Getting to the Good Part Read online

  “Yes, just us two,” Helmut confirmed. “And Orin, we’d like something against the mirrored wall. Preferably in the corner, if you please.”

  “No problem, sir,” he replied.

  Orin led the way across the room, and Helmut followed behind him, leading me along.

  I was afraid to look at the brothers at the bar. At the same time, I was afraid not to acknowledge them, either.

  I glanced their way.

  All of them, every single one, was watching as Helmut and I crossed the room.

  A couple of them were shaking their heads. One of them locked eyes with me, then turned away in disgust.

  I don’t know what the other two did. My head was spinning by that point. All I wanted to do was find a table and sit down.

  Preferably, somewhere in the dark.

  It was like I was moving in slow motion. We were just walking and walking, but it didn’t seem like we were getting anywhere. I was suffocating. My lungs felt like they were smaller than raisins.

  Orin finally got us to our table.

  Actually, the side against the mirror was a cushioned seat that stretched the length of the entire mirrored wall. Small square tables were placed in intervals, in front of the cushioned seat. The tables were about a half a foot apart. A chair was placed on the other side of each table.

  So, basically, there really was no seclusion. At least, not any to speak of. Sure, we were in the corner. But there were other people beside us, barely an elbow jab away.

  I slid into the side that was cushioned. I did it so quickly, I actually got a little dizzy.

  The champagne from the limo was obviously having an effect.

  I was afraid to sit with my back to the brothers. I knew that that would have really pissed them off.

  I expected Helmut to sit across from me, on the other side of the table. Instead, he slid in next to me on the cushioned seat.

  I thought I was going to faint.

  The brothers stared at me like I was out with David Duke.

  “Can we order a drink?” I whispered.

  I whispered not because I was trying to be discreet. Oh no. You see, I was almost hyperventilating. A whisper was all I was able to muster.

  “As you wish,” Helmut replied, signaling a waiter.

  The waiter, a towheaded kid who looked fresh out of college, arrived at our table. He also greeted Helmut by name.

  “Good evening, Mr. Wagner. What can I get for you and your guest?”

  Helmut looked over at me.

  “What would you like, darling?”

  I winced at the word, glancing around to see who could hear.

  No one nearby seemed to care.

  However, the brothers at the bar were still giving me the evil eye.

  “I’d like a gin and tonic, minus the tonic,” I breathed, refusing to make eye contact with Helmut.

  “Would you like a twist with that?”

  “Twist all you want,” I gasped. “Just hurry up and get it here. Please. Thank you.”

  (Tyrone and Tyrene taught me to always say please and thank you.)

  “Yes, ma’am,” the waiter replied. “And what will you be having, Mr. Wagner? Your usual?”

  “Yes, Billy,” Helmut answered, reaching into a pocket inside his jacket and pulling out a wallet. He handed the waiter a credit card. Platinum.

  “Open a tab. And bring two glasses, if you will.”

  “Yes, sir. Most certainly.”

  Billy Boy dashed away. I watched him disappear.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the brothers standing there, watching us. I was afraid to look.

  Billy returned, posthaste, with my gin and a bottle of port.

  He poured a little into a champagne flute and offered it to Helmut.

  Helmut swirled the glass slightly and inhaled the wine’s delicate perfume. He tilted it by the stem and tasted a sample, thoughtfully working the liquid around in his mouth.

  Helmut nodded at Billy, who then proceeded to fill both glasses.

  Meanwhile, I quaffed my gin.

  While Helmut was bullshittin’ around with his examination of the grape, homegirl was gettin’ ready for drink number two.

  “One more, please,” I said to Billy.

  Helmut and Billy both looked at me like I was crazy.

  “Are you sure?” Helmut whispered, placing his hand on mine.

  I could feel the brothers as they watched our every move.

  “Yeah. I need another, Billy. The sooner the better, if you don’t mind.”

  Billy hurried off.

  “Is this mine?” I asked, reaching for the extra glass of port.

