We walked in and I noticed it had a reverse mix race majority, some white faces, predominately black.
Regardless of the fact that we weren’t the only white people there, we were the only white people there wearing skintight Lycra and enough hair spray to supply the Denver Broncos Cheerleaders for an entire season. This caused somewhat of a sensation and I felt that sensation lifting the hairs on the back of my neck.
Daisy charged through the bar like she owned the joint, went down a back hal and rapped on a closed door.
An enormous black woman, with an Afro even bigger than Daisy’s hair (needless to say, it was huge), opened the door, her face like a storm cloud. I sucked in breath and pul ed my purse closer, the better to reach my pepper spray. Then the cloud cleared and the woman’s face broke into a bright smile.
“Daisy-girl!” she said and came into the hal with us, closing the door and enveloping little Daisy in a big hug.
“Shirleen. How’s tricks?” Daisy asked when Shirleen let her go.
“Shit, they’re always shit. You know that,” Shirleen said, the smile never leaving her face which I thought was strange considering “tricks” were shit.
“Let me introduce my girls,” Daisy said and performed the introductions.
“Oowee! Looks like you al are paintin’ the town pink too-nite!” Shirleen declared and looked us al over with approving tawny brown eyes. I had the feeling Shirleen had Ada’s rose-tinted glasses on or she was prematurely blinding.
“Only way a town should be,” Al y said.
“You got that right, sister,” Shirleen noted and we al grinned.
Daisy got down to business.
“We’re lookin’ for Ray McAlister. He in there?”
“Ray? Haven’t seen Ray in a coupla days. He got trouble, you know what I mean?” Shirleen replied.
Daisy’s hair nodded, so did mine, Al y’s and Indy’s. We knew what she meant.
“This is his little girl,” She pointed at me.
“Shee-it!” Shirleen squealed and her eyes turned to me, wide, bright and happy, “Been wantin’ to meet you.
Everyone’s talkin’ ‘bout you. Heard you kneed Fratel i in the bal s at a bagel place. Wish I’da been there. You coulda sold tickets to that.”
“It was kind of a spur of the moment thing. He cal ed my boyfriend a wetback,” I explained.
Damn.
Now I was cal ing Eddie my boyfriend.
Shirleen’s grin faded and her eyes narrowed.
“Fuckin’ dick,” she said. “Fratel i’s not a big fan of the brothers either.” She turned to Daisy, “Marcus, now, he’s a good man, respects the brothers, ‘bout time he cut Fratel i loose.”
Daisy’s hair nodded again.
“You see Ray, you cal me, would you do that Shirleen?” Daisy asked.
“You got it.” She put her hand on the doorknob, “Gotta get back. Go to the bar, tel ‘em Shirleen said to set you up.”
“You’re a peach,” Daisy said.
Shirleen disappeared behind the door. We went to the bar and told the bartender Shirleen set us up. He didn’t quibble and used a heavy hand.
“What now?” Al y asked, sipping her Designated Driver Diet Coke.
“I know of another table, but ain’t no way they’d let me sit it and ain’t no way I’d try. Marcus would have a conniption,” Daisy replied.
This was not good news. This meant the night was a bust.
No Dad, no control of my life, no end to my nightmare.
Al dressed up and nothing to show for it.
Damn.
I glanced across the room and then froze solid when I saw Darius.
He saw me at the same time and did an eye-sweep taking in Indy and Al y. Then, without hesitation, his hand went to the back pocket of his homey-jeans and he pul ed out his cel .
“Shit!” I hissed, turning to the bar.
“What?” Indy asked.
“Darius is here, he saw us, he’s cal ing Eddie,” I looked at her, “Or Lee.”
Indy looked across the room, obviously saw Darius and then turned around.
“Shit!” she hissed.
“I’m gonna go say hi,” Al y said.
Indy grabbed her.
“Don’t say hi! We’re in Darius Domain. He doesn’t want some white woman in red knit with her ass hanging out walking up to him to say hi.”
“He’s Darius,” Al y returned as if that explained everything.
Something to know about Al y, apparently, she wasn’t scared of anything.
Daisy was looking across the bar, bold as brass, staring right at Darius.
“You girls know him?” she asked.
We nodded.
She turned to us, Serious Kick-Butt Daisy firmly in place.
“You don’t know him right now.”
Al y stared at her.
“Gotcha,” Indy said, pul ing Al y back to the bar.
Luckily, that was that.
We sucked down vodka. Mine and Indy’s cut with cranberry juice, Daisy’s cut with ice.
So much for the big, dangerous night out with the girls.
“Yo, bitch!”
We al turned to see who the bitch was.
To my surprise, the bitch appeared to be Indy.
A smal , round black woman with ringlets invaded Indy’s space.
“Remember me?”
Indy blinked at her.
“Um…” Indy mumbled.
The woman looked at me.
“She don’t remember me,” she said.