I'm Your Girl. J.J. Murray

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СКАЧАТЬ epiphany—something about cats’ eyes, strawberries, and leopard-skin thongs—but the epiphany vanishes when stinging rain pelts my face outside the door. Rushing to my Subaru, parked away from the neon orange glow of the Hooters sign, I jump in, start the engine, and pop in my favorite cassette.

      Eric B. and Rakim to the rescue once again.

      At least he has okay taste in music. So, Dan’s “old school.” I just wish he wasn’t such a freak. Now let’s see Ty’s reaction, and she’d better react. I wouldn’t shrug off a man staring that hard at me for anything—not that it happens that often to me. Let’s see, the last time a man really gritted on me was…I sigh. It was during my first year at Purdue. He was a fifth-year senior football player named…Kentrick? Kendrick? He had looked me up and down and up and even circled me once, like an African lion stalking his prey. I felt so…exposed. He never actually approached me. He just…looked.

      And I graduated before he did, four years later.

      4: Ty

      A white guy nodded at me, and I nodded back. Twice. Either we just had us a moment—in his mind, anyway—or that boy has Tourette’s. And what a perv! Checking me out like that, hard staring at my legs, like maybe he thinks he can get between them. That will be the day.

      “Preach on, my sister!” I shout. But then I sigh. I bet they will be getting busy by page fifty, which is about all I’ll probably want to read of this book. That’s one of my rules. I’ll give any book fifty pages, and if I’m not fully grabbed, embraced, and fondled by then, it’s over for me.

      Though I do have some fine legs. At least he has some taste. And he does have sandy blond hair and blue eyes. For whatever reason, I’ve always had a thing for blond hair and blue eyes on a guy, not that any of the brothers I’ve ever dated have gone that route.

      So, she has never been in an interracial relationship. And Dan the vodka-drinking elementary school teacher/freak, who can’t tell if a woman is a lesbian or a man is gay, is the one for her? What would Mike Tyson say about this? Oh, yeah. This is getting ludicrous.

      But why did he tip Darcy? There isn’t even forty dollars’ worth of food on that table. He is obviously a generous fool when it comes to women.

      With a “Stupid” sign around his neck.

      I turn to watch Mike stirring his Sex on the Beach, still going on and on about Precious Paul. “Paul is somebody I can have fun with, but I don’t see us together five or ten years from now. He’s just not settle-down material.”

      Pat slurps her daiquiri. Girl has absolutely no manners. “Speaking of settling down, Ty, are you and Mr. Tickler in it for the long haul, or are you going to get Charles to make an honest woman out of you?”

      Oh…snap. Ty has a Mr. Tickler, too! I feel a rush of blood to my face. I know, I’m weird, but I’m feeling embarrassed by something that’s happening to a woman in a novel.

      I wonder if Ty has the newest model….

      Before I can answer—and I really don’t want to answer—Darcy returns with our appetizers, which gives me a wicked thought: good service means that the server is getting some later. Would Darcy be this busy with our order if she weren’t getting busy after work?

      “Here are your drinks, hot wings, and spinach dip. I also brought some extra plates for y’all. Are y’all ready to order your main courses?”

      I shake my head. “I think this will be enough for me, thank you. Are you guys ordering anything?”

      Mike pats his stomach. “No, I had a late lunch so I’m not that hungry. This will be plenty.”

      “This is fine,” Pat says. “If I get hungry later, I’ll attack some of the leftovers in the fridge.”

      Darcy winces. No big tip for you at this booth, wench. “Great, I’ll bring your check in a few minutes. How should I divide it?”

      Pat rolls her eyes. “Just bring one check, please. Whose turn is it to pay anyway?”

      Mike pulls out his Visa and hands it to Darcy. “Mine.”

      After Darcy leaves, I see Pat staring at me. I know she wants me to answer her question, most likely because she wants yet another of my leftover boyfriends. The girl really likes her leftovers. I dump ’em, and she pumps ’em. She says they taste better the second time you cook with them.

      And Pat’s the librarian-looking one? Trifling, just trifling.

      I decide to change the subject. “That wench didn’t even ask if we wanted dessert. I guess she needs to hurry up and get ready for her date with home girl later.”

      “At least she has a date, and stop trying to change the subject,” Pat says. “So what’s up with you and your love life, Ty? You haven’t been on a date with Charles in God knows how long. I know you’ve been dating that battery-powered Mr. Tickler, and if Mr. Tickler is that good, girl, I may have to invest in one.”

      I can’t believe she’s busting out with my business like that! Though I know Mike could care less, I’m embarrassed as hell.

      And now I’m embarrassed all over again. In addition to giving librarian-looking people a bad name, Pat is just plain rude. What’s the word? Uncouth. Yep, Pat is uncouth in the booth.

      Though I plan to get some from Mr. Tickler tonight if Charles doesn’t come through.

      It sounds to me as if Ty has her priorities in order. I’ll bet she has quite a collection of C batteries in her nightstand. She may even have rechargeable batteries warming up in one of those little rechargers right now. I should probably get a recharger, too.

      It’s good for the environment, you know.

      “I’m just glad you got over Jason,” Mike says. “He was a dawg with a capital D.”

      I’m so tired of where this conversation always seems to go. “Why is it we talk about the same damn thing every time we go out?” I ask. “I don’t want to talk about the man I’m with or the men who dogged me out. I don’t want to talk about Charles, and I sure as hell don’t want to talk about Jason. I came out tonight to talk to two of my friends about normal shit, like working, or the last movie you saw, Pat, or the last book you read, Mike. This is depressing.”

      Neither Mike nor Pat speaks for a few moments.

      “I, uh, I fixed that problem in accounting today,” Pat says.

      “’Bout time, too,” Mike says, and in no time, they sit and fuss about working for Wachovia, where Mike is a supervisor and Pat is a systems analyst. I don’t understand a word they’re saying most of the time, because they speak that computer-tech language, but at least they aren’t grilling me anymore.

      Darcy gives us exactly two minutes to start on our wings and spinach dip before bouncing up to the table and handing the credit card slip to Mike. “Here you are, sir. Thank you, and y’all have a good night.” Then Darcy bounces away, and I know that isn’t the ass she was born with. It doesn’t fit her white body at all. I’ll bet she got a real good deal on the sale of her singlewide at the trailer park and bought herself a booty. I’m sure her mama’s real proud of her.

      Ain’t СКАЧАТЬ