Up at the College

by Michele Andrea Bowen

  “A hot ghetto mess is what that sounds like,” Yvonne said, and then asked, “So is yellow now the new black this season?” She stared out the window some more. “How did you know she got those shoes from Big Lots?”

  “Saw them when I was there looking for some inexpensive plant pots. The bin was right next to a row of some pretty pots.”

  Yvonne started laughing. “Girl, let me get out of their business, get off of this phone, and get some work done, so I can relax and enjoy myself at your house tonight.”

  “So this means that you’re coming, right?”

  “Yeeessss,” Yvonne answered.

  “And, Yvonne.”

  “Yes, Trina.”

  “Rochelle is staying with the girls, right?”

  “Yes, my little sister is staying with the girls—how else will I be able to come by myself?”

  “So we’re set, right?” Trina asked again. She knew Yvonne, and she knew that girl would start thinking about work and cancel to go off and mix up a special color of paint.

  “Yes, Trina,” Yvonne exclaimed in exasperation. Trina was really working her over about this.

  “Okay, then … uh … please don’t come to my house in your work clothes.”

  “But it’s just your house and just you, me, and my cousin. Why would I need to change?”

  “You need to get out of those clothes and into some cute jeans and a top” was all Trina said.

  “Well, okay. I’ll wear some ‘cute jeans and a top’ to make you happy. Now can I get myself off of this telephone and get to work?”

  “Bye” was all Trina said right before she hung up.

  TWO

  Yvonne spun around in the middle of the kitchen. She said, “So, does this ensemble meet your approval, Mrs. Fountain?”

  “Umm-hmm,” was all Trina said as she dipped several pieces of fresh trout in her special homemade batter and then dropped them in a hot cast-iron skillet. It didn’t take long for the fish to turn a golden brown, the batter making it all crispy. She turned the fish over and got some more pieces ready to put in the skillet.

  Yvonne’s first cousin, Maurice Fountain, came in from the back carrying a tray of vegetables he’d just taken off the grill. “What up, Cuz?” he said, while putting the tray on the counter and then going right back outside.

  “Hand me that plate with the paper towels on it,” Trina told Yvonne as she started scooping out pieces of trout. She pulled the oven door open and checked on the crispy-baked home fries. “Answer the door for me.”

  “The door?” Yvonne said. “I didn’t hear the door.”

  “You hear it now” was all Trina said when the bell rang again. She hadn’t heard it the first time either. Just knew that Curtis, who was very prompt, would be at the house about this time.

  “So are you going to help me out a bit and answer the door?”

  “Uh … yeah,” Yvonne said and went up front.

  Trina just shook her head to herself, thinking, “The baby is so goofy at times. But that is what makes you love her.” She couldn’t wait to see Yvonne’s face when she came back in the kitchen with Curtis Parker trailing behind her, trying to sneak and look at Yvonne’s booty when he knew she wasn’t watching him.

  The doorbell rang a third time and was followed by heavy knocking. Whoever this person was sure did want to get into Trina and Maurice’s house awfully bad. “OKAY,” Yvonne yelled, before peeking out of a side panel to see who was on the other side.

  Curtis Parker saw Maurice’s cousin peeking at him and wished the girl would open the door—he was hungry and ready to eat. He stared back at her and rang the doorbell one more time for good measure.

  “Just hold your horses,” Yvonne hollered out and finally opened the door, stepping back almost three feet when Curtis Parker stepped inside and got too close for comfort. That good-smelling whiff of his cologne was enough to make her want to move back even more. But she didn’t want to appear rude, or act as if she found the man offensive in any way—far from it.

  “Hold my horses? Been a long time since I’ve heard that one, girl,” Curtis said, laughing, secretly marveling at how tiny Yvonne Fountain felt standing next to him. He was a very muscular six foot four, which wasn’t all that tall by today’s basketball standards. He moved a foot closer to where Yvonne was standing. He noticed that she moved some more, so he moved closer to her again, just to get a rise out of her. This was fun. It had been a long time since he’d had that kind of effect on a woman, and he found it refreshing.

