After The Dance (28 page)

None too thrilled with the haughtiness of homeboy’s tone, I got up in a huff and walked over to the balcony railing. After a quick, calming sip of wine, I said, “Oh, you’ve just got it all worked out, now, don’t you?”

He laughed behind that and said, “I know I’m not detecting a little jealousy on your part, am I? I told you, love, what happened between Tina and me is history. After all, why would I want to settle for second best when I could have top of the line?”

I narrowed my eyes, swirled the wine in my glass, and said, “Man, please. Why don’t you just admit it? All that stuff you said about the detective and searching for our son was a farce, wasn’t it? Why not stop with all the bull-crap, Scoobie, and tell me exactly what it is you have in mind besides shipping me off to some fat farm and having your surgeon friend carve me up like a plate of prime rib?”

“What exactly do I have in mind?” he said, letting his smile fade before he came over to where I stood and handed me an open box. “I suppose marriage is as good a place as any to start.”

I lowered my gaze only to have it greeted by the sparkle of a ring—a ring with the biggest freaking diamond I’ve ever seen up-close and personal in all my life. Good thing I was standing near the balcony’s railing, because what I’d wished on Scoobie earlier boomeranged back on me. I’m saying wine shot out of my nose every which-a-way. And when I finally stopped coughing and dripping, all I could get out was a, “You’re joking, right?”

What? Ain’t no crime in a brother updating his look, is there? Okay, fine, I let Ms. Vic sweet-talk/sucker me into it to some degree. Believe me, it could have been a whole hell of a lot worse. Had I really let baby girl have her way with me, I’d no doubt be sitting up here looking like a broke cousin of Dennis Rodman. I’m talking tattoos, nose rings, multicolored hair, and all.

See, what happened was, I was sitting at home one night, minding my own, when she called and asked if I was interested in riding over to the university’s student center with her and shooting some pool. Being that I wasn’t doing nothing, I told her sure, I’d go hang for a minute. So she came by and picked me up, right? But instead of heading straight for the U, she told me she needed to swing by the mall for a sec.

I didn’t say anything, but all the while I was thinking to myself, now if this is some kinda slick ploy to get me to buy her something, baby girl has another thang coming. But no, turned out it was on the up-and-up. She stopped by this little shop and, without so much as a sideways glance in my direction, she picked up and paid for a pair and a half of earrings.

And you know my slow tail. Just before her transaction was complete, I picked up the tiny, single silver loop and asked, “So how come you’re not buying the match for this one?”

She was like, “Oh, that’s for my belly button.”

Yeah, man, I’ve been trying to tell you, quiet as it’s kept, baby girl’s got a right healthy dose of freak in her. To look at her, you’d never know she’s got a navel piercing as well as a doggone butterfly etched high up on the upper portion of her left butt cheek.

Anyway, she’d paid for the jewelry and we were about to leave when the gum-cracking chick behind the counter flashed me a grin and said, “What about you, good-looking? You ever thought about getting an earring?”

I could have lied and told her no. It would have spared me some time, if nothing else. But like I told you, man, I wasn’t operating at the top of my game that evening. So, like a fool, I went ahead and told her, “Actually, I have thought about it, but—”

Mind you, I did say “but” followed by a multitude of reasons why I’d thus far opted
not
to go the earring route. Of course, neither she nor Ms. Vic was trying to hear any of that. They kept stroking my ego and telling me how much more like Michael Jordan an earring would make me look. And, man, before I knew anything, I was standing up there with not one but two throbbing earlobes, and the doggone refrain to one of Prince’s old songs—“You need another lover like you need another hole in your head, baby, baby …” riding my brain waves in a forty-second rotation.

Pretty much the same sort of deal went down with the hair bit. I’m saying, it wasn’t something I set out to do, but once it was done, there was no turning back. All I call myself doing was stopping by Ms. Vic’s house to drop off a class assignment she’d missed. It just so happened that her brother Darnell was there getting his hair done.

Now I gotta tell you, that whole pimped-out Nick Ashford, Al Sharpton, dippity-do look ain’t never been my thang. No, sir, unlike a countless number of other nappy-headed brothers who broke beneath the pressure, I was one of the proud few who refused to buckle when the Jheri-Curl craze descended amongst our folk with a drip and splash in the early eighties. But the waves Ms. Vic had put in Darnell’s head weren’t all that bad-looking. None of that hard, caked-up, greasy-looking mess or those big bouncy-ass curls you see some brothers out here rolling
with. No, dude’s waves looked really natural. But instead of keeping my thoughts to myself, I made the mistake of complimenting Ms. Vic on her handiwork.

