Cosmopolitan Girls

by Charlotte Burley

  “Is this how it’s supposed to look?” I questioned, peeking over at Lindsay, fearing this was the new style.

  “It’s called a doobie. Just go with the flow,” she said calmly with her eyes closed.

  An hour later, the pins were removed. My hair was gorgeous and for only fifteen dollars! I couldn’t stop smiling as I handed over a twenty. Shaking my surprisingly longer hair, which brushed against my shoulders, I exclaimed, “Just call me Miss Jackson!” We strutted out the door as Lindsay called out, “Gracias, mami, see chu next week!” She waved good-bye.

  “You are somethin’, but like I always say, you all right with me,” I said, getting into Lindsay’s car. “Hope you got a full tank of gas, ’cause we’re headed for Brooklyn.”

  Lindsay’s car zoomed down the expressway as the music bumped, Bill Withers singing “Lovely Day.” Lindsay and I sang along. Off key and all.

  Lindsay and I shuffled down the parade of street vendors along Fulton Street, headed to the Pink Hand Nail Shop.

  “Come on, check ’em out. I got FUBU, Sean Jean, Ecko—I give you good price, good price today.” The voice belonged to a stocky Jamaican man who yelled out from behind a cluttered booth of Afrocentric hats, purses, and sweatsuits.

  “No, thank you,” Lindsay said.

  As we walked along we saw an older Muslim woman who had set up shop with a table full of old books and incense. Unlike the male vendors, she wasn’t pushy. Her calm state was inviting. A small book caught Lindsay’s attention.

  “I had this as a little girl. Silver Pennies, poetry about fairies. Man, I loved this book!” Lindsay held the book close to her chest.

  “Then it’s yours. Two dollars please.” The lady gave a warm smile. Lindsay gladly paid her.

  I sifted through a stack and noticed a small tattered paperback. I picked it up. The title was Stand Up, Speak Out, Talk Back! The Key to Assertive Behavior. I handed it to the lady.

  “How much is this?” I asked.

  “Oh, that’s only a dollar,” she replied.

  “Trust me, it’s worth more than you know. I’ll take it.” I paid the lady, grabbing the poetry book from Lindsay and replacing it with the paperback. I wanted Lindsay to get a good view of the book’s title.

  “I don’t need a guide on how to deal with Robert. I’m very assertive and direct when it comes to him! I’m not intimidated by my boss!”

  I shrugged my shoulders and proceeded to the nail shop. “Who are you trying to convince, me or you?”

  Lindsay kept reading and rereading the large, bold, red print on the back of the book: “Are you in charge of your own life? Or do other people run it?”

  “Whatever! I don’t care what you do with your funky little dollar,” Lindsay said, sounding like a two-year-old.

  “Baby, that dollar was well spent. A true investment!” Lindsay swatted me with the book.

  Lindsay and I climbed into the now vacant pedicure stands, and as we perused magazines, enjoying foot massages, I tapped Lindsay. “I can’t wait until tonight! Being seen out in public with Shake is going to up the ante!” I said, shaking my hair once again.

  “I told Shake about how Troy and I are on the outs.”

  “I bet he couldn’t wait to flaunt you in front of him either.” The devil was getting the best of me.

  “And he’ll get his chance! I know the event coordinator and she said Troy already RSVP’d. You know that pseudo-cultural Negro’s got to be in the house. So the mission is on!”

  “Shake is serving his purpose! And you will look like a true star!”

  Chapter 26

  Fame—All That Glitters Ain’t Gold

  Rule Number 3: Create a fabulously scandalous

  rumor and make the ex jealous.

  The limo pulled to a slow halt in front of the Obie Gallery in SoHo. I stepped out of the backseat wearing a sexy Catherine Malandrino dress and a pair of strappy Manolo Blahniks. Taking Shake up on his offer to go out in public for our second date was going to cause mayhem in the industry.

  Tonight was the opening of a new Gordon Parks exhibition. A small crowd of paparazzi gathered in front and snapped away. I wasn’t really planning to be caught on film. The key was never to leave evidence. I tried my best, but there was no way to avoid it.

