After The Dance

by Lori D. Johnson

  I bet the only reason she didn’t run screaming from the room is that I’d probably bored her to the point of being too stiff to move. Stupid me, I thought her silence was some sort of indication that we’d finally made a real connection. Man, little did I know that what I thought was the sound of me and Faye clicking was actually the sound of ol’ girl ticking.

  To borrow a line from one of the Gap Band’s greatest hits, “she dropped a bomb on me.” I’m serious, man, come Sunday not only did the sister stand me up without even bothering to extend me the simple courtesy of a phone call, but when I finally did catch up with her jive behind, she was flapping her jaws and grinning all up in some other dude’s face.

  HER

  Carl needs to stop tripping. Why after spending four and a half hours with him and his kids on a Saturday night would I turn around the next day and deliberately leave him hanging? I had every intention of seeing him that Sunday. But the real of it is, things happen sometimes—things over which we often have little or no control.

  Girl, please, had anybody told me when I woke up that morning I was destined to spend durn near half my day with the likes of one Scoobie, aka Venard Nathaniel Payne, I would have called them a bald-faced liar and then crawled back into bed to make sure it didn’t happen.

  My first mistake, besides leaving the house at all that Sunday, was arriving at church with a thirst that couldn’t wait to be quenched. So there I was in the vestibule, right, bent over the water fountain getting my drink on, when I felt this presence behind me and heard this gravelly voice.

  “My, my, Sistah Abrahams. Aren’t we looking mighty blessed this morning?”

  No, it wasn’t Scoobie. Worse. It was old lecherous Deacon Jones, who, though very much married and supposedly sanctified, is always trying to hit on somebody—as if his seventy-some-year-old, ancient behind would even be able to handle it if somebody was crazy enough to try and give him some.

  Anyway, when I turned around, I realized he had me trapped against the water fountain with nowhere to run. “Deacon Jones,” I said, acting all surprised. “Isn’t that your lovely wife I see over there?”

  Honey, I might as well have saved my breath. That old buzzard’s big pop-eyes never once left my chest as he wagged his head and said, “No, no, ’fraid not. Sistah Jones, praise the Lord, decided to visit with her kinfolk over at Greater Blessings this morning.” Then, dabbing sweat and drooling all the while, he leaned over and added, “Not to change the subject but, ah, I was wondering, Sistah Abrahams, if you’ve given any thought as to when we might get together for that cup of coffee? As you know, I’m quite eager to discuss with you how you might grow closer in your relationship with the Lord.”

  Yeah, right. Girl, I was stuttering and fumbling and trying to come up with just the right lie when Scoobie walked up and spared me the trouble.

  “Morning, love. Sorry I’m late,” he said as he squeezed between me and the deacon to plant a soft one on my cheek. He smiled at the old man and said, “How are you this morning, sir? Forgive me for interrupting. I just didn’t want Ms. Abrahams to think I’d declined her kind invitation to join her in worship this morning.”

  The freaky deke pulled on his suspenders and reared back on his ol’ run-down heels before he said, “Oh, tha’s quite all right, son. It’s a pleasure and a sho’ ’nuff blessing to have you with us today. Y’all go on and enjoy the service. Me and the good sistah can get together on our business some other time.”

  While the deacon strutted off in pursuit of his next victim, I peeled my butt off the water fountain, brushed off my clothes, and asked Scoobie, who was trying hard not to crack up, “What are you doing here?”

  He held out his arm and as we walked toward the sanctuary he said, “Is that any way to greet the chap who just spared you the trauma of being felt up and slobbed on by old man Methuselah?”

  I might have laughed had I not been so distracted by all the heads I noticed swiveling in our direction. Not that I could blame folks for gawking, ’cause when it comes to Venard Nathaniel, we’re not talking just your average, good-looking brother. No, ma’am, we’re talking exceptionally pretty—big brown eyes, thick, wavy hair, broad shoulders, tight buns—the whole nine. And on top of that, the brother had stepped up in the place sharp as a military crease. Shoot, had I not known him I probably would have been sitting up somewhere with my eyes bucked and swinging from the sockets as well.

