I Wish I Had a Red Dress (13 page)

I STOPPED BY THE
bank to ask about a second mortgage and they took an hour to turn me down because they didn’t want to hurt my feelings. I crossed another possibility off my list of potential money sources and reminded myself to ask Sister to tell me again how long this mysterious thing that’s keeping up so many distractions might take to get itself born. In the meantime, I’m determined to take one day at a time.

When I got to The Circus, Tee was working on the festival.

“Got a minute?” she said as soon as I walked in.

“Sure,” I said. “Got a plan?”

“Here’s what I got so far,” she said. “We’ll do all four weekends in February.”

“That’s only a couple of weeks from now,” I said, always the worrier.

“Right,” said Tee with the confidence of a sleepwalker. “And it’s Black History Month, so everybody lookin’ for somethin’ black to do anyway. We’ll do Friday night, Saturday night and a Sunday matinee. Two dollars a show or five dollars for a weekend pass.”

“A weekend pass? I like that.”

Tee smiled like a proud mother whose kid had just finished her first solo at the Christmas concert without a hitch. “That was Deena’s idea. She said that makes it sound like a bargain.”

Deena, with two toddlers, was an expert at bargains, real and imagined.

“You told Deena already?”

Tee nodded. “Of course. Who you think gonna deal with all them kids they gonna bring wit ‘em? And I called everybody to see what they thought and everybody down wit it.”

There was no denying that Tee was covering all the bases. “Go on.”

She consulted her legal pad. “We’re gonna feature four actresses who starred in at least three black movies each.”

“What do you mean by
black movies?
” I said, not wanting to make any assumptions. Will Smith, for example, is a black actor, but
The Legend of Bagger Vance
is not a black movie.

“I mean movies made
by us, for us,
” Tee said. “Some of these girls got Hollywood stuff goin’ on too, but I don’t want to see Miss Vivica A. Fox in
Batman
. I wanna see her in
Set It Off
.”

I couldn’t even remember which
Batman
she was in. All I remembered was that feathered costume and I think Arnold Schwarzenegger was in there freezing people or something. Suddenly, I remembered my most recently viewed video. “You showing
Booty Call
?”

“Be serious,” Tee said. “Everybody got a right to take a rent-payin’
gig every now and then, but we ain’t showin’
Woo
either, okay?”

Tee was a generous spirit, but her critical faculties were still intact.

“We gonna start with Halle Berry ’cause she producin’ now too, so she need her props. Then we gonna do Miz Nia Long, Miz Jada Pinkett Smith and Miz Viv.”

“My girls,” I said, pleased she had picked four of my own favorites to feature. “Did you pick the movies too?”

“Of course.” Tee flipped to another page on the legal pad. “I got three for each. Ready?”

“I’m ready.”

Tee cleared her throat and read out her list slowly.

“For Halle Berry, we got to open with
Introducing Dorothy Dandridge
because she kicked ass.”

I couldn’t have agreed more. We had all been moved by the film and by Berry’s long journey to get it done. I had been amazed that for so many of our regulars, this was the first time they had ever heard Dandridge’s name.

“We also got
Strictly Business
‘cause that’s her first starring role, and
Boomerang
‘cause I want to hear you dog Robin Givens.”

“I don’t dog people!” I protested, but if I did, Robin Givens might be one I’d pick. On the other hand, she’s been through a lot already, being married to Mike and all. The fact that everybody made it out alive was pure luck. She probably doesn’t need me to rub her nose in it.

Tee ignored me. “For Nia Long, we’ve got
Friday
’cause she stand up to that big crazy nigga when he beats her sister, and ’cause Chris Tucker cute as he wanna be in that movie, even though he stay high. Then we got
Love Jones
and
The Best Man
.” She frowned. “You see it yet?”

I shook my head. She’s been telling me to see
The Best Man
ever since it came out, but I can never find it at the video store and I missed it at the movies.

Tee reached into her purse and pulled out a Blockbuster bag. “You gettin’ to be a lost cause, Miz J. You got
Booty Call
and ain’t seen
The Best Man
. What’s up with that?”

I accepted the bag without trying to defend myself.

“You’ll like it,” she said, going back to her list. “For Miz Jada we got
Jason’s Lyric,
’cause it’s real romantic,
Low Down Dirty Shame
’cause it’s funny and that Spike Lee movie didn’t none of us go see where they paint their face black.”

Bamboozled
didn’t get a huge response from our core audience. They didn’t know anything about the tradition of theatrical blackface, and the tap-dancing genius that made Savion Glover the darling of New York hasn’t really penetrated the heartland yet. I liked it a lot and I know it will make them think and talk, plus it’s funny as hell. That was a good choice.

