Читать книгу Take Her Man - Grace Octavia - Страница 13

I could see those two crazy chicks waiting for me toward the back of the restaurant as soon as I walked in. I wanted to walk right over to them before Tamia guzzled down the last of the champagne, but, in perfect “walk of fame” tradition, I had to pretend not to see them. This was all part of the game we used to attract attention from guys standing around by the bar. We believe that men like it when a woman looks lost and alone. It gives the guys a reason to talk to the woman without fear of looking obvious and being obviously rejected. No, they prefer to look concerned and helpful, so they say silly stuff like, “You look lost, sweetie. Can I help you?” or “You came here all alone?” It never fails. So sisters who claim they can’t meet a decent brother simply need to stop sitting and socializing with the group and look a little more single.

I looked down to make sure my tatas hadn’t somehow found their way to freedom out of the top of the halter dress I’d forced them into, and then I made my way to the bar. I strutted slowly and deliberately, pretending to search for my lost friends. I scanned the faces of each female I saw.

“You looking for someone, sweetheart?” a bald cutie asked as I struggled not to laugh at how ridiculous this entire tradition was—but, then, I guess that was the point, because I was laughing and, therefore, not crying anymore.

“Yeah, I’m looking for my girls,” I said, looking him up and down and silently comparing every inch of his body to Julian’s. I hated doing it, but a long time ago I realized that the whole “compare the next to the ex” thing was just a part of the breaking-up process.

“There she is,” I heard rowdy-ass Tasha yell from the other side of the room. “There’s that fine-ass movie star who’s my friend.” Tasha and Tamia began to clap. Everyone, and I mean everyone, in the restaurant lifted their heads and looked at me. All I could offer was a weak wave to all of these celebrity gazers who’d obviously flocked to Justin’s in hopes of seeing someone of more fame.

“There they go,” I said to old Baldy. I walked to the table with all eyes on me. “Y’all are so crazy,” I said, quickly squeezing into a seat next to Tamia.

“Don’t act, because you were worse when I broke up with Corey before Christmas,” Tamia teased, handing me a bouquet of roses—another tradition. Tasha nodded her head in agreement.

“So…” Tasha looked down at my hands.

“So?” I said, playing dumb. I knew what that trick wanted, but I wasn’t offering it up that easy.

“Hand it over,” she said, putting out her hand.

“What?”

“She’s right, Troy. Hand it over,” Tamia chimed in. I looked away from them. “Was I this bad with Corey?” Tamia asked Tasha.

“No, girl. Ms. Troy Lovesong over here is just wrong. She’s breaking all of the rules. But she’d better act right before I have to cut her.” Tasha reached for a butter knife that was sitting on the table beside her.

“Whatever,” I said. I threw my purse on the table and sat back in my seat. I watched as Tamia pulled the bag open like a lion looking for fresh meat. I thought I saw saliva dripping from the sides of her mouth, her fingernails growing longer, vampire-like teeth hanging down like fangs. She snatched the picture of Julian and me out and grinned ghoulishly.

“Hahahahahaha,” she laughed like an evil witch. “You have the tools?”

“You know I came prepared, Ms. Lovebird.” Tasha pulled two menacing pairs of scissors from her purse. Tasha took the breakup parties more seriously than any of us—perhaps that was because before she got married, she had the most breakups of any other 3T. Over the years, she’d become the unofficial breakup party organizer. She made sure you got there and had a good time. It made her a pretty annoying person when all you wanted to do was stay at home and cry over the lost lover, but at the end of the day hearing her voice harassing you to get up and out was promising. And she actually made the parties pretty good.

“Ready?” Tamia asked like we were preparing for a race.

“Ready,” I replied, afraid of what was coming.

“Ready!” Tasha said, handing Tamia one of the pairs of scissors.

“Rock-a-bye, baby,” Tamia said. I rolled my eyes and swallowed the shot of Patrón that was waiting for me on the table. I tried not to watch the massacre, but, well, it was hard with all of the confetti floating in the air in front of me. Tasha, who had more male horror stories tucked away in her skeleton closet than anyone I knew, had a way with scissors. I once saw her cut up an 8x10 of her own ex in 3.2 seconds. She snatched it, saying Tamia and I were moving too slow. That girl was a serial killer in her last life.

“Mazel tov!” Tasha said, slamming the scissors on the table. I looked down to see the damage. All I could make out was a piece of Julian’s silver tie. It was over. I could feel tears coming to my eyes.

“It’s because we love you, Ms. Lovesong,” Tamia said, handing me the cutout of my face.

“Yeah, and we hate that fool!” Tasha added. “Now let’s have a round of City Girls and talk about our dearly departed like the dog he is.” The waiter handed each of us a City Girl—the over-sweetened version of the Sex and the City Cosmopolitan that we drank at most of our get-togethers. The tasty mix had just enough kick to get the tears rolling early on in the night and the feet moving on the dance floor later.

“Take your time, T. We have all night,” Tamia said, patting me on the back. “Tonight is about you. It’s your party. But you have to talk about it. We can’t pretend it didn’t happen.”

Along with being the smartest person I know, Tamia is the most rational. She was raised by her father, a judge who retired when Tamia’s mother died so he could spend time with Tamia. Tamia said he was a good man, but his love for the courtroom never left him. He taught Tamia the basics of his favorite cases when she was just in elementary school and convinced her that she would be the first black female Supreme Court justice. This resulted in Tamia being just that…“just.” She followed the law to a T—returned library books on time, never parked in handicapped spots, and at most times in my life, she stood as my voice of justice and reason—when she wasn’t locked in the library until daylight.

