Ain't Gonna Be the Same Fool Twice (26 page)

“And someone who's willing to disclose his or her feelings,” Mitch added, staring me down. “Disclosure is very important here.”

Well, I'd like to disclose that I think y'all are full of shit, I thought to myself. But instead, I cleared my throat and said, “Well, I'm a lesbian.”

“She's a lesbian too!” Ellen blurted out.

“You'll be hearing from us very soon.” Mitch winked at me. “I'm really feeling psyched about your disclosure.”

“And your energy,” Ellen chimed in.

I knew that the job was as good as mine, if I could survive working with these crazy white folks.

I walked home from the interview, through the Upper Haight and into the Castro. It was windy, which was nothing new, but the sun was shining. I had a little pep in my step because I thought I'd finally be offered a job.

“Say, baby, say!”

I wasn't used to being bothered, so I was surprised. Most of the men in this neighborhood were only studying other men. I turned around in front of the Castro Theater and glanced into a milk-chocolate-colored baby face. I was thinking maybe this cute, husky brother got off at the wrong Muni stop.

“Baby, you look like my third wife.”

I kept walking. I knew he was probably jive. But I was curious. He looked too young to have been married three times.

“So, how many times you been married?” I called over my shoulder.

“Twice,” he answered. I heard his feet running to catch up with me.

It took me a minute to get it. “Very funny. You've got an interesting line, but …”

“But what?” He asked, hot on my trail.

“But I ain't biting.”

“You trying to tell me to go fish somewheres else?”

“Yeah, if you wanna catch anything.”

“Baby, I used to could sell hot water sandwiches. Why y'all got to be so hard on the brothas these days?”

I ignored the question but I couldn't help but smile. The “Negro” was almost refreshing after my interview with those woo-woo's this morning. I mean, at least brothaman was for real, in a jive sort of way.

“You know, baby, if I wasn't allergic to white women, I wouldn't be bothered with you. I'd let you gon' about your business.”

I slowed down. “Humph,” I chuckled, “that's a good one. Allergic to white women? Well, brotha, you're suffering from a rare disease in this town.”

“Yeah, and I can't even qualify for Medi-Cal.”

“That's too bad,” I said, turning up Sterling's street. This dude was good for a laugh or two, but now I was ready to get rid of him. To my irritation, the brotha continued to walk alongside of me.

“Stop following me.”

“Baby, we going to the same pad.”

“No, we're not.”

“Yes we are too, Miss Stevie.”

I was startled. “How do you know my name?”

“I know all about your behind.”

I felt nervous. Who was this fool? And how dare he get cute?

“How do you know my name?” I demanded, trying to mask my fear.

“I'm Buster, Sterling's baby bruh, you dig?”

“You're Buster?” I asked, remembering that Sterling said his younger brother was really a trip.

“That's right, I'm going out to dinner with Sterling tonight.”

“Well, why did you have to act so mysterious?”

“You thought I was just another jiveass nigga out here in the streets, didn't ja?”

“Maybe I still do. You just happen to be Sterling's brother.”

“Now you wanna show your drawers. Well just remember, you ain't the only one from Chicago.”

“So?”

“So, don't get funky. Be nice to baby bruh. Because you act a fool and the next thing you know your shit'll be set out there in the street. Girl, you'll be living outdoors.”

I turned at the bottom of the stairs and rolled my eyes.

“Really, you have that kind of power over Sterling?”

But I wasn't tripping. I remembered that Sterling had said Buster had to be taken with a grain of salt.

Buster snapped his fingers. “All I've got to do is say the word.”

“Oh, please, gimme a break.” I walked up the stairs. “What time are you supposed to meet Sterling?”

“Six o'clock, straight up.”

I glanced at my watch. “It's six o'clock now. Why don't you unlock the door?” I asked, checking to see if Buster had a key to the apartment. “So I won't have to go digging into my shoulder bag.”

“Ain't that a blip, I forgot to carry my key with me.”

“A likely story.” I shook my head. “Buster, you're starting to lose some of your power.”

