Big Girls Do Cry

by Carl Weber

  “Thank you,” he said.

  He had a handkerchief in his breast pocket, but Jerome never used it to wipe his sweaty face or blow his nose. It was a fashion statement, and Jerome never messed with a fashion statement.

  “Umm, Jerome, this is …” I gestured toward the woman but had to stop in midsentence when I realized the little hussy hadn’t even told me her name. Before I could say anything else, she stuck her hand in Jerome’s face to introduce herself.

  “Hi, I’m Tiffany. I was just telling your … your …” She waved her finger in my direction cluelessly, and it pissed me off. I told you she didn’t give a damn if he was with me or not.

  “She’s my best friend.” Jerome smiled at me.

  “Oh, is she? Well, that’s nice. I thought she was your sister. Y’all do favor.” The woman fake-smiled at me, then turned back toward Jerome. It was obvious to me that she felt I was blocking and wished I would leave, but that wasn’t happening. What she didn’t know was that like the handkerchief in Jerome’s breast pocket, I was a fashion statement, and I never went out of style. I wasn’t going anywhere.

  Jerome turned back toward me again. “Yes, I guess we do favor.”

  Obviously that wasn’t the direction she wanted the conversation to go, because she stuck her hand in Jerome’s face again. “Yes, well, like I was saying, my name is Tiffany, and I absolutely love the way you sing.”

  Jerome beamed with pride. “Wow, thank you very much, Tiffany. It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name’s Jerome.” He took her hand, but instead of shaking it, he lowered his head and kissed it. Within seconds, old girl’s cheeks were flush with color and she was looking at me as if she had won some great battle. Why she was looking at me at all, I don’t know.

  “So, can I buy you a drink?” Jerome asked.

  She nodded, and Jerome motioned for the cocktail waitress. He ordered us all drinks, and for the next hour, I watched a respectful conversation become one of assumption and innuendos. It was amazing to me how these young women would just tell all their personal business to a perfect stranger with the expectation that they’d get him into bed. Well, after a while, I decided to break up their little Dr. Phil session so I could go home and get some sleep.

  “Jerome, you said we were only going to be here a half hour. Well, it’s been almost two hours. Whatever happened to one drink and we’re out? I have to go to work in the morning.”

  Jerome glanced at his watch. “Jeez, I’m sorry, Loraine. I just lost track of time talking to this beautiful young lady. Let me just finish my drink and I’ll drive you home.”

  Tiffany cut her eyes in my direction and I smirked. I’d just pissed her off. Oops, too bad. Besides, she may not know it now, but I was doing her a favor.

  “You really leaving?” She put on this sad face that I’m sure worked on most guys really well—but Jerome wasn’t most guys.

  “Afraid so, Tiffany. It was a pleasure meeting you.” He finished off his drink, then stood up.

  “So, what are you doing when you leave here?” I could hear the desperation in her voice. She didn’t want him to leave; she wanted to continue the conversation. Jerome had that effect on people. Not only was he handsome and could sing, but he also had a deep side that made him even more attractive. God, there is nothing like a man who can stimulate both your mind and your body.

  “Well, I have to drop Loraine off; then I’m going to head back to my place and curl up with a good book.”

  I could see her eyes sparkle when he said he was dropping me off. Girl, you do not want to go there, I said to myself.

  “So, why don’t I meet you back at your place?” Damn, slut! She went there. Why did they always have to go there? She could have just asked for his phone number. Why did they always want to go to his house or have him come to theirs on the day they met him? Did any of these women have any respect for themselves? Oh well, I guess she deserved what she got from this point on.

  “You wanna come over my house tonight?” Jerome asked.

  She nodded. “Yeah, I wanna come over your house.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “So, what exactly do you think we’re going to do at my house at this time of night?”

  She stood up, moving close enough for her breasts to rub up against his chest. If he’d lowered his head a few inches, their lips would be locked in a kiss. If she hadn’t already done so, she was making her move. “I don’t know. I’m sure we’ll think of something better than curling up with a book.”

