Man Swappers

by Cairo

  “Okay…I’ll see you when I get back from the city…Me too…I can’t wait either. You enjoy yours, too…” I can tell by the tone in her voice that she’s talking to her mystery boo. The one she’s still not ready to tell Persia and me about. I’m fine with it. As long as she’s happy, that’s all that matters to me. And judging by her disposition the last few months, I’d say she’s definitely happy. “Okay, now what are you in here asking me for, hooker? Coming up in here disrupting my conversation.”

  I wave her on. “Whatever. Where’s my Prada belt?”

  She drops her towel. “Look in my closet. I wore it a couple of weeks ago.” I walk into her closet. Two minutes later, I walk out with my belt in hand.

  “Ummm, why is it when I borrow your shit I put it back when I’m done, but you seem to forget where to put mine?”

  She stops oiling her naked body. Her beautiful brown skin shimmers. “Ummm, have you returned that leather Prada bag that your ass took up outta here almost year ago?”

  I laugh. “Girl, it hasn’t been that long.”

  “Mmmmph; just what I thought. And it’s been damn near close to it.”

  “Whatever, how much longer are you going to be? I wanna get into the city before it gets too hectic.”

  “Chile, relax. It’s only ten-thirty. I’ll be ready in like ten minutes. Don’t you see me tryna get dressed? Geesh. Where’s Persia?”

  I sit on the leather ottoman situated by the window, peering out of it. “You know she’s downstairs dressed and ready. I’m surprised she hasn’t already called up here to see what’s taking you so long. You know she has no patience for waiting.”

  “She’ll be fine. If not, she can go on without me. You too, boo.”

  I give her the finger. We’re driving into the city to look for something to wear for Pasha’s upcoming wedding, then going somewhere to have an early dinner. “Nooooo, wrong answer. We’re all going together. So, get your ass in gear, and let’s get moving.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” she says, clasping her red LaPerla bra, then slipping into a pair of matching panties. It’s bright, bold color looks good against her skin. “I want to be home by nine.”

  I smile. “You and your mystery boo have a hot date or something?”

  She grins. “Something like that.”

  “Well, you know I’m not going to pry. But I’m dying to know who he is.”

  “You already know,” she quickly stops herself.

  “What, I already…”

  She puts a finger up to her lips to quiet me. She walks over to her door and quietly shuts it. “Paris, you have to swear to me that you will not repeat a single word of this to Persia.”

  “Girl, you know I—”

  “I’m serious, Paris. Not a word. Swear to me.”

  “Oh, damn. Who is he?”

  “Not until you promise me you’ll keep what I say to yourself. Until I’m ready to tell Persia, you have to keep this between us. I mean it.” I promise her. Tell her my lips are sealed. And she knows I mean it. She leans in and whispers, “It’s Em.”

  “Who? I don’t know an Em?”

  “Sssssh, if I wanted a loud broadcast, I woulda kept the door open.”

  I wave her on. “Girl, please. Stop all this Secret Squirrel shit and tell me who the hell this man is who has you all head-over-heels.”

  “It’s Emerson,” she says, lowering her voice.

  My jaw drops, my eyes pop open. “Saaaaaaay, what?! Emerson, Emerson? The Emerson we used to fuck?”

  She rolls her eyes, sucking her teeth. “How many Emersons do you know? Geesh. Yes, that Emerson.”

  “Ohmygod. Get. Out. Since when?”

  “Girl, will you quiet the hell down. We’ve been seeing each other for almost five months now.”

  I grin. “Oooooh, you sneaky bitch,” I whisper, getting caught up in the secret. I stand up to give her a hug. “I looooooove it. And you know Persia is—”

  “You know Persia is what?” Persia says, walking through the door, catching Porsha and me in our embrace. She tilts her head. “What you hookers up in here hugging about?” Porsha and I both look at her, then each other.

  “I was telling her you were going to have a damn fit if she didn’t hurry her ass up.”

