You Make Me Wanna

by Nikki Rashan

  After the king-and-queen-style introduction and entrance of Jeff, Julie, and the wedding party, each table was delivered a fruit platter of grapes, watermelon, cantaloupe, strawberries, and pineapple, in addition to shrimp cocktail, individual Caesar salads, and bread so warm, it seemed to have just been removed from the oven.

  As the tinkling of forks against glass interrupted the bride and groom’s meal for light smooches in between bites, Asia and I attempted to control nausea from the endless babble between the three childhood castaways.

  “Isn’t Julie beautiful?”

  “She’s so lucky.”

  “I so envy her. She has it all now.”

  “I know. Isn’t she just . . . fabulous?”

  If I hadn’t been chewing on probably the most tender filet mignon of my life, I would’ve gagged. Or even slapped one of them. When Julie’s older sister, Erica, rose for the toast and spewed identical remarks in Julie’s favor, I concluded that the sun did, in fact, rise and set at Julie’s command. Ted and Tina’s now bloodshot and glassy eyes gave way to tears of appreciation for Erica’s well-spoken words.

  During his toast to the couple, Kent threw a heart-shattering dagger when he praised Julie for being a “real” woman, who loved men and embraced the sanctity of traditional marriage. Could his resentment of me have been any more obvious? At any rate, I nodded and raised my glass in honor of Jeff and Julie with the rest of the crowd.

  After plates were cleared, the four-tier cheesecake was cut, andthe bride and groom shared their first dance to Taylor Dayne’s “I’ll Always Love You.”

  Asia and I observed the party under the glitzy disco ball and lights, tapping our feet against the floor and rapping painted fingernails on the table. The atmosphere grew lively when Jules and her MTV-generation friends, switching gears, requested the most frequently played song throughout all of 2003, “In Da Club” by 50 Cent, and turned up the volume. No Kelly Clarkson or Clay Aiken tunes drifted through the massive speakers.

  Jules turned the elegant, swanky atmosphere straight hip-hop as she got low with Lil Jon and shook her tail feather with P. Diddy and Nelly. The scene was priceless. Asia and I watched black and white, young, old, and in-between, bounce left to right and up and down to the latest rap and R&B tracks.

  Never failing to disappoint, Jeff proved he still had the moves as he and his new wife swayed side to side and against each other with the booming bass.

  Finally we left our seats at the urging of the DJ, who called us out when we sat idle after all single women were summoned to the center of the dance floor. Under the twinkles of the flashing lights, Asia and I blended into the farthest corner away from Julie, fully anticipating the fall of the bouquet somewhere in the middle of the throng of women.

  Edith, Jeff ‘s unmarried, thirty-three-year-old, hard-up-for-a-man cousin, mercilessly toppled over two unsuspecting victims in her quest to retrieve the rose bouquet.

  Just as the music started pumping again and I was in transit back to my table, a hand against my arm halted my steps. “Shall we?” Jeff asked, his other hand extended toward the floor.

  I looked at Asia for an answer, and she smiled and walked back to the table alone.

  Jeff’s hand swallowed mine, a feeling I was no longer familiar with, as he guided me at his side. Falling into a natural rhythmic pace was easy, and I fondly recalled our Friday night ventures out to local nightclubs and dancing the night away. Surely, he dances the night away with Julie now. Stop it, Kyla. You both have new lives now.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Coretta, who had taken a sideline seat at the edge of the dance floor, her head darting between Asia, me, Jeff, and Julie on the opposite side of the floor. In her imagination, she must have anticipated a snarling catfight between Julie and me, a jealous rage from Asia, or a rekindling kiss between me and Jeff. Surely none of the aforementioned would occur.

  “How’s Atlanta?” he yelled over the music, not losing his beat.

  “I love it,” I replied, trying to keep up.

  “You seem happy.”

  “I am.”

  “She’s beautiful.”

  I looked over at Asia, trapped in a conversation with Jason. They were the only two left at our table. Boredom filled her eyes, yet she smiled graciously. “Yes, she is,” I responded. “You seem to be doing pretty well yourself.”

