Playing Hard To Get

by Grace Octavia

  But that was this morning and now Tamia, Fatimah, and Tanya were seated in the women’s bathroom at the project, surrounded by their other sisters, getting ready to get their hair cut off. All three of them had committed to doing it and Kali was chosen to assist.

  “We are taught that we must rule the physical realm in order to reach our Creator—with Oludumare, God, Allah, Jah, Jehovah,” Kali said, standing before the three chairs where Tamia sat with her sisters. Behind her were most of the other women at the center whom Tamia saw each day—Nunu, the young girl she’d passed outside on her first day; Ayo; Afreu, the older woman who taught them their Adinkra lessons; Maria, who made them candles; Quin, who led their history lessons.

  “Doing this selfless, brave act,” Kali continued, “brings you one step closer to understanding yourself. We’ve all been there, baby sisters. We know what you are feeling.”

  The women behind Kali cheered and yipped African calls and for a second Tamia thought maybe she was in church.

  “But today is yours. And today, you are our heroes.” Kali and her soft hands came and brushed against Tamia. “You are our spirits and your daughters are our future.”

  “Yeeeyeeeyeeyeeyee,” a sister cried out.

  “Let us begin.”

  What Tamia saw in the mirror before her own eyes was herself for once. She looked like every picture of her mother she’d ever seen. And not much was different. Just her head. Just her hair. Gone. But still everything was different. It was just her head. And her hair was gone.

  She’d done it. And that knowledge alone made her feel like she’d lost her mind. But she really hadn’t.

  Kali kissed her scalp and whispered in her ear something she really needed to hear.

  “You’re beautiful.”

  The revelation sounded so much like what someone else in the project once said to her about natural hair that Tamia jumped up out of her seat and headed toward the place where she knew she could find him.

  “Malik won’t be able to believe this.” Tamia laughed, touching her scalp and feeling like she just might want to wear her hair like that forever. “He’ll love it. He’ll love—”

  She was stepping down on the last step that led to the level, but she could already see who was in Malik’s office.

  Ayo, who’d left the bathroom when Kali was cutting Tanya’s hair, was sitting on the desk in front of Malik, reading what Tamia didn’t know was one of Nikki Giovanni’s love poems, one of Malik’s favorites.

  “He’ll never think I’m as beautiful as her,” Tamia said, sighing and losing every ounce of excitement she was carrying.

  

  Tasha noticed two things when she walked into the penthouse party with Lynn: 1. The only men there were wearing thongs and serving drinks. 2. The women were plentiful, beautiful, and seemingly unaware of the trend concerning the opposite sex.

  She didn’t say anything, though. She kept her eyes on the prize—the thongs—and chatted it up with each of Lynn’s girlfriends as they made their rounds throughout the unusually large piece of Manhattan luxury in the sky.

  It was clear either Lynn knew everyone there or they wanted to know who she was. Some women actually pushed past Tasha to get to her or pretended to like Tasha’s shoes or hair or shade of lip gloss (which was clear) only to say, “Can you introduce me to Lynn?” within minutes of the exchange. It was like hanging out with the female version of Lionel at a groupie party. Lynn was clearly the queen of this buzzing group of size-four bees.

  After tackling and being tackled, she was relieved when Lynn suggested they sit at a table with three other women. She’d schmoozed and smiled enough and was so tired she didn’t remember anyone’s name.

  “Who’s your friend, Lynn?” asked one of the women, who looked like she must’ve been half black and half Asian. “She’s pretty.”

  “Thank you,” Tasha said, leaning over and shaking the girl’s hand. “I’m Tasha. Tasha LaRo—”

  “I can introduce you,” Lynn said, cutting her off, and the other women laughed.

  “Okay…,” Tasha said, perplexed and thinking Lynn must’ve had a little too much party punch.

  Lynn slid her hand onto Tasha’s back.

  “This is Tasha LaRoche,” Lynn said pointedly. “See, I can do it!”

