Man Swappers (18 page)

“Then what
are
you interested in?”

“
You
,” he says, resting his forearms up on the table. “I thought it was obvious. I guess not. So let me make it clear. The only woman I’m interested in is
you
. The only woman’s bed I wanna be in is
yours
.” I blink. Then stare at him.
This nigga must be high.
“Why you looking at me like you think I’m bugging or something? Like I told you, I started pulling away purposefully. Not because I’m out here getting pussy somewhere else. I know what I want. And I know who I want it with.”

“And what’s that, Em? What is it you want?”

“I wanna spend time with you,
alone
. No Persia barking orders, cracking whips ’n shit. No Paris watching us, playing in her pussy. I wanna take you away for the weekend. Make love to
you
on a beach somewhere.”

“So you just want pussy?” I ask, feeling myself starting to become aroused. I press my legs together.

“Yo, I want more than your pussy. I can get that anytime. Shit, I was getting it with you and your sisters, remember?”

I roll my eyes. “Whatever.”

“Roll them pretty eyes all you want. Bottom line is: I want you. I don’t care about who you and your sisters have slept with together. Or how many cats you’ve let knock it down solo. I wanna spend time with
you
. I wanna make love to
you
. I wanna fuck
you
. Maybe I’m fucked up for wanting that. But, it is what it is. And that’s how I feel. I wanna chill and do nothing at all, with you. It’s all good. We don’t even have to fuck, if that’s what you want. I’d be cool with that, too. Like I told you, there is no other chick I’m seeing
or
fucking. I’ve had you on the brain hard for a
minute. You have my nose wide open, Porsha. I wanna see where it goes. If it doesn’t work out, then cool. At least I gave it my best and that’s as real as it gets. We can take it slow, or we can speed race it. It’s whatever. I’ll let you decide how we proceed.”

Wow
. I sit back in my chair, speechless. I sweep my bang across my forehead, pulling its end behind my ear. This is all too much for me to digest. “Give me a minute to process this.”

He sits back in his chair. Gives me space, allows me a moment to contemplate.

Don’t even think about going there with him.

I’m not.

Then why are you sitting here entertaining the idea?

I’m not. I’m simply mulling over everything he’s told me. No harm in that.

Bitch, lies! Who you kidding? This damn man has your pussy steaming right now. Fuck him for old time’s sake. No one has to know.

I keep my eyes on him as he reaches over and takes my hand in his. In spite of my smile, there’s an awkward silence, filled with a thick sexual tension between the two of us that I’m trying my damndest to ignore. But there’s no denying it. And the fact is, I want dick!

Don’t do it. You know the rules.

Fuck rules. Rules are made to be broken.

How you think Persia will feel when she finds out? She’ll be pissed.

Oh, please. What’s there to be pissed about? Emerson was never her man. He was
our
fuck toy.

“So, what’s up?” he asks, slicing into the one-sided conversation going on in my head. “What you thinking about?”

You!
“Em, I’ve heard everything you’ve said. And I’m still trying to wrap my mind around most of it. I mean, the fact that you’re sitting here telling me you have feelings for me is one thing. And
the fact that you were fucking my sisters and me is another. I don’t think I can go there with you. Actually, I know I can’t.”

He glances down at his watch, then around the room. It’s slowly starting to get busy in here. I glance down at my watch and see why. It’s going on quarter to four. “Look, how about we go somewhere else to finish talking about this.”

I tilt my head, eyeing him. “Like where?”

He grins. “I got us a room.”

I’m not sure why I’m not surprised by what he’s said. Not that I expected to hear this. But now that I have, I’m of two minds. One is saying stay. The other is saying get the hell up and run.

To fuck him or not to fuck him.

That is the question.

The answer comes quick the minute he stands up. “Let’s go.”

Paris
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“
I
feel awful about how I spoke to you at the diner,” I say to my mother, deciding it was time to make amends. It’s been three weeks since that incident and this is the first time that I’ve spoken to her. “I’m really sorry for my behavior.”

“Well, you should be,” she says. I sigh, realizing she’s not going to make this an easy process. “I’ve never tolerated disrespect from you girls. I raised you better than that. That behavior was so unlike
you
.”

