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Satin Nights
By Karen E. Quinones Miller WARNER BOOKS
Copyright © 2006 Karen E. Quinones Miller
All right reserved. ISBN: 0-446-57844-4
Chapter One
2005
So you're saying you don't feel guilty?"
"Nope. Not in the least."
"Okay, Puddin', let me get this straight." Regina put her elbows on the table in the snazzy Manhattan restaurant and cradled her face in her hands. "You mean to tell me that you hit a complete stranger with your car, in front of his three grandchildren, and you don't even feel the slightest bit guilty?"
"Why should I?" Puddin' picked up a shrimp and lavishly dipped it in cocktail sauce. She took a large bite, then threw the tail back on the saucer. She licked her long tapered fingernails before continuing. "The car skidded on black ice. Even the police put that shit in their report. It wasn't my fault, so why the fuck should I feel guilty? They better hurry with our meals, I'm about through with these little-ass shrimps."
"Oh my God!" Regina banged her fists on the table, rattling the dishes and silverware. "Forget about the shrimp! You should feel guilty because you killed a man!"
Puddin' shrugged and said with a half-smile, "No, I didn't. The car slid on ice, then slid into him. I ain't had nothing to do with it, except I was there. It was an act of God. Blame it on Him." She dipped another shrimp in the cocktail sauce, and this time popped thewhole thing in her mouth.
"But it was a sixty-five-year-old man. And his grandchildren were right there!" Regina said. She knew Puddin' was callous-hell, everybody knew that-but this was just a bit too much.
"Oh please! Will you just stop?" Puddin' sucked her teeth and waved her hand in the air. "For all you know, the man was a pervert and molesting those kids."
"What? How can you say that?" Regina sputtered. "You knew him? You didn't tell me that."
"No, I ain't know him." Puddin' shrugged. "But I'm just saying, you're making like it was worse 'cause he's a granddaddy, but what if he was fucking them kids? You wouldn't be trying to make me feel bad then."
"Puddin', come on, girl!" Regina cocked her head to the side and studied her friend of twenty years. "You don't have anything to base that on. You don't know that he was a pervert."
"And you don't know that he wasn't. So let's drop it." Puddin' looked around for the waiter and snapped her fingers to get his attention. When he ignored her, she shouted, "Hey! I know you saw me!"
"You know you just ..." Regina's face tightened as she glared at Puddin'. "You just ..." She suddenly sighed, unclenched her fists, and leaned back in her chair. "You're right. Fine. Let's just drop it." She pulled her shoulder-length hair up into a ponytail, then released it, letting it fall around her oval-shaped face. I should be home at my computer writing that article for Essence, she thought, glancing out the window, or calling up sources for the New York Times story that's due next week, or putting the finishing touches on Camille's birthday party next week. She smiled at the thought of her daughter, who was about to turn four. Her smile turned to a grimace as she looked at Puddin', who swilled the last of her drink. But no, instead I'm here wasting my time talking to Puddin', who doesn't have a care in the world and doesn't even know the meaning of the word "responsibility."
Puddin's mouth curled as she looked up at the waiter, who had finally sauntered over to the table. "Oh, you finally decided to bring your ass over here, huh?"
"Did you need something else, ma'am?" he asked in a heavy Jamaican accent.
"Yeah," Puddin' snapped. "I need you to be hovering over this table like you hovering over those white folks' table." She lifted her butt up slightly and pulled a credit card out of the back pocket of her skintight jeans. "See this? The bitch is a Platinum American Express, got that? Like the Reverend Jesse Jackson said, I am some-fucking-body, okay?" She threw it on the table. "Now, maybe you think you should be bowing and kowtowing elsewhere, but as long as I got my little platinum bitch here"-she tapped on the credit card-"you better act like you know. Now, take your ass to the kitchen and find out why our food is taking so long."
The waiter gave her a nonchalant nod and started walking away.
"Hold up." Puddin' snapped her fingers, and the waiter obediently turned back around, his eyes saying he wanted to kill her. "Bring me another apple martini. You want another one, Gina?"
Regina shook her head.
"Bring her another one just in case," Puddin' said to the waiter, who was tapping his foot impatiently. "And do me a favor? Put some fucking glide into your stride. This is supposed to be a high-class place. I don't appreciate having to wait forever for my shit."
Regina waited until the man shot Puddin' a dirty look and hurried off before reaching for the credit card still lying on the table. But Puddin' was too fast and snatched it up.
