Liar's Game (22 page)

“Look, Vince, I’ve been with Rosa Lee for twelve years.”

“I know.”

He emphasized, “Twelve.”

I said, “Yep, you have.”

“And for the last seven, she’s the only woman that I’ve slept with. And it’s not like I can’t pull no women, you hear me?”

“Right, right.”

“When she got pregnant the first time—which was my fault for not pulling out in time—I wasn’t ready to be nobody’s daddy, but I told her I’d be there for her and make sure she got her degree.”

“I remember.”

“And you also remember that I told her one of us had to finish college because I wanted my children to be able to see that in one of us.”

“Right. Remember that too.”

“Then the pill didn’t work. Either that or she wasn’t taking ’em every day like she was supposed to. Either way, she got pregnant again. The foam didn’t work and, bam, another baby come popping out crying. She got her tubes tied and, bam, the knot must’ve jiggled loose.”

I playfully pushed him. “You must’ve been rocking too hard.”

Womack almost laughed. “Must’ve been.”

I asked, “Right. Now what’s the problem?”

“We’ve had four kids. And I’ve done what I promised.”

“Ain’t no doubt about that.”

“A man does what a man’s supposed to do and they still complain.”

“Definitely ain’t no doubt about that.”

“Now, in the course of a relationship,” he said, sounding like he was talking to an amateur, “one that lasts for umpteen years, beaucoup PMS cycles, umpty-ump mood swings—”

“And twelve Super Bowls and twelve NBA championships—”

“And eleven World Series. People fall—”

I stopped him. “Wait, how you get eleven World Series?”

“It was canceled back in ’94 because of that stupid strike.”

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “Right, right.”

“And we only had half a NBA season in ’99.”

“That was whacked.”

“Anyway, when you’re with somebody that long, you fall in and out of love more times than you’d ever imagine. Love ain’t constant. You have highs and lows.”

I just nodded that time.

He was quiet for a minute.

I asked, “So where are you now?”

“What do you mean?”

“In or out of love?”

Without hesitation he replied, “Oh, I’m in love. Ain’t nobody better than Rosa Lee. The question is, where is Rosa Lee? Every night she comes to bed in some funky T-shirt, never puts on any sexy stuff like she used to. First thing she does is run to the kids. And when she gets done breast-feeding Ramona, don’t let her have a Patti LaBelle book, or a Gladys Knight book glued to her hand. That’s why I just go get on the computer.”

“Turn the PC off, snatch that book out of her hand, and play Tarzan on her ass. Women like that shit.”

“Black Man Negro, that’s how we ended up with four kids.” Womack lit up another Djarum. “If you want to hear what I think the real problem is, I think she thinks that she’s outgrown me.”

I made a strange humming sound. The kind that a man makes when he finds out something he’d never thought about. Still waters run deep.

He mumbled, “Hell, maybe she has. She’s the one with the degree. I only got half of one. I got a family, a duplex that my daddy won’t pay rent on. I can’t relocate, can’t afford to change jobs. So it ain’t like I’m gonna have a lot of career opportunities knocking at my door.”

We were quiet for a moment. I was pondering my own future.

Womack smirked and asked, “Ginger or Mary Ann?”

I shook my head. “You know I ain’t into white women.”

More silence.

I said, “Mary Ann. Ginger would’ve freaked Mr. Howell for a fur coat.”

We laughed.

Then the laughter faded. I glanced over my shoulder, up to my landlord’s bay window. I heard it shut, like we were making too much happy noise. Maybe being too ethnic at night. I didn’t think the silhouette I saw in the window was Naiomi’s because her Jeep CJ-7 wasn’t out front.

Womack asked, “After all you did for her, after the way you busted your balls getting her anything she wanted, you ever wonder why Malaika was screwing that dude?”

“All the time. She slept with me that afternoon, and I caught her fucking him before my semen had dried. Used to wonder what I did, or didn’t do . . .” My words faded, like every black radio station does when you’re heading east out toward Palm Springs.

“And?”

I shrugged. “You know what? I came to the conclusion that it wasn’t about me. It was some need she had, I suppose.”