  Acting totally oblivious to it all, Scoobie said, “Shame on you. Obviously, you thought I was joking when I told you I’d been looking for a church home.”

  “Joking? No, I wouldn’t say that,” I whispered back at him. “Try lying.”

  It’s the truth, girl. Bottom line when it comes to Scoobie and the tales he tells—if I can’t see, touch, taste, or smell it, I’m not hardly likely to believe it.

  But yeah, I did recall him asking me where I was attending church these days. Of course, I never expected the exchange would lead to him showing up at New Hope, Love, and Deliverance looking to join. But that’s exactly what happened. Not only did the brother join, but he stood up and made one of those full-fledged testimonies about the horrible wretch he’d been before he’d seen the light.

  The congregation bought it hook, line, and sinker. Girl, you should have seen all the women young and old alike he had up in there weeping and wailing and falling all out in the aisles. Even though I made a point of giving him a congratulatory hug and welcoming him to the fold, I was praying all the while that the good Lord would give me a chance to get up out of there before he threw down the lightning strike.

  With all the meeting, greeting, gabbing, and grabbing going on at the end of the service, I figured Scoobie would be much too preoccupied to care if I split. Just as soon as the crowd around him got good and thick, I let the twenty or more hussies shamelessly vying for my spot next to the brother have at it.

  I’d strolled back out into the vestibule and was about to kick up my heels when I be dog if I didn’t hear him call my name. “Faye! Faye, hold up a minute.”

  He came and said, “Listen, I’m going to chat with the pastor and meet with some of the deacons. You have time to wait for me?”

  I said, “Now, why would I want to do that?”

  Brother acted like he wasn’t even fazed. He said, “Well, I was planning to stop by the gym after I left here. I thought you might like to come along.”

  Girl, I had to cough to keep from laughing. He obviously had me confused with one of those starry-eyed groupies he’d just gotten through flirting with. Never one to mince words, I told him, “Honey, please. Watching you work out is hardly my idea of an afternoon well spent.”

  His snappy comeback was, “So who says you have to watch? You’re welcome to join me. Matter of fact, I’ve got a personal trainer I’d be happy to hook you up with. Come on, I promise to make it worth your while.”

  Baby, don’t you know I’ve got a standing Sunday appointment with a chicken three-piece and a Big K Cola? is what I started to say. Instead, I just shook my head and told him, “Thanks, but no thanks.”

  That’s when he called himself trying to get ugly with me. He said, “Oh, it’s like that, huh? You can take my money, but you can’t spend any time with me?”

  I said, “Your money? I beg your pardon, don’t you mean my money? The money you stole from me umpteen-some years ago? Man, don’t make me lose my religion up in here!”

  He jerked open his jacket and said, “Fine. You want me to just write you another check? If that’s what it’s going to take to mend what’s broken between us, then maybe you just ought to name your price so we can be done with it.”

  Who? Don’t think I wasn’t tempted. But you know, being in the Lord’s house and all, I opted to take the high road. I told him, “Scoobie, sweetheart, if nothing else, let’s just get this one thing straight. There’s not enough money in this world or the next to mend all that’s broke between us. Okay?”

  “Baby, I know that,” he said, looking righ
t contrite. “All I want is a chance to give you back at least some of what I took. Will you let me do that? Please?”

  Yeah, girl, that’s when I got weak and went ahead and cut the brother some slack. “Look,” I told him, “I have to stop by the church nursery to see if there’s anything I can help the director with. It’ll probably take me a few minutes. So swing by when you get finished and if I’m still there, maybe we can talk.”

  HIM

  I’m not ashamed to admit that I’d been keeping an eye out for Faye. She’d told me she’d try to set something up with me after she got home from church. So quite naturally every car I heard that afternoon had me running to the window. That’s how I’d first caught a glimpse of her and dude. She’d pulled up in her car and not more than two seconds later, he’d pulled up in his—a spotless, vanilla ice cream–colored, brand-spanking-new Benz, no less.

