After The Dance (15 page)

He said, “Aww, girl, you know you loved it.” And he was right. I had. But I wasn’t about to let him know that.

I’d plopped down near the end of the bed and was lo-tioning my legs when he started poking me with his foot. At first I ignored him, but my lack of response only seemed to make him even more determined to coax a rise out of me. He eased his foot out from under the covers, pressed it against me, and started wiggling his toes all up on my behind.

I turned around, looked at him, looked at his big crusty
claw of a foot, and politely asked if a nail clipper was something he’d ever owned.

He poked me again, but this time instead of letting him get away with it, I grabbed hold of his big clodhopper, wrestled it into submission, and with homeboy screaming and laughing like a woman, I tweaked his toes, pinched his heels, and raked my nails up and down his instep. Just as I was about to grab the other one, he caught my hands and, looking all serious said, “Careful now, that’s the foot you made me slam into the curb last weekend.”

I was like, “Oh, so I made you do that?”

He said, “Don’t play dumb. You know what I mean.”

I reached for the foot again and told him to relax, I’d play nice.

He looked skeptical when I reached into my purse and pulled out my oversize nail clippers. But as soon as I started massaging lotion into the dry, cracked skin on his feet, he stretched out on his back, like some big, shaggy overfed house dog who was only too happy to entertain a little petting and grooming.

I lotioned, massaged, and trimmed the nails of first one foot and then the other. A few minutes went by with neither of us saying anything. The peace and quiet suited me just fine. But being that I was with Carl, I knew it wasn’t likely to last. Sure enough, after about five minutes he raised up on his elbows and said, “I’ve got to go pick up my son around two and take him to get some shoes. Why don’t you come with me?”

“What?” I said. “And end up in the middle of some baby’s mama drama? Ah, thanks, but no thanks.” I let go of his foot and started collecting my things.

He reached out and took me by the hand. “Don’t worry about Clarice. The only somebody she’s got beef with is me. She’s not going to give you any problems. Besides, since it was you who so kindly suggested that I keep him a change of clothes around here, I thought maybe you’d like
to come along and help me pick something out at the mall.”

He looked so cute sitting there, staring up at me with his big puppy-dog eyes and the covers bunched up in his lap, that I almost leaned over and kissed him. But you know that would have been too freaking big a jump for me. I hedged and told him, “I don’t know, Carl.”

He let go of my hand and then with a mischievous grin said, “So how’s about I throw in a little extra something to sweeten the deal?”

As I waited to hear the rest of his proposition, I couldn’t help but stand there and think to myself,
Man, if you think I’m about to crawl my butt back into bed with you for yet another round of the freak-nasty, you’d best put away them Viagra pills you’re obviously popping and think again.

He said, “You know, something along the lines of a pack of cigarettes and a handful of Harlequins?”

I laughed with him before I said, “Oh, so is that all you think a sister’s time is worth, or are you just out to play me cheap?”

In a tone that let me know he was totally serious, he said, “It may come as some surprise to you, Faye, but I’m not out to play you at all. This is your game, remember?”

I said, “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

After tossing aside the sheet he’d been using to cover his nakedness, he stood up and said, “What it means, Faye, is that I don’t have a whole lot of extra money or time, but what little I do have I’d very much like to spend and share with you. So needless to say, whatever price you set is the one I’m damn well gonna try to pay.”

When I didn’t say anything, he leaned over and kissed me on the forehead a couple times. Then he looked at me and said, “I can play the game, baby, but I can’t help the way I feel, rules or no rules.”

He caressed the side of my face with his hand and eased his thumb over the quiver in my bottom lip, but rather
than kiss me again he nodded at the basket of pastries on the TV tray next to us and said, “If you want to take any of this stuff with you when you leave, be my guest, okay?” Then he turned and headed off for the bathroom.

I didn’t really expect Faye to be there when I came out the bathroom. And she wasn’t. The bedroom was empty, quiet, and a whole lot tidier than when I’d left it. I was a little surprised to see that ol’ girl had actually taken time to straighten up. The bed had been made, the food removed, and all of her gear was gone.

