My Best Friend and My Man (8 page)

—11—

V
ERON

Demetria is waiting
for me at the
entrance of the building. “You did well, little grasshopper,” she says.

I beam at her. I was so happy that she let me do my thing with Seaphes without having to intervene—she just stood a few feet behind him and listened.

“Where ya wanna go for lunch, boo?” Demetria asks after we hop in her Dodge Nitro—it still has that intoxicating new-car smell. I inhale and let the aroma fill my nostrils. I sit back and relax, unzipping my boots.

“Girl, your feet betta not stink.”

“Please, they’re fine. Just hot.”

“That’s what women do for beauty. Gotta suffer. You needed to wear something that aroused your man’s sense of sight.”

“You’re so right. He complimented me on my legs, I couldn’t believe it. But…” I chew thoughtfully on my bottom lip.

“But what? Hey, where are we going?”

“I dunno. Surprise me,” I tell her.

“’K,” she says and grins at me. “Finish what you were about to say.”

“Well,” I tell her wistfully. “I was dying inside, as you can imagine. And I think I played it cool enough, even though I almost messed up a couple times. But I don’t know; it just doesn’t feel like me! And anyway, I can’t tell if he was really sincere.”

“Sincere about?”

“He gave me my props about my legs and dress and whatever, but how can you tell if a man is just going through the motions? Almost like he’s obligated to give me a compliment but not that he really means it.”

“Don’t even worry about it. Men lie about that kind of stuff, but we do it, too. Hell, if I can twist my lips to tell Percy Jones he looks nice, then, hey.”

I giggle. “Why on earth would you tell that clown anything good about himself?”

“He needs that nurturing, too. As annoying as Percy is, we gotta be sweet. He is someone who can help us out one day if we’re in a pinch. I’m telling you, be nice even to the most trifling of guys, and they will do whatever you want. The goal is to get what you want from whomever you need to get it.”

“Damn, Demetria.”

“Gotta up your game, girlfriend. You’re off to a good start. But there’s one slight problem.”

“What’s that?” I ask her.

“This Seaphes guy doesn’t know who the hell you are. I noticed that he never once called you by your name. I was tempted to say something to you, anything, as long as I called you by your name, because I could tell he wasn’t paying any attention in that meeting. He was too busy trying to get in Ursula’s panties.”

“And that’s an insult. So what she has a big-time position? So what she dresses in a different outfit every day? So what? She’s mean as hell. And he was all over her, anyway! Men piss me off with that. They always fall in love—”

“—with
bitches.
Bitches that don’t give a damn about them. Happens all the time. But guess what, Vee.”

“What?”

“If you wanna tag this man, you’re gonna have to pull an Ursula.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that.” I sigh.

“All the things you’re doing now, keep doing them. Don’t act excited about him. Be nonchalant. Show him you’re a challenge. You want him to hound you like he hounds Ursula Phillips.”

“Do you know anything about her on a personal level?”

“Not really, but I can still size her up enough to see she’s a true bitch on wheels. She’s gotten a few people fired, I know that much. Here we go,” she tells me as we pull up to the side of a restaurant.

I look out the car window and want to pump my fists in the air. I’m dying for some Greek food, and Demetria must want some, too, because now we’re here on Montrose Street at Niko Niko’s—one of the most popular Greek restaurants in Houston. Their gyro sandwiches are second to none, and if you love thick, hot, salty French fries, this is the place to get them.

When they call our number at the counter, Demetria goes to pick up our food, and it feels good to let her. Usually I’m the one who gets up to get stuff when we go get lunch. I thank her when she gets back.

“No problem, but you’re not going to believe this. Your boy Seaphes is up in here, and he is not alone.”

“Demetria, please tell me you’re playing one of your jokes.” I suddenly lose my appetite.

“Just chill out, it’ll be okay. No matter what, you gotta act like you do not give a rat’s ass. Because you don’t, right? You have a life, you are a woman who has things to do, and it doesn’t bother you if you see your man with another tramp.”

“Oh God, please don’t tell me he’s with…”

Demetria simply nods and stuffs gyro and pita bread in her mouth.

