by Dasha Kelly
Now she was supposed to consider becoming a lesbian?
“I appreciate it, Terri, but I don’t see how—umm—sleeping with you would help—”
Terri’s pensive expression swung open with a laugh. She pushed at CeCe’s hip with her foot. “Not with me, girl,” Terri said. “I mean, let me help you, maybe, set something up. I know Operation Gigolo was a joke, but it might not be a bad idea to take fate into your own hands.”
After a quiet moment, Terri asked, “So, what are you thinking?” CeCe could see her tousle of frizz and curls leaning into her peripheral vision. CeCe let her chin drop to her chest, her own hair unbound, wild and falling into her eyes. Her chest heaved a sigh and she felt her entire body tense.
CeCe opened her mouth and waited for the tangle of words to find their way. “I’m thinking that sounds desperate,” she said. “I’m thinking my friends believe I’m a lost cause. I’m thinking I want to cry right now . . . ”
Terri entered the bathroom and leaned against the counter, her back to the mirror and her earnest face to close to CeCe’s.
“OK,” she said, pausing for a moment. “And what are you thinking now?”
Terri’s eyes searched her friend’s face while CeCe’s expression was incredulous.
“I don’t know,” CeCe said, a quiver in her voice nipping at the edges of her words. “I don’t know if I’m thinking. This is all feeling. Feeling embarrassed, feeling foolish, feeling broken, feeling—”
“No, none of those feelings are welcome here,” Terri said, with a slow shake of her head. “I hear you, little sister. We can let this go right now. I’m sorry to set any of those feelings into motion. You have nothing to be embarrassed about. Nothing at all. After listening to you joke about the stripper all week, this just started to sound like a rational alternative in my head. I feel badly for even suggesting it. Please forgive me?”
CeCe stepped into the open arc of her friend’s arms, with her own arms still folded. She wanted to weep when Terri enveloped her, but no tears fell. She was empty, through and through.
The two of them moved in their own quiet circles for the rest of the day. Terri in the living immersed in a constellation of index cards, Post-It notes and charcoal sketches and CeCe engrossed in the true crime bestseller, Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. As roommates, Terri and CeCe rarely needed to negotiate one another’s need for space or quiet. As friends, they stayed in tune to the other’s orbits and moods.
“I choose,” CeCe said, standing in the archway of the living room. The afternoon sun was fading in the windows. Terri’s cards and sketches had been stacked into a system of neat piles and she was writing in a notebook. She looked up from her seat on the floor, confusion drawing her face into a squint.
CeCe threaded her fingers together as she leaned against the doorway. She could bail on the idea right now. She could say that she wanted to choose takeout or the next DVD rental and dismiss her past forty minutes of contemplation, rationalization and self-motivation. She could be done with this foolishness and continue with life as she knew it, but the words sprang from her mouth before her nerves could wither.
“I choose the guy,” she said.
Terri grinned. “Of course.”
CeCe took one step into the living room, leaning her back against the doorway arch now. She looked down at her clasped fingers and asked meekly, “Did you have suggestions, though?”
“Of course,” Terri said, smiling broadly as she rolled onto her side to prop her head on one hand and count off prospects with the other. “Marcus, from the co-op. Corey, who works at the rental office. Sabian, the grad assistant you like. The one with the infinity tattoo on his neck? And Dub.”
“Dub?” CeCe said, her arms falling to either side. “Dark-skinned Dub?”
Terri let her counting hand drop to the floor and fixed her eyes on CeCe.
“Yes,” Terri said. “Are we really about to have a conversation about dark skin and light skin?”
CeCe flapped her arms and shifted her weight in the doorway “No!” CeCe replied, offended. “But we could have a conversation about what an asshole he is!”
A smile pulled itself across Terri’s face again. “Oh, that,” she said.
