by J. J. Murray
Almost. I miss the sound of the wind.
At four thirty, at least six hours before I usually get up on a Sunday, I wake and sit at Mama’s vanity while she rushes around me, turning me back into the classy lady in the jade dress. She pulls out a camera when she’s through.
“No, Mama.”
“I’ve never seen you look so beautiful, Erlana. I want to capture this memory.”
I let her take my picture, standing right there in Mama’s bedroom next to her dresser.
“Thank you, Mama.”
“Thank you, Erlana Joy. Now, go get him.”
I laugh. “Which one?”
“The way you look, you might bring back all three of them. But this time, choose one man, just one.”
I fake a pout. “What if I come back alone?”
“You won’t.”
“But what if?”
“You won’t. Trust me.”
“But … what if?”
She pushes a strand of hair from my cheek. “I’ll be here. You know I’ll be here.”
That’s right. Mama will always be here waiting for me to come home. “Um, Mama, if I get lucky, I may not be coming back here at all today.”
She shakes her head. “Just you make sure to hang up the dress before you all …”
“I will.” I kiss her cheek. “Is this anything like the prom?”
“Well, it kind of is, except that no boy is picking you up. You’re going to pick up a man.”
“At IHOP.”
She laughs. “At IHOP.” She steps back and looks at me one more time. “Damn, you’re fine.”
I am.
And she’s the reason.
She has always been the reason.
Chapter 40
It’s five AM, and it’s still dark outside.
I am sitting in a corner booth with a view of the front door.
I am a queen, an African lady, looking sharp, feeling sharp.
I have clear polish on my smooth and long nails, and I enjoy hearing them tapping on the table, a sound I don’t think I’ve ever heard before.
I am ready.
And my ouchy shoes are down under the table somewhere, where they belong.
An old waitress shuffles up to my booth, flipping through an order pad. She smiles. “What can I get you?”
Her name tag reads “Lisa.” This is Lisa? She has to be sixty! And is that an engagement ring on her finger? Roger’s hooked up with a lady he can hook up with a burial plot? She’s older, with kids as old or older than Roger is!
“Good morning,” she says. “Are you awake, honey?”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“What can I get you?”
“Are you the only Lisa who works here?”
Lisa looks up at the ceiling. “Yeah. Why?”
“This is going to sound very strange, but …” Do I bust out and ask if she’s engaged to Roger? Classy ladies don’t “bust out” on anyone. “Do three men come in here every Sunday morning?”
She looks up at the ceiling again. What’s up there? “I’m sure they do. We have lots of regular guys.”
“No, you’d remember these particular gentlemen. One is African-American, one is Hispanic, and one is white.”
She nods. “Oh, them. Yeah. Great tippers.” She waves the ring right in my face! “Got this in a tip, can you believe it? I tried to return it, but they said they couldn’t think of anyone more beautiful to give it to. They said it was really for some girl who did them all wrong. You should hear the stories they tell about her.”
Ouch. Classy ladies are not supposed to feel pain.
“Most of their stories are so far-fetched,” Lisa says. “They can’t all be true.”
Believe it.
“They are some sweet boys, though. Do you know them?”
I nod.
Lisa blinks. Lisa looks at the ceiling. Lisa looks at me, blinking. “Are you Lahhh-na Peanut?”
Oh shit! Classy ladies are not supposed to even think profane thoughts. “Yes. I’m Lana.”
Lisa smiles, and then she sits across from me. The nerve! “I have heard so much about you.”
“I’ll bet you have.”
She looks side to side. “Did you really, uh … you know.”
“Yes,” I say. “I really, uh … you know.”
She slaps the table and holds out her hand. “I want to shake your hand.”
I hesitate, then shake her hand once.
“You must be really something to get all three of them at one time. I mean, I’m a born flirt”—she fluffs her hair—”so I can get some nice tips, right? But you …” She leans closer. “You are a hero to most of the single girls who work here, and even to some of the married ladies.”
