Friends and Lovers (11 page)

I took a last look at Lisa’s car when I backed out. Watched my puddles of spit slide down her windows.

* * *

A while later we were in an after-hours reggae club in Marina Del Rey. A din area lined with car lots, beachmotif storefronts, and mini-malls. Leonard and Debra were on the crowded dance floor, in a bump and grind, moving like freaks in heat, sexy-dancing each other into hysteria. I was stuck babysitting a chocolate-covered shrew. Dancing record after record.

We were in an easy zone, smooth dancing, swaying hips. She was an untamed woman who had some serious rhythm. When we first got here, I was left holding the wall because Shelby kept going to the phone. Probably trying to set up a booty call. But the glower in her face said no booty would be getting called tonight.

I said, “You don’t seem like you want to be here.”

“So you noticed. What gave it away?”

“The frown. Let’s take a walk.”

We shuffled through the crowd and stepped outside to Lincoln Boulevard. The air was cool, fresh. Shelby fanned her blouse. I leaned against the concrete wall and wiped sweat from my face with a paper napkin. She glanced at her watch, then saw I was watching her.

I said, “Hope you don’t mind me staring.”

“Look,” she made a rough sound, “I’m keeping you company so Debra won’t think I’m trying to be a CB with her and Leonard.”

“Same here. I was ready to go home after the show.”

“Likewise. And I’m just getting out of some bullshit
myself. I just want you to know that before you, you know.”

“I’m not trying to get in your space. Trust me.”

“And you’ve got the nerve to have a cocky walk. You think you’re a black Cary Grant or somebody?”

“That was corny. Can I get a black reference?”

“Nope. Can I touch your dimples?”

“First you insult me, now you want to touch me?”

“Just that dimple. Keep it above the neck.”

“Sure. You have a nice eloquent walk yourself.”

“And you call me corny. Chill with the compliments.”

Shelby poked her fingers inside my dimples, turned her fingers left and right. She said, “It’s like a cove on the beach.”

We talked awhile. Talked to make time go by. First she said she was glad Debra got out the house because she had been stressed. I asked if she and Debra were roommates. Asked that because Shelby had said both of them being stressed in a one-bedroom apartment wasn’t the best for the country.

She said, “Nope. I’m crashing at her crib until I get my situation straightened out.”

She didn’t speak on it anymore. Shelby tapped her fingers on her hips, kept an easy beat with the Bob Marley groove, brightened her disposition. She asked me about my marketing job at Dan L. Steel Computer Inc. I didn’t talk about me too much. Women hated that. They asked you about yourself, and if you told them, they called you egotistical.

Shelby said, “You’re a pretty impressive brother.”

“Feelings are magnified and reciprocated.”

“This is awkward.”

“What?”

“I’m choosing my words and questions before I ask them because I don’t want you to think I’m asking stupid questions.”

“Questions are part of communication.”

“Answers too. Brothers question a sister to death, but don’t give up answers. When a sister asks one damn
question it’s called stupid.” She paused. “What do you look for in a woman?”

“You changed channels. So is this an interview?”

“Just making conversation. What do you look for?”

“Character. Integrity.”

“Good answer. Definitely a good answer.” Shelby put her frustration on pause long enough to twist part of her hair. She’d been doing that off and on since we’d been alone together. She said, “Want to exchange numbers?”

“That came out of nowhere.”

“I said what you were thinking.”

“Really? Thanks for letting me know what was on my mind.”

“Tell me you weren’t thinking that.”

“Last thing on my mind.”

“Good. Mine too. It’s not a good idea anyway.”

“Sure?”

“Give me a business card. We might could do lunch one day or something. If not, we’ll run into each other again.”

“Sooner or later.”

“The way Debra and your friend are tee-heeing and ha-haing and whooping all over each other, it’ll be sooner than later.”

We stood in the light Pacific winds with sweaty faces and looked at each other. Some sort of discovery with no words.

I sucked up a little of the fresh air. Tried to clear my head. Wanted to kick myself for flirting with Shelby. For wanting to bed her arrogant mystery and tame her wicked attitude.

I thought about Lisa. Her face wasn’t clear in my mind. Couldn’t see her making that I’m-about-to-come face; couldn’t hear her panting in my ear; couldn’t feel her nails raking my back; couldn’t feel her tongue lagging up and down my groin. Everything she had given was clouded with displeasure.

