Cold As Ice (12 page)

“Not at all, especially if you're driving,” I say, mistakenly thinking we're ready to leave, but apparently we're not done yet. Jeremy and I kiss for a few more minutes before finally heading out the door.

“So what do you want to do tonight? It's all about my girl and her special day,” Jeremy says, placing his right hand on my left thigh as he guns the engine in his timeless Mustang, exciting me in more ways than one.

“Well, in that case, let's go to dinner. All I had to eat was some microwave popcorn at work today, and it was a long day.” I spent ten hours on my feet today, with a short break between braiding and working at Netta's. I'm ready to relax.

“Your wish is my command,” Jeremy says, pulling away from the curb and leading the way to a perfect evening. I don't care where we end up, as long as we arrive together.

 

Between the clouds are clearings revealing the dark night sky, providing a pleasant backdrop to our cruise. As usual, Sepulveda Boulevard is packed. There's never a time when the streets of Los Angeles are carless. Instead of making the left onto Pico Boulevard, which would take us toward the ocean, Jeremy makes a right. I thought we were going to Malibu, but he did say we had to make a stop first. Rather than question his navigation of the West LA area, I sit quietly and enjoy the ride.

“The Century City mall? What are we doing here?” I ask as we pull into the busy parking structure. He parks the car and turns off the engine.

“Not only does it have movies, it also has plenty of shopping,” Jeremy says, handing me a platinum credit card with his name on it. “Happy birthday, Lady J. Tonight the mall is yours.” I don't believe it. I feel like I'm living in my mother's world, not my own.

“Are you serious?” I inspect the card carefully, and it looks real enough to me. I've only seen the one Karl gave to my mom for Christmas. Brothahs in my hood are cash-only kinds of consumers. It's rare to find anyone with good credit, let alone a credit card with a high limit like this one.

“Am I Jeremy Weiner tonight?” I ask, stepping out of the door Jeremy's holding open for me. I glance around the huge structure and see that most of the luxury cars coming in are heading straight for the valet. There's not a hooptie in sight.

“No, but you are his girlfriend, and that's the next best thing.”

I playfully sock Jeremy in the arm as he locks the car behind us. He can be so full of himself sometimes, and I love him for it.

“I wanted to get you a gift, but I didn't want you to think I was trying to buy you again or anything like that. Besides, I thought picking out your own gift would be more fun. I like to watch my woman shop,” he says, putting his arm around my shoulders and kissing my forehead.

“I can see that.” We follow the other shoppers up one of the three sets of escalators, eyeing the pretty billboards advertising expensive clothing and jewelry along the way. I step up a couple steps ahead of Jeremy and turn around to face him, giving him a good kiss on the lips. We cause some people around us to talk, but I don't care. This is a good man, and I'm proud of it. “I couldn't have asked for a better gift. Thank you, Jeremy.”

“You're welcome.” He returns the affection on the last set of moving stairs before we get off, officially entering the outside shopping mecca for the well-to-do. Whether by the beach or in the middle of the city, white folks know how to spend some money, and I'm not mad at them.

“Pretzels!” I exclaim, speed walking toward the cart. This should hold me over until dinner. Jeremy follows behind me, laughing at my excitement.

“There's a Tiffany's to your right and a Coach store to your left, and this is your first choice?” Jeremy continues to laugh at my hunger, but he knows how I am about food.

“Whatever. I told you I was hungry,” I say, instinctively pulling out my coin purse from inside the Lucky bag, also a gift from my baby when we first started dating. He's always spoiled me, even if it has taken some getting used to.

“Your money's no good today, birthday girl,” Jeremy says, pulling his wallet from the back pocket of his worn Levi's and ordering two of the warm, twisted treats.

“You're too good to me,” I say, taking the salty snack and strolling down the brightly lit corridors, ready to spend some more of his money. A girl could really get used to this type of treatment.

Yes, she can,
my mom says, all up in our moment.
This is just the beginning. Once you get a taste of really being treated like a queen, you can never go back, nor should you. Have fun, baby. Like I said last night, you deserve a day to celebrate you, and I'm glad Jeremy thinks so, too
.

Thanks, Mom,
I think back, trying not to look too obvious. Jeremy's just getting used to the idea of my family's religion. I have to ease him into the details of my lineage and our powers. We continue to walk and eat, taking in all the pretty things to pick from.

