Almost Crimson (22 page)

THIRTY-SEVEN

LOBBY

 

 

WITH EACH WEEK THAT PASSED, CeCe withdrew from every social ritual, except visiting the library and her mother. She skipped Thursday happy hour with Terelle, payday pancakes with Doris, a few phone check-ins with Pam, and only half-heartedly dished the tabloids with her cousin, Tremaine.

Raven had left one awkward message a week after their fateful night. CeCe and Terri played and replayed the recording, trying to analyze his stumbling unease. CeCe theorized the call simply proved his proper upbringing, not that he wanted to hear from her again.

“Give him a chance,” Terri had said.

“Fuck that punk,” Terelle had said.

“Wait to see if he calls again,” Doris had said.

He didn't.

After another fruitless week of voicemail checking, CeCe stopped waiting to hear from Raven. She reassured her small tribe of girlfriends that, yes, she understood Raven's issue with her virginity was no reflection on her. Still, CeCe imagined herself emitting a radar signal to all men, warning them to keep their distance. A twenty-four-year-old virgin was, apparently, a young-adult brand of cooties.

“Maybe I'll just buy some sex,” CeCe had broadcast to her friends. “Order myself a full-body massage with a generous side of ‘happy ending.'”

“Rent-a-dick? Your scary ass?” Terelle had said, howling at the prospect. “I'm sorry, but I'd pay to see that go down!”

“Just do me a favor and stay off that Craigslist thing,” Doris had said.

Pam had lathered them both into breathless laughter about crotch catalogs, toe-curling money back guarantees, and bring-your-own-lube specials. Before hanging up, she had said sweetly to CeCe, “It'll happen, girl. It will.”

Terri appeared in the doorway of their bathroom a week later and said, “I have a proposition for you.”

CeCe stood in front of the mirror, using a small-toothed comb to part her hair into narrow sections and scratch and lift the dry flakes from her scalp. Aunt Rosie had told her to always give her scalp a thorough scratching before washing it. CeCe looked at Terri's reflection warily. Whatever the proposition, CeCe already knew she would ask Terri to do her laundry in exchange.

“Let me help with your first time,” Terri said.

CeCe's hand froze, the red comb hovering above her scalp. She leaned against the vanity sink, close to the mirror, wearing a tattered tee and faded gym shorts. Instantly aware of her protruding ass pointed at Terri, CeCe watched her roommate through the mirror and formed her reply.

Now she was supposed to consider becoming a lesbian?

“I appreciate it, Terri, but I don't see how—umm—sleeping with you would help—”

Terri's pensive expression swung open with a laugh. She pushed at CeCe's hip with her foot. “Not with me, girl,” Terri said. “I mean, let me help you, maybe, set something up. I know Operation Gigolo was a joke, but it might not be a bad idea to take fate into your own hands.”

After a quiet moment, Terri asked, “So, what are you thinking?” CeCe could see her tousle of frizz and curls leaning into her peripheral vision. CeCe let her chin drop to her chest, her own hair unbound, wild and falling into her eyes. Her chest heaved a sigh and she felt her entire body tense.

CeCe opened her mouth and waited for the tangle of words to find their way. “I'm thinking that sounds desperate,” she said. “I'm thinking my friends believe I'm a lost cause. I'm thinking I want to cry right now . . . ”

Terri entered the bathroom and leaned against the counter, her back to the mirror and her earnest face to close to CeCe's.

“OK,” she said, pausing for a moment. “And what are you thinking now?”

Terri's eyes searched her friend's face while CeCe's expression was incredulous.

“I don't know,” CeCe said, a quiver in her voice nipping at the edges of her words. “I don't know if I'm thinking. This is all feeling. Feeling embarrassed, feeling foolish, feeling broken, feeling—”

“No, none of those feelings are welcome here,” Terri said, with a slow shake of her head. “I hear you, little sister. We can let this go right now. I'm sorry to set any of those feelings into motion. You have nothing to be embarrassed about. Nothing at all. After listening to you joke about the stripper all week, this just started to sound like a rational alternative in my head. I feel badly for even suggesting it. Please forgive me?”

