Cosmopolitan Girls (12 page)

Chapter 23

Extra! Extra!

Rule Number 1: Hit him where it hurts!

I blew into the Shark Bar carrying an armload of newspapers and magazines. I was wearing my Ab Fab–inspired, papergirl outfit, complete with a Lola newsboy cap, vintage Marc Jacobs jean blazer and knickers, and Gucci pumps.

“Vavavavoom!” Charlie said, checking out my outfit.

“I dressed for the occasion.” I spun around quickly. “Follow me,” I said, leading her to a small corner table.

“Check it out! Hot off the presses,” I said, dropping the stack of papers on the table and sitting down next to her. Charlie picked up
Time Out New York.
“Feast your eyes on page 182, loverboy himself.” I pointed.

Charlie opened up the magazine. “He may be a dog, but he's a cute dog,” she said, referring to the picture of Troy that was smack in the middle of the personals. Her eyes went wide as she started to read. “‘Age, thirty-one, occupation, porn video director; looking for sensitive bookworm type who likes to get freaky and loves show tunes; weight no problem, the bigger the better.'” She paused, looking at me in amazement, then continued reading. “ ‘My favorite on-screen sex scene: any scene featuring multiple men having sex in the underground hit
Off Da Hook I
and
II
. I also loved the kissing scene in Kiss Me Guido.'”

“Bam!” I said, taking out the
Village Voice
personals and hitting her with another.

“‘Need a spanking? Video director, 31, will put you over his knee and spank your bare butt; good with first-timers, and seeks overweight guys 18 to 35 years old. Call Troy Barnes, 917–555–2828 or work 212–555–7000.'” Charlie's eyes got even bigger. “Girl, you are bad, bad, bad!”

“Oh, but I'm
so
good! But wait, there's more,” I said, pulling out
Newsday,
and signaling to Stevie that we were finally ready for a round of Cosmos.

“ ‘Private pleasures, hot erotic fantasies. Introducing Gay Bachelor-Grams by Troy Barnes, 917–555–2828.' Ooh, girl, I bet Troy's phone is ringing off the hook. The
chub
club
is loving him!” Charlie said, relieving Stevie of the glasses.

“To a successful mission!”

“I'll drink to that!” Charlie sealed the toast with a gentle tap. “Troy is going to flip out when he gets wind of this, Lindsay.”

“Oh, I know, that's why I took out so many ads. I wanted to make sure I didn't miss any,” I said, trying to imagine the look on Troy's face when he found out. “That's what he gets for messing with Lindsay Bradley! Cosmo rule number one, hit him where it hurts, ain't no joke!”

“And we've only just begun,” Charlie added with a raised eyebrow. “Time to start on your next mission,” she announced. “You need to get your groove back pronto!”

“Girl, you don't have to tell me twice. I'm ready to get sexy as hell!” I said.

“Meet a man . . .” she hinted.

“And make Troy jealous!” we exclaimed. We were out of control.

“I've got just the place too! Shake D's multiplatinum party. It's going to be hot!” I said, smiling.

“You mean Shake the rapper-producer?” Charlie's eyes went wide.

“That's him! And I'm gonna go for it! Mr. Troy hates his guts. Shake jerked him on a video he was supposed to shoot for one of his artists a while ago.”

Charlie's face lit up. “Brilliant! What better man to get than Shake. Hello, rule number two!” Charlie said as she spun around with her eyes closed and started humming and swishing her body side to side.

Chapter 24

Hot Sex on a Platter

Rule Number 2: Celebrate your newfound
single status by looking sexy as hell
so you can meet a new man!

I paced the living room, cramming my survival kit essentials into my purse: Mac lip glass, lip liner, credit cards, and my driver's license.

“You better hurry up. Shake's parties are infamous for filling up quickly and then you can't get in. We have to leave in five,” I screamed out to Charlie, who was in the bathroom. I had suggested that Charlie get dressed at my place since she had been arguing with Michael a lot lately. It was fun to have girls' night. “Oh, you trying to hurt somebody tonight, huh?” I joked.

“I hope so.”

“Don't let me have to tell Michael on you.”

“You gotta find him to tell him. It's not like he cares anyway,” Charlie snapped.

“What's going on?”

“Michael's been pulling a lot of overtime lately but I haven't seen an increase in our joint checking account. Who knows what he's really doing, but girl, don't mind me. I'm not about to put a damper on our night,” Charlie said. I could tell she needed some cheering up.

