The Blackbirds (37 page)

In San Pedro the Blackbirds unloaded their gear and cameras, then took a helicopter ride. Soon they were twenty-six miles off the coast of Long Beach at Catalina Island. An hour later, Destiny and Kwanzaa were at least eighty feet under the ocean, scuba diving. They were careful, knew how to use the equipment so they didn't burst an eardrum, get the bends, or pop a lung. Ericka and Indigo dove deeper, went about one hundred and ten feet. Ericka had never gone that deep before.

Four black women, scuba diving, living outside preconceived notions, always garnered much attention. At 2:47 in the afternoon, they all sang the birthday songs to Destiny.

As they headed back to the helicopter, Destiny checked her messages.

There were three.

One was from her dad.

The second was from her mom, who was now in Paris. She had tried to make it back, but weather had caused all flights to be canceled. Still she had paid for Destiny's wonderful outing.

Hakeem's friend Eddie had sent her a birthday blessing as well. He said that he was no longer kicking it with Nancy. Again he thanked Destiny for letting him know what kind of friend Hakeem had been. He asked Destiny if they could meet for coffee. Eddie was looking for a new Nancy. Or wanted to crawl inside Destiny Jones so he could achieve a pyrrhic victory against Hakeem by bedding his betraying buddy's ex-lover.

Being with Eddie could be better than the night she had fantasized
about him when she had used her toy, and if it was near as exciting as Nancy had made it sound when she was being Eddied, it could be the night of her life. She could let Eddie Eddie her, and Nancy Eddie in return, then rub that in Hakeem's face, let her ex know she'd experienced a man who could keep it up.

Shaking her head, not one to trick herself into thinking a woman could sleep with a man's friend and it never be seen as revenge, she deleted that message as well.

Hakeem and Eddie and Nancy could seek counsel under the covers with people like themselves. Destiny didn't have a high tolerance for drama, for fake people, for liars and cheaters. Besides, according to her Nike FuelBand, she'd masturbated for three miles last night.

Tonight she might try for a 10K.

Ericka's cellular rang as they headed back for the helicopter. Kwanzaa and Indigo had gone to the bathroom. Ericka took the call, then called out, and waved for Destiny to slow down.

Ericka said, “It's for you.”

“My dad is calling me on your phone?”

Surprised, Ericka said, “It's not your dad. Why would your dad call on my phone?”

Destiny took the phone and asked who was trying to reach her.

He said, “This is DJ, DJ.”

“Dubois Junior, or some Dumb Jerk who is turning into a stalker?”

“This is Dubois Junior calling for Destiny Jones.”

“How did you get my friend's number?”

“I sort of accidentally-on-purpose borrowed Ericka's number from my mom's phone.”

“Why are you calling my friend asking for me?”

“I decided to take a chance and call to tell you happy birthday.”

“Who told you it was my birthday?”

“You did. A long time ago.”

“You remembered?”

“Yeah. I remembered. I've always remembered your birthday.”

“Why?”

“Told you. I've always remembered you.”

“You never called.”

“I thought you hated me.”

“You thought correctly. Ain't even gonna try and fake the funk.”

“Well, I guess that means you don't want to come to the show.”

“What show?”

“We're doing Red, Black, and Bruised again. Last weekend we were at the Laugh Factory in Long Beach, and this week we're taking it up on Sunset to the Comedy Emporium. I called to invite you to the show later on, if you're not too busy being rude to nice people.”

“Can I do a plus-three?”

“You're bringing the Blackbirds?”

“You wanted me to come alone?”

“Yeah, that's the direction I had hoped this was going.”

“That would be a date.”

“I know what it would be.”

“After what you did, you're calling a hundred years later to ask me on a date? I'm not dating you. I wouldn't date you if you were the last man on earth.”

“Okay, no problem. You can buy your own ticket, if you decide to come.”

“Wait. It's my birthday.”

“So you want the ticket?”

“I will need four tickets.”

“So you're coming?”

“If the Blackbirds can get in for free, we'll come by and check out the spot.”

