The Night Before Thirty Read Free Page B

too hard on him. Maybe he was nervous or had a lot on his mind. “So what do you want to talk about until then?” she asked.
    “You,” he said enthusiastically. “How's life dressing up the rich and the bougie?”
    “The same ol' same ol'. I seem to keep getting these old white women who've had the same style for years and stick to the same designer. Anytime I bring in something out of their usual scheme, they turn up their noses at it.”
    “Uh-huh,” Rondell said, continuing to eat.
    “But every once in a while some young chick with new money will come in with her husband's charge card, and she'll be open to whatever. Those are my favorite clients because I can mold them.”
    Rondell didn't say anything. Catara knew she had lost his attention. As she felt her right hand balling into a fist underneath the table, she knew she was becoming frustrated.
    “Did you hear me, Rondell?” she asked.
    “Huh?” He looked up from his ribs, eyes wide.
    “So what did you want to talk to me about? Let's not wait. Let's get it out of the way.”
    Rondell devoured his one last rib and began finishing off the chipsand dip. “Okay,” he said hesitantly. “I'm almost finished eating anyway.” He shoved the tortillas in his mouth two and three at a time.
    He munched and munched. Then he quickly washed them down with the remainder of his Coke, took a deep breath, then paused as if to get his words together.
    “Go ahead,” Catara pushed.
    “Catara, we're friends, right?”
    “I guess you could say that, although you sometimes have a funny way of showing your friendship.”
    “I mean, I am your friend, and I consider you mine.”
    As badly as she wanted to believe that Rondell was going in a positive direction with this conversation, she couldn't see how. She made her approach as direct as possible to stop his beating around the bush. “What do you want to talk to me about?”
    “Okay, Catara, okay.” He took a deep breath. “Can I borrow some money?”
    “What?” she screamed. This time she didn't care who heard her outburst.
    “Only a hundred dollars. I swear I'll pay you back.”
    “You mean to tell me that you sweet-talked me into leaving the comfort of my apartment—and you know I don't care to ride the subway late at night, plus it's freezing out there—to come all the way over here just so you could ask me to borrow a hundred dollars? Rondell, you've lost your mind!”
    Catara picked up her purse and began sliding out of the seat. Rondell stopped her. “What about the meal?”
    “What about it?” Catara turned and cut her eyes at him.
    Rondell looked dumbfounded. “Well, I don't have enough to pay. I was hoping …”
    Repeating what Rondell had said to her before he gave his order, Catara shook her head and whispered, “It's on you.”
    She stood up and clenched her fist beside her leg. “Lose my number,” she lashed. “Don't ever call me again. Act like you never met me.”
    “Come on, Catara,” Rondell begged. “We can work this out.”
    “Screw you, Rondell!” she barked over her shoulder, and walked past the snotty waiter and out the door, leaving Rondell forever.

LECIA JEWEL PARKER tapped the shoulder of the gentleman standing next to her at the baggage claim carousel, pointed at her Louis Vuitton bag moving closer to her around the carousel, and coyly said, “Excuse me, but could you be a dear and grab my bag for me, it's just too heav—”
    Before she could finish her sentence, the guy leaped forward, almost knocking down the woman standing next to him, and retrieved Alecia's bag. He set it on the floor in front of her, pulled up the handle, and through his huffing and goofy grin asked, “Is there anything else that I can do to help?”
    Alecia smiled pleasantly and then replied with a short “No, thank you.” She was very familiar with that look in his eyes. Most heterosexual men displayed it in her presence.
    Her beauty seemed to mesmerize them. She called it “the gift,” her