"Mind your business," she said as she slid it back into her pocket.
"Puddin', whose card is that?" Regina said in a loud whisper.
"What I just say? Mind your damn business." Puddin' grinned, and took a bite of the last shrimp.
"Yeah, all right. But I'm telling you right now, I'm leaving before you pay the bill, 'cause I don't plan on getting caught up in your shit." Regina gave a little chuckle. "That's if you haven't gotten our asses thrown outta here already, breaking on that guy like that."
Puddin' let out a loud laugh. "Wouldn't be like you ain't get me thrown out a fancy restaurant before. I ain't never forget the time you and Yvonne was-"
"She and Yvonne was what?" a young red-haired woman wearing a mint-green Liz Claiborne business suit asked as she sat down in the chair next to Puddin'.
"Oh, you finally decided to drag your ass in, Yvonne? Twenty minutes late." Puddin' rolled her eyes. "Heifer."
"I love you, too," Yvonne said lightly as she placed her clutch bag on the table. "Hey, Gina. You look nice. I like that color on you."
Regina smiled and shook her head. Here she was wearing a black leotard top and black jeans, and Yvonne was saying she looked nice. That's Yvonne, giving compliments to get some in return. Regina considered saying nothing, but then decided, What the hell.
"Thanks, sweetie, but look at you! I love that suit," Regina said graciously.
"Oh, this old thing?" Yvonne waved her hand in the air. "I've had this for-"
"Oh fuck, will you give us a break?" Puddin' snorted. "Don't try that shit, saying you had it forever. The fucking price tag is still on your sleeve. Fucking show-off."
Yvonne jerked her hands off the table and looked at her cuffs, then glared at Puddin'. "You ain't shit, Puddin'. I don't have any damn price tags. And lower your damn voice before they throw your ass out for disturbing the peace."
"Now, see," Puddin' said with a giggle, "that's just what I was talking about when you sashayed your yellow ass in here. Remember the time you and Regina got us all thrown out of a restaurant because y'all were fighting in the bathroom?"
"It was just a little argument," Regina broke in.
"And blown totally out of proportion. Anyway, that's ancient history," Yvonne said dismissively as she picked up a napkin from the table and placed it on her lap. "Although," she said with a slow smile, "if we did fight, I woulda kicked Regina's ass."
"Oh, shut up," Regina said with a grin. "You've never had a fight in your life. I was the one who always had to fight for you when we were kids."
"Well, didn't either one of us fight as much as hot-tempered Puddin' over here," Yvonne said with a laugh. "She fought every day when we were back in school."
"Yeah." Regina nodded. "Sometimes twice a day." In fact, right after they met, she and Puddin' fought three fights in two days-one the day they met and two the day after-because Puddin' pushed in front of her while she was waiting in line to jump double Dutch. Regina wound up with a black eye and bloodied nose, but she came back after Puddin' the next day, and they fought twice more. It was only after Yvonne managed to broker a peace between them that they all became friends, but mostly because Puddin' was tired of Regina coming after her.
"Yeah, Puddin' was a terror."
"Well, finally," Puddin' said to the waiter, who was placing her drink in front of her. "Took you long enough."
"The food will be right out, ma'am," the waiter said, addressing Regina. "I trust the martini is to your taste?"
"Now, see, why you ain't ask me that?" Puddin' snapped. "I'm the one paying, and I'm also the one who ain't tipping your ass."
"Yvonne, we already ordered. Do you want something?" Regina asked, ignoring Puddin', as the waiter also seemed to be doing.
"No, I'm fine. I can use a cosmopolitan, though."
"Very good, ma'am." The waiter gave Yvonne a slight bow and headed off.
"And bring me another one, too," Puddin' shouted to his back. "Now, y'all seen that shit, right?" she said with a chuckle. "I tell you I don't get no fucking respect. I'm like the black Rodney Dangerfield or something."
Drama, drama, drama, Regina thought as she took a sip of her martini. But that was to be expected whenever they got together with Puddin'. The girl prided herself on "keeping it real," and she did, although reality for Puddin' often turned into a nightmare for everyone else. But still, Puddin' had her good points. Great points, actually. If you were ever in trouble, Puddin' would be the first one by your side, to either throw a punch on your behalf or drag you to a quick getaway.
