by Zane
Naomi couldn’t believe it. This time when she asked, “Mo, girl, let’s go to the club Friday?” Mo actually surprised her and said yes. Naomi wasn’t sure what was up, or what had gotten into the woman, but she decided not to push her luck or press the issue, so she answered simply, “Good. I’ll pick you up at ten,” and left it at that.
Mo came downstairs wearing a black crepe pantsuit and some kind of pink, ruffled, satin blouse thingy underneath. Naomi cringed at the sight of her. “No, no, no…Momma.” She took her sister by the hand and dragged her back upstairs to her bedroom. “You are not going out with me looking like a school teacher.”
“What’s wrong with this?” Naturally, Mo was offended. “Don’t trip, Nay. I’m too old to be going around letting my ass hang out all over the place like some folks I know. Besides, it’s chilly outside.” Mo looked at her sister, in her brown leather jeans, and spaghetti strapped next to nothing blouse and wondered how on earth the woman could stand to dress like that when it was no more than forty degrees outside. At least she had the decency to wear boots or else Mo would’ve refused to leave the house until the girl put on some decent shoes.
Naomi rummaged through Mo’s closet trying to find something that screamed some semblance of sexy. When she didn’t find that, she looked for something that might whisper it, or at least, imply it, finally settling on a conservative, but clingy little black knit dress. “Here. Wear this.”
“It doesn’t fit,” Mo said defiantly. “I’m wearing what I have on, Naomi.”
“Mo. You look old.”
Mo stared back at her sister with big, hurt eyes. “I don’t look…old.”
“You look old, Sweetie. Trust me on this.” Naomi had never been one to mince words and tact was never her strong suit. She’d learned and accepted this about herself a long time ago.
Reluctantly, Maureen changed into the dress that fit tighter than she was comfortable with. When she first bought it, yeah, it clung to some curves, but over the years, those curves had shifted a bit and weren’t in the same place they were the last time she’d worn this thing. “Naw…this is too tight, Nay. I look like a fool.”
“You look nice, Girl. Here…try these shoes on with it.” Naomi handed Mo a pair of black, strappy sandals.
“No. It’s too damn cold for sandals, Nay. Give me those black pumps.” Naomi sighed. Black pumps? Boring. But black pumps without stiletto heels? Horrifying. She knew better though, and decided again, not to push it. Mo would back out for sure if Naomi wasn’t careful.
Maureen tried adjusting the black dress. Like moving it around would hide the fact that she’d ditched the last three months of her aerobic classes. “I need a girdle.”
“Girl, you look fine. Remind me to pick you up on my way to the mall next week.”
“I thought you said I look fine?”
“You do. But you need to update your wardrobe…just a little bit. ’Kay? Now. Let me fix your hair and…”
“What’s wrong with my…. You know what? Forget this. I’m not going.” Mo stepped out of her shoes.
“Mo! C’mon.” Naomi picked up a brush and some hairpins and started pinning up her sister’s shoulder length hair. “Baby, this won’t take long. I’ll be done in a minute and you’ll see, Mo. I’m just updating it a little bit. That’s all.”
By the time they made it to Mardi Gras, Mo’s mood had mellowed a bit and she figured this might not be so bad. Nothing had changed much since the last time she’d been to a nightclub. Different club, same scene. She’d decided to give it a chance though. Tonight, she was going to have a good time, let it all hang out, cut loose, and get her groove on if it killed her.
“Hey, Baby. You wanna dance?”
Naomi beamed and turned to her sister. “Hey, Mo! Hold my purse!”
Maureen smiled and watched her sister sashay off into the sea of flailing booties. Okay, so she’d hold her purse. This time. But she was not going to spend her night babysitting baby sister’s bag. She’d planned on being too busy flailing her own booty. Mo watched the dance floor, relieved that no one was doing anything she couldn’t do. Basic finger snapping, hip swinging, two-stepping was still acceptable. Probably because there wasn’t much room on the floor to do much else.