She thanked me, then stared at the buckshot on the back of my head for a couple of long seconds before telling me, “You know, Carl, I could do yours if you’d like. It’s a no-lye product, so it doesn’t burn. And given the length of your hair, it shouldn’t take all that long …”

That’s when my boy Darnell chimed in with his forty-nine and a half cents’ worth, “Yeah, dog, go on and let sis hook you up. I got a couple partners who won’t let nobody but her come near their heads.”

You right, I should have known better. What’s good for a young wolf like Darnell and the wild pack he runs with ain’t necessarily the best bet for some old table scrap–fed mutt like myself. But, yeah, I sat on down and let baby girl slap that mess all up in my head. And when she finally announced she’d done all she could do and reluctantly passed me the mirror, it took everything in me not to break down crying. Man, my head looked like something my doggone cat Sapphire had spent an afternoon licking and lapping on. Instead of waving up or even laying down flat, clumps and bunches of little hairs were sticking up some of everywhere.

All Ms. Vic could say was, “I’m sorry, Carl. I guess the texture of your hair calls for something a bit stronger. But you know, after the chemical grows out you might want to think about going dread.”

Come on now, man. What in the world am I gonna look like walking around with some nappy-ass locks hanging off my big ol’ half-bald head? A zip-dang fool, that’s what! Had she not been a woman, I’d straight cussed her tail out for coming at me with some junk like that.

I went right out the next day and had my barber take all that mess off. And to help balance things out, I told him to go ahead and clean up some of the hair on my face.
So, to make a long story short, that’s how I ended up with the earrings, the bald head, the trimmed mustache, and the new goatee. Even though it wasn’t something I’d planned, overall I’d say the look is something of an improvement. Wouldn’t you?

Scoobie came over with a handkerchief and ran down his rap while wiping and dabbing at the wine I’d dribbled on myself. “Faye, for the last year or so I’ve been praying for God to send me the right woman—that one special lady who would make the picture complete for me. And when I saw you at the mall that night, I knew not only had my prayers been answered, but my mama had been right all along. You’re the only one for me, babe. We’re supposed to spend the rest of our lives together.”

Girl, right then and there is when I should have broke for the door and made a run for it. But with Scoobie’s hypnotic eyes hitting me from one angle and the twinkling sparkle of that durn ring coming at me from another, my feet got all confused. Had I moved, I’da probably tripped. Nonetheless, I tried to tell him, “Wooh! Listen, I don’t know what kind of dream world you’re living in, but it’s way too soon for us to be talking about marriage. And frankly, at the rate we’re going, I’m not sure if we’ll ever—”

“Yeah, baby, you’re right,” he said, cutting me off. “I am living in a dream world, and one that would be absolutely complete if only I had you—the one woman in my life who I could always count on to be there for me, come what may.”

Having said all of that, the brother leaned forward and pressed a light but lingering and suitably wet kiss on my
lips, after which he said, “Take some time and think about it. I’m open to giving you as much as you want and whatever it is you need. You know that, baby.”

To keep from getting distracted, I snapped shut the lid on the ring box before I told him, “Okay! Right now, Scoobie, what I need more than anything are some straight answers. You want me to start? Fine! The truth of the matter is, the only reason I agreed to come here with you at all is because you led me to believe we were going to find out something about our son.”

“Babe,” he said, reaching out to touch my face. “Haven’t I more than proven myself since in the last four to five weeks? Do we not serve a God of second chances?”

I peeled his fingers off my face and told him, “You know, Scoobie, it’s one thing to play with my feelings, but it’s quite another to play with the Lord.”

“Okay,” he said, throwing up his arms and looking angrier than I’d seen him in a long time. “I’m a liar and all of this has been one extremely expensive charade!” He turned and walked back into the suite, leaving me out on the balcony by myself. After a few minutes of standing there, letting it all soak in, I went inside as well. I walked over and set the box, with the ring still inside it, on top of one of the white, fluffy pillows sitting atop his bed.

