After The Dance

by Lori D. Johnson

  Big Mama’s is this little dark hole-in-the-wall joint over there on Chelsea, the kind of place where you can order either red Kool-Aid, iced tea, or a cold brewski to wash down the great big helping of okra and peas that comes with your plate of fried chicken and hot-water cornbread; the kind of place where they’ve still got the likes of Muddy Waters, B. B. King, John Lee Hooker, and the three Bobbys—Rush, Blue Bland, and Womack—in heavy rotation on the jukebox.

  Oh yeah, man, I’m a blues lover from way back. And if anybody’s to fault for that, it’s my music-loving former disc jockey of an uncle. Straight up, he’s the cat who first turned me on to a lot of the old stuff I listen to now.

  But getting back to Big Mama’s, I’da probably been all right had I been able to get in and out of there without being forced to listen to that doggone song. I’m saying, man, me and Uncle Westbrook had finished grubbing and I was bobbing my head and tapping my foot to the closing lines of my all-time favorite Johnny Taylor jam, “Cheaper to Keep Her,” when some fool went over to the jukebox and cued up, of all things, “Dimples.” Yeah, man, it’s this old John Lee Hooker cut about some chick with dimples in her jaws. And you know, having just been through all that I had with Faye, that particular song was the last one in the world a brother wanted to hear.

  Still bobbing my head, I had closed my eyes and was sitting there determined to maintain my cool brotherman front when my uncle’s voice bumped against the thin scab covering my blues. “So is what Squirrel said true? You and ol’ gal done broke up?”

  My cousin Squirrel, with his jive, meddling ass, had earlier in the evening taken it upon himself to publicly bust me on my apparent lack of luck with the ladies.

  Instead of hollering, “Ouch,” at the old guy, like I felt like doing, I opened my eyes and told him, “According to her way of looking at things, I don’t think we were ever really together.”

  He passed me one of the beers the waitress brought to our table and took a long hit off of his before he asked, “You ever figure out what kind of volunteering she was doing up at the hospital?”

  I took a hit off mine before I told him, “Nope.”

  On that note, Unc reared back in his chair and nodded at this big-legged chick who’d been eyeballing us on the sly from the bar. Knowing old dude like I do, I thought our conversation pretty much over, and I was on the verge of closing my eyes again when I heard him say, “You wanna know?”

  I cocked my head sideways and looked at him like, “What you talking ’bout, Willis?”

  With his sights still set on the chick, dude took another long swig before he said, “Listening to you and Squirrel talk about your lady friend’s weekly trips up to the hospital got me kinda concerned, so I checked into. Just so happens I’ve got ties with a couple of fellas who work security out at Baptist East. I told ’em the deal—described ol’ girl as best I could, said I thought her name was Faye—and come to find out they knew exactly who and what I was talking ’bout.”

  I leaned forward and was like, “Well, come on then, G, and tell me something already.”

  “For starters,” he said, “it ain’t nowhere near as bad as you and Squirrel was making it out to be. I went up there on my next free Wednesday and the fellas I know in security took me to the third floor and walked me over to that ward where they keep the newborns. And sure enough, that’s where I saw her.”

  Now that threw me. “The infant ward? What was she doing up there?”

  Unc said, “Not much that I could see besides sitting there rocking.”

  Dude wasn’t making much sense and for a second I wondered if maybe his Barnaby Jones cover had somehow led him astray. “Rocking?” I said.

  “Yeah, her and a couple of other women. They were all sitting there together in these here rocking chairs. And they were rocking … you know, rocking babies.”

  Babies? Even though the imagery was starting to click, it still wasn’t exactly clear. I said, “Okay, so she sneaks up there every Wednesday evening to rock babies? What’s that all about?”

  My Uncle Westbrook shook his head and said, “Far as that’s concerned, youngblood, your guess is ’bout as good as mine. But I will say this—any woman who makes time every week to go somewhere and rock other folks’ chillren can’t be all that bad.”