“I know, Mother,” I say apologetically. “I feel really bad about it.”

She grunts. “Mmmph. You ought to. Then it takes you
three
weeks to come to your senses and realize your wrongdoing?”
My wrongdoing? What about yours?
I remind myself that this call isn’t about her. It’s about me. I apologize again. Tell her how bad I feel. “Well, you should. You don’t know how bad I wanted to get up and slap you into yesterday, but I wasn’t going to act a fool up in there. I figured you were doing a good job of that on your own. And don’t think I didn’t tell your father how you carried on. All we were doing was having a simple conversation and, out of nowhere, you went wild. You spoke to me like I was some bitch—excuse my French, out on the streets.”

I cringe at her using the word,
bitch
. That is so not like her. I’ve only heard her use that word when she was referring to one of our father’s numerous mistresses. “What you did was uncalled for,”
she continues. “You were really trying to take me to the streets and have me go ghetto on you. I had to really catch myself from beating your ass.”

I roll my eyes. Once again, she takes no responsibility for her mouth. She doesn’t even realize what she says. Or maybe she does and doesn’t care. Persia’s voice creeps up in my head.
I don’t know why you waste your time. I keep telling you that woman is unbearable
. I take a deep breath. Decide to give her another dose of truth.
Don’t even waste your breath.
“Mom, do you even care that you have three daughters who practically avoid you? Don’t you want to have a better relationship with us?

She huffs. “Of course I do. What kind of damn foolish question is that?”

I shake my head, accepting that this conversation is going to go nowhere real fast. “Mom, you’re right. It was a foolish question. Whatever was I thinking? Like I said, I only called to apologize to you; that’s it. Not for you to try to make me feel worse than I’ve already been feeling for disrespecting you the way I did. You either accept it or you don’t. But I’m not going to get into it with you again.”

“The way you spoke to me hurt me deep.”

“Ohmygod, Mother. Don’t.” My sisters and I call her
Mother
when she’s gotten under our skin. Well, Porsha, being Porsha, calls her that whether or not she’s grated on her last nerve.

“Don’t, what?”

“Don’t play victim. We
both
know you’re
not
the victim here.”

“Paris, I don’t know what I did wrong.”

I take a deep breath. “You didn’t
do
anything wrong. It’s what you said, that was totally out of line.” I kindly replay the conversation back to her.

“Are you serious?” she asks incredulously. “I was speaking honestly. And you take offense to that.”

“Mom, you know what. I’m gonna let you go. You call me when you understand that some of what comes out of your mouth is hurtful; maybe not to Persia, or even to Porsha. But it hurts
me
. And you simply brush it off like it’s okay. Well, it’s not. I want nothing more than to have a better relationship with you, one where I’m not walking on eggshells wondering when you’re going to say something thoughtless or callous. But I’m not going to allow you to say disrespectful and hurtful things to me, or about me or my sisters. Mother or not, I’m not going to stand for it any longer. You’re my mother. I love you. But sometimes I don’t like you. And I don’t think you like yourself. How could you?”

Surprisingly, she’s quiet—too quiet if you ask me. I pause. Ask her if she’s still on the line. “I’m here,” she says, curtly. For some reason I get the sense that Daddy has spoken to her. That perhaps he’s put his foot down with her.

“Well, have you heard a word I’ve said?”

“Oh, I’ve heard you loud and clear. You think I’m a horrible mother. That nothing I’ve done has been right.”

Oh, for the love of God! Here we go with this victim shit again.
I sigh. “If that’s what you’ve heard, then shame on you.”

“You basically want me to walk around pretending that I’m happy about how you and your sisters are living. Well, I’m sorry, I won’t. And I can’t.”

“And you’ve sadly missed the whole point. You don’t have to be happy about anything we do. I’m not asking you to be. All I’m asking is for you to be mindful about what you say, and how you say it. I don’t think that’s much to ask for. We barely come around you, now. Persia barely speaks to you. And Paris tolerates you with a long-handled spoon. And if you keep it up, I’m gonna cut you off next. Is that what you want?”

I massage my temples, fighting back a headache.

