Playing Hard To Get

“Well, at least it’s Alpine,” Venus said, ignoring Tasha’s question. No man she’d married had been crazy enough to get her pregnant yet. “I couldn’t stand to see another family go into poverty because they couldn’t afford to live in Manhattan anymore. This recession is killing everyone.”

“There’s a recession?” Tasha asked, faking surprise to poke fun at how ridiculous Venus’s statement was. “I didn’t know.”

“I’ll tell you what else you didn’t know….” Venus’s voice was saturated in secret. She put her hand on her hip and her bony elbow poked out from her body like the tip of a witch’s broom.

“What don’t I know?”

Venus looked away. She wanted Tasha to beg. The moment had arrived in the common exchange where even the words of a frenemy became desired. While Tasha’s hate for Venus was a sure thing, she was also sure that Venus knew everything that went on in the city that mattered. Her thirst for fresh blood and new friends/victims never failed to put her in the right place at the wrong time. It was the only reason Tasha ever tolerated her.

“What do you have?” Tasha demanded. She hadn’t ever really learned to beg anyone for anything. It really was the best she could do. “Oh…tell me.”

“Well, since you asked, a certain blond and blue-eyed cheerleader snuck into a certain player’s hotel room last weekend.”

Tasha’s eyes, squinted and cautious, asked the questions she couldn’t. Venus’s eyes went to Tasha’s wedding band. Yes, that’s who she was talking about.

“Lionel!” Tasha hollered, looking around for her husband, who’d slipped away to chat with his former agent. Any couth or calm she had was exiting the building. There were two games Tasha simply didn’t play—knock-off shopping and cheating.

“No, no, no, calm down.” Venus grabbed Tasha’s arm before she ran off to put Lionel beneath her own real knife. “Listen to me.”

“Listen to what? You just said that some white slut slept with my husband. What the hell do I need to listen to? Which hoe is it? That’s all I need to know.” Tasha reached into her purse and pulled out her cell phone. She didn’t have some ghetto hit man waiting to do damage, but she had her girls, Tamia and Troy, and they’d all take a ride at night if they had to.

“First, she isn’t white. The eyes are fake and the hair is imported from Switzerland.”

“So, she’s black? Is it Carmen? I’ll kill her! And she’s from LA.”

“It’s not Carmen. Look, do you want to hear the rest?”

“Go ahead.” Tasha paused and now her hand was on her hip.

“Apparently, a new cheerleader, Lisa Henderson—something or other—snuck into Lionel’s room and, while I’m sad to say it, every single report I have says he kicked her out.”

“What?”

“Right out into the hallway. Naked as a broke stripper.”

“He did?”

“According to three sources who stayed on the floor…and Mamacita.”

“Mamacita saw it?” Tasha said. Mamacita was the Knicks’ oldest and most respected groupie. She knew the traveling schedule before it was posted on the Website and usually had her airfare and hotel room paid for by some rookie who’d fallen in love.

“That’s right. She’s the one who helped the girl back to her room. And you know Mamacita doesn’t lie. He didn’t touch the girl. Didn’t say a word to her,” Venus whispered.

While seconds ago Tasha was considering who would raise her children once she’d killed her husband in a room full of people and was sentenced to life in prison, now she was feeling a small sense of pride, vindication at Venus’s revelation.

“You can smile, bitch,” Venus said, smiling herself. “I know you want to smile. That kind of scene is as rare as a black man becoming president.”

“It is kind of cool, isn’t it?” Tasha smiled.

“Yeah, it’s cool, but don’t get too happy.” Venus’s smile turned to a stare. “You know what the incident means. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten. You haven’t been out of here for that long.”

“I’m slipping,” Tasha admitted, her smile washing away as she spotted Lionel at the bar, laughing with his former agent and two groupies, whose status was marked by exposed torsos and tramp stamps, heart-shaped tattoos on their lower backs.

“That’s right,” Venus confirmed. “No cheerleader or real groupie would step to the husband of a wife who was on the scene. Out of sight, out of mind.”

Tasha looked at Venus.

“I know you’re over in Jersey enjoying the good life, but this is real life and the longer you’re away, the sooner someone will snag him away. They’re just waiting for you to slip up. And I can already see that’s happening.” Venus looked to the shawl Tasha was wearing to hide her belly. It was expensive, probably cost more than Venus’s entire ensemble (purse and shoes included), but both women knew what it was for.