We washed our meal down with expensive brandy, and while we were eating I leaned close to D.C. and pulled his ear down to my lips.
“I want to fuck you,” I whispered, just to get him going.
His eyes flashed wide in surprise.
On the stage, a black woman was singing a recent hit, “Somebody Else’s Guy,” and I led D.C. onto the dance floor, feeling the eyes of all the men in the room on me. D.C. kept up a constant lookout for guys making passes at me. He wasn’t that smart, but at times like this he was my knight in shining armor. It made me feel great.
There was a guy dancing behind me whose elbows kept digging into my back, so I turned my head slightly to see him out of the corner of my eye. I could just glimpse the bottom of his tux jacket—he seemed quite tall. His gold watch peeping out from beneath his starched, white cuffs was catching the light as he danced, and half intrigued, I turned around to get a better look at him.
When I did, he was already standing there facing me, looking directly at me. He had wavy hair, slicked back with gel, and a single gold earring in his left ear. It took me a few moments to recognize him, but the suave, smartly dressed lady-killer standing in front of me was Leroy.
I was stunned. Then, without a word, he turned around again and continued dancing. Dancing! I couldn’t believe it. Leroy had always had two left feet and his dancing had been even worse than his pickup lines. I couldn’t imagine anything more ridiculous than seeing Leroy dance.
But this guy was far from ridiculous, and with his arm wrapped around his partner’s waist, his feet seemed to move on air, like he was born to dance.
I was sick with shock and tried to drag D.C. away by the arm, but then Leroy turned back around again and spoke.
“Your stiletto heels have worn down pretty thin, haven’t they?” he said in a dry, sarcastic tone.
His voice was so low that only I could hear him, and I flushed with embarrassment, the blood pounding hard in my head, making me feel faint. But my embarrassment then turned to anger, and as the blood drained rapidly from my face, I went pale with fury.
Unsuspecting D.C. half carried me to my seat, worrying that I might be anemic. I sat there pale and shivering, and when he handed me a brandy. I downed it in a single gulp, the fiery liquid slipping easily down my throat. Then I took a deep breath and turned my attention back to Leroy.
He was leaning against the wall with his arms folded, a small cock-tail glass in his hand, sparkling like a jewel in the light. I watched with irritation as his fingers toyed with it nonchalantly and he smiled and chatted casually to the steady stream of girls who came up to him. His neck was no longer thick and oxlike—it was far more slender and re-fined now. And I didn’t once see him lean forward to talk to any of the women who came over to him—they were the ones making all the effort craning their necks to look up at him.
One of the girls kissed his cheek, and I could see Leroy staring at me through her hair. With his arms spread wide and a glass in his hand, he looked supremely confident and happy. But his eyes were cold. He smiled at me sarcastically, the corners of his mouth curling up into his cheeks.
At that moment I decided to forget all about him. I’d forget our past and if I saw him again, I’d see him as the complete stranger he was now.
It was a relief, having made the decision, but I hated him for forcing me to make it.
“Do you know Leroy Jones?” asked D.C.
I was startled by his question and just stared back at him, surprised.
How could he possibly know about our relationship?
“What? How do you know Leroy?”
“Are you kidding me? Everyone knows Leroy Jo… ahh, wait a minute. You only listen to old jazz, don’t you? Well, let me tell you, Leroy’s the best young jazz pianist there is. I wonder why he’s here? I’ve heard he was stationed at the base here in Tokyo when he was in the military, so maybe that has something to do with it Oh man, what a great chance. Do you know him? Can you introduce me?”
“D.C.! You can be so clueless sometimes….”
“Huh?”
“What’s he doing in Japan, anyway?”
“Well, an article in Ebony said he’s here for a couple of months on vacation. He can probably afford it, too. Musicians like him are loaded unless they get into drugs or something. Must be great to be a success.”
“Success? Big deal!”
“Huh?”
I remembered him fucking me by the piano; he must have figured out that he could move other people the way he had me.
I looked over at Leroy again. He had confidence now. He no longer looked up to people or turned away when they looked him in the eye, and I knew I would never be able to treat him the same way I used to, crushing him like the pig’s ears in a hot head cheese.
“C’mon, D.C., let’s go get some soul food.”
“What? You’re still hungry?” he groaned.
Muttering to himself under his breath, D.C. followed me out into the night. After all, he was black, and black guys can’t resist soul food.
We ate in silence. The food was rich and pungent, and I remembered how Leroy used to smell exactly the same way. But somehow I didn’t think he would smell like that anymore. The guy at the ball wasn’t the same Leroy I had known.
For the next few days we stayed in my apartment and all we did was fuck. D.C. couldn’t believe his luck—I couldn’t get enough. I just wanted more and more, and eventually his dick began to sound like a fountain pen sucking ink up from a bottle as it plunged in and out. But, while my body may have been going wild with passion, my mind was somewhere else entirely.
Finally I spat out, “What’s the point in all this fucking?!” and D.C. s face took on a hurt expression.
I sat there sulking for a while, and eventually D.C. decided to take me out to cheer me up. My skin felt tight because I hadn’t worn makeup for a while, but it wasn’t long before the neon signs and the taste of strong liquor began to put the color back into my cheeks.
We went to a club where my friends hung out, and as we walked through the door they cheered. We all talked and laughed together, our conversation a grab bag of cynical criticisms and dirty jokes, but it made me realize just how much I loved laughing at life. If all I had to do was talk, drink, and fuck, I knew I could be happy forever.
Suddenly the atmosphere in the club changed and everyone’s eyes moved to the door. I knew what had happened, and I knew I’d rather die than turn around.
Leroy was with a girl. He pulled a chair over for her and she looked up at him coyly as she sat down. She was nothing special—there were plenty of other girls just like her all over Tokyo. All she had was her beauty and her fake vulnerability.
Leroy must have recognized my group, but he pretended not to. He was wearing his tuxedo again, but this time he was dressed down, with white sneakers and a black hat perched on his head at an angle. We used “dressed down” to describe people who could look great even dressed casually, and while nobody said anything, we were all thinking the same thing—Leroy looked great.
“Who imagined that Leroy would come back looking like that?” said Roscoe, speaking for everyone.
Leroy and the girl sat chatting and laughing together.
“Yeah, who would have thought he’d turn out like that? When he was with Ruiko he looked fresh off the plantation.”
D.C.’s eyes widened. Shit! Roscoe and his big-mouthed friends had really messed things up for me this time.