Loose Ends Part 9

"Well, maybe I did take a peek. Man, I didn't mean any harm, but you know Mia is fine. A brotha still got eyes."

"Okay, okay, enough!" he screamed, faking indignation.

"Changing the subject, Moms told me to tell you that you had better bring your black a.s.s back over to see her. You and Mia. Well, she didn't say the 'black a.s.s' part."

"Sure thing. It was good seeing your moms again. It has been too long, and I've forgotten how Vivica can throw down in the kitchen. Makes me wanna slap somebody," he said lost in thought. "Yeah, I really have missed that."

"'Cause my brotha ain't getting that at home, if my memory serves me right."

"You remember right. Mia still can't cook worth a d.a.m.n. You wasted your money on that cooking instructor you hired back in North Carolina. I keep hoping and praying that one day a miracle will happen."

We stopped to take more bites of our sandwiches and to get refills on our iced tea. Christian and I were relaxed, enjoying the food, conversation and atmosphere. I noticed the Georgia peaches had finally given up on trying to be seen. They had moved on to bait that was going to bite.

"Man, Kree can throw down in the kitchen and the bedroom. Two of my favorite places. She cooks like somebody's grandmother. She doesn't believe in eating takeout all the time or warming s.h.i.+t up from a can. That night we left your house, before we were out of the car and in our house, Kree was all over me. She helped me out of my clothes. Girl couldn't get enough of me."

"And your complaint? Don't tell me my man can't hang with baby girl. You getting old, man."

"No, no, no . . . Don't even go there. Make no mistake; I still have her hollerin' out my name at least three times a week. You know I have to handle my business."

Christian grinned. "Maybe she's faking you out. Women do that s.h.i.+t all the time. Fake the big O."

"Yeah, the BS women who can't handle their business. If they are going to lie there like limp dolls, not move, and fake it, well . . . h.e.l.l, I don't care. I don't give a d.a.m.n! I'd rather they tell me they didn't come than fake it and go f.u.c.k somebody else. It's not going to hurt my feelings, just makes me work harder."

"Preach now."

I smiled. "I would know if Kree didn't cream anyway. Man, you know. I know I do. I've had enough p.u.s.s.y to last a lifetime. All I know is this: If I don't feel that grip, release, grip, release, that jumpity, b.u.mp, b.u.mp . . . the way I know it should feel. Then yeah, I'll know she's faking it and don't care."

"True, dat."

"I guarantee-I repeat-I guarantee I can make any woman have an o.r.g.a.s.m. My tongue on her c.l.i.t, two fingers pressed against her G-SPOT, and boo-yow . . . Guaranteed, my man. Oh, yeah, I got her."

"Kree's a lucky lady."

"You d.a.m.n right. I have baby girl singing."

"And . . . she has some b.r.e.a.s.t.s on her, about a thirty-six-C, big, round, firm . . ."

"Okay, watch it now."

"I have eyes, my brotha," Christian said in a mocking tone.

Lunch continued with laughter, and an old friends.h.i.+p was slowly being rekindled. It felt like I was home again.

Kree I absently chewed on another fingernail and silently cursed myself for not breaking my annoying habit. I half listened as Mother ranted on and on with so-called advice on how to handle my current situation with Christian and Mia. I made the mistake of mentioning that we would probably go out with them again.

Mother finally took a breath. I started to chew on another nail with the phone balanced on my left shoulder.

"So how does she look?" Moms asked.

"I'm not going to lie. She's a beautiful woman." I wasn't about to tell her that Mia and I shared a more than slight resemblance to each other. I still couldn't believe it myself.

"Yeah, that would make sense. Brice isn't the type of man who would be attracted to a homely, plain Jane."

I murmured something into the phone.

"So?"

"So, what?"

"Tell me more. What happened? How was it?"

"Mother, can't we please talk about something else? How is Miles?" I asked with mild irritation in my voice. I was also mentally picturing what was in the freezer that could be thawed out and cooked for dinner by the time Brice arrived home.

"Girl, we can talk about that irresponsible brother of yours later. Another one of his get-rich schemes has failed. Anyway . . . fill me in."

"G.o.d, okay! We talked, listened to music, ate dinner, drank some wine, talked some more and then left. Now are you happy?"

"That's all?"

"Mother, exactly what were you expecting? Nothing really happened. Mia was as uncomfortable as I was."

"What about Brice?" she inquired.

"What about him?"

"Was he checking Mia out? Going out of his way to be near her?

"No, no, not at all." I didn't dare tell her that I had caught Brice, more than once, with his roving eyes traveling all over her body.

"Well, that's good. How was this Christian person?"

"Oh, Christian was cool. I can see how he and Brice were such great friends."

"Oh, finally some enthusiasm? Did I actually hear some excitement in your voice?"