  She eyes us suspiciously, then shoots a look at me. “And you had to hug her to tell her that?” I tell her she was asking me if I was okay. That she has been worried about me, like she has been. Telling me she’s here for me, if needed, like she is; like we are for each other. She seems to have brought the lie. “Oh, how sweet,” she says, folding her arms. “While you two hookers have been up here hugging it up, I’ve been downstairs waiting on your slow asses.”

  “Umm, don’t look at me,” I say, sitting back down. “I’m dressed and ready.”

  She rolls her eyes, turning to walk out of the room. “Whatever. But you’re in here holding Porsha’s slow ass up, so same difference. Let’s go already, geesh!”

  “I’ll be ready in a sec,” Porsha tells her as she’s walking out the room. Persia threatens to leave in her own car if she’s not. Porsha waits a few minutes more, then mouths, “Do you think she heard us?”

  I shrug. With Persia, even though she didn’t say anything, there’s no telling if she heard us or not. But, at this point, who really gives a shit? If Porsha is happy with Emerson, then so be it. Like I said, I’m happy for her. And Persia will just have to get the hell over it. Besides, I have some news of my own to share.

  “Now that I have the two of you together,” I say once we’re seated at our table. “There’s something that I need to tell you both.” We’ve finished our shopping and we’re now having dinner at The Pink Tea Cup down on Seventh Avenue in the Village, waiting for the waitress to come take our orders.

  “Uh-oh,” Porsha says, eyeing me over her menu. “This sounds like something we need to hear over a drink.”

  “Or two,” Persia adds.

  I laugh. “Y’all lushes look for any excuse…” I stop myself in midsentence as the bubbly, blonde-haired waitress approaches us.

  She introduces herself as Melonie. “Are you ladies ready to order? Can I start you off with some drinks and appetizers?”

  “Yes, that’s sounds delicious. Umm, let’s see,” Persia says, scanning the drinks menu. “I’ll have a martini, dirty.”

  “And I’ll have a mojito,” Porsha says.

  “You can bring me an iced tea, please. And I’d like an order of soul rolls and crab cakes.” Porsha and Persia buck their eyes. I look at them. “What?”

  “Iced tea?” Porsha questions, frowning as the waitress walks off.

  I shrug. “I don’t feel like drinking.”

  Persia purses her lips. “If you ask me, you haven’t felt like doing much of anything, lately.”

  “I know. I—” I stop myself from saying more when the waitress returns with our drinks, then takes our dinner orders. Porsha orders meatloaf with smothered onions, string beans, and mac ’n cheese. Persia orders jumbo shrimp with collard greens. And I order the chicken and sweet potato waffles.

  “Let’s make a toast,” Porsha says, lifting her glass. Persia and I do the same. “To sisterly bonds. May we always remain close; no matter what.” We clink our glasses, then take sips from our drinks. “Now tell us, why the hell you drinking iced tea?”

  I set my glass on the table, clasping my hands in front of me. “That’s what I want to talk to the two of you about.” I pause, taking a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”

  Persia and Porsha spit out their drinks. Persia flops back in her seat, covering her mouth. Porsha shakes her head in disbelief, grabbing a napkin to wipe her mouth. “You’re whaaaaat?” they both ask once they’ve gotten themselves together.

  I repeat myself. “I’m pregnant.”

  Porsha places her hand up on her chest. “Wait a minute. Pregnant? When did you get pregnant, and how? Scratch that. I know how. I wanna know by whom.”

  The color in Persia’s face seems to have
drained. “Yes, please tell us. Who are you pregnant by?”

  “I sorta, kinda, let myself get involved with a guy I really know nothing about. He came into the boutique a few months back, and I liked what I saw. And I wanted to have him, alone. And I did. The problem is it was more than once. Then I started really liking him.”

  “Ooooh, you sneaky bitch,” Porsha teases. “Details, boo. So who is he?”

  “His name is Desmond.”

