Cheaters (53 page)

“You from around here?” the one with the blue eyes asked. She smiled and showed a gap between her front teeth.

I glanced back. Chanté’s eyes were still on me. I moved closer to the girls and answered, “Phillips Ranch.”

The one holding the phone livened up. “Where’s that?”

“Part of Pomona. Unincorporated.”

“Sounds like a black woman with no money.
Po Mona.
”

They laughed. I didn’t. My humor was on hiatus.

“Wyoming, Ohio, is where we’re from,” Blue Eyes said. She looked me up and down. “We’re out for a hair show.”

Phone added, “We’re beauticians. Staying at the Red Lion.”

We talked about that for a few minutes. Laughed. Shared never-ending smiles. Light touches.

Now Chanté was frowning at me like she was the chicken hawk.

Phone said, “Stop by for a drink. Call us. Room 803.”

Both had on domineering wedding rings. Each sparkled like a candle. The one with the blue eyes was about twenty-five; the sista gripping the phone looked thirty-something. They were flirty, out of town and out on the town.

The music had changed. The band was playing an instrumental, something for people to cha-cha to.

Blue said, “Somebody is watching you.”

Chanté was at her table, glaring. Drink in hand. Legs crossed tight enough to asphyxiate her love. The guy she

had danced with was talking to her, but Chanté’s attention was with me. She gave a trifling half smile.

I nodded with the same lack of desire.

Chanté hopped off her bar stool, pulled her skirt down, bumped, pushed, and zigzagged through the thick crowd, headed my way. She was moving fast, her sexy stroll fierce.

The women I was talking to stood and adjusted their clothes.

“Don’t forget. Room eight-zero-three, if you can make it.”

They swayed away, moved past the coffee house and candy store with the rhythms of black cats stalking.

Chanté’s shoes click-clopped up to me. She wanted to know, “Who were they?”

“And I’m doing fine” was my stubborn reply. “How are you?”

“I’m okay.”

“Your hair looks good.”

She touched her mane. “Thank you. Now answer my question.”

“Problem?”

“There you go, trying to be suave and debonair. Good thing they left. Now you don’t have to introduce me as your friend.”

“Whoa. Where did that come from?”

“Like you did when Tsunami stepped up in your folks’ house.”

“Toyomi.”

“She was acting like a tsunami.”

“And oh, thanks for leaving me stranded in L.A.”

“Anytime, partner.”

“That was foul.”

“I’ll tell you what was
foul.
You know, it really hurt me that first you introduced me to Dawn as your date, whatever that means,
then
you told your ex that I was your friend.”

“What was I supposed to say?”

“I thought we were trying to be more than just friends. What was all of the nights and days and what-have-you all about?”

I sighed but didn’t say anything. The guy that she had danced with was staring us down.

I said, “Who’s your admirer?”

Chanté said, “He’s buying all of us drinks. It’s nothing. He’s trying to front like he’s a high-roller.”

“Weren’t you just dancing all up on him?”

“
Negative.
The floor was packed. I was bumped back into him.”

A girl passed by, spoke and smiled.

Chanté asked, “Who was that?”

“Girl I went out with a few times.”

“She have a name?”

“Gina. Maybe Gloria. I don’t remember.”

“Damn, partner. Seems like everywhere we go, we run into your ex’es. How many women did you used to go out with?”

“I grew up out here.”

“You grew up in Mississippi and Los Angeles.”

“You know what I meant.”

“The way Dawn talked about you, I hope your reputation didn’t get you banished to Pomona.”

“No more than yours got you exiled from the Midwest.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“If we were in Chi-town, I’d run into a lot of your ex’es.”

“I doubt that. Did you sleep with all of these women?”

“They were my girlfriends.”

“Good thing I only made it to the rank of
friend.
Actually, I think I was referred to as your
date
, whatever that means.”

“Well, since you went there. Forget Chicago. How many brothers up in here did you used to date? Seems like I’m the last one in the whole damn club to get a date with you.”

Chanté shook her head and grumbled, “Fuck you.”

“That’s what you did whenever you found it convenient for you, so what’s the difference?”