She lets out an annoyed sigh. I can tell, trying to bite her tongue.
“Of course it’s not. But I’m the parent here. Not you, Persia or Porsha. And I will not tolerate being disrespected by any of you.”

“Then try respecting us. Try treating us like grown women, not little girls who have no clue about the world around us. We are beautiful, educated, successful women, thanks to you and Daddy. So you should be proud of our accomplishments, instead of always criticizing us.”

“I
am
proud of you girls. I just don’t like what the three of you are doing with your lives.”

“Mom, bottom line: it’s none of your business. So, leave it alone.”

“Fine. From now on, my mouth is shut.”

“Good,” I say, glancing at my watch.
Thirty minutes going around in circles with her. This makes no sense.
“Allow us to be your daughters; not your enemies.” She tells me she only wants what’s best for us. That she worries we’ll end up getting hurt. I want to tell her so badly that no one can hurt us as much as she has. But I don’t. I don’t have the heart to tell her this. “Mom, I know you do. But you go about it all wrong.”

“Well, it’s obvious we’re getting nothing accomplished with this phone conversation.”

“That’s because you’re not open to hearing anything,” I tell her, glancing at the time again. “Look I have to get going. I’ll call you one day next week, okay?”

We exchange a few more words before I tell her that I love her, then say our goodbyes. I immediately call Porsha. She picks up on the sixth ring. “Hey, girl, I just got off the phone with Mom.”

She clucks her tongue. “Mmmph. Let me guess. She found a way to put it all on you, right?”

“She tried, but I didn’t let her.”

“Good for you. So how did you end things with her?”

“I apologized and she accepted.”

“Mmm,” is all she says, pausing. I can tell she wants to say more, but she doesn’t. “So, is it busy at the boutique today?”

“It’s Monday,” I remind her. “The store is closed.”

She laughs. “Oh, that’s right. Girl, my mind is all over the place. I have so many clients scheduled this month I don’t know if I’m coming or going.”

“That’s a good thing,” I say. “That means business is keeping you busy.”

“It’s a great thing. Trust me. Thank God for Uncle Sam, and all of his taxes. You won’t ever hear me complaining. But I need to get out of here for a few hours. Play hooky for the rest of the day. What are you doing?”

“Not a damn thing,” I say, staring at my reflection in the mirror.

“How about we drive to Short Hills and hit the mall? I need to pick up something cute to wear this weekend?” I ask her what she has planned.

“Angel’s flying in for the weekend.”

“Oh, okay. How’s that nut doing?”

She laughs. “Nuttier as ever, but that’s still my girl.”

Angel’s her best friend since junior high school. And she’s the thorn in Persia’s side. For some reason, Persia has never liked her. I believe it has to do with the fact that the two of them are very close; almost like sisters. Although Persia will deny it, I think she’s jealous of Angel and feels threatened by their relationship. Why is beyond me since the three of us—though we’ve had our share of cat fights and misunderstandings like any other siblings—we love each other dearly and are extremely close. Come to think of it, Persia has always been overprotective of Paris and me, even when there was no reason to be. And she has always seemed to have a problem with anyone who she thinks might get in the middle of our relationship.

“Some things never change,” I say, chuckling.

“They sure don’t,” she agrees. “I can’t wait to see my sistergirl. We are gonna cut up something terrible.” I smile, knowingly. “Anyway, I need to find something fierce to wear.”

“What time do you wanna go?”

“Right now. Something Gucci and cute is calling my name.”

I laugh. “Come to think about it, it’s calling mine, too.”

“Good, then. It’s settled. I’ll swing by to pick you up and we’ll be on our way. See if Persia wants to go.”

“Uh, it’s you and me, boo,” I say, walking into my closet to find something to wear. “Persia’s out somewhere reeling in a new customer.”

“Good for her. We’ll pick her up something
cute
.”

“See you when you get here,” I say before hanging up. I glance out the window, looking at the sky, deciding today’s a nice day to wear a denim wrap dress and a sexy pair of heels. I hop in the shower, wash myself good, then hop out. Wrapping a towel around me, I strut out into my bedroom with beads of water still rolling down my skin to answer my ringing cell. Glancing at the screen, I frown, not familiar with the number. “Hello?”