He looked so cute sitting there, staring up at me with his big puppy-dog eyes and the covers bunched up in his lap, that I almost leaned over and kissed him. But you know that would have been too freaking big a jump for me. I hedged and told him, “I don’t know, Carl.”
He let go of my hand and then with a mischievous grin said, “So how’s about I throw in a little extra something to sweeten the deal?”
As I waited to hear the rest of his proposition, I couldn’t help but stand there and think to myself, Man, if you think I’m about to crawl my butt back into bed with you for yet another round of the freak-nasty, you’d best put away them Viagra pills you’re obviously popping and think again.
He said, “You know, something along the lines of a pack of cigarettes and a handful of Harlequins?”
I laughed with him before I said, “Oh, so is that all you think a sister’s time is worth, or are you just out to play me cheap?”
In a tone that let me know he was totally serious, he said, “It may come as some surprise to you, Faye, but I’m not out to play you at all. This is your game, remember?”
I said, “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
After tossing aside the sheet he’d been using to cover his nakedness, he stood up and said, “What it means, Faye, is that I don’t have a whole lot of extra money or time, but what little I do have I’d very much like to spend and share with you. So needless to say, whatever price you set is the one I’m damn well gonna try to pay.”
When I didn’t say anything, he leaned over and kissed me on the forehead a couple times. Then he looked at me and said, “I can play the game, baby, but I can’t help the way I feel, rules or no rules.”
He caressed the side of my face with his hand and eased his thumb over the quiver in my bottom lip, but rather than kiss me again he nodded at the basket of pastries on the TV tray next to us and said, “If you want to take any of this stuff with you when you leave, be my guest, okay?” Then he turned and headed off for the bathroom.
HIM
I didn’t really expect Faye to be there when I came out the bathroom. And she wasn’t. The bedroom was empty, quiet, and a whole lot tidier than when I’d left it. I was a little surprised to see that ol’ girl had actually taken time to straighten up. The bed had been made, the food removed, and all of her gear was gone.
So thoroughly stunned is the only way I can describe how I felt when I wandered into the kitchen and found her seated at the breakfast bar, staring down at the carnation I’d given her. She looked up at me and said, “I’ve only got three things to say, so listen up and hear me good. Number one … exactly what time do you plan on leaving? Two—is it okay if I go dressed like this? And three, despite what you might want to believe, not everything has a price for me.”
Without stopping to think about it, I threw my responses back at her in a manner similar to the way she’d hurled them at me. “To answer your first question—about fifteen minutes. Secondly, you look fine. And as for the third, well … that’s good to know.”
Thin ice is what we were skating on, man. One good push, twist, or slip in the wrong direction and one, if not the both of us, would go crashing through the delicate surface, never to be seen or heard from ever again. That’s not at all what I was aiming for. So rather than haul off and try to finish reeling Faye’s contrary butt in, I stepped back some and gave the girl space to move, breathe and even change her mind if she wanted.
Ain’t like I haven’t been out here long enough to know that it’s all about timing, patience, and owning the wherewithal to pace oneself when it comes to winning a woman’s trust. Besides, Faye’s decision to hang around, rather than to simply leave me hanging, let me know something. It let me know that slowly but surely she was warming to the possibility of there being something deeper and more meaningful between us.
HER
Even though Carl assured me that Clarice, his baby’s mama, wasn’t the type to trip over seeing him with another woman, when we finally pulled up to girlfriend’s house, I thought it best for me to just stay put while he went inside to fetch the young’un. The way I saw it, why push my luck? Besides, given the limited amount of time me and Carl were going to kick it, there wasn’t any need for me to meet Ms. Clarice or her me.
But I knew at a glance when she tripped out the house behind Carl and their screaming kid, our coming together was bound to prove unavoidable. My first impression was—my, my, isn’t she a cute, skinny little thang, and barely a baby herself. My second thought was—Carl really needs to have his tail-wagging butt kicked.
