Femme Noir (7 page)

“Did you know Michelle?” I asked roughly. Get out fast.

“Only briefly.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I had an affair with her long ago.”

“An affair?”

“Yes, we slept together once.”

I continued before my mind could wander. “Only once?”

“Yes, you know, sometimes you need someone.” Max folded herself in half and rested the side of her face on her shin. “But you only need her for the night.” She blew smoke and blinked. “You know what I mean?”

“Michelle doesn’t seem like your type. Isn’t she a little…soft and feminine?” I reached over and cupped Max’s chin playfully. Max sneered and jerked her chin away.

“You don’t know me,” she sniffed.

I smiled all the way to my toes. “Oh, but I do. Whatever happened, you two never slept together,” I said and let it drop. “Then why is everyone in town saying you knew—”

Max shrugged, but her eyes glittered angrily. “Everybody,” she snorted. “Who? Two people? Three? Lesbians can be vindictive, Nora.” My name crawled out of Max’s mouth like a pornographic picture. “What do you think of our petty little Tulsa community so far?”

“It was like meeting an angry bear. I just played dead and prayed,” I answered.

Max laughed. “So you see what I mean.”

I nodded. My breakup with Michelle had been cataclysmically ugly. I shuddered just remembering it. It had been like a small personal disaster.

“So you really don’t know anything.” I shrugged.

“Nope.” Max grinned. “Just a kept woman, sheltered and pampered and utterly naïve.”

“Oh, please.” I stood, ending the interview and dismissing Max’s preposterous remark. Without a further word, I strode to the cigarette box and snapped it open. In a split second, I closed my eyes and was lost in fantasy. Legs sliding apart under my commanding black hands, creamy, magnolia white skin yielding under my grip. Max’s curly tangle of auburn pubic hair offered up in supplication. Please, Nora, please. Open me. Spread me apart, explore me. I am Braille, I am your food, I am your water. Pull my lips apart ever so slowly. Where do your fingers fit? What if you put your mouth on me? Red on red. Can you fit inside? All of you? Let my cunt suck all of you in and hold you there, your entire body, until I am satisfied. Tell me about myself. What can you do with me? What will you do to me? And when, when, when,
when?
I opened my eyes and took two cigarettes and put one in my pocket and the other I perched unlit on my lower lip. “No one keeps anything from me that I really want,” I growled. I snapped my thumbnail over a match head and it obediently burst into flame. I lit the cigarette. Max lowered her eyes and smiled. Then Max stood, preparing to see me out.

Suddenly, I pinned Max to the wall, my cigarette smoking itself in my hand. I pressed with my weight and stretched to my full height. Max let out a tiny gasp of surprise. “You move just like a panther,” Max whispered. I stared down at Max with smug satisfaction. I brushed a curly red tendril of hair from her face.

“Say you don’t want it. Look at me and
say it,
” I hissed, passion forcing the words into Max’s ear.

Max looked up very slowly. She seemed to be struggling to veil the snapping fire in her eyes. Finally, she tilted her mouth and said, “I don’t want it.”

I laughed. I could feel Max’s curves through our clothes. I leaned down again and spoke to Max’s collarbone. “Keep saying that over and over. Maybe you’ll convince one of us.” Then I stepped back, regarding Max, looking for the crack, but there was none. Triumph and defiance mingled in her manner as I replaced the cigarette in my mouth. Max watched all of this silently, absorbing all, revealing nothing.

We talked as we walked to the front door.

“But perhaps those people you spoke to wanted us to meet.” Max’s tongue trembled at the corner of her mouth. Its seductive pinkness…its shining wetness… “For numbskull reasons of their own. But then we hit it off…and we—”

I shook my head. “I don’t need any more trouble.”

Max approached, desire rising from her robe in hypnotizing waves. “No trouble at all.” Her voice was smoky and swirly.

I jerked open the door, surprised at my own force, and pushed it into Max.

Max just smiled, her eyes dark and twinkling. “Kissing a black man is just like falling face first into a velvet pillow. I wonder if kissing a black woman is the same?”

