MS. FANCY-PANTS
Hope gets into Penn Station around four o’clock, just in time for her 4:30 massage appointment downtown. She’s exhausted mentally, physically, and spiritually. Two hours later, she’s had a manicure, a pedicure, and a sixty-minute massage. She all but floats out of the spa and heads into SoHo for something to eat. Walking past Elizabeth Street, she hears someone calling her name. She turns around and sees Derrick running down the street toward her. She doesn’t know if she should pretend not to see him and take off up the street. Before she can decide he’s standing in front of her, breathing heavily.
“Hope—wow, what a surprise,” he says, trying to catch his breath. “I’m so sorry about the other night. I wish I could say Jasmine’s not usually like that, but it wouldn’t be true. She needs a lot of help; that’s why I have custody of my girls. I drove around looking for you, and you wouldn’t pick up your phone. I was worried, so I drove by your place and when I saw the lights on I knew you’d gotten home safe.
I thought about ringing your bell, but it was so late and I didn’t want to cause any more trouble. I’m so sorry that happened. Things like that probably don’t ever happen to you. I’m sure you don’t know anybody like that. I’m so embarrassed, you know; she’s my kids’ mother but she wasn’t like that when I met her. I try not to let the girls see her when she’s like that, but she’s like that more and more lately. I’ve tried to get her into a program, but I can never find her when I want to.”
Derrick finally takes a deep breath. “Hope, please accept my apology.”
Before she can say a word, he slaps himself on the forehead. “Oh my God.” He turns around, and then back to Hope. “I gotta get back to the restaurant. Please come with me, Hope; I don’t want to lose you again.” Without waiting for an answer, he takes her arm and pulls her up the street to Café Habana.
A little girl is standing in the doorway. She’s wearing red sneakers, black tights, and a red dress. She has Derrick’s mocha coloring. She’s frowning, her braids swinging around her face in multicolored beads.
“Daddy, where’d you go? Why’d you leave like that?” She points to a smaller girl sitting in the window booth looking at them, her hands on the glass.
“Kenya almost ran outside.” She looks at Hope. “Who are you?”
Oh my God, these are his kids. Asia looks at her father. “Don’t she speak?” By now the other girl has joined them. Her hairstyle and outfit are identical to her sister’s. She wraps her arms around Derrick’s legs and looks at Hope.
“Who’s she?”
“I’m trying to find out, but she don’t speak. Is she dumb?” Asia asks Derrick.
Hope smiles at her. The girl’s eyes are the same amazing shade of gray as Jasmine’s.
“I am dumb sometimes, but not right now. My name is Hope. I’m a friend of your daddy’s.”
“My name’s Asia, this is my little sister Kenya.” Kenya waves, but doesn’t leave her father’s side. She also has her mother’s eyes, but hers are more a green-gray; and she has her mother’s caramel complexion.
“We know all Daddy’s friends. We don’t know you,” Asia says, a hand on her hip.
Hope looks pleadingly at Derrick. “Hope is a friend of mine, girls. She’s a very important lady who I drive to work.”
“She don’t look so important to me,” Asia says, looking Hope up and down. “She looks kinda tired.”
“That’s enough, Asia. You two back to the table while I talk to Hope.”
Asia turns around and takes her sister’s hand, trying to pull her toward the booth, but Kenya doesn’t budge.
“You should eat with us, lady. We got room for four—there’s just three of us.”
“Oh, I don’t want to interrupt your meal,” Hope says, backing away.
“You already done that,” Kenya says quite reasonably. Then she lets go of her father’s leg and takes Hope’s arm with one hand and her father’s arm with the other and pulls them into the café and to their table.
I’m just getting pulled all around today, Hope thinks.
“That’s my seat over there because I like to look out of the window,” Kenya informs her. “Asia was sitting over here pretending not to want to be by the window because she was acting grown. Daddy was sitting over there. You should sit next to him,” she finishes, directing Hope toward the booth.
“So I should sit here?” Hope asks.
“Yes, that’s good,” Kenya says, getting into her seat.
Derrick and Asia are still standing. He has a half-smile on his face; there is a frown on hers.
“C’mon, you two, sit down, I’m hungry,” Kenya orders, waving them over and tidying up the table to make room for Hope. Kenya may be the youngest of the four but she definitely has it the most together. Future event planner, Hope thinks, smiling.
“Are you smiling ’cause you’re happy you ran into Daddy?” Kenya asks.
This one doesn’t miss much. “Yes, and because I’m glad to meet you two. Your daddy has told me a little bit about you,” Hope says, placing her napkin in her lap.
“He didn’t say anything about you,” Asia says, slipping into her seat. “How long you known my daddy?”
