Cheaters (20 page)

And I was alone with my own thoughts.

A jingling sound caught my attention. A brotha in a yellow silk suit and bright red hat was swaggering by, shaking the loose change in his pockets. For a moment the dry air felt humid, my arm experienced a sting, like a lone mosquito had attacked me, and I was back in Jackson, Mississippi, sitting on my daddy’s lap.

More people strolled down the walkway, dabbing sweat off their brows as they crawled into their cars and drove away. A lot of sistas were lingering, exchanging cards and scribbling their numbers on matchbooks or scraps of paper, passing it on to their catch of the moment. Those brothas had shit-eating grins that said they’d had successful nights.

Darnell and Jake came out and stopped by my table, said their good-byes, then hopped in Darnell’s car and headed up Haven toward the 10 freeway. Darnell was taking his desires home to his wife; Jake was heading back to his fiancée’s house.

The winds picked up, blew some papers, scattered some dust.

I felt anxious. Lonely. So damn lonely.

Brittany and her beau came out of the shadows. I heard her giggles before I saw her. He was holding her hand, laughing like he was the man of all men, walking her out to her car.

While Brittany stood at her drop-top red Capri talking with her man, I downed my hazelnut coffee and hurried past them to my car. In the midst of their hug, she stole a wink at me.

I hopped in my car and headed home.

Didn’t wanna miss my midnight snack.

Minutes later I was behind the wheel of Karen’s blue car. She didn’t feel like driving, so she was in the passenger’s seat, changing the radio station. She’d been tight-lipped. Something was bothering her. Tammy was in the back, singing to herself.

“He’s cute,” Karen said out of nowhere.

Tammy stopped humming and asked, “Who?”

Karen gandered my way. “I was talking to Chanté.”

I asked, “Who?”

Karen had
that sound
in her voice. That tone that made me wonder what I’d done wrong this time. Whenever she was buzzed, that chastising side of her woke up. My happiness fled, and a little tension cranked up.

“The cute guy in the suit,” Karen said. “He was flirting with me big-time until you pulled him out on the dance floor.”

“Was he?” I said nonchalantly, then tried to change the subject. “Tammy, what’cha singing back there?”

Tammy spoke up. “
Ne Me Quitte Pas.
”

Karen asked me, “Who is he?”

“Stephan Mitchell.” I said that like I wanted to close the door to that subject, then tried to shift the conversation. “Tammy, that song is pretty. What does
ne me quitte pas
mean?”

Tammy answered, “It’s French. ‘Please don’t leave me.’”

I said, “A sad song ‘bout a sista begging a man to stay.”

Tammy laughed, then yawned. Karen went right back to asking about Stephan, wanting to know where I knew him from, how long, yadda, yadda, yadda.

I asked Karen, “What makes you think I knew him?”

“Because he was holding your hips, humping all on you like you were a fire hydrant, so I hope you knew him.”

Me and Tammy laughed.

Karen continued, “Guess you didn’t want us to meet.”

I said, “What you mean?”

“You saw him staring me down, then you pulled him away when he was getting ready to talk to me. That was kinda foul.”

“You saying I was coochie blocking?”

“You did the same thing the night we met Craig. I was talking to him before you ever saw him. Then I turned around for a sec, next thing I knew you were all up in his face.”

“I don’t remember you talking to Craig first.”

“Of course you wouldn’t. ‘Cause you were up in his face, so close I thought you were trying to replace one of his teeth.”

“Children, knock it off already,” Tammy said and patted her sweaty forehead. “Wake me when we get to your place, Chanté.”

I said, “Wonder what happened to Thaiheed and his ghetto superstar woman.”

Karen said tightly, “She’s probably screwing him right now.”

A few minutes went by. I was on the 10, passed by the exit for the Pomona Fairgrounds, made the transition to the 57 South. Tammy was snoring. She’d nodded off that quick. I think she had too much alcohol in her bloodstream. After that last dance every man in the room was FedExing her a glass of wine.

Karen had closed her eyes. Just when I thought she was nodding off, she said, “Tammy was all over Stephan’s big friend.”

“He looked like a black Hoss Cartwright.”

We laughed.

Karen said, “His other friend kept trying to hit on me too. As soon as we walked in the door, he was all up in my face.”

“He was cute. Why didn’t you exchange numbers with him?”

