Dating Games Page 5

  “But you are in high school,” JJ said, drinking from the fresh beer Lisa brought her.

  “But I don’t look like it, and they’re brothas out there that would lay out fat cash to get with a girl that look like me, know what I’m sayin’?”

  “Naw, what you sayin’? That you gonna start dating men just because they got money to give you?”

  “What’s wrong with that? Men make money to spend it on women like me,” Alizé said, stepping in front of the TV and demanding everyone’s full attention. “Lisa, you sayin’ you couldn’t deal with having no man pay for the day care you need for Ricky in exchange for a little ass?”

  Lisa looked to the ceiling, giving the question some thought, then shook her head. “I need some money, or I’m gonna have to stop going to school at night and get a second job, but I can’t be selling my goods, Ally.”

  “And I thought you said you don’t want to raise him in the ’hood. Thought you said if you had enough money, you’d go somewhere safer.”

  “I did say that. But there’s better ways out there than spreading my legs.”

  “Sasha,” Ally said, turning her attention over there. “You wouldn’t do it if some fool was willing to buy you all the designer clothes you wanted?”

  Sasha looked as though she was about to decline, then reconsidered. “Anything I wanted?”

  “Anything.”

  “Aw, she don’t count,” Lisa said. “She a clothes ho.”

  “So you just gonna go out there, get you a bailer, and start collecting, hunh?” JJ asked.

  “If I’m gonna be spending time with a man, might as well be one with loot,” Alizé said confidently.

  “It ain’t as easy as you think, baby. Some of those men ain’t nothing nice. They take you to Red Lobster for steak and all the shrimp you can eat, and then think they own you. You saw what that fool was doin’ to my girl,” JJ said, sympathy on her face. She threw her arm around Sasha’s shoulder, pulled her close, and kissed her on the cheek.

  “Just glad she’s out of that. But if you think you can do better, knock yaself out.”

  Alizé looked at her girls, took in what was said, but it didn’t make any difference, because they weren’t her.

  “I’ll make believers out of ya’ll,” Alizé said, digging into her purse and pulling out her cell phone. “There’s this dude that’s been trying to get wit’ me. Met him at Danger a few weeks ago,” she said, scrolling through her phone’s directory, locating his number. “And he’s been calling me ever since. I’ve been hung up wit’ Steve’s broke ass so I couldn’t get back, but today, ladies,” Alizé announced, punching in his number, “is his lucky day.”

  She waited a moment. The phone rang twice, and then on the third ring, it was picked up.

  “Hello. This Mike? This is Alizé,” she purred, winking at her girls. “Alizé. I met you at Danger a little while ago.”

  The girls snickered because they knew the guy didn’t remember her.

  “Naw, I’m the one with the fat ass and big lips,” Alizé said, giving the girls a confident smile. “Yeah, I thought you’d remember. And yeah, I know you been dyin’ to get wit’ me,” Alizé said, flipping back her hair as if she was a supermodel. “Well, how about next week? Yeah, yeah.” She nodded her head. “I don’t know, how about going somewhere nice to eat? Havin’ some drinks afterward, you know. Yeah … cool … cool. All right, baby. Yeah … yeah … can’t wait to see you, either.” Alizé disconnected the call, then stared down her girls.

  “Now, watch your girl get treated the way she’s supposed to.”

  SEVEN

  LIVVY shouldered her bag, closed her locker, and turned the combination on it. It was the end of another long day, and there was nothing more that she wanted to do than just get away from that hospital.

  It was a shame, because it wasn’t that she didn’t like her work. It was just the limited responsibility, the fact that she knew she could do a lot more, but wasn’t allowed to because of her level of education.

  Livvy thought about what had happened earlier. Lucy Kolson, a middle-aged woman with gastrointestinal problems, was in room 324. When Livvy walked in there to check on her, Lucy told her that one of her IV bags had run out.

