Cheesecake and Teardrops

by Faye Thompson

“No, thanks. I’m on a diet, remember? Can’t you tell I’m losing weight?”

  “Of course I can, but you can’t starve yourself.”

  “I’m not,” Heather insisted. “But I am so sick and tired of all this.” She gestured to her body and sat down in a lawn chair. “How come I have to be the fat one in the family? Everyone else can eat whatever they want and not gain an ounce. I suck down a glass of water and gain weight. Slim people are so privileged, and they don’t even realize it. I’d do anything to be thin. Anything. It’s not fair!”

  “I know, boobie. I know. Nobody ever said life was fair, because it’s not. Look at it this way. You weren’t born slim, but you were born healthy. That’s a blessing. Do you know how many sick babies I care for everyday? You’re a good person, a kind person,” she continued. “You have a glow that comes from within. On top of all that, you’re gorgeous. There are plenty of skinny women around here looking like something the cat dragged in who would love to look like you. So count your blessings, kiddo.”

  Heather stood, went over to the grill, and hugged her mother. “Why don’t you take a load off your feet, and I’ll finish barbecuing.”

  “That’s okay, boobie. I’m fine. You’ve been working all day. Sit down, I’ll fix you a plate—chicken and salad, right?”

  “Uh-huh. What d’ya want to drink?” Heather asked as she grabbed her purse and headed for the kitchen.

  “Some iced tea is fine.”

  “Okay.” Inside, Heather quickly opened the bottle of pills and popped two in her mouth as her mother came inside for salad dressing. With her back to Leola, she dropped the bottle in her bag and washed the pills down with a glass of water. “Boy, I’m hungry.” Heather laughed a little nervously.

  “Let’s eat.”

  3

  Tangie

  The faint smell of sweat stung Tangie’s nostrils as she entered Canyon’s Club. It was Friday morning and the gym was already packed. She nodded to a few coworkers on her way to the locker room. Once there, she locked up her purse and leather jacket before heading to the front desk to begin work.

  There was a steady flow of members and prospective ones requiring assistance coming in to the gym. So much so that Tangie hadn’t time to process the small stack of new applications from yesterday. To make matters worse, the scanner was out of order so all the membership cards would have to be swiped manually.

  Aaron walked in smiling like a Cheshire cat, and handed Tangie his membership card to swipe. She could practically see his antenna stand up and salute her through his sweatpants.

  Damn, why did I have to run into him today? she thought. I am so not in the mood. He was such an arrogant SOB, but she had made the mistake of telling his personal trainer that he had an awesome six-pack. Now she’d never live it down. Most of the club’s halfway decent members thought they were all that. They paraded around like they were God’s gift to women. Give me a break. Most of them still lived in their mama’s house.

  Aaron muttered something under his breath.

  “Did you say something?” she asked.

  In response, he slowly removed the toothpick from his mouth and allowed his eyes to slowly feast on her generous cleavage before returning to her face. “Not a word.”

  She swiped his card and slapped it on the counter, shielding her assets with her cardigan.

  “It’s all good, baby. It’s all good.” He smiled to himself as he picked up the card, placed the toothpick back into his mouth and walked off.

  Just then, the owner’s granddaughter, Chase Martini, walked in, and Tangie rolled her eyes ever so slightly at Charisma’s archrival. Chase looked like she was smelling dirty socks each time she entered the gym, like everyone was beneath her and her stuff didn’t stink. Chase worked with Charisma and even though she was a part-time worker, she was a full-time slut. Their nickname for her was Miss Crappuccino because she practically lived across the street in Starbucks. She and her best friend, Loren Stam-pato, worked out virtually everyday and had the bodies to prove it. Then they would shower in the reserved bathrooms and hang out in Starbucks, hoping to pick up some dark meat before heading back to Long Island. Her grandfather, Stone Canyon, was one of the most racist mothers this side of the Mason-Dixon Line.

