by Donald Welch
Eleven
Girls Just Wanna Have Fun
RENEE GATHERED the presents from the dining room table and brought them to the sofa for Nicole to open.
Denise interjected, “No, no, no, it’s not fair to open the gifts until all gifts are present. No pun intended. Now we’ll wait a little longer, eat some more, play some games.”
“Anyone for charades or Trivial Pursuit? Or how about Life?” Nicole said.
Freda said, “Aww, hell to the naw. Oh hell, charades? Life? I play life every day I wake up. All we’re doing is sittin’ around drinking.”
Keisha said, “How about Hollywood Dream Hookup?”
Renee answered, “Hollywood what?”
Keisha explained, “Hollywood Dream Hookup. It’s simple. We will each throw out the name of a Hollywood male star—someone who we think is hot.”
Mira said, “Aw, shit—I’m out unless y’all gonna name some sistahs, too.”
“Hell no. We’re naming men,” Freda said.
Mira replied jokingly, “I’ll play along. Just because I’m a lesbian doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate beauty—even if it’s in a man.”
“You’ll need a moderator, so naturally I’m good at stuff like that,” Denise said. “What are the rules, Keisha?”
“We name an actor or singer who is hot,” explained Keisha, “and then we rate them one to ten. I’ll go first. Denzel Washington.”
Denise said, “Fine, just fine. A ten!”
They all agreed except for Freda, who frowned and commented, “Yeah, but he looks like he can only go one round a night, then he’s done.”
“Okay, do you mean Training Day Denzel or Preacher’s Wife Denzel? Because if you mean Training Day Denzel, panties down,” Keisha stated.
“My turn,” Zenora said, rolling her eyes at Keisha’s antics. “Blair Underwood, also fine. A nine, but I always felt you can’t touch his hair. It’s always perfect.”
“You mean it’s always greasy,” interjected Keisha. “He needs to let that perm go.”
“I’ve got one,” Renee spoke excitedly in her high-pitched tone. “Justin Timberlake!”
Most of the women frowned, but Tisha backed her up. “I’ll give you that one. I think he’s an eight and a half.”
“Man, he couldn’t handle a sistah,” Zenora said, shaking her head. “He reminds me of a little boy. And another thing, he can take sexy back.”
“Okay, me, me, here’s my choice,” said Nicole. “Will Smith! Nice, sexy, cute—I’d give Will a nine and a half.”
Valerie said, “He’s a ten for me. All women love Will Smith. He’s handsome, funny, rich, and he’s a good father. He provides, and he’s an overachiever.”
Freda jumped in and asked Valerie, “Bitch, are you his publicist?”
Tisha thought Smith was gentle in a manly way. Her fantasy about him was definitely far from the real-life brutality she got at home from Roland. She daydreamed and thought how wonderful it would be to have a husband who was gentle. He doesn’t have to be rich or famous, just gentle. She thought, Roland’s brutal hands and harsh words are probably his only way to show that he loves me, maybe?
Denise expressed admiration for his wife, Jada Pinkett Smith. “She’s a woman in her own right. If I married him, I wouldn’t give up my law practice and political career, just like Jada didn’t give up her career.”
Keisha told Denise, “You got two chances to marry Will Smith: slim and none. Besides, a brotha got to come correct with Miss Jada. She don’t care how much he got. If he’s not delivering in the bedroom, sistah girl would have stepped. I believe that shit.”
“Hey, everybody, I got another one. Wesley Snipes,” said Valerie.
The entire room became quiet as a mouse. The girls looked at each other and then turned to Valerie.
Keisha couldn’t hold her tongue. “Are you crazy? He doesn’t want you anyway. Hell to the naw—and his ass owes the government.”
“Okay, okay, if I were to ever do a man, it would be Brad Pitt,” confessed Mira.
“Ooooh, he’s the hottest ever. Oh my God, oh my God,” Renee shrieked, flustered and overjoyed at the thought.
Nicole said, “I’m feelin’ you on that and did you see him in the movies Troy and Fight Club? Whew! Now that’s one man worth crossing the color line for.”
Denise said, “Me, too. Then there’s Colin Farrell. We all know he likes sistahs and video cameras.”
