Playing Hard To Get (20 page)

“Crazy for wearing a daisy in your hair?”

“Yes!” Tamia exclaimed. “Unlike you, I can’t wear dashikis and cowrie shells to work. We have rules, standards.”

“I think one of those standards should be that you’re crazy if you don’t wear a daisy in your hair,” Malik said, snatching a daisy from another table and putting it in the fold of his ear. Both he and Tamia laughed.

“Always the rebel,” Tamia said as if she’d known Malik and his ways for years. And she felt that way. “So, tell me, rebel, how did you get mixed up in this situation?”

“Well—”

“And, before you start with your ‘I did it; I’m guilty’ revolutionary rap, I have to tell you, I’ve been watching you these past few weeks and it doesn’t seem like you would do that. The way you are with those kids, with the other people at the center, I just don’t believe it.”

Malik looked down at the table and folded his hands humbly before him.

“When Simeon came to me, he was homeless and hungry, robbing people on the street,” he said. “He tried to stick me up, but all I had to offer was the cowrie shells in my pocket and a chew stick.”

“No wallet?” Tamia asked.

“I don’t need a piece of animal skin and some cards to remind me of who I am and how I fit into the world,” Malik answered. “Anyway, Simeon was sure I was lying. He felt my pockets himself and then he tried to hit me with a gun. I grabbed his arm and asked him a question.”

“What?”

“I asked him if he was hungry. If he wanted something to eat,” Malik said. “And then he called me every name in the book and accused me of being gay. I snatched his gun and repeated my question. Three hours later, we were in the basement of the Freedom Project cleaning out a space where he could sleep.”

“Did you tell him he’d have to work and that you wouldn’t pay him?” Tamia asked, nervous about the answer, as she was now wrestling with the idea of purposefully losing Malik’s case.

“He’s a man. And men need to work for the things they have—that’s the only way they can appreciate it.”

“What did you say? What did you tell him?”

“Three hots and a cot. He could live in the basement of the project as long as he helped out during the day—cleaning and helping keep the place nice,” Malik explained. “He could take classes with the other boys and as soon as he found somewhere else to go, he could leave.”

“So, you never told Simeon he had to stay at the Freedom Project or forced him to do anything he didn’t want to do?”

“Never.”



There are few things that could prepare a wife for the psychological shock and awe of seeing another grown woman sitting in her husband’s lap. Auntie, grandmama, mother, sister, cousin who just got her legs cut off in a street fight—it doesn’t matter who or why, the situation is bound to break the bride down in some way she didn’t think was possible. And while Myrtle wasn’t exactly sitting in Kyle’s lap when Troy came pushing in the door, she may as well have been. Her rump was beside his on the couch that Troy had designated for her dreams of Kyle, his arm was around her shoulder, and her hands were clasped in his crotch…right in his crotch.

“Why does she hate me?” she cried into his lap, seeking comfort. Next, in the schedule in Myrtle’s mind, she was to collapse in a fit of sadness, bury her head there, and cry until Kyle lifted her. Then she’d lock eyes with him and go for a kiss. The plan was to make Troy look crazy and irrational, while she was the victim in need of Kyle’s support.

Troy heard Myrtle’s cries before Myrtle and Kyle realized she was standing there. She quickly rationalized that she could kill someone and Myrtle could be her first victim. Any fantasies she’d had about Myrtle being her friend were erased in that instant. Troy was silly, but she wasn’t slow. She knew seduction when she saw it and this woman was putting the moves on her husband.

“Hate is a strong wor—Oh, Troy!” Kyle looked to Troy and inched away from Myrtle a bit before she sat up.

“What’s this? What’s going on?” Troy stood before the pair on the couch, her arms crossed over her chest. Myrtle didn’t even acknowledge her. She looked off toward the window in a show of anger.

“Sister Glover just came in for some counsel,” Kyle tried.

“She’s taken everything from me. I put everything I had into that organization and she just…ran me off!” Myrtle began crying again, but this time she managed to keep her hands and face away from Kyle’s lap.

“Ran you off? I—” Troy couldn’t believe how helpless Myrtle was acting. She was a witch on Rollerblades most days and now she was playing lamb.

“Honey, why don’t you come and sit down so we can talk about this? See if you two can come to a compromise?” Kyle pointed to a chair beside the couch, but Troy just stood there.

