From my seat, I looked around the gym at sisters tossing me envious glares and whispering to each other. But there were a few dotting the audience who smiled at me. Those sisters had boyfriends who had publicly claimed them, too, as Abdul had claimed me. I was in an elite cohort: I had a man. I had beaten the ten-to-one odds.
The Dirty Thirty
“Who y’all think gone make that Dirty Thirty list?” Abdul asked. “Freaknik is in two weeks.”
Pat shook his head. “No comment. And this ain’t respectful. Y’all see the ladies here.”
“They can go in the kitchen, where they belong.”
“I ain’t going nowhere,” Roz said. “And fuck you very much.”
Even though Abdul and Steve had moved into their apartment in the fall, they’d been pledging underground. The Gammas had forbidden them to have any parties. So they waited until the spring to have their inaugural set. My boyfriend and his roommate had bought three cases of beer, the good kind. No weed, because they didn’t want that smell in their new furniture. There were six pounds of chicken, which I’d fried for them, after calling Miss Rose for directions. I’d made potato salad to go along.
Roz and I shared a love seat and the four-pack of coolers that she’d bought. The Three Amigos half lay on the couch, bottlenecks resting on their chests, as the television blasted the Bulls versus the Knicks, a certain bloodbath. Nobody could win against Michael Jordan, but it was nice watching his aerial wonders.
“Precious Harmon, for real,” Steve said. “She a natural-born freak.”
“A freak like how?” Abdul asked.
“Like she had a three-way with Rick Bozeman and some dame from Atlanta. He said Precious ate that right in front of him.”
Abdul moved into his patronizing tone. “Man, that girl is a dyke. That don’t count for the DT. I’m talking about actual dudes that boned that jawn.”
Pat sat up. “Y’all need to change the subject. Immediately. Like, post-damn-haste.”
On the TV, Michael Jordan leapt through the air, his tongue out, and we clapped. How did he do that? It was some kind of miracle.
“Did Rick get in there?” Abdul executed a short air punch. “Or was it Precious on one end of that dame and him on the other?”
Steve put his red cup on the table. “Are you telling me a natural-born freak don’t count for the DT just ’cause she ain’t fucked—”
“—nigger, what did I just say?” Pat roared. “I told y’all, stop talking about this shit! Am I gone have to start busting heads up in here?”
I rose from the couch, and my roommate followed. We kicked male feet to navigate our way, but Abdul wouldn’t move. He told us, step over, and tapped the side of his cup. Get him a refill. I snatched the cup from his hand, but in the kitchen, tossed it in the trash.
Roz leaned against the counter. She pulled on my shirt and I moved closer.
“Girl, what’re you doing?” she whispered. “You’re practically living here. And you cooking for him, too?”
“Only for special occasions.”
“You lying.”
“Why you so pressed, Roz? You the one told me I needed a man. Like you and Curt.”
“He’s in grad school, Ailey. You think I’m stupid enough to believe he’s faithful in Virginia?”
“So why y’all still together?”
“Because he sends me a check every month. You know the deal. Ailey, you can’t let a man treat you like this. Where’s your backbone?”
“Why you gotta be so hard on Abdul? He’s already had it bad. I told you how poor he was growing up.”
“So that means he gets to be a jerk? Last I heard, home training don’t cost a dime.”
“Roz, I love him. At least . . . I think I do.”
“You think you love him. Okay, just tell me this. Are y’all using protection?”
From the living room, there were shouts as the Bulls let go of the ball. They needed to call Jordan off the bench. Forget his rest. He could rest after they won the game.
“Not that it’s any of your business, Roz, but yes, we use condoms.”
“Can’t you get your father to write you a prescription for the Pill?”
“You think I want my daddy knowing I have sex? That’s disgusting.”
“I hope you know if you end up pregnant, I’m moving out. I can’t be roomies with somebody can’t handle her business.”
She left me there, leaning against the counter. I turned my back to the kitchen door and picked up a chicken breast. I didn’t want Abdul to see me. He’d told me I needed to start watching my diet before I gained weight. He liked me big-boned, but fat and sloppy was another thing entirely.