Going Broke Read online

  I stepped out of his embrace. “He’s my father, Damian.” I looked at him like he was insane.

  I knew my daddy loved me, but I guessed Damian couldn’t understand what the love of a father felt like, since he grew up with a deranged alcoholic rapist for a father. Damian’s father was so angered by his wife smiling while talking to a bill collector over the phone that he shot her point-blank in the temple.

  “You don’t know my daddy. He’s not like—” Damn, I couldn’t throw that in his face. It wasn’t his fault—“He’s not like this. He loves me.”

  “But whenever you talk to him, you get so depressed.”

  “Do you expect me to run around the fuckin’ house after speaking to the man that raised me, hearing him tell me that my name is ugly?” I grabbed the glass from the counter and gulped down the wine. I felt faint. “He named me.” I wept. “He named me after her.”

  Damian wrapped his arms around me and held me close for so long that I almost fell asleep standing up.

  A few hours later, I was getting ready for the party. That’s right—Saturday was finally here, and I needed something to get my mind off of Daddy, WBIG, and Lydia Delks in Houston. Lydia, a client from picnictogo.com, ordered a picnic basket with hunter-green accessories. I knew she’d love the hunter plates, napkin rings, and tablecloth. So, I arranged a set of small ivory, hunter- and mint-green silk flowers on the stems of the glasses and thought that mint green linen napkins, place settings, and pillar candles would be a perfect match. Yeah, right! I received a nasty e-mail from Ms. Thang on how I need to learn to follow instructions. Hunter-green means hunter-green; she didn’t ask for my creative opinion.

  The good thing about being my own boss was having a choice. I could’ve done one of three things. One, laugh and ignore the e-mail. Who would she complain to? Two, reply to her e-mail, notifying her that I’d seen the picture on her AOL homepage and no amount of hunter-green accessories would make her any more appealing to any man who might have a pity picnic with her. Three, I could chalk it all up to experience, entertain her with good customer service, call instead of e-mailing and offer to FedEx new napkins, place settings, and candles.

  I did the latter, and she was so impressed with my professionalism that she apologized and said that now that she spread the arrangement over her living room table, she could see where I was going with it.

  Whatever!

  Damian wasn’t ready when I was leaving, so I told him to meet me at BED; I promised Natalya that I’d be there at seven to help add the finishing touches to the room.

  I checked myself in the mirror before leaving. My cinnamon-brown skin was looking nice, pressed out over my 5-foot 7-inch, 147-pound body. My naturally pouting lips were glistening, and the way my fitted, one-sleeved purple shirt hugged my breasts, I was sure a few people would ask me for the name of my surgeon. But I wasn’t a nip/tuck victim. It was just pure luck.

  I turned around and examined my backside, slapping my butt through my black pants a few times to make sure that nothing would be seen jiggling when I walked. I slipped on a pair of three-inch black sandals, put on my purple, green, and yellow-gold feathered butterfly mask and smiled.

  “Damian, I’m gone, baby,” I yelled from the front bathroom.

  “Okay. See ya in a few,” he shouted from somewhere in the back of the apartment.

  I decided not to remove my mask for the drive. Motorists were doing double-takes all the way to the beach, trying to be certain that the chick in the black Expedition actually had feathers coming from the sides of her face.

  I loved the attention. It was wild. I found myself waving and blowing kisses back, something I wouldn’t do in plain face. I was hiding, no one knew my name, no one knew my face, and I could do whatever I wanted. If everyone at the party had the same feeling behind their masks, it would surely turn into an interesting night.

  If there was a Mardi Gras section in Heaven, it must look just like the room that I walked into. It was an absolute dream. The purple sheets were spread tightly over the beds, and the sexy green and yellow-gold silky material fell from the ceiling, as though it was being poured from the skies. There were no lights, just hundreds of candles carefully placed around the room, and the disco ball sent white sparkles circulating on the walls. The party wasn’t set to start until 8:00, but Natalya and I wanted to make sure that everything was exactly the way we wanted it. We hung the topless pictures around the room and sat at the bar awaiting our guests, enjoying a few cocktails.

