Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang (11 page)

Brian is originally from Atlanta and enjoys nothing more than black people from the South, but his true passion lies in the old sitcom
Designing Women
. He's an author who's very handsome and athletic, and he once spent an afternoon trying to convince me to executive-produce an updated, modern-day version of
Designing Women
, but with four gay guys. When I reminded him that someone already did that show and it was called
Queer Eye for the Straight Guy
, he guffawed. "What about with four black women?"

"That was
227
."

If you closed your eyes when Delicious laughed, he sounded exactly like Mrs. Garrett. The ladies loved him. Their laughs were just as loud as Delicious's and turned into a booming din as they kept high-fiving each other and screeching with their mouths wide open. The girls worked together as hospital administrators in Nashville, and both were at least at a 1.5 blood-alcohol level.

"You got an ass like a sister," Feliqua kept telling Delicious. Then he'd snuggle up closer to them and squeal, "I found my two Cocoa Sisters! Ahahahahahahh!"

Feliqua looked a lot like Whoopi Goldberg and kept asking us if we saw the resemblance. It was clear that she was not happy about this comparison, so we all shook our heads in unison and said, "No fucking way," every time she asked.

"I've met Whoopi," I reassured her. "Unless you're wearing Crocs under that water, you have very little in common."

Their nachos and conch fritters were delivered to the swim-up bar, along with the food the rest of us had ordered. When I sat down next to Feliqua, she looked at my salad and then looked at me. "What's the matter, Tracy Lately? You one of those skinny bitches can't eat no french fries, can't eat no grits?"

"I can eat," I told her. "I could probably eat your ass under the table, but I prefer to drink my nourishment when I'm on vacation, and this right here's a blended passion-fruit margarita, no salt. Would you like to try it, Fatwa?"

"If it's free, you bet your ass I'm gonna try it," she declared, right before she grabbed it out of my hand and captured my straw with her tongue.

"Tracy Lately! Ahahhahahahh! I love it!" Delicious was now screaming and started jumping up and down in the water, splashing himself. "The Tasty Cocoa Sisters are ready to part-ee with Tracy Lately!"

Stephanie splashed water on the back of my head, and when I turned around, she exhaled a billow of smoke into my face. "They're single... and horny! Where is Chocolate Chunk?"

"Where is Sylvan?" I turned to Paul, who was busy taking pictures of Wendy and Feliqua making a sandwich with Delicious.

"I don't know where Sylvan is, Tracy," Paul answered, "but I hope he's not in the fucking ocean."

I looked over to find Eva arranging all of our flip-flops by the edge of the pool. "Eva." I jerked my head in the direction of the ladies. "Get Sylvan."

"Ray is giving him a swimming lesson on the beach! Why don't we all go down to the ocean?" She winked at me. My brother Ray was in no position to be giving anyone a swimming lesson, considering he had nearly drowned swimming up to the pool bar earlier, but I was more alarmed that Eva couldn't control her winking. I thought I had clarified with her that winking was for rappers and cougars, but for some reason it was her go-to move, and our conversations to the contrary didn't seem to be having an effect.

"That's a great idea," Stephanie said, grabbing her cigarettes. "Ladies, would you like to meet Sylvan? He's a real cutie, but he's very shy."

"Shit, can we bring our drinks?" asked Wendy.

"You bet," Paul told them. "I'll carry them--and I'll bring your food."

There was excitement in the air, and it was impossible not to feel the energy. I ran ahead of the group to tell the others that the ocean was about to get some new company. Ray was giving very specific instructions to Sylvan on how to float facedown, while Ted was fifty feet out swimming back and forth with his usual snorkel equipment. I quickly briefed Sylvan and told him to stand up, stand tall, and act proud. We turned to face the resort when we heard raucous laughter and felt what seemed like tectonic plates shifting. Wendy and Feliqua were running full steam ahead into the ocean with their drinks still in their hands and spilling all over the beach. Paul was doing the same with nachos and conch fritters while simultaneously taking action shots.

"Holy shit," Ray said, backing into the ocean. "Are they coming for us?"

After I watched Wendy and Feliqua barrel into the surf like two bulldozers, it became apparent that Sylvan wasn't the only black person who couldn't swim.

"Oh, my God!" Paul screamed, running in after them with two water noodles in his hand. "Why can't anyone swim?"

The women were screaming and laughing and swallowing water. They kept trying to regain their footing but continually fell down until Delicious and Sylvan were able to balance each one. Sylvan made it over to Wendy to lend her a hand, but when she felt a touch, she turned around and spit in his face.

"Aaaaaahhhahahahahahhahahh!!!" was the only sound anyone heard from Delicious.

"I'm sorry," she slurred, wiping the spit off Sylvan's face. "I thought you were the beach." Then she turned in the other direction and hawked another loogie, which the wind blew right back into her face. She quickly fell in the water, but Sylvan grabbed her.

"My weave! My weave!" Wendy yelled when she was done spitting.

"I got you, girl," Sylvan told her.

"I lost two tracks yesterday when we went swimming. Everyone at church told me not to go in the ocean. You'll lose your weave in a hot second!" Then she smacked Sylvan on the ass and went flying into one of Stephanie's lit cigarettes.