I just sit back and stare at her. And it amazes me how you can go from standing on top of a mountain to being sprawled out in a valley in less than thirty minutes.

“Hey, keep cool. It’s not over. Let them do lunch. That is your man, you got that? Ursula Phillips doesn’t give a damn about him.”

“That’s what I’m scared of!”

“One thing you gotta understand about men. They love all kinds of women, they don’t have a type. So that is why you’ll see a man with a light-skinned woman one day, a hefty one the next, and a dark-skinned skeleton a week later. They could care less about if she’s ranked a ten or a two; as long as she was born with some trim between her thighs, he can be attracted to her. She can be sweet, mean, Christian, Muslim, smart, or a GED candidate, it does not matter. Once you understand that, you won’t waste time wondering why he’s trying to get with this Ursula chick.”

“Well, that sucks.”

“So what it sucks. Things suck. Get over it.”

I blow out a long, depressing breath and try to listen to Demetria. But what she says worries me. “Okay, Ms. Know-It-All, if men don’t have types, then all men would cheat, wouldn’t they? They wouldn’t be picky. They would have you and anyone else they think they want.”

“Well, some of them do,” she says. “Listen, girl, just be you.”

“Meaning?”

“You continue the game plan of acting nonchalant.”

“I feel like walking up to them and giving him his stupid phone number back, tearing the paper up in little pieces.”

“That’s childish. You’re a grown-ass woman, you don’t roll like that. You gotta be confident and oblivious.”

“But I don’t feel it.”

“Be it anyway; it’s not about feeling it.”

“Look, Demetria, with all due respect, what if you walked in here and found your wonderful Thaddeus chilling out with another woman?”

“Girl, it’s already happened.”

“W-what?”

“Hell, yeah. A few months ago I was out conducting some business, and I wanted to grab a bite to eat. So I rolled over to this popular spot called Baba Yega—they make the best turkey burgers in town. I walk in the restaurant and place my order and decide to venture outside to the garden area, since I knew the wait would be a good ten minutes. Girl, yes, I go outside, and who’s out there but Thaddeus with this anorexic, stringy-haired brunette. He was squirming in his seat like he was about to crap on himself. And I am pissed off, because I consider Baba Yega just one of
our
spots. That’s just plain rude and doesn’t make me feel special. So to see him in the restaurant with this bitch, Vee, I was tempted to pick up a knife and slash him across the throat. But I just walked up to their table and said, ‘Hey, Thaddeus. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. How’d that STD test come out?’”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yeah, I blurted it out and quickly changed it up to make it look real, but this lady gave a wide-eyed blank look like she didn’t catch on, so it didn’t matter what I said. And so I get my food and I go eat it in the car, waiting to see how long they stay in the restaurant. Girl, they came out of that joint five minutes later.”

“And then what?”

“Oh, he was blowing up my cell phone, leaving messages, trying to explain who she was. Said she was some woman he works with. I believed him, because when I was out there in the parking lot he didn’t see me, but he still didn’t hug or kiss her or anything. But I still let him sweat it.”

I roll my eyes—I have my doubts about his story. Maybe she trusts her non-trustworthy man, and I don’t blame her, but I hate when she preaches to me but doesn’t have the license to do so.

“I gotta make my bladder gladder,” I tell Demetria. I rise up out of my seat and head for the women’s restroom. I pass by Seaphes’s booth. He’s alone. Surprised, I wave at him as I walk by.

“Hey,” he says, raising his eyebrows. “Why are you here?”

“Probably the same reason as you. Love me some Greek food.”

“Something in common.”

I smile but don’t say anything.

“You met your boyfriend here?”

“Uh, I’m here with someone. And you?” I wonder if it’s okay to ask that.

“Well, I actually ran into Ursula. She came in for carryout and she actually sat and talked with me for a second, which was shocking.”

“Y’all make a great couple,” I tell him, trying to look unconcerned. “She’s a cute gal.” I hate this so much, so much, so much.

“Why you say that? I don’t even like her, she’s not my type.”