  Tangie couldn’t wait for the day to be over. She was seeing Blade Watson that night, and the minutes couldn’t pass fast enough. It was their second anniversary and he said he had a surprise for her. As usual, she would have to pick him up because he didn’t have a car. After all, he had just moved out of his mama’s house and was still trying to get on his feet. Once a month Tangie had the weekend off, and this was it. She rushed out of there as fast as anyone in their right mind would, jumped in her car, and headed home to Springfield Gardens. The minute she walked through the door, she checked her machine for messages. Unfortunately, Blade hadn’t called yet, but that didn’t mean anything.

  He knew that she wouldn’t be home until six-thirty, and it was just a little after seven.

  Tangie put on a CD and headed for the kitchen to start dinner. Blade loved her cooking, or at least he said he did. A man would say almost anything to get a woman into bed—even if it meant lying through his teeth. She whipped up a dish of chicken parmigiana and placed the dish in the oven to bake.

  Then she got out of her sweats and sneakers and ran her bath. She took the cordless phone into the bathroom and turned around and grabbed her cell phone too—just in case. The hot bubble bath relaxed her instantly. She was tempted to call Blade and engage in some steamy phone sex but decided not to. By eight o’clock he hadn’t called.

  Eight-thirty—still no Blade. Now she was really getting ticked off. He worked nine-to-five and had promised to call her the minute he got off work. Nine o’clock—nothing. Finally, she called and left him two messages on his home phone and his cell. She might as well have been calling the man on the moon. It wasn’t the first time she had been stood up by Blade. She was tired of his bull. Tangie ate alone that night. With every mouthful, she vowed not to let him into her bed no matter what his excuse was. She cleaned up the kitchen and got ready for bed—more angry than disappointed. Tired of playing the fool, she drifted off to sleep.

  Blade knew Tangie would be pissed off, being that it was their anniversary and all, but he was having too much fun scoping some blonde chick two rows up at a Jay-Z concert out at Westbury. She was sitting with a girlfriend and every so often she’d glance back, hold his stare, and toss her hair.

  A definite tease, Blade thought as he watched her flirt with him. At one point, she caught his eye and slowly licked her upper lip before turning back around in her seat. She was definitely feeling him. Blade smiled to himself. He knew his stock was rising without even reading the Wall Street Journal.

  Luckily, they caught up with each other outside in the parking lot and introduced themselves. He checked her out head to toe in one quick glance. She looked better up close with her full lips and deep blue eyes. Or were they contacts?

  Blade was glad that he had come stag. No sense bringing sand to the beach. She quickly grabbed his hand and scribbled her cell phone number on his palm while her girlfriend tooted impatiently for her to get a move on.

  Later that night, Blade worked as an exotic dancer, filling in for a sick coworker at the last minute. He oiled down his taut, spicy brown body until it glistened like gold. He knew he was all that as women stuffed his bikini with tips. His nickname was Razor Blade ’cause he was cut sharp and deep. He looked out at the crowd. Women of all shapes, sizes, ages, and color were present. Black, white, Latina or Asian—all women wanted the same thing, and he knew just how to serve it up. Gyrating, he delivered the goods until they were caught up in a frenzy. After the show, the club’s owner stopped by and promised something extra for coming into work on his night off as Blade relieved his swollen bikini of tens and twenties. Damn, I’m good, he thought to himself as he headed out the door.

  Tangie woke up Saturday morning in a foul mood, anxious to kick an
imaginary dog. She checked both phones.

  Blade never bothered to call. The first thing she did was call Charisma and Heather. Thank goodness they were still on for later that night. It was times like these when she really needed her girls. They agreed to meet that night at Cornbread and Caviar in Baldwin for dessert. Tangie got her household chores out of the way. Then she did her weekly shopping and stopped by the dry cleaner’s before returning home. After a nice, long nap, she showered, dressed, and headed down Sunrise Highway to meet her friends.

  As usual, Heather was the last to arrive. When she did, she joined Tangie and Charisma at the bar. Shortly thereafter, the three were seated at a table, where they ordered cheesecake and coffee. While they waited for dessert to arrive, the waiter brought over a plate of hot cornbread and warm caviar butter for their enjoyment.

  “How was last night’s surprise?” Charisma asked Tangie.