“We close out with Miz Vivica in
Soul Food,
which also got Nia Long,
Set It Off,
which also got Jada, and
Why Do Fools Fall in Love?
which got more Halle Berry, so the last week, we kinda bring ’em all back together for the finale.” Tee sat back and looked at me with a smile of pure satisfaction. “So, whattya think?”

There were a few I would have added, like
What’s Love Got to Do with It?
because Angela Bassett is so fierce from start to finish, and Whoopi Goldberg’s first concert movie because it’s too good not to, and because most of our crowd have only seen her in
How Stella Got Her Groove Back,
not her best work, although her death scene was beautifully underplayed.

I even wanted to put in a good word for
Bulworth
and
Losing Isaiah
because of the presence of hardworking Halle Berry, and
I wrestled with a fast lobbying effort on behalf of
Made in America
because of the great scenes between Whoopi and Nia Long as her daughter, plus the sweetness of pre-
Independence Day
Will Smith, but race plays such a central role in all three, and once you start down that road, race is all you talk about. Tee was right. These movies needed to be
for us, by us
.

“I think we better figure out how to get some more chairs,” I said.

“I’ll take care of that,” she said briskly. “You just need to get your questions together.”

“My questions?”

She grinned at me. “We gotta have you talk your talk at the end, otherwise what’s the point? We could watch ’em at home if you ain’t gonna do your thing.”

“What exactly is
my thing?
”

“You know what I mean! The way you always can see how every little thing fits together so at the end we got some kind of better understandin’ of how it relate to us. So you gotta see all the movies and get some questions together so people will stay on point and not just be talkin’ out the side of they neck.”

I understood what she was saying and it made perfect sense. “Sort of an outline?”

She frowned at the word, which probably conjured up too many uncompleted term papers. I tried again.

“Questions,” I said. “Some questions to get us started in the right direction.”

“There you go!” she said. “That’s what I need!”

“No problem,” I said. “I’ll get right on it. Anything else?”

“I know this one is like supposed to be open to the public and all, but how about we don’t invite any guys?”

“Why?”

She put down her legal pad and looked at me. “Because when
they
come—”

The way she said
they
sounded like some alien life-form, known for bogarting into places where they aren’t welcome.

“—it changes the whole vibe.”

She was right about that. Dropping a few men into almost any group of women results in an immediate reshifting of priorities and alliances. Truth often falls by the wayside as hormones invariably rage.

“If it’s a public event, I don’t know if we can legally keep them, out,” I said.

Tee just rolled her eyes and flipped her beaded braids over her shoulders. “All we gotta do is say it’s
for women only
. Ain’t no guys gonna try to crash an all-girl party!”

“You’re in charge,” I said. “Why don’t you ask the others and then decide?”

“Okay.” She made a note and then grinned at me. “I like the sound of that, you know? Bein’ in charge?”

“Don’t let it go to your head!”

“Too late,” she said. “I’m just gettin’ started good.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” I laughed, only half teasing. Tee was off and running. All I could do now was get on board or get out of the way.

WHEN I CALLED NATE
to set up a time for me to introduce him to Lynette and Geneva, he told me Anita Lattimore had just turned up at the principal’s office because her son Jarvis had been suspended for a week after he got caught smoking dope in the boys’ locker room. Anita took issue with the decision to interrupt her boy’s education, although Jarvis was not known around Baldwin High School for his academic prowess.

The principal, a small, perpetually exhausted man whose good intentions had long since been overpowered by the day-to-day realities of American public education, called Nate for backup when Anita threatened to
whip his ass
unless her son was allowed back in class by tomorrow morning.

“What did you tell her?” I said.

“I told her that issuing terroristic threats was against the law
and if she didn’t want to go to jail she better find another way to express her displeasure.”

“Did that work?” If I knew Anita, all that did was add fuel to the fire.

Nate’s rumbling chuckle told me I was right.

“Well, she offered to whip
my
ass as soon as she got through whippin’ Bernie’s, so I don’t know how much help I was.”

“Congratulations.”

“On what?”

“You are now an official resident of Idlewild,” I said. “You’ve had your first official run-in with a Lattimore.”

“I’d hate to think that’s all that’s required,” he said.

“It’s not. You’re also required to meet the Smitherman twins, which we can take care of Thursday, if you’re free.”

“I’ll be done here by five-thirty. Is that too late?”

“That’s perfect,” I said. “Why don’t you come by my house first and we’ll ride over together?”

Even as I said it, and he agreed, I hoped the offer sounded properly neutral. Just one friend introducing another friend to two more. Nothing wrong with that, so why did it make me feel the slightest flutter of butterflies? Maybe Sister’s right. I need to get out more.