And as the laws of divine retribution would have it, his son, Benjamin, was doing just that. Not only was the kid yelling at the top of his lungs, he had Carl wrapped in a headlock and looked pretty intent on gouging the poor man’s eyes out. In spite of my apprehensions, I got out of the car hoping to lend a hand.
I jangled my keys, thinking maybe I could distract Ben with the hourglass, like I had the first time we met. Fortunately, it worked, and to everyone’s relief not only did the boy quiet down, but he even let me help him into the car’s backseat. After I’d secured him, I turned to face his silly parents, only to find them engaged in some sort of disagreement about the amount of time Carl was going to spend with his son that day.
I was about to slip my butt back into the car when Carl took it upon himself to introduce us. “Uh, Faye, this is Clarice. Clarice, this is my friend Faye.”
Homegirl said, “Hey,” did a little wave thing, and showed me some teeth. I was quick to return the favor before following through on my disappearing act.
After Carl ducked in on the driver’s side, I thought that was going to be the end of it. But before we could drive off, Clarice started tapping on the passenger’s side window.
When I rolled it down, she leaned over, cut her eyes at Carl, then looked at me and said, “Just a few words of advice. Carl’s a pretty decent guy in most respects. But take it from me, you’re better off not buying anything he says about being allergic to condoms, being sterile, or working with the Freakmasters, that god-awful singing group his cousin Squirrel calls himself managing.”
I nodded, girl, even though I didn’t have clue the first. So when Carl finally pulled off, I asked him, “What exactly was she talking about?”
But all I got from him was a shamefaced “Ah, well, you know, I was drunk that night and, ah, it’s a long story. I’ll have to explain it to you later.”
HIM
Man, as we drove off I made the mistake of asking, “So what’d you think of Clarice?”
Faye’s snout drew up into a snarl. “For one, I think she’s young. Too durn young for your old behind to have been messing with. She couldn’t have but what—eight or nine years on your daughters? What on God’s green earth were you thinking?”
Now, why’d she have to try and make it sound like I’m some kind of pervert? I mean, come on, if I’d have been sober I’da never got myself in a jam like that in the first place. In an attempt to defend myself, I said, “Hey, I’ll have you know that was a twenty-three-year-old woman you just met, which made her all of … well, all of twenty when I met her. And don’t think she hadn’t already been ’round the block and back a few times before I met her. Besides, what’s her age got to do with anything? As far as I’m concerned, she was old enough to know better, same as me.”
Rather than turn toward me and cut loose with some lip, Faye didn’t say anything and kept her eyes glued to the road. And given the look of utter contempt and disgust I saw on her face I probably wouldn’t have been able to bear it if she’d done otherwise.
She didn’t say anything, not a word. But after about five minutes, the silence started eating at me. Finally, I said, “Faye, correct me if I’m wrong, but not once have I ever tried to convince you I was some kinda saint who’d lived a perfect life. Yeah, I’ve lied, I’ve cheated, I’ve hurt a lot of people unnecessarily. It goes without saying that when I met Clarice, I was trying to live anything but a righteo
us life. But sometimes experiences do change people. And whether you choose to believe it or not, I know I’m a much better man than I was back then. Furthermore, the only thing I can do about my past is apologize for it, learn from it, and move on. Ain’t a damn thing I can do to change it.”
It was a mouthful and I hadn’t pulled any punches. When she drew in a breath, I braced myself for the fierce cussing out I felt coming on, only to almost slam on the brakes when she followed through with “Well, you know something, Carl … you’re right. I don’t have any business trying to judge you. The only real difference between you and me is that thanks to your big mouth, I’ve got plenty of firsthand knowledge about your transgressions, whereas you don’t have much insight to speak of into mine.”
