One Week Gig. Rufus Jr. Curry Jr.

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СКАЧАТЬ her. She appealed to her, woman-to-woman and finally, Randi felt comfortable enough to venture to the wild side. So we checked out Fe’Fe’s show.

      Randi became more reluctant the closer we got to the club, but we dragged her in anyway. Thumper was thinking this would be his big chance to get at Randi. Naked women dancing all over the place and hopefully a drunk Randy and a tipsy Randi. Finally he would be able to make his move. However, Randi and Randy were unusually close, even for twins. They were tight to the point where Thumper might be required to kiss Randy in order for him to get a clean shot at Randi, let alone attempt to get her out of that black patent leather catsuit. I’m not implying that Randy is gay. I am just saying that Randi and Randy are just that tight. Besides, neither of them knew that Fe’Fe’ had the hots for Randi.

      When Fe’ took the stage, you could hear a rat piss on cotton in a distant corner. The only thing I saw were lights, her body, open mouths and money flying at the stage like bullets out from a machine gun. Coming down off of the stage, she made her way directly to our table and danced around for the remainder of Roger Troutman and Zapp’s, “Computer Love”. You could tell that she had danced to this song a time or two. Timing the song perfectly, she ended up right in front of Randi. Her mannerisms were completely feminine with a very narrow streak of masculinity right down the middle. Randy thought she was dancing for him. He grabbed her around her waist and tried to pull her body close to his. She showed him the hand and softly pushed him away. Fe’ then turned to Randi and gave her, her best private dance. Randi was truly puzzled as she looked back and forth between Fe’ and me. But the crowd of men began to go wild. They urged Fe’ to kiss Randi. Fe’ appeared game as panic overtook Randi.

      "Be cool. She likes you. Let her do her thing and we’ll leave.” I whispered in Randi’s ear with my lips drawn tight.

      Randi’s facial contortions signaled that she is very uncomfortable. “If she tries to kiss me, I’m going to monkey stomp her ass. Right here and right now.” If anybody could monkey stomp some ass, it would sho nuff be Randi, from Butt Naked, GA.

      Fe’ worked her thang so hard, I broke out in a James Brown cold sweat. Randi was sporting a Botox induced expression on her face. As Fe’ worked her way up to center stage, she took a dramatic stance before she reached into a black glitter covered box. She pulled out a snake that was black, green and shades of brown ranging from dark chocolate to tan. It’s head appeared to be the size of the fist of a very large baby and at the thickest part of it’s body, it looked to be larger in circumference than the calf muscle of my leg. The snake looked to be every bit of 7 feet long. She softly rapped the snake around her right leg and moved to the music. The snake slithered up her leg like a phone man climbing up a telephone pole. She worked the crowd to a fever pitch, before reaching over and grabbing the brass pole to support her weight. Then─she raised her left leg as the snake slithered up towards her goodness as if her goodness was where he was supposed to be. From where I sat, his head was face to face with the master that all men love to serve. We couldn’t tell what was going on until she began moan, “Right there! Right there!” as the snake flicked his tongue at a rate that I am comfortable with saying, was faster than any man or woman she may have ever known. I thought the Donkey show I saw down in Tijuana was wild, but this show was crazier because I knew the person in the act. Fe’Fe’ took wild to another level. The men in the club went nuts, throwing tens, twenties, and hundreds. I could have sworn I saw some checks and credit cards too.

      The intensity was so high, she required two of her fellow dancers to come on the stage and help her remove “Right There” from─right there. The snake seemed to have a smile on his face and the men in the club emitted a strong air of envy. I guess the old saying is true, “Men spend nine months trying to get out of the womb and the rest of their lives trying to get back into it.” Randi was awestruck and so was her brother.

      “If that’s what it takes to get a man, I might be in trouble.” Randi sucking her teeth and crossing her arms hard.

      We went backstage to let Fe’Fe’ know we enjoyed her show and thanked her for the invite before we slithered away. With astonishment still on our faces, we walked to the parking lot. Nobody wanted to talk about what they had seen, as if we’d seen a UFO. Even the self-proclaimed “Super Freak”, Thumper, was speechless.

      I hopped into my hoopty and started making my way to the house. Thoughts danced through my head as my car rolled down the highway. Thinking about what I witnessed just fifteen minutes ago, still had me kind of messed up in the head. Fe’Fe’ pushed the envelope when it came to showmanship. To tell the truth, she made me rethink my entire repertoire. Maybe I needed to show more skin on stage. Yeah…right?

      Thinking about what I had just seen ultimately led my thoughts back to Terri. I don’t want to go there right now. The emotions that come with the line of thought built around Terri are mostly negative right now. I do all I can to shift the focus of my mind and the best thing I can do is reach for the old faithful diversion.

      I began to daydream about being prepped for a major TV interview. Sometimes when I have free time or I am stressed out, I imagine that I am being interviewed by a noted journalist. In my mind, I am sitting with Oprah, Barbara Walters, Robin Roberts, Dianne Sawyer or yuckin’ it up on the Tom Joyner Morning Show.

      Some times I would give an impromptu motivational message while sitting with Tavis Smiley, Steve Harvey or on a university campus somewhere in the world. This time I was on an XM Satellite Radio show with Gayle King on the Oprah and Friends channel. I was talking about relationships and what my views were as a black man and a musician who spends a great deal of time on the road. The question that had been put to me was, “What are your views on how to make a relationship between a man and a woman last?” Tilting my head back, I think for a moment. Then, sitting erect with a solid voice, I responded.

      “You know, that’s a good question. I have often thought about that. In my travels, I’ve had the opportunity to talk to other men and women, of all flavors, black, white, Native American, and Latino and so on. Most of us in the West have similar issues when it comes to this topic. There are obvious cultural differences, but in order for the union between a man and a woman to survive, we have to maintain that bi-directional respect. Sometimes we start looking around and decide that we want to make our mate over. I think that’s unfair. Don’t get me wrong. I have seen other women and found them attractive, but that didn’t mean I wanted to go home and convert my wife into that woman. I know a lot of men have a hard time with their mates because in the beginning of the relationship, the women project the image that there is nothing wrong with their man and they love everything about their man, or so they lead you to believe. They like his conversation, looks, style of dress and his swagger. Then, when they get married, they begin an intense man renovation project. The man’s look, habits, career, friends, and his interest all of a sudden become all wrong.”

      The phones in the studio begin to ring off the hook. Before Gayle can ask me the next question, I find myself at the entrance of my street. Turning onto the street, I think, “This isn’t how it should be.” Driving slowly towards the house, I see neighbors, some couples and I wonder if they are fighting or have they fought the same battles I am fighting right now. The entrance to the driveway felt like the long road you have to drive down when you go to visit a prison. As I approach the garage, I press the button on the garage door opener and like a kid, I pretend that I am the captain of a spaceship. A spaceship would be a nice place to be right now. Maybe Terri would actually yearn for me or at least my life insurance policy. Maybe Terri would actually miss me and want me to rush home. Wishful thinking is exactly what these feelings are. Remaining in the car for a few more minutes, I decided I could take another question from one of Gayle’s callers.

      “Mr. Chapman Sweet, why is it that all black men come across like dogs? I mean judging by your music you seem to know how to treat a sister.”, the caller spoke in an exaggerated southern drawl.

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