by Nikki Rashan
That was also Tori for you. My girl has had more men than me, Vanessa, our cousins, and our cousin’s cousins put together. I used to worry about her and her endless sexcapades, but once I realized that it’s her life, and if she’s content with her rendezvous, then I shouldn’t worry about her. She’s a strong, independent woman who enjoys the company of men and a “good session of hot, butt-naked fuckin’ ” as she puts it.
Fortunately, she protects herself in more than one way. The girl keeps condoms in her nightstand, the kitchen drawer, bathroom cabinet, wallet, car, and in her desk at work. She never lets a man near her precious goodies unless he’s wrapped up nice and tight. Thank the Lord for that.
Second, she has a dog that has fooled plenty of men. His name is Sparky but the little horror is more like Cujo. She intentionally gave the dog a soft, gentle name because most people will assume Sparky is a Chihuahua or some little harmless dog with no bite. He’s just the opposite. Sparky is a ferocious pit bull that obeys Tori’s every command. If she says, “Sit,” he sits. If she says, “Go,” he leaves with his head down. And with the simple command, “Get him,” Sparky will latch on to the leg of any victim Tori requests.
The dog only got Tori into trouble once. When she has company, she leaves Sparky in his bedroom (yes, a whole bedroom to himself). Tori brought Mr. Michael Jones home with her after an evening of clubbing and booty-grinding on the dance floor. After Michael confessed that he had to hurry up because his pregnant girlfriend was waiting at home for him, Tori wasn’t feeling his company any more and asked him to leave. Well, Michael didn’t want to hear it and told her he wasn’t going anywhere after she had gotten him all pumped up and ready for some loving. She gave him one more chance and kindly asked him to leave again. That’s when he picked up a picture of Tori’s grandmother off her coffee table, threw it against the wall, and told her he couldn’t stand cock-teasing bitches.
Unfortunately for Mr. Jones, that was a mistake. Before he could blink once, Tori had opened Sparky’s door, and call it instinct or what, Sparky headed straight for Michael’s nuts. Now my girl isn’t completely heartless, so she made Sparky release him, but Michael cried and crawled his way out the door and straight to the emergency room.
Tori rewarded Sparky with leftover steak for a job well done, made herself some coffee, and waited for the arrival of the men in blue. Mr. Jones dropped the charges when he realized he didn’t have a case. Tori had left the broken picture frame and glass just as it had fallen after it crashed against her wall. For added effect, she disheveled her hair, poked a hole in her stockings, and sniffed an onion until her eyes were bloodshot red from crying. We still laugh about Michael Jones to this day.
“Where is Vanessa?” I asked, looking around. “I’m ready to go.”
“Girl, she’s probably over there interviewing the alderman. You know her ass is always working.”
Sure enough, there she was, over by the Stair-Masters, deep in conversation with our first district alderman. Vanessa is a workaholic. That woman can fit thirty hours into a twenty-four-hour day. I admire her energy and determination. Wish I could bottle it up and save a little bit for myself.
Vanessa is a journalist-slash-reporter for our local newspaper. And she is more than good; she’s great. She’s an excellent communicator and spends weeks researching and investigating before reporting a flawless story. She hopes to work her way to television and I’m one hundred percent sure she will. I encourage her to move south to Chicago, since it’s a bigger city with more exposure, but Vanessa’s waiting for her fiancé Roger, to finish his master’s degree in finance and then she might consider a move. Both Tori and I are so proud of her because we believe she’s going to follow in the footsteps of her icon, the one and only Oprah.
Vanessa will stop just about anything to rush home to watch Oprah’s daily talk show. And if she knows she can’t be home on any day, you better believe her VCR is set for the 4:00 P.M. time slot. She analyzes Oprah’s interviewing skills, her interaction with the audience and Oprah’s reactions to some of the crazy things people say or do when they get on national TV. Sometimes the girl even takes notes, so I know she’s serious about her job.
