Authors: Candice Dow

Tappin' On Thirty (9 page)

BOOK: Tappin' On Thirty

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Courtney shook her head and looked at me with a suspicious grin. “Don't you think I know you better than that? I called you two times from the parking lot and you didn't answer. Then, when I came in here, you tried to rush off of the phone.”

I laughed and turned my attention to Rachael. “What brings you out this evening?”

Rachael laughed knowing I was trying to avoid the question. Courtney rolled her neck, “Hooker, who the hell were you talking to?”

Embarrassed by my own silliness, I pouted. “It was Scooter.”

“Where the hell has he been? What took him so long to call?”

Exactly what I didn't want to discuss. I smirked. “Girl, he lives with his girlfriend.”

Courtney scooted to the edge of the bar stool. She grabbed my forearm. “Did you know that?”

Rachael added. “Girl, leave that shit alone.”

“No, I didn't know he lived with her,” I answered.

Then, I looked at Rachael. “And I don't plan on messing with him.”

My mind was saying
at least not until he leaves his girlfriend like he said.
Courtney's eyes pierced through me, as she demanded, “Don't get caught up with Scooter.”

Chuckling, I suppressed the desire to announce that he wanted to leave his girlfriend for me. “Whatever. I'm not stupid.”

Courtney added. “I know you're not stupid, but you're human.”

Growing tired of being the center of the lecture, I got the attention of the bartender. “They need another drink. Fast.”

My cell phone vibrated. Afraid to look at the message, but too excited to contain myself, I flipped my phone open. Courtney tried to grab it. We arm wrestled momentarily and Courtney surrendered. I BOOKED YOUR FLIGHT. FRIDAY â DCA @ 5:15.

I blushed and Courtney shook her head. The spinach dip came just in time for me to dodge any questions. As I anxiously ate, I carelessly put my phone down. Courtney grabbed it and read the message.

She rolled her eyes saying, “I hope he's not talking about this weekend.” She chuckled. “You're gonna have to refund his money.”

I frowned. “Why?”

“Girl, it's the Congressional Black Caucus weekend.” It had completely slipped my mind. “Whatever. We don't miss the CBC for nobody.”

Scooter was definitely tempting, but Courtney was right. CBC is our must-attend event. I nodded. “You're right.”

“So, what are you going to do?”

“I'm staying here.”

She looked at me. “Taylor, promise me that you're in control of this situation.”

I placed my hand on top of Courtney's and lied, “I promise.”

When you start lying to your tight-girl, you know you're headed down the wrong path. Rachael piled her hand onto the promise stack. “Here's to finding our own men.”

I nodded in agreement, but that statement didn't include me. Scooter
is
my man.

SCOOTER

W
hen I got in from the hospital, Akua had candles burning throughout the house and relaxing music playing. I walked into the bathroom and found her soaking in the tub. When she noticed me, she smiled. “Hey, baby.”

I sat on the toilet to have a few moments with her before she left for her night shift. I leaned in for a kiss. “Hey. You look relaxed.”

“Looks are deceiving. Last night was murder. I hate working at night.”

“I know you do.”

She analyzed my expression. “Why do you look so sleepy? You should have slept well since I wasn't here to wake you this morning.”

I poked her damp shoulder. “I knew it. You try your best to wake me up in the morning.”

“It's not fair.”

“Don't hate the playa, hate the game.”

“We'll see who laughs when I bring home all the bacon.”

We laughed, but in reality that joke was never quite as funny as she found it. She changed topics. “How was your day?”

“Regular stuff.”

“Pray that I have a better night tonight.”

“I will.”

She stood up and water glistened all over her body. I was momentarily mesmerized. She smiled. “Hand me my towel.”

I reached toward the towel rack. Then, I changed my mind. “I want you to stay wet.”

She looked at the clock, but I put her mind at ease. “You got time. Don't worry.”

I stood up and flicked the light off. The candles made for a romantic setting. I sat back on the toilet. When she stepped from the tub, water slung from her body and onto my scrubs. I pulled her in front of me, letting my face slip and slide on her stomach.

I made love to her navel. She wrapped her arms around me and stroked my back. My hands massaged her slippery body. I reminded myself, “I love you, Ku.”

