Before I Let Go

by Darren Coleman

  “Oh yeah, that’s what you are, chivalrous? Am I correct?” She looked annoyed as she opened the door to her car.

  Nate knew he was about to lose this one.

  “Yeah, that’s me. Something like the Black Knight in the Martin Lawrence flick. This is my chariot right here. So why don’t you let me come pick you up one evening soon so that I can take you out and make you feel like the queen that you are.” He saw her crack a half smile as she slid into her car. He was still alive. He walked over to her window and motioned for her to roll it down.

  She obliged him.

  “Look here, I…” Nate was cut off by the sound of a honking horn behind him. They both looked to the rear of her car. It was Brendan.

  He waved Brendan off and held up a finger to say, hold up a minute. “Look, I’m not going to waste your time at this gas station, but you look damn good. If you are even half as beautiful on the inside as you are on the outside, then I need to get to know you. I’m not going to go into the whole spiel about whether or not you got a man, but let me get your number and we’ll get into the details tomorrow.”

  She smiled and said, “What’s your name?”

  “Nathan, but you can call me Nate. All my friends do.”

  “Well, Nate, why don’t you give me your number, and I’ll call you.”

  Nate giggled to himself. Why the hell did women always say that same thing? They knew good and well if they liked you or not. Who did they think they were to decide when and if they would call? Nate never went for that. As far as he was concerned, plenty of women had shot him that same dumb-ass line, and he in turn had called their bluff. If they weren’t giving up their digits, he damned sure wasn’t giving up his. Sometimes when women tried that he’d shoot them a blank. It served them right for playing themselves. Nate figured that any honey in D.C. should be glad to have a nigga on his level trying to make their acquaintance, anyway.

  Nate shot back, “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

  “India,” she said, not sounding if she was sure she wanted to give it to him.

  “Andy?”

  “No. I said, ‘India,’ like India. Arie.”

  “Oh.” Nate nodded. “That’s a pretty name for a pretty girl,” Nate offered. “Well, India, a fair exchange ain’t no robbery. I value my number, and I’m sure you value yours, too. So go ahead and write yours down right quick for me, and here’s mine.”

  It was as if he had used the Jedi mind trick on her. She scrambled for a pen and wrote the number down. Confidence will get you there when nothing else will.

  As Nate leaned on the door of her passenger seat, he caught her eyes scanning his finger for a wedding ring. But then again, he thought she may have been admiring the diamond-encrusted Rolex he had dangling loosely on his wrist. Eye candy is what he called the flashy material things he owned, such as the watch, the cars, and even the expensive Italian furniture in his crib. Nate reached out to take the number from her hand, and as he removed the card he gently stroked her hand.

  She had a puzzled look on her face. “What was that for?” she asked.

  “I just wanted to make sure that I got underneath your skin before you left.” He paused. “It’s an old trick my uncle taught me when I was young. Watch, you’ll be thinking about me until we talk.”

  “All of that from you brushing my hand. What are you supposed to have, some magical touch or something?” she chuckled as she spoke. “You might change my mind about this.”

  “You just wait and see,” Nate said, as he reentered his still open car.

  “I hope I don’t regret this,” India said, as she rolled her car window up.

  “The pleasure will be all yours, baby. All yours,” Nate mumbled once she pulled off.

  He waved for Brendan to pull up beside him. Shue’s window went down as Brendan’s car paralleled Nate’s.

  “What’s up, baby boy?” Shue chimed.

  “What’s up, nigga?” Brendan added.

  Nate huffed. “What’s up is, it took y’all fools forever to get here.”

  Shue smacked his lips. “Mmmph, it looks like you kept yourself busy with that girlie, though.”

  “Yeah, what was up with that? You just got those digits, huh,” Brendan asked.

  “Oh man, shit yeah. She was vicious, too,” Nate answered.

  “Vicious? Why in the world would you want to call her if she was vicious?” Shue asked, with a hand on his chest as if he was choking.

  “Vicious just means she was all of it, Shue. Do I have to explain everything to you, fool? Since you decided to be gay, you are sooo late.” Nate laughed.

