Groove

by Geneva Holliday

  Merriwether went for my nipples like a starving newborn, and just when I was about to tell her that no matter how hard she sucked, they would still be unable to produce milk, she shifted her mouth to my navel and then just above the space where Johnson waited at attention.

  Her head popped up, and I looked down to see her staring amusedly up at me. “No hair, huh?”

  “I—I like it smooth down there,” I uttered.

  “I like it too.” She moaned as she licked and nibbled her way around Johnson, sending him into a trembling frenzy of excitement.

  Me, I kept my hands at my side, and when I thought I would grab hold of her head and force her mouth, I resisted and brought my hands up, shoving them behind my head.

  Her mouth closed over my scrotum sack, and I looked around for the cat that was mewing loudly from the corner of the room before I realized that I was making that sound and it was echoing back at me.

  My leg bounced rapidly off the thin mattress as Merriwether finished up, rose, and sauntered over to her bureau, where she opened the top drawer and pulled out a box of condoms.

  “Do you prefer ribbed, extra-lubricated, colored, or all three?” she asked as she flipped through the box.

  “What-whatever suits you,” I said, being the gentleman that I am.

  It was my last chance, so I looked down at my dick and mentally told him that what we were about to do was wrong and went against everything I’d ever believed in. But that dick of mine just looked back at me and said, “Shut up, fool. I believe in it, so don’t block. Put the condom on, ’cause I’m going in!”

  What could I do?

  I listened to my dick, because he’d been with me from the beginning, and in a relationship that spanned more than three decades, there had been plenty of compromises, plenty of give-and-take.

  She was the freakiest sex partner I’d ever had. She had a closetful of sex toys! Vibrating plastic butterflies, leather whips, and even a strap-on penis, which I was thrilled to see, because after I did her from behind, she was able to return the favor!

  Merriwether gave, and I took, and took and took until we both exploded. It was the nastiest, funkiest sexual encounter I’d ever experienced.

  And in the end, when I exploded, it was Beyoncé’s name I screamed out, not Merriwether’s.

  The disgust at what I’d done came not too long after Johnson had shriveled up and gone off to sleep. I poked him and said, “Hey, wake up. I need to talk.”

  He just flinched, yawned, and said, “Nah, dawg. A brother’s got to get some shut-eye. We’ll talk in the morning, during the first piss of the day.”

  “What happened to the compromise, the give-and-take, the respect?”

  “Whatever,” he said and retreated further into his foreskin.

  Bastard.

  So off I went to the bathroom to wash off that female scent and to throw up.

  “You okay?” she hollered from the bedroom.

  “Yeah, just had some bad fish, I guess,” I said.

  There was a moment of silence and then she said, “When did you have fish?”

  A few minutes ago, stupid! I thought, but I said, “For lunch.”

  I promised that I would call. But never did.

  And then I promised myself that that was the first and last time.

  I screamed down at my dick, “No more!” and then two nights later, there I was again at another straight bar, my tongue wagging for another hit of the ill nana, looking for another unsuspecting victim.

  You see my problem?

  I need some professional help, and quick. If this goes on any longer, I’m going to get caught. You know everything you do in the dark comes to light sooner or later.

  It’s so bad that I haven’t had the nerve to confide in my girlfriends. Lord only knows how Geneva, Crystal, or Chevy will feel about all of this.

  You’ve met them already. An interesting group of women, don’t you think?

  They’re the Grace to my Will, the hag to my fag.

  You know what I’m saying?

  But back to me. What the hell am I going to do?

  One

  Geneva, you did what?” Crystal was speaking to me from between clenched teeth. “I can’t believe you slept with him again. What’s wrong with you?”

  I was horny, that’s what was wrong with me, I wanted to scream. But instead I just mumbled, “I dunno.”

  Eric and I had been apart for years. We were only married three years, but right after Little Eric was born it became clear that my husband wasn’t interested in playing house or forging a relationship with his son. What he was interested in was sleeping around.

