Playing Hard To Get Page 16

  “Now, Troy?” Kyle looked as if he’d considered what Myrtle said and turned to Troy.

  “Are you serious? You want me to respond to that? She’s obviously—”

  Myrtle jumped up.

  “I knew she wouldn’t want to talk. See, she’s ruled by her anger. It’s the devil.”

  Kyle looked at Troy sharply.

  “Whatever…” Troy stated, crossing her arms and legs in protest. “Look, I appreciate you helping me, Myrtle, but it was time for the organization to take a new direction. You’re acting like this was all my decision. We took a vote.”

  “That vote was poisoned and you know it!” Myrtle shouted. “That…that Kiosha or Kiona…whatever her name is, she poisoned everyone against me. And it hurt so bad. I have given everything I have to this church—to the Virtuous Women—and she just wanted to take it away from me.”

  “The vote wasn’t poisoned. Why can’t you just accept that it was time for you to move on? Or do you have other plans? Maybe this isn’t about the Virtuous Women, after all. Maybe you want my—”

  “Ladies!”

  Kyle’s head was spinning and he was praying Saptosa would step into the office and say someone else, someplace else was in need of his pastorial services pronto. But even if there was another emergency, Saptosa wouldn’t be at her desk to answer the call. She was too busy at the door listening and texting all of the dirty details of the argument to her mother, grandmother, and godmother—all mothers at the church.

  “Can we come to a compromise, ladies?” Kyle asked, standing up and holding his hands out to both women. Troy jumped up too and tried to stand closer to Kyle than Myrtle. “Isn’t there something that could work for both of you?” Both women looked off in opposite directions to show their disinterest.

  “She could leave the church,” Myrtle murmured inaudibly.

  “What?” Troy puffed out her chest.

  “Ladies, please!” Kyle repeated and the force in his voice was so hard it surprised and excited his company. “Can’t you both find some way to get along?”

  “Well,” Myrtle started, peeking over at Troy, “if she’d just let me back into the organization, maybe I could help her again…and—”

  “What?” Troy shouted.

  “And I wouldn’t be a bother,” Myrtle went on. “It would be like I wasn’t even there. I’d let her take the lead and I’d just help. I only want to serve the women of Christ.”

  “Wonderful,” Kyle said, relieved. “That sounds perfectly reasonable to me. What do you think, Troy?”

  He turned to Troy and her mouth was wide open. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Why couldn’t Kyle, in all of his wisdom, see past Myrtle’s drama? She wanted to continue to probe and then protest, but she could see the irritation in her husband’s face and learned, as any good wife should, that he had limitations, and there was no sense arguing with him once they were exceeded.

  “Fine,” Troy muttered, crossing her arms tighter over her chest. Quick as a cat, Myrtle jumped into Troy’s arms like she’d been reunited with her long-lost best friend.

  “I am so happy,” Myrtle said excitedly. “Praise God!”

  She hugged Troy tightly, her right hand cradling the back of Troy’s head as she rocked back and forth.

  “I am so happy,” she repeated so Kyle could hear, but then, in Troy’s ear, she whispered, “Watch your back. I’m coming for you.”

  

  Troy and Kiona hadn’t been friends long enough for Kiona to ask if she’d had a fight with her husband, but as the pair left First Baptist on the way to a hot yoga class Troy had invited her to, it was clear that something had gone wrong in Kyle’s office. Troy was silent most of the way to the studio. And as Kiona suffered in the steam that even the instructor agreed was too high, Troy hardly broke a sweat and kept a Jedi-like focus on each pose.

  “Thanks for inviting me,” Kiona said, dabbing her chest with a towel to sop up the pools of sweat soaking her clothes as they walked out of the class. “I’ve never done anything like this. Me and my friends mostly spend the afternoon in front of the TV.” She laughed. “I didn’t expect to sweat quite so much, but I guess that’s the point.”

  “You get used to the heat after a while,” Troy said.

  They walked into the locker room and Kiona saw that her once curled hair was now a little Afro.

