Big Girls Do Cry

by Carl Weber

  “I know. Bad timing, to be ovulating on a Saturday. But we have to do something. I just feel like today is the day I’m going to get pregnant.”

  He paused for a moment to think.

  “Damn, maybe I should call Egypt. She’ll know what to do.”

  “No!” I fought against a sudden rising panic. If she got involved, my plan would fall completely apart—not to mention that she might discover what I was up to. “We can figure this out, can’t we? We shouldn’t have to run to Egypt for everything.” I leaned back a little so the towel rode up higher on my thighs. His eyes wandered downward.

  “You do know there are ways I can get pregnant other than going down to the clinic, right?”

  Okay, big boy, I put it out there. Now, let’s see what you do with that.

  Rashad lifted his head, his eyes no longer trying to burn a hole through my towel but staring me right in the face. “What are you trying to say, Isis?”

  He knew exactly what I was trying to say. He just didn’t want to say it out loud, and neither did I.

  “What do you think I’m saying?” I leaned forward, staring right back in his face. I came out as the winner of our staring contest when he lowered his head, and his eyes found their way back to my sweet spot. I blatantly opened my legs so the poor guy could finally get a good look at what he’d been wanting to see.

  Now, Rashad could have just gotten up, walked away, cursed me out, or even called Egypt, but he just sat there in silent contemplation. I watched as not a muscle moved in his face. It was like he was made of stone—all the way down to my favorite place, where I wanted him to be as hard as a rock.

  I studied his face as he wavered between wanting me and wanting to do the right thing. It was either one or the other, and we both knew there would be no going back if we crossed that line.

  “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

  “I’m saying we need to get your sperm inside while I’m ovulating.”

  “You’re right, but what about Egypt?”

  “What about her? She wants this baby just as much as you do. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? The baby.”

  Again, he was lost in thought, but I took it as a good sign that he hadn’t just flat-out said no. “Isis, if she ever found out…”

  It was obvious we had a trust issue. He wanted to do it, but he was afraid I might throw it in my sister’s face one day. What he didn’t understand was that when I got finished putting it on him and had his baby, he was going to end up telling Egypt himself about us—right before we walked out the door.

  “I’m not going to tell her,” I replied with confidence. “Are you?”

  He sat back in his chair. “You do know I love your sister, don’t you?”

  “This isn’t about my sister. This is about me getting pregnant so I can have your child.” I kept bringing up the baby, because I wanted to hammer home the one thing I knew was important to him. The one thing I could provide for him that my sister could not. “You do want this baby, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I want the baby.” His voice sounded defeated as he patted the empty seat next to him on the sofa. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

  Finally! It was all I could do not to reach out and kiss him. But I waited. I wanted him to make the first move. Ten years from now, I wanted to be able to tell our children that their father seduced me, not the other way around.

  I felt myself getting aroused just sitting so close to him, and I could tell by the way he was breathing that he was feeling it too.

  “This is between us, right? We’re just doing this to make a baby, right?”

  I think he was asking himself the questions as much as he was asking me. If he needed to soothe his conscience by pretending this wasn’t lust, I didn’t mind.

  “Just between us,” I assured him.

  “Okay, and we’ll make sure you get to the clinic on Monday so that if you do turn up pregnant, no one will wonder how it happened.”

  I smiled and nodded. The fact that he was coming up with his own excuses now told me he was definitely down with the program.

  He leaned in close, and that’s when I knew he was about to kiss me. A million thoughts raced through my mind in a matter of a few seconds. Just that quick, I had planned the rest of the day. We were going to make love on the sofa; then I was going to make him breakfast. We’d go skinny-dipping in the pool like we’d done when we were young, and, of course, we’d make love in the water. We’d go shopping, and then if we weren’t too tired, maybe we’d take in a movie and have dinner somewhere nice down in the West End. When we returned home, we’d leave a trail of clothes from the front door to the master bedroom. We’d make love until he didn’t have anything left, and I’d fall asleep in his arms until noon.

  I prepared for his soft, full lips to cover mine, but they never did, because, in an example of the world’s worst timing, his cell phone began to play “The Beautiful Ones” by Prince. We both stared at each other, listening as the song played.

  No! No! No! This can’t fucking be happening! I am not going to let her ruin this!

  “Don’t answer it,” I pleaded, but he still reached for the phone.

  “I have to. It’s Egypt’s ring tone.” He looked nervous, and the color drained from his cheeks. “You know your sister. She’s just going to call back until I answer.”

  “Rashad, please don’t answer it.” I’m sure at this point I sounded desperate as hell, but I knew my opportunity to win him back was fading fast. I nearly collapsed when I saw him push the TALK button on his phone. He moved to the other side of the sofa, looking guilty.

  “Hey, babe,” he answered. “Umm, yeah, everything’s fine. Well, except that Isis is ovulating.”

  What the hell did he tell her that for? Five minutes ago, he was foaming at the mouth at the thought of getting some pussy, and now he was fucking George “I Cannot Tell a Lie” Washington. I had a good mind to snatch the phone from him and tell Egypt exactly what was going on.

