White Freshman, Black Coeds Ch. 24

But it was well past 3:30 now and I needed to get to work. "Can I call you tonight?" She said of course, and we kissed goodbye.

I slid into the back of the shop at 3:55. "Playa, playa! What is UP, my man?!" Trey, especially happy today. We shook hands and hugged and that's when I noticed Felicia beaming at me through the pass-through. Even Jason, the other cook, was looking at me funny, smiling big. And one of the other drivers I knew only a little, Necota, was looking at me and smiling. I felt like something was "up," but didn't know what. It wasn't my birthday or anything, but this felt like that.

"Let's go around front, Felicia has something for you." Trey led me around and the others followed. As we turned into the space behind the counter I saw all of Felicia, beaming at me from head to toe. All hundred pounds of her, her nerdy black glasses a little crooked on her thin face. And a rolled-up poster or something in her hand.

"What's all this about, guys?"

"Well, Mark. We heard about your...performance last night—" and she started unrolling the poster "—and we thought you should have this poster." And who was it but Sir Mixalot! Felicia busted out laughing, a beautiful smile flashing white across her dark face. Trey was pounding me on the shoulder, saying "My man!" over and over, with "I knew him first" thrown in once in a while. Jason and Necota were clapping and whistling.

"Dudes! How did you know!?"

"Man, the whole campus been talkin' about it! Girls been comin' in here like, "Where's Mark? Is he working now?" Playa, you a rock star!"

I told him I thought he was probably lying, then asked Felicia what really happened.

"Okay, so Nia came in around noon and brought this poster and told us all about it, how you totally killed that song, and how we should recognize you for it." She'd rolled Sir Mix back up and handed him to me. As I took it from her I thought I saw a new appreciation in her eyes.

"Hold up, hold up! I personally got something for you, dawg, and some of the others know about this, so.....here." And he handed me a little business-card sized thing. Printed on it neatly was "Black Card. This card grants the bearer...."

He busted out laughing, then I did, joined by Felicia and Necota, while Jason looked confused but clapped along anyway.

"I can't accept this, guys, but thank you. Maybe when I marry Nia..."

I hadn't meant to say that, I was caught up in the moment, but Trey stopped laughing and looked at me like, "This boy is serious..." And when I glanced bashfully at Felicia I saw some hurt in her eyes, but also an acceptance, even a joy perhaps: a "good for you and her" kind of thing.

So I gave the card back to Trey and asked him to hold onto it for a while yet. He took it back, and not mad, but not smiling anymore, he hugged me tight, that kind of slap-em-hard-on-the-back hug guys sometimes do. In my ear he whispered, "Good on ya, man." He turned away and pushed past Necota and Jason and went back to the kitchen. That was as close as I'd ever seen Trey get to real feelings. He told me much later that he'd been so proud of me saying what I'd said about marrying Nia, and how the acceptance of her was somehow an acceptance of him.

Felicia packed up to leave, with a hug for me and a few words of appreciation and encouragement, then the evening orders started rolling in and there wasn't much time to talk or think. Except when I was alone in my car, and then I thought how cool it was that Nia had told them about Baby Got Back, and gone to the trouble of finding the poster, then how they'd done that little presentation for me. And how Trey had come up with the idea of the Black Card all on his own. I was glad he thought of me that way, because he was the best friend I had, after Nia.

And Nia: I thought about Nia a lot while I was driving. How she'd looked on stage, how she'd made me feel inside. How marrying her was quickly becoming my number one priority in life. How we'd have a little house, then kids, then another minivan... After 10 years of having no family at all, that was a vison of happiness I nurtured and treasured.

I called Nia when I got back to my room and thanked her for her thoughtfulness. I even told her all the things I just wrote above, and she said she wanted all those things too. When it was time.

When it was time. I knew she was right, but still it hurt my heart a little. In most everything else I was the practical one, the pragmatist, the planner and then doer. But in affairs of the heart I was the drunken romantic, ready to marry this girl I hadn't even known for 2 months yet. Nia, though she was the extrovert, the expressionist, had a level head when it came to love and life. Now at 18 wasn't the time, and I appreciated her for keeping me in check.

"About 10 tomorrow?" She said she'd be ready. And would brush up on her French tonight in case we met that French lady Simone.

