One G-String Short of Crazy

  “Good morning,” Aisha sang.

  Her twin, Felicia, glared at her. “It’s not a good morning,” she practically growled.

  “Oh, oh! What’s wrong with you, girl?”

  “‘Work them hips,’” Felicia muttered, mimicking her sister’s lover. Aisha burst out laughing. “It’s not funny, ’Isha!”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to hear us. These walls are too thin.”

  “This is the third time this month that you didn’t mean for me to hear you. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in like forever,” Felicia complained. “I can barely concentrate at work. I’ve turned into a freaking zombie.”

  Aisha picked at her toast. “What are we gonna do? I don’t want to give up my men, but I don’t want you pissed off at me every morning either.”

  “I don’t want you to give up your men but so far this year, you’ve dated two men named Patrick, three Derricks, four Larrys, three Michaels, two Roberts, one Lorenzo, three Phillips and two Miguels.”

  “I guess I like variety,” Aisha laughed.

  “I don’t think so. It means that your ass slept with half of Atlanta,” Felicia retorted.

  The twins were quiet as they ate their breakfast. Felicia broke the silence. “You know, I think we should get separate places.”

  Aisha’s fork dropped to her plate with a loud clanking sound.

  ALSO BY DESIREE DAY

  Crazy Love

  Cruising

  Pocket Books, a Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2007 by Desiree Day

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  First Pocket Books trade paperback edition October 2007

  POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  For information regarding special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-800-456-6798 or business@simonandschuster.com

  Designed by Jamie Kerner-Scott

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4165-4316-9

  ISBN-10: 1-4165-4316-3

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4165-4316-9

  eISBN-13: 978-1-4165-5327-4

  To the love of my life, Hamilton.

  Acknowledgments

  A million thanks to my editor, Megan McKeever. I truly value your input; you’re very insightful.

  A special thank-you to my agent, Bob DiForio, for his continued support.

  Thank you, Sarah Wright, for your awesome copyediting skills.

  XOXO’s to my family and friends. I am truly grateful for your constant encouragement.

  And lastly my readers, thanks y’all. I’ve written the same thing in the last two acknowledgments and I still believe it. You guys are phenomenal!!!

  Enjoy!!!

  Chapter 1

  “Oh shit!”

  “Oh, Miguel!”

  “Work those hips, girl!”

  “They’re working overtime for you, baby.”

  “I’ma slap that ass!”

  “Slap it hard! ”

  “Ooh, make it bounce, baby!”

  “Nu-uh. You make it bounce for me! ”

  “I’m bouncing, baby! I’m bouncing!”

  The sounds snatched Felicia Goodman out of a deep sleep. Her eyes snapped open as though unhinged. Anger built and worked its way up her spine with every grunt, moan and groan that seeped into her room until she went as rigid as a pole. The paper-thin walls muffled nothing. “Not again,” she sighed before pulling her pillow over her head. But the sounds trickled through her down pillow and into her ears. Cursing, she tossed the pillow to the floor and glanced at the alarm clock.

  “Two o’clock in the morning. Damn her! I’m going to kick her ass,” she vowed, before burrowing her head under the covers, then clamping her hands over her ears. Thirty minutes later she drifted off into a restless sleep.

  The next morning Felicia dragged herself into the kitchen. Circles the color of rotten apples stained the area under her eyes. The lack of sleep made her look like a half-dead raccoon.

  Her fraternal twin sister, her business partner, her roommate of twenty-eight years and her best friend, Aisha, was already at the table picking at two slabs of burnt toast and looking like she had just spent a weekend at a spa. Her creamy chocolate-hued skin glowed and her eyes sparkled. “Good morning,” Aisha sang.

  Felicia glared at her, then, “It’s not a good morning. As a matter of fact, it’s a horrible morning,” she practically growled.

  “Uh-oh! What’s wrong with you, girl?”