“Happy birthday, DJ.”

“Thanks, DJ. Are we done? Can I hang up now?”

“And my mom told me to tell you the same.”

“Tell Dr. Dubois I said thanks.”

“She still wants to see you and talk with you.”

“Maybe I'll stop by her office next time Ericka goes to visit her.”

“I really hope I get a chance to see you later.”

“DJ, dude. You really need to quit.”

“What's the issue?”

“I don't need you stalking me.”

“I'm not stalking you.”

“Yes, you are. This is very stalkerish.”

“I'm just calling to wish you happy birthday.”

“And to try and get a date.”

“That, too.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“Nope.”

“Fuck buddy, suck buddy, masturbation partner, jump-off, or booty-call situation?”

“Nope.”

“Bisexual?”

“Straight.”

“Do you vote?”

“Sometimes.”

“That's a turnoff.”

“Really?”

“Strike one.”

“Well, I refuse to go to the polls to choose the lesser of two evils for black people. When you have to choose between the lesser of two evils, you're still choosing evil.”

“You still have to vote.”

“Nothing has changed and that which has changed has changed too damn slowly.”

“Okay. In that case, with that logic, I'll make not always voting half a strike then.”

“Well, if you're voting for what the country is offering, I should give you two strikes. No matter who you vote for, they all have the same puppet master living at 740 Park Avenue.”

“What happened to your last girlfriend, Mr.-Morehouse-going-to-Pepperdine?”

“She broke my heart. It's in the past. I'm over it.”

“Two have broken my heart, the first one the most, but continue telling your story.”

“Two broke your heart?”

“You were the first, if you must know.”

“Me?”

“Pat yourself on the back.”

“I had no idea. DJ, I'm really sorry if I hurt your heart.”

“You hurt more than that.”

“Sorry about that too.”

“You piece of shit.”

“Wow. Okay, I deserve that.”

“I hated you for so long.”

“Did you?”

“Hated you like I hate traffic on the 405 North.”

“And now?”

“I hate you like traffic on the 405 South.”

“Well, I've never hated you.”

“I never gave you a reason to hate me.”

“But now I understand the disdain. You don't have to come to the show.”

“Four tickets. And you need to buy me and the Blackbirds a drink.”

“You're coming to the show?”

“Maybe. But don't hold your breath. I'm still not crazy about the 405.”

“I still would like to take you out for your birthday. We could do lunch.”

“Why, Dubois? Why?”

“I want to go out with you.”

“I just broke up with someone, so I'm not in that frame of mind at the moment.”

“So did I. We're both free, so let's take advantage of this chance to be friends again.”

“We were never friends.”

“We were more than friends.”

“For two minutes.”

“You're killing me over here, Destiny.”

“You had an objective, got want you wanted, then disappeared.”

“We were friends, DJ.”

“We were one-time lovers, never friends.”

“I want to at least be able to be cordial with you, if nothing else.”

“What's your objective? To get inside my head so you can get between my legs again?”

“I want to date you, but I see that's not possible. But I still want to go out with you.”

“Dating is a job.”

“And we're both unemployed.”

“Before you date someone, they should show up with a résumé, fill out an application, and have references. I think I should be able to call up four women he's dated, ask questions, get some information, find out where the truth ends and the lies start. Men are so duplicitous when all they want to do is get laid. Why can't men just be up-front?”

“I didn't mean to hurt you back then. Am I allowed to take you out for your birthday so we can talk about it?”

“Knowing how I feel about you, is that what you really want to do?”

“I'm practically begging over here.”

“You don't know me, DJ. I'm not the same Destiny you knew.”

“I think you're the same.”

“I'm not. I live in a different universe now.”

“Then tell me who you are. Who is Destiny Jones now?”

