by Pearl Cleage
“In my car,” she said. “I just wanted to tell you I was goin’ home. You can come on by whenever you get ready.”
“You eat yet?” he said as an idea presented itself to him.
“Not yet,” she said. “You hungry? Want me to stop and pick up something for us?”
“I’m at Justin’s,” he said. “I just ordered. Want to join me?”
She hesitated. They didn’t usually go out and the invitation surprised her. “Hello?” he said.
“You mean join you for dinner?”
“It’s a little late for lunch.”
She laughed. “Hell, yeah, I’ll join you! I’m just trippin’ a little ’cause you so good to me, baby. That’s all. I’m on my way.”
He put the phone back in his pocket, already kicking himself. What was he thinking? He wasn’t dating Brandi. He was fucking her. What had possessed him to invite her out to dinner? Was he turning into that foolish old man he didn’t want to ever be? Lord knows what she might be wearing when she arrived. Looking at the stylish women around him, he hoped she wouldn’t be dressed in a way that made it obvious that she was a hooker. Unfortunately, it was too late now for him to do anything about it. He signaled Randy, asked him to hold that steak, and ordered a bottle of champagne.
Fifteen minutes later, Brandi stepped in the front door dressed in a crimson micromini dress with a halter top that was hardly enough to cover her breasts, and a pair of five-inch stiletto heels, also red. Her hair was an upsweep of quivering ringlets and her makeup was more suited to stage lights than a candle’s glow. The manager took one look at her and signaled the hostess, who began moving toward Brandi with a sense of purpose and an air of disdain. There was no mistaking what she was, he thought, but he’d invited her and he wasn’t about to let some haughty little bitch in a black dress disrespect her. Juanita would never forgive him.
General stood up quickly and raised his hand in greeting. The manager caught sight of the gesture from the corner of his ever-watchful eye and reached out to intercept the hostess before she created an incident. He didn’t need to worry. As soon as Brandi spotted him, she headed straight for his table without waiting for assistance. Twice in one evening, Justin’s female patrons were treated to a man holding the chair of his dinner companion. The fact that this woman was clearly on the clock did not diminish their appreciation of the gesture.
“Hey, baby,” she said, hanging her oversize fake gold purse on the back of her chair. “I didn’t have time to change. I look okay?”
Only a true cad would have told her the truth. “You’re the finest woman in here.”
She giggled, pleased he had affirmed her own assessment. Randy appeared to open the Cristal with the appropriate pop, took Brandi’s order for Justin’s Caribbean chicken, and disappeared. They clinked their glasses lightly and General tried not to notice the other patrons smirking in their direction. Brandi took a long, greedy swallow of the sparkling golden liquid like it was a tall glass of red Kool-Aid on a hot summer afternoon. She was so young, he thought. Juanita was easily ten years older when they’d first gotten together. Brandi was a baby.
Draining her glass, she extended it for a refill. General repressed the urge to tell her she wasn’t at Montre’s now. She didn’t get paid by how many bottles she sold.
“I used to dream about comin’ in here,” she said, looking around appreciatively. “This place is the bomb. Niggas always used to promise to bring me, but you know how shady people can be.”
“So how do you like it so far?”
“It’s perfect,” she said, drawing out the word until it became a purr of satisfaction.
“Look behind you,” General said, knowing she hadn’t yet glimpsed the superstar whose name she would surely know.
“What?” She twisted in her seat to see the singer calmly enjoying his shrimp cocktail while his still-bored companion picked at her salad. She whipped back around in her seat so fast, General had to smile.
“Do you know who that is?” she whispered urgently. “That is Busy Boy Baker!”
The name conjured up media images of a local boy who’d hit the big time, but never forgot his roots. General vaguely remembered him promising to send a group of Mandeville Maids to college if they got their GEDs. It was a big story when the first group graduated.
“The one who started the scholarship program?”
“The one who got those supersexy abs on top of all those hit records,” Brandi said.
The significance of the scholarship program was lost on her. She half turned around to sneak another look. Busy Boy was oblivious. He was probably accustomed to flustered females by now. That was how he made his money.
“Did you see those earrings?” Brandi shook her head in awe and took another gulp of champagne. “And what’s up with Miss Thang? That bitch need to put a little pep in her step before somebody swoop on that man.”
Randy reappeared with their dinners. They were both starving, and for a few minutes, Busy Boy and company had to take a backseat to a perfectly broiled steak and a half chicken slow-cooked the Jamaican way with plenty of spices. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad, General thought. All he had to do was keep trusting his instincts. Juanita had said, “Don’t talk yourself out of the truth of what you see, no matter how far-fetched it seems.” He smiled to himself. You couldn’t really get more far-fetched than taking a neighborhood stripper out for a nice dinner in the middle of Buck-head on a Saturday night. He bet Juanita was somewhere, looking down at him, laughing her fine ass off.
“More champagne?” he said when Brandi came up for air.
“Sure, baby,” she said, but this time when he handed her the glass, she took a small sip and put the glass down. “You know what else I dream about?”
General was not a man who invited women he was paying for sex to share their dreams with him, but Brandi was different. He was still trying to figure out exactly how different. Maybe her dreams would give him a clue.
