After The Dance (6 page)

Really, I wasn’t trying to play hard, I just know this man. My infatuation with him dates all the way back to the summer I turned twelve, and ended the same number of years ago when he borrowed—excuse me—suckered a
couple grand from me and used it to treat some other woman to a weekend in the Bahamas.

Dude told me I had him pegged all wrong. Told me there had been a lot of changes in his life since he and I were together, changes for the better. He said, “If nothing else, have a cup of coffee with me and I’ll tell you all about them.”

I told him, “Sorry, maybe some other time.”

He dashed in front of me and said, “Okay, coffee, an admittedly long overdue apology and”—he pulled out a checkbook and a pen and started scribbling—“and this, a good-faith down payment on what I owe you.”

Girl, when he ripped out that check and handed it to me, I was almost too afraid to look. But you know I did and there it was—cha-ching! Fifteen hundred big ones!

I’m sorry, girl, but between my student loans, my car payment, the mortgage, what I owe Nora, what I send to my folks, and every other durn thing that comes out of my paycheck on a monthly basis, my first instinct was to pocket the dough and hit the floor running. Instead I gathered my wits about me, handed him back the check, and just told him, “Look, there’s a Starbucks on the second floor. One cup of coffee. An apology. And no games. Got it?”

I think I told you about my Uncle Westbrook and his little handyman business, right? And how he’s kind enough to let his two favorite nephews—me and my equally broke cousin Squirrel—earn extra ends by helping him out on different projects? Even though it makes for a pretty decent part-time gig, it can still be kind of rough on an already
hardworking brother, especially when it falls on the heels of his regular nine to five.

Anyway, this past Wednesday turned out to be one of those days for me. I had just clocked out of my full-time grind and was on my way home when I got word via my cousin Squirrel that Unc had some floors that needed re-finishing and some walls that needed painting if I was interested. Being that I’ve got bills to pay and a whole host of mouths to feed, I could hardly say no, so I sucked it up like any real man would and went on to make that paper.

Tired, sore, and funky as I was when I finally stumbled in later that evening, about all I had in mind was a thorough scrub down, a few dabs of Ben-Gay, and a long conversation with my pillow. I was in the process of shedding my shorts when I heard a bunch of banging at my door. Turned out to be Nora wanting to know if I’d seen her ol’ fickle friend Faye.

In between sniffles she told me, “I’ve tried reaching her on her cell, but she’s not answering. It’s just not like her to be out this late on a weeknight without trying to call and tell me what’s up.” Then she grabbed my arm and said, “You heard about that woman that got kidnapped from that barbecue joint up on Third last week, didn’t you? And the one that got snatched a couple nights ago coming out of the library on Poplar? Well, I just heard on the news that they think it’s the same guy who grabbed both of them.”

Rather than buy into Nora’s panic, I opted for the less strenuous role of the concerned yet cautious optimist. Besides, a part of me couldn’t help but feel sorry for the joker who would unwittingly make the mistake of trying to snatch Faye up from somewhere. Hell, he’d more than likely come off better trying to wrestle with a doggone porcupine. I looked at my watch and was like, “Okay, Nora, calm down a second. It’s, what, 9:45? Have you tried calling up to the church?”

Nora screwed her face all up and said, “The church? Carl, what in the hell would Faye be doing up at church this time of night?”

Excuse me? Having noticed Faye leaving outta there round about the same time every Wednesday evening, I’d just assumed that like most good Black Baptists—excluding myself, of course—that her Wednesday-night forays had something to do with midweek Bible study.

But Nora was quick to set me straight. “Carl, Wednesday night is the night Faye goes up to the hospital.”

“The hospital? Oh, so maybe she’s just working some extra overtime or something,” I said, thinking I had it all figured out.

But that only seemed to make Nora all the more flustered. “Look, man, what Faye does every Wednesday night ain’t got nuthin’ to do with work or overtime, okay? And that’s all I’m finna say about it. If you wanna know anything else, you need to take it up with her. All right?”

“Tell you what,” I said, seeing that she was on the verge of falling apart on me. “Let me grab a quick shower and after I’m cleaned up I’ll come over and hold your hand, help you call some folks, organize a search party, or whatever it is you think we need to do.”

