“Uhh, yes,” Sasha said, rolling her eyes. “There was a whole vending machine full in the bathroom.”
“Bathroom!” Norman shouted. “I thought you said he took you to his place.” Norman stuck his finger down his throat and made a gagging sound. “Not only did you screw this man on the first night, but on a bathroom floor?” Norman shook his head. “I can’t.” He stood up. “I’m out of here.” He pretended to be looking around for his things. “I know I have some ho-ish ways, but you, sweetheart, take the cake. Even the backseat of his car I can understand. But a damn public bathroom floor . . . with vending machines full of prophylactics!”
“He did take me to his place,” Sasha was quick to say.
Norman threw his fists on his hips. “And just what kind of room in somebody’s house has a bathroom with a goddamn condom vending machine in it, huh?”
“The barroom with the stripper pole.” Sasha had said it matter-of-factly, oblivious to how it sounded to someone who didn’t know the setup.
Sasha’s response only put Norman in that much more of an uproar.
“Stripper pole?” Norman spat. “I told your ass not to hang around that damn Paris, didn’t I? You just wouldn’t listen. Now that trick got you stripping, screwing on bathroom floors and God knows what else.” Norman closed his eyes, put his head down, and continued shaking it.
Sasha had to laugh at how dramatic her friend was being.
“This shit is not funny,” Norman said, looking up at Sasha. “You’ll get a reputation as a ho and then no woman is gonna want you dressing her man!”
“It wasn’t like what you are making it out to be. It wasn’t in some strip club or anything like that. It was in the privacy of his own home. I mean, yeah, I got a little intrigued by the stripper pole he has installed at his house. I busted a move or two, and then one thing led to another. But we didn’t get down on the bathroom floor. You’ve got too much imagination!”
He moseyed back over to her and sat. “Okay, you’ve got my attention. Do tell.”
Sasha could see that now it was Norman who was getting intrigued by her replay of the night before. “Well,” Sasha said teasingly and excited to know that for the first time since she’d met Norman, he genuinely seemed interested in the goings-on of her life. Not that anything outside of her daily norm was usually going on. “Like I told you before, he brought some wine over to me. I just happened to be on the stage on the stripper pole at the time. I was just trying it out, not trying to give him a striptease or anything like that.”
“So you were fully dressed?” Norman asked curiously.
“Absolutely,” Sasha assured him. “I stopped dancing to take the glass, and he asked that I keep dancing, which I did.” Sasha blushed proudly. “I guess I must have learned a thing or two from Paris, because I got him so riled up that—”
“He started throwing money at you!” Norman exclaimed excitedly as he began bouncing up and down on the couch, clapping his hands. “I knew you wasn’t plumb dumb. I knew you didn’t give it up like a ho without getting something valuable. Yes!” He pumped his fist.
Sasha hated to disappoint him. “No, that man did not start giving me money.” She rolled her eyes.
Norman sucked his teeth and allowed Sasha to continue.
“He actually gave me something much, much better.” Sasha started staring off, squirming and licking her lips.
Norman bit down on his manicured nail. “Ohhhh, it must have been good if it put that type of glow on your face.” He then gasped. “He ate the ill nana,” Norman guessed.
Sasha nodded and smiled.
“Oh, yes! That’s my girl. At least get that thang topped off.” He pointed to her private area.
“Right,” Sasha said proudly. “Give your girl some kind of credit.” Sasha was glad that it seemed as though she was redeeming herself with Norman.
“Wait, not so fast,” Norman said, bringing the mini celebration to a halt. “Do you owe him one?”
Sasha frowned, confused by Norman’s question.
“Do you owe him one, bitch? Or did y’all sixty-nine?”
“Sixty-nine?” Sasha’s wheels turned as she tried to figure out what Norman was asking. “Owe him one or did we do a sixty-nine?” she pondered out loud until it all came together. “Ohhh, did I just let him do me or did I do him?”
“Yes,” Norman said.
To Sasha, he was looking as if he was glad his poor country girl had been able to figure things out and do the math on her own.
Sasha laughed. “I did not return the favor, if that’s what you mean.”