  HER

  When I shared with Nora what Scoobie had said about his mother’s affection for me and how she’d made him promise to seek me out when he finally decided to settle down, girlfriend was quick to dismiss it all with a snort and a curt wave of her hand. As if that wasn’t rude enough, she went on to refresh my memory about the precarious state of Mrs. Payne’s mental well-being.

  “Scoobie’s mama? Girl, now you know good and well Old Lady Payne spent more time in the crazy house than she did out. Hell, she’s liable to have said some of anything. Remember that time she ran out in the middle of the street and was hollering and carrying on about some damn chipmunk mafia? And how all the neighborhood chipmunks had been meeting every night and were straight plotting to take her ass out?”

  Yeah, girl, like Nora’s really in a position to out-and-out call somebody else crazy. And if that didn’t beat all, when I let her in on the news that I had broken things off with Carl, she went so far as to question my own sanity.

  When she finally came to the end of her loud tirade, I told her like I’d told him: It was good while it lasted, but he’d had his three turns at bat and it was over. “Furthermore,” I said, “if you really want to know the truth, the only reason Carl and I hooked up in the first place was for the sex. Basically, all it boiled down to was a relationship of convenience.”

  That only got her all fired up again. She said, “Oooh wee, Faye. You know you need to quit. Ain’t no way you’re fixing to sit up here and tell me Carl wasn’t ’bout the best thing to come into your life since Just My Size panty hose. And what about Memorial Day? Huh? When was the last time you ever took anybody home to meet your mama?”

  I said, “Heifer, that was your bright idea. Remember?”

  And she was like, “Oh … yeah. But still, had he been any other brother you’da found some way to leave his butt behind. Say I’m lying.”

  What I chose to do was shut my mouth and not say any more about it. Nora just doesn’t understand. I like Carl. Really, I do. And committing myself to a full-blown, honest-to-goodness relationship with him is something I fully intended to do. But this jones I’ve got for Scoobie runs deep. After all these years I thought I’d shaken it, flushed it all out of my system, but obviously I was wrong and there’s no sense in me lying to myself about it. Deep down, I still feel something for him. Could be, some small part of me always will.

  Even if I did decide to turn away from Scoobie and step toward Carl, I’d be forever glancing over my shoulder and pondering all the ifs. What if Scoobie really has grown up? What if his heart finally is in the right place? What if he’s sincere about the desire he’s expressed to find our son and forge a new life for the three of us?

  And how would any of that be fair to Carl? It wouldn’t. No, girl, I’ve got to see this thing on through to the end or at least allow it an opportunity to run its natural course. If the point should arrive where I’m forced to yet again close the door on Scoobie and walk away from him, I want to be able to do it without feeling even the tiniest compulsion to look back.

  HIM

  Like I told Faye, it wasn’t me who started that mess. I had every intention of handling our split in a civil if not outright cavalier fashion. For me that pretty much meant taking whatever steps were necessary to avoid running into her, dude, or, God forbid, the two of them together. And it wasn’t like I was trying to hold a grudge. As much as I hated the idea of coming in second to dude, deep down I couldn’t hold it against Faye that she wanted to try and work things out with him. After all, if getting back together with my ex had at any time been even a remote possibility, you’d better believe I’da crawled over a bed of hot coals on my belly at the chance.

  B
ut getting back to the unfortunate incident that I somehow ended up getting the blame for. Almost a week had passed since ol’ girl and I had done the deed and agreed to go our separate ways. It was a Friday night and like I said, up until then the ol’ duck-and-dodge routine had served me well. It was something after ten when I went out to my car to retrieve a couple of new CDs I’d left out there. But as luck would have it, just as I was headed out to my car, dude came sliding up in his. After parking and jumping out his pretty ride, he practically came running up the sidewalk that leads to Faye’s place and mine. We met up midway and I’ll be doggone if he wasn’t wearing that same dumb-ass smirk he’d treated me to the last time I’d caught him lurking around there after dark.

