Chapter 23 Crystal
Crystal
“I’m coming over,” I said into the receiver of the telephone. It was a little after one, and the effects of the Tylenol PM had worn off. I wasn’t completely alert but knew that, after a cold shower and something to eat, I would be.
Neville had gone out, leaving the sweet aroma of his cologne in the air, and his sexy-ass black silk briefs thrown across his bed. It was all I could do not to snatch them and take a huge sniff!
Yeah, I was losing my mind, so I had to get out of that apartment!
“Okay,” Geneva said happily. “I got some corn bread in the oven, and my stories are getting ready to start.”
“I don’t want to sit up in the apartment, Geneva. I want to go out,” I said as I moved into my walk-in closet and pulled a pair of 7 jeans from the wooden hanger.
“But the corn bread—” Geneva started to whine.
“Oh please, Geneva. We’ll get a salad while we’re out. See you in fifteen,” I said, and hung up the phone.
***
It took some convincing, but Geneva finally got me to wait through at least the first half hour of The Bold and the Beautiful as well as two slices of corn bread, though I refused the sweet butter and strawberry jam that she’d generously spread on her portion.
We decided—well, really I decided—that we should spend the rest of the day shopping for new outfits for Eric’s big performance next weekend at Lola’s Bar and Restaurant.
When we finally did hit the streets, Geneva had a hard time keeping up with me. I guess I’m not sensitive enough to the fact that Geneva’s legs are shorter and stouter than mine, not to mention the fact that I’m in better physical condition than she is.
There must have been ten people between us before I finally realized that I was talking nonstop to a stranger.
“Geneva!” I yelled as I turned back to look at her, waving my hand for her to hurry along.
Thirty-fourth Street was crowded with spring shoppers and tourists walking along with their heads tilted toward the sky. I tried my best to keep my temper as I navigated around them.
So as not to have a repeat performance of Geneva’s tragic outfit episode from brunch a few weeks earlier, I suggested that we pay a visit to the women’s section at Macy’s.
Once inside, we dawdled in the perfume section on the main floor. I guess I spent more time than usual testing the men’s colognes. I was toying with the idea of buying Neville a bottle of Calvin Klein, but then I looked up and saw that Geneva was giving me that “What’s this all about?” look.
“You got a boyfriend I don’t know anything about?” she said after balling her fists and pushing them into her wide hips.
I retorted with an “Oh please, Geneva” before abruptly setting the bottle back down onto the glass counter.
“Or are you spraying cologne on your pillows and pretending that there’s a man in your bed?”
I just gave Geneva a bored look and moved on.
“It’s okay if you do,” she laughed. “I been doing it for years.”
I shook my head and laughed as I grabbed her hand and started toward the bank of elevators.
Fifteen shoppers, including Geneva and me, squeezed into the elevator.
“You still have that rash?” Geneva stage-whispered to me.
I just smirked. I knew where she was going with that question. It was part of a game we’d been playing since grade school.
“You know, the one that the doctor said he wasn’t sure was contagious or not?” she continued.
The corners of my mouth began to twitch as I fought hard to control the laughter that was building up inside of me.
Meanwhile the other passengers on the elevator began to shift uncomfortably where they stood.
“Well, I just wanted to know, because I think I may have it too,” Geneva said, her voice rising as she scratched vigorously at her neck. “That cream working for you?”
The doors opened, and even though six different buttons had been pressed, most everybody filed out. The two people who remained were standing so close to the back wall that they almost became a part of it.
“You’re sick, girl. You need some serious help,” I hissed at Geneva as we stepped off on five.
We were met with the blank expressions of the shapely plastic dummies dressed in colorful bathing suits. Beach balls and real sand lay at their feet. Geneva closed her eyes and walked past them.
“Girl, we need to get to the beach this summer.”
“Yeah, right,” Geneva laughed, and continued across the floor.
“Look, Geneva, this one is real cute.” I had snatched up an orange and green striped bikini that looked more like a mess of strings than a bathing suit.
“You’re joking, right?” Geneva’s bottom lip hung dramatically low as she eyed me like I had five heads.