by Francis Ray
“Ms. Daniels, the decorations look wonderful. Did you do all this?” Savannah had to come up with something to ask. She didn’t want to seem too quiet or rude.
“Child, no. Tiffany’s friends did all this, and they should be coming in any minute now. Deidre and ’em went to the store to get some more ice.” Again Savannah noticed that Ms. Daniels gave her no eye contact and directed her words to Clinton, even though it had been her question.
Savannah sipped her juice and mentally reviewed her outfit. She was dressed conservatively in an aqua-blue knee-length skirt, a gold belt, and a matching sleeveless top. She had wanted to wear pants, but for some reason Clinton had convinced her to wear a skirt.
Suddenly Savannah heard the chatty voices of several females and the click-clacking of their heels in her direction.
“Mommy, did you call Nicole to make sure she gonna get Tiffany here on time?” asked a young woman dressed in fishnet stockings, a black miniskirt, and a red tank top.
“Deidre, I already did. Don’t be so rude, and say hello to your brother and his lady friend,” Ms. Daniels said.
Lady friend.
“What’s up, big bro. Where you been hiding at?” Deidre asked with a smirk and her hands on her hips. “Oh, never mind.” She shot a look at Savannah and sashayed her way to the refrigerator.
“Deidre, this my girl, Savannah,” Clinton said.
Savannah made a note to herself to ask him what the deal was with his family. To her, they were awfully odd.
Deidre turned around for a split second, then went back to packing away the ice. “Hey, girl, how you.” She didn’t even turn around.
“I’m fine. The decorations and things are lovely.” Savannah took a generous sip from her limeade; she only wished she had a drop or two of Grey Goose to lighten her up.
Deidre totally ignored her. “Clinton, I had told you I was gonna bring my friend Jameeka. She is dying to meet you. I told her all about my big, handsome, firefighting brother who lives on the good side of Brooklyn.”
Clinton shook his head.
Savannah blasted him with a look, but Clinton shrugged as though he didn’t know what she was talking about.
“Jameeka? Your friend who got more baby daddies than the state of Louisiana?” Clinton put his empty glass down on the red-and-white-checkered tablecloth.
Savannah could tell by his flared nostrils that he was pissed-off.
“Oh, so when you have a thing against baby mamas? You think you better than some folks cause you ain’t go no kids? Practically every woman has a child these days. I have two, so what you sayin’?” Deidre spun around on her heels as if she were ready to throw blows if she had to.
“I’m saying you are being ridiculous. Are you drunk?” Clinton glanced at his mother, who nodded her head yes.
“Girl, how many kids you got? Don’t these niggas be tripping out here?” Deidre said, smiling at Savannah for the first time this evening.
“I don’t have any. Sorry.” Savannah wasn’t sure why she apologized, but she felt her response was not something Deidre expected.
“That figures,” Deidre slurred. “Of course you would be going after some uppity chick who probably hate kids. I bet she had a kid.”
That struck a chord in Savannah. She wanted to jump out of her chair and pound Deidre to a pulp. “Excuse me; I have to go to the bathroom.”
When Savannah walked out, she didn’t know where to go, and opened two or three closet doors before she found the bathroom. All she heard was Clinton’s loud voice overpowering Deidre, whom he was undoubtedly putting in her place. Savannah sat on the toilet seat and cried. There were just too many feelings boiling up inside of her. She wondered if she should tell Clinton about that one time she was pregnant many years ago. That information she had promised to reveal only to her husband, and not one man before that. She stayed in the bathroom until the voices calmed down.
When she walked out, Clinton was waiting for her on the other side.
“Sorry, baby. My sister is a drunk. She’s sorry. I just didn’t think she would be like this at her own sister’s baby shower.” Clinton put his arm around her.
“It’s okay; nobody’s perfect.” Savannah smiled up at him. His arm around her made her feel safe and sound, a feeling she had longed for all her life.
They walked out into the living room, where some women were seated on the black leather sofas. Savannah thought the baby shower chair looked absolutely glorious with a green-and-white-frilled canopy. Deidre introduced them all to Clinton and Savannah. She gave Savannah a feeble smile that said she was sorry, but Savannah didn’t return one. She was too busy scanning the room for this Jameeka. And she knew exactly who she was before she was introduced.
