by Lolita Files
I actually met him in the Village, at a hip, retro clothing store called Antique Boutique. He was hunting down an eclectic jacket. Something that would make him stand out at the firm where he worked.
Well… that’s what he said. He loved being different.
I was looking for a pair of funky shoes.
He asked my advice on a jacket, and I picked one out that I thought best matched his demeanor.
We swapped numbers and talked a few times on the phone. He wasn’t exactly the type I usually went for, but brother was too fine to let go by.
Going to lunch with him would definitely be a good move.
Besides, I needed something to change my disposition. After that horrible audition, a nice meal in the presence of a good-looking man just might do the trick.
I ran my tongue around the insides of my mouth. It was very cottony, very dry.
And I stank. I still had on the same clothes I’d been in all morning.
“I needs to get my funky behind in the shower,” I mumbled.
I got up from the couch and stretched again. A long, feline stretch.
Then, right there, in the middle of the living room, I very carefully took off my tank top, peeled out of my shorts, and stepped out of the thong I’d been wearing.
I didn’t have on anything else. The windows were not covered. The view was wide open for all the world to see. But that was straight me and my exhibitionistic streak.
The way I saw it, if some freak was out there, desperate enough to be looking through a telescope, trolling through the views inside people’s apartments, trying to get his peep on, then he deserved a look at my black ass.
Okay, yellow ass. You had to be determined like a mug to be able to catch somebody standing naked in their apartment, on one of the highest floors of a building, in the middle of a Monday morning. That was no small feat. That took talent.
I stooped down, gathered up my clothes, and walked into the kitchen. Butt-nekked.
I opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of Evian. I stood there in the doorway, the clothes now tucked under my arm, arctic bursts of air blasting over me and my naked funk, screwed the cap off the water bottle, and drank straight from the container. That water was delicious. I just let it course down my throat and cool my palate.
“Mmmmm. This tastes sooooo good. I really needed it.”
(I talked to myself a lot. It was the way I blew a lot of my frustration off. That, and meditation.)
I took another long sip, then screwed the cap back on. I closed the refrigerator door and leaned back against the counter, stretching my legs.
“Let me get my butt in the shower.” The smell of my own rank body was beginning to get to me.
On my way to the bathroom, I tossed the clothes I had been holding into the laundry basket. Misty will be proud of me for that, I thought to myself, smiling. I wasn’t the neatest child on the planet, I knew. As she so often reminded me.
I stepped into the bathroom, pulled back the shower curtain, and turned on the hot water.
I let it run for a little bit, while I stood in front of the mirror in the vanity area, studying my body.
I looked at my tight figure, thinking back to the audition that morning. I had been damn good. I knew it. I moved well, and I had the best presentation of all those heffahs out there.
The thought of it all still made me mad.
And made me feel a little sorry for myself.
I put both my hands up to my head and grabbed my braids. I stared at my reflection. I looked like Medusa, with all those snaky plaits stretched out like that. My yellow face had a slightly red flush. It seemed beat and tired, and my eyes had a curious slant, like what they needed most were a decent night of sleep. I looked pitiful.
My saving grace, thank goodness, was the fact that I looked a lot younger than most people thought I was. I was often confused for being anywhere from twenty-three to twenty-seven, when I was really thirty-two. That was mad cool, especially when it came to pulling cuties.
From the way I looked right now, though, I couldn’t pull a cutie with a ten-ton truck.
“Uuuuuuuuugggghhhhhhh!!” I screamed, holding the braids in my hands tightly away from my head. “I have to shake this!! Things have to get better!! They just have to!”
I was determined to have a good time at lunch. That’s just all there was to it.
I grabbed a couple of hairpins, wound my braids together into a ball, and pinned them up.
I pulled back the curtain, stood under the steamy water for a few seconds, then took a long, hot lingering shower. With each drop that pelted my body, I could feel the tension of the morning rinse away.
I oiled and perfumed my body, slipped on my robe, and dipped down the hall to my bedroom.
I grabbed a bone-colored crochet halter dress. It was always an attention-getter and even though it was only the end of March, we were in the midst of one of those “el Niño hot spells” so I figured I could get away with it. I picked out a pair of my favorite sandals, the brown leather Via Spigas, and snatched a black thong from my underwear dresser.
I was dressed in no time flat. I freed my braids from the pins and peeped the total results as I passed by the full-length mirror in the corner of my room. My legs were nice and golden, lean and muscular. The dress showed off the tight curves of my calves and fell over my booty just the way I liked.
“Not bad, not bad.”
I scooped up my purse and headed out the door.
On my way out of the building, Len greeted me again.
“Doing better, Miss Snowden?” he asked.
“Much better, Len. Much better.”
“Do you need a cab?” he asked. “I can hail you one.”
“No thanks. I can do it myself.”
I stepped out to the curb and stuck my finger up.
A cab pulled over immediately, and I jumped my butt in.
“China Grill. Corner of Fifty-third and Sixth.”
The African brother nodded as he pulled away from the curb.
“And could you step on it? I’m running a little late.”