  “I’m Jasmine.”

  “Bobby.”

  “Chris.”

  Tasha smiled and shook all of their hands and looked back at Lynn.

  “Did you see Tanya?” asked Chris, the half black and Asian girl asked Bobby, who kind of looked like Tamia. “She was on stage in back. Fucking porn star!”

  “Giant freaking A+ on that two-piece!” Bobby said, taking a little mint box from her purse.

  The women laughed at her joke and so did Tasha, though she had no idea what any of them were talking about and thought they were saying that some girl named Tanya, who was a porn star, was wearing a bikini on a stage in the back that she apparently hadn’t seen. Aside from the name, all of this was wrong. Translation: Tanya, who had nice legs and thighs, was doing something freaky in the bedroom.

  “Does she still work at the radio station?” Lynn asked, taking one of the mints from Bobby and handing the box to Tasha.

  “Yes, she was promoted to station manager last month and she’s supposed to be getting me a job there,” Chris said.

  “That’s awesome, girl,” Bobby said before kissing Chris on the cheek. “I guess it pays to know big people in big places.”

  “Girl fucking power!” Tasha heard someone say, but she wasn’t sure who it was because she was too busy trying to get the nasty taste of the ecstasy she thought was a mint out of her mouth. Tasha was no newbie. She’d had ecstasy before and knew exactly what the pill was once it stuck to her tongue.

  “You okay?” Lynn whispered to Tasha once she noticed her wiping her tongue with a tissue.

  “I’m fine,” Tasha said. “Just didn’t know that was ex.”

  “Eww.” Lynn frowned. “Maybe I should’ve said something. You want to leave?”

  “No,” Tasha said, thinking she was fine and not wanting to ruin her first party out with the new crowd. She didn’t understand what they were talking about half of the time, but kept thinking about what Lynn told her—if she wanted to work with these people, she had to understand them. Tasha explored this thought, this desire, this idea for what she was sure was thirty seconds. Maybe a minute. She didn’t know. She was watching Bobby’s earrings. Big chandeliers with pink and white diamonds. How slow they sparkled when she tilted her head to the side. Then she couldn’t tell if it was Bobby or her who was tilting. The room or the table. Pink and white. It was so pretty. She put her thumb in her mouth and watched them slow even more, sitting still like diamonds in the sky.

  “Pretty earrings,” Tasha said, reaching toward the diamonds.

  “Thank you,” Bobby said, catching Tasha’s hand and moving it to Lynn’s lap, where she held it and massaged it.

  The sensation of her thumb in her mouth and the hand massage was so soothing, Tasha leaned into Lynn and rested her head on her shoulder.

  “You okay?” Lynn asked, putting her arm around Tasha. “We can leave if you’re not okay.”

  “I’m fine,” Tasha said, taking her thumb out of her mouth. “I’m fine. I’m kicking it!” She laughed and looked up at Lynn. “Don’t worry about me. I’m a big girl.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “I’m fine.” She looked into Lynn’s eyes.

  “You sure about this, baby?”

  “Yes,” Tasha said. “I am.”

  Lynn leaned toward Tasha and all Tasha could think of was that she wanted to put her thumb back in her mouth. To put her thumb back in her mouth and look at the sparkly diamonds.

  

  In the morning, when the sun was up and the penthouse was empty, Tasha would learn what the stage was. She was on it…well, in it.

  She knew something was wrong before she even opened her eyes. There was snoring and neither
she nor Lionel had the affliction.

  Slowly, Tasha opened one of her eyes and saw a headful of black curls, white sheets, and a huge window with the sun pouring in.

  “What?!” She sat up quickly, the sheet and a tired arm falling from her chest. “What the hell?” she hollered, looking around.

  “You okay?” She felt someone sit up beside her and looked. It was Lynn, her little breasts sweeping against the sheets.

  Tasha looked down and her breasts were out too.

