Ain't Gonna Be the Same Fool Twice (8 page)

I glanced over at the table in the far corner of the dimly lit room. Perhaps they served egg rolls at dances here. Maybe they were some sort of San Francisco treat. But I wasn't in the mood for a roll, not right after eating one of Kentucky Fried Chicken's good-ass biscuits.

“No, thank you,” I answered politely. “I ate before I came.”

The woman's full lips broke into a grin. She had a devilish look on her face that showed off her twinkling eyes. “I ate before I came,” she laughed, running her fingers through her short natural. My Afro was big compared to hers.

What was so funny? I wondered. This woman had some kind of nerve to be laughing at me. I was glad to see a sistah, but I wasn't in the mood for any mess. Nobody told her to walk her behind over here. I didn't want to have to “read” her.

“What's so funny?” I asked nervously.

“I saw that on a T-shirt in the Haight, once,” she explained.

“What?”

“I ate before I came.”

It dawned on me that this sistah wasn't talking about food. And she must've meant roles as in butch/femme. I'd read about them in my social psychology book. They talked about butch/femme roles in the chapter on Deviance.

“You mean butch/femme roles?”

The woman nodded.

“Sorry, I was distracted by the music.”

“So, are you into roles or not? You still haven't answered my question,” the woman pointed out.

So what if I haven't? Who are you, the roving reporter? And who says I want to be interviewed?

But her large dark eyes were soft like hush puppies and she was boyishly cute, without looking hard enough to bite nails. So I decided to be nice.

“I'm just visiting.”

“From where? Another planet? They got roles everywhere.”

“Chicago. Look, I just got here this week. Gimme a break.”

“Chicago, the Windy City. Chi town, that's a place I wouldn't mind visiting. Well, what brings you out here?”

“Celebration. I just graduated from college a few weeks ago.”

“G'on with your educated self,” the woman said, slapping my back. “I'm still trying to get my A.A. degree.”

She extended her hand. “I'm Traci.”

I gave Traci the black handshake, just to let her know that I was cool. I liked the feel of her firm grip.

“I'm Stevie.”

“So, Miss Stevie, what's the women's scene like back in Chicago?” Traci asked, popping her fingers.

I liked the way Traci's voice sounded. It was smooth like molasses. I'd always been into nice voices.

“I've been away at school for four years.”

“Didn't you check it out on weekends and holidays?”

“Not really. I'm sort of new to all of this.”

“Well, welcome to ‘the Life.'”

“Hey, like I said, I'm just visiting. I'm not ready to sign on the dotted line or anything.”

“So, do you call yourself experimenting or what?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Do you have a problem with experimenters?”

“No, hey, my lab is open.”

I didn't know what to say, so I gulped the last of my wine and glanced around the room. It was full of women dancing up a storm.

“You look like you're in culture shock. Or was it something I said?”

“I'm more shocked that a church would allow lesbians to hold a dance in their building. I don't care if they are Unitarians. This would never happen in Chicago, even on the North Side, and certainly not downstate. Although the women here do remind me of farmhands.”

“We're feminists, you know how we are.”

“I didn't mean any offense. I'm used to hippies from my college days. But hippies are about played out, where I'm from.” I looked down at my powder-blue-and-white-striped top with see-through sleeves. “I guess people look at me and think I'm dressed weird.”

Traci flashed her white teeth. I could feel the warmth of her smile. “I didn't think you were from around here. San Franciscans tend to wear dark colors. And we wouldn't be caught dead in white shoes.”

I glanced at my pants and sandals.

“Not even in the summertime?”

Traci shook her head. “We don't have a traditional summer.”

“Yeah, I've noticed. I like to have frozen out at Fisherman's Wharf Thursday.”

“Hey, we laugh at the fools shivering in their shorts, waiting for the cable cars.”

“Well, tonight I wore long pants and a sweater.”

“I heard that. You say you might've been a fool a couple days back. But you ain't gonna be the same fool twice.”