“Too pompous. Peacocking around the room, flashing his lady-killer smile like he was Shaka Zulu Billy Dee Denzel.”

I cackled, “You see that gaudy pinkie ring his ass had on?”

“And I don’t go out with anybody that wears a pinkie ring.”

I laughed. “No pinkie rings. No Jheri Curls.”

“And no gold teeth.” Karen hummed. “Stephan ask you out?”

“Nope. You want to meet him?”

“No sloppy seconds. I can get my own.”

I peeked in the rearview; Tammy was asleep with her face pasted against the window. I exited at Grand, whizzed by the golf course, and sped over the hill toward Diamond Bar Boulevard.

I parked in visitors and popped the trunk for Karen before all of us crawled out of the car. And I do mean crawled.

Karen was jumpy. “Why’d you open the trunk?”

I said, “Get your clothes. You’re staying, right?”

Karen opened her door. “Both of you can go on up. I’ll get my overnight bag and catch up with you.”

Tammy stretched. “We ain’t in no hurry.”

Karen paused, twisted her lips, and said, “I can always come back down and get my stuff in the morning.”

I told her, “Get it now. No need making two trips.”

Karen was hesitating, acting all strange.

Tammy said, “What you hiding in the trunk, a dead body?”

When Karen saw that we weren’t leaving without her getting her gear, she finally opened up the trunk. Barely. She tried to position herself so we couldn’t peep inside. I leaned to the right and saw what she didn’t want me to see. Tammy leaned to the left and saw, too. A lot of Mervyn’s bags were crammed inside, stacked on top of her Adidas overnight bag.

Tammy said, “Somebody has been on a shopping spree.”

Before Karen could grab her bag and close the trunk, Tammy had yanked open a couple of the bags. Pants, blouses, makeup, all kinds of goodies were in those shopping bags.

More stuff than Karen could afford.

I asked, “What’s all this?”

Karen dropped her gym bag and pulled the stuff from our hands. “I just bought a few things.”

As soon as Karen snatched a bag from one of us, either me or Tammy grabbed another one.

Tammy said, “This stuff ain’t in your size. And some of this stuff is man’s clothes. Who you buying man’s clothes for?”

Karen’s hand was shakier than her voice. “I already know what it is, fuck you very much. Give me my belongings, please?”

We all looked at each other for a moment.

“That’s a lot of new clothes,” I finally said. “Karen, if you’re that short on money, why didn’t you come to me?”

Her brows furrowed. “What are you saying?”

Neither Tammy nor I said a word, but we stood under the streetlight and stared at Karen with worry-filled eyes.

Then I said, “Don’t lose your job over this mess.”

Karen said, “What, you think I’m stealing from Mervyn’s?”

Tammy raised a hand. “I ain’t said nothing.”

I fumed, “That’s a carload of brand-new merchandise. And it don’t look like much of it’s in your size.”

Karen practically jerked the last of it out of our hands, then slammed her trunk and tried to rush us toward my condo.

She rambled, “I’m just making some extra money.
Legally.
”

I followed her and echoed, “
Legally.
How?”

“I buy stuff, use my discount to knock the price down, then sell it to people at the sale price, or the regular price. Depends. It puts a few dollars in my pockets here and there.”

Tammy said, “Well, if that’s the case, why ain’t you offered your discount and whatever deal you got to me and Chanté?”

“Neither one of you shops at Mervyn’s.”

I snapped, “That’s a lie, and you know it.”

Tammy went off. “How can you tell us that we don’t shop at a place that has aisles of makeup and racks of shoes?”

Tammy asked Karen another question or two about that stockpile of goodies. Karen said she was putting it all on her charge card, then paying the card off as her money came in. Her broke ass must’ve had a helluva credit limit,

because she had at least a thousand dollars worth of goods crammed in her car. Her logic was as weak as watered-down coffee.

Tammy continued to ask question after question. I don’t know what Karen’s answers were, couldn’t really hear because a bad feeling had numbed my ears.

I said, “Karen, if things are that bad, talk to me. I have room. You can move in here for a few months or something.”

Her face said that she was insulted. She was so hard and so sensitive at the same time. Smart and foolish.

Tammy offered Karen the same kind of help. Karen told us that we were crazy for thinking that she was ripping anybody off.

