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“Yeah, one for each of you.” Diamond snapped his fingers like he was Tony Montana in Scarface. “The prettiest ladies in the restaurant.”
“Diamond, we don’t really need any more drinks, and we can pay for our own food,” I said, just as two waitresses came to the table carrying bottles of Cristal.
“Don’t trip, sweetheart. Let Diamond treat you like a diamond,” he said, smiling at one of the waitresses as she bent over to pour him a glass. He grabbed her butt and groped it like he was searching for spare change. I was sure she was about to turn around and slap the crap out of him, but she just laughed and playfully said, “Stop, Diamond.”
“Heeeeeeeeeeeey,” Tamia said, sounding like she didn’t have an ounce of sense in her drunken body.
“Drink up, ladies.” Diamond raised his glass. “You don’t drink, Beyoncé?” Diamond asked Tasha, who was simultaneously sipping on her cranberry juice and giving Diamond the evil eye.
“No, I do drink, but my baby doesn’t,” she said dryly. “I’m pregnant.”
“Oh, you’re breaking my heart, redbone. How are we supposed to be friends if you’re pregnant?”
“Well, I figured that was cleared up when I said I was married,” Tasha replied slyly.
“Fly and feisty.” Diamond sat back in his seat. “I like you already.”
“You know this motherfucker is a pimp, right?” Tasha whispered, pretending to nibble on a piece of bread.
“A pimp?” I looked over at Diamond sitting across from me—his gold teeth, red suit, and cane with diamonds encrusted in the top…Then there was how the women who came to the table reacted to him and how everyone in the restaurant was staring at us…Yeah, Diamond was a pimp. “Since when did pimps start hanging out in restaurants?” I whispered back to Tasha. She shrugged her shoulders. “Why is he talking to us?” Tasha sat back and gave me the “you know” face. “What?” I said, trying to figure out if I wanted to laugh or call the police.
“You better get your girl,” Tasha said, pointing at Tamia feeding Diamond one of her shrimp.
“So what are we getting into after dinner?” Diamond asked, pouring Tamia another glass of champagne she didn’t need.
“We’re going home,” I said quickly.
“No, we’re going to the Rapture,?
?? Tamia jumped in. “I heard that’s the hottest spot in L.A. tonight.”
“Hell, no.” Diamond laughed. “That club is wack. Look, I’m going to let you ladies in on a little secret. The only way to party in L.A. is private parties. There are too many people at the clubs.”
“So where’s the party?” Tamia asked.
“Troy, we have to get the hell out of here before this Negro spends any more money on us. He isn’t going to go away,” Tasha whispered to me.
“You ladies need to come to a little party me and my associates are having at my house later,” Diamond said. “You girls ever been to a mansion overlooking the Hollywood Hills?”
“No, and we won’t be going tonight,” Tasha said.
The girl with the mini-mini skirt came back over to the table. Diamond didn’t look so happy to see her again. She tried to whisper in his ear, but I could hear her and was able to make out: “That bitch is fucking your money up.” Diamond got up from his seat with heat in his eyes.
“Ladies, I have some business to attend to,” he said. “Sit tight and Diamond will be right back.” He turned and walked out with Mini-mini Skirt following behind him.
Tasha got up and grabbed her purse.
“Let’s go, before he comes back,” she said, pulling Tamia’s arm.
“Why do we have to leave? I’m having a good time with Diamond,” Tamia whined. I got up and took Tamia’s other arm.
“What about our bill?” I asked, following Tasha out.
“He said he had it,” she said, pulling the car keys from her purse. “Let him get it.”
Tamia talked us into going to the Rapture after she promised not to have another drink or talk to any more men. It took us thirty minutes to convince her that Diamond was not marriage material.
By the time we finally made our way around the maze that’s called L.A., with Tamia singing every song that came on the radio full blast from the backseat of the drop-top, the Rapture was packed. We decided to go to the club across the street. The line outside the club was what Tasha and I call “diverse,” sprinkled with white girls here, black boys there, and everything else in between.
