by Cortney Gee
We gathered our things and headed outside. Brian was already standing beside a GMC Suburban. Brian Mouton stood out no matter where he was. Not only was he high yellow with curly red hair, courtesy of his creole heritage, but he was also 6'3, 245lbs and loud as fuck.
A sexy airport police officer was attempting to get him to move the truck, but to no avail because he was too busy trying to invite her to one of the upcoming shows for her to get in a word.
"Yeah, tonight it's Sweet Jimmy's, tomorrow Mexicali Rose, and Saturday it's Geoffrey's Inner Circle," he told her.
"Well, my girl and I might just come through to Geoffrey's, but we ain't even about to be at Jimmy's tonight being sweated by men old enough to be our dads," she told him, looking over the flyer.
She was directing him to move the truck when Mouton spotted us. "There goes my comedians right there," he said, waving us down.
We introduced ourselves and put our things into the back of the SUV. Marc and I sat in the back because Mouton had a male passenger in the front.
"This is my man, TMB, he sponsored the flights and tellymo rooms."
"You two are some funny cats, it's my pleasure," he said, extending his balled-up fist giving us the pound.
Mouton looked into the rearview mirror and asked if we were hungry.
"Shit yeah, you know Southwest don't give a nigga nothing but peanuts and coke," Marc replied.
"Yeah, what do you have in mind?" I inquired.
"This is The Town, we got it all, it's your call," TMB chimed in.
"How about Everett and Jones? Their BBQ and sauce is da bomb," I said, looking at Marc.
"As long as they have beef or chicken that sounds cool," he told the two in the front.
"Oh yeah, Marc you're converting to Islam?" asked Mouton.
"I wouldn't say I'm converting, but I have been studying the Koran for about a year," Marc replied.
"Good, that means all the ribs and white women in the place I can claim without competition from you," I quipped.
The truck burst into laughter; even Marc couldn't help but to laugh at my swipe at his religious choice. Not that I was clowning Allah or Marc's seriousness about his faith. I just saw an in for a joke and I took full advantage.
We found a parking spot in front of Everett and Jones and had to wait a good fifteen minutes to be seated. You knew from that fact alone that this was no ordinary barbecue joint this was an upscale soul food factory. The patrons inside represented the multicultural community that made Oakland such a cool place to visit. Mouton was outside hustling off flyers about the comedy shows while we waited on our orders to be prepared. I had the mixed meat sampler with candied yams, collard greens, macaroni and cheese as side orders. I just knew that they must have had the last of government cheese in all of America.
TMB and Mouton ordered the same meals as mine while Marc ordered the BBQ chicken dinner. As soon as our lovely waitress, Ebony brought out our drinks, we all began complimenting her on her good looks. Though our entire table was being flirtatious, Marc seemed to have the inside track for her affection. She kept commenting on his green eyes and how much she had enjoyed his appearances on ComicView. When she left, Marc couldn't help the urge to pop his own collar.
"Don't hate because light skin is coming back in style."
"Whatever, she probably has a classroom charity assignment to flatter an endangered species or some shit," I said giving TMB a high five.
"Damn Cameron, that's cold. I'm with Marc, don't hate because she likes high yellow niggas."
"Ah Mou, that's high yella nigga, you didn't get no play either," I replied, causing TMB to send more dap my way.
Ebony brought out our meals and other than a few ‘hand me the salts’ and ‘pass me the butters,’ it was a quiet feast. After we finished eating, TMB footed the bill and I left Ebony a hefty tip. Mark swore up and down that I was flashing my bankroll to get her attention from him to me. He was right, but I didn't have a need for her on this trip. I was in hunt for someone with blended genetics.
Even though she'd given him her number, Marc talked about how much of a hater I was until we arrived at the Marriott. Brian and TMB told us what time we needed to be ready for transportation to the venue. Mou handed us our room keys and we got on the elevator. Marc said he needed to make a few phone calls. I was tired from the trip and the itis that I caught from that good food. I planned on crashing as soon as I got in the room.