“I'm not a child anymore. Sometimes I think about what happened too much and I battle melancholy. I'm trying to know what it's like not to be afraid. I've been my own worst enemy. I work hard to elevate my mind and find enough speed to escape my own gravity, to escape my own anger and rage, to get away from the fire and violence and pressures inside of me so I can fly so high that when I look down, I'll barely be able to see a small rock called Earth. I battle to arrive at a higher class and be respected as a black woman in a colonized world that praises a country that used to love to send postcards of strange fruit hanging from its Southern trees. I am a black woman, overworked, stressed, abused, and I have demons. Oppression, fear, being marginalized creates demons. Every black person in America should have demons, or they are spiritually dead. You'd have to be crazy to not have a breakdown. That's how I am doing today. I'm a descendant of Africa, grandchild of Jamaica, part of the lost race of stolen, young, and gifted blacks in a
country that is finally starting to take down flags that never should have been raised. Does that answer your malicious Q to your satisfaction, or should I elaborate?”

“I think you did elaborate.”

“This is where we say good-bye and go our separate ways.”

“Well, as a birthday present I'll leave four tickets and see what happens.”

Destiny paused, sucked her lips. “And you will buy four drinks?”

“If you show up, text me at this number, and I will handle it.”

“So, now you're trying to be slick and give me your digits, and then if I text you, then you will have my digits, then you can blow up my phone all day and night and get cursed out.”

“I'm being up-front about it. No shame in my game.”

“I'm not the girl you once knew.”

“And I hope that as a man, I am much better than I was when you knew me as a boy.”

“You're still a boy. Women mature faster. You still a horny little boy.”

“Whatever. You really need to ease up. Your Jamaican is showing.”

“
Four
tickets.
Eight
drinks. And not at the table by the bathroom.”

“Will see what I can do.”

“Ericka will text you from this phone, so we don't have a misunderstanding.”

“No problem.”

When Destiny finished her call she handed the phone back to Ericka. Ericka put her arms around Destiny, held on to her. Ericka said, “He was your first.”

“Well. Technically he was.”

“What did you leave out?”

“Dubois Junior was the first who penetrated me. Well, I messed around with this other boy, a dude who was in high school, but he just gave me oral and I gave him oral and he fingered me and I gave him a hand job. I had never seen a boy come and I wanted to see what it was like, so I made him come. We never got to the part where he put it in. I think he was too scared to go all the way. We did that once, and he
never tried to hook up with me again. Plus I was living with my parents, and they were going through a breakup, and I was being shuffled from house to house, was going to private school in Bel Air, had so much homework, no free time, and he went to school in a different area, so that dude and me just never really had the chance to be alone again. I guess high school girls were easier. He was cute, but I didn't like him. I mean, I liked him, but not like I liked Dubois Junior. My hair was long and straight back then. I was too cute. Dude loved my body and thought I was the prettiest girl on the planet. This body has always gotten me too much attention. Anyway. Can't really call that licking, sucking, fingering, and jerking a one-off, not by the Bill Clinton definition of sex. It was just a lot of heavy petting, I guess. He came all over himself. It was yucky. I felt good, but I didn't come. If I don't come, it doesn't count, right? And before you ask, and I know you will, I never talk about it because I never think about it. It was nothing.”

“You're complex and seem to have selective memory.”

“So, now when I think about it, it was intimacy, but it wasn't really sex. I used to think that dude was my first. That dude didn't get the cherry. Dubois Junior was the first to go balls deep. He was the one who earned the bloodied-sheets award. I was still a virgin until Dubois.”

“You have so many layers.”

“Well, I'm not as complex as you. You have more secrets.”

“What does that mean?”

Destiny pulled away, said, “I see you found your missing earring.”

“Yeah. I did. I found it in my apartment.”

“You are a horrible liar. You found it where I left it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I left it at my dad's condo.”

Ericka paused. “When did you do that?”

Destiny took a breath and rocked. “You should start calling my dad by his first name.”

Ericka paused again. “Why would I call Mr. Jones by his first name?”

“Are you really going to do this? I'm not stupid, you know.”

“Destiny, tell me what you're talking about.”

“I left the earring at my dad's. You were there.”

“I was there?”

“Naked. In my dad's bed. With my dad. Should I fucking say any more?”