Cruisin On Desperation. Pat G'Orge-Walker
“She’d pulled out a frayed Polaroid picture and within seconds both Cill and Petunia had joined Birdie with their own photos in hand.
“Hold up,” Mother Blister pleaded and continued searching through her bag. “Give me a moment.”
“No time to wait,” Petunia cried out as she held her other hand out towards Needy. “Let me see that picture, please.”
Needy looked at Birdie, who gave her a nod of permission.
“I want to see it too,” Cill chimed in.
“It had better not be that same fellow that tried to scam me about two years ago,” Mother Blister snapped under her breath while still searching. I can still see that sun-burned, greasy-looking, wavy haired…” Her voice trailed off as she continued her search through her messy pocketbook.
“That shameless son of a monkey who tried to rip me off had pitch-black wavy hair,” Petunia said, shaking with anger while still waiting for Needy to hand her the other photo. She was anxious to confirm her suspicions.
“The one that sent my sister Jessie and her credit sky-high and off into outer mental space was a Creole-looking piece of—” Cill stopped short of cussing. She’d prayed hard to be delivered from a foul mouth but it didn’t mean that at that moment she wouldn’t feel better letting out a few choice words. However, it was the pained look on Petunia’s face that had her momentarily unnerved, and saved her from an unscheduled trip to the altar for forgiveness for that particular sin. “What’s wrong, Petunia?” Cill asked, this time with real concern.
“It’s just that your sister’s scallywag of a man sounded just like that piece of honey-complexioned garbage that sent me free-falling into Chapter 11,” Petunia said as she glanced down at the worn photo in her hand. She’d rubbed the picture so much until the ink was one layer away from being a smudge. Needy needed to hurry and hand her that other photo before she exploded.
Not one to waste a moment, Petunia’s face suddenly reddened. It was a clear sign that time was up and she was out of control. She suddenly snatched the bobby pin that held her weave intact and started stabbing the photo in her hand as she yelled, “That man got my credit so messed up until I have a hard time getting the stores to even accept my coins.”
None of the women had ever seen Petunia explode and it wasn’t pretty, particularly when her weave started flying off its track, again, from the lack of bobby pin support.
The women never claimed to be rocket scientists but they didn’t need to be to connect these dots. Lightbulbs started going off under wigs and weaves like candy Pez’s from a Pez dispenser.
Cill reached over and snatched the photo from Needy’s hand, which still seemed frozen in time. Heated anger shot from Cill’s body, colliding with the anger of the other women, causing another explosion in Needy’s living room.
“That reprobate!” Cill shouted after snatching the photo. It wasn’t a clear picture of his face, but it was enough for her. “If I ever get my hands on this slime-ball, I’ll pull out every hair on his body, one by one, with a rusty pair of tweezers.”
Cill’s chest heaved as she held up the photo for the other women to see. “Why would any woman let this piece of jackal flesh touch them?”
Birdie wanted to be the first one to explain Lyon’s allure but the silence and awe of the other women at Cill’s ridiculous question silenced her. The sight of Cill ripping the photo to shreds kept her quiet.
“What the ham and cheese!” Mother Blister finally added, after remembering why she’d gotten involved with Lyon Lipps. She wanted to cuss, too, but decided that the others knew that already. It took her a moment but she finally caught on to the full magnitude of the situation.
“I can’t believe I’ve been such a fool,” Birdie whined as she lowered her head in shame. She’d really been looking forward to the date. “I didn’t mind that he’d done time, I could’ve forgiven him about leaving that bit of information out. But I’ll be doggone if I’ll be happy about him serving time and serving all of you.”
Birdie’s hair started fanning as she pounded Needy’s thrift-shop coffee table until it almost splintered.
“Well, what are we gonna do about it?” Petunia asked. She didn’t care if her weave totally derailed. She was out for blood.
“I still have the telephone number he gave me. And I know the number is good because he and I are supposed to get together soon,” Birdie said as she massaged her aching fists.
“Soon, you are seeing him soon?” Needy echoed while visions of whacking off the man’s heads, both of them, top and bottom, danced in her head.
Needy went over to the corner of her living room and lifted a telephone book from a shelf and started thumbing through the smudged pages so fast her fingers looked like wings on a hummingbird. She’d never met the man, Lyon Lipps, but she didn’t need to do that to issue a little payback.
“What are you doing? Why are you rifling through a telephone book at a time like this?” Cill asked, suspiciously. “We got a situation that needs fixing.”
“Back in my day”—Mother Blister hissed and wobbled while pounding the side of her stool, which made the hanging skin under her upper arms flap so hard they sounded like a helicopter taking off—“we’d send his trifling butt straight to hell and then have a party to celebrate.” She stopped abruptly and furthered her point by pointing one of her fingers downward.
As Mother Blister moved, her sagging breasts fell forward, releasing a fluffy piece of cotton that suddenly floated out. She’d been looking for it earlier that morning when she’d dusted her body’s nooks and crannies with talcum powder. The sight of the free-falling cotton suddenly seemed more interesting, outweighing any embarrassment she should’ve felt, and she lost her train of thought, again.
“I second that motion,” Petunia said before adding, “I say throw a pot of hot grits on him and a pail of glue to make sure it sticks!” She’d forgotten how vicious she could be, and the feeling of revenge made her feel good and important.
“How about we just catch him in a back alley and we’ll each use a bag of marbles to crack his bones? I say we clock that sucker from his tooter to his rooter. We can say that he fell or tripped, if anyone walks in on us,” Cill chimed in. She became animated to the point of pulling her stubborn strand of chin hair straight. If she hadn’t looked over at Birdie with concern, she might’ve yanked it completely out, which would’ve made her look less masculine.
“Birdie, are you okay?” Cill asked. “Don’t be ashamed. We’ve all been made a fool of by that mangy piece of masculinity.” She stopped to amend her declaration. “What I meant was that all of you have been made a fool of by that lying Lyon.”
“What do you mean? That dude has never made a fool of me,” Needy barked as she continued to thumb through the pages of the telephone book. She’d recovered just in time to retain her phantom reputation as a classy lady. “I don’t even know him, so get your facts straight. After all, y’all still carrying around your torn and smudged photos, so he must’ve either set your sails a-flapping or all of you are just gluttons for punishment.”
Of course, Needy failed to mention that perhaps not that particular man had made a fool of her, but rather there were others who had.
“I’m sorry. You’re right. I guess you and me are the only ones untouched by masculine deceit,” Cill replied.
Needy ignored Cill’s apology and reference to her lack of sexual activity as she stopped thumbing through the pages she’d taken from Mother Blister’s hands and cried out, “Okay. I think we should take Mother Blister’s suggestion and send that supposed lover boy to hell. And I’ve found the perfect way to do it.”
The meeting had taken a sudden strange and dangerous turn. They were riding high from the drama. The smell of a jive-talking, lying man’s blood became their driving force.
Needy