Afterburn: a novel

by Zane

  I had to give it to Boom. She sure had a way with words. “Conquesto? That’s his name?”

  “Yeah, girl. He’s my baby brother.”

  I fought to suppress a laugh building up in my throat. What kind of narcotics were her parents introducing into their bloodstream when they named their kids Boomqueesha and Conquesto? Boomqueesha sounds straight-up ridiculous and Conquesto sounds like a brand of salsa.

  “So what’s up, Rayne, girl? Can I give him your digits or not?”

  Normally, my answer would’ve been a resounding “no.” Unfortunately, times had been tight and even the numerous middle-of-the-night booty calls I’d grown accustomed to receiving from my various exes had tapered off. I was sick of going to bed with only flannel pajamas and a pair of wool socks to keep me warm.

  November was banging on October’s back door and I shuddered at the thought of going through the kick ass winter weather alone. It’s okay to be celibate in the summertime, but everyone needs a lover in the winter. That’s why so many babies are born in August and September. You do the math.

  “When you say baby brother, how old is he exactly?”

  “He’s five years younger than me.”

  That statement told me absolutely nothing, being that Boom had turned thirty-five on May 12th for the last five or six years in a row.

  “Five years younger than you would make him what?”

  “Girl, you know I’m thirty-five.” I rolled my eyes. She couldn’t see me because she was taking a sip of her orange Faygo soda. Out of all the vending machines in the world, From Naps to Baps had a Faygo soda machine. “Conquesto turned thirty last month. You thirty, right?”

  “No, I’m only twenty-eight.” I threw that “only” in there on purpose. I wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of turning thirty with no wedding bands, white picket fences, or crib mobiles in sight.

  “Close enough.” Boom broke out the hair spray and started laying it on thick. As usual, I had to hold my breath so I wouldn’t choke. “He’s really feelin’ you. I think you had on some black booty pants that day ’cause he said you was a FAB.”

  “FAB? What’s that?” I asked, knowing good and damn well she was exaggerating about my behind being anywhere near a pair of booty pants.

  “Fine Ass Babe. Conquesto loves himself some thick women.” Boom yanked the plastic smock from around my neck and handed me a mirror. “Look, I wasn’t even gonna bring this up but I’m sick of his ass sweatin’ me ’bout you.”

  I wasn’t overjoyed with Boom’s thick comment. I’d put on some weight over the previous two years and had gone from a size ten to a size sixteen. I still looked good though and my health was picture perfect. I was used to my weight going up and down; it was a battle to try to lose weight, only to find myself gaining it all back plus five pounds. I’d decided that God had blessed me with the extra weight and it was meant to be. A lot of bigger sisters had issues with their weight. I carried mine with pride because like Boom had stated, some men wanted a little meat on their bones. Still, I wasn’t feeling the word “thick.” Certainly, there had to be a better term.

  I used the mirror to see the back of my hair. It was flawless and worth every dime of the fifty dollars I shelled out per week to have it done.

  I got up to stretch, trying to get rid of the crook in my neck from sitting under the dryer for more than an hour, and retrieved my purse from underneath Boom’s station. I should’ve paid my money and high-tailed it out of there, but something compelled me to make one of the stupidest mistakes of my life.

  “Boom, is he cute?”

  “Girl, hell yeah!” Boom squealed in my ear while I pulled out my wallet. She waved a comb toward the dryer. “Gloria, I’m ready for you now. Come on over here in my chair.”

  The older woman, now identified as Gloria, was obviously relieved to finally get in Boom’s chair. When she got up from the low-seated dryer, she limped over toward us like a bout of arthritis had kicked in.

  Boom took another sip of her Faygo and yelled across the salon to the rear. “Yo-Yo, girl, ain’t Conquesto fine?”

  Yo-Yo, the official shampoo girl at From Naps to Baps, took a break from sweeping up clipped hair off the floor with a straw broom and a handled dustpan long enough to leer at us and shrug her shoulders.