  And he was never able to shake that part of himself. He’d been married twice since we split and had had three more children, and still he continued to fuck around.

  I was awarded a pittance for child support when we divorced and was told that it would be increased with every pay raise Eric received, but I’ve never gotten a dime more, and he had made detective by the time Little Eric was ten years old.

  Crystal says I should go back down to court. She says that it’s not right that Little Eric and I are living in a tiny two-bedroom apartment while Big Eric is living high on the hog in a split-level home in Hempstead, Long Island.

  She says I can go back to court and they’ll pay me arrears and then maybe I can buy myself some new clothes and put a good chunk away for Little Eric’s schooling.

  But I can’t be taking time off work to run back and forth to court. Crystal doesn’t know how the system works, how long they can drag a matter like this out. I don’t have the time or the patience.

  So I keep it as is and take the extra Eric gives us when he can.

  People treat you the way you allow them to. It’s true. I had no one to blame but myself. But the sex between us had always been amazing, and I was just too weak to give that up.

  “You really need to stop that shit, Geneva. I mean, he’s no good for you, or haven’t you noticed that yet?” Crystal sucked her teeth and stabbed at her Caesar salad. We were having lunch at Red’s restaurant at the South Street Seaport.

  What did she know? She was practically perfect. She had her education, a successful career, owned her apartment and a time-share in the Bahamas, and to top it off she had a man who was fine and wealthy!

  She had no idea how hard it was for women like me. There was a shortage of men out there, and so a lot of sharing went on. The statistics are astronomical. Shit, I was tempted to tell her that she could be one of us and not even know it. But I just gritted my teeth and said, “I know, Crystal. I just felt like I needed some affection.”

  Crystal threw me a disgusted look and shook her head.

  “Geneva, you act as if there’s no other men out here. There are plenty of men out here. Look,” she said, pointing across the square, where men in suits and casualwear walked up and down or sat on the benches, talking or eating slices of pizza. “Plenty,” she emphasized again, and then picked up her water glass.

  Yeah, plenty. Plenty of men with hang-ups and diseases and wives and babies. Plenty of men who wanted a model-thin woman. Me, I was enough woman for three men, and not every man out there knew how to appreciate a woman of my girth.

  Besides, when I made love to Eric, he made me feel like I was a size six.

  “So how’s Kendrick?” I asked, tiring of the subject of my dysfunctional life.

  Crystal rolled her eyes at me before answering, “Okay, I’ll lay off you. He’s fine, I guess. He’s in London this week on business.” The smile that usually accompanied any mention of Kendrick was missing from Crystal’s face. “He’ll be back on Thursday, I think.”

  “Oh,” I said and picked up a french fry.

  Something was wrong with them, I could feel it.

  “Have you talked to Chevy?” I asked, changing the subject again.

  “Uh-huh, and I’m sure we won’t be talking until she has the money she owes me, and you know that may be weeks from now.” Crystal’s voic
e was filled with loathing.

  “She borrowed money from you again?” I asked, in shock. Chevy seemed to think that Crystal was the Bank of New York. “How much this time?”

  “Girl, I’m embarrassed to say,” she said as she swirled the ice around in her glass.

  “Oh my God, Crystal, how much?” I pushed.

  “Well, she said she needed it until she could get her money out of her 401K.”

  “How much?”

  “Five thousand.”

  “Five thousand dollars! Are you crazy! What the hell did Chevy need five thousand dollars for?” I guess I was a bit loud, because the people at the table next to us turned around and gave me a look.

  Crystal leaned in and spoke in a dramatic whisper. “She said she needed to get some surgery done.”

  I looked at Crystal like she had three heads. “And you believe that?”

  I may be still screwing my baby’s daddy, but even I wasn’t stupid enough to believe a lie like that.

  “What kind of surgery, and how come her health insurance couldn’t cover it?”