  Even though he looked vaguely familiar, initially I just figured dude was one of her church members, some harmless, nonfornicating, effeminate type whose business with ol’ girl would take only a few minutes—a half hour at best.

  So I sat there twiddling my fingers and checking my watch, and ten minutes later when I heard Faye’s front door open, I thought, Great, wonderful, fantastic—he’s out and I’m in. But get this, man, when I peeked out the window, instead of seeing her bidding brotherman a brisk adieu, what I clearly saw was that Faye had traded in her Sunday best for some kind of hip-hugging jogging gear, she was toting a big-ass gym bag, and rather than standing on her stoop waving, she was bebopping right alongside dude.

  At that point I was a bit steamed, but I was still willing to give the girl some time to do whatever it was she had to do. But after a couple of hours had drug by without so much as a peep from her, I was starting to feel just a little on the pissed side.

  I know confessing to having made other plans or accepting a better offer probably wouldn’t have been the easiest thing in the world for her to do, but hell, I would have been happy to settle for a lie. I mean, tell me something, don’t just have me sitting up somewhere waiting and wondering if you’re ever gonna show at all.

  Another hour or so ticked by before I heard a car pull up again. Only this time instead of Faye and dude, it was Nora. She looked tired and run-down, like she’d just gotten off after pulling an all-nighter at the Bulk Mail Center, and I almost started not to bother her. But after giving her a couple minutes to get in the house and settle down, I went over and tapped on her door.

  She greeted me with her usual “Hey, sweetie, what’s up?”

  When I asked if she had any idea when Faye would be back, she told me she didn’t know Faye was gone. She’d seen her car and just assumed she was with me.

  I told her, “No, she left outta here a couple hours ago with some dude in a white Benz.”

  That’s when Nora’s cheery disposition disappeared and her voice climbed an octave. “A guy in a white Benz? Was he a skinny, good-looking guy? Light-skinned? About my height?”

  “Yeah, all of the above,” I said. “Why? What’s wrong? That her boyfriend or something?”

  She didn’t have to say a word, man. Everything I needed to know was right there in her eyes. When she finally did cough up an answer, she couldn’t even look at me. “Ah, Carl, that’s sorta, kinda another one of those things you need to take up with Faye. Were you two supposed to go out or something?” she asked with more pity in her voice than I felt necessary.

  I’m a grown-ass man. It ain’t like I don’t know how to get up and brush myself off when I’ve been knocked down. So rather than let Nora in on the extent of my disappointment, I just smiled, buried my feelings beneath a thick layer of nonchalance, and said, “That was my understanding, but you know, maybe there was some kind of mix-up. If you happen to see or talk to her before I do, just let her know that I stopped by.”

  Then I went home, man, and started plotting my revenge.

  HER

  I should have called. And had I been in my right mind, I would have. But you know how it is when you get tied up with something—or in this case, someone—and you lose track of everything but the “now” you’re in at that moment.

  I was at the gym, thoroughly engaged in the process of killing myself on the stair-climber when the thought first crossed my mind. And I was like, wait, wasn’t I supposed to touch base with Carl? My next thought was, well, maybe it’s not too late. Maybe if I call him now the gesture alone will be enough to keep him from pitching too big a fit. But the thing was, I didn’t have the piece of paper he’d given me with his number on it. I’d left it someplace at home.

  That only left me with the option of calling Nora—which I’ll be darned if I didn’t attempt to do on four separate occasions over the span of a three-hour period. By the time she and I finally connected, not only had I finished working out and washing up, but I had already agreed to let the ever-so-generous Brother Payne take my sore, tired, starving behind somewhere to get something to eat.

  Quite naturally, the first thing out of Nora’s mouth was, “Carl’s been by here looking for you.”

  “Do something for me,” I said. “Go next door and tell him something came up and I’ll try to catch up with him later this evening.”