“That’s exactly what I mean.” Norman sighed. “So at least you know he ain’t gon’ be running his mouth about how the new girl in town screwed him the first night. Because your ammo is that he ate the pussy on the first night. Which is worst? If he puts your business out there, then he’d take the risk of you firing back and putting his out there. I know he’s not willing to lose his player card for that.”
Sasha thought for a moment. “You’re right.” She shrugged. “I guess.” It was a double-edged sword as far as she was concerned. Either way it went, though, the woman always seemed to be the only one with a sliced-up reputation when all was said and done.
“Anyway,” Norman said, “you let him do you on the floor and he was strapped up,” he recapped. “Now for the most important part: was it good?”
For the first time during her and Norman’s entire conversation, Sasha truly had no shame or hesitation in saying, “God, yes! And if I had to make the same choice all over again, I wouldn’t deviate one little bit. So if that means I’m a ho, then ho, ho, ho, merry Christmas!”
The two grabbed hands and chuckled while Sasha continued giving Norman the sticky, icky details about her encounter with Terrance. About an hour later, Norman had heard enough. “Well, girl, let me get on out of here so I can go through my phone address book and see who I can get to strip and sixty-eight me tonight.” Norman laughed.
“What?” Sasha said, scrunching her nose up. “I had no idea a gay man could be turned on by heterosexual sex stories. I thought you were just being your usual nosy self.”
“Girl, bye. I tuned that little kitty-cat of yours right on out,” Norman said. “I was vicariously living through you; imagining it was myself instead.” Norman stared off. “I always wondered what Terrance’s man parts were like ever since I accidentally grazed it while fitting him in some Ralph Lauren slacks.”
“Get on out of here,” Sasha said, standing up from the couch and walking over to Norman. “You are bound and determined to have me looking at this man a whole other way.” She began pushing Norman to the door. “Go, go, go.”
“I’m going, I’m going.” Norman made his way to the door and then stopped. “And for the record, you are not kicking me out. I said I was leaving first.”
“Whatever suits your boots,” Sasha said, then opened the door. “I’m about to sit here and chill.”
Norman looked to Sasha in a motherly manner. “Now don’t take this the wrong way, and I’m not trying to be cruel or rain on your parade. But I don’t want you sitting around here waiting on Mr. NBA to call you back. That’s not how it works. Ballers hit it and quit it, baby.” Norman stood in the doorway. “So move on with your life and find the next man in Atlanta to eat your pussy.”
Sasha shook her head and rolled her eyes. “You are so—”
“Honest,” Norman said. “I’m honest. I’m painfully honest; the truth hurts, but it hurts so good. And my honesty is why you’ll keep me around. Because trust me, love, if you haven’t learned already, you soon will, that in this town, honesty and trust are as rare gems as any.” Norman winked at Sasha and then left, throwing her a wave over his shoulder.
All Sasha could do was watch her friend walk away with a smile on her face. As far as she was concerned, honest was her middle name. No, she wasn’t as blunt and abrasive as Norman. She didn’t practice keeping it real to the extent that it hurt someone’s feelings. N
orman, on the other hand, couldn’t care less. He was like the momma who told her child he or she was ugly before the rest of the world got a chance to. That could be appreciated to some degree. And if Sasha knew now what she would soon find out, she would truly bask in having a friend as honest, truthful, and loyal as Norman. Because it wouldn’t be long before she would become acquainted with the polar opposite.
Chapter 11
“That must have been some impression you made on ole boy,” Casey said as she, Sasha, and Paris walked the mall.
From what Sasha could tell, she and Paris had hit the mall just to do a little window shopping, but clearly Casey had her husband’s black card, because she was buying up everything that shimmered bright enough to make her stop and do a double take.
“Why did you say that?” Sasha was quick to ask. Her heart began beating a gazillion miles per minute. Or maybe it had stopped. She wasn’t sure at this point. She wouldn’t be sure until she found out exactly what Terrance had told Casey and Eric about the night she’d met him.