“Do you buy CDs?” Shelby’s voice broke me out of my trance.

“Yeah. I get most of mine through BMG or at Blockbuster.”

“Tower has an outlet off the 101 up in Sherman Oaks. Kind of like the Nordstrom’s Rack out in Chino. Only it’s all CDs and you get a bunch of stuff dirt cheap. New music too. I ran across it when I was up that way. Buying my mattress. Spent ten dollars and got about eight CDs.”

“Thanks for telling me.”

“I’m telling everybody. Not just you.”

“That’s the kind of hookup I need. You got the address?”

“I could call and give it to you. Or pass it to Debra and she could pass it to Leonard and he could give it to you. Let me know if you go up there. I want to go back myself.”

“I’ll tell Leonard to tell Debra to tell you.”

I thought that was funny, but she didn’t laugh. So I didn’t smile. Shelby glanced toward the club, with impatient eyes. I did the same.

The beat trembled the windows. Party was going on strong. Leonard and Debra were near a wall. She was in front of him, closer than close. Shelby yawned, raised her watch, tapped it at Debra. Debra raised five fingers, then her attention and unending smile went back to Leonard.

Shelby yawned, then said, “Debra looks happy for a change.”

“Same for Leonard.”

“Debra said your friend told her you have a twin sister.”

I said, “Yep. She has twins too.”

“Two rug rats?”

“Twins run in my family.”

“I’m an only child. Wish I had a brother or sister.”

She yawned, moved closer and put her fingers in my dimple again. Touched and twisted. Acted like a kid with a new toy. She didn’t smile. Held a serious curiosity in her face.

She said, “What do you call it?”

“Call what?”

“Your dimple.”

“Nothing.”

“Can I name it?”

“Use your imagination.”

“Shelby’s Cavern.”

After we ran six miles this morning, Shelby said she was going to lounge around all day, have herself a lazy Saturday, but it was a sunscreen and sunglasses day, and I was in the mood for some fun. I had to get outdoors and breathe. Besides, I needed some space from the Queen Bee.

Then Leonard called and invited me to lunch at the California Pizza Kitchen in the Beverly Center. We’d go there after his audition. He was trying out for a part on a show at CBS.

I changed shoes four times, couldn’t decide on how to wear my hair, decided to let it flow, then ended up putting on my Guess jeans, roman sandals, and a deep purple blouse.

After I bought some gas and ran my car through the Mobil car wash on the corner, I headed toward Leonard’s apartment on Stocker and Degnan. If I was going to date anybody, I had to see how they were living first.

In Leimert Park, the area has beautiful one- and two-level homes built in the sixties and earlier, back before individuality played out. Almost all had well-manicured lawns and were old houses that showed good architecture is a thing of the past. God is in the details. But almost every house had wrought-iron prison bars on the window. A sign of the times. A reality check.

Leonard had a nice one bedroom in a U-shaped, reddish-brown, Spanish-style complex of twelve units: beige
walls, arched doorways, high ceilings, earth-tone furniture, a ceiling-high bookcase across one wall of his living room, and more books than I’d ever seen in one man’s home. His variety made me feel limited. He smiled when he saw me. Blushed. Gave me an easy two-arm hug. Kissed me at the door. Told me I looked good. I smiled. Then he kissed me again, like he did the night I met him. Not aggressive or wanting, just a nice kiss of welcome. Just enough of a kiss to mess up my lipstick. That threw me in an awkward moment. I was alone in the apartment of a man I’d just kissed. Had kissed too soon. The demise of a relationship.

I said, “Your apartment is nice. You sure have plenty of books.”

“Yeah. That’s my fetish. Books and bookstores.”

“Knowledge and power.”

“Knowledge is power.”

I smiled. “You must spend a grip at Eso Won.”

“That’s my hangout. Sometimes I stand around so long reading books, I think they’re going to charge me rent.”

“What are the trophies for?”

“Baseball and boxing.”

“You boxed?”

“Did golden gloves for a minute.”

His two trooped earrings looked good, but I still would’ve preferred it if he only wore one. Actually none would be the best.

Pictures were on a wall. All in black frames.

I said, “Who are these people?”

