Chapter 7
ASHA
N
ick Seabrook was in town!
He called me at work and asked me out to dinner, but I had a far more exciting idea. I was going to drive him crazy.
Nick was the gorgeous twenty-six-years-young playboy heir to a chain of soul food restaurants that his parents built from scratch. Seabrook's Soul Food had an outlet in every major city except New York. He had an MBA from the Wharton School of Business and spent most of his time traveling cross-country checking up on the managers who were in charge of the day-to-day operations of each establishment. I had no idea why Nick kept a condominium in New York since he usually stayed with me. Every time I asked him, he said that he wants to marry me someday and we'll live there. I know he is only teasing about that, but it doesn't matter. I'm not marrying anybody. Ever. I love my life just the way it is.
There is a four-star Italian restaurant about three blocks away from my apartment. Normally, they don't offer take-out service but I spend so much money there, I was able to convince the owner that sending a feast for two up to my place was good for future business.
Once my dining room table (which seats eight) was set with fine white linen, heavy silverware, delicate china, Waterford crystal glasses, and two red candles, it was time for me to get dressed.
By the time I opened the door to let him in, I was wearing a waist-length, shiny black wig with a center part, false eyelashes, red lipstick, a red miniskirt with no panties on underneath, red stiletto heels, and my only top was a red silk, see-through bra.
Nick's lips parted in a great big smile and seeing the sexy gap between his two front teeth made me want to hit my knees and blow him right then and there. But that would have spoiled my plan.
His eyes rested on my nipples and a “Wow!” escaped his juicy lips.
He reached out to grab me but I wriggled away and gave him a chaste kiss on one cheek. “Nick! How delightful to see you. Please hang up your coat and make yourself comfortable. Dinner will be ready in a moment.”
It was hard for me to keep a straight face as I marched demurely toward the kitchen like a housewife in a 1950s television show.
I was pulling the heated veal parmigiana from the stove when Nick came up behind me. His erection pressed against my ass and made me shiver. I almost dropped the veal. One strong arm held me by the waist while he used his other hand to go up under the tiny skirt.
“Forget the food, baby,” he whispered into my ear.
I slapped his hands and arms away. “Nick. I've got a four-course meal here and I'd really appreciate it if we could enjoy the food while catching up on each other's lives.”
“Why is it so quiet in here?” Normally my place is alive with music.
“I didn't want any noise to interfere with our elegant dinner conversation.”
He took a step back and smiled. “What kind of game are you playing, Asha?”
I handed him a platter of calamari and tried to look innocent. “Why, whatever do you mean, Nick? I am a lady having a gentleman over for dinner. Now, would you please help me out here?”
“Baby, if you want me to sit through a four-course meal, you're going to have to change that outfit.”
I ignored the suggestion and tried not to giggle.
Pour the water. Fill the wineglasses. Load up our plates with calamari and antipasto. Sit down and take a bite.
He watched every move I made with a hunger in his eyes that made me yearn for him like I never had before. My fork clicked back and forth against the plate. He didn't move. He didn't say a word.
“Aren't you going to eat, honey? It really is delicious.”
“Okay, Asha. I'll play along.”
“So, how is the restaurant business?”
Nick swallowed one piece of calamari. “Business is booming, Asha. Now, I've finished my appetizer. What's the next course?”
He didn't even chew it! I had planned to march him through the appetizer, then some bread and cheese with the veal as the third course and me as the fourth. But if he was going to throw whole chunks of food down his throat, we'd end up in St. Vincent's hospital's emergency room instead of my big round bed.
“It's a delicious new bread and there are three different kinds of cheese.”
We had been sitting at opposite ends of the long table. Now, he picked up his plate and came over to sit beside me.
“I've missed you, Asha.”
“How sweet!”
He started to say something else and then stopped.
“Nick, you're always doing that. Please say whatever it was that you started to say.”
He cleared his throat. “There is something but it has to wait for the right day and the right time.”
“Why? Are you getting married or something? You can tell me, I won't get mad.”
He looked at me with a very queer expression on his face. “I know you won't.”
“Well, are you?”
“What?”
“Getting married?”
“No, I'm not. Let's change the subject, okay?”
For some strange reason, I felt better knowing that Nick wasn't getting ready to tie the knot. “Okay. What do you want to talk about?”
“I brought you something.”
“What?”
“A present.”
Music to my ears. The last present Nick bought me was a silver STS V8 Cadillac with a Bose 5.1 studio surround sound system. I kept it in a garage on 45th Street.
“Where is it?”
“In my coat pocket.”
“That's nice,” I replied coolly. “It can wait until after dessert.”
He groaned and placed a hand on my thigh. “Asha, please. Stop it.” There were beads of sweat on his forehead
“Oh, all right. We can skip the bread and cheese.”
Nick paused for a moment, gave me a wicked grin and left the room. When he came back, there was a long slender box in his hand.
He placed it in front of my plate but didn't sit back down.
As I ripped off the heavy pink wrapping, he started to strip. By the time I lifted my new diamond necklace from the silk-lined box, Nick's shirt had dropped to the floor and his belt was unbuckled. I couldn't take my own game anymore.
The heat in the room suddenly reached a thousand degrees and I was on my knees unzipping his pants before he had time to make another move.
Chapter 8
SAUNDRA
M
ost shampoos contain sodium lauryl sulfate, a chemical that has cancer causing properties. That is why I use honeysuckle rose shampoo. It doesn't create any kind of lather or suds but at least it doesn't endanger my health.
With my hair still wet I sat on the floor in my room for Evelyn to towel it dry and oil my locks.
“We need to order invitations and put together a guest list,” Evelyn said. She made this announcement right out of the blue as though we had been having a discussion about my wedding. We'd known each other long enough for me to understand that she had been busy in a spirited interior monologue while I was in the shower.