She nodded. I stepped out of my scrubs and she climbed on me and slowly lowered herself onto me. With one hand around her back to stabilize her, I dug as deep as I could go. She moaned. Her eyes fluttered. I examined her sound, her movement. She balanced her feet on the floor and rode me like I was the last train in the station. Her body soaked me. I leaned my head into her moist breasts. She wiped the sweat from my face.

She abruptly ended our post-sex embrace by jumping off of me and letting the water out of the tub. I watched as she frantically turned the shower on. “Look what you made me do.”

Looking down at my drenched scrubs, I joked, “Look what you made me do.”

She rolled her eyes. I took my shirt off and climbed in the shower behind her. Suds covered her chocolate skin. I massaged her neck. She said, “Don't start that shit, Doc. I have to go to work.”

“All right, Ku. Go ahead. Go to work.”

She rinsed off and hopped out, leaving me there to ponder my emotions. The water ran down my face and blurred my vision. What if this is how all women act once they have you?

I blew air from my jaws and my lips vibrated. Akua. Taylor. How could I be confused after one weekend away? After I dried off, I went to the room and threw on some sweats. Nicotine was calling my name. I chuckled. Now, I have three women. When I stepped out to light my cigarette, my fatigue had taken over.

I sat outside of the building when Akua left for work. “What am I supposed to do if you kill yourself?”

“You'll live.”

“That's what you think. I'll have to quit my residency and die too.”

I smiled. “It's going to be a while before I develop lung cancer.”

“Now, you're talking crazy.” Her face turned serious. “I don't care how long it takes you to develop lung cancer. I'll still be the one taking care of you. I don't want you to die on me.”

How was she so certain of our future? Was this my fault? Guilt forced me to put my cigarette out. She kidded, saying, “I would give you a kiss, but you smell like smoke.”

“Have a good night.”

She turned around. “If I get some free time, I'll call you.”

I watched her drive off and wondered if and when it was time to let go, how could I destroy her confidence in us? I hung my head between my knees. Here I was embarking on a new relationship and the one I'm in is perfectly fine. I kicked myself in the ass all the way into the house.

When the phone rang, Akua's mother shouted into the phone, “My daughter, please!”

“She went to work.”

“To work?” she asked.

“Yeah. Work.”

“Tell her to call me.”

She slammed the phone in my ear. I stood in my living room, wondering if I could really live like this. I had to laugh at her parents. Akua gave me the impression they would grow to like me. Here we were two years later and they hate me as much now as the day they first met me. Any American family would be proud to claim me as a son-in-law, but I'm not good enough for them. It was as if that phone call came to remind me why I'd just spent four hundred dollars for Taylor to come visit this weekend.

After I studied, I called Taylor. She picked up on the first ring. When she said hello, all of my questions were erased. Her joyful voice brought a smile to my face.

“Hey, Tay-Bae.”

She sighed. “Scooter, guess what?” she asked, sounding disappointed.

“What?”

“This weekend is the Congressional Black Caucus. I have to go. My job requires me to go.”

I sighed. “Damn.”

“Give me the reservation number. I'll change it to next weekend.”

Before I agreed, I walked into the kitchen to view our big calendar. If Akua was no longer on night shift, this wouldn't work. I pumped my fist in the air. “Yeah, that'll still work.”

“Are you mad at me?” she whined.

“Nah. Just a little disappointed that I can't see you this weekend.”

She laughed. “Don't worry. Next week will be here soon enough.”

DEVIN

A
fter a full day of looking for houses, I walked into the Convention Center to pick up my CBC registration. I stood there for a second absorbing all the beautiful black people scurrying around me. I sported a black T-shirt stating,
I LOVE MY PEOPLE
and a pair of jeans. I decided to save the professional attire for the following days.

A smile sat on my face, as it always did when I attend the CBC. I get enough numbers here to last me throughout the year. This is my restocking conference.

After I picked up my registration package, I headed to the exhibition hall. I called a few of my boys to see where they were. After I'd taxied around the floor speaking to all the vendors, I ran into one of my line brothers.

We hugged and he said, “What's up, Dawg?”

“Nothing man. What's up with you?”

“Man, I'm 'bout to tie the knot.”

I sympathized and lied. “That's all right.”

“So, what's up with your boy Jason?”

“About to tie the knot.”

We burst out laughing. “What about you?” he asked.

“I'm good.”

“Yeah, you did it too early. You should've waited on us.”

“You ain't lying. Why didn't y'all stop me?”

“Nigga, your ass was married by the time I found out.”

