Part 18 (1/2)

Now most of the girls in the beauty shop are wondering what the h.e.l.l is so special about Sander?

Sander is a man's man. He went into the navy right after high school, did a double stint. I saw a picture Sander had in his wallet. The photo was of Sander and a friend after they'd won some kind of a compet.i.tion. They were wearing their frog suits holding a trophy.

Heard that saying, Feel froggish jump?

Well I saw that s.e.xy picture and my heart started to jump, not to mention the fact that I wanted to jump the man's bones. But che-che no-no; I am too sophisticated for that.

Pen knew that I was digging on the brother, but I saw him first. Sander was coming out of Independence Bank, across the street on the corner. Every business in the community used Independence. Sander was coming out of the bank carrying a sack of nickels.

But that body of his ain't no chump change.

Sander had come home to take over his father's hardware store business, and Miss Pen started running in their every other day-I mean d.a.m.n, how obvious can you get? I mean Pen doesn't even own a hammer but she was throwing herself at the man like some Home Depot Harlot looking for a screw, excuse my French.

Anyway, I saw Sander outside the shop yesterday, that's why I know the gift is for me. He said, ”Where are you off to looking so fine and cheery?”

The boy has an eye, don't he?

I said, ”To get something special for Aunt Tilly.”

”Oh,” Sander said, those gorgeous eyes sparkling, ”that's the nice old lady who checks your clients in, right?”

”Right, she's been working in the shop for ten years now. We're going to have a little anniversary party for her. Wanna come?”

”Depends,” he smiled, the s.e.xy gap in his front teeth exposing itself to me.

”Depends on what?”

”If you're doing the cooking for the party. Heard you can burn up some pots.”

”Well,” I giggled, ”I wasn't planning on cooking. I'm trying to cut back, lose a few pounds.”

Then I sucked in my gut.

”Aww woman, don't change. Big is beautiful.”

Then he smiled and began walking away.

That was joy to my ears; I skipped behind Sander, shouting, ”Come Sat.u.r.day. I'm fixin' short ribs with red beans and rice.”

Now tell me that gift isn't for me?

MISS PENITENTIARY.

It's not.

Just because the man likes to eat, and isn't hating on Priss because she does too, doesn't mean Sander wants to start a relations.h.i.+p with her.

I'm the one he eyeb.a.l.l.s when I walk past his business on the way to the shop after work. I'm the one Sander grins all over himself at when I go into the hardware store to buy some nails.

So here we are both latched onto this beautiful box. And I'm about to tell my best friend to get a grip when I remember: I remember our promise back in second grade. I remember that slope-footed, melon-headed Noah. And I laugh, laugh right out loud.

”What you laughing at Pen? Steve Harvey ain't in here cracking jokes.”

I let go of the gift box and slide down off the stool. Priss's big b.u.t.t almost flips over backwards, into the sink, but I grab and hold her, thanking G.o.d that I'd been working out, digging in so hard that my spike heels leave Dracula marks in the vinyl floor.

”Wheez! Thanks Pen. But I still don't know what's so funny.”

”I thought about our second grade promise is all, that's why I let go. How are we going to let a man come between us, after all the drama we've been through?”

Priss thought hard for a moment, drawing her lips into a prissy pout, then said in a baby voice, ”You right.”

We hugged and both looked at the beautiful gift box.

”What are we going to do with that?” Priss asked.

”Go upside Sanders head,” I answered, ”for trying to come between us. He was playing games with us, had to know we both were digging on him.”

”We can't beat the brother down for not knowing which one of the gorgeous ones to pick, can we?”

I laugh when she does this in a Mae West voice with a boom-shockahlockah hip shake.

Then we decide on a plan. It's a quickie; had to be because the guests for the anniversary party would be at the shop within the hour-all the guests-including Sander.

MISS PRISSY.

The party at the shop was rocking. All the clients came bearing gifts for Miss Tilly. She's a sock-it-to-me senior with go-go boots on and close-cropped silver gray hair. She even has a tiny tattoo on her shoulder-”SOB”-stands for Sweet Old Broad.

Everyone was listening to the juke box-Ella Fitzgerald, Bobby Blue Bland, and Aretha-when Sander walked in.

Pen and I exchanged glances and I put our plan into motion. I looped my arm around Sander, dragged him over to the coat rack and took his leather jacket, feeling on his muscles as I peeled it down those hefty arms of his.

”I made a plate especially for you, baby.”

Then I nodded toward a little table off to the side with a single chair and a place setting.

”Thank you,” Sander said, ”I can't wait.”

You'll wish you hadda, I thought.

I sat him down and Pen came sashaying with the plate. The girl ain't got no hips as it is, but the half a pack she had for Pen shook it to the West and shook it to the East.

”What did I do to deserve so much attention?” Sander asked with a smile.

”Don'tcha know?” I purred and ran my hands along my bountiful hips. ”I made this plate of food just for you, baby. Eat up!”

And brother man did.