Big Girls Do Cry (3 page)

“I’m sorry. It’s just a little hard to talk about.” I took a deep breath. “I just got the report back from my doctor—”

“Are you all right?” She reached out and held my hand for support. “Seriously, you okay?”

“I’m fine, Tammy, far as I know—except for one problem. I had an endometrial biopsy….”

“Oh, no, girl, don’t tell me nothing bad. Please don’t tell me they think you got cancer or something.” She closed her eyes as if she was afraid to hear what I was about to say. She was being awfully dramatic about everything, and I hadn’t even gotten to the favor yet. But that was Tammy; she never did anything in an understated way. I just hoped all this concern she was showing for me translated to her wanting to grant my wish.

“No, really, I’m fine. I just had it to see if my uterus could support a pregnancy.”

“And? What’d they say?”

“It can’t. I can’t.” I felt the tears rising, but I bit my lip and held them back. I was an emotional wreck, but I didn’t want to show it in the restaurant again now that the other patrons had
finally stopped staring. “Rashad’s sperm count is excellent. It’s me who can’t get pregnant. My womb won’t hold a baby.”

Tammy leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. “Girl, just relax and it’ll happen. These doctors are always saying stuff like that. The next thing you know, you got crumb snatchers running around everywhere.”

Damn, so much for my sympathetic friend. I guess she was so relieved that it wasn’t cancer that she just brushed my feelings aside. She didn’t realize how badly I wanted to have a baby—Rashad’s baby.

“No, my doctor says the chances of me sustaining a pregnancy are slim to none. I’m barren, Tammy. I can’t have a baby.” I buried my face in my hands. “What kind of wife can’t give her husband the baby he wants so badly?”

“Girl, you need a second opinion. I know plenty of women whose doctors said they couldn’t have babies, and they’re pushing strollers right now.”

“You don’t understand. This is the fourth doctor we’ve talked to.”

That made her pause. All of a sudden, she didn’t look so confident. I guess she realized that her words of encouragement were falling on deaf ears. “Damn, what’re you going to do?”

It was now or never. I mounted the courage to ask my best friend the ultimate favor. “Actually, the question is, what do we want
you
to do, Tammy?”

One of her eyebrows went up, and her mouth kind of hung open. I could see by her expression that she had just figured out what my favor was.

“I know this is a lot to ask, Tammy, but will you be the surrogate for our baby?”

Tammy’s hand flew to her heart, and she looked even more shocked now that she’d heard the words. “You need to stop playing, ‘cause I know you ain’t serious.”

“I am serious, Tammy. Serious as a heart attack. Will you be our surrogate and have our baby for us?”

“I told you, you need to stop, Egypt. This shit ain’t funny. You nearly gave me a heart attack for real.” She waved her hand
at me, then laughed. “Me having another baby. That shit is funny.”

The fact that she could laugh at this situation was starting to piss me off. I folded my arms, locking my eyes on hers like laser beams. “Do I look like I think something is funny? I’m asking you for a favor. I want a baby.” She just didn’t understand how important this was to me.

Tammy’s face softened. “Oh, my God. You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”

I nodded, waving a strand of hair out of my eyes. “Yes. Never been more serious about anything in my life. Please, Tammy. You don’t know how much this would mean to me and Rashad.”

She paused, rubbing her temples as if she suddenly had a throbbing headache. If there was ever a time I wished that I was a mind reader, this was it. I couldn’t even imagine what was going through her head or what decision she would make. All I knew was that I wanted—no, needed—her to do this for me, no matter what the cost. What I wanted was a yes, though with the way this conversation was going, I would have settled for a “let me think about it.”

She sighed, lowering her head, then lifting it to look me in the eyes. “This isn’t any small favor you’re asking.”

“I know that, but I’m desperate. You don’t know how much I want to have a baby of my own.”

“Well, why don’t you adopt? There are plenty of black babies who need a good home. My friend Tina from Hollis just adopted a beautiful baby girl.” She made everything sound so simple.

“Rashad doesn’t want to adopt. He wants his own baby. His own flesh and blood. He’s the last male in his family. He wants his family bloodline to go on. You can understand that, can’t you? And without your help, he’s not going to get it.” I couldn’t help it. The tears just started flowing. “I feel like leaving Rashad so he can find a woman who’s not broken.”

