Bad Girls Finish First

by Shelia Dansby Harvey

  Erika had rented an Escalade. When she reached the vehicle, David was already there, standing on the passenger side. “Come here,” he said, his arms stretched toward her.

  “Uh-uh,” Erica said, and went straight to the driver’s side.

  As they headed to David’s house, he reached over and stroked her thigh. They reversed the roles they played in the restaurant and now it was Erika who opened her legs wider as David’s hand went higher. Even though he was drunk, David might have driven as well as Erika, who had trouble staying in her lane.

  This is as far as I’m going, David said to himself as he used his free hand to direct Erika into his subdivision.

  David wasn’t the only one having second thoughts about what would happen when they got to his house. Erika was insulted because David seemed to want her to beg him for sex. She’d become more selective about who she let sample her goodies and she was beginning to wonder whether David, with his hard-to-get attitude and his drinking, was worth it.

  What number will he be? Sixty-two? Sixty-six? Damn. From the time she was fifteen until she turned forty, Erika had dated like a man, like Samantha Jones on Sex and the City. If she ran across a man she liked, Erika bedded him, and she never confused good sex with love. When she turned forty, Erika realized that she had racked up some serious numbers. She vowed to have only “meaningful” trysts from then on. Trouble was, Erika’s libido wasn’t on board with her new, restrained lifestyle. David’s nimble fingers, working overtime, didn’t help.

  I don’t know what number he’d be, but I know it’s too close to seventy, Erika thought as she killed the engine. In one smooth move she climbed across the console and straddled David. She slid her hands beneath his ass and kissed him hard.

  “We can’t do this here,” David mumbled as he reached to pull Erika’s skirt up to her waist. “What about my neighbors?”

  “The neighbors. Right. I guess we’d better make it look like you’re alone,” Erika replied. Before David knew what was happening, Erika had hit the floorboard and deftly unzipped his pants. David groaned and lay his head back. He’d had at least three drinks at dinner, but David’s body responded to Erika like he was a teetotaling Olympic athlete. A neighbor could have come up and rapped on his window and he wouldn’t have cared. He grabbed a handful of Erika’s hair, but quickly let it go because just the feel of all that downy softness brought him to the brink of exploding.

  Only when he felt Erika dig her fingernails into him did David dare touch her hair again. He let out a primal scream that made Erika think—with the small part of her brain that wasn’t occupied with getting hers—that a neighbor just might hear the commotion and decide to call 911.

  Erika got off her knees and gave David another deep kiss.

  “Come inside, please,” he begged.

  “Uh-uh. You might end up being number seventy, but it won’t happen tonight.”

  “Huh?”

  Erika climbed back into the driver’s seat and waited for David to get out. “Like you said, what would the neighbors think?”

  After he showered, David’s normal practice was to towel off in front of his full-length mirror. But after his tryst with Erika he couldn’t bear to look at himself. As he dried off in the dark, he asked himself over and over again, How could I risk everything just to be with her? After David tore himself down, he latched onto one redeeming thought.

  At least it wasn’t real sex.

  Michael’s strong show of leadership during the post-massacre press conference and the debate gave him a huge boost over Jeff Sweeney, just as he’d predicted. He won the allegiance of thousands of Texans simply by being the eye of calm in the storm. Endorsements and money poured in. Legislation that Michael favored sailed through the House and the Senate. Even Richard Torres, Michael’s opponent in the primaries, got on board. He sent Michael a note a week after the debate. “When you get ready to meet with the Latino leaders, I’ll pave the way. Call me.”

  So, by mid-July, Michael was practically unbeatable.

  “I needed this. Seems I spend all my time in a suit, even in what’s supposed to be a casual atmosphere. I’m never relaxed,” Michael said. He and David were aboard David’s sixty-foot sailboat in the Gulf of Mexico, just off the shore of Padre Island. “Feels like I’ve had my guard up constantly, for—hell—forever. This is the first time in months I’ve not been hounded by a reporter with a camera, ready to record every move I make.”