  “I don’t know, Geneva. Please, it’s over and done with and I know that I won’t see that money anytime soon.”

  “Or ever,” I said and bit into my hamburger.

  Two

  Geneva, what plans you got brewing for the weekend?” asked Maria Vasquez, the hefty-hipped Latino human resources temp with long raven-colored tresses.

  Maria, unlike me, always had hot weekend plans. In fact, now that I think about it, she had “hot plans” even during the week. According to her she was currently juggling an NFL rookie, an NBA guard, and some major solo artist who she was very tight-lipped about. All she would say is that the world loves his ballads.

  “Ah, not much,” I said.

  “Girrrrrrl, you really need to start getting out!” she squealed and rapped her half-inch perfectly French-manicured nails on the top of my station.

  “Been there, done that. I’m too tired for all of that running around,” I said and reached up and snatched my headphones off. “Now, when I was your age . . .” I started and then pressed my index finger against my lip. “What are you, twenty-six, twenty-seven?”

  A look of disdain blanketed Maria’s face as she dramatically pressed her hand against her heart and said, “Geneva, you insult me—I’m twenty-three!”

  I gave her a hard look. I was being kind when I said twenty-six or twenty-seven. I really wanted to call a number closer to thirty. “C’mon now, Maria.” I smirked at her.

  Maria gave me a wry smile. “That’s my story and I’m sticking to it,” she said before winking and swaying away.

  I shook my head as she waltzed down the hall and disappeared into one of the offices. I looked up at the clock on the wall in front of me and was so happy to see that five o’clock had finally come around that I did a little jig at my desk.

  “What exactly do you think you’re doing?”

  It was Ash Canton. He was the floor manager, but he acted as if he owned the company. We all thought he was a closet homosexual—nothing else could explain his obvious distaste for women. A skinny white boy who at twenty-five was still in the throes of pubescent acne.

  “Oh, nothing, Ash. Just celebrating the end of the day,” I said and bent to pull my purse from the bottom drawer.

  “Well, I suggest you do your celebrating someplace else,” he said, glowering at me.

  He was my superior, so I had to at least act as if I feared and respected him. But I knew Crystal had my back no matter what.

  “Okay, Ash, have a great weekend,” I said as I breezed past him and out to the elevator banks.

  I almost walked into Chevy when I stepped off the elevator. “What are you doing here?” I said, surprised.

  “Oh, um, I came to see Crystal,” she said, avoiding my eyes.

  I studied her for a moment. Something about her looked a little more different than usual.

  “She left a little early today.”

  “Oh,” she said, trying not to smile. “You notice anything new?” she asked and did a full spin.

  “Yeah, but it could be anything.” I scrutinized her. “New shoes, new hair, new suit?”

  “Well, yeah, all of those things. But something else too.”

  I stood back and looked her up and down for a few more seconds before I caught it. “Are you stuffing your bra?” I asked, laughing and throwing my hands over my mouth.

  “Shhhhh!” Chevy scolded and grabbed me by my elbow to lead me outside. We were both giggling by the time we hit the sidewalk.

  “I got a boob job!” Chevy exclaimed excitedly.

  “What!” I screamed.

  Chevy stuck her new size-Cs out. A bike messenger rode by and let out a long, loud whistle. Chevy beamed.

  “Oh my God, Chevy, are you crazy?” I asked in disbelief.

  “No, I’m sane now. I was crazy to have walked around so long with an A cup.”

  “Double A,” I corrected her and then said, “Is that what you needed the money for?”

  “Damn, Crystal can’t keep shit to herself !”

  I just shook my head. “Girl, you were fine the way you were,” I said as we started walking toward the train station.

  “No, I wasn’t. I was flat—now I’m fine!”

  “You know, Crystal would have never lent you that money if she knew what you wanted to use it for.”

  “I didn’t tell her a lie. I told her it was for surgery,” Chevy said, trying to wave a cab down.

