The Next Best Thing (18 page)

“Work it, baby,” Vincent said, enjoying the seductive striptease I was performing for him in black lacy Agent Provocateur lingerie.

While I danced, Vincent sat on the bed wearing just a pair of burgundy silk boxers and a robe to match. He put his glass of Merlot on the nightstand and said, “Get your sexy ass over here so I can suck those luscious titties.”

I sauntered over to him and rubbed my breasts across his face. “You want some of this?” I asked, pushing him back on the bed.

“Baby, I want all of that,” he said, pulling me down on top of him.

I put my hand inside the opening of Vincent's boxers, and lo and behold, we had signs of life down there.

Hallelujah! Now we were finally going to consummate our renewed relationship.

Just as I was about to straddle Vincent, his doorbell rang.

“Sweetheart, I have to go get that,” he said, gently pushing me aside. “I'll be right back.”

“Don't be too long,” I said, striking a seductive pose across the bed.

Vincent tied his robe closed and shut the bedroom door behind him.

While he was gone, I took the opportunity to do a little snooping. A quick look in his nightstand drawer revealed a stack of porno magazines, a nearly empty bottle of baby oil, an X-rated video, condoms, and a prescription bottle of Viagra that he had filled at CVS/pharmacy earlier today.

Well, now. I couldn't take all the credit for putting magic back in the magic stick, after all.

I quickly closed the drawer as the bedroom door opened, and Vincent walked back in with a woman trailing behind him.

“Tori, I want you to meet a friend of mine,” Vincent said, referring to the scantily clad, cosmetic surgery-enhanced Amazon who looked like she just got off a pole down at Bazookas strip club. “Rosalyn, meet Tori. Tori, Rosalyn.”

“Nice to meet you, Tori,” Rosalyn said in this Betty Boop meets Minnie Mouse voice.

I tentatively shook Rosalyn's outstretched hand, not sure where all this was headed, especially since Vincent and I were both half-naked, and his Viagra-induced boner was protruding right through his robe.

“Sweetheart, you are just in time to join the party,” Vincent told Rosalyn as he started massaging her shoulders.

“I can see that,” Rosalyn said, looking me over. “She's just as gorgeous as you said she was.”

“She is, isn't she?” Vincent said. “Look at those lips…and that ass! Oh my goodness!”

Screech! Hold up. Now, I may be a little slow to catch on at times, but I would have to be intellectually disabled not to see what was going on here.

“Nuh-uh! You got me so twisted!” I told Vincent as I jumped up off the bed and started putting my clothes back on.

“I thought you said she was down for whatever,” Rosalyn said to Vincent, looking disappointed.

“Trust me, she is,” Vincent assured her. “Tori is very open-minded and experimental. Aren't you, Lolita?”

“I am?” I asked him, surprised to find this out about myself. “Obviously you don't know me as well as you thought you did, because this is some sick shit.”

“Why?” Rosalyn asked me. “Because you don't want to do it?” “Bingo!” I said sarcastically. “Despite whatever Vincent may have told you, I like my sex the old-fashioned way, which for me, is one man and one woman!”

“Listen,” Vincent said impatiently. “I didn't think I would have to go this far to get you to try new things, but do you think your boss would appreciate you losing a client who was prepared to spend at least a couple hundred grand with her company?”

My mouth damn near hit the floor. “I hope you're not implying what I think you are implying, Vincent.”

“I don't want to play hardball with you Tori,” he said, rubbing a hand across his erection. “But I want this so bad that if it has to come down to ‘no ménage, no party,' then so be it.”

“Oh my God…” I said, completely in awe. “You're still the same selfish, sex-addicted motherfucker you always were, aren't you?”

Vincent casually shrugged off the accusation. “I love pleasing women,” he said. “Hell, it's not like you didn't benefit from it.”

“So, essentially what you're saying is that you expect me to be your sexual slave in exchange for your business?”

“Sounds like a fair exchange to me,” Vincent said, nonchalantly sipping his Merlot. “How about you, Rosalyn?”

Rosalyn nodded, then turned to me and said, “Give it a chance. You'll be in good hands, I promise.”

By then, I was fully dressed. I slipped my pumps back on, and stuffed the lingerie into my python leather Prada bag.

