by Hannovah
“You let her walk home?” Brandon asked, the fruit punch in his glass dancing close to spilling.
“She refused to get into the car! What could I do, but follow her, driving slowly. And she kept turning around all the time to cuss at me.”
“At least you all got home safely.”
“Yes, but the next morning she got up with no apology, and behaved as if nothing happened: honey this and honey that. I wasn’t feeling it.”
“So have you all spoken about this?”
“A little,” Joshua answered while reaching for a slice of cake. “What she needs to do . . . is to stop drinking and start coming to counseling . . . but she keeps saying that she had been through too much counseling as a teen and it does not work, so she’s not going.”
“Do you still go?” Brandon asked.
“Yes, I have been to every session . . . without Ashley.”
“Ah-hah? I’m impressed.”
“I’m trying with this marriage, you know . . . but it’s not easy. By the way, I will be driving to New York to visit my folks for Christmas and the New Year.”
Brandon asked, “Is Ashley going with you?”
“Ahhh. She is hoping to accompany me, but she hasn’t gotten permission to leave the state. I told her I will be going with or without her.”
“Why isn’t she getting permission?” I asked.
Joshua folded his arms on his chest and answered, “Apparently she has not been paying her restitution as she should, and if she approaches her parole officer he would figure that out.”
“Oh, I see. And not only would he deny her permission, but he may put some fines on her too.”
“And jail time,” Joshua added.
“But why hasn’t she been paying it? She’s making good money”
“I asked her that question, and she said with an attitude, ‘I don’t know. I just haven’t been paying it, okay?’”
Joshua looked at his watch and announced, “I wish I could stay longer, but I have a meeting with some classmates.” He said goodbye and left.
As he departed, I started clearing the center table, and asked my husband, “I wonder why Ashley’s so disrespectful to Josh?”
“Monkeys know what tree to climb, Eddie.”
The Brownings both went to New York for Christmas, and left Tweety and Mandu in our care. The pets were easy; just leave enough food out for them and they will be happy. I welcomed the peace and quiet, and we spent the holiday with Yvette, Maxwell, and Stephen who had taken a few weeks off from touring. I was so happy to spend time with my older son, though it was for just a few hours in the day because most nights when he was not at his girlfriend’s place, he was out with Burning Bush, entertaining at a local club.
On New Year’s Eve, Brandon and I left Miami and drove across to Ft. Meyers to visit my cousin, Cynthia.
“No boyfriend yet?” Brandon began, as we entered her condo. A shy and pious Cynthia blushed, but never answered, so he continued his taunting. “Okay, so the men in Canada are blind. Are the men in Ft. Meyers blind too?” He laid our bags on her carpeted living room floor as she began giggling. “Well, I know for a fact that California men are not blind. I’ll have to find one for you.”
I added fuel to the fire, “She doesn’t need a man; she has a dildo.”
“Edna?” Cynthia grabbed my hand and blinked non-stop in embarrassment. “Don’t say that.”
“But there’s nothing like the real thing though,” Brandon countered. He left us ladies and took a seat in her back porch to enjoy whatever view was afforded to him of outside.
My cousin and I played catch-up.
“So how is that dean who likes you?” she asked while we worked on pies to take to a party later.
I was surprised that she remembered. “Oh, he’s a jerk as expected,” I said. Then I brought her up to speed on his concocted lunch date and his unscrupulous request at the Christmas dinner.
“I don’t know Edna. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
“Chile, please. I know what he wants and he’s never going to get it. Trust me; I’ll cut him down to size in no time.”
“Hmmm. I’ll pray about this.”
The New Year’s Eve party was held at the clubhouse of the condominium. As expected, there was lots of food, and the talented DJ played a wide selection of music for the old and young. Brandon remained seated most of the time while Cynthia and I enjoyed ourselves on the dance floor, intermittently stopping to nibble on the delicious entrees and side dishes.
On one of my food trips, a young man asked me, “Are you here with somebody?”
“Yes I am,” I replied, and walked off.
I felt flattered that a guy young enough to be my son would try to pick me up. I guess that in dim light my black, tall boots and black mini skirt, camouflaged my age. My cousin was not as liberated as I was and wore slacks and loose fitting blouse. Returning to the dance floor, I shared the young man’s intentions with Cynthia and she laughed.
We learned a few of the new line dances from the young crowd, being careful to keep our distance and not mess up the line like a few, drunk, older ladies were doing. There was this antiquated mama who thought she was hot, dressed in her granddaughter’s tights and halter that displayed all of her prunes. I swear her brain was reverse-wired because when the line went left, she went right, bumping into people, and when the line went forward, she went backward, upsetting the sequence. Cynthia and I only joined the line when we were sure of what we were doing.
Brandon hung with us for a few free-style dance songs, but his favorite place was next to the dessert table. He was not a drinker – not even beer, claiming that he must be in control of his faculties at all times. And he wasn’t much of a dancer either, but he had incredible rhythm and was able to shake his groove thing, a little.
Closer to mid-night, the same young guy from before found me and started dancing in front of me like if we were a couple. “Are you here with somebody?” he shouted again over the music.