Her mouth dropped open. She started to say something, but instead she flipped me off and stormed back to her table. The moment she sat down, she frowned and popped right back up like she’d been shot out of a cannon, and marched back to me.

“Thaiheed,” she snapped, “I don’t want to fight with you—”

“My name is Stephan. Or should I wear a name tag?”

Her eyes woke up and her lips crept open. She slowly

covered her mouth, shifted her weight from one leg to the other.

She said, “You don’t care about anything, do you?”

I spoke soft and definite. “Enjoy the night.”

“No, why don’t you enjoy the rest of your life?”

“I intend to.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

She growled, “Men.”

“Women.”

“Niggas.”

“Bitches.”

“Queen Bitch to you.”

“Mister Nigga to you.”

“Take twelve steps off a f’n cliff,
partner.
”

“Lead the way.”

“Not this time. I’m going back inside where a real man who knows how to respect a black queen will be more than happy to ease this misery you’ve dropped on me.”

“You wouldn’t know a real man if you saw one.”

“True. But he’ll know me. A real woman.”

With her last word, she turned so fast it took her two feet of wavy hair a few seconds to catch up. Her high heels clicked a pissed-off pace back toward the club and her friends.

She went to the brother at her table, pulled him to the floor so fast it surprised him, started dancing all up on him while she frowned at me. That stung. The blood from my slaughtered heart was dripping down my chest.

I kept my cool, smiled, sent her a shallow “that’s cool” nod, turned and decided to walk toward my car. An even-paced stroll that, for the people who were watching, didn’t look like a retreat. That didn’t look like my constitution was mangled.

But when the music changed to a soft bump-and-grind melody, I did take a chance on turning to stone; I glanced back.

By my watch it was ten-thirty p.m.

Close to showtime. The real show that would light the skies like the Fourth of July.

Darnell was on the floor, holding Tammy, living cheek to cheek inside a fantasy that was about to erupt like

Mount St. Helens. I nodded to myself, about-faced, and strolled out into the cool air. With each step, old feelings, old ways that I had tried to suffocate had a jealous heartbeat driven by spite, were coming alive inside me.

This made me take hold of what I wanted to put to the side.

Show no mercy for those who menstruate.

The best way to forget a woman was with another woman. The poison was the remedy. Just like Chanté knew the best way to forget a man was by falling in the arms of another man.

“Stephan.”

My insides twinged; I jumped a bit.

That voice was in front of me. Off to the side. I’d been walking with my eyes on the ground so I hadn’t seen her.

I was surprised, but then again I wasn’t. I said, “Dawn.”

She was in the parking lot, lurking between two dark high-profile vehicles, watching the party. An imminent massacre was in her voice, written on her tight lips, stirring to life in the darkness of eyes. She was dressed. Mini skirt. High heels. Sleeveless blouse. Hair down. Perfume tickling the winds. Looking like a queen, but her back was straight like a proud warrior’s. She was ready for battle.

She whispered like she was in a trance, “He’s with her.”

I didn’t say anything.

The music was sultry. As I felt the heat and humidity from the lust in the room, I imagined everybody holding whoever they were dancing with a little tighter. Sisters with their heads deep into the necks and shoulders of the brothers. Holding on tight. Eyes closed. Fingers running up and down their backs. Strong hands walking down the curves of satin dresses.

Dawn’s distressed expression told me that was what she saw.

“Stephan, I brought all of this on myself.”

“How are you gonna blame yourself?”

“Neglect always catches up with you.”

I let her words drift into the land of the rhetorical. My eyes didn’t look back because I didn’t want to see what she saw. A sexy song was humming in the air; the sounds of the sax were seducing the city. Darnell had to be all over Tammy. That would explain the pain in her eyes.

My friend’s wife was standing, arms folded. Watching without blinking. As far as I could tell, she wasn’t breathing.

Silence breeds a thousand thoughts.

She knew Darnell was here because I’d told her what was up. That wasn’t easy for me to do, but I did it. Jake had fucked up part of our friendships, I’d done my share, and I didn’t want Darnell to destroy what little was left. I’d told Dawn about the opening night of Tammy’s show. It was my suggestion that she crash the party. That’s why I didn’t go, or show up. I didn’t want Darnell to look in my eyes and see the sparkle of betrayal.

