Take Her Man

by Grace Octavia

  “You wanted to be like the rappers in the music videos. Like Slick Rick,” I joked.

  “Exactly. So when I ran out of things to write about—there wasn’t exactly a lot of murdering and drug dealing going on in our small town in Tennessee—I just started putting little things about God in the songs. It was really all I knew. So then we turned into Christian rappers.”

  “No, no, no.” I was laughing so hard I almost spit out my food.

  “I swear. We performed in the church pageant and everything. Now, this was a big deal in Tennessee in the late ’80s. Then one day my father said he wanted me to do one of my rhymes for the church. In the church.”

  “Really?” Even I knew folks wouldn’t like that. Rapping in the church?

  “I thought, this man has lost his mind. I couldn’t rhyme from the pulpit—people would hate it. We’d lose the whole church after that for sure. So anyway, I told my father it was a bad idea and he pretended he didn’t know folks would have that bad take on it. I say he pretended because I now know the old man was just setting me up. So he said, ‘Well, boy, I think you have some powerful things to say and I really want the church to hear them.’”

  “So what did he suggest?”

  “He was acting like he was thinking about how we could pull it off and then he was like, ‘I got it. You can read one of the rhymes. Just read one of them to the church so they don’t know it’s a rhyme.’”

  “That’s a sermon,” I said.

  “Exactly, but I didn’t see that back then. All I knew was that MC K-Lover had a gig.”

  “Sneaky man.” I laughed.

  “Yeah, so that was my first sermon. Well, it was a rap, but it was a sermon. I read it up there and I was just overwhelmed when the crowd responded. I felt the energy moving through the room. I could see the Holy Ghost touching people as I spoke. It was an amazing feeling. I wasn’t even reading the words anymore after a while; it was just coming from inside me. Like fire. Soon, I stepped away from the pulpit; I was in the aisles, walking around, touching people. I couldn’t stop. I just wanted to preach the word.” He paused reflectively. “I was just twelve.”

  “Wow. So what happened to the rap thing?”

  “Please, I was young but not dumb. The women and the cars and fly stuff didn’t have nothing on what I felt in the church. It was a young love between me and the church, but it was a beginning. I never turned away again. Not once.”

  “Wow” was the only thing I could say. I’d never heard anyone speak of what they did with such conviction.

  While we ate, we discovered that we both loved the free summer jazz concerts at Bryant Park, and though he stayed away from R&B for obvious reasons, he loved listening to jazz. As the waitress cleared our table, Kyle and I decided to check out the opening concert coming up in two weeks. I didn’t exactly have a packed schedule, and he was good company.

  I felt such a sense of relief, listening to Kyle talk. I grew to like him even more, and I was looking forward to being his friend. Plus, he was a good distraction from all the stuff with Julian. And every girl knows that a good dude distraction is the best thing a girl could have when she’s trying to heal a broken heart.

  “I have another confession to make,” I said, standing beside my car in front of the restaurant.

  “Oh no, don’t drop another bomb on me like last time.” Kyle playfully threw his hands up in the air. “I can’t take it anymore.”

  “It’s nothing like that, silly.” I laughed. “I was just going to say I was mad at you before I came here.”

  “And why was that?” He placed the magnolias on my passenger seat.

  “I found out that you told my mother about our dinner and it made me really upset.”

  “I’m sorry, but I had no other way to find out your favorite flowers, and I wanted to do something—”

  I placed my index finger over his lips. “But it’s okay now. I understand.” I got into the car and turned it on. Kyle turned to walk to his own car, which was parked behind mine, but he kept looking over his shoulder.

  “Bye, Kyle,” I said, waving at him.

  “Bye, Troy,” he replied. “Get home safely and don’t go getting towed.”

  “Kyle,” I called. He turned back around. “Thank you.”