Scoobie was standing in front of the suite’s fireplace, thumbing through some papers in a large brown envelope. On noting that his face was still flushed red with emotion, I told him, “I’m gonna go on back to my room now. I think we’ve both said enough for one night.”

But before I could make my move, Scoobie whipped a sheet of paper from the envelope and said, “Before you go, you might want to take a look at this.”

I remember sighing and opening my mouth to tell him that I was too tired to play any more games with him, but before I could get anything out he said, “What? You don’t
want to see your son? He looks just like your daddy. Tell me I’m lying about that, why don’t you?”

I stopped by to check on the girls the other day, and the first thing outta my ex’s mouth when she caught a glimpse of my two new gold loop earrings and my big, shiny, bald head was, “So how old is she?”

I was like, “How old is who?”

She turned away from the sink where she’d been washing dishes and said, “Who? The silly chile you done let talk you into that god-awful foolishness, that’s who. What’s it going to be next, huh? A tongue stud, four or five platinum teeth, and some beaded hair extensions?”

My girl Bet don’t pull no punches. Good thing she didn’t see me right after Ms. Vic fixed me up with that whacked-out perm.

“Come on, now,” I said. “Haven’t you and the girls been getting on me for the longest about updating my appearance and freshening up my wardrobe?”

Dishrag in hand, she came over to where I was seated and commenced to scrubbing like mad at a spot on the kitchen table right in front of me. “Umpf,” she said. “Had I known that was going to translate into you going out and having two extra holes drilled into your head, I’da sure kept my mouth shut. You need to start acting your age, Carl, and stop running around out here like you’re twenty-something and part of Lil Jon and Nem’s crew.

“Anyway,” I said, raising my voice in an attempt to drown out hers, “I think I look good.”

“Yeah,” she said with a laugh. “I imagine you do.” She
cocked a hand to her hip and said, “And what’s Faye had to say about all of this?”

“Ain’t nobody trying to hear what Faye’s got to say” is what I told her, hoping she wouldn’t look too deeply into my eyes and spot any of the scars and bruises I was still sporting from having been kicked to the curb. “She’s not even in the picture anymore, anyway.”

Bet shook her head and said, “Uh-huh, just like I figured. You done gone and let some little tramp come between you, huh?” She pulled out a chair and sat down like she was tired before she added, “When are you ever going to learn, Carl?”

“Learn what?” I said. “That nothing I do is ever gonna be good enough?”

Shaking her head again, Bet shot me the same pissed expression she issues the kids when she’s had enough of their mess. “So what happened?”

Knowing all too well that any attempt to skirt around the issue would only make it harder on myself, I just went ahead and told her, “She dumped me, that’s what. Sound familiar?”

Bet took my sarcasm and tossed it right back at me. “I know it didn’t happen clear out of the blue. You must have done something.”

“Obviously,” I said, like a man who didn’t know when to leave well enough alone. “Once a dog, always a dog in your book, right?”

“You want to talk about her?” Bet asked, her face drawing up into a tight frown. “Or would you rather talk about us?”

Sensing a full-fledged fight coming on, I backed down and told her, “I really don’t care to discuss either one. You’re the one who’s so intent on dredging it all up.”

“Well, excuse me for trying to care” is what she said. “I thought your allowing Faye to interact with the girls and come to my sister’s wedding meant she was someone special,
someone you were planning on keeping around for a while.”

I wanted to say something, but I knew I couldn’t without peeping Bet to some of the emotional junk I was trying to keep tucked beneath my mask. But I’ll be damned if she didn’t hone in on it anyway.

“You still have feelings for her, don’t you?” she said with a smile after staring at me all of ten seconds. “Does she know?”

Unwilling to go that deep into it with her, I got up from the table and said, “I told you already, Bet. The girl dumped me. She’s got another man. All right?”

Before I could leave the room and go off to fetch my girls, Bet came over to me, and with a tenderness that I haven’t been privy to in quite some time, she squeezed my arm and said, “For the record, Carl, I’ve never thought of you as a dog. Not even when you were out there whoring around like somebody who didn’t know he had a wife and kids waiting at home for him. No, if anything, I’d say you were something more along the lines of an alley cat—the reckless, foolish type who at some level truly believes he’s been blessed with more than one life to spare.”