Disappearing Acts (28 page)

“You forgot to mention the First Amendment, you know. Now, after all that, I betcha ain’t no happenings, right?”

“Be quiet, Franklin,” she said, and started dialing again.

“Marie, this is Zora.”

She musta got one of them damn machines, “Get your ass over here for your New Year’s drink and call to let me know if anything free and exciting is going on tomorrow night. Bye.”

“Step on it, would you, baby? I’m ready to kick some ass over here.”

“Take it easy, Franklin. You wanted me to find out what’s going on, and that’s what I’m trying to do. You’ll be crying in a few minutes anyway, so go get some tissue.”

She stealing my lines. I watched her dial again, and I knew she was calling Portia, who, to my surprise, was at home. From what I overheard, Portia was going to the Savoy. “What do you mean, house parties are out of style, girl? That’s true. Okay, point made. You do? Great. Then we’ll definitely see you there. What’s his name? Well, if you guys get there before us, try to get a good table. Don’t worry, we’ll be there. Bye.”

“Why’d you tell her that lie?”

“What lie?”

“That we’d see her there.”

“Look, Portia’s got two extra tickets. Another couple she knows had to cancel, so at least we can get in. And besides, it’s a swank place, and we don’t have anything else to do, and at this point I don’t care how much it costs. All I know is that I don’t want to be sitting in this apartment on New Year’s Eve playing Scrabble. Roll ’em.”

“I ain’t in the mood now. I feel like doing some woodworking.”

“Fine. And just what am I supposed to do?”

“Go sing something.” I got up and went over to my little corner and sat down in front of my worktable. I heard her stomping toward the back, and then her door slammed shut.

*   *   *

I bought myself a bottle. It was New Year’s Eve, so I said fuck it. I had stayed up all night sanding and shaving a piece of wood and didn’t even know what I was making. I left sawdust everywhere, and didn’t crash until late this morning—after I had polished off
the whole pint. When I finally woke up, I went to make a pot of coffee and watched Zora dust, polish, wipe, and swish that broom across the floor until I was bored shitless. She still wasn’t speaking to me and spent most of the afternoon cleaning the place inside out. I went and laid back across the bed and started watching a football game. By the time she made it back here, she finally said something to me. “Get up.”

“Look,” I said. “I think I’m going down to the bar. I’ll be back later on.” I’ll be damned if I was gon’ sit in here the rest of the night getting the silent treatment. Women. They worse than kids when they can’t get their way.

“Take your time,” she said.

That’s exactly what I planned on doing. First, I took a shower, shaved extra close, and then got
clean.
I put on the only suit I owned, her favorite cologne, and my best pair of Stacy-Adams. Zora rolled her eyes at me when she saw me. She ain’t never seen me in no suit before. It wasn’t that I was pissed off. I just didn’t like her attitude: Because Zora wanna spend fifty dollars to go dancing, Zora thinks we should spend fifty dollars to go dancing.

New Year’s ain’t that big a fuckin’ deal to me, really. All the crazy motherfuckers in New York City is out on the streets; you can’t never get a cab, and if you go to a public place, you don’t know no-fuckin’-body, so you stand around looking stupid or pretend like you having the time of your life. You dance a few sides, drink up forty or fifty dollars’ worth of liquor—’cause they always up the price of ’em for the occasion—and then you go home, either too tired or too fucked up to even think about fucking.

Zora was in the bathroom on her knees, scrubbing out the tub, when I left. I didn’t bother to say bye.

I thought I heard something hit the other side of the door after I closed it, but I wasn’t sure. I had a
pocketful of money, I was looking good, smelling good, and feeling like a million dollars. So I got a evil-ass woman at home—I ain’t letting her spoil my mood.

I stopped in Just One Look, but everybody musta been home getting their act together for tonight, ’cause wasn’t too much going down. The music was live, even though it was only six-thirty. I sat down at the bar and ordered a double Jack Daniel’s. Then I felt a hand on my shoulder, then some lips on my right cheek. They definitely wasn’t Zora’s, ’cause I’d know them lips anywhere. These belonged to Terri.

“Long time no see,” I said.

“You’re telling me, Frankie. How’ve you been?
You
sure looking good.”

“You ain’t looking too bad yourself, sweetheart. What you doing in here?”

“Looking for you.”

“Yeah, right. What you drinking?”

“Rum and Coke.”

