Man Swappers (15 page)

With four crystal tumblers filled to the rim on a tray, I tap on Paris’s door, trying not to spill any of our drink—Remy Martin XO with a light splash of Coke.
Two stiff drinks apiece should do the
trick,
I think as I approach her door. Normally, we simply barge into each other’s rooms, not caring what we might walk in on. There have been plenty of times when we’ve walked in and caught one of us with either our fingers or a toy of some sort shoved deep in our pussies. But since my hands are full I decide to tap on the door with my foot.

It takes her a minute to finally swing open the door. She has a towel wrapped around her body, and one wrapped around her hair. “Since when you start knocking on doors?” she asks as she pops her hips back into her bathroom.

“Well, if you slowed your behind down, hooch, you’d see that I come with a tray of drinks. And I didn’t knock, I kicked.”

She sticks her head out of the door. “Whatever. I needed that drink earlier today after the fiasco down at the diner with Mom. But, now is good, too.”

“Yes, it is,” I say, walking into her bathroom, handing her a glass. She takes a sip.

“Ohhhh, yes...this is good. It’s exactly what the doctor ordered.”

“Shuga,” I say, smacking my lips together, flipping the lid to the toilet down and taking a seat. “Let’s cut to the chase. I’m dying to know what popped off between the two of you ’cause when you walked up in here, you looked wrecked.”

“Girl...” she pauses, gulping back half of her drink. “Whew, that hit the spot.” She removes her towel from around her head and starts blotting her hair. She takes another sip of her drink.

I huff, impatiently. “Hooker, will you tell me what the hell happened between you and Mom today? You’ve kept me in the dark long enough. Now spill it, damn you!”

She laughs. “Okay, okay...calm down. No need to get all indignant. I get to the restaurant and before I can even get in my
seat good, she started up. I was literally no more than five minutes late and she was ready to pounce.” She replays the whole ordeal back to me. And when she’s done I’m practically laughing, wishing I could have been a fly on the wall to see her going off. “Ohmygod, why are you laughing? I don’t see anything funny about this shit.”

“Girl, the idea of you turning out the diner and Mom sitting there slack-jawed is absolutely priceless! I bet she wanted to get up and slap you sideways for talking to her like that.
And
you cursed her. Oh, yeah. She wanted to give you a beat down right there on the spot.”

“I’m sure she did. But she stayed in her seat. But I could tell she was fuming. Still, I didn’t care one bit. She took it too far this time.”

“Oh, well,” I say, watching her comb out her hair. “She got what she deserved. She’ll get over it; and if she doesn’t, so the fuck what? I don’t know why you’re surprised. I mean, when has she not come out of her face sideways?”

“I know, but still. I shouldn’t have spoken to her like that. And definitely not out in public like that.”

I roll my eyes. “Oh, please. She’s always somewhere running her damn mouth. She’s the one who cranked it up. She wasn’t concerned about what she was saying to you, so why should you care?”

“It still doesn’t make it right,” she says, combing conditioner through her hair. “I’m gonna call her to apologize for allowing her to take me there.”

I buck my eyes at her. “And why in the hell would you do that? After she carried on the way she did?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do. I’ve never spoken to her like that. No matter what she’s ever said, I’ve always bitten my tongue.”

“Well, I’m sorry. She needed that tongue-lashing. Trust me. It’s been long overdue.”

She shakes her head. “It wasn’t right. I owe her an apology.”

“Mmmph, you’re good, boo. But do you.”

She takes another sip from her drink. “Umm, I don’t mean to bust your bubble,” she says, walking out of the bathroom. I follow behind her. “But everyone isn’t as mean and nasty as you.”

“Excuse you?” I ask, feigning insult. “I beg your pardon. I am far from either of those things.”

She rolls her eyes up in her head, dramatically, putting her hand up. “Girl, talk to the hand. Save that mess for someone who doesn’t know you. I’ve seen you in action, sweetie. Okay?”

“Then you know I only bring it when it is called for,” I state, inching my way up on her bed. I’m on one end of the bed, and she’s on the other side. Both of us have our backs up against the headboard with pillows propped up behind us. “And you know like I do that over the years that woman has said and done some of the craziest shit.”

“Well, that woman happens to be our mother and she still deserves some respect.”