Sunday, 11/6

"Your hair is...different."

"Do you like it, or..." She turned her face down and aside, embarrassed.

"No, I like it. I just haven't seen you like this before..."

(White guys: black women can do their hair about a hundred different ways. And each one makes their face look different. Not just their face, but their whole selves. That's what was happening to me right now.)

She told me it was called cornrows, and Gabby had done it for her last night. But what a change it was: before, her poofy hair, just slightly kinky, ballooned out from her scalp and cascaded out and down to her shoulders. Heck, it even billowed up, it was so poofy. But now there were these neat, braided rows running the length of her skull front to back, perfectly parallel, the skin of her scalp showing in between. And they ended in little clear beads that dangled and clacked just above the nap of her neck.

I stood there kind of stunned, the engineer in me screaming, "Where did all that hair GO?!" It seemed impossible that that great mass of fine, frilly hair, the hair I'd tousled and sniffed and buried my face in so many times could have been reduced to...this?

"You don't like it." She turned to step back into the House.

I grabbed her wrist. "No, I do. It's just so...different." She smiled shyly, still embarrassed though, and hugged me.

"I know, baby. But it's still me: don't I feel like me? Sound like me? Smell like me?"

I felt and smelled her to excess, then pushed her out from me at arm's length. "I'm sorry, Nia. It just caught me by surprise. I mean, I've seen girls with their hair like this, but I've only seen you with poofy hair, and—well—the change is just so remarkable on you. I mean, where did all that hair GO?? You didn't cut it, did you?"

She laughed and pulled me inside to one of the loveseats in the big living room. "No, I didn't cut it! It's all still there, believe it or not. I've never really thought about it, but you're right: it's kind of amazing that all that hair packs into the cornrows."

Then the inquisitive part of me took over and I asked belatedly, as my hand was on its way up, if I could touch them. I did, and they were so tight and firm it was really incredible. Looking closely I could see how her hair had been neatly parted this way and that, and then skillfully woven into exquisite braids that tightly hugged her scalp.

"Does he like them?" Gabby's French-accented voice as she came in from the kitchen.

"He isn't sure yet," Nia said, her head still down as I inspected.

"You did this, Gabby?! This is incredible work!" It really was. I'd seen rope made by a hand-cranked machine once, and the result was a lot like this, but I couldn't imagine doing this by hand.

"Thank you! I'm okay at it..."

"Mark, most black girls know how to braid hair. Some better than others, of course. Gabby is really good, so that's why I asked her."

"I had three little sisters, and mother didn't have the time or money, so..." I loved Gabby's slight French accent, and the proper way she spoke, "mother" vs. "my mom," which is how Nia or I would've said it.

"So how are you and Sean getting along?" I asked it enthusiastically, really happy for her, and liking Sean enough that I hoped he had a chance with her. But she made a face and a halting attempt to answer as she fumbled for appropriate words.

"He's a little too bougie," Nia said in Gabby's voice, figuratively using the air quotes.

"Yes, that's it exactly!"

"Nothing wrong with a cultured guy, is there?"

"No, but I can only listen to so much of how Daddy's firm did this, and Mummy's women's group did that, and Ohmygosh, the caddies at the Club are so lazy!" You know Carlton from Fresh Prince? Gabby's impersonation was a lot like him. I'd talked to Sean a couple times and he didn't come across to me quite that way, but she had us both cracking up.

"Have you told him yet?" I'd want to be told sooner rather than later if a girl didn't really like me.

"Noooo...I don't want to hurt his feelings. He is a really nice guy..."

Nia said she and Gabby were working on it together, and he'd be told soon. I'm ashamed to say that as I sat there looking at Gabby sitting on a chair across from us, at how beautiful she was, and how I'd seen and felt her naked once before, that I was secretly glad that she'd be breaking up with Sean. But my conscience was clear that I hadn't had anything to do with it. And I wouldn't be making any suggestions to Nia. But there had been that kiss she initiated in the minivan the night I brought her to the frat party...