Sasha and Casey hadn’t really talked much about it in the three days that had gone by since Sasha and Terrance’s bathroom floor rendezvous. Technically, it wasn’t on the bathroom floor per se. They’d only stood on the floor. It was up against the wall that Terrance had commenced laying the pipe on Sasha. But Sasha wasn’t about to pass on such details to Casey. She was cool and all, but they weren’t yet I-feel-like-I’ve-known-you-all-my-life-and-can-tell-you-anything cool.
Sasha had, of course, thanked Casey for the wonderful evening. Casey had asked Sasha her opinion of Terrance. Sasha had shared that he seemed like a nice guy, but she didn’t go any further than that. If anything, she wanted to see what unsolicited information Casey would offer. It was possible that Casey had been doing the same to Sasha. Maybe Casey was fishing to see whether Sasha would be honest with her or not. But then again, Casey could be just a tad on the dizzy side sometimes. Unlike Paris, whose mouth was unfiltered on purpose—just because she wanted to be nicety—Casey’s mouth was unfiltered by accident. She talked just to be talking, and if what she was saying was a truth that could be hurtful or offensive, then so be it. Again, unlike Paris, though, Casey was always apologetic if she realized her words had harmed someone. Sasha had to admit, Casey’s and Paris’s differences balanced things out. Sasha liked the balance. It allowed her to stand in the center of the teeter-totter without worrying about falling.
Even before Norman had instilled in Sasha the value of honesty, she’d always respected and expected it in any relationship she was in, be it a friendship or a romantic relationship. So Sasha had to be mindful when speaking to Casey about her night with Terrance. She carefully walked the fine line of being guarded versus being dishonest in her answers.
Being guarded was not telling Casey that she’d jumped Terrance’s beautiful, strong bones . . . and loved it! What Sasha also was not telling Casey was that she’d been doing exactly what Norman had ordered her not to. She’d been waiting by her phone to see if by some farfetched chance he’d call her. As crazy as it sounded, even if he didn’t want to call to ask her out on a date or to just talk, damn, wasn’t her lady jungle worthy of at least a booty call? Or had her stuff been out of commission for so long that she didn’t even know how to please a man anymore? At the moment, Sasha would have much rather opted to have pulled off from his house and left an impression as a bougie bitch rather than a bad lay.
“Eric says Terrance has asked about you every time he’s spoken with him,” Casey said. “In practice or out.”
“Oh,” Sasha said, more relaxed. Terrance hadn’t called her, but at least he’d asked about her. Still didn’t pull out the dent in her ego.
Both women looked to Paris as she choked on the frozen slushy drink she’d been slurping.
“You okay?” Casey asked Paris.
Was Sasha less of a friend because she was more interested in getting back to the subject matter of Terrance rather than seeing if Paris was choking to death?
“I’m good,” Paris said, patting her chest.
“So what exactly does—” Sasha attempted to pick up the conversation where it had left off before Paris’s choking spell, but Paris interrupted once again.
“Y’all not talking about Terrance McKinley, are y’all?” Paris asked. Her eyes darted and blinked back and forth from Casey to Sasha.
“Yes, Eric’s best friend, Terrance,” Casey confirmed. She, on the other hand, didn’t bat an eye as she replied to Paris matter-of-factly.
“Bitch, you know I know who Terrance is,” Paris said, rolling her eyes.
Sasha’s eyes were now darting from Casey to Paris. Paris had put a little stank on the word “bitch” when she said it, so she didn’t know how Casey was going to react to that.
Accepting the word “bitch” as a term of endearment, Casey simply continued on. “He’s crushing on Sasha here.” Casey winked and then playfully elbowed Sasha.
“Girl, stop,” Sasha said playfully, trying not to blush. Paris’s intentional use of the B-word toward Casey was no longer on her mind. “I met the guy once.”
“Yes, but he’s talked about you a million times since,” Casey confirmed.
“If she made that much of an impression,” Paris interjected, “then why isn’t he calling her up himself to tell her? Seems childish to be sending messages through his best friend.” Paris poked out her lips and rolled her eyes. “Sasha, girl, you’s a business woman. You ain’t got time for boys and games in your life. Not even the game of basketball, and especially not with someone like Terrance.” Paris pursed her lips and rolled her eyes.