  “’Work them hips…. I’ma slap that ass,’” Felicia muttered, mimicking her sister’s lover. Aisha burst out laughing. “It’s not funny,’Isha!”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to hear us. I thought we were being quiet. I did!” she insisted at seeing her sister shaking her head with disgust. “These walls are too thin.”

  Felicia regarded her sister. All their friends had teasingly dubbed them the Goodman Siamese twins, because they were always together, and if they weren’t in the same room they were on the phone with each other. They had the same body shape, the one all the Goodman women had. Barely seeing five foot one and with enough curves to make Tyra Banks jealous.

  Felicia’s shoulder-length hair was pulled into a haphazard ponytail and Aisha’s hair was a tousled mess on her head, reminding Felicia of a bird’s nest. Felicia was the color of toasted white bread and Aisha was the color of lush dark chocolate. “This is the third time this month that you didn’t mean for me to hear you. You know the walls are about as thin as a Kotex pad,” Felicia finally answered. “How come you never go over to Miguel’s place?”

  Even when they were freshmen at Howard, Aisha had more men parading in and out their room than a casting director for a hip-hop video. And that behavior had carried over to every apartment they’d shared.

  “I guess I could go over to his place, but he said that he liked my bed.”

  “Yeah, because your ass is in it,” Felicia snorted. She went to the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of eggs, cheese, chopped ham, tomatoes, mushrooms and green onions. “Where is he anyway?” She stood on tiptoes as she peered into the cabinet for a bowl, and when she found one big enough she placed it on the table. Aisha glanced at her rock-hard toast, then hungrily eyed the items.

  “He left. He grumbled something about working out.”

  “He still needs a workout?” Felicia asked, her voice rising with incredulity. “It sounded like he worked out four times last night.” She reached under the sink for a skillet, quickly cleaned it before coating it with oil, set it on the stove, then turned the burner on low.

  “I wish. It was only three,” Aisha corrected her sister.

  “Whatevah, girl! This is bananas. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in like forever,” Felicia complained as she cracked four eggs into the bowl and began whipping them until they were as fluffy as clouds. “I can barely concentrate at work. I’ve turned into a freaking zombie.”

  “Stop exaggerating. It’s not that bad.”

  “Yeah, it is,” Felicia argued. “I was caterin
g a job yesterday and I was so tired that I was tempted to use my red velvet cake as a pillow. I love you, girl, and we’ve been hugged up together since we were in Momma’s stomach, but this can’t continue.” She poured the egg mixture into the pan, then tilted it until the egg mixture firmed before expertly flipping it. As soon as the batter looked like a yellow Frisbee, she sprinkled on the tomatoes, green onions, ham, mushrooms and cheese, then she folded the eggs, nestling the goodies inside. Aisha’s stomach growled and her mouth watered as the aroma wafted through the kitchen. Felicia slid the omelet onto her plate.

  “I know. I’m sorry.” Aisha picked over her toast. “What are we gonna do? I don’t want to give up my men but I don’t want you pissed off at me every morning either.”

  Felicia eyed her sister’s breakfast and burst out laughing. “What the hell are you eating? It looks like slices of leather. Here take this,” she said feeling sorry for her sister. She cut the omelet in half and passed it to her.

  “Thanks, girl,” Aisha said, grateful for the food. She immediately stuck a forkful in her mouth. “I think the toaster’s broke,” Aisha mumbled around a mouthful of eggs.

  “It worked fine for me yesterday. I think it’s more of a case of operator error,” Felicia answered. “I don’t want you to give up your men. But you know that’s something to think about,” Felicia started, and Aisha groaned. Whenever her sister said “you know” some shit wasn’t too far behind.

  “So far this year you’ve dated two men named Patrick, three Derricks, four Larrys, three Michaels, two Roberts, one Lorenzo, three Phillips and two Miguels.”

  “I guess I like variety,” Aisha laughed.