  David took a swig of his beer and laughed. “You and me, looking to avoid a photo op. Who’d believe it?”

  Michael laughed too. It felt good to be on open water with just the two-man crew and his friend.

  They watched the water in silence for a few minutes, then David said, “This isn’t the break you think, Michael. I still want to talk business.”

  “It’s so good just to be out here, I can talk about anything and still feel like I’m on vacation,” Michael said, his eyes on the horizon. “What’s on your mind?”

  “I’ve done what you asked—sisters all over the state are organized and energized, working on bringing out the vote for you. When we started, you told me you wouldn’t forget about me, and I know that’s the truth. It’s time for us to discuss some things.”

  “You’re thinking about the faith-based initiative, right?”

  “It’s not a lot of money, Michael. Forty million spread too thinly would be a waste.” David’s voice took on the authoritative tone he used when in the pulpit imparting wisdom. “You already know what white churches will use the money for. To build more ‘religious’ schools,” he said as he made quotation marks with his hands. “They’ve single-handedly kept segregation alive since the sixties. Why should they get government funds to perpetuate a system that’s illegal?

  “And you know I believe God calls all types to preach, because it takes all kinds to reach the masses, but half the uneducated hustlers out there calling themselves preachers will take the money, go buy a Cadillac, a week’s worth of shiny suits, and tacky jewelry.”

  Michael, who was quite good at lecturing, himself, was tired of being on the receiving end from David. “Not every man can drive a two-seater Lexus and wear Armani.”

  David conceded the point. “I admit I live well, but you know that I always put the people’s welfare first. And I’ve got a vision, Michael. All I need is money and I guarantee you, I’ll transform all of south Dallas.”

  Michael finally stopped watching the water and turned to David. “I believe you, because I’ve got a vision too. Your vision is spiritual and mine is secular, and they’re pretty much the same. You know I’ll be fair to New Word. You and your congregation have been good to me.”

  David had preached fairness all his life, but under the circumstances he wasn’t sure that mere fairness would get the job done. “I need you to be more than fair, Michael. I need you to show some faith in me, go a little farther with me than you would with anybody else. You know I won’t let you down.”

  “To implement your ideas, how much are we talking?”

  “Can’t put an exact price on it,” David replied. “I’m just asking you to give me a chance to transform this state, just like I provided the chance to you.”

  David added, “But, if I could put a price on it, that chance is worth at least fifteen million.”

  “That’s almost forty percent of the money!” Michael turned back to the water and realized that he’d been wrong. The calm waters of the Gulf didn’t immunize him against stress. He shook his head. “I wish I could, but you know that if I win this election, folks are going to be looking for any excuse to call me crooked. I’m going to get enough flack for putting Raven in charge of my faith-based platform.”

  “She’s running things?” David was surprised.

  “Yeah, believe it or not, Dudley suggested that I put her to work on the issue full time. I think he’s trying to get her out of his hair, but I thought about it and it’s not a bad idea. Raven’s smart”—Michael’s smile became broad
er the more he talked about his wife—“but you already know that. And she’s still an outsider for the most part, so she’ll be immune to pressure tactics from the different churches.” He held up his palms to David and said, “No offense.”

  “None taken. I’d be the last one to want to bring even a whiff of impropriety into your administration. Are there any restrictions on how much Raven can award to one church?” David asked.

  “No, she’s free to use her own judgment. But honestly, David, different communities have different needs, so I expect her to choose a cross section of people to figure out how to address those needs,” Michael said.

  David tossed back the last of his beer and threw the bottle into a nearby trash can. “If I need to enter the fray with the rest of the churches and convince Raven that my plan is the best one, then I will.” He winked at his friend and risked a joke. “You know how persuasive women find me.”

  “I do,” Michael said and laughed heartily. “But my Raven isn’t just any woman. You’re going to have to come correct to get a dime of that money.” Michael looked at his watch. “David, I appreciate you bringing me out here for a little down time, but I’ve got a million things to do. Mind if we head back now?”