CeCe’s insides began to sink. She felt a red flag wanting to pitch itself in her gut. Terri sat up and gestured to the couch. CeCe slouched over and sat, crossing her legs and her arms. Terri crossed her legs, leaned forward and told CeCe Dub’s story. She didn’t suggest that Dub hid a kinder, softer side or was masking the scars of childhood tragedy with some false bravado. When she first came out in college, Dub was one of the few friends who grilled her with relentless questions and stood by her side while she sorted them out. Terri said Dub was crude and arrogant even then. Still, she credited that cockiness for every success he’d earned, from his tender days as a chess prodigy to becoming a pint-sized all-conference linebacker to negotiating himself into executive offices before turning thirty.
“He’s an ass,” Terri said. “But he’s an unapologetic ass, who’s honest, loyal, consistent, about his business, and perfect for a job like this.”
CeCe heard herself laugh. “Job?” she repeated.
Terri covered her face with her hands and shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said giggling.
CeCe waved away her apology and let herself sink into the couch. Dub was arrogant as hell but Terri was right, he wasn’t mean. He also wasn’t hard to look at, with his glistening skin and muscular frame boasting behind his designer clothes. Besides, Terri trusted him and she trusted Terri. The other options were guys with whom CeCe had never held a full conversation.
“When?” CeCe said.
“He’s free tomorrow.”
“Terri!”
Terri held up hands with a shrug. “Entirely your call,” she said.
After a long silence, CeCe said, “You haven’t led me wrong yet.”
Terri reached out to rest her hand on CeCe’s foot. “Little sister, I don’t intend to start now.”
When CeCe arrived at the Phoenix Hotel, she chanted affirmations under her breath. You deserve this. You deserve this. You’re not a desperate reject. You deserve this. You deserve this. It’s going to be fine . . . Still, she’d insisted on meeting Dub at the hotel, in case the expedition exploded into flames.
CeCe had read about swanky events held at the Phoenix Hotel, but she had never been inside the building. When the parking garage elevator slid open onto the lobby, CeCe took in the boutique hotel’s elegance. The lower level was spacious and decorated in harlequin patterns of fuchsia and tangerine. A shelf traveled the lobby walls and CeCe’s eyes followed the eclectic collection of statuettes, pewter candlesticks, copper balls of twine, antique tin boxes, empty wine bottles, a vintage radio, and a purple chaise where Dub sat.
Dub stood and walked toward her. In the enormous framed mirror mounted on the wall behind him, CeCe saw herself. She looked different, womanly, already. Terrell had sculpted her hair into a small ocean wave that tapered at the nape. Soft hues of berries and spice were dusted on her full features. Pam had coaxed her to buy a new dress, and Terri had calmed her about the price. It was a strapless dress, the color of ripe plums. Strips of plum-colored leather trimmed the bodice in a corset effect, highlighting the contours of CeCe’s curves. The crepe fabric felt like a promise with each soft swish across the back of her thighs.
CeCe took a deep breath and returned Dub’s smile. He dressed to a precise fashion, as usual, in straight gray pants that looked to CeCe like a couture kind of canvas.
“Look at you,” he said. “I hope you know how remarkable you look.”
Dub’s compliment slid over her bare shoulders warm and true. She had been prepared for a critique, an opinion, or an annoyed commentary, but saw none of that in his eyes tonight.
He smiled at her, seeming to read her thoughts.
“Let’s go,” he said, cradling her elbow with one hand and resting the other on the small of her back. With the
pads of his fingers, Dub guided her across the hotel lobby and back to the elevator. He pressed the button at the top of the panel and CeCe commanded her stomach not to lurch.
At least I’ll lose it in the penthouse, she thought.
Dub stayed close to her without actually touching her body. In her periphery, she could see him smiling at his shoes. Her panic began to break apart and float to every limb and region of her body.
What if it hurts? she thought. What if he’s really rough? What if I’m really, really bad? What if this was just a horrible idea?
The elevator buttons illuminated the third floor, fourth, fifth, all the way up to ten. CeCe swallowed hard as the last button, the P, filled with light. Dub’s hand returned to her back.
The doors opened and CeCe stopped in her tracks. The room that faced them was not a lavish penthouse suite, but a resplendent supper club with islands of purple tablecloths and high vases filled with long, red feathers. CeCe didn’t feel Dub’s hand push at the small of her back but, rather, intuited him urging her forward. Her body responded and, at that moment, CeCe knew she would trust his guiding hand throughout the night.