  “I’m sure you do,” Kiona said, “but until then, I think I’ll stick with doing yoga in my living room. I can’t afford the hair upkeep.”

  “Do whatever you want,” Troy snapped.

  “Ooookaaay…”

  “I’m sorry,” Troy said, noticing the confused look on Kiona’s face. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m just a little stressed right now.”

  “Why?”

  “The Virtuous Women again…one in particular.”

  “First Lady—”

  “Troy,” Troy stopped Kiona. “We’re friends. Just call me Troy.”

  “Troy, you’re doing a fine job. Everyone is so excited about the changes you’ve been making,” Kiona said.

  “Really?”

  “I wouldn’t lie to you,” Kiona added as they walked out of the yoga studio. “I don’t have a reason to. Now, don’t let a few bad dancers ruin your soul train line. Keep the party going.”

  “What?” Troy laughed. “My soul train line?”

  “It’s an old line my big sister used to say to me,” Kiona said. “The point is to enjoy yourself. The people who want to stop your line like it when you don’t seem to be having fun. You’ve worked hard and you should be having fun.”

  “You’re right,” Troy agreed. “I should be having fun and I’m not going to let that…that hater ruin my good time.”

  “Praise God!” Kiona said. “Now, come on and let’s dance!”

  The two women chuckled and danced down Fifth Avenue like it was 1980 and Don Cornelius was about to ask them to unscramble VIRTUOUS WOMEN on the Soul Train board.

  “For the Virtuous Women,” Troy shouted, doing an off-step bus stop behind Kiona.

  “No,” Kiona started, “for the best leader the Virtuous Women has ever had!”

  “That’s right, that’s right, that’s right!” Troy shimmied as Kiona danced circles around her.

  “Get it, girl,” a random man said, coming up behind Troy and trying to dance with her. “That’s my kind of lady! Wooo-weee!”

  Troy and Kiona screamed and ran down the street, laughing at the spectacle they’d caused the entire way. When they stopped and Troy gathered herself, she realized that they were standing in front of the Louis Vuitton store.

  “What?” Kiona stopped too, noticing Troy’s gaze. She looked in the window at the purses and mannequins dressed in Vuitton.

  “You know what,” Troy said, “I respect that you called me the best leader, but we both know I’m only decent, and the only reason I can be decent is because of your help.”

  “Thank you,” Kiona said.

  “I want to do something nice for you!”

  “Nice?”

  “Follow me.” Troy pulled a resistant Kiona into the Vuitton store and in minutes she’d replaced Kiona’s faux patent Surya with the real thing.

  “Oh, I can’t accept this,” Kiona said once she realized Troy’s offer. “It’s much too expensive.”

  “Nonsense—it’s a gift! It’s your new boyfriend,” Troy said. “You deserve it! I see how much you’ve done for the church. And I know what you’ve done for me.”

  “I don’t do any of those things to get gifts or recognition,” Kiona said. “I do it because I love it. Because it’s what God called me to do.”

  “And that’s exactly why you deserve this real bag—because you’re a real woman,” Troy said earnestly. “You’re so busy spoiling everyone else, it’s time you were spoiled.”

  “Thank you, Troy,” Kiona said.

  “I’m the one thanking you!”

  Leaving Kiona to look through the other purses, Troy walked to the
cashier and handed the checkout woman her card before she’d mentioned the total.

  “No need to box it,” Troy said casually. “I think we’re leaving the fake one here! And add a monogram wallet too…a wallet and a keychain.”

  “Well—Ms…. Ms. Smith—” the woman tried.

  “It’s Hall now, but that’s my old name on the card,” Troy rambled.

  “Ms. Smith, your card was declined.”

  “What?” Troy looked as if she had no idea what “declined” meant.

  “Declined—as in, funds not available.”

  It was like the woman was suddenly yelling over a loudspeaker.

  “Funds what?”

  “Do you have another card?”

  “I have that one,” Troy said. “Can you try it again?”

  “I did it twice. The card doesn’t work.” The impatience in the woman’s voice was mounting, yet she seemed to be getting some weird satisfaction from the turn in events.

