waiting for Vince’s hardness to spread her wide open. It wasn’t a fistful of love like the black Kennedy tape that everybody and their momma had a copy of, wasn’t as weird as that Pamela Lee tape, Vince wasn’t steering a boat with his penis or nothing like that, but seeing your man booty naked on top of another woman, whether she was his wife or not, well, it was more than enough for my eyes to bear.
Yep, I was angry. Should’ve went off on Vince.
But the end of that tape, what happened after that twenty minutes of groaning and moaning was done, that’s what I remembered the most.
For now, my size-eight foot was on the neck of that monster.
Vince stood behind me, patted my backside, asked, “You okay?”
I smiled. Kissed him.
Vince put on his black jeans, an acetate/Lycra muscle shirt under his leather jacket. I put on dark stretch jeans, black top, soft leather jacket, braids pulled back and tied down.
Malaika’s voice was swimming laps inside my brain, bugging the hell out of me because her voice seemed so familiar. Maybe from hearing it on the tape, but then again, she wasn’t regular talking like she was on the phone.
Lips got lined and war paint colored in, things I can do even with a distracted mind, eyes done to make me look mischievous and mysterious. Southern Exposure. Smells too good to be true. I dabbed the brew on my pulse points, loved the aroma because it was light as a feather.
Once again Vince read through my mood and asked, “You okay?”
Again I smiled.
As we were unlocking our door, the landlord’s door flew open.
Naiomi backed out, snapping, “I can’t believe you did that.”
Her woman’s voice pursued her: “Address me with respect, please.”
“You were talking to her in my face. What kind of respect—”
Naiomi closed her door on those words. Then she saw us standing there looking stupid and awkward, our eyes wide open. Her face jumped. We shifted. Naiomi spoke like she was humiliated, then shuffled down the stairs so fast her golden braids and tight skirt became an orange blur.
By the time we made it to the courtyard, Naiomi’s golden Jeep was zooming west up Stocker, bouncing over the deep dips.
We walked at a decent pace up the pine-tree-lined Degnan. It was Sunday night, cruise night on Crenshaw, and LAPD were out in full force, motorcycles and squad cars all over the joint. The boulevard was crazy and neighborhood traffic was bumper to bumper, a nation of hip-hoppers riding with their tops down and music up, creating atmospheric chaos. A mirror of the turmoil that was a pool of acid inside me.
I said, “A full moon.”
“Means it’s gonna be a romantic night.”
“Drama. It means drama.”
Womack and Rosa Lee had already shown up and had saved us seats outside of 5th Street Dick’s, right next to the rows of tables filled with dominoes and chess players. Barbecue smoke was in the air, no doubt drifting from Phillip’s BBQ around the corner.
Womack’s Jheri-Kurl was pulled back into a ponytail; he wore white Fila tennis shoes that made his feet look like boats, black jeans tight enough to show the outline of his family jewels, and a burnt-orange rayon shirt underneath his Levi’s jacket. Something about him, his color, that wavy do on his head, was more Belize than plain old African American. He was outdated but in a cool kinda way. Sorta like Billy Dee Williams.
Rosa Lee’s reddish brown skin glowed with her yellow blouse; her black skirt showed off her cute little figure and those robust calves. Full bottom lip, thin top lip, kind of a big forehead, keen eyes. Her funky ’fro made her look stunning. Her keys were in front of her, a red leather thingee that had mace on the ring. Gerri had a gun. I had a stun gun under the front seat of my car. Rosa Lee had mace. This drive-by society has turned women into urban warriors.
Rosa Lee stood and hugged Vince. Hugged me just as long. Her first words were flattering, “You look nice. And your perfume, that smells so good.”
“Vince bought it for me. It’s Terry Ellis’s line.”
“Who?”
“One of the girls from En Vogue.”
“It smells sophisticated. Sensual. Gonna have to get me some of that.”
Womack hugged me too. Threw a few compliments my way.
Rosa Lee jumped right back in. “Now, let me see that ring. Wow.”
I smiled, stared at that promise of forever.
A minute later we had 7-Up cakes and Kenyan coffee