“Yes I am.” Couldn’t he see that I was old enough to be his mother? But this time he was not going away. It seemed like he did not believe me because he leaned in and added, “You look very nice. I’ve been watching you all night.”
Pinning down a smile, I gave my cousin the eye of rescue me.
Cynthia grinned and moved a few feet away on purpose. I cut my eyes at her and abandoned the dance floor to hunt down my husband.
When I found Brandon, I planted a big kiss on him, just in case the young man was watching.
“Hey! Can’t wait till we get home, ah?” Brandon asked, holding me tight.
“No, Ray. A guy keeps trying to get with me and I wanted him to know that I was with you.” Brandon looked manly gorgeous in a stripped long-sleeved shirt that made him appear taller than his six-foot. And the earring and his neatly trimmed beard had him appear youthful and playful. One glance at my man and baby-boy would know that he didn’t stand a chance to be with me.
“Just tell him to eff-off,” Brandon said with a wave of his hand.
I jerked backwards and my right hand swung over my heart. “No I can’t do that.”
“Weak as water,” Brandon said. “Well let me do my part to convince him.” And then he kissed me long and sweet, slipping me the tongue and everything. He left me breathless.
When we rejoined Cynthia on the dance floor, the young man was nowhere to be seen.
The festivities paused briefly, for all to ring in the New Year, after which it picked right back up. However, we returned to Cynthia’s condo just after three while the party was still in full swing. Then, after a few hours of sleep and a late breakfast, Brandon and I said goodbye to my cousin, and headed back to Miami.
There was peace and quiet at our home for a few days until Joshua and his girl returned from their New York vocation. They took their ridiculous warring from the private guesthouse at our rear to our front yard and to the public street. The blow-ups got so out of control that Yvette threate
ned to call the police, and Brandon was forced to give them notice to vacate his premises.
Joshua understood, admitting to having no control over this mama.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The Brownings returned around mid-day.
That was one day in early January. They returned with an extra person in their vehicle. It was Brian, better known as Tree, Joshua’s favorite cousin, so aptly nick-named for his height: six feet seven inches. Tree had accompanied them on their return trip from New York, and he seemed relieved to straighten out his lanky frame after being crouched in the back seat of Ashley’s Tracker. A tall person is such a unique sight, so although I was familiar with this boy who was the same age as Joshua, I still marveled.
“Oh my God, Tree,” I greeted him with open arms. “Any taller and I will have to call you Sky.”
“Hi Ms. Edna,” he laughed, smothering me in his towering embrace.
Joshua and Ashley hugged me too, and I could not help but notice that Ms. Browning might as well have been bare-bottomed in that tiny pair of shorts. No doubt she was going to work today. We all went inside, and after greeting Brandon (who was suddenly all smiles) in the den, we settled around him and his crossword puzzle that now lay closed in his lap.
He started a conversation, “Long drive, ah?”
“True,” Joshua agreed, “but we could have been home sooner if we didn’t stop at nearly all the strip clubs along the I-95.”
Ashley snapped, “I thought you agreed that it could be educational for me Josh now you’re complaining?”
Oh gosh, I thought. Not another fight.
“No, babe . . . I’m just saying.”
“How about something to eat?” I suggested, trying to change the subject.
“Thanks, but no. We’re going to have lunch at Ashley’s job in a few minutes. We just stopped by to say hi.”
“Okay,” I said, happy that the drama was averted.
“Ashley likes the idea that Tree and I will hang out there for a couple hours while she works.”
A half-smile surfaced on his quiet cousin’s face and then faded away.
I knew instinctively too, that my husband was thinking the same thing that I was: Joshua doesn’t mind his cousin seeing his wife strip?
“I feel so much safer when Josh’s there,” Ashley said, running her fingers lovingly through Joshua’s dreads. “Too many weirdoes out there.”
I shook my head and smiled at the wild world of these two young people. My generation would keep this questionable occupation a secret as much as possible, and if it should get out, we would be extremely embarrassed. This new generation appears to be proud of this vocation.
The trio left, and we were getting comfy in the den when there was a knock on our door. It was Stephen and Maxwell. Stephen, back to Miami after the holidays, was coming by almost every day to be spoilt by my cooking.
“You all just missed the Brownings and Tree,” I said as I let them in.
“Yeah,” Max said. “We waved to them at the corner.”
After the hellos, the boys served themselves and sat at the dining table to enjoy their meal while Brandon resumed his crosswords and I got caught up on my Soaps. When the boys were done eating, they took Brandon’s old box guitar and began discussing music, chatting in a language that only they understood – minor this, augmented that, go to E sharp minor. Whatever.
“I have to talk to Josh,” Brandon muttered over his puzzles. “I’m getting jealous.”
“Jealous? Of what?”
“Tree.”
I cocked my head for an explanation.
“Well Eddie, Joshua is here in Miami a year now and he’s never taken me to lunch at Ashley’s club. Tree is only here a few hours and already he’s gotten an invite.”
I pointed a stiff index finger at him and warned, “Don’t you dare!”
“What’s wrong?” He smiled at my retort. “I need to go for lunch sometimes too.”
