You Make Me Wanna

by Nikki Rashan

  “Your job is secure, Kyla. I don’t understand why you seem so agitated.”

  “I’m not agitated, Gary. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for Amy. She’s even luckier than I thought! What I want to know is why I wasn’t made aware of the situation.” Now Gary was silent.

  “Okay then,” I said, realizing he wasn’t about to fess up. “What about a new assistant for me? Did anybody help out while I was gone?”

  “Amy did everything you asked of her. Very well, I might add. And your assistant, well, that’s already taken care of,” he said slyly.

  “Why are you smirking like that?”

  Gary buzzed his secretary. “Becky, uh, has Andrea arrived yet?”

  “She just got here, Gary. She’s in the waiting area.”

  “Send for her.” He then winked at me. Seconds later, knee-high patent leather boots, and fishnet stockings covering cinnamon skin circled the corner and walked through the door. A black dress with a silver linked chain belt the size of bracelets accentuated the small waist of her petite body. A pendant of some sort was lost between her protruding bustline that sparkled under a shimmer lotion. Dangling silver earrings hung underneath layers of thick, brunette hair with intense blonde highlights. Dark brown eyes were hidden behind coats of black eyeliner and mascara. A small beauty mark above her lip led to a wide mouth and sensuous lips colored in brick-red gloss. On her slender fingers she wore three rings on each hand, and her long nails were colored a deep, earth brown. Andrea, a fusion of beautiful Hispanic features and a fierce, dark exterior, stood in front of Gary’s desk and waited for his introduction.

  “Andrea,” he said, standing and bringing her to me as if she were my belated Christmas gift, “This is Kyla. She’s the buyer you’ll be working for.”

  “Nice to meet you, Andrea,” I said in turn, and shook her warm hand.

  “Ahn-drrray-uh,” she corrected in a heavy Spanish accent and a clack of her tongue piercing as she rolled the r when she spoke. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Kyla.”

  I winced, repeating the sounds she had just spoken in my head in an attempt to interpret what she had said.

  “Ready to show her the ropes, Kyla?” Gary asked with a suggestive undertone only I understood.

  “See you later, Gary,” I said walking out, allowing “Ahndrrray-uh” to go ahead of me. I turned back to Gary to find him transfixed on Andrea’s legs, lost in a brief fantasy world. A few whispers and a couple of impolite stares followed us as I walked Andrea to her desk.

  “Why don’t you put your things here and then come into my office.”

  Andrea stood motionless. “I don’t understand.” She had a perplexed look on her face. “Should I or should I not put my belongings here?”

  Great. Just great. “Um, put your purse in the desk and then come sit here.” I pointed to the chair in front of my desk through the glass window.

  Silently I cursed Gary’s perverted nature and waited for Andrea to take her seat. Just a moment passed before she came inside, pen and pad of paper in hand. She crossed her legs after she sat down and stared at me with intent eyes. Beneath the thick eye makeup, I could see that she was young, perhaps twenty-four.

  “So let me tell you about myself.”

  “Ah, no need. Gary told me all about you.” She smiled.

  “He did? Well now, what did he say?”

  “Yes, he says you are one of the best buyers here. You do your job well. Um, you are not demanding and easy to work for. He says I can learn from you a lot.”

  Such flattery. “Okay, well, why don’t you—I mean, tell me about yourself.”

  “Sí. Okay. I’m Ahn-dray-uh,” she told me again. “I moved here from Mexico six years ago after I graduated. Parts of mi familia were already here. I worked at Rich’s part-time for last four years. I was referred by Matt from my old store, who is a friend to Gary. Matt said I was prepared to move to the next place, but because there was nowhere for me to go, he let Gary have me. And now you have me,” she said brightly, displaying a sunny personality behind the dark appearance.

  Scary she was not. Even with her severe coating, I detected a raging sensuality—the way she licked and bit her bottom lip while she searched for the next proper word—the gentle way she stroked the skin leading to her bosom while she spoke—the way her eyes bore into mine as if at tempting to extract my every thought before the words left my lips. If her interaction with Gary was similar to her interaction with me, I understood why he hired her on the spot.

