A Pinch of Ooh La La (13 page)

He handed me the largest box. I didn't want to open it but told myself maybe it was all a joke and the last box would be a silk lavender slip and matching robe.

Nope.
I pulled the tissue away and stared down at four strands of white rope, coiled like snakes. “Ha-ha,” I laughed, hoping he'd join in and we'd laugh and laugh at his prank.
“
Stripper shoes and rope!
Ha-ha-ha!”

He pressed his mouth next to my ear. “You've been a bad girl and it's time Daddy taught you a lesson.”

What the—?

“I'm going to tie you up and give you the spanking you deserve.”

All these months and our lovemaking had been exactly that—lovemaking, passionate yet sweet. He'd never once said anything about
rope.
Not that I was a prude. I just didn't want to be tied up. What if there was a fire or a burglar? And my sister was in the other room!

He whispered, “Say something dirty to me and then you'll get punished.”

“I . . . I . . .” I could feel myself blushing. Who was this person?
What have you done with my respectful, courteous boyfriend? I want him back!

“I'm gonna teach you a few lessons tonight. You've been a bad girl and Daddy's gonna have to give you a spanking.” He waited
for my response. “Now you say something. Say something
nasty
. Come on, baby, I want to hear it.” He pulled back, his eyes expectant.

“I—I hate it when people don't wash the dishes before they go to bed?”

He stared at me, waiting.

“Dirty sheets. I hate dirty sheets. They're
naaasty
.”

He grinned. “Okay. You'll get the hang of it. Go put your outfit on. I'll wait for you.” So he wouldn't see me recoil after seeing him lick his lips, I grabbed the tacky shoes and negligee and scurried to the bathroom.

I looked like a fool. The negligee sagged where my small boobs weren't big enough to fill it. The shoes fit, but my feet looked like trapped rodents. I didn't want to go back out there. I felt like a clown, an imposter. I leaned against the sink. I knew other women loved this kind of stuff; of course they did. And I honestly wasn't judgmental when it came to sex. Do whatever you want! Masks, whips, sex games, or toys. I knew what was out there, and it was all good. Hell, I saw the Marina Abramovic retrospective at the Met—twice. Bendrix and I had gone through Mapplethorpe's sex books in high school.
I did not judge
. It's only that cheap lace and ugly shoes were not me. I understood that relationships always came with problems, but I didn't want to play the part of a stripper or a character from
Fifty Shades of Grey
or
Story of O
.

Samuel called from the bedroom just then. “Put some lipstick on, baby. I wanna see you work it.”

I closed my eyes and pressed my forehead against the mirror. Compromise.
Everyone has to compromise in a relationship,
I told myself.
You have a good man and you have to do your part.
I found my lipstick. I assumed he wanted red instead of my usual neutral color.

The stripper shoes felt more like stilts, and I had to stretch out my arms to keep my balance as I tottered back into the bedroom.

Samuel leaned back against the bed and clasped his hands behind his head. “Baby, you look hot.”

“I feel like a clown, Samuel. I can't believe women dance in these things.”

He took a piece of rope and let it dangle on the hook of his finger. “Come here.”

I remained dead still.

“What's wrong?”

“I feel like a goof.”

“But you look so sexy.”

I wanted to be the woman who could easily dance around a pole, who'd take lessons on how to move like a stripper and walk in eight-inch heels, but I also hoped he'd understand. “I don't think this is me, Samuel. I've never felt so un-sexy or so un–turned on in my life.” I felt ashamed even having to say it, but there it was. The truth.

“But you haven't tried it. You can at least try it for me, can't you?”

“I feel stupid. I don't feel sexy at all.”

Samuel sighed. “I don't know about you, but our lovemaking has been becoming stale lately. Don't you want to mix things up? I'm not saying we have to do this every time, but, you know, sometimes there has to be a trade-off in a relationship; it's not as if we're going to like
everything
we do together.”

“Stale? We haven't been together a year.”

“Why are you making such a big deal out of it? I want to have some fun and you're making it out like I'm asking you to do something most women wouldn't enjoy.”

We're not talking about most women,
I thought.
We're talking
about me.
I didn't say it, though. A part of me felt ashamed that I wasn't like other women, who'd love to have a man as handsome as Samuel do whatever he wished. I knew I was being the boring girlfriend.

“What if I tie you up?” I offered.

“No. Nooooo.” He chuckled. “I'm the man.”

“So?”

“I'm dominant. It's the natural order of things.”