  Boom moved closer to me. I could smell the sugary soda on her breath. “Don’t even trip, girl,” she whispered in my ear. “Yo-Yo mad ’cause he don’t want her.”

  I wasn’t so sure that was the case. I tried to read Yo-Yo’s face, but she wasn’t giving off any valuable hints.

  I handed Boom two twenties and a ten. “Boom, I’m not too sure about this. Maybe you can hook him up with one of your other clients.”

  “Conquesto’s a really cool dude, Rayne,” Boom said, stuffing the money I’d given her down in her bra. “I wouldn’t front on you like that. How long I been doin’ your hair?”

  I did a quick calculation. I’d moved to D.C. the day after my twenty-second birthday, the same year I’d graduated from college, seeking refuge from my drama queen mother.

  “About six years,” I replied.

  “Exactly! We’ve been bonded longer than most marriages.”

  Boom did have a point. We’d outlasted a lot of marriages. Some women I know change hairdressers every other month.

  “Think of me as his reference. I love my brother, but I ain’t ’bout to lose a guaranteed fifty bucks a week over some nonsense.”

  “Not to mention the eighty you charge me during perm week,” I stated jokingly.

  Boom giggled. “If I didn’t feel you two should hook up, I wouldn’t even be talkin’ ’bout this shit. For real!”

  I’d always had a difficult time telling people “no.” Boom wasn’t playing fair. If I didn’t at least take his number and call, she’d view it as a form of distrust. Not to mention a direct insult on her matchmaking skills.

  “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you give me his number and I’ll give him a call?”

  Then the hints came. Hints I should’ve paid close attention to. Like I said, I should’ve known.

  I spotted Yo-Yo flailing her arms out the corner of my eyes. When I turned to face her, she put them down; probably because Boom was looking directly at her also.

  Tamu, the manicurist, cleared her throat loudly. I glanced at her and she diverted her eyes down to the sister’s nails she was steadily buffing.

  Nia, one of the other stylists, was sitting at her station eating her dinner; a three-piece combo from Popeye’s. She started choking. I rushed over and patted her on the back.

  “You okay, Nia?” I asked.

  She took a long sip of her Coke before responding, “Yeah, chicken’s too greasy. I’m cool.”

  By the time I made it back over to Boom to get my purse and leave, she’d written her brother’s number down on the back of one of her business cards.

  “Here’s the number,” she declared, handing it to me. “Don’t call after ten, aiight? Momz will have a hissy fit.”

  Momz? He was thirty and still living at home with his mother. It wasn’t so much a bad thing because rent was skyrocketing in D.C. Only about one percent of housing was even available during any given week. But I was accustomed to dating men with a certain degree of independence. Even if that meant he had three or four roommates, that was preferable to him still living with a parent.

  “Okay, thanks.” I started for the door. It was after nine and I wanted to get home to relax in a nice, hot tub. “I better run. I have to work tomorrow.”

  Tamu yelled after me from her manicuring station in the rear. “Hey, Rayne, you still work at that bank?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you hook a sister up with a checking account?”

  “You don’t already have a checking account?” I asked, taking a few toddler steps back in her direction.

  “Naw, I had one over at Wachovia but they killed my account. Talkin’ ’bout I wrote like fifty bounced checks. I still say they lyin’, girl.�
�

  Yeah right, I thought. That’s what they all say.

  “Stop by one day and I’ll see what I can do,” I replied, forcing a smile. “More than likely, you’ll have to clear up your issues with Wachovia first.”

  I prayed my statement would deter her from ever showing up at my job. It did.

  “Dang! I guess I gotta keep goin’ to that check-cashing place. They take twelve percent. Shit!”

  I glanced at Boom, who was already working her magic on Gloria’s hair, and then back at Tamu. “I thought you get paid in cash?”

  “I do here, but I got another gig part-time over at Safeway. I work the express lane at night.”

  “Well, they should be able to cash your check for you. I’ve never heard of a grocery chain that doesn’t cash employee checks.”