  “Jules is great. I couldn’t be happier.”

  Both our attention turned to Julie, who, in a line with her friends, appeared to be mimicking choreographed moves from Beyonce’s “Crazy in Love” video.

  Before I could remark on the dancing, he commented, “She keeps me young at heart.”

  “As long as you’re happy, Jeff, I’m happy for you.”

  “Me too, Kyla. Me too.” He spun around in a 360 and faced me with a cocky grin.

  Yeah, I know you still got it, Jeff.

  We finished the remainder of the song as friends, former lovers, united on a day of celebration, each of us willing to let the past rest and wholeheartedly wishing the other well.

  At the end of what would be our final good-bye, Jeff’s satin lips rested on my cheek before breathing two velvety words into my ear. “Good-bye, Kyla.”

  “Good-bye, Jeff,” I said, looking into his brown eyes for the last time. A warm smile concluded our grand finale as Jeff let go of my hand to take hold of his wife’s.

  I briskly walked to rescue Asia, cutting our evening short and leading her to the exit. My purpose had been completed. My life with Jeff was officially history, a finished chapter of my life. Pen in my hand, I was ready to stroke the paper with stories yet unfolded to write a new chapter.

  The loud drone of the airplane swept many of the passengers into a comatose sleep, including Asia, who leaned her head against the closed window shade just moments after takeoff.

  As I reached into my purse for my MP3 player, the movement of yellow stationery paper caught my eye. Opening the folded letter for the second time, I nestled under my shawl and re-read the letter that had been slipped under my hotel room door.

  Dear Kyla,

  Hey, girl, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? I’m doing well, and from what I hear, so are you. I have to say I was surprised to get a ring from your girl. When she called and told me you were in town, at first I wondered why in the hell she was telling me. Then she told me why you were here and asked if I’d be at Jeff’s wedding too. I’m embarrassed to say I didn’t get an invitation. The way I acted an ass back then, I’m not surprised and don’t blame him for not sending me one. After what you did, knowing that you had the courage to face Jeff shocked me. I was sure you ran to hide in Atlanta, never to show your face around here again. How could a woman who left a fine-ass man for some chick redeem herself? Yet, you did! I always knew, Kyla, even with your indecisiveness with school and lack of direction careerwise, that you would find the one thing that defined you. I still can’t believe it’s being a lesbian, but whatever rocks your boat.

  I’m saying all this to tell you that I wish I hadn’t treated you the way I did. I should have been more supportive in what you were going through. Don’t get me wrong, girl, I’m not saying I agree with female-female relationships, but after twenty years of friendship, I shouldn’t have left you hanging. You needed someone, and I wasn’t there for you. For that, I’m sorry.

  You take care of yourself in ATL. Asia seems like cool peeps.

  If you come back up north, stop by the restaurant—drinks are on me.

  Peace, Tori

  P.S. Vanessa says hello.

  Finally, I felt that all of the pieces to my past had been put to rest. At last I could move forward.

  CHAPTER 8

  What Shall Be Will Be

  I had barely stepped foot into my apartment when my cell phone started ringing back to back. No time to lie down and reacquaint myself with my bed’s down comforter. Not a moment to change into my pajamas, bundle up in front of the TV, and wind down from my rocky weekend. Not a second of quiet time t
o re-energize for my return to work.

  “What’s up, Nakia?” I answered, tired, but glad to hear from my friend. A loud groan, as if a beast were savagely eating away her flesh, greeted me on the other end.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, startled by her disposition.

  A duplicate moan repeated itself before she spoke. “I’m caught,” she cried. “Huh?” “I’m caught!” she screamed. “Fred Jr. showed up at the house while Shanna was over. When I didn’t answer the door, he used his key.”

  “What did he see?”

  “He saw my big ass sprawled on the bed with Shanna’s head between my legs, that’s what he saw.”

  Damn! “Kia, I’m sorry. What happened?”

  “He yelled something and ran out of the house.”