“What?”
“Vegas.”
“You like to gamble?” The possibility flooded him with memories of all those weekends he and Juanita had spent in New Orleans, playing blackjack all day and making love all night.
“No, baby,” she cooed. “I don’t have that kinda luck, but out there, I won’t need it. You know how much money a dancer can make in Vegas?”
“I have some idea.”
“Well, so do I. And as soon as I can put my little coins together, that’s where I’m goin’.”
“Oh yeah?” He smiled at her determination.
“Absolutely. Atlanta’s gettin’ tired anymore. Even Usher moved to New York!”
He looked at her, sipping her champagne with her pinkie extended, and wondered how the residence of another of the city’s musical superstars had any relationship to any aspect of Brandi’s life. Suddenly he felt sorry for her. She wanted so much and had settled for so little. Las Vegas would eat this girl alive.
General had taken Juanita to Vegas once. She’d been a big Sammy Davis Jr. fan and he surprised her with a weekend trip when Sammy was still playing the hotels on the strip. The day before they left, he treated her to a shopping spree and she came home from Saks with a sophisticated array of outfits that wedded class and sass to Juanita’s personal style in a way that made General proud to have her on his arm.
They saw Sammy’s show twice. They made love in a suite with a mirror on the ceiling and a black marble Jacuzzi in the bathroom and ordered room service. The only thing they didn’t do was gamble. Juanita said water was what brought her luck, so she wasn’t about to waste her money trying to gamble in the middle of the desert. General was used to playing blackjack by East Coast casino rules and found the Vegas way distracting. That gave them more time for sightseeing, including a day trip to the Boulder Dam because Juanita couldn’t believe they had actually dammed up a whole river just to be sure people in Vegas could flush their toilets.
He took a picture of her backstage with Sammy after the
second show, courtesy of a horn player who had traveled with one of Blue’s tours years earlier and was now part of the Davis ensemble, and got back on the plane to Atlanta. They had a great time, but they never went back. New Orleans and Atlantic City were more to their liking and a whole lot closer.
Everything he heard about Vegas today made him know it wasn’t for him. All those gigantic hotels and amateur, wannabe gamblers who wouldn’t know a real card game if they pulled up a chair and sat down to it. Kids in the restaurants, old ladies at the slot machines, and bachelorette parties at the crap tables. This was not a place he wanted to see again, but so what? Brandi, he knew, had never been out of the state of Georgia. She would have a ball in Vegas if they went there together. He’d call some of the guys he still knew out there and get a nice weekend package. Limo, champagne, flowers in the suite, the whole deal. It would probably be the only fantasy she’d ever have whose realization would exceed her expectations.
The intensity of his sudden desire to make this happen surprised him, until he realized this was another message from Juanita! He’d been feeling her presence all night, especially remembering that one great weekend in Vegas. Maybe she wanted him to go back. Maybe she wanted him to go back with Brandi.
“You know what I think?” he said, watching her wiping the corners of her mouth delicately with the white linen napkin and leaving bright red lipstick splotches behind.
“What’s that, baby?” she said, reapplying her lipstick carefully. In front of her sat a plate filled with the bones that were all that remained of her meal. He had never seen anybody strip a chicken bone that clean with a knife and fork.
“I think if you’re going to move there, maybe you ought to take a couple of days and look around first.”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
“I’m going to take you.”
Her mouth was a perfect O of surprise, but her eyes were wary. “Don’t tease me like that, baby.”
“Have I been teasing you?”
“You gonna take me to Vegas?”
She said it like he had just promised her a trip to paradise.
“I got some business I need to take care of first, but how does the first of next month sound to you?”
“It sounds perfect!” She let out a little squeal of pleasure. “Oh my God! That’s only two weeks from now! Wait till I tell Madonna! She ain’t gonna believe this!”
He chuckled, pleased at her enthusiasm, happy he had trusted that this was what he was supposed to do.
“What kind of clothes do I need to pack, baby? It’ll be hot there, right?” Brandi was so happy she was almost squirming in her chair. Her right breast was about to pop out altogether and the complete inappropriateness of her outfit both embarrassed him and gave him an idea.
“There will be plenty of air-conditioning where we’re going,” he said, “but don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of everything.”
She looked at him, unable to believe her ears. “You gonna buy me some clothes, too?”
“What are you? About a size six?”
She ran her hands over her breasts lightly, nudging the escapee back into place behind the dress’s narrow ribbon of red silk. “Five petite on account of I’m so short and sometimes a three when I can find them.” She grinned at him slowly. “I like stuff to fit tight on me.”
That was an understatement. He was relieved that he had usurped her wardrobe planning so smoothly she never had a chance to take it the wrong way.
“I’ll take care of everything,” he said again.
Her eyes softened with gratitude and something else.
“Let’s go home baby,” she said softly, tossing her napkin down on the table and reaching for her purse. “I got some dessert for you.”
“Is it sweet?” he said, laying down four crisp one hundred dollar bills to cover the meal, the champagne, and a big enough tip to guarantee him the same service whenever he came again.
“It’s real sweet.”
