Lookin' For Luv

by Carl Weber

  The crowd circled around Tyrone and his friends to congratulate him on his wonderful painting. Sylvia stood to the side, hoping that Joan’s announcement had created enough of a distraction so that Antoine wouldn’t make the connection and remember when they’d met. Tonight was Tyrone’s big night, and she didn’t want to ruin it by having it revealed that she was married to his boss. She had planned on waiting until the time was right to share that information.

  As Tyrone accepted the compliments of the crowd, Sylvia stood admiring him in his handsome tuxedo. He had come so far since they had first met. Shaking hands and offering commentary on his painting, Tyrone carried himself with the confidence and poise of a professional. Yet, he was still able to hang on the streets with his boys. There was nothing fake about him, and she loved him for that. She was determined to do everything possible to help him sell his first painting and get his career off the ground.

  “Your painting is marvelous,” an elderly woman said graciously. “I’m really thinking about placing a bid on it.”

  “Thank you very much, miss, and I hope your bid is successful.” Tyrone shook the woman’s hand as he searched the crowd for Sylvia. Noticing her leaning against a large column, he winked. He smiled when she winked back, then watched her walk toward another part of the gallery. A few more well-wishers had approached, so Tyrone turned to work the crowd a bit more. He gladly shook hands with all his new admirers but nearly screamed when he saw his own worst nightmare coming toward him. It was Blanche Peterson, and her snaggle-toothed grin brought back hideous memories of Tyrone’s dinner at the country club.

  “Well, I’ll be damned. Look what the cat done dragged in.” She smiled, licking her lips. “Tyrone, what has it been, three, four months since I had my fingers wrapped around that thick, long dick of yours?” Blanche took two quick steps closer, then grabbed Tyrone by his balls, applying just enough pressure that moving would have caused excruciating pain. With a smile she wrapped her free arm around him as if they were hugging. Then she drew her body close to his as if they were lovers, to conceal her little game from the crowd.

  Antoine’s eyes bugged out of his head as he turned to Kevin, whispering in his ear, “Did she say what I think she said?”

  “Yeah, but even I didn’t think Tyrone was that desperate,” Kevin whispered back, his eyes never leaving the hideous woman. “She’s uglier than my great-aunt Spooky, and she’s been dead ten years.”

  “Blanche. Let go of me now,” Tyrone demanded in a soft, high-pitched whisper that only she could hear.

  “What’s wrong, Tyrone, aren’t you glad to see me?” She paused, taking a tighter grip on his balls as she smiled at the other guests. “Well, if I was you, I’d make nice with Blanche, otherwise you’re going to leave this place without your jewels.”

  She squeezed again. Tyrone gulped, standing on tiptoe to avoid the pain.

  “I’ve been waiting a long time to see you again, Tyrone. You really should have kept that little hand job I gave you on Christmas Eve to yourself. That high-yellow bitch of yours has been making things pretty damn difficult for my girls and me lately. I lost a lot of business because of her goddamn mouth.”

  “Sorry about that, Blanche.” He coughed, hoping an apology would make her loosen her grip.

  “That’s all right, baby. You’re forgiven. Now, I want you to deliver a message to your mistress for me. Tell her if she ever tries to pull strings and have one of my brothels closed again, I’ll kill her. You got that?”

  “Yesss,” he groaned as she squeezed him more tightly.

  “Good. Now give Blanche a big, juicy kiss and introduce me to your handsome friends.”

  There is no way I’m gonna kiss this ugly bitch. She’s just gonna have to rip my nuts off, he thought. He grimaced at the ugly woman.

  Blanche smiled at Tyrone as if she could read his thoughts. Squeezing him until he gasped for air, she stood on tiptoe and slid her snakelike tongue into his open mouth for all to see.

  Kevin and Antoine both cringed as they watched their friend tongue-wrestle with the Creature from the Black Lagoon. Sliding her tongue out of his mouth, Blanche licked her lips, then led Tyrone toward his friends.

  “Hi, I’m Blanche Peterson.” She finally released his balls to shake Kevin’s hand. Tyrone bent over in relief.

