“Divorced.” Dana checked her watch. “She should’ve come by now. I should page her before she gets here and wastes twelve bucks.”
“Uh-oh. What’s wrong?”
Dana looked at the clientele, frowned. “No curb appeal.”
“Curb appeal?”
“Don’t look good from the outside. Real estate talk.”
“Gotcha.”
“Somebody call George Lucas, this looks like a Chewbacca convention.”
I laughed.
She went on with her ranking: “And that sister over there needs to quit getting dressed in the dark. She has on more colors than a pack of Skittles. Quick, somebody give Grandma Cellulite a fun house mirror.”
Comical. Intelligent, thick, bedroom voice that made a brother wonder what she sounded like when she whispered sweet things. Perfume dabbed behind her ears, in the crevice of her breasts. Long black braids pulled away from her face, clipped in place. Nails clear, not overdone with a million colors. One small diamond in each ear. Classic, classy, smooth.
And she had a job. She gets bonus points for being gainfully employed.
I wanted to know, “How did you end up in real estate?”
“I have an older cousin, Dawn, who was out here doing real estate. Did it for about ten years. Hubby dumped her for a singer. Dawn moved back to New York after she divorced, but always talked about how great the market was out here. Guess I wanted to pick up where she left off.”
A waitress dressed in fake black leather, a purple wig, and a top that made her breasts look like pyramids stopped in our faces holding a tray of shots: “Would you like to try a Crown Royal tonight?”
I shook my head and asked Dana if she wanted a drink, my treat. She wanted a 7UP. I took out my wallet, invested four dollars in my future.
We moved over by the light blue rails and white walls, watched people who had denied their last ten birthdays struggle with a Lauryn Hill groove, and fell into the typical conversation people have when they’re sizing each other up: the age, what do you do to make your ends meet, where you from thing. Told her I was twenty-eight, born July 17, in Pasadena. In between singing along, Dana said she was born at Mount Sinai, June 14, twenty-seven years ago, had packed up and come out here by herself.
I’m a moody Cancer and she’s an unpredictable Gemini.
Fire and dynamite. A dangerous combination in any season.
Midsentence, she stopped and motioned. “There’s Gerri.”
Dana waved at an amazon of a woman who had on dark linen pants, white blouse. A small waist, everything the right size, in the right places. Cinnamon skin, round face, freckles, light brown hair in a bob. I saw all of that while Dana’s buddy made her way through a crowd of ancient brothers who hovered over her like vultures on a prairie. Four men tried to stop her stroll; four men were ignored.
Dana and Gerri hugged, short and intense. I expected them to start talking in that silly, high tone that women use when they’re trying to act like girls, but they didn’t. Their voices stayed smooth, even. I stayed in the background, tapped my feet to the hip-hop, and played it cool.
Gerri frowned. “Dag. This place is usually popping.”
Dana introduced us. Her buddy had a faint southern accent, added down-home sensuality to her strong presence. Gerri had a young face with a mature demeanor. That had to come from being a parent and raising kids. What stood out was the weariness underneath her eyes. To me it looked like she’d had a busy life. No dirt was underneath her fingernails, but hard workers recognize hard workers.
Dana asked, “What took so long? Had me waiting.”
“Shit.” Gerri took a deep breath. “Today has been hell on wheels. Had to drop my kids off at my ex-in-laws—that’s where my ex is going to pick them up. His weekend with the crew, so I’m free from parental servitude for forty-eight hours. Anyway, my son didn’t want to go. He met this girl.”
“Oh boy.”
“That’s why I want him gone, gone, gone. I ain’t trying to be nobody’s grandmomma. Anyhow, to top that off, my daughter wasn’t feeling good, so I had to stop and buy her some of that nighttime, sniffling, sneezing, coughing, aching, stuffy head, fever so I can rest medicine.”
Dana laughed. “Could you just say NyQuil?” “Then I ended up getting there the same time Melvin did, and we had a few financial things to talk about. We almost got into