Satin Nights

by Karen E. Quinones Miller

  Regina lowered her eyes and said nothing.

  “Don’t let the stupid muthafucka Hulk ruin our evening, Regina, okay? I’m sorry if I was acting cold or some shit, but you gotta remember I’ve been away a long time, and I’m just getting used to being out here and trying to figure out all over again how to protect what’s mine. And shit, even trying to figure out what is mine, you know? Still trying to figure out the boundaries.”

  Regina nodded. “I know,” she said softly.

  “So are you mine, Regina?” He gently stroked her cheek. “Are you still my Satin Doll?”

  “Little Joe,” Regina said softly, tears in her voice, “I’m so sorry. I’m really so very sorry. Can you ever forgive me?”

  “For what, doll?”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t write or visit you while you were away, but—”

  “Shh.” He put his finger against her lips. “That’s water under the bridge, okay? You wanna make it up to me? Then stay and have dinner with me tonight. Can you do that for me?”

  Regina nodded. “But just dinner, okay, Little Joe? Let’s take it slow.”

  Little Joe grinned. “If there was one thing sixteen years in the pen taught me, it was patience, doll. We’ll take it as slow as you want. ’Cause in the end I know you’re gonna be mines.”

  chapter seven

  It was the sun sneaking through the slats of the wooden shutters that woke Regina, but it was the empty spot next to her that made her jump up in the bed.

  “Little Joe,” she called out as she walked to the small bathroom that adjoined her master bedroom suite. There was no answer, but the damp towel on the rack and the raised seat on the commode testified that he had been in there. She blinked rapidly to try to clear her head and went downstairs, still wearing the shirt and skirt from the night before, now rumpled and askew.

  “Little Joe,” she called again. She padded barefoot into the living room and looked around. Her jacket was still thrown over the couch where she left it the night before, and she tried to remember where they had put his. Had she hung it up? She walked to the hallway to check the coat closet and almost bumped into Little Joe coming from the kitchen, bare-chested and carrying a wicker breakfast tray with two cups of coffee and a saucer with four slices of toast.

  “Damn if you ain’t ruined it,” he said with a wide smile. “I was going to bring you breakfast in bed. Not much of a breakfast, though, ’cause you ain’t had shit in there I knew how to cook. How come you ain’t got no eggs?”

  “I must have run out. I don’t like eggs, anyway,” Regina said, trying to keep the surprise out of her voice. “And since when did you start cooking people breakfast?”

  “Don’t get used to it. This is a one-shot deal,” he said, jiggling the tray. “You wouldn’t give me none last night—making me sleep in my clothes and shit—so I’m trying to sweeten you up to try and maybe get some nookie this morning. Now, hop back in the bed so I can do this up right.”

  “Can I at least take a quick shower before I eat?”

  “Nope. Your coffee’ll get cold. You can shower when you finish.” He balanced the tray with one hand and with the other pulled her to him for a kiss. “Damn,” he said, quickly releasing her. “On second thought, maybe you should hurry up and brush your teeth.”

  “You’re so romantic,” she said with a laugh as she ran up the stairs.

  “Will you please stop that?” Regina asked as Little Joe flicked the remote from one channel to another.

  “I’m trying to see what guests they got on the news shows,” he said. “I’m looking for someone in particular.”

  “Who?” Regina asked, and stretched out in the bed.

  The two of them lay on top of the satin champagne-colored bedspread. Little Joe was still bare-chested, but Regina had changed into sweatpants and a tank top after her shower. It was almost 1 p.m., but she had told Ray-Ray that she wouldn’t be picking Camille up until four or five, so she was in no rush. She was enjoying herself lying next to Little Joe, snuggling close to him and pushing him away when he got a little too frisky. It was good feeling like she was actually in control, something she’d never felt with Little Joe before. Surprisingly, he was being good-natured about the whole thing, though he had swatted her with a pillow a couple of times and almost thrown her out of the bed a couple of other times. He’d finally given up and started concentrating instead on the television.

  “Congressman Charles Whitfield,” Little Joe said as he flicked the remote once again to a different channel.