I flagged the bartender and ordered her a drink. It felt good being able to buy a lady a drink for a change. Terri looked as good as always. Not only is she pretty and look like a black Chinese, but she got these Donna Summer lips. While I watched ’em slip over the rim of the glass, I couldn’t help but thinking about how good they used to suck Tarzan. She also got the longest legs I ever had wrap around me. Damn. My dick started getting hard just thinking about it. But she was still wearing that damn wig.

“So tell me, Frankie. Where’d you run off to? I mean, damn, you just upped and disappeared off the face of the earth. What’s her name?”

“Zora.”

“Well, where is she?”

“At home.”

“What’s she doing at home on New Year’s Eve?”

I was looking at her ass hugging the edge of the
barstool. That squeaky-ass voice of hers didn’t sound so squeaky now—unless it was just my imagination, I don’t know. “Cleaning.”

“Frankie! How sexist,” she said, running her fingers through her wig.

“Well, you asked, so I told you. I ain’t
making
her clean; it was her bright idea.”

“So what else have you been doing for yourself?”

“Working. What about you?”

“Same old thing. Still at the bank. I got a promotion, though—I’m a head teller now.” She was swirling the mixing straw around and around in her glass, locking them slanted eyes on mine like she had already made up her mind what she was gon’ do next.

“That’s nice,” I said.

“So tell me, Frankie, how you spending your New Year’s Eve?”

“With you,” I heard myself say. The words just slipped outta my mouth, and I swear to God I wasn’t even thinking no shit like this. I ain’t one for fuckin’ around on my woman—even if she ain’t speaking to me. But I couldn’t renege now. And Terri always was a hot one—besides, let’s face it, all women like to get fucked on New Year’s. They don’t forget you after you done fucked ’em good either. I know that’s what Terri was thinking when she saw me.

“Let’s get outta here, then,” she said, and jumped off the seat.

“I can’t stay long,” I said. I wanted that clear up front.

“Don’t worry. I’ll have you home in time for the countdown.”

“You still in the same place?”

“Nope, I moved, but it’s only ten minutes by cab. Come on, Frankie. You know it’ll be worth the ride.”

*   *   *

She opened the door to her apartment. What a tacky-ass
place. Compared to me and Zora’s, this looked like the set of a old B movie. What a dump. Not that Terri ain’t clean, but you could tell she didn’t buy nothing but cheap shit. Everything in here was crushed velvet. And why she have to pick burgundy? She musta got one of them furnish-a-whole-apartment-for-under-three-hundred-dollars deals. Old rock ’n’ roll posters was Scotch-taped to the wall, and her stereo wasn’t even a name brand.

“Make yourself comfortable, while I get outta all of these heavy clothes.”

I sat down on the couch. Women sure have changed. Used to be a man had to scheme or beg for the pussy. Now if one wants your ass, she’ll just come on out and tell you not only how she want you but when and where she want you. I don’t know how I feel about this liberated shit. It takes some of the challenge out of it. But fuck it. How often do a man just get offered some hassle-free pussy?

She came back out wearing this lacy shit, and Tarzan didn’t move. Something was wrong here. For one thing, I really didn’t feel like fucking now—at least not her—but I got myself into this shit, and I’ma have to fuck my way out. I wondered what Zora was doing.

“Drink?” she asked.

“Why not.”

She turned on the radio, of all the tacky-ass things to do, and all I heard was static. “Ain’t you got no albums?”

“My turntable is broke,” she said. “Just a minute, I can get it on the right station; sometimes the antenna just needs to be moved.”

She got up and started juggling it, and her ass shook while she did it. It didn’t look as good as Zora’s. Would she really go out without me?

“Here,” Terri said, handing me a drink.

“Thanks.” Then I couldn’t think of nothing to say. “Your place is real nice.”

“So are you, Frankie,” she said, and started toward my neck.

“Wait a minute, baby. Let me get a sip of my drink first. We got time.” I drank the shit down in one swallow. The next thing I knew, that black wig was all in my face. “Terri, ease up a minute, baby. Can’t you take off that wig?”

“No,” she said, and grabbed on to it.

“Well, let me get another drink, and I’ll be right.”

She backed off and took the glass from my hand, like she was in some old Hollywood movie. “I definitely want you to feel right, Frankie,” she said, and winked at me. When she came back, I polished off this rum and Coke too, and it felt like everything I’d drunk since this afternoon rushed up to my head. Fuck it. Take the pussy and run, man. When she sat back down next to me, I just dug my middle finger in her pussy. I woulda never done this kinda shit to Zora.

