Read He's Just A Friend Online
Authors: Mary B. Morrison
He's Just A Friend (5 page)
CHAPTER 5
B
arely making it to Mandy's in time for her morning appointment, Fancy parked at a meter on University Avenue. Jamming a plastic coin into the slot, she tied a Safeway grocery bag over the meter, pulled out her black marker, and wrote BROKEN in bold letters.
arely making it to Mandy's in time for her morning appointment, Fancy parked at a meter on University Avenue. Jamming a plastic coin into the slot, she tied a Safeway grocery bag over the meter, pulled out her black marker, and wrote BROKEN in bold letters.
“Hi, Miss Diva,” the receptionist said. “Go on in. Mandy's ready for you.”
Fancy took her usual seat on the blue leather sofa and placed her mink coat beside her. Mandy swiveled in her high-back chair to face Fancy. Mandy's auburn hair was short and tapered to her head. The neatly trimmed edges reflected her orderly demeanor. Fancy wondered if Mandy had issues, too. Maybe she saw a psychologist on her day off. The tinted frameless eyeglasses which Mandy seldom looked through, always over, were classy but Fancy hated how her small round eyes pierced straight through her each time Mandy asked a question. She spoke soft and deliberate, pronouncing every syllable.
“So, what're your resolutions for this year? Prioritize them for me, Fancy.” Mandy didn't waste any of Fancy's minutes with small talk or personal greetings.
Mandy remained silent. Before Fancy spoke, Mandy's Mont Blanc pen scrolled along the legal size pad.
Fancy quickly juggled the list in her head. She exhaled and began speaking. “Finding the right man is first. Since I already look good, I can make losing five pounds my second priority.... And last is Caroline 'cause she probably don't want me bothering her no way.”
Mandy's slender hips hardly covered the leather seat. Her waist and breasts were disproportionately larger than her hips, but overall, Mandy was a small woman. Five foot one inch at best. Maybe one hundred pounds.
“I see,” Mandy said, pressing the pen above her chocolate-painted lips. Then she rolled forward and handed Fancy a used sheet of loose-leaf paper. Before Fancy touched the paper she recognized it was her list of resolutions from last year with Caroline pulling up the rear.
“So. What's this for? Last year is history,” Fancy said, dodging Mandy's reproaching brown eyes that sat deep below her neatly plucked brows. Fancy folded the paper and placed it on the sofa between her coat and thigh.
“Just thought it might help. So you think putting your mother last all the time will somehow help you to escape or forget how she's neglected you. Deserted you.” Mandy paused and started writing.
Fancy picked a spot on the floral wallpaper and stared at a row of unaligned gardenias. Nervous energy stirred in the pit of her stomach whenever she talked about Caroline, so Fancy thought about Desmond. Fancy had no idea Desmond was such a great lover. Maybe she could change him. Help him to make more money.
Naw, forget that thought.
Desmond was happy working on cars. He wasn't serious about going to law school.
Naw, forget that thought.
Desmond was happy working on cars. He wasn't serious about going to law school.
“Don't you see a pattern here?” Mandy asked, interrupting the one-on-none conversation in Fancy's head. “Do you love your mother?”
“Why do you keep asking me that!” Fancy crossed her legs and folded her arms. “Of course I love Caroline, but I hate her too! There's a part of me that wants to be her baby and another part that's sorry I'm her child. How come she can't see I need her? To hold me. Hug me.” Fancy hugged herself and lowered her voice just above a whisper, “To tell me she loves me.” Fancy closed her eyes to lock in the tears. Somehow they managed to escape down her cheeks into the corners of mouth.
Fancy helped herself to a Kleenex from a box on the end table beside her. “Why do I have to be her mother? I cleaned up her mess after she'd vomit all over her bed at night. She was always drunk! Sometimes I wish I was never born!” Fancy dried her tears only to make room for the fresh stream that immediately followed. She'd contemplated suicide several times but wouldn't dare tell Mandy. If Fancy killed herself, at least that would be the last time she'd suffer.
“I was the one who cooked for her. Made her bed. Washed her clothes. And literally washed her ass when she was hungover and couldn't get out the fucking bed to go buy groceries! I lived off frozen dinners and junk food! And I still can't cook!”
