Baby Brother's Blues (23 page)

“There will be plenty of air-conditioning where we’re going,” he said, “but don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of everything.”

She looked at him, unable to believe her ears. “You gonna buy me some clothes, too?”

“What are you? About a size six?”

She ran her hands over her breasts lightly, nudging the escapee back into place behind the dress’s narrow ribbon of red silk. “Five petite on account of I’m so short and sometimes a three when I can find them.” She grinned at him slowly. “I like stuff to fit tight on me.”

That was an understatement. He was relieved that he had usurped her wardrobe planning so smoothly she never had a chance to take it the wrong way.

“I’ll take care of everything,” he said again.

Her eyes softened with gratitude and something else.

“Let’s go home baby,” she said softly, tossing her napkin down on the table and reaching for her purse. “I got some dessert for you.”

“Is it sweet?” he said, laying down four crisp one hundred dollar bills to cover the meal, the champagne, and a big enough tip to guarantee him the same service whenever he came again.

“It’s real sweet.”

“Is it hot?”

“Hotter than that, baby.” She ran her tongue lightly over her newly repainted lips and grinned at him. “Hot enough for Vegas.”

41

C
lub Baltimore was pretty much an exact replica of a dozen other clubs within a five-block radius. The music was loud, the drinks were overpriced, the VIP section was off-limits unless you knew somebody, and everybody was real busy pretending they just flew in on a private jet from someplace more exciting than this could ever be. Even the valet parkers would tell you they were just doing the gig to keep body and soul together until some record company recognized their genius and got them into the studio. The bullshit was three feet deep and four across, Baby Brother thought. Of course he loved it.

Janice and Michelle did, too. They were clearly regulars. Everybody from the hostess at the door guarding her VIP list to the hot-dog bartender whose specialties were perfect cosmopolitans for the ladies and an endless supply of Cristal for the men who could afford it greeted the dynamic duo by name. They relished the attention as they eased through the crowd in their tight jeans and
Sex and the City
shoes, waving to friends, promising to call back, and pointing out the club’s fine points to Baby Brother as Zora followed behind. It pleased him to notice that although Zora was completely comfortable, she didn’t seem to frequent the place as often as her friends did. He liked that. He wasn’t looking for a virgin, but he didn’t want to be just one more in a long line.

Mickey and Jan proceeded upstairs to the VIP section without even stopping at the bar. Baby Brother had a sudden fear that since he was the only man in their group, he’d be expected to pay for whatever expensive drinks they ordered. These girls were not going to be satisfied with a glass of the house Chablis, if he could even afford three glasses of that and have enough left to buy himself a beer.

He didn’t need to worry. As they settled into a cozy nook where they could see everything and enjoy the earsplitting beats pouring from the sound system without having to mingle with the crowd of
nobodies
downstairs, Zora leaned over and whispered in his ear.

“Don’t worry about the drinks. Mickey knows the bartender. He always hooks us up.”

Baby Brother knew why. It couldn’t hurt a club to have these three beauties on the premises as often as they wanted to come. In reality, they were out of reach of most of the guys who caught a glimpse of them, but the hope that springs eternal in the male breast is part of what makes guys hang out in clubs in the first place. Zora and her girlfriends were the flesh-and-blood stuff of a brother’s dreams, Baby Brother thought. Tonight, he was just lucky enough to be the one they chose to share their world.

“Cool,” he said, and when the VIP room waiter came around with Mickey’s cosmopolitan and Janice’s champagne cocktail, he ordered Heineken and a shot of cognac for himself and a strawberry daiquiri for Zora, at her request. The service was fast, and within minutes, they were sipping their drinks and grinning around the table at one another.

“I think we should toast something,” Janice said.

“Okay,” Mickey said. “What?”

“I don’t know. What about you, Zora? You got anything to toast?” And she rolled her eyes in Baby Brother’s direction.

“I got somethin’,” he said, raising his glass. They followed suit like good little schoolgirls. “To the three sexiest women in this whole club.”

Mickey giggled and raised her glass. Jan rolled her eyes again as she clinked her glass against the others. “I’ll drink to that.”

“And the smartest,” said Zora, taking a small sip of her daiquiri.

Janice groaned. “Speak for yourself. This is a night to get
stupid.
”

Zora wondered how her genius friend, a straight-A premed major at Spelman, was going to accomplish that.

“You got that right.” Mickey waved her perfectly manicured hand at the waiter for another round. It wouldn’t be any easier for her to
get stupid
since she had just completed her junior year abroad in France and had already been offered a position as a teacher in the international school when she graduated in June if she wanted it.