  “Excuse the hell out of me, smart-ass. And I did not decide to be gay. Gay is a state of being for me, okay. I’ve just decided not to fight it anymore. I always have been gay.”

  Nate cut Shue off. “Please shut this nigga up, B.”

  Brendan nudged Shue. “Yeah, be quiet man. I’m sure you’ll have a big chance to express your gayness at this party. You ready, Nate?”

  “I’m following you, dog.” Brendan pulled off, and Nate whipped out onto Georgia Avenue right behind him.

  As Nate followed closely behind, his mind raced with thoughts about the type of scene he would encounter when they arrived at the party. Would everyone there be gay except for him and Brendan? If it turned out to be like that, he would just have to jet out. He had faith that Shue wouldn’t set him and Brendan up like that. Shue had mentioned to Nate on a couple of occasions that there were always freaky women who showed up at Amir’s parties. It wasn’t like Nate was homophobic or anything. He had no problems with gays as long as they didn’t come on to him. As for tonight’s action, though, Shue had Brendan and Nate convinced that the party would be full of lesbian and bisexual women who would be down for all types of wild adventures. That was good enough for Nate to at least give it a try.

  Brendan had suspected that his cousin was gay from the age of thirteen, because Shue would never play any rough sports or sneak into the triple-X movie theaters down on Fourteenth Street on Saturday afternoons with him and Cory when they were kids. His sexual preference stayed up for debate, however, because Shue was always in the company of the prettiest and flyest honeys at H.D. Woodson High. But when Shue announced that he was going to the Rhode Island Avenue Beauty Academy right after graduation, it all but let the cat out of the bag.

  Chapter 6

  OFF THE HOOK

  The party was in full swing by the time the three of them arrived. Shue knew that Amir, the host of the party, had plenty of cash, but Brendan and Nate were impressed by the amount of money that obviously had been spent on this party. There was a forty-foot, plush, red carpet that came out of the double doors that led to the foyer of the huge brick colonial. There were two young men dressed in dark gray suits and leather gloves standing on the curb. They were offering to provide valet service to the guests if they wanted it. There were at least three hundred peach-colored balloons tied to the railing in front of the doorway and the gate running up into the driveway. Amir had an American flag made out of Christmas lights in the front yard to show his patriotism. Small white lights decorated the bushes and lined the insides of the twin fifteen-foot bay windows of the living room. As they moved toward the house, Brendan could see couples dancing and flashing lights coming from the inside. Just inside the door there was a study that was closed off by a desk in front of its door. A perky little white girl in a full-length dress stood behind the desk checking invitations and taking coats.

  As the trio made their way through the foyer Nate looked to the left and noticed an ice sculpture depicting the statue of David in the dining room.

  “Yo, B, check that shit out,” Nate said, as he nudged Brendan.

  “Daaamn, that’s top flight, huh?” Brendan replied, as he turned back toward Nate.

  “You ain’t lyin’. And look at all that champagne on that table.” Nate motioned his head for Brendan to look at the bottles of Moët and Cristal champagne in ice buckets lined up in rows o
f at least ten on the table behind the ice sculpture. “That’s where I’m about to be.”

  Nate tapped Shue on the shoulder when he returned from checking his jacket. Shue had been reading the coat-check girl her rights and made her promise to take special care of it because it was a Dolce & Gabbana jacket that he claimed had to be ordered four months ago. “Yo, Shue baby, what’s up with the cupid ice figure? What is that, some type of gay symbol or something?”

  “Negro, please. It’s a statue of David,” Shue replied.

  “Oh, yeah. I knew that.”

  Shue gave the room a quick glance, and then with his wrist suddenly limp stated to Nate and Brendan, “Look here, fellas, I’m going to find Amir and let him know I’m here. I believe he’s probably got something for me.” Shue continued, “You two go blend with the others and have some fun.” Shue grabbed Nate’s shoulder. “Nate, look at all of these scandalous women in here. Half of them probably aren’t gay or bi. They’re just scheming, trying to get all the B boys to switch-hit, for at least a night. And Brendan, he’s got two pool tables downstairs and another DJ down there if you’re not with this Top 40 stuff playing up here.” Shue leaned over and in a semiwhisper said, “Oh and Nate, please don’t let cuz drink too much champagne. You know he can’t handle his liquor.”