Buster smiled and followed me into the apartment. “Come on, baby, let's be friends. I bet we got some karma we've yet to resolve.”

I didn't answer, I just thumbed through the mail to see if I had anything. There was a postcard from Paris. I turned it over. It was from Celeste! She said she missed me. That she was teaching art, and there was a little girl that reminded her of me. “Of course she's my pet,” she wrote. I got a warm feeling. I missed my girl Celeste.

“Thought I was just a go-ta-work-come-home-whus-fuh-dinna-go-ta-bed-kinda nigga, didn't ja,” Buster said over my shoulder. “Didn't know I could whup that New Age shit on you. Didn't know I was hipped to unresolved karma? Did ja?”

“No, but let's resolve our karma right now. It's been real, but I'm going to the bathroom.”

“Before you do that, why don't you bring me a beer?”

I sighed. “They're in the refrigerator.”

“What kind of hostess are you? Ain't you forgetting your home training? I could see if you was from L. A. But you from Chi town.”

“Now I live
here
. So get it your damn self.”

When I returned from the bathroom, Buster was settled back on the couch, sipping a brewskie.

“I wonder why Sterling isn't here yet,” I said.

“I wonder why the nigga painted this room pink.”

“It's raspberry,” I corrected him as the phone rang. I left to answer it. Maybe it was a job offer. No such luck, it was Sterling calling to apologize for sticking me here with Buster.

“I know my brother can be a trip.”

“You ain't never lied. You should've heard him bragging about how one word from him and you'd set me out on the street.”

“You should've said, ‘nigga puh-leaze.' Believe me, you have nothing to worry about. I can barely tolerate having that jive turkey in my house.”

“Thanks.” I sighed. Sterling and I were solid. Had I doubted that for one minute?

“Just don't let Buster start drinking, or you may never get rid of him.”

“It's too late,” I said, cringing. “He's not an alcoholic, is he? 'Cause, he's already got his mitts on a beer.”

“No, but he has a tendency to get loud when he's had a few.”

“Aren't you coming home soon?” I asked hopefully.

“No, that's why I called. I'm stuck on a shoot down here in Watsonville. All the way the hell near Santa Cruz—farmworkers' strike. Tell Buster I'm sorry, I'm gonna have to take a rain check.”

“You wanna tell him yourself?”

“No, I've gotta go. I can't really stay on the phone.”

“Sterling can't make it. He's stuck in Watsonville on a shoot. He said he'll hook up with you another time.”

“Another time?” Buster looked disappointed. I guess I didn't think it would faze him.

“Yeah, he has to take a rain check.”

“There might not be another time. He knows I'm leaving Monday.”

“You're going on a trip?”

“I'm moving to Alaska.”

“Alaska, wow. Why Alaska?”

“Why not Alaska? I need to stack up me some dead presidents.”

“So, it's all about the paper?”

Buster nodded. “I'ma be working on the pipeline, making some long green.”

“It's gonna be cold up there.”

“That's cool, 'cause money's got all kinds of friends. Heat is one of 'em.”

“Well, if I don't see you again, good luck.” I almost twisted my mouth to say, It was nice meeting you.

“Stevie.” Buster swallowed and looked at me with his big dark eyes. “If you not doing nothing, how about me and you getting down with some Creole food tonight?”

“I don't think we've hit it off well enough to make it through a whole dinner together.”

“Look, I was just giving you a hard time. It wasn't personal. I don't tease people unless I like 'em.”

“Well, you didn't really know me. I mean, you still don't. And I guess life is hard enough.”

“Look, I apologize. It's one of my last nights here, and it would be nice to have some company. And besides, it's my Mama's birthday.” Buster's voice cracked. “It's the fifth one since she passed.”

“I'm sorry,” I mumbled, remembering that Sterling told me his mother had died in a car crash on the Dan Ryan Expressway back in Chicago. After her death, Sterling's father had moved to the Bay Area with Sterling and Buster. Sterling's two sisters had gone to L. A. to live with an aunt. His father was a porter on the railroad. He lived in San Pablo, over in the East Bay.

