Her eyes searched my face for some type of reaction. I took
another slow deep drag of the American Spirit and let the smoke roll.
“Nice try,” I said feeling the confident smile settle across my
face. “Very nice try but you’re drunk and fishing. That’s a
combination that’s only good with friends on a Saturday morning.”
There was a civil rivalry between Paris and Kiki. It was the
classic blue-eyed blond verses brown-eyed brunette battle. They were
never outspoken or blatant about it because they had different taste
in men, music, and the moments that make the magic happen. Every
once in a while there was something that would tweak an interest in
both of them and the game was on. What made it strange is that it
was completely unconscious. Once one of them realized what was
happening the game was over.
I decided to ride this little train for a while. I sat back
into the cushions and put the ashtray on my left knee. My left arm
reached across the back of the couch and my right heel rested on the
matching ottoman.
“If you really thought I slept with Paris, you wouldn’t have
kissed me. I wouldn’t even be sitting here on this couch waiting for
her to show up. She would have dismissed me a long time ago. You
would have nothing to say to me because there would be no mystery,
nothing to wonder about, nothing to keep you interested. You
wouldn’t call or shoot me e-mail. I would just be something talked
about in passing, either a quick laugh or a smile.
“That simple little kiss put me one step closer to obscurity.”
I took another drag and let the smoke float throughout the room. “It
took a small amount of mystery out of the game. The dynamic has been
changed and I’m not sure how to handle this.”
I looked deep into her almond colored eyes. I sat patiently
waiting for her response.
"Nice try, but I'm not that drunk." She curled up in her chair
like a cat. Her legs hung over one arm rest and her head was at the
base of the other. Her right arm was waving in the air like
Beethoven conducting his greatest masterpiece.
"Do you know how many men brag that they've slept with Paris?
Do you?" I shrugged my shoulders and sat quietly. She seemed to
think my silence answered her question. "Do you know how many of
them actually have?" she asked protectively. I shrugged my
shoulders again.
I could see that the train had derailed. She was really worried
about Paris. Here eyes were heavy with sleep and wine. I thought to
myself that maybe Paris wasn't running to the brilliant bright light
when she was lost. Could it be that this civil almost sibling
rivalry was the bright light that kept them both going? Could it be
that Paris ran here because she found an equal; a true friend who let
her be herself and accepted her for what she was?
I looked at my cell phone. It was almost two thirty in the
morning and I had an undying urge to wake up in my own bed. If I
stayed the morning conversation would just roll back to relationships
and why Paris was slipping deeper and deeper into her own private
hell.
I lifted Kiki from the chair to the couch and propped her on her
side. She wasn't drunk enough to choke in her sleep but I wanted to
make sure.
As I attempted to quietly slip out the door her eyes opened for
a split second and searched my face for some type of reaction. I
took slow deep drag of the American Spirit and let the smoke roll.
That Beautiful Black Man
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