  Persia places a hand up over her neck as if she’s cluthing pearls. She stays quiet as Porsha rattles off a list of questions. What does he look like? When will we get to meet him? Is it serious? Does he know?”

  I take another sip from my glass. “You won’t be meeting him. And, no, he doesn’t know.”

  Porsha gives me a confused look. “And why not?”

  “Because he’s stopped coming around and I don’t have a way of getting in touch with him. He would call the store for me, then we’d make plans to see each other. I had planned on giving him my number when I got back from Pennsylvania. But, he never called again. Just like that…”—I snapped my fingers—“…he’s vanished.” Porsha wants to know why I can’t get his number from off the caller ID. I tell her why.

  “Mmmph,” she grunts. “That’s some bitch-ass bullshit. Maybe he had another woman.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know. He told me he didn’t. And I believed him.”

  “Girl, you know niggas will tell you anything to get with you.”

  “I realize that, but he seemed different.”

  Persia quietly shifts in her seat. “Damn, girl, you alright over there?” Porsha asks, eyeing her. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

  She shakes her head. “I’m in shock; that’s all.” She brings her attention to me. “How many months are you?”

  “Three,” I say.

  “Then you can still get rid of it,” she says. Porsha and I look at her. “What? You are getting rid of it, right?”

  I shake my head. “No…I’m keeping it.”

  Persia

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  “I can’t do this anymore with you.”

  Desmond frowns. “Yo, you can’t do what with me?”

  “This,” I say, sitting up on the edge of the bed. I’ve finished sucking his dick for the second time today and have been laid up in bed with him since this afternoon, savoring the last dose of dick I’ll get from him after tonight. I’m cutting him off. I have to before this gets too out of hand. Okay, it’s already out of hand, which is why I have to end this before it gets any worse than it already is. I can’t stop thinking about what Paris dumped on Porsha and me last week. That she’s pregnant. Pregnant! I honestly thought I was going to faint when she told us that. I literally broke out in a sweat. She’s pregnant by him and he has no clue. I’m the one fucking him, and he has no clue. I can’t stop thinking about Paris actually wanting to keep it. Why in the hell would she want to keep a baby by a man she hardly knows? This whole situation is a mess. One I created.

  The only good thing out of all of this is that I got to have some of that thick chocolate between his legs, and now I finally know his name. Three months of fucking this man and I’ve had no clue who the hell he is.

  He gives me a confused look. “Where’s this comin’ from? I thought we were vibin’.”

  I’m pregnant…I’m keeping it…

  “Desmond, we were vibing. I mean, we are. It’s just that…” I pause, trying to find the right words. Telling him what I know is not an option.

  “You wanna fall back,” he answers for me. I attempt to kiss him. He jerks his head back. “Nah, fuck that. I wanna know what you meant by that.” He swings his legs around, and stands up. I try not to stare at his naked body. “Are you sayin’ you wanna dead this?”

  I nod, then shake my head. “No, I mean, yes. I don’t want to, but I have to. I really like you,” I say, pausing. I get up from the bed and walk over to him. Grab his hand. My small hand gets lost in his. But I’m not who you think I am. And by the way, my sister’s pregnant by you.

  “But?” he says, giving me a sideview stare.

  “But my life is kind of complicated right now. There are things about me that you wouldn’t understand.”

  “Like what?”

  I slowly shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. The fact is, as much as I want to be with you, I can’t.” He lets go of my hand. Walks over to the other side of the room and picks up his boxers. I watch as he slips them on. “I don’t mean to hurt you.”

  He looks over at me. “Nah, I’m good, yo. I wish you woulda told me this shit sooner, instead of havin’ a muhfucka gettin’ all into you ’n shit. It’s all good, though. It was fun while it lasted.”

  “I’m so sorry. I really, really like you.”

  He half-laughs. “You like me? Oh, shit. Well, check this out. I was really, really feelin’ you, aiight? I wasn’t only likin’ you. I was diggin’ you, hard. But, hey…it is what it is.”

  Persia, you owe this man the truth.