  “Not a problem,” Livvy said, disconnecting the old bag from the tubing, taking it from the stand, and tossing the empty plastic bag in the trash. She went into the cabinet, found another bag, checked the label to make sure it was the same solution, and went about connecting it to Mrs. Kolson’s tubing.

  Livvy smiled as she was doing this. There were only a couple of things that she was allowed to do that made her feel like she was really important, and this was one of them. But just when she was about to connect the tube, a nurse walked into the room.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded. It was Jennifer something or other. She had one of those long Polish names that Livvy didn’t even think about trying to pronounce. She had only been there a few days, and this was Livvy’s first time working with her.

  “I’m changing Mrs. Kolson’s IV,” Livvy said. “It was empty.”

  “And who told you to do that?” Nurse Jennifer said, rushing over to Mrs. Kolson’s bedside, checking her arm where the IV entered her vein, as if Livvy was trying to shoot her up with heroin.

  “The bag was empty. She needed a new one,” Livvy explained.

  “You should’ve called me instead of trying to do it yourself.”

  “What do you mean, trying? I did do it myself, and I’ve done it a thousand times before, so what’s the big deal?”

  Jennifer didn’t respond right away but looked down into Mrs. Kolson’s face, now looking slightly distressed.

  “Excuse us for a minute, Lucy, okay?” Jennifer said, speaking to the fifty-two-year-old woman like she was a child.

  Jennifer grabbed Livvy by the elbow and led her into the hallway.

  “Listen,” Jennifer scolded, her face starting to turn a pale shade of red. “I don’t care how many times you changed bags in the past, and I don’t care if the other nurses let you perform open heart surgery on these patients, when you work with me, you perform only the duties that are in your job description.”

  “But that is in my job description,” Livvy said, pleading her case.

  “Look, I’m the nurse. You’re the nurse’s assistant. It would make my job a lot easier if you just do what you’re supposed to do and assist me. Okay?”

  Livvy didn’t respond, but it wouldn’t have made a difference if she had. Jennifer turned away from her and looked as though she was about to walk off, but then she turned her pink face back, and waving a finger up in Livvy’s face threatened, “And if you ever question my responsibility in front of a patient again, I’ll have you written up.” She strode off.

  Written up, Livvy thought now, leaving the locker room. That woman was lucky Livvy was in control of her emotions and her actions, because if she wasn’t, if she was to let that project girl in her out, she would’ve been whupping the poor girl’s ass in front of that patient instead of just questioning her.

  Livvy walked slowly down the hall, every other fluorescent light above her turned off, dimming the place for the night shift and sleeping patients. She told herself to forget what had happened earlier. Don’t complain, don’t try and fight it, she told herself, because there was nothing she could do. Jennifer was right, regardless of how much Livvy hated to admit it. She was the assistant, and her job was to assist. There was no way around that.

  But wait. Livvy stopped, seeing something out the corner of her eye. She turned her head to the right and focused on something posted on the bulletin board. It was a long page, a lot of fine print running down the entire sheet, but on the top, and this was what caught her eye, were the words “Hospital-Based Nursing Scholarship.”

  Livvy stepped over to the board and quickly scanned the page, taking in the details. The hospital was offering a two-year scholarship for an associate’s degree in nursing. Only hospital employees were elig
ible. Applicants had to work in a patient care field (Livvy did), and they had to have a high school diploma, or equivalency, which she had, and she was thankful now that she had gone back to get her GED. The applicants also had to write a three- to five-page essay about why they wanted to become a nurse.

  She could do that, Livvy thought, feeling the excitement build in her. She could write the essay, win the scholarship, and become a nurse, and never have to put up with the crap she’d been dealing with ever again.

  Livvy looked up and down the hall, and when she saw that no one was around, tore down the notice and stuffed it in her purse. With this new information, she practically skipped out of the hospital, thinking that everything was going to change for her.

  When Livvy got home, she was still excited about the scholarship, but as she walked in the door to her apartment, one thing dominated her thoughts: Carlos. She walked to the phone, picked it up, and started scrolling through the previous call directory, looking for his number, praying that he had called.