A woman in deep-red lipstick, a tube top that read SUCK THIS and a skintight jeans skirt sat way in the corner with her eyes fixed on Clinton, who was the only man. Savannah studied her physique, which was top-notch stripper quality. Her legs were svelte, shiny, and toned, as were her shoulders. Her breasts looked round, and the cleavage went on for days. Damn, why did she listen to Clinton about what to wear? she thought.
“And this is Jameeka, y’all. She new in town. Jameeka, this is my brother, Clinton,” Deidre said, grabbing his hand from Savannah.
Clinton politely shook the girl’s hand, she clearly didn’t have any idea what was happening. “And this is my girlfriend, Savannah,” Clinton said, signaling to Savannah to come over and shake hands.
“Hi.” Savannah held in the pain Jameeka inflicted on her hand with a crushing grip.
“Hey, girl,” Jameeka said with a plastered smile. “You better keep an eye on him. You know how women love them a man in uniform.” She laughed, and so did Clinton, on edge.
Just then, Ms. Daniels ran out of the kitchen to signal Tiffany’s arrival.
Clinton dimmed the lights, and everyone held their breath in the dark. Jameeka was standing on the other side of Clinton, too close for Savannah’s comfort.
“Surprise!” The lights from cameras flashed all around the room, as almost everyone rushed to Tiffany’s side and escorted her inside.
“I can’t believe this,” Tiffany said repeatedly as she sat down in her special chair. “I thought you guys were planning this next weekend.”
Diedre turned the lights back up. “It’s a surprise—hello, you ain’t supposed to know,” she said, running her hands through her short, cropped haircut. “Oh, this is Clinton’s girl, Georgiana.”
“It’s Savannah,” she said, and shook Tiffany’s hand. Her grip was firm, and as gentle as her smile.
“Welcome. Now what did my brother do to get a girl like you?” Tiffany said, but before Savannah could respond, the girl’s attention was diverted elsewhere.
But that sounded more like it, Savannah thought. She could get to like Tiffany, but definitely not Deidre. And that was probably the root of all the looks and comments. They weren’t used to seeing Clinton with a woman like her, who was smiling especially wide.
Tiffany happily opened her gifts, grinning happily at the wrought-iron basinet Clinton bought her. Savannah thought that was a fine choice, too. Several of the other gifts were sexy lingerie pieces, though Savannah had no clue why a pregnant woman would need those. She thought it was tacky. But the hearty soul food of baked chicken, greens, and sweet potatoes was served immediately. It was followed with generous slices of white and chocolate cake. Savannah stayed close to Clinton, who didn’t mind staying close to her as well. She picked up that he wasn’t entirely comfortable with his family. He was the different one who made something out of his life the best he could. They seemed to admire him, just as she did.
Clinton got up to fill their glasses with more limeade, and Savannah stayed behind purposely. As soon as Clinton rose up, Jameeka was hot on his heels. Savannah knew her modus operandi. She used to do it before, scheming against women with desirable men. She understood what it was to be a woman wanting a man. Some other chick would have demanded to leave already
, she thought, but not her. She had to see how Clinton reacted by himself with women like Jameeka to really see what she had.
Jameeka took the pitcher of limeade from Clinton and filled both of the glasses as she smiled in his face. He smiled back, too, as they exchanged words. Clinton leaned over and whispered something in Jameeka’s ear, and she laughed. Savannah’s heart nearly jumped out of her throat. Clinton had to know she was watching. Then Jameeka rubbed Clinton’s flat stomach and jokingly held her heart. Savannah didn’t mind. She was a woman being a woman, she thought. And it turned her on a bit to see another woman flirt with him. She didn’t feel scared, as she normally would. But then Clinton reached into his pocket and handed her something.
Jameeka dragged herself behind him as she held Clinton’s camera in her hand.
“Come on, baby, let’s take this picture,” he said to Savannah, setting the drinks beside her and encircling her body with his arms.
Savannah beamed with the happiest smile she could muster and prayed that Jameeka would catch every inch of it.