  “Did you go after him?”

  “Hell no! I was too ashamed. Then I kicked Shanna out and haven’t talked to her since.”

  This conversation required face-to-face contact. “Do you want to come over?”

  She thought for a moment and then declined my invitation.

  “Did he tell Fred Sr.?”

  “I’m sure he has. He’s been blowing up my phone, but I’ve been ignoring the phone since this happened on Friday. I can never face him again. I called in sick yesterday and today, just in case he showed up at work.” She started to cry.

  “Don’t say that, Kia,” I said in a soothing voice. “You don’t have anything to be ashamed of. You discovered a new part of yourself, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “Well, you go tell your ex-husband you like eating out better than sucking dick.”

  Didn’t ex-fiancés count?

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Kyla.”

  She must have read my mind. “That’s all right,” I said. “But, really, face it, that’s what you’re going to have to do. You’re going to have to fess up now or later.”

  “I just can’t believe this shit.”

  “If you want me there with you, I’ll go. I wouldn’t desert you at a time like this,” I said, recalling Tori’s letter.

  “You know they’re going to think you turned me out.”

  “It wasn’t my face between your legs,” I replied, worried that Fred Sr. would think I had something to do with Nakia’s discovery. Okay, well, so I did help her with the ad, but she brought her desires to me on her own. Would I have to take responsibility for that?

  “I know. What should I do about Shanna? I like her so much.”

  “Then call her,” I urged. “You might have found something good in being with her. Did you do anything besides have sex?”

  “We talked a lot. I wasn’t trying to go anywhere with her though, so we spent all the time at my house. That’s about it.”

  “You make it sound like you would be outed just by being in public with her. That’s probably not the case, Kia. What are you scared of?”

  “People recognizing her and then thinking we’re together.”

  “One, just because you’re with a gay woman doesn’t make you gay. And, two, how many times have we been out together? You never seemed uncomfortable.”

  “I know. But my interaction with Shanna could make it obvious. Don’t tell me you’ve never been able to tell if two women are a couple just by the way they look at and joke with each other.”

  I considered the times I had been in public with a love interest and the lustful eye contact we’d share across the clothing rack while shopping or the way we leaned against one another while standing in line. “I guess you have a point,” I said, trying my hardest to be understanding that she wanted to remain in the closet at this point. “Anyway, tell me more about Shanna. I already know she’s got wonderful lovemaking practices, but tell me more about her.”

  “She’s a teacher.”

  “A teacher?” I couldn’t believe “Lickemlo” was aiding in the education of our children.

  “Yes, a second grade teacher. Never married with an eighteen-year-old daughter at Spelman.”

  “For real?”

  “For real.”

  “Damn! Maybe I should have tried hooking up with someone on the net before.”

  “Maybe not. Shanna’s been meeting people through the Internet for a long time and told me some crazy-ass stories. One time she was getting kind of serious with this woman, hanging out, going to dinner, plays, shopping. You name it, they did it. Girl, one day Shanna went with a friend to this stud’s house to chill for a while—”

  “Look at you,” I said, “Got the terminology down already.”

  “Whatever, Ky. I’ve been hanging with you for how long? Anyway, guess who strolls in singing, ‘Baby, I’m home,’ carrying some fish dinners? Shanna’s girl. Shanna said the girl played it so cool like she didn’t know her, never even seen her before. They all sat around with Shanna asking a million questions about them, and the whole time this girl was cuddled and snuggled up on the stud’s lap. Come to find out, they had been together seven years, bought a house together, and were planning on having a baby. All the while this girl had a personal ad on the net and was fuckin’ around with Shanna. Shanna kept her cool. Said she’ll never fight over a woman or do anything to mess up her teaching career.”

  “Still, she could have busted the girl out at least,” I said, unsure if I would have been able to remain as calm.

  “Girl, yeah. I don’t think I could have sat there the way she did.” “Damn! That’s crazy, Kia. That didn’t scare her from meeting people online?”