  Jerome stepped back, folding his arms to regain some of his personal space. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  “You don’t have to be afraid of anything. I’m not looking for a commitment. I’m just looking to have a good time.” She licked her top lip shamelessly. At this point, I was invisible to her.

  “Look, Tiffany, I think there’s something you should know about me.”

  “Please don’t tell me you’re married.”

  “No, never been married,” Jerome said calmly. “But—”

  She cut him off with a little attitude. “But what? Here I am damn near throwing myself at you, and you acting like you sleep with men or something.”

  “There is no something about it. I do sleep with men.”

  This was always my favorite part. I loved watching as women processed what he had just told them. Why did they always assume he was straight? None of them ever asked the right question.

  “Excuse me? What did you just say?” Her head was rolling around her shoulders like a bobblehead doll.

  Jerome added a little bass to his voice. “I said I sleep with men.”

  “Stop playin’.” She laughed. Their first reaction was always denial.

  He gave her a stern look. “How many men would lie about something like that?”

  Her jaw dropped and her bottom lip began to quiver like Mushmouth from Fat Albert. “Oh, my God. You mean to tell me …” She couldn’t even look at him anymore. All of a sudden, he was the invisible one, and she turned her attention toward me. “He’s bisexual?” The truth had finally settled in, and she was now looking to me for answers.

  “Ain’t nothing bisexual about him. He likes dick more than both of us.”

  Tiffany glared at me for a full three seconds before turning back to Jerome. “Ain’t this some shit?” she said as she walked off.

  Jerome shrugged. “I guess she don’t want to come over anymore.”

  I laughed and gave my friend a hug.

  If you haven’t figured it out yet, Jerome is gay—very gay—and there is nothing he likes better than proving to me that he can pull people from both sides of the fence. It used to bother me, years ago, when he first came out, especially since we used to date. That can be a blow to any woman’s ego when the man she’s having sex with decides to announce that he doesn’t even like women. But now I was past that, and I couldn’t imagine him any other way.

  “C’mon, friend, take me home.” I hooked my arm in his, and we strolled out of the club, right past Tiffany’s evil glare.

  Isis

  3

  I sat down on the living room sofa, poured myself a glass of wine, and then eased back to read Keith Lee Johnson’s Little Black Girl Lost 5, our next book club selection. I’d read the other books in the series when I was in the New York chapter of the BGBC, and I really enjoyed them, so I was looking forward to reading part five.

  I hadn’t gotten through five pages when Rashad walked past the sliding glass doors, blocking out the sun and casting a large shadow in the area where I was sitting. I watched him inconspicuously for a moment. He was gazing at the pool as if trying to decide whether to get into the water. He looked cute pacing back and forth in the red-and-white Nike sweat suit I’d gotten him last Christmas. Had to give credit where credit was due; he really was a fine-ass man. He was one of those men who got even better looking as he got older. Maybe it was his newly shaved head, but he looked more distinguished, if you know what I mean.

  A satisfied grin crept up on
my face when he unzipped his jacket. Apparently he’d made a decision to take a dip in the pool. Rashad always seemed to be working, and I was glad he was about to tear himself away from his computer and BlackBerry to finally enjoy the pool his money built. He’d worked hard to afford this house, and he deserved to enjoy it. Heck, maybe after I finished a chapter or two, I would just join him. It had been a long time since the two of us had enjoyed a swim together.

  My grin became a full-fledged smile as I remembered a night many years ago, when the two of us sneaked into his neighbor’s aboveground swimming pool to skinny-dip. Thank God the owners of the house were on vacation; otherwise they might have gotten quite a shock. I still can’t believe I let him talk me into it. Not that I have any regrets. I swear I’ll never forget that night as long as I live. The moon, the stars, the warm water … Oh, and let’s not forget the best part—the off-the-charts sex! My smile was now a devilish grin that I covered with my hand. That was one of the most memorable sexual experiences of my life, and for the moment, all I could think of was the best way to recreate the past.