I don’t know if it was the kid, the fact that it was Sunday, or just a by-product of some of that good loving I’d laid on her, but ol’ girl actually managed to keep the attitude in check for the rest of the day. To say she was a big help to me at the mall is a gross understatement. Truth is, the whole doggone experience probably would have turned into one big hellacious affair had Faye not been there to keep everybody calm.
Even though ol’ girl’s champagne taste oftentimes ran counter to my beer budget, she chose to pass on the many opportunities I presented her to call me cheap. I mean, come on, man, it’s ridiculous the prices these retailers are demanding for things that most kids are either gonna tear up or grow out of in three months’ time. And all that so-called designer crap is outta the question. I don’t spend that kind of money for my own duds.
Faye tried, though. At the shoe store she got all ga-ga over these little-boy boots that were sharp, no lie, but would have required me to shell out no less than sixty-five big ones, nearly half of what I’d already planned to spend on the kid that day.
I told her, “Unless you’re prepared to sweet-talk these folks into a twenty-dollar discount, you need to go ’head and put those things right back where you found them.”
She pulled the same stunt on me when we went to look at clothes. After helping me pick out a few reasonably priced items that the kid could spill juice on and roll around in the dirt in—this sister had the nerve to come stepping up to me with some Little Lord Fauntleroy getup that she claimed was “so adorable.” I probably would have broken down and bought the darn thing too if I hadn’t peeped the price tag and nearly upchucked all those strawberries I’d downed earlier.
But instead of asking her if she’d flipped, I was like, “Uh, yeah, baby, that’s awfully cute and everything, but a brother’s ends will only stretch so far. And besides the fact that I can buy him three outfits for the price of that one, I really don’t have any place to take him all jacked up—I mean, dressed up—like that.”
She seemed sympathetic, but when we went to the register to pay, I saw she was still holding tight to the cutesie gear. When she noticed me scratching my head and frowning, she said, “Don’t worry, I’ll pay for it. I suggest you give it to Clarice and tell her it was just a little something extra you decided to throw in with the shoes. Who knows? It might help improve your status with her.”
It wasn’t a line of reasoning that particularly moved me, but since ol’ girl seemed so insistent, I checked both my pride and my ego and went ahead and let her have her way.
HER
Yes, I did spend the rest of the day with Carl, but only because he needed me to help him with his kid. I mean, please, you know good and well I’m not the type to go out of my way to spend a Sunday evening at some durn amusement park.
If anybody’s to blame, it’s the child’s mama, Clarice. She’s the one who instructed Carl to drop the boy off at the park when we finished shopping. He offered to take me home first, but I figured what the heck, I’d come that far, why not go the rest of the way. Besides, I thought Carl was going to stay only long enough to see his son safely deposited back into the arms of his mama. And had Ms. Clarice been where she said she was going to be when we got there, that might have happened.
As it was, we’d been waiting outside the park’s entrance a good fifteen minutes when me and Ben both started getting restless. I fished out my cell phone and suggested Carl use it to call homegirl and tell her she could catch up with us in Kiddyland because we were going to go ahead and take the child in. I thought he might balk at me trying to call the shots, but he seemed only too happy to comply. Of course, I’m sure the fact that the park was admitting folks free on this particular Sunday went a long way in keeping the brother’s mood on the upswing.
He also lucked up and ran into some old partner of his who just so happened to be managing one of the ticket booths. That’s how we got hooked up with a handful of free coupons for the kiddy rides, as well as a discounted handful for the other section of the park.
In a lot of ways I’m glad I stayed. It did give me an opportunity to see something just short of a miracle—this man and his son actually bonding. Carl was all into it, cheering Ben on when he braved a ride by himself, giving him a hand to hold and/or a shoulder to lean into when he got intimidated, coaching him on the kiddy games. He even managed to help the kid win a couple of stuffed animals. By the time Clarice and her girls and their umpteen kids finally showed up, the two had practically become bosom buddies.
