Liar's Game (28 page)

I forgot about Butter before I made it to my car.

 

Claudio smiled at me. “I didn’t think that you’d call a brother.”

“I didn’t either.”

“So this is the famous Melrose Boulevard,” he said.

“That’s what the street sign says.”

“Sounds like you’re in a mood.”

“Sounds like.”

We got out at a corner. Claudio told the limo driver that we’d meet him back here in an hour. A limo. Claudio had a driver at his disposal. Living larger that I would’ve ever imagined. A few people stared at us as we put our feet on the pavement, tried to figure out who we were. Stupid people probably thought we were Jada Pinkett and Will Smith.

I was impressed with his apparent success, but I played it down.

He straightened his nylon sweatsuit and peeped around at the secondhand clothing stores. Then we walked by tattoo shops, drug paraphernalia businesses, and sidewalk eateries.

He said, “Looks better on
90210
.”

“Everything looks better on the idiot box.”

“Here or back home?”

I shrugged. “Babylon is Babylon, no matter where.”

“I doubt if you could look any better.”

I didn’t respond, just absorbed and observed.

He said, “You’ve lost weight.”

That perked me up some. Positivity in the form of vanity. I said, “Few pounds. Gym memberships are cheaper out here, so I joined.”

Competition is the life of a woman. Always competing. You look at a sister, even a woman as thin as a toothpick, and no matter how happy you are with yourself, if she gives you a look that says she thinks she’s better, it makes you want to lose weight, to be like them, just so you can give someone else that same better-than-you look. Makeup, hair, toes, nails, wardrobe, you go broke so you can look like you’re not broke, have to be part of the game and get your share of the attention.

Vince said I had been tripping. Not tripping, just plain old competing.

Claudio asked me something.

I cleared my throat, did the same with my mind, asked, “What?”

“The gym, is that where you met your husband-to-be?”

“Nope. Met him at a club in Ladera. The Townhouse.”

“Did he save your life?”

I didn’t answer.

Claudio held on to his crooked smile. That pretty smile. Those warm, gray eyes. “I like you better the other way. You know, real brothers like some meat on a woman’s bones. Real brothers. Not fake West Coast nigs.”

This walk brought back memories. The first time I strolled down Melrose, I was on my fourth or fifth date with Vince. I’d browsed the trendy shops, ate at Georgia’s. This was the closest thing to the Village. A place where the car-dependent people of Lazy Angels actually walked more than a block without cramping up.

Claudio said, “Tell me about your future husband.”

I slid my tongue back and forth over my lip. The edge had a sting.

I responded, “Let’s get something to grub on.”

A lot of overpriced eateries were open, but we stayed low-budget and ended up at a small booth in the 1950s-style hamburger stand Johnny Rockets. The place was crowded both inside and on the patio for ground beef on a bun.

Claudio started acting silly, putting change in the jukebox and playing Chuck Berry and Elvis Presley songs.

He asked, “What’s it gonna take to get you to come back home with me?”

“A miracle on Thirty-fourth Street.”

“Dana, cut that brother loose. I’ll get you a much better ring, and we can get married at Canaan Second Baptist.”

In a wistful tone I said, “Canaan Second Baptist. God, I miss my church. Miss getting off the A train at 110th, coming out of the subway at Central Park, getting a doughnut at Make My Cakes, then seeing me and my momma’s church sitting right across the street. Right there in my face.”

Across the street a white couple crossed the street against a red light. Out of nowhere, a policeman pulled up on a motorcycle, light flashing, and motioned for the couple to stop.

Claudio asked, “What’s that all about? Shoplifters?”

“Worse. Jaywalkers. Might be a hundred-dollar ticket.”

“Shit, they’d have to catch my ass.”

“You and me both. That’s so damn stupid.”

We watched the policeman write the couple up. The white man was livid, his arms flailing. The officer was so nonchalant, just writing away.

Claudio changed the tone of the ludicrous moment: “I went to your mother’s grave last Mother’s Day.”