“Is it hot?”
“Hotter than that, baby.” She ran her tongue lightly over her newly repainted lips and grinned at him. “Hot enough for Vegas.”
41
Club Baltimore was pretty much an exact replica of a dozen other clubs within a five-block radius. The music was loud, the drinks were overpriced, the VIP section was off-limits unless you knew somebody, and everybody was real busy pretending they just flew in on a private jet from someplace more exciting than this could ever be. Even the valet parkers would tell you they were just doing the gig to keep body and soul together until some record company recognized their genius and got them into the studio. The bullshit was three feet deep and four across, Baby Brother thought. Of course he loved it.
Janice and Michelle did, too. They were clearly regulars. Everybody from the hostess at the door guarding her VIP list to the hot-dog bartender whose specialties were perfect cosmopolitans for the ladies and an endless supply of Cristal for the men who could afford it greeted the dynamic duo by name. They relished the attention as they eased through the crowd in their tight jeans and Sex and the City shoes, waving to friends, promising to call back, and pointing out the club’s fine points to Baby Brother as Zora followed behind. It pleased him to notice that although Zora was completely comfortable, she didn’t seem to frequent the place as often as her friends did. He liked that. He wasn’t looking for a virgin, but he didn’t want to be just one more in a long line.
Mickey and Jan proceeded upstairs to the VIP section without even stopping at the bar. Baby Brother had a sudden fear that since he was the only man in their group, he’d be expected to pay for whatever expensive drinks they ordered. These girls were not going to be satisfied with a glass of the house Chablis, if he could even afford three glasses of that and have enough left to buy himself a beer.
He didn’t need to worry. As they settled into a cozy nook where they could see everything and enjoy the earsplitting beats pouring from the sound system without having to mingle with the crowd of nobodies downstairs, Zora leaned over and whispered in his ear.
“Don’t worry about the drinks. Mickey knows the bartender. He always hooks us up.”
Baby Brother knew why. It couldn’t hurt a club to have these three beauties on the premises as often as they wanted to come. In reality, they were out of reach of most of the guys who caught a glimpse of them, but the hope that springs eternal in the male breast is part of what makes guys hang out in clubs in the first place. Zora and her girlfriends were the flesh-and-blood stuff of a brother’s dreams, Baby Brother thought. Tonight, he was just lucky enough to be the one they chose to share their world.
“Cool,” he said, and when the VIP room waiter came around with Mickey’s cosmopolitan and Janice’s champagne cocktail, he ordered Heineken and a shot of cognac for himself and a strawberry daiquiri for Zora, at her request. The service was fast, and within minutes, they were sipping their drinks and grinning around the table at one another.
“I think we should toast something,” Janice said.
“Okay,” Mickey said. “What?”
“I don’t know. What about you, Zora? You got anything to toast?” And she rolled her eyes in Baby Brother’s direction.
“I got somethin’,” he said, raising his glass. They followed suit like good little schoolgirls. “To the three sexiest women in this whole club.”
Mickey giggled and raised her glass. Jan rolled her eyes again as she clinked her glass against the others. “I’ll drink to that.”
“And the smartest,” said Zora, taking a small sip of her daiquiri.
Janice groaned. “Speak for yourself. This is a night to get stupid.”
Zora wondered how her genius friend, a straight-A premed major at Spelman, was going to accomplish that.
“You got that right.” Mickey waved her perfectly manicured hand at the waiter for another round. It wouldn’t be any easier for her to get stupid since she had just completed her junior year abroad in France and had already been offer
ed a position as a teacher in the international school when she graduated in June if she wanted it.
Zora could tell both of her friends found Wes attractive. They acted this way only around men they’d be interested in having sex with sometime. Zora couldn’t blame them. He was still fine, even without his uniform. She was glad he had gone to see Blue and moved into West End. Even though he bitched about the job, and even more about the housing, he wasn’t going anywhere for a minute or two. That would give her time enough to see if there was anything to him worth exploring.
She knew she was physically attracted to him, but there was no rush to act on it right away. It took a long time for her to let a man get close to her sexually, and even when she did, she was so obsessed with safe sex that she limited her contact with her lovers to oral sex, with appropriate latex, mutual masturbation with fantasy, and role-playing. There was no need to tell Wes all that yet. Right now all she wanted to do was make sure he knew she was interested and let nature take its course.
“Do you want to dance?” she said.
Baby Brother looked at the VIP room, where couples and small groups of men and women were drinking and talking. There was a small dance floor, but it was empty. He’d been away long enough to be unsure whether his moves were still current. The last thing he wanted to do was jump out there with some tired old steps that would make him look foolish.
“Here?”
“If you want,” she said, “but it’s more fun downstairs.”
He could just imagine that blouse slipping off her shoulder once she started dancing. This was no time to worry about looking foolish. He stood up, drained his beer, and held out his hand. “Then let’s go where the fun is.”
An hour later, they finally came back to the table, laughing and sweating, smelling themselves and each other like the sweetest perfume. She was a good dancer and so was he. Fast or slow, their bodies seemed in perfect sync. When they came together on a rare slow tune, she pressed herself lightly against him like a promise.