Vincent ran over and blocked the doorway to keep me from leaving. He got down on his knees and buried his head between my legs. “Let us show you how good it can be,” he pleaded, the heat from his breath stimulating my clitoris.

It was hard, but I forcefully pushed Vincent away from me and said, “I'm leaving now, and don't you ever call me again, you limp dick motherfucker.”

Vincent threw up his hands in frustration as I walked out of his apartment and out of his life forever.

The next morning, my mother called just as I was leaving for work, all up in arms about walking in on Aunt Vera having sex with Brother Edwards, a widower from down at the church.

This morning, Mama had gone to check on Vera like she does every day, and there they were, two old geezers going at it right in the middle of the living room floor.

“Ooh!” Mama said, disgusted. “I just can't get that nasty-ass image out of my head!”

Aunt Vera has always been tougher than a two-dollar steak, and completely incorrigible. Even at seventy-four, she can still teach any sailor a thing or two about cursing, and then turn around and drink his ass right up under the table.

Usually, as people get older they begin to repent, and cling closer to religion. But not Aunt Vera. She's still doing the same stuff she was doing in her thirties, which is frequenting blues clubs, drinking, gambling, smoking, and apparently, having sex.

“Well, like I keep telling you, Aunt Vera is grown,” I laughed. “And if she can still get busy at her age, then I say God bless her and more power to her!”

Mama did not see the humor. “The woman is five years older than dirt, and I would think she would have more decorum than that!”

“So what did Aunt Vera have to say for herself?” I asked.

“Nothing much,” Mama said. “Just told me to go back out the same way I came in, and next time use the doorbell.”

“You two didn't fall out, did you?” I asked.

“You better believe we did!” she said. “Which is why I need for you to do me a favor and run your auntie around this afternoon.”

Aunt Vera and Mama are forever arguing over something petty, and I'm always the one caught in the middle.

“Mama, I am extremely busy with work these days,” I said. “What about Junior?”

“Oh, that's what I meant to tell you! Do you know that boy is about to get his car repossessed? The repo man came over here today looking for him.”

“The car that I cosigned for?” I asked.

“I guess so…”

Great, just what I need. Another financial mess of Junior's to clean up after before it adversely affects my credit.

“So will you take Vera to run her errands for me?” Mama asked, ever so sweetly.

“Yes, ma'am.” I said dutifully, even though I had no idea how I would find the time.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” she said, happy to have gotten her way. “I appreciate cha!”

Uh-huh.

 

No one is useless in this world who lightens the burdens of another.—Charles Dickens

TUESDAY

When it comes to my loved ones, I always say yes even when I really want to scream
no!

Remember that old song, “Superwoman”?

Well, because I have the ability to multitask like crazy, and cram a lot into a single day, Superwoman is exactly who most people think I am. That's a ton of weight to carry every day. It's like, once people know that you're competent and reliable, you can never get a moment in edgewise for yourself because your to-do list is always filled up taking care of other people's business.

I love my family and all, but sometimes I feel so put-upon that I fantasize about running away from it all. I'm talking about just straight-up packing up, and checking out.

Like that businessman I heard about on the news last month. I forget his name, but let's call him Jack Suburbia. Jack lived a routine life with his wife and kids until one morning he left for work and never made it to his job as an accountant. Everyone thought Jack had met with foul play since his bank account had been emptied and his car was found abandoned in a city park.

As it later turns out, Jack was found alive and well in Lubbock, Texas, where he was working as a convenience store clerk. Jack admitted to the news camera crew that tracked him down that he just needed a break from his life. Plain and simple.

Not that I would actually do that, because my family means the world to me. But sometimes, I just need a break from all the madness.

My day at work was all about gearing up for the annual Fire-fighter's Ball, which is always one of the most anticipated social events of the year. My meeting with the design team lasted all day, because everyone had conflicting ideas on how to make this year's event bigger and better than the previous ones.

At the end of the day, my brain was fried and my patience was thin, yet I still had Aunt Vera to contend with.

My aunt's home of forty-plus years is located in a South Kansas City enclave that is considered prime real estate for affluent black professionals.