“You got it.”

“Let me throw that away for you.” Traci tossed my cup and pulled me onto the dance floor toward a soulful beat. For some reason, I felt comfortable with her.

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't having fun dancing to the Motown oldies with Traci. And I'd be lying if I said she wasn't cute. I'd danced with girlfriends before, when we were learning a new dance, but this felt different. Different from dancing with a man, different from anything that I'd ever experienced.

A wild dancer accidently bumped into me. She apologized while I held my breath to block out her sour odor.

“There are some real stompers in here, huh,” I commented to Traci.

“You know they tend to overdo it when it comes to dancing.”

“They're not so big on deodorant, though, huh?”

“Stevie, we're into being natural. We'd rather smell funk than perfume.”

“Different strokes for different folks.” I shrugged. I know they say when in Rome, do as the Romans do. But that's easier said than done, I thought. 'Cause I can't get into funk. I take a bath or shower every day and yes, I do wish everybody did.

“Stevie, let's say we blow this pop stand. I'll give you a ride back to the City, OK? You are staying in the city, aren't you?”

Wait just a sardine-eating minute. What did Traci mean? I hoped she didn't call herself picking me up. Although it was an exciting thought. But I hated to have to rain on her parade. Call me a prude, but I knew I wasn't ready to get down with a woman.

“The city? I'm staying in a hotel in downtown San Francisco.”

“San Francisco is the city. That's what everybody calls it. This is the East Bay.”

“Oh, well, I don't want you to drive all the way across the bridge on my account.” I figured Traci wasn't offering to drive me back to San Francisco for her health. It wasn't like I could invite her up for tea and crumpets. “It would help if you just gave me a ride to BART.”

“Look, I stay in the city. I've got to go back over to that side anyway.”

“OK, well, in that case, thanks.” I went and got my sweater.

As we left the church, my mind was a ball of confusion. This might be the perfect opportunity to get next to a woman. I was on vacation, in a strange city, and no one would ever have to know. If I didn't like it, I could forget it ever happened. But the thought of me being sexual with a woman made my legs turn into Jell-O.

We walked down the street toward Traci's car. There was an unmistakable charge in the air, and we were definitely creating it.

I would've thought twice about climbing into some man's car I'd just met, but it was different with a woman. I felt completely safe with Traci in her little red Volkswagen bug. Well, maybe not completely safe; that would have been boring. Traci shifted gears.

“Isn't it hard to have a stick in a place with so many hills?” I asked.

“There is such a thing as an emergency brake,” she reminded me.

“I know that.” I shook my head. “But all that stopping and starting, especially on the hills.”

“I wouldn't drive anything else. You have more control over the car.”

“That's what the last dude I dated used to say. But I wonder if having more control over the car isn't overrated.”

“I don't know whether your squeeze overrated his joystick, or not.”

“No pun intended, I'm sure.”

Traci smiled. “But as far as I'm concerned, if you ain't shifting and dealing with the clutch, you ain't driving. You just steering, that's all.”

“I can barely drive an automatic. I just got my license a couple of months ago.”

“Well, I've been driving ever since God was a corporal.”

“How long is that?”

“Almost ten years.”

I made a mental note. That would make her around twenty-five. Traci was an older woman.

“Changing the subject here, I'm just curious. I finally saw an Asian woman and a Latina woman, but where were all the sistahs tonight? I mean, Oakland has a pretty large black population, doesn't it? And it's right next to Berkeley. Where do they go?”

“Stevie, a lot of black women are into roles. This wasn't their scene tonight. This was a political scene.”

“Where
is
their scene?”

“They got a club in East Oakland called the Jubilee. Saturday nights the joint be jumpin'.”

“I'd like to see it. Can we check it out?”

“I'm sorry, Stevie. But I can't take those ‘Negroes' tonight. I'm in the mood to kick back.”

I wondered why Traci didn't want to be around the sistahs. And if she planned to kick back by herself or if she was hoping to have some company.