"Ready to go?" Nia, standing up. And when I looked up at her I saw for an instant a different person. A little less classically 'beautiful' to be honest, and I hoped she hadn't seen that flicker in my eyes. It was the hair. Weird what it did to my overall perception of her, because she had the same body and face. I stood to join her, and Gabby stood too; I thought to go, but then Nia asked, "Oh, can Gabby come with us?"

Do you already see all the thoughts that flooded through my mind? All the possibilities and permutations? All day yesterday Nia and I knew we'd be having sex at Ross today, right? But now she was inviting Gabby along; Gabby, who's in a relationship. Or was in a relationship. Or is in a relationship, but it's essentially over. And we three had been intimate once before. So was Nia inviting Gabby along for more of that? Or was this totally innocent, and Gabby really did need to go to Ross?

I looked at Nia for some indication one way or the other, but was met with a guileless gaze that gave nothing away. When I turned to Gabby to say, "Sure" (and study her face) she was looking down fixing her shoe. (Conveniently?) So I said, "Sure," and she looked up and smiled.

"Great!" Nia smiled and pulled me toward the door. Nia went into the front of the chariot, and I helped Gabby into the middle seat by the sliding door, and we were off.

"Mark, you were incredible the other night!" Followed by the girls gushing over how well I'd sang Baby Got Back, my first time at karaoke. I told Gabby about the poster Nia had brought down to the shop, and Gabby said she knew because she'd driven Nia to 3 stores yesterday to find it. (She had a car, I was just learning, and Nia didn't.)

So I thanked Gabby for her part in the affair, catching her eyes in the rear-view mirror. Probably a trick of the light, but her eyes seemed to twinkle when I said 'affair.' Then I told them about the Black Card, and how much that had meant to me, but that I'd given it back, for now. I didn't tell them about the other thing I'd said, but I looked over at the almost-new woman who was my girlfriend and smiled.

One thing was certain for me now: Nia probably wouldn't be Simone today, the 40ish French "concierge to the stars" I'd met the first time she and I had gone to Ross together (and who had later offered me her young protégé from the Sorbonne, Gabby). Simone was probably too old and too sophisticated to wear a hairstyle like that, which I associated with young people.

I began to think of new-Nia a certain way based on this new hairstyle, but I tried not to let on. As the girls jabbered on about girl stuff I was thinking through all this, both remembering and prognosticating. Nia looked more "urban" to me now, and I thought it might be fun to be frisky with a girl like that. If she adopted that kind of character, I wondered how she'd play it. And how Gabby would fit in. Oh Mark, just stop it! They're only going shopping; they don't care about you like that, not right now.

And then I was pulling up at Ross.

"Mark?"

"Huh? Yes?" I'd been doing it again: daydreaming and not listening.

"Gabby was asking..." And then whatever that was, quickly handled.

When we entered the store I saw Brie straightening watches in the rotating display case, and no one else in the store, thankfully.

"Hey ladies! Hey Mark!" A little extra honey in her voice for me. The girls ran over and they hugged and chattered a bit.

I started to head over to the Men's section when she called out, "Hey Mark, I heard you like these!" And she turned around and shook her rump at me. Bigger than I preferred (she was a big girl), but it was clearly a Big Butt, so obviously she'd heard. I went beet-red and turned on my heel to go, as the girls exploded into raucous laughter.

After a short time in the Men's racks fumbling around by myself, Nia came over and quickly picked out three outfits for me to try on. These would be the clothes I'd wear when I met her parents in less than 3 weeks, so I let her choose everything. I noticed that what she was choosing was a little 'edgier' than what I normally wore: there was a shirt by FUBU, cargo pants from South Pole, and I don't remember what else. I cringed inside a little, but hoped I didn't let on. Anyway, I could probably have stood to dress a little "cooler," and if it made my girlfriend happy...

I'd been in the dressing room a little while trying on the clothes when I heard a strange voice, a young girl's, but very urban. Okay, please don't blast me, but it was quite ghetto. She was talking to someone, but the other girl was only mmhmm'ing and giggling occasionally. They went into the dressing room next to mine.

"And then she was all..." "And then I was like, Bitch, if you don't..." And still the other girl wasn't talking. It was starting to make me uncomfortable, so I quickly changed in and out of the 3rd outfit, then put my own clothes back on, leaving to go find Nia.