  The non-black guests showed up at eight, and the first of the black guests strolled in around nine. I was working the door; I didn’t stop anyone. I just assumed that no one was tacky enough to just walk in. With my wineglass in hand, I bounced to 50 Cent—“Go shorty, it’s ya birthday. Go shorty, it’s ya birthday.”

  Natalya and Li’l Dick Nick were bumping and grinding to the song like they were really going to get it on hot and heavy-style after the party—Error!

  I handed out ten strings of beads to every man and also handed them a key. There were locks all around the room, on tables, at the bar and on the walls. Also every woman received a belt with a lock attached. In order for a man to be granted unlimited access to the bar via a stamped hand, he had to approach the bar with not only his key, but also the lock that it belonged to. The women had their hands stamped from the moment they walked in. However, they had to work to get beads from the men. There were no rules, but the three women with the most beads at 12:00 a.m. would win prizes. The man who kept the most beads would also receive a prize, so the women had to really work their stuff to take beads from the men. The games were a way to get people to interact.

  I was at the door sipping on something and flowing to Lil’ Kim’s rap about how she had the magic, when a guy approached me from behind. “Will you turn my key?”

  I spun around. Before even checking him out, I looked around the room for Damian. He was at the bar with his three uninvited friends. I glanced up at the man less than two feet away and smiled nervously. He was wearing a white mask that extended from his forehead to mid-cheek, just like the Phantom of the Opera. He wore a black dress shirt and slacks. His curly, black hair was cropped neatly against his scalp, and his goatee accentuated his sexy, pinkish lips. They looked as if he had just kissed the surface of the Red Sea.

  “I’m sorry. What do you need?” I forgot what he asked.

  “May I try your lock?” He didn’t wait for my answer. He just reached for my waist and grabbed the lock.

  “Whoa.” I was shocked by his aggression. “You’re really trying to get your drink on, huh?”

  His key didn’t fit. “I’m trying, but I think you girls hid the lock to this key in the birthday cake or something.” He grinned. “I’ve tried everybody.”

  “So I was your last choice, huh?” In the midst of my flirting, I was wishing that he’d walk away before Damian looked in my direction.

  “I saved the best for last.” He sighed and gave up. “But it looks like my mission is still incomplete.” He gave me a polite smile. “Sorry to bother you.” He turned to walk away.

  “Hey.” I grabbed his arm. “At least thank me for my trouble.”

  “What trouble?” He stared intensely.

  I thought about it and realized that there was no trouble. “Okay, at least thank me for my time.”

  “Thank you.” He touched his mask as though he were tipping a hat.

  “Who was that masked man?” I asked myself.

  I gave up the door around 11:00 and made my way around the room.

  I spotted India’s extravagant rhinestone-studded angel mask. As I approached her, she threw on a smile. I didn’t know if it was paranoia or intuition, but sometimes I got bad vibes from her. “So, is he here?” I asked.

  “He had to be somewhere else.” She looked a little down. “As a matter of fact, I’m leaving in a minute.”

  “Leaving?” I looked at her seriously. “You just got here.”

  “There’s nothing goin
g on.” She rolled her eyes.

  “I know you’re not leaving because he didn’t come.” I threw my hand up. “Forget him. Damian has some friends here.” I quickly checked them out. “I’ve never seen the guy in the white jacket before,” I said as I studied him from afar. “He’s kinda cute.”

  “Damn, you’re checking out his friends now? That’s just nasty.”

  “I was checking him out for you.” I smiled. “Want me to introduce you?”

  She looked over at them at the bar, where they were standing. “Naw, I’ll be all right.”

  “Are you drinking?” I asked because she seemed tense.

  “I had a drink, but I’m still not hanging around.”

  I couldn’t believe her. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing.” She looked at her watch. “I just need to get out of here.”

  “Aren’t you having a good time?”

  It was always hard to please India. If she wasn’t the center of attention, then her night was ruined.