  “Yes, it is. But Reesy, please! Calm down! What on earth is the matter?!”

  His hand was still on mine.

  I grabbed the drink and tossed it back. I rested against the cushion, allowing myself to catch my breath.

  Now it was safe to look at him.

  I peered into Helmut’s face. I studied the shock of brown hair hanging heavily over his eye.

  His dark eyes were penetrating. He began to gently stroke the top of my hand.

  What am I doing here with him? I wondered. As I stared at Helmut, he seemed like the whitest man in America.

  “Can I have some more wine?” I asked.

  Before he could answer, Billy arrived with my drink.

  “Never mind,” I said to Helmut.

  I held the glass of gin in my hand for a few seconds, preparing myself for the shock of its kick.

  As I went to toss it back, Helmut stayed my hand.

  “All right, young lady. Talk to me. Something is obviously seriously wrong here.”

  I looked around, undereyed, at the people in the room. The brothers were still leaning against the bar, checking us out.

  “I’m just a little uncomfortable,” I admitted with a sigh. “You might find it stupid, but it’s the absolute truth.”

  “I figured as much,” he replied. “Now. Tell me, what exactly is it you’re uncomfortable about?”

  I sat the untasted glass of gin down on the table and leaned back against the cushion.

  Might as well tell him. And besides, I could always blame my frankness on the liquor.

  “I’m uncomfortable being here with you.”

  Helmut’s left eyebrow raised.

  “Why is that? Are you afraid of someone from the show seeing us?”

  “No,” I answered, shaking my head.

  “Good, because it’s a silly concern. If you’re afraid people are going to think you’re trying to win me over, you’re wrong. How can I improve your status in the show? You’ve already got the lead.”

  “I could give two fucks about that.”

  “Then why are you so uncomfortable? I don’t understand.”

  “Because you’re white.”

  Helmut instantly laughed.

  I looked over at him.

  “Is that the reason? Are you serious?”

  I picked up the glass of gin and tossed it back.

  “Yep,” I choked.

  I bit my lip. My head was swimming.

  ’Round and ’round and ’round.

  Out of nowhere, Wesley Snipes walked into the room. He nodded at the brothers at the bar, then sat down a couple of tables away from us.

  A brown-skinned sistah with short hair was already sitting there. They were obviously friends.

  I tried not to stare at him, but I couldn’t help it.

  He was a rich, beautiful black that was so dark, it was intoxicating. Like Hershey’s bittersweet chocolate. I’d always found him sexy, but seeing him now made me realize that the big screen didn’t do him half the justice he deserved.

  I was so drunk, it wasn’t funny. My jaw was slack. I was two steps shy of drooling.

  Helmut was now sitting so close to me, I could feel his hot breath against my neck.

  I gazed into his face. After having the image of Wesley’s heavenly mocha emblazoned on my eyeballs, Helmut literally paled in
comparison.

  It was as though he read my mind.

  “I’ll never be Wesley Snipes,” he muttered. “But don’t judge a book by its cover. Not just yet, Reesy.”

  He smiled seductively.

  “I’ll bet that I can give you just as much excitement, if not more, than Wesley Snipes ever could.”

  An image of Wesley working his stuff on that balcony scene in Mo’ Better Blues flashed through my head. The one where Cynda Williams hollered “Oh Shadow!!!”

  Helmut had to be outta his mind.

  Just as I had to be for sitting there with him.

  “I’m ready to go,” I announced.

  He sighed, studying my mouth.

  “As you like.”

  Helmut held up his finger, barely gesturing. Billy quickly made his way over to us.

  “Another drink, sir?”

  “No, Billy,” Helmut said. “I’d like for you to close out the tab and bring me the check.”

  “Yes, sir!” Billy replied, rushing off again.

  I sat there, staring off into space.

  I was too drunk. My breath could melt steel.

  I did my best not to look at Wesley. How I managed it, I’ll never know.

