Geren laughed again. “I didn’t realize you knew such big words. You must have learned them to impress the honies.”
Someone behind them cleared her throat, and Geren turned around to see an older woman with gray hair and a huge red fancy hat glaring at them. From her expression, he knew she must have overheard Dvontè’s foul language. He glared over at Dvontè. “Could you lower your voice? You’re embarrassing me.”
“Embarrassing you? We both need to be shot for sitting up in here.” Dvontè noticed a young woman in her early twenties staring at him seductively from a few rows in front of them. He flashed her one of his cinematic smiles and almost hurled when she flashed an entire upper row of gold teeth in return.
He looked down at his wedding program, hoping the woman would find someone else to try to flirt with. He noticed the paper the program was printed on was standard white copy paper instead of the parchment paper normally used for weddings. He hadn’t been to many weddings, but he knew that was tacky.
Suddenly he felt someone’s hand on his thigh. He almost jumped out of his seat when he realized that a woman who looked old enough to be his great-great-grandmother was trying to feel him up.
Dvontè jabbed Geren in the ribs again. “Move down a little, man, or trade places with me.”
Geren moved down a couple of feet on the pew but he was not about to play musical seats with Dvontè. “I thought you liked all women?” he asked teasingly. “Aren’t you the one always saying eight to eighty, blind, crippled, or crazy?”
“That’s just a figure of speech, man.”
Geren sat up a few inches so he