As I pulled up into her driveway, my eyes were drawn over to the Robinsons' front porch, where I saw this unbelievably gorgeous guy, who had a Michael Ely–vibe going on. I waved hello. He waved back, and smiled. I could feel his eyes follow me as I walked up to Aunt Vera's porch, where I rang the doorbell, and waited.

My aunt never locks her front door, but I was scared to let myself in unannounced like I normally do, for fear that she would be in there bumping and grinding with Brother Edwards again.

“There's my shuga!” Aunt Vera said, opening the door for me.

“Hey, Auntie!” I said, giving her a hug. “Don't you look nice and colorful today?”

“Thank you, baby,” Aunt Vera said, graciously accepting the compliment.

Colorful
is actually an understatement. My aunt was sporting a velour, leopard-print tracksuit with gold metallic tennis shoes, gold fanny pack, and a metallic gold sun visor.

Just styling, okay? And despite all of her sinning ways, Aunt Vera looks good for her age. She is only slightly overweight, and her smooth, sand-colored skin is a testament to the fact that good black will never crack.

Told one too many times that she resembles Lena Horne, Aunt Vera is so vain that she won't leave the house or even answer her front door without full makeup and a nice wig.

“A lady is a lady at all times. Even when nobody is looking,” she always reminded me whenever she caught me drinking out of a bottle or a can, or sitting without crossing my legs.

After helping Aunt Vera up into my SUV, I jumped behind the wheel and the strong smell of Blue Grass perfume made me sneeze four times in a row.

“Here you go, baby.” Aunt Vera reached down into her titty bank and pulled out three crumpled and soggy dollars. “A little something for your gas tank.”

“Little” is right. But bless her heart. Aunt Vera has never owned a car, or even learned to drive, so she has no understanding that three dollars doesn't do a thing for my gas tank.

Unfortunately, Lincoln Navigators aren't the most fuel-efficient vehicles on the market, and in the two years that I have owned mine, complete strangers have taken every opportunity to remind me that Jesus would not drive such a gas-guzzling monstrosity. Maybe not. But since I have no authority to debate what Jesus would or would not do, my only defense is that the truck is roomy, has a great GPS system, and comes in handy when it comes to hauling loads of stuff for events.

“So, where we headed?” I asked Aunt Vera, as I backed out of her driveway.

Aunt Vera rattled off a long list of places she needed to go:

 

1) Bank of America: Cash social security check (“But ain't nothing
secure
about it!”)

2) Optometrist: Pick up new eyeglasses

3) Walmart: Pick up prescription from pharmacy and get miscellaneous items

4) Price Chopper: Grocery shopping

5) Home Depot: A couple bags of mulch, plants on sale for $7.99

6) Liquor store: A six-pack of Miller High Life and a pint of Canadian Mist

7) Bunny's Wig Emporium: Get some new hair

 

It was almost nine o'clock by the time Aunt Vera and I made it to Home Depot, which was, thankfully, our final destination. The two of us were searching for the best-looking Yucca plant, when I heard a male voice say, “Excuse me…don't I know you from somewhere?”

That's original.

I turned around and came face-to-face with Nelson.

Damn.

It was just my luck to have successfully avoided him for almost three months, only to end up running into him halfway across town.

Nelson had a box of Miracle-Gro in his hand, and wore beige khaki shorts, black Havaiana flip-flops, and a black touristy T-shirt that said “New Orleans” across the front of it.

“Hey!” I said, with a surprised smile. “Long time, no see.”

“Yeah, it has been a minute, hasn't it?” he asked.

“Yep…” was all I could think of to say, while simultaneously having flashbacks of all the nasty acts we engaged in the last time we saw each other. Acts that I am now so embarrassed to have committed that I could feel my face flushing hot.

My one-time lover smiled that dazzling smile of his, and did not look to be nearly as nervous and uncomfortable as I was at that moment. “So,” Nelson said. “Just out doing a little plant shopping?”

“Yeah…among other things…” I stammered, looking everywhere but directly at him.

Aunt Vera cleared her throat, waiting for an introduction. “Oh, I'm sorry…Aunt Vera, meet Nelson Tate, one of my neighbors. Nelson, this is my aunt, Mrs. Vera Hayes.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Hayes,” Nelson said, giving Aunt Vera a warm handshake.

