Satin Nights

by Karen E. Quinones Miller

  “So here you are,” Regina said softly.

  “And here you are.” Little Joe stroked her cheek, causing Regina to blush. “Still smooth as satin,” he said in almost a whisper. “My Satin Doll. Remember?”

  “I remember,” she said quickly as she grabbed Camille’s hand in an attempt to keep from floating into the clouds.

  “You’ve got a pretty little girl here,” Little Joe said, chucking Camille under the chin again. “How long have you been married?”

  “Oh, um, I was married. Only two years,” Regina said. “I’m divorced now.”

  Little Joe looked down at Camille again, then leaned into Regina and whispered into her ear, “Lucky me.”

  “Everything okay?” Tamika’s voice rang out before Regina could think of a response to Little Joe’s statement.

  “Everything’s fine,” Little Joe said, his eyes never leaving Regina’s face.

  “Tamika, you remember Little Joe—I mean, Joe Blayton—don’t you?” Regina said quickly.

  Tamika’s eyes narrowed as she looked Little Joe up and down, and seconds passed before her face registered recognition. “Oh my God! Little Joe! Didn’t you have the club on Lenox Avenue? Next to the Laundromat, right?”

  “Yeah.” Little Joe nodded and extended his hand. “JoJazz. And I remember you, too. You always was the sweetie in the bunch. And what were your other running buddies’ names? One was Yvonne, right? And the other . . . what was her name?”

  “Puddin’,” Regina said with a laugh.

  “Yeah, how could I forget her?” Little Joe responded with a laugh of his own. “That was one wild little girl.”

  “And she grew up to be one wild woman,” Regina said.

  “Dag, Little Joe, it’s so good to see you again.” Tamika shook his hand. “But I thought you were—”

  “We covered that already,” Regina interrupted. “I’ll catch you up later, okay?” she added, giving an almost imperceptible nod toward Darren.

  “Oh of course,” Tamika agreed. “Listen, Regina, why don’t I go ahead and take Camille home with me and Darren, and you can pick her up later?”

  “I wanna go with my mommy.” Camille moved in closer to Regina, hugging her leg.

  “Isn’t that cute? She wants to go with her mommy.” Little Joe gave a short laugh. “Well, maybe she’ll let me borrow her mommy later on? Maybe for dinner?”

  “That would be nice,” Regina said demurely.

  “Dag, prison must have suited Little Joe,” Tamika said after she and Regina had settled on the couch in Regina’s living room. “He’s looking good. He musta been one of the guys who spent all his time working out. How old is he? About fifty?”

  Regina shrugged. “Something like that. He was in good shape even before he went in. He used to take up karate and yoga. But his arms and chest are bigger than I remember, so you’re probably right.”

  “Yeah, he’s got a physique on him, and he can still dress his ass off, too,” Tamika said. “Too bad he went back in the store, I wanted to see what he was driving. Didn’t he used to have a Bentley?”

  “He had a couple of cars. My favorite was his little red Porsche convertible. Back then all I cared about was whether a man had nice cars and nice money.”

  “And he obviously had both, but that’s not all you liked about him, was it?”

  Regina looked at her friend. “Why do you say that?”

  “Girl, you’re crazy about that man . . . even now. It’s evident all over your face.” Tamika started to giggle. “And it was evident on his face that he’s crazy about you, too.”

  “You think so?” Regina said excitedly.

  “Oh heck yeah. I thought he was gonna drop to his knees and ask you to marry him, the way he was looking at you,” Tamika said with a wave of her hand. “Of course, I know you’re not going to let it go there. I mean, like I said, I can see you really like him, but I know you’re not really serious about going out with him.”

  “Why not?”

  Tamika’s jaw dropped. “You know good and well why not, Regina. That man was one of the biggest dealers in Harlem.”

  “That was twenty years ago. You don’t know what he’s up to these days.” Regina crossed her arms and leaned back in her seat.

  “And neither do you,” Tamika answered. “That man was in the life for at least thirty years before he went away. I’m betting that’s all he knows. And you’ve come way too far to get caught up in that shit again. Look at you.” Tamika waved her hand in Regina’s direction. “You’re a successful writer. You were married to a U.S. congressman. You’re a mother to a wonderful little girl. And you’re going to tell me you’re going to backtrack now because of some guy you had a crush on fifteen years ago?”