We laughed again. “You ain't lying. I'm looking for B and 'em. You seen 'em?”

He pointed. “Yeah, they're over there.” He patted my back. “All right man, I'll catch you a little later.”

I proceeded to walk in that direction. Two young ladies walked toward me. They both wore black suits. The short one wore a blue button-down shirt. The tall one had on a white T-shirt that read, SIX-FOOTER. I smirked. After giving me a once over, the short one commented, “I like that shirt.”

I smiled. “Thank you.”

The tall chick looked me up and down. Her lips curled up. Suddenly, mine curled down. Why do the fine ones always have to have attitude? I took a deep breath. Then, to destroy my inaccurate perception, a bright smile spread across her face. She pointed at me. “Oh, that shirt.”

Her girl rolled her eyes. “What shirt did you think I was talking about?”

Her eyes shifted around translating to her girl that she'd rather not explain at the moment what shirt she thought she was talking about. We all laughed. The model nodded at me. “That shirt
is
hot.”

I smiled. “Thanks,” I said.

“Where'd you get it from?”

“New York.”

They giggled and I frowned. “What?”

The short one said, “We were just saying yesterday how when we were teenagers, if you didn't want someone to know where you got something from, you'd say New York.”

That didn't occur in my hood. I clearly missed the joked. They laughed again. Then, the model asked, “C'mon, where'd you get the shirt?”

Feeling the need to defend myself, I repeated, “I got this shirt in New York. I'm from New York.”

The model chuckled. “Don't mind us. We're just being silly.”

They passed and their amusement twirled my head in their direction. I grinned. It's good to see happy people. I stuck my chest out. Damn right! I love my people.

TAYLOR

I
talked to Scooter on the phone, while I waited for Courtney to come out of the house for CBC's Annual Black Party at Sequoia's on the Waterfront in Georgetown. He asked what I was wearing. “Why?” I asked.

“Cause I want to picture you with it on.”

“So you want me to describe it.”

“Please.”

I looked down at my dress. “Um, it's a black washed-silk BCBG dress.”

He laughed. “Huh?”

Obviously, his girl was not into fashion. I huffed. “Well, it fits tight through the midsection. The sleeves are wide and they come to like my elbow, but they kinda hang off my shoulder.”

“So, you're showing your little bit of cleavage.”

“Whatever. I have on the bomb push-up bra.”

“Okay, finish.”

“Okay, so you figured out it's cut really low in the front and the bottom has an asymmetrical hem.”

“I know you look good.”

“Thank you.”

“Remember you used to take pictures every day and send them to me at the end of the month. That was your way of letting me see you every day.”

“Uh-huh.”

I tried to stay off the college days. Instead, I focused more on our high school stories. He yawned. I quickly asked. “Are you ready to go to sleep?”

He yawned again. “Nah, I want to talk to you.”

“I'm about to go out. If you want to go, it's okay really.”

“Your voice relaxes me. I'm cool.”

“So anyway, what are we going to do when I come up there?”

“We're going to just enjoy each other's company.”

When Courtney peeked out of her front door, I began to rush him off of the phone. “Scooter, baby. I'm going to have to go. We're about to leave.”

His good-bye lingered. “Yeah, this is going to be the first night all week I fall asleep before four.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I've already gotten used to talking to you all night.”

“Uh-huh.”

“The crazy part is, I don't even mind waking up in the morning.”

Courtney plopped in the car, handing me a sippy cup, labeled TAYLOR. I sipped and responded to Scooter simultaneously. “Uh-huh.”

Courtney frowned and whispered. “Who the hell is that?”

I smiled. “I'm going to miss you tonight,” he continued.

“Me too.”

Courtney's eyes stretched. I giggled. Scooter didn't pay attention. “Yeah, I'm already addicted.”

Trying my best to make this conversation sound platonic, I said. “You'll be okay. I have to go.”

“If it's not too late, call me when you get in.”

“Okay, I will.”

“Talk to you then.”

“Okay.”

“All right.”

“Okay.”

When I closed the phone, Courtney rolled her eyes at me. “Who the hell was that?”

“Nobody.”

“Nobody, as in Scooter.”

“Shut up.”

“You think I'm joking. You better leave that shit alone.”

“Look, we're just kicking it.”

“One day you'll be kicking it and next your ass will be caught up.”

I shook my head. “Whatever.”