“Well, the way you're looking tonight, Michael better get his ass home before some other man beats him to it.”

“This ring does come off!” Charlie said, waving her hand in the air.

“Please! You're always bragging about your fine-ass man, and how he puts it on you. Honey, you ain't going no where. So shut it up!”

We laughed.

“Well, all I know is the men are going to be all over you tonight. Girl, you're looking too hot!” Charlie said.

“I'm wearing my rent again,” I joked. “But it feels great to look fierce!”

Outside Lot 61 was a zoo. The bouncers, big, tough, and mean dressed in black Goth, surrounded the main doorman, Mercedes, an outrageously dressed drag queen, wearing a long black dress and an ostrich-fur leather coat, complete with a fire-red pageboy wig. Miss Mercedes held up the red velvet rope, screeching out commands.

“No, not you! Not her! Yes him and you, but not them!”

I'd never waited outside a club before and I wasn't about to tonight. I yanked Charlie by the hand and we bum-rushed our way to the front of the line. I recognized Big Mike, a bouncer from Lotus, and he cleared a path for us. Miss Mercedes gave us a catty glance.

Once inside, we got into the flow right away and ordered two Cosmos. Lights bounced off the walls, floors, and ceiling at hyper-speed.

A slew of hip-hop's royalty was in the house, Missy Elliot, Queen Latifah, LL Cool J, and Usher.

“I'm glad we came out tonight, Charlie.”

“Me too. Nothing will make Troy happier than knowing you're lying in bed crying your eyeballs out. Part of feeling good is moving on, and there are lots of hotties to choose from in here.” Charlie gave an exhausted smirk before sipping her Cosmo.

“You're right, but look at Troy. Why is it that a guy can start over so quickly, move on to the next, as if the relationship meant nothing?”

“That's because men don't think of sex the way we do. We get so caught up in the emotional part of it that we don't even enjoy it for what it is. Pleasure, pure and simple. We have to learn to do what they do. Wham! Bam! Thank you
man
!” Charlie jeered, and we slapped five.

Charlie noticed a tall brown-skinned guy across the room dressed in a tailor-made suit, wearing lots of diamonds and platinum. “Check it! Twelve o'clock. Mr. Show-Stopper himself. I see why he's the perfect carrot to dangle in front of Troy's face.”

I looked in the direction she was pointing in and saw Shake, who was berating a group of waiters for mixing up his order. A bevy of models flanked his side.

“Oh no, I changed my mind.”

“No way! We didn't come all the way here for you to chicken out.”

“Do you see all those gorgeous women with him?”

“And? Look at you! You look amazing. You better get over there and get that!” Charlie gave me a shove.

“This is insane! I've changed my mind, he's got four kids by three different mamas, and I heard he's a major power freak.” I continued to run down Shake's bio to Charlie.

“Lindsay, who cares? You're on a mission!”

I'd known Shake for years. Back in the day he was just plain old Fredrick Davis. I suddenly remembered why I never went out with him. He was arrogant then, and ain't no new money or records gonna change that—fame no doubt made him worse. “I will not have him dissing me.” I nonchalantly took another sip from my drink.

“Fine. I understand that you're scared. I guess Troy will just continue to think that you're a loser and he'll keep walking over women like they're doormats.” Charlie was pushing all the right buttons. I was a fool once, but not twice. I caught her drift and tossed out a sneaky look.

“Well, it
has
been a while. Might be nice to say hi.”

“A brotha like Shake would definitely put Troy to shame,” Charlie encouraged.

A waiter floated by with Lemon Drop shots. Charlie and I grabbed a couple on the way, collecting a bit of liquid courage.

Shake welcomed me with open arms. “What's up, Lindsay! You look incredible.” Shake gave me an extra long hug.

“Thanks, and congrats on all your success.”

“It would be better if I had someone to share it with,” Shake whispered back, attempting to nibble on my ear. He was up to his old tricks.

Shake popped a bottle, and we got lost in the madness of hot beats and smoky air. Shake's power and fame was suddenly becoming very enticing.

Two bottles later, Shake signaled for his driver to make moves.

Charlie's night had ended. She was now safe and sound in her bed, but mine was just beginning.