Tori and I headed to the locker room, leaving Vanessa to follow when she was ready. I halfway listened to Tori chatter on about the size of her one-night stand’s dick and the magical things it did to her body. The girl talks about sex like she has penis on the brain 24-7.
As I walked toward the shower, soap in hand and towel wrapped around my body, I envied the confidence of the women who walked around naked as if they were in their own private bathroom at home. Breasts of all sizes bounced around me and I kept my eyes lowered, trying not to acknowledge any of them. Some were small, some large, and some were hanging a little low from extra skin after childbirth. I’ve always been fascinated with women’s bodies and what we are capable of doing. To be able to reproduce and bring life into this world is awesome! And men have the audacity to feel dominant when we’re the ones who brought their asses into this world? What in the hell kind of sense does that make?
“So what class are you headed to, Kyla?” Tori asked me.
“This class is Introduction to Social Work.”
“Social work?” she practically screeched. “Girl, do you know how broke your ass will be? And how stressful that kind of work is? You sure you want to do that kind of shit? Girl, you better pick another major,” she instructed.
By the way, Tori curses like her dad was a navy sea captain and she was raised on the ship. She’s making an effort to tone it down, but not successfully.
I had to break it down to her, the reasons behind my choice of study.
“I thought I would give it a try,” I explained. “There are so many underprivileged children in the world that experience things in their childhood that we can’t even imagine. Those are the kids I want to protect. It’s not their fault that they were born into certain unfortunate situations; and they didn’t even ask to be here in the first place. It’s not fair to them, and those kids deserve the same chance kids like us had.
“A woman at work told me about a nine-year-old girl who committed suicide. Her dad was molesting her as long as she could remember and her mother did nothing but get annoyed when the girl came to her for comfort. She got her dad’s gun one night before he came to her and she shot herself in the head. Now tell me there’s not something wrong with that picture. It’s just not right!”
“Well, damn, Kyla, okay. I hear you. Good luck, girl. You sound pretty passionate about it.” She picked up her bag and headed for the door. “Call me later and tell me how the class went. I’ll be at the restaurant until nine.”
“All right, Nictoria,” I said, teasing her, calling her by her given name.
She rolled large doe eyes at me.
“Don’t call me that damn name! I don’t know what in the hell my mother was thinking.”
Me, either.
Tori was the manager of Eden’s, one of the hottest, most popular restaurants in the city. The place is well known for its martinis and burgers, an unusual combination. But she knew how to keep the crowd coming. She hired only the best waiters, most skilled bartenders, and attractive hostesses. She once told me that her hostesses are instructed to sit attractive people up front, since the front of the restaurant is all windows. I told her that was discrimination and her reply was a quick, “So.” Jeff and I spend most Friday nights at the restaurant with Tori, Vanessa, and Roger.
After getting dressed I waved at Vanessa on my way out of the gym. She held up a fake phone to her ear, pointing at me, telling me she would call me later. Then she turned her attention back to the alderman.
I was so used to the drive from the gym to the campus of the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, that I could drive the route blindfolded. I arrived to the first class right on time. The professor, Mr. Jelenchick, had just introduced himself and asked us to go around the small room and introduce ourselves, like we were in third grade. I le
t out a low groan and tried not to feel negative about his request. But, damn, I was in college, right?
A nervous girl, who looked like this was her very first class in college, spoke first. “Hi, my name is Trisha and I’m a freshman and I took this class because I want to help people and I think this might be a start to that . . . somehow. . . I think,” she said.
“Okay, Trisha, welcome. Hopefully, you’ll find some of the answers you’re unsure about in this class,” Mr. Jelenchick responded. “Next,” he continued, looking at the young man seated next to Trisha.
“Hi, I’m Harold. I’m also a freshman. I’m here because I needed another class to get into for financial aid and this one was open so I figured, why not?”
