“No, it’s not,” Janessa replied, smacking her lips in disgust. “I already told you, Chiquita fractured her leg last night trying to do some freaky, acrobatic sex shit with her boyfriend. Those strippers at the party must have seriously put her in the mood, because she’s laid up in the hospital with her leg elevated in a cast.”
Tempest rolled her eyes, no more swayed by the second rendition of the story than by the first one Janessa had thrown at her when she answered the door. “Well, that’s unfortunate,” she said, trying to show an ounce of compassion. “I feel sorry for Chiquita, I really do. However, there is no way in the hell I’m taking her place in Marquita’s wedding. That shit is just simply out of the question.”
“What’s wrong with you?” Janessa threw the garment bag on the foot of the bed and starting unzipping it. “I ask you for one damn favor, for my family, mind you, and you start trippin’ on me.”
“Janessa, I love you. You know that.” Tempest propped herself up on her elbows so she could see the monstrosity Janessa was pulling out of the bag. “But I don’t love you enough to wear that raunchy, tasteless, ridiculous-looking dress.”
“Come on, shit!” Janessa squealed. “I have to wear one just like it. Mine is out in the living room, on the couch.”
“That’s all good,” Tempest said, glaring at the red flame satin dress with ruffles, which looked more like a hooker’s street-corner outfit than a bridesmaid gown. “I’m happy for you, and I’ll cheer you on from the front pew, but I’m not—”
“You will not be cheering me on from the pew, because your ass is going to be standing right beside me.”
“You must be on crack!”
“I’m not on crack, but I bet I’ll slap the living shit out of you if you don’t put this dress on, Tempest!”
“Just try it.” Tempest chuckled, knowing good and damn well Janessa would never have the guts to lay a finger on her.
Realizing that her idle threats were falling on deaf ears, Janessa resorted to her next tactic, a guilt trip. “Tempest, you just don’t know,” she began, sitting on the bed beside her and rubbing away nonexistent tears. “Marquita had me on the phone all morning. She’s so upset about all of this. She just doesn’t want her wedding day to be ruined. Can’t you understand that? Can’t you feeeeeeel her pain?”
Oh brother, Tempest thought to herself. Gurlfriend is really laying it on thick.
“Why can’t she just have three bridesmaids instead of four?”
“Because Curtis has four groomsmen, and they need to keep it even. Come on, now. You know it wouldn’t look right for him to have more attendants than her, and it would be dead wrong for him to kick one of them out the wedding at the last minute.”
“Well, why me?” Tempest asked. She and Marquita knew each other through Janessa, but they were never tight like that. “Doesn’t she have anyone else she can ask?”
“Not anyone else who can fit this dress.” Janessa held the dress up by the hanger to emphasize the point. “All of her other friends wear size twenty and above. They can’t get their asses in this dress, even if we let it out as far as it will go.”
“Hmph, I might not be able to get in it either. Chiquita has itty-bitty titties. In case you haven’t noticed, mine are about three times bigger.” Tempest grabbed her breasts and held them up. “What am I supposed to do? Let all my stuff hang out?”
Janessa grinned mischievously. The mere fact that Tempest was making titty comparisons meant she was at least considering it.
“We’ll work it out.” Janessa stood up and started rummaging through the top drawer of Tempest’s dresser for a needle and thread. “If not for Marquita, do it for me. You know you’re my shero.”
“Damn,” Tempest muttered under her breath. She got up off the bed and starting taking off the bomb-ass outfit she had on. “I can’t believe this. My first date with Geren, my first date, period, in ages, and I have to look like a cheap hooker.”
Janessa gave her a huge hug and kiss on the cheek. “No, neither one of us are going to look like hookers. We’re going to look fly as all hell, like we always do. Remember this is a first-date situation for me, too.”
Tempest wanted to make a comment about Dvontè but held it in. He gave her the impression he didn’t care what a woman wore when she went out with him as long as it had easy access to the nana. Geren was different, though—at least, she hoped so.
Tempest was lost in a trance, wondering what it would be like to go out on a date with Geren, aka Mr. Fine Ass. After all, he did look like the words F-U-C-K M-E spelled out.
“You want me to do your hair for you, gurl?” Janessa asked, breaking Tempest’s concentration.
“My hair?” Tempest panicked, almost knocking Janessa down to get to the mirror. After inspecting it and realizing there wasn’t a hair out of place, she confronted Janessa. “My hair’s already done. I spent almost three hours on it this morning after I got home from the bachelorette party. So what are you trying to say?”
“Nothing,” Janessa responded quickly. “Your hair’s all that and a bag of chips, as usual. I was just trying to show you my appreciation for agreeing to do it. That’s all.”
“Oh.” Tempest giggled. “In that case, you can come over here every weekend for the next month and clean my crib, wash my laundry, and cook my meals.”
“Now you must be the one on crack,” Janessa hissed, slapping Tempest gently on the shoulder. “You know the kid doesn’t even clean up after herself, so you know I’m not cleaning up after your ass.”
“Okay, fine. I’ll settle for you just cleaning the toilets.”
“Oh, hells naw! It’s bad enough I have to deal with Fred’s stankin’ craps. I adore you. I love you. You’re my shero, but—”