Womack said, “Don’t you sound psychological.”

“I guess. Probably from those self-help books I read after they vanished. Maybe that’s what kept me from snapping any more than I did.”

“Shit, Black Man Negro.” Womack laughed those words out. “If you’d been any worse, your ass would’ve been locked up for premeditated. And me and Rosa Lee would’ve been accessories for hiding your ass out.”

Again, I knew when to let silence talk for me.

He paused. “Now I’m gonna ask you like Poppa would’ve asked me. What did you learn from all of that?”

I said, “Never trust a big butt and a smile.”

We laughed awhile, then Womack’s face got a strange look. Our minds were in sync.

I said, “You still think Rosa Lee’s messing around?”

“I wasn’t gonna say anything, didn’t know if I should’ve told you at first, ’cause now I’m feeling all suspicious and shit, but yeah, she did it again. Came home from the gym. Didn’t have any wet clothes.”

My face became haggard with worry.

“Yep. I’d be the last to know.” He chewed his lips. “What do you think I should do?”

“Start dating your wife. Take her to a club one night.”

“Vince, she complains about going to a club, but the last time we went out, she just sat in a corner. I’m not paying fifteen dollars to get in a club to watch her hold up the wall. You know how many packs of diapers I could buy with the thirty dollars we’d have to spend to get in?”

“At CostCo—one.”

“A big one that would last ten years.”

“Womack, that’s not the point. Just take her.”

It showed in his eyes. I asked him what he was afraid of.

His voice lowered. “What if it’s already beyond the point of no return?”

Rigor ran over my chest.

Womack looked at me.

It might’ve been a bad time for me to bring it up, but I said, “Something might be going on on this side of town.”

I told him what happened at the Shark Bar.

“Dana vanished, then rushed back like she’d seen a ghost, turned us around like a pack of wolves was about to chew her ass off.”

“That would be a lot of chewing.”

“Shut up, fool. And this brother was staring her down.”

He asked, “What was up with that?”

“Then the motherfucker followed her, walked right up to her face.”

“Damn. Probably a brother from the Eastside. You know how bold those niggas are.”

“Same way we used to be.”

“Wish I could count the fights we had with those fools.”

I went on, “It wasn’t him that got to me. That’s the crap that happens when you with somebody that’s half decent. What got me was her reaction to the situation. Looked like she was about to shit on herself.”

“She knew him.”

“Yep.”

He asked, “An ex or what?”

“Hell if I know. I’m pretty sure I’m the only man she’s dated since she came out here.”

“Man, you better wake up. You know the game. A woman will never tell a man about all the dicks she’s had the pleasure of meeting. She can be forty with five kids and she’ll still be crying virgin.”

“Lower your voice, Womack. Respect my side of Crenshaw.”

“Sorry. Just trying to fit in.”

“Anyway, where was I—yeah, Dana said the wait for a table was too long, and she grabbed me, damn near dragged me out of the joint, said she’d rather go to the Cheesecake Factory.”

Womack understood what I was saying. My partner in crime said, “Dana made you drive across town to get to the Shark Bar, then as soon as you get to the place, made you leave the Shark Bar and drive all the way to Marina Del Rey to the Cheesecake Factory, a forty-minute drive from Hollywood.”

“Plus . . .”

“What?”

“It’s simple, but it was something. Maybe that’s what got me to thinking there was more to it that what she said.”

“What was that?”

“All that time she was gone, she said she went to go pee. When we got back in the car, she still had to pee. Made me stop at a gas station.”

Womack stiffened his tone. “Why didn’t you rattle her cage right then?”

I shrugged. “Thought I might’ve been overreacting.”

“Damn.” Womack puffed out some air. He got up and headed toward his car, said, “Keep your ear to the ground.”

“You know it.”

“Gotta go tuck my crew in bed, if they ain’t already ’sleep.”

He took half a step before he turned around and asked me, “You got books about Africa in your crib?”

“A couple.”

