings.
“What the…”
That’s when I realized I was still in the
back seat of my car. The sky was trapped between night and daylight when I stumbled out of the back seat and made my way to the front door.
I was mad at myself for what had happened the night before, but was glad I had gotten up before the sun. How embarrassing would it have been to have my daughter or my neighbors find me asleep in the back seat of the damn car.
The thought made me angry at Kyle all over again. How in the hell did he leave me sleeping in the damn car? Anything could’ve happened to me!
After I rushed into the house, I took a long, hot shower and got myself cleaned up. By the time I pulled on my thick, terrycloth robe and walked out of my bathroom, I heard Kendal as she moved around downstairs.
“Mom!”
Her loud scream reminded me that I was still hung over. I made my way downstairs and smiled at my daughter.
“Hey, what are you doing up so early?” she asked.
“Hard to sleep with all that’s going on,” I lied.
“Oh, Mom. I’m so mad about what happened with the trucks, but don’t be all sad about it, okay?”
I nodded.
From the mouths of babes, I thought. I had more than enough on my plate to be sad about, and the last thing I needed to do was fall into a dead-end trap with her father.
When the phone rang, it brought my thoughts back from the recent past. The detective updated me about the case, and we hung up. The phone rang again quickly, but when I saw Pamela’s number, I hit the Ignore button. I wasn’t in the mood for any more of her probing questions.
“Oh, Kyle’s checks,” I reminded myself.
I found the number and called the state attorney general’s office. Kyle paid for his child, but before we came to our friendly, mutual agreement, we had fought like nobody’s business, so at the time, I needed to get his payment on paper. When the judge finally signed off on the agreement, I felt more comfortable.
“Yes, my name is Peta Nixon, and I’m calling to find out why my ex-husband’s child support checks have not been deposited into my account for the second month in a row.”
The caseworker seemed very nice. I gave her his social security number and she placed me on hold. When she came back to the phone, what she said next took my breath away.
“Oh, yes, Mrs. Nixon. Did you forget? It took a little while for the change to take effect.”
“What change? What are you talking about?”
“The letter you sent absolving your ex-husband of any and all future child support payments,” she explained.
“The what?” I cried.
24
DARBY
“I don’t get it. How’d you get all these women to agree to do this?”
Carla looked at me like she didn’t understand my question. Ours was such a nice neighborhood, it was hard for me to fathom that she’d been able to operate that kind of business and stay under the radar for so long.
Don’t get me wrong, I was glad she did. Carla and her soccer moms slash part-time hookers had definitely upgraded my life.
Outside of that mishap when those she-thugs kicked down my front door, no one would’ve known what the constant mid-morning, mid-afternoon traffic was all about. Carla had replaced the door without as much as a flinch, and paid extra for the same-day service. And, the replacement was far nicer than its predecessor. I had to tell my husband I won it in a contest so we got it for free, and it was all good when he heard that.
“Girl, it may be the oldest profession, but it’s still a bona-fide money-maker,” Carla said.
“I don’t get it. How do y’all do it?”
“Do what? And, hey, what’s missing here?” she asked.
For a minute, she had me going. I actually looked around as if I might figure out what was missing.
“Where’s the wine? A martini or something,” she squealed. “I can’t think of a time I’ve been over here and you didn’t have something to sip on,” she said. “Oh, no! Don’t tell me you’re on the wagon.”
“Girl, stop! You make it sound like I’m some closet alchy,” I joked. Thoughts of the playground moms entered my mind momentarily.
“No, I just know what you like, and I happen to like what you like, too, so, what’s up? Why’s it all dry in here?”
Once I pulled a couple of wineglasses and poured drinks for us, Carla and I talked about plans to expand. So far, four of our neighbors worked with Carla. I managed the money and made sure that the supplies were well stocked. If my husband paid attention to anything, he’d realize that we had a stash of condoms, spermicidal jelly, and a slew of sex toys hidden in the garage.
The arrangement had been working well. When the phone rang, I prayed it wouldn’t be my husband or the kids’ school. I felt like they were getting to know me on a personal level that made me most uncomfortable. Unfortunately for me, it was my brother. I didn’t answer, but the call threw me back to one of the darkest days of my life.
Kevin and I were dating then, and he had stayed at my apartment. I had a roommate, Jean Bishop, and she was cool with him being there. My first college roommate and I could never agree on when it was cool to have company.
“Is the alarm set?” Kevin had asked.