  I fanned myself, then picked up my wine, draining half the glass with one gulp. I glanced back over toward him, thinking naughty thoughts I had no business having at midnight, let alone at twelve o’clock in the afternoon. Besides, he was my sister’s husband now. Fucked up as it was, he was off-limits. So, I tried my best to ignore all the fantasies swirling through my mind and get back to my book. Keith Lee Johnson, here I come!

  That idea went totally out the window when Rashad’s shadow began to sway around the room in a very sensual way. When I looked up, Rashad was slowly gyrating his hips as if he, too, were lost in the memory of our past escapades in a pool. From that moment on, my eyes never left him as I put the book down next to me on the sofa.

  I finished that glass of wine and poured myself another as I watched the show. And I do mean show, because the way he was shaking his ass as he eased off his jacket put him in a class of his own. Now, I’d seen my share of male strippers, but they didn’t have anything on Rashad. He was moving so smoothly as he eased off his shirt.

  He had to know I was watching. There was no other reason for him to be dancing like that. He might be married to my sister, but I knew that deep down, he still felt something for me.

  By the time his shirt was off, my chest was heaving, and when he untied his sweatpants and they slid to the ground, showing off a Speedo, I broke out into a cold sweat. I was sitting on the edge of the sofa, waiting to see what he had planned next.

  Then, out of nowhere, he spun around like he was a member of New Edition, showing me his package from the front just long enough to get my imagination working overdrive before he turned back toward the pool. I watched as he dove into the water, and when he moved out of my range of vision, I decided it was time to read my book out by the poolside.

  Finishing off my wine, I picked up my book, the glass, and the bottle. I opened the sliding glass door and stepped onto the patio, taking in the afternoon heat. It felt good as I walked over to a lounge chair, swaying everything I knew he liked. I’d lost a lot of weight due to a recent hospital stay, but I was still a thick girl with an ass and a half. I tried my best to give the impression that I didn’t even realize he was in the water and that I had not paid any attention to his little striptease—that is, until he splashed some water and shouted, “You coming in or what?”

  I dropped my book, clutching my chest as I turned around toward him, pretending to be in a panic. “Oh, my God, Rashad, don’t do that. You nearly scared me to death.”

  “Ahhhh, sorry.” He froze, staring at me as I walked toward the edge of the pool. “Didn’t know you were there.”

  Sure you didn’t.

  “How’s the water?”

  “Great.” He swam toward my end of the pool, his eyes moving their way up from my ankles to my thighs. I’m sure he was trying to look up my dress. I stepped a little closer so that from where he was situated in the pool, he could get a glimpse of my purple panties. He swam a little closer.

  Oh, you naughty boy. This isn’t for you anymore. Not unless you can keep a secret.

  “You taking a swim?” It sounded more like an invitation than a question.

  “Why you ask me something like that? You looking for some company?” I teased coyly.

  He tried to wear a blank expression as he treaded water silently a few feet from the edge of the pool, but I knew what he really wanted. I’d always known what Rashad wanted, and right now, he wanted me in the water, sliding up and down on that hard dick of his. It was a good thing I loved my sister.

  “I asked you a question, Rashad. Do you want some company? ”My voice was as calm and as nonchalant as it could be, but it had purpose.

  “Actually, I did want some company, but—”

  I cut him off with a confident smirk. “All you had to do was ask. You didn’t have to put on a striptease to get my attention. What if my sister was back from dropping Tammy off at the airport?”

  He replied matter-of-factly as he pointed toward the second floor of the house. “She is.”

  Shit! I held my breath as I turned toward the house. The absolute last thing I needed was for my sister to see him flirting with me—or, even worse, me flirting with him—after everything she’d done for me lately. She would be devastated, and our parents would never forgive me. She had done what only a sister would do for me: She saved my life. Against the protests of all my family, she opened up her house to me during my truest time of need, inviting me to live with her and Rashad after my latest suicide attempt.

  And, yes, I did say latest. I know, crazy, right? Unfortunately, it was crazy but true, and I had the scars on my wrists to prove it. I’d tried to end my life three times in the past few years. My last attempt would have succeeded if my ex-boyfriend hadn’t broken down the bathroom door and rushed me to the hospital. Why would an apparently strong-willed black woman do such a thing? Why else? Because of a goddamn man. A man named Tony, who for three years of my life was my entire world. A man who led me to give Rashad up to my sister. A man whom I couldn’t let go of, even after I found out he was married and I confronted his wife. A man I wasn’t willing to live without, even though I knew I could do better. A man I tried to kill myself over.

