as the sun was warm. She gave up a sweet smile as she repeated herself, “As soon as Home Depot opens up, I’ll take care of it.”
“Get me the bulbs and I’ll save you some work.”
“Okeydoke. Don’t let me come between you and your testosterone.”
She yawned, stretched a little, twisted side to side and made her back pop. When she moved, her blouse loosened, broadcasted the swell of her breasts. Dignified C cups living inside a purple satin bra. Wine mixed with perfume floated from her pores. Intoxicated and beautiful.
She put her back to the wall. It didn’t look like she was in a hurry to take those last four steps and get to her home plate.
We chitchatted, low and easy. Her chuckles made her breasts bounce. My insides were filled with Mexican jumping beans.
But black was the color of my true love’s hair.
Our about-nothing conversation was cut off when Naiomi’s door swung open. Juanita stepped out. Damn near leaped out. Dressed in mauve satin pj’s and a red robe. I hate to admit it, but next to my ex-wife, Juanita was the most gorgeous lemon-colored sister I’d ever met. Her green eyes darted to Naiomi, back to me, glued themselves on my bare chest.
Juanita’s words flared: “What’s going on with you two? You’re pretty . . . not exactly appropriately dressed, are we, Vincent?”
I said, “Thought I heard Dana, but it was Naiomi. We were just speaking to each other.”
“That was a lot of speaking,” Juanita said. Her eyes went back to Naiomi. With a soft voice she politely asked, “Where’ve you been, baby?”
Naiomi said, simply, “Out.”
Juanita paused, like she was looking for the right words. She was so composed it was frightening. “How many times are you going to disappear and come sneaking back in the middle of the night?”
Naiomi snapped, “Don’t you think it was disrespectful to talk to her on the phone in front of me for over thirty dang minutes like I didn’t exist?”
“She’s an old friend.”
“Then why couldn’t you speak to her in English, so I could under—”
“Naiomi, come inside and let’s discuss . . .”
Naiomi came up two stairs, slow, methodical steps. “She know we live together?”
Juanita glanced at me like I was standing in their comfort zone. I closed my door, but didn’t move my ear away. Both of them had some inaudible words. A moment later their door closed hard and locked.
Their voices rose for a short moment, then fell silent, the way people do when they stop talking and start kissing. Heat was in my chest.
I’ve always wanted to know how women made love to each other, how they did what they did when they did the do, especially since they weren’t equipped with a pole for the hole—unless they’d bought something made by Ronco. I couldn’t imagine two vaginas rubbing coarse hairs against each other like kindling trying to get a spark to start their fire of love.
A car alarm went off. I peeped out. Dana was struggling to get her Q45 into a spot right under the window. She bumped a Montero truck; its alarm came on. She bumped the black Chevy van behind her; its alarm came on. She’d pissed off half of Leimert Park.
I slid under the covers, closed my eyes until she sat on the bed and changed the radio station from R&B to soft contemporary jazz. She leaned over, kissed my face. Rum spiced her breath. Her hair held pounds of fresh smoke, perfume fresher now than when she left this evening. A nasty combination.
I asked, “Where you been all night?”
“With Gerri.”
Dana saw my eyes go toward the digital clock: 2:59. She shifted.
She yawned. “I’ll be drinking coffee and taking No-Doz tomorrow.”
She told me that a girl from Jefferson’s rap group came by and told Gerri that she was sleeping with Jefferson.
She said, “Hell broke loose.”
Dana stepped into the shower; I stood on the other side of the clear plastic curtain and eye-savored Nubian excellence in motion. Wondered what our children would look like, sound like, act like. I watched her scrub her skin like she was trying to make herself two shades lighter. She gargled with Plax, gently washed her face with Noxzema. She wiped the cream off her skin, saw me staring, blushed, and the tipsiness made her glow. Dana was definitely tipsy. Too tipsy for me to let it slide.
“Dana, you shouldn’t be driving around like that.”
“Like what?”
“After you’ve been drinking.”
Her response was, “There are a few things you shouldn’t be