So thoroughly stunned is the only way I can describe how I felt when I wandered into the kitchen and found her seated at the breakfast bar, staring down at the carnation I’d given her. She looked up at me and said, “I’ve only got three things to say, so listen up and hear me good. Number one … exactly what time do you plan on leaving? Two—is it okay if I go dressed like this? And three, despite what you might want to believe, not everything has a price for me.”

Without stopping to think about it, I threw my responses back at her in a manner similar to the way she’d hurled them at me. “To answer your first question—about fifteen minutes. Secondly, you look fine. And as for the third, well … that’s good to know.”

Thin ice is what we were skating on, man. One good push, twist, or slip in the wrong direction and one, if not the both of us, would go crashing through the delicate surface, never to be seen or heard from ever again. That’s not at all what I was aiming for. So rather than haul off and try to finish reeling Faye’s contrary butt in, I stepped back
some and gave the girl space to move, breathe and even change her mind if she wanted.

Ain’t like I haven’t been out here long enough to know that it’s all about timing, patience, and owning the wherewithal to pace oneself when it comes to winning a woman’s trust. Besides, Faye’s decision to hang around, rather than to simply leave me hanging, let me know something. It let me know that slowly but surely she was warming to the possibility of there being something deeper and more meaningful between us.

Even though Carl assured me that Clarice, his baby’s mama, wasn’t the type to trip over seeing him with another woman, when we finally pulled up to girlfriend’s house, I thought it best for me to just stay put while he went inside to fetch the young’un. The way I saw it, why push my luck? Besides, given the limited amount of time me and Carl were going to kick it, there wasn’t any need for me to meet Ms. Clarice or her me.

But I knew at a glance when she tripped out the house behind Carl and their screaming kid, our coming together was bound to prove unavoidable. My first impression was—my, my, isn’t she a cute, skinny little thang, and barely a baby herself. My second thought was—Carl really needs to have his tail-wagging butt kicked.

And as the laws of divine retribution would have it, his son, Benjamin, was doing just that. Not only was the kid yelling at the top of his lungs, he had Carl wrapped in a headlock and looked pretty intent on gouging the poor man’s eyes out. In spite of my apprehensions, I got out of the car hoping to lend a hand.

I jangled my keys, thinking maybe I could distract Ben with the hourglass, like I had the first time we met. Fortunately, it worked, and to everyone’s relief not only did the boy quiet down, but he even let me help him into the car’s backseat. After I’d secured him, I turned to face his silly parents, only to find them engaged in some sort of disagreement about the amount of time Carl was going to spend with his son that day.

I was about to slip my butt back into the car when Carl took it upon himself to introduce us. “Uh, Faye, this is Clarice. Clarice, this is my friend Faye.”

Homegirl said, “Hey,” did a little wave thing, and showed me some teeth. I was quick to return the favor before following through on my disappearing act.

After Carl ducked in on the driver’s side, I thought that was going to be the end of it. But before we could drive off, Clarice started tapping on the passenger’s side window.

When I rolled it down, she leaned over, cut her eyes at Carl, then looked at me and said, “Just a few words of advice. Carl’s a pretty decent guy in most respects. But take it from me, you’re better off not buying anything he says about being allergic to condoms, being sterile, or working with the Freakmasters, that god-awful singing group his cousin Squirrel calls himself managing.”

I nodded, girl, even though I didn’t have clue the first. So when Carl finally pulled off, I asked him, “What exactly was she talking about?”

But all I got from him was a shamefaced “Ah, well, you know, I was drunk that night and, ah, it’s a long story. I’ll have to explain it to you later.”

Man, as we drove off I made the mistake of asking, “So what’d you think of Clarice?”

Faye’s snout drew up into a snarl. “For one, I think she’s young. Too durn young for your old behind to have been messing with. She couldn’t have but what—eight or nine years on your daughters? What on God’s green earth were you thinking?”

Now, why’d she have to try and make it sound like I’m some kind of pervert? I mean, come on, if I’d have been sober I’da never got myself in a jam like that in the first place. In an attempt to defend myself, I said, “Hey, I’ll have you know that was a twenty-three-year-old woman you just met, which made her all of … well, all of twenty when I met her. And don’t think she hadn’t already been ’round the block and back a few times before I met her. Besides, what’s her age got to do with anything? As far as I’m concerned, she was old enough to know better, same as me.”

