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I glare at Shanda’s smirking face. At the sound of slurping, she glances at her now empty margarita glass. The damn thing is as void as my love life! Anyway, Shanda and I were supposed to marry twins on the same day or live like cat ladies for the rest of our lives. Mind you, the cats dominating our world would’ve been purebred. We had chosen ‘Fifi’ for all the cats' names, as it seemed fitting for rich kitties. But the bitch got hitched this past Valentine’s Day.
With a whopper of a diamond on her ring finger, Shanda pushes crinkled hair behind her ear. She’s staring at me in shock.
Another black woman, sporting ample plus-sized curves and a pompadour, speaks up. “He did?”
Under any other circumstances, I’d keep my humiliation to a minimum. With a last name like Galloway, we don’t admit our faults. We certainly are not stood up—
“Wait. Is it considered being stood up in the middle of a date?” I ask, running the pad of my thumb over the fresh manicure of my index finger.
“Well, did he leave,leave?” Justice, the bartender asks. She places a fresh margarita in front of Shanda and hands me another Scotch.
“Or was it a few minutes?” Shanda inquires. “Could this ‘Toni’ who called him while he was eating youlike hot biscuits on a Sundaymorninghave been his momma?”
“Shanda, I saw the damn phone while Santino was walking out of the room. Who do you know inputs their parents’firstname into their iPhones? Hell, my parents act bougie, but let me call my momma by her first name.” I toss back the shot.
Justice fills it, nodding her head in agreement.
“Thank you,” I pout.
“On me, please continue.”
“Are my drinks on you as well?” Shanda smiles.
I snort. “No,Doctor.”
Justice laughs softly and says, “I got the two of you tonight. It’s been a while since I’ve surrounded myself with black women who nurture and support each other. But, please do continue.”
I stare at two broken records and tell them how I left the second I saw him walking along the side of the building. “I went through the laundry room exit.”
“You saw the dick, though?” Shanda asks. “How much exaggerating were you—”
“I do not exaggerate unless in a boardroom, and even then I have statistical—”
“Did you see it?” Justice asks excitedly, placing her chunky arms along the countertop opposite us.
“I felt it!”
“Hmmm, well, you either embellished what you’ve told us or you walked out on King Kong?” Shanda sniffles. “That makes you stup. . .”
“Don’t say that,” Justice speaks up, like an old friend. “That tenacity makes Gina myshero.”
* * *
Sherorings in my ears.Although Shanda and I leave the bartender a hefty tip, I can’t let her down by answering Santino’s umpteenth call. This time, I do the mixologist one better and press the away button.
“How ‘bout that?” I murmur to my phone screen.
My latest secretary, who has yet to receive her RIP notice, glances at me. So I ask, “Nikki, do drug dealers take house calls?”
8
Santino
The only daughter of my dearly departed sister had called me. That was the sole reason I told Gina to wait for me. I don’t put pussy before family, but dammit, that proverb only regarded two people. Ma and Toni.
Antonia had apologized for calling so late on the cell phone I bought and said she understood why I’d blocked her father’s phone number. She’ll take forever to ask you something while Tony has his hand out, with expectation. Her father doesn't understand why she's so humble.
So I went outside to meet Big Tony to pay for a detective camp. He’d swore he’d cover the program by 9 pm that night. It was 8:45 when Toni called. My niece would’ve apologized long after the deadline if I hadn’t sworn on my sister’s grave that I wasn’t angry with her. This was all Big Tony’s fault for being an unreliable bastard.