He said, “My family. That’s my dad in the army suit.”

“You look just like him.”

“Thanks. That’s my mom in the blue dress. The rest of them are my brothers and my sister.”

There were four brothers and a sister. Most of the pictures looked a few years old. I said, “You’re the youngest?”

“Next to. I’ve got a brother two years under me. My oldest brother is forty-plus.”

I said, “I’ve got two older sisters and a younger brother.”

He said, “Ready to go?”

“Actually, may I use your bathroom before we leave?”

“Down the hall on the right.”

A Miles Davis photo was matted and framed in the hallway. Sprinkles of hair were in the bathroom sink from where he had shaved his mustache and goatee. I smiled. Sort of wished I could’ve watched him shower, shave, and get dressed, wished I could’ve been a spectator to the things men do.

I didn’t have to use the bathroom. Because of what had happened to Shelby, after the trick bag Bryce had put her in, I peeped at Leonard’s shower walls. Did the same to the floor. Even looked in the trash to make sure there weren’t any panty-liner packages. Looked up at the ceiling. Spied around the toilet seat. I didn’t find any leftover female hair.

I realized my anxiety, saw my paranoid expression in the mirror. I ran my fingers through my hair and peeped inside his medicine cabinet. I didn’t see anything but Magic Shave, deodorant, Colgate toothpaste, Wings cologne, and green alcohol for aching muscles. No prescription for anything that would make me scamper for the door. I flushed the toilet to make him think I had used it, then put more lipstick on and went back into the living room, waited by the CD rack.

I heard him in the bedroom, but I wasn’t that curious. I wasn’t a mouse in search of cheese. But it took him a moment, so I did peep from the living room and try to see what he was doing. I had one friend who went to visit a brother she’d just met, and he came out of the bedroom butt-naked. I exhaled and felt silly when I saw Leonard was making sure all of his windows were locked, and shades were drawn.

I said, “Mind if I help myself to some water?”

“Go ahead.”

There were seven or eight glasses in the sink. There wasn’t any lipstick on the rims of the glasses. His bottled
water was next to the microwave. I poured half a glass and tried to wash this madness out of my system. It had been a long time since I felt anything for a man. Too long. And that was making me too scared. Oh great. Now I had to put more lipstick on.

I said, “You should leave your radio on an all talk station.”

“Why?”

“That way there’ll be a steady stream of voices inside. It makes it sound like someone’s here.”

“Good idea. Hadn’t thought about doing that.”

“Leave a hallway light on too.”

He chuckled. “Am I going to be gone that long? Sounds like you’re kidnapping a brother.”

I blushed. Sort of wanted another short kiss.

We hopped in his Celica and went through the urban part of La Brea and cut across the Jewish section of San Vincente. That led us up to Fairfax and the Ethiopian district. Cuisine from the motherland was in the air of the upper-middle-class area.

Leonard said, “Ever eat Ethiopian?”

I glanced at the African shops on the other side of Carl’s Jr. I sipped some Evian and said, “Haven’t had the pleasure.”

“Maybe we could do that sometime. They have live bands at a couple of the restaurants on weekends.”

“Sounds like a plan.” I smiled at his plans for the future. “I’m curious about what you guys do on an audition.”

“We get looked over and prodded like cattle, spend thirty seconds in a room with somebody who has your future in their hands, hope they’ll pick you to get branded in the next roundup.”

“That’s power.”

“Tell me about it.”

We walked into the offices on Fairfax and Melrose, and I swear, there were a hundred medium- to dark-skinned casually dressed black men looking like they had missed the bus for the Million Man March. I recognized a few from TV or movies. A room waiting for others to
look them over and decide their ebony fate. My nerves were on edge, and I wasn’t the one who had to audition.

Leonard said, “We’re definitely gonna be late for lunch.”

I patted his hand and said, “No problem. TCB first.”

Leonard nodded at a brother coming inside. The brother saw him, but didn’t respond. That bit of rudeness caught my attention.

I said, “Who was that?”

“Jackson. Another comic.”

“Oh, yeah. He was booed off the stage.”

He had on the same outfit: boots, T-shirt, baggy jeans.

I asked, “What’s his problem?”

“He started tripping when he got beat out at the audition on a show kinda like
In Living Color.
“