“Hold up. I got one for everybody: Mr. LL Cool J,” said Freda. “I may not be his round-the-way girl, but I’ll be his up-the-block bitch.”
“Hell to the yeah!” everyone said, before chiming in to sing one of his songs:
“Standing at the bus stop, suckin’ on a lollipop.”
Then Valerie added, “Once she gets pumpin’, it’s hard to make the hottie stop—”
Surprised, the other women yelled, “Whoa—Go, Val! Go, Val! Go, Val!”
“I can’t believe I did that,” Val said, amazed.
“Yeah, chile, if I wasn’t getting married tomorrow, LL Cool J could get it. Ouch!” Nicole threw her long legs in the air like two stiff boards.
Denise looked over at Tisha and said, “Tish, you with us?”
“Oh yeah, yeah, I was just fantasizing about…oh, never mind. Okay, who has the best body and face in Hollywood but people usually hate him? Can’t guess? Okay, Shemar Moore.”
“Oh no,” Freda said. “He’s overrated, and I ain’t really feelin’ those light-skinned brothas. The same for that Boris Kodjoe.”
“Are you crazy? They are too fine!” Tish offered.
“But for body, give me Tyrese any day,” Zenora said.
Keisha broke in again. “Chile, please. He look like a lizard in the face.” She imitated the movement of a scaly lizard creature by thrusting out and wagging her tongue from side to side.
“You’re so ignorant, Keisha,” Freda said, and shook her head.
Valerie said, “But I thought Tyrese was sexy-bad in that movie, Baby Boy. You know, like he’s sexy, but so bad.”
“Stop, Val, you sound ridiculous,” Denise said.
Renee came up with another choice, “How about Ricky Martin?”
“Sweet as cake,” Keisha said.
Freda concurred, “Like Duncan Hines.”
“He is not, Keisha,” admonished Renee. “There you go again with those ridiculous rumors.”
“Hell to the naw” was the response for Tom Cruise, but for Morris Chestnut it was another story.
Freda said, “He’s rich, beautiful chocolate,” and then made a hissing noise like a whistling teakettle. “I wanna have his kids.”
“I hate to throw a wrench in your fantasy, but he’s married,” Valerie said.
“And?” Freda responded. “I said, I wanna have his kids.”
“Okay, time for one more, and all kidding aside,” Keisha announced. “You are going to think I’m crazy, but you know who I think will give you the time of your life?”
Everyone asked, “Who?”
“Jimmy J. J. Walker!”
Hysterical laughter followed. Renee asked, “What? Do you mean that string bean from Good Times?”
“Have you lost your mind?” Freda asked. “You must be crazy. How many drinks have you had? Why him?”
“You all naming those pretty boys that will be fighting yo’ ass for mirror time. But if you get somebody as ugly as J.J. and give his ass some, he’ll tear your shit up! Raw, chile. And with those soup cooler lips? Chile, please.”
There was a knock at the door.
Freda jumped to the door. “Who is it?”
“Security!” a deep voice called out from the other side of the door.
Nicole wondered why building security would come to her apartment. Freda opened the door, and in entered a six-foot-tall, mocha-chocolate muscular-framed man wearing heavy-duty black boots and a tight black T-shirt with the words SECURITY in bold white letters on his broad chest. His chiseled facial features enhanced a pencil-thin must
ache and deep-set dark eyes. He held a flashlight in one hand, which gave him an air of authority, but the duffel bag in the other brought a question to Nicole’s mind. She had never seen this security man in her four years of living in the condo. There was a brand of a horseshoe on his upper arms, which indicated that he was a Q DOG.
He said, “Excuse me, ladies. We’ve gotten some complaints that there is some sort of party going on here. Loud music, laughter—you know, the usual.”
Perplexed, Nicole said, “But we don’t have any music on.”
He retorted, “You’re having a party and no music?”
Nicole answered, “There was music on before, but we’re just laughing and having fun. That’s all.”
“Do you mind if I check the volume button on your sound system?”
“Oh my God, this is really insane,” Nicole said. “This makes no sense at all.”
“Now, now, Nicky,” said Zenora, “let the security officer do his job.”
