The Playa Chronicles by Roy Glenn Page B

You need to talk to her and get her to stop bothering me.”
    “I’ll call you back.” I hung up with Laura and tried to call Yvette. When I didn’t get her, I called Laura back.
    “Did you talk to that crazy bitch?”
    “No.”
    “Why not?” Her question laced with attitude.
    “I tried callin’ her at home, but the number is disconnected. I called her at work, but they said she doesn’t work there anymore.”
    “Probably found out she was crazy and fired her crazy ass.”
    “I don’t see what good me coming down there is gonna do.”
    “Look, Rick, I’m tired of this chile bothering me. You just need to come on.”
    “Okay, Laura, I’ll be down there.” She slammed the phone down in my ear, which was becoming her custom. Especially since the only time I heard from Laura was to complain about Yvette.
    On the way down there, I thought about what kind of mess I was driving myself in to. “The mess you created, playa,” I said out loud. Laura was right, Yvette was out the box and it was my fault. There are some women that you’re glad you didn’t fuck with and Yvette was definitely one of those women. And now, I wish I could actually say that about her. But I can’t. I know, I know; I said I wasn’t gonna fuck her. But I did. I fucked her.
    I was supposed to meet Vic one night at the DoubleTree , but he was a no-show. I sat at the bar by myself and had a couple of drinks, until I decided he wasn’t going to show. I paid my check and walked right into Yvette.
    “Hey, Rick. I didn’t see you inside.”
    “I was sitting at the bar waiting for Victor, but he didn’t show.”
    She looked good. As always, her outfit fit her and showcased her legs. Yvette really does have pretty legs. Pretty body really. It was the type of body that you just can’t wait until she comes out of them clothes, so you can see it. Because a black woman’s body is something to behold. Nothing compares to their beauty. Sometimes that’s all there is. Anyway, Yvette’s suit was gold, trimmed in black and buttoned up to the neck.
    I told Yvette that I was getting ready to leave. She says, cool, she was leaving too.
    I started lying to myself at that point.
    I offered to walk her to her car. She said she took the train and asked if I’d take her home, and I said yes. That was my first mistake. I should have lied and said anything to get outta taking her home, but I didn’t. I said, “Sure, come on.” During the ride to her apartment the lying continued. Those lies allowed me to live in the delusion that some bizarre scenario existed where I would drop Yvette off at her door, say good night and go home. So I kept telling myself that I wasn’t gonna fuck her. I was just gonna drop her off and go home.
    As soon as we got in the car, Yvette unbuttoned her three top buttons, exposing a delectable view of cleavage, which only made the lies more complex and harder to support. I reminded myself that this was supposed to be the great project. I reminded myself of the reason I went out with Yvette in the first place: To prove to myself that I could be friends, just friends, with a woman. A woman I wanted to fuck. Traffic was heavy on the way to the west side. Yvette commented that she had to use the bathroom and that she might have been better off taking the train. Sensing an opportunity, I offered to take her to the nearest train station. But she wasn’t havin’ it. “Oh, but no, Rick. You gonna finish what you started, tonight.” My delusion allowed me to believe that her comment wasn’t laced with sexual innuendo.
    Traffic finally broke loose and we made it to her apartment. I was hoping that since she had to go, she’d jump out the car. But that wasn’t gonna happen either. I pulled up in front of her building and looked over at her. She called me on it. “Come on now, you need to see me safely to my door.” She was right. If it were April, I would have jumped over the car to the open the door for her. But she wasn’t