As usual, the lunch crowd at China Grill was pretty thick.
Located in the bottom of the CBS building, it was a very popular spot.
A few heads turned my way. I was dressed pretty funky considering how most of the crowd was attired. It was mostly the midtown set, people coming from nearby offices to power lunch and flex.
The young woman at the front podium greeted me. “May I help you?”
“Yes. I’m meeting someone here. Hudson Webb.”
“You must be Miss Snowden.”
“Yes,” I smiled, suddenly feeling a little important.
She spoke to one of the hostesses, who was standing beside her.
“Right this way,” the hostess smiled, leading me past the bar and toward the back.
I followed her, feeling a number of eyes following me.
There was Hudson, fine as ever, sitting at a corner table, staring out the window. He had on the jacket he’d bought from Antique Boutique. It did make him stand out.
In a very good way.
He stood up when he saw me approaching.
“Damn,” he whispered, kissing me on the cheek. “Mama, you look hot, hot hot!!!”
“Thank you,” I beamed. “You’re not looking too shabby, either.”
“Well… um… you know,” he joked, rubbing his chin in a pimpish manner, “I kinda had a li’l hep.”
When he kissed me, he left a little moist spot on the side of my face.
Brother’s got a wet mouth, I thought. Hmmmm.
That could be a good thing. Or a bad thing. Wet kisses walked a fine line between being real nice, or just plain nasty.
He held out my chair so that I could sit down.
I did, and he followed suit.
I picked up the menu and began to sift through it.
“You’re looking pretty tasty there, mama,” he said. “For someone who had a buste
d morning, you sure as hell clean up real good.”
“Thank you,” I smiled sweetly. “But do me a favor. Let’s not talk about my morning. Let’s just order some food, ’cause a sistah’s a little hungry, ya know?”
“Whatever you want,” he beamed. “Just say the word.”
“I think I’ll have some of their dumplings as an appetizer,” I mused. “But no, wait… these lamb ribs sound real good, too.”
“Why don’t we get one of their sampler platters, to start?” he said. “It has a bunch of different things on it that you can nibble from.”
“Okay.”
Hudson signaled to our waiter as he passed.
The man came and scribbled down our order. For my meal, I got the grilled chicken salad.
“What would you like to drink?” the waiter asked.
Hudson looked at me.
“A glass of merlot? A cocktail?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s too early in the day.” I looked up at the waiter. “Just let me have a glass of Pellegrino.”
“Fine, ma’am. I’ll bring a whole bottle.”
He took our menus and disappeared.
Hudson leaned back in his chair and sighed.
“So, mama! Let’s talk. Play catch-up with me. It’s good to finally see you again after our brief, chance encounter.”
I leaned back in my chair and smiled.
Coming to lunch was definitely a good idea. Already, I was digging him.
Thoughts of my dreadful morning were fading far, far away.
• • •
The sampler platter arrived in a flash.
There were all types of assorted little goodies, but the lamb ribs caught my eye from jump.
I speared one and put it on my plate.
Then I tried to be cute and cut it with my knife.
Hudson laughed.
“Now, you know you want to pick that up and eat it with your fingers!!”
“Uh-huh,” I chuckled.
“Then do it!”
I glanced furtively around the room.
“What you looking around for?” he quipped. “These crackers don’t know you, do they?”
“No, they don’t.”
“And so what if they did!” he added.
I laughed again, and thought about Misty. She would balk if she saw me right now.
But that was the difference between me and her. Sometimes, I plain just didn’t give a shit.
I picked up the lamb rib and began to get down.
It was delicious. It had a nice, subtle gamy taste, and the sauce was incredible.
There were three more left on the platter. I eyed them, hoping he didn’t like lamb nearly as much as I did.
“You can have them,” he answered, reading my mind. “I’ll just nibble on this other stuff while you get your grub on.”
“Thank you,” I grinned.
The ribs were so good, I didn’t have any conversation with him as I ate them. I just picked them up, one after the other, and gnawed my way around the bones.
I was feeling so relaxed, I could have just floated away.
My fingers were a mess.
I reached for the napkin on my lap.
“Uh-uh,” Hudson said, and caught my hand.
He pulled it toward him, turning it over and looking at it.
I watched him, totally taken by surprise.
He pulled my hand toward his mouth.
My brow rose in confusion. I tried to pull my hand away.
But Hudson was determined (and pretty damn strong!). Apparently excited by my resistance, he tugged harder, and, once again, my hand continued its trajectory toward his mouth.
He parted his lips, and I watched in horror as, one by one, he began to suck the sauce right off my fingers. He pulled each one through his lips, long and slow.
It took me a second for it all to register.
I stared at my hand in his mouth.
My stomach lurched in horror as his sloppy spit was slathered all over my hand.
The people at the table next to us snapped their heads our way.
I was thoroughly appalled.
“What the fuck are you doing?!!” I shrieked, snatching my hand away. “Are you out of your fucking mind?!!”
Hudson was as surprised as I was.
“But, baby, I was just trying to help clean you up!”
“You nasty bastard!” I screamed, picking up the Pellegrino and flinging it in his face.