As I stepped out I didn't see her there in the Women's area (fellas, why are the dressing rooms always on the Women's side?). But my greatest fear happened and I heard the door behind me open. I didn't turn to look because I knew it wasn't Nia.

"Mmmmm, what do we have here....?" The same girl who'd been talking before. What could I do? She was obviously talking about me, there was no one else in the store except for Brie way over there. My brain quickly ran through the possibilities, and walking away without acknowledging her had a high probability of getting ugly, so I turned to face her, say hi, then extricate myself from her presence as quickly as I could.

Now, I'd like to say it was Nia looking back at me, but it wasn't. Oh, it was Nia's body, and Gabby was beside her as confirmation, but the face, the body language, the attitude, even the clothes were all different from my girlfriend Nia who'd walked into the store with me. Remember how her facial expressions had struck me in her dance recital? This was that. Combined with the cornrows and the slutty/urban/freakin' hot clothes she must've changed into, this girl was about as much of a juxtaposition from Nia as I could've imagined.

"Well hello there, tall, white, and handsome! What your name is?"

She was cocky and self-assured, and the little cropped and distressed muscle shirt she was wearing showed plenty of her breasts and midriff. Her jeans hung low on her hips, tight as Saran wrap, the fronts of the legs shredded horizontally, leaving huge gaps that showed off her toned legs. Below were high heels, white. Dangling from her ears were huge gold disc earrings, and a similar necklace plunged down the space between her breasts. The nipples of which were poking bawdily through the thin gray fabric.

"M-Mark."

"Pleasure to meet you, M-Mark. I'm Myra. Just one M." And this young woman walked right up to me and put her right hand behind my neck, as if she were going to dance with me. Or kiss me! With her left hand she gestured to Gabby, "This my girl Trish." I said hi to 'Trish' and she said hi back. Gabby didn't look confused, so Nia had probably told her first. But Gabby/Trish did have a feral gleam in her eye.

I still didn't know what to do about Myra's hand, but I embarrassedly looked around the store for Nia, I honestly did. It was crazy how Nia had completely changed, how she'd become Myra. "Who you lookin' for, sugah?"

"M-my girlfriend, N-Nia."

Myra made a show of looking around the store. "That ain't her over there, is it?"

"N-no, that's B-brie." I know it's getting old, the stuttering, but that's how nervous I was with this strange girl standing so close to me, even touching me.

"Well sh-she m-must have l-left you, b-baby. Maybe I should take care of you now, hmm? Ain't a'zackly safe for a white boy around these parts." With her left hand she pinched my cheek, then let it slide around my neck to join the other one, which pulled her close to me. Too close to me.

Looking up at me with bedroom eyes, she said softly, "Why'nt you let me an' Trish take care o' you? Take real good care o' you..." and she stretched up to kiss my cheek, pressing her breasts into my chest. On purpose, I'm sure.

Now fellas (and ladies too, I guess), I like to think that if this had been a real situation I would've said no and gotten the heck out of there, but.... Dayam this girl was hot! And of course I knew it was really Nia and that I should just play along, but it did leave me wondering how I'd react if something like this ever really happened. But of course it never would, so no need to answer that, right?

As if I were in a trance, I let her lead me into the dressing room I'd been in. The one on the end by the wall. The big one with a wraparound bench and mirrors. The door closed and Trish locked it.

"Where you from, M-Mark?"

"Ann Arbor, and there's just one M. Mark."

"Oooo, somebody's tongue got untied! I thought you was a stutterer, not that there's anything wrong with that, fine as you is..." She was running her hands over my chest. Trish was looking on, maybe not knowing for sure yet what to do. "Do you like black girls, Mark?" Said seductively, looking up at me from under her lashes.

More comfortable with the situation now, I figured I could tell her the truth. Heck, it might even help where this was going! And I didn't stutter. "Well, I think you could say so: my girlfriend is black. Are you sure you didn't see her leaving?"

"Oh wow, you DO like black chicks! Do you keep her satisfied in bed though?" And here she startled me by full-on cupping my crotch and jerking up on the word "bed". That caused me to cough and try to back away. Before I could even think how or if to respond, or if I should just bolt, Myra said, "Ooo, from the feel of this, you got the tool. But do you know how to use it, huh?"