Oh my.
She checks her watch. “They’re usually here by six, six thirty, sometimes seven.”
“And where will they sit?”
She raps the table with her knuckles. “Right here where you’re sitting. This is their booth.”
I start to get up. “Why did the hostess sit me here, then?”
She shrugs. “She must have thought you’d be gone by the time they got here. Do you want to move?”
If I stay here, they’ll come straight to me. “What do you think?”
She touches my hand. “I think you’re a brave woman.” She winks. “But if you stay right here, you’ll be the bravest woman who ever lived.”
I sit. “I will stay.”
“Good. What can I bring you while you wait?”
I close the menu. “Three eggs over easy, a stack of pancakes with real butter and blueberry syrup, and a large glass of OJ.”
Lisa stands. “Oh, I remember you. You’re that football player who used to order that very thing.”
I feel so welcome! “Yes.”
“Putting your game face on, huh?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She winks again. “Be right out with your order.” She takes a step, and then she steps back to me. “If you, um, see folks staring at you, it’s, well, it’s because I just can’t contain myself!”
“It’s okay,” I say. “I’ll try not to let you all down.”
“You won’t.”
And then, I wait for my men to come to me at least one more time.
Chapter 41
Well.
Lisa is obviously not Roger’s fiancée. She can’t be. Roger couldn’t go from me to her even if he were the most desperate man on earth. He just gave away my ring in a fit of spite. Lisa got the ring as a tip. Roger isn’t engaged, and maybe Monique isn’t really marrying Juan Carlos. She wasn’t wearing an engagement ring at the wake, was she? I would have noticed. Maybe it was just an act … though the way she kissed him at the wake does make me feel a little queasy. And since Izzie didn’t look like she was showing, maybe …
Six thirty. Ah, there’s the sun.
Well.
It’s possible they’re all scamming me, getting their revenge the only way they think will hurt me. Karl wouldn’t let me into the apartment at Buck Run. Maybe he isn’t living there at all, and the number I called was his cell phone or somewhere else.
Seven.
Well.
Who’ll be first through that door? Let’s see. Karl is the night owl of the bunch, so he probably hasn’t even been home yet. He’ll be late. Juan Carlos? He was pretty punctual. I’ll bet Roger rolls in first. He is a morning person.
Seven fifteen.
The doors open and … Karl … with Izzie?
Hold up, here.
This is supposed to be a guys-only thing. What’s Izzie doing here?
They bypass the hostess and walk directly up to my booth.
Izzie slides into my side of the booth, and I have to scoot down to the window. “Hey, girl,” she says.
Karl says nothing and slides in next to Izzie. We must look strange, the three of us sitting on one side of a booth.
“Hey,” I say. Do classy ladies say “Hey”? They do today. “Um, what are you doin
g here, Izzie? I thought this was only for the guys.”
“Izzie and me had a late night,” Karl says, and the two of them smooch! I feel the over-easy eggs getting uneasy in my stomach. “Hey, Lisa!” he yells. “Two coffees!”
“So,” Izzie says, “how have you been?”
I check out her bling, and she’s blinging more than I ever did, gold bracelets jingling and jangling on both wrists. “Fine.”
She waves a gaudy diamond ring under my nose. “Guess what I have.”
A gaudy diamond ring? “You got your nails done.”
She sighs. “No, girl. I’m engaged.”
“To whom?” I ask.
“Funny.” She pulls up her shirt, right there in the IHOP. “I’m showing now. See?”
I see a little mound puckering out from her stomach. “Wonderful.”
She pushes her shirt down and takes Karl’s hand. “We’re getting married next month. You’ll come to the wedding, won’t you?”
I look at Karl, but he’s looking only at Izzie. Damn. He might actually be in love with her. “Sure. I wouldn’t miss it.” Mainly so I can see it really happen. Karl is getting married? Amazing!
“Here comes Juan,” Karl says.