I was tuned in to the deep hum of the Bentley as it zoomed back across the Manhattan Bridge from Brooklyn. Prickly heat surged over my skin and I felt tingly. The champagne was in full effect. I giggled out loud at my naughty thought of stripping down to my birthday suit. The straps of my lace and satin tank hung off my shoulders. I leaned my head back against the headrest. My eyes followed the blurred lights of Canal Street into the Holland Tunnel.

Shake kissed my lips, moving down across my breasts. His mouth and tongue sought refuge in between my legs. His mouth camped out for about thirty minutes and I don't know how many orgasms I had. By the time I figured it out, we were pulling up in front of his sprawling New Jersey estate.

I woke up the next morning hung over, with a screaming headache but gushing with delight. I had to double-take the muscular, mocha limbs peeking from beneath the crisp white sheets. It was Shake. My eyes surveyed the room. Whew! I was relieved to see the wrapper and used condom on the nightstand. Thank you Lord! I sunk into the covers. My eyes sparked with menace: mission accomplished.

Chapter 25

Lovely Day

Lindsay planned for us to go uptown to the Mirror Image, to get our hair done by the Dominican sistas.

“What time is our appointment?” I asked.

“We don't have one!” Lindsay said, hopping into the car.

Lindsay sharply whipped into the perfect spot on 108th and Columbus, right in front of the hair salon.

We opened the door to energetic salsa. About ten operators were lined up on both sides of the shop with standard barber chair setups to service their customers. Some were getting streaked or permed and others the famous wash and set. Marilyn, the stout cashier, spotted Lindsay. She quickly put her bowl of arroz con pollo down and rushed over to hug Lindsay.

“Hola, mami!”
Marilyn exclaimed.

“Hola, Marilyn! Cómo está?”
Lindsay replied, going toe to toe.

“Muy bien, y tu?”
Marilyn replied, licking her greasy fingers before wiping them on a tissue stuffed in her pants pocket.

“Bien, mami, bien!”
Lindsay continued to impress me.

“Heifer, you speak Spanish?” I nudged her hard.

“I speak a little somethin' somethin'. Hello! These are my peeps!” Lindsay said, with smoldering bravado, turning back to Marilyn.

“Marilyn, this is
mi amiga. Dos
wash
y
sets,” Lindsay continued as her Spanish began to waver.

I nudged Lindsay again and leaned in. “Hold up, miss. Wash
y
set! You can't hardly speak Spanish.” I cracked up.

“Look, I'm in my element. Don't hate the player . . .”

“Yeah, yeah, hate the game. Old tired sayin'!” I said, shaking my head. She almost had me.

Within ten minutes we were under the sink.
“Mira
mami
s” and
“aquí aquí
s” flew over our heads. For the first time, with Lindsay's encouragement, I was going to let go of my tight, curly afro. The fact that Lindsay promised there would be no chemicals eased my fear, and I was excited.

We were zoomed to the hair-setting stop, plopped into chairs, while rows of plastic magnetic rollers were slapped on our heads. I did everything to hold in my laughter as I glanced in the mirror and saw how ridiculous Lindsay and I looked.

She handed me a magazine as we got comfortable under the hair dryers. The Home Shopping Network was playing on the overhead television opposite.

“Now look at those hideous dolls,” I said, looking up. “What are they?”

“Aw, kissing porcelain leprechauns. You know you want them as a wedding gift,” Lindsay teased.

“I would be so damn mad if I opened one of my gift boxes and saw that mess.”

“I think they're kinda cute, only twenty-nine ninety-nine, little, lucky symbols of love.”

“Yeah, perfect for two lovebirds.”

“Lovebirds who want to peck each other to death,” Lindsay said, hinting she had something, or someone else, in mind for those dolls.

She started digging in her purse. She pulled out her organizer and cell phone, like she'd just struck oil. She looked back at the TV, quickly dialing the number on the screen, while flipping through the pages of her organizer.

“If you value your life, you'd better not be ordering me those dolls,” I said, poking my head out from underneath the dryer.

“Operator, I'd like to order one hundred of the leprechaun porcelain dolls,” she said, shushing me and speaking into the phone. “Oh, yes, they
are
beautiful. I collect leprechauns as a hobby. Today is indeed my lucky day,” she said with a fake laugh, looking at me with a big shit-eating grin on her face.

Lindsay tore a page out of her organizer and flashed it in front of my eyes. It was Troy's credit card number.