  “Hi, I’m Kevin Brown, and this is Antoine Smith.” Kevin was afraid to look Tyrone in the face for fear he would burst out in laughter at his friend’s choice in women.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Peterson,” Antoine said, actually managing to sound sincere.

  Turning to see if Tyrone had recovered, Blanche smiled at his two friends. “Well, I’ve got to go.” She scurried away into the crowd, cackling.

  “Where’d that bitch go?” Tyrone asked, finally getting himself together.

  “Oh, now she’s a bitch? Two minutes ago you were slobbing her down, but now she’s a bitch.” Kevin laughed.

  “Wait a minute, Kevin. Technically he’s right,” Antoine joined in. “If ever a woman looked like a female dog, that ugly wench Tyrone was just kissing does.” Both of them laughed hard.

  “What’s so funny?” Denise asked, walking up with Keisha and the girls.

  “Nothing,” Tyrone replied, grabbing his two daughters by the hands and walking away.

  “What was that all about?”

  “Just a personal joke between us guys,” Kevin answered, taking her hand and walking to view the painting up close for the first time.

  “So, this is Tyrone’s painting?” Keisha said, admiring his work. “I have to admit, I like his style.”

  “Yeah, I knew he could draw, but I never knew he had this kind of talent.” Antoine wrapped his arm around Keisha, then kissed her cheek. “You know, if this painting sells, Tyrone’s entire life will probably change.”

  “Don’t tell him I told you this, but he said his entire career as an artist depends on how well this one painting sells today,” Kevin explained.

  “He’s right.” Denise joined the conversation. “Only one percent of artists are given the chance to have their work shown in a gallery of this magnitude. If this painting doesn’t do well, chances are your friend will never be asked to show art here again.”

  They were all silent as they looked at the painting and considered how monumentally important this night was to Tyrone.

  Tyrone searched through the crowd for Sylvia with his two daughters in tow. He wanted to find her before word of his incident with Blanche reached her. Spotting her in conversation with a woman across the room, he approached her.

  “Thanks, Jen, I really appreciate hearing it from you,” she said to the woman as Tyrone neared. The woman looked at Tyrone strangely as she walked away.

  “Donna and Kim, you see that door over there?” They both nodded. “Well, in that room are a bunch of kids eating ice cream and playing games. Would you like to go in there and play?” Both girls agreed, eagerly looking up at their father for permission.

  “Go ahead. But not too much ice cream.”

  He watched them run toward the door, holding hands. Then, just as he was about to tell Sylvia about Blanche, she glared at him, and he knew enough to shut up.

  “What the hell is this? Jen Anderson tells me you’ve been kissing Blanche Peterson in front of everyone in the gallery.” There was venom in her voice.

  “I didn’t kiss her, Sylvia, I swear. That bitch had a vise grip on my balls so hard that when I went to scream, she stuck her tongue in my mouth.”

  Sylvia bit her bottom lip. She knew Blanche well enough and trusted Tyrone enough to know that he was probably telling her the truth. Blanche had played the same games with Maurice when they had first married, and Sylvia had had enough of the woman’s disrespect.

  “That’s the last damn straw. Blanche needs a good kick in the ass,” she steamed.

  She ran through the litany of insults she had prepared for this unruly heifer and left to find her, marching like a woman on a mission. Tyr
one followed. They walked through the gallery searching for Blanche until they found her standing by the bar. Sylvia grabbed Tyrone by the hand and looked at him very seriously.

  “I don’t care what happens or what is said. Do not get physical with Blanche. Do you hear me?” She sighed. “The last thing your career needs is bad press.”

  “Yeah, I just hope you take your own advice.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I have everything totally under control, sweetheart. But you can believe that woman is going to hear my mouth.” She walked toward Blanche, smiling and waving at the other guests until she was face-to-face with Blanche Peterson.

  “Blanche, what the fuck is your problem?” she hissed.

  “Sylvia, what the hell are you talking about?” Blanche did a very bad job of trying to sound innocent.

  “You know what I’m talking about. You need to keep your creepy-ass tongue to yourself.”

  Blanche looked over Sylvia’s shoulder at Tyrone with no fear whatsoever.

  “Well, Tyrone, I guess you had to call your massa to protect you, huh?”

  “Leave him out of this, Blanche, this is between you and me.”