Max’s lower lip hung open, and to me, it looked like a dewy slice of peach. I gripped the doorknob and walked out, after first leaning into Max and whispering, “You’ll never find out. I came here for
nothing.
” Then I slammed the door without meaning to. I looked back and saw Max watching from the window, her robe untied and open, exposing her bra and black panties. Perspiration pooling in all my hollows and creases, I got in my car and before I drove away, I looked again at the house. Max was gone. Because of her absence from the window, I had to clench my fists to keep from returning at a run. But I was angry. And upset. Angry because Max hadn’t offered me the simple relief of a cigarette. Upset because I knew that if I succumbed, this Max would be no casual piece of ass. She would be a wild ride. The kind of ride that you know is dangerous but you get on anyway thinking you have the guts and the strength to do it and when you get off, you’re changed. Maybe weaker, maybe stronger, maybe destroyed completely, you’re different than the you that climbed on with such a gaming spirit.

Before I backed out of the driveway, I had to wait for pedestrians to pass. A group of white women out late. I watched them in the rearview. I shook my head noticing their butts. Oh, how I despised anemic, flat asses. I hated when Michelle would put on clothes and ask, does this make my butt look big? I always wanted Michelle’s butt to look big. To say no to a woman asking that question was an insult. An insult enough to mean that that woman was sexless with no juice, life, or appeal. Women should fatten their asses and parade their succulence proudly. I would personally guarantee that such an action would result in more and better sex. Women should always want the answer to her butt looking big to be a resounding
yes!
Then, a tumble into bed. I glanced again at the house where that round, ample fruit of an ass still called to me.

I drove down the one-way street and when I was sure Max couldn’t see, I put the car in park, pulled the emergency brake, and turned off the lights. I gripped the steering wheel like a life preserver, relishing the ice cold air blasting into my face from the air conditioner, and I breathed deeply for several minutes. Ducks quacked on the lake as they floated in the darkness. I considered slipping a hand into my trousers for some relief, but something told me that I needed a sharp edge for this business. So I concentrated on my breathing and banishing Max from my mind. How could Max have gotten to me? It’s not like pussy had just been invented.

After perhaps twenty minutes, I was ready to leave. Just as I was reaching for the lights, something caught my eye across the lake at Max’s house. With the landscape lights in her yard, I could see her garage door opening. Then headlights. Next, a car pulled from Max’s garage onto the one-way street and started to slowly coast its way around the lake toward me to leave. I ducked out of sight. As the car passed, I caught a glimpse. It was Michelle’s car. I was sick of these mysteries already and decided to follow it.

Chapter Eight

The driver was a lone black female. Following, I kept what I hoped was a safe distance. I had never tailed anyone. We drove and drove through deserted streets. The prettiness of the town evaporated, grew industrial, then abandoned, then ugly.

At last, the woman parked at Tisdale’s Barbecue, a quaint white bungalow with big windows and hand-painted signs. It was open until three a.m. when things around here must really jump. I pulled into the gravel parking lot of the tiny A-frame bar next to Tisdale’s. Then I walked toward the barbecue place, suddenly feeling queasy and scared. What if there
was
real danger here? I shrugged. All would unfold in due time.

*

“If a nigga could just get a motherfuckin’ breath!” I shouted, leaning on the car for support, filling my chest with soaked air. I pictured my lungs blooming with mold, my armpits growing slidy with moss, tadpoles burping out of my mouth, my skin dripping saltwater. When I felt calmer, I lit a cigarette. The air was drier when I smoked.

I imagined lying on my back, Max’s ample weight pressing me flat as Max straddled my eager face. I looked into the seed of heaven and strained to reach it. Max teased me, remaining out of reach as I got madder…

Compelled by my impulsive nature, I entered Tisdale’s and was embraced by warmth and the savory smells of wood smoke, tender, juicy meat, and sweet, spicy sauce. There were several busy, loud groups, laughing and eating, enjoying their glorious mess. The woman I followed sat alone in a corner, eating ribs. I stepped up to the counter and ordered the same.

“Sweet or sour?” the enormous woman behind the counter drawled. She was the color of milk chocolate and had beautiful glossy skin that was clear and shiny with oil. She wore a head rag and a stained white apron.