We all laughed at Harold’s honesty. Even Mr. Jelenchick laughed before speaking. “Thanks, Harold. Welcome and I appreciate your honesty. And I hope that as we venture into the true definition of social work that you might see the benefits of this class for your life and the world around you.”
This continued on with three others before it was my turn.
“Hi, I’m Kyla Thomas,” I began. “I’m twenty-six and in my junior year. I’ve been with the university on a part-time basis since I was eighteen and I’m taking this class because I want to assist others with having the chance to live their lives to the fullest without any hindrance of poverty, lack of self-esteem, or lack of awareness of the opportunities available to them.”
“Thank you, Kyla. That was quite a bit, but good,” he said, smiling. “Hopefully, you’ll get the inspiration you need to complete your degree in social work.”
The only other person around my age was Stephanie, an attractive African American female who spoke after me. She spoke with intensity and earnestness in her voice.
“I decided to enroll in school and major in social work after my son’s experience spending the night at a friend’s house. He and his friend were so engrossed in PlayStation that his poor friend forgot to take the garbage out. His friend’s mother beat him until his back and legs were welted. My son, Jaron, came home terrorized by what he saw, and his friend was so embarrassed that he avoided Jaron at school from that point on. So I took that opportunity to talk to Jaron about differences in households and that although he and I may not be rich, we should count our blessings for what we have in each other. And I reported the incident to the school counselor.”
The entire class was touched by her story, Mr. Jelenchick particularly, pleased that someone in the class shared the passion he felt for the field. He said, “Welcome, Stephanie. You sound like someone destined to make a change. Well, let’s get started.”
We all pulled out folders, notebooks, and pens, and began listening to his lecture. He spoke for two hours, interrupted by numerous questions from the class, and dismissed us thirty minutes early with a reading assignment. The youngsters, and even Mr. Jelenchick, packed up and left the class in less than a minute. I slowly gathered my handouts together since I wasn’t due at work until noon and it was only 10:15.
Stephanie lingered behind also. I could feel her staring at me while I jotted a few extra notes on my notepad. Should I look up at her and say hello, or ignore her and pretend like I didn’t have peripheral vision? And if she wanted my attention, why didn’t she just say something?
When I zipped up my backpack and stood to leave, I smiled at her.
“So what do you think of the class?” she quickly asked, making it obvious that she had been waiting for me to make eye contact.
“It seems like it will be informative, but pretty basic,” I said, shrugging. “I think we’ll dig into the nitty-gritty stuff with the later courses.”
“Probably. This field is so much different than what I do now. I’m a little nervous,” she confided.
“Oh, what do you do?” I asked, suddenly curious, removing my backpack from my shoulder and placing it back on the table.
“I’m a human resources specialist.”
“Yeah, that’s very different,” I agreed. “Corporate America, huh?”
“Yes, and I’m beginning to realize that it’s really not my thing. Too much politics and I don’t want to play the game anymore, you know? I mean, I enjoy interviewing and helping people find suitable jobs, but I see and meet a lot of people and it’s quite disturbing to watch some of my coworkers interview people they’re not familiar with and then those people don’t get jobs they’re well qualified for. You know what I’m saying?”
“I hear you. Well, we’ll be going through this together. Anyone can tell by my résumé that I’m still working on finding my calling. But I feel this really may be it. The money doesn’t bother me,” I said, recalling Tori’s statement from the gym. “As long as I feel good about what I’m doing and I’m actually helping someone, that’s all that matters to me.”
“I agree,” she said. “I think you have to have a strong personality for this type of work and need to be able to deal with all kinds of people.”
“Definitely,” I said and looked at my watch. “I better get going. I have to be at work at noon and I want to grab a bite to eat before I go.”
“Oh, I’m hungry too,” she said and started to pack her papers like she was in a race and the gun had just been fired. “Do you mind if I join you?”
I was going to call Tori and hit her up for pancakes, but I could pass. Stephanie seemed like a nice enough person.
