by Cydney Rax
God knows I’ve found myself in this sickening position countless times before. It’s when you swear on your grandfather’s grave you’ll never, ever speak to a man who’s treated you poorly, yet a few days later your knees wobble the second you hear the man’s sissy-sounding, begging voice. You make up excuse after excuse for his poor behavior, mistakenly believing that one day he’ll shape up, rationalizing he didn’t mean the awful things he said, assuring yourself that he was having a “bad day” instead of recognizing he’s just a bad man.
“Baby girl, you’re my number one everything,” Ferris says.
“Hey, Ferris, I gotta go. I refuse to listen to this.” And I hang up in the middle of his repetitious apologies.
A couple hours later Demetria and I are comfortably lounging on my concrete patio in two aqua and white lounge chairs. We’re enjoying a picturesque view of Richmond Ave., one of the busier streets on the southwest side of Houston. Demetria has her legs crossed, chilling out and sipping on an ice-cold strawberry and banana smoothie that I made.
“Okay, now I wanna slap you,” she fusses.
“I know, sis. I deserve to be slapped.”
“If you get tempted to act a fool, just call me.”
“I’ll remember that next time, Demetria. It’s just that…what do you do when you actually miss that man? It isn’t always easy ignoring his calls. I mean I can do it sometimes, but being strong day in and day out gets hard. But then I thought about it, and I realized he lied to me on Valentine’s Day, and I can’t accept that. So yes, I was tempted for a moment, but I hung up on him.”
“Well, good, then! Some guys pride themselves on being good liars. I’m glad you’re starting to realize that. Without trust there is no love. And how can you trust him if he never tells the truth?”
“But what if he lies to spare my feelings?” I ask. “Does that count?”
“Well, it’s like this. I might BS and tell a female coworker that her hair looks fly even though her style reminds me of Woody Woodpecker, but I doubt the woman will hate my guts for lying. Her pride is at stake. There’s a difference. But when a man lies about proven, undeniable facts, we have problems.”
“Demetria, let me ask you something. Do you lie to Thaddeus if you’re out with another guy?”
“Nope.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“So?” She laughs.
“What do you tell him?”
“Nothing. When it comes to things like that, I’d rather be silent than tell a lie.”
“Oh, that’s smart.”
“Sure it is. You can always say ‘no comment’ if you don’t wanna get into certain details. I mean, it’s hard enough trying to be creative and remembering all the details, lying to cover up more lies, you know what I’m saying?”
“Do you think Thad is all right with your silence?”
She squirms in her seat and briefly glances away. “I really don’t know. But if I stay silent on the subject, he knows not to ask anymore. He just has to believe what I do choose to tell him.”
Just then a horn blows. A yellow Hummer bounces by with a hand waving frantically from the barely cracked window.
“Damn, this sumbitch is checking on me?” Demetria scowls, standing up.
“Aw, man, so Thad doesn’t trust you!” I laugh.
“What the hell is he doing on this side of town? That wasn’t cool at all. I never did drive-bys, even when Marilyn was still in his crib. I told this fool I’d be chilling with you, what the hell? Without trust there is no love.”
“I think it’s cute,” I remark in a delighted squeal.
“Stalking is cute?”
“He misses you. You’re on his brain. He wants to be with you.”
“He’s insecure, that’s what he is. I’m paranoid that I have hidden cameras on me now.” Demetria shudders and rubs her shoulders. “Let’s go inside, Vee. I’m starting to feel a draft.”
We hurry inside my apartment and settle in my bedroom, sitting on the black and white quilt that’s spread on top of my queen-sized bed. I flick on the TV but mute the volume. BET is airing The Jamie Foxx Show reruns for the millionth time.
“Question for you,” I say to Demetria, who is lying comfortably on my new fluffy pillows.
“Shoot.”
“How exactly did you and Thad start liking each other? I know you told me you met him at a jazz concert. You were impressed that he didn’t appear to be with anyone.”