  “I don’t think so. It means that your ass slept with half of Atlanta,” Felicia retorted. They were quiet as they ate their breakfast. Aisha shot her sister a grateful glance. If it wasn’t for Felicia she wouldn’t have anything decent to eat. Her skills in the kitchen were just as bad as Tammy Faye Bakker’s skills were in the makeup area. Just as Aisha stuck some of her breakfast into her mouth, Felicia broke the silence. “You know,” she started, and Aisha rolled her eyes. “I think we should get separate places,” she announced.

  Aisha’s fork dropped to her plate and made a loud clanking sound.

  Chapter 2

  Derrick Tolbert handed the valet the keys to his BMW along with an extra ten dollars to make sure he’d park it far away from other cars. The last thing he needed was some dings on his baby. Like a parent eyeing his child being led away by a kindergarten teacher on his first day of school, Derrick watched as the attendant carefully drove off with his car. He waited a moment to listen for the squeal of tires. When he didn’t hear the telltale sign of abuse, he strolled off, whistling. A Mercedes is next, he thought.

  In Chicago, where there were more Michael Jordan clones running around per capita than in any other city, Derrick had his own flavor and he made heads turn. Just half an inch over six three, two hundred fifteen pounds, with more muscles than a World Wrestling Entertainment wrestler and the color of a ripened mango, Derrick was gorgeous.

  He sauntered into his favorite restaurant and the maître d’ immediately escorted him across the room to his table. En route Derrick waved and smiled at more people than a campaigning politician. Chicago’s African-American lawyer population was sizeable, but he knew most of them, and it looked like they all were eating at the restaurant tonight.

  Halfway across the restaurant he could see Darla, his girlfriend, sitting stiffly as though she had a pole for a spine. He slowed his steps, not looking forward to what he had to do. He nervously tugged at his collar and glanced longingly at the bar. “Man up,” Derrick ordered himself, causing the anxiety to disappear just as quickly as it came. As soon as Derrick made it to the table Darla’s stance immediately relaxed.

  “Hey,” she gushed, then hopped up, threw her arms around him and kissed him so hard that he was sure she had bruised his lips.

  “Umm, hi, baby,” he said, pulling away. “Thanks for the enthusiastic welcome.” He rubbed his hand across his mouth.

  “Did I hurt you? I’m sorry. Let me make it better,” Darla murmured as she inched closer to Derrick’s mouth.

  “I’ll be okay,” Derrick assured her as he moved his lips out of kissing range and pecked her on the forehead before landing into his seat. “What a day,” he moaned as he signaled the waiter and ordered a martini.

  “Bad day, baby?” Darla asked, and Derrick shook his head.

  “Quite the opposite—it’s been a phenomenal day. One that’ll go down in the Derrick Tolbert Hall of Fame.”

  Darla’s eyes widened and she fixed a pointed gaze on him. “Wow. That sounds exciting! What happened?”

  “I got the job.”

  Darla pursed her mouth in concentration. “At Steinbeck and Holmes? That’ll be nice since it’s downtown.”

  “Not that one.”

  “Oh, then the one in Houston?”

  “No, not that one,” Derrick answered slowly.

  “Whew. I was afraid that we were moving. Which one then?”

  “Atlanta, baby! I’ll be lawyering in Atlanta!”

  “I love Atlanta! The weather is a thousand times better. And I might run into that fine Michael Vick. So when are we moving?” Darla asked, grinning up at Derrick expectantly. His jaw dropped so far down that he couldn’t pick it up. Darla’s eyes widened with disbelief. “You’re not going to take me with you?” she asked, her voice quavering with hurt.

  Derrick began squirming in his seat as though he was on the witness stand. “You have your job and I know how much you love it.”

  “It’s only a job, and I can find another one in Georgia. It shouldn’t be too hard to find a job as a software engineer. So many companies are headquartered there—Coca-Cola, UPS and Home Depot. And there are tons of smaller companies.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to do that—not for me,” Derrick said, his brows furrowed with irritation. “Besides, all your family is here.”