She handed me her napkin. “Look, don’t talk like that. You are not your sister. Everything’s going to be okay.”

I lifted my head and wiped my tears. “So, you’ll do it?”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do. This is not a decision
you make in five minutes. I’ve gotta go home and think about it. Plus, I have to talk to Tim.”

A glimmer of hope. “I understand. I love you for this, Tammy.” I got out of my chair and gave her a huge hug, praying that she would make my dreams come true.

Have you ever heard the cliché “get a life”? Well, that’s how I felt, like I needed to get a life as I watched Jerome work the room on his way up to the karaoke machine at the Soul Cafe in the west end of Richmond. Of course, Jerome and his charismatic behind knew everybody and had to shake every man’s hand and kiss every woman’s cheek on his way to the stage. I swear I could sit there for hours watching people watching him. It was comical the way folks just seemed to be drawn to him, including me.

I let out a laugh as he walked by a table occupied by a man and woman in their late thirties. The woman was leaning against the man, who had his arms wrapped around her waist. Her head was facing forward, but her eyes were following Jerome like a hungry lioness about to pounce on a zebra. What really made it funny was that her man was doing the same damn thing behind her back. Oh yeah, the down-low brothers were in full effect here in Richmond. I actually felt bad for the sister. Part of me wanted to walk over there to pull her coattails and tell her exactly what her man was doing, but I’d learned the hard way that you can’t tell a sister shit about her man that deep down she doesn’t already know.

I’d let Jerome talk me into coming over to the Soul Cafe for a drink following our book club meeting. Well, at least that’s what I was there for. Jerome, on the other hand, was there to get all the women’s panties wet with his damn-near-professional singing voice.

“Good evening,” Jerome’s deep voice boomed as he took the
microphone from the DJ. You could hear the sighs from the women in the audience already. He really knew how to work the crowd.

One woman shouted out, “Good evening to you, Tall-Dark-and-Handsome. What you doing later tonight?”

The crowd busted out laughing, then settled down as the background music for Luther Vandross’s “Always and Forever” got started.

As he prepared to sing, Jerome strutted in front of the crowd in his navy blue Brooks Brothers suit and pale pink shirt with matching handkerchief. Now, Jerome was a very good-looking guy who was always dressed as sharp as a tack. But when he opened his mouth to sing, that good-looking guy transformed into the finest guy in the room. His voice just seemed to reach out and touch you. And when you heard him sing for the first time, it was like having your first orgasm, and all of a sudden, you understood what all the fuss was about.

When Jerome finished his song, everybody in the room was on their feet. As usual, he’d done his damn thing. I can’t tell you how proud of him I was as I stood there clapping my hands, watching him shake one hand after another as he made his way back to our table.

“Excuse me, miss.” I looked up. A very attractive, tall, curvy but thin woman, probably in her late twenties, was standing next to me. She was wearing a microskirt and a blouse that left nothing to the imagination. She was just the kinda twiglike bitch a sister my size couldn’t stand.

“Yes, can I help you?” I put on a fake smile, because I was in the public-relations business, and you never know who could be a potential client—although I doubted it very much in this case.

“Umm, do you know him?” She pointed at Jerome, who was still shaking hands and kissing cheeks about halfway from the stage.

I nodded. “Yes, I know him.”

“Well, is he single?” Little Miss Size 8 looked so excited. I don’t think she even considered that Jerome could possibly be
my man. I wanted to bust her bubble and say, “Hell no, he’s not single. He’s my damn man!” But she didn’t care if he was single or not. None of these heifers who chased him down ever did. But the truth of the matter was that he wasn’t my man. He hadn’t been my man in years. He was just my friend now. I was okay with that, because Jerome would do anything for me. He was the best friend I had in this world.

“Uh-huh, he’s single.” I nodded. “But—”

She cut me off, pulling up a chair like we were old friends. “Do you think you can introduce me? I think he is so fine.”

I smirked at her presumptuous behavior. She was smiling so hard I could see every tooth in her mouth.

“Yes, he’s a very handsome man,” I replied.