  “Whaaat?!” Tasha jumped up and she was standing on the bed. To her right was Lynn, sitting up and wiping her eyes. To her left was Bobby. Empty champagne bottles and glasses were all over the floor. “Oh, my God!”

  “Calm down,” Lynn warned, reaching out to Tasha.

  “Calm down? What the fuck? What the fuck is this?” She jumped off the bed and looked around for her clothes. “I—I—”

  “Tasha, calm down. You can stay,” Lynn said.

  “Stay? Stay? I don’t know where I’m at. I can’t stay here.” She found her shirt and slid it on. “Look, I don’t know what happened but…What did happen? Because I…you know…I’m not a…”

  “Nothing happened.”

  “Nothing?”

  “I mean, we kissed…we made out, but you passed out,” Lynn said, her face washed in disappointment.

  “But I was naked…and you…and her…” Tasha pointed to Bobby. “Y’all are naked too.”

  “You were kirking out.”

  “Kirking out?” Tasha asked, trying to remember what happened at the party. The last thing she recalled was looking at Bobby’s earrings. “But I didn’t even swallow the pill.”

  “I don’t know. You must’ve swallowed a little bit,” Lynn said. “You kissed me and the next thing I know, you were shaking and shoving my hands down your pants.”

  Tasha covered her mouth. She’d heard of people having this reaction with ecstasy before. The drug made their bodies incredibly sensitive to touch and without it, they just starting rocking and shaking, sucking their thumbs.

  “We didn’t want to leave you alone. You were in no condition to drive home,” Lynn went on, “so we had two options—take you to the hospital or give you what you wanted.”

  “And you thought this was it?” Tasha shouted. Bobby turned over in the bed and said some jibberish but didn’t wake up.

  “It sounded like a good idea,” Lynn said. “Look, we were messed up. We thought if we just held you, you’d fall asleep. Shit, it worked.”

  “Well, it could’ve worked with our clothes on!” Tasha found her shoes and jeans.

  “Well, Bobby said something about body heat….”

  “Body heat?” Tasha wrestled her jeans up and slid her shoes on. “Look, this is crazy. This is—”

  “Tasha, I didn’t force you to do anything. I thought you wanted to be here. You kissed me.”

  “I was high!”

  “You said you were fine. You said you could hang.”

  “Look, I know you said you all get down and do the freaky, but that ain’t me, honey. You got the wrong one. So, if that’s what this was all about, the whole business thing, then we can stop it right now.” Tasha looked at Lynn and in her face she saw a lack of registry, of care. “Oh, my God, that’s what this was about? You didn’t want to start a business with me. You wanted to get in my pants.”

  “I thought you were playing hard to get. Once a party girl, always a party girl,” Lynn said as Bobby rolled over again and rested her head on Lynn’s lap. “It’s just a new club.”

  7

  Women are never stronger than when they arm themselves with their weaknesses.

  —Madame Marie du Deffand

  While Troy had sat at the altar during Sunday service on many occasions, this Easter her presence beside her husband atop the throne of grace was much more sweet. This time, she’d been elected, appointed, and approved to occupy the recently coveted seat by the women of her church and that act made her feel, for the first time ever, that she was truly the First Lady of First Baptist. She had her big hat, white gloves, two-piece violet suit with shoes and purse to match, a wide smile, and a heart that was so full, even her few remaining enemies forgot the events of the previous evening when she entered the church alongside Kyle and waved into the congregation like it was a Miss America pageant. Though some members frowned, a few did laugh and wave back, and years later, as they recalled the experience, they’d say, “That was just our First Lady being herself.”

  What made the auspicious celebration of resurrection even more marvelous for Troy was the fact that it presented one of the few times each year that she could get her grandmother to attend Sunday service at her church. In the first pew sat Lucy, arms and legs crossed, smiling congenially as if she was awaiting the opening curtain at the opera. Troy had invited her parents, but both declined for fear they’d run into the other at the church. Troy waved at Lucy and got a return wink and nod, a showing of support she wasn’t aware she’d need in just a few minutes. Gravity was the only thing keeping Troy from floating to the ceiling. With Kyle happier than a squirrel in a nut house, Lucy in the front, and the church finally coming to her side, it seemed the Lord was smiling down at her and saying, “You better go, girl!”