“I’ll have a…Corona with lime, please,” she told the bartender. She couldn’t believe how nervous she was about being here. Mo wasn’t easily intimidated by anyone, but she definitely felt like a fish out of water. Looking around the room, she saw what Naomi had meant by updating her wardrobe. Hoochies abounded and she knew she wouldn’t go there, but maybe she could do better than a closet filled with business suits, sweats, and stretch pants.
A deep, baritone voice penetrated beneath the sound of the music, causing a surprising flutter inside her. “Excuse me,” he said. Mo braced herself, smiled, cleared her throat, then turned slowly, quickly preparing herself to accept his invitation to dance, talk, settle down, raise a family. The handsome man smiled back. “I’m trying to get to the bar? Sorry,” he said apologetically. She nodded, then stepped aside, giving him room to order his drink.
Mo downed two Coronas standing in that spot and not one man asked her to dance. Don’t they do that anymore? she wondered.
“So ask them, Girl!” Nay screamed in her ear, “Don’t be shy.”
“Ask them? Why can’t they ask me? They’re asking you.”
Naomi shrugged. “They know me. I come here all the time. They know I like to get my groove on.”
“I’m not enjoying this, Nay. Not at all.”
Naomi rolled her eyes. She’d been trying to get this woman out for months, and Mo wasn’t even trying to have a good time. What was worse, she was trying to rain out her party too and Nay wasn’t having it. “You’re not trying to enjoy it, Mo. Why don’t you try getting out of this corner, smile, and walk around or something? At least act approachable.”
Approachable? Sure, she was approachable. Hell, she’d been approachable all night standing near the bar, looking like “Please. Somebody ask me to dance.”. How much more approachable could a woman look? Whatever. Naomi could keep her little snide remarks to herself. She was the one who’d been begging Mo to come to this meat market. All of a sudden, she got attitude?
“Fine.” Mo shrugged and handed Nay back her purse. “I’ll see you later.”
“Good for you.”
This was harder than she thought it would be. Mo was supposed to come out here, shake her booty, have a ball, go home, and grin herself to sleep. Promising to do it again next weekend. But her mood had soured and she really didn’t feel like smiling and playing nice anymore. Mo was agitated that the evening hadn’t lived up to her expectations. Or maybe it was Mo who hadn’t lived up to her own expectations. She’d lost something over the years. That spark hidden behind her personality that had drawn people to her was gone. There was a time when she’d have walked into a place like this and brought the party with her. There was a time when she could’ve shown Miss Naomi a thing or two about “getting her groove on.” But Mo felt as old and out of place as her old wardrobe and old hair. No one paid any attention to her, and she might as well have been invisible.
Squeezing through a crowded bar was not his idea of the perfect way to end a long week. When did that happen? Didn’t seem like it was that long ago when he couldn’t wait to hit the club, down a few drinks, and get his mack on to any and every woman who’d listen. Kevin had spent all week at a video shoot directing young photographers who had the audacity to think they knew more than he did. His throat was still sore from talking all day, explaining every shot and arguing his point of view. What he really wanted to do was go home, turn the phone off, and watch pay-per-view movies until he fell asleep. Damn! That didn’t sound like him at all. Ron had called as soon as he’d gotten home and talked his “lazy, punkass” into hanging out tonight. Ron was going on forty years old. Kevin figured that his old ass should be tired of “hanging.” Hell, he was “hanging” ten years ago when they first met.
“Man, I’m not staying long,” Kevin said. “You know I’ve got that shoot in the morning.” Making a stop at Mardi Gras on a Friday night had been a ritual of Ron’s since it opened. All the fine ladies hung out there on Fridays.
Ron should’ve been a preacher. That’s how he talked to Kevin, like he was preaching to him. “Kevin, you want to meet attractive women, you need to go where they go, and most of them don’t go online. Why do you think you keep ending up with all those rejects from the human race, Man? Online is where the desperate women go, but the real women, the ones who know they got it going on, ain’t afraid to meet a man face to face. Know what I’m saying?”