I was sincere about that, man. Like I told you, me and Nora are cool. Whatever thoughts I mighta once entertained about trying to ease up on her, I’d long since abandoned in deference to her total lack of interest in a straitlaced, broke-butt brother like myself.

Anyway, by the time I got over to her place, she’d calmed down considerably. She told me she wanted to give Faye another thirty minutes or more before we called the police or went out looking for a body. I told her “cool” and plopped down on the couch with her to wait. Having never known Nora’s conversation to extend too far beyond the latest dude she’d let dog her, I was kind of surprised when she inquired as to what Faye and I had been doing besides
watching videos on all those Friday nights we’d spent together at my place.

Not knowing if ol’ girl was out to implicate me in Faye’s disappearance or what, I did like she’d done when she thought I was pressing her about Faye’s Wednesday-night routine. I played dumb and kicked the question back to her. “What she tell you?”

“That’s just the thing,” Nora said. “Me and Faye talk about some of everything, especially when it comes to men. But I’ve noticed when the subject turns to you, she’ll only share so much. I’m starting to think it just might be because she likes you a lot more than she wants to let on.”

Interesting, huh? I thought so. Didn’t take much prodding to get Nora to feed me a whole host of other juicy tidbits about her friend. Among other things, she verified Faye’s skank-ti-fied “hit it and quit it” credo and put forth as its inspiration some bad-news boyfriend who’d obviously been the major love of ol’ girl’s life. She even showed me snapshots of the sparkling-eyed, slim-figured babe Faye had been before the years of getting jaded and jacked around had taken their toll.

By the time Faye finally strutted through the door that night, not only had I begun to view her in a different light, but I also knew I wasn’t gonna be satisfied until I’d uncovered whatever else lay hidden beneath the mask she always seemed to slip behind around me.

Twenty minutes max was all I’d planned to waste. I figured that would be more than enough time for the Scoob-meister to spin whatever lies he intended to tell me. After ordering a latte and finding us a table in the crowded food
court, I sat down, glanced at my watch, and said, “Okay, Scoobie, out with it already. What wondrous series of turns has your sordid little life taken in the years since we both went our separate ways?”

He laughed and said, “First off, hardly anyone calls me Scoobie anymore.” Then he passed me his business card and proudly proclaimed that most of the folks he dealt with these days referred to him either as “Chef Venard Payne,” or “Chef Payne” for short.

Wearing the sweetest smile I could muster, I leaned over, fingered what looked to be a real Rolex on his wrist, and asked him to explain exactly how one goes from being too trifling to hold down a job flipping burgers at Mickey D’s to being the executive chef for the dining room of a reputable financial institution like Morris-Morgan?

He was like, “What? You saying you don’t believe me?” Before I could answer, he wrapped his hand around mine, looked me dead in the eyes, and said, “Faye, everything I have now—from this watch, to the Hilfiger on my back, to the Benz I drive—I earned the hard way. After I left Memphis, I went back to school, busted my tail, and kissed all the right behinds. If you’re anywhere near as ambitious and driven as you used to be, my success is something you ought to be able to appreciate.”

I told him I was happy for him. I just couldn’t help but think that maybe I’d have a success story of my own to share if someone hadn’t ruined my credit and left me with a bunch of bills before skipping town with what little money I had left. “Did you know I had to file bankruptcy?” is what I asked him. “Did you know things got so bad for me that had it not been for Nora I probably would have ended up dead, strung out, or locked up in an asylum somewhere? Did you ever once stop to care?”

He had the nerve to tear up, like he was actually fixing to cry, and said, “Faye, I’m sorry for all that I did and all that I should have done. But something tells me I could sit
here all night apologizing and explaining until I ran out of spit and wind and you still wouldn’t take me seriously. So come and go for a ride with me and I’ll prove it to you.”

I couldn’t help but get tickled. Even with the mustache and goatee dude is sporting these days, at that moment he looked so much like the baby-faced boy who’d way-back-when dropped down on his knees and asked me to go with him that I just had to laugh and ask exactly what it was he intended to show me that I hadn’t already seen more times than I cared to admit or remember.

He pulled out the check he’d handed me earlier and said, “For starters, that I’m more than able to make good on this. And that I will pay back everything I owe you, with interest, even if I have to go into debt doing it.”

