Hot Child In The City

“Can I have two squirts? Maybe three?”

“Sure thing, sugar. Three it is.” I hear the mini fridge and the sounds of her making our drinks. Bill Withers is singing on the radio. Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone…I close my eyes. My mother loves that song. She would play it top volume as we’d ride to wherever we were going. Windows down. Hair whipping. And my mother would sing along even though her singing voice was atrocious and I always giggled at how bad she was. And she’s always gone too long, any time she goes away…It seems like a thousand years since someone has wanted me and I wanted them back. Inside of me is a mix of want and melancholy.

“Bill can get anyone in a happy place even with his sad songs, hunh?” Jeddah hands me a drink and raises her glass. “To pretty white girls who walk down dark streets on hot nights.”

I clink my glass to hers and duck my head suddenly embarrassed. She thinks I’m pretty. “Thanks. This is…” I try not to pucker and then we’re both laughing. “Potent.”

“Good for what ails ya, as my grandmother used to say. Of course she meant a hot toddy but it’s too fucking hot for a hot anything.” She sets her glass down and spins me in the chair so that I’m facing the mirror. Her flip flops make secret summer sounds when she walks to the door and flips the sign to Closed. She pulls the Venetian blinds and covers the big plate glass window. We are now hidden from the dark, city street and the people who travel it.

“I don’t think you can braid my…I mean, can you braid…um.” I swallow feeling suddenly foolish and for some reason bigoted.

“White girl hair?” She grins and I can see her hot pink tongue inside her mouth. My nipples peak and my heart takes off in my chest. I feel like I might die. “Sure I can. I can twist it, braid it, knot it, put it in an Up’do. Hell, girl, I could give you dreadlocks. Now that would be smoking hot. All those different colors of honey and white and gold all dreaded up. But those take forever and this is really just an excuse to touch you,” she say softly and her strong hands run up my neck and knead. Her fingers are unbelievably nimble and I moan before I realize I will.