Terri started kissing me every-damn-where and slid her hand down inside my suit pants. Tarzan was still limp. Obviously, she wasn’t worried about it, ’cause the next thing I knew, she had took my suit off and had them juicy lips around him. He felt like rubber. If I’m lucky, I can get outta here without having to stick it in her. Shit, I forgot. Terri likes to blow till she come, then sit on your dick and work until she come again. Shit. This could take all damn night.

She was working Tarzan steady, but wasn’t nothing happening. What time was it? In between watching her head bobbing up and down, I was looking around the room for the clock. But I didn’t see one. I put my hand on her wig and rubbed it. “Sweetheart,” I whispered, but she musta not felt the shit or heard me. “Hey,” I said louder, and then she looked up. The girl looked deranged, and for a minute, I swear, I forgot who she was. “Where’s your clock?”

“My what?”

“I need to know what time it is.”

She let out a long sigh, checked her watch, and said, “It’s only quarter after eight. Why?”

“I was just wondering.”

“You gotta be home at a certain time, is that it?”

“I’ma grown man, baby. Don’t nobody give me no curfews.”

“Glad to hear it,” she said, and dived back down.

This shit was boring. Tarzan was still dead, and after what felt like hours, she started squirming and jerking, and I finally heard that damn squeal. Now I remember how it used to drive me crazy. “Frankie, ooooh,
Frankie!!!
I’ve missed you, baby.
God
, have I
missed
you.” She jumped up and pushed me down on the couch and tried to sit on Tarzan, but he fell over. She picked him up anyway, but he still didn’t wanna cooperate. All I wanted to do was get the hell outta here. And knowing how Zora likes to be on time, she’d probably leave by nine if she was going without me.

Terri managed to get him in, and was pumping her ass off, when it occurred to me that
I
wasn’t doing the fucking—she was fucking me.

“Hold it, baby,” I said, and lifted her up by the waist.

“What’s wrong, Frankie? It’s not good. Let me make it good.”

“It ain’t that. It’s just been a long time,” I said.

“So what?”

“So people change.” I sat up.

“You wait until I’m ready to explode and got the nerve to push me away and then tell me that people change? What kinda shit is this?”

“You see this?” I grabbed my dick and flipped it back and forth. “He ain’t felt nothing, and I don’t want you to take it personally, baby, but I gotta go. Really.” I started putting my clothes back on, and I
swear I wanted to take a shower, but not here. She crossed her arms like she woulda kicked my ass if she coulda, and after I got my coat I couldn’t bring myself to kiss her.

“I’m sorry, Terri.”

“Fuck you,” she said.

I let myself out.

*   *   *

Why she had to move way the hell over here where you can’t hail a cab, I don’t know. I ended up walking eight cold blocks to the subway station, only to find out that the train was outta service. I couldn’t believe this shit. It’s ’cause I didn’t have no fuckin’ business over here, that’s why.

I stood outside for a few minutes, trying to figure out what to do. It couldn’ta been no more than ten degrees. I took my leather gloves—which Zora had gave me for Christmas, and I still ain’t got her nothin’—outta my pocket and put ’em on. I looked up and down the street. At first it was just dark and deserted—lined with beat-up-looking brownstones—but then folks started coming outta doorways, all dressed up and heading for the subway. “It ain’t in service,” I said, I don’t know how many times. I wanted to call Zora, but I didn’t see no phones. Somebody told me the closest train station was six blocks away. I started walking. By the time I got there, my lips and fingertips was numb. All I wanted to do was get home, take a shower, and put my arms around my woman. I damn sure didn’t feel like dancing, didn’t feel like dealing with no mob of people, and didn’t wanna have to wait on another train to do it.

By the time I turned the key in the door, it was after nine. I smelled perfume. Luther Vandross was singing “A House Is Not a Home.” Why she have to play that? I closed the door. “Zora?”

“I’m in here,” she said from the bathroom. I was
kinda scared of what I was about to see, and my feet stopped in their own tracks once they got inside the doorway. She was dressed up, all right. Wearing a tight purple leather dress that showed off everything she had to show off. Her legs was covered with black crisscrossed stockings. Her high heels was the same color as the dress. Damn, even her ankles was sexy. She was leaning close to the mirror, putting on some pink lipstick.