“I had to work today,” Traci explained. “Let's say we go back to my place for a glass of wine and conversation before dropping you off at your hotel?”

There's your answer, I thought. She's hoping to have some company. It had been my experience that when a man suggested going back to his place, he expected more than wine and conversation. But Traci wasn't a man; maybe it would be different. Maybe she wouldn't push.

After a long pause, I said, “All right.” Traci smiled. She was so cute with her bunny rabbit nose and pretty lips. What would Sharlinda and Today think if they could see me now, I wondered? It would blow their little minds.

Traci said that her neighborhood was called Noe Valley. Even at night, I could tell that it was nice, with its colorful Victorians and quaint-looking shops. Traci parked the car on a hill, curbed her wheels, and put on her emergency brake. You didn't have to worry about runaway cars back home.

I paused to catch my breath as we headed uphill toward Traci's building.

“How can they call this a valley, with all these hills?” I groaned.

“We're on the outskirts. It's pretty flat in the center.”

“You sure had to park far away.”

Traci shrugged. “Only a block and a half. You call that far?”

“Definitely.”

“In San Francisco, we call that lucky.”

“On the South Side of Chicago, if people have to park two houses away, they have a fit. In the winter time they put out chairs and brooms to hold their spots all day.”

“Brooms and chairs, huh?”

“Yeah, when you've cleared away ice and snow in front of your house, you figure you own it. Some people will shoot you over a parking space.”

“I've heard that they're more rigid back there.”

“Yeah, Chicagoans are big on routine. We're not lounging in cafés during the day like you see people doing here. We're somewhere busting our butts trying to make a living. During the week, Chicagoans basically go to work, come home, park in the same spot, eat dinner, watch TV, and get some z's. It's easy to get in a rut back there.”

“That's why I left Sacramento.”

I huffed and puffed at the top of the hill. I hoped we were almost there.

“Chicago has a reputation for being tough,” Traci added.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “People in France told my old roommate Celeste, who's French, that she'd better be careful because of all the gangsters.” I wondered how Celeste was doing back in France. I wondered which she missed more, me or San Francisco.

“I guess they think Al Capone and Dillinger still live there.” Traci laughed as we walked up the steps of a purple and white Victorian.

I panted as Traci swung the door open. “You mean there's another set of stairs inside?”

“Yep, keeps me in shape.”

The steps led to a long, tan-colored hallway. “I was expecting to see a living room.”

“This is called a railroad flat. They're common in San Francisco. Actually the living room is my bedroom.”

“Oh,” I said, afraid of going stepping into Traci's bedroom. Even though I liked Traci, I wasn't ready to be in a reclining position.

“Don't you miss having a living room? You know, for entertaining.”

“It's cheaper, rentwise. I have two roommates. And my room has a view and a fireplace. So it's worth it.”

“What about your kitchen?”

“What about it?”

“Can we go in there?”

“Sure, follow me. There's a view from in there too.”

We sat down across from each other in the old-fashioned blue and white kitchen, sipping wine and munching on corn chips. Traci was busy rolling a joint. I hoped she didn't plan on seducing me. I was in a quandary. I liked to get high because grass relaxed me, but sometimes it also made me as horny as a toad. I knew I was attracted to Traci, but I was still scared. And I didn't want to lose control behind a joint.

Traci licked the ends of the fat joint with her sexy tongue. I hoped Traci would be able to drive me to my hotel after smoking that sucker. I figured if worse came to worst, I could always call a cab.

“This is an interesting dip.”

“It's got cilantro in it,” Traci informed me.

“Cilantro, what's that? I've never heard of it.”

Traci took a hit off of the joint. “It's an herb. I got it today from Loving Foods, where I work.”

Traci offered me the joint. I shook my head. “No thanks, I think the wine is enough.”

Traci looked disappointed. Why was I being such a prude? Wasn't this trip supposed to be a celebration? Wasn't it about time for me to kick up my heels a little bit? Maybe so, but I was still too afraid.