  Shake and I entered the gallery arm in arm and were served champagne immediately. Troy’s was one of the first faces we saw. I should’ve known his high-profiling wanna-be self would be the first on the scene. Troy was enraged as he watched our entrance. Shake was basking in it, and made it a point to walk up to Troy and give him a pound.

  Four glasses of champagne later, Shake had me pinned securely to a wall in the far corner of the gallery. However, I was busy scanning the room for Troy. Bull’s-eye! I spotted him and we locked eyes. I could see the distaste on his face. I pushed Shake off, excused myself, and headed to the ladies’ room.

  “Why are you here with him, Lindsay?” Troy said, cutting off my path.

  “Why do you care? Shouldn’t you be off somewhere with Robin?”

  “She has nothing to do with this!”

  “She has everything to do with this, Troy!”

  I moved past him into the bathroom. Speaking with Troy had made me furious, and I wanted to go home.

  After a few minutes I made my way back to Shake. “Hey, I’m sorry, I feel sick. I think I’ll just need to head in.”

  “Word? Okay, boo, let me get my driver and we can bounce.”

  My feet hurt from my three-inch stiletto heels. Untying my straps, I let my toes sink into the limo’s thick plush carpet. Shake pulled out a bag of weed and told his driver to take the park route, but a late-night Central Park drive was not exactly what I had in mind. Since it seemed like I was stuck with Shake for the moment, when he finished rolling the blunt, I joined him and took a deep hit. About halfway through the park, Shake called out for the driver to pull over. He grabbed me with one arm, pulling me out of the limo, while with his free hand he scooped a bottle of Cristal out of the mini-fridge.

  I surveyed a pitch-black Central Park. I was spooked, tiptoeing barefoot through the cold wet grass that stuck to my feet. Shake led me deep into the park.

  “See, boo, this is what I’m talking ’bout. I wanna do you everywhere, in the park, lavish hotels, the beaches in the South of France.”

  “Is that right?” I said flatly as he handed me the last of the blunt. I hit it as fast as I could. I would’ve taken a handful of narcotics to get through the rest of the night. I’d had just about enough of Shake’s slimy-sweet, streetwise rhetoric. I just wanted to tell him to shut up. The mission was getting the best of me.

  We’d walked so far I could barely see the Bentley’s yellow parking lights. I heard the ripple of water and the full moonlight illuminated the outline of a gazebo. I figured we must be near the boathouse. Shake popped the cork, took a long swig, and started kissing me. I closed my eyes tight and tried to pretend I wasn’t there.

  “Come on, Shake. It’s cold and scary. I heard there are rats in the park too.” I was trying my best to be nice. I really wanted to say, Could we just get this over with already.

  I was bent over, bracing my elbows on my knees.

  “You like that? Yeah, yeah! You feel that?” Shake said, spanking my butt.

  I couldn’t feel anything. The only thing big was his ego. It would’ve been more enjoyable to submerge myself in a tub of boiling hot water and watch my flesh melt away.

  I was repulsed by my own behavior. “Just stop!” I stood up and pushed him away. I was light-headed and slightly disoriented, but I had to get control over the situation. “Shake, take me home!”

  “What!”

  “You heard what I said! Take me home, now!”

  Shake’s response was preempted, because suddenly I looked sick.

  “Damn, you don’t look so good,” he said, backing up. “I can’t have you throwing up and shit, my suit cost ten g’s. This is Versace.” I quickly put my hand over my mouth and he rush
ed me to the car.

  I could see my apartment building at the bottom of the hill. Shake was still running off at the mouth, making all sorts of promises.

  “Yo, I’m gonna fix you, take you shoppin’. You like Barneys? Bergdorfs? What about Henri Bendel? Yeah, yeah, all that. It’s gonna be bananas!”

  His hip-hop lingo was making me nauseous again. My head was throbbing. I curled my lips up at him. I didn’t need him to take me to Bendel. I could take myself. Didn’t this Negro have to go somewhere and pay child support?

  The car pulled in front of my building. I thanked him for his kindness. I was being facetious, but he was just too stupid to know it.

  Chapter 27

  Home

  Pastor Harris stood in front of the congregation. His words resonated deeply as he spoke from a book of the New Testament.