“Oooo, look at this,” I say, eyeing the new line of Victoria's Secret bras in the store window. It's been a long time since I had a nice bra. I've had to settle for the department-store brands, and I'm sick of my breasts looking like pyramids underneath my shirts.

“Yeah, I'd love to see that on you,” Jeremy says, eyeing a gown that leaves very little to the imagination.

“Down, boy,” I say, leading him into the fancy underwear shop. We've got less than three hours before the stores close, and I'm ready to do some serious damage. I want to get my gifts' worth out of this trip. But before I can get too into the spree, my phone vibrates inside my purse. With my free hand, I take out the cell and flip it open to see yet another text from Nellie about the baby shower, insisting that we wear the matching outfits she picked out. I'll be so glad when this damn thing is over tomorrow, I don't know what to do. Everyone and their mama will be there—literally. Once I agreed to go along with Mrs. Esop's debutante plan, she graciously allowed us to use her backyard for the shower, if it doesn't rain. We'll see how it goes. I have two clients in the morning and will go shopping for the food afterward. I'm committed to doing my part for the festivities, but tonight it's all about me, and no one's getting my attention but Jeremy. Everything else can wait until tomorrow.

A
fter my clients left this morning, I cleaned up the house and observed my shopping treasures from last night's adventure. Jeremy and I had so much fun, we didn't get in until two in the morning. We spent so much money, I had to eventually stop reading the tags. I even bought the same outfit Nellie wants us to wear to the shower this afternoon, but in blue instead of yellow. I'm giving in, but not without maintaining some of my individuality. It's bad enough I have to spend my birthday weekend at my girl's ghetto-ass baby shower, but I also have to spring for half the food because I'm one of the godmothers. What the hell is wrong with this picture? And I know Rah's salty ass will be there because he's the godfather, no doubt. This should be the liveliest baby shower ever.

Jeremy left early this morning because he needed to shower and change before coming with me to Nigel's. We slept together last night without even coming close to having sex, and it was nice. Jeremy and I are learning to trust each other more every day, and because of that, I think I'm ready to tell him I love him, too. He hasn't said it again verbally, but he shows his love in little and big ways every day.

By the time Jeremy arrives, I'm ready to go. Nellie's handling the chicken and side dishes, and I'm responsible for the fish and salad. Nigel's providing the drinks, and Mickey's parents paid for the cake, even though they won't be able to make an appearance because they both have to work. With five children and a grandchild on the way, her parents can't afford to take any days off.

“So what's on the list?” Jeremy asks as we walk downstairs toward his car parked in the driveway. When my daddy does that shit, it pisses me off because I think it's rude to block the only way in or out of the carport. But it doesn't bother me as much when Jeremy does it, maybe because I know he's attempting chivalry and not because he's rushing me.

“I need to get fish and salad for the party and a few things for myself. The only problem is that I don't know where to get fresh seafood and the things I need all in the same place.” I usually go to the Ralphs in the Ladera Center to get my groceries, but I've never been fond of buying fish from a large chain. Mama's got people all around the neighborhood who provide her with salmon straight off the line; I have no idea where there's a fish market around here.

“There's a farmer's market by my house that has great fresh fish and probably everything else you'll need.” Jeremy backs out of the tight space, expertly avoiding the concrete walls on either side of us.

“All the way out there?” I ask, looking at the clock on the dashboard. It's already after twelve, and the party is supposed to start at two. If I'm late, Nellie will have a conniption, and I don't want to hear her mouth any more than it's already going to be running. The way she's invested her time, energy, and Nigel's money into this party, you'd think it was her own baby about to be born.

“Trust me, it'll be worth it,” Jeremy says, reassuring me that the hour alone we'll spend driving back and forth makes sense. “I'll have you there on time, I promise. Don't you trust me?”

“More than you know,” I say, letting Jeremy take the lead. I wanted to talk to him about what didn't happen between us last night anyway, and this drive will give us plenty of time to chat. “How come you didn't try to sleep with me last night? Not that I wanted you to or anything, but I'm just curious,” I say, shifting uncomfortably in the leather seat. That sounded better when I said it in my head.

“I thought we did sleep with each other last night, or was that my other girlfriend snoring loudly on the floor beside me?” Jeremy's got jokes this afternoon, but I'm serious, no matter how awkward the conversation may be. We need to talk about sex and, considering we're on our way to a sixteen-year-old's baby shower, this is the perfect time to have the discussion. No matter how nice the party, I'd much rather be looking forward to my birthday next week than a baby shower any day.