  “I—” Troy turned to see Kiona laughing with one of the salesgirls. Just then she remembered what she’d said to Lucy—that she’d told her not to put any more money into the account. “I—”

  “Ms., other people are waiting,” the woman said.

  Embarrassed, ashamed, and nervous, Troy opened her purse and pulled out the only other card she had—Kyle’s business account card from the church. He’d given it to her in case of an emergency.

  “Try this one,” she said. “I know it’ll work.”

  

  See the World: The 3T Get-Out Guide

  The weekend rut is the worst rut of all—you shop, you sleep, you meet your girls for drinks and dip and maybe a movie. It happens this way every weekend and pretty soon you get bored and mix it up by…just staying home. Stop limiting yourself. Stop limiting your universe. Expand your horizons by expanding your calendar.

  Instead of inviting your friends out for the same old drinks at the same old place, try something new, somewhere new. Here are ten things you and your soul sisters can try that’ll be sure to be added to your list of favorite pastimes.

  1. Get in the saddle: Because horses are everywhere, dude ranches are hard to miss. Put on your leather stirrups and go for a ride on the wild side.

  2. Make your own clothes: Believe it or not, crocheting is making a comeback. Find a local sewing circle and see what you can make. You may never wear that lopsided sweater, but you can brag about making it.

  3. Cook it up: Yeah, you can cook soul food, but can you make chicken tikka masala? Stop paying for good Indian food and learn how to make your own by taking a cooking class next Friday night.

  4. Go hiking: While communing with nature might leave you with a few mosquito bites, the benefits for your mind, body, and soul will be worth it.

  5. Pitch a tent: The only thing funnier than a bunch of children in the woods is a bunch of sisters building a campfire. Make s’mores and tell relationship horror stories.

  6. Turn up the heat: Yoga is wonderful, but hot yoga is magnificent. It’ll open your pores and leave your skin quite fab! Warning: Don’t cover your hair. That’ll make it worse.

  7. Go to the opera: From Aida to Black Orpheus, opera is full of storylines you’ll enjoy and high notes you’ll have fun trying to duplicate.

  8. Save a tree, save a kid: If you and your bestie are tired of hearing about each other’s problems, try solving the problems of the world by getting involved in your community.

  9. Make beautiful art: Adult education programs teach everything from pottery making to sketching. Priced from $40 to $200, the weekly classes usually cost less than the bag on your arm.

  10. Support a sister: Find an independent sistergirl painter, poet, filmmaker, singer, or dancer and support her work on a Friday night.

  6

  The great question that has never been answered and which I have not yet been able to answer, despite my thirty years of research into the feminine soul, is “What does a woman want?”

  —Sigmund Freud

  To the surprise of no one in the universe but the woman wearing the second $85,000 wedding ring he’d bought her, Lionel wasn’t considering moving his budding brood back to New York City and he wasn’t even willing to talk about it. Riding in the passenger’s seat on the way home from the airport after a terrible game that solidified his team’s exclusion from the NBA finals, he’d told Tasha no so many times she’d stopped counting.

  “No. It doesn’t make any sense,” Lionel said after she mentioned that they could probably find something big and pretty and cheap in just a month or so. While getting good property in Manhattan was like getting a private phone call from Jesus, it was a recession and they had the kind of money that could at least get a Hispanic Realtor named “Hey-suess” on the line—Tasha had come up with this joke to break the ice. “Where are my kids?” Lionel asked. He hadn’t even chuckled about the “Hey-suess” line.

  “With Milania.”

  “Why the fuck didn’t you bring them to the damn airport?” Lionel looked at Tasha like she was crazy.

  “Because I wanted to talk to you about this.”

  “About fucking what?”

  “About the move…”

  “There’s nothing to fucking talk about.” Lionel held up his hands to show his puzzlement.