“Why
you
say
that
? It’s very apparent that you’re attracted to that woman. Everyone can see it.”

Seaphes frowns in disgust, and I wonder if he’s playing things off or if he is genuinely repulsed.

“Well, everyone may think they know what they see, but it doesn’t mean I like her. But hey, I’m glad you told me.”

“I’m glad I told you, too. Look, I gotta run to the ladies’ room real quick, plus my lunch date is probably wondering where I am.”

“Sorry to hold you up. Now don’t forget to call me sometime.”

“Hey.” I smirk. “If I called you, would you even know who I am?”

“What? Why do you think I don’t know who you are?”

“You never say my name.”

“What? W-well, that doesn’t mean anything.”

“Hmmm, never mind. I gotta run.”

Blushing, I hurry to the ladies’ room and look in the mirror. Jeez, why do I have flyaway hair right now? I smooth it with my hands and then empty my bladder, hoping that Seaphes will be gone by the time I walk past his booth. Damn, I wish we’d have gone somewhere else for lunch. But then again, it feels good to have had that conversation with Seaphes, and I hope that he’s telling the truth about not being attracted to Ursula. One thing I’ve learned is a man will always deny liking certain women, but if everything about his behavior screams that he’s feeling her, then I believe what I see and not what he says.

I take an extra-long moment in the ladies’ room trying to pull myself together. I know we’re creeping up to the end of our one-hour lunch break, but right now I just don’t care. Finally I storm out, make a sharp right around the corner, and walk briskly with my head up, the thick heel of my boots clicking against the floor. I don’t even know if Seaphes was still in the restaurant or not.

“Damn, what took you so long?”

“Let’s go, Demetria.”

“Okay, be that way.”

“No, chill girl. Everything is under control.”

I request a to-go carton, pack up my remaining food, and we leave Niko Niko’s.

We head north toward downtown, rushing back to work as fast as the synchronized traffic lights allow.

“So,” Demetria asks, “how’d things go back there? You keep your cool?”

“Yep. It probably helped that Ursula wasn’t actually eating lunch with him. She just happened to be in the restaurant. And they talked. And that’s fine. But I can’t shake this feeling that there’s more to them than he wants to admit.”

“Why you say that?”

“It’s like what you told me. Go with your gut. Well, my gut is telling me all kinds of stuff I don’t want to hear.”

“Listen,” Demetria says. “There are times when we sense things about men that we really don’t want to face, but that are true. For example, my boy Darren—he’s sooo good at making love that I can’t help but wonder how many women he’s slept with. I mean we always use a condom, but I still don’t like to think that he is too experienced. Yet it’s a catch-22, because he’s able to give it to me like I love to get it.” She actually shivers and reaches for her cell phone.

“Hmph,” she continues. “Thaddeus is flying to Connecticut, so hey, why I gotta be lonely?”

“So is Darren your standby?”

“I call him my placeholder. He’s always game, and I could use some attention right about now.”

“And you don’t feel guilty?”

“For what? Girl, I
deserve
having a man that does everything I want him to do.”

“Shoot, it’s been so long since I’ve had sex…”

“Okay, we’re going to have to do something about that. We’ll start with finding someone you can hook up with just for sex.”

“Demetria! I’m not that kind of girl. I’d rather be in a monogamous relationship than have bed buddies.”

“If that’s how you feel…”

“That’s exactly how I feel. I want the whole enchilada. Nothing else will do.”

“Well, then, you’re going to have to take matters into your own hands.”

“What do you mean?”

“Girl, you’ve gotta call him.”

—12—

S
EAPHES

“Hello,” I say
into my cell phone.

Silence.

“Hellooooooo.”

“Is this Seaphes Hill?”

“Who’s asking?”

All I hear is a long sigh. And I would hang up, but I know it’s a woman on the other side of this attitude. And I wonder, what the hell? It’s Friday night. I’m supposed to be celebrating getting through another work week, and this is what I’m forced to deal with?

“What can I do for you?” I say in an even tone.

“You can answer a question for me,” says the soft, tender voice.

“Wait,
who
is this?”

“Let me just talk first, and I’ll tell you who I am in a minute.”