Zora could tell both of her friends found Wes attractive. They acted this way only around men they’d be interested in having sex with sometime. Zora couldn’t blame them. He was still fine, even without his uniform. She was glad he had gone to see Blue and moved into West End. Even though he bitched about the job, and even more about the housing, he wasn’t going anywhere for a minute or two. That would give her time enough to see if there was anything to him worth exploring.

She knew she was physically attracted to him, but there was no rush to act on it right away. It took a long time for her to let a man get close to her sexually, and even when she did, she was so obsessed with safe sex that she limited her contact with her lovers to oral sex, with appropriate latex, mutual masturbation with fantasy, and role-playing. There was no need to tell Wes all that yet. Right now all she wanted to do was make sure he knew she was interested and let nature take its course.

“Do you want to dance?” she said.

Baby Brother looked at the VIP room, where couples and small groups of men and women were drinking and talking. There was a small dance floor, but it was empty. He’d been away long enough to be unsure whether his moves were still current. The last thing he wanted to do was jump out there with some tired old steps that would make him look foolish.

“Here?”

“If you want,” she said, “but it’s more fun downstairs.”

He could just imagine that blouse slipping off her shoulder once she started dancing. This was no time to worry about looking foolish. He stood up, drained his beer, and held out his hand. “Then let’s go where the fun is.”

An hour later, they finally came back to the table, laughing and sweating, smelling themselves and each other like the sweetest perfume. She was a good dancer and so was he. Fast or slow, their bodies seemed in perfect sync. When they came together on a rare slow tune, she pressed herself lightly against him like a promise.

Janice and Michelle had joined two brothers at another table, but excused themselves when their friends returned and hurried over to signify.

“You didn’t tell me you were auditioning for
Soul Train,
” Mickey said.

“Go to hell.” Zora laughed. “I haven’t danced that much since high school.”

“Me neither,” Baby Brother said as a waitress brought him another beer and another shot without being asked. He took a long swallow of the beer and grinned at Zora. He had had two more drinks while they were downstairs and he was pleasantly high and feeling expansive. “We should come back here tomorrow.”

Mickey giggled. “You don’t want to do that, sweetheart. Tomorrow’s DL night.”

“What the hell is DL night?” He had been away only a few months, but the latest slang had already passed him.

“It’s the one night of the week when all the
down-low
brothers come out to play. They spend all Sunday morning in church and all Sunday night at the club,” Mickey was happy to explain, watching for his reaction.

“This club?”
Baby Brother was surprised. He’d never heard of a straight club and a gay one sharing space. Most dudes on the DL were so paranoid about being
outted
they wouldn’t go anywhere near a straight club with a man they were interested in sexually.

Jan giggled. “It’s crazy, right? They don’t even open the front door. All entry through the rear.”

Zora wrinkled her perfect nose. “How corny is that?”

It didn’t sound corny to Baby Brother. It sounded like
opportunity.
He knew he could always pick up a few dollars where men were looking for other men. That didn’t make him a professional hustler. It was just a question of economics. Given a choice, he’d always rather have a woman, but he needed some cash fast, and hauling tomatoes at two hundred dollars a week wasn’t taking him anywhere he wanted to go. Davy’s right-wing radio fixation was already driving him crazy. Besides, he thought, draining the green bottle of the last of his beer, it wasn’t like he’d never done it before.

“Too corny for me,” he said, reaching for his beer. How many did this one make? Four? Or was it five? He couldn’t remember. What difference did it make anyway? He wasn’t paying or driving, and unless he was mistaken, Zora had something for him.

The DJ put on the latest hip-shaking anthem from Beyoncé and her girls. Zora stood up and held out her hand with a smile. “You want to give it one more try?”

He grinned at her, drained the last of the shot that came with the beer, and stood up to put his arm around her waist. His head was buzzing with the liquor and the music and the possibilities that lay ahead. “You ain’t tryin’ to hurt a nigga, are you?”

“Not me,” Zora said, laughing. “I’m trying to
heal
one.”

That dance turned into two or three more until Mickey finally said she was leaving, and if they wanted to stay, they could catch a cab home. It was time to call it a night and not a moment too soon. By the time Mickey dropped them off at Zora’s apartment, Baby Brother realized he was way higher than he had intended to be. He hoped he wasn’t too drunk to make love to Zora. Sometimes cognac put his penis to sleep and there was nothing he could do to wake it up until the liquor was out of his system. If that happened, he’d have to try oral sex, but even though he had been told he was good at it, that definitely wasn’t his first choice.