I see Juan Carlos and Monique come through the door. Or should I say, I see my ex–fire brother and a dark brown head bobbing above two enormous girls. Damn, where did Monique sprout those? She wasn’t that buxom at the wake, was she? Maybe it was too dark for me to see them, but … d-damn! So, Juan Carlos likes them big. My girls are pouting in my bra. Both Juan Carlos and Monique are dressed nicely, he in a suit and tie, she in a loud red churchy dress … and she is wearing a diamond engagement ring.
“Karl,” I whisper, “is Monique Haitian?”
“Hell,” Karl whispers, “I don’t know. She’s from Nicaragua or something.”
“Can barely speak English, girl,” Izzie says, a little too loudly. “Always has a bad attitude.”
Juan Carlos shakes hands with Karl and nods at Izzie, and he and Monique slide across the opposite bench seat until she’s directly across from me. Monique’s eyes narrow to little dots when she sees me staring at her. I’m not staring at her—I’m looking at those tig ol’ bitties she has propped up on the table. Where will Lisa put Monique’s plate?
“Where is Roger?” Juan Carlos asks.
“He ain’t coming cuz it’s his turn to pay,” Karl says.
I feel like I’m the fifth wheel, and I can’t escape because I’m pinned in by Izzie’s fat thigh to my left, the window to my right, and the table and Monique’s girls in front of me. “I better be going,” I say, but then the door opens …
And Roger enters with a big grin. I see him kiss Lisa on the cheek, and she laughs. Roger looks good in a black fishnet sweater and faded blue jeans.
“You leavin’ already?” Karl asks.
“Uh, no,” I say. “I’ll stay.”
Roger gets some dap from Karl and from Juan Carlos (I never would have believed it!), and slides in at the other end of the table, next to Juan Carlos. “Sorry I’m late,” he says. He waves to me. “Hi, Lana.”
“Hi,” I say. Wow, I have a small voice when I’m cornered.
“Y’all already order?” Roger asks.
“We’re just having coffee,” Karl says. “We’re beat.”
Izzie grabs my arm. “Oh, girl, we were down in Greensboro at this little club Juan told us about last night, and it was thick, girl. Oh, I did me some dancing last night. Whoo!” She lets go of my arm and pats her stomach. “I hope you can dance like your daddy, little one.”
Creepy.
Lisa comes over with two coffees, setting them in front of Karl and Izzie. “What can I get for you, Juan?”
Monique spews a whole bunch of Spanish just then, and Juan Carlos’s eyes pop.
“Um,” Juan Carlos says, “just two coffees. To go.”
Damn, Monique has a tight leash on Juan Carlos.
“We go to eight o’clock mass,” Monique says, still eyeing me.
Lisa puts her hand on Roger’s shoulder. “What will you have, honey?”
Roger winks at me. “I’m hungry, Lisa. I’ll have a western omelet and a large coffee.”
Lisa writes it down. “Be back in a jiff.”
Well, the gang’s all here, but not for long. If I’m reading this right, only Roger and I will be left at this booth in about … ten minutes.
No one speaks for a full minute. Lisa returns with two Styrofoam cups, setting them in front of Juan Carlos.
“Uh, see you next week,” Juan Carlos says.
Roger stands, and Juan Carlos, Monique, and Monique’s chest start to slide out.
“Wait just a second,” I say.
Juan stops, and Monique’s girls bounce off his back. That had to hurt, for him probably more than for her. What are they made of? Petrified Jell-O?
“What’s going on here?” I demand. Classy ladies are allowed to be demanding.
No one speaks.
“Why is everyone leaving?” I ask.
More silence.
“I can see no one wants me here,” I say, standing and reaching for my coat. “Juan Carlos, Monique, don’t leave on my account.”
Karl laughs. “Girl, sit down. We’re all here on account of you.”
“You did,” Roger says, “bring us all together.”
I sit, but I don’t take off my coat. “And five months ago, you wouldn’t even be here, right?”