  “What?”

  “I’m looking to see if your ex-hubby is on television. They got big shots like him on these programs all the time, and I wanna see what he looks like. Check out my competition.”

  “I never said he’s a big shot.” Regina nudged Little Joe on the shoulder, but he ignored her. “And I certainly never said anything that should make you think he’s competition. We’ve been broken up for years now.”

  “Yeah, well, we been broke up for sixteen years, and damn if I ain’t in your bed trying to get some.” Little Joe casually put his hand on her thigh and started kneading it.

  “Well, that’s different,” Regina said as she moved his hand. “We broke up because you went away. Charles and I broke up because we couldn’t make it together.”

  “So why’d you get married? Was you pregnant?”

  “No. We married because we were in love. But sometimes love just isn’t enough, you know?”

  “I don’t know shit except that you shouldn’t be laying in bed with one man and talking about being in love with another,” Little Joe snapped. “What you tryin’ ta do? Make me jealous?”

  Regina elbowed him. “If you were listening, I said we were in love, not we still are in love. And anyway, how do you know he’s a big shot?”

  “You said he’s a congressman, right? And congressmen are big shots. And shit, once you told me his name, I recognized him right away. Shit. Almost everybody’s heard of Congressman Charles Whitfield since he negotiated that deal to get those guys out of the Middle East a couple of years ago. Made the cover of Time, right? Or was it Newsweek? We be keepin’ up with the news in the joint, ya know. He’s such a hero they’re talking about him being the first black president.”

  I wonder, Regina thought, what Little Joe would think if I told him that Charles has decided to run for the Senate.

  “How old is he, anyway?”

  “Same age as me.”

  “And how old is that?”

  Regina snatched the pillow out from Little Joe’s head and hit him with it.

  “Come on now, how the hell am I supposed to know how old you are?” he said, grabbing the pillow and hitting her back.

  “I know how old you are. Forty-nine. And I even know your birthday. May 12.”

  “I’m only kidding. I know how old you are. Thirty-five.”

  “Wrong.”

  “Thirty-six?”

  “No, and I’m getting upset here.”

  “Thirty-seven? Thirty-four?”

  “Stop! I’m thirty-one, okay?”

  “Get the fuck outta here,” Little Joe said with a snort as he flicked to yet another channel. “I don’t know why women always gotta be lying about their age.”

  “You get outta here. I’m thirty-one years old,” Regina said angrily, and propped herself up on one elbow. “I was fifteen years old when you started messing around with me, remember? And that was seventeen years ago. I’ll be thirty-two next month.”

  “You was fifteen?” Little Joe turned and looked at her. “Get the fuck outta here.”

  “Oh, like you didn’t know,” Regina huffed.

  “What? You know goddamned well you ain’t told me you was no fifteen.”

  “Well, I don’t know if I actually told you, but I would have, had you asked. And you goddamned well knew I was just a kid.”

  “But damn, I ain’t know you was jailbait!”

  “Yes, you did. You were just a pervert. A thirty-two-year-old man sc
rewing a fifteen-year-old,” Regina teased.

  “Yeah, well, if I remember correctly, I wasn’t your first,” Little Joe said in a harsh voice. “So don’t throw around words like ‘pervert’ if you don’t wanna get words back like—”

  “Whoa! Why don’t you just stop right there!” Regina sat up in the bed. “I was just kidding with you. You don’t have to be coming out at me like that. What the hell is wrong with you, anyway?”

  “Yeah? Well, bad fucking joke.” Little Joe threw the remote on the bedspread and climbed out of bed. “Look, I gotta split, anyway. I’ll call you later.”

  “Don’t bother,” Regina spat.

  “Shut up,” Little Joe said as he laced up his shoes. “You gonna come downstairs and lock the door after me, or do you have a slam lock?”

  “And that was it. He walked out. I don’t know what the hell was wrong with him.” Regina sighed as she stirred her cappuccino. “All I know is I can’t be bothered. I’m through with his ass.”