“That's crazy. What if we were two men? Then what would you say?”

“We're not two men.” Irritated, he sucked in his breath and shook his head. “Forget it. Let's just go to sleep.” Before I could respond, he turned on his side and pulled the blanket up under his chin. When I walked to the edge of the bed and sat down, he clicked the light off, leaving me in the dark. I took off the (s)hoes and climbed into bed.

I lay on my back with my hands folded on top of the covers. I waited for him to say something, but he remained silent. “I just feel uncomfortable knowing Carmen is in the house,” I said.

“It's fine.”

“And, you know, maybe we can figure out something we both feel comfortable with.”

Silence.

I closed my eyes, but there was no way I was going to be able to sleep.

Years ago, my dad was once asked by a mega pop star to be a part of a band she was putting together. She was transforming her sound for the umpteenth time and for her latest recording she wanted to do a jazz-pop album. Dad could have made serious money, especially going on the planned world tour, but after hearing her ideas and a demo she had put together, he turned her down. When Phineas asked why
—Pops, you could make serious
bank
—he'd said, “That shit ain't me. You be you and do what you want to do and I'll be me. And that shit ain't me.”

I listened to Samuel breathing. Could I lose him over something like this? Would I be betraying myself if I had sex the way my boyfriend wanted? My heart chimed in:
You'll hurt his feelings if you say no.
My brain:
Don't be so uptight. Lighten up.
And my gut:
This shit ain't me.

“Samuel? Are you asleep?” My whispery voice penetrated the dark silence.

I pressed my body into his back and rested my chin on his arm. “Okay,” I whispered.

“Okay what?”

“I'll try it.”

He rolled over. “You sure?”

“Yeah. Let me put the shoes back on.”

My Mother Would Like You

T
wo months later, I'd invited Samuel to Sunday dinner to meet my family for the first time. Rita and I were watching him play with my nieces and nephews in the backyard. He was pretending to be a monster with his arms straight out and his legs assuming a Frankenstein gait. Without warning, he broke into a run and chased them around, and they squealed and laughed.

It was a beautiful and sexy sight. And I thought,
There is nothing sexier than a man who loves children.

“Have we discussed an engagement or marriage?” Rita asked.

“No.
We've
only been together nine months. It's too early for that.”

“Please. It's never too early. Doug and I were engaged within three months. Your father and I married within a year.”

“Yeah, and look how that turned out.”

“Yes, we divorced, but we were together a long time and produced our lovely Dinah. My point: When you know, you know.”

“Rita.”

“I'm only trying to give a little motherly advice.” She turned and looked at me. Her Greek-inspired hairdo was piled on her head, with small pearl-like beads showing here and there. “You can't tell me you haven't thought about it.”

Oh, I'd thought about it, all right. By then, I'd convinced myself that our sex life might be awkward some nights, but you couldn't get everything in one person. I'd even gone online to find dirty sayings so I could better play my part. I considered it my foray into acting. And it wasn't always “Tie me up, tie me down”; we continued to have romantic, sweet sex as well. And besides . . .
look at him. Just look at him.
He was utterly adorable running around with my nieces and nephews. And yes, I did think about our wedding. I pictured myself in my gown (something simple and elegant), standing in front of him at the altar and gazing into that handsome face. I imagined him sliding on my wedding band and our kiss. . . .

As if reading my thoughts, Samuel turned and smiled. I smiled back and waved.

My nephew Riley had his arms wrapped around Samuel's thigh, and when Samuel raised his leg, he lifted Riley into the air along with it. Riley squealed while Samuel brought his hand to his lips and blew me a kiss. Before I could respond, Rita puckered her lips and blew him a kiss in return.

I smirked.

“What?”
she said, bringing her hand to her pearls. “I thought the kiss was for me.”

•   •   •

S
unday dinner was, as usual, loud and chaotic, with the typical assortment of exes, siblings, and anyone who could make it. Since I was introducing Samuel, the wives had made sure to show up. We ate Sunday dinners and larger family meals in the second dining room, which had so many French windows it was
almost like eating outside or in a greenhouse. There was a long wooden table with candles placed down the center. Artwork by family and friends decorated the walls, and directly overhead was a light fixture made from candles and trellis lights. Rain was falling outside by the time we sat down, but the all-gray light outside and the sound of raindrops against the windowpanes contrasted with the warmth of the candles made the room more intimate and cozy.

