Abnormal Lives (5 page)

Stefan pulled a black signature bikini off of the rack and held it up. “Simone, you like this?”

“No, I don't really go for signature stuff.” Simone pulled a floral print halter bikini off of the rack. “What about this one?”

“Naw.” Stefan pulled a turquoise tropical print bikini off of the rack beside it. “Oh, I like this one. I'm going to try it on.”

Simone held on to the pink bikini and scanned the racks for one she liked better. Wherever they went, Stefan made sure he looked his best. Even when he was dressed in his boy clothes, he made sure he presented himself in a way that was appealing to him and those he wanted to impress.

Simone recalled the first time Stefan had gone out on the town dressed in drag. She was thirteen and Stefan was fourteen years old. They stayed up late the night before, making Stefan's dress. The next night when they ventured out, Stefan stole all of the compliments. Men walked past him doing double-takes. Simone listened as the men spit their pickup lines to Stefan:

“Damn, ma, you thrown together!”

“What you doing there with all that?” and all types of stupid shit, but Simone hadn't received one compliment or advance. She'd seen a middle-aged man leaning against his car gawking at her. She'd anticipated him making a pass at her and looked forward to the chance to curse him out and send him on his way. Before the man could make a pass at her, Stefan had strolled in front of her, grabbing his attention.

“Um, you a tall drink of water if I ever seen one,” the man had said.

It was at that moment when Simone decided that she wasn't going to be Stefan's coaster.
There is no way he should be pulling more men than me
, she told herself.
After all, I have two things he doesn't have
. She promised herself to use both to her advantage whenever possible. She made an effort to look as good, or better, than Stefan when they stepped out, even if it meant showing off what he didn't have to show.

Stefan came to the dressing room door, striking a pose in his bikini. “You like?” Stefan asked, turning around to show Simone the back of his bikini.

“Ain't nobody fucking with you.”

Stefan blushed. “Who you telling?”

Simone held up the cover-up that went with Stefan's bikini. “Look what I found.”

“I don't want that shit,” Stefan said. “That's for them chicks with a bunch of dimples in their asses, like you.”

“You're crazy; my ass is tight.”

Stefan shook his head. “Naw, your ass is fat. That's what you get for sitting in front of the TV eating pizza when you're supposed to be at the gym with me.”

“Fuck you, Stefan.”

“See, I always knew you were a hater.” Stefan turned his back toward Simone. “You wish you had an ass like this. This ass right here is tough.” Stefan slapped himself on the ass.

“Please,” Simone said. “My ass is so tough I could carry five niggas from here to California on one of my cheeks.”

“My ass is so tough I could pick up five nickels, three nails, and a crochet needle off a scalding hot sidewalk in Miami in the middle of July with my bare cheeks,” Stefan said.

Simone laughed. She threw both of her hands in the air to surrender. “I'm scared of you.”

“And you should be.” Stefan winked his eye and closed the door to the dressing room.

After leaving Guess, they went to the tattoo parlor so Stefan could get one. Stefan talked about it the entire ride there. He wanted an outline of a bone on the small of his back with red cursive letters inside that read: “red bone.” Simone was hesitant about getting one. She had a low tolerance for pain but, after seeing the finished results of Stefan's, she decided that she had to
have one. She got two strawberries that overlapped each other on the small of her back. The one on the right had a chunk bitten from it where drops of juices trickled down to the top of her hip. She was a little sore but felt extra special rocking the two strawberries on her back. She would wear backless shirts and low riders all summer. It was also an added plus when it came to enticing her clients and finding new ones.

4

P
aris sat at the bar, sipping his fourth mojito. He was trying to numb his envy. Every time he went out with his boyfriend, Michael, he had to deal with his flirting. It didn't matter where they went; it could be a bar, club, or park and Michael would find someone or something to flirt with, be it a man, woman, or dog. This time it was Paris's friend, Jewel, who was at the bar when they arrived, drinking his sorrows away and trying to find someone drunk enough, or low enough, to spend the night with him.

Jewel dressed in drag like Paris did but was uglier posing as a woman than he was dressed as a man. He had eyes the size of grapes, a wide nose and itty-bitty nostrils, thin lips, and a box chin. When he added his blonde weave and drew the mole on the top of his lip, he looked like he belonged on the island of misfit toys, but you couldn't tell him that. Jewel would go around telling people that he was the shit. He said it so much that he had brainwashed some poor folks into believing that he was a hot commodity.

Paris scanned the bar for someone who would give him the attention that he deserved. He put too much into himself; waxing, putting on makeup, buying breast and butt pads, sitting for eight hours for his micro-braids. He refused to be ignored. If Michael preferred to look in Jewel's rough face instead of admiring
his smooth chocolate skin, his big brown eyes that he went out of his way to glue lashes on, his pearly white smile, and the deep dimple on his left cheek, then fuck him. Paris could find someone else who would.

