“Chance, I’d rather forget about that entire thing.”
“Shit, even the Yugo wasn’t his. That whore of his called you the next day and said it was hers.”
“Chance, I don’t need you to remind me of what happened.”
Some sister named Wanda, the true owner of the lovely ride, discovered my number on a napkin the morning after when she retrieved her car from the impound lot where it had been towed. She went on and on about how Gideon was a con artist and how he had warrants out on him and that was why he didn’t want to give his real name. I wanted to ask her if she knew all that already, why was she allowing him to use her car. I didn’t want any more drama so I simply thanked her for the information and hung up.
Gideon tried calling me collect from jail several times. I was at the phone company to have my number changed when they opened Monday morning.
“You know who you need to be going after.”
“Who?”
“That fine ass man from the bank.”
I started blushing. If only. “Chance, I keep telling you that any man that damn fine is taken.”
Chance shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe Yardley’s taken. Maybe he’s not.”
“Yardley?” Was that his name?
“Yes, Yardley. I walked right up to him the other day while you were in the bathroom and asked his name.”
“Girl, no!” I squealed, wondering what else was said.
“Yes, I did. His name’s Yardley Brown and he’s a chiropractor.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really,” Chance replied, smacking her gums. “I don’t know if he’s hooked up with someone, but he’s definitely not married.”
“You asked him?”
“Damn sure did.”
“Did he think you were trying to pick him up?”
“I doubt it. He giggled and shit like he thought it was funny. He asked me if I needed anything else and I said no. That was it.”
“I can’t freakin’ believe you, Chance.”
“Believe it. Also, believe this. If you don’t make a move on that man soon, I’m going to do it for you.”
“I can’t, Chance.”
“You better. You’ve been forewarned.”
I couldn’t take another bite of my food. I was too excited. Yardley Brown. What a nice name.
Fourteen
Yardley
Super Bowl Sunday. All my boys were in the hizzzhouse! I had fools up in my penthouse I hadn’t seen since we were all sporting hi-top fades like Kid and Play. Jackson, an old buddy from high school and deli manager at a local Giant, had hooked me up with some discounted platters of buffalo wings, vegetables, shrimp cocktail, and finger sandwiches shaped like little footballs.
Gina was in town, of course, sitting all up under Roxie as usual like she was feeding off her breasts. At least Gina did help cook. Roxie, who normally couldn’t fry an egg—except possibly from the flames shooting out her pussy—actually broke out a recipe book and made some deviled eggs and potato salad. Damn shame she needed a book for that, but I wasn’t complaining.
My Redskins were playing the Cowboys that day. I had more than five hundred bucks spread all over town in bets that they’d win by at least a dozen points. So what if the Cowboys had beaten the Skins twelve out of the last thirteen times they’d played. It was time for revenge and I didn’t plan to miss a second of it.