“What? Oh, yeah. Right. I think it takes confidence to show up at a concert solo. So I sized up Thad and took that opportunity to ask him if he was enjoying himself. He said, ‘I’m doing even better now that a pretty woman like you is talking to me.’
“I told him thanks for the compliment and asked why he was there alone, if his girlfriend and he were fighting, and I found out he didn’t have a girlfriend…because his wife wouldn’t be pleased. We both laughed,” Demetria says, staring into space. “I was shocked he admitted he was married. Most guys might’ve swept that little detail under the rug. But I followed Thad’s lead. If he wanted to talk about her it was okay. If he didn’t, that was cool, too. We liked each other because it seemed we had a few things in common and shared an easygoing flow from the beginning. He taught me a lot about things I didn’t know, and I enjoyed listening to him, something his wife evidently wasn’t too good at. But honest to God, I didn’t let him get in my panties for a long time. He had to earn it. He had to chase me. And he had to prove that he was headed for divorce. The best thing is they have no kids. That eliminated any guilt. At least on my part.”
“So y’all didn’t have sex until she moved out?”
Demetria frowns. “Well, technically no. He told her he was leaving, that he wasn’t happy and knew they’d grown apart and she agreed. We made love soon after that. It was absolutely in-cre-di-ble. But while he was with Marilyn, he would never, ever mention me. That would’ve been a major mistake.”
“Why’s that?”
“A man should never leave his spouse for someone else. He should never say, ‘I’ve fallen in love with another woman and we’re very happy and want to be together.’ You’re asking to get killed when you do that kind of crap. And anyway, he wasn’t leaving her for me—he was leaving her ’cause it was just time to go. He set her up in a nice loft right downtown. She has no complaints.”
“Does she know about you?”
“I sure as hell hope not. Put it this way, I’ve never had any obscene phone calls or strange cars driving by my house, none of that.”
“Well, that’s good to know for your sake. I don’t think you’re that much in love with the dude to endure confrontations with his wife.”
“No, definitely not. I don’t even know if I love Thad. He was kinda like an experiment. I felt if I could pull him, I’ve stepped up my game. I mean, dude cosigned for me to buy a car and I haven’t paid a single dime. He pays it all.”
I stare at my friend for a long time. I don’t know how she does it. What is it about her that a man is willing to buy her a top-of-the-line SUV? And give her tons of loot?
“Is he super rich?”
“He’s got more money than me and you together, and he travels constantly. So his little tokens of love are his way of keeping me by his side. I don’t mind at all.” She laughs; a sparkling gleam fills her eyes. “You see, Vee, I always act like I’m a prize. I know there are many more men like Thad out there. And Thad knows, too. He’s scared I’ll dump him in a second and pull another man that same day. I always remind him of that fact. He believes it and compensates me accordingly.”
“When I think about what you’ve achieved, it just makes me feel like I have such a long way to go.”
“Listen, I faked it until I could make it. I looked in the mirror—” Her voice breaks, and she sighs heavily. “I forced myself to look in that mirror every single day, and I’d tell myself, ‘Demetria Elayne Sparks, you are beautiful, you deserve happiness, you’re a queen, you won’t settle for less tha
n what you deserve.’ It’s all about inner strength and attitude. And now I know that I am the baddest chick in Houston.”
I’m discovering it’s easier to slap a wig piece on my head than it is to transform my entire psychological state of mind. That’s the part I fear. But I’m going to face that fear because I want to be a queen. I want to be a queen.
I am a queen.
Queen.
—9—
DEMETRIA
“So, queen,” I say, changing the subject. “What you wanna talk about? Anything else on your mind?”
She smiles. “I want to talk about work.”
“Work?”
“And the guy who attended the March of Dimes planning meeting.”
“There were a lot of guys who attended our meeting.”
“But none like this one.”
“Vee, what are you talking about?” I ask her.
“Well, he’s the distinguished gentleman who came to the meeting a few minutes after it started. I remember he actually blushed like…he felt embarrassed. I thought that was endearing.”
