Playing Hard To Get

“I am soooo not looking at your vagina, Tasha,” Tamia said bluntly before taking a sip of the glass of Malbec she’d poured to survive the occasion. “There are limits to this friendship. And I do believe this little pilgrimage to look at a platinum hair is enough.”

?

Time and situations like this one had changed the three women in the bathroom with the platinum hair. For the 3Ts were once the party girls. The “It” girls. New York’s finest, with the city of all cities at their disposal. When they graduated from Howard and left DC in an agreement to make it in Manhattan, the twenty-somethings’ historical lineage put them at the top of the city’s “to know” and “can get in” lists. A little something Troy’s elitist, half white grandmother “best blood”3 meant that without even trying, the pretty girls were in and it.

Troy had grown up on the Upper West Side with passed-down Manhattan wealth on her mother’s side and a fairy tale Harlem history filled with actresses, secret societies, and front-row seats—even at church—on her father’s side.

Tamia’s last name was gold in the big city even before she started NYU Law with Troy. A Dinkins, she shared powerful blood with the city’s first black mayor. And while her Prince George’s County upbringing meant that few NYC insiders knew Tamia directly, they all accepted her like an old friend once they realized who she was.

Hailing from LaLa Land in the West was the third T, Tasha, who was both enjoying and hating the first-generation affluence and recognition her mother’s fame as a soap opera star afforded her. In Hollywood, Porsche St. Simon’s name alone meant that Tasha could play in the homes of Hollywood A-listers and half-eat meals at exclusive restaurants that had reservations set for months. But little of this mattered when Tasha ran away from her mother and ended up trying to make a name for herself, first at Howard and then in New York City. While the crowd was impressed, Porsche’s mark had been in Hollywood, so they weren’t moved. It was purely a black industry thing. But all that changed when Tasha caught (out of her own admission) and made a covenant with Lionel LaRoche, a starting player with the New York Knicks, just months after getting to New York. Then she found herself back on top of the scene and never once had to ask for what was given to her. VIP entrance and invitations to birthday parties for celebrities she’d never met—they all wanted Tasha there, and she, arm-in-arm with her two besties,4 seldom let them down.

It was fun. The bright lights of the New York night shined on the 3Ts as they chased their dreams, fell in love with dreamy men, and dreamed of how life could be more fantastic than the ones they now enjoyed. It was better than the best of times in their lives and what made it that way, for sure, was that they were there for each other.

In the big city, the 3Ts found a little love in a group of women that was inspired by honesty, tolerance, support, and lots and lots of tears. They had rules and regulations they’d organized to help each other along the way. Kind of signposts each T used to stay out of the dark—how to survive a breakup, how to tell if a man is lying, how to help a friend in need, how to take someone’s man (Troy had used that one and failed miserably, but in the end, she found the man she needed). Hell, they even had their own signature drink and an astrological 3T wine mood chart. While other people said the 3T rules and regulations were silly and even childish, the Ts lived by them.

Nowadays, it seemed the sisterhood and scraps of paper recording rules and regulations were all the 3Ts had to remind themselves of their marvelous Manhattan moments. The parties. The best tables. The lists of hunky NY bachelors. The sushi nights. The shopping sprees at Saks, yielding $3,000 boyfriends.5 All gone (well, maybe not the boyfriends). All history to them now. They hadn’t gotten old; they’d simply gotten grown. The new Christian Louboutin heels hurt their feet and they couldn’t dance until dawn anymore. The music seemed louder everywhere they went. Mortgages ate up money that was once spent on bottle service. And their once slender frames were now covered with baby bump–hiding blazers for Tasha, professional blazers for Tamia, and “Blessed is the name of Jesus” blazers for Troy.

Smart Sipping: The 3T Astrological Wine Mood Chart

You like red today and white tomorrow. Then you want it sparkling or blush…maybe even a fruity/country mix over ice. It might seem like you’re a wine-drinking schizophrenic who can’t make up her mind about her favorite glass of bottled decision making, or the two guys she’s been dating who drove her to drink in the first place; however, expert(ish) barroom studies show that it’s not you who’s confused. Your sign and mood actually dictate what kind of wine you might need or desire. A fiery Leo might require a glass of Grenache to get and stay in the mood for love, while a wild child Cancer would enjoy a sparkling champagne cocktail while in bed with her lover.

Do some more smart sipping to protect your mood…or create one. *Remember that good wine is best enjoyed with great friends and without automobiles.

?

Earth Signs: Including Taurus, Virgo, and Capricorn, these land-loving ladies are practical taskmasters who seldom fold.

Happy—Fruity (plum) wine will break the ice and get her right.

Horny—Break her tough exterior with a mellowing Merlot.

Sad—Malbec’s peppery tones will help her unlock those secrets.

Sexy—White Zinfandel is sweet enough to get the groove back.

?

Water Signs: Like rivers, Pisces, Scorpio, and Cancer embrace everything they touch. They’re sensitive and emotional.

Happy—Rousanne’s wild flowers will birth the poet within.

Horny—The honey oozing in Chenin Blanc is sure to hypnotize.

Sad—Red Nebbiolo will calm the sensitive sign.

Sexy—Pinot Noir is deep and dark enough to capture her sexy.

?

Fire Signs: Strong and full of confidence, Aries, Leo, and Sagittarius are usually hard to miss—they’re running things.

Happy—Riesling is sweet enough to bring a smile to her face.

Horny—Stoke her burning fire with a spicy cabernet sauvignon.

Sad—Merlot will shake the blues away.

Sexy—Grenache’s complex bouquet will have her tongue-tied.