  His luscious blackness was like a flame, and I was a kamikaze moth who was desperately trying not to burn.

  I didn’t look at Helmut either. He sat there beside me, still clutching his wolf tickets, writing checks with his mouth that he knew damn well his ass couldn’t cash.

  Outfuck Wesley Snipes indeed!!

  I wasn’t about to have him try to prove it to me. Not in this lifetime. Or the next.

  I stared into the open area of the room, watching the people move around and mill about. My eyeballs began to feel funny, like they were covered with trash.

  I rubbed them with both forefingers, in an attempt to clear them up.

  I blinked a few times, trying to focus.

  A battalion of Billys returned with an army of checks.

  I blinked again, trying to consolidate them.

  They refused to merge.

  As I stared ahead, the whole room became a kaleidoscope. It was like looking through a fly’s eyes. All hundred of them. A whole bunch of everything was moving every whichaway at once.

  I had a thought.

  I glanced over at Wesley.

  Sure enough, there were literally stacks of him pushed up together.

  Mocha delight.

  I grinned.

  “Let’s go, Reesy,” Helmut whispered. “You’re looking a little green.”

  I glanced at him.

  A host of Helmuts caught me by the arm and guided me gently from my seat.

  “How da fuck Umma look green?” I slurred, wobbling. “Nigga, I’m black!”

  “No, you’re not,” he countered politely. “At best, you’re yellow.”

  I pushed away at all the Helmuts, trying to pry myself free.

  They kept a firm hold on my arm as they led me away from the table, toward the door.

  We made our way past the Wesleys.

  “Heyyyyyyy, Wesley!” I called out foolishly. “Gotdam, nigga! You look good!”

  The Wesleys chuckled heartily.

  “She all right, man?” he asked Helmut.

  “I’m fine!” I interjected. “Umma star!! You needa come see my show!! Black Cherry’s Thigh!”

  “She’ll be okay,” Helmut answered, moving me along.

  We strolled past the brothers at the bar. They glowered at me. Legions of them.

  I grinned at them, waving my hand.

  “Hey, y’all!” I squealed. “You know what? Y’all some mean muthafuckas!”

  “Trick,” I heard one of them mumble.

  “That’s not necessary, man,” another one said. “She’s drunk. Be chill.”

  “That’s right!” I yelled over my shoulder. “Be chill with that shit!”

  The Helmuts got me out of the bar, through the lobby, and into the car in no time.

  I collapsed back on the seat.

  I closed my eyes, completely out of control.

  Within seconds, I was fast asleep.

  It was morning when I finally woke.

  I stirred under the covers, relieved to be in Dandre’s bed. I pulled the satin sheets close, languishing in the feel.

  As usual, I was barely conscious, but horny as hell.

  I snuggled up to Dandre, who was lying on his side with his back to me. I reached my hand around the front of him in search of my favorite missile.

  It was on standby.

  He moaned at my touch.

  “C’mere with that,” I whispered.

  He did.

  I rolled over onto my back. He rolled over on top of me.

  “Get a condom,” I added.

  Dandre reached across me and pulled one out of the drawer.

  I lay there with my eyes closed while he slipped it on. I was expecting him to be mad at me for getting in so late, but, obviously, he wasn’t.

  It wouldn’t have done him any good to be mad at me anyway. Not with the rock-hard boner he was packing.

  I was still very tired. But I had to get my sex on. I silently hoped Dandre didn’t want to talk when we finished. As soon as we were done, I planned on going right back to sleep.

  He climbed on top of me and slipped it in. I wrapped my arms and my legs around him and began to move.

  “Mmmmm, baby,” I moaned, my eyes still closed.

  Dandre kissed my neck, sucking it fiercely. I found it immensely exciting.

  “Babyyyyyyyyyy… ,” I cooed. “That feels sooooo good.”

  I held on to him tighter.

  He leaned above me and pinned my shoulders down. With force and intensity, he began to pound my body.

  The feeling was incredible. It was almost like we were fighting, it was so rough.