I set the alarm for nine-fifteen, allowing myself plenty of time to wake up and get myself together for the show. I hoped that Gwen haunting my dreams again wouldn’t disturb my rest.
I rested well and a few hours later, we pulled up to Sweet Jimmy's. Surprisingly, the place was jammed pack for a Thursday night. The crowd, which consisted mostly of old school playas and young chicks looking for a sugar daddy were seated in crushed velvet burgundy chairs popping bottles and anticipating the entertainment. Mouton hired the Bay Area's favorite master of ceremony, Daniel Dugar to host the show.
The female portion of the audience hung on every word he said. Not only was Dugar hella funny as a comedian, but he sported looks that rivaled a male model. At 6'2, 170 lbs. with chocolate brown skin, he served as the perfect maestro for the evening. The men respected his homegrown swagger and all the ladies were itching to be down.
Marc was the featured act, but there was another Oakland native who was in attendance and asked if she could perform a guest set. It would have been criminal to deny Luenell's bawdy ass a crack at the stage. Her raw in-your-face delivery and slurred speech, tempered by what I assumed were a few drinks in the parking lot, had the crowd in tears.
"Yo, just ride her wave and you're going to smash it," I told Marc after taking a swig from my double Jack. I suppose he had already figured that out, but suspected that seeing Ebony (our waitress) in the front row looking fiercely delicious might have distracted him.
Luenell had pummeled the audience with a fire set that made the crowd stand on their feet in ovation. Dugar had to calm down the crowd to even introduce Marc. Once they settled in, Dugar went on to give Marc an introduction that was worthy of a comic of a much higher profile, but the effect was what was needed to polarize the crowd. Marc pounced on stage clad in a Chester McGlockton number 91 Oakland Raider jersey and black jeans and went right to work. The gauntlet that I had presented to him, fueled him to show what he was made of. His material attacking cultural icons had the audience doubled over in laughter. After his allotted thirty minutes had expired, he exited the stage to thunderous applause.
"Now you ride that wave, homie," he told me with his ass on his shoulders.
I polished off my drink and ordered another from the lovely half-breed bartender, Tasha, whom I planned to thoroughly polish after the show. As I straightened my collar on my crisp white, French cuffed shirt and made sure my gun metal grey custom made suit hung properly on me, I asked her politely to bring it to me onstage.
"Marc, that was no wave; it was just a mere ripple in the water, playboy. Sit back, take notes and learn something."
Our friendly professional rivalry was in full effect but there was no bitterness between us, mostly we tried to push the other to excellence.
Dugar did a few jokes after Marc's set and got the crowd extra hyped with his ghetto superhero bit, My Nigga. He then introduced me to the audience.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, it's star time and you know how we do here at Sweet Jimmy's. Cool Mou Promotions brings you the best in urban entertainment every Thursday night and tonight we truly have one of the best in the game. You've seen him on Def Comedy Jam. He's a BET ComicView All Star, he plays colleges and concerts all over the world. All the way from Cleveland, Ohio give it up for Cameron B!"
I made my way through the cheering crowd to the stage where Dugar was awaiting to give me dap and exchange the microphone like a well-tuned relay teammate passes the baton. Tasha met me at the stage with my double jack neat and I started into a blistering set about how much I loved the Bay Are
a and its Midwest playa appeal. The retired pimps all cheered when I talked about macking and how Sweet Jimmy's was the only club in America where you could smack a bitch and the first question asked would be what the fuck did she do? I riffed about now and later flavored gators and sugar daddies tricking for about thirty minutes. The audience was eating it up, laughing loudly and slapping the tables in amusement. I took a few sips from my drink so that they could compose themselves. Then a complete silence came upon the room when a medium size mature black man with too young voluptuous blondes sat down at the lone reserved table in front that had remained empty throughout the show. I recognized the gentleman immediately and realized why the crowd was so in awe of him.
Before me sat Ike Turner, R&B royalty with a look on his face that screamed 'entertain me'. Immediately, I switched gears and did my Laurence Fishburne impersonation.