  And then it came.

  After a series of readings and testimonies that almost made Lucy forget she’d had three mimosas before going to church and consider giving her life over to the Lord (for, like, three minutes), a tearful Sister Myrtle Glover, who was also wearing lavender, bowed before Kyle on the altar and took position at the speakers’ lectern. Lucy, who’d taken to carrying a pocketknife in her purse long before she became a respectable woman of high society, moved her purse from her side to her lap.

  “I asked our dear pastor if I could speak to you today, church,” Myrtle started, and as she continued into an emotional address that praised the church leadership for guiding the members of First Baptist away from the snare of the devil and into the arms of the Lord, Troy actually felt bad about admonishing Kyle for giving her airtime. Myrtle’s words made Kyle seem like the next Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and First Baptist a holy ground of renewal. Members were shouting hallelujah and a few walked down the aisle to lay early offerings on the altar.

  “…but, church,” Myrtle went on just as Saptosa stood up to read her portion, “where there is praise, there must also be penalty. And while I’m proud of everything we’ve done in the church, in the name of the Lord, having crawled the aisles of this sanctuary before I could walk them, I can’t sit idly by when I know that the same evils that sent our savior to the cross now seek solace within our midst.”

  Had Troy been looking at Kyle, she might’ve seen his Adam’s apple quiver a bit at this transition, but she was too busy managing her own discomfort. And while some of the other listeners seemed to share this position, a few, namely Elizabeth, pushed Myrtle on, cheering, “Say it!” and “Shame the devil!”

  “Now, I’m no saint, but I know a sinner and when I see one, I say I must say it!” Myrtle shouted in a way that made Saptosa step up behind her and lay a hand on her back to signal that her time was up. “Evil is here. Right among us. And, First Baptist, I can no longer sit back and watch.”

  And with that little performance, Troy’s big day ended with big problems. After ten minutes, Saptosa had to pull Myrtle to her seat. Anyone who was in the inner circle at the church was there and knew exactly what Myrtle’s bitter, verbal rant was about. Any members who were still upset about the pastor’s decision to marry someone from outside the church were excited that Myrtle’s less than subtle appeal was given airtime. Others who really didn’t care suspected that perhaps the naysayers now had a point. And the few who were beginning to like Troy and accept her as one of their own were suspicious as to what Myrtle was talking about. Troy and her grandmother fell into the latter group and as Troy sat through the rest of the special sermon, she thought of what would come next.

  Myrtle had said she was comin
g for her, and she’d selected the perfect place and time to do it. But that couldn’t be it.

  

  “You need me to make a call?” Lucy whispered in Troy’s ear after the service had ended and she’d pulled Troy into the backseat of the Rolls.

  “No, Lucy.” Troy sighed, watching through the tinted car windows the little girls walk out of the front of the church in their new Easter dresses.

  “The nerve of her!” Lucy went on. “She’s hard. Much harder than I thought. You sure you don’t want me to make a call? I can. Even if you say no, I can know you mean yes, but you don’t want to be tied to it. I can arrange that.”

  Troy looked at her grandmother.

  “Are you crazy?” she asked. “I can’t do that. I won’t even consider it. I—”

  “I know,” Lucy said, broken. “And I wouldn’t let you. But you know you need to do something about her. I told you, you needed to do something about her before and now you have to do something about her now.”

  Troy wanted to lament with Lucy, but her ears were filled with Myrtle’s harsh words: evil, sinner, evil, sinner. The more she replayed the tape in her mind, the more she began to believe it.

  “And that husband of yours—I didn’t want to say anything, but he should’ve done something. He should’ve stopped her. There’s no way your grandfather would’ve heard of anyone speaking about me in such a way. No. No. Not in his presence.”