“Same here,” Aunt Vera said. “You seem like such a nice young man. Are you married?”

“Yes ma'am,” he said, and then caught himself. “I'm sorry, I mean, my wife passed away a little while ago.”

“Oh, what a shame!” Aunt Vera said. “I'm a widow myself, you know.”

Nelson started to say “I'm sorry” but Aunt Vera cut him off.

“Don't be sorry,” she insisted. “That man was one of the
evilest
bastards who ever drew breath. Nothing to be sorry about!”

Aunt Vera patted Nelson on the back, and went back to looking over the yuccas. Meanwhile, I still hadn't thought of anything substantial to say to Nelson, who was starting to look just as awkward as I felt.

“Well, I'm not going to hold you up any longer,” he said. “But, um, we definitely should get together soon to catch up.”

“Sounds good!” I lied, with a smile on my face.

Catch up on what? We know little more about each other than what we look like naked, and the last thing I need to do is be reminded of what a slut I can be without even really putting my mind to it.

 

Back at Aunt Vera's house, I climbed out of the truck and popped the hatch open. Just as I was about to start unloading my aunt's purchases, the Michael Ely look-alike approached.

“Good evening, Miss Hayes.” He waved to Aunt Vera. “Do you mind if I help you ladies with all of this?”

It was a rhetorical question because without waiting for permission, he hefted two large bags of mulch, and followed Aunt Vera up to the house.

Umph! Strong and fine.

“You can set everythang down right inside the door, baby,” Aunt Vera said, unlocking the door and going inside. “We can manage from there.”

“Yes ma'am,” he said politely, obeying her command.

Meanwhile, I was still at the back of the truck separating the few items I picked up for myself, from Aunt Vera's things. The Michael Ely look-alike rejoined me, and was so forward as to place a hand on the small of my back.

“You know, I see you visiting from time to time and I swore to myself that the next time I saw you, I would come over here and introduce myself.”

“And what's your name?” I asked, flirting with a demure smile and lots of eye contact.

“Chris Jenkins. The Robinsons are my godparents.”

“Chris, I'm Tori,” I said, extending a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he said, shaking my hand.

After having placed all the bags right inside the door, like Aunt Vera told him to, Chris stood at the front door, waiting to be invited in.

Aunt Vera noticed. “Chris, baby, I sure appreciate you helping us with these groceries and thangs. Tell Vydella I said ‘hey' and not to forget that red velvet cake she's supposed to make for the pastor's anniversary dinner on Sunday.”

“Yes ma'am,” was all Chris was able to get out before the door closed in his face.

“Aunt Vera!” I protested. “How can you be so rude? That man just did us a favor.”

“Just saving you some time, chile,” she said, snatching her wig off and scratching her scalp. “That is exactly the type of man you
don't
need.”

“Did you
see
him?” I asked, flabbergasted.

“'Course I did. I see him nearly every day, 'cause he's always down to Vydella and Herbert's borrowing money and eating them outta house and home. He's probably on that stuff, you know.”

“And what stuff is that, Aunt Vera?”

“That dope, girl!” she said. “Why you think I didn't want him in my house? Boy be done came back in here and robbed me blind.”

I was skeptical because Aunt Vera is forever accusing people of being “on that stuff,” which is just another one of her many eccentricities.

Then again, she is a retired nurse who knows something about everybody in town. If she doesn't know anything about you, you can bet she knows something about your mama 'nem.

“Auntie, are you sure? Because he didn't smell, he had all his teeth, and—”

“Yeah, I know. He was what you call ‘fine,' wasn't he?” she said, giving me a wink. “What you outta know by now is that fine is, as fine does. Look at Roland. He was fine too, and he didn't turn out to be worth a damn.”

Touché.

Aunt Vera has a way of dispensing advice and wisdom, yet making you feel like a fool at the same time. I felt like I was sixteen again, with her warning me that nothing was open after midnight but legs and liquor stores.

Aunt Vera has been married and divorced several times over, which indicates that her judgment when it comes to men is not much better than mine, but her being seventy-five does count for something.

When an elder speaks, one damn sure ought to listen. Which is why when I left Aunt Vera's house and found a scrap of paper with Chris's phone number left under my windshield, I didn't think twice about tearing it in half.