Queenie(39)
“But we didn’t have sex,” Cassandra continued. “I’ve decided that I’m not having penetrative sex with someone until I’ve decided for sure that I’m into him. He didn’t mind that, though.” She put a hand to her chest. “We spoke about it, and he said that it was admirable, in this age of instant sex. We fell asleep hugging, Queenie. Properly wrapped around each other, with my head on his chest and his hands stroking my hair and face. It was so nice.”
“And have you seen him again?” I asked when given a second to speak.
“We’ve seen each other every day for the last two weeks!” She raised an eyebrow smugly.
“No wonder I haven’t heard from you!” I said, jealousy now flooding every bit of space in my body.
“He comes to meet me after work and we walk back to mine, or dinner, cinema, you know, just nice date things.” Just nice date things. What were those? “I think the sex will happen soon, though,” Cassandra said coyly.
“Well, I’m really happy for you, Cassandra.” I forced a smile. “Let’s see what he looks like?” I pulled out my phone and tapped the Facebook icon.
“He’s like me, he doesn’t have any social media, so no stalking, I’m afraid,” Cassandra said turning my phone over. “But rest assured, he’s very good-looking. Anyway. Should we eat? I’m starving.” She opened her menu.
“I’m not hungry, actually. Lost my appetite,” I said, taking another sip of water. My head felt cloudy and my stomach didn’t feel much better.
“It just goes to show, doesn’t it? All that worry I had about me not connecting with someone, and look!” Cassandra squealed.
“It’s so great, really!” I said quietly. “When are we going to meet him?”
“Soon.” She seemed to hesitate for a second. “I’m going to do things the other way round, get him to meet the family first, I think, then friends. How’s work, by the way?”
“It’s fine.” I shrugged. “It’s frustrating, sometimes. You know, I really care about things, and when I pitch something to her, Gina always tells me it’s not good enough.”
“What things specifically?” Cassandra asked.
“Black Lives Matter things.”
“What is it you said to me when you were going for your interview? ‘Even if they don’t pay me, it doesn’t matter, because my presence in the room will be enough,’?” she recalled.
I nodded, remembering why I put up with Cassandra’s cons. There were clearly a few pros.
“Well, if you care, you’ve got to keep pushing it. It’s important, and it’s why you took this job in the first place. How are you for money, by the way?”
“Ah,” I said, embarrassed by what I was gearing myself up to ask. “I’m so, so sorry to ask, but could you transfer me just a tiny bit to take me over to payday? I get paid earlier because of Christmas, so I can pay you back soon.” I was ashamed but also relieved that she’d asked before I could beg her.
“Don’t worry about that, just add it to the tab. What would you do without me?” Cassandra smirked, flipping her golden-brown hair almost violently.
* * *
On the way home, I texted Guy. He came round that night, had sex with my body twice, and left. We didn’t use protection again. I needed to take this seriously and not self-sabotage. The last thing I needed adding to my unclear relationship situation was an STI. What was wrong with me? I wished at this point I cared about myself enough to try to answer the question.
* * *
“Bruv, this club is dead,” Kyazike shouted in my ear. “Shit music, the drinks cost nuff, everyone is looking at us like we’re aliens.” She gestured around the venue at the trendy boys and girls who would briefly stop blathering away in their own worlds to glance at us, the only people of color in the club, with suspicion. I looked around the dingy room lit by fuzzy red lighting that bothered my eyes, its close black walls making it feel smaller than it was. It smelled tangy, and Kyazike and I slid across the wet floor whenever we tried to move. I’d only come out because Kyazike had told me that our best years were almost behind us and that I especially needed to have some fun.
“This is what happens when white people come into an area and make it tame,” Kyazike shouted above the music.
“Gentrification.” I nodded sadly.
“What?” Kyazike asked before downing the remaining half a glass of champagne.
I leaned over and repeated what I’d said in her ear, my voice straining over the buzzing EDM. Kyazike gestured that we go outside, so we got up and walked to the smoking area and stood huddled under a heater. She kissed her teeth. “Rah. Gen-tri-fi-ca-tion, yeah?” She sounded the word out. “So gentrification is the reason I’ve wasted my makeup?” She looked at me. “And I wore my best shoes.”
“I didn’t want to come here, you’re the one who chose it!” I protested.
Kyazike gently moved my head away from the heater so that my hair didn’t catch fire. “Yeah, but you’re the one who lives in Brixton, you should have warned me, innit,” she said, pursing her lips.
I laughed. “I can’t keep up with all of Brixton’s changes.”