  “Really!” Tamu exclaimed. “Dang, I never even thought of that. Thanks, Rayne.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I made a mad dash for the door before someone else could ask me about finances.

  I was almost to my car, a 2000 Toyota Camry that was nearly paid for, when Boom came out the salon to yell down the street at me. “Rayne, don’t forget to call Conquesto!”

  “I won’t!” I yelled back at her.

  “Cool! I’ll tell him to expect your call tonight!”

  Tonight? Did it have to be tonight? Calgon, aromatherapy candles, and a glass of White Zinfandel were all calling my name.

  I did call Conquesto as soon as I got home since “Momz” didn’t appreciate calls late at night. Much to my surprise, he possessed a greater command of the English language than his older sister. I told him I wouldn’t be able to stay on the phone long. He said he was on the way out the door anyway. We made plans to check out a movie Saturday night and left it at that.

  “Come on, Rayne, you’ve got to hang out tonight!”

  Chance was riding me hard at nine the next morning about hanging out at Passion, a Latin club down on the waterfront that featured “the sexiest club atmosphere in Washington, D.C.” according to them.

  Chance had hopped on the bus with me when I broke camp out of Birmingham, Alabama. She said there was no way I was leaving her behind. We grew up together and went to the University of Alabama together. It was only natural that we should take that next giant step together and we did. Now we worked together at the First Community Bank. The only thing we didn’t do was live together. That was where I drew the line.

  I loved Chance to death, but she wasn’t the greatest housekeeper. Therefore, I had a one-bedroom in Georgetown and Chance had an efficiency in Adams Morgan. Our salaries were comparable. But we had different priorities and I managed my money better. Chance was a jewelry fanatic. I told her all the time that she could build one hell of an investment portfolio with the money she threw away on earrings alone every month. How she could work at a bank and not take advantage of certificates of deposit and money market accounts was beyond me. I took advantage of everything. You’d never find me flipping burgers at Burger King when I was seventy.

  “Rayne, you hanging with me tonight or not?” Chance asked from her desk, about five feet away from my own. The bank had recently opened and there was a long line at the teller booths. No one needed special assistance as of yet so we were engaged in our normal morning banter.

  “Not,” I replied, answering the same question for the fifth time in a row. “I have a date tomorrow so I want to rest up tonight.”

  “Date?” Chance’s eyes lit up like moonbeams. “With who?”

  “Boom’s brother.”

  Chance broke out in laughter. “That hoochie momma hairdresser of yours?”

  I was insulted. I’m not certain why, but I was. “Yes, Boom does my hair. What of it?”

  “It’s just that I’ve seen her and how ghetto she acts. If her brother’s anything like her, I can’t imagine you’d be feeling him.”

  “Actually, Conquesto was extremely nice on the phone. We only spoke briefly, but he seems interesting enough.”

  “Conquesto?” Chance folded her arms over her chest, cupping her elbows, and shaking her head. “This only gets better. Where are you going?”

  “To a movie. We’ll probably check out The Fighting Temptations.”

  “Ricky and I saw that last weekend. It was hilarious.”

  Ricky was Chance’s part-time boyfriend, part-time sparring partner. They hated each other one day and were madly in love the next. I personally thought the situation was unhealthy and never hesitated to express my opinion. Chance, of course, never wanted to hear it.

  “Well, you and Ricky have fun at Passion tonight. I’m definitely passing.”

  “You’ll never meet someone by staying to yourself, Rayne.”

  I felt another lecture coming on and started shuffling through some papers on my desk. I had this obsession with being organized and hated it when one thing was out of place, either on top of my desk or in my drawers.

  Chance was still sitting there glaring at me, like my love life, or lack thereof, had a direct effect on hers. I said, “I told you I have a date tomorrow.”

  “So it’s basically a blind date? You only talked over the phone, right?”

  “Yes, so what of it?”