"Do you really need to smoke in the ocean?" I asked her for the third time that week.

"Stephanie, I didn't know you smoked," Paul said, then started howling along with Delicious, who was still moaning with laughter while holding Feliqua like a baby in the water.

"Aaaahhahahhahahahahahahahh!"

My brother had commandeered one of the water noodles and was using it to defend himself from all the splashing. "Chelsea, can you believe Sylvan went from not knowing how to swim to rescuing people in one week? I should probably look into coaching some sort of black swim team."

"They're standing in two feet of water, Ray. Even though a black swim team does seem like an oxymoron at this point, it is definitely something to think about. In the winter you could teach interracial skiing."

Feliqua, who was definitely more drunk than Wendy, tried to sit in the shallow water, but small waves kept pushing her back on the beach. She had no upper-body control, so Paul helped her to the edge of the beach, where she retrieved her drink and lay down on Paul's lap.

"We got a Cocoa Sister down. One Cocoa Sister down!" Paul yelled to us as he took a picture of himself smiling with her.

"I didn't know there were gay traffic controllers that also lifeguarded," Ray said to Paul after he walked up to have a sip of Feliqua's cocktail. "It's okay, Feliqua. We'll take care of you."

She announced she needed a nap and fell asleep on Paul's lap. Two minutes later she was awake again and calling for Wendy.

Wendy stormed over to me and asked me where Sylvan was. "Right behind you," I told her.

"You shut up, you white skinny TV bitch. You know you need a bodyguard for that non-french-fry-eating ass." She followed this up with a smack to my ass and asked me to check her weave, which I straightened. Then I took one side of the back of her bathing suit and pulled it into the crack of her ass, where she left it.

"Black don't crack, you silly bitch!" Then she fell into the water and came back up for another round of apple bobbing.

"Get together for a picture!" Paul screamed to me and Wendy, who had already somehow made her way back to Sylvan and was mounting him.

"Honey, I need you to take care of me. They said you're a good man and a single father. I can't really swim. Hold me, Sylvan."

"Happy birthday, Feliqua!" Paul screamed into Feliqua's face, and then adjusted her weave. "Is this thing reversible?"

Delicious was now howling so hard he was literally choking on the ocean, but no one seemed to care.

Sylvan and Wendy were drifting farther away from us but managing to keep in water shallow enough to stay afloat. And then I heard him say, "Are you sure we're not being obvious?"

When I looked over, Sylvan was behind Wendy and moving like a jackrabbit while her head was bobbing back and forth and her weave was whipping him in the face. "Shhhh!" she told him. "For all those white folks know, we snorkeling. Give it to me!"

"I think Daddy's coming home," Ray announced as he got back out of the water. "I'm getting my camera."

"Oh, my God, you should see all the fish out there," I heard behind me, and turned around to see Ted standing there with his snorkel mask and goggles still on.

"I don't think so, buddy," I told him. "I got a couple of bigger fish, and a lot of things have happened while you were discovering marine life."

Once he surveyed the scene and was able to compute what was taking place, he put his snorkel and mask on again, turned around, and headed back out to sea.

Feliqua got up from her seat in the sand next to Paul and said she needed to go lie down. Delicious and I got out of the ocean and guided her to one of the chaise longues closest to the beach. "Delicious," she moaned. "Can you get me a ginger ale?"

Brian went to get the ginger ale while I sat down and coached her on how to projectile-vomit into the sand.

"Get it out, Fataqua," my brother said as he neared us. He had a towel in his hand and leaned over to wipe her mouth and then looked at me. "Who the fuck is Delicious?"

"Brian," I told him.

"I need ginger ale!"

"It's coming, Feliqua," I told her.

"So am I!" she moaned, and threw up again.

When I turned to go back into the water, Sylvan and Wendy were heading toward us, with Wendy very unstable on her feet. The sand was not her friend, and Sylvan was having trouble keeping them both upright at the same time. She stopped halfway to the lounge chairs and turned around to face the ocean. She pulled the back of her bathing suit in between her ass cheeks and started shaking her ass.

"Aaaahhahahahahahahhh," shrieked Delicious again.

"Oh, my Lord," Sylvan said, taking a step back and looking at me. "People wonder how the Caribbean was formed, Chels, and now I know. A black woman shook her ass, and a bunch of islands were created as aftershocks."

Paul instructed them to both bend over for a snapshot.

Wendy lost her footing. She didn't fall on her ass, which would be the obvious gravitational pull--probably for the entire island--but face-first, a header straight into the sand. Sylvan went down after her but managed to land on his side. Paul was the first on the scene with his camera in tow, and what he captured has been seen only in
National Geographic
. Two chocolate sand dabs, washed ashore.

There was sand in every crevice of Wendy's face. Her eyes, her ears, her nose. Brian grabbed one of the ginger ales that he'd brought for Feliqua and poured it over Wendy's head. "We're going to need a two-liter, Brian," Ray told him. "Sorry, I mean Delicious."

Ted had reappeared from the ocean and was running toward us yelling, "Oh, my God! Is she dead? Wait, keep her alive. I know CPR."

That was all Wendy needed to get her groove back. She was howling harder than any of us, but the sand was still pissed.