  “I think I will like working for you,” she concluded with a penetrating stare into my eyes.

  I shifted in my seat. “Yes, I’m sure we’ll get along just fine.”

  Andrea and I worked together in my office throughout the morning, and I quickly realized that Gary did indeed find an exceptional assistant. She paid attention to every word I said and asked questions as needed. She was mindful of detail and visibly organized. And her positive disposition was refreshing.

  Before I left for lunch, I stopped in Gary’s office, just to give him grief anyway. “Gary,” I said, closing the door behind me, “what’s going on in that mind of yours?”

  “Hmm?” he responded, playing dumb.

  “Young. Cute. Sexy. It’s your ultimate fantasy in the flesh.”

  “What was I supposed to do? Turn down Matt’s offer? We needed someone quickly. You don’t like her?”

  “Of course, I like her. For a second I thought we’d need a translator, but besides that, she’s outstanding.”

  “You two should mesh well together.”

  “Don’t get any ideas. I’m in love now. My bed-hopping days are over,” I stated proudly, yet wondered, Would I have taken a shot if I were single. Yeah, I would have.

  “Aw, you don’t mean that, do you?” he teased, realizing his lesbian fantasy tales were coming to an end.

  “Yes, I do,” I proclaimed once again before I walked out of the door, drowning out his laughter.

  On my way down the hallway, I was stopped by a Psst! coming from the office supply room. Judy pretended to be searching madly for adding machine tape, but passed to me a small note held in the palm of her hand. It read: Cocaine—caught in the women’s bathroom—was sent to rehab immediately by her family. She winked at me and went back to tossing aside pencils and pads of paper in her false portrayal of busyness. Damn, she was good.

  As I approached Nakia waiting for me at her car in the parking structure, she looked like if she could miraculously drill herself into a hole in the ground, she would. The closer I neared her, I understood why.

  At six feet five inches, Fred Sr. sat constrained in the back seat of Nakia’s Volvo, his left hand tapping repeatedly against his knee. Despite his apparent anger, he was handsome in a peculiar way, though his brown baldhead was about a quarter-size larger than the average man’s. His almond, angled eyes were mere slits as he cut a severe stare in my direction. I could almost see steam fuming from his nostrils with each exhale of pure agitation. Damn, why had I agreed to talk to him?

  Nakia appeared ill—like she might throw up if she opened her mouth to speak. Lightning bolts of paranoia shot through her eyes like flashbulbs.

  Jittery hands greeted mine when I reached her. “Kia, it’s going to be all right,” I said.

  “He’s so fucking pissed, Kyla. I don’t know what to do. I couldn’t get a word in last night, so I eventually hung up in the middle of his tirade. Then he was outside of my house this morning. Scared the shit out of me.”

  I looked at Fred Sr., near hyperventilation and foaming at the mouth. At least he still respected me enough to give me the front seat. As minor as that was, it kind of meant something, didn’t it?

  “Let’s get in the car,” I told her, guiding her in before I walked to the passenger side.

  “Hi, Fred. How are you?” Should I have even asked?

  “How in the fuck do you think I am?” he belted at me. “My son caught this . . . this bitch fucking another woman. What kind of muthafuckin�
�� shit is that? This is someone I trusted to raise my son. Now she’s just another pussy-eatin’ dyke. Doesn’t anybody have any fucking morals anymore?”

  Just let him vent, Kyla, just let him vent. I looked at Nakia, who stared ahead, frozen stiff.

  “Can’t y’all dykes leave straight women alone? Y’all can’t go fucking every goddamn body.”

  Again I looked at Nakia, this time seeking defense on my behalf, or at least an attempt to fess up to what the reality of her story was, yet I got nothing.

  “Fred, look,” I started, turning around in my seat, “you need to give Nakia a chance to explain.”

  “She ain’t gotta explain nothing!” he yelled. “I know you did this.”