CeCe stepped into the open arc of her friend's arms, with her own arms still folded. She wanted to weep when Terri enveloped her, but no tears fell. She was empty, through and through.

 

The two of them moved in their own quiet circles for the rest of the day. Terri in the living immersed in a constellation of index cards, Post-It notes and charcoal sketches and CeCe engrossed in the true crime bestseller,
Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil
. As roommates, Terri and CeCe rarely needed to negotiate one another's need for space or quiet. As friends, they stayed in tune to the other's orbits and moods.

“I choose,” CeCe said, standing in the archway of the living room. The afternoon sun was fading in the windows. Terri's cards and sketches had been stacked into a system of neat piles and she was writing in a notebook. She looked up from her seat on the floor, confusion drawing her face into a squint.

CeCe threaded her fingers together as she leaned against the doorway. She could bail on the idea right now. She could say that she wanted to choose takeout or the next DVD rental and dismiss her past forty minutes of contemplation, rationalization and self-motivation. She could be done with this foolishness and continue with life as she knew it, but the words sprang from her mouth before her nerves could wither.

“I choose the guy,” she said.

Terri grinned. “Of course.”

CeCe took one step into the living room, leaning her back against the doorway arch now. She looked down at her clasped fingers and asked meekly, “Did you have suggestions, though?”

“Of course,” Terri said, smiling broadly as she rolled onto her side to prop her head on one hand and count off prospects with the other. “Marcus, from the co-op. Corey, who works at the rental office. Sabian, the grad assistant you like. The one with the infinity tattoo on his neck? And Dub.”

“Dub?” CeCe said, her arms falling to either side. “Dark-skinned Dub?”

Terri let her counting hand drop to the floor and fixed her eyes on CeCe.

“Yes,” Terri said. “Are we really about to have a conversation about dark skin and light skin?”

CeCe flapped her arms and shifted her weight in the doorway “No!” CeCe replied, offended. “But we could have a conversation about what an asshole he is!”

A smile pulled itself across Terri's face again. “Oh, that,” she said.

CeCe's insides began to sink. She felt a red flag wanting to pitch itself in her gut. Terri sat up and gestured to the couch. CeCe slouched over and sat, crossing her legs and her arms. Terri crossed her legs, leaned forward and told CeCe Dub's story. She didn't suggest that Dub hid a kinder, softer side or was masking the scars of childhood tragedy with some false bravado. When she first came out in college, Dub was one of the few friends who grilled her with relentless questions and stood by her side while she sorted them out. Terri said Dub was crude and arrogant even then. Still, she credited that cockiness for every success he'd earned, from his tender days as a chess prodigy to becoming a pint-sized all-conference linebacker to negotiating himself into executive offices before turning thirty.

“He's an ass,” Terri said. “But he's an unapologetic ass, who's honest, loyal, consistent, about his business, and
perfect
for a job like this.”

CeCe heard herself laugh. “Job?” she repeated.

Terri covered her face with her hands and shook her head. “I'm sorry,” she said giggling.

CeCe waved away her apology and let herself sink into the couch. Dub was arrogant as hell but Terri was right, he wasn't mean. He also wasn't hard to look at, with his glistening skin and muscular frame boasting behind his designer clothes. Besides, Terri trusted him and she trusted Terri. The other options were guys with whom CeCe had never held a full conversation.

“When?” CeCe said.

“He's free tomorrow.”

“Terri!”

Terri held up hands with a shrug. “Entirely your call,” she said.

After a long silence, CeCe said, “You haven't led me wrong yet.”

Terri reached out to rest her hand on CeCe's foot. “Little sister, I don't intend to start now.”