  Tasha winced at every curse that came from his lips. Lionel wasn’t a violent man. He almost never even raised his voice. But when he was upset, he cursed like a drunken sailor on weekend leave. Dropping f-bombs was his way of dealing with aggravation. The only way Tasha could get his attention after that was to drop the subject or drop more bombs than him. And she was leaning toward the latter. It was a dramatic dance any married woman knew, and while Tasha wasn’t the best at it, she needed to at least be good. Good enough. Because what she wasn’t telling Lionel was that she’d already packed up half of their belongings, scheduled a moving van, and redirected the mail.

  She needed bombs. Canons. Howitzers. Heavy artillery.

  “Fuck it. Fuck it. Fuck it! Fuck it! Just fuck it!” She hollered, banging on the steering wheel as the car jerked from left to right in the traffic on the freeway. Lionel lowered his hands and looked at her. “You know what? I was just trying to do something for this family—for our children. Get them out of this godforsaken hick-ass state and into some motherfucking culture. But just forget it. Fucking forget it! Shit! Fuck me for even trying to be a good mother.”

  If any of their grandmothers were alive, bars of Ivory soap would be poking out of both of the LaRoches’ mouths, but in this situation clean language was the mouthwash of losers.

  “Pull this motherfucker over!” Lionel shouted, pulling the steering wheel so the car jerked far to the right until Tasha got control again and charged off of the exit into a McDonald’s drive-through.

  “You want to tell me what’s right for my damn children?” Lionel started, snatching the keys from the ignition. “What’s more fucking right than what they already have—a million-dollar mansion in the best neighborhood in the country, preadmission to the best day school in the state, every piece of goddamn brand-name clothing you can find, safety, food, heat in the fucking winter, cool air in the summer. Shit, when we took Toni to the mountains last year, I realized she’d never even seen dirt. What’s better than that? What could be better than the life they have?”

  “If we keep them here, they’re just gonna turn out like every other suburban teen—sheltered, privileged, and pretentious.”

  “They are sheltered and privileged,” Lionel said. “And they should be pretentious. You know, I told you when I agreed to have Toni that I wanted the best for my children. Better than what I had, growing up in the damn projects, not knowing my damn daddy, thinking I was nothing. I’m not nothing anymore and my girls are something. I want them to know that. There ain’t nothing in that fucking city that’s gonna be good for—wait a minute.” Lionel jumped out of the car and ran around to Tasha’s side, pulling her from the car and standing before her like a solid
er in war. “Them…this isn’t them going back to the city. This is about you. About the fucking meeting with…what’s her name…Lynn.”

  “No,” Tasha tried, but it was too late. Lionel had added up everything he thought he knew in his mind. “It’s not about—”

  “I fucking know you. Everything is about Tasha. Everything. You just want to get back into the city so you can be a drunk with your friends and buy a bunch of shit to make yourself feel better about the fact that you’ll never be as successful as your mother.”

  Tasha balled up her fists.

  “You know, sometimes when we fight, you take shit too far and now you have, Lionel,” she said, fuming with anger. “Take that back.”

  “No, Tasha. Because it’s time I said it to you. It’s time I told you that I know you only had Toni because you wanted to prove that you could be a better mother than Porsche was to you and when Toni came and your mother came here from LA and—”

  “Stop!”

  “—and everything was perfect for a little while as you two pretended that you didn’t still hate each other, you thought you had her. But when she left and she wasn’t there anymore to watch you be the perfect mother—”

  “No!” Tasha wanted to stop Lionel. His words were pouring into her ears like lava.

  “—you didn’t know what to do, so you had to one-up her again—and that’s the only reason—”

  “You stop it—”

  “No!” Lionel barked, inching so close into Tasha she couldn’t breathe. “That’s the only reason you had Tiara. The only reason!”

  “It’s not true. None of it’s true,” Tasha cried.

  “Come on. You weren’t even thinking about children until it was clear your business wasn’t working,” Lionel said. “You weren’t the hot news anymore. You were my wife and people wanted me out front.”

  “Putting you out front was my job.”

  “Not for long…it didn’t impress Porsche for long. I wasn’t enough.”

  “You think I married you to impress her?” Tasha asked.

  “I think you think you have something to prove.”