All that damn ‘I told you so’ rhetoric was getting on his nerves, but Kevin was beginning to buy into Ron’s point. Since posting his ad on Blackgentlemen.com, he’d met super freaks (namely Kiara), women in denial, like Jennifer, who was convinced her three hundred fifty pound frame was considered a “medium build.” There was Lisa, who talked nonstop about the last man in her life and how wonderful and horrible he’d been all at the same time—she’d kill him if she could get away with it. Her words exactly. And last but not least, Asha. Asha was gorgeous. She was as tall as Kevin in heels, had long, dark brown tresses flowing down her back, full pouty lips, and a voice capable of lulling a man into an erotic moment just by saying “hello” over the phone. Yep. Asha was all that and then some. Short of nothing less than a dream, she’d hypnotized Kevin the first time he’d laid eyes on her at dinner. She was breathtaking and he could hardly take his eyes off the woman long enough to eat. Conversation flowed easily with Asha. It clicked with her right from the start and Kevin fell in love with the chemistry between them.
“Being single is cool, but at some point in his life, a man needs more than booty. Pardon my expression.”
Asha smiled. “Believe me, I understand. Women want more than booty too,” she assured him.
“My folks have been together for almost fifty years. And it’s real. The love…it’s all good. I just wonder if finding that kind of commitment these days is possible. Does that kind of devotion still exist?”
“Sure it does. Most of us just don’t want to work at it, that’s all. Couples used to appreciate the value of commitment, now…” She shrugged.
“Yeah, well…anything less than that is a waste of time, if you ask me.”
Asha laughed. “You’re a special man, Kevin. Very special.” It was during dinner that he’d walked in and all of a sudden, Asha turned a weird shade of gray, and practically slid under the table.
“What’s wrong? Asha?”
“Shhh! My husband,” she whispered.
“What?”
“My husband’s here.” Asha picked up her purse, kissed him quickly on the cheek, and left his ass sitting in her dust, wondering what the hell had just happened. This whole internet thing had been a bust and Kevin had already turned it off.
Mo could hardly believe her eyes. Was that Kevin standing at the bar? Good Lord, it was him. Her first instinct was to walk over to him and say hello. Then she remembered. She was in a terrible mood and had a bad attitude, wearing old clothes and old hair on her head, and that was no way to try and impress a man. Mo felt like an out of date, out of style, out of touch woman who had no business being in a nightclub trying to push up on anybody. Especially any man who looked that good. Attitude is absolutely everything, and right now, Mo’s attitude screamed ‘Let go and let God, Girl. Time to call it a night.’ She knew he hadn’t seen her, and all she had to do was gather up Naomi and slip out as quietly as she’d slipped in. The problem was, Naomi hardly ever left the dance floor. Girlfriend was getting her party on, oblivious to the fact that her sister was right in the middle of having a moment and a miserable time. Of course, Mo could call a cab. As a matter of fact, she could use Nay’s cell phone, which was in the purse she’d been babysitting all night, the purse she’d sworn earlier that she wouldn’t have time to watch. Mo fumbled through her sister’s purse looking for the phone, then remembered, Naomi had left it plugged up in the car.
“Got some fine honies up in here tonight!” Ron exclaimed while watching one of those fine, golden brown, honies switch past him at the speed of light. “Now that’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout.” He grinned. “Real women…not internet women. See what you’re missing out on?”
“How many times are you gonna make your point, Man? I hear you. I’ve been hearing you,” Kevin reiterated.
Ron lifted his glass to toast and Kevin raised his beer in kind. “Fuck the internet! Here’s to meeting the right woman the right way. At Mardi Gras!”
Kevin wasn’t all that convinced his “right” woman could be found here, but she definitely hadn’t been found on the net. “Here, here, my brotha! Real women!”
Mo watched Kevin from across the room. He had no idea it was her ass he’d smacked in that email. Kevin turned slightly in her direction and Mo backed further into the corner, until she was confident he couldn’t possibly see her. He’d become the cat and she the mouse. She couldn’t help but laugh. Two days ago, she’d sexed the man over the Internet. He responded immediately, asking her to call him. Yeah right. Like that would ever happen.
“Hello, Kevin. It’s me. Psycho woman from the center? Yes, well…I just wanted to call and tell you that I’m the one who emailed you the other night. Remember? I’m the one into bondage? Yes, I thought you’d find that quite hilarious. I was just…in a mood, I suppose.”
