Naughty Or Nice Part 10

"Ray Ray, fool."

"Ray Ray? Man, when you get out?"

He double-parked and p.i.s.sed a few people off, then hopped his slim b.u.t.t out of his ride and hurried to me, sweatpants sagging so low it looked like his crotch was below his knees.

He said, "d.a.m.n, Cousin. Fat Frankie done lost a lot of weight."

"Dag, Ray Ray. How many more muscles and tattoos you plan on getting?"

We laughed and I asked him about the rest of the Wimberly side of our family, people who lived on the other side of the 110. I hadn't been down that way in years.

I asked, "What happened to your girl Sh.e.l.lei?"

"We divorced."

"Didn't know you two jumped the broom."

"Did my time with her." He chewed a toothpick. "She was worse than my parole officer, so I gave her the boot. Sent her back up on Pico to her crazy-a.s.s momma's three-room crib."

"Where the kids?"

"Hennessy and Alize are staying with me. They getting big."

"I hear you. What about Paula?"

"Man, I love my sister, but Paula got so many kids, have to call 'em by their last names to keep 'em straight. That's why she lost her job at the gas company. Had to keep trying to find somebody to take care of those bad-a.s.s kids. Daycare put 'em out because they kept fighting and tearing up the cla.s.sroom and trying to burn the place down."

"What happened to Rashonda?"

"She got caught up in some mess with a g.a.n.g.b.a.n.ger." He made a motion toward his nose, sniffed, and I understood. "Police caught her in one of those high-speed chases. It was on television. Her big b.u.t.t tried to run, big-a.s.s t.i.tties just flopping up and down and side to side, hitting her all up side the head and s.h.i.+t. Got it on tape if you want to see it."

"Maybe you can show it at the next family reunion."

"d.a.m.n, you look like Grandma Willie Mae every time I see you."

Somebody blew their horn at us. One look at Ray Ray and they sped away.

"Look, playa-" I checked my watch. "Traffic is a bear and I gotta get across town."

"We need to exchange digits before you bi-zounce."

We did and I hugged him again. There was nothing like family, no matter how ghetto they were. Had to remind myself there was a lot of love for us on the other side of the 110.

I said, "Holla at Tommie. She's working in Pier 1."

"Will do as soon as I hit Old Navy. Y'all got any kids?"

"Nah. We still . . . still don't have any."

For a moment I felt like the Fat Frankie he remembered, and as barren as the Mojave.

He said, "We gotta hook up. Come by Christmas, or Super Bowl, or something."

"Might do that." I held on to my smile. "Kiss Hennessey and Alize for me. Holla."

He took my parking s.p.a.ce and I left so I could battle the traffic on Rosecrans.

By 8 P.M. I had on my black leather skirt, s.e.xy peasant top with a plunging neckline, long leather coat, locks hanging free, and had driven across town to Westwood. I chug-a-lugged Tommie's filthy Jeep up to valet parking and before I could get out, a guy walked over.

"Frankie?"

"John?"

Brotherman looked better in person, had serious curb appeal. Nice chocolate skin, short hair, teeth so white and straight I thought I had sashayed into a Colgate commercial. He was my height, and if that didn't bother him, it didn't bother me. When you're a little on the tall side, you have to be prepared for emergencies. That was why I had plenty of flat shoes in my closet as backup. He was nicely dressed: wool pants, mock-turtleneck, Italian loafers, three-b.u.t.ton jacket, and a five-o'clock shadow that said he had a little bad boy in him.

I said, "Lot of people up in here."

"Laker game."

"My kinda crowd."

Lots of men were here. Around the bar, women were lined up like lonesome queens. With the different styles and complexions, they looked like thirty-one flavors at Baskin-Robbins.

We grabbed a seat at the bar so we could catch some of the Laker game, and he dropped his keys on the bar in between us. Guess he did that high school move to impress me. Maybe he thought that I'd start oooing and ahhhing when I saw the big golden L on his car key. And you know I had to hold in a groan because if that's what he was doing, it was played out.

"What you drinking, Frankie?"

"Riesling."

"Bartender . . . Riesling for the lady, Heineken on this side."

"Daaaamn." Like the rest of the room who were die-hard purple and gold fans, I exploded, pumped my fist and applauded a bad-a.s.s play. "You see Kobe take it to the hoop?"

"Brother brought his A-game tonight."

"He has his A-game every night."

In between us getting all into the game, talking about Kobe's drama, high-fiving plays, just having a d.a.m.n good time, I did the yada yada, told him the standard resume; divorced, no kids; played it down and told homie that I lived in a duplex near LAX, then flipped the script and asked for his verbal resume.

John worked in radio, so I kept the conversation flowing in his direction.

He told me, "All the major companies are buying up the urban market."

"Big fish eats little fish."

"Big companies are about the bling. Why pay ten crews to do ten shows, when they can prerecord or simulcast? Simulcasts send a lot of talent to the unemployment line."

"Technology is a beast."

He had another beer. I was still nursing my Riesling. Late in the third quarter, Lakers had a good lead.

John said, "This game is in the refrigerator. The lights are off-"

"Jell-O is jiggling, eggs are cooling, and the b.u.t.ter is getting hard."