  How to Get a Dude Distractor: I Do…Just Not You

  When you know the main course will take more than a little while to come steaming out of the kitchen, the best thing you can do is feast on a tasty side salad. Why should your love life be any different? Stop sitting at home watching Living Single reruns, waiting for the man of your dreams to come knocking at the door. There are many men out there willing to be your tasty Caesar salad…you just have to place your order. A Dude Distractor (DD) is someone you hang out with (not date) temporarily to distract yourself from whatever’s ailing you. Say you’re dating a guy you really like, but you’re afraid you may be crowding him—get a DD to occupy your time. The same applies if you’re waiting for the love of your life to show up, your lover is acting up, or you’re just hungry and broke as hell.

  DD Do’s:

  1. Contact the sexiest DD possible.

  2. Make it clear that you don’t want a relationship.

  3. Keep him in rotation with other DDs—spread the love.

  4. Use a condom…if you have sex.

  DD Don’ts:

  1. Use a friend as a DD.

  2. Ever tell your main guy about your DD.

  3. Lie to a DD about your feelings.

  4. Do anything that may cause your DD to catch feelings. Examples: answer late-night calls, take long walks, travel, meet his friends, go on family outings, let him stay at your place—or vice versa, cook for him, buy or take gifts, etc.

  Girl Fight

  I opened my CD box to find my old Lauryn Hill CD so I could put it in and listen to it on the drive back downtown. By the time I looked up, Kyle had pulled away. I slipped the CD in, and just as I was about to pull away from the curb, a familiar face walked out of the restaurant beside Paola’s.

  “Miata?” I said to myself. “No, it can’t be.” It was her. My heart started beating fast. I didn’t know why, but I wanted to do something, say something. From what I could tell, she was alone. I had to say something. Maybe I could connect with her and find out, once and for all, what was really happening between her and Julian.

  I stepped out of my car when she turned toward me. I didn’t know what I was gonna say or do, but I was all heart, all emotion. Suddenly my initial rationale left me and I kept thinking, That bitch took my man. And though I wasn’t born in the ghetto, I knew the rules of the ghetto. She needed her ass whooped for that.

  “Miata,” I said, stepping onto the sidewalk behind her. It stung to hear her name said aloud.

  “Yes,” she turned and smiled. She looked uglier than I remembered. I didn’t know what to say after her name. I mean, I expected her response to be something I could work with. She was supposed to call me a bitch and then I’d pull out my lip liner and start stabbing. Yeah, that was how fights went.

  “What are you doing with Julian?” Oh, my God. I sound like an ass. Those aren’t fighting words, Troy, I said to myself. “I mean, I’m just asking.” I was punking out and the fight hadn’t even begun.

  “Excuse me?” She stepped toward me with that stupid grin on her face again. “Do I know you?”

  “You know you know me. Don’t even try it. What are you doing with Julian?”

  Miata stepped close and batted her eyes seductively.

  “Everything.”

  That one word, that one single word, was enough to make me want to jump on Miata and beat her until the cops dragged me off of her lifeless body. But I knew better. I was raised better than that. Obviously, she wasn’t.

  “And he’s loving every moment of it,” she added. Suddenly I felt stupid for even getting out of my car. I wasn’t a confrontational person. My fights with my mother didn’t count. What was I trying to prove?

  “Look at yo
u,” she said, “you can’t even say anything.” She stepped back. “Poor precious little rich Barbie doll. I guess you’re about to cry.”

  “What is your damn problem?” I asked.

  “My problem is you, Troy. I want Julian. I’m the kind of real woman he needs by his side. Not some little girl who hasn’t worked for anything in her life. I’ve worked hard for everything I have. And I’m willing to work even harder for Julian.”

  “You sound crazy. You must be crazy.” I shook my head. “You can’t make him love you. You can’t make a man love you.”

  Miata laughed and stepped back, tossing her purse over her shoulder.

  “Once again you’ve proved me right,” she said. “Rich and obviously not very smart. If you want Julian, you try to take him from me and then you’ll see what I can and can’t make someone do.”

  I wanted to say something cool like, “Well, it’s on, trick,” but all that came out was, “Whatever.”

  Defeated, I turned to walk back to my car, but then I heard Tasha’s voice in my head saying, “Stand up for yourself.”

