Playing Hard To Get (10 page)

“Troy?” Tasha happily cut Tamia off. She’d always been the kind of friend who preferred hearing rather than sharing dish. And she’d just seen a woman who looked like Troy walking toward the front door, only she thought it couldn’t be her, because they weren’t at a church and the woman wasn’t carrying a pail of holy water.

“Troy?” Tamia repeated when the woman walked inside and they both saw that it was indeed her.

Before Troy could get out her prayer shawl, prayer list, prayer oil, and prayer handbook to head to her prayer closet to loosen the grip of the day’s sins, a determined Kyle had been standing in the doorway of their bedroom holding her shoes, purse, and cell phone. He’d seen Tamia’s frantic text inviting his wife into the city for a drink, and while it just might have been the first time in the history of all of mankind that a husband insisted that his wife get out of the house and have some fun, there he was, shuffling Troy and all of her reasons not to meet her girls to the front door. “It sounds pretty serious. They need you,” he was saying as he stuffed Troy into a cab, but really he was thinking that she (and, in a way, he) needed them. Maybe Troy would come back tipsy and forget her Bible at the door. Maybe. He’d be sure to shower and get out his coconut body oil…just in case.

“Well, for someone who didn’t expect to come out, your ass sure looks fabsie,”
¹⁰
Tasha said after Troy told the other Ts of her forced departure. “Is that a Tory Burch?”

Tamia and Tasha looked hard at the navy blue silk blouse Troy was wearing. Every woman in the city had been admiring the whimsical peasant chemise for days as an ivory mannequin donned it in the window at the midtown Bloomingdale’s.

Troy nodded sheepishly and thanked the bartender for her glass of Diet Coke but when she looked back at Tasha and Tamia, they were still studying the blouse.

She started, “So, Tamia, what’s going—”

“Now, that damn blouse is $795.” Tasha flicked one of the perfectly tailored sleeves.

Tamia nodded.

“So, it’s not a big deal. Just a T. Burch. We all gotta have it. Right?” Troy tried to chuckle the attention off, but she felt like their eyes were digging into her, asking questions and forcing answers in the way that only friends’ knowing eyes can. Kyle saw her clothes every day, but to him they were just articles of fabric. He had no clue as to the value or volume. But these two bystanders were runway connoisseurs. They studied fashion shows the way other humans watched football on Sunday afternoons.

“Yeah, I gotta have it, and Tamia gotta have it, and even the old Troy I used to know had to have it.” Tasha paused and looked to Tamia for a cosign.

“Sure did,” Tamia confirmed.

“But not,” Tasha went on, “the newly saved and sanctified First Lady of First Baptist, Troy Helene Hall. I thought you were supposed to be on some kind of new Christian wife budget, cutting your parents’ money off and only living on what your husband could afford—Payless and Pay-what-nots. Now, I know he’s got a little bank, but Burch? Come on. And I know that Kors skirt anywhere. It’s a spring favo!”
¹¹

Troy was trying so hard to come up with a lie to tell her friends, but while she could keep her secrets, which seemed to be tripling these days, from the rest of the world, she couldn’t keep anything from the women sitting beside her. The pressure she’d felt in her gut earlier in the day at the meeting was twisting itself in tight knots in her mind now. The pressure was big, was growing so strong, she knew she had to let it out. Troy closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and started letting those knots loosen.

“I have the shirt in three colors—magenta, yellow, and blue. I have every skirt Kors put out last season. Thirty-two…thirty-seven pairs of shoes, and I preordered every Be&D Hobo for the summer—I haven’t even seen them yet. I spent $7,000 this afternoon in three hours and went by my parents’ place to hide some of the stuff in my old closet.” Without inhaling or looking at either of her friends, Troy reached into her purse and pulled out her little prayer pad. “It’s all there. Everything. Every sin I need to pray for. But I can’t stop it. I can’t.” She finally stopped and looked at Tamia, wiping a tear from her eye as she banged on the bar emphatically. “I can’t stop sinning.”

“Whoa, Christian chica,” Tasha said as she caught Troy’s arm from hitting the bar again and attracting more attention. “No need to put us all to shame. I still have a reputation in this city. The only sin you’ve committed is wearing Tory Burch with Michael Kors. They don’t go together. Kors can only go with Kors. No mixing.”

