Getting to the Good Part

by Lolita Files

  “You decided all this a couple of weeks ago?!” I shrieked. “And you didn’t feel it was important enough to tell me about it? You used to tell me everything! This affects me, too, you know!”

  Misty rubbed the back of her neck casually, trying to play the situation off. She looked around under-eyed to see if anyone was noticing our growing tiff. Of course they were, but I couldn’t care less.

  “So he’s moving into the apartment with us?” I asked, wondering how in the hell it would be with three people, two of whom were a couple, pushed up, living there together.

  Misty’s eyes shifted rapidly around the room. She still wouldn’t look at me directly.

  “Actually,” she said, her voice soft, “I’ll be moving into his townhouse in Greenwich.”

  “You’re moving to Connecticut?!” I said with alarm, panic rushing over me at what her statement really meant.

  “It’s a quick commute into the city,” Misty interjected, as if that made any difference. “It’s just like living in Jersey or on Long Island.”

  “Actually,” I said flatly, “it’s not.”

  I sat there, letting all of this wash over me. This whole thing was going to affect me way more than it would affect her.

  For starters, I would have to move.

  As I mentioned before, the apartment we were living in was paid for by Burch Financial. It was Misty’s, rent-free, as a part of her compensation package with the company. At least for a limited amount of time. My name was not on the lease. If she left, I would definitely have to go.

  And I knew she wasn’t going to be inviting me to move up to Greenwich with her and her man.

  I sat there, my mind going a mile a minute, wondering why she didn’t give me more notice to try to find a place of my own. She’d known for two weeks. I could have been out there looking, or at least making preparations.

  So what, I had three months to do it? I’d always heard that finding a place in the city was a nightmare. Definitely no easy task. And what if I wasn’t able to afford it? Rents were pretty high in Manhattan. It’s not like I was being paid a lot of money for my part in the show.

  I was only getting fifty bucks a show. Off Broadway paid shit for money. At eight shows a week, that was only four hundred bucks. Sixteen hundred a month. What the hell could I get in Manhattan with that kind of income?

  No way could I call Tyrone and Tyrene and ask them for money. And no way was I going to spend one of those stipends they sent. Those were for investment purposes only, as far as I was concerned. I was not going to have my parents thinking they were supporting me financially.

  I felt Misty watching me furtively. It was as if she was sitting there reading my mind.

  “You don’t have to move out of the Milano,” she said, reaching across the table for my hand. “You can stay there. Burch doesn’t have to know that I moved out. In fact, I don’t want them to know that Rick and I are living together just yet.”

  “Of course you don’t! That wouldn’t look too good, now would it? Boss and employee hooked up together like that, in a cozy little love nest? You’d lose the little bit of credibility you’re barely hanging on to. You can’t have much left these days as it is.”

  Misty’s face twitched. I thought I saw her eyes fill a little.

  I speared another piece of lobster sausage, and, apathetically, began munching away.

  “Why aren’t you happy for me?” she asked, her voice cracking a little. “Why do you always have to be so mean?”

  I kept munching on the sausage. I was definitely not feeling her. I didn’t even look at her.

  She had her nerve, especially for calling me mean. She had no idea that what she was doing was making me just crumble on the inside. Here she was, just a few months into dating this guy, and she was ready to walk out on our friendship. Just raise up, take all her stuff out the crib, and go shack with him.

  Leaving a sistah ass out.

  I had no sympathy for her. For that, she got no love from me.

  Misty’s eyes were now fixed upon me, without wavering. But I had nothing to say. I didn’t even want to see her face. She held on to my hand.

  I nonchalantly pulled it away.

  “Don’t be mad at me, Reesy,” she pleaded.

  “I’m not mad at you,” I lied. “Would you pass me the butter, please?”

  Caught off guard, Misty looked around for it. It was sitting in a saucer, just to the left of her. She passed it my way.

  I picked up my jalapeño roll, broke off a piece, slathered it down, and pitched it into my mouth.

  “You are mad at me,” Misty insisted. “Stop lying.”