  “I can’t believe you’re sitting here lying like that,” Tamika said, tapping her fingers on the table. “You dragged me out here to talk about all this, and then you’re gonna sit here and not even be honest with yourself?”

  “What are you talking about?” Regina raised her eyebrows and crossed her legs.

  “One, you know what was wrong with him. You baited him, and you went too far. Two, you know you’re not through with him because if you were, we wouldn’t be sitting here talking about him, now, would we?” Tamika said in an irritated voice.

  “Dang, Tamika, you don’t have to act all stink and stuff.” Regina rolled her eyes. “If you didn’t want to come out, you shouldn’t have come out.”

  “I’m sorry, Regina. I didn’t mean to snap at you. Okay?” Tamika put her hand over Regina’s. “But it’s just that I feel like you’re playing a really dangerous game. I don’t know Little Joe well, but I know him well enough to know he’s not a man to be trifled with. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

  “Hurt? Give me a break. I mean, you may be right—I may still have some feeling for him, but not so much that I would be torn up or anything over him.”

  Tamika sighed. “You’re lying again. But that’s not even what I’m talking about.”

  “What? You mean hurt physically, then?” Regina’s head jerked back in surprise. “That’s ridiculous. In the whole time I’ve known Little Joe he’s never raised his hand to me. Never even threatened me. He—”

  “It’s not so ridiculous,” Tamika interjected. “You’ve heard the rumors about Little Joe just like I have. Remember back in the day . . . what was it . . . like 1980 or so . . . when those stickup kids from 138th Street hit up the old heads’ crap game on St. Nick Avenue? Rumor has it that it was Little Joe that had all those kids killed. And they were just kids. Teenagers. Babies.”

  “Those were just rumors—”

  “And everyone knows that he was one of the people on the council that had to give a thumbs-up or thumbs-down when drug dealers encroaching on other people’s territory were to be killed.”

  “There’s no proof to—”

  “And that it was Little Joe himself who killed that dude from 117th Street who ratted out one of his friends. Beat him to death with a baseball bat. Beat him so bad that his own mother couldn’t identify him. And I know you remember that, because you were with him later that night and saw him when he put his bloody clothes in the incinerator.”

  Regina shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Okay, we’ve established Little Joe is a dangerous man, but like I said, I’ve never had any reason to be afraid of him. He was nothing but kind to me. Or don’t you remember that, Tamika? He was a friend to me when I needed a friend. He looked after me.”

  “Gina, you don’t know what this man is capable of except that he’s one dangerous motherfucker.”

  Regina winced. It was unlike Tamika to curse, so she knew how serious her friend was. And she knew she was right.

  Tamika continued, “One of David’s new clients reminds me a little of Little Joe. An old-time drug dealer. He’s supposedly clean now, and David’s defending him on an arson charge. And he’s probably innocent on that charge, but he still gives me the creeps. Dangerous men don’t change, Gina. They’re always dangerous.”

  “I know, but—”

  “You’re infatuated with him because of the way he treated you when you were a helpless teenager who needed help. But that was seventeen years ago. That’s your past. Leave it in your past. Why are you jeopardizing your family by letting someone like him back in your life? Have you lost your mind?”

  “I’m not planning on bringing him around Camille,” Regina protested weakly. “I’m not even planning on seeing him again. I told you that.”

  Tamika paused, then shook her head wearily. “All right, Gina. There’s not too much more I can say, is there? I’m going to have to hope you come to your senses before it’s too late.”

  chapter eight

  Renee’s bags are packed. I guess I’d be smart to assume she’s going to be moving in with you, huh?” Brenda said after she opened the door to let Regina in.

  “Huh? What are you talking about?” Regina quickly scanned the living room as she entered the house. Renee was sitting in a chair in the corner, bent over sobbing, and Camille was gently rubbing her back. Furniture in Brenda’s usually neat home was upturned, and Renee’s junior prom picture, which had hung on the wall, lay smashed on the floor.

  “Tell her not to cry, Mommy. She can move in with us, can’t she?” Camille said as she ran to her mother.