The three men nod. Izzie drums her nails on the table. Monique scowls, and her girls wobble. Is the table moving? D-damn. They must weigh ten pounds each.
“So why can’t I be a part of what I started?” I ask.
“Well,” Karl says, cradling his mug of coffee, “there’s this agreement we signed.”
“Where is it?” I ask. “I want to see it.” So I can tear it up. Classily, of course.
“What agreement?” Juan Carlos asks.
“The agreement y’all put on that napkin,” I say.
Karl and Juan Carlos look at Roger. “You told her,” Karl says.
“Yeah,” Roger says. “Sorry.”
“You got it?” Karl asks Roger.
Roger shakes his head. “You have it, Juan?”
Juan Carlos shakes his head. “I thought Karl had it.”
I’ll bet there isn’t even an agreement at all. This is all part of the scam. “Look,” I say, “I came here to …”
“To do what, Peanut?” Karl asks. “Why did you come here? It wasn’t for the coffee. The fancy stuff you made was much better than this stuff.”
Izzie sighs. “Like I told you, boo. She adds some hot chocolate mix. There’s nothing fancy about it.”
I feel five sets of eyes on me. “Look, I came here just to see you guys, okay? I just wanted to see you.”
Roger smiles. “Here we are.”
“No, I mean, I came here to—”
Monique puts a finger in my face, ripping into me with staccato bursts of Spanish.
“What’s she saying?” I ask Juan Carlos.
Juan Carlos blinks rapidly. “You do not want to know.”
Other diners around us are looking our way, first to listen, and then to watch Monique’s girls bobbing up and down.
“I didn’t come here to cause a scene, Monique, and you can quit cussing me in Spanish,” I say. I wait until she takes a breath to swat her finger from my face. Then I stand and lean over the table. “I do not want your man. Juan Carlos only wants you.” And your boobies. “Grow up.”
Monique looks ready to cut me. “That is right. He wants me. He has tried the rest, and now he has the best.” She pushes Juan Carlos past Roger, out of the booth, and through the other tables and booths to the front door.
Bye, Juan Carlos. I hope you and the “twins” have a nice life.
The other diners go back to their food, and silence reigns at the table again.
Izzie makes a big production number out of finishing her coffee, slurping the last little bi
t. “Let’s go home, boo.”
“Yeah,” Karl says. He stands. “Good to see you again, Peanut. Later, Roger.”
And they leave.
Roger hasn’t moved from the other end of the table. The chess game continues. It’s my move.
“I met your fiancée.”
“She’s something, huh?” he replies.
Hmm. “Aren’t you going to move down here?”
Roger shrugs. “I just warmed up this seat.”
A stalemate. Great. I slide to his end. “Now, do you have—”
Lisa arrives with Roger’s breakfast, and he immediately digs in. Great, just great. He looks up every now and then, the tiniest smile on his lips.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” I ask.
He nods. “I knew you’d come.”
“You couldn’t have known I’d be here this morning.”
“Sure I did. You’re too much of a competitor not to be here.”
Huh? “And who or what am I competing against? Lisa?”
He wipes his lips with a napkin. “Ah, she’s a great gal. She serves me food, smiles at me, likes my jokes. She even flirts with me.”
“I do all that.”
“Did.”
I hate the past tense. “Okay, I did all that.”
“Times three,” he says.
Ouch.
“The first time we came here, you know what happened?” he asks. “We talked of nothing but you, Lana. Just you.”
Should I be flattered? “Why? I just hurt you all.”
“Oh, we cussed you up and down, too. Juan knows some really cool curses. Want to hear some?”
“I’ve heard them all.”
He nods. “Oh. Yeah. He told us about that. Did you really say he had PMS?”
Geez, what didn’t they talk about? “Yes.”
“Remind me never to go dancing with you.”
“As if you’d ever let me dance with you.”
He squints. “I might. As long as there isn’t a crowd. I don’t like crowds.”
So many hidden meanings today. “Is there anything y’all don’t know about me?”