"Now, now look I, I, I done kicked that narcotic, Anna Mae."
Mr. Turner roared out in guttural laughter that filled the room, giving everyone the cue that all was good and they followed suit. The rest of my set was dedicated to drinking, fucking and other mindless debasements, just what the crowd wanted. By the time I wrapped it up, the entire room, including Ike and his blonde companions, were on their feet as I took a bow and exited the stage.
"Fuck your wave, how you dig that tsunami, nigga?" I asked Marc as I stepped up to him at the bar.
"That shit was tight, Cameron. I'll be gunning for you tomorrow, trust and believe" he replied before going into conversation with Ebony who was dressed in a leopard cat suit with a black blazer and black pumps. If I didn't know why Marc had pushed up so hard to her before, I damn sure understood now. Her fat monkey was poking out making her crotch look like a huge camel toe. I considered challenging Marc for her attention, but the opportunity of spending the evening with Tasha held too much promise. So instead of pissing him off by sliding up to his companion, I let him win. Letting him win wasn't a bad thing. I knew by morning I would receive his play by play and know her vicariously through his conquest.
We signed autographs and mingled with the crowd while the staff removed the tables and chairs to transform the area to a dance floor. Marc and Ebony went to dance while I sat at the bar talking to Mouton.
"Damn, Cameron, that was a banging set. Word is going to get around town and folks will be piling into Mexicali Rose tomorrow," he told me.
"Thanks, man, I was just doing what I do. Ike Turner walking into the place with those big breasted white girls was bananas!" I replied.
"Yeah, I didn't know if he was going to laugh or kill you when you did that impression," he replied, referring to the tense moment before the huge roar of laughter after I poked fun at the Rock and Roll Hall of Famer. "But on some other shit, Cameron, my man TMB has the hook on flights, he thought you might be interested in doing business with him. It's sweet, two hundred dollars for coach class and five hundred for first class roundtrip."
"Damn, you can't beat that with a bat. I wish I would have known that when I flew my moms out here awhile back. Is that price good for anywhere?" I inquired as TMB rolled up with the take from the door.
"Yep the price is the same across the board, ain't that right, Beezie?"
"No doubt; if you wanna go somewhere just give me a call." He handed me his card.
They had an excellent night at the door and were in good spirits when it came time to break bread. I wasn't pressed to take the loot, so I told TMB to just keep it and put it toward my first class trip when I buzzed him.
"Damn, this nigga Cameron on some big willy shit. Normally you be hounding a motherfucker about your scratch."
"Nah, Mouton, I'm not trying to be a baller, man. I just hit a big lick in Las Vegas and got a job writing for BET so I can afford to pay for TMB's services in advance. You say your man is slick with the flights and I'm tired of riding coach. It's a perfect arrangement the way I see it."
"Oh, I got you. I like the way you get down. Mou said you was cool and because you handling me with trust, this five hundred gets you two-for-one first class."
Mouton ordered another round of drinks that Tasha was more than happy to serve us. When she brought me mine, she inquired if we were still on to hang afterward or had she been upgraded.
"I'm hungry, sweetie; if you want you are more than welcome to come along and cum afterward."
"Cameron Bernard, don't act like you don't know what comes after that, over and over again," she replied before she walked away to handle other club patrons.
I have to admit she was right; an evening with Tasha consisted of fucking, sucking, groaning, moaning and good sleep.
"Cameron, you still getting all up Tasha's sushi? Damn, you been hitting that since your first show in the bay," Mouton said.
"Well, what can I say? She commands a repeat performance."
"Well, it's best you get her out of the way tonight. Tomorrow night and Saturday there's going to be some high-class breezies at The Rose and Geoffrey's. Believe me, you aren't going to want to be bogged down with old news."