Rather than turn toward me and cut loose with some lip, Faye didn’t say anything and kept her eyes glued to the road. And given the look of utter contempt and disgust I saw on her face I probably wouldn’t have been able to bear it if she’d done otherwise.

She didn’t say anything, not a word. But after about five minutes, the silence started eating at me. Finally, I said, “Faye, correct me if I’m wrong, but not once have I ever tried to convince you I was some kinda saint who’d lived a perfect life. Yeah, I’ve lied, I’ve cheated, I’ve hurt a lot of people unnecessarily. It goes without saying that when I met Clarice, I was trying to live anything but a righteous life. But sometimes experiences do change people. And whether you choose to believe it or not, I know I’m a much better man than I was back then. Furthermore, the only thing I
can do about my past is apologize for it, learn from it, and move on. Ain’t a damn thing I can do to change it.”

It was a mouthful and I hadn’t pulled any punches. When she drew in a breath, I braced myself for the fierce cussing out I felt coming on, only to almost slam on the brakes when she followed through with “Well, you know something, Carl … you’re right. I don’t have any business trying to judge you. The only real difference between you and me is that thanks to your big mouth, I’ve got plenty of firsthand knowledge about your transgressions, whereas you don’t have much insight to speak of into mine.”

I don’t know if it was the kid, the fact that it was Sunday, or just a by-product of some of that good loving I’d laid on her, but ol’ girl actually managed to keep the attitude in check for the rest of the day. To say she was a big help to me at the mall is a gross understatement. Truth is, the whole doggone experience probably would have turned into one big hellacious affair had Faye not been there to keep everybody calm.

Even though ol’ girl’s champagne taste oftentimes ran counter to my beer budget, she chose to pass on the many opportunities I presented her to call me cheap. I mean, come on, man, it’s ridiculous the prices these retailers are demanding for things that most kids are either gonna tear up or grow out of in three months’ time. And all that so-called designer crap is outta the question. I don’t spend that kind of money for my own duds.

Faye tried, though. At the shoe store she got all ga-ga over these little-boy boots that were sharp, no lie, but would have required me to shell out no less than sixty-five big ones, nearly half of what I’d already planned to spend on the kid that day.

I told her, “Unless you’re prepared to sweet-talk these folks into a twenty-dollar discount, you need to go ’head and put those things right back where you found them.”

She pulled the same stunt on me when we went to look
at clothes. After helping me pick out a few reasonably priced items that the kid could spill juice on and roll around in the dirt in—this sister had the nerve to come stepping up to me with some Little Lord Fauntleroy getup that she claimed was “so adorable.” I probably would have broken down and bought the darn thing too if I hadn’t peeped the price tag and nearly upchucked all those strawberries I’d downed earlier.

But instead of asking her if she’d flipped, I was like, “Uh, yeah, baby, that’s awfully cute and everything, but a brother’s ends will only stretch so far. And besides the fact that I can buy him three outfits for the price of that one, I really don’t have any place to take him all jacked up—I mean, dressed up—like that.”

She seemed sympathetic, but when we went to the register to pay, I saw she was still holding tight to the cutesie gear. When she noticed me scratching my head and frowning, she said, “Don’t worry, I’ll pay for it. I suggest you give it to Clarice and tell her it was just a little something extra you decided to throw in with the shoes. Who knows? It might help improve your status with her.”

It wasn’t a line of reasoning that particularly moved me, but since ol’ girl seemed so insistent, I checked both my pride and my ego and went ahead and let her have her way.

Yes, I did spend the rest of the day with Carl, but only because he needed me to help him with his kid. I mean, please, you know good and well I’m not the type to go out of my way to spend a Sunday evening at some durn amusement park.

If anybody’s to blame, it’s the child’s mama, Clarice. She’s the one who instructed Carl to drop the boy off at the park when we finished shopping. He offered to take me home first, but I figured what the heck, I’d come that far, why not go the rest of the way. Besides, I thought Carl was going to stay only long enough to see his son safely deposited back into the arms of his mama. And had Ms. Clarice been where she said she was going to be when we got there, that might have happened.