  “Hmph, the surprise was on me,” Tangie admitted. “I am officially removing Blade from the T-spot,” Tangie said, referring to her little black book. It was a backup to her cell phone, which she had lost more times than she cared to remember.

  “Yeah, right,” Heather said.

  “I’m serious,” Tangie insisted.

  “I think you and Blade are just on hiatus,” Heather told her.

  “No, we’re through,” Tangie reminded her.

  “I know I’ve said it before, but have you seen this?” Tangie rummaged through her bag for her little black book and a pen. Then she drew lines through his name and number. “What a waste,” she told them, shaking her head. “He was one of the best lovers to ever grace the T-spot. Definitely in the top three.”

  “But I bet his number’s still in your cell phone,” Heather insisted.

  Tangie promptly found her cell phone and erased his numbers. “Satisfied?”

  “Dag, she is serious,” Charisma said. “So what brought about his fall from grace—this time?” she added.

  Tangie filled them in on the latest. “I can’t take it anymore. You’re right. I deserve better. He’s played out,” she said between mouthfuls of buttered cornbread.

  “You sure do, girl.” Heather raised her glass. “Behind every successful woman is herself.” They all agreed.

  “All I wanna know is why I keep choosing the wrong men,” Tangie said. “Remember Omar?”

  “How could we forget?” Charisma said. “I mean, it’s not everyday your boyfriend gets busted for passing bad checks.”

  “Yeah, and then get written up in the Daily News.” Heather sipped her diet soda.

  “And remember Victor?” Tangie asked.

  “The mechanic. At least he kept your car running perfectly,” Heather said.

  “Yeah, mine and half the women in Queens.” Tangie shook her head.

  “Hey, what’s his number?” Heather joked as their coffee and dessert arrived. They had requested three forks and one large plate with a slice of red velvet cheesecake, sweet potato cheesecake, and chocolate cheesecake.

  “Enjoy,” the waiter told them as they dug in.

  “Thanks,” they said in unison.

  “Maybe you should take a break from men for a while and clear your head,” Charisma said before sliding a forkful of red velvet cheesecake into her mouth.

  “Take a break? Are you kidding me? It’s a man’s world. James Brown wasn’t joking. Let’s face it. Women with men are privileged,” Tangie told them. “Everybody knows that.”

  “Take a break,” Charisma insisted. “They’re not going anywhere.”

  “It’s funny,” Tangie admitted. “I almost wish they were.”

  Somewhere around 2:00 A.M. Sunday morning, Tangie was awakened by the intrusive ringing of her telephone. She knew who it was before she even picked up. It was Blade.

  “Tangie, you still awake? I’m coming over.”

  “Don’t bother.” She hung up.

  He called right back. “Don’t be like that. I need to see you, baby. I can explain.”

  She hung up the phone again, in no mood for his lame explanations.

  Ten minutes later Blade was pounding on her door. At first she considered not letting him in. He could stay out in the cold for all she cared, but he was a loud drunk and the neighbors didn’t need to know all her business. So, she let him in.

  “I’m giving you five minutes,” she said to him. “And don’t even think about taking off your jacket.”

  “So it’s like that.”

  “Four minutes and thirty seconds.”

  “Oh, you got jokes.”

  “Four minutes.”

  “Baby, I was working. You know I wouldn’t miss a chance to get some of your good loving on purpose.”

  “Oh, and you couldn’t call? Give me a break.”

  “Baby, don’t be like that.” He tried to take her in his arms, but she pushed him away.

  “Time’s up. Good night, Blade,” she said, showing him the door.

  Blade kissed her on the neck and slid his hand up her robe. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath it. Angry, Tangie pushed his hands away. Blade slid his tongue into her mouth and kissed her nice and slowly, just the way she liked it. Before long she was kissing him back. He rubbed her breasts—first one, then the other. He squeezed her nipples ever so gently until they were hard. Then, he slid her left breast into his mouth. That’s when Tangie let out a soft moan, and she knew he had her just where he wanted her. Again.