I felt him but it wasn't like Tasha was some ratty hood chick that every dude in town had a story about even if they were lying. She kept it tight, fresh, and didn't bug me about my life in LA. All she demanded was that I was respectful of her while I was in her midst. I didn't know how I was always blessed with side-pieces who knew how to play their positions, but I was thankful for it. It was my belief that my honesty upfront didn't leave room for grumbling. I made it a point to always inform women about Karen and my two sons and that I had no intention of leaving. This truth made it impossible to build false hope and I made it a point to never make promises I knew I couldn't keep.
The cool thing about Tasha was that most chicks dug her. The ones who didn't were only hating on her Japanese heritage. That hate would only cause Tasha's black side to rear up to check them. Needless to say, we rarely had any problems when we were out together.
We practically closed the joint down, shooting the shit at the bar with Dugar and Luenell while I waited for Tasha to end her shift. Marc and Ebony had long gone off to the hotel after he received his pay. I figured by now he was knee deep in her guts or begging his ass off to be doing so.
Mouton and TMB had met a couple of honeys and invited them to join us for breakfast at The Denny's in Emeryville. Tasha cashed out and all of us left to feed the liquor we had consumed.
The all-night eatery was busy, but there was still more than enough room to seat our party of eight. We ordered our food, waited for it to come out, and then smashed it when it arrived at the table. Right when we about to leave, we were forced to remain inside while Oakland's finest administered some 'act right' to two rowdy customers. The Taser therapy we witnessed was enough to end the late night laughs; we were all ready to bounce.
"Cameron, do you ever think of doing anything else besides comedy?" Tasha asked as she drove me back to the Marriott in her Volkswagen Jetta.
"Well, of course I'm focused on being the best comedian I can possibly be, but I do have other interests I've been pursuing like writing short stories and screenplays. As a matter of fact, I have just been hired by BET to write for their show."
I could tell from the toothy smile across her face that she was delighted by my news.
"That's marvelous, Cameron, I mean really, that's really nice and deserving of a celebration."
"And how do you propose we celebrate?"
"By me putting all of this hot wet cat on you."
"Tasha, you were going to do that anyway."
"Well now I don't have an excuse not to!"
That was one of the things I dug most about Tasha, she was witty on top of being exotic and drop dead gorgeous. We parked the car and headed to my room to celebrate.
I was awakened by Karen when she called me at 7:30 AM, right before she left for work.
"Somebody must have really had a good time for you not to call and check in," she sarcastically said into the phone.
I slipped out o
f the bed so not to disturb Tasha and walked into the bathroom.
"Ah yeah, baby, my bad. We shut the club down and went to get something to eat afterward. I didn't want to wake you up, babbling all drunk and shit," I said to her as I released a steady stream of pee into the toilet.
"Will since you put it that way I guess I'll forgive you." She sounded less irritated.
Karen told me the boys had asked about me before having to get off the phone because of some emergency at the VA hospital. After her abruptly ending our conversation, I went back into the room and took in the visual of Tasha in deep slumber. This chick even slept cute. She didn't snore like Karen but in Karen's defense, her job was a lot more demanding than running drinks in a bar so I couldn't compare or complain. What really turned me on as I gazed at Tasha was her long lush black hair, a gift from her mother's side of the family, that cascaded over the pillow. I climbed back into bed and drew her to me so that she could feel my morning wood stiff against her thick nakedness.
"Good morning, baby, I see you want to celebrate some more," she said to me with her eyes half closed.
I didn't utter a word; I just let my body do all the talking for me as I rolled on top of her and pressed myself between her parting legs until I found the heat I was seeking. We celebrated until each of us climaxed, were sated, and drifted back to sleep.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
It was around noon when Marc came to my room to brag about his conquest.
"Damn, Cameron, it smells like badussy up in here."
"If you were doing the work that I put in up in here, your room should be smelling the same way," I told him as I sprayed Lysol in the air.
"Oh, I handled my business, you can believe that," he boasted.
We exchanged war stories for a few minutes before Marc said some shit that made me put a halt to the conversation.
"Man, the only thing that was jive whack about the evening was that she didn't give me no head."
I froze for a few seconds. Just to make sure I heard Marc right I had to ask.