“Come on, Jeremy,” I say, tickling the side of his leg through his jeans. “You know what I mean. You're not a virgin, and I know you're feeling me, so what gives?”

“First of all, you
are
a virgin, and I don't want to rush you,” he says, looking both ways before proceeding through the four-way stop. I like that he's always careful. “Besides, abstinence is the best policy against unwanted pregnancy, and I don't want to make that mistake again.” I knew his runaway baby-mama had something to do with his decision not to push the sexual envelope with me. I never thought of his relationship with Tania as a positive for us until now. It's nice to know we're both on the same page about this.

“I agree one hundred percent,” I say, holding Jeremy's right hand in my left as we enjoy the mellow ride to Redondo Beach. Enough said. Jeremy and I have a good time together, no matter what we're doing. Who needs the drama sex brings anyway? I'm good right where we are, and I'm glad Jeremy feels the same way.

“Welcome to Mrs. Wright's Farmer's Market,” Jeremy says, turning off Pacific Coast Highway and into a large shopping plaza with several other small specialty stores neighboring our destination. The hippie-looking grocery store is very popular; customers are packed in the wide parking lot on foot and in their vehicles. Some folks are even riding bikes through the crowded space. Jeremy finds a spot at the back near the transplanted palm trees surrounding the property and decides to swoop it up before somebody else gets it. We may be far away from the entrance, but we're on a tight schedule and don't have the time to scout for a closer space.

As we step into the massive store, the first thing I notice to my left is the meat department, with one of the cleanest-looking seafood selections I've ever seen. I wish we could get good fish like this in my hood.

“Maybe I should do the rest of my shopping real quick before buying the fish,” I say, eyeing all the pretty choices through the glass. There are so many to choose from—salmon, whiting, cod, and other varieties I've never heard of. The prices are even less expensive pound for pound than we pay in Compton. I think I'm in love at first sight with Mrs. Wright's.

“They can put it on ice for you so you don't have to get back in line, if you want,” Jeremy says, glancing at the six people in front of us. “As a matter of fact, just give me your list, and I'll get everything else while you stay here. That should save us some time, too.” Jeremy's such a good boyfriend. What did I ever do to deserve him?

“That's so sweet,” I say, handing him the paper. “Are you sure you don't mind getting number six?” I ask as he deciphers my nearly illegible handwriting. Mama gets on me about my penmanship all the time. She says future generations won't be able to read my additions in the spirit book if I don't improve my script.

“It's cool; I've got a mom,” Jeremy says, not even giving a second thought to being seen with my maxi pads. He is a keeper. If this is what a real partnership is, I like it. Having Jeremy around makes everything easier, almost too easy. Sometimes I feel a little guilty about all the privileges I have as his girlfriend and wonder if I'm taking advantage of the situation. No one has ever taken me on a shopping spree or to the restaurants that Jeremy can afford. Last night we ate at the Chart House in Malibu, a restaurant where nothing on the menu was below fifty dollars. It took everything in me not to put the rolls in one of the soft cloth napkins and slide them into my purse. I'm not used to this shit, but I'm going to have to work on it. This is Jeremy's world, and living in it with him comes with all the perks thereof.

Jeremy and I made it in and out of the store in twenty minutes with everything I needed accounted for. I have to say I like the carefree lifestyle these beach residents seem to have going on. It didn't even bother me that Mrs. Wright's carries only its own brand of my monthly necessities. I'm willing to try anything once, as long as they get the basic job done.

“I need to separate my personal things from the party stuff real quick. I might forget to do it once we get to Nigel's,” I say, sorting through the items in the trunk. I spent damn near all my money on my groceries and Mickey's stuff. I saved just enough to get gas and my school snacks for the week. Not working my regular hours at Netta's is really hurting my bank account, but that'll change once I'm through this stressful school period.

“We have to leave now if we want to make it on time, babe,” Jeremy says, returning the basket to the designated area. As one of the hostesses, I technically should've been there by now, as I'm sure Nellie will remind me of, once we finally do arrive.

“Damnit. They forgot to put the fish in the basket,” I say, searching frantically through the multiple bags. “I'll have to go back in and get it.” I take the receipt out of my purse on my arm and close the trunk. Now we're really going to be late.