After the photo was taken, Jameeka said, “Here you go,” and dumped the camera in Clinton’s hands. She grabbed a handful of chips and walked toward a group of women who were engaged in a lively discussion about whose baby daddy was seen at the club.
“Hmmph,” Savannah said, behind him.
“What’s up with you? She took a great picture; look at this,” he said.
And Savannah thought she had too. She was expecting her side to be cut off.
Clinton took several more pictures of them by themselves, them with Tiffany, and some with his mom. Savannah didn’t know what his picture fascination was, but she wasn’t complaining. If she couldn’t be physically in Clinton’s life forever, at least a part of her was.
Before she left, Clinton’s mother came up to her and said, “Sorry if you were made to feel uncomfortable earlier. It’s just we ain’t used to Clinton bringing somebody around. You must be really special to him.”
And that made her evening picture-perfect.
In the morning, Savannah and Clinton lay naked in her bed watching C-SPAN. She remembered that she hadn’t checked her answering machine since the night before. The red flashing light showed that there were seven messages for her. She wanted to ignore them, but figured the longer they lingered, the more they would make Clinton suspicious.
“If you could be anything in the world, what would you be?” Clinton asked her out of the blue.
“Hmm. Maybe a world-class Alvin Ailey dancer who travels the world, flirts with Italian men, and eats provolone cheese for dinner,” Savannah said, scratching her head.
“Why am I not surprised? I can see you and those lovely legs doing your thing across a stage. Of course, in a legit fashion,” he said, grabbing a bottle of Sprite that sat on her wicker nightstand.
“Definitely. But maybe one day my kids will make me proud,” Savannah said, turning down the volume on the TV. “What about you?”
“I don’t know. I don’t have anything specific, but I always wanted to live a beach lifestyle. To me, that’s living. The only problem I would have is getting sand in my car.”
Savannah silently agreed, because she, too, had always loved the warm weather, and even flirted with the idea of moving to Miami Beach one day. It meshed well with her hot-blooded attitude and sex appeal, she thought.
When Clinton went to the bathroom, she took those few moments to play her voice-mail messages. She set the machine on low and erased them one by one. As she listened and erased, she realized they were mostly hang-ups, until she got toward the end. There were consecutive calls from Chyno and one from Jacques.
“So you gonna leave your yellow man hanging? My girl is gonna be out of town for the whole weekend. I want to come by and blow that back out like I did the last time. . . .” Beep.
“It’s Jacques. Oops, I have something in my mouth. Let’s see. An S, a A, a V, a A . . .Savannah, nice and tasty. And I can’t wait to eat. . . .” Beep.
Savannah felt the need to throw up as she disconnected her phone from the wall. She heard the toilet flush, and composed herself. She quickly dried her eyes before Clinton came back into the room. Every part of her felt disgusting, like a whore. None of those men cared anything about her, and she had shown she cared even less about herself. She had never felt more grateful to be with a man like Clinton than she did now.
“What’s up?” Clinton said, strolling back into the room. His face was twisted with discontent.
Savannah turned on her side, away from him, facing her small chrome stereo system. “Nothing. I think I want to get some more sleep. Come lie down.”
“Who the fuck are Chyno and Jacques?”
Savannah froze like a stone. Clinton had eavesdropped on her.
“What kind of bullshit messages were those on your machine? How many niggas are you fuckin’?” Clinton’s eyes narrowed at her as he stood at the foot of the bed, as he had that first night he came down.
“Look, these are guys from before we were together. I just have to tell them to stop calling,” Savannah said, sitting up in the bed. “Now please lie down next to me.”
“How many men are lying down next to you, Savannah?” Clinton stood there with his arms folded and his legs spread, like a sergeant ready for an inspection.
“Clinton, I had a sex life before you. I was seeing a few dudes and—”
“So what color are they?”
“What?”
“All of sudden you got hearing loss?” Clinton pierced her with a look that could kill. And it almost did. “No wonder why that jar is filled with every color of the fucking rainbow.”
“Clinton, wait,” she said, throwing off her covers and running behind him. “Wait, it’s not like that! I told you I can get rid of the jar.”