SISTER AND I TRY
to get together a couple of times a month to practice what she calls our
other song,
the one, she says, we only sing when there’s just women around the campfire. Once I pointed out to her that in the world beyond the Bay Area, we call those so gathered
girlfriends
. She assured me that in San Francisco, calling someone your
girlfriend
is an entirely different proposition.

Sister had been part of a group of women in California who met together for ten years. They’d been through births, deaths, marriages, divorces, spiritual awakenings and a range of commitments and partnerships across a dizzying landscape of races, classes, genders and sexual orientations. Anything discussed in the group had been discussed thoroughly and openly with full appreciation of the fact that the personal is always political. Tonight we were at her house, winding down and talking about friendship.

“Do you think it’s possible for a man and a woman to be friends?” I asked.

“Sure I do,” Sister said. “In my old group, we even came up with the four possible ways those friendships can evolve.”

I smiled.
Of course they had
. “Only four?”

“When you’re speaking of heterosexuals, and I assume we are, there are only four.” She held up her fingers to count them off. “One, there’s acknowledged sexual attraction on both sides and it’s only a matter of time before friends become lovers, unless there is an honorable reason why they shouldn’t, such as fragile health or a serious prior commitment. Two, there’s sexual attraction on one side only, which, unless handled carefully, can result in complicated fantasies, unrequited longings, serious bouts of denial and ultimately a busted friendship and a broken heart. Three, there is no sexual attraction present on either side, in which case the friendship will quickly run its course since in most cases the only reason people cross the great gender divide is if there are sexual possibilities present on the other side. Otherwise, you’re probably going to have more fun going out with your girlfriends or hangin’ with the homeboys.”

I laughed. “You’re dating yourself! What’s number four?”

“That’s when there’s sexual attraction on both sides, but the parties have, for whatever reasons, been unwilling or unable to express it, so they sublimate all that energy into shared work experiences that keep them in close contact until they figure out how to get together.”

“Very impressive,” I said. “And thorough.”

Bill pulled up in the yard and tapped the horn. Sister waved through the window. He was doing a workshop in creative writing for boys only at the high school and their first meeting was tonight. I had teased him that he was just jealous of how much
fun we had at our women-only gatherings, which he cheerfully admitted, so I rewarded his honesty by promising to wait for his return before heading home.

“Thank you,” Sister said, accepting my compliment on her friendship discourse. Then she said, real casual, “Any of them sound familiar?”

“Not right offhand,” I said, echoing her breezy tone. “But I’ll keep you posted.”

“Keep you posted on what?” Bill said, entering on cue.

Sister kissed his cold cheek. “We’ve been discussing the possibility of friendship between men and women.”

“Heterosexuals?” he said, hanging up his coat and blowing on his hands to warm them.

“Yes,” I said.

“Forget it,” he said. “The man is lying.”

“What man?”

“Any man who says he just wants to be a woman’s friend is either lying or gay.”

I laughed. “You’re crazy!”

“Don’t laugh. I’m from San Francisco. I know about these things.”

“
We’re
friends,” I said.

“Yes, but I’m madly in love.” Bill encircled Sister’s waist with his arm. “And therefore,
safe.
”

“And if you weren’t madly in love?”

He grinned at me. “You’d be in a world of trouble.”

Sister swatted him and we all laughed. Bill is a big flirt, but that’s all he is. He says it’s because he’s still madly in love after all these years. Sister says it’s because he’ll never get to heaven if he breaks her heart, which sounds more like a threat coming from her than it ever did coming sweetly out of Dionne Warwick’s
mouth back when she was too busy making Burt Bacharach sound good to tap into her psychic powers.

“How was the workshop?” I said. “Anybody show up?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“Unfortunately? I thought you were worried that nobody would come.”

“That was before the five of them actually arrived.”

“Five of them? That’s great!” Sister said. “What happened?”

“They’re in high school, right? They’re sixteen, seventeen years old. Their hormones are raging. I figure I’ll tap into that energy and ask them to write a paragraph about love.”

“Since when did hormones have anything to do with love?” I said.

“
Now
you tell me,” Bill groaned. “When I asked them to share what they’d written, the first two were so pornographic I told them we were out of time and sent them home.”

Sister patted his hand sympathetically. “I’m sorry, sweetie. Maybe you can help them find a better way to express what they’re feeling.”

Bill shook his head sadly. “The problem is, I don’t think I even want them to express what they’re feeling.”

“Sure you do,” I said. “Silence equals death, remember?”

“That’s an AIDS education slogan,” Bill reminded me, like I didn’t already know it.

“True,” I said. “But not knowing the difference between love and pornography can kill you almost as fast as HIV.”

“Don’t let the people at ACT UP hear you say that,” Bill chided me.

“They already know it.” Sister smiled. “Why do you think they’re acting up?”