  Regina tapped Tamika on the shoulder. “Excuse me, but you do remember who you’re talking to, right? I mean, yeah, sixteen years ago Little Joe was dealing, but sixteen years ago I was boosting for a living, snorting more coke than kids eat candy, and spreading my legs for any man who had enough money to show me a good time. So if I was able to turn my life around after all that shit, why should it be hard for me to believe Little Joe could, too?”

  “Regina,” Tamika said through narrowed eyes, “you’re my girl, and always been my girl, and you know I’ve always had your back. But I see you about to go down a road that you’ve already traveled. And if I remember correctly, that journey weren’t shit.”

  “Tamika . . .”

  “I said my piece, and I’m not saying anything more,” Tamika said, throwing her hands up in front of her as if in surrender. “What did you always used to say when me and Yvonne or Puddin’ hooked up with someone you thought was bad for us? If you love him, I adore him.”

  “Well, I got that from Mama Tee,” Regina said defensively. “And remember, I didn’t say anything about loving him, Tamika.”

  Tamika shrugged and turned away. “Well, you know, I guess I’ve always held out hope that you and Charles would get back together.”

  “Oh yeah, well, that’s not going to ever happen,” Regina said dismissively. “And I’m not going to get my hopes up about Little Joe. I mean, shit, like you said, I don’t even know what he’s into these days. I’m not trying to get caught out there like that.”

  Tamika nodded.

  “And Little Joe always had a million women, and a wife, too, now that I think about it.” She snapped her fingers. “Damn! I don’t know how I could have forgotten to ask if he was still married.”

  “Maybe,” Tamika said gently, “because you didn’t want to know.”

  “Go to hell, Tamika,” Regina said as she threw a magazine across the room.

  “Yeah,” Tamika said, picking up the magazine and flipping through it. “I love you, too.”

  chapter four

  What the hell are you doing here?” Regina asked Puddin’ as she and Tamika entered the living room of Yvonne’s spacious Convent Avenue apartment. “I thought you were going to the Usher concert to snag yourself a new sugar daddy. Or should I say sugar baby, you cradle robber?”

  Regina took a look around the room. A brand-new money-green leather couch, trimmed in chrome, sat to the left of the room, and across from it were a love seat and high-back swivel chair. On the wall, where Yvonne used to have a picture of her twelve-year-old son, Johnny, was a green and beige tapestry, which matched the Oriental rug on the floor. “Damn, Yvonne, when did you get all this new shit? And what did you do?”

  “Fuck you and pipe down,” Puddin’ said as she aimed the remote control at the television and turned up the volume. “Boyz N the Hood is on.”

  “You’re missing the concert for a stupid movie you’ve seen a thousand times?” Regina asked as she slipped off her coat. “Why don’t you just invest ten bucks and buy the damn DVD?”

  “Shut up a minute. It’s getting ready to go off, and we can talk then,” Puddin’ spat at her.

  “God, please leave her be,” Yvonne said as she sat in the swivel chair and twirled around. “She’s
been glued in front of the TV hissing at me to shut up ever since it came on. You know how she is about that damn movie.”

  Regina turned to her. “The place sure looks different from when I was just here like a week ago. When did all this happen?”

  “Yeah, Yvonne, when did you get this new furniture and stuff?” Tamika asked, running her hand over a four-foot-high mint-colored sculptured dog. “It must have cost you a fortune.”

  “It was delivered today, as a matter of fact,” Yvonne said nonchalantly. “I just got a raise, so I decided to redo the place.”

  “It’s beautiful, but it’s a little, you know, well . . .” Tamika hesitated. “It doesn’t really look like you. You’ve always gone for the traditional, homey kind of stuff. I never thought you’d go for the sleek modern kind of decor.”

  Nope, Regina thought, but I’m betting Robert does. She probably ordered all this furniture as soon as she found out he was relocating to New York. I wonder if she told him that he could move in with her.