  “Uh-huh. Oh, really? I didn’t know that.” Rashad paused, glaring at me. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I should have called you.”

  I wished like hell I knew what she was saying, but from the way Rashad’s expression had changed, I was pretty sure it wasn’t good for me.

  Rashad said, “Babe, you don’t have to do that. We can handle this.”

  Please, please, please don’t let her come home. If I could just get another day with him, I could turn this whole situation around again.

  “Oh, she’s right here.” He handed me the phone. “She wants to speak to you.”

  I watched him walk halfway across the room to get away from me. I was so tempted to hang up the phone, but that would only make her suspicious.

  “Hello?” I said, totally unsure of what her mood would be.

  “Hey, you sure you’re ovulating?” To my surprise, she sounded pretty calm. At least she didn’t have a clue what was going on here.

  “Mmm-hmm, my temperature was ninety-nine point one.”

  “Why didn’t you call the on-call doctor like I told you?”

  I stole a quick glance at Rashad. No wonder he looked so pissed. He knew I was lying. “You know what? I forgot all about that until you just said it. I’ll call them right now.”

  “No,” she said in her usual domineering way, “I’ll call them. And I’m on my way back now, so I’ll see you in about an hour and a half.”

  “Okay,” I said, hoping she couldn’t detect that I felt close to tears.

  “Let me speak to Rashad.”

  I handed him the phone. When our eyes met, we both looked away.

  Loraine

  25

  I hadn’t heard much about my nomination for sorority president, so I invited about three dozen of the heavy hitters over for Sunday brunch in hopes I could improve my chances. I really did want to be the national president of the sorority, and whenever I decided I wanted something that I deemed obtainable, absolutely nothing coul
d stop me.

  Although my sorors came in all shapes and sizes, it was a foregone conclusion that they all loved to eat. So, there was no better way of getting their attention than feeding them some good old-fashioned Southern cuisine.

  “Loraine, this chicken and waffles is out of sight,” Elizabeth Williams, an elder stateswoman in the sorority, said as she filled her plate at the buffet for the second time.

  “Ms. Elizabeth, I wish I could take credit for the food, but, girl, that’s my husband’s doing. He’s the cook in our family. Would you believe he made everything himself?” I glanced over at Leon, who was pouring a Bloody Mary for a guest. When we made eye contact, he winked and gave me an inconspicuous thumbs-up. He really had been a big help in putting this party together.

  Leon was an excellent cook, and in spite of our issues lately, he insisted that I should let him prepare the food instead of hiring a caterer. He knew how much this presidency meant to me, and to my surprise and relief, he had been extremely supportive. We’d been getting along better as a couple too. We’d spent many a night the past few months curled up on the sofa together, watching television, laughing, joking, and making love. If I could just get the man to slow down a little so I could get mine once in a while, I think I’d have the perfect marriage. In any case, I planned to give him a special thank-you in bed later that night.

  “That handsome man over there cooked all this food?” Ms. Elizabeth dug her elbow into my side gently, grinning from ear to ear. “I’m impressed. Here I am thinking you kept the eye candy around just for the sex. Does he have a single father or older brother?”

  We both laughed, but I’m sure it was for different reasons. Her because I’m sure she figured with a fine man like Leon I must be getting it good. And me because she was so far from the truth.

  When things calmed down and everyone had their fill of food and drink, I invited all the sorors into my living room for coffee and dessert. There were about twenty women there, all from the mid-Atlantic region. Each one had a lot of clout when it came to influencing the votes of other sorors.

  “Sorors!” Nancy Jericho, the Virginia state president said. “First off, I’d like to thank Soror Loraine Farrow and her husband, Leon, for inviting us to their lovely home and this fantastic brunch.” There was some clapping, and I nodded my head in thankful acknowledgment. “This was the perfect way for those of you who don’t know Loraine to meet her and see what type of woman and soror she is.” She walked over and put her arm around my shoulder. “Now, I’ve known Loraine a lot of years, so I’m asking you what she won’t. I’m asking you to help campaign for my soror and friend, Loraine Farrow, to be our next national president!”

  There was a whole bunch of clapping, and everyone was on their feet. When they sat back down, Nancy stepped aside so I could be center stage and say a few words.

  “I’m not going to pretend I don’t want to be president, ‘cause I do. But I think I want it for the right reason. I just hope all of you will help support me these next nine months—”

  A piercing laugh interrupted me. I turned in the direction of the sound, where a few women on the couch were giggling and whispering. In the center of the group was Soror Alison Bedford, a skinny bitch in her early thirties who I personally couldn’t stand. She was one of those women who just sat around and gave orders, because she was always fretting that she might chip a nail or her hair might get messed up.

  My personal dislike for her went deeper, though. I had caught her on more than one occasion making eyes at Leon. I’m sure she probably thought she had a chance. What she needed to do was go back in the kitchen and get some more of that fried chicken, because if she wanted to steal my Leon from me, she was a good hundred pounds too light. The only reason I invited her in the first place was because of how powerful her mother, June Bedford, was in the DC metro chapter, which I was going to need to win the election.