“Not too long, I guess,” Hope answers, trying not to look at Derrick as he sits next to her.
The cute twentysomething waitress arrives with three plates; after putting them on the table, she smiles at Hope. “Do you need a menu?”
“You know, these seem interesting.” She looks at their sandwiches. “What are they?”
“Cuban sandwiches,” Derrick answers. “The girls love them.”
“My mommy’s half Cuban,” Asia says, making it sound like a threat.
“It looks delicious. I’ll have one too.”
“I’m having a Cuban soda,” Kenya tells her. “You should have one too.”
“That sounds like a good idea.”
“She’ll have a pineapple soda,” Kenya orders.
“Honey, you should let Hope order for herself. She might not like pineapple.”
“I like pineapple.” Hope smiles at Kenya. “Good call.”
The waitress leaves and they all sit in silence. The girls are giving Hope the once-over. Kenya takes a sip of her soda and looks at Derrick, then at Hope.
“You’re pretty, Ms. Hope. Isn’t she pretty, Daddy?”
“If you like that kinda look,” Asia mutters.
“Asia, that’s rude,” Kenya chastises her.
“She don’t look like anybody we know, and she sure don’t look like Mommy. She all fancy.” Asia shrugs.
“I think she’s pretty.” Kenya stands up in the booth. “Can I touch your hair?” she asks, reaching toward Hope.
Asia tugs on her dress. “Sit down, silly, that’s a wig.”
Hope blinks, then laughs. “Sure you can touch my hair, Kenya,” she says, leaning over the table toward her. Kenya sticks her tongue out at her sister and strokes Hope’s hair.
“It’s soft too.” She looks at Asia. “And it’s real.”
Asia looks at Hope. “You look like you should be in a magazine or something, Ms. Fancy-Pants. You all perfect.”
That definitely sounds like an insult.
“I thought you said I looked tired,” Hope replies, taking the soda and sandwich the waitress has brought over.
“You do look tired, but your clothes are nice,” Asia says, pulling her sandwich apart and eating the meat inside.
“C’mon, honey, eat the bread too. Don’t waste food; money doesn’t grow on trees,” Derrick scolds.
“Yes, it does, Daddy,” she says. “It’s paper.”
Hope suppresses a laugh. “Funny you should say that, because I work at a magazine, Shades.”
“That must be why you’re so fancy,” Asia sniffs. “My mommy wears a lot of jeans. You wear jeans?”
“Of course I wear jeans—whenever I can, in fact.”
“Well it’s Saturday—why you ain’t in jeans?”
“Don’t say ‘ain’t,’ Asia. That’s bad grammar,” Kenya corrects her.
“I was visiting my mom, and I wanted to look nice for her. She doesn’t think jeans are very formal, so I wore this nice dress for her.” Hope smooths the black wrap-dress over her thighs. “And it was comfortable enough for the trip.”
Asia looks under the table. “It’s kinda short, ain’t—er, isn’t it?”
Hope puts her sandwich down. Who is this kid, Mr. Black-well? “It’s below my knees, honey. I’d hope that would be appropriate enough for a visit to my mother’s house.”
Asia levels a very adult gaze at Hope. “My name’s Asia, not honey.”
Hope almost drops her glass. Okay, so it’s like that, is it?
“Asia” is all Derrick says; his tone is enough to send Asia’s gaze down to her plate.
“Don’t listen to her. I think you look very ap-pro-pri-ate,” Kenya says, trying to pronounce the word correctly. “I think you look nice. Don’t she, Daddy?” Kenya asks, giving him a very grown-up look.
“Yes, Hope, you look very nice. I like that dress on you.” His eyes move slowly over the open V of the dress and down past the hem to her bare legs in the kitten-heeled ankle boots. When his eyes travel slowly back up he smiles. “But you always look nice. It’s enough to give a regular brother a complex,” he jokes.
After the heat leaves her face Hope smiles. “You always look, er, appropriate, Derrick.”
She takes a quick sip of her soda, surreptitiously letting her eyes wander over his baggy jeans and sexy black T-shirt. His arms are muscled and he has a long tattoo that snakes out from under his sleeve down his arm to his elbow.
“I’ve never seen you in jeans before . . . they, uhm, look good on you.”
His jeans fit perfectly, baggy in just the right places and tight in just the right place. Very nice. As she takes another sip of her drink it goes down the wrong way and she has a coughing fit.
“Are you okay?”
“Oh, yes, it went down the wrong way,” Hope says when she can breathe. When Derrick slaps her on the back, she almost starts coughing all over again.
“I’m fine, really. Thank you.” She holds up her hand. “Please don’t hit me again,” she pleads, and they both start laughing. Then Kenya laughs, and finally Asia takes the grumpy look off her face and joins in.