  “I just wanted to make a change.” Yvonne shrugged, avoiding everyone’s eyes. “Nothing wrong with that, is there?”

  Regina started to answer her, but just then Puddin’ clicked off the television.

  “Okay, now I can talk,” she said to Regina as she threw the remote down on the smoky-glass and chrome coffee table.

  “Damn it, Puddin’, if you break that glass, you’re going to pay for it,” Yvonne snapped.

  Puddin’ ignored her and continued to address Regina. “Like I was saying, I’m skipping the concert, but I’m gonna make the after-party. I’ma roll up in there about two a.m.”

  “So you’re really serious? You’re telling me you skipped an Usher concert to watch a movie that you’ve already watched fifty million times?” Regina chuckled. “I don’t know what’s up with you and that stupid movie.”

  “First of all,” Puddin’ said, stretching her long legs over the arm of the love seat, “Boyz N the Hood is probably the best ghetto film—scratch that, the best film—ever made, so you just can all that ‘stupid movie’ shit. Second, I’m not going down to Madison Square Garden to hear music, I’m going on a mission. I’ll make my entrance at the after-party about two, blow Usher’s mind about three, and be sporting his platinum card tomorrow night around seven.”

  “Well, I wish you luck,” Regina said as she sat down on the couch next to Tamika and took off her shoes. She curled her toes on the Oriental rug. Nice, she thought, and damn expensive.

  Puddin’ stood up and stretched, then bent down and picked up a joint that had been lying in the ashtray, lit it up, and took a deep drag. “Well, I gotta split so I can change into a ‘come over here and fuck me’ outfit,” she said through an exhale of wispy smoke. “I’ll see ya’ll tomorrow or something.”

  Regina looked up. “Wait a minute, I gotta ask you something real quick.”

  “What’s that?” Puddin’ said as she started putting her things in her big shoulder bag.

  “You heard anything about Little Joe? Me and Tamika ran into him today on Frederick Douglass Boulevard. I didn’t even know he was out.”

  “Get the fuck outta here! When did he get out?” Puddin’ exclaimed. “Shit, I wish I’da known. I bet his buddies gave him a phat-ass coming-home party. Damn, and I missed it. I bet there was enough coke there to make it look like a fucking Harlem snowstorm. Is he dealing yet?”

  Regina shrugged. “I was hoping you could tell me. I couldn’t really get into it with him ’cause Camille and Darren was with us. But I gave him my number, so I’ll get the 411 when he calls.”

  “You gonna start fucking around with him again?” Puddin’ asked. “Good,” she continued before Regina could answer. “That motherfucker used to party us up in the day. And I could use some partying up.”

  Tamika giggled. “Girl, your whole life is a damn party, Puddin’.”

  “And may the party never end,” Puddin’ said with a grin.

  “Naw, I don’t think I’m gonna start messing with him again,” Regina said.

  “So why’d you give him your damn digits?” Yvonne asked teasingly.

  “Well, you know he’s an old friend,” Regina said defensively. “I wouldn’t mind getting together with him and, you know, catch up on what’s going on in our lives.”

  “And?” Yvonne asked.

  “And what?”

  “And what else?” Yvonne replied. “You know I know how crazy you were about Little Joe. And he couldn’t get enough of him some Regina.” She turned to Tamika. “Remember the time we was all hanging out with him and Regina said she wanted a piña colada? He drove us to the airport and flew us to Puerto Rico to have piña coladas on the beach.”

  “Yeah, and if law had found out, they woulda put him under the jail,” Tamika piped in. “What was we? Like sixteen or something?”

  “Fifteen,” Regina said. “By the time we were sixteen they put him under the jail on that conspiracy charge. Life without parole.”

  “Yeah, and you cried for like a whole week. Stopped eating and everything,” Yvonne said.

  Regina’s eyes fell to the carpet as she remembered. She was fifteen when she went from boosting to support herself and Ray-Ray to using men for the same purpose. They all knew what she wanted, and they gave it freely, and although she never stayed long with one who treated her badly, none had really treated her well. The usual routine was they’d take her out to eat, party her up, and then take her to a hotel and screw her brains out, then slip her some money for her time and her body. Spending the whole night was never an option, and many took her to the hotel on St. Nicholas Avenue where the rooms had mirrors on the wall and were rented by the hour. It took a while for her to get used to it, but she did, telling herself it was only a job, and most people didn’t like their jobs. All of the affairs were short, none lasting more than a few months. It would end when they got tired of her or she found a mark with longer money. But then she met Little Joe.

