The California Saga (4 page)

“That is pretty bad. Sorry, I didn't know. She should know you a little better. Next time you're with her, ask her what color your eyes are.” I figured that would be the true test. There was no way anyone could miss those big brown eyes. Hell, that was one of his greatest assets.

“My eyes? What? I don't even know what color my eyes are.”

Damn, that's crazy
, I thought to myself. “They are brown, Touch. Haven't you noticed your eyes are a tad bit brighter than the average black person? I mean, they aren't hazel, but they are definitely not the average dark brown eyes. Here look.” I searched my bag for my M•A•C compact then pulled it out to hand it to him.

He pushed my hand away. “Hell nah. Put that shit up.”

“Come on, look.” I opened the compact and shoved it in front of his face.

“Go 'head, man. Stop playing.” Touch struggled to take the compact away from me.

“What's the matter? You too cool to look into a woman's compact at a bar?” I laughed. I finally gave up and put the compact back in my bag.

“You full of games, I see. Well, I got a game for ya, jokesta,” Touch said in an I-dare-you-to-play-along tone.

“Okay, what's up?” I quickly accepted the challenge.

“We gon' play a drinking game—”

“Oh, hell nah!” I yelled, cutting him off. That was definitely a challenge I would lose. I was always up for a fight, but I knew suicide when I was faced with it.

“Gotdamn! Hear me out, homie. The game is not about who can drink the most. I already know I got your little buck-and-a-quarter ass beat when it comes to that. The game is, you order my drinks, and I order yours, and no matter what the next person orders you have to drink it. Cool?”

“Okay, but no off-the-wall shit.”

“A'ight, drink up. After we're done with these drinks, the game begins.”

I swallowed my drink down, and Touch threw out the straw from his Grey Goose and took the drink to the head.

“Yo!” He flagged down the waitress then signaled for me to order when she arrived.

I looked at all the different liquors that sat behind the bar. “Let me get, uuummmm . . . a shot of piss,” I said. Then Touch and I burst out laughing at the same time.

The waitress said nothing. She just stood there with a puzzled look on her face. She probably thought we were already drunk.

“I'm joking. I'm joking,” I said, noticing the waitress was starting to get a little impatient with our foolishness. “Let me get a shot of tequila, the one with the worm. Matter of fact, if possible, can we get the worm in the glass?”

The waitress shook her head, as if to say okay, then looked at Touch for his order.

“Let me get a Long Island Ice Tea.”

“Thanks,” I said, feeling as though Touch had given me a pass on the first round. I was surprised that he'd ordered it. I was expecting something crazy like I'd ordered for him. I knew he only drank clear liquors, so I was expecting him to pitch a fit right away over the tequila, but he didn't even seem moved by my order.

The waitress came back and placed our drinks in front of us. We switched drinks, and Touch downed his first. Then I began to sip on mine. “Whew!” I said after the first sip.

“Yeah, nigga.” Touch sang. “Thought you was getting off easy, didn't you? It's about five different liquors in that shit. Drink up.” He laughed.

We laughed and joked as Touch waited for me to finish my drink. I was down to my final sips, and I really felt like I could go no farther. I was really feeling the effects of the liquor.

As a stall tactic, I decided I'd take a little bathroom break. “I'll be back,” I said. “I gotta tinkle.” I pushed my stool away from the bar.

I looked myself over in the full-sized bathroom mirror. My eyes were glassy, a sure sign of intoxication. I made my way to the handicapped bathroom. Of course, I was nowhere near handicapped, but those bathrooms were always so spacious. So whenever I had the option, the handicapped bathroom was my first choice. I hung my purse on the hook that was posted to the back of the door. After struggling to get my pants down, I squatted over the toilet seat. That was the biggest challenge of all. I was so tipsy, I couldn't even squat steadily.

With the forceful flow of urine, I got pee all over the seat, and even some on the floor. I couldn't do anything but laugh as I pressed my hands firmly against the walls beside me to try to hold my balance. Once done, I flushed the toilet and cleaned up the area around me nicely.

As I stepped out of the restroom, an older white lady shot me an evil look as she leaned against the wall, her arms crossed. Ignoring her, I walked right past to the sink and began to wash my hands.

I could hear her mumble from the restroom stall, “You don't look handicapped to me.”

Neither do you
, I thought in my head, but chose to respond, “I'm not.”

I began to fix my make up and straighten my hair when I heard the toilet flush. I rushed to finish touching myself up so that I wouldn't have to stand next to the rude lady as she washed her hands. Just as I finished applying my lipgloss, the lady came limping from the bathroom, one leg shorter than the other.

She groaned then positioned herself against the sink so that she could wash her hands. “Well, if you're not handicapped then stay out the bathroom.”

“Okay, so I used the handicapped bathroom. Sorry. Write me a fucking ticket!” I then pranced out the bathroom, taking extra-long steps like a runway model.

Normally, I would have felt bad and been very apologetic, but I'd had my share of rude white bitches for one day, and I think, more than anything, the alcohol was talking. Besides, how many times had anyone really been in the restroom using the handicapped stall and someone handicapped was actually waiting? I don't know about you, but it was a first for me.

Touch greeted me as soon as I walked out the bathroom. “Jewel, come over here. I want you to meet someone. This is my boy, Calico.”

I almost swallowed my tongue as I looked at the person before me, realizing it was the guy I'd seen near the nail shop earlier in the day. “Hello. Nice to meet you. I'm Jewel.”

I extended my hand, and this flawless man before me grabbed my hand and kissed it. “Hello, beautiful. Same to you.”

I only prayed that I didn't look as drunk as I felt. I cut my eyes in Touch's direction to say, “Help.”