  The phone emitted tiny beeps as she rolled through all the numbers, but no Carlos. Livvy started to dial his number, but stopped herself and placed the phone back into the cradle.

  She looked over her shoulder, then walked back toward the girls’ room. Livvy knocked softly on the door. When there was no answer, she gently pushed the door open, only to find that her daughters weren’t there.

  Good, Livvy thought, as she made her way back to the phone with quicker steps than she had left it. She knew the girls had to have heard her that night having sex with Carlos, even though that morning, they acted as if nothing had happened. At least Hennesey did. Over breakfast, Alizé kept on giving her mother looks as though she had been betrayed.

  Yeah, she had told the girl that she would give Carlos his walking papers that night, but when the man walked through the door, Livvy could feel her body temperature rise, and when he said nothing, just wrapped his arms around her, pressed his body into hers, slid his hands down over her behind, she thought she would fall out right then.

  Whatever fight she had had in her disappeared, along with the idea of painting the town. All she wanted was him, was him inside her, and he had to have known that because he took her hand and led Livvy into her bedroom. The only words they spoke that entire night were in the fit of passion. She moaned and grunted how much she loved him, and to never leave her, and he told her that he loved her too and that he never would stay away for as long as he had. But his promises sounded hollow; she could detect the insincerity in his words. He couldn’t hide the fact that he was lying to her, no matter how good he made her feel.

  After they had finished, when he carefully pulled himself from her bed, Livvy was half asleep. He kissed her passionately on the lips, something that felt like a dream, and then he left. The next morning, even though Alizé was giving her that evil stare at breakfast, Livvy didn’t care, because of how good she felt.

  But the other night, Alizé walked in and caught Livvy on the phone, practically begging to see Carlos again after he had not called back as he promised. She’d tried to lower her voice, but she knew Ally had heard her, and that was embarrassing.

  The girl just shook her head, and she knew what was in her daughter’s mind. What a poor desperate woman my mother is, she was probably thinking. And now, standing with the phone in her hand, about to dial Carlos’s number, Livvy realized that maybe Ally was right.

  Livvy put the phone down. “I’m not going to call you,” she said aloud, trying to strengthen herself.

  She looked over at the clock. It was just five minutes to nine. It was still early, and Livvy needed to unwind. She headed upstairs to the fifteenth floor and knocked on Sharika’s door.

  “Thought you had packed up and moved away, I ain’t seen you in so long,” Sharika said, letting Livvy in.

  HALF AN HOUR later, Livvy was well into the unwinding process. She had kicked off her shoes, was sitting on the floor, and was working on her second big glass of wine.

  Sharika was on her third glass, but her head wasn’t probably feeling nearly as good as Livvy’s because the girl was a natural drinker. Livvy had known her best friend practically her entire life. She was the one person, it seemed, whom she could rely on for everything. Sharika was there to rush Livvy to the hospital when she was pregnant, and should anything ever happen to Livvy, she entrusted Sharika to care for her daughters.

  “You just got to position him right in your head then,” Sharika said. They were talking about Carlos, and Livvy knew she could always count on good advice from her girl. They were the same age, but Sharika didn’t have any kids, had never gotten pregnant, and to Livvy’s knowledge, never got played by any man who didn’t live to regret it.

  “And what I mean by that is, if all he wants to do is come over and screw, then fine, sistah. Get yo’ fuck on! But when you doin’ it, save all that ‘I love you’ stuff for someone who really matters. You don’t have to love a man to sleep with him. What’s the problem?”

  “The problem is,” Livvy said, looking down at her glass, feeling shame, “I do love him.”

  “Damn, girl. Then you should probably just leave him alone.”

  “But he loves me too.”

  “And how you know that?”

  “He told me.”

  “That’s it?”

  “We been together for years, Sharika.”