  She shook her head. “I know absolutely nothing about the brother, but I seriously doubt he’s your type.” Chance got up, walked over, and sat on the edge of my desk. “Now he’s your type,” she whispered, pointing a finely manicured index finger toward the teller windows.

  Sure enough, there he was. I’d seen him in the bank on several occasions, but didn’t know his name. He was tall enough to be a professional basketball player and he obviously worked out. However, his tailored suits gave off a more professional air. I assumed he worked somewhere downtown near the bank. He had a strikingly handsome face, smooth chocolate skin, and wore his hair shaped close to his scalp. I couldn’t imagine anything making him look sexier, with the exception of maybe going bald altogether. He looked about my age and he always walked like he was a man of power. Yes, he was the kind of man I needed in my life, but it was impossible for a man that fine to be single. Not in D.C. where women outnumber men by an eight to one ratio. Besides, I assumed he was probably one of those shallow brothers who preferred stick women to show off on their arms.

  “When are you going to say something to him?” Chance inquired, prodding me with her elbow. “You’re always staring at him.”

  It was hard, but I forced myself to return my gaze to the papers on my desk.

  “I’m not about to make a fool out of myself, Chance. That man is surely married, shacking up or, at the very least, dating seriously.”

  “Maybe he is, maybe he isn’t. There’s only one way to find out.”

  I glanced over at the teller booths one more time. There was only one customer left in front of him. I dreaded the moment he’d walk out the door. He was so damn appealing to look at, if only from afar.

  “You want me to go over there and get him for you? I can tell him you need to have a moment of his time?”

  “Chance, you do that and I’ll never forgive you,” I stated vehemently. “I refuse to throw myself at the customers of this bank.”

  “Whatever, Rayne.” Chance returned to her own desk. “You know you’re interested. Life is short. You never know when it’ll be the last time he walks in here. He could change jobs, move, anything, and you’ll never know what could’ve been.”

  He finished up his banking a few minutes later. When he walked past me, even though he was a good ten feet away, I could smell his cologne. My heart almost jumped clear out of my chest. How could a man I knew absolutely nothing about have such an effect on me? Yes, a man like that was definitely taken!

  Six

  Yardley, Age 29, Chiropractor

  I hadn’t taken three steps out of the bank when my cell phone started chiming.

  “This is Yardley Brown.”

  “Sup, man? It’s Felix.”

  Why was I not surprised? Felix was alwa
ys calling me while I was walking down the street somewhere or in the car.

  “Sup, Felix? I’m coming out of the bank.”

  “Still stacking cash, I see.”

  I stood there by the picture window of the bank, pretending to be spellbound by the telephone conversation when I was really spellbound by her. Rayne Waters. I’d asked one of the tellers her name a couple of weeks before. I wanted to put a name to my fantasy but didn’t dare venture close enough to her desk to read her name plate.

  Rayne had on a black double-breasted suit and was sitting there talking to the Puerto Rican honie that occupied the desk next to her. I was dying to ask her out, but I was afraid I might not be able to show my face in the bank again if she turned me down.

  In all actuality, I never needed to step foot in the bank. It was really my secretary’s job to make the deposits every morning from the previous day’s receipts. I’d made the deposit one day when Lisa was out sick, spotted Rayne, and then started making up excuses to make the deposits myself.

  Rayne had the most beautiful gray eyes, a healthy physique, and legs for days. I loved all types of women but I was fond of having someone with enough meat on them to keep me warm in the winter. Rayne was ideal and tall, which I also appreciated. She had to be at least five-foot-nine. I’d never been one to pamper a woman, but I could envision myself running her baths, rubbing her feet, whatever and whenever.

  I kept telling myself that one day I’d go for it. As far as I could tell, she wasn’t sporting a wedding ring. On the other hand, I know a lot of sisters who don’t wear their rings. Some of them lose their rings. Some of them gain too much weight and can’t fit them. Some of them want to play around on their husbands. I’d lost count of the number of married female patients that came into my office offering me some midday sex. I’d always refused. I wasn’t that type of man.