Carl racked up a good number of points with his baby’s mama and her friends when he forked over the extra Kiddyland tickets along with the shoes he’d purchased at the mall. But just like I knew he would, he scored double bonus points when he handed homegirl the outfit I’d bought for him. After oohing and ahhing, Clarice looked at me like she knew I must have had something to do with the matter. But she didn’t say anything and I didn’t either. I mean, hey, why not let the brother enjoy his moment?
I waited until Clarice and her cronies had wandered off before asking Carl why he hadn’t given them the other tickets, the ones designated for the adult and big kid section of the park.
He hunched his shoulders and said, “I don’t know. I figured you might want to ride something.”
I said, “Oh yeah? Like what?”
He said, “Well, ah, for one, they’ve got that train that circles around the grounds.”
I was like, “What, that tired putt-putt number all the old folks get on with their grandbabies? So what you trying to say, Carl? Is that about all the excitement you think a big girl like me can handle?”
A little good-natured teasing was all I was doing, but he didn’t take it that way. He said, “Look, woman, don’t start that stuff with me again. I was just throwing something out there. If you don’t want to ride the doggone train, fine, we won’t ride the doggone train.”
“Uh-uh,” I told him as he followed me over to one of my all-time fairground favorites. “If we’re going to ride something, the least we could do is ride something with a little get-up-and-go to it.”
But as soon as Carl caught sight of the roller coaster as it raced around the bend, he got all bug-eyed and started backing up. “You can’t be serious. Oh, hell no. I’m not getting on that.”
He got on it, all right. Three times, to be exact. Not in a row—that would have been too cruel, even for me. No, in between coaster rides we went for a wet slide down the Log, did the haunted-house thing, chased each other on the bumper cars, and ended the evening with a slow spin on the Ferris wheel.
As much as I hate to admit it, girl, I actually had a lot of fun munching on candied apples and corn dogs, laughing at all the crazy expressions on Carl’s face and walking side by side with him as we strolled through the crowds trying to decide what to get into next. We were sitting at the top of the Ferris wheel when I realized that the last time I’d spent an entire afternoon at this amusement park, I’d been a pimply faced teenager on the verge of my first major heartbreak.
When I glanced over at Carl and smiled, he was like, “What?! What did I do?”
I informed him that my very first kiss had come at the top of a Ferris wheel at this exact same park some eighteen years ago.
&nbs
p; “Yeah? Was it something sorta like this?” he said, prior to leaning over and planting a soft one on my lips.
I told him, “No, it was more like this,” before placing my mouth back against his and giving him a good solid twenty seconds’ worth of slow and steady tongue.
When I was through, the most the brother could do was make a quick adjustment to his crotch before looking back over at me, shaking his head, and saying, “Daammn …”
HIM
I witnessed yet another side of Faye that afternoon at the amusement park—her playful side. Even though the kiss she laid on me while we were dangling at the top of the Ferris wheel was unmistakably that of a well-seasoned woman, she’s still got quite a bit of little girl left in her. I wish you could have seen her out there laughing hysterically after she’d managed to push and jam my bumper car all up in the corner or waving her arms all up in the air, as if she was seated front row center at some doggone Prince concert instead of just barely strapped into the rickety cart on that two hundred–year-old roller coaster she kept making me get on.
Ol’ girl played so hard she fell asleep on me during the drive back home. She looked so peaceful and content with her eyes closed and her head gently rocking from side to side that I didn’t even bother to wake her until after I’d parked the car and pulled the key from the ignition.
I reached over and with my thumb stroked the dimple in her cheek. When she opened her eyes and looked at me, I told her, “You were smiling in your sleep. Thinking about that kiss on the Ferris wheel again, huh?”
She batted her lashes at me, wet her lips, and said, “Hmmm … that and more.”
She’d turned away from me, grabbed hold of the car door’s latch, and was getting ready to bail when I said, “Hey!” I threw an arm across her lap and told her, “Hold up a second, why don’t you?”
After The Dance Page 12