  “What’s going on?” Regina picked up her daughter and wiped her tearstained face. “What happened?”

  “Nothing,” Brenda said sullenly. “Except that my daughter is a dyke. A butch. A lesbo. A freak.”

  “Mom . . . ,” Renee wailed from the corner.

  “Don’t call me Mom,” Brenda snapped. “You’re not my daughter. No child of mine would lay down with someone of their own sex. It’s unholy, and this is a holy house, dedicated to Jesus, son of God.”

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute, Brenda. Hold on.” Regina put Camille down and walked over to Renee. “Let’s everybody calm down here, okay?” She bent down and cradled Renee in her arms and looked at her older sister. Brenda stood in the middle of the room, her arms crossed, her face tight and hard. Regina had never seen Brenda like this, and it almost scared her.

  “What the hell is going on?” Regina asked again.

  “Stop the act.” Brenda almost spat as she talked. “Renee told me she already told you. Thanks for letting me know what’s going on in my daughter’s life. She is my daughter, you know. Not yours.”

  “Well, I mean . . . ,” Regina stammered as she tried to think of something to say. “I was going to say something, but I thought I would give Ray-Ray a chance to tell you herself.”

  “Well, she didn’t! I had to hear her on the telephone with the girl . . . that Liz . . . talking about how much she loved her. Talking all that homo shit with Camille right there.”

  “Camille wasn’t in the room, Aunt Gina. She was downstairs with Mom,” Renee wailed.

  “She was in the house, wasn’t she? If you don’t have any respect for me, or respect for yourself, you couldn’t even respect your own little cousin enough not to be talking blasphemy in this house while she’s in here? At her tender age?” Brenda walked over and slapped Renee in the face hard enough to leave a red handprint on her cheek.

  “Whoa!” Regina caught Brenda’s hand before she could hit the screaming girl again. “Just calm down. You don’t have to be hitting on her. Let’s talk this out.”

  “Damn it, Regina, don’t tell me how to chastise my child,” Brenda said. She snatched her hand away and swatted at Renee’s head.

  Regina stood up and grabbed Renee close to her, shielding her from her mother. “Brenda, stop it. You need to calm the hell down. You don’t need to be hitting on this girl.”

  “Didn’t I just tell you not t
o be telling me how to chastise my own daughter?” Brenda said, struggling to get at Renee.

  “But you said she’s not your daughter,” Camille said in a teary voice as she tried to maneuver herself between Brenda and Renee.

  “Camille, stay out of this.” Regina pushed her out of the way.

  “But, Mommy, she was beating Ray-Ray with an extension cord before you got here.” Camille started crying full force.

  “She what?” Regina swung back to face her sister. “Brenda, have you lost your fucking mind? Beating her with an extension cord? What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “I’ll beat her with anything I want,” Brenda shrieked. “I’m gonna beat Satan out of that child if it’s the last thing I do.”

  “Not while I’m here, you’re not.” Regina pushed Renee and Camille behind her. “You’re gonna have to hit me before you hit her.”

  “Oh really?” Brenda put her hands on her hips. “Well, don’t think I won’t. You’ve spoiled that child, and that’s probably why she thinks she can do whatever she wants in my house. Including sleeping with her girlfriend right here in my house.”

  “I never did that, Aunt Gina,” Renee said through her sobs.

  “Shut up!” Brenda yelled. “Nobody was talking to you, now, was they? Get up in your room and wait there until I come up and finish with you.”

  “Get your stuff, Ray-Ray. You’re coming home with me,” Regina countered.

  “She’s not going anywhere with you! You think you’re her damn mother? Well, I’m the one who gave birth to her.”

  “Didn’t you tell me when I walked in here that you have her stuff packed and for me to take her?” It was Regina’s turn to put her hands on her hips. “Well, that’s what I’m going to do.” She turned back to Renee. “Get your stuff and let’s go,” she said, pointing to the door.

  Renee moved toward the door, but Brenda darted around Regina and grabbed the girl. “Well, I changed my mind. Don’t think I don’t know that it was her being around you with your loose ways that made her like this in the first place.”