  “No, man, whatever you want,” David said, but he was disappointed. Now that he knew the rules of the faith-based initiative game, David was starting to relax, himself. While David went to talk to the boat’s captain, Michael fixed his eyes on the horizon. He may as well have been a blind man because the singular thought turning round in his head blocked his vision. Did I see a glint in David’s eyes when I mentioned Raven? He felt the boat change course and head back to shore. Michael checked his watch again. What was supposed to be a day of relaxation had lasted all of three hours.

  “Michael’s taking a hands-off approach with the faith-based money,” David told Dudley during one of their late-night phone calls.

  Dudley’s relationship with his younger brother existed after dark. Talking after midnight was a habit they had developed during childhood and one that Dudley fully incorporated into his life. He stayed on the phone all night long, or if he wasn’t on the phone, he’d sneak out of the house. Early in his marriage, Dudley gave his wife the two children they both wanted—she wanted to make a real family, and he wanted her focused on someone other than him. After doing his duty, Dudley felt no obligation, and certainly no desire, to sleep with his wife, and so his nights belonged to him.

  The men’s habit of talking after dark stemmed from being raised by their mother, Sue Capps, who went by the name Baby Sue, and their grandmother, also named Sue Capps, known as Big Sue. Big Sue was an elephant of a woman. By the time she was forty-five she was so huge she could barely get out of bed. Baby Sue, who was as scrawny and dried up as Big Sue was ample, had a habit of dragging home stray men.

  When the welfare check came on the first of the month, Baby Sue bought steak for her boyfriend and Spam for her sons. Whatever her current lover put on her—a black eye, a slap across the mouth—she took out on Dudley and David. Despite the way their mother mistreated them, their main reason for hating Baby Sue didn’t have anything to do with a man. They despised their mother because she stank, smelled like the funky side of rich fertilizer. The neighborhood children called her Stinky Baby Sue.

  “How could he?” Dudley would whisper to David whenever a man entered their mother’s bedroom.

  Dudley and David dealt with Big Sue and Baby Sue by staying out of their way. They didn’t play or talk until Big Sue’s snoring competed with the grunts and yelps coming from Baby Sue’s room, usually after midnight.

  Following their childhood pattern, the brothers commiserated about Michael after dark.

  “How long have I been telling you that Michael’s only out for himself?” Dudley said. “Now that you’ve solved his problem with women, he’s riding high and acting like he made it this far on his own. As long as he’s on top, Michael’s not interested in anybody else’s agenda.”

  “Be realistic, Dudley. It’s not like Michael can simply cut me a check. The public might not look too kindly on my church ending up with the bulk of the money if he’s personally involved in the process. I don’t want him to get jumped for passing out favors to his friends.”

  Dudley snorted. “Bullshit. This state was built on cronyism and a governor is expected to throw a little business his friends’ way. Michael’s just one of those Negroes who locks the door behind him once he’s gotten in.”

  “Dudley, you really need to stop hating on Michael.” David never understood why Dudley criticized Michael so harshly. “He always looks out for you and I know he values your advice. When did you become so bitter?”

  “I’m the same man I’ve always been, but Michael has changed. Since the debate, he’s been walking around like he’s the Second Coming,” Dudley said. “And maybe he used to take my advice, but to tell you the truth, I don’t have Michael’s ear anymore.”

  “That not true,” David said. He was eager to convince his brother of Michael’s loyalty. “In fact, because he liked your idea about putting Raven over his faith-based initiative platform, I still have a shot at getting a good chunk of the funds.”

  “Oh, yeah? He told you he’s giving the job to Raven?” Dudley was pleased. He couldn’t care less about the politics of throwing crumbs to Holy Rollers. But the media was fixated on the initiative and Raven was eager to be involved in any project that would keep her name on the front page, so to Dudley it seemed the perfect fit. And it would keep Raven out of his way.