“He gave it to me to order furniture for his new house. As anal as I am, he should know I don't throw important stuff like this away,” she said, covering the phone. “Yes, I'll be using my Visa,” Lindsay said mischievously, returning to the operator.

“Now, that's cold,” I said, loving every devious minute.

Just then, I looked at the television, and the latest George Foreman Grill was on display. “Lindsay, tell her you'll take twenty-five of those,” I whispered, jumping in on the action.

By the time our hair had finished drying, a truckload of dolls, enough grills to pass out to the neighborhood, and a large collection of gaudy cubic-zirconia jewelry was on its way to Troy's office. We were still laughing.

“Poor Troy, I might actually start to feel sorry for him soon,” I said.

“Not!” we shrieked, giving each other high-fives as we took seats back in front of the mirrors.

Once the rollers were out, I watched out of the corner of my eyes in the mirror as the technicians artfully brushed each section of my hair in constant circular motions. I noticed how with each rhythmic stroke the technician skillfully inserted a jumbo bobby pin, as if laying railroad track.

“Is this how it's supposed to look?” I questioned, peeking over at Lindsay, fearing this was the new style.

“It's called a doobie. Just go with the flow,” she said calmly with her eyes closed.

An hour later, the pins were removed. My hair was gorgeous and for only fifteen dollars! I couldn't stop smiling as I handed over a twenty. Shaking my surprisingly longer hair, which brushed against my shoulders, I exclaimed, “Just call me Miss Jackson!” We strutted out the door as Lindsay called out, “
Gracias, mami,
see chu next week!” She waved good-bye.

“You are somethin', but like I always say, you all right with me,” I said, getting into Lindsay's car. “Hope you got a full tank of gas, 'cause we're headed for Brooklyn.”

Lindsay's car zoomed down the expressway as the music bumped, Bill Withers singing “Lovely Day.” Lindsay and I sang along. Off key and all.

Lindsay and I shuffled down the parade of street vendors along Fulton Street, headed to the Pink Hand Nail Shop.

“Come on, check 'em out. I got FUBU, Sean Jean, Ecko—I give you good price, good price today.” The voice belonged to a stocky Jamaican man who yelled out from behind a cluttered booth of Afrocentric hats, purses, and sweatsuits.

“No, thank you,” Lindsay said.

As we walked along we saw an older Muslim woman who had set up shop with a table full of old books and incense. Unlike the male vendors, she wasn't pushy. Her calm state was inviting. A small book caught Lindsay's attention.

“I had this as a little girl.
Silver Pennies,
poetry about fairies. Man, I loved this book!” Lindsay held the book close to her chest.

“Then it's yours. Two dollars please.” The lady gave a warm smile. Lindsay gladly paid her.

I sifted through a stack and noticed a small tattered paperback. I picked it up. The title was
Stand Up, Speak
Out, Talk Back! The Key to Assertive Behavior.
I handed it to the lady.

“How much is this?” I asked.

“Oh, that's only a dollar,” she replied.

“Trust me, it's worth more than you know. I'll take it.” I paid the lady, grabbing the poetry book from Lindsay and replacing it with the paperback. I wanted Lindsay to get a good view of the book's title.

“I don't need a guide on how to deal with Robert. I'm very assertive and direct when it comes to him! I'm not intimidated by my boss!”

I shrugged my shoulders and proceeded to the nail shop. “Who are you trying to convince, me or you?”

Lindsay kept reading and rereading the large, bold, red print on the back of the book: “Are you in charge of your own life? Or do other people run it?”

“Whatever! I don't care what you do with your funky little dollar,” Lindsay said, sounding like a two-year-old.

“Baby, that dollar was well spent. A true investment!” Lindsay swatted me with the book.

Lindsay and I climbed into the now vacant pedicure stands, and as we perused magazines, enjoying foot massages, I tapped Lindsay. “I can't wait until tonight! Being seen out in public with Shake is going to up the ante!” I said, shaking my hair once again.

“I told Shake about how Troy and I are on the outs.”

“I bet he couldn't wait to flaunt you in front of him either.” The devil was getting the best of me.

“And he'll get his chance! I know the event coordinator and she said Troy already RSVP'd. You know that pseudo-cultural Negro's got to be in the house. So the mission is on!”

“Shake is serving his purpose! And you will look like a true star!”