“Stop it, Tash,” Tamia said. “Troy is serious.” She broke off a bit of chocolate she was eating and gave Troy a piece. “What’s going on up there in Harlem?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what it is.”

“Well, let’s start small,” Tamia said. “You said you spent $7,000 this afternoon. What made you do that?”

“I don’t know,” Troy answered. “It was just like most days. I was at the church and I had a meeting with the Virtuous Women, and…” What little relief Troy was feeling after releasing the secret she’d been hiding for months was erased once she recalled the discussion about the incubus and succubus—the demons in the bedroom.

“Oh no, not the Virtuous Women again!” Tasha rolled her eyes. She’d run into the circle the handful of times an invitation from Troy and Kyle had forced her to attend a function at the church. While their smiles were big and welcomes came by the dozen from members, she found them completely suspicious and ridiculous. Then again, she’d found everything about every church she’d ever been in suspicious and ridiculous. A Hollywood baby with Hollywood principles, growing up she’d trusted only one church—the one on the set of her mother’s soap opera. Now she felt every church in the world was reading from the same silly script.

“Do you guys think sex is a sin?” Troy asked, ignoring Tasha’s disgust. “Not like the sex you have with your husband, sorry, Tamia”—she stopped and patted Tamia on the shoulder sympathetically—“but like
wild
sex…like
wild sex.”
Her voice was lowered to a whisper, though no one else in the bar was listening to her.

“Who’s having wild sex?” Tasha perked up. “Somebody’s having wild sex?” She squirmed around in her seat. “I knew Pastor Hall would be tapping that ass in no time flat. He doesn’t look like a missionary man. How does he like it? Downward Facing Dog or Pigeon?”

“Those are yoga poses?” Tamia asked and they all laughed.

“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. So, what kind of
wild
are you talking about, Troy?”

“Everything, anything. He has a penis ring…and this mask…I don’t even know where the mask came from.”

“Oh, he’s a fucking freak,” Tasha said, laughing.

“Oh no.” Troy bowed her head and began to pray.

Tamia and Tasha looked at each other.

“Troy, stop it. Just stop,” Tamia said. “There’s nothing wrong with what you said and you know it.”

“I’m so ashamed. I’m just so ashamed!”

“Of what?” Tasha asked. “That’s your husband. Shit, he was a virgin when you two got married. Can you imagine that? He’s just playing out all of the frustration he lived with for years. Shoot, there’s nothing wrong with a little freakiness in the bedroom. You need to be happy he feels open enough to be that way with you. There are too many husbands out there taking their freaky sides on tour—if you know what I mean.”

“I just feel like maybe it’s my fault. Maybe I made him this way,” Troy said. “Before he met me, he was so focused on his relationship with the Lord, and so pure. Such a good man. And here I am, just corrupting his soul.”

“You sound crazy,” Tasha said flatly.

“Tasha, stop it!” Tamia warned.

“No, somebody needs to tell her. That sounds crazy. Non-crazy people don’t say things like ‘corrupt’ and ‘soul.’ Come on. Is this a séance? Where’s Whoopi?”

“Troy, where is all this coming from? What would make you think there’s a problem with you having sex with your husband?” Tamia asked.

“I know it’s not those women in that group!” swore Tasha.

“Well, Sister Glover says that—” Troy tried.

“Sister Glover? She’s still in the group?” Tamia looked at Troy. When the Virtuous Women was started, long before Troy joined the church, the position of president was held by the First Lady of the church. When Kyle took over and he was unmarried, Sister Glover volunteered her services. “I thought for sure she was going to leave when you took over.”

“Well, I haven’t exactly done that.”

“What?” Tasha wasn’t sure about what Tamia and Troy were talking about, but it sounded bad and she was on her third glass of wine, so she jumped right in. “Why haven’t you done that?”

“She’s helped me so much—with my Bible lessons and showing me how to lead a more Christian life,” Troy explained. “I can’t just drop her like that. And I’m not ready yet. I don’t know everything there is to know about the church. She’s helping me figure it all out.”

“Sounds like she’s also helping you mess up your marriage!” Tasha said.

“No, don’t say that,” Troy said. “Sister Glover has troubles like anyone else, but she’s a saved woman, and we should all be so lucky.”