Dad asked everyone to close their eyes so he could bless the food. He waited for us to settle down before clearing his throat. “I'm grateful this evening for loved ones near and far. But now that I have my seat, I gotta say I wanna eat. I know grubbing on this food will be a feat, but I look forward to this treat. Bailey's gumbo sure can't be beat. Now I gave y'all my rhyme, so let's eat.”

With that, everyone broke into laughter and chatter. I noticed Samuel looking at Dad as if he wasn't sure what he'd just heard, so I leaned in next to his ear. “He always says a rhyme for grace; that's just our thing,” I whispered. He forced a smile and went about eating.

“Corporate attorney, huh?” Dizzy addressed Samuel from the end of the table. Next to him, his wife Sharon held their daughter Hope in her lap. “That's some serious bank.”

“You like it?” asked Phin.

“Yeah, I do,” Samuel answered. “Some cases can be interesting. It can be a lot of work, though.”

I said, “You have no idea. He works all the time.”

“I don't work any harder than this one here,” he said, smiling at me.

Dahlia made a point of flipping her hair and sitting up in her seat. “Samuel helped Carmen get an internship at a firm downtown. Wasn't that nice of him? And Carmen says she really likes it there. Everyone is very nice.”

“I can speak for myself, Mom.”

“Couldn't be prouder of you, baby,” Dad said. Even though Samuel said it was nothing, Dad had thanked him more than once for helping Carmen get the internship. He pointed the tip of his knife her way now and winked. “I'm going to let you handle all my legal affairs soon as you graduate. Matter of fact, you'll be the family's lawyer. Carmen McRae Ross, Esquire. Gotta nice ring to it, don't y'all think?”

Carmen beamed. I hoped their newly found connection would stick. After hearing how crushed she was when he'd canceled breakfast, I'd called Dad the next day and told him to reschedule with her. When he procrastinated or forgot, I went straight to Aiko and asked her to talk to him. Sure enough, Dad and Carmen were meeting for breakfast within days. Like all of Dad's wives, Aiko didn't put up with Dad slacking on his responsibilities, and she was smart and direct; I think you'd have to be, coming into a family like ours.

She bounced baby Ornette in her arms now while trying to soothe him. Ornette was ten months old by then. Bud, who sat between Aiko and Dad in his high chair, was twenty-eight months.

Aiko's once jet-black hair had turned silver-gray, thanks, she liked to say, to having two babies while in her forties. Before marrying Dad, she'd worked as a journalist and had interviewed Dad for a long piece she was writing for an anthology on jazz masters.

Ornette let out a wail, and I asked if I could try to calm him.

“Cheers,” Aiko said, handing him over.

I held him against my chest and inhaled his baby smell. “There, there, sweetie,” I cooed in his ear. “It's going to be okay. These hard times will be over soon, and one day you will learn to walk and ride a bike. You just wait.”

Daddy motioned toward Bud. “Watch this, everybody. Say
truck
, Bud.”

Bud clanged his spoon against his high chair.

Aiko, still chewing, said halfheartedly, “Babe, don't. It's embarrassing.”

Daddy said, “It's cute and you know it. Bud, say
truck
for Daddy.”

“Fuck.”

“That's my boy. Say it again:
Trrruuuck
.”

“Fuuuuck!”

We all laughed. I began patting Ornette's back.

“You look good holding a baby,” Bailey said.

“Momma,” Theo warned. “Don't embarrass Abbey like that.”

“What did I do?” Bailey cut into her turkey. Her hair was dyed the same deep blue as her blouse and short skirt. “She does look good holding that baby. Should I lie?”

I could feel my face growing hot but managed to avoid everyone's gaze, especially Samuel's, by reaching for a spoonful of sweet potatoes.

Daddy said, “You listen to much jazz, Samuel?”

Samuel set his fork aside and rubbed his hands up and down his thighs as if he'd been anticipating the question but hadn't figured out how to respond. “Abbey's teaching me a lot. I'm learning to like it.”

Theo's eyes widened. “Learning to like it?
Learning to like it?
That's like having to learn to like iced tea on a hot day; that's like having to learn to like sex!” He laughed. “That's like—”

“We get it,” Dizzy interjected.

Doug leaned out from Rita's side. “Don't mind Theo. If you look around the table, you'll understand that this family is on the weird side of things.”

“Doug!” Rita admonished. “We are not weird.”