  Yvonne moved some more and smiled up at him, then looked away. What in the world was wrong with her, smiling at Curtis Parker like that? She was a grown woman raising two daughters on her own and should know better than to be grinning up at a man like that.

  “Trina done with that fish?” Curtis asked, now anxious to get back in the kitchen and get some food in his stomach. It had been a long day, full of meetings and more than enough paperwork. Folks always thought that being the head coach of a basketball team was all about what they saw happening on the court. But that was only a fraction of the job. If he didn’t do all of what had to be done behind the scenes, there would be nothing to see on center court. He had to parent, raise money, pay bills, do budgets, train, administrate, recruit, schedule, meet, and advocate, and this often happened before he got to his job description—coach.

  Yvonne bobbed her head yes and started walking back to the kitchen. Curtis followed behind her at a leisurely pace, so that he could enjoy the scenery. Maurice’s cousin was fine and putting a hurting on those snug-fitting lowriders she was wearing. Few women could look that sexy in a pink T-shirt, blue jeans, and pink Timberlands. That pink was shimmering against Yvonne’s cocoa-colored complexion. And those large round chocolate- diamond-colored eyes sparkled when she flashed that wide, full mouth into a heartwarming smile. Coupled with that firm, round butt, it was enough to make him want to ask the girl if they could “go together.”

  Curtis looked at that booty bouncing in those jeans some more. It was taking considerable restraint to resist the urge to pull a quarter out of his pocket and find out just how far it would go after it bounced off Yvonne’s behind.

  Yvonne had the uncomfortable feeling of heat bearing down on her backside, and decided to take a seat and get her butt out of the line of fire when she caught Curtis studying her with his head tilted to the side and a crooked grin on his face. Why did this negro have to be so cute? He was long and muscular, deep dark chocolate like a Mounds candy bar, and had eyes that lit up with merriment when he smiled. She thought his eyes were his best feature.

  Yet, as cute and engaging as Curtis Parker was, Yvonne had to remember that he had yet to express any kind of interest in turning in his player’s card. Plus, he always had some woman hanging on his arm whenever she saw him outside of a basketball game. Come to think of it, this was one of the few times Yvonne had seen Curtis without a woman trying to hang all over him.

  “My man,” Maurice said when he walked through the door with some more grilled vegetables and hush puppies.

  “Man, did you just take those hush puppies off of the grill?” Curtis asked.

  “Something Trina tried out on me and it worked. They are very good. You only put them on the grill for about a minute and a half, and man!” He picked up a fat hush puppy and held it out to Curtis. “Here, taste it.”

  Curtis chewed, and then fanned his mouth. “It is good but hot. I need some water.” He picked up a hush puppy and turned toward Yvonne. “Here, baby. Taste this.”

  Yvonne held out her hand, but Curtis just walked over and put the hush puppy in her mouth when she opened it to say something back to him. She chewed and then fanned at her mouth.

  “Whew … This is good but it is real hot!”

  “Just like me, baby,” Curtis said, grinning. “Good but real hot.”

  Yvonne gulped down some ice water to cool her mouth down and give that Curtis some time to cool down, too. He was just too grown for his own good. Maur
ice shook his head at his head coach and boss. Curtis was so wrong, and he knew he was being wrong and was enjoying every minute of it. Maurice noticed that Curtis had the exact same expression on his face as the one he had when one of the players stole the ball during a game, and nobody had seen it coming.

  Maybe that is what his cousin needed—a man who knew what to say to get past what appeared to be an impenetrable wall of protection. But then again, Maurice understood why Yvonne was like that. She had not encountered any man worth her time, and didn’t have any patience for foolishness from brothers who knew good and well they were of substandard quality where she was concerned. And it wasn’t because his cousin was a snob—far from it. It’s just that she deserved better than those rotten scraps he’d seen some brothers have the audacity to throw Yvonne’s way.

  As much as Maurice wanted his cousin to have a man in her life, he knew that this man had to be right—he had to be a brother whose heart and mind were turned toward Jesus. Curtis Parker was the only man who came close to fitting the bill. And even he was short a few credentials, since he needed a serious overhaul where his relationship with Jesus was concerned.