  “I thought the same thing. She doesn’t club, and her friends never hook her up with a good match, so when she’s done preparing projects for little seven-year olds, she chats online and meets people.”

  “So what did she like about your ad?”

  Nakia giggled. “That I’m a first-timer. Said she wanted to make sure I had it done to me right.”

  “From what I can tell, you did.”

  “Yeah, I did. I’m really diggin’ her, Ky. I need to figure out what to do about Fred Sr.”

  “Tell him,” I suggested.

  “You think he’ll still let me see Fred Jr.?”

  “I hope so. Call him and tell him you need to talk. If you want me to join you, I will.”

  “Cool. I’ll do that. Hey, thanks for listening. See you tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, if you bring your ass to work.”

  She laughed. A kitten’s purr compared to her usual roar. Well, at least she tried.

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Okay.”

  “So you know,” she added, “I’m calling Shanna right after I call Fred.”

  “Good. She’s probably been sitting by the phone waiting.” I was pleased with her emerging confidence.

  “Say, Kyla, I’m sorry. How was the trip home?”

  “It was, um”—I searched for the right word—“it was healing,” I said with a smile and hung up.

  Judy, a junior assistant buyer, stood next to me in the elevator as it rose to the third-level offices. She was the queen bee of investigation, with the keen ears of a bat and the fast lips of an auctioneer. If an employee was unclear of a new company policy, Judy could clarify. If there was a hint that someone might be let go, she knew who, and when the release would take place. If a job opening or promotion would soon take place, she was privy to all the details. Hyperactive as most busybodies were, Judy had practically pounced on me when I stepped onto the elevator. Her voice could near shatter glass with its squeaky tone and fast-paced outpouring of words.

  “Hey, Kyla. Welcome back,” she screeched just after the doors closed.

  “Hey, Judy. How’s it going?”

  “Last week was crazy! Just crazy! Probably one of the busiest seasons I’ve ever seen. It was a madhouse downstairs. Josh, manager over boys, almost quit. Sue, Ashley’s temp, walked out. And Amy was so busy with all her new work, she obviously proved worthy of a promotion,” she said, barely able to contain her excitement.

  Our mirrored reflections vanished when the elevator doors parted and o
pened. LALA promoted? What happened while I was gone?

  Judy walked next to me, grinning, holding her breath and waiting for me to ask my next question. Her lips were pursed into a tight smirk, as if all the words were trapped inside, anxiously awaiting their escape through her clenched teeth.

  “I’ll see you later,” I said, leaving her with no earhole to spill in. Rapidly I headed to my office, passing an empty desk where LALA should have been sitting, pretending to work. I set my belongings down, hung up my parka on the hanger behind the door, and sat behind my desk. Just as I reached to turn on the computer, I found a yellow Post-it note on the monitor.

  Welcome back—settle in, then come see me. Gary. Without turning on my computer or checking my messages, I went directly to Gary’s office, not worried about the changes that had taken place while I was gone, but most curious to know why I wasn’t given a heads-up.

  Gary motioned for me to enter while he wrapped up a phone call.

  “How’s my girl?” he asked excitedly.

  “I’m doing great, Gary,” I answered, standing before his desk, my arms folded across my chest.

  Gary sensed my agitation. “Well, I guess you already heard,” he started slowly. “There’s no need to stand in front of me like you’re about to attack me for what I’m about to say without knowing what it is first.”

  I was silent.

  “An opportunity suddenly opened up that we needed to move quickly on. Amy expressed an interest, so we gave it to her.”

  “What in the hell happened that you didn’t already know about two weeks ago?” I asked, finally taking a seat.

  “It’s confidential.”

  “Who’s gone?”

  “Martha.”

  Martha was a junior buyer over women’s fragrances.

  “Why?”

  “I can’t talk about it. Really. You know I would tell you if I could.”

  Office politics everywhere—the less you’re informed, the better they figure you’ll perform. If employees knew every messy detail that went on behind the scenes, they’d surely quit and find employment elsewhere, only to encounter the same “don’t ask, we won’t tell” policy and become frustrated all over again.