“A kid, an ex-wife, in-laws that you claim treat you like an outlaw. All of a sudden this makes me feel claustrophobic.”
“It’s just my daughter.”
“Get real. If the child is there, the wife never leaves.”
“Malaika is long gone.”
“Well, from what I’ve seen in my own life, between my momma and my daddy, you two have a bond through that child.”
“Well, our divorce unbonded us.”
“Don’t fool yourself.”
Silence filled the room like water flooding a bathtub.
While we drowned, I asked Dana what she was thinking.
She said, “About something I heard in church, that divorce is one of God’s consequences for not following Him and doing it His way. In God’s eyes you’re still married, and every time I’ve slept with you, in God’s eyes, I’ve committed adultery.”
I joked, “If we had a dime for every time we sinned, we could buy our way into heaven.”
Her face hardened. “Don’t say that.”
“I was joking.”
“Don’t joke like that.”
“What’s the difference between you sleeping with a divorced brother and the plain old fornication you were doing with your ex for five years, all the sex you’ve had up until you met me?”
“That’s not funny.”
“I’m not laughing. What’s the difference?”
“Deception. Misrepresentation. My ability to choose.”
“So you pick and choose what sin works for you?”
“Doesn’t everybody?” Dana stood, did neurotic things with her hair. “All the way back here from Santa Monica, I thought about kicking you to the curb. My insides are, I dunno, all mixed up with thoughts of forgiveness and revenge.”
I asked, “Is it more forgiveness or more revenge?”
Neither of us moved.
I said, “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? What you did was punk. Do you know how many women would’ve fucked you up for this shit you pulled? You’re a coward. There is no room in my life for a coward.”
She stopped like someone had suddenly taken the batteries out.
She hand-combed her hair, smiled a little, spoke softly. “I don’t know you. I have no idea who you are.”
She didn’t move.
“I can’t handle this now. This is too much,” she said as she nodded with her other thoughts. “I’ll send Gerri or somebody to get my stuff for me.”
I stood in the doorway, watching.
She took her stun gun out of her purse. At first I thought she was about to come at me, but she held the urban assault weapon at her side as she passed me by, bouncing it against her leg at a quick rate, the tempo of her thoughts.
She stopped at the front door. I stepped toward her, said her name.
She motioned to keep away, that same motion telling me to not say her name, made that rugged gesture with the tense hand gripping the stun gun.
She said, “I’m serious. No room for cowards in my life.”
“So, this is over?”
“This never was.”
Dana put on her dark shades, summoned her cool, world-conquering attitude, sashayed out my front door into the night. Crying, but not in a dramatic way. She gave up her salty river the way a person who had shed a lot of grief wept. Her footsteps echoed in the hallway, moved down the corridor at a pace that told me her head was held high, chest forward, was taking her time about going down the concrete stairs.
Being called a coward had driven a stake into my heart.
Bed squeaks and light moans came through my wall. Heard Naiomi moan like she was arriving at that special place, traveling in the express lane.
I stood in the window, stared down at the empty parking space.
Dana was gone.
After a lie has been spoken, there is never a good time to tell the truth. Never. I should’ve started with the honesty and taken my chances. That way my dignity wouldn’t have a watermelon-size exit wound.
7
Dana
Some half-drunk Asian man wearing Dockers yelled at Gerri, “Cinnamon Delight, work that thang! Be my wife tonight, baby!”
She laughed, jiggled her booty, and took his crumpled money.
My road dawg was topless, damn near bottomless. The way her skin blended with her G-string, under those lights that were hitting the square stage and the rectangular runway, she looked like a butt-naked slice of Nubian nudity. Dancing her ass off in black high heels. Every plastic chair around the pyramid-style stage was packed.
An hour had passed since my bubble was burst. One minute I was pissed off and driving aimlessly; the next I was in Hollywood. In a smoky room. Large televisions all over the joint. A VIP area. Pool tables. I was alone at a round table in the back. Inside a gentlemen’s lounge on the Sunset Strip called Blondies. A very kick-back atmosphere with concrete floors and psychedelic neon lights advertising pretty much every brand of liquid crack ever made. Everywhere, movie posters of every blonde from Marilyn Monroe in
Some Like It Hot
to Kim Basinger in
LA Confidential
.
