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“Oh really? Is she from our old neighborhood?” He tells me no. Tells me her family is from Plainfield, but she’s lived in Maplewood for over ten years. He mentions that she gets her hair done down at Nappy No More—Pasha’s hair salon. “Really? I haven’t been there in a while. But you’re probably right. I might’ve seen her there before. Speaking of which, did you hear Pasha’s getting married?”
“Yeah, I know. Bianca got an invitation. So, it looks like we’ll be seeing you there.”
“They’re friends like that? Oh, wow. That’s great, then. I can’t wait to see you and to meet her as well.” I glance at the time. Porsha should be almost here, I think, slipping into a pair of Jimmy Choos. “So when are the two of you tying the knot? I want details. And don’t hold anything back. How’d y’all meet? What’s she’s like? How long y’all been together? I want it all, boo. I wanna know from start to finish what you’ve been up to and who this woman is that’s kept my favorite cousin from staying in touch with me.”
He laughs. Tells me they’ve been dating for almost two years; that they’re getting married in October. That that was one of the reasons he was calling. He needed our address. Tells me he expects to see us there, celebrating his big day. “Oh, trust me. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Now tell me all about you.”
He tells me that he’s finally obtained his master’s degree in Criminal Justice from John Jay College in New York, and is up for a promotion at his job with the New Jersey State Police. I smile. As a kid, he was always helping someone, saving someone (or something), or trying to protect them. Garrett was like a Superhero—always looking for the good in people, somewhere trying to save the day. So it was no surprise to me when he went into law enforcement. He tells me that he and his fiancée, Bianca, met through her brother who he’s close friends with and who’s also a State Trooper. That their relationship started out as a causal thing, but evolved into more. Tells me she avoided him like the plague. That she wanted no parts of him outside of sex. That she had ended things between them when he pressed her for more. But he wouldn’t give up. Tells me he had to have her. And, then when he learned she was pregnant with his child, he knew there was no turning back. States getting her pregnant wasn’t planned; that she initially planned to keep it from him and have an abortion. But something changed her mind. And he’s glad. He states he asked her to marry him right after her trip to Egypt. But she refused. Then he asked her again after their son was born, and she said yes. He tells me they hadn’t set a date until recently. The way he’s talking, the pride and joy beaming from of his tone, he sounds like a man who is truly in love.
“Wow, congratulations,” I say, smiling. “You sound really happy. She must be a really special woman.”
“Thanks, cuz. She is. And I am happy, very. She’s a good woman, Paris, and a great mother to our son. I can’t wait for you to meet her.” I tell him I’m looking forward to it. I hear Porsha coming through the door. I reach for the bottle of Joy by Jean Patou from my perfume shelf, dabbing a little—because at five hundred dollars a bottle, that’s all you need—behind my ears, then on my wrists. I rub it in. Inhale in its peachy and leafy green scent. Delicious!
“What about you? Seeing anyone special?” I tell him no. Tell him that work keeps me too busy; that I don’t have time for anyone special. “You’re too beautiful not to. You have to make time for love, babe. Life is too short not to allow someone special into your life.”
“Well, before that happens,” I tell him as a glide a coat of Berry Bling lipstick across my lips, “He’s going to have to find me, first.” I pop my lips together, pleased with my succulence. Way to go, CoverGirl! The Queen Collection never lets me down. “And right at this moment, it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen anytime soon.” He tells me he wants to introduce me to one of his boys, a state trooper. That he thinks I’d like him. I laugh. “Uhh, no thank you. The last time I let you fix me up with someone he was cross-eyed and had a serious overbite. He looked like something from out of Star Wars.”
He laughs. “But he was a nice guy.”
“And he was ugly.”
He keeps laughing. “And he really dug you.”
“Mmmph, I wouldn’t know.”
“That’s because you didn’t give him a chance,” he says, still laughing.
“I’m so glad you find that funny.”
“I’m sorry, babe. You crack me up; still witty as ever. I wish you woulda gave him a chance. He looks nothing like that now.” “I couldn’t. It hurt my eyes looking at him....”
“Hooker, why aren’t you ready?” Porsha snaps, walking into my bedroom. “You know I’m tryna get my shop on and you up in here bullshitting. Let’s go.” I tell her I am ready. Let her know who I’m on the phone with. She grabs the phone from me, practically snatching my ear along with it. “Ohmygod, Garrett, how the hell have you been?...No, it’s Porsha...”
While the two of them are talking, I open my Valentino handbag, dumping everything out onto my bed. I decide to change bags, placing everything into a denim, crinkled leather Prada bag.
Porsha cuts her eye over at my bag, squinting. Fact is it’s hers. I’ve simply claimed it as mine. I ignore her stare... “Ohmygod, you’re getting married? When? Congratulations...Boy, now you know we’ll be there with bells on. Wouldn’t miss it for the world... okay...well, when are we gonna meet her?...Oh really? Oh, then we’ll see her there...cool. I look forward to meeting her...I will... Promise...Okay...Love you, too.” She presses the END button, then hands me back my phone. “Bitch,” she snaps, pointing at her handbag. “I was looking for that.”
I laugh, grabbing my shades and walking out the bedroom. “Oh, girl, get over it. You couldn’t have been looking too hard. I’ve had it for the last six months.”
“Whatever,” she snaps, following behind me. “I’m gonna start locking my shit up. That’ll keep your thieving ass outta my closets.”
I slip my sunglasses on the minute I step outside. “Yeah, right; picture that. How you gonna lock me out of anything when, nine times outta ten, I’ll end up being the one with the spare key?”
She laughs, disarming her car. “Hooker, get in.”
I slip into the passenger seat of her convertible Jag, fastening my seatbelt, laughing at her as she speeds around the circular driveway, like a nut, toward our destination.
Porsha
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“There are three types of niggas, okay,” Angel says, eyeing me over the rim of her chocolate martini. She’s in town from California for the weekend and we’re playing catchup. Friends since freshman year of high school, Angel’s the one person outside of my sisters I trust, and share almost everything with. Being that she now lives in L.A., we only see each other four times a year. She flies out every April for her mother’s birthday, and, again, during the Thanksgiving holiday. Then the other two times I fly out there. Tonight we’re at Jacksonville Restaurant & Lounge—a cozy spot for the grown and sexy—in Paterson. The atmosphere, scrumptious food, and live band make this a great spot to mix and mingle. Tonight is their Friday night Open Mic series, and of course she convinced me to meet her here so she can tear the spot up. Why she doesn’t get serious about her vocals and get into the studio is beyond me—the girl can blow, but she enjoys performing at open mics instead, and will serve them every time.
I sway a bit to the band’s rendition of Sade’s “I’m A Soldier of Love.” “Oooh, this is my shit,” I say, snapping my fingers. “I can’t wait to see her ass in June.”
“Bitch, are you listening to me?” she snaps, feigning annoyance that I’ve slipped from the conversation; no matter how brief the moment.
I laugh. “Girl, I heard you. Now go ’head and finish what you were saying.”