Nicole caught on and was eased over to the high-back chair while the others arranged themselves to get ready for the show. Freda pulled out dollar bills from her clutch, but Denise vacated to the patio. Mira decided to get another beer at the bar.
The guard pushed in his CD, and the music began. Keisha dimmed the lights.
“Ladies, are you ready for the Knight Rider? Who wants to take the first ride?”
In unison, the women hollered, “Yeah!” Freda signaled him to go to Mira, who was nursing her drink at the bar.
His body attempted to grind against Mira, who immediately sent him away to the action on the other side of the room with the girls. “I know you better get away from me. I don’t even play that shit!” He was smart enough to move on.
Zenora captured his attention by standing in the middle of the floor. “Come here, papi,” she teased, signaling him with her finger. He swung her around, lifting her ample body with ease as she pulled off his black T-shirt to reveal his muscular tattooed frame encased in a tight white tank top. “Ah, shit—now don’t break nothing, pa!” Zenora yelled out.
He then danced his way over to the sofa where Keisha, Tisha, and Renee were seated. They kept their eyes on his every grind and bopped to the rhythm of the music. He stalked his next partner. It was Tisha who took off her belt, wrapped it around his neck, and pulled him in like a cowgirl lassoing a steer.
Renee motioned for him to grab Keisha, who was still sitting on the sofa, but he had his own agenda. He grabbed Renee by the arm and bent her body forward. From behind, he held her hips and simulated sexual gyrations. It was too much for Renee, who told him to stop, so he slapped her on the butt and looked for his next victim. He leapt behind the sofa for Freda, who was waiting for him to have some fun with her. She enticed him with a seductive dance, pulled off his white tank top, and tossed it in the air. Tisha grabbed it like a prize.
Freda had done this stripper scene before, and she knew how to increase the fun. He spotted folded dollar bills sticking out from her bosom like leaves on a tree, but in this case, the leaves were five-and ten-dollar bills. She instructed him to take the money out with his teeth, and Knight Rider put on a show by sliding up and down her body like a snake. Each time he curled around her cleavage, a bill was removed. Once he secured all the bills with his teeth, she stuffed them into his black silk shorts, which tore away to reveal a bright pair of bikini briefs. “Oohh, what you got in them shorts? Huh? Let me see! Let me see!” Freda said.
The loud screams told the neighbors that someone was having lots of fun in that apartment.
Keisha awaited her turn by positioning herself on her back and stretching out on the sofa. Knight Rider read her body language and mounted her missionary-style, burying his face in her blouse. “Don’t play with me, boy, ’cuz it’s been a minute! I’ll ride you like an amusement park roller coaster!” she screamed with delight.
Shoeless and shirtless, the stripper yanked Tisha from the sofa and lifted her high in the air with his face buried between her thighs. Then he changed her position, and she rode him like a bronco on his back while twirling that white tank top around like a flag. She dismounted her stallion, and he took center stage on the floor, where he worked the girls in a frenzy of gyrations and music. The hotter they got, the bigger their tips.
Freda grabbed a camera and started clicking away.
He then approached Val, who shook her head. “No, no, I can’t. Go over there to one of them,” Val pleaded. The other girls knew she was shy and embarrassed, but they taunted her to try. He moved over to her chair and straddled her facing him. He removed her hands from her face and placed them on his butt as he grinded to the music. Val kept her eyes closed and started to shake until her shoes came off! She wanted to enjoy the dance, but she didn’t know how to let herself go.
Freda shouted, “Go with the flow!” and the rest of the women joined in with snapping fingers, “Go with the flow.”
Knight Rider saved Nicole, the guest of honor, for last. He got on all fours and pranced over to her like a thoroughbred and motioned for her to hop on for a bronco ride. Wrapped up in the moment, Nicole temporarily forgot Alan. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she said as she took her ride.
Exhausted and satisfied, the six women recuperated while Knight Rider retreated to the bedroom for a change.
He danced to another popular song, a more sensual cool down. Freda continued to unload those bills from her purse as the others followed suit. Keisha, Freda, and Zenora were the most tipsy by that time. Valerie and Nicole were warm and fuzzy from the white wine, just enough to be relaxed, but more in control of themselves than the rest. Mira was very quiet, with something weighing on her mind; however, also working on her third beer.