I pause. “Okay.”

“What type of man are you?”

“W–what? Who is this? How’d you get this number?”

She laughs. I could have sworn I heard her whisper
idiot.

I hang up.

The phone rings again.

“Hello?”

“I’m sorry, Seaphes. I-I really just want to talk to you, and I know I’m not doing a very good job of it.”

That softens me up. “And you are?”

“It’s…V-Veron.”

Veron, Veron, Veron. Oh! The lady who bakes. Nice round patty-cake ass, smooth set of long, shapely legs. Calm, cool demeanor. Soft feminine voice. Gentle personality, but really baffling sometimes—this one is as mysterious as a Raymond Chandler novel. And that intrigues me. Hell, I’ve been around so many types of women that I’ve discovered they all fall within a few basic categories:

1. Sluts
—Doesn’t take much to get them to spread their legs. To anybody. Anywhere. 24/7. For them, responding to a booty call is like sucking in oxygen. Happens on a constant basis without much thought. Sluts equate sex with love, which means they love some of
every
one’s body. They’re searching for love in all the wrong places: the workplace, the club, cruise ships, bars, BlackVoices.com, MySpace.com, HerSpace.com, you get the picture.

2. The Hypnotized Dumb Chicks
—Have you ever seen a goat herder who has to lead the goat wherever it goes? If the herder doesn’t pop the goat on the head every once in a while, the poor little goat will stand around isolated from everyone, happily grazing in the field, looking about as dumb as a…well, a goat! That’s the characteristics of the Hypnotized Dumb Chick. This type of woman cannot think for herself—she only believes what her man tells her. Even though she holds a master’s degree, has a good job, and may be the head of her department, she never investigates the foolishness her man feeds her. This is the type of woman that backs her man even though everyone knows her lover is sleeping with any woman who smiles at him. Yet poor Dumbo isn’t catching on, because she thinks her guy is so friendly and handsome that women can’t help but smile back at him. Her dumb ass dangerously believes that just because a woman is ugly she doesn’t have to worry about her man pushing up on “that fat, black, and ugly woman,” but usually it’s the ones who he always bitches about, accuses of being “crazy,” and claims aren’t his type whom he’s really kicking it with. Yet Dumbo is too hypnotized to wake up and face reality: she doesn’t have half of what she sadly believes is hers.

3. Very Independent
—These chicks don’t have a man, don’t need a man, probably earn more than you, are good at making their own decisions, and are able to hop on a plane to Paris for the weekend just because. They wear the latest designer everything, are very well put together, educated, refined, and wouldn’t dare TiVo soap operas. They rarely date—no time for it. And if they do get cheated on, they won’t believe it if you tell them. They stupidly assume the world revolves around their expensive pussies, not realizing that they’re not the only women who have those. After years of climbing that corporate ladder, they have the funds to buy the 5,000-square-foot house, the Lexus, and join the investment club, but she’s manless, childless, and wonders why no man is running after her trying to wife her.

4. Gold Diggers
—These skanks expect you to pay for everything ( jewelry, vacations, rent); they want you to rescue them from every crisis; they pretend to be dumb and weak so they can make you feel as if you’re smart and strong. You gotta pay to play with this one—so break out the checkbook and the credit cards, because she eats lobster and filet mignon and caviar and drinks
bottles
, not glasses, of Pétrus at five grand a pop.

5. Wounded, Bitter, Bruised Sista
—She’s been hurt so many times that she doesn’t trust anybody, including herself. She thinks all men are dogs and she won’t even let you go to the corner store without imagining you’re really scheming to meet a woman to have sex in your car for five minutes. Her baggage is so heavy that her shoulders are always sagging, and she can’t see the future for the past.

6. The Scandalous Wench
—Scheming, conniving, can’t tell the truth even when it’s obvious, she falsifies documents to get whatever she wants. She’ll steal money out of your wallet and claim she won the money by playing the lottery; she’ll learn all the passwords to your e-mail accounts and snoop out info; she’ll do drive-bys on a Friday night just to see who’s parked outside your crib, so she can accuse you of screwing other women. And she’ll stoop low enough to use her kids’ social security numbers to apply for another credit card. But she won’t feel guilty because “it’s all about me. So deal.”