“Okay, let’s bring it down to a sensitive level,” Casey said. “I think Sasha should be able to form her own opinion of Terrance. Don’t you, Paris?” Casey looked at Paris all bug-eyed.
Paris simply let out a harrumph, tooted out her lips, and rolled her eyes. Her usual.
Sasha wasn’t sure if she should remove and put away the sunglasses she was wearing on top of her head, because shade had just been thrown. Or was Paris asking a legitimate question and making a legitimate concerned statement based on her perception?
“You know how these guys are,” Casey said, shooing her hand. “They want folks to think they are these hard players, but underneath they all sensitive and shit.” Casey and Paris shared a hand-slapping hee-hee moment.
Sasha concluded that no shade was being thrown, just the women vocalizing their observations and own experience with men. But Sasha didn’t throw all men into the same pile and she wouldn’t throw Terrance into it unless he showed her something different.
Still, with their personalities, these women made it hard for a sister to determine if they were hating or congratulating. With Paris, it was one of those cases of “That’s just how she is.”
“Besides,” Casey continued on with the conversation, “Terrance claims that the somebody who says that Terrance is a really nice guy didn’t give him her phone number.” She then cleared her throat and proceeded walking, staring straight ahead.
Sasha had never given Terrance her phone number. She was supposed to get his so she could call him up to see if he had time to connect, but the time had turned out to be right then and there. That instantly changed the way Sasha had been feeling about things. There was after all a genuine chance that Terrance didn’t think she was just some piece of ass, or that her ass wasn’t worthy of him having another piece. No, that wasn’t the reason at all why he hadn’t called her.
Sasha used the back of her hand to wipe off the proverbial sweat beads from her forehead as she thought to herself, Whew, my reputation in this town is still intact! That added a little pep to her step. Sasha’s chest puffed all out and her shoulders lifted.
“What?” Casey said. “Why are you all of a sudden walking around the mall like a peacock?” Casey asked. “Oh, I get it. You like him, too!” Casey exclaimed, a little bit too loud.
“Shhh,” Sasha said, placing her index finger on her lips. “You lou
d.”
“And you feeling Terrance,” Casey said, “or just feeling the fact that he’s feeling you.”
Sasha could not hide the relief she felt inside, not to mention the boost to her ego. She smiled and blushed.
“Oh, yeah, she’s feeling him all right,” Paris said, not sounding like she was experiencing even a tenth of the excitement Sasha and Casey were. “Her true redbone features are telling on her.” Paris pointed to Sasha’s face. “Look at her cheeks turning all red. The child is flustered.” Paris began fanning herself as she looked to Casey. “I must admit this whole conversation has me a little hot and bothered as well.” She shot Casey a knowing look that went unnoticed by Sasha. Sasha was far off in La La Land.
Sasha didn’t deny Paris’s statement. That would have been being dishonest. Because she was definitely feeling Mr. Terrance. And although she didn’t confirm it vocally, her actions spoke volumes.
“If you’re really feeling him,” Paris said in a serious tone, “you better not play games. No pun intended, but he will bounce that ball right to the next court. You keep doing the fake-out moves and the clock is going to run out without you ever getting your shot. Terrance ain’t gon’ stand around and watch you dribble. That gets boring.”
Sasha poked out her lips in thought for a moment. Was Paris trying to say that Sasha was boring, too boring to keep a man? But never mind that; there was something more important Sasha wanted to do regarding Paris’s word and the means by which they were delivered. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear that you were speaking from experience.”
“I am,” Paris was quick to say.
Sasha’s stomach sank. Her face mirrored the effect. Was Paris trying to say what Sasha thought she was trying to say? Had Paris had her own personal experience with Terrance? Because Sasha did not do leftovers. It was an unspoken rule that no matter how close or not close a woman was with a chick, she did not get with someone whom anybody in the clique had kicked it with. It didn’t matter if the kick-it session included sex, just a movie, or even a couple phone calls. Nobody wanted to bring their man around someone whom, even if just for a hot second, he had been interested in. And no woman wanted to break bread with another woman who’d had her man first. That was too much power for any woman to have over another.
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