By the time we walked in the party, it was already live. This was like the Black GW Law School Alumni party. As soon as we walked in, we were hugging and greeting people. The music was jumping. I took my one free drink ticket up to the bar aka drink station.

“Um, I'll have Merlot.”

He filled my cup with three-fourths ice and the other one-fourth of wine. Can you really complain about a free drink? I turned to see Courtney doing just that. She argued, “Sir, you only put a smidgen of Crown Royal in here. I may as well get a coke.”

The bartender topped her off with more. I frowned. She giggled. “They are tripping.”

“It was free Courtney.”

“Oh, hell no it wasn't! I paid fifty dollars to get in this joint. I don't see any food.” Her eyes circled the room as if she was really looking. “At least they can give us a real drink.”

“You're right.” Then, I reminded her, “Good thing we drank those strong-ass martinis you made before we got in here.”

Michael Jackson's
Off the Wall
came on. I grabbed Courtney's arm and pulled her onto the dance floor. My hands waved in the air as we rocked side to side. We danced and danced and danced, while the DJ played all the hits from the eighties. If it wasn't my song, it was Courtney's. Just as I'd be tempted to sit, she pulled me back and vice versa. Guys usually notice how much fun we have dancing together, so no one usually bothers to interrupt.

When someone tapped on my shoulder, I thought for sure it was a mistake, until Courtney's eyes lit up. She pointed. “Remember him, Tay?”

I turned around and frowned. “No.”

He smiled. “I love my people.”

“I know that's right. Me too.”

As the revelation came where I knew him from, I put my hands up to my head. “Oh, my goodness, you're the guy from today.”

As I began to drop my hand, he grabbed it. I pumped our clasp up in the air as I sang, “I ain' sayin' I'm a Gold Digga, but I ain' messin' with no broke . . .”

I smiled and let the crowd finish my sentence. He chuckled. “Go 'head girl, go 'head, get down.”

When my long legs stooped down to the floor and sprung back, his jaw followed. He smiled. “You got skills.”

Appreciating his admiration, I seductively teased him with a few more drop-it-like-its-hot dance moves. He raised his arms in the air and enjoyed the ride. As my squeaky knees began to tire, I hit the hitchhiker dance. Courtney caught on, and we faced each other. My thumb went right hers went left. “I Love My People” rocked side to side behind me. From a side glimpse, I saw a huge grin on his face. I slowed down and asked. “What are you laughing at?”

“You and your girl. You two are funny.”

I turned to face him and smiled. “We aim to please.”

Before asking my name, he said, “So, what do you do?”

I joked. “Not a whole lot.”

“Are you a model?”

“Yeah, I'm a model.”

He nodded. “Six-footer.”

“No, actually I'm five-nine.”

As our dance became a conversation in the middle of the floor, Courtney's song came on. She sashayed behind him and put him in a dance sandwich. Watching her dance so hard forced me to join her party. He remained cool with a two-step in the middle. I asked, “What's your name?”

“Devin. What's your name?”

“Taylor.”

“Do you do runway or print?”

“A little of both.”

“You're fine. I know that.”

“Thanks. So are you.”

He blushed. We danced for a while longer and finally Courtney pulled me off the floor. She joked. “Girl, âI Love My People' is fine as shit.”

“His name is Damon or Devin.” I chuckled. “Something like that.”

“What does he do?”

“I dunno. You know I hate the what-do-you-do, who-do-you-know questions.”

“You're so crazy girl. That's how you start a conversation.”

I smirked. “By calculating how much money I make.”

“However you want to look at it, it's a conversation starter.”

“Well, all I know is he's from New York and he thinks I'm a model.”

We giggled and she reminisced on the time I told someone I was a rapper. “Remember he asked you to spit some rhymes,” she said.

I shook my head. “Girl, yeah. That was funny. At least with claiming to be a model, all I have to do is walk sexy.”

When it was time for us to switch locations, I practiced my runway strut. Courtney poked me. “Stop. You're making me laugh.”

Before we left, Courtney asked, “Did you exchange info with âI Love My People'?”

“No, dummy. I'm a model remember. My business cards will blow my cover.”

“You're silly. He could hit it in a heartbeat.”

“He was all right. And come to think of it, he didn't offer to buy drinks. No wonder I didn't get his information. I only exchange digits with drinks.”

“We shook him before he could offer.”

“We danced long enough for him to ask. Anyway, I have ten other numbers to make up for his.”

BOOK: Tappin' On Thirty

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