7. The Beauty Queens
—They do not leave the house unless their hair, nails, feet, and makeup are intact. They have zero depth, and instead of sleeping with a man, they sleep with a mirror, a comb, and tubes of lipstick that they stash next to their pillow. They know nothing about politics or foreign affairs or the economic climate; they lack the patience to read the
New York Times
(“there are too many words and the print is so small”), and you’d never catch them watching MSNBC for hours. They haven’t voted in years, because war, poverty, a national health care system, and the world economy are not their issues. Because the way they see it, if a fingernail gets broken, all hell’s gonna break loose.

8. The Psycho
—She is paranoid, overanalyzes everything, gets depressed if you don’t call every hour, and will whip out a knife and chase you with it while screaming obscenities—but won’t even explain what you’ve done wrong. She’ll give you her house key on Sunday and ask for it back on Monday. At twelve noon, she swears she loves you, but by 12:10 she’s yelling, “I hate your black ass!” She’s an emotional rollercoaster whose middle name is “Drama,” and the worst thing is she never believes she’s at fault.

9. Women Who Try Too Hard
—She is a man pleaser to the
n
th degree. She will overdo everything. Buy you expensive gifts thinking that you’ll be so moved by her generosity that you’ll vow always to stay by her side. If you get mad at her, she blames herself, even though you were clearly at fault. She is scared to lose you, even though you haven’t given her anything to lose. Her self-esteem is so low that she doesn’t believe she is worth loving as she is, so she does things to please you without ever taking the time to please herself. This woman really needs to learn how to say (and mean), “Screw you. Good-bye, asshole.”

10. The Kind of Woman a Man Wants to Kick It With
—She is supportive, secure, and doesn’t expect you to call her every five minutes. She trusts you when you do right, she calmly questions you when you fuck up. She can take you or leave you; she’s happy whether there’s a man in her life or not. She’s powerful and confident and doesn’t apologize for being strong. She has a popping personality and shines no matter what challenges come her way. She doesn’t play high school games, gets straight to the point, doesn’t expect you to read her mind, and never assumes anything (something that causes all kinds of problems in relationships). She understands what men like and how men think and doesn’t try to change the way God made us; she just learns how to effectively deal with us. She’s thoughtful and generous but doesn’t overdo it to the point that you take her kindness for granted. She doesn’t wave drama in your face, and she wouldn’t dare start trouble just to be doing something. You get along well with her, and you enjoy being around her because she’s laid-back and has a positive attitude. She strokes your ego and lets the man be the man. The sex is so off the rafters she makes you want to suck your thumb while she sucks your dick and then hold her close in your arms until you both peacefully fall asleep. This woman keeps it real, keeps her man in check, and doesn’t get things twisted. She’s exactly the type I’m looking for…if only I could find her.

Now, the problem is trying to identify which category this Veron chick falls into. I mean, as far as I know she could be a straight-up 8, a 10, or a combination of several. I can’t tell right off the bat, and I’m curious.

“Well, hello, Veron,” I say. “I’m glad you identified yourself.”

“Me, too,” she says in a voice that sounds like she’s blushing. “Look, Seaphes,” she continues, “I appreciate that you were straight with me about Ursula, and I’m choosing to believe you.”

“That’s cool, I guess. But why are you calling?”

“Why do you think I’m calling?” she asks. Is she trying to be cute? This is annoying.

“Why are you talking in riddles?” I ask her. “Why can’t you just say what you want to say? Look, I’m over thirty, and when you are a mature person, you don’t have a lot of time to play games. I don’t want to play games with you, and I’d appreciate it if you felt the same.”

“Well, I’m glad you feel that way, Seaphes.” She sounds surprised, which makes me wonder more about her.

I tell her, “Look, I’m okay with talking on the phone, but I prefer face-to-face. Can you meet me somewhere?” We agree to hook up within an hour at Panera Bread in Memorial City Mall off the Katy Freeway.