Paris walked over to a handsome, light brown-skinned guy. He was definitely Paris's type. He was tall, muscular, and the exact opposite of Michael whose dark, short, frail body could be masked by a barstool. Paris realized that Michael would be jealous. Michael had a serious color complex. He was threatened by the lighter-skinned people he had to compete with in the dating game and had an unyielding partiality for the ones who were his potential love interests. Paris never understood what the big hype was about color. He felt black people practiced supremacy amongst each other. Some light-skinned people thought being fair made them better than other members of their own race. They thought that they were special when they really needed special education. Any person with good sense would understand that if anything made one person better than another, it was their morals and values. Then there were some dark-skinned people who stereotyped light-skinned people as being whores, gold diggers, or snobbish based upon light-skinned people that they'd had negative experiences with, or something they'd heard or seen on television. Paris guessed the brown-skinned people in between thought that they had serious ego and inferiority issues and needed to see a shrink. Paris planned to use Michael's complex to his advantage.

Paris walked over to the muscular, light-skinned man and tapped him on his shoulder. The man glanced up at him.

Paris held out his hand. “Hey, I'm Paris.”

The man grabbed Paris's hand and kissed it. “My name's Frank, boo.”

Paris smiled and looked down at Frank's firm lap. “Is that seat taken?”

“It is now.” Frank grabbed Paris by the waist and sat him down in his lap.

Paris sat in Frank's lap, flirting with him and sipping on his drink for a half-hour before Michael drew his attention away from Jewel long enough to notice.

Paris was too busy looking in Frank's eyes to notice Michael approaching him. When he did notice Michael, it was too late. Michael stood in front of him, emitting smoke from his nostrils like a bull. Before Paris could utter a word, Michael threw his drink in his face. The bar became silent as everyone turned their attention to them.

Paris was fuming.
This nigga has lost his mind
, he thought. That was one of the most degrading things you could do to your mate.

Frank slid Paris off of his lap and stood up to confront Michael. “Man, what the—”

Before Frank could finish, the sound of Paris's fist slamming into Michael's chest echoed throughout the bar. Michael pushed Paris into the table and Paris dove onto Michael and sunk his teeth deep into the skin on his cheek. Security ran over to break up the fight and threw Paris and Michael out of the club.

Frank left the club to offer Paris a ride home. He saw Michael prying the Rolex watch off of Paris's wrist and heard him demand that Paris give him the bracelet and earrings that he'd purchased for him.

Frank started up his car. “Come on, Paris; I'll take you home!”

Michael cursed and yelled as Paris made his way to the car. “I don't know why I even settled for some trash like you! You ain't fit to eat shit out my ass!”

Paris got into the car and shut the door. “You're right; that's
your mama's job!” Paris yelled out of the window as Frank drove off.

Michael chased the car to the end of the block and then stopped and cursed at Paris as he caught his breath.

Simone and Stefan arrived at the Crowne Plaza Hotel on East Canal Street at eleven o'clock. They were thirty minutes late. Stefan yawned as he got off of the elevator and Simone thought about whether she should apologize to their client for being late. As they approached the room, they spotted Thomas peeking out of the door. The two looked at each other and grinned.

“He must be in a hurry to get his hands on us,” Simone joked.

“What you expect? I'm a hot commodity,” Stefan said, snapping his fingers.

Simone slowed her pace and allowed Stefan to enter the room first. She was starting to have a case of the giggles like she often did when they went on jobs together, something that happened when she became nervous. She wanted to contain herself before she walked into the room.

Thomas flung open the door and welcomed them with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. He grabbed Stefan's hand and spun him around, looking him over. “Um...um...um,” Thomas said, before kissing Stefan's hand.

“I know that's right.” Stefan wasn't surprised by how pleased Thomas was with his appearance.

“Would you two like something to drink?” Thomas asked, glancing at the bottle of Glenlivet on the stand beside the bed.

Simone looked over at the bottle. “Glenlivet, hell yeah. That's my baby daddy.”

Stefan rolled his eyes. “Sure, I'd love to have some.”

Stefan stood there, watching Thomas pour their drinks while Simone scanned the room.

“Is he a doctor?” Simone whispered in Stefan's ear, nodding her head toward the white lab coat that lay across the bed.

“Yeah,” Stefan mumbled.

“Oh, and he's married, too. Look at that wedding band on the table.”

Stefan kept his eyes on Thomas, trying to ignore Simone.

“I wonder how much I can get for that bad boy at the pawnshop.”

Stefan stomped down on her foot.

Simone quickly slid her foot from under Stefan's shoe. “What the hell is wrong with you?”