After the sandwiches are eaten and their plates cleared, Asia and Kenya sit blowing air at each other with their straws. Derrick turns toward Hope.
“Did you get enough to eat?” His arm so close to hers on the table is doing all kinds of things to her.
“Is it warm in here?” Hope asks, fanning herself with her napkin.
“No, I feel fine. Would you like another soda?”
“Oh, no, it’ll pass—must be the hot sauce Asia gave me to try.” Asia had poured almost half a bottle of the sauce on Hope’s sandwich. Hope thought she was going to have a heart attack when she took a bite.
“How’d it go with your mom?”
“Uh, okay, I guess.” She isn’t expecting this. “Actually, she’s not doing so well. Sometimes she’s fine, but then she’s gone again, like she’s living in an alternate reality.”
“I’m sorry, Hope. It must be hard.”
“When I see her, it can be really tough. I feel like I’ve lost my entire family in one go.” She looks at the people walking by outside. “My dad died, I barely speak to my sister, and I feel like I’m losing my mom a little bit every day.”
Seeing that Hope is getting upset, Derrick changes the subject.
“Where does your mom live?” he asks, playing with an ear-ring. “These are pretty,” he says. As he brushes her earlobe he leaves a trail of warmth.
“Thank you,” Hope says, squirming in her seat. “Uhm, what was the question?”
Derrick’s laugh is a warm, sexy wave that washes all over her. “Where does your mom live?”
“Right. I don’t know where my head is today,” she blabs, taking a sip of her empty soda.
After a few moments, Derrick says, “So where does your mom live?”
Jesus, what’s wrong with me? “Princeton. Princeton, New Jersey,” Hope answers. “About an hour or so away, at least on a good-traffic day.”
By now, Derrick is sitting so close to Hope that she can smell a musky scent coming off his T-shirt. The girls are now coloring on the paper tablecloth with the crayons the waitress brought them. Luckily they are oblivious to how loudly Hope’s heart is beating. When she feels Derrick’s knee against hers a slow warmth spreads between her legs while her body begins to tingle. She starts to reach for her glass, but it’s empty.
“I didn’t know you had a tattoo,” she says, getting him to move his arm away. He pushes his sleeve up and shows her the head of a snake tattooed on his biceps; its body curves down his arm to his elbow.
“Yeah, I have to wear long sleeves to work. I had this done years ago, when I was still a kid. You like it?”
Does she ever. Prince’s words come to her: “you sexy motherfucker.” “Oh, it’s different . . . but it looks good on you. You have the, uhm, biceps for it.” Jesus, Hope—you run a magazine; you can do better than that.
But before she can think of something not crazy to say, Derrick ’s hand is casually resting on her arm.
“I have another one, a tattoo of my girls’ names.” He leans in closer to Hope. “It’s on my chest. I’d love to show it to you sometime.” He is so close Hope could shift just a little and be on his chest. It looks like such a nice chest, she thinks. So broad and solid. Hope feels herself leaning into him, like she’s holding a big weight and she can rest it there in his arms.
“I’m ready to go, Daddy,” Asia says, already squirming out of her seat. Hope sits up with a start. Derrick looks at Asia, who is trying to put her coat on. Then he looks at Hope. He shakes his head, then smiles.
“I wish I could stay here with you, but I should get them home.” He puts his hand on hers on the table. “Thanks for spending time with us, Hope. I know how busy you are.”
Hope smiles. “Thanks for asking me. I really liked being with you . . . uhm, here with you.”
While Hope stands and gets her things, Derrick helps the girls into their coats and leaves some money on the table. As Hope is making her way out of the cramped restaurant, Kenya takes her hand and walks out with her.
While they wait outside for Derrick and Asia, Hope looks at Kenya, who is still holding her hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you and your sister, Kenya. You’re both very beautiful and very bright. I can tell why your daddy is so proud of you.”
“I can tell why Daddy is proud of you too,” Kenya giggles. At that moment Derrick and Asia walk out holding hands. “It was nice meeting you too,” she says to Asia. “And thank you for dinner, Derrick.” She doesn’t quite know what else to say.
Derrick takes her hand. “Anytime, Hope.” After a few moments Asia takes Derrick’s hand and starts to pull him away; a second later, she runs back to Hope.
“How old are you?”
“Excuse me?
“You got a hearing problem, lady? How old are you?” Asia says loudly enough for the people waiting for a table to turn around.
Note to self: This child is the devil.
“I’m in my thirties, missy,” Hope answers tightly.
“My name is Asia. My daddy’s grown, so don’t waste his time if you slumming. Anyway, we already got a mommy.”
Then she turns and skips back to her father.