Anyway, girl, to make a long story short, that’s how I ended up taking a late-night tour of Morris-Morgan’s dining hall, the kitchen facilities, and the private office bearing the nameplate of one “Chef Venard Nathaniel Payne.” It all looked too legit to be a lie, as did Scoobie’s demeanor when he started talking to me about church and how he’d been looking for one to attend. Of course, you know, the latter I’m still not trying to believe until I actually see it. But most shocking of all, not once throughout the entire evening did the brother make a single play for the panties.

Talk about impressed. I couldn’t wait to get home and tell Nora. But when I finally stepped through my front door at around 10:45 that evening, guess who I discovered sitting up on my sofa, eating Redenbacher’s and looking like he didn’t have anything better to do than worry the heck out of me?

I know good and well the sight of me all reared back on her sofa, straight-cold kicking it with her roomie, had to have come as a shock. But Faye, as always, played it cool. She even went so far as to extend a nod and a “What’s up?” my way before Nora jumped into the mix with her mad-mama tirade.

“And just where in the hell were you, Ms. Thang, that you couldn’t pick up the phone and call somebody? Got folks sitting ’round here wondering if some fool done gone and bopped you upside the head and left you lying in a ditch somewhere. And you know good and well I got to be up at the Bulk Mail Center early in the morning.”

Faye apologized and tried to tell Nora about someone she’d run into at the mall, but homegirl wasn’t having it. She said, “Uh-uh, if you’re not fixing to tell me about an accident, a carjacking, or a death in the family, I ain’t trying hear it. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be in a better frame of mind, but right now, I’m taking me a B.C. and calling it a night.”

Without further ado, Nora proceeded to make good on her threat, leaving me and Faye alone to face off with each other. I told her, “She was really worried about you,” only to have Faye sorta shrug and saunter off to the kitchen, like she couldn’t have cared less.

As I fell in step behind her, I was struck by a few things that up until then I hadn’t really noticed before, like the fact that I’d never seen the chick without makeup and how she always looked like she’d just come in from having her hair and nails done.

While I watched, she puttered around the kitchen, checking her mail, pouring herself a glass of water from the fridge, and occasionally eyeballing me. I wasn’t really leering,
I was just, you know, taking note of a few things, like the pantsuit she had on that was hugging and tugging in all the right places. It was one of these beige and cream pinstriped numbers, cut dangerously low in front. And even though I’m not typically what you might call a “boob man” I couldn’t resist the urge to take a visual stroll across the honey-colored terrain laid out so wondrously before me.

But when my gaze rose up outta her cleavage only to crash into the hardened glare she was aiming at me, the most I could come up with, man, was a shamefaced “You look nice.”

She rolled her eyes and, in one of those tired “I ain’t got time for this type of mess” tones of voice, asked if there was something I wanted.

Realizing I was ’bout to get run off, I said, “Yeah, I want in.”

She scrunched up her face and said, “Beg your pardon?”

I’m not gonna lie, man. I had to swallow a couple of times to drive back the flock of butterflies I felt fluttering around in my belly. But once done, I stepped to her again. “The game,” I said. “The one you’re playing. I want in.”

“Why?” she asked.

I told her, “Intrigue, I suppose. You’re one big elaborate puzzle to me. I like puzzles. The more difficult, the better.”

I could tell by the way she raised her eyebrows and set down her glass she didn’t care for my answer. She sashayed that big butt past me, slanging yang all the while. “As much as I hate spoiling anyone’s fun, Carl, I think you’re better off knowing that a hump-buddy is what I’m looking for, not a shrink. And that’s pretty much the big picture, in a nutshell. It’s nowhere near as complicated as you’re trying to make it.”

Like a puppy eager for some petting, I trailed her to her bedroom, where I pulled up short at the door. I watched
for a moment as she removed her jewelry and shoes and started rummaging through her closets and drawers. After summoning the proper amount of courage, I said, “Can I ask you a question? Why’d you proposition me?”

She stopped moving long enough to say something to the effect of “Because you told me you were moving, and I figured the distance would help circumvent any silly notions you might try to entertain about us having anything other than something quick and casual.”