Gasps flew all around the room.
Hudson sat there, shocked and sputtering.
I pushed up from the table, wiping his nasty spit off my hand.
“What made you think you could suck my damn fingers?! Did I ask you to do that shit?! Spitting all over me like some kind of fool!”
Everyone was staring. All of China Grill, the back part anyway, was now my stage.
“Reesy, sit down!!” he pleaded, water dripping off his face. “What are you doing?”
“Getting away from your sick behind! What kind of shit is that? Sucking my fingers!! You don’t even know me!!”
I snatched up my purse and rushed over to the bathroom. It was down a flight of stairs.
I burst inside and ran straight over to one of the sinks. I turned on the hot water and pumped out handful of soap, frantically washing my hands in an effort to remove his foul spit from my fingers.
I felt like I wanted to throw up.
I should have known Hudson’s ass was too good to be true.
The bathroom attendant offered me a paper towel.
In my haste, I snatched it from her, rubbed my hands till the skin was raw, and flung it in the trash.
Hudson was standing at the top of the stairs when I came out of the bathroom.
“Reesy, I…”
“Get the fuck away from me, you freak!”
I rushed past him and all the staring diners, past the bar and out of the restaurant.
I raced across the concrete, up the stairs, and onto the curb.
“Taxi!” I screamed. “Taxiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!!!!!”
To my relief, the traffic light turned red, and a slew of taxis were trapped in front of me.
I hopped into the nearest one. I didn’t even bother to check if it was empty or on duty.
“West Seventy-fifth Street,” I snapped. “Just off Amsterdam.”
The cabdriver didn’t look too pleased to have me, but dammit, his ass was stuck.
I looked to my left.
Hudson was running out of the restaurant and up the stairs, toward me and the cab.
I looked at the light. It had changed to green.
“Hurry up!” I screamed at the cabdriver. “Go on! Get outta here!”
He glared at me through the rearview mirror.
“There are other cars ahead of me,” he snarled.
“Just drive the cab, all right?!” I cried.
As Hudson reached for the door, the cabbie bolted away, leaving him standing there, looking like an idiot.
I slumped back in my seat, relieved. How could my day get any worse than this? I felt like that old Lenny Williams song. I wanted to just roll myself up in a big ol’ ball and die.
I sat on the couch, miserable.
I knew I had to be miserable. You know why?
Because I wanted to call Tyrene.
I never wanted to call Tyrene.
I mean, I had already tried to call Misty, but I hadn’t gotten a response.
First, I paged her, and got no answer.
Then I broke down and called her at Burch. And I hated calling Burch.
Ever since I had left my job there, I stayed away from the place like the plague.
So what, they discovered I used to be an exotic dancer? That wasn’t necessarily the reason why I kept my distance.
It wasn’t like I was embarrassed about that.
What was a little embarrassing for me, though, was the way I ended up leaving my job there.
Like I said, I used to be Misty
’s administrative assistant. In retrospect, it wasn’t the smartest thing in the world for Misty and I to work together. Business and friendship don’t always mix.
But we were doing just fine until this stupid ass, traitor-to-the-race piece-a negro (a sexy mutha, at that… that’s what made it so bad) rolled up in the house and blew up my spot right in front of everybody, talkin’ ‘bout how he used to love to see me dance at the Magic City.
The Magic City was the strip club where I worked when Misty and I used to live in Atlanta. It was right before we came to New York.
In a three-year period, we had hopped from Fort Lauderdale (our hometown), to Atlanta, to here.
Running from men. Misty’s men. Running to new jobs. Misty’s jobs.
I was the official tag-along.
Misty was the new top gun at Burch, and, as a sistah, was already under a lot of scrutiny.
So, when brother blew my cover, it made her look bad as well as me.
I personally swore that if I ever saw his tired ass again, it was gon’ be on.
Misty had already known about my stint as an exotic dancer. She found out about it in Atlanta. But she didn’t care.
All right. Maybe she cared a little bit. But not enough to keep her from being my friend through thick and thin. It didn’t stop her from giving me a job at Burch when I couldn’t get one anywhere else on my own once we made the move to New York, after she got a promotion.
I had even done a little dancing at a spot in Times Square for a hot minute, but damn near got raped. I was hemmed up in a back alley with some greasy lout who roughed me up pretty good.
That scared me enough to make me bring that whole exotic dancing chapter of my life to a close.
But my exotic dancing was Misty’s and my little secret, and she had been hoping like hell that nobody at Burch ever found out about it.
Wasn’t shit I could say when it happened. I tried to play it off, but I was wide open. And even though things went down ugly, and the big boss, Rich Landey, came up from Atlanta to try to straighten everything out, I still got to decide whether I wanted to stay with the company or go.
It was my choice. Nobody else’s. I was in total control.
I chose to leave. Who needed the hassle of all those white folks in my shit every day, making judgments about me? So it was my call, any way you looked at it.
But, because of all that stupid shit, I really didn’t like going anywhere near Burch, and that included calling there. I only did it when it was absolutely necessary. And I always dialed Misty direct.