That made me look at him. “You did what?”

“Yep. I took her a dozen yellow roses.”

My words became warm. “You did?”

“You know how much she loved yellow roses.”

A huge smile came over me. “Yeah. My girl sure did.”

“I talked to her, asked her to forgive me for the way things turned out between me and you. You know she wanted us to be together.”

My eyes locked on his gray eyes a long time. My insides warmed.

The waitress came over. Brown skinned. Meaty. Beautiful sister. Young, with a motherly demeanor. Hair pulled back so tight her eyes looked more Asian than mine. Five earrings in each ear. One in her eyebrow.

“Are you and your daughter ready to order, sir?”

Claudio made a hard face and said, “My daughter?”

I laughed so loud half the room turned around.

The waitress blushed. “Oops. It’s not that you look old, she just looks so young. I thought you were a teenager at first.”

Claudio let out a half-baked chuckle. He took it pretty well, even sounded happy when he said, “Get me a cheeseburger and fries. Well done.”

I told her, “I’ll have the same.”

Claudio added, “But make hers super well done.”

“Right,” I said. “Make sure I don’t get salmonella poisoning.”

The girl smiled. “You guys are from New York, right?”

Claudio nodded. “Yep.”

That was when I heard it myself. My New York accent had thickened just that quick, in the few minutes since I’d been around Claudio.

“I’m an actress. I study dialects, so I notice that kind of thing. Might learn a thing or two listening to you guys talk.” She laughed like she was the genius of the year. “Would you care for anything to drink?”

“No,” I said. “Water is fine for now. For both of us.”

I was surprised that I’d said that,
For both of us
.

Five years of familiarity with an older man. My father figure, that’s what I used to call him. I guess a father figure is what a woman gravitates toward when her daddy ain’t been nowhere around.

The waitress took her sweet voice and smile to another table.

Claudio cracked up. “That sister sounded whiter than Wonder Bread. If my back was turned, I never would’ve known she was black.”

“I know that’s right.”

“So damn polite. Did you check that out?”

We fell into a very old groove. Talked about everybody in the place. Until I saw Claudio was staring at me.

I said, “What’re you looking at like that?”

Claudio forced a grin, leaned forward, and lowered his voice. “Damn, you always smell so damn good.”

“I still bathe regularly.”

“That’s a new perfume you got on.”

“Yeah, it’s Terri El—yeah, it’s a new flavor.”

He hummed. “Can I kiss you?”

“For what?”

“I want to find out what heaven tastes like.”

I didn’t move. My eyes stayed firm. Claudio reached to hold my hand, to touch my flesh with his flesh. I moved away, put my right hand in my lap, away from his reach. Wiped the anxiety and sweat and desire from my hands onto my thighs.

“What’s on your mind, Dee Dee?”

“Just thinking about Momma. When you said you went to talk to her, now you got me thinking about my favorite Harlem girl.”

“Ain’t nothing wrong with that. I think about her a lot.”

The waitress came back and left our steaming burgers on the table.

Claudio said, “Let’s get our grub on and enjoy each other’s company.”

“What about my money? You said you had some of it, right?”

“I’m gonna hook you up.”

“Hook me up? All you have to do is hand it to me.”

“You haven’t changed a bit when it comes to money.”

“A hungry woman always thinks about food.”

“Good. Let’s eat. Bless the food.”

I told him, “The man should always bless the food.”

He reached his hands out to me. I hesitated, then gave him mine. Let him touch me again. A touch that was so familiar. That had so much history. Years had gone by, but when we pressed flesh, seemed like only seconds had passed since we were together.

Claudio did his usual childish blessing. The one I’d listened to him do for five years. “God is grace. God is good. And we thank . . .”

In the middle of his prayer, I opened my eyes and looked around. Condom shops on the street next to drug shops next to teenagers who were trying to sell their bodies to get their next meal. Wide is the gate and broad is the way that leads to temptation.

Claudio said, “The food doesn’t taste as good out here.”