  When I got out of the hospital, Egypt asked me to move to Virginia and live with her until I was back on my feet. Most of our family was against it, as I said before, but I did have to get out of New York and away from Tony. If I didn’t, I would be right back where I was—or worse, in a cemetery. So I accepted her invitation and awkwardly moved down to Virginia with my sister and her husband—my ex-boyfriend. Things had been going pretty smooth so far, and hopefully they would continue to, as long as I figured a way out of the mess I might have just stepped into.

  My eyes traveled to the second-floor balcony, where the sliding glass door was still open. Dear Lord, what had I just started? If the ground could have opened up and swallowed me whole, it wouldn’t have been deep enough. There was no doubt in my mind that Rashad was telling the truth, and my sister had seen his striptease and quite possibly heard my flirting. How the hell could I have been so stupid? So blind? Shit, if I knew Egypt, she was probably on her way downstairs with Rashad’s gun right now. My sister was known for her temper. She could fly off the handle faster than anyone else I knew.

  I whipped my head back toward him. “Oh, my God, she’s going to kill us. You know that, don’t you?”

  “I doubt that,” he replied rather arrogantly. “‘Cause I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “You didn’t what? Are you—” My jaw dropped. So that’s how he was going to play? Act like he didn’t do anything. Wasn’t that just like a damn man? Always willing to take the pleasure but never the pain. At that moment, I would have bet a hundred dollars he was going to leave me hanging out there to dry like this was all my fault and that somehow I made him do a striptease.

  “Rashad, you—”

  He blurted out, “Ho
ney, I think we’ve been busted,” but he wasn’t looking at me when he said it.

  I glanced back over my shoulder, and there was Egypt, walking out the sliding glass doors with a purpose. She didn’t have anything in her hands, so that was a blessing, but her facial expression was not a happy one. I bit my lip as she approached, bracing myself for a smack. Thank goodness it never came.

  Instead, she apologized to me. Apparently she hadn’t heard what I’d said to him. “Isis, I am so sorry. Rashad was just having a little fun. We didn’t even know you were there. Did we, honey?” She sounded sincere. And, more importantly, I was off the hook.

  I turned to Rashad, who grinned that boyish grin of his that used to melt my heart. He apparently had been putting on his little show for my sister, not for me. Or at least that was the story he was sticking to.

  “Nah, babe, I didn’t have a clue she was there.” He was such a bad actor; I’m surprised Egypt didn’t catch on right then and there.

  “Don’t worry, Egypt.” I shrugged it off. “I wasn’t really paying him any attention.” I flagged my hand in dismissal, then began to walk toward the house. I have to admit, my ego was a little hurt at the thought that he had been doing his little striptease for my sister and not me, but I still wasn’t convinced that was the case. There was something about the way Rashad said he didn’t have a clue that told me differently, especially when I looked up and realized that the sofa I’d been sitting on was clearly visible from outside. Now that I had time to think about it, I decided he was probably putting on a show for both of us.

  Jerome

  4

  I read the last page of M.T. Pope’s drama-filled novel Both Sides of the Fence, snapping it closed before placing it on the bed next to me. “Damn, now that was a good read,” I said to myself, picking up my phone and dialing my best friend Loraine’s number. I’d started the book around five-thirty when I got home from work, and here it was a little after twelve and I was finished. I had to give Isis, my fellow book club member, a pat on the back. She’d made the recommendation of M. T. Pope’s book a few weeks ago, but I’d only picked it up today, because I’d already finished this month’s selection for our next meeting, and I didn’t have anything else to read. I didn’t usually read gay fiction, because most of the time, it just seemed like fantasy with everyone living happily ever after. But this book wasn’t just real; it was thought-provoking. I almost felt like I was reading about myself with the way the main character kept having relationships with married men.