“And to think you were sitting up in church fantasizing about getting some,” Chance continued on her rampage. “All that over a man that’s probably never seen a coochie, rather less eaten one.”
“Chance, please!” I smacked my lips. “I’m trying to eat here.”
Chance moved her potato salad around on her plate. It looked three days old and the mayonnaise had started to darken. “Didn’t you spend a grip on some lingerie from that slut catalog?”
“Black Sex Goddess,” I corrected her.
“Yeah, the slut catalog.”
“Chance, look.” I could feel myself getting angry. “I like Basil. If I want to take it upon myself to transform the brother, that’s my business.”
Chance fell out laughing. I didn’t see a damn thing funny.
“Now what, Chance?”
“I was thinking about the idiots you’ve gotten tied up with since Will.”
“Don’t bring Will’s name up, please!”
“Okay, whatever, but you must admit you’ve met some fucked-up men.”
She had a point, but I wasn’t even trying to hear it.
“First there was Gideon, that fool you met over the telephone who turned out to be old enough to collect Social Security.”
I cracked a smile. That had been a ridiculous situation. I’d called to bless out a credit collection agency over a threatening notice I’d received that didn’t pertain to me. The man who answered had this Barry White thing going on with his voice. I was immediately turned on.
For two months, we chatted on the telephone about this and that. Casual conversation turned into phone boning and phone boning turned into the yearning to actually hook up and do the wild thing. Only thing was Gideon said he was thirty-four, tall, handsome, and sporting a Jag.
The night I met him outside of Giant in Calverton, Maryland, a spot right off the Beltway so I could hop right back on if need be, I sat in my car waiting for him. It got to the point where I knew he’d stood me up. Then I took a closer look at the older man that had been leaning up against the pillar in front of the one-hour cleaners since I’d arrived. Naw, it couldn’t be, I told myself. I couldn’t overlook the fact that he had on a gray suit, the same color Gideon said he’d be wearing that day.
I exited my car cautiously, figuring the lighting was playing tricks on my eyes and the man was really buff and only a few years older than me. When I got within a few yards of him and he called out my name, exposing a set of dentures, I wanted to scream.
I couldn’t leave Gideon there looking pitiful. After all, one should always respect their elders. Even my proud-to-be-a-whore momma taught me that. I psyched myself up to go through with the date. The date didn’t last long; only until Gideon got arrested.
First, he tried to insist that we take my car. I told him that I was low on gas and that we should take his Jag, my eyes searching the parking lot for the candy red dream. That was when he claimed that his Jag was in the shop and he’d borrowed the car of a friend so he could make it out to meet me.
Turned out he was driving a banged up ancient Yugo. Didn’t they stop making those about twenty years ago? We went all of five miles when Gideon asked if I wanted to skip dinner and go straight to a motel. I glared at him under the streetlights on Route 29 as we sped past each one. Beady, wrinkle-ridden eyes glared back at me. I was about to curse his ass out with a vengeance when blue lights started flashing behind us and the siren almost shattered my eardrums.
Gideon hesitated, like he was debating about pulling over. I immediately grew frightened and had to get my anus muscles under control so I wouldn’t shit in my pants. Was he one of those men you only read about in newspapers and see featured on America’s Most Wanted?
Gideon finally pulled over in front of an all-night golf driving range. I was elated that he’d picked that spot. Dozens of avid golfers were digging balls out of buckets and knocking them out on the grass to join thousands of their friends. The more witnesses to what was about to go down, the better. If Gideon were some kind of serial rapist or killer, he’d be more reluctant to start some drama in front of a bunch of people.
I willed the police officer to wa
lk right up to the car, rip the driver’s side door off the hinges (an easy feat with such a cheap-ass car), and yank Gideon out by the collar. He didn’t. The usual “can I see your driver’s license and registration” speech started spilling from his lips.
Gideon had frozen in place and then the lies started rambling off his lips. I was in awe of how fast he was making them up. His name wasn’t Gideon anymore; it was Samuel. He wasn’t thirty-four anymore; he was fifty-eight. No, he didn’t have the registration. No, he didn’t have his license on him. No, he couldn’t recall his Social Security number. What kind of game was this man running?
The police officer must’ve been wondering the same thing. He instructed Gideon to step out the car, frisked him, threw the cuffs on him, and called for backup. He escorted me out the car, at which point I quickly started delving out the facts. I’d only actually met him that night. He was someone I knew from the phone. He’d told me the car was a friend’s. He was known to me as Gideon; not Samuel.
The officer told me to have a seat in his car while he and the other officer who’d arrived searched the Yugo for drugs, guns, or whatever. They said they had no choice but to take Gideon in. He tried to argue with them, but unless he could prove who he was, he was headed to lockup. And to lockup he went, with me trailing a safe distance behind in a second squad car. The police officer told me I should’ve considered myself extremely lucky that he pulled us over for a busted taillight because anything could’ve happened. I agreed.
When I arrived at the station house, they directed me to a pay phone where I called Chance and asked her and Ricky to come pick me up out in the middle of nowhere. I went to the 7-Eleven next door to get some coffee while I waited. They showed up an hour later.
Chance wasted no time going off on me in Spanish. Ricky tried to drown her out with his latest bootleg go-go tape, but Chance wasn’t having it. After a volume-button battle, Chance finally turned the music completely off. I endured her rampage all the way back to Georgetown.
“You’re lucky that Gideon bastard didn’t rape your ass and leave you somewhere in a ditch,” Chance said, reprimanding me. “Jaguar, my ass.”