And Yvonne was a good friend, too, Regina thought as she glanced over at the woman. Her best friend, in fact. True, they had their ups and downs, but there were a lot more ups than downs. She was the one who Regina could talk to when she felt she couldn't talk to anyone else. The only one she could cry to. Who welcomed her into her own family after Regina's mother died when Regina was thirteen. Yvonne could be a real bitch sometimes, but she could also be a saint.
And of course, Tamika, the last and the sweetest of the Four Musketeers. Little Tamika ... Regina shook herself slightly as if to wake herself up. Why was she getting so sentimental about her friends all of a sudden? she wondered. She pushed her drink away from her. Three apple martinis obviously exceeded her limit.
"So, Puddin', what's this big news you made us come down here for?" Yvonne asked after the waiter brought Puddin' and Regina their food. "You finally get a job?"
"Yeah, right. That'll be the day," Puddin' answered with a mouthful of food.
"Oh, she already told me," Regina said nonchalantly. "She killed a man yesterday. And right in front of his grandkids."
"Oh please, I already know about all that. Puddin' called me last night after it happened."
"She did?" Regina was surprised. Usually, she or Tamika was the first person Puddin' turned to, since she knew Yvonne always had a lecture prepared.
"Yeah, she had to. The heifer had my car," Yvonne said dryly.
"What? You didn't tell me that," Regina said as she slapped Puddin's hand. "I thought you had Jimmy's car."
"Naw, I dropped that cheap-ass mofo."
"Oh really?" Regina raised her eyebrow. "So then, that's not his platinum card you flashed, huh?"
"Puddin' got a platinum card?" Yvonne said in astonishment. "Now, ain't that some shit? Here I am an executive assistant in the NBA public relations department and I only have a gold card, and you ain't never worked a fucking day in your life and you're pushing platinum? Shit!" Yvonne downed her drink and signaled for the waiter. "I'd like another one, please," she said when he strolled over.
"What I wanna know is whose platinum card," Regina said with a chuckle. "She won't let me see the name on it."
"Oh really?" Yvonne put her hand out in front of Puddin'. "Okay, chickie, unass the damn card."
"Fuck you," Puddin' said with a wave of her hand.
"Look, don't make me and Regina jack you up in this place," Yvonne said as she moved her chair closer to Puddin's. "Hand it over."
Puddin' chuckled and shook her head at Yvonne, then looked at Regina. "Why come all of a sudden girlfriend's thinking she can thump? Which reminds me, I almost had to give someone else a beat-down yesterday."
"Yeah, who?" Yvonne asked.
"The old man's daughter. The one that got killed."
"What?" Regina's jaw dropped. "You killed her father, and then you were gonna give her a beat-down?"
"I ain't kill him. The car killed him. And when I got out the car to see if he was okay, this bitch came flying at me screaming and shit. I ain't know who she was, so I decked her."
"God damn it, Puddin'," Yvonne said in a hoarse voice, "why did you have to hit her? Was she threatening you or something? Did she hit you?"
"No, but she came flying out on me, and like I said, I ain't know who she was. For all I know, she was gonna hit me. And you know me, I ain't waiting around for someone else to throw the first punch. Fuck that. Sometimes that's the only punch thrown."
"You are such a mess." Regina shook her head. "The man's dead, his three grandkids are on the sidewalk next to him crying, and then you beat up their mother."
"I ain't say I beat her up," Puddin' said in a hurt voice. "I only hit her once. And I ain't even had my roll of pennies in my hand."
"But why did you have to hit her at all?" Yvonne broke in. "You know, all kidding aside, you're too old for this fighting shit."
"Ain't that the truth?" Regina nodded. "Here you are thirty-one years old, and you're still fighting in the street. You need to get ahold of yourself. Show some self-control."
"I agree," Yvonne added. "I'm not saying you should let someone hit on you, but you didn't know if that woman was going to do that. She was just hysterical because her father was killed. And rightfully so. Wouldn't you be in the same situation?"
"Yeah, well, she got in the wrong person's face," Puddin' grumbled. "It wasn't like I aimed the car at the man. It just happened. And I ain't gonna let no bitch just scream on me like that."
"Puddin', do me a favor," Regina said with a sigh. "In the future, just try to show some self-control. Take at least a couple of deep breaths before you swing on someone, okay?"
"You expect me to flip my script this late in my life? Yeah, right." Puddin' snorted.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Satin Nights by Karen E. Quinones Miller Copyright © 2006 by Karen E. Quinones Miller. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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