  Rather than return the nod, I was decent enough to extend him and keep on ’bout his damn business, dude stopped and said, “What you say, bro?” And while standing there with his hand all stuck out, as if he really expected me to reach out and shake it, he had the nerve to add, “No hard feelings, huh?”

  I looked him in the eye to let him know he was treading on shaky ground before I told him, “Yeah, man. Whatever.”

  But instead of quitting while he was ahead, just as I was moving past his ignorant ass he says, “You know, Carl … It is Carl, isn’t it?”

  When I didn’t say anything he went on with, “Well, anyway, I don’t mean any harm, partner, but you might want to let this be a lesson to you.”

  I was trying hard to keep it in check, but I could feel the North Memphis thug in me getting ready to erupt. I stepped toward him and said, “Is that right? And how you figure that?”

  “Simple addition, my brother,” he said, backing away from me on tiptoe all the while. “One plus one equals me and Faye, minus you. So the next time you call yourself stepping to my lady, do yourself a favor and try bringing something to the table besides a big dick, all right?”

  With that, I dropped down to his level and went all the way back-alley with him. “Listen here, man,” I told him. “I don’t know what kind of niggas you’re used to dealing with, but if you think I’m about to stand out here and let you talk shit to me about Faye, the size of my johnson, or anything else, for that matter, you’re sadly mistaken.”

  By that point he’d backed himself all the way up to the steps that lead to Faye and Nora’s front door. He opened his mouth, but before he could pop off again, I snatched him up by the collar and told him, “What? You think I’m joking? Fool, I will jack your shit so tough you won’t know whether you’re coming or going.”

  ‘Round about then is when Faye and Nora came flying out the door, both of them doing about seventy miles per hour. While Nora stood back, Faye came over and put her hand on my shoulder. I guess she called herself trying to calm me down, but it was a move that only made me think about the way her fingers had caressed my shoulders and the back of my neck the last time I’d made love to her. My response was to grip dude even harder and raise him even higher off the ground. When he started gurgling, Faye sank her nails into my arm and said, “Carl, don’t. You promised me you weren’t going to do this.”

  I let go of dude’s collar and watched as his punk ass bounced off the steps and hit the ground. I turned to Faye and told her, “I kept my end of the damn deal. It’s your smart-mouthed boyfriend here who somehow saw fit to bring that shit to me. If you’re looking to lecture somebody, you need to start with him, all right?”

  While dude sat on the ground, coughing and massaging his windpipe, Nora finally summoned enough courage to come over and jump into the mix. “Okay, Carl,” she said, “it’s over, baby. Why not squash this now before it gets way out of hand?”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” I said, staring at Faye, who was standing there shaking her head. “Consider it squashed. But over? Uh-uh, not hardly.”

  HER

  I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to take Carl’s “it ain’t over” declaration as some kind of threat, just another testosterone-inspired act of bravado, or what. I do know that he wasn’t totally to blame for the round of fireworks that nearly blew up outside the condo that night.

  Nora and I both heard Scoobie out there thumping his chest and talking trash, as if he really had the balls to follow up all his silly posturing with some kick-butt sho’ ’nuff. And I most certainly want to go on record as saying that I’ve never discussed the intimate details of Carl’s anatomy or what went on between the two of us in the bedroom with Scoobie. So where he was coming from with all of that mess is anybody’s guess.

  When I asked the brother to explain himself and his behavior, at first he tried to blow it off as just a whole bunch of sour grapes on Carl’s part. And when that didn’t get a rise out of me he went in for the kill. “What would ever possess you to get involved with a roughneck like him anyway? Hell, I’m willing to bet all it would take is one missed car note and his ass would be back on the corner with all the rest of the bums.”

  Not wanting to add any more fuel to the petty little fire Scoobie called himself trying to build, I just left it alone. I see little to gain from allowing myself to get all worked up on behalf of a man who, one, I’m no longer seeing, and two, has shown himself quite capable of defending his own honor without my or anyone else’s help. I’ve gotta tell you, girl, given the way Scoobie was out there acting, had Carl hauled off and straight-up smacked the brother one good time, I really wouldn’t have felt all that bad about it.