  When Alison realized that every eye in the room was fixated on her, wanting to know what the hell was so funny, she sat back on the sofa with an arrogant grin on her face. She cleared her throat, looking like she was happy to be the center of attention.

  “Loraine, I think you lost something,” she said, holding up a large purple thong with both hands. “This is yours, isn’t it? It was stuck between the cushions.”

  All eyes in the room turned to me, and the good will I’d felt toward Leon suddenly evaporated. I flashed back to the underwear I’d found in my bed and realized that he and his bitch were up to their old shenanigans in my house. And to think I actually thought things were the best they’d ever been in our relationship. I could feel the blood rushing to my face, showing everyone in the room just how embarrassed I truly was.

  Okay, girl. Keep it together.

  Yes, I was embarrassed, but I was not going to let Leon, Alison, or anyone else take away the opportunity that was standing in front of me. I’d worked too hard and wanted it too much to let that happen. I always taught my clients that you can turn any negative into a positive if you have the right attitude. Believe me, I’d deal with Leon later, but first I had to show these women that their future president could deal with anything.

  “Yes, it’s mine,” I said with a slight laugh. “My housekeeper was probably folding clothes on that sofa. Could you look and see if my red one fell between the cushions too? They’re the ones my husband really likes.” I tried to appear nonchalant as I walked over to Alison to retrieve what I wanted them to believe was mine. “What’s wrong, Alison? You look rather surprised. Didn’t you know they make thongs in my size?” A few of the larger sorors laughed with me. “Well, they do, and I look good in all of mine.” I took the panties out of her hand and smiled. “You see, we big girls can be sexy too. Isn’t that right, Ms. Evelyn?” I glanced at Evelyn Mathews, who was one of our sorority’s most respected members and a fellow big girl. She pumped her fist in the air.

  As I walked back to my original spot to finish my speech, I was sure I’d deflected most of the negative vibes in the room. I’d find out later in the evening that most of the sorors found Leon’s and my relationship refreshing and that I’d handled the situation with the panties well. By then, I’d also had a chance to inspect the underwear a little better, and it appeared I wasn’t lying when I said they were mine. I did have a pair the same color, same brand, and same size. The only thing that confused me was how my underwear got between the cushions. My housekeeper knew better than to be sitting in my living room when she was folding clothes. I could guarantee you, she and I were going to have words.

  Taking that all into consideration, the day turned out pretty well. I’d gotten verbal support from almost every woman who came, including Alison Bedford, although I think she was just going along with her mother. My husband was off the hook, and I for one was very grateful for that. Looked like he was getting that blow job I owed him after all.

  “Oh my God!” I let out a scream—not exactly a bloodcurdling one, but still a scream.

  I was standing in my bathroom about to take a shower and change into a baby-doll nightie. My intent was to get myself all sexy so that I could properly thank Leon for all the help he’d given me with my brunch this afternoon. As I changed, I caught a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror, with my dress pulled up over my waist. I immediately let go of the dress. What I saw nearly made me break down and cry, which was something I almost never did.

  “Everything all right in there?” Leon called from the adjoining bedroom. He sounded alarmed, but it wasn’t as if he rushed into the bathroom to see if I was okay.

  It took me a minute to regain my composure before I stomped out of the bathroom.

  “You all right?” he asked, as if my scream wasn’t a sign that something was very wrong.

  “I give up!” I threw my hands in the air. “Obviously I’m not woman enough for you, so tell your bitch she can have you, ‘cause I’m done. Do you hear me? Done!”

  “Now what did I do?” He ran in to inspect the bathroom, then ran ou
t. I had to give him credit; he was doing a good job of playing dumb.

  “I should smack the shit out of you. That’s what I should do.” I raised my hand.

  Leon held up his hand to stop me. “Don’t go there, Loraine. Remember what happened last time. You put your hands on me, you’re going to have to live with the consequences.” He closed the fingers of his upturned palm into a fist.

  I glared at him for a second. I was so angry that I actually contemplated whether getting one good hit in might just be worth “the consequences,” as he’d just threatened.

  As tempting as it was, I lowered my hand, remembering the knee-bending pain of my last beat-down. I still had a small tender spot on my chest from where he’d hit me.

  “I hate your fucking guts, Leon. Get the fuck out my house.”

  “Oooooh boy, here we go again. I am getting so tired of this.” He shook his head. “So, what did you find now? Wait, don’t tell me. I’m hiding a woman in the medicine cabinet, right?”

  “You think this shit is funny, don’t you?”

  “No, I think this is stupid. Especially since you won’t tell me what I supposedly did.” He looked like he was going to walk away, and I hated that shit.

  “You been having some bitch in my house, and you don’t even have the decency to make sure she goes home with her damn drawers.”

  “Loraine, what the hell are you talking about?”

  I walked over to the clothes hamper and pulled out the purple thong that Alison Bedford found stuck between the cushions of our sofa. “I’m talking about this.” I threw it right in his face.

  “You know, maybe you are going a little crazy. You told me—and every woman in the room today—that this was yours.” He tossed it to the ground.

  “I thought it was,” I said adamantly. “But I have only one purple thong.”