In his best drunken mannerism, Touch tried to find out what was wrong. “Jewel, are you feeling okay? Do you need to sit down or something? You look crazy.”

“Shut up,” I said softly between clenched teeth as I got comfortable on the bar stool to his right.

Touch directed his attention to his friend that sat on his left. I couldn't believe my luck. I didn't know what to do. I wanted this man, but I was so drunk, I hadn't a leg to stand on.

I snatched out my cell and sent a mass text message to all my girls. I had a special distribution list for emergencies just like this one. I needed some advice, and fast. I sent them a quick message that read:

It took less than a minute before the responses started rolling in. The first text received was from Sasha. It read:

I thought to myself,
Typical response. That's why you home with the broke-ass boyfriend right now.

I went to delete Sasha's text just as fast as I had opened it, but before I could even hit the erase button, she sent another message.

That was two strikes. The final text was from my girl Shakira. I prayed this was the answer.

Finally, some advice I could use. I began to text Shakira back when Touch grabbed my phone. “What you so busy doing over here?”

“Nothing that concerns you. Now can you kindly give me my phone back, Touch?”

I reached for my phone.

“Nah.” He put my phone in his pocket then stood up.

“Damn, you that drunk just off two drinks?” I said, observing how childish he was acting.

“Hell nah,” he said loud enough for his friend to hear as he headed to the men's restroom. “I had two more shots while you were in the bathroom.”

I noticed his friend was laughing. “That's so not true.” While Touch was in the restroom, his friend came over to chat with me.

“Oh shit,” I said to myself as he came over. I didn't get the chance to order a Red Bull. I saw an unopened can sitting in front Touch's stool, so I grabbed it, opened it, and took a big gulp.

“I didn't catch your name,” he said as he sat next to me.

“I didn't throw it,” I snapped back.
What a corny response,
I thought.
I need another gulp of Red Bull.
I felt like an idiot as I took another gulp, nearly finishing the whole can.

“Well, you may want to throw it, because I don't wear the catcher's mitt for too long,” his friend said, completely throwing me off.

Hold up? I know this nigga ain't coming out his mouth sideways. Does he think he's flier than me or something?
“Excuse me,” I said, trying to make sure the liquor didn't have me tripping.

“I'm saying. I'm not the type to chase a broad—”

“Broad? You obviously don't know who the fuck I am. Please, baby, check my resume. I don't wear the ‘broad' title, boo. But since you think you're fly, let me kick something to you. Yeah, no doubt, I was interested. I was even gonna put you on the team. But you wasn't even gonna be the star player, baby. Sad to say, you were gonna ride the bench. But don't worry, I would have pulled you off when another nigga was injured—well, his pockets, that is.” I looked at him like he was a li'l bitch then pulled out my American Express Black card.

I then called for the waitress. “You can wrap the tab up, baby,” I told her. I handed her the card then gave Touch's friend a condescending smirk.

Just then Touch walked up. I don't know if it was the fumes rising from my head that sent that nigga a smoke signal or if he saw tears in his boy's eyes, but as soon as he walked up, he could tell something was definitely wrong.

Touch stood beside me. “What the fuck going on, bay?”

“Ask your disrespectful-ass friend.” I looked his boy straight in the face.

“Gotdamn, Calico, what the fuck you say to her?”

“Man, it's this area. I can't kick it with these East Coast bitches. They just don't see it the California way.”

“What the fuck he say 'bout me?” I asked, when I heard him say
California
.

“Is your name
California
?”

“Yes, the fuck it is.”

Touch noticed the stupid-ass look on his boy's face. “Yeah, it is, for real, man. California is her first name. She just go by Jewel. Look, I'm 'bout to order another round. Everybody cool out and have a drink,” Touch suggested, assuming liquor was the answer to everything.

“Let me get this one. What you having, Miss California Jewel?” Calico said, offering me a truce drink.

“I don't accept drinks from people I don't know,” I said with a slight smile.

He began to say, “I'm sorry—”

“Oh, I know you sorry . . . sorry-ass nigga.” I just had to take that. I owed him one. “I'm joking, sweetie,” I said, seeing the wrinkles of disapproval in his forehead. “Okay, let's start from the beginning.”

“I'm Calico,” he said as he extended his hand.

Now just being a spoiled-ass little bitch for the hell of it, I folded my arms and refused to shake his hand. I wanted to be sure I had the upper hand.

“Come on, don't do this to me,” he begged.

I still refused, pushing it a little further.

“Yo, you just make a nigga wanna . . .” He paused and took a deep breath, as though he was trying to refrain from doing something terrible. He added, “You just make a nigga wanna hug your little ass,” then grabbed me tight.

Totally surprised by his actions, we all laughed together.

Damn, I'm glad this nigga hugged me and didn't haul off and hit me
, I thought, realizing I would have been caught totally off guard and probably knocked the fuck out.

Now that things were back on track, I figured I'd better wrap things up. I needed to get his number and get the hell out of dodge. I started a little small talk as I waited for the perfect time to execute.

Meanwhile, Calico ordered a round of Cuervo 1800. The last thing I needed was another drink, but I didn't want to take the risk of insulting him by turning it down. So, on the count of three, we all tapped glasses and threw the drinks down.

“Okay, that's it for me, fellas,” I said as I attempted to stand up.

“Oh no, you don't.” Calico grabbed my purse. “Friends don't let friends drive drunk,” he said between laughs.

“Whatever! I'm not your friend, so it's okay to let me drive,” I said sarcastically.

“Damn, are you always this vicious or just when you're drunk?” Calico asked.

“I'm a Scorpio, baby. We never stop.”

“Well, Scorpio, I'm not letting you drive. I'll take you home.”