  “Ohhh, yeah. You definitely have more balls than him, Sylvia. Trust me, I just had them in my hands.” Blanche laughed as she looked at Tyrone. “Hey, Tyrone, I bet if I reached between Sylvia’s legs, I’d find more than a handful. What do you think?”

  “Listen, you ugly bitch, if you put your hands on him ever again, I’m gonna ...” Sylvia was ready to explode and turned her back on Blanche to calm herself. The last thing she wanted was to make a scene at Bernard’s memorial. She was ready to smile and walk away, when Blanche pursued her.

  “You’re gonna what? You’re not gonna do shit now that the drug-addicted fruitcake is dead.” She whispered confidently to Sylvia. “That fag motherfucker was your power base, bitch. Without him, nobody important gives a shit about you.”

  Sylvia knew what Blanche was saying was not true. She was well liked among the elite. But what Blanche had said about Bernard was unforgivable. Bernard had been one of the few people kind enough to try to help Blanche improve her image. And now she repaid him with such ungrateful defamation of his memory. All the pain of losing her best friend erupted from deep within her. She could no longer maintain her composure.

  “You fucking bitch! How dare you talk about him like that at his memorial?” Sylvia reached across and snatched Blanche’s dangling earring off, ripping her earlobe open so that it began to bleed.

  Oh, my God! What have I done? she thought, looking at the earring in her hand.

  “I’m bleeding, you fucking yellow bitch!” Blanche screamed as she grabbed her ear. She lunged at Sylvia, swinging as hard as she could.

  Ducking out of the way of Blanche’s punches, Sylvia grabbed her hair and rammed Blanche’s head into the bar. It was as if years of pent-up frustration had surfaced, and now Sylvia found herself in the middle of the first physical confrontation of her life. She was in such a rage, she had totally forgotten about the crowd of socialites in the room to witness the altercation.

  Blanche was down but not beaten. Holding on to the bar, she kicked Sylvia hard in the ribs with the spike heel of her shoe. Then, grabbing Sylvia’s blouse, she threw her into an unoccupied table, which broke under her weight. Sylvia grabbed hold of a saltshaker that was on the table, quickly unscrewed the top, and threw the salt in Blanche’s eyes, lunging toward her.

  “Ahhrr!” Blanche screamed, trying to scurry away blindly.

  “You must!”—punch—“think!”-punch “I’m!” punch—“playing!”—punch—“with!”—punch—“you bitch!” Sylvia yelled as she pounded her fists into Blanche’s head.

  Blanche ran frantically toward the crowd that had formed. Following Blanche through the crowd, Sylvia caught her fifteen feet away from where Kevin and Antoine were standing.

  Keisha, nibbling on an hors d’oeuvre, tugged the sleeve of Antoine’s tuxedo.

  “Damn, baby, they sure have good entertainment at these high-society parties, don’t they?”

  “Yeah, I guess they do at that.” Antoine laughed.

  Tyrone was pulling Sylvia off Blanche and hugging her.

  “It’s over, Sylvia. Let’s go into the auction room.” Tyrone pointed to the two security guards helping Blanche to her feet, and another two headed their way.

  “All right.” She was trying to fix her clothes as she gasped for air.

  As she struggled from a guard’s grip, Blanche was mumbling, “I can’t believe I let that yellow bitch embarrass me like this. Nobody makes a fool out of Blanche Peterson and gets away with it.”

  “You okay, miss? Are you sure you’re all right to walk?” one guard asked.

  “I’m fine, thank you,” Blanche watched as Sylvia and Tyrone embraced. Unable to stand the sight of the two of them, she darted toward Tyrone’s painting. Grabbing it from the easel, she ran toward Tyrone and Sylvia, lifting the painting high in the air. Baring her bloodstained teeth in a maniacal grin, she slammed it over both of their heads as she laughed uncontrollably.

  “What the hell!” Tyrone screamed, hearing the canvas rip as it hit his head. Grabbing Sylvia tightly, he was not sure of what had happened until he saw the frame from his painting hit the ground. “Ohhhhh, no!” He let go of Sylvia and stepped out of the frame, heading for Blanche, when the two security guards stepped in front of him.