“Well, now, honey, if the shoe fits. Don't you worry, Samuel, I'll look after you. Takes some getting used to, exes and wives sitting at the same table and the obsession with jazz music, but they're actually an okay bunch.” He shoved gumbo into his mouth. “You stick with me and I'll show you how it all works.”

“They're the only family I've ever had,” Dahlia said to Samuel. “Before this family took me in, I grew up being shuttled around, you see.”

“Here we go,” Bailey said, reaching for her wine.

“Well, it's true!”

“I like having my children around,” Dad explained. He glared at Doug with a playful spark in his eye. “And if that means welcoming people like that into the fold, so be it.”

Joan sat at the far end of the table. “It's true,” she said. “We are an odd lot. And thank God for it.” She raised her glass and a few of us joined in.

Ornette had calmed enough that I started to return him to Aiko.

“You sure you don't want to keep him?” she asked.

Bailey looked from me to Samuel. “So, when's the wedding?”

We all moaned and shouted at once: “Bailey!” “Momma!” “Leave them alone, Bailey!”

Amid all the commotion, Samuel gave me a peck on the cheek.
Love you,
he mouthed.

•   •   •

I
wasn't to meet Samuel's parents for another two months. Judging by Samuel's nervousness, you would've thought we'd been invited to a state dinner. He wasn't sweating-bullets nervous, but he was tense around the edges. The night before we were to drive to his parents', he started watching baseball highlights on YouTube and studying stats of players. The odd thing was, he didn't like baseball and never watched it. When I asked
what he was doing, he said that his dad was a baseball fanatic and liked to discuss the games.

The next day while waiting for me to dress, he'd spent more time catching up on baseball. He'd already taken his shower and was sitting on the couch with his shirtsleeves rolled up.

I walked in wearing my robe. “I still don't get why you're doing this. Why don't you just tell him you don't like it?”

“It's not a big deal. It makes him happy.”

“Yeah, but there's no reason to put yourself through this. You should tell him the truth and find another way to make him happy.”

He shook his head as if there was no sense explaining; I'd never understand. I waited for him to respond, but he kept his eyes on his laptop. “The dessert's okay?” he asked.

“Since you asked an hour ago?”

“Why don't you get dressed? We don't want to be late.”

He was still at the computer when I came back out.

“You're wearing that?”

Not what you want to hear when you're about to meet your boyfriend's parents. Mmm . . . actually, not what you want to hear
ever
.

I looked down at my vintage-style dress with cap sleeves and a floral print. I liked it because it was just tight enough to give me the appearance of at least pretending to have curves. “What's wrong with it? I thought you liked this dress.”

“I do, but it's too much for the family.”

“Are they Amish?”

He made his face go slack. “Please, baby? Something else?”

“There's nothing wrong with this dress.”

He turned from his laptop. “Sweetie, I know I'm probably acting crazy. But it would mean a lot to me if you changed. They're conservative; I've told you that.”

“Yeah, but it's not like I'm wearing a miniskirt. Should I go find my burka? Would that help?”

He rose from the couch and walked over. He raised my chin with the tip of his finger. “I want them to fall in love with you. And I know they will. When they do, wear whatever you want, but trust me, you want to go with something less flashy today. For me? Please?” He kissed me then. Long and deep, and as the seconds passed and his hands ran up and down my thighs, it came to me that I could just as easily change into something else. He gave my ass a pat as I headed back toward the bedroom. “You do look good in that dress,” he called after me.

I gave a shake. “Your loss.”

•   •   •

O
n the drive to his parents' house in El Cerrito, I thought it would be funny to listen to Heather Rigdon's “My Mother Would Like You.” Rigdon wrote witty, sarcastic standards for her three-piece trio. After hearing a few bars, Samuel asked me to turn off the stereo. “You should know that my parents follow a prophet and you're going to see his picture up in the house, but it's nothing.”

I wasn't sure if I was more surprised to hear about this prophet or that Samuel would mention something so important just minutes before we were to arrive.

“It's not a big deal.”
He was always repeating this refrain in this tone, and I'd long ago gathered that he thought I turned everything into a big deal.

He explained that his parents had converted when he was a baby. The family even flew to Trinidad, where his father was born and where the prophet lived, for the ceremony of “commitment and transformation.” He assured me his parents were strictly Christian; believers in the prophet simply had a more intellectualized view of the Bible. “They believe in evolution, that
women can be as successful as men, all of that,” he said. “The prophet teaches that the followers of Christ should become engaged in intellectual rigor. I mean, that's one reason Father was so hard on me. He believes we should be the best we can be.”