  So it was my fault after all. “If you feel like you have to blame this on me right now, then you go right ahead, but like I said, you need to hear what Nakia has to say,” I said, hoping Nakia would open her mouth and say something. Was I going to have to tell on her myself?

  “Yeah, whatever, man. I should have known you were hittin’ that ass a long time ago, turning her out. I know all about you, Kyla.”

  “This is some bullshit,” I mumbled and twisted face forward in my seat. “Just bullshit.”

  “Yeah, and now I’m supposed to let her spend time with my son? What can he learn from a dyke?”

  “Nothing will change in the way Nakia treats Fred Jr.,” I replied, upset but remaining calm.

  “Maybe she can teach him to eat pussy right,” he said bitterly.

  “You’re not giving her a chance, Fred.”

  Just as I was ready to continue speaking on Nakia’s behalf, she cut me off.

  “Stop it,” she whispered.

  Both Fred and I looked at her tense face.

  “Stop it,” she said again, a bit louder, placing her fingertips against her temples in frustration. “I got it, Kyla. This is crazy, Fred,” she said in his direction. “First, you better stop blaming Kyla for this. This is not her fault, since you seem hell-bent on someone to blame. This is all me. All me. I wanted this. I wanted to experience being with a woman. And, to set the record straight, I’ve never been with Kyla. You don’t fuck every woman you know, and neither does she. Don’t patronize her like that.”

  “Hold on one muthafuckin’ minute!” Fred’s tight fist seemed ready to punch a hole through Nakia’s tan leather seat. “You’re trying to tell me that you’ve been wanting to screw other women? For how long, Kia?”

  “I’ve been bisexual my whole life,” she said calmly, “but I never acted on it until now.”

  Fred’s eyes glassed over a murderous bloodshot red. “So the whole time we were married you were wishing I was a woman? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “What kind of role model are you supposed to be for my son?”

  “I’d never do anything to hurt Fred Jr. Never. You know I love him like my very own.”

  “I suggest you get over that right now, ’cause you ain’t ever seeing him again. You just fucked that up, Nakia. Straight up.”

  “Please don’t do that to me, Fred.”

  “Ha! Fuck you! I’m not letting him around you and your dyke friends no more.”

  “We can talk about this later,” Nakia said.

  “Ain’t shit to talk about. Don’t call me, and don’t be trying to sneak and call my son either.”

  “Have you even asked him what he wants?”

  “He don’t know. He’s confused as hell, thanks to you.”

  “Let me talk to him. Please.”

  “Hell no. I’m out,” he said, fumbling with the door handle. Vibrations from the slam of the back door shook the car. Once outside, he smoothed his gray suit and walked to his black Mercedes like the composed businessman he was.

  Nakia sat still, widened eyes not blinking, transfixed on an invisible object in front of her.

  I sat mute and waited until she was ready, listening to the low drum of her idling car. Five minutes passed.

  “You know, it’s not like I believe I’ll never be with a man again,” she stated. “I do like men. The way I feel right now about Shanna is so much more than I expected though. So much more.” She moaned and laid her head against the headrest. “But is something that feels good worth losing the people I love?”

  “You’re right, Kia. It’s hard to lose the ones you love because of something you feel.”

  “I can’t lose Fred Jr., I really can’t, Kyla. What I can do is tuck this feeling away, back to the place it’s been this whole time. I’ll get over it,” she said uncertainly.

  “You’re saying you’d let Shanna go in order to see Fred Jr.? That’s a hard decision you have to make.”

  “I don’t know if he’ll let me see Fred Jr. now either way.”

  “It might take some time.”

  “I don’t know what to do.” She leaned her head against the steering wheel. “When I talked to Shanna last night, it was wonderful. She was so supportive and said she understood why I reacted the way I did. She didn’t seem angry at all.”

  “How did you end the conversation?”

  “She told me to call her when I was ready.”

  “Can you not call her? Can you never see her again?”

  “I like her a lot. I know it would be hard.”

  “Can you not see or talk to Fred Jr.?”

  “No. Now, that I cannot do.”