  I gripped him harder, clamping him down with my legs.

  Dandre pounded on.

  Perhaps he is mad at me, I thought, writhing with pleasure. I should get him mad more often. He’s trying to bang my living brains out!

  I was much too excited. Usually, I was in control of our love-making. This time around, Dandre was completely in charge.

  I cried out, screaming crazy words that didn’t make sense to me or anybody I would have wanted to know. I began to feel myself about to burst. I tried to pull back and gain control.

  I couldn’t.

  “Oh, God, baby!!” I screamed wildly, thrashing about.

  I felt the starburst at my center begin to radiate throughout my body.

  I clutched at him desperately, grabbing him by the hair.

  By the hair???!!!!

  Since when did Dandre’s hair become long enough for me to grab? And why did it feel so soft and straight?

  My eyes popped open in horror.

  Above me, Helmut kept on pounding, staring directly into my face.

  He was smiling.

  My mind was running wild with panic, only serving to excite me more.

  Caught in the frenzy of the impossible, shocked clean out of my natural wits, I came again.

  Hard.

  So did Helmut.

  “Reesy!!!!!” he cried, rearing his head back toward the ceiling.

  I shuddered beneath him, still grappling with my own release.

  He collapsed upon my shoulder, his breath heavy against my ear.

  I lay there, staring up at the ceiling, still quivering, allowing myself to focus. I glanced around the room. There were huge, fanciful paintings of nude women covering the walls.

  Black women.

  There were also an assortment of photos of Helmut with what appeared to be important people.

  Most of them were black as well.

  Heavy gold drapes hung from the windows. There was a fireplace with embers still glowing.

  This was definitely not Dandre’s crib.

  Helmut kissed my neck.

  “Now, tell me you didn’t enjoy that,” he whispered.

 
I said nothing. I just lay there, catatonic, once again staring at the ceiling.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Helmut’s pallid body lying on top of me. I felt bile rise in my throat.

  I didn’t want to deal with this right now. I couldn’t deal with it right now. Especially with what it meant. The repercussions were too far-reaching and catastrophic.

  The scary thing about it was that Helmut had felt so wickedly delicious. And his, um, thing seemed to function quite well.

  This wasn’t supposed to be. After all, he was a white guy. No way was I supposed to like it.

  I blinked hard, trying to shake the thought.

  I know what, I mused desperately to myself. I’ll just do like Miss Scarlett.

  Gone with the Wind had been one of my favorite books as a teenager. It had been one of Misty’s favorites, too. Misty liked it because it was a powerful love story.

  I liked it for other reasons. Mainly, for Scarlett O’Hara. I admired the way she handled her business.

  She did what she had to do. If somebody did her wrong, she got her revenge. If she wanted something bad enough, she had no shame in going after it. She was looked down upon by people who thought they were better, but did she give a shit?

  Homegirl just went out and claimed what was (and oftentimes, wasn’t) rightfully hers.

  She was a woman after my own heart.

  When things got so bad for her that should couldn’t deal, she just chucked it in a corner, and went about her business. I’ll think about it tomorrow was her motto. Tomorrow is another day.

  I closed my eyes and tried to block out the whole incident. I breathed in slowly and deeply.

  After a while, I felt myself beginning to drift off to sleep.

  Yeah. I’ll pull a Scarlett O’Hara and think about it all tomorrow.

  Tomorrow’s still another day.

  STANDING ON THE VERGE OF GETTIN’ IT ON

  Where were you last night?!” Dandre demanded.

  The show had just ended. We were in my dressing room. We competed for space with what had to be a couple hundred red roses. I didn’t even want to know who they were from.

  “I got in late,” I mumbled, my head down on my dressing table.

  Dandre was hovering behind me. I didn’t have to look at his face to tell he was pissed.

  I didn’t need it right now. I had too much other shit I was trying not to deal with.

  “Why didn’t you return my calls? I left you a ton of messages today.”