Chapter Seventeen
Seventeen
I was talking to my neighbor when Chevy came up behind me and placed her hands over my eyes.
“Guess who?” she said in her best child voice.
“Chevy,” I said dryly.
The neighbor threw an amused look at Chevy, said goodbye, and moved away from us.
I turned around and my eyes fell on someone who barely resembled Chevy. I squinted and would have second-guessed myself, but then I saw the shopping bag in her hand. That was a dead giveaway. It was Chevy.
Today she wore a wet and wavy platinum blond wig that hung in long, synthetic Goldilocks tresses down her back.
I could barely keep my mouth closed. The wig did nothing for her dark brown complexion, which was getting closer to mahogany with every sunny day.
And if the hair wasn’t ridiculous enough, the pink lipstick was a little too pink for her. Okay, a lot too pink.
Chevy was excellent at putting an outfit together, but some days she was really bad with cosmetics. Okay, most days.
“You look like a clown,” I blurted out.
“Oh, so you’re jealous as usual,” she said and did a little spin for me. “Don’t hate me.”
“Did you hear me say you look like a clown?” I asked as she strolled off toward my apartment building.
“I thought we might walk over to Merchants and have some drinks,” I said, halting her in her tracks.
“I thought we were hanging out at your house.” Chevy swung around and batted her fake eyelashes at me.
I knew what that meant. It meant she didn’t have a dime to her name. Chevy never gave up an opportunity to be out and to be seen.
“Yeah, that was the plan, but I changed my mind,” I said coolly.
Chevy looked down at her watch. “Well, I can just stay for one drink,” she said and her voice wavered a bit.
“You don’t have any money, do you, Chevy?” I shook my head and eyed the bag she was carrying.
“Oh, this—I’m returning this.” She chuckled and swung the bag behind her back. “It’s just that my money is a little funny right now.”
“No, your money is hilarious all of the time.”
—
Once upstairs, I ordered up some Italian food and called the liquor store and had them send up three bottles of Moet.
When the food and champagne arrived, Chevy pulled the bottles from the bags, and her eyes lit up. “Oooh, Moet—white label, but still not bad. What are we celebrating?”
“Life,” I chirped happily.
Normally I drank champagne only on special occasions, but more and more I was coming to realize that every day I opened my eyes was a special occasion.
“Okay,” Chevy said, already working at getting one of the bottles uncorked.
What happened earlier in the day was still weighing heavily on my mind, and every time I walked past the wall Eric had hit I started to shake.
To think that he had even considered hitting me really messed with my mind, and, try as I might, I couldn’t shake the last vision I had of him, wild-eyed and crazed.
“Chevy, I’ve got to tell you something.”
Chevy was reaching into the cabinet, retrieving two champagne glasses. “All right,” she mumbled absent-mindedly as she held the glasses up to the light to check for spots.
The thing about confiding in Chevy was that half the time she barely heard what it was you were saying, unless of course it directly affected her and had nothing to do with how much she owed you emotionally or financially.
So I guess she was a good person to get stuff off your chest with, if you didn’t require any constructive input or a timely resolution to your problem.
I went ahead and shared with her what went down between Eric and me earlier that afternoon. I told her how it was wrenching at my insides and how I hoped this wasn’t a preamble to violence against women.
Chevy must have been somewhat listening between the moments she alternated popping grapes into her mouth and sipping champagne, because one of her eyebrows climbed when I mentioned the “violence against women” part, which was followed by a long sucking sound, a typical Caribbean indication of disgust. Although Chevy didn’t advertise her Caribbean background, she was a full-blooded Antiguan and had the papers to prove it.
Just as I finished my story, the buzzer sounded.
“That’s probably Geneva,” I said and pressed the button. “Yes.”
The doorman’s voice crackled back, “Ms.Atkins, Mr.Bodison is here for you.”
“Thank you, send him up, please,” I said and moved back into the kitchen to finish spooning the gnocchi into the bowl.
A few seconds later there was a soft knocking at the door and Chevy moved to answer it. She peered through the peephole. “Oh, it’s my roomie.”
“Your what?” I asked.
She swung the door open and in walked Noah, dressed in a powder blue linen shirt and faded blue jeans.
I blinked. “Roomie?” I said stupidly.
Noah walked over to me and gave me a big hug. It seemed like we hadn’t seen each other in ages.
It was as if the two men I loved the most in my life were the ones I saw the least. I hugged him back as hard as I could and planted a big wet kiss on his face.
“I missed you!”
“Missed you too, baby,” he said, giving me one last squeeze before breaking our embrace.
