Authors: Carl Weber
Lookin' For Luv (37 page)
“Wow, this is incredible. I’m not into art, but this stuff is awesome.” Antoine touched a large mahogany statue of a bushman.
“This is the cheap stuff,” Tyrone told him. “You should see the stuff they sent out on tour from the main gallery, which we’re using for the memorial service. Now, that, my friend, is art.”
“Daddy, did you do all these pictures?” his daughter Kim asked.
“No, honey. Daddy did only one of the paintings.” He handed their tickets to the woman standing outside the main gallery.
“Good evening, Mr. Jefferson. We’ve had quite a few people ask about your painting so far. I’m quite impressed.” She pointed them in the direction of Tyrone’s painting, then handed him their seating assignment.
“Tyrone, Denise and I are going to the rest rooms. Would you like me to take the girls? Your little one is dancing in place,” Keisha asked, taking the girls’ hands when Tyrone nodded. She and Denise led them toward the ladies’ room.
Kevin and Antoine gave each other a hopeful glance when they saw the small crowd gathered around Tyrone’s painting. He had painted a picture of what appeared to be an African goddess surrounded by children. Each child represented the different shades, hairstyles, and features of children of African descent. The artwork was something all African Americans could relate to.
“Look, Jim.” A woman pointed at the painting. “That little girl looks just like Michelle when she was a baby.”
“I think we should put in a bid for this one,” another man whispered to his wife.
The three friends stood at the periphery of the small crowd and listened to the positive feedback for several minutes without saying a word. Sylvia approached them, grinning.
“I hear you’re a big hit,” she whispered, kissing Tyrone on the cheek.
“Well, we have to sell it first, but I’ve overheard some good things from the crowd.”
“Don’t worry about that. When I start the bidding at three thousand, my rivals will take it from there,” Sylvia promised, wondering why Antoine was staring. “Excuse me. Do I know you?” she asked him politely.
“I was just thinking the same thing.” He extended his hand to her.
“I’m sorry,” Tyrone cut in. “Sylvia Johnson, this is Antoine Smith. He and Kevin work with me.”
Sylvia shook both their hands graciously, but inside she was panicking. It hadn’t occurred to her that Tyrone had friends from work who might have been introduced to her as Maurice’s wife at one function or another.
“Excuse me, Tyrone?” It was the museum curator Joan Jemerson. “You don’t mind if I introduce you to the crowd, do you?”
“Not at all.” Tyrone smiled.
She turned around to the crowd in front of the painting. “Excuse me, everyone. I’d like to introduce you to the artist of this marvelous painting we call ‘Children of Color.’ This is Mr. Tyrone Jefferson.”
The crowd circled around Tyrone and his friends to congratulate him on his wonderful painting. Sylvia stood to the side, hoping that Joan’s announcement had created enough of a distraction so that Antoine wouldn’t make the connection and remember when they’d met. Tonight was Tyrone’s big night, and she didn’t want to ruin it by having it revealed that she was married to his boss. She had planned on waiting until the time was right to share that information.
As Tyrone accepted the compliments of the crowd, Sylvia stood admiring him in his handsome tuxedo. He had come so far since they had first met. Shaking hands and offering commentary on his painting, Tyrone carried himself with the confidence and poise of a professional. Yet, he was still able to hang on the streets with his boys. There was nothing fake about him, and she loved him for that. She was determined to do everything possible to help him sell his first painting and get his career off the ground.
“Your painting is marvelous,” an elderly woman said graciously. “I’m really thinking about placing a bid on it.”
“Thank you very much, miss, and I hope your bid is successful.” Tyrone shook the woman’s hand as he searched the crowd for Sylvia. Noticing her leaning against a large column, he winked. He smiled when she winked back, then watched her walk toward another part of the gallery. A few more well-wishers had approached, so Tyrone turned to work the crowd a bit more. He gladly shook hands with all his new admirers but nearly screamed when he saw his own worst nightmare coming toward him. It was Blanche Peterson, and her snaggle-toothed grin brought back hideous memories of Tyrone’s dinner at the country club.