From the sidelines, a white man yelled at Gerri, “Cinnamon Deeeeee-light, I’ve been waiting for you all damn night!”
Gerri licked her lips, shook her ass, smiled, and let the man slide sweaty and wrinkled-up money in her paisley garter. Her act was hotter than Joan of Arc’s last barbecue; the men were going crazy.
This was a world she controlled.
I bumped through the crowd, fanned clouds of smoke out of my face, and made my way to the ladies’ room. Now I’d have to wash my braids so I didn’t run around smelling all funky tomorrow.
Married. With a damn rug rat. Masquerading like he was SINC all this damn time. Asked me to marry him and he hadn’t told me any of that shit. How fucked up could fucked up get?
By the time I finished cursing out the woman in the mirror for being so naive and came back out, The Commitments were singing “Mustang Sally” and an Asian waitress was on the main stage, grinning wider than a virgin UCLA cheerleader, swinging upside down from a golden trapeze bar like she was auditioning for Ringling Brothers. I shook my head. Yep, that was a talent she should stick on her résumé in big, bold letters.
Gerri came through the rainbow-colored beads on the floor level, a few feet left of the stage. A note was in her hand; the napkin I’d written my message on and had delivered to the back. She had thrown on a white button-down-collar shirt, but the shirt was unbuttoned.
Disbelief covered her face as she strutted my way, buttoning the two middle buttons on her shirt. She ignored men who smiled and grinned at her like she was Ishtar, came to me with a tight face and an anxious, embarrassed stride.
Her over-the-top mascara hid her freckles. The kohlblack made her eyes look deep and mysterious. She pulled a few strands of the fake curly blonde hair that framed her brown face aside as she said, “Somebody die?”
“No.”
“Well, this is one helluva surprise. How long you been here?”
Nervousness was in my voice. “Not long. Got a minute?”
She paused. “Well this is very, eh, weird.”
“I know it’s inappropriate.”
“I hope you didn’t come down here to try and make me quit.”
I told her, “No sermons.”
“I’ve got two minutes. What’s so important?”
I vented. Boy, did I ever get out everything. I opened up and emotions poured out like water from a ruptured dam. Told her everything.
“Whoa, slow down, Dana. Slow down.” Gerri let out a slow groan. “Keeping an ex-wife and a shorty on the down low. That’s whacked, but you could’ve waited until morning to tell me that.”
She sighed and glanced toward the owner.
I said, “I’m sorry. I know you need to go.”
“Well, O ye queen of stressed out, tonight you’re lucky. A lot of girls showed up and there’s a lot of time in between rotations.”
She smiled at me like I was her best friend. I smiled too.
“Dana,” her voice rang out with sensitivity. “If you want the truth, the lie was wrong, but Vince having a kid ain’t that bad. At least he ain’t HIV, on drugs, or fresh out of prison.”
“Shit, ain’t no telling what he ain’t told me.”
“Well, the only perfect people are dead people. They’re the only one who can’t make mistakes.”
“I never said Vince was perfect.”
She asked, “Cut to the chase. You love ’im, right?”
First I nodded, then I shrugged. Her eyes told me she had to go, people were watching us, but she wasn’t rushing, not right now.
A couple of girls were on the stage, both working different sides of the room. They switched sides a few times. Part of me had always wanted to see what she did down here. That curious, naughty girl side of me. The truth be told, those girls onstage, the ones men were feeding money, I could outdance both of them, had a better body too.
I changed the subject. “How much can you make doing that?”
“I pulled close to two hundred dollars on my last set.”
“Wow. You made that much cabbage in a few minutes?”
“That’s way above the norm. I’m talking way. I still have to tip the D.J., but even with that, tonight’s a good night.”
“I don’t see how you do this.”
“Two kids, a mortgage, a car note, an unemployed ex-husband, and I’m behind on my desk fees. That’s only the beginning.”
I watched the show and twisted my lips with my other thoughts.