Yero and Evelyn both came from huge families while I only had Asha and a few friends. “Would you like to invite your kinfolk?” I asked.
“Just my mother if you don't mind, sweetheart.”
“Of course I don't.”
I knew that what Evelyn really wanted was an invitation to help me with every detail of my upcoming nuptials, but it was something I really wanted to do with Asha and I didn't know how to say so without hurting her feelings. So I just quietly looked at the dozens of blown-up pictures that covered my walls. Mama was in every single one of them.
“Sweetheart, are you sure you don't want to get in touch with them?”
Them. Mama's family. The clan who had turned their collective backs on Mama long ago because she refused to give up on Asha's drug addicted father. The clan who had come to her funeral, offered me and Asha a home, and then dismissed us when I decided to move in with my own father and Asha decided to keep our old apartment to remain independent.
“No. Something might go wrong. It is supposed to be the happiest day of my life and I won't let anyone take that away from me.”
Evelyn stood up for a moment to adjust the chair she was sitting in. “How about an engagement party? We could have them all over for a two-hour affair so they can meet Yero. Any issues that come up would be dealt with there, and then everyone would be calm on your wedding day.”
“Evelyn, it's not like Asha and I were accustomed to being around them when Mama was alive. It would be more of a getting-to-know-each-other gathering than an actual reunion.”
“So, what's wrong with that?” Evelyn asked calmly.
Evelyn started parting my locks in small sections, oiling the scalp as she went. “I just don't have the energy.”
“If everything goes well then the children you have with Yero will have a nice extended family to love them. Children can never get enough love.”
“I'm sorry, Evelyn, but if Mama was alive, she wouldn't go running after them. I don't want to either and Asha will hit the ceiling if I even suggest it.”
“Asha lives in fear of everything. Commitment. Forgiveness. True intimacy. I taught you better than that.”
I said nothing.
Evelyn sighed. “Okay, sweetheart. I respect your decision.”
I searched my mind for something other than the wedding to discuss. “My graduation ceremony is going to be held at Madison Square Garden.”
“Oh, how wonderful! This is a year of many blessings for you, and I can't think of anyone who deserves it more.”
That's what I liked about Evelyn. In spite of the fact that I'd nixed her idea of a Smith family reunion, she didn't pout or press the issue. She always just wanted me to be happy.
Evelyn massaged the oil into my scalp and patted the top of my head. “I'm finished. Would you like to go shoe shopping with me?”
At any other time I would have grabbed my coat and joined her but the conversation about Mama's family had made me a little sad. It was time to meditate. I needed to get silent inside so that my true inner voice could guide me.
Chapter 9
ASHA
S
aundra is my heart but one of these days I'm going to tie her down, put some makeup on her face and do something with that hair. After that, I'll shake her by the shoulders until her survival instinct kicks in and she decides to become the next Vera Wang. Imagine working four years for a fashion design degree and then using it to create clothes for people who can't pay for them. What kind of sense does that make? She'll end up a poverty-stricken old woman, tottering around on a cane with that dull-ass Yero at her side and nothing to show for almost fifty years of labor.
That won't happen to me. I will not end up as an elderly, destitute black woman.
To make sure that I never catch the fatal “money doesn't matter, happiness is what is truly important in life” disease, I generally avoid people (with the exception of Saundra because she is my sister) who already have it. In fact, Randall is the only man I sleep with who is poor but he makes up for that between the sheets. Big time.
Randall is a twenty-eight-year-old accountant who toils away in the back room at some two-bit firm in Brooklyn. I met him about six months ago at B Smith's, a playground for black professional men and women. He was dressed in a beautiful suit that he later confessed he'd been saving money for almost a year. He sat down on the stool next to me and we silently appraised each other. After an average “getting to know you” conversation, we exchanged numbers and the rest is history.
Since then, he has maxed out his credit cards: there's been a weekend in the Bahamas, exotic restaurants, orchids, Godiva chocolates and cellar wines. CHA-CHING!
Tonight we're staying in to watch the
Godfather
trilogy. I prepared turkey sandwiches, popcorn, and a couple of cold beers. I hope he wasn't expecting a four-course meal because I don't cook for any man. They get way too comfortable with that shit. He will be eating Lunchables while he's dating me unless
he
decides to play Martha Stewart.
The hour is approaching eight and he should be here momentarily. I went to the bathroom and I realized my hair was a little frizzy, so I wet it a little to get my curls happening again.
After I channel surfed for twenty minutes, my doorman announced Randy's arrival.
“Hi, hon,” I said, kissing him sweetly on the cheek.
“You're in a great mood this evening,” he said playfully, while walking into the kitchen. “Did something exciting happen at work?”
My eyes were on the big gold box he placed gently down on the table.
“Huh,” he insisted, expecting an answer.
“What did you say?”
“Never mind. I bought something for you.”
I suppressed the desire to jump up and down and clap with excitement. Grinning, he motioned for me to join him as he opened the box. I stood over it with pop eyes as he slowly lifted the lid. To my horror, a tiny brown puppy was asleep at the bottom of the box wearing a big red bow around his silky neck. That's when I noticed the holes on the side of the box.
“He's adorable; what kind of dog is he?” I asked, managing a fake squeal of excitement as I scooped the drowsy pooch gently into my arms.
“A golden retriever. I knew you'd like him. I always think about you being alone in here and I decided to do something about it.”
Was this supposed to be a guard dog? What an idiot!
As Randy turned to sit down on the sofa, I briefly pictured him
and
the dog going back into the elevator and far away from me. But what the hell, he's a good listener, enjoys sex, and is trying to get some more credit cards to keep me happy. I just hope all his future tokens of affection will be inanimate.
I took a deep breath and carried my new roommate into the next room.