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She shoots me a look. “So you tryna say I have a big pussy?”
I grin. “Nah, I’m sayin’ a little dick would drown in ya deep waters.”
She rolls her eyes, mergin’ onto I-5 North. “Same difference, nigga.”
I laugh, takin’ in the scenery as she speeds down the interstate.
Whoever said it doesn’t rain in Southern California is a muthafuckin’ lie! It rained all Friday night, and all day Saturday. But today it’s in the damn sixties. Cherry and I are standin’ outside Roscoe’s House of Chicken ’n Waffles over on Pico Boulevard, waitin’ to be seated. It’s packed as hell up in that bitch. Cherry’s kinda tight that we’re here, but this is where I wanna eat. A muhfucka was tired of hittin’ up all them shi-shi, foo-foo type spots she drags me to. I wanted to get my grub on in the damn hood for a change. Not ’round a buncha pretentious-ass bitches. She complains ’bout how ghetto and rude the staff can be at times here; how the wait is too long; how she doesn’t feel like dealin’ wit’ anyone bummin’ her for change on our way out; how they put too much damn butter up on the waffles; how the chicken is too greasy; how if she has to eat Roscoe’s, she’d rather go to the one over in Hollywood. I let her ass go on and on. But I feel like tellin’ her to shut the fuck up. Luckily, a call comes in that keeps her ass occupied for the next twenty minutes. My flight tonight can’t come soon enough. A muhfucka’s ready to bounce. I watch Cherry as she walks and talks. She paces up and down the sidewalk, e’ery so often stoppin’ and posin’ wit’ her bag hangin’ in the crook of her arm, and one foot lifted up on the heel of her shoe. I decide to check my voice messages while she’s yappin’ her jaws. There are thirteen.
“When you comin’ back to Brooklyn, nigga? It’s ya girl, Electra.” Delete.
“Yo, son, what’s good? It’s Gee. Where the fuck you at, nigga? Hit me back when you get this.”
“Alley Cat, it’s Falani. What’s up with you? I guess since you got what you wanted, you’re not beat to hit a sista up. It’s all good, though. I just thought you might wanna know Lydia and I want another round with you. And we might have another friend who’s down. So if you’re down for a foursome, give me a call.” Hell muthafuckin’ yeah, I am! Save.
“Hey, sexy man. It’s Vita. Call me when you get a moment.” Delete.
“Hey, Alley Cat. It’s Carla. When am I gonna see you?” Delete.
“Hey there, it’s Marissa. I was calling to see if you were free tonight. I have a few hours to myself and was hoping to see you. I know it’s last minute. But if you can, let me know.” This ho calls me from a blocked number, so how the fuck I’ma let her know shit, when I don’t have a number to call her ass back? Delete.
“Alley Cat, it’s Akina. Call me.” Delete.
There’s also three messages from Maleeka, one from Moms, and two from Tamera’s crazy ass, talkin’ real slick. I swear she’s gonna have me gag her wit’ this cock. I delete ’em all. By the time Cherry walks back over to me, we’re ready to be seated.
Cherry orders a breast and waffle, wit’ a side order of mac ’n cheese. I order one of the house combos: mac ’n cheese, greens and corn bread wit’ a breast and a side order of waffles. The waitress comes back wit’ our drinks. Cherry ordered a Sun Rise, a mixture of lemonade and fruit punch; and I got the Eclipse, a mixture of lemonade, OJ, and fruit punch. The shit is bangin’.
While we wait for the waitress to return wit’ our orders, we talk ’bout the holidays and what kinda plans we have. She’s goin’ to St. Lucia to visit her family. Says she’d love for me to go wit’ her. I smile, tell her I’d love to go as well, but haveta do the family thing. She understands. Somehow the conversation shifts to relationships and her wantin’ to know how many women I’m fuckin’. The question catches me off guard ’cause it’s not sumthin’ she’s ever asked before.
“I have a few friends handlin’ this dick. Why?”
“No particular reason. I mean, I know you’re in hot demand and all, but I was wonderin’ if you ever see yourself settling down.”
I take a sip of my drink. “Not anytime soon. Maybe one day. But for now, I like keepin’ my options open”—I grin, pausin’— “wide open, if you know what I mean?”
She takes a sip of her drink, shakin’ her head. “Yeah, I bet you do.” I’m glad the waitress finally comes back wit’ out food so we can get the fuck off this topic. The first thing I bite into is my waffle. Man, listen, I swear these muhfuckas dip ’em in cinnamon and crack ’cause these muthafuckas right here are addictive!
We eat and talk and laugh ’bout stupid shit, like Toni Braxton bein’ eliminated on Dancing with the Stars before Susan Lucci’s old ass; to chicks writin’ tell-all books ’bout who they fucked ’n sucked, or how they got done dirty by some industry cat, basically playin’ themselves like real birds. Somehow we start talkin’ ’bout celebrity deaths and tragedies that happened over the year, like the deaths of Isaac Hayes and Bernie Mac, and the brutal shit that went down wit’ Jennifer Hudson, losin’ her mother, brother and seven-year-old nephew.
“My heart goes out to all their families, especially to Jennifer and hers,” Cherry says, takin’ a sip of her drink. “I met Jennifer three months before it happened at an event here, and she looked so happy and in love.” She shakes her head. “And now this.”
“Yeah, it’s fucked up.” Just thinkin’ ’bout that shit and tryna imagine goin’ through that got me feelin’ some kinda way. I glance at my watch, quickly changin’ the subject. “Aye, yo, it’s gettin’ kinda late. I’ma haveta get to the airport in a few hours.”
“Don’t remind me,” she says, pushin’ her plate away from her. “I wish you’d pack up and come out here to live. I told you before I’d put you in contact with some people who I know would give you a job.”
“And I ’preciate that. But you know I can’t leave my moms like tha
t.”
“Bring her, too. I know some wonderful assisted-living facilities in the area where she can get around-the-clock care. You already have a place to live. I told you I’d let you live in the condo. It’s paid for, so all you’d have to manage is the utilities.”
I shake my head, knowin’ Moms would snap if she knew I had this broad thinkin’ she was in a wheelchair, practically an invalid. “Seems like you got it all figured out.”
She smiles, gazin’ at me. For a split second, a muhfucka thinks he sees love twinklin’ in her eyes. I dismiss the shit, knowin’ she’s not crazy enough to go there. Or is she? “Let’s just say I’ve given it a lot of thought.”
Yeah, more thought than you should. “Dig, let’s not overthink things. Let shit flow, baby. Whatever’s gonna happen is gonna happen, feel me?”
She grins. “Oh, I feel you.”