“Welcome to the Phoenix,” the hostess said.
“Reservation for Williams,” Dub said. The hostess scanned her oversized ledger and nodded approvingly.
“Yes, Mr. Williams, your table is ready.” She picked up two red, leather-backed menus. “This way, please?”
CeCe felt Dub’s hand leave her back. She glanced over her shoulder and he gave a small smile and a nod toward the hostess. CeCe followed behind the hostess, her sleek black hair swaying in easy rhythm with her hips. CeCe realized her own hips swiveled differently inside her plum dress.
The hostess placed menus at their seats and wished them a great evening. Dub thanked her and stood behind CeCe as she seated herself. The sommelier arrived immediately and Dub ordered a bottle of Sauvignon.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he said.
“No, not at all,” CeCe said. “I don’t know anything about wines.”
“As long as you can remember merlot, sauvignon, chardonnay, and Shiraz, you’ll be fine,” Dub said. “Most folks ask for white zinfandel and think they’re doing something. Zinfandel is the Tang of wine.”
CeCe laughed. He was clever. She could never deny him that.
“Did you take a class or something?” she asked.
“Nah. I had a roommate in grad school who worked at these high-end joints,” Dub said. “He hipped me to the basics. Trial and error from there.”
“You consider yourself a connoisseur, then?” she teased.
“I’d just as soon have a beer or vodka sour,” Dub said.
“Vodka sour?” CeCe said, propping her elbow on the table then quickly removing it. “I would have pegged you for a cognac or scotch guy. Something to put hair on your chest.”
“Shit, it only took one night curled next to a toilet to learn my lesson about dark liquor,” he said. Dub told her about his fraternity brothers challenging him to “upgrade” his liquor to the tune of a dozen shots and how he’d spent the rest of the night hurling in the bathroom.
Laughing at his antics, CeCe said, “I can’t imagine you huddled in the bathroom, let alone sleeping on the floor.”
Dub shrugged his shoulders. “Even Batman has a rough day.”
The waiter came to take their order and CeCe was impressed at Dub’s knowledge about cuts of meat, seasonality of vegetables, and seasoning in Béarnaise. Once their orders were placed, Dub raised his wineglass to her.
“Here’s to brand new,” he said.
“To brand new,” she repeated, clinking his glass.
They chatted about college and the mall and diets and Walter Mosley books and Terri’s art and vacation dreams and birthday wishes. Their meals were delicious and filling. Her anxieties were relaxed and quiet.
“This was really nice, Dub. Thank you,” she said.
A familiar mischief appeared at the edges of his grin. “Are you thanking me for choosing this place or for treating you to dinner before I sex you down?” he said.
The waiter’s cheeks reddened as placed the red portfolio on their table. CeCe’s face hardened. This version of Dub was familiar. Still, they’d had a great evening so she tried to process his crass statement as a reasonable question.
“Both, I guess,” she said. “I didn’t really know what to expect. It was really nice.”
Dub sipped water as she spoke and watched her for a steady moment over the edge of his glass.
“You’re surprised I’m not an asshole all the time?” Dub asked.
CeCe flushed and commanded her body not to squirm. She cocked her head to the side and looked Dub directly in the eye. “Yes,” she said. “I was even more surprised you agreed.”
Dub was signing his name to the bill. “Why?” he asked, without looking up.
“I had the impression you only date tall, glamorous women.”
“You’ve seen me with these tall, glamorous women?”
“Well, no, but you always go out of your way to broadcast your high standards and your premium tastes and your trendy friends and your tailored clothes,” she said. “A guy like you is only going to have high-end women.”
Dub measured her and she cursed herself for letting Terri talk her into this. CeCe had witnessed Dub dismantle more than a few debaters, including herself, and knew this conversation was about to take its fatal dip.
“How would you describe a guy like me?” Dub asked, reaching for his wineglass.