  Curtis was enjoying messing with Yvonne. She was so sweet and unworldly, and it tickled him that he could get to her with the basic rudiments of flirting. He had grown accustomed to hardened women who fancied themselves to be more cosmopolitan and sophisticated than they were—women like his latest girlfriend, Regina Young, who was a staff attorney for the university. Yes, Yvonne was definitely a breath of fresh air, even if she was way too tight with Jesus for his taste. Curtis wasn’t so sure he’d know what to do with the kind of woman who would tell you that she loved Jesus, and you knew that she meant it.

  Trina put some more fish on a platter, took the home fries out of the oven, and started making a colorful arrangement of the grilled vegetables. She mixed some fresh lime juice, melted butter, and crushed red peppers in a bowl before giving it to her husband.

  “Baby, go back out and baste the corn.”

  Maurice took the bowl and told Curtis, “Man, grab those cigars laying next to my laptop and come on outside with me.”

  Curtis picked up the cigars and then hesitated for a moment. He was enjoying Yvonne’s company and wanted to stay inside with her.

  Maurice opened the back door. “Come on, man, we can get a few good puffs in before dinner’s ready.”

  “Yeah, Curtis,” Trina said while making a pitcher of iced tea. “You and Maurice better go outside with those funky-smelling cigars. ’Cause I know you don’t think that I’m going to let you sit back and puff on those things in my house. It already smells like trout. What do you want? You want it to end up smelling like butt, too?”

  “Trina!”

  “Don’t Trina me, Maurice Lester Fountain. You know good and well that the trout and those cigars will make this house smell like some old wino’s butt.”

  Yvonne wrinkled up her nose and pointed toward the back door. She had never had the “privilege” of being close enough to a wino to get a whiff of stank wino behind. But she’d gotten her fair share of glimpses of the back of some winos’ unwashed pants. And she could tell just by looking at the way the pants dropped down past the contours of their behinds, that the last thing you wanted your house to smell like was how those pants seats looked.

  THREE

  Maurice picked up the basting brush and lathered up those ears of corn real good.

  “Man! That smells good,” Curtis said as he cut the end of his cigar and ran it under his nose. “I’ve been waiting to try one of these.”

  “Me, too” was all Maurice said. “Been saving them for the two of us.”

  “Where did you get these?”

  “Charles Robinson,” Maurice told him. “Charles wanted to thank me for putting in a good word for him with Veronica Washington.”

  “Robert Washington’s ex-wife?”

  “One and the same,” Maurice answered and cut off the tip of his cigar.

  “But why would a big-time player like Charmayne Robinson’s brother, Charles, need you to put in a good word for him with any single woman in Durham County? Rumor has it that he has all of the free booty in the Triangle on lockdown,” Curtis said and lit up his cigar. “Plus, isn’t Veronica real serious about her relationship with the Lord? Wouldn’t think she’d be all that appealing to Charles.”

  “Well, think again,” Maurice said and lit his own cigar. “Old boy has it bad for Veronica. He has been checking her out ever since Robert left Veronica for his woman, Tracey Parsons.”

  “But, Maurice, Charles owns Rumpshakers Strip Club.”

  “Gentlemen’s Club,” Maurice corrected. “It’s Rumpshakers Hip-Hop Gentlemen’s Club.”

  “Okay, Gentlemen’s Club,” Curtis said. “But every time I’ve gone there, I always see women strutting their stuff in some stilettos to get some extra tips. And Veronica, on the other hand, owns a public relations firm and represents only Christian writers, actors, and musicians. So Charles doesn’t foresee a conflict with those two businesses being at opposite ends of the lightness-and-darkness scale?”

  “I don’t know what he foresees, Curtis. All I know is that he has it bad for Veronica Washington and is glad that her divorce from her knucklehead husband Robert is almost final.”

  “Well, it seems to me,” Curtis said, “that Charles doesn’t have it bad enough to crack open a Bible and look for the Sinner’s Prayer in Romans.”