We did another serious high-five, toasted to the late Chick Hearn. This guy wasn't too bad. Laker fan. Didn't get turned off by the dirty Jeep. Hadn't tried to grab my b.r.e.a.s.t.s yet. Nothing in his nose. Breath didn't stank. Wasn't bald in the mouth.

He sipped. "Strange meeting a woman as smart and beautiful as you on the Internet."

Smart before beautiful, mos def my kinda guy.

I confessed, "Well, I haven't had the best of luck."

"So, you're not seeing anybody?"

That was when I was tempted to say, n.o.body who isn't deniable or unforgettable.

But I kept it smooth and said, "Nope. You?"

"Nope." He shook his head. "Curious. Why the Internet?"

I sipped to give me some thinking time. "Frustrating trying to date in a city that has no character, just a beautiful body with no heart. That's how a lot of men are around here."

"Sounds like you've been going out with the Tin Man."

"Most of them do need to see the Wizard."

"Can't be that bad."

"C'mon now." I took another sip. "Hard to meet people when everybody is either looking at themselves in the mirror or doing eighty on the freeway."

"Yup. It's hard."

"And we have you brothers outnumbered something like twelve to one."

He shrugged. "Quant.i.ty doesn't mean quality."

"Oh, please. The flip side of that, a sister ain't got those kind of options. Hard to meet a man who ain't a piranha in that feeding frenzy. h.e.l.l, just hard to meet a decent brother in L.A."

"I think it's the other way. The shortage of men has made women turn into piranhas. Men have buffet after buffet to choose from. Women are starving. Hungry and desperate."

"Good point." I hated that truth. "There is no equilibrium in the dating world."

"C'mon, I know you've met at least one decent man."

"The brothers who come up to me are either fugly and smart, or handsome and dumb as a brick . . . or handsome and broke . . . or fugly and rich . . . or fugly and-"

"Fugly?"

"Oh. Never mind."

The conversation stayed smooth and we ordered another round of drinks, this one on me.

"d.a.m.n. First time a sister ever bought me a drink."

"You're welcome."

Then he said, "Wanna catch a Laker game with me day after tomorrow?"

"That might work."

"Your call. Let me know. I've got floor seats."

"That will most definitely work. Popcorn and parking will be on me."

I usually gave out a business card that had the e-mail address and the number to the fax machine; the fax line had a message center that I checked every blue moon. It was a long and hard climb up Kilimanjaro to get to the A-list and earn the digits to the phone next to my bed.

But I was feeling . . . well . . . sentimental. And since d.i.c.k Clark was warming up to sing "Auld Lang Syne," reflective too. I needed to plant some seeds if I didn't want to keep running up and down my B- and C-lists from now until Valentine's Day. Anybody below the A-list wasn't obligated to buy flowers, presents, or cards. Yep, all they had to do was throw the morning paper on the porch on the way out.

Right about then this brother to end all brothers stepped into the room. Man was so fine he made Denzel look like Pee Wee Herman. Four-b.u.t.ton black suit, yellow Italian s.h.i.+rt and no tie, caramel skin, looked like the centerfold out of every woman's fantasy book. All of those lonesome queens around the bar, they all did some quick t.i.t adjustments and positioned their bodies so homeboy would know they were volunteering to become flavor of the night.

But his eyes were all over me.

Then the guy headed my way, and I was thinking, d.a.m.n, talk about being bold. I was thinking more along the lines of me slipping away to the ladies' room and sliding him my digits on the way. He moved around the crowd, gla.s.s of wine in hand, like Bogart going to Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca.

That made me lose my place in the conversation I was having with . . . uh . . . with John. Good angel and bad angel started having a tug of war inside my head. John was cool, but h.e.l.l, there was no commitment. h.e.l.l, I didn't even know his last name.

The brother stared like he was offering me a chance to upgrade from coach to first-cla.s.s.

I smiled back. Then his smile changed. His eyes looked a little weird, off-center. That busted my buzz and all sorts of burglar alarms started clanging inside my head.

I'd seen that expression before. I'd had that expression a few times myself.

I patted John's arm, then pointed. "I think you might have a fan."

John saw the guy and his body jerked. "Ramn? Oh, s.h.i.+t."

The brother got right up on John. "Aren't you supposed to be home with the flu?"

The moment John opened his mouth, Ramn tossed his drink in John's face. Ramn must've done that a thousand times before because his aim was awesome, d.a.m.n near as good as squirting water in those plastic clown faces at the L.A. County Fair. Half of the wine went down John's throat. He started coughing and gagging with fluids coming out both his mouth and nose, choking like he was drowning in the Pacific Ocean.

The crowd parted and Ramn marched away, adjusting his suit, shaking his head.

Talk about sucking the zippity right out of my friggin' doo dah.

John gagged, was fl.u.s.tered. "I'm sorry . . . but that's my . . . an old a.s.sociate."

"Whatever." Strange that he picked a word that started with a.s.s and ended with ate to describe their . . . relations.h.i.+p. "Knew you were too pretty . . . dressed too d.a.m.n nice . . . d.a.m.n basketball throws a sister off every friggin' time."