He stumbled a little when he got out of the car and followed Zora up to the blue front door, weaving slightly as she searched for her key. She was one lucky girl to have hooked up with him, Baby Brother thought. She was in for the best sex of her life,
as soon as she got the damn door open.
He leaned forward suddenly, grabbed Zora’s behind, and squeezed hard. When she whirled around, he stumbled against her, grinning and glassy-eyed.

“Are you drunk?” Zora said, a frown wrinkling her beautiful forehead.

“A little,” he said, giving her a lopsided smile. “Are you?”

“I don’t get drunk.”

He noticed that she held her key in her hand, but was making no move to open the door. The urgent need to urinate suddenly overwhelmed him. “Can we go upstairs now, baby? I gotta pee bad.”

Zora was incredulous. She couldn’t believe he had gotten this drunk the first time they ever went out. He could hardly stand up. Any thought she might have had about inviting him upstairs vanished.

“Go home and pee.”

“Can’t make it that far, baby,” he said, shifting from foot to foot.

“Try,” she said, sarcastic as hell.

Baby Brother didn’t appreciate her tone, but he couldn’t really worry about that now. What she didn’t seem to realize was that in about two seconds, he was going to pee all over her pretty little feet.

“Aw, baby,” he whined. “Don’t be that way.”

“Go home,” she said again, then opened and closed the door in one smooth motion, leaving him alone outside, too surprised and drunk to follow.

“What the fuck?” He really had to pee now. He looked around for assistance, but it was very late. The street was deserted and he knew nobody was going to let a drunk stranger in to use the bathroom. He had no choice but to knock on Zora’s door, knowing she could hear it, even if she had already gone inside. “Zora!
What the fuck?
”

She didn’t come back out, so he knocked again and called a little louder.

“Zora!”

The urge to pee was becoming imperative.
Shit!
She wasn’t coming out again. That much was clear. He felt like he was about to explode.
What the hell was he supposed to do?
The large magnolia tree in front of the house seemed like the best option and Baby Brother stumbled back down the walk toward it, unzipping his jeans as he went. He didn’t even notice the black Lincoln easing down the quiet street until it pulled over and stopped at the curb right beside him.

“Jamerson!”

Even drunk as he was, the sound of General’s voice stopped him. He groaned, fumbling to zip his pants back up before he turned around. Baby Brother didn’t know what was scarier. The fact that General had happened by or the fact that the man knew him by sight
and
by name.

“Yes, sir?” he said, trying not slur his words and failing.

“What the hell are you doing?” General’s voice from inside the car was outraged and enraged, a dangerous combination for one o’clock on a Sunday morning.

“I just dropped off Zora,” Baby Brother said, stumbling over her name.

“Did she tell you to pee in her front yard?”

“No, sir, I just… I had to pee and she wouldn’t let me come inside.”

“Why was that?”

“Because…” His voice trailed off.
Wasn’t it obvious?
“Because I was… drinking.”

“Because you’re drunk.”

“Yes, sir, I am.” He would have confessed anything if General would just give him a chance to relieve himself.

“Get in the car.”

Baby Brother resisted the urge to groan, climbed in the front seat, and pulled the door behind him. General loomed large in the seat beside him.

“If you pee in this car I will cut your head off,” he said, locking the doors with a dull thud as they pulled away from the curb.

The two blocks to the apartment were excruciating. The car moved at a crawl and every small bump in the road was torture. When General pulled up in front of his apartment, Baby Brother wanted to fling open the door and run to the toilet, but General didn’t click the locks. He looked at Baby Brother coldly, ignored the squirming, and spoke in a voice full of contempt and barely controlled anger.

“I recommended that Mr. Hamilton not make a place for you here, but he thinks you can grow the fuck up and be a man, so he’s allowing you to stay. But know this, youngblood. I got my eye on you.”

Baby Brother did not want General to cut his head off, but in about ten seconds, it wouldn’t be up to him anymore. “Yes, sir.”

General looked at him with undisguised contempt, then finally clicked the locks. “Get the fuck out.”

Baby Brother half leaped, half stumbled out of the car. General turned out of sight at the corner, but it was too late. Before he could get in the house,
bad-ass Wes Jamerson
stood right there on the corner of Oglethorpe and Peeples streets, peed on his new Sean John jeans, and cried like a baby.