  “Turn with me, Church, if you will, to Mark 8, verse 36: ‘For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and loses his own soul’? Church, say Amen.”

  “Amen!”

  Pastor was building to a close. “Getting caught up in money, material things, our jobs, careers, forgetting about the important things like family . . .”

  “Yes Jesus!” Granny shouted.

  “You better preach!” I was filled with the spirit.

  “Our husbands, our wives, our children, humph, even our own selves!” Pastor continued. “Somebody better praise the Lord!”

  As he finished the sermon, the choir began to hum and the organist came in with “I Won’t Complain.”

  “Who’s gonna be there for you! God’s gonna be there for you!”

  “Hallelujah!” Lindsay stood up and began waving her arms in the air. Tears were running down her face. My girl caught the Holy Ghost.

  After a great service we headed for Aunt Malinda’s house, where my engagement party would be held. Aunt Malinda’s house was always family headquarters for big occasions. Out of all the homes in the family, Malinda’s house was the favorite. It wasn’t the biggest, fanciest, or even the neatest. As a matter of fact, it was downright junky, real country kinfolk stuff, but it was cozy.

  As long as I could remember, it was always Malinda and Lonnie. Two odd folks, because my aunt’s body was thick like a man. She was full-figured and hairy. She never cared too much for makeup or a comb, but she was a natural beauty in her own way, with a sweet baby face. Uncle was tall and wiry. He was so bony everything he wore was too big and hung off him, but the one perfect thing on him was his half-afro. It was always freshly blown out and shaped.

  The family joked that it was a half-afro because in the center of the afro sat a perfect bald spot. It was two or three inches in diameter, like a large doughnut hole. Uncle had a quick tongue and sense of humor just like Richard Pryor. At every family get-together he’d have the whole family dying laughing.

  I was very proud of my family. I was getting married, and the only folks I invited were the ones that I loved, trusted, and cared about.

  “Hey girl, I just met your uncle and he’s a trip!” Lindsay finally came down from her nap. Yep, my girl took off work just for me. She said with her being my “official-unofficial bridesmaid,” coming to my dinner was the least she could do. Personally, I think the poor girl’s feeling guilty for not helping me find that killer dress. With all our misbehaving, who had time? Lindsay was still carrying around the bride’s dress catalog, promising that the next mission was to get my dress.

  “Thought I forgot? I’m on it, don’t you worry!” Lindsay said, looking around. “So where’s this Kyle I’ve been hearing so much about? I still can’t believe, after all this time we’ve known each other, I haven’t met him. Is he still working on that project in L.A.?” Lindsay asked.

  “Girl, Kyle is mister jet-setter. He’s out in San Francisco now working on a new project for the company. You know he loves it! He missed his last flight. He’s been calling all day apologizing. Don’t worry, you’ll meet him at the wedding.”

  “Anything I can help with?” Lindsay fit right in with the family.

  “No, we got everything covered,” my granny said, walking in with a boxload of meat. Granny was aging well, still in good shape with her petite five-foot-five frame. You could see that she had been a knockout back in her day. And Granny carried on as if she still was. Now she was a grand diva!

  I relieved her of the meat and took it out in the back-yard. It was my mother’s shift on the grill, giving Uncle Lonnie a break. I placed the box of meat down and my mother looked at me and started to cry all over again.

  “My baby girl, look at you. I’m so proud.” Mama had the biggest set of eyes attached to the tiniest head, now that she was wearing a short blond crop.

  I went back inside to check on Michael and his parents. This was the first time both sides were meeting. Michael was a nervous wreck, with things being rocky between us. He knew I’d told Granny everything. I guess he was worried that she would take a switch to him.

  I still didn’t believe Michael’s story about his female investor, but my wedding plans were in motion, and too much time and money had been spent, so I couldn’t let my suspicions get in the way. My family was excited about my wedding. But when I walked into the living room, it looked like it was killing Michael’s family, the Riveras, to be in each other’s company. I’d never seen such reserved folks. They sat on the sofa, all in a row, already dressed for dinner, with their hands neatly folded in their laps.