When CeCe had experienced Dub’s verbal challenges in the past, she always bailed from the exchange before he could fillet her pride. Tonight, she had nothing to lose. She was at a fancy restaurant, dressed up in sexy clothes, full of wine and leg of lamb, holding her own with a worldly, sophisticated, bona fide grown man. Even if the sex part didn’t happen, she was already ahead.
“You’re an ass,” CeCe said. “That’s how I describe a guy like you. You’re rude, self-absorbed, self-inflated, and cruel. An ass.”
Dub spun the base of his wineglass, and his eyes landed on hers as she continued to speak.
“I listen to you talk down to Terri’s friends, like you’re doing them a favor to be in their presence. You even treat me like peon most of the time. ‘Did you mean to wear two different shades of black, CeCe?’ ‘Are you still letting that white girl talk crazy to you at work, CeCe?’ ‘Why don’t you get some real hip-hop in your life, CeCe?’ What makes you think you know every fucking thing?”
Dub leaned back in his chair. CeCe wondered if he was crafting a response or letting her vent without listening to her at all. He reached for the bottle of wine and poured what remained into her glass.
“I didn’t think you’d get all that out. Impressive,” he said, smoothing the front of his slacks as he crossed his legs. “CeCe, I’ve known you for almost two years now and this is the first time I’ve heard you stand your ground on anything. I’ve heard you whine. I’ve heard you bitch and moan. And I’ve heard you ask questions you already knew the answers to, but you’ve never spoken your mind. Congratulations.”
“Kiss my ass, Dub,” CeCe said, her brows furrowed with irritation.
“Bonus point,” Dub said with a smirk. “Now, back to me. CeCe, I know how I come off to people, but I can’t concern myself with your perception, can I? If I don’t think I’m the shit, who’s going to? If I don’t define standards for myself, how can I complain about the quality of my life? If I can’t give people pure, unfiltered truth, how can I expect to hear it? If all that makes me an ass, I’ll be that. And I sleep like a baby every night. You know why, CeCe? Because I’m not fake. I’m not shady, and I put in the effort to try and be fucking phenomenal at everything I do. Do I know ‘every fucking thing’? Of course not. But what I do know and what I do believe, I stand on it.”
CeCe waved away his response and said, “That’s not how you act, Dub, all noble and shit. You act like you’re never wrong.”
Dub
sat up, anchoring his elbows on the table. “That’s what I’m talking about,” he said. “I didn’t say anything about never being wrong. I said I stand on what I know. You learn shit when you know how to shut up and pay attention. You should try it.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” CeCe asked. She pressed against the chair back with her arms crossed.
“It means you should spend more time listening to what people are saying instead of being so afraid somebody might hurt your little feelings,” Dub said. “You’re not in high school anymore, CeCe. Why would you give a fuck what I think about your clothes or your job or what CDs you buy? Just because somebody has an opinion doesn’t mean you have to make it yours. You decided I was an ass who wouldn’t think much of you because you’re an ass who doesn’t think much of yourself.”
CeCe sat motionless in the fancy chair, in her pretty dress, fighting the tears that wanted to spring from her expert eye makeup. She could not cry. She could not deny the truth in what Dub had said. CeCe felt an anchor lifted from each shoulder. He was right. She still felt people’s eyes staring through her rainbow dress, reading some other little girl’s name written on the tag. CeCe had not been protecting her story from the world; she’d been hiding behind it. She leveled her eyes on Dub, who watched her coolly.
“So,” she began, “you admit to being an ass?”
Dub laughed aloud, ignoring the heads turning their way. “I don’t just admit it; I embrace it.”
The waiter breezed past their table, sweeping the portfolio as he went.
“Know who the fuck you are, CeCe, and stand on that shit,” Dub said. “Never, ever, ever discount yourself. To anyone. Not a man, not a friend, not a supervisor, not a cashier at McDonald’s, not anyone. Not ever. You are worth everything you’ve decided you’re worth.”
“I guess I deserved that,” CeCe said as the weight of his words framed themselves around her thoughts.
“I don’t know about what you deserved, but I know what you needed to hear.”
CeCe looked at Dub and nodded somberly. “Thank you.”