  In one swift motion, he removed her robe, swooped her up in his chiseled arms, and carried her off to the bedroom.

  Within seconds, he had her sprawled out on the bed, watching him strip. He bent down. When his meat fell out of his boxers, she nearly came. She knew she had to have him. In the darkness, she reached for the box of condoms in her nightstand and made him put one on. She knew he’d oblige, willing to do almost anything to get some pussy.

  He rolled her over until she was on top. Then Tangie pulled herself up and sat on his dick. Slowly, she rocked back and forth, enjoying every minute, every inch. He grabbed her tight ass as her breathing became heavier.

  “You gonna cum for me?” he asked her.

  “Uh-huh,” she said, her eyes closed, loving the sensation between her legs and not wanting it to end. Before long she was cumming, and she lay back down on top of him, panting ever so softly.

  He flipped her over on her back and finished what she had started. Within a few minutes, he had cum too. They both lay back on the bed, catching their breath.

  “Girl, you got game.”

  “You’re not so bad yourself.”

  He got up and reached for his clothes, which he had left in a heap on the floor.

  “I thought you were spending the night. I know you’re not leaving,” she said.

  “Baby, I gotta go back over Tyrone’s house.”

  “You’re joking, right?”

  “No. I’m not.” He zipped up his jeans, fastening the belt buckle.

  “If you leave, don’t bother coming back. I mean it, Blade.”

  “Baby, your pussy is like Gotham City’s police department. It sends out the bat signal when it needs some. I was just answering the call.”

  She grabbed a book on her nightstand and threw it at him, barely missing his head as he walked out the door.

  4

  Charisma

  It was Thursday and Charisma had agreed to give her new boss, Nate Arquette, a taste of local nightlife. That morning he stopped by her office.

  “Are we still on for tonight?” he asked her. They had already agreed to go dutch.

  “Absolutely,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind if we take my car.”

  “Not at all. I’ve seen you maneuver.”

  “Tell me one thing, Nate. What kind of music do you like?”

  “All kinds, but especially R and B and jazz.”

  “And what kind of food do you like?”

  “Soul food, Caribbean, Italian, Chinese.”

  “Oh, you’re easy,” she told him, smiling. />
  “I’m easy?” he repeated.

  “Uh-huh,” she said. “I thought we might go to Regine’s for dinner and then stop by Manhattan Proper afterward.”

  “You’re the boss. I’m in your hands.” He winked and they shared a smile. Charisma looked away first. They worked until six before calling it a day. Charisma turned off her computer and headed to the ladies’ lounge to freshen up. She wore a navy wool suit that showcased her assets—mainly her ample buns and generous breasts.

  She had tried on three different outfits before settling on that one, not wanting to convey the wrong message. She wanted to appear professional, yet feminine, and the navy suit was the perfect choice. Charisma reapplied her makeup and lipstick, thankful that Cinderella had just done her eyebrows days ago. She ran her fingers through her hair, spritzed on her favorite perfume, and was good to go.

  Nate was waiting for her in the lobby and they left the building together. She hadn’t bothered telling her coworkers that she and Nate were going out. She knew they’d find out soon enough. She was parked just up the block, and they walked the short distance to her car. It was a chilly October evening, and she was glad that she had put the lining back in her trench coat. She unlocked the doors to her Honda, and they got in. Nate immediately adjusted the passenger seat to accommodate his six-foot-plus frame.

  Once again, Charisma showed him what a smooth operator she was as she skillfully made her way through rush hour traffic. Within half an hour they were pulling up in front of Regine’s.

  “I hope you’re hungry,” Charisma said as they got out of the car.

  “Famished. I skipped lunch for this.”

  “Good. Get ready for the best steak in Queens.”

  “You know, there’s plenty to be said for seafood, chicken, and pasta, but sometimes nothing takes the place of a nice, thick juicy steak.”

  “I know exactly what you mean.”

  They entered the dimly-lit steakhouse and waited for the hostess. It wasn’t long before they were seated at a table for two. The waitress came to take their orders and returned shortly with their drinks—her apple martini and his scotch on the rocks. Their eyes met.