  “Mmh-mmh,” I mumbled, shaking my head. My mouth was jam-packed full of bread. I stared absently at the door.

  “Look at me, Reesy,” she commanded.

  I kept watching people come in and out of the restaurant. I had my gaze so locked, that it took me a second to register what I saw before me. I stared and stared, until my eyes came into focus, and I realized who it was that had just walked into the place.

  It was Denzel Washington. I couldn’t freaking believe it.

  That’s what I loved about New York and places like the Soul Cafe. Extraordinary people just walked right up on you and did the most ordinary things.

  “Ohhhhh shit!” I mumbled, watching him as he sauntered up to the bar. He shook hands and gave a quick hug to a man that obviously knew him.

  “What?” Misty probed, misreading my comment. “What’s the matter, boo? C’mon… please don’t be mad about this.”

  I wasn’t stud’n her. Please. Denzel Washington was in the house.

  Me and every sistah in there was politely checking him out. Misty was the only one who wasn’t in the know. An audible buzz had taken over the room.

  “Reesy.”

  She kept on trying to get through to me.

  Now, let me tell you how mean I can be.

  Misty Fine loooooves herself some Denzel. I mean, she loves him. So much so, that sometimes, I swear, she modeled the men in her life after his image.

  Denzel was to Misty what Maxwell was to me. And if she knew he was in the room right now, she’d damn near faint. She wouldn’t stop talking about it from now until the end of time. It would be one of the most memorable moments of her life.

  I sat there, contemplating. Trying to decide if I should tell her about it or not. Since she claimed I was so mean and all.

  “Reesy,” she said again.

  Her back was to the bar. She was facing the main part of the restaurant, not the front part, like I was.

  I thought about it. I was pretty pissed at her regarding this moving situation. This would be a cool way to get even. I could just tell her about it later on tonight, and let her stew over the fact that I deliberately let her miss seeing Denzel.

  She would really be upset, but it would show her that I’m nots to be fucked with.

  But what would I really gain from doing it?

  I thought about it. If Maxwell walked into the Soul Cafe, even if Misty was mad as hell at me, she would drop her anger, and go out of her way to point him out.

  I let out a heavy sigh.

  “Your man is up in here,” I said in a reserved tone.

  “Who?” she asked, visibly excited. “Rick? He knew it was girls’ night out for us. He wouldn’t come here unless it was an emergency.”

  “Not him.”

  Misty turned around in her seat, looking in all the wrong places.

  I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Why you playing with me, Reesy?” she asked sharply, turning back around. “What man are you talking about?!”

  “Look over at the bar.”

  She turned around in her chair again, and glanced in the right direction this time.

  She blinked once. She blinked twice.

  All at once, the reality of it hit her.

  “OH!!!!!!” she exclaimed, sucking in a breath of air so audible, Denzel himself snapped his head in her direction.
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  Her eyes locked onto his. He smiled politely, nodded, and resumed his conversation with the man at the bar.

  Misty turned back around abruptly, facing me. She was seriously shaken. Girlfriend was rocked to her very core. Her hands were trembling as she held them in front of her.

  Shaza Zul arrived with our dinner.

  “I can’t eat,” she whispered nervously.

  “Child please!” I laughed. “Denzel could care less about your azz. You’d better eat this food you’re paying for!”

  She turned around again and watched him openly.

  “I’ve got butterflies,” Misty said, mesmerized. “I can’t believe I’m breathing the same air that he is.”

  I sank my fork into the mixed greens, then sank the fork into my mouth.

  “Mmmmmm,” I moaned, in ecstasy.

  The Soul Cafe has the best greens I’ve ever eaten. Short of my grandma’s.

  “Eat, heffah,” I chided. “That man’s happily married with a house full of kids. And you know this, maaaan!”

  I worked my neck as I did my best Chris Tucker imitation.

  Misty didn’t hear a word I was saying.

  “He is the finest man on the planet,” she whined.

  “Get out!” I countered. “Have you seen my man Maxwell lately?”

  Misty clucked her tongue.