  “Yeah, but you didn’t tell her what type.”

  “What the hell—was I lunch conversation?”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “Anyway, it was an investment. These babies will return twofold in less than a month!” Chevy jiggled her new breasts and then twisted her face in pain. “Ouch. They’re still a little sore,” she said, cupping them lovingly.

  “How do you expect to pay her back?” I asked as I dug in my purse for my Metro card.

  “My 401K,” she said quickly, scanning the streets for a cab.

  I saw that she was going to stick to that lie.

  “You only been with Thomas Cook for eight months. I know you don’t have five thousand dollars in your 401K plan yet,” I said, and then I dropped my voice an octave and said, “If you’re even contributing.”

  “Geneva, how do you know what I got and what I don’t got? Not that it’s any of your business, but I have been contributing, and I rolled over the money I had in my plan from Hilton Hotels. Okay, Sherlock?”

  Another lie.

  You would think that as much as Chevy lied she would have become an expert at it. You have to have an excellent memory in order to be a good liar, and Chevy’s memory was shot to shit.

  She’d forgotten that she told me she used the money she had in her Hilton Hotels 401K to put down on the apartment she was living in now.

  I had a memory like an elephant ’s.

  “Yeah, okay, Chevy, whatever,” I said, turning to her. “We still on for Sunday at Justin’s?” I asked.

  “Sunday? Oh, that gospel brunch thing?” she said, spotting a cab and throwing her hand up in the air. “I don’t know, my money is a little funny,” she said as she started toward the curb. “I’ll call you tonight and let you know.” She jumped into the cab and slammed the door.

  Three

  She did WHAT with my money?” I had heard Geneva, but I needed to hear it again in order to believe it.

  “She got her boobs done,” Geneva repeated.

  I moved the phone from my right ear to my left. “I can’t believe she did that. I can’t believe she did that with my money!”

  “Well, she said it’s an investment.”

  “A what? A fucking investment!” I screamed. “You know I am so sick of her and her bullshit. I mean, I thought that she had to have some serious surgery done, not a fucking breast enhancement!” I couldn’t believe I’d allowed Chevy to play me for a fool again. “I’m going to call that bitch and give he
r a piece of my mind!”

  “I don’t know, Crystal. It’s Friday night. Chevy never goes home on a Friday night. She hardly goes home on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday—”

  “That bitch!” I screamed, cutting Geneva’s ramblings off. “I’ll call her on her cell phone!”

  I slammed down the phone and stormed into my bedroom to get my phone book. All I could see was red, and it wasn’t getting any better when I dialed Chevy’s phone number.

  Hello, you’ve reached Chevanese Cambridge. I’m not available to take your call right now, but please leave me a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.

  I slammed down the phone and threw myself across the bed. Why the hell was I so bent out of shape over this? Chevy was just the icing on the cake. Kendrick was the real problem; he’d been in England for more than three days and hadn’t even called. That’s what was picking at me. And he had been so distant with me before he left. I was beginning to think that there might be someone else.

  I picked up the phone and called Geneva back.

  “Hello?” The voice that answered was deep and sexy.

  “Is this the man of the house?” I asked, smiling to myself.

  “Um, Aunt Crystal?” the voice came back.

  “Yeah, it’s me. Are you disappointed it’s not one of your little girlfriends?” I asked, laughing.

  “Nah, Auntie, nah.” Little Eric wasn’t little anymore. It seemed like only yesterday that I was carrying him around on my back.

  “What you been up to?” I asked.

  “Nothing. You know, just working and going to school.” There was a lull and then, “Ma told you about the rap group I’m in?” Little Eric sounded excited.

  “I don’t remember her mentioning it. What’s the name of the group?” I said, turning over onto my back. I noticed a crack across my ceiling. I would have to call the building superintendent about it.

  “Um, we call ourselves BMF.”

  “Uh-huh, and what does that stand for?”