Page 4 of Deadly Sights

The outfits she wears when we go out no longer surprise me, although they’re very different from the strait-laced suits she wears for work. I’ll never judge her for needing to let off steam.

Hell, I won’t judge my friends even if they’re in the wrong. Not the healthiest mentality, but it’s mine.

With Chelsea in my peripheral, I continue seeking the person putting my senses on Spider-Man mode.

“There you are,” Chelsea says, taking my elbow and steering me away.

Chelsea works as an interpreter. She speaks twelve languages from across Asia, Africa, the Middle East, and Europe. Like me, she travels a lot. It’s how we bonded. We sat next to each other on a flight to Dubai, talking about the most inane, entertaining topics. Not once did I feel a pang of guilt about our lighthearted conversation, although a few hours later, I would be covered in blood and planning my escape from the country. She left me with such a warm sensation; I made sure to stay in touch.

“Danae and Moni arrived early and found the private booth you reserved.” She nudges me in the side. “And they’ve already started on the signature cocktails made by our dedicated bartender. Girl, you always do the most for us. Got us here thinking if only you had a dick, we’d be begging you for that ring every time we see you. Except Tamara, but that’s because she knows she isn’t your type.”

“And Tamara needs variety,” I respond.

Unlike Chelsea, I met Moni, Danae, and Tamara at a small Black-woman-owned business conference. There we shared thestresses and rewards of being professional Black women who own our companies. Moni owns a medical practice, Tamara runs a law firm, and Danae owns a group of accounting firms across the region. As many times as I’ve asked myself why I instantly connected to these women, I’ve never found a good answer and stopped asking. They’re my ride or dies, and with my skills, we’ll always be the last ones standing.

“There’s that. Tonight might be different, though. That last girl had Tamara making plans,” she whispers the last.

Chelsea and I arrive at a curtained doorway. Currently, the closed drapes cut off the antics in the room from the rest of the lounge. I draw back the hanging to see Tamara twerking for the bartender and the rest of the ladies throwing dollars at her.

Tamara must be in her feelings even more than Chelsea hinted. She usually presents as a high femme, wearing soft colors and materials, but tonight, she’s gone for a harsher shade of pink. The color is electric and compliments her brown skin tone, but the garment serves as a silent warning; our girl is not fucking around tonight. Or, more accurately, she intends to fuck and do a lot of it. God help whoever catches her interest.

“Now, y’all know this is a classy joint. Why’re you acting the fools in front of this innocent man?” As I walk inside, Chelsea’s snicker follows me.

“Look, it’s Mother Ter-please-a. Come and get your ass in here before we tell you ‘bout yourself.” Moni drags me toward her side of the booth.

“Nah, she deserves the full read. Acting like she gives a fuck how we act when she the one handing out admission tickets.” Tamara stops twerking to flank my other side.

I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips. My friends are my everything. Indulging my circle feeds a part of my soul, and I make sure my soul is as well-fed as the rest of me.

My fierce devotion results from the missing part of my past. I have no memory of any childhood friendships, however, my gut says I did and I valued the people I grew up with dearly. Not having a sense of who left the indelible marks on my spirit has caused me to be fiercely protective of my current friends. I don’t want the emptiness inside me to grow because I didn’t do enough to protect my most important relationships.

Chelsea drops a club soda in front of me, my drink of choice when hanging with my ladies. I rarely drink alcohol. When I do, it’s for work functions where not drinking would cause comments and unnecessary attention.

Tamara leans in and whispers, “Seriously, thanks for tonight. I need to be surrounded by women who aren’t going to fuck me over.”

“Chile, please.” Moni rolls her light hazel eyes while eyeing Tamara’s dress. “We know we got you on loan for two hours, max. You ‘bout to go out them curtains and find your comfort kitty for the night.”

Tamara glares across from me to Moni.

“Who you glaring at? You know Moni’s right.” Danae sips her cocktail. “You’ll get all the platonic love you need from us, then go searching for some pussy.”

“Not this time. I’m all pussied out.” Tamara peeks at the bartender.

“Now you better stop. That man don’t need to be caught up in whatever identity crisis you’re in because you got a bruised heart. Stay loving on the girlies and you’ll eventually find the right one.” Chelsea raises her drink to emphasize her point.

When the ladies move on to a different topic, I lean and whisper to Tamara, “Let’s do retail therapy. Wherever you want.”

“This weekend?”

I review my schedule in my head. I fly out tomorrow and the job is an easy in and out. “I should be back in town in time for Saturday. I’ll call if I need to reschedule my flight.”

“Thanks.” She squeezes my arm.

Although the lounge doubles as a club, they serve food fit for a gourmand. Soon after my arrival, the staff opens the curtains and serves the dishes Chelsea ordered before I arrived. We get to eat, watch the crowd, and cut up at the same time. This is why I love hanging with my girls.

I try a little of everything but leave room for what I’m looking forward to most, knowing I’ll be back on my regular diet and exercise regimen tomorrow. My size comes from my build and my body’s natural weight distribution, but I can outrun, out-pull-up, out-cross-fit most people. My stamina is another surprising fact for people in my second profession.

“Okay, before we do the regular and try to get Nadira to cut up out there,” Danae points toward the dance floor, “Y’all know our hostess needs that sugar first.”

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