I asked, “How does it feel when you’re up there?” She laughed a little. “What, you wanna get your fantasy on?”
“Right now I’m numb, so I’m pretty much open to anything.”
“You could try it one night.”
“Is it as powerful as it looks?”
“More. It can be a rush.”
“Wonder how long it would take me to get enough cash to get rid of the few bills and the desk fees I have.”
“Not long. I’m here maybe twice a week. Some girls are here almost every night and make ends meet better than I do with my nine-to-five.”
My eyes went to the Asian girl onstage, controlling every man in the room. Not one was laying a finger on her. Getting paid to get eye-fucked.
I folded my arms, sucked in one side of my jaw. That angel side of me slapped the shit out of the devil side of me.
Gerri saw my expression, then sounded defensive. “It helps take care of me and my family. Since Melvin only has to pay fifty funky dollars a month, Jefferson is the best thing going.”
“Well, couldn’t you do like normal women and pussy-whip a sugar daddy?”
That got a nice laugh out of her.
She said, “Baby, I don’t want nobody older than me. An old man can’t do nothing for me.”
“You really care about Jefferson, huh?”
“Caring don’t pay the bill.” She nodded ever so slightly. “But it’s nice to be with somebody who cares about me for a change.”
“Uh-oh. Falling in love?”
“Love don’t pay my rent. Never has, never will. Jefferson is gonna kick down half the mortgage, pay the utility, which will help a lot. If all goes the right way, I can give this up in about three weeks, maybe a month, say eleven Hail Mary’s and move on with my life.”
“You gonna miss this paper route?”
“Like I miss a yeast infection.” She chuckled, short and weary.
I asked, “How do you get into it like, you know, like that?”
“Easy. I pretend that every man in this room is Jefferson.”
My lips were tight, lines in my forehead.
She asked, “What’s up with that look on your face?”
My words came out fast, on the wings of my emotions. “I was wondering how much fucking child support Vince was paying, if he is really paying or just giving up another lie to keep himself from looking bad. Thinking that Cali is a community-property state. If we were married, the court would look at the household income. Imagining how fucked up this could’ve been if I didn’t find out about it until after the wedding. His ex-wife’s hands could’ve been deep in my handbag, and I would’ve been spending my money to finance somebody’s else’s rug rat.”
Gerri’s expression rigidified, her eyes left my face.
I said, “What?”
Attitude was in her eyes. She said, “I’m gone.”
“How long you working tonight?”
“Not long.”
“You be careful, Gerri.”
She took a step, stopped, then faced me: “Dana, do me a favor, okay?”
Her shrewd glare chilled me. “Yeah?”
“Next time you need to talk, don’t come down here.”
“Guess I was delirious and let my emotions take over.”
Gerri was gone before I finished my sentence, headed to a back corner and doing an erotic table dance for a white man in a business suit.
Disgusting, hypnotic, and powerful. Very powerful.
God, I hoped that I wouldn’t end up like that, having two babies, divorced, stripping for repulsive men in a smoky Hollywood bar.
A good-looking Italian man glanced at me and raised his drink like he was offering to buy me a round of liquid illusion. I moved a loose braid from my eyes and shook my head at that Robert De Niro. Headed for the door with my hand on my purse. Hurried by homeless people who were using the pavement as their pillows.
My secondhand Q45 was in a side lot, right next to Gerri’s Camry. I sped out into traffic and drove through the wickedness on Sunset Boulevard, left this area that had miles of foreign stores, all the names in cryptic alphabets I didn’t recognize, down past Larry Flynt’s sky-high smut factory on La Cienega, rushed toward my corner of the world.
Thirty minutes later, I was back in Culver City, cruising through the guard gate at Lakeside. A maze of three-story buildings. Ducks waddling in the lake. Nicest place I’ve ever lived. Quietest. Buildings were spread out, nobody living on top of each other like my life was back in Harlem.
Momma would be proud. Very proud.
I cruised into the underground parking, a concrete coffin that reeked of dust and mold. Tonight I hated L.A. I really did. Wished I had stopped in Memphis, or Dallas, maybe even Phoenix and tried to start over.