“Well, I’ll be damned. Look what the cat done dragged in.” She smiled, licking her lips. “Tyrone, what has it been, three, four months since I had my fingers wrapped around that thick, long dick of yours?” Blanche took two quick steps closer, then grabbed Tyrone by his balls, applying just enough pressure that moving would have caused excruciating pain. With a smile she wrapped her free arm around him as if they were hugging. Then she drew her body close to his as if they were lovers, to conceal her little game from the crowd.
Antoine’s eyes bugged out of his head as he turned to Kevin, whispering in his ear, “Did she say what I think she said?”
“Yeah, but even I didn’t think Tyrone was that desperate,” Kevin whispered back, his eyes never leaving the hideous woman. “She’s uglier than my great-aunt Spooky, and she’s been dead ten years.”
“Blanche. Let go of me now,” Tyrone demanded in a soft, high-pitched whisper that only she could hear.
“What’s wrong, Tyrone, aren’t you glad to see me?” She paused, taking a tighter grip on his balls as she smiled at the other guests. “Well, if I was you, I’d make nice with Blanche, otherwise you’re going to leave this place without your jewels.”
She squeezed again. Tyrone gulped, standing on tiptoe to avoid the pain.
“I’ve been waiting a long time to see you again, Tyrone. You really should have kept that little hand job I gave you on Christmas Eve to yourself. That high-yellow bitch of yours has been making things pretty damn difficult for my girls and me lately. I lost a lot of business because of her goddamn mouth.”
“Sorry about that, Blanche.” He coughed, hoping an apology would make her loosen her grip.
“That’s all right, baby. You’re forgiven. Now, I want you to deliver a message to your mistress for me. Tell her if she ever tries to pull strings and have one of my brothels closed again, I’ll kill her. You got that?”
“Yesss,” he groaned as she squeezed him more tightly.
“Good. Now give Blanche a big, juicy kiss and introduce me to your handsome friends.”
There is no way I’m gonna kiss this ugly bitch. She’s just gonna have to rip my nuts off
, he thought. He grimaced at the ugly woman.
, he thought. He grimaced at the ugly woman.
Blanche smiled at Tyrone as if she could read his thoughts. Squeezing him until he gasped for air, she stood on tiptoe and slid her snakelike tongue into his open mouth for all to see.
Kevin and Antoine both cringed as they watched their friend tongue-wrestle with the Creature from the Black Lagoon. Sliding her tongue out of his mouth, Blanche licked her lips, then led Tyrone toward his friends.
“Hi, I’m Blanche Peterson.” She finally released his balls to shake Kevin’s hand. Tyrone bent over in relief.
“Hi, I’m Kevin Brown, and this is Antoine Smith.” Kevin was afraid to look Tyrone in the face for fear he would burst out in laughter at his friend’s choice in women.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Peterson,” Antoine said, actually managing to sound sincere.
Turning to see if Tyrone had recovered, Blanche smiled at his two friends. “Well, I’ve got to go.” She scurried away into the crowd, cackling.
“Where’d that bitch go?” Tyrone asked, finally getting himself together.
“Oh, now she’s a bitch? Two minutes ago you were slobbing her down, but now she’s a bitch.” Kevin laughed.
“Wait a minute, Kevin. Technically he’s right,” Antoine joined in. “If ever a woman looked like a female dog, that ugly wench Tyrone was just kissing does.” Both of them laughed hard.
“What’s so funny?” Denise asked, walking up with Keisha and the girls.
“Nothing,” Tyrone replied, grabbing his two daughters by the hands and walking away.
“What was that all about?”
“Just a personal joke between us guys,” Kevin answered, taking her hand and walking to view the painting up close for the first time.
“So, this is Tyrone’s painting?” Keisha said, admiring his work. “I have to admit, I like his style.”
“Yeah, I knew he could draw, but I never knew he had this kind of talent.” Antoine wrapped his arm around Keisha, then kissed her cheek. “You know, if this painting sells, Tyrone’s entire life will probably change.”