Fancy forced back the welling tears and said, “Mandy, I hate when you make me go down this road because you always leave me hanging! Now I'm supposed to find my own solution! To a problem I didn't even create! Bump that.” Fancy uncrossed her legs and rocked back and forth because that's what she did when she was upset or nervous but didn't know what she was going to do or say next. Her stomach ached. Fancy wanted to break something. Hit something. Anything!
Mandy spoke softly again, “So getting married and having children of your own will help you to . . . what?” Mandy's perfectly set teeth, that almost looked too enormous for her mouth, were aligned with clear braces.
“Have somebody to love me!” Fancy said, jabbing her finger into her chest. Her throat started hurting so she lowered her voice. “And for me to love.”
“You're twenty-two and you haven't taken time to love yourself. Is marriage what you really want?” Mandy's eyelids froze as she stared at Fancy.
“I thought we were discussing my goals not questioning my motive. Of course I want to get married.”
“What about Desmond?” Mandy asked. “He seems to care about you.”
Again Fancy avoided Mandy's eyes, this time gazing out the window only to see another window across the street. “What about him?” Fancy stopped rocking and folded her arms high across her chest.
“Based upon what you've told me, seems as though he cares a lot about you,” Mandy said, then scribbled on her pad again.
“Desmond is just my friend. F-R-I-E-N-D,” Fancy enunciated each letter.
Mandy stood and handed Fancy a rose from the blue vase. “Happy belated birthday, Fancy. Okay, well, that concludes our session for today.”
Fancy felt the tension in Mandy's exhale but didn't hear a sigh. Sniffing the rose, Fancy gathered her coat and purse, and stood. “I'll call to schedule my next appoint.”
Fancy strolled past the receptionist, out the door, and trotted across University. She slammed the rose on the concrete, then crushed the red petals beneath her tan suede knee-high boot. Removing the plastic bag from the meter, Fancy hopped in her car and headed to Café Zula in San Leandro. Maybe she'd stop coming to Mandy for a while like she had last year. She hadn't seen Mandy in almost four months and she was doing fine without her advice.
What advice?
Fancy thought.
What advice?
Fancy thought.
Fancy parked at a meter behind SaVoy's platinum-colored sports utility vehicle and made her grand entrance, stepping into the restaurant like she was on time. A host Fancy hadn't seen before escorted her to the table. He glanced at SaVoy, then stared at Fancy and said, “You were definitely worth the wait if I must say so myself.” Then he turned to SaVoy and said, “Miss, thank you for waiting.”
SaVoy and Tanya were seated at their usual table in front of the huge Anthony Scott lifelike painting of a black woman in a white dress lounging on green pastures. Fancy always sat with her back toward the woman. The painting was beautiful but the woman felt so real Fancy wanted to order her something to eat.
“Girl, did you see how he was eyeing me like I was on his menu?” Fancy commented, not the least bit interested. He was just a host. Now the owner and chef, Leonard, if he didn't have a wife and kids, Fancy would've invited him over and given him a premier performance of a new dance. Leonard prepared the best Creole jambalaya, gumbo, and catfish. Not to mention the peach cobbler, bread pudding, and homemade pound cake. Leonard even served chitterlings but he wouldn't have to cook that at home for her because Fancy didn't eat pork.
Tanya laughed in agreement with Fancy, then said, “Yeah, yeah. I saw him staring at you, girl.”
But not SaVoy. She probably liked him and thought Fancy wanted him. Fancy couldn't help it that men were drawn to her magnetic personality. Fancy decided SaVoy could have him. “SaVoy, you should get his number, girl. Want me to get it for you?”
“You can get it for me,” Tanya said, laughing again.
Tanya was short and wide like a Weeble, and she wobbled when she walked. Her fingers were stubby and chunky. And that worn out ponytail she kept attaching to the back of her head was tacky and SaVoy knew it too but wouldn't admit it. Fancy didn't mind hanging out with Tanya because any man worth having would never show interest in Tanya. SaVoy was a different kind of competition, but Fancy's outspoken personality gave her an advantage over SaVoy.
Fancy shook her head in Tanya's direction. “Naw, he's not your type.”
SaVoy casually asked, “How was your session with Mandy this morning?”
Fancy smiled because Leonard was greeting a guest at the table next to them. Whenever a man was interested in Fancy, SaVoy always changed the subject.
“It was cool,” Fancy replied, then gave her girlfriends a synopsis of her New Year's resolutions.