  We sat, choked by the idea that Kia would suppress, once more, desires that were to her a natural part of her being. Swallowing that reality was a challenge for her. A generous tide of tears streaked her face, creating small rivers in her foundation. She cried while I held her hand.

  “I can do it,” she chanted quietly to herself over and over.

  I didn’t say anything, although I wanted to scream. Scream at Nakia for not fighting for both her wishes. To express a part of herself, and to love Fred Jr. at the same time. But it was Nakia’s life and not mine. The last place I wanted to find myself was guilty of encouraging her down the wrong path.

  “I love you, Kia, no matter what you do.”

  “Thanks, girl,” she said, adjusting her rearview mirror to begin wiping her tears away. After reapplying pressed powder she smiled reassuringly at her reflection.

  She picked up her phone and dialed a number. She then lowered her head and scrunched her eyebrows between her fingers in frustration at what she was about to do.

  “Hey, Shanna, it’s Kia,” she said. “I’m okay . . . yeah, I know you didn’t expect to hear from me so soon . . . well, I was wondering if you could stop by tonight . . . um, no not for that.” Kia looked at me with sadness in her eyes. “I need to talk to you about something . . . um, I’d rather talk about it in person . . . sure, yes, eight o’clock is good . . . all right, I’ll see you then . . . bye.”

  “I hope it goes well tonight, Kia.”

  “It will. This is so much bigger than just Shanna. That’s just the first step.”

  “I know. I’m here if you need me.”

  “I know that. Right now, let’s go eat,” she said, attempting to sound cheery.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. No time to sulk. I may as well adjust back into my old life and get Fred Jr. back. But I’ll tell you this—that was the best fuckin’ Christmas gift of my life,” she said, releasing one of her harking laughs that I hadn’t heard since I got back to Atlanta.

  “It’s yours forever. No one can ever take that gift away from you.”

  “Christmas two thousand three, it’s a season I’ll never forget!”

  Nakia set her car in reverse, and we exited the dark ramp and welcomed the bright rays of light through a sun floating atop the clouds.

  “Kyla speaking,” I said, answering my work line, fatigued and irritable. It was late Friday afternoon, and I was ready to go home and slip under my covers. Every night of the week I had been up until wee hours of the morning with Nakia, consoling her through her U-turn back to straight life after the brief t
urn in her life’s road.

  “Kyla, this is Monica from the Big Brothers Big Sisters program.”

  “Hi, Monica,” I said, recalling her as the head of recruitment who gave her final stamp of approval on my application.

  “Yes, hi. Well, I’m not sure how to tell you this,” she began.

  “What is it?” I asked, worried something had happened to Lisa.

  “Well, we received a phone call this morning from a very irate man regarding your participation in this program. He suggests that your character is unfit to mentor teen girls.”

  “And why is that?” I asked, even though I knew the answer and knew who was behind the phone call. Fuck! It wasn’t my fault that his ex-wife was into women.

  “He stated your sexual orientation and promiscuity is a bad influence to an impressionable youth.”

  “Is there any clause in our agreement that required me to disclose my sexual orientation?”

  “No.”

  “Wouldn’t that be considered discrimination?”

  “Yes, it would.”

  “Then I don’t understand why we’re having this conversation.”

  “Because this kind of information does get added to your file, Ms. Thomas.”

  Oh, now I was Ms. Thomas. “Wait a second. I didn’t break the law. I didn’t kill anybody or rob a bank, and I haven’t been convicted of a felony. That’s the kind of information that should be in my file, not some he-said conversation.”

  “I understand why you’re frustrated, Ms. Thomas. However, you must look at it from our point of view as well. This caller tells us that you’ve been bringing your lesbian friends with you on outings with Lisa.”

  “Monica, I don’t believe there is an issue with my bringing a friend along. She’s not my girlfriend, if you must know. And I would never expose Lisa to an inappropriate situation.”

  “Ms. Thomas, I’m not trying to put you on the defense. Although I must let you know that after your next visit with Lisa this Sunday, we will be doing a review with her and reevaluating your position.”