“We already talked about it,
honey.
” Troy cut her eyes at him. “Why revisit it? The Virtuous Women voted on it three weeks ago.”

“See? She hates me. And I didn’t even do anything. I’m just a good Christian woman, trying to be a better—”

“Troy, please.” Kyle cut Myrtle off as he tried to show uneasiness in his eyes. Myrtle had been in his office for over an hour talking about her relationships with the trustees and leaders of the church before she’d brought up the situation with Troy.

“Fine. I’ll sit down,” Troy said, walking past the seat and heading to the small space left on the couch on Kyle’s right. When she sat down, Myrtle rolled her eyes and exhaled loudly. “So?”

“See what I’m talking about? She has an attitude,” Myrtle pointed out.

“Hold on, ladies. Let’s back up and try to come to a compromise,” Kyle stressed. “Now what happened, from your point of view, Sister Glover?”

“Well, you know how I am, how I like to help people with their spiritual guidance,” she said tearfully, wiping her eyes with a beat-up handkerchief. Kyle nodded as Troy frowned at the show. “Well, I’ve been doing that all along with Sister…Hall…since she came to this church and then all of a sudden she just says it wasn’t fast enough—”

“I never—”

“And I wasn’t a good enough teacher—”

“I never said that—”

“Hold on, Troy,” Kyle put his hand up.

“I mean,” Myrtle went on, “what did she expect? I can’t turn a sinner into a saint overnight.”

“A sinner? I got your sinner, you—”

“Troy!” Kyle stopped her.

“When she came to this church she was of the world, you know, and I was trying my best to pull her heart closer to Jesus. I swear I was! But then she let the evils of pride and power get in the way of her growth and—I’m just so worried about her.”

Troy’s stomach turned as she listened to Myrtle’s desperate emotional rant, which sounded oddly dated and somewhat Old English in tone. “Is she serious?” she kept thinking.

“Now, Troy?” Kyle looked as if he’d considered what Myrtle said and turned to Troy.

“Are you serious? You want me to respond to that? She’s obviously—”

Myrtle jumped up.

“I knew she wouldn’t want to talk. See, she’s ruled by her anger. It’s the devil.”

Kyle looked at Troy sharply.

“Whatever…” Troy stated, crossing her arms and legs in protest. “Look, I appreciate you helping me, Myrtle, but it was time for the organization to take a new direction. You’re acting like this was all my decision. We took a vote.”

“That vote was poisoned and you know it!” Myrtle shouted. “That…that Kiosha or Kiona…whatever her name is, she poisoned everyone against me. And it hurt so bad. I have given everything I have to this church—to the Virtuous Women—and she just wanted to take it away from me.”

“The vote wasn’t poisoned. Why can’t you just accept that it was time for you to move on? Or do you have other plans? Maybe this isn’t about the Virtuous Women, after all. Maybe you want my—”

“Ladies!”

Kyle’s head was spinning and he was praying Saptosa would step into the office and say someone else, someplace else was in need of his pastorial services pronto. But even if there was another emergency, Saptosa wouldn’t be at her desk to answer the call. She was too busy at the door listening and texting all of the dirty details of the argument to her mother, grandmother, and godmother—all mothers at the church.

“Can we come to a compromise, ladies?” Kyle asked, standing up and holding his hands out to both women. Troy jumped up too and tried to stand closer to Kyle than Myrtle. “Isn’t there something that could work for both of you?” Both women looked off in opposite directions to show their disinterest.

“She could leave the church,” Myrtle murmured inaudibly.

“What?” Troy puffed out her chest.

“Ladies, please!” Kyle repeated and the force in his voice was so hard it surprised and excited his company. “Can’t you both find some way to get along?”

“Well,” Myrtle started, peeking over at Troy, “if she’d just let me back into the organization, maybe I could help her again…and—”

“What?” Troy shouted.

“And I wouldn’t be a bother,” Myrtle went on. “It would be like I wasn’t even there. I’d let her take the lead and I’d just help. I only want to serve the women of Christ.”

“Wonderful,” Kyle said, relieved. “That sounds perfectly reasonable to me. What do you think, Troy?”

He turned to Troy and her mouth was wide open. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Why couldn’t Kyle, in all of his wisdom, see past Myrtle’s drama? She wanted to continue to probe and then protest, but she could see the irritation in her husband’s face and learned, as any good wife should, that he had limitations, and there was no sense arguing with him once they were exceeded.