“Yeah, boo. I told you. I set it.”
“I can’t be late for the bus,” he said before he stabbed the pillow with his fist, and adjusted his head on it. Back then, Kevin was part of a special engineering camp that required him to spend two weekends a month at seminars.
At first, it was hard for me to sleep. We had stayed in and watched a movie, and although we usually stayed up late on weekends, we didn’t when he had the seminars.
I lay next to Kevin with my eyes wide open. I couldn’t fall asleep. I couldn’t watch TV because it would disturb him, so I lay there with thoughts of our future together bouncing around in my mind.
One minute I was wide awake, the next I heard my name being called.
“Darby! Darby!”
At first I thought it was a part of my dream. It felt like I was on a boat that wouldn’t stay still.
“Darby! Darby!”
My vision was blurred as I bolted upright in bed. Kevin sat next to me, but he looked lost and confused.
“What’s the matter?”
Jean’s hand shook as she held the phone toward me. “It’s your brother, Roger. It’s about Darlene,” she said. I glanced around the room. The green numbers on the digital clock flickered 3:48 a.m.
“Who…what?” I couldn’t think straight. My head hurt and everyone looked sad.
“Darby, Roger needs you on the phone,” Jean repeated. But when she spoke, her words were forced.
I didn’t want the phone. I didn’t want the bad news. My grandmother always said only bad news came after midnight. When Kevin came close and put his arm around me, I sensed something terrible had happened.
I grabbed the phone. “Hello,” I said.
“Darby, it’s Darlene. She’s gone. Your sister. She’s dead. We need you to come home,” Roger said. He cried, too.
“No! I just talked to her. She was at a club. She was partying with—”
Kevin pulled me closer. Jean took the phone and talked to my brother. I was numb. I was sick and scared to be left alone. My twin couldn’t be gone. I didn’t close my eyes for seventy-two hours straight.
Home was never the same again. A doctor gave me pills to calm me and to help me sleep, but that didn’t stop the nightmares. The wake, the funeral, the burial; it was all one massive blur. Darlene was the pride of my family—a senior at Texas Southern University who had already been accepted into the Thurgood Marshall School of Law.
At the time, I was at Xavier University in New Orleans. When I found out that Darlene was killed by a drunk driver who had been arrested three different times for DWI, I was sick. I couldn’t fathom how a repeat offender was still drinking and driving, and because of Chandler, my sister was gone. Something clicked in my head.
Prior to that, I never drank. I took a year off from school after my sister die
d. I couldn’t bring myself to leave my family. We were, and had always been, very close. In the year that I was home, alcohol suddenly became my only comfort. Kevin and I drifted apart, and he moved on. Three years later, I was sober and couldn’t stand the smell of alcohol.
The new job I’d gotten had come right on time. That’s where I met Felicia and Ivee, and they were a blast. I had also reconnected with Kevin, and it seemed like my life was finally back on track. At that time, Sex and the City was all the rage. I credited that show with my newfound relationship with alcohol. Every time we went out, we had Cosmos like our favorite girls on the show. We patterned our friendship after theirs. Peta was Samantha, Ivee was Carrie, I was Charlotte, and Felicia was Miranda. We bonded over drinks and stories about our lives.
“You’re not gonna call him back?” Carla’s question pulled me back to the present.
“I’m not in the mood to talk to him right now. Let’s finish this business so you can get back to work,” I said.
I poured more wine, and Carla and I went over details of the money we expected to make for the month.
Once we finished, Carla leaned back in her chair. She drained her wineglass, then looked at me. Her face was all scrunched up.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Yeah, sure,” I said.
“What would Kevin do if he found out that you’re a madam?” She giggled.
Her question made me think for a second. I never thought of myself as a madam. Carla and the other ladies had a list of clients that they slept with once a week, and I handled the business part of it. I collected payments through credit cards that went into an account that required both Carla’s and my signature.
Our system was pretty sweet since we didn’t have to advertise, and we only dealt with a select number of exclusive clients. Outside of that mishap when Carla tried to deviate from what had been working, there hadn’t been a single incident.
Carla had picked up a man in a bar and added him to her list. When his wife found out, she told her prison guard sister, and well, the rest was what resulted in my door being kicked in.
The truth was, if Kevin knew I was doing anything illegal, he’d probably call the police himself. If he realized that I now had my own personal stash that had grown substantially, he’d blow a gasket, and then file for divorce. The thought of me with my own money would be a threat to him and the control he tried to maintain.