  “Please,” she replied.

  “Oh, don’t even go there with me!” I warned.

  “Maxwell looks good, but he ain’t no Denzel,” she had the nerve to say again.

  “I told you… don’t even go there with me. It’s not just about Maxwell’s looks. He sings like an angel. He makes me high. The fact that he’s fine is just gravy, baby.”

  I speared a chunk of candied yams.

  “Eat,” I said with my mouth full.

  “Can’t,” she repeated, still watching Denzel.

  Thankfully, he finished talking to the man at the bar and quietly left the restaurant.

  “You can turn around now,” I chuckled.

  Misty faced me again, her eyes starry and glazed.

  “I can’t believe that I actually saw him,” she sighed.

  “Well, for the record,” I said nonchalantly, smacking my lips as I chomped away, “I’m pretty sure his shit does stank.”

  “Ew!” she exclaimed. “Now, why’d you have to go there? Why couldn’t you just leave me with my lovely memory of him?”

  “Because,” I smiled, “we need to get back to the lecture at hand.”

  “Oh,” Misty said and grinned sheepishly. “Me moving out?”

  “Yeah, Miss Divine. You moving out.”

  I cut into my jerk chicken. I brought it to my lips, savoring the spicy aroma. I tasted it.

  Ummmph, ummph, umph! That bad boy was off the hook!

  “You’re smiling at me,” she said. “Does that mean you forgive me?”

  “It means that I’m enjoying my food,” I kidded. “You need to get into yours before I have to take over.”

  Misty tasted her greens. Like me, she began to smile.

  “So when you moving in?” I asked.

  “June fourteenth.”

  “You sure about this?”

  “I love him. We want to see how it would be if we were together all the time.”

  “You guys are already together all the time,” I said.

  “You know what I mean.”

  I kept eating, nodding my head.

  “You ain’t scared of that cow-free milk thang?”

  “What?”

  “You know, the kind of stuff your mama always says. Why buy the cow when the milk is for free? What would his incentive be to marry you if you’re willing to just shack up?”

  Misty’s eyes narrowed on the defensive.

  “We’re not shacking, Reesy.”

  “Hey, I ain’t mad at cha. I’m just making a statement.”

  Misty dug into her macaroni and cheese.

  “I’m with you,” I said with way too much enthusiasm. “Like Wesley said in Mo’ Better Blues, ‘Black people in love… that’s a beautiful thang.’”

  She cut her eyes at me.

  “Yeah, right. And you know how he meant it when he said it, too. You’re judging me and you know it.”

  “I just want you to be careful,” I replied. “The last live-in situation resulted in a black eye, some pissy sheets, and a restraining order. And I’m always your cleanup girl. I don’t wanna go through that shit again.”

  “Reesy Snowden, the eternal optimist.”

  “I’m a realist, baby. I know how the game goes.”

  “Whatever.”

  She began cutting into her chicken. So did I. We let the silence hang between us for a few bites.

  “So… how’s the sex?”

  “What?!” Misty shrieked.

  “You heard me,” I replied in a flat tone. “Don’t act so surprised. How’s the sex? It must be bangin’ if you’re ready to live with this mug.”

  Misty stuffed a forkful of chicken into her mouth to keep from talking. I patiently waited.

  I had all the time in the world.

  (Besides… I felt like throwing a few crumbs her way, giving her a chance to talk about her little funky new relationship. I could tell she was chomping at the bit to share, but she was afraid to get me mad with all her excitement about it. This was supposed to be my night, to celebrate my achievement, but I was willing to share with her a little.)

  Just a little, mind you. Not a lot.

  Misty chewed slowly. Eventully, however, she gulped.

  “Yes?” I persisted, staring piercingly into her face.

  Misty looked around the room, embarrassed, her brown cheeks flushing a little red. She took a sip of water.

  “What the hell are you blushing for?” I laughed. “Dayam! He must be poppin’ that nana sumthin’ fierce!”

  She quickly looked down at her food. Just as quickly, she looked up at me and nodded her head.