Then it hit me that my husband was just toying with me, so I relaxed. “I agree, sure. But I’ll take you to lunch and I’ll pick the club.”
Brandon leaned over, kissed me on the forehead, and returned to his crossword puzzle.
It became apparent that the boys were listening to our conversation because Stephen approached us and asked, “I wonder if Joshua wouldn’t mind if I go to her club too?”
“Most likely, not,” his father replied.
“I’ll call and ask him? Max!” Stephen shouted to his brother from the den while dialing Joshua’s number. “You want to come too?”
There was no response from Maxwell.
Stephen contacted Joshua, and although my eyes were on my soap opera, my ears were tuned into Stephen’s conversation. I gleaned that Joshua did not mind at all and that the name of the club was King Solomon’s.
Stephen concluded his call, and as a mother, I asked myself what has happened to my little Stevie? He’s thinking about going to a strip club? Where have I gone wrong?
Then Stephen thought out loud, “I wonder why they call it King Solomon’s?”
“You don’t know your Bible, son?” Brandon asked, lifting his head out of the crosswords. “Plenty women, son. Plenty women.”
Stephen laughed at the revelation as it seemed to make perfect sense.
“Max!” excited Stephen summoned his brother again, “Let’s go check out King Solomon’s.”
“Man, I don’t go to those types of places,” Maxwell said.
Stephen joined his brother at the dining table. “You’ve never been to a strip club?”
“No. Never.”
“I can’t believe that. Well, there’s always a first time. Come on.”
“I don’t really see the need to go there. With a woman like Lia, who has it going on, there’s no need for me to watch other girls. Believe it or not, I am a satisfied man. And besides, my luck is such that someone will see me going in there and tell her. She’ll be very upset.”
I was so happy to hear that from Maxwell.
It seemed that Stephen finally persuaded him because he conceded with, “Alright, I’ll go, but Lia can-not know.”
“Dad,” Stephen called out from the dining room. “Are you coming too?”
My heart hiccupped for a second. But I continued to make believe that I was engrossed in my show, ignoring the presence of our boys who had moved from the dining table and were now standing right behind me.
I felt Brandon’s eyes watching me as he answered, “No son, I’m an old man.”
“Dad, I’m sure they have old people there,” Stephen insisted.
Brandon was a genius. “Son, when you’re accustomed with champagne, it’s hard to drink kool-aid.”
The boys laughed.
I chuckled also, with my eyes still glued to the T.V. Again, I felt Brandon’s eyes, and I knew he was seeking appreciation for his comment, so I shot him a smile. He winked at me.
“Come on Max, put down the guitar. Let’s go.” Stephen was eager to get out. “I’ll call some of the guys to go with us too.”
“Then I won’t be going.” Maxwell was adamant.
“Why? The more the merrier.”
“Nah. The more people who see me, the more likely it is for Lia to find out.” Maxwell folded his arms. “You see, you don’t understand. You don’t have a steady girl. You have a new one every Monday morning.”
“Okay,” Stephen conceded, “just you and me, then.”
Maxwell propped the guitar against a wall, stepped to the forefront and looked us all in the eyes. “I just want to say to everybody here . . . if it should ever come up, I’ve never been to a strip club, okay?”
“Never been where?” Brandon joked.
Stephen added, “Don’t worry man. We’ve got your back.”
As the boys left, I felt an extra sense of admiration for Brandon. He may have visited strip clubs, but like Maxwell, he kept me ignorant of such information. How respectful! I felt obligated to reward him because he had scored some major points
. I thought of only one treat that he would surely welcome at this time or any other: The Ashley.
Excusing myself, I left him to his crosswords and went to our bedroom where I began to go through my closet. I found a pair of fishnet stockings that Brandon had bought me some time ago, and a couple of other hot items in my lingerie drawer. After a shower, I tried on my newly created outfit, put on my highest heels, let my hair down, and brushed on some make-up. I looked in the mirror and smiled at the transformation. Yess! But I felt so out of my element. Rehearsing a script in my mind, I covered up with my bathrobe and returned to the den.
“Hey . . . Candy . . . Cane.” I said it as sensuously as I could.
Brandon looked up.
I opened the bathrobe slowly and asked, “You think I’ll make a good pole climber?”
His jaw almost followed the cross-word puzzle down to the floor.
I quickly closed the robe and pretended that I had changed my mind.
“Hey,” he protested.
I opened the robe again slowly, letting it slide down my body and drop in a pile at my feet.
Brandon repositioned himself on the sofa like if he was about to receive a treat.
I looked him dead in the eyes and said, “I’m going to teach you a lesson.”
“Yes professor . . . I’m ready,” he said smiling.
Slowly, I minced towards him. Slowly, real slow, like if I was reluctant to get there. The man jumped up and grabbed me before I could try changing my mind again.
King Solomon’s had nothing on me.
I plead guilty to spoiling Stephen by cooking his favorite dishes every time he came home. So he was back for breakfast the following day. When the meal was ready, the three of us sat down to eat and I struck up a conversation. “So, Stevie how was your evening?”