  “Then you should know where you stand right now. You shouldn’t have these questions, shouldn’t have to be chasin’ him around like you doin’.” Sharika scooted across the rug a little closer to Livvy. “And the worst thing is, you said your daughters are starting to see what’s going on. You don’t want them to see their mother actin’ a fool, jumping through hoops for no man that’s not even interested, do you? You gonna make them think it’s okay for men to treat them like that too.”

  “No.” Livvy shook her head, trying not to imagine that happening. “I can’t have that.”

  “Then no matter how much it hurts, let him go.”

  “But …”

  “But what?”

  “But then I’ll have nobody.”

  Sharika blew out a sigh, shaking her head. “Livvy, you’re a gorgeous woman. Just go out and get you a new man. A real man this time.”

  “That’s the problem,” Livvy said, taking another sip from her wine glass. “There are no real men out there our age. They’re married, in jail, gay, or just losers.”

  “Then date someone not our age, silly,” Sharika responded.

  “I don’t have time to be teaching no young boy new tricks, Sharika.”

  “I’m not saying date a younger man. Date an older one.”

  “Un-uh,” Livvy said, screwing her face up, as if she just got a whiff of something horrible.

  “I’m not talking about ninety year olds. Just older, distinguished gentlemen. Don’t you know the deal with them, girl?” Sharika looked at her as if this should be material that all women were familiar with.

  “No, and that’s maybe because I never wanted to date anyone’s grandfather.”

  “Well, let me explain. A lot of these older, divorced, or widowed men would love to have a beautiful younger woman on their arm, but they know in order for that to happen, there has to be a trade. They come off a little money, and we give them a little time. Everybody gets exactly what they want.”

  “I can’t take no money from no man,” Livvy protested.

  “Bill collectors still calling?”

  “Never stop.”

  “And if there was a man that was willing to help you out in exchange for a little time with you, you wouldn’t go with that?”

  Livvy didn’t answer.

  “Livvy, deal is, either you use, or you get used. It can never be fair and square across the board. And the problem is, all your life you been getting used. For all the love that you been giving out, all you been getting back is pain. You thirty-three years old now. It’s time to dash that dream and get real with what’s goin’ on. You fe
el me on this one?”

  “You ain’t never lied to me before,” Livvy said, quickly examining her life’s past and realizing what Sharika said was true.

  “Good, then. Tomorrow night, you get off work and put something nice and tight on. We gonna go lounge hoppin’, find you a distinguished gentleman who has a little something to offer.”

  EIGHT

  ON THE DAY of Rafe’s meeting with his parole officer, he looked a bit more presentable than he had after getting out of prison. After awaking from a long, restful night’s sleep, Rafe had walked downstairs to talk to his aunt.

  “You think you can do something with my hair?” he asked her. “Don’t want to look crazy when I go see this man.”

  “Of course, baby.” His Aunt Dorothy got a few things from the bathroom, set the hair oil and combs on the table, then pulled a chair out and sat down in it. Rafe knew to sit on the floor in front of her, in between her knees.

  She parted and oiled his hair, then braided it in tight, neat cornrows.

  “Just like when I baby-sat you as a little one,” she smiled, giving Rafe a hand mirror to look into. She also gave him a button-down, collared shirt. One of her late husband’s.

  RAFE stepped into the diner, a bell ringing to announce his entrance. There was a long dining counter on one side of the restaurant, a row of booths on the other. Practically all the stools at the counter were taken, people hunched over their plates, busily shoveling food into their mouths. Two sets of couples sat at two different booths. Then Rafe’s eyes caught sight of a slightly overweight, haggard-looking white man. The man caught Rafe’s glance, and with a look, let him know that he was the man Rafe was looking for.

  “Sit down,” Mr. Dotson said after Rafe walked up to his table.

  Rafe did as he was told, looking at the cup of coffee and plate with a crust of apple pie on it, sitting in front of the man. But what most held Rafe’s attention was the folder the man was looking in. Rafe was sure it had all of his information in it: where he grew up, birthdate, mother’s and father’s names, all that stuff. When Dotson looked up at him again, Rafe felt naked.