I didn't even acknowledge that question. I admit, I did like Christian. He seemed very sincere and decent, not to mention fine. Not wasting any time, Mother soon moved on to her next question.

"How did little Miss Mia act?"

"Mother!"

"Girl, shut up and answer my question. I'm trying to get a clear picture here, because obviously you can't see past those rose-colored gla.s.ses you're wearing."

"Mia . . . she seemed nervous in the beginning, before her three gla.s.ses of wine. She was trying hard to be friendly, but you could tell it was somewhat forced."

"But no pa.s.sion-filled looks?"

"No, Mother," I said with obvious frustration in my voice now.

"None?"

"It's obvious that Christian and Mia are very much in love with each other. They looked and acted very happy together."

"Well, you met, you saw, you left. So why another get-together?"

"I don't know. That's Brice's friend and we don't know anyone else in the city and-"

"Yeah, that's Brice's friend and, most important, also his ex-wife. Girl, I'm telling you, don't let that-"

"So how's my big brother?"

"Child, that's another hour on the phone. I'll give you the short version. That son of mine has lost over seven thousand dollars to some half-baked business scam, and Vanessa is threatening to leave him."

It wasn't funny, but I kinda chuckled. Miles was forever coming up with some type of get-rich scheme. Even when we were children, he always had a hustle of some sort going. He had big ideas, but they never took off. I had heard that this marriage, marriage number two, was kinda shaky. I guess this was the last straw. I'd give him a call in the next few days. There was a six-year difference between us, but we were still close, as brothers and sisters go.

"Vanessa will forgive him and they'll work it out."

"I hope so for his sake, because she'll take his a.s.s to the cleaners with child-support payments."

Mother and I talked for a while longer about things going on with her, how I was going to start helping Brice out at his office, and we finally ended the conversation with I love yous.

Mia Time flies, and it was roughly two and a half weeks after our reunion with Brice and Miss Kree. Talk about a blast from the past. That evening was an absolute trip. I still can't believe I actually sat in my living room with my husband, ex-husband and his wife, who looks like a younger version of me, and laughed and talked as if it were the most natural, routine thing in the world to do. I must admit, after an initial awkward moment or two had pa.s.sed, the self-proclaimed reunion went smoothly.

Brice hadn't changed much in physical appearance. My ex-abuser always took great pride in his body and general appearance. It paid off, because Brice was still as fine as ever, and believe me, he still knows it. As for the rest of the package, I couldn't figure him out. Of course, Brice was on his best behavior for my benefit, because I'm sure Christian had informed him that I was skeptical of the meeting. However, it didn't really matter. I did my part, and Christian was ecstatic, so I was happy. I'd do almost anything for my man.

Kree, on the other hand, was still a mystery to me. I knew it was not a figment of my imagination, but the girl-correction, woman-looked like me. What's up with that? Kree could have been my younger sister. Yeah, she had long hair and was taller, but everything else was me. Christian mentioned he could see a slight resemblance. Yeah, right, there was more than a slight resemblance.

If Kree enjoyed Brice telling her what to do, what not to do, then more power to her. As for me, I'd been there and done that. Never again. Not in this lifetime. That s.h.i.+t about, "Oh, Brice doesn't want me to cut my hair. He likes it long," and then she stared at me. The way I see it, if it's my hair, then I can cut it off as bald as Michael Jordan if I feel like it. Yeah, the days of a man-namely Brice-controlling me are over.

Other than a few phone calls I answered and quickly handed off to Christian, I hadn't spoken with Brice or Kree since our get-together, and that was fine with me.

Today was a gorgeous, mid-June summer day in Atlanta. The sky was the bluest blue. Everywhere, flowers were in bloom, and the sights and sounds of the city filled my ears.

I love Atlanta! It is such a charming, yet sophisticated, vibrant city. The hub of African American history. I was casually strolling down Peachtree Street, enjoying the scenery. I didn't have to rush home to anyone or anything. Lyric was at Mama's house and Christian was working another twelve-hour s.h.i.+ft because one of his employees had called in sick. That's what I love about being a teacher; my summers are my own.

I had just left the fabulous Fox Theater's box office to pick up concert tickets. Jill Scott, Maxwell and a few other artists were performing there in another week, and I wanted to surprise Christian with tickets. He was going to be pleased, because Jill Scott was his girl. And Maxwell was my man! I love to do special things for Christian, and he is always so appreciative.

I was leisurely strolling, stopping now and then to look into a few storefront windows. I wasn't really looking for anything, just enjoying a summer walk. I must have been looking good, because a few businessmen, who probably worked farther down on Peachtree Street, were giving me seriously appreciative looks. I did look kinda sweet with my hot-red halter top, a reddish-orange wraparound skirt that stopped just above my knees, and s.e.xy skin-tone sandals fastened around my ankles. Oh, and let's not forget my red crystal toe ring. I had gotten my hair washed and set the day before at Backstreet Hair Salon. Miss s.h.i.+rleen had hooked me up. I must admit, I was seriously working it.