“Why do you keep leaving out going to church?” SaVoy asked, but kept talking before Fancy could answer. “Come go with us”âshe motioned toward Tanya, then continuedâ“and my dad this Sunday.”
Fancy's eyes darted around the room like a bullet ricocheting off of the chandelier, to the long-stemmed flute in front of her, over to the stem of farm-grown cotton propped in a crystal vase on the adjacent table. Fancy could have looked at the cotton on their own table but it was too close. She wondered, if there truly was a God, why did He let those awful things happen to her as child? She used to pray when she was a child, but after she didn't get any answers, one night, over twelve years ago, Fancy stopped believing in God. The thought of going to church made Fancy feel the preacher would single her out. Fornication.
Fancy, that's a sin
. Adultery.
Fancy, that's a sin
. Coveting thy neighbor's ox or his ass . . .
Fancy, that's a sin, too
. Whew! “No thanks. I'll pass,” Fancy said, because she was certain she'd committed every sex-related sin in the Bible and created a few new ones probably on a list awaiting entry into some revised New Testament.
Fancy, that's a sin
. Adultery.
Fancy, that's a sin
. Coveting thy neighbor's ox or his ass . . .
Fancy, that's a sin, too
. Whew! “No thanks. I'll pass,” Fancy said, because she was certain she'd committed every sex-related sin in the Bible and created a few new ones probably on a list awaiting entry into some revised New Testament.
“We ain't playin' Scrabble, girl. You'll end up in church sooner or later. God's only going to let you pass but so many times. Thenâ”
Tanya nodded in agreement with SaVoy, then blurted, “I'm hungry.”
Tanya's mind always seemed to be off the subject but this time Fancy was glad. Plus, she knew SaVoy was telling the truth but she still didn't want to hear it. Tanya had recently started going to church with SaVoy.
Fancy looked at Tanya and said, “Girl, you need to start lifting weights with me and stop arm curling the silverware.” Fancy curled the fork in one hand and the knife in the other and grunted, “Uuuhuh!”
SaVoy slapped Fancy's wrist. “Leave Tanya alone, Fancy. She's beautiful.”
Tanya smiled at Fancy.
Yeah? Whatever. Not really. Tanya could look a lot better, but never as good as her. Fancy thought about giving them the lowdown on Desmond but opted not to because SaVoy would probably sprinkle her with the blessed Holy water she kept in her purse. Especially if Fancy had told them that after she slapped a non-spermicidal condom on Desmond's dick, she let him hit it in the rear. Fancy stopped using those spermicidal condoms after she'd read somewhere that they might promote the contraction of sexually transmitted diseases, including HIV and possibly interfere with her ability to have a baby.
Why couldn't Desmond have Byron's money and charisma? “I'll have my driver call and get your particulars.” Fancy loved that shit!
“What particulars?” Tanya asked, interrupting Fancy's thoughts.
“Oh, I didn't realize I was talking out loud. But since you asked, I met a new manâByronâat the gala the other night and he's having his driver pick me up Friday night.”
SaVoy frowned and said, “You mean the gala Desmond spent all that moneyâ”
The host walked over, handed SaVoy his business card and said, “Excuse me for interrupting, but I'm getting ready to leave. Call me. I'd love to take you out sometime.”
Fancy looked at SaVoy and quickly changed the subject. “I told you I didn't want him. Girl, I can't cum off that income. And since you ain't seeing nobody and all, you should kick it with that brotha. Y'all were made for one another. Besides, what you savin' yourself for?”
“That's because I have something called
morals
and
standards.
And did you ever stop to think maybe he was
never
interested in you?”
morals
and
standards.
And did you ever stop to think maybe he was
never
interested in you?”
“Oh, that's right. You're saving yourself for Tyronne. Girl, you can forget about him. Tyronne's allergic to virgins.”
Miss wanna be perfect. SaVoy wasn't all that. Just because she looked damn near white with that straight ass hair, her daddy's was blacker than Wesley Snipes. Her âpapa' probably wasn't her real daddy. And SaVoy had issues, too, not knowing her mother at all.
Fancy tapped the knife and fork lying on the table. “Don't be jealous.” She stood, twitched her hips, and said, “Don't hate. It's called âpimp juice,' baby. I got that.” Fancy winked at SaVoy as SaVoy shook her head.
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