Complicated by You (3 page)

Kind of. She had to be, right?

“You saw us too?” He paused from messing with my hair.

“A little. Why? Would you rather I hadn’t? You were both barely four feet from my bed.”

He kept quiet.

“I was curious,” I lied, knowing this had been the fourth time I’d watched them begin to make love only to be interrupted by a phone call.

He rested his hand on my hip. “I guess that makes sense.”

“You wouldn’t look if I was having sex? Would it be too icky?”

“I don’t know. It would definitely be unusual. I doubt it would be icky. It’s not that you wouldn’t be good to look at … I mean. You know what I mean. I think the worst part would be watching some douchebag on top of you.”

I almost asked why, but didn’t. The answer would probably be a disappointing reminder that he saw me as nothing more than a good friend or worse, a sister. “Go to sleep, Jay.”

“I’m trying.”

“On your
girlfriend’s
bed.”

An exasperated sigh left his lips. “Fine. Fine.”

A cool breeze swept over me when he left, but it was all for the best. Our friendship was like a tree rooted in nutrient-rich soil. No matter how we branched out, growing fruit and relishing in the sun, we remained united. We stayed as one. Even though I yearned for him, I feared that if our friendship was yanked out of its soil and thrown into new land, the tree wouldn’t survive.

“So why do you think she’s always getting the phone?” Jay disturbed my thoughts.

 
“Maybe she wants you to continue to desire her. Some guys lose interest and move on once they get what they want.”

“You know that’s not me, right?”

“Of course, but you being Mr. Popular Quarterback now kind of shoves you into the stereotypical playboy realm. Whether you want to be there, or not.”

“I already made her my girlfriend. What more assurance does she need?”

“A lot more, I guess. Not that I know whether she’s making the phone calls up or not.”

Though she probably is.

“Either way,” Jay said, “if she answers the phone again, I’m calling her out on it.”

“You should.”

Quiet returned. His rhythmic breathing rose in the room and soothed me as if I was a baby being rocked in a cradle.

“You want me to turn off the light?” he mumbled from Cynthia’s bed.

I rubbed my eyes and turned over to face him, pulling the covers up to my neck. He’d been staring at me the whole time or at least it seemed that way. That green light made the curves of his chest glow.

How pitiful am I?

I bit my bottom lip. “Leave the light on, please.”

He closed his eyes. “Goodnight, Evie.”

I stared at him longer than I should have. “Goodnight, Jay.”

The next night, I stood in a fraternity house kitchen with the shortest jean skirt I owned and a purple tube top. I wasn’t a fan of bright colors and tended to enjoy dark shades of black, brown, and gray with a hint of white mixed in every now and then. However, my close friend Melanie explained that in order to get inside that particular frat party, guests had to wear purple. With the sea of purple-clad people waving around me, I was glad I’d listened. I would’ve been the only person in there wearing black. My phone vibrated. I checked the screen. My other best friend Pipe’s name glowed.

Pipe:
Did u get the black roses?

Me:
OMG! Yes.

I’d slicked my hair back into a bun and placed the biggest rose in my hair on the side.

Me:
You’re awesome. Those were the real deal too. Not the tinted roses I usually get.

Pipe:
I got them delivered from Turkey.

Me:
You’re spoiling me!

Pipe:
Who’s ur daddy?

I laughed so hard I almost dropped my phone.

Me:
Pipe is my daddy!

Pipe:
A better friend than Jay?

Me:
Yes. And yes I will tell him that! Now what’s up with U?

Pipe:
I’m in love.

Me:
With Old Guy?

Pipe:
Stop it. He’s only 35. How are U and Jay?

Me:
Both fine. I’ll tell him you texted.

Pipe:
U tell him ur in love with him yet?

Every time I talked to, saw, or texted Pipe, he asked the same question about Jay. He was Jay’s next-door neighbor and played with us the few times his nanny allowed it. Pipe still lives in California, a rich kid with no motivation to go to college or work.

Me:
When are u coming to visit? I miss u so much.

Pipe:
Sooner than u think. Gotta go. Loves!

Me:
Loves!

I dropped my phone back into my pocketbook and laughed to myself, waiting for Melanie to return from the bathroom. Besides Jay, Melanie was one of my favorite friends to hang with on campus. It also helped that she stayed in the room next door, which made her always available to go do things. Hip-hop blasted from the speakers nailed to the ceiling. A guy’s hood-rich lyrics rode the booming beat. He rapped about nights where he swam in piles upon piles of thousand dollar bills, and rolled around in a bed full of naked women, who apparently screamed his name due to his elephant-sized penis.

“Your girl wants to ride this stick,” the rapper bragged. “I take it out, and let her touch this stick. She comes so hard. She can’t quit this stick. But when I come, I’m done, and let the next chick lick.”

What an idiot.
He repeated those same lines two more times.
Oh god! Is that the chorus? Shoot me directly in the heart right now, Lord. Just get it over with.

Purple and gold embellished the frat house, from the walls to the carpet. The motto, “Friendship is essential to the soul” hung everywhere. Images of pit bulls, with gold or purple shirts, were plastered on any empty space. Apparently, pit bulls had interesting lives. Posters of them dancing among curvy cats could be seen most of the time, but there were a few illustrations of pits reading, accepting Oscars or Grammys, lounging in the Oval Office, climbing mountains, feeding children in third world countries, flying to the moon in astronaut gear, and even testing potions in a purple lab.
Leave it to the Q-dogs of Omega Psi Phi fraternity to make pit bulls appear studious and groundbreaking.

 “Give it to me,” some female begged on the song. “Oh give it to me.”

Please give it to her so she can be quiet.

