Take Her Man

By the time the waitress brought our food to the table, Tamia, Tasha, and I were already feeling all right. It was our favorite weekend brunch at the Shark Bar and we had already enjoyed one round of mimosas.

Tamia had called me and Tasha that morning begging us to meet her for brunch because she had good news. I was tired, after staying up all night studying for finals, but I was glad to meet my girls for some straight talk. A week had passed and I still hadn’t told anyone about the run-in with Julian at my apartment. So I guess I had a little news of my own, too. Plus, I needed to get out of the apartment. My marathon study sessions, where I locked myself in the apartment with nothing but textbooks and enough food to eat for a week, were driving me crazy. I think Pookie was about to run away if I didn’t give her some time alone.

“Okay, okay, I have news, ladies,” I said anxiously when the waitress put my food down in front of me.

“What is it?” Tasha asked.

“No, me first,” Tamia interrupted me. “I want to go first,” she whined, practically oozing out of her seat.

“Damn, girl.” Tasha rolled her eyes playfully. “If it’s that serious, you need to go on and let it out. You look like you’re about to lose your water.”

“Okay, okay. So, remember how I was working on the Olympia v. the State of California verdict?” Tamia asked, watching me plow through a serving of macaroni and cheese I had no business eating. The StairMaster hadn’t seen me in days.

“Yes,” I murmured through bites.

There’s something about pasta and sharp cheddar cheese that’s magical. I have yet to meet anyone who didn’t like the match in a dish—unless it wasn’t made the old-school way.

“Just to fill you in a bit, Tasha,” Tamia said, taking my attention back from my plate. “One of our professors, Professor Banks, was a defense attorney in Los Angeles before moving to New York to teach. Her last case in L.A. was defending a white man who was accused of killing his black wife. Somehow, because of some questionable witnesses who didn’t even see the murder, Professor Banks lost the case. It was the only case she ever lost.”

“Okay. So where do you come in?” Tasha asked, sipping on her mimosa.

“Well, when I heard about the case, I decided to do some research to see if there were any loopholes—some things that didn’t match up,” Tamia said. She was beaming. I remembered when she’d found a few articles on the case online. She couldn’t believe Professor Banks had actually lost a case.

“I’m surprised your professor would let you do that,” Tasha said.

“It was ambitious, but Professor Banks gave her approval. She allowed me to look over all of her case files and do an interview with Mr. Olympia over the phone. Anyway, to make a long story short, last week I found two concrete fallacies in two of the witnesses’ statements against the husband…” Tamia paused like she was about to pull a rabbit from underneath her skirt.

“And…” I said, chewing myself into another dress size.

“And on account of all of that,” Tamia went on, “Professor Banks is trying to reopen the case.”

“Oh my God,” I said. “That’s great.”

“That’s not it.” Tamia grinned happily. “If everything works out, she wants me to go to Los Angeles with her for the rest of the summer to assist her.”

“Yes!” I said a bit too loudly for the Shark Bar brunch crowd. I stood up and hugged Tamia. This was a great opportunity for her—to work right beside Professor Banks. I’d never heard of Professor Banks working with any of the students, let alone allowing them to assist her.

“Go ’head, girl,” Tasha said, winking at Tamia.

“Go, Tamia. It’s your birthday. Go, Tamia. It’s your birthday,” Tasha and I sang as Tamia did the whomp in her seat.

“Okay, I’m next,” I said, giggling. “Julian and I spoke last week.”

“And…” Tamia said, mocking my retort earlier.

“Black or white?” Tasha asked.

“I don’t know.” I shrugged my shoulders.

“What?” Tamia looked at me quizzically.

“What happened?” Tasha asked dryly.

“He showed up at my apartment and told me all about Miata and said he loved me and then he just left.”

“He admitted that stuff about Miata?” Tamia asked. “Hell, no. This is some craziness.” She gulped down the last of her mimosa.

“No, Tamia,” Tasha cut in. “At least he’s telling the truth right now. That’s what you want, Troy. He’s not lying to you—which is worse. Give him some credit for that.” She sat up in her seat. “It means Miata’s wicked, geechie spell over him is breaking like a fever.”