  “Let us handle it from here, sir. I think we’ve had enough violence for one day, don’t you?” one of the guards addressed Tyrone as two others escorted Blanche out of the gallery.

  Tyrone sat on Sylvia’s Mercedes, drinking a can of Old English 800 ale. Kevin and Denise had volunteered to take his daughters home, so Tyrone was waiting outside the gallery for Sylvia. She was still inside the building, trying to smooth things over with Raul, Bernard’s secretary, who had organized the memorial fund-raiser.

  “Fuck!” Tyrone shouted, throwing the can. “Even Old English tastes like shit after you get used to Dom Pérignon. Why the hell did I ever think I could be a gallery artist?”

  “Because I told you that you could,” Sylvia answered, approaching the car. “And I still believe you can. This was not your fault, Tyrone. It was mine.”

  “What did Raul say?”

  “Exactly what I thought he would say. As executor of Bernard’s estate, he has to run Ridgewood Galleries the same as Bernard would. He suspended both of us from the gallery for one year.”

  “Damn! By that time all the name recognition I built up tonight will be gone.”

  “That’s not definite. And besides, he did promise to let you do next year’s memorial. That gives you twelve months to paint the perfect picture.”

  “I just don’t know, Syl. With all that’s happened lately, maybe someone’s trying to tell me this just isn’t meant to be. I mean, first Bernard dies right before he’s going to review my work, and now this. Maybe I need to stop dreaming and get on with my life.”

  Sylvia held him tightly, determined to find a way to keep his dream alive until it became a reality.

  31

  SHAWNA AND KEISHA

  Shawna pulled her Volkswagen Beetle out of the Gertz Plaza Mall parking garage onto Archer Avenue. She had spent the day shopping with her friend Roberta, happily looking for outfits to accentuate her new breasts. After the surgery had healed, she was determined to celebrate her bigger and better chest, showing as much of it as she could without getting arrested. She had worn a baby-blue halter that exposed her expensive cleavage, and men had been ogling her all day.

  Roberta looked over at her. “I have to admit, Shawna, I’m jealous. You look good, girl.”

  “All you have to do is save your money, Roberta. How long have I been tellin’ you? A nice C cup beats an A any day.”

  “It’s just hard for me to save money. You know I’m a clothes freak, girl. When I die, just go ahead and bury me in Macy’s, ’cause that’s what I call heaven!”

  “Well, you know the
men seem to like bigger breasts.”

  “Speaking of men. Have you talked to Antoine lately?”

  Shawna hesitated. “No, I think he’s screening his calls.”

  “I told you what to do when you first started dating him. If you had listened to me, you two would be together right now.”

  “You’re right, but I hate to think sex is that important.”

  “Well, it is. The sooner you realize it, the sooner you’ll get your man back.”

  “You think so, Roberta? You don’t know how much I miss him.”

  “Well, go over there and handle your business, girl. There’s more than one way to satisfy a man.”

  “Yeah, and I’m good at that.”

  “That’s right, girl. Virgin or not, a woman’s gotta do what a woman’s gotta do to keep her man. Listen, lemme borrow the car while you’re over there.”

  “No problem. I plan on being there for quite a while.” The two women laughed, then spent the rest of the ride in silence as Shawna planned Antoine’s seduction.

  Keisha sat behind the register of her beauty shop, cracking jokes about how ugly Blanche Peterson was at the memorial auction.

  “I swear to God, y’all, after that Sylvia kicked her ass, that bitch was fugly.”

  “Fugly? What the hell is fugly?” a customer asked.

  “Well, she was ugly to start with. But after that Sylvia got to her ass, she was fucked up. So she was fucked up and ugly. You know, fugly!”

  The entire beauty shop fell out laughing until Terri looked out the window and gasped.

  “Speaking of ugly, isn’t that your man’s ex-girlfriend knocking on his door?”

  The shop became quiet. Keisha jumped out of her chair and ran to the window. Antoine was gone for the weekend, fishing with his friends, so at least she knew he couldn’t have planned to meet Shawna here. But she still had to know what her competition was doing outside her man’s door.

  “Terri, go get my sneakers out of the back room,” she told her friend.

  She took off her earrings and jewelry, then reached into a cabinet and pulled out a large jar of Vaseline.