All About Eva (14 page)

“Well, well, well . . . look who we have here, hustlin' drinks like the two-bit barroom bitch I always knew you were,” Zoë said when I approached their table. It was her, Bianca, Sandra, and Pilar, and they had come to Visions specifically to give me a hard time.

“Is this your dream job?” Sandra snickered, with her titties hanging all out as usual.

“Your mother must be so proud to have a cocktail waitress in the family,” Bianca said, with her suspect ass.

I kept smiling, determined not to let my temper get the best of me.

“Good evening, my name is Eva and I will be your server for the evening. What can I start you ladies off with?”

“You can start me off with two million dollars, bitch!” Zoë said, causing her cronies to laugh at my expense.

“Anything else?” I asked cordially.

“No, that's it,” Zoë said, folding her arms and staring me down. “I'm just going to sit here and wait patiently for my money, because I know you have it stashed away somewhere. Now run along!”

Then the heifer snapped her fingers at me, like I was her dog or indentured servant.

Still, I sucked it up and let it slide. When I turned to walk away, I was pelted with ice chips, and when I turned back around, they were all sitting there as if nothing had happened.

I didn't know which one of those bitches threw the ice, but I did know who was responsible for all the unnecessary animosity toward me. I grabbed an ice bucket and dumped the cubes right on top of her 30-inch Indian Remy Body Wave in Jet Black.

It was an involuntary reaction, it really was, but Amanda was not the least bit sympathetic.

“I still got love for ya, Eva,” Amanda said. “But I'm
Italian,
and I'd fire my own mother if she fucked up my money the way you did tonight!”

And that was the end of my career as a party hostess. Grand opening, grand closing.

“Don't tell me you lost that damn job!” said Kyle after I explained the ordeal that had just unfolded. “How you gonna let Zoë, of all bitches, mess with your money like that?”

“Anyways.” I sighed. “I didn't call to get fussed at. You're obviously at home, so I'm on my way over.”

“Uh, wait a minute, Miss Girl. How do you even know I'm in the mood for company?”

“I'm not company, I'm family.”

“If you insist. . . .” Kyle sighed like he was being put upon. “But I'm starving, so please don't come empty-handed.”

“I'll bring the food if you have the wine.”

“Done.”

It was close to midnight when I left Visions, and bitterly cold. I caught a cab uptown to Talay Restaurant where they serve the perfect fusion of Thai-Latin cuisine. Figuring that Kyle and I would share everything like we normally do, I ordered the crispy shrimp and plantains with sweet chili aioli, crab cakes with Thai basil mayonnaise and baby greens, and the Thai-Mex chicken quesadilla. Nothing quite eases the pain of being fired like stuffing yourself with good food and good drink.

Kyle lived in Harlem, in a renovated tri-level brownstone on 119th and Third. He greeted me at the door dressed in burgundy silk pajamas, looking like a black Hugh Hefner, only gay.

“Aww, my baby got fired?” he asked, kissing me on both cheeks.

“Yeah,” I pouted. “I figured this was the best place to come to lick my wounds.”

“Well, come on in, girl! You're just in time—
Imitation of Life
is about to start.”

“Which version,” I asked. “Black-and-white or color?”

“Black-and-white, of course! Now, I love both versions, but Louise Beavers and Claudette Colbert served the drama back in nineteen thirty-four, honey!”

“I beg to differ, only because black-and-white films are like visual tryptophan to me. There's just something about them that make me sleepy.”

“Well, not tonight, because if you fall asleep on me I'm gonna put hot sauce in your mouth like we used to do back in the day.”

“Ooh! You remember that? Our sleepovers used to be so much fun.”

“Yeah, those were the days. Ah, to be young and carefree again.”

“I don't know what you're talking about, because I'm still young, but carefree? Now
that
would be nice.”

I loved visiting Kyle's place, which is very warm and welcoming when his partner Irwin isn't home, which fortunately he wasn't. The two of us never quite hit it off. Probably because when he and Kyle started dating, Kyle always referred to Irwin as “trade” and was initially only interested in him because he was a sales associate at Bergdorf's men's store and could get deep discounts on clothing, label whore that he is.