 

When CeCe arrived at the Phoenix Hotel, she chanted affirmations under her breath.
You deserve this. You deserve this. You're not a desperate reject. You deserve this. You deserve this. It's going to be fine . . .
Still, she'd insisted on meeting Dub at the hotel, in case the expedition exploded into flames.

CeCe had read about swanky events held at the Phoenix Hotel, but she had never been inside the building. When the parking garage elevator slid open onto the lobby, CeCe took in the boutique hotel's elegance. The lower level was spacious and decorated in harlequin patterns of fuchsia and tangerine. A shelf traveled the lobby walls and CeCe's eyes followed the eclectic collection of statuettes, pewter candlesticks, copper balls of twine, antique tin boxes, empty wine bottles, a vintage radio, and a purple chaise where Dub sat.

Dub stood and walked toward her. In the enormous framed mirror mounted on the wall behind him, CeCe saw herself. She looked different, womanly, already. Terrell had sculpted her hair into a small ocean wave that tapered at the nape. Soft hues of berries and spice were dusted on her full features. Pam had coaxed her to buy a new dress, and Terri had calmed her about the price. It was a strapless dress, the color of ripe plums. Strips of plum-colored leather trimmed the bodice in a corset effect, highlighting the contours of CeCe's curves. The crepe fabric felt like a promise with each soft swish across the back of her thighs. 

CeCe took a deep breath and returned Dub's smile. He dressed to a precise fashion, as usual, in straight gray pants that looked to CeCe like a couture kind of canvas.

“Look at you,” he said. “I hope you know how remarkable you look.”

Dub's compliment slid over her bare shoulders warm and true. She had been prepared for a critique, an opinion, or an annoyed commentary, but saw none of that in his eyes tonight. 

He smiled at her, seeming to read her thoughts.

“Let's go,” he said, cradling her elbow with one hand and resting the other on the small of her back. With the pads of his fingers, Dub guided her across the hotel lobby and back to the elevator. He pressed the button at the top of the panel and CeCe commanded her stomach not to lurch.

At least I'll lose it in the penthouse
, she thought.

Dub stayed close to her without actually touching her body. In her periphery, she could see him smiling at his shoes. Her panic began to break apart and float to every limb and region of her body.

What if it hurts?
she thought.
What if he's really rough? What if I'm really, really bad? What if this was just a horrible idea?

The elevator buttons illuminated the third floor, fourth, fifth, all the way up to ten. CeCe swallowed hard as the last button, the P, filled with light. Dub's hand returned to her back.

The doors opened and CeCe stopped in her tracks. The room that faced them was not a lavish penthouse suite, but a resplendent supper club with islands of purple tablecloths and high vases filled with long, red feathers. CeCe didn't feel Dub's hand push at the small of her back but, rather, intuited him urging her forward. Her body responded and, at that moment, CeCe knew she would trust his guiding hand throughout the night.

“Welcome to the Phoenix,” the hostess said.

“Reservation for Williams,” Dub said. The hostess scanned her oversized ledger and nodded approvingly.

“Yes, Mr. Williams, your table is ready.” She picked up two red, leather-backed menus. “This way, please?”

CeCe felt Dub's hand leave her back. She glanced over her shoulder and he gave a small smile and a nod toward the hostess. CeCe followed behind the hostess, her sleek black hair swaying in easy rhythm with her hips. CeCe realized her own hips swiveled differently inside her plum dress.

The hostess placed menus at their seats and wished them a great evening. Dub thanked her and stood behind CeCe as she seated herself. The sommelier arrived immediately and Dub ordered a bottle of Sauvignon.

“I hope you don't mind,” he said.

“No, not at all,” CeCe said. “I don't know anything about wines.”

“As long as you can remember merlot, sauvignon, chardonnay, and Shiraz, you'll be fine,” Dub said. “Most folks ask for white zinfandel and think they're doing something. Zinfandel is the Tang of wine.”

CeCe laughed. He was clever. She could never deny him that.

“Did you take a class or something?” she asked.