“Sure, but please, not in the student union. I save that for near-starvation emergencies only! How about the Nook? You know that little restaurant over by Clooney Park? They serve the best breakfast casserole.”
“I’ll meet you there in fifteen minutes,” she answered happily.
“Okay.”
We headed different directions to our cars, and since I didn’t want to dwell on my reading assignment already, I thought about her on my walk. She sure was an outgoing person, wanting to come to breakfast and not knowing me from Adam. I, unlike her it seemed, have never been good with new friendships and opening up to people. I’ve been best friends with Tori and Vanessa since third grade and none of us ever felt the need to form another sisterhood with anyone else.
All these years, the three of us have practically been attached at the hips. In grade school, we had our own private club, appropriately called “OSC” (our secret club) that allowed no members but us. Even with the eager requests from our classmates to join, we vowed that it was, and would always be, just us three.
In junior high, after Vanessa moved and transferred to a different school, she quickly transformed from close friend to cousin. You know how all of a sudden your best friend turns into your cousin and you start dressing alike? Well, that was us from ages twelve to fourteen, coordinating our pinstripe jeans and T-shirts with iron-on letters displaying our names on the back. Those were the days.
I drove behind Stephanie to the restaurant, reading and trying to figure out what the black letters on her license plate meant: YES I AM. Yes I am what? Happy? Crazy? Married?
Once we arrived at the Nook, we found a table for two and she ordered coffee while I sipped on water with a lemon wedge. I watched her add at least five creams and six packs of sugar to her coffee. She saw me looking and laughed.
“Bad habit. If you haven’t started, I don’t recommend it. I have two cups a day, and trust me, I’m feeling it if I miss one. It’s truly addictive.” She took a sip and licked her lips. “But so worth it!”
I laughed this time. “So how old is your son?” I asked.
“My Jaron is nine. He starts fourth grade today and he’s a little angel.” She paused a moment and replayed what she just said in her head. “Every parent says that, right?”
“Probably so, but that’s okay. All parents should think their kids are fantastic. My little cousin is a doll, but her mom will tell you in a heartbeat that she’s the devil in disguise. She says Brianna puts on a good front when other people come around.”
“I believe it. Jaron likes to play into my emotions and he acts more spoile
d with me than with anyone else. Kids are smart and they know how to get over on parents if you let them. I have to remind him, and myself sometimes, that I’m running the show.”
The waitress came and took our food order. I was hungry and had a long day ahead of me at work so I ordered a bacon, sausage, and cheese casserole with hash browns and toast on the side. Then Stephanie ordered a blueberry muffin. I looked at her in disbelief.
“I thought you said you were hungry? No, you didn’t just follow up with a muffin?”
She smiled and said, “To make up for the coffee.”
“Whatever, girl. Don’t be looking at my food all hungry-eyed when it comes.”
“I can’t have a little bite of bacon even if I ask nicely?” She winked at me and smiled, a cute smile with the right corner of her mouth turned upward.
“We’ll see, but I’m pretty greedy. Luckily I worked out this morning.”
“Really? Do you go to the gym?”
“Yes, only once a week with my two girls.”
“Well, once a week is better than nothing. I started working out every other morning at home. The older I get, the harder it is to maintain my weight. I’m twenty-seven and my metabolism is already starting to slow down,” she said, sounding a bit frustrated.
I was so glad she told me her age because I was dying to know. And since I’m not too fond of telling my life story to strangers like some people I know, I decided to ask her more questions to divert the conversation away from me.
“So how did you get into HR?” I asked her.
Stephanie’s voice was raspy, reminding me as she spoke of Demi Moore. “I started working half days my senior year of high school as a file clerk, handling miscellaneous clerical duties, making copies, ordering supplies, that kind of stuff. I took on a full-time position after graduating, with the intention of attending college at night. Only, I got pregnant shortly after graduation and college was put on hold. Since then, I’ve worked my way from a file clerk to office assistant to performing interviews for entry-level positions. Now I handle interviews for some of the highest positions in the company.”