Now, just three months later, Kyle claims to be genuinely in love. I don't buy it. Irwin is five years younger than Kyle, and I always thought he was using Kyle for his nice home and stability. In that case, they were using each other, and a fair exchange ain't no robbery, but in my eyes, Irwin is still trade, and trade does not deserve respect.

When his dancing and choreography days are officially over, Kyle plans to reinvent himself as an interior designer, which he certainly should because his home was an oasis of serenity and a showplace of refined tastes.

Kyle had a lot of Japanese-inspired furnishings, and had decorated the brownstone in neutral tones of chocolate brown and peach, with gold and red accents.

“Oh, and you brought the good stuff!” Kyle said, looking thoroughly delighted that I had brought food from Talay's. “You always did have good taste.”

“I guess you taught me well after all, huh?”

“I helped, but you've always had it, my dear.” Kyle patted me on the cheek like Glenda the Good Witch. “You may have needed a little guidance here and there, but trust, you've always had it.”

Kyle took the bag from me while I took my coat off and hung it in the hall closet. I followed him into the living room where there was a warm glow coming from the brick fireplace, and he had already set up place settings on the large glass coffee table, along with a bottle of white wine.

We sat down Japanese-style on soft, comfortable floor pillows and watched the classic mother–daughter drama unfold on TCM.

“I'll tell you one thing,” I said when the movie got to the part where the daughter kicks her poor mama out of her life, “that Sarah Jane sure was one ungrateful-ass bitch!”

Kyle just nodded, trying to hold back the tears.

I had seen the movie several times before, and every time I always came away wishing that I had a mother like Annie. She loved Sarah Jane more than oxygen, but all Sarah Jane wanted to do was pass for white, even if it meant never having anything to do with her mother again.

Sarah Jane did not realize how lucky she was to have such a loving mother until it was too late and Annie was dead, while I had a mother who, for all she knew, could have had a dead daughter.

Hanging out with Kyle that night reminded me of the old days back in Chicago when we would eat and watch movies together. Only, instead of eating gourmet, it was always some ghetto-ass meal like chili mac with melted cheese, or hot dogs and pork 'n' beans. I was twelve and Kyle was around fifteen when we really started hanging out.

The two of us bonded over the fact that we were both orphans whose biological parents had left us to be raised by relatives. Kyle always was a wise old soul, and whenever I would break down and cry to him about my missing parents, he would comfort me with, “Just remember, Eva, when your mother and father forsake you, the Lord will take you up.” At the time, I wasn't exactly sure how that Bible verse applied to me and my situation, but as Kyle broke it down to me, I imagined that because Gwen and Bernard had walked away and left me, God put a force field of protection around me, and no matter how bad things got in life, somehow, someway, I would be sustained and I would always land on my feet.

I awoke the next morning to find a big brown cat perched on the arm of Kyle's sofa where I had slept. “Hey, kitty-kitty . . .” I said, wondering exactly when it was that Kyle had gotten a cat.

I stretched, and wiped the sleep from my eyes. Then I froze.

Kyle doesn't have a cat, because he's allergic to them.

I took a second look, this time noticing that the kitty cat had beady red eyes, a pink pointy nose, and a long skinny tail with no fur on it.

A chill ran through me as I realized,
That ain't no damn cat!

I jumped up and screamed at the top of my lungs. “
Kyle!
Get in here, quick! Help!”

I started throwing magazines, pillows, the remote control—ever ything I could get my hands on at him, but Mr. King Rat just looked at me like he didn't get what all the fuss was about. And he sure as hell wasn't scared of me.

Finally, the humongous rodent jumped down off the couch and walked off. Mind you, this particular rat did not scurry away like most of them do. He simply walked off as if he had seen all that he had come to see, and was over it, and buh-bye!

I had heard that the rats up in Harlem are a different breed. By all accounts, they are larger and more ferocious than you would normally find in other parts of the city, and like their human counterparts, the rodents in Harlem have their own distinct swagger.