Clinton grabbed his clothes, slipped on his pants and shoes, and headed to the door. “Yeah, and I need a woman, not a little girl into mind games. I hope one of your friends can give you what you need.”
“Well, whatever!” Savannah spat behind him. “I ain’t begging you. I’ll be a’ight,” she said, her throat holding back her urge to cry out loud.
Clinton turned around and huffed. “Just wait until tonight.” And he disappeared down the steps.
Tonight wasn’t a night she wanted to be alone. She closed her door gently and connected her phone back to the wall. She waited. And waited. And waited some more for Clinton to call. But he didn’t. At eleven P.M., surrounded by a bedful of used Kleenex, she tried his number, but got no answer.
Inside, she beat herself up for not ending those situations right away and letting them fester until they stank up her new relationship. Perhaps he was expecting this from her, she thought. And it wasn’t about the candy, but she knew Clinton was angry at her for lying to him and treating him—and men—like conquests. She thought she had been kidding herself that she could handle a real relationship. They only bring her pain and disappointment, as they always did. She didn’t expect to hear from Clinton again, though she desperately wanted to.
That night she dreamed of being trapped in a burning building. And there was no sexy firefighter there to save her.
Part Three
ABOUT A MONTH had passed with no sign of Clinton except for his car. Wherever he was spending his time was far away from her, she thought. She spent last weekend with Chyno and the weekend before with Jacques, but even those trysts were losing their flair and excitement. She couldn’t even climax with them, which was always a dead giveaway. Her mind was on Clinton’s slow hand and loving gaze. They made love, compared to the sex she had with other men. It was the kind of lovemaking that made people lose their jobs, pay their bills late, and stay in bed for days. He made love to every flaw and every physical asset. It was an experience she had never had in bed, and it made her feel free, without a care.
The last day of school came and went with no particular fanfare. Usually she’d have a drink with Giselle to signal the official beginning of her
summer break. But Giselle and her husband were having their own problems. To give her mind a positive distraction, Savannah signed up to teach summer school. And so did Mr. Thomas, who had never taught summer school before. She wondered if he signed up because of her.
At the end of her Wednesday art class, she cleaned up the tiny bits of construction paper from a summer collage project. She rubbed glue and glitter off the desks and swept up the dust balls under the closet. Usually this was a job the kids would do, but she wasn’t in any rush to get home.
“Well, well, Ms. Avery taking over the janitor’s job, I see,” Mr. Thomas said, as he walked in her classroom and closed the door behind him.
Savannah flashed him a look that showed she was not in the mood today. She swept faster, hoping to make him back away from her. Instead he just walked around her to her desk.
“Mr. Thomas, is there something I can do for you? If not, I’m pretty busy,” Savannah said, looking at him in his jeans and white guayabera shirt. She had to admit to herself that he was looking handsome. He always reminded her of a younger Tom Selleck.
“Nothing much, just wanted to stop by because I haven’t seen you since school ended. You’re looking sexy in those heels, Ms. Avery.” Mr. Thomas sauntered toward her in a confident, macho kind of way that made her feel he was gonna pick her up and whisk her away.
“Look, Mr. Thomas,” she said, holding the broom with one hand. “Thank you, but I’m pretty tired today. The class lasted longer than it should have, and the kids hardly had any supplies to get the project done. . . .”
Mr. Thomas took her broom away and grasped her hand. “You smell good enough to eat,” he said in her ear.
His scent was clean and fresh, and he caressed her back gently. Savannah leaned against his body on the closet door, bringing them close enough that their noses touched. His hands were up her fuchsia cotton dress, wandering around her ass and touching down between her thighs. She liked how it felt as she directed his hand to squeeze her ass a bit harder. They didn’t kiss, but let their tongues dance around each other, firmly pressing into each other. Now he was the one against the wall, and Savannah humped him like an anxious little boy. Mr. Thomas’s face turned red, and his hardness poked at her enough that she had to look down to make sure it was still in his pants. She ground up against him, unbuttoned the top part of her dress, and plucked out one of her breasts. He sucked on it like he was sucking the tastiest juice.