“You look good.” I beamed.
“You look better,” he said and gave me a sly once-over.
“Well, thank you,” I said and reached for my glass of champagne. “Now what’s all this roomie stuff?”
“Oh, you didn’t know?” Noah’s eyes popped with surprise as he stepped around me to examine the eats.
“You two are living together now?” I managed to choke out as I swallowed.
“Yep,” Chevy said and took a seat at the table.
“Against my will, of course. You know I would never allow Ms.Drama to move into my space.”
“Since when?” I asked, turning to Noah.
“Well, let’s see, she’s been there since I was in London. That was two weeks ago—I came back today, so I guess she’s been squatting for about fifteen days.”
I turned back to Chevy. “You got evicted again?”
“You know that place was much too small for me. And anyway, my lease was up.”
“You got evicted again,” Noah and I said blandly.
“Whatever,” Chevy breathed, waving her hand at us.
The intercom blared again.
“Yeah?” Chevy pressed the button and asked.
“It’s me.” Geneva’s voice came back.
“Who, the doorman?” Chevy covered her mouth and snickered.
“Stop acting like a child,” I warned.
“I don’t know where he’s at. It’s Geneva—let me up.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that. Who?”
“Stop it!” I screamed and slammed the spoon down onto the counter.
“C’mon, Chevy, let her up,” Noah coaxed and reached for more gnocchi.
“They’ll be all gone before anyone else can have some,” I teased and slapped his hand away.
“It’s GE-NEE-VA!”
“She down there looking all stupid, I know she is.” Chevy bent over and laughed.
“Grow up,” Noah ordered and moved to the intercom, pressing the in button.
A few minutes later Geneva knocked at the door.
“Hey, lady.” Noah greeted Geneva with a hug and a kiss.
“Hey yourself,” she said and stood back to get a good look at him. “You look different.”
“Do I?”
“Yeah.” Geneva walked past him and into the kitchen. “Hey, ladies.”
“Hey, girl,” I said and blew her a kiss.
Chevy scrutinized Geneva for a moment and then said, “What the hell is wrong with your hair?”
“Well, hello to you too,” Geneva said sarcastically and then subconsciously ran her hand over her normal pulled-back do. “Ain’t nothing wrong with my hair. What the hell is wrong with your hair?”
“I told her she looked like a clown,” I piped up.
Geneva laughed and Chevy flipped us the bird with both hands.
“Don’t Noah look different?” Geneva posed the question to me.
“Hmm—yeah, a little. Now that you mention it.”
“Must be all that protein he’s ingesting!” Chevy shouted and slapped the table a few times.
“Ms.Drama, please don’t get me started up in here. I was going to try and behave myself today, but you’re gonna make me get on you about that hair and that lipstick,” Noah sang in a falsetto.
“Are you in love or something?” Geneva pushed.
“You mean with someone besides himself?” Chevy laughed.
Noah gave her a hard look. “Now you confusing me with you,” he retorted. He let off two snaps in her face and strutted back toward the bowl of gnocchi. “Must be all that chronic she’s smoking.”
Geneva and I both turned to Chevy and said, “Pot?”
“No, the album,” Chevy mocked us. “And anyway, I got it out of Noah’s stash.”
Now we looked expectantly at Noah, who turned casually toward her and convincingly said, “You’re a liar.”
Chevy’s jaw dropped. She knew that no matter what she said, we would take Noah’s word over hers any day.
“So what if I smoke a little pot here and there?”
“In the middle of the day?” Geneva shook her head pitifully.
“Sound like a problem,” I added for effect.
“Rehab may be the next step,” Noah threw in, trying hard to keep a straight face.
“Whatever.” Chevy snorted and jumped up from the table.
“What you getting ready to do, whoop my ass?” Noah threw at her with a laugh.
Chevy cocked her head in thought. “I probably could if I wanted to,” she said and put up her fists like a boxer.
We all burst out laughing.
“Oh, you’re all so funny, aren’t you?” Chevy jeered, snatching up the bottle of champagne and refilling her glass.
“Oooh, poor baby—you can dish it out but you can’t take it, huh?” I teased and lifted my own glass of champagne.
“Well, maybe not,” she said slyly as she ran her finger along the rim of her glass. “But I would expect to be knocked down by a man if I laid my hands on him. You know all about that, don’t you, Crystal?”
“What?” I laughed, totally missing the point.
“Did you tell Geneva that you slapped the shit out of Eric today?”
“Eric who?” Geneva said, and now all eyes were on me.
Shit. The one time this bitch decided to listen.