  “They would love to visit me in Atlanta, especially Momma. Atlanta has the best shopping. And Daddy would love to see the Falcons play, Nathan could check out Morehouse, he’s thinking about becoming a doctor, and—”

  “I don’t think you should come with me,” Derrick blurted out.

  “You don’t think I should come with you?” Darla repeated. “You’re breaking up with me?”

  “Well, no …”

  “Oh, so we’re gonna try the long-distance thing?” she asked, relieved.

  “Well, no, I won’t have time for that. I’ll need to focus on my job. I’ll need to figure out my next step.”

  “So you are breaking up with me?”

  Derrick began fiddling with his drink, then: “I guess I am.”

  “I love you, Derrick,” she said quietly, her words ringing with desperation.

  “I love you too, baby,” he insisted.

  “So why are you leaving me?” Darla tearfully asked as their two-year relationship was becoming another piece of black history.

  “Don’t cry,” he softly pleaded. “This opportunity is too good for me to pass up. My salary will be doubled, the company is gonna give me a—”

  “I don’t care what you’re going to get,” Darla hissed, her tears gone and her eyes as cold as a Chicago winter day. “Answer my question. Why are you leaving me? I thought we were going to get married. We even looked at rings.”

  “You looked at rings,” Derrick said, exasperated, then blew out a stream of air. “Listen, let’s not have this conversation here. Let’s go back to my place and talk in private. We can get our dinner to—”

  Darla vigorously shook her head. “I want to talk about it now. Why-are-you-leaving-me?” she bluntly asked.

  Derrick shifted nervously in his seat. Tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth, rang in his ears. But not if it hurts someone. “I’m not leaving you. I’m leaving Chicago.” There, he thought, satisfied. But his smugness was short-lived.

  “Why, Derrick?
” Darla asked, the tears returning. “Just tell me the truth. Is it the sex? Is it the way I drool at night? Is it the way I look?” She looked him squarely in the eyes, then asked, “Is it someone else?” Derrick shook his head. “Then what?”

  Derrick silently regarded the woman who had been at his side for the past two years. She was gorgeous, almost flawless, but she reminded him of vanilla pudding. Together they had as much spark as a waterlogged Eveready battery. “Because I’m not in love with you,” Derrick admitted. Darla let out a strangled wail. “Shit! Darla, I’m sorry.”

  “All those times, you told me … and you just told me ten minutes ago that you loved me. I don’t believe it,” she whispered, too dazed to cry. “So it was all fake? Us?” she said, pointing to Derrick, then to herself. “So we weren’t real?”

  “We were real!” Derrick insisted. “And I do love you … but not the way you want me to love you. Not in the way you deserve to be loved.”

  “So why drag it out for two years, Derrick? Why couldn’t you have told me six months into it? Hell, a year into it? You’ve wasted my fucking time!” she spat.

  “I’m sorry,” Derrick whispered helplessly.

  Darla stood up on wobbly legs, planted her hands on the table and looked directly into Derrick’s eyes. “I’m sure you’ve heard the saying: What goes around comes around,” she continued without waiting for his response. “Well, life is gonna sucker punch you so hard that it’s gonna turn you inside out.”

  Chapter 3

  “This is perfect. Just perfect!” Aisha gushed as she ran through the empty apartment, gazing into every room as though it was the Taj Mahal. “I love it. It’s bright, it’s roomy, and it’s close to downtown. It’s like a freaking castle. You’ve done good, girl.” Felicia’s decision to have separate apartments was beginning to sound better.

  “I know,” Felicia replied smugly. She knew her sister’s taste was exactly like hers. The one-bedroom apartment boasted hardwood floors that were so shiny they looked like miniature ice skating rinks. Large windows gave a breathtaking view of Atlanta’s skyline. The bedroom was large enough to hold a five-piece bedroom suite with a king-size bed and still had enough room to lay out a mat and do Pilates.