Wall-to-wall, people danced, chatted, drank, smoked, and laughed. I leaned forward towards the kitchen counter, which served as the festivities’ open bar. Being a female at a frat party meant I could help myself to all the liquor available. Frat brothers encouraged mass consumption of alcohol and hosted the rowdiest parties on campus and the Ques were no exception. But tonight was different. Tonight, on the eve of their eviction, there was bound to be even more rowdiness.

The song finally ended. A new beat pounded.

“I love hoes!” another rapper screamed. “All you hoes are beautiful to me.”

Melanie returned right in time to catch me forming my fingers into a pistol and making a show of pulling the trigger.

“Why are you killing yourself with your finger?” she asked.

“Because I’ve been forced to listen to so many slut-slamming, women-bashing hip-hop songs that my vagina has shriveled up and my brain cells have withered into dead matter.”

“I had no idea hip-hop could do that.” Melanie’s braids swung in front of her face until she tucked a few behind her hair. “How could you not like this song? It’s so hot. Just forget the lyrics and listen to the beat.”

“Hoes from black to white, you all my hoes,” the song continued.

I bet he doesn’t call his mom or aunts, hoes. Better yet, he probably does.

 Against all logic, I bobbed my head to the beat. That was the problem with most misogynist rap songs, they always had the best beats, forcing me to want to dance while they insulted me. It was a sick little circular game of toxin and consumption. The rappers called women garbage. The women bought it, thus confirming it and so the rappers continued with the same songs, generation after generation. And when we called the music companies out on it, all they could do was point to the record sales and shrug.

“So finish the story about last night,” she said. “Did Princess Barbie return to the room and finally give Jay some ass?”

“Nope. Jay fell asleep by the time she got off the phone, so Cynthia turned off the lights and went to bed.”

“She’s playing games. I mean seriously. Answering the phone once or twice I can see, but you said she’s answering all of the time. Something is up.”

“Maybe. I don’t know who she’s talking to, but the person is definitely more important than Jay’s dick.”

“Shoot. Then I need to meet this person because Jay is fine as hell.”

“Oh stop it.”

“More important, however, is you. I mean seriously, girl. You need to get some.” Melanie poured me a bigger glass of Puerto Rican rum, more than I would need in two lifetimes. “You watching your roommate and Jay have sex has to be the most pathetic story I’ve heard all semester.”

“This is why I don’t tell you stuff, Miss Insulting Counselor. Apparently, the psychology department should include Compassionate Responses 101 in their curriculum.” I stopped her from putting more liquor in my cup and grabbed the liter of coke at the edge of the table. Nearby, several frat guys bumped into the table near us and talked loudly.

“If you don’t want to hear my honest opinions, then feel free to keep your skeevy voyeurism confessions to yourself.” She sipped her rum. “And seriously, if you want to sleep with him that bad, then just do it.”

“It’s not that easy. For one, he’s not interested. Two, we would probably never be the same later. Three, he has a girlfriend.”

“Forget her. You’re not her friend and you’ve known him for ages whereas when it was announced he’s up for the Heisman, she just twirled her blonde hair and weaseled her way into his life.”

“I wish that was the case, but she’d been drooling over Jay since the first time she laid eyes on him. She almost fell out her chair, stopped typing and everything.”

“Stop it.” Giggling, she high fived me. “Okay. She’s probably not digging for gold, but she’s definitely keeping that diamond coochie on lock.”

“Which isn’t against the law.”

“Jay would probably argue against that logic.”

I smirked. “Probably.”

“If I was you, I would let Barbie go outside of the room to talk to her
dad
.” She made air quotes. “Then I’d get out of bed and take off all my clothes.”

“And do what?”

“Jiggle a little.”

“What the hell? Jiggle?” I scrunched my face up in confusion. “Oh! I see. I should just get up, take off my clothes, and start doing naked jumping jacks? Maybe a little midnight nude exercising?”

  “With your body, he’s not going to be questioning the why or how. He’s going to lock the door and take you right there.”

“Eww. Having sex with her right in the lobby? That’s not cool. I don’t think he would do that.”

“A man with a raging erection is a very dangerous animal.”

“Whatever. Besides, there’s some sort of girl code to consider. How cruel would it be to have sex with a guy while his girlfriend is right outside of the door?”

She thought about it for a minute, sampled her drink, and proclaimed, “You knew him first, and she’s not your girl, so officially girl code is canceled out.”

“You’re trying to get me killed. My mom stresses two things to me all the time.” I held two fingers in the air. “Guys that don’t introduce you to their friends and family after a month of dating are hiding something and probably just want to have sex with you. And two, the easiest way to get murdered is to sleep around with someone else’s man.”

Melanie looked me up and down. “You could take Cynthia.”

“A woman with a broken heart is a dangerous beast.”

“Good point.”

“Cynthia has access to me while I’m sleeping. I would be here one day and the next day, gone.”

“You do have an impressive shoe collection. I assume that if you die, you would will all of your shoes to me?” Melanie lifted her foot and showed off the boots she’d borrowed from me. Small silver buckles formed into a zigzag pattern that started at the toe and ended at the knees. Florida in the fall boasted flip flop weather, but that didn’t stop Melanie from pleading with me to wear my heavy boots tonight. “Your shoe game is serious. I would be willing to make love to you, if you gave me ten pairs of shoes that I’d get to choose myself.”

I wagged my finger from side to side. “Not happening. I don’t swing both ways.”

“You probably do and just don’t know it. You damn sure like to watch.”

“I like to watch what Jay does, not what Cynthia is doing.”

“Just sleep with him and get it over with.” She pulled out her cell phone. “Should I call him?”