  “That’s a bet. What’s up with the drinks?” Nate asked.

  “Look around.”

  Nate looked and saw people standing around with champagne bottles in their hands. He couldn’t believe that this guy had bought enough liquor for folks to be going out like that. Nearly every other person was taking a bottle of high-priced bubbly, or wine, straight to the head.

  Shue waved his hands, directing Nate and Brendan toward the dining room, and said, “Grab a bottle of what you like, and do your thing. That’s how Amir carries things when he throws a shindig. Glasses and flutes are optional.”

  Shue nudged Nate’s shoulder as if to say “go on,” and then spoke into Brendan’s ear, probably telling him the same thing, and then slithered off into the crowd.

  “Shue said that Amir’s got pool tables in the basement.” Brendan spoke loudly.

  The DJ had seemingly turned the volume up as he started playing some dancehall reggae.

  “Yeah, he told me. But I’m going to get a drink and chill up here for a few,” Nate answered. “I need to check things out up inside of this camp and see if any of these honeys are down for the swerve. You know what I’m sayin’?”

  “Yeah, okay,” Brendan replied. However, Brendan’s body language showed that he didn’t feel like staying upstairs, where it appeared to be the most crowded. After a few moments Nate handed him a half-empty bottle of bubbly and shot him a suggestion.

  “Yo B, why don’t you go see what’s up downstairs. Try and get on one of the pool tables or something.” Brendan nodded his head approvingly and took a big swig of the champagne. Nate continued, “I’ll be down there in a few.”

  “Bet,” Brendan belted out, before he made his way across the hard-wood living room floors that had been turned into a busy dance floor by the couples who were getting their swerve on. They were made up of all sorts of combinations. Men with women, men with men, and much to Brendan and Nate’s sexually aroused curiosity, women with women.

  Nate was, of course, in his usual party mode. He was playing it cool, leaning up against the wall near the heavily padded white leather couch that had been pushed aside from the middle of the living room. He was watching the other guests walk past him into the kitchen as he eyeballed their outfits to see how they were dressed compared to him. Nate had said he was dressing down this evening. He sported a black shirt with bronze Moschino emblems all over it. He had the tails of the shirt hanging out of his tailored slacks, making his Mont Blanc belt barely visible, except for where his two-way pager and cellphone were clipped, with the shirt hung behind the antenna. He would have been both fly and comfortable, except that his boots fit a little too snug and made his corns hurt. He was going to have to do something about those damned corns.

  Nate was noticing that the party had a nice selection of well-dressed people who included both women and gay men. Nate knew that gays as a rule were some of the best-dressed brothers around, and if he could hold his own with them in fashion, he was definitely making some noise.

  “Excuse me, honey,” the voice said, as her body brushed up against Nate’s.

  “No problem.” Nate grinned as he held his bottle and glass up over his head to prevent the little lady from hitting his fresh bottle of Cristal.

  The night was looking oh so good, Nate thought to himself. He would have tested the waters with the chick who had walked by moments earlier, but he figured he would hold off a little longer and make sure he didn’t play himself out too soon. He knew that once he approached a honey and started hitting her with his rap, they usually tried to latch onto him and keep him tied up all night. He wasn’t having it tonight. He already had his eye on a couple of potential victims. He never really thought of the women he dealt with as victims. But judging by the trademark chant that he had memorized from a rap song, which also described how he treated the ladies—:

  I meet ’em, greet ’em,

  If they lucky I might feed ’em,

  Then I hit ’em, split ’em,

  Spend their money and forget ’em.

  —they were indeed victims.