“Fine,” Troy muttered, crossing her arms tighter over her chest. Quick as a cat, Myrtle jumped into Troy’s arms like she’d been reunited with her long-lost best friend.

“I am so happy,” Myrtle said excitedly. “Praise God!”

She hugged Troy tightly, her right hand cradling the back of Troy’s head as she rocked back and forth.

“I am so happy,” she repeated so Kyle could hear, but then, in Troy’s ear, she whispered, “Watch your back. I’m coming for you.”



Troy and Kiona hadn’t been friends long enough for Kiona to ask if she’d had a fight with her husband, but as the pair left First Baptist on the way to a hot yoga class Troy had invited her to, it was clear that something had gone wrong in Kyle’s office. Troy was silent most of the way to the studio. And as Kiona suffered in the steam that even the instructor agreed was too high, Troy hardly broke a sweat and kept a Jedi-like focus on each pose.

“Thanks for inviting me,” Kiona said, dabbing her chest with a towel to sop up the pools of sweat soaking her clothes as they walked out of the class. “I’ve never done anything like this. Me and my friends mostly spend the afternoon in front of the TV.” She laughed. “I didn’t expect to sweat quite so much, but I guess that’s the point.”

“You get used to the heat after a while,” Troy said.

They walked into the locker room and Kiona saw that her once curled hair was now a little Afro.

“I’m sure you do,” Kiona said, “but until then, I think I’ll stick with doing yoga in my living room. I can’t afford the hair upkeep.”

“Do whatever you want,” Troy snapped.

“Ooookaaay…”

“I’m sorry,” Troy said, noticing the confused look on Kiona’s face. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m just a little stressed right now.”

“Why?”

“The Virtuous Women again…one in particular.”

“First Lady—”

“Troy,” Troy stopped Kiona. “We’re friends. Just call me Troy.”

“Troy, you’re doing a fine job. Everyone is so excited about the changes you’ve been making,” Kiona said.

“Really?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you,” Kiona added as they walked out of the yoga studio. “I don’t have a reason to. Now, don’t let a few bad dancers ruin your soul train line. Keep the party going.”

“What?” Troy laughed. “My soul train line?”

“It’s an old line my big sister used to say to me,” Kiona said. “The point is to enjoy yourself. The people who want to stop your line like it when you don’t seem to be having fun. You’ve worked hard and you should be having fun.”

“You’re right,” Troy agreed. “I should be having fun and I’m not going to let that…that hater ruin my good time.”

“Praise God!” Kiona said. “Now, come on and let’s dance!”

The two women chuckled and danced down Fifth Avenue like it was 1980 and Don Cornelius was about to ask them to unscramble
VIRTUOUS WOMEN
on the
Soul Train
board.

“For the Virtuous Women,” Troy shouted, doing an off-step bus stop behind Kiona.

“No,” Kiona started, “for the
best
leader the Virtuous Women has ever had!”

“That’s right, that’s right, that’s right!” Troy shimmied as Kiona danced circles around her.

“Get it, girl,” a random man said, coming up behind Troy and trying to dance with her. “That’s my kind of lady! Wooo-weee!”

Troy and Kiona screamed and ran down the street, laughing at the spectacle they’d caused the entire way. When they stopped and Troy gathered herself, she realized that they were standing in front of the Louis Vuitton store.

“What?” Kiona stopped too, noticing Troy’s gaze. She looked in the window at the purses and mannequins dressed in Vuitton.

“You know what,” Troy said, “I respect that you called me the best leader, but we both know I’m only decent, and the only reason I can be decent is because of your help.”

“Thank you,” Kiona said.

“I want to do something nice for you!”

“Nice?”

“Follow me.” Troy pulled a resistant Kiona into the Vuitton store and in minutes she’d replaced Kiona’s faux patent Surya with the real thing.

“Oh, I can’t accept this,” Kiona said once she realized Troy’s offer. “It’s much too expensive.”

“Nonsense—it’s a gift! It’s your new boyfriend,” Troy said. “You deserve it! I see how much you’ve done for the church. And I know what you’ve done for me.”

“I don’t do any of those things to get gifts or recognition,” Kiona said. “I do it because I love it. Because it’s what God called me to do.”

“And that’s exactly why you deserve this real bag—because you’re a real woman,” Troy said earnestly. “You’re so busy spoiling everyone else, it’s time you were spoiled.”