  “Girl, he’s poppin’ it like corn!” she whispered with a giggle.

  I bucked my eyes. Rick? Poppin’ the nana?

  “True dat?”

  “True dat!” She leaned in closer to me. “Girl, the other night, he, um, went south for almost a whole hour!”

  I was now leaning toward her in my seat as well.

  “A whole hour?!”

  “Mmmm-hmmm. And, girl, he’s a toe sucker. I ain’t never had a toe sucker before!”

  “Nice, ain’t it?” I answered dryly, like that was old hat to me (which it was). “It’s a whole ‘nother sensation altogether.”

  “Shole is.”

  We were both silent for a moment, playing around with our food absently.

  The image of Rick with Misty’s toes in his mouth skitted through my brain. I shuddered, trying desperately to shoo the thought away.

  Not that her toes were jacked up, or anything. But I didn’t really need the visual while I was eating my dinner.

  And, strange to say it, a part of me was a little, well, jealous of the fact that Misty had a man who ate her cat for an hour and was sucking her toes. I kinda felt like she was bragging about it, ya know? I even felt like she’d set me up a little, with her little innocent blushing act, then busting out and talking about how he was poppin’ her corn.

  Bitch.

  I mean, she knew that I didn’t have anybody in my life right now, and here she sat, across from me, gloating about her little sexual feats with Rick the Dickslanger.

  I decided to change the subject. I was getting a little pissed. After all, wasn’t this supposed to be my night?

  “So you coming to my opening, heffah? It’s the day after you move in, so you should have no problem being there.”

  Misty looked up at me, trying to feel me out.

  “You sure you want me to come?”

  “Of course I do, silly. You’re my girl. Shackin’ or no. I want you there in that audience when I make my debut on that stage.”

  “Really?” she asked, grinn
ing.

  “Really. And bring your raggedy ass man, too, if you wanna.”

  “Okay,” she beamed.

  We ate in silence again, a weird mixture of giddiness, camaraderie, and slight jealousy (on my part) hanging there between us.

  “Hey, Reesy,” Misty whispered, breaking the silence.

  “What’s up?” I said, looking up from my food.

  She leaned in toward me, her eyes narrowed and glistening. She was cheesing like a Cheshire cat.

  “We saw Denzel tonight,” she giggled.

  “I know.” I smiled back.

  “Girl, that’s some monumental shit! Give me some dap on that.”

  I held out my fist and she gave me a pound. I gave her one back.

  “What you know ‘bout dap?” I laughed at last. “You’re killing me, Miss Divine!”

  Misty waved her hand at me dismissively.

  “Bump that,” she said. “All I know is, Denzel is one fine mofo!”

  “True dat.”

  I reached for another jalapeño roll and the butter.

  “But he still ain’t no Maxwell!”

  By the time we left the Soul Cafe, we were lit.

  We had offed that bottle of champagne, downed a few more Amaretto sours, and some cosmopolitans, to boot.

  We took a cab downtown to Nell’s. It started out as a nice little pleasant cruise.

  “So you ain’t going back to Greenwich tonight?”

  “Girl, naw! I’m too bent! After we get our boogie on, I’m gon’ need to crawl my ass straight in the bed!”

  “See, that couldn’t be me.”

  “What do you mean?” Misty asked.

  I laughed, scooching down in the seat, my head as light as a feather.

  “Girl, whenever I get the slightest bit of alcohol in my body, my cat gets to itchin’ for a scratch.”

  I noticed the cabdriver, a quiet brother with a Haitian-sounding name, stir at my comment.

  Misty glanced over at me.

  “So you tryna say you’re horny now, heffah?”

  “Ummmm-hmmm. Like a dog in heat!”

  We both burst out laughing.

  Misty attempted to shove me away from her.

  “Stay over there, then! I don’t do nuthin’ but dicks!”

  The cabbie cleared his throat.

  “Dicks I know,” she added.

  I screamed with laughter.

  “Girl, hush! I forgot how you get when your azz is drunk! You know damn well that I’m as heterosexual as they come. So don’t even play like that!”