  Nate spotted the woman he wanted across the room sipping a glass of wine and laughing with a girlfriend. He had made his choice for the night. She was tall, about five-feet-ten-inches or so, and was beautiful, to say the least. He would later find out that she was of Nigerian and French descent. She looked like something out of a magazine, with a short leather skirt and calf-high boots. She was giving up just enough cleavage in the fitted, low-cut blouse she was wearing. Nate had taken one look at her and knew that he was going to try his hand with that.

  Whenever Nate saw a woman he was interested in come into a club, party, or bar where the atmosphere was predetermined for mingling, he had a strategy that he almost never wavered from. He would wait for at least one guy to make an approach. His purpose for this was twofold. First, Nate knew that women liked to be approached a couple of times when they go out. It was simple to Nate. He knew that they did not go through the trouble of making themselves look so gorgeous so that they could be ignored all night. Nate also reasoned that just as a good batter doesn’t swing at his first pitch, even if it is a good one, any woman worth anything rejects the first offer for a drink, dance, or romance. It just sends the wrong signal, Nate would say “Desperate broads always take the first offer, and then wonder why they get dogged out,” Nate’s mentor, Uncle Miles, used to say.

  Second, Nate would make an assessment of what kind of mood a woman was in by checking out the body language that she used while rejecting her first offer. Most women sent signals on purpose, he believed. The problem was that most men weren’t paying attention. Men hardly ever pay attention to the obvious, and that blows women’s minds. Nate always said that if you really pay attention to a woman whom you have just met, and ask the right questions, you would have all the necessary information you need for success. As far as Nate was concerned the only things he needed to know was, first off, how long would it take to get into the panties; second, whether or not it was going to be worth it; third, and most important, did the woman show any signs of being a psycho or just more trouble than she was worth.

  The woman who’d become the object of Nate’s interest had just shaken her head “no,” and smiled graciously, as she sent some muscle-bound cat with a tight shirt on packing. She had resumed laughing with her girlfriend when Nate walked up and joined their conversation without being invited. It didn’t phase the ladies one bit, as they both eyeballed Nate and kept right on talking about people, what they had on, and laughing at two brothers who were dancing together in the corner to their own music. Nate, trying his best to be charming, had added a nice male perspective and a few comedic observations of
his own.

  “By the way, ladies, my name is Nathan Montgomery. I would prefer you both call me Nate, as all my friends do.”

  “I’m Sahleen,” she said, extending her hand and smiling widely. Nate was pleased that she seemed welcoming. “This is Trish.” Trish simply nodded.

  Nate couldn’t have cared less about Trish’s reaction; he couldn’t take his eyes off Sahleen. He was on a mission to exude just the perfect amount of charm and wit. He was fitting into their circle nicely when he brought the flow of the conversation to a screeching halt by asking, “So are you ladies gay or what?”

  “Excuse me,” Sahleen replied. “That’s absolutely none of your damn business, if we are or not. But for the record, no, I’m not. Why? Are you?” Her counterpart just stood there in disbelief at Nate’s arrogance.

  “Hell, no,” Nate shot back.

  He stood there for a minute and gave her the low down on how he’d ended up at Amir’s party. However, he failed to mention that he had been hoping to roll up on a bisexual honey before the night was through. Sahleen was so sexy, though, Nate didn’t mind that she was straight. He was willing to put his hopes for a ménage à trois on the back burner for a dish like her. Nate had rolled up on a lot of fine ladies in his day, but during the conversation with his two new acquaintances, he wondered to himself if he was indeed looking at the finest ever. This was no joke. Sahleen was flawless. As a matter of fact, you could put Sahleen in a room with Halle, J. Lo, or Beyoncé and smart money says that she could turn the three of them into world-class “player haters.” Nate didn’t even want to ask her what she did for a living. He knew she was going to tell him she was a model, an actress, or something in that field. Ideally, he wanted to get those panties off her shapely ass before she began expecting him to treat her special simply because she had the status to go with that beauty.

  Nate had been talking to Sahleen for about twenty minutes about nothing much. He was sensing that she was digging him, because when her girlfriend walked off to go to the bathroom, she elected to stay and continue her conversation with him. And when Trish hadn’t returned in fifteen minutes, she never mentioned going to look for her.