“I'll be right here unless you want me to come with you.” Holding hands, we walk around to the front of the car, where Jeremy gives me a quick kiss, bringing me back to center.

“I think I can handle it, but thanks anyway, Big Daddy.” Jeremy laughs at my sass, watching me walk back across the crowded parking lot and into the packed store with my receipt in hand. This shouldn't take too long, and the fish was on ice. It should have been pretty obvious to the cashier that it was left behind.

“Excuse me, miss,” I say, spotting the store manager at the customer-service desk and politely catching her attention. Luckily, this is the only register without a long line. “Less than ten minutes ago I was at register four, and the fish I purchased wasn't in the basket when I got to the car,” I say, pointing to the register behind me. I notice that it's closed, and the cashier is nowhere in sight. What the hell?

“Okay, I'll check the register to see if anything was left. Our policy is that if a customer leaves any items behind after paying for them, they are left up here, and I haven't received anything in the last ten minutes.” The petite blond woman walks around the enclosed area and through the small swinging door that separates her cubicle from the main floor. She heads over to the vacant register and sees the same thing I see: nothing.

“What happened to my fish?” I ask the manager, but she looks unconcerned. “Here's my receipt. Thirty dollars' worth of whiting didn't just disappear,” I add, reading her expression. I know this trick thinks I'm lying, but I've got the proof right here.

“Like I said, if anything was left behind, it would be in here with me.” She steps back into her safe space, dismissing my receipt and claim with the lock of the door. This trick's about to bring out the gangster in me. I don't care what zip code we're presently in.

“You can see I just made my purchase. I'm not leaving until I get my food or my money back.” The people around us notice the tension in my voice and look at the angry black girl in the store. Shit, they'd be angry, too, if it was their money and time wasted. But then again, if I were one of the white or Asian customers, we wouldn't be having this conversation.

“I'm sorry, but I can't do that.” The manager's thin nose crinkles in a look of disgust at my receipt and behavior, but she hasn't seen anything yet.

“What do you mean you can't do that?” I ask, completely insulted. If this were a Pavilions or Ralphs, there would be no problem, but the customer service at this market is a little different.

“We can't refund you based on he say/she say. Maybe you left it in the cart.” This woman has got to be out of her mind to think I wouldn't notice leaving a cold, heavy-ass bag in the grocery basket.

“Or maybe she took my fish home to feed her family.” I need that food for the party, and I don't have another thirty dollars. What am I going to do?

“Babe, what's taking so long?” Jeremy asks, walking into the store and making his way through the crowd to where I'm standing near tears, I'm so frustrated.

“The bag is gone, and so is all my money,” I say, burying my head in his chest. He strokes my fresh cornrows that I just braided this morning and hugs me tightly.

“Okay, Jayd, just calm down,” Jeremy says. “Hey, Mrs. Henry.” He greets the store manager like she's one of his teachers.

“You two know each other?” she asks, shocked. I raise my head from Jeremy's polo shirt to watch the two of them interact, observing her stance relax—unlike the defensive posture she immediately took with me. Oh, I see, it's like that. Sometimes I want to whip a heffa's ass just because she—or he—is expecting it.

“Yeah,” Jeremy says. The bitch is all smiles, now that Jeremy's a part of the conversation. “This is my girlfriend, Jayd. She goes to South Bay, too.”

“I didn't know she was a friend of yours, Jeremy,” Mrs. Henry says, taking the receipt from my hand and writing on it. “I'm sorry for the confusion. Take that to the seafood department, and they'll issue you another portion.” Unbelievable. All the crying in the world wouldn't have saved the day, but my rich white boyfriend walks in, and it's all good.

“Thanks, Mrs. Henry,” Jeremy says, completely unaware of what just happened. “I'll get it, Jayd. I pulled up in front of the store.” He gestures toward the double doors. “Why don't you go chill in the car before they tow it, and then we'll really be in trouble.” I doubt he'd get towed, because I have a feeling Jeremy's good luck works with law enforcement, too. How truly privileged Jeremy's world really is.

The thirty-minute ride back to Los Angeles is quiet, mostly because I have nothing to say. I'm so upset about what just went down at the market, but I don't know how to explain it to Jeremy. I'd rather deal with the expensive prices and fewer choices at the markets in Compton than deal with the racist bull in Jeremy's neck of the woods any day. Jeremy probably thinks I'm being overemotional as usual, but I don't think so. If I have to face his reality, he's going to have to deal with mine, too.