  She had gone to a new club, JoJazz, on Lenox Avenue to scope the joint out for potential paychecks. She was there barely fifteen minutes when a man sidled up to her and asked if he could buy her a drink. It took only a quick look up and down at him, with his cheap clothes and bulging bloodshot eyes, for her to politely decline and turn away. The man then tugged on her shoulder and pulled a slightly bulging folded one-hundred-dollar bill from his pocket.

  “Why don’t you come on in the back with me and do some blow?” he said.

  She again politely turned him down and tried to get the eye of the bartender so she could order a refill of her soda.

  “Well, fuck you, then,” the bloodshot-eyed man said.

  She ignored him, but then Bloodshot took his drink and threw it on her, ruining the red suede pantsuit she’d boosted before she got busted. Before she could say anything, or pull the knife she always carried in her pocketbook, Bloodshot was surrounded by two burly men and a smaller dapper man wearing a gray sharkskin suit.

  It was the little man who spoke. “Get the fuck out my bar.”

  Bloodshot opened his mouth to say something but quickly changed his mind when the smaller man pulled his jacket back a little, revealing a shoulder holster.

  “You okay?” the dapper man asked her after Bloodshot had left. She nodded as she took a good look at him. His copper-colored face was unwrinkled, though his closely cropped hair was salt-and-pepper, as were his eyebrows. His small, slightly slanted eyes were dark brown, almost black, and were so piercing that she dropped her gaze. It was when she looked back up that his smile revealed a diamond-embellished gold tooth. That’s also when she noticed that he seemed to have a halo around him, as if he were an angel. It made her feel comfortable and flustered at the same time.

  “I’m fine,” she told him.

  “Excuse me, Little Joe,” a tall burly man said as he tapped the dapper man on his shoulder. “You’ve got a long-distance call in the back.”

  “Cool,” Little Joe said, though he was still looking at Regina. His g
aze was cool and appraising, and made Regina a little uncomfortable, though she tried to act like she wasn’t bothered. Finally, Little Joe smiled, once again revealing his expensive tooth, then turned and walked away. “Come to the club tomorrow afternoon,” he said over his shoulder, “and I’ll take you shopping for a new pantsuit.”

  That was it. She officially became his girl. While most of the men she’d been with would give her money, Little Joe did that and also spent big money on her. He delighted in taking her to fancy restaurants downtown, Broadway plays, and luxury hotels in midtown. Her mother, before she died, had always told her to act with class, and she did with Little Joe. He brought her around people with class and watched in amusement as she tried to emulate them. He was the one who turned her on to jazz, taking her to piano bars in Greenwich Village and jazz concerts in the Catskills, and told her that she reminded him of the Satin Doll in Duke Ellington’s famous song. She never introduced him to Renee, but he was the only man she told about her precious toddler. After that, whenever he took her clothes shopping, he also made sure she bought clothes and toys for Renee.

  Little Joe had money. Big money. She had once seen him lose sixteen thousand dollars on a single craps throw without blinking an eye. But she knew never to ask how he got his money, and he never offered details. It was fast-assed Puddin’ who told her that Little Joe was a big-time heroin dealer. Just a few weeks afterward the man he had introduced to her as his business partner—Natty Jones—was featured on the cover of Time magazine as the biggest drug dealer in Harlem. Two months later Little Joe was picked up on conspiracy charges, and she was back to scoping out clubs to find men to survive.

  “Yeah,” Regina said, turning to Yvonne. “I cried like hell. But I got over it, didn’t I?”

  “I don’t know,” Tamika said, looking Regina directly in the eyes. “Seems to me you never did get over him.”

  “Ain’t that something?” Puddin’ said as she reached for her jacket. “Regina getting back with cash-money Little Joe, and Yvonne getting back with lame-ass Robert.”