“Don’t tell him I told you this, but he said his entire career as an artist depends on how well this one painting sells today,” Kevin explained.
“He’s right.” Denise joined the conversation. “Only one percent of artists are given the chance to have their work shown in a gallery of this magnitude. If this painting doesn’t do well, chances are your friend will never be asked to show art here again.”
They were all silent as they looked at the painting and considered how monumentally important this night was to Tyrone.
Tyrone searched through the crowd for Sylvia with his two daughters in tow. He wanted to find her before word of his incident with Blanche reached her. Spotting her in conversation with a woman across the room, he approached her.
“Thanks, Jen, I really appreciate hearing it from you,” she said to the woman as Tyrone neared. The woman looked at Tyrone strangely as she walked away.
“Donna and Kim, you see that door over there?” They both nodded. “Well, in that room are a bunch of kids eating ice cream and playing games. Would you like to go in there and play?” Both girls agreed, eagerly looking up at their father for permission.
“Go ahead. But not too much ice cream.”
He watched them run toward the door, holding hands. Then, just as he was about to tell Sylvia about Blanche, she glared at him, and he knew enough to shut up.
“What the hell is this? Jen Anderson tells me you’ve been kissing Blanche Peterson in front of everyone in the gallery.” There was venom in her voice.
“I didn’t kiss her, Sylvia, I swear. That bitch had a vise grip on my balls so hard that when I went to scream, she stuck her tongue in my mouth.”
Sylvia bit her bottom lip. She knew Blanche well enough and trusted Tyrone enough to know that he was probably telling her the truth. Blanche had played the same games with Maurice when they had first married, and Sylvia had had enough of the woman’s disrespect.
“That’s the last damn straw. Blanche needs a good kick in the ass,” she steamed.
She ran through the litany of insults she had prepared for this unruly heifer and left to find her, marching like a woman on a mission. Tyrone followed. They walked through the gallery searching for Blanche until they found her standing by the bar. Sylvia grabbed Tyrone by the hand and looked at him very seriously.
“I don’t care what happens or what is said. Do not get physical with Blanche. Do you hear me?” She sighed. “The last thing your career needs is bad press.”
“Yeah, I just hope you take your own advice.”
“Don’t worry about me. I have everything totally under control, sweetheart. But you can believe that woman is going to hear my mouth.” She walked toward Blanche, smiling and waving at the other guests until she was face-to-face with Blanche Peterson.
“Blanche, what the fuck is your problem?” she hissed.
“Sylvia, what the hell are you talking about?” Blanche did a very bad job of trying to sound innocent.
“You know what I’m talking about. You need to keep your creepy-ass tongue to yourself.”
Blanche looked over Sylvia’s shoulder at Tyrone with no fear whatsoever.
“Well, Tyrone, I guess you had to call your massa to protect you, huh?”
“Leave him out of this, Blanche, this is between you and me.”
“Ohhh, yeah. You definitely have more balls than him, Sylvia. Trust me, I just had them in my hands.” Blanche laughed as she looked at Tyrone. “Hey, Tyrone, I bet if I reached between Sylvia’s legs, I’d find more than a handful. What do you think?”
“Listen, you ugly bitch, if you put your hands on him ever again, I’m gonna ...” Sylvia was ready to explode and turned her back on Blanche to calm herself. The last thing she wanted was to make a scene at Bernard’s memorial. She was ready to smile and walk away, when Blanche pursued her.
“You’re gonna what? You’re not gonna do shit now that the drug-addicted fruitcake is dead.” She whispered confidently to Sylvia. “That fag motherfucker was your power base, bitch. Without him, nobody important gives a shit about you.”
Sylvia knew what Blanche was saying was not true. She was well liked among the elite. But what Blanche had said about Bernard was unforgivable. Bernard had been one of the few people kind enough to try to help Blanche improve her image. And now she repaid him with such ungrateful defamation of his memory. All the pain of losing her best friend erupted from deep within her. She could no longer maintain her composure.
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