  HIM

  When Nora stopped by early the next morning to check on me, I told her, “I guess I looked like a pretty big fool out there last night.”

  I was shocked when she grinned and said, “Based on what I overheard, I’d say dude damn well had it coming.”

  After all the laughing and joking died down, I asked her, “So … is she in love with this guy or what?”

  Nora got serious and said, “The only thing I can tell you, Carl, is what girlfriend keeps telling me—she just feels like this is something she’s got to do.”

  I had a sense that there was actually a whole lot more than Nora could have told me had she allowed herself. But rather than force the issue, I just listened and kept my mouth shut until she up and said, “Well, what’s your plan? Maybe I can help.”

  I was like, “Plan for what?”

  She said, “Duh! For getting your woman back, what else? I know you’re not about to just step aside and let this fool take her—especially after what you said last night about it not being over.”

  I told her, “You know I wasn’t doing nothin’ but talking junk. Besides, Faye’s already made her choice pretty clear. I’ve got far too much pride to keep going back to her groveling and sniveling in hopes that she’ll give me another chance. Nope, I’m afraid that there is some tail I’m through chasing.”

  Nora wouldn’t let it go, though. She kept insisting that it was too early in the game to give up yet. When I finally got right tired of hearing it I said, “Well, what about you? You wouldn’t happen to need the services of a good man, would you?”

  It was only a joke. You know, an attempt on my part to lighten the mood. But without so much as a moment’s thought homegirl broke out with a loud, “Psst, Negro, please! I ain’t trying to chump on you or nothin’, ’cause you ain’t half-bad in the looks department, but be for real! You got way too many chillren and not hardly enough cash to be trying to roll with my flow. Besides, all that sitting ’round watching videos and conversating you like to do woulda been done drove me crazy. No, sweetheart, I’m afraid when it comes to men, me and Faye’s tastes are worlds apart.”

  I know, man. How’s that old saying go? Be careful what you ask for ’cause you just might get smacked dead upside the head with it?

  HER

  I had just arrived back from my Saturday morning stint at the grocery store when I spied them—Carl’s two little girls, Renita and Renee.

  For a moment they were too engrossed in what looked and sounded like some newfangled version of Miss Mary Mack to notice me. But soon as I slammed shut my car door th
ey stopped their clapping and chanting and came running over.

  They said, “Hey, Ms. Faye,” before almost knocking me over with a joint hug.

  Renee, the one who sounds and acts most like Carl, asked if they could help with the groceries.

  I told them sure. I mean, they’re ten-year-olds. All I figured they were looking for was something to do and possibly a little spare change.

  While we were carrying the bags into the house, Carl came out and poked his head over the fence. Still obviously upset about Scoobie, the fight, the breakup, and everything else that had gone down between us in the last week or so, he looked at me with eyes so cold, girl, I nearly lost my grip on the sack I had pressed against my chest. A couple of ice-filled seconds ticked by before he eased up on the freeze and said, “They bothering you?”

  I told him, “No, they’re fine.”

  He’d started back to his condo when all of a sudden he spun around, threw the twins a look, and said, “Ladies, don’t forget what we talked about.”

  “Yes, Dad,” they said in unison. “We won’t.”

  It didn’t take a Ph.D. to conclude that whatever they’d talked about had something to do with moi. But since what was done, was done, I wasn’t trying to sweat it.

  After the girls finished helping me bring in the last of the groceries, I pulled out my wallet and was about to give them a couple dollars apiece when Renita, the twin who I’m guessing takes after her mother’s side of the family, piped up and said, “That’s okay, Ms. Faye. I don’t think our daddy would like it very much if he found out we’d taken money from you.”

  So I offered a couple of Twinkies and a glass of milk as a possible substitute, which, after a bit of whispering between the two of them, they decided to accept.