Oh yes, he was fine. Kevin wore a black turtleneck and some gray slacks. The belt cinched around his waist accentuated the kind of physique women squirmed over. Dark men in dark colors always did excite her. Kevin wrapped his full lips around the opening of the bottle he drank from. Mo’s imagination started playing tricks on her. She imagined walking up to him and touching him slightly on the shoulder. “Hello, Kevin. Remember me? I’m Mo and I think you’re divine,” she imagined herself whispering. Then, Kevin would turn to her, smile one of those pretty smiles of his, pucker up, and kiss her lips, sucking on them like he was sucking on a big, juicy orange.
“Mo! Mo!” Naomi’s squealing voice interrupted Mo’s fantasy.
“What, Nay?”
“Girl, I’m out of cash. Can you front me a twenty? I’ll stop at the ATM tonight on the way home and give it back to you.”
Mo reached into her bag and handed her sister a ten-dollar bill. “Twenty’s all I have.”
“That brotha is fine, ain’t he?” Naomi had noticed her sister staring at Kevin since he’d walked in.
“Who?”
“Who? The one you’ve been staring at all night, Mo. I ain’t blind.”
“You know who that is?”
“I’ve seen him before, but no. I don’t know him.”
“That’s one of my volunteers. Kevin Davies. He’s a photographer.”
“Really? Girl, did you say hello?”
“No. He’s…he’s with his friend.”
“Mo, stop being silly and go over and say hi to the man. So what, he’s with his friend?”
“C’mon, Baby.” Nay’s dance partner tugged on her arm. “They playin’ our song.”
Naomi thrust her purse back into Mo’s arms and followed her date onto the dance floor. Naomi was right. Mo was being silly. She needed to act like a grown woman, go over, and say hello to the man. Hellos were usually harmless. As soon as she started in his direction, gearing up for her introduction, Kevin was led out onto the dance floor by a beautiful, young, hoochie goddess, who wore next to nothing and shook it all over the man. Mo stopped dead in her tracks. How on earth could she compete with that?
“I haven’t heard from you in a while, Kevin. I thought you said you were going to call me?” Kiara pouted.
Kevin knew better. Kiara wasn’t the type to sit by the phone waiting on a brotha to call. “I’ve been meaning to, but my schedule has been hectic lately.”
“Too hectic to hook up with me?” She guided his hands down to her highly agile hips, which ha
d the power to hypnotize a man out of his mind. Bottom line? Kevin was only human and no human man he knew had the power to resist a force as potent as agile, female hips.
Maybe he’d been too hard on the woman. Hell, if nothing else, she knew how to have a good time and he’d been missing out on plenty of those lately. “What in the world could I have been thinking, Baby?” He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed it.
Mo watched in horror as this man put her…his precious lips on that woman’s body. That was his idea of a soul mate? Who’d have guessed soul mates wore next to nothing, had big booties, little titties, fake nails, and hopefully, a year’s supply of condoms on hand (if the rest of the world was lucky). Kevin’s hands were all over that woman’s hips and behind. And that behind was all over him. Mo compared her behind with soul mate’s behind then concluded, nope, her behind wasn’t even in the same league with soul mate’s behind. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she hadn’t expected that to happen at all. Disappointment washed all over her body. Sure, he was only a fantasy, but until soul mate popped into the picture, he’d been her fantasy.
Kevin and Kiara made tentative plans to hook up later on that night. Women like that were cool and had their place in a man’s life. Just like he was sure he had his place in hers. Kiara wasn’t complicated, that’s for sure. She let it be known what she wanted and she knew how to get it. No strings attached and hopefully, no drama. Just pure, unadulterated sex. There had been a time in his life, when he’d have paid a million bucks for a harem of Kiara’s. Pure, unadulterated sex was all he wanted back then. But it lacked one thing. Intimacy. Sex was cool, but it paled in comparison to making love. He could count the number of times on one hand that he’d actually made love to a woman. That’s what Kevin had hoped he’d find. But now that he was looking for it, it avoided him like he was the plague. What a damn shame.