I let my girls get settled. Tammy was asleep before I pointed her toward the bed. Karen hopped into the shower.

Karen had me so damn upset that I grabbed my keys. I was going to walk around the complex and calm my nerves, but I hopped in my car, let my windows down, and drove. I needed a moment to myself. I sped to where Diamond Bar Boulevard changed into Mission Boulevard in the city of Pomona, saw my gas hand at about a quarter tank, and pulled into a gas station that overlooked the 57/210/10 interchange.

I looked up and saw I was at another Arco. That pulled my mind away from Karen and made me think about Stephen. For a moment. Stephan No Middle Name Mitchell. His face was vague and faded from my mind as quickly as it had come. I imagined I felt Stephan’s body rubbing up against mine when we were getting our dance on. It wasn’t just that, but it was a combination of his looks, his intellect, him being the kinda man a wish-she-was-old-fashioned woman like me should have in her life that had stirred me up from the inside out. This coffee has been stirred up before, so the sensation that left warm, fuzzy tingles in the pit of my stomach was nothing new. It’d be gone by sunrise. He was definitely wrong for me. Anybody I was attracted to was wrong for me.

I made another stop before I headed back home.

When I parked and walked up to my condo, Karen was on my front porch. I’d seen her outside the moment I turned on Montefino. I’d been thinking about reiterating

my offer to her, telling her to pack up her stuff and move in with me until hard times became softer. That was until I saw what she was doing.

I said, “I know you’re not on my porch smoking a joint.”

Karen had on her housecoat. She asked, “Where you been?”

I raised the bag I was holding. “Went to get some gas, then drove to 7-Eleven and bought some orange juice for breakfast.”

She said, “That took thirty minutes?”

“If I was gone thirty minutes, then it took thirty minutes.”

“Sure you didn’t go by Stephan’s and get your oil changed?”

“No. I told you that you can have his damn number if you want it. I went to get gas and OJ, is that all right with you?”

Her eyes said she didn’t believe me. She inhaled her doobie.

I snapped, “Put that mess out before my neighbors call the cops. I don’t know where you think you are.”

“I’m stressed. Have to calm my nerves. I was worried about you. Didn’t know if you came out here and somebody kidnapped you or what. Don’t ever pull a disappearing act again.”

“I’m sorry. Now chill with the illegal activity before the homeowners start writing me letters and try to evict me.”

Karen put out her funny cigarette.

I asked, “Where are the receipts?”

“What receipts?”

“For the stuff you’re hiding in the trunk of your car.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

I nodded. “Until I see the paperwork for those
legal
packages, don’t bring any of that merchandise into my home.”

She chuckled like I was pathetic, made a
humph
sound, and followed me inside.

Eleven a.m.

Venice Beach.

A thick layer of fog stretched out before us, covered the mountains, outlined the horizon. It was warm, but a cool breeze came by every now and then. Still, it was one of the prettiest April days I’d ever seen.

Once again I glanced at my clothes, smoothed out my shirt.

Don’t know why I was worried about the way I was dressed. My white shorts, Nikes, and red-n-black Chicago Bulls T-shirt was more than enough for Venice. People were walking around half-naked. I was more self-conscious because Tammy was sitting across from me. We were in the middle of a bustling crowd at the Sidewalk Café, at a small table on a patio facing the boardwalk.

Tammy looked so hip in her rectangular shades and yellow lenses. Her lime top was sleeveless, and the V of the cotton material revealed the crescendo of her breasts. The kind that a man had to struggle not to look at in awe. Her jean shorts were frayed. Short, but not so short that they crossed the line of good taste. Silver rings on almost every finger, matching bracelets, and when she crossed her long legs I saw a silver ring sparkling on one of her toes. Chocolate lipstick, clear polish on both her fingernails and her toenails.

Last night at Shelly’s, when she and her friends had sat at our table, before Stephan showed up, Jake had mentioned to the girls that I was an attorney and an aspiring writer. That led to a long literary conversation between me and Tammy. She’d been taking a stab at writing herself. Within three minutes you would’ve thought that Tammy was one of my childhood friends. On the back of her business

card she’d written me a note:
I feel you, my brother. And I get the sense that you feel me on a level that most people miss. If it’s okay with you, I’d love to get together and share my work with you. And I’d love to read some of yours. Black writers need to stick together. Meet me for lunch tomorrow if you want to share.