“Sweet or sour what?” I asked uncomfortably. This was the first time I had been anywhere in the South and also the first time I had ever had what I suspected to be authentic barbecue. I felt the woman in the corner staring at her.

“Sauce,” the counter woman answered.

“Sweet.”

“It’s mighty hot.” The woman eyed me, full of doubt.

I regained some composure and smiled seductively. “Just the way I like it. Hot and sweet.”

“Uh-huh.” The woman rolled her eyes and took my money. “No refunds. I’ll bring it when it’s done. Have a seat.”

I walked over to the person I had tailed and asked if I could sit with her. She let her eyes wander pointedly over the two empty tables nearby, then back to me. I resisted any explanation and just stood silently. At last, the woman shrugged and shoved a chair out with her foot. With a nod of thanks, I sat. The woman picked up another rib with both hands.

“I’m Nora Delaney.” I gave my power smile.

The woman let go of her rib with one hand and without wiping it, she stuck it out for me to shake as she growled, “Sloane.”

I shook her sticky, greasy hand briskly. Sloane had big muscular mitts thick with yellow calluses on the palms. I swallowed, just slightly uncomfortable. I remembered taking dates to Ethiopian restaurants in LA so I could check out their hands. Ethiopian food came without any utensils, so I was free to observe my dates’ style and grace as they ate. This woman’s hands told me: caution.

“Sloane Weatherly?” I asked.

“Yep.”

“I’ve heard of you from a couple of people.”

Sloane looked up, grinning unpleasantly. “Ah, my reputation precedes me.”

I laughed, unable to relax. Usually, I was the intimidating one, the strongest one, the predator…in my game, in my job, in my love life. But this bulky-bodied butch was a little scary. She was built like a fireplug and every ounce was muscle. The way her shoulders bunched over her plate, Sloane reminded me of a grizzly devouring a salmon. I was solidly muscular too, but I felt like a toothpick in comparison.

“Places are open later here than I would’ve expected. I thought you’d roll up the sidewalks at six,” I said, attempting humor.

Sloane studied me without blinking. “We only leave open the places we need. The absolute
essentials.
”

“Here’s your dinner.” The counter woman set a tray of ribs and sauce, coleslaw, potato salad, white bread and butter, whole jalapenos, a slice of raisin pie, and a strawberry soda on the table. “Enjoy.”

“Thank you.” I smiled again, and again, got nowhere with it. The woman harrumphed and switched her big ass tantalizingly all the way back to the kitchen.

“You got the same thing I did,” Sloane observed.

“Yeah, I figured you would know what is good.”

“I sure do,” Sloane answered. I got a picture of Max in my mind and thought of the two of them together. A sick wave of jealousy washed over me, and suddenly I wasn’t hungry, in spite of the delectable aromas. My hands itched for a cigarette. I longed to dash this plate to the floor and grind my heel in it. I needed a drink. A strong one. What had Max been drinking? Gin and tonic. My mouth ached for something to pull on. My lips needed to close around something and suckle it.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” Sloane asked, dropping a rib bone.

“I guess.” I picked up a rib, fat with meat and glossy with sauce. My teeth crunched in the crispy flesh that was saturated with smoke and sauce. The meat was chewy and tender. Ah, yes, this was the Real. The counter woman/cook had thrown in plenty of burnt ends. Mmmm, mmmm, goddamn, this was holy. It felt good in my mouth. I thought of Max’s thighs, as ivory and milky as dogwood blossoms, as pink as fresh roses with a blush, and I tore into the ribs with ferocity, alternating with bites of spicy jalapeno and peppery onion that flared fire into my sinuses and cleaned my tongue. I devoured everything before Sloane had a chance to finish her coleslaw. I looked up, my face wet with grease, grinning big. I threw my last pepper stem into the carnal wreckage.

“Enjoy that, did you?” Sloane asked with a tiny, wry smile.

I laughed, suddenly feeling at ease. Darcy was wrong to advise against seeing Sloane. “Sure did. This is some
fine shit.
”