“Ahhh, okay. I’ve seen him before. You want to push up on that?”
“Well, not saying all that. I barely know him except for an occasional run-in. But I didn’t notice a wedding ring, so my curiosity is aroused.”
“I’ll bet that’s not all that’s aroused,” I say, smirking at my girl. “Well, go for it. Step up to him.”
“I plan to, I am. I just don’t want to seem overly aggressive. So far he hasn’t approached me. I mean, he’s friendly but just says hey and keeps going, like he’s always in a rush.”
“You call that an excuse?”
“Oh, Demetria,” she whines.
“Look, I don’t know anything about this man, but I’m positive one of my many sources can give me the four-one-one.”
“No, I don’t wanna take that approach, either.”
“Well, I can tell you like him. You’re blushing. Be careful, Vee. You know nothing about him except that you’re attracted to his blushes—you don’t even know his name.”
“Oh, I do, it’s Seaphes Hill. I looked him up on the employee directory. He’s an architect.”
“Hmmm. An architect. Very nice. Means he’s educated and has money.”
“Yeah, but will he be interested in—”
“Stop it, girl, yes. You’re a queen, remember? Queens can have anyone they want. From the limo driver to the prince. A queen has her pick. Jeez, I’m gonna have to slap this into you for you to get it.” I am just playing with my girl, but her low self-esteem is starting to get on my last nerve.
“Okay, Demetria, pretend like you’re me. How would you approach Seaphes?”
“I’d walk up to him and hold out my hand, and say, ‘Hi, forgive me for being forward, but I’m Veron Darcey. I work in Finance and Administration. I just wanted to compliment you on that sharp-looking suit you’re wearing. It really makes you stand out so much I couldn’t help but come say hi. And you are?’”
“Okay, so men don’t mind the direct approach.”
“It depends. Check him out first. Just watch him without letting him know you’re watching. If he’s the type that looks you directly in the eye, go for it.”
“God, I’m going to need a rule book. Oh, speaking of, I’m about halfway done with Why Men Love Bitches, and I love the heck outta this book. I think I’m learning. Like the day I hung up the phone on Ferris, he was so shocked. He kept calling back. He didn’t hear my voice in real time for days. He left me like ten voice mails. I loved hearing him beg and whine. He even started singing me a song on one of the messages.”
“And how’d that make you feel?” I ask her.
“Powerful. In control. Like I was being pursued.”
I smile and nod at my friend. “You wanna keep feeling like that?”
“I sure do.”
“Then keep doing what’cha doing. Don’t forget. You’re the queen, the boss, the head bitch in charge.” I hop up from her bed. “Where’s your book?”
“Right next to the toilet. I’ll go get it.”
Vee rushes back, plops on her bed, and opens the book. “I love this part. ‘Never start what you don’t want to continue.’ That’s genius. I know I used to date a man named Woody. And I made the mistake of making him some oatmeal with raisins and walnuts one morning. Oatmeal turned into homemade biscuits or waffles with strawberries and whipped cream. And when I’d beg him to give me a break and take me to IHOP, his punk butt refused to do it. Said my cooking would put IHOP outta business.”
“And like a fool you believed him, huh?” I ask.
“How’d you know?”
“Easy. I know how women think.” Like I said before, Veron is the old me. The dumb me who had to turn smart. I shiver when I recall how desperate I used to act. A man disrespecting me was like the Detroit Lions not making the play-offs. It’s just something everybody expected. So once I got sick of the routine, the routine had to be overhauled and I forced myself to change. And I have to be careful because I don’t want to revert back to my former self. I’d rather die than return to who I used to be.
“Well, anyway,” Vee continues, “I had to grab the rules book, take my yellow highlighter and highlight the hell outta that one sentence. Because I plan to start out how I want to end up. I am not following my instincts from now on—each move will be carefully planned. I am making a list of what not to do.”
“That’s a good start. Like what don’t you want to do with your new man, Seaphes?”