  I turned back around toward Miata and I tapped her on the shoulder.

  “On second thought,” I said, “just who in the fuck do you think you are?”

  “What?” she said, stepping back.

  “You don’t know shit about me other than what Julian has told you, so I’d appreciate it if you kept my name out of your nasty-ass mouth. You may have been through a lot of shit, but if you don’t stay away from my man, you’re gonna have to go through a lot more. And that, my dear, is a promise.”

  Miata’s mouth was hanging wide open. I looked her up and down, sucked my teeth, and stepped back toward my car. I knew better than to turn my back on her.

  On the way back home I got myself further riled up after slipping in one of Tasha’s old West Coast gangsta rap CDs. I was pissed and ready to fight, and I actually liked the feeling of adrenaline rushing through my veins.

  Miata’s little silly scene that proved she was completely insane was just the fire I needed on my backside to push me on to the next part of the plan. She asked for World War III and she was about to get it.

  Female Defense/Offense: Playing for Your Man

  Make no mistake about it—no matter who your man is, how he looks, or what he has, some other woman has her eyes on him. It’s simple mathematics. Women outnumber men three to one, and the numbers get even worse the higher you climb in social status. The number of good, well-bred men out there is low. This mathematical fact has led to a sometimes cruel world where a woman is left with no choice but to fight to keep her man…if he’s really worth having.

  It may sound a bit catty, but ignoring the possibility of another woman trying to ruin your happy home could leave you with scratches on your back. You must be prepared for when women attack.

  Signs Your Man Is Under Attack: The other woman laughs too hard at his corny jokes, she volunteers to spend time with him, she calls a little too late, she’s always saying how much she admires your relationship, and she’s always asking him to come by to fix something or help her out—she needs to find her own “Mr. Fix-It.”

  Women to Look Out For: The assistant, the ex, women at church, his “girlfriends” who can’t seem to respect you, and, sadly, sometimes your friends attack, too.

  Do’s:

  1. Be cool. Paranoia is a bad sign.

  2. Know your man and his limits—a dog will be a dog. Turn him loose if he is.

  3. Stop talking to people about how good he is in bed.

  4. Stay away from the drama.

  5. Support your man.

  Don’ts:

  1. Fight fire with fire—this will only make the attacker think you’re on her level. Remember, you’re in control here.

  2. Allow her to cause you and your man to fight.

  3. Accuse your man of anything you can’t prove. And if you do, be prepared to act on it.

  4. Leave your man alone with her for any reason.

  5. Confuse high self-esteem with blindness. Thinking “my man loves me and he won’t cheat” won’t stop this hussy from taking off her clothes in his office.

  Note: Trust your man and talk to him openly about your feelings. But don’t nag.

  Bloody Mary and the Soap Opera Baby

  Sitting in the waiting room at Tasha’s doctor’s office, I couldn’t stop fidgeting. She’d been behind the sliding glass doors for over thirty minutes and I was beginning to worry. Did she get really bad news and break down in the doctor’s arms? Was she too embarrassed to come out to face me and the rest of the cruel world? Positive thinking. Positive thinking, I kept saying to myself, rocking back and forth. The obviously pregnant woman sitting beside me was looking at me like I was crazy. With my new gangsta-girl attitude in tow, I would’ve said something to her for staring, but I couldn’t blame the sister. I felt just as crazy as I must’ve looked.

  I stared up at the ceiling, counting the dusty white panels like sheep jumping over my bed to lull me to sleep. I’d spent the past thirty minutes trying to count each square. So far, I was up to seventy-three.

  While I didn’t mind hanging around hospitals, thanks to spending many lunch hours sitting in the cafeteria at the NYU Medical Center having lunch with Julian, I hated doctors’ offices. There was something creepy about them. They were so quiet and spotless. Everyone was always smiling and trying to be so damn pleasant, but beneath all of it, I always felt that something evil was looming behind the big, scary doors that separated the offices from the waiting room. Something waiting to reach out and get me. This was because while everyone was smiling outside, thumbing through old-ass copies of Redbook and Mademoiselle in the waiting area, inside you knew some woman was getting the worst news of her life: She was dying, she couldn’t have kids, she had to get her toe removed, the doctor she was in love with was seeing the new intern…It was a pretty scary place if you thought about it.