“What are you gonna do?”

She said, “It’s my problem from here on out. It’s Darnell’s problem. I’m going to make it Tammy’s problem, too.”

I headed toward the Red Lion. Angry. Scared. Feeling out of place in my own life. Not feeling too tight about myself. Having that internal battle with integrity. That inner turmoil, that mental struggle was good and bad. Good, because I hadn’t had that battle in a long time. Bad, because I wasn’t in a fighting mood.

I knew what had to be going on at the club right about now. I saw it all in my mind. My second sight was bombarded with images of Dawn storming through the doors at Shelly’s, calling Darnell out in a voice so demanding that everyone would freeze in place, the music would screech to a halt.

In the next moment, pure pandemonium.

I was trying to do the right thing, trying to keep that marriage together, but it left me running low on character. Which made it so easy for me to transfer all of my hostility toward Chanté. Thinking about the way I’d gone off on Chanté didn’t help my low spirits either.

Another one bites the dust. Back to ground zero.

Room 803. A place of temporary solace.

I didn’t want to go home. Didn’t feel like escaping into the city of Lost Angels, either. Maybe I’d hang out in the lobby of the Red Lion with some sophisticated and upbeat women from Wyoming, Ohio, for a few minutes, try to

clear my head, then head home and wait for the results from the brawl.

The wannabe diva who had the fake blue eyes answered the phone and knew who I was by name before I’d identified myself. She reminded me her name was Natalie, and her friend’s name was Perri. I couldn’t remember if they had told me their names at the club, didn’t care. From my first hello she was excited to hear my voice.

I asked, “You ladies coming back down to the bar?”

“Come on up, Stephan.”

“You sure?”

She laughed. “We were hoping you’d come see us.”

Back inside my mind, more images flashed before me. I could see Darnell trying to get in between Tammy and Dawn. Hair being pulled from two different directions while he was getting scratched and slapped and kicked like a piñTata on Cinco de Mayo.

Natalie, the dark and radiant full-figured sister, was still dressed when she opened the door. A beautiful, warm smile. She hugged, pulled me deep into her healthy bosom like we were old friends.

I’d never been with a big woman.

The suite was huge. Presidential. All the curtains were opened, and moonlight gave the place some serious atmosphere. Still, my mind was at Shelly’s.

Natalie told me, “Perri just got out of the Jacuzzi.”

“Downstairs?”

“There’s one in the bathroom.”

“Must be nice.”

“You can get in, if you want.”

“I don’t have any trunks.”

“We don’t wear clothes.”

“Skinny dip?”

“Is there any other way?”

I laughed.

She asked, “You shy?”

“Nope.”

“Want to dip in the water?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Let me know.”

A half-full, iced bottle of champagne was on the table, next to two glasses, both with lipstick on the rims. The

television was the cable show
Cochran & Co.
The sound was muted, but I recognized Johnny and Montel. The caption on the screen read “Montel Williams Harassment Suit Dropped.”

Montel. A man of character and integrity. Principles.

Perri swayed out wearing a short housecoat. Its split showed her legs up to the peak of her thighs. They offered me some champagne. I told them I didn’t drink. Perri went down the hall and came back with three sodas and a small bucket of ice. All three sodas were for me, so I took that to mean Perri intended for me to stay awhile.

I glanced out the window, stared toward Foothill and Haven. I didn’t see flames, no smoke, heard no sirens, but I knew the aftermath of what Dawn had done had to have left Shelly’s looking like Florence and Normandie the morning after the last uprising in L.A. And that would be my fault.

Natalie interrupted my fears, told me about how they were thinking about moving to California.

Perri made herself comfortable in a chair and began flipping channels. Natalie asked about things to do in the area. I cleared my throat, snapped out of my hypnotic state, told her about the malls, a few clubs in Moreno Valley, Redlands and San Bernardino that weren’t all that.

I said, “There are a gang of African-American groups and different functions going on out this way, but L.A. has a lot more going on, so far as variety, culture, and quality are concerned.”