“I guess I just don't wanna be alone tonight,” Buster said softly.

I nodded and reached for my sweater.

“This gumbo will sho' clear out your sinuses,” I said, inhaling the spicy, greenish brown mixture. “None of that red mess, this stuff is authentic.” I took a swallow of beer. “Makes you wanna slap the judge!”

“Gumbo got you speaking in tongues, huh?” Buster joked.

“Well, let's not get sacrilegious.”

“I can't help myself. This jambalaya is preaching.” He smiled, sucking on a crab leg.

I glanced around the cozy little Creole restaurant with red-check tablecloths. “This is nice. I'm glad I came.”

Buster turned up his beer can. “You ain't came yet.”

I groaned. I thought he wanted to talk about losing his mother. Instead he was talking foolishness.

“Buster, how old are you? I know men mature slower than women, but damn.”

“I'm twenty-two. How old are you? That rhymes, I'm a poet and I know it. If I had a boat, I'd row it.”

I sighed. “I'm the same age.”

“We're a match then.”

“Too bad you and Sterling couldn't get together, especially with it being your mother's birthday and you leaving and all.”

“Dig up, it may have been a blessing in disguise. Most of the time we hook up, we just end up getting on each other's nerves anywho. We don't see eye to eye on certain things. You know what I'm saying?”

“Like what?”

“Mainly his lifestyle.”

“Why can't you just accept it? I don't notice you over there sprouting wings.”

“Look, he's my brother and I want what's best for him, you dig?”

“Who's to say what's best for somebody else?”

“Word up, I just believe a man should be a man.”

“You mean like John Wayne?”

“Hey, dig up, I can be a sensitive dude. But I still like women.”

“That's you. Maybe everybody isn't cut from the same cloth.”

“Hey, baby, I can't help it. The thought of two men getting it on just turns my stomach, you dig?”

“Then take some Pepto-Bismol. Besides, you don't have to think about it.”

“In San Francisco, it's hard not to.” Buster pointed with his thumb toward two slender men gazing at each other at the next table. He lowered his voice. “They put it all up in your face.”

I raised my voice. “Nobody flaunts their sexuality any more than straight people,” I scoffed. “Who ties tin cans to cars and honks the horn because they've gotten married?”

“Hey, which side are you on?”

“I'm on the side of fairness.”

“Sounds to me like you might be a little ‘happy' yourself.”

“What do you mean?” But I knew “happy” meant “gay.”

“You know,” Buster said, wiggling his wrist. “Are you a member, as Sterling would say?”

“Are you ready for the check?” the waiter smiled.

“I guess I'm not sure, to tell you the truth,” I responded.

Buster frowned. “What do you mean, you're not sure?”

“I was involved with a woman and it didn't work out. But she's the only woman I've ever dealt with.”

“You know what I think?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you just ain't never had no good dick before.”

“I'll bring you your check,” the waiter said, and rushed away.

“I beg your pardon!” I snapped.

“Well, excuse me. I should've said, I don't think you've met the right man yet.”

“Maybe it's you who hasn't met the right man yet.”

“Stevie, I won't even dignify that with a response. I just wish we had more time. If I wasn't moving to Alaska Monday, I could help you.”

“Help me do what?”

“Help you find out what you really need.”

“You've got a lot of nerve. I hope you don't think it's you.”

“Look, girl, you can't hurt me with your little digs. I can see right through them. We've got chemistry between us. Don't you feel it, too?”

“You make me laugh. If that qualifies as chemistry, then, I stand corrected.”

“A sense of humor is very important, don't you agree?”

“Yes, a similar sense of humor.”

“I'm finding our conversation fascinating.” Buster pointed to the check. “Let me pay this bad boy. And what do you say we continue this discussion at my estate?”

“Surely you jest.”

“Well, then let's continue this conversation in my room at the Y.”

“You stay at the Y?”

“Yeah, the Residence Club on Powell Street. It's right on the cable car line. I'm sure you've passed it.”