I knew what that was all about. The Ethiopians had hit a sore spot. It’s always bothered him that he didn’t get that four-year degree. There have been times when he wanted a promotion, stepped up to the office, told the man, and the man told him that even though he had the experience and the know-how, that even though he was always on time, hardly took a sick day, he didn’t have that little piece of paper that separated folks like us from folks like them. Between wife, four kids, work, Harmonica having up and down health, Womack has given a lot of years to others, but the years haven’t given Womack the time to do anything for himself.

He said, “Next time you’re over my way, if you remember, drop them off. I wanna read up on them places. Kids had me so wrapped up in
Barney
and
Bananas in Pajamas
that it’s been a while since I had a chance to sit down and read. I’m starting to forget a lot of stuff.”

“I’ll bring ’em by tomorrow.”

“Thanks.”

Womack walked away, a load pulling his face down. All of a sudden, he looked as ancient as a pyramid. Older than Harmonica would ever live to be. With the little that he’s had, my friend has done a lot. Has taken care of everybody in his reach. Left his dreams behind and became a man. Not the man he had planned on being, not that civil rights attorney he’d dreamed of being, but in some ways, a better kind of man.

I yelled, “Womack, you never answered my question the other day.”

He yawned out his words, “What question?”

“Tracy Chapman or Whoopie Goldberg?”

He laughed so hard he started wheezing. I did the same.

When I calmed down, I caught my breath and said, “Okay, okay. I withdraw that one. Nia Long or Vivica Fox?”

“Now you talking.” He perked up, fell into a mackdaddy stance, held his crotch. “Nia Long on my love jones bone. I’d have her in the bathroom, leg skraight—and I did say
skraight
—skraight up in the air, just like she was in
Soul Food
.”

“Hey, why don’t you try that with Rosa Lee?”

A wicked smile crept across his lips. “How you thank we ended up with four kids, fool?”

It was nine-thirty when Womack headed home. I went to my one-bedroom apartment and lay across my bed. Stared at the picture of Dana.

Then I picked up the ones of my child.

And my mind went back to when I was sitting with Kwanzaa in the ICU at Daniel Freeman. She showed up two months early, weighing two pounds, fifteen ounces, looking like a little yellow gal. She was in that room filled with preemies, on her belly, eyes covered, under some sort of light thing. Watched her stretch, yawn, make waking-up faces. Skin so soft and warm. I changed her diaper before her mother did. A tube was up her nose, going down into her belly, so I could feed her breast milk, sat there every evening and watched it go down. Dreamed about her last night. Dreamt she was big and strong. Woke up scared. Scared and hoping she was okay.

All I have of her are those pictures, images stuck in time.

I showered to ease my mind, picked up a book on financial planning. I read through a few pages before something crossed my mind. Most of my books, outside of a James Patterson or a Walter Mosley, were nonfiction. Those didn’t include my technical books. I checked out Dana’s selection in books. Some were non-fiction, a lot were self-help and recovery, but most of them were those fiction, borderline Cinderella stories. Stories so far from reality that I couldn’t understand the hype.

I put in the videotape me and Dana made. Fast-forwarded past the parts we taped in this apartment, nights of strawberries and honey.

We were in Kenneth Hahn Park, in the brightness of a weekday when hardly a soul was around. I’d skipped work that day, met Dana for lunch at Subway; then we went to the park to eat and talk. One kiss led to another and we ended up taking a chance on getting caught, her face against a tree while I loved her from behind, her beige dress hiked up just enough, colors that looked wonderful against her dark skin. We moaned soft at first, then louder, the birds fled the trees, squirrels ran around in a frenzy. In my mind, I inhaled the scent of our passion, experienced the gentle breeze on our skin.

I come before she does, but the bliss in her eyes, the imperfect smile on her face tells me that she doesn’t mind.

So much love in her eyes. Can’t wait for her to get home.

Whoop WHOOP Whoop

I’d turned the tape off, fell asleep reading, then was jarred awake. Grunted, knocked the financial-planning book off the bed. A helicopter was flying overhead. LAPD was showing how much they loved us at 2:15 A.M. Back-to-back cars sped over the dips outside my window, music blasting. The streets were alive with the fools of the night.

I called out, “Dana.”