  “Yep.”

  “Then talk to her. I know she likes you. Better yet, hit her with the Capps’ magic wand and the money’s yours.” Dudley guffawed. “You know how we do it.”

  David was taken aback. “How could you even suggest that? You know I’d never fool around with Michael’s wife. We’re more than political colleagues, we’re friends!”

  “So I keep hearing,” Dudley said, his voice dry. “But if my idea is so far-fetched, why are you getting so agitated?” Dudley cradled the phone between his shoulder and head while he freshened his drink. “Besides, I haven’t seen you out and about with any eligible women lately, which means that you’re probably doing something that can get you in a lot more trouble than flirting with Raven.” Dudley laughed to soften his words, but if he could have seen David’s eyes, he would’ve known that they hit the mark.

  David wiped his brow and thought about Erika. Since their driveway escapade he’d driven to Austin three times in two weeks. They ordered in and spent all their time in Erika’s bed. David felt like a field hand more than ever, but he was hooked.

  “As a matter of fact, Dudley,” he began, “there is something you should know about, just in case I ever need a quick alibi.”

  As they sat across from each other, Raven and David were pictures of perfection. David’s royal blue sweater enhanced the blackness of his smooth skin and his goatee brought attention to his lips, which were thin by Raven’s standards, but sexy nonetheless. He looked hot, but Raven was hotter. She hadn’t forgotten the way David looked at her at the Juneteenth fund-raiser when Erika walked up. In the hotel lobby in Lufkin, she’d gotten under his skin and she knew it. Since then David had been polite but distant, and Raven wasn’t used to men holding her at arm’s length. David needed to be initiated into the Raven Holloway Joseph Fan Club. He’d flubbed his prior invitations, but no man could permanently resist Raven’s offer to worship her. She wasn’t having it.

  As soon as David called to ask her to lunch, Raven had buzzed Genie. “Call the salon, tell them I’m coming and I want everything: hair, nails, makeup. Then call Cheryl at Saks and tell her to pick out something ultrasexy for me. Have her bring it to the salon.” She started to hang up, but then added, “I doubt that anyone needs reminding, but just in case, tell them I’m not one to be kept waiting.”

  Raven and Michael made a striking couple, but Raven and David looked like a world-famous photographer had paired them for the ultimate p
hoto shoot. David could feel the buzz they generated. When he’d been close to her on other occasions David had deliberately avoided really looking at Raven. But sitting directly across from her now, he couldn’t tear himself away from her catlike, deep-set eyes, her full lips, and her flawless skin. As dark chocolate goes, Raven’s on the ultrasweet side, he thought.

  “You look . . .” David’s words hung between them because her beauty struck him speechless. “That’s a nice dress,” he finally said.

  Raven didn’t say anything. She knew how to make a man squirm.

  David started over. “It’s good to see you. How’s Michael?” He retreated to non-flirtatious ground and stayed there. When the waiter brought their meals, Raven looked at hers and said, “Excuse me, I ordered the mandarin chicken.”

  “No, no,” the waiter told her in rushed, broken English. “You order black bean chicken.”

  Before Raven could reply, David said to the waiter, “She’s right, she ordered the mandarin chicken.”

  “No. Black bean,” the waiter insisted.

  “You know what—” Raven began, only to be interrupted by David again.

  “He doesn’t mean any harm, Raven. It’s the language barrier—”

  “I realize that,” she said, speaking over him in the same light tone she’d been using all along. She looked at the waiter and said, “Black bean chicken is fine. Thank you.”

  “That was good of you,” David said once the waiter walked away. “Thanks for not making a scene.”

  “What makes you think I’d do that?” Raven asked. She made scenes all the time and enjoyed herself immensely when she did. Raven was the queen of scenes.

  “Because I’ve seen you in action! Remember how you treated that little waitress in Lufkin?” he said. “And black women are scene-makers by definition. You love going off on people who’re providing a service. Waiters, flight attendants, store clerks, but especially waiters.”