“Thanks,” I said, folding what was left of my relationship with Julian into a napkin. Tasha raised her glass.

“A toast to my fly-ass friend and the motherfucker who will never know it,” she laughed. “I’m for real. No sense crying over spilled, spoiled milk…especially when you’re the cream still on the counter.”

“Drama queen,” Tamia said. She lifted her glass, too. “But she’s right. You’re fly and soon you will find someone who sees that.” She looked at my glass. “Soon both of us will find someone who sees our flyness. We deserve it.”

I picked up my glass and joined the toast.

“To my girls,” I said. “To my ride-or-die girls.” I drank the City Girl almost as quickly as my shot and shook my head as the liquid danced down my throat. Silence fell over the table. It was time for the dish—time for me to tell my girls what had happened.

“I don’t know, y’all,” I managed to say before picking up my second drink. “I don’t know where this one went wrong.” I looked down into my glass, searching the pretty liquor for answers. “I don’t know why he dumped me.” I could hear myself crying. I was already drunk. “I just feel fucking pitiful. You know? Like, why am I not good enough?” I looked down at my lap and sighed. “I know that sounds stupid and ridiculous, but that’s how I feel. Like I’ve been loving this man and he could give a rat’s ass about my dumb ass. I feel stupid.”

“Girl, fuck that feeling-stupid shit. We all go through that shit,” Tasha said, pouring me another shot. “Don’t think it’s just you. That’s just how it feels. It hurts. Just let it out. And let it go.”

“Exactly,” Tamia said.

“But I just feel like maybe I missed something or should’ve seen something or done something or maybe even—” I looked up at Tamia. She was looking directly past me toward the front of the restaurant. Her eyes were as wide as they could get and she hadn’t moved her drink from her open mouth.

I tried to go on with my sad little speech.

“I thought we’d be together forever. I thought he…” I looked at Tasha sitting on the other side of Tamia and she was looking past me, too. Her eyes also were as wide as soup spoons and I could tell that she was hitting Tamia beneath the table. I decided to turn around to the door to see what they were looking at.

“No, that negro didn’t,” Tasha said.

“Don’t turn around,” I heard Tamia say in slow motion as I turned to face the door and see what Tasha was talking about.

It was Julian. My baby, my future husband, my ex-boyfriend was standing at the maître d’ stand. What the hell?

“Grab her ass,” Tamia said. Tasha swung around to my side of the table like a superhero, sandwiching me between her and Tamia.

“What are y’all doing?” I asked, trying to sound more confident than I really was. My heart was beating so fast I thought I was about to faint. “I saw Julian. It’s no big deal. I’ll go say hello. Remember, I have to show the Face of Grace.” I looked over at Tamia. She was looking toward the door. There was fear in her eyes. “Maybe he’s here with his grandmother. He usually hangs with her on Thursday night.” Even I didn’t believe what I was saying. Who takes their grandmother to Justin’s on Thursday night?

“Is it her?” Tasha said to Tamia. “Is it that bitch?”

“I can’t remember,” Tamia said.

“Remember what?” I asked. I tried to stand up to see what Tasha and Tamia were talking about, but they were both holding me down.

“You can’t see the girl behind him.” I felt like someone had just gutted me like a fish. Tamia looked intently into my eyes. “We think it’s Miata.”

I turned from Tamia and looked back toward Julian at the door. He smiled at the maître d’ and signaled for a table for two. He put his arm back (the arm that used to hold me at night; the arm that I used to love) and pulled the trick he cheated on me with a month ago from behind him. I couldn’t believe it. He was with fucking Miata, at Justin’s, the night after our breakup! The night he was supposed to be with his sweet old grandma!

I was about to go postal; rationality was leaving me; prison time was a possibility!

“I’ll kill him,” I heard myself say just before I stabbed the table with a butter knife and stood up. The people around us looked and Tamia pulled me down so Julian couldn’t see me. I pulled away from her and fought to get up from behind the table. I didn’t know what I was about to do, but I knew where I was going, and I was still holding that butter knife. Clearly, I wasn’t going to kill anyone—that’s just dumb—but someone had to explain to me just what in the hell was going on. I’d almost escaped the table when Tasha and Tamia tackled me back to the chair.

“Don’t embarrass yourself,” Tamia said, pulling me under the table with her. “Don’t embarrass yourself over that clown. Face of Grace. Face of Grace. Have the fucking Face of Grace.”

“Fuck the Face of Grace, Tamia. My man is with another woman,” I cried.

“No, Tamia’s right,” Tasha said, easing her legs under the table with a drink in her hand. She looked almost as mad as me. “You know I’m always ready to roll crazy with you, but he isn’t worth it. And neither is that hoe standing next to him. I won’t let you go out like that.” She swallowed everything that was left in the glass. “Now we have to get out of here silently so I’ll lead the way.”

The City Girl Martini: A Must-Have for Any Breakup Party

Mama said there would be days like this. The good and the bad. You can expect them, and you must accept them. Invite the ladies to join you for a sip and see who can get to the bottom of the glass first.

Do’s:

 1. Drink out of a fancy glass.

 2. Flirt shamelessly as you sip.

 3. Have cool company to drink with.

Don’ts:

 1. Think about anything other than having a good time.

 2. Have just one.

 3. Drive drunk, because that’s just dumb.

Warning: Sipping these drinks might cause you to have a good time. Don’t serve to lame asses and people you don’t like.

The City Girl Martini

Ingredients:

1 part cranberry vodka

1 part orange liqueur

1 part sloe gin

1 splash sour mix

1 splash apple-cranberry juice

1 splash of orange juice

Directions: Mix equal parts of liquors and a splash of each juice.