“Snap out of it!” Tasha playfully snapped her fingers in front of Troy’s face. “Snap-out-of-it.”

“What are you talking about?” Troy asked.

“Girl, don’t you get tired of letting these chicks run they asses all over you?” Tasha asked. “I would think that being my friend for over ten years would’ve given you some backbone, but Troy, it seems like you like being a skank salad.”

“What’s a skank salad?” Tamia asked, shaking her head at Tasha’s attack.

“It’s the food that skanks eat before they enjoy the big steak—which is usually a man. Look, first Skank #1 Miata came in and took Julian, and now Sister Skank #2 is working on Kyle! And what are you doing about it? Writing some list down in a notebook.” Tasha threw the prayer pad over the bar.

“I need that.” Troy desperately reached for the notebook, but a rushing bartender mistakenly squashed it to a soggy mess.

“No, you need a clue. In fact, we all do,” Tasha said. “You want to have sex with the man one minute, then you don’t. And you, Tamia, you don’t want the man around one minute and then you do. What’s going on?” She looked from Tamia to Troy on either side of her. “We need to stop doing all of this complaining and take control of our lives. It’s not all about these men. It’s about us. We’re the 3Ts, not the three lames. And look at us. We’re out of control.”

Troy watched as another bartender stumbled over her notebook.

“You’re right, Tasha,” she said. “Help me, Jesus, but sometimes I do feel I’m out of control. I just don’t know what to do.”

“I do,” Tasha said. “We need to do a check-in, check-up, and check-out.”

“A Queen Bee Competition?” Tamia and Troy’s eyes glowed at the thought of the competitive sport the Ts played in undergrad to get through midterms and exam weeks. The Queen Bee Competition was how they kept one another in check, making sure the hard work they were supposed to be doing was actually getting done. No big talk without action. In one notebook, they’d check in by recording a list of goals and check up each week to see who had achieved at least some of those goals. At the end of the competition, they’d check out by seeing who’d done the most stuff and she’d be crowned the Queen Bee. The prize back then was a free dinner, but since they’d long surpassed undergraduate budgets, they’d been trading Kate Spades instead.

“I can’t do all of that,” Tamia said, looking at her watch. “I have a new client…and I’m just swamped.”

“Great, then there’s no better time,” Tasha said. “No more complaining. We need to act.” She waved down the bartender and asked him to hand her the notebook she’d just tossed on the floor. “Now let’s see what goals we can write down. And who will be named the new Queen Bee of the 3Ts!”

Crowning the Queen Bee: A Little Competition Never Hurts

The difference between a dreamer and a doer is a magical word called “action.” The difference between a friend and a sisterfriend is a magical word called “support.” When you throw these two miraculous words together, in any situation, every sistergirl is bound to come out on top. No one can support you actively pursuing your dreams like your sisterfriends. They hug you and hold you through the process, and when they catch you slipping, they have the loving nerve to say, “Hey, sistergirl, weren’t you supposed to (ENTER YOUR DREAM HERE)?”

Put this recipe for success to the test by getting some of your sisterfriends together for a little active competition. Breathe life into your dreams by openly sharing with your sisterfriends the smaller steps to achieving them and resuscitate theirs by listening and loving. The goal of the Queen Bee Competition is accountability and bragging rights. The sisterfriend who achieves the most action is the winner, and the other sisters get to say they helped her reach her goal, and continue to work on their own.

Rules of Engagement

The Check-In:
Gather your sisterfriends around to chat about the things you want to do, and discuss what small things you can do to get there. For example, if you want to become the next hot ballroom dancer, it might seem impossible, but sharing smaller goals, like finding a decent class and saving $30 a week to be able to afford the class, might seem more doable. Record all of your big and small goals on a sheet of paper, date it, and agree to meet a short while (a week or a month) later.

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The Check-Up:
At the next meeting, go through the list to see who has put action behind words. Did you find the dance teacher and save $30? Did your bestie pay one of her speeding tickets so she can get her driver’s license back? Did your sisterfriend reapply to take the LSAT so she can finally go to law school? Did Kim lose just one pound? Celebrate the small victories with a round of drinks and applause. Discuss the shortcomings with others to find out where they went wrong and how you can help. Set a list of new short-term goals, date it, and organize another short-term check-up.