  Truths aren’t always what they appear to be.

  You’re right. Not when they’re based on distorted realities. Give him the truth. That you’re not Paris; that you’ve been misleading him. That she’s carrying his baby.

  The truth doesn’t matter, anymore. The damage is already done. I’m not risking losing my sister over this.

  The minute you tricked him and fucked him in her store, you lost her.

  Dicks come a dime a dozen. Paris will meet someone else. I’m doing them both a favor.

  But she’s pregnant by this man.

  Not for long. Hopefully I can convince her to have an abortion before it’s too late.

  “I swear, I never meant for this to happen.”

  He scowls at me, placing both hands up on his hips. “You never meant for what to happen?”

  “To care about you the way I do.” Truth is, I really have gotten attached to him. Well, not him, his dick. Actually, I love his dick. But, shit. I love Royce’s dick, too. Why couldn’t Paris stick to the fucking script instead of straying off with this man? All she had to do is bring him around for the three of us to share. And none of this would’ve happened. Now, he thinks I’m her. She’s pregnant. He has deep feelings for her. She thinks he dissed her. And now I have to be the one to dump him.

  “I’m seeing someone else,” I finally offer, bringing him as close to the truth as I possibly can. A half-truth is better than none. He squints at me. His jaw tightens.

  “You seein’ someone? You mean as in fuckin’?”

  I nod. “I’m so sorry. The last thing I’ve wanted to do was hurt you.”

  “Yo, I’m not hurt. I’m disappointed. But, it’s all good. I’m glad you told me before I got in too deep.” He gathers my clothes, walks over and hands them to me. “Yo, I think you should go.”

  I get up from his bed and slip on my bra and panties, then slide back into my clothes. He watches as I slip on my heels, then walks me to the door.

  I reach for him, but he pulls away. I can tell he’s hurt, even though he says he’s not. He’s an innocent victim in my sick-twisted game. I honestly feel bad. But, it’s all for the best. He and Paris will both go on with their lives, never knowing anything different. Other than he stopped calling her, and she was fucking someone else. “I’m not the woman you think I am.”

  He eyes me, shaking his head. I see sadness. “Yeah, obviously not,” he says, opening the door. He watches as I walk toward the elevators. He waits until I step in, then shuts the door. The elevator doors close and I’m left alone with my lies seeping from my pores, along with the musky fuck-smell that still oozes out from between my legs.

  Porsha

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  “Porsha, we have to convince Paris to get an abortion, and fast,” Persia says in a hushed tone, looking over her shoulder to make sure Paris isn’t in earshot. We’re sitting at the kitchen table. Persia is seated in a chair next to me. “This whole situation is a mess
.”

  I blink. “This whole situation is a mess for whom?”

  She gives me an indignant look. “For Paris, who else? I mean, how could she be so careless, getting pregnant by some stray man?”

  “Umm, I guess she got pregnant the same way you did when you screwed—”

  “This isn’t about me,” she snaps, cutting me off. “Yes, I went off and fucked Brandon and his cousin. And I’ve apologized for that. I was fourteen and reckless. I can’t believe you’d bring that up after all this time. And that situation was totally different than Paris’s.”

  Brandon was a boy I dated my freshman year in high school. But unbeknownst to me, he was Persia’s, too. They had been fucking for almost six months before I found out. One night, he asked her if his nineteen-year-old cousin, who was visiting for the summer, could watch the two of them fuck, then join in. She let him. And not only did she end up not knowing which one had gotten her pregnant, she ended up with gonorrhea as well.

  “Look, I didn’t mean to bring that up; wrong example. What I meant was we’ve all been careless at one time or another. Paris is a grown woman. And if she wants to keep this baby, then she should. And we should be there to help her through this. Not whispering behind her back, conspiring how to convince her to get rid of it.”

  She shoots me an incredulous look. “So you’re actually telling me that you’re okay with this?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be? She’s our sister. I love her. And I respect her decision to know what she’s doing. You should do the same.”