21
That Cake, Cake, Cake!
“ You look happy, Ma. Is that me putting the smile on that pretty little face?” Clark ran a finger across Frieda’s upturned lips. She’d been at his house all afternoon. Now it was evening. They’d had sex, ate, had sex again, smoked a blunt, taken a shower where they enjoyed yet a third round, and now lazed on the new couch that Frieda had purchased, munching on chips and dip, and drinking shots of tequila.
“Quit it!” Frieda playfully slapped Clark’s finger away from her face. Truth was, she was happy, giddy even. Hadn’t felt this way in a long time, hadn’t felt like she was living in her own skin since becoming Mrs. Gabriel Livingston. She loved the lifestyle, but wanted to enjoy it on her own terms. Like this. Just kicking back and chilling. Not putting on airs or a phony “I’m interested” face, or trying to have a conversation with Gabriel’s snooty mother and uptight friends. She missed this life, where she didn’t have to be anybody but herself. “Dang, man. Why do you keep flipping through the channels? See what’s on TV One.” Frieda didn’t watch much TV these days, but she’d heard about a show called Unsung that was supposed to be very good.
“Who’s got the remote, woman? Me no let no woman control me a’tall. Not even the TV. I’m the man, right?”
“Whatever, nucka.”
Clark let out a confident chuckle. “I’m your man.” He continued to scroll the channels, settling closer to Frieda in the process.
“Wait! Who’s that?” They’d landed on the Food Network, where a handsome African-American man was smiling into the camera as he pulled barbecued meat out of a countertop smoker. The man, not the meat, is obviously what had gotten Frieda’s attention.
“Him? The brothah whose family owns that restaurant off Sepulveda?”
“What restaurant?”
Clark’s look was a question mark as he turned to Frieda. “You haven’t eaten at Taste of Soul, haven’t seen any of their commercials? Everybody’s talking about that place. The atmosphere is on point and the food is bangin’.” They both listened in silence for a moment. “As a matter of fact,” he continued, “his last name is Livingston too. Y’all might be related.”
“Hmph, I wouldn’t mind being that brother’s kissing cousin.”
“With your hot nana, you’d be more than that! But seriously though, you should find out whether y’all are related; might be able to get us some free barbecue.”
“Where are they from? Do you know?”
“No,” he said with a shrug, before changing the channel.
“I don’t think they’re related to Gabriel. All of his people have a lighter complexion, nothing like that Hershey bar I was looking at. Turn it back!”
“Watch yourself, girl.” He reached for her hand, placed it on his crotch. “You’ve got all of the chocolate you need right here.”
Frieda moved her hand and changed the subject. “Clark.”
“Hmm?”
“How mad at me would you be if I fired your mother?”
“What’s up with you and my moms?”
“She hasn’t asked you about us?”
“Yeah, but I said we were just friends.”
“Please, boy. Your mom isn’t stupid. I’ve caught her looking at me with this accusatory expression on her face. She knows there’s more going on here and she doesn’t like it. Worships the ground that Gabriel walks on too. It’s just a matter of time before that loyalty has her talking even more out of school than she already has. You know I’ve warned her about sharing my schedule and whereabouts and if it happens again, if she takes some of my personal business and shares it with my husband, her employment for me is going to have to be a wrap.”
“I’ll talk to her.”
Frieda shook her head. “I don’t know if that will be enough.”
“Mom is good at what she does, has excellent references, and never has problems finding work. As much as she needs that job, you won’t be able to bully her, Frieda. So don’t even try.”
“Cool. I’ll just put old girl into my yesterday. If that happens, we’re still good?”
Clark ran a hand through Frieda’s short, weave-free cut. “Yeah, Mami. We’re good.”
Frieda was ecstatic. So a couple minutes later, when two of Clark’s friends joined them, she ordered up a few pizzas and sent one of them out for bottles of Dom Pérignon. Her husband would be at the hospital all night, so after calling Cordella and telling her that she was spending the night with a cousin, she settled in for an evening of fun with the boys. She’d worried about firing Cordella and keeping Clark, but now it looked like she would be able to have her cake and eat it too. Only later would she have to wonder whether that particular piece of chocolate was worth it.