I looked up and around, pulled out of my daydreaming when I heard a deep, familiar voice call my name. Standing less than two feet away, decked out in a navy blue business suit and carrying an attache case, stood Brice, smiling and showing his pearly whites.

Even though it had been a few months since Brice had been discharged from the military, he still maintained a low cut just as Christian did. He looked like he had had a recent edge up and trim. I took Brice in from head to toe before speaking, because I was shocked to see him. I immediately felt uncomfortable being alone with him, even though we were standing in the middle of one of the busiest blocks in Midtown around lunchtime.

Brice spoke first to break the silence.

"Hi, Mia. Imagine running into you. What are you doing down this way?" he asked less than a few inches from my face.

"Hi. I had a few errands to run, but I was just about ready to head home."

We stood there for a few seconds, not sure what to say to each other.

"Have you had lunch yet?" he asked, gently grabbing my elbow to move me out of the way of the lunch-hour pedestrian traffic that was pa.s.sing by.

"No, I'll probably grab a burger or something on the way home."

"That's not a lunch. Come on, have lunch with me," he stated as more of a command than a question.

"I don't know. I really should be-"

"Oh, come on, Mia. You have to eat anyway, and I don't bite. I know a great Jamaican restaurant not far from here, Bridgetown Grille."

I was still hesitating, trying to think of a way out, but I hadn't said no. I never could say no to Brice.

Before I knew it, Brice's power of persuasion had won me over and we were walking a block over to the restaurant. Along the way, he was excitedly telling me about his plans for his newly formed security firm. I couldn't help but smile at his obvious excitement and his pa.s.sion for something he truly believed in. Brice always was pa.s.sionate about his desires.

Brice and I made it to Bridgetown Grille and, as usual during the lunchtime rush, there was a wait of thirty minutes. We somehow managed to grab a seat on a nearby bench as an attractive black couple was being called to their table. Brice and I were seated a little too close for comfort, elbow-to-elbow, chatting about trivial matters to fill in the silent gaps.

When I caught Brice checking out my exposed thigh, my wraparound skirt having parted, I excused myself to the restroom in the far back corner of the restaurant. On the way to the restroom I kept thinking, The nerve of Brice. He didn't even try to play it off. For a few seconds I had seen a l.u.s.tful look in his eyes that I hadn't seen in years. That look always came right before he screwed me like there was no tomorrow.

Once in the restroom, I washed my shaking hands in the sink and wiped my flushed face with a paper towel. I was somewhat composed after that and slowly walked back to the lobby with a smile plastered on my face.

By the time I made it back to the tropical-looking lobby, our names were called. Brice and I followed the tall, dreadlock-wearing waiter to a booth over in the far left corner. There were lit candles on the table, and, as Jamaican music played slowly in the background, a cozy, intimate atmosphere was created. After taking our drink orders of bottled Perrier for me and a bottle of Jamaican beer for Brice, the waiter left us to study our menus for our entree selections. Brice remembered that appetizers always filled me up too quickly, so we pa.s.sed on those. He didn't even have to look at the menu. It was obvious that he had been to the restaurant many times. He knew what he wanted. Brice proceeded to give me his recommendations, which consisted of jerk chicken wings, shrimp skewers, Caribbean egg rolls, braised beef oxtail with b.u.t.ter beans, and curried goat.

I used to hate when we were married and he'd order what he thought I would like. Just like a child, I didn't have a say in my meal selection back then. The waiter returned and we made our selections. I purposely didn't order any of Brice's recommendations. He just looked at me. Finally we started to relax and sip our drinks.

Brice spoke first: "It was nice seeing you guys the other week. It was just like old times," he said his eyes never leaving my face.

"Not quite like old times. That's seriously stretching it," I responded in an indignant tone.

Brice picked up on what I was implying. "Mia, you know what I mean. It was good seeing you again. It had been a long time."

"Yeah, I'm glad you could reunite with Christian. You were always like a brother to him, and he missed you." I pretended to be preoccupied with folding my cloth napkin in my lap.

"What about you? Did you miss me, Mia?" Brice asked in a serious, s.e.xy tone.

"What kind of question is that?"

"I think it is a valid one. Did you miss me?" he asked again with his eyes caressing, seducing my face.

I started having flashbacks, started wringing my hands in my napkin, doing anything to get out of answering his question or looking directly at him.

"Mia, can you look at me? Look at me. Is the question really that hard? Did you miss me?" he asked in a demanding tone.

I looked up, looked him dead in the eyes, and said, "No, no, Brice, I didn't."

Brice stopped in middrink and laughed. "d.a.m.n, that's cold! You're a cold lady, Mia."

At that moment, our waiter, luckily walked over with two steaming plates of mouthwatering dishes.