I lift my glass up to her. Then take a sip, before saying, “Well, you keep on respecting her then. In my book, you get what you give. And she’s done nothing to get much respect from me.”

She shakes her head, cutting her eyes at me. I can tell she’s thinking something, but doesn’t say what it is. Instead, she raises her glass at me. The two of us sip our drinks in silence. Then somehow we end up talking about our childhood, reminiscing over some of the things we witnessed our mother saying and doing whenever she suspected our father was cheating on her. Why I even initiated the conversation about our father’s philandering ways is beyond me, but I do.

“Do you remember the time Mom baked those goodies and drove them over to Miss Janie’s, all pretty and sweet as she pleased, pretending that she didn’t know that she and Daddy were fucking?”

Miss Janie and our mother used to sponsor bus trips down to Atlantic City twice a year as a fundraiser for their church. The two of them had become good friends over the years, and travel buddies up until our mother caught her coming out of the same motel room as our father. But instead of jumping out of her car to confront them, yelling and screaming and fighting, she continued like she had no clue. I remember overhearing—because I was always somewhere ear-hustling—her phone conversation with Aunt Lucky, saying, “Oh, trust me. I had that bitch up in my house, eating my food, smiling up in my face and all the while she’s fucking my husband. Oh, no...I’ma fix that bitch real good. You right I should beat her ass. I don’t know why these hoes got to try me. I try to live a good, clean life. Try to do right. And here come these heathen-ass can’t-get-a-man-of-their-own bitches trying to disrupt my home. But, no, I’m not going to stoop that low and bang her in her head. I know she crossed the line...oh, don’t worry. I’m gonna deal with him, too. But, first, I need to tend to that, bitch...”

The night before their bus trip, she baked a big batch of double-chocolate chip cookies and fudge brownies, adding in a whole box of laxatives. Then she drove them over to her house. They sat and laughed and talked for a while, then our mother got in her car and drove back home. The next day they were all on the bus on their way down to AC when Miss Janie’s stomach started bubbling.

“Ohmygod, yes,” Paris says, laughing. “And the poor woman ended up shitting on herself that day because someone else was
taking forever to get out of the bathroom. And they couldn’t turn the bus around because they were already halfway there.”

“And then Mom had the nerve to get up and slap her face.”

“After she told Aunt Fanny and them that she wasn’t going to get on that bus and act a fool.”

Paris and I are hysterically laughing. “Miss Janie had the shits for two days after that.”

“I know, right,” Paris says, wiping tears from her eyes. “Ohmygod, we have no business laughing at that woman like this.”

“And then Aunt Fanny said she had heard that Miss Janie’s asshole was enflamed and on fire for almost a week from all the wiping she had to do.”

We keep laughing.

“Mom was so wrong for that,” Paris says.

“Yes, she was,” I agree. “But, that goes to show you just how messy she could be. And she’s still messy.”

“Oh, so this is where the party is,” Porsha says, standing in the middle of the doorway with her hands up on her hips. She is still in her skirt and heels. “You heifers up in here cackling and sipping on yak while I’m out slaving over tax forms. This shit ain’t right.”

“Oh, hush,” I say, grabbing a pillow from off of Paris’s bed and tossing it at her. She catches it, throwing it back at me. “How was work?”

“Oh, it was fabulous,” she says, smiling.
Is that a twinkle I see in her eyes?
“I made about twenty-eight hundred dollars today. And I had a delightful working lunch with a potential client.”

I raise my brow, smirking. “It must have been some lunch ’cause, girlfriend, you have that just-got-fucked-good glow.”

She lets out a laugh, shifting her eyes. “Oh, please. I wish. I’m feeling good; that’s all. Anyway, what were y’all in here cackling about? I could hear the two of you all the way downstairs.”

“We were laughing at the time Mom gave Miss Janie the shits for two days.”

Porsha laughs. “Ohmygod, no. That was some funny mess. Why’d you have to bring that up? I felt so bad for her.”

“I don’t know why,” I say, waving her on. “Miss Janie was messy, too. She knows she was dead wrong for smiling up in Mom’s face like that, knowing damn well she was sucking Daddy’s cock every chance she got. I’m sorry. She crossed the line doing that. I would’ve given her the shits, too.” Porsha and Paris continue laughing. “I remember overhearing Mom on the phone, saying, ‘Every time she wipes her ass, she’ll think about how she shitted on me by fucking my husband.’”