  Veronica, Michael’s mother, was beautiful with thick luscious hair, flawless skin, and exotic eyes—I saw now where Michael got his eyes. She looked several years younger than her age, but she dressed in clothes that made her look like a senior citizen. Veronica was cold and emotionless.

  “Mrs. Rivera, you look beautiful today,” I said as I leaned over to kiss her on the cheek. Her stiff body language told me that she wasn’t familiar with this kind of contact.

  “Thank you, Charlie,” she dryly replied.

  Ricardo, Michael’s father, was a submissive man. The only time he raised his voice was to make an apology of some kind, and apologies were all that seemed to come out of his mouth.

  “You look great too, Mr. Rivera.” I smiled, leaning in to kiss him. He jumped.

  “Thanks, Charlie, you too. Sorry, didn’t mean to jump like that,” he said bashfully before returning his attention to my grandfather, a distinguished man who always kept his natural salt-and-pepper mane intact. Grandpa was entertaining them with his military stories. I glanced at Michael, who was looking pretty hot in all black. He blew me a kiss and gave me a reassuring smile.

  Dinner had been a hit and all the guests had had a great time. Only my family was invited to the “after party.” Needless to say, the house was packed and the music was jumping. Blackstreet’s “Booty Call” filled the room. “Oh my God’s” and “Awh, that’s my shit!” were heard from everybody in the place. The living room instantly turned into a dance floor courtesy of all the men rearranging the furniture.

  Everybody jumped up and started doing the Booty Call, another, jazzier version of the Electric Slide. This kind of dancing was prehistoric in the city clubs. But the song was banging, and I couldn’t sit still. I had to learn. I jumped in between my mother and aunt. They were more than eager to teach me the moves.

  “Awh, watch out now! Yeah, baby girl, that’s it!” Mama did every move so hard and so perfect I thought she was gonna hurt something in the process.

  “Break it down! Yeah, she’s got it, y’all!” Auntie yelled out as she broke it all the way down. Everyone cheered me on, glad to see that I was still one of them. Happy to know the city hadn’t changed me. I was still their little Charlie. “Booty Call” was played twice, back to back. Only this time, Lindsay couldn’t sit still. She jumped onto the floor.

  “The Booty Call ain’t nothing but the cha-cha in the Lou—that’s St. Louis to y’all,” Lindsay said, kicking off her shoes to represent her hometown.

  “You go girl!” my family chanted Lindsay on. I cou
ld tell my girl was missing her peeps and a trip back home was just what she needed. By the time we stopped, everybody was soaking wet, applauding one another for working it out.

  There was an annoying sound coming from the sofa, so I checked it out only to discover it was Michael’s cell phone. I grabbed it and jogged off to the guest room in the back so that I could hear.

  “Hello?” I answered.

  “Hi, this is Natasha. I need to speak with Michael.” Who did she think she was? She was speaking to me as if she was talking to the help. I looked up and Michael was standing in front of me. He knew the phone was for him.

  “It’s Natasha!” I said, handing him the phone. Michael smiled nervously and grabbed the phone. I stood back and observed and it was unbelievable—I watched him grow more excited as he spoke to her.

  “Oh, yes that would be great, thanks for inviting me. Sure, why not. Just call to remind me, and again, thanks.” Michael hung up the phone. “That’s the woman I was telling you about, my investor.” Michael’s face was searching for a better lie. “She was inviting me to a networking event. She wants to introduce me to some other cats with money to burn.” Michael was beginning to stutter.

  “And she couldn’t wait to tell you. Had to call you right in the middle of our engagement party. Right?” I said, walking out of the room, not wanting to hear yet another lie.

  I ran upstairs into the bathroom and began to cry. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. There was a knock on the door.

  “Baby, let me in.” It was Granny. I looked in the mirror and I was a wreck. I wouldn’t be able to hide this episode. I opened the door and let her in, then quickly shut and locked it. She grabbed me by the face.

  “Spill it,” she said.

  “What if I don’t marry Michael?” I questioned.

  Suddenly, Granny brought up a deep-rooted memory of when I was seven years old and my mother was depressed after a man had left her, and she didn’t send me and my little brother to school for five days. I was just a child, but I knew something wasn’t right so I placed a secret phone call to my granny and told her what Mama was doing.