  Nora sucked her teeth, then after an exceptionally long period of silence she said, “You laid up somewhere with that fool Scoobie, aren’t you?”

  Given how she feels about our old childhood friend, I wasn’t about to waste my time trying to set her straight, so I said, “Look, would you just stay outta my business?”

  That’s when she went off. “Heifer, you the one going out your way to put me all up in it! Some nerve you’ve got asking me to run over and do your dirty work for you. Since you so bad, why don’t you dial him up your damn self?”

  The best I could do was reach for the sympathy card. “Nora, please, just this one time. I’m in a jam. You know I’d do it for you.”

  She huffed and puffed until finally she blew out an “Oh, all right! But I swear, Faye, I’m through bailing you out of some mess you done let Scoobie trick you into. Next time you’re on your own.”

  Girl, I’m not worried about Nora. Just because she’s not ready to summon the Christian fortitude necessary to forgive Scoobie doesn’t mean I can’t. And mind you, I did say forgive, not forget.

  We were right in the middle of our meal at the posh little Germantown cafe he’d taken me to, when all of a sudden he popped up with “You and me back together again. Who would have ever thunk it?”

  Not wanting him to slip up and get it twisted, I was quick to assure him there wasn’t a chance in hell of us ever resurrecting our quote-unquote relationship or whatever the heck it was we’d had for all those years.

  When he started laughing I got hot and told him, “I’m not playing with you, Scoobie. If nothing else, understand this—ain’t no more booty here for you to get today, tomorrow, or any other time.”

  He got serious behind that and said, “Let me let you in on a little something. And please don’t take this the wrong way, but believe me, even if you were giving it away, I wouldn’t want it. For your information, I’ve been celibate for a little over a year now and I have every intention of staying that way until the good Lord sends me the woman he means for me to take as my wife.”

  Girl, what you talking ’bout? I durn near choked on the chicken wing I’d been gnawing on. As big a hound as Scoobie used to be, it’s just hard for me to imagine him cold turkey giving it up.

  I looked at him and said, “You’re not sick, are you?” He started laughing again and was like, “What? I have to be sick in order to be celibate? Like I told you, I’m a changed man. I’m ready to settle down and live a righteous life with one woman to whom I can be a helpmate as well as a loving, faithful, and devoted husband.”

  I have to give this much to the boy—if he’s pretending, he’s doing a durn good job of it. But to tell you the truth, I really don’t care one way or the other. As far as my current dealings with Scoobi
e go, my primary aim is to collect as much as I can on the debt he stuck me with all those years ago. Nora doesn’t have a thing to worry about. Once I feel like I’ve been sufficiently reimbursed, Venard Nathaniel Payne’s presence in my life will once again be a thing of the past.

  HIM

  Get this—no less than fifteen minutes after I’d spoken with Nora, she came tripping over with a message from Faye. She said ol’ girl had called to say she’d gotten hung up and she’d try to get with me later in the evening.

  I wasn’t buying it. Hung up! Yeah, I bet she got hung up all right. Hung up on whatever homeboy happened to be throwing down. I told Nora, “She’s got my number. Why couldn’t she have called over here and told me that herself?”

  Nora hunched her shoulders and looked like she wanted to say, “My name is Bennett and I ain’t even in it.”

  It wasn’t her fault, but even so, I broke her off a little something to take back and share with her friend. “Next time you talk to Faye, you tell her I said to just forget about it. I guess she thinks she can just treat a brother any old kinda way. Well, I’ve got news for her. I ain’t the one!”

  Wasn’t no call for ol’ girl to do me like that, man, not when she knows full well I’ve always gone outta my way to treat her with the utmost respect. Well, okay, there was that time when she came over to see why my son was making all that racket, and I slammed the door in her face. But, hell, you know what I’m saying.

  I’m not trying to player-hate. Even when I was out there living foul and juggling women, two and three at a time, at least I had enough decency and common sense not to parade them past one another. In my book, anybody who stoops that low is either looking for a fight or thinks they’ve already got the other person good and whipped.