Chapter 61: Chicago, Illinois 1995 Save Me
It was an easy day at Trudy’s but Terry found it hard to concentrate. Mainly because Dom had sent back every letter he sent her.
A year ago, Eric and Lisa had come to ask him to come back to the band, but he dismissed them, saying he had no music inside him with Dom gone. It was almost true. The music was there, but Terry couldn’t be bothered to chase much less listen to the Muse when his heart felt shattered and jagged. Terry got so discouraged, he didn’t even bother anymore. He remembered when he told Dom to go to Hell and not write him anymore, but after a few weeks, his resolve crumbled and he started writing to her, telling her how sorry he was and could they at least strike up a friendship, if nothing else. The answer was blatantly obvious.
Terry turned towards who had spoken: A light skinned sistah with dark hair that was too long to be natural and a shirt that showed a wealth of cleavage. She’d been giving him the eye since he’d approached her table. She was fine, no doubt, but there was something about her that set Terry on edge. It could’ve been the fact that she reminded Terry of Dom, albeit a less comely version.
“How much is the larger sized daiquiri?” She asked with her best come hither look.
“Six ninety-five,” Terry answered. “Did you want that to come with your dinner?”
“Not if I have to pay for it.” She said and licked her lips for emphasis.
I knew it, Terry thought to himself. “Then, I guess you won’t be getting it. Anything else?”
Her face closed down to an angry expression and Terry felt the chill of Antarctica radiate from her as she said no. He went to check on his other tables and had just entered the kitchen when Jomanda asked him why his lady at table 25 was so bitchy.
“Because, I wouldn’t give her a large daiquiri free.”
“Well, she asked for some napkins and dogged you out for taking so long with her food.”
“Her damn food just came up,” Terry said as he picked up her plate.”I hate it when people get mad ‘cuz they can’t get the ‘hook-up’.”
“Don’t let the trick biotches get to you, Terry.” Jomanda patted him on the back as he walked out of the kitchen.
At the table, Terry placed her food in from of her and said, “Here you go: One Louisiana Catfish Platter. Anything else I can do for you?”
“Yeah, quit tryin’ to sound white.” She ate a forkful of fish and glared at Terry.
He didn’t think he heard her correctly and asked her to repeat herself.
“You heard me, nigga. You may be high yella, but yo ass ain’t white so quit tryin’ to sound like it.” Terry stood there speechless for a moment. Something his mother always said about no matter how prim and proper somebody was, it always came back to name calling. Normally, Terry would let it go and just take care of the table, but she said the wrong thing to the wrong person on the wrong day.
“Look, bitch,” Terry began. “Don’t get salty ‘cuz I won’t give you free shit when you wiggle your tits at me and I talk proper because I’m educated, not tryin’ to be white, ho!” That comment garnered many a look, plenty of open jaws and a snicker or two.
“Fuck you, gay ass mothafucka!” She started to get up from her chair, when Janda walked over to the table to see what all the commotion was about. There was a lot of screaming and cursing, but Janda got the gist of it and told Terry to go to the office while she calmed the woman down.
(c)2015 Courtney & W.L. Sherrod