“No, girl, he’s not handsome; he’s lollipop-licking fine, and I got me one hell of a sweet tooth.”

I sat back in my chair to enjoy the show, because this was going to be fun. I absolutely loved watching women pursue Jerome. They always made fools out of themselves. I was sure from her confident attitude that this one had already planned out exactly how she was going to seduce Jerome. The only question now was, would he allow her to do it?

“Well, who do we have here?” Jerome smiled as he sat down at the table a few minutes later. His forehead was sweating profusely from all that moving around onstage, so I handed him a napkin to wipe his brow.

“Thank you,” he said.

He had a handkerchief in his breast pocket, but Jerome never used it to wipe his sweaty face or blow his nose. It was a fashion statement, and Jerome never messed with a fashion statement.

“Umm, Jerome, this is …” I gestured toward the woman but had to stop in midsentence when I realized the little hussy hadn’t even told me her name. Before I could say anything else, she stuck her hand in Jerome’s face to introduce herself.

“Hi, I’m Tiffany. I was just telling your … your …” She waved her finger in my direction cluelessly, and it pissed me off. I told you she didn’t give a damn if he was with me or not.

“She’s my best friend.” Jerome smiled at me.

“Oh, is she? Well, that’s nice. I thought she was your sister. Y’all do favor.” The woman fake-smiled at me, then turned back toward Jerome. It was obvious to me that she felt I was blocking and wished I would leave, but that wasn’t happening. What she didn’t know was that like the handkerchief in Jerome’s breast pocket, I was a fashion statement, and I never went out of style. I wasn’t going anywhere.

Jerome turned back toward me again. “Yes, I guess we do favor.”

Obviously that wasn’t the direction she wanted the conversation to go, because she stuck her hand in Jerome’s face again. “Yes, well, like I was saying, my name is Tiffany, and I absolutely love the way you sing.”

Jerome beamed with pride. “Wow, thank you very much, Tiffany. It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name’s Jerome.” He took her hand, but instead of shaking it, he lowered his head and kissed it. Within seconds, old girl’s cheeks were flush with color and she was looking at me as if she had won some great battle. Why she was looking at me at all, I don’t know.

“So, can I buy you a drink?” Jerome asked.

She nodded, and Jerome motioned for the cocktail waitress. He ordered us all drinks, and for the next hour, I watched a respectful conversation become one of assumption and innuendos. It was amazing to me how these young women would just tell all their personal business to a perfect stranger with the expectation that they’d get him into bed. Well, after a while, I decided to break up their little Dr. Phil session so I could go home and get some sleep.

“Jerome, you said we were only going to be here a half hour. Well, it’s been almost two hours. Whatever happened to one drink and we’re out? I have to go to work in the morning.”

Jerome glanced at his watch. “Jeez, I’m sorry, Loraine. I just lost track of time talking to this beautiful young lady. Let me just finish my drink and I’ll drive you home.”

Tiffany cut her eyes in my direction and I smirked. I’d just pissed her off. Oops, too bad. Besides, she may not know it now, but I was doing her a favor.

“You really leaving?” She put on this sad face that I’m sure worked on most guys really well—but Jerome wasn’t most guys.

“Afraid so, Tiffany. It was a pleasure meeting you.” He finished off his drink, then stood up.

“So, what are you doing when you leave here?” I could hear the desperation in her voice. She didn’t want him to leave; she wanted to continue the conversation. Jerome had that effect on people. Not only was he handsome and could sing, but he also had a deep side that made him even more attractive. God, there is nothing like a man who can stimulate both your mind and your body.

“Well, I have to drop Loraine off; then I’m going to head back to my place and curl up with a good book.”

I could see her eyes sparkle when he said he was dropping me off.
Girl, you do not want to go there
, I said to myself.

“So, why don’t I meet you back at your place?” Damn, slut! She went there. Why did they always have to go there? She could have just asked for his phone number. Why did they always want to go to his house or have him come to theirs on the day they met him? Did any of these women have any respect for themselves? Oh well, I guess she deserved what she got from this point on.

“You wanna come over my house tonight?” Jerome asked.

She nodded. “Yeah, I wanna come over your house.”

He raised an eyebrow. “So, what exactly do you think we’re going to do at my house at this time of night?”