After Knight Rider completed his act, he retreated to Nicole’s bedroom to get dressed in his street clothes. Denise came back in from the patio, and Renee approached her, saying giddily, “Denny, you missed all the fun!”
Denise looked at her. “Not really. And Renee, I really wish you would stop calling me Denny. My name is Denise.”
“Whatever, Denise, party pooper.”
“And another thing, I thought I was in charge of this party tonight. This whole Knight Rider thing was a complete farce. Nicole distinctly expressed no strippers at her bachelorette party, and I did not authorize it.” Denise was frustrated. It had been a long day, and at that moment, she would rather have been at home soaking in a hot tub. This was one of the most disappointing days in a long, long time.
Renee was hurt and surprised at Denise’s tone; however, the apple martinis made her care less about what Denise said to her. Renee was determined to have herself a good time this evening. She turned to Denise and again said, “Party pooper.”
Zenora left the other women, who were recovering from Knight Rider, and made her way to Nicole’s bedroom. She handed his CD to him and took five moist one-hundred-dollar bills from inside her lace bra.
“Well, ya know, we can do a little somethin’ somethin’ extra right here,” he said as he gazed down at her oversized breasts and reached for the money.
“I think I’ll pass. For one, out of respect for my girl’s spot here, it just wouldn’t feel right; and two, I got my own little thing going on later on when my papi comes through to touch me up, comprende.”
“Hey, Knight Rider, you better hurry up out here and get back on this track, ha, ha,” Freda hollered from the hallway.
“Did you hear that? See, my fans are callin’ for more, and they want an encore,” he said in a seductive whisper, so close, she could smell the cheap liquor on his breath.
“You’re done here for tonight, playa,” Zenora replied as she slowly stuffed his front pocket with the bills and managed to slip her hand toward his monstrous manhood. He smiled, but then took a moment to count the dollars left in his pocket. “Damn, cheap bitches,” he said under his breath before he left the bedroom.
He stepped into the hallway as Denise approached the bedroom entrance. “Oh, you weren’t f
eelin’ Knight Rider, huh, baby?” He stroked her arm.
Denise glared. “Get your hands off of me!”
He complied and quickly stepped back while raising both hands and surrendering to her request; then he headed to the living room.
The girls were still reveling in Knight Rider’s encounter and teasing one another about the escapade.
“Remember, ladies, I got the pictures to prove it, and pictures don’t lie. So don’t be saying you didn’t enjoy this shit,” Freda said.
“Oh God, don’t tell Alan. No.”
Keisha suggested, “Let’s all wear that photo on T-shirts when we walk down the aisle instead of our bridesmaid gowns. Yeah, it can say I RODE KNIGHT RIDER, and Nicky’s picture would be right on it in one hundred percent white cotton, nonshrinkable!”
“Oh, that’s not right. Don’t you dare do that. Whatever happens at Nicky’s condo, stays at Nicky’s condo,” Nicole warned.
Mira laughed off their joke. “You bitches are crazy.”
Zenora came from the bedroom and spied Denise putting cold water to her face. “Are you okay, Denise?”
Denise kicked the door, slamming it in Zenora’s face.
She sat on the toilet seat, taking a few moments to compose herself and come up with an excuse to explain her behavior. She just wanted to get home and into that hot tub. But at that moment, the water running in the sink soothed her, even though it was a poor substitute.
Knight Rider bade them good-bye. “Okay, ladies, I’m out.” His new fans said good-bye, and Freda and Keisha tucked away his business card for future use. As he left, he passed a tall muscular man in a uniform with a starched white shirt and work pants emerging from the elevator. Knight Rider said, “’Sup, nigga. You here to dance, too? ’Cuz if you are, dem hoes is cheap, man. I see you got your hookup on, playa.” He glanced up and down at the newcomer’s attire.
Instead of answering him, the other man cold-cocked Knight Rider right in the mouth, drawing a mass of blood, which flowed down his yellow sweatshirt. The assailant kept walking toward apartment 1901 without even looking back.
Struggling to get up on his feet, Knight Rider cried, “What the fuck is wrong with you, man?”