  “Now, is this a case of the pot calling the kettle black?” Maurice chided Curtis before taking a puff on his cigar.

  Curtis frowned. Maurice didn’t have to go there. Maurice knew that he had said the Sinner’s Prayer many years ago.

  As if reading his mind, Maurice said, “You said the Sinner’s Prayer and have been on milk ever since.” He didn’t care one bit that Curtis didn’t want to hear this—too bad. But Curtis had yet to be weaned off of spiritual milk long enough to have a hunger for the bread of Heaven.

  “Okay,” Curtis conceded, when it was clear that Maurice was not going to back down on this one. “I could do better about reading my Bible.”

  “Just your Bible, dawg?” Maurice asked him. “Seems to me like you need a complete overhaul where your relationship with the Lord is concerned.”

  “Charles Robinson and me, too, huh?”

  “Well, actually, Curtis, you are a couple of steps ahead of Charles Robinson. You may be on some milk but that boy can only take a few ounces of formula right now.”

  Curtis started laughing. Maurice was right. Charles owned the premier exotic-dancers establishment in the Triangle. He was making money like it really was growing on trees. That was a lot of money because trees and forest land were plentiful in Durham County—dense, uncultivated land was everywhere, even in the hood. He imagined that it would take a miracle to convince somebody like Charles Robinson to let go of all of his worldly goods to go off and follow Jesus. Because truth was, running Rumpshakers Gentlemen’s Club and living boldly for Christ was not going to work.

  But then again, maybe someone who was as anchored in Christ as Veronica Washington, was the perfect incentive to make Charles think long and hard about the benefits of serving the Lord. There was nothing like a saved, Holy Ghost–filled woman (who was also fine) to get a brother to thinking about the potential benefits of turning his life over to Christ. Some folks might not think that was the best way to find your way to Jesus. But for men like Charles Robinson and himself, it could possibly be one of the most compelling reasons.

  Curtis almost stopped breathing when it occurred to him the path this kind of thinking was leading him down. Because like it or not, he was only a few yards shy of his very own prototype of a Veronica Washington. There was no denying it, both Yvonne and Veronica were some seriously fo’ sho’ Proverbs 31 sisters—a brother couldn’t find anything more old school than a woman replete with virtues that were outlined in the Old Testament.

  Yvonne opened the refrigerator and took out a bowl of
olive-green scuppernong grapes. She loved these wild grapes, which were native to North Carolina and tasted like you were getting a squirt of some homemade wine when you took a bite out of one. She tried her best to sneak a peek on the deck to see what Curtis was doing without being noticed by Trina, who rarely missed a thing. When she caught Trina watching her intently, Yvonne popped a grape into her mouth and then mumbled, “I’ll be glad when dinner is ready ’cause I’m hungry.”

  Trina just looked at Yvonne trying to be slick and on the low, trying to watch Curtis and act like he wasn’t getting next to her. Humph, Trina thought and then whispered to herself, “Rochelle was right when she said that there ain’t nothin’ like a new negro to inspire you in all the right ways to get over and done with the old negro.”

  “You say something, Trina?”

  “Not really—just thinking out loud. And speaking of thoughts, I didn’t miss that little sniff-and-inhale number you were doing when Curtis walked past you.”

  Yvonne couldn’t believe Trina had seen that. She was almost as bad as Rochelle. But she couldn’t help it—Curtis was wearing Chanel for Men and it smelled good on him.

  “Awww snap,” Trina said, grinning. “Miss Thangy-Thang got a little crushy-crush on the coach. Who woulda thunk it? Sweet lil’ Yvonne Fountain sniffin’ and inhalin’ on the big, bad Curtis Parker.”

  “Shut up, Trina,” Yvonne hissed, hoping she wasn’t blushing, even though her cheeks were warm and getting warmer by the second. She hoped that Curtis would stay outside for a few more minutes, and wished that he’d bring his butt back in the house. Last thing she needed was for a skilled player like Curtis to discover that she was blushing and sniffing up on his cologne.