Kyle came running downstairs wielding a baseball bat and a pellet gun.

“What is all the screaming about, somebody break in?”

“No, it was a supersized rat! He was on the other end of the couch when I woke up—just chilling!”

Kyle looked at me and laughed. “Chile, all that noise over a little old rat? Hello! This is Harlem, baby. You're gonna see a rat or two every now and then. It comes with the territory.”

“Well, hell, I didn't expect for him to wake me up and practically ask what's for breakfast!”

“There he is . . . ,” Kyle said, noticing that Mr. King Rat was under the dining room table. He raised the pellet gun, aimed carefully, and popped him a couple times in the side. Only then did the rat
scurry
away like rodents were supposed to. “Ha ha, got him! I betcha his ass won't be back! Now, you want grits or oatmeal?”

For breakfast, Kyle made smoked turkey sausage, cheese grits, and toasted slices of walnut raisin bread.

We watched the Channel 7 news while we ate. According to the meteorologist, a cold front was moving in from Canada and snow was in the extended forecast.

“And to think,” I said, buttering my toast. “This time last year I was packing my bags for an island Christmas. Now there's not even going to be a Christmas this year.”

“Girl, hush, there's always a Christmas. It's just up to the individual to count their blessings and remember the reason for the season.”

“That's easy for you to say because you have a great career, and this big, beautiful home,” I said. “And by the way, what are your plans for the holidays, Mr. Man?”

“I'll be in Miami. . . . ” Kyle winced as if he expected me to punch him.

“Miami! See?” I reached across the table and playfully rung Kyle's neck. “Talking about ‘count your blessings and remember the reason for the season' when you're gonna be shaking your jelly all up and down South Beach on Christmas Day.”

“No, honey, you got it twisted. Killjoy has a concert and a video shoot, so I will be working.”

“In the sunshine, enjoying the palm trees, and kicked back on the beach, and yachting in eighty-degree weather with a cold, frothy cocktail or two. . . .”

“Well, hell, work is work no matter where you do it!” Kyle laughed. “But seriously, Irwin isn't even coming with me, so right there you know that should tell you that this is not a pleasure trip.”

“Where is Irwin, by the way?”

Kyle sighed and shook his head. “Your guess is as good as mine. He didn't call or come home last night, so I suspect that he's back up to his whorish ways and is somewhere laying up with rough trade. That is the way he likes it, you know.”

“Hmm, moving on!” I said. “You know, I've been doing some thinking, and if I can get the money together, I just might go back home for Christmas. I want to see Mama Nita even if she doesn't recognize me.”

“That's wonderful, but just make sure you come back,” Kyle said. “And don't go hooking up with that Jayson Cooper, and settle down and start having babies.”

“Wow, I haven't heard that name in years,” I said. “But Jayson was my first love, so I'm single, and if he's single . . . you never know.”

At that moment, Irwin came through the door supersloshed, hammered, drunk as the proverbial skunk.

Irwin saw me and slurred, “What the hell is this broke bitch doing up in here?”

And the lovefest began.

“That's funny, because I was just about to ask the same thing about you, boo!” I said. “Enjoy your rough trade last night?
Trade!
”

“Hey, knock it off you two. It is way too early in the morning to be going at each other's throats the way you tend to do.”

“Your so-called man started it,” I said. “With his trifling ass.” Irwin gave me the finger, and less than a minute later, he was crying.

“What the hell?” Kyle and I said at the same time.

Irwin slobbered and slurred his words, but was eventually able to get out that he was fired from Bergdorf's men's store the day before for sliding free merchandise to his buddies. He didn't come home because he knew that Kyle would be mad at him.

“You're damn right I'm mad!” Kyle said. “I told you to cut that shit out before those needy, greedy bastards ended up getting you fired, and now look!”

“I know. . . .” Irwin sobbed like a little boy who just got his butt whipped. “I'm sorry!”

I said my good-byes to Kyle and quickly got out of there before Kyle blew his top and the real fight got started.

I sympathized with them, but hell. I had my own problems. I had just been fired myself, and was once again back at square one.