She blushes, but recovers. “Yep, my new man, Seaphes. That’s right.” She stops for a second. “Oh my God, now I’m getting nervous. I feel like I’m scheming to get him. He’s supposed to chase me, not vice versa.”
“Reverse psychology can get a man to do the things that you want him to do. Don’t even sweat it.”
“Okay. So I am going to have a conversation with him for the first time in my life, this week. Because you know we have another planning meeting. The March of Dimes Walk America event is coming up and we’re going to organize that for our unit.”
“Well, I can’t wait to meet this guy. Anything to get your mind off that weak-ass Ferris.”
“Ahhh ha, you never hold back when it comes to men, Demetria. And I love you for it.”
“I got cha back, girlie.”
Vee’s phone rings. She blushes when she looks at who it is and makes a silly-looking face.
“Screw off, asshole,” I scream at the phone. “She don’t want cha. She’s a queen.”
“And that’s why he’s calling me.”
“Yep, that’s why the lame-o is calling you. And what do you do when a lame-o calls?”
“I don’t pick up.”
“Why?”
“Because I am busy. I have a life. I keep myself unavailable and do things only if it fits into my schedule.”
I start clapping. “Go ahead, girl. And when will you be available, Vee?”
“In the year two thousand never.”
“That’s what I’m talking about.”
And we high-five.
—10—
SEAPHES
Because I don’t let things bother me, I am asked to do favors for people a lot. Things like watching my infant nephew while my sister goes to a bridal shower. Or holding the elevator for some women who are so busy gossiping they aren’t ready to hop in when the door opens. Or helping comanage the March of Dimes Walk America campaign for several departments within the City of Houston. I might be kind of a sucker, actually. No, I was probably asked because everyone at work heard that my nephew Tupac (don’t laugh) was born prematurely. He weighed only three ounces. But now he’s almost eight months old and is doing fine. He’s a little trouper. He’s spit up on me several times, so we’ve bonded. I can’t abandon him, even if his mom can. And if she wants to go hang out with her friends so she can ooo and ahhh over her girlfriend’s bridal gifts, that just means Tupac and I get to hang out.
Really, I am h
onored to be involved with this fund-raising campaign. We’re about to go into a brainstorming meeting to figure out clever ways to get people to part with some cash, so we can help out babies like little Tupac. I hope they hurry up, though. Almost lunchtime. My stomach is growling, and I’m in the mood for some heavy grub, since I didn’t have time to get breakfast this morning.
“Hey, you guys, let’s get this meeting started,” Ursula Phillips says. She’s a fine-ass administration manager who wouldn’t throw a bucket of water on me if I was on fire.
“First I want us to come up with different ideas on how to raise money for the March of Dimes,” Ursula says. “I’ll just jot down your ideas on the whiteboard. There is no wrong answer. Just toss out something. I want to ask every single person in this room, so we won’t leave anyone out. Okay, Percy, you go first,” she says to Percy Jones, an intern who works with me in Engineering and Construction.
“How ’bout we do a bootleg video sale? You know, how we’ve already seen the video and know we not gonna watch it no mo’?” he asks looking around the room as if anyone else is stupid enough to admit they actually buy bootleg movies. I shoot him a look—as a black professional, he’s got to learn how to behave in certain settings so white people won’t think we don’t know how to handle ourselves in professional situations.
“Hmm, interesting,” Ursula says without writing down Percy’s idea. “Next, how about you, what’s your name?”
“Veron Darcey with Finance and Administration.”
“Great. What’s your idea, Veron?”
“Well, people love to eat.”
“Amen, sista,” says Percy with his loud, ignorant-sounding voice.
“And I love to bake. I’m great at making carrot cake. I’m sure we could sell loads of baked goods twice a week until the campaign is complete.”
“Hmmm, sounds good,” Ursula says. She smiles and writes down bake sale.
Ursula continues going around the room, jotting down various ideas like selling Beanie Babies or raffling off tickets for corporate-sponsored small electronics items and department-store gift cards.