  With all these bad thoughts swirling around in my head, I was about to hyperventilate and pass out in the pregnant lady’s arms when Tasha finally came easing through the door. She was smiling.

  “What happened?” I asked, meeting her halfway down the hallway. “What did he say?”

  “He said…” She paused. “He said I’m a good candidate for in vitro! I just need to get Lionel in here.” I nearly picked Tasha up off the floor. We held each other as we danced around the hallway, crying our eyes out. I was so relieved for her. It’s one thing to get pregnant by accident, but to try to get pregnant and then find out you couldn’t—that had to hurt. But now, all was good.

  “I can’t believe it. This is really happening to you,” I said, walking out of the doctor’s office arm-in-arm with Tasha.

  “Well, at least I know I can be a mother,” Tasha said. “It’s on Lionel now.”

  Tasha looked much better than she had the other night at my apartment. The sun seemed to be sitting in the sky and smiling down on her. She had on a cute pink sundress and sling-back Mary Janes. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun and she was wearing the diamond earrings Tamia and I gave her for Christmas. She seemed to have the pregnant glow already.

  “I’m so excited. I never thought all of this would feel this good,” Tasha went on. “Just imagine”—she looked down at her stomach and rubbed it—“someone’s gonna be living in there in a little while. My baby. Hey, we should celebrate. Let’s go out for cocktails. You know I need to get my last drinks in before I get knocked up. It’s gonna be a loooooong time before I can drink again.”

  “Oh, I can’t.” I searched my purse for my keys. We’d driven to the doctor’s office together. Tasha had parked her car at my apartment in case she got bad news at the doctor’s office and couldn’t drive. “I have to go to my parents’ for this dinner thing after I drop you off downtown,” I said.

  “Oh, too bad.” Tasha got into the car.

  “Actually, you could just come with me.” Tasha would provide a great distraction for my mother. With someone
else there, she wouldn’t be able to get all in my business about Julian. Plus, she loved Tasha.

  “That sounds like fun. You know I love kicking it with your mama. Is she making her slamming Bloody Marys?” Tasha asked, laughing. The last time I took her and Tamia to my parents’ house, the three of us had to stay over. We got so drunk sipping on my mother’s Bloody Marys that Tamia and I fell asleep outside on the terrace and Tasha somehow ended up in the penthouse cabana. We still joke about her going missing, saying she had an affair with the pool boy—no, my parents don’t have one.

  “You know she’ll make them if we ask her to. Mary Elizabeth loves to entertain,” I said. I pulled into traffic and Tasha called Lionel to tell him she was going with me to my parents’, so she’d probably be a little late getting home.

  My phone rang just as Tasha was ending her call with a parade of “I love yous” between her and Lionel. It was a welcome interruption, because I was about to vomit if I had to hear her say “I love you, poopie,” again. I opened the phone, sure it was my mother calling to see if I was still coming. My heart fluttered when I looked at the name on the caller ID: Julian. I turned the phone to Tasha so she could see.

  “Answer it,” she said, putting her phone in her purse. “Remember step three. Answer it and just be yourself. Don’t bring up the incident with that girl and if he does, just play it down. Make her look crazy.”

  I’d told Tasha all about the Miata run-in as we sat in the waiting room waiting for the doctor to call her in. She’d cursed Miata’s name so many times as I told the story that the nurse got up and personally handed us magazines as if to say, “Shut up.”

  “Hello,” I said, turning on my earpiece. There was silence. I looked at the phone again, afraid I’d missed the call.

  “Hey, baby,” Julian said.

  “Hi, Julian,” I replied, sounding even more awkward than he did.

  “I was just having lunch in the cafeteria and I was thinking about you. You know, old times.”