“It’s the water. They need to import New York water to add some flavor. And bagels. Somebody out here needs to learn how to make bagels. Or pizza. Out here they actually think Domino’s is good pizza.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Claudio, the water out here is so bad I wouldn’t even wash my car with it if I could help it. That’s probably why they don’t have mosquitoes.”

“Or rats the size of dogs.”

“God, that is so true.”

We ate some more. I enjoyed kicking back and talking about nothing.

He asked, “So what’s the problem between you and your man?”

“What makes you think that there’s a problem?”

“You’re with me.”

I blinked twice. A good old tear came from nowhere, was rolling before I could find the strength to wipe it away.

“Shit, Dee Dee.” Claudio sat up straight. “What’s wrong?”

I told him. Told him about Vince, how he didn’t tell me that he used to be married and had a kid until six months after we’d been together. About the arguments, about how he’d moved my picture to the side, about how he’d dissed me in my own space when Malaika called, how he made me feel like I meant absolutely nothing, told him about the fight we’d just had.

“Did he touch you?”

“Let it go.”

Claudio looked like he wanted to protect me. He was saying the right things. Not pushing the issue. Listening. Seeing my side of the whole thing. Not like Vince. Or like Gerri.

We ate. Talked about old friends that I’d left behind. People were getting together. Others getting divorced. Having babies. Some had succeeded, found their dreams and moved away for good. Some had failed at whatever and had gone back to Sugar Hill on midnight trains from Georgia.

So much drama that my West Coast life seemed sane.

Claudio offered me an Altoid. “Remember how we met?”

“Why do you have to go there?”

“I’ve thought about that every day.”

I laughed about it now, but back then it wasn’t funny. Not at all. I was so much younger, on my way to another temp job. On the musty subway platform, waiting on the E train in the winter’s frigid air with my Walkman on my head. The moment I relaxed and stopped watching my back, my purse was yanked away so hard and fast that I twirled and almost fell facedown into the pits of the tracks. I would’ve fallen if a man in an Italian business suit hadn’t caught my arm. That was Claudio. Miles of people watched the brother run away with my good purse. Not one chased except Claudio. He did his best to run the thief down, but he was caught in the crowd.

Claudio had loaned me thirty dollars, right there on the spot.

My Statue of Liberty had been replaced with the Hollywood sign, Sylvia’s in Harlem with Roscoe’s in Hollywood, Puerto Ricans with Mexicans, but the intimacy that Claudio had brought me in the last few hours, the emotional closeness in the air made it feel almost as if we had never broken up. Me and New York. Me and Claudio.

 

The black limo pulled in front of the hotel, its headlights brightening up the palm trees and pavement. The driver came around, held my hand like I was a queen, and let me out. Let Claudio out, treated him like he was a king. Then Claudio told him what time to pick him up tomorrow, dismissed the limo, and came and stood in front of me, smiling.

He asked, “Coming up?”

“Going home.”

He came close. Too close. And I let him kiss me. Something that I swore would never happen again. He tasted my tongue. And I tasted his. So familiar. Under the half moon and a starlit sky, there was something I had to know. About my past. About these unresolved feelings. The kiss felt good. Then he tried to massage that growing part of him against a part of me that was becoming damp.

I pushed him away. “Good night, Claudio.”

He groaned. “C’mon, Dee Dee.”

“Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

“It ain’t like we just met.”

He caught my arm and pulled me back to him.

We kissed again.

He rubbed his hardness on me the whole time.

I moaned and pushed him away. “You probably have a hundred freaks back in Harlem waiting for you to come home.”

“Nope. I ain’t like that.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m serious. Come up for a while.”

Again I said, “Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

“Dee Dee, you shouldn’t go back home to him.”

“Give me one reason to stay. Shoot your best shot.”

“How can you stay with a man that treats you like that?”

I laughed. “The same way I stayed with you.”

His voice was fractured, wounded. “Low blow, Dee Dee.”

“All’s fair in love and war.”

“We don’t have to do nothing. I just want you to be safe.”