at me for a moment. In her eyes existed no trace of the woman who had sat in my lap, chanted out her lust while she asked me to run away to an exotic land with her and live on rice and beans.
She was somebody else now. So was I. Calmer. Clearer.
Juanita said, “Naiomi and I had a discussion. Let me be direct. Things I said to you were of the emotional nature, and I had no right to express my opinion in such a manner.”
“Apology accepted. What I said to you was disrespectful. A man shouldn’t address a woman like that. My momma wouldn’t like what I said.”
“Apology accepted.”
That was the end of that. A warriors’ truce.
Juanita asked, “Where are you putting that mattress?”
“I’m leaving it outside the gate for the trash man.”
“Why didn’t you donate it to one of the neighbors?”
“Don’t want to see it. Don’t want it in my geographical frame.”
Juanita made a delicate sound, took a few steps, then turned away like she was leaving. She took a few steps, looked back and said, “Naiomi?”
Juanita paused, waiting for her woman to catch up. Naiomi went to Juanita and kissed her. Juanita smiled a little. Naiomi patted Juanita on the butt, then said, “Go ahead. I want to check the locks on the garages.”
Juanita and Naiomi shared eyes for a moment, then Juanita glanced my way. That was interrupted when the sound of a car alarm pierced the lull in our conversation.
Naiomi said, “Baby, that sounds like your car.” Juanita let Naiomi’s hand go. “Yes, it does, sweetheart.”
Juanita stared at her woman, then at me, waited another moment before she trotted toward the front of the building. Her house shoes scraped and slapped against the narrow concrete walkway, made a hurry-hurry noise as she jogged around the corner.
Naiomi sighed.
I asked, “You find it?”
“I found it. Not that finding the thing makes it any better.”
I sighed.
She said, “Mr. Browne, it shouldn’t have happened.”
I nodded.
She went on, “There was no future in what we did.”
The car alarm shut off.
Naiomi continued, “I want to apologize for the way I reacted when, you know. When I couldn’t find it.”
“Are you ovulating?”
Naiomi’s eyes widened with surprise.
“Are you?”
“Not that it’s your business, but no.” She cleared her throat, blew some air. “You didn’t cover my furniture before you left . . .”
I said, “The Hilton.”
No reply from her.
I shifted, put my hands in my back pocket, held on to my butt.
Naiomi said, “It didn’t happen, Mr. Browne. As far as I’m concerned. For what it’s worth, our curiosity has been satisfied. Let’s move on.”
The echo of house shoes flip-flopping stopped her flow. I made out Juanita’s voice having a saucy conversation with somebody. Naiomi hurried out into the alleyway, put some distance between us, and started pulling on the garage door locks, making it look like that’s what she’d been doing while her soft-legged lover was absent.
Juanita appeared. Dana was with her. Her braids were gone. Hair jet black, bone straight, parted down the center. Permed, hot-combed, I don’t know. Dark lipstick. Dressed in black stretch jeans, gray stretch blouse, black mules, leather backpack purse hang-ing from one shoulder.
Dana was irritated. “Juanita, my car barely bumped your funky little car. That’s why cars have bumpers. Just in case people bump into them.”
Juanita said, “Dana, either invest in a driving class or find some other alternative place to park. I don’t like you banging into my car, and neither do the neighbors.”
Dana’s spirit had changed as well. Strife was in her cat eyes.
Naiomi came back, stopped side by side with Dana. To me, there was no comparison. After dealing with Womack’s problem, a load had been lifted, my head clearer than the moonless sky standing over my head.
Dana finally said in a heavy voice, “Hey, Vince.”
“Hey yourself. What’s up?”
“I got your message about my laundry. And I need to get my mail.”
Dana didn’t come close enough for a hug, but her perfume touched my nose. A different brand, not by Terry Ellis. No more En Vogue for my senses. She reeked with freshness, with newness.
Dana made a strange sound, said, “You threw the bed out.”
“Yeah.”
Her lips twisted; she sucked in one side of her jaw.
She asked, “Why?”
“It was time.”
Juanita and Naiomi left, hand in hand.
Dana’s pager went off. She turned it off without checking the digits.
She said, “I want to talk to you, if that’s okay.”
“It’s okay.”
Dana headed up my stairs. I finished up, then followed.
With the exception of the streetlights slipping through the