The three of us are practically clutching our sides from laughing so hard at the thought. Suddenly, Porsha stops laughing and looks at Paris, then me. “Wait a minute...” she twirls a finger in the air. “Bedroom. Drinks.
And
you had lunch with Mom earlier today.” She squints, looking at me. “And you’re up here making her laugh. What in the hell did Mom say now?”

“How ’bout you get outta them clothes first; fix yourself a drink...better yet, bring up the bottle,” I say, gulping back the rest of my drink. “Then come sit with us so you can get the scoop, boo.”

It doesn’t take long before the mood shifts and the three of us are all comfy sprawled out on top of Paris’s king-size bed, listening to Paris paraphrase everything she told me earlier. Porsha looks stunned. “Damn, I don’t even know what to say about all of that.”

“What can you say? I mean, really. Not a damn thing,” I say, feeling myself becoming agitated all over again. “That’s how she feels, then that’s how she feels. We make our own money; pay our own bills. And own our own shit. We don’t ask her for a damn
thing. So she doesn’t have to leave us a motherfucking thing. I’m telling y’all, that
bitch
is crazy.”

Porsha and Paris gasp. “Ohmygod, I can’t believe you called her a
bitch
,” Porsha says, covering her mouth in shock.

“Persia, you done gone too far now,” Paris says. “You didn’t have to call her that.”

I roll my eyes. “Please. Believe it. That’s how I feel. At least I didn’t say it to her face. Not that I won’t if she ever brings it to me like that.”

“You go right ahead,” Porsha says. “And you’re gonna end up with more than your face slapped, again.”

“Rightfully so,” Paris agrees. “You remember what happened the last time you called her that. I thought she was going to kill you for sure, if Daddy hadn’t come home when he did.”

Porsha winces, then cracks up laughing. “Oooh, I felt that ass whooping myself.” I suck my teeth at Paris for bringing that horrible night up. I was fourteen. And, as usual, our mother and I were arguing over me not being allowed to go outside because I didn’t do my chores. One word led to another and before I knew it, I had called her a
bitch
. Although I had mumbled it under my breath, she had heard it plain as day.

“Excuse me? What did you just call me?”

“You heard what I said,” I snapped with a hand up on my hip. Yes, I thought I was grown. Then I repeated it. The words rolled off my tongue as smooth as cream. The next thing I remember is being down on the floor with her on top of me, beating me like a chick from the projects. Suburbia went out the window, and the hood came in. She fought me like I was her worst enemy. And I tried to fight her back. However, she was much stronger than I anticipated. So I did the only thing a girl could do in that situation. I bit her. And that only made her more furious. I remember Paris and Porsha screaming for her to get off of me, yelling that
she was going to kill me. She probably would have if our father hadn’t come in when he did. When he finally pried us apart, I had a busted lip, two black eyes, and my nose was bleeding. She had a long scratch across her neck and she was bleeding from where I bit her. I had to stay home from school for almost two weeks until my face healed. But the two of us couldn’t be left alone together.

“And you got to go with Daddy on the road,” Porsha says, shaking her head. “Ohmygod, Paris and I were so mad at you for getting to go across country with him.”

Paris laughs. “Well, it was that, or you ending up riding in the back of a hearse ’cause Mom really wanted to kill you.”

I grunt. “Well, I’m sad to announce this, but this time I would beat her down, mother or not. I’m a grown-ass woman, now. And I have had it with her.” They both look at me like I’m crazy, or drunk. “Don’t look at me like that. I mean it. I will toss her up if she ever tries it.”

Porsha pats my leg, laughing. “Persia, sweetie, I think you’re okay. Mom practically avoids you at all costs. She realizes you’re a little nutty, boo.”

“And so she should.”

Paris tilts her head. “Bitch, you don’t need anything else to drink tonight. Calling Mom out her name like that was messy.”

“
She’s
messy,” I say. “She always has been. But she tries to act like she’s not. And she has the nerve to disrespect us. So she deserves to be disrespected. But, let’s drop this shit. I don’t wanna talk about her anymore. We need to snap you outta this funk, girlfriend. And I know exactly what will do it.”

She smirks, knowingly. “And what’s that?”

“Some good-ass dick,” Porsha and I say in unison. The three of us laugh, giving each other high-fives.