  She looked around. “I mean . . . it’s all right.”

  Trying to get the party on her mind, I asked, “So what do you think of the place?”

  “It’s nice.” She looked around. “I wonder what you girls would’ve done without me.”

  “We would’ve gotten the job done somehow.”

  “Well, I’m sure you’ll get the job done in the Bahamas as well.”

  Her words took me by surprise. Nat and I swore that we’d never tell anyone about the five grand that we split out of the ten that she offered for the party. “What?” I tried to smile, but I was dumbfounded.

  “It’s cool.” She smiled. “You need a vacation; I’m just glad that I was able to assist.”

  I’m not rich, but I wasn’t broke, and I wasn’t about to let India treat me like I was.

  “Look, I’ll write you out a check tomorrow,” I said, embarrassed.

  She laughed. “Don’t worry about it, girl.” India’s mood seemed to be improving as she made me more uncomfortable.

  “I have it, and it’s no problem,” I lied.

  “Well, if you insist. Or you could just think of it as a gift from me to you.” She giggled. “Everybody can’t be rolling in cash, ya know?”

  I didn’t know if I should be offended or grateful, but I was damn glad when a dude in an ugly orange mask came over and asked her to dance. She rejected him then told me that she’d call me the next day.

  I ran into Nat coming out of the kitchen, giving orders, no doubt. “What in the hell is wrong with India?”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “She just left. I am so damn tired of her antics.”

  Nat said, “I guess money doesn’t make life easier.”

  “Well, give me some, and I’ll tell you.” Then I remembered my talk with India earlier. “Did you tell her about my trip?”

  “No.” She glared at me. “Why?”

  “She mentioned it.”

  “No, I never said anything.” She covered her mouth. “So she knows that I kept my share too?”

  “I don’t know.” I needed another drink. “But I’ll write her a check tomorrow. She is way too dramatic for me. I think we need to let her go, Nat.”

  “I think she’s just lonely.”

  “Whatever! She’s chasing that dude around.” I sighed. “After I give her this check, I’m through dealing. She is really starting to get on my nerves.”

  “Don’t give up on her. I think she’s missing Andrew too.”

  I laughed. “You can’t be serious.” I had to look into her face. “If she were missing him, she would’ve kept the baby. The man you’re supposed to love gets killed and you have an abortion right after the funeral?” I was getting hot. “I need another drink.”

  Nat looked at me and shrugged her shoulders. “It’s your birthday. Go find your man.”

  I began walking toward Damian but ran into Mr. Phantom. “Did you find what you were looking for, sir?” I asked but kept walking.

  “Yes, ma’am, but it keeps passing me by,” he said to my back.

  I reached the bar, grabbed Damian’s hand, and pulled him away from his friends. “We haven’t danced in a while, baby,” I said sexily, licking his earlobe. “Dance with me.”

  He followed me to the floor and gave me just what I was looking for. He had me hurting, sweating, and horny during the thirty minutes we spent out there.

  When Mya’s “My Love is Like . . . Whoa” blasted through the speakers, I turned my back to his chest and did a provocative grinding number on him as he tried to keep his hands from going where they shouldn’t go in public.

  “Keep doing that and I swear I’ll have your ass pinned up in the bathroom after this song,” he whispered.

  “Is that a promise?”

  “You damn skippy, it is.”

  When I spotted Mr. Phantom watching me from the wall, I felt uncomfortable and turned back to face Damian.

  After the song, I gave him a kiss and told him that I surrendered. I couldn’t take it any longer and needed to rest.

  After a little mingling, I found Natalya and Nick resting on one of the beds in the back. He was holding her like there was no tomorrow, and she looked like tomorrow wouldn’t matter without him. I guessed Nick only having a half of an uncooked Oscar Mayer wiener wasn’t an issue anymore. She should’ve kept that part about him to herself. I’d never see him the same again. Women need to learn that everything about their man isn’t for their girls to know too.

  “Birthday girl, have you been on the dance floor?”

  Nick smiled and excused himself to the bar.

  As we watched him walk away, she smiled and said, “Sarai, he is such a good man.”

  I knew why she was saying it. “I know he is, Nat.” She didn’t have to sell him to me. If he truly loved her, then I was already sold. I’d just give them a penis pump as a wedding gift. I smiled. “Go with your heart.”

  “I am.” She looked at him until he disappeared. “We can work the other stuff out.”

  “You better.” Hopefully she’d wake up and remember what good dick was like, and then we’d have this conversation again. “If you love him, love him.”

  “Thank you.” She leaned on me.

  “Question”—I looked around the room—“who is the Phantom of the Opera?”

  “Huh?” She looked at me like I was insane. “I think Andrew Lloyd Webber wrote it.”

  “I don’t mean the actual opera, you retard.” I giggled. “I mean the guy with the white half-mask.” I pointed in the direction I saw him in last. “He was over there.”

  “I have no clue who half of these people are, and I guess I won’t know until they take off the masks. I barely recognized Nick.”

  That was easy. Just look for the guy without a bulge. I kept that thought to myself. “I want to know who he is.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “I just thought you would know.”

  “Well, after the unveiling, I’ll see if I know who you’re talking about.”

  As I stood, I saw Damian approaching with a look of urgency on his face and his cell phone glued to his ear. “Baby, something’s up, and I need to make a run.”

  “Is our meeting in the ladies’ room being rescheduled, Mr. Carter?” I flirted.

  He kissed me on the forehead. “Unfortunately, it has been rescheduled, Ms. Emery. The location has been changed as well.” He smiled. “I’ll see you at home.”

  I was past the stage of whining and asking or begging him to tell me where he was going. When I met him, he was straight-up about his lifestyle, so all I could do was kiss him goodbye and pray that he’d make it home safely.

  “Those Bimini boys want to talk business.” He kissed me again. “Be ready when I get home.”

  As Damian walked away, Nick was returning. I told Nat that I would let them have their cuddle time.

  The party was jumping, but the party inside of me died, knowing that Damian was gon
e, India was tripping, and Mr. Phantom was shaking his groove thing with a Latina girl on the dance floor.

  I walked over to the bar. “Let me have a dirty Beefeater gin martini, please.” I thought of writing India a check and quickly regretted my offer. I didn’t have $2,500 of my own to spare. Twenty thousand dollars of the money in my bank account belonged to Damian, a large portion was tied up, and the rest was needed for my bills.

  Damian had several accounts. He never kept all of his money in one spot; that way if anything ever went down he wouldn’t be completely out of commission. He kept his “clean” money in my account. However, he entrusted some other very close friends with a little over $200,000 in accounts scattered throughout Miami, Atlanta, the Bronx, and Detroit.

  Damian always told me that, while it was in my account, the money was there for the taking. He paid the rent and utilities and bought the food, so without him, the lifestyle that I lived would be almost impossible. Youplanmytrip.com and picnictogo.com paid for my father’s nursing home and Nookie, my Expedition, which I still had three years left to pay on. My job at the radio station was paying back my student loans, credit cards I maxed out when I was younger, weaves, nails, toes, shoes, outfits, and perfume.

  “A black woman drinking a martini.”

  I felt someone brush against my back.

  “Damn, that’s sexy.”

  Before I could look up, he sat right next to me.

  I smiled. “The only thing that makes me sexy is the martini?”

  “No.”

  I could only see half a smile through the mask.

  “You actually make the martini sexy.”

  I had to check myself. I was blushing, and I couldn’t even see this man’s face. “Thank you.” I looked at my watch. It was 11:57. In just three minutes, the masks were due to come off. “What are you drinking?”

  “Bailey’s on the rocks.” He held up his glass. “You’re a pretty good dancer.” Before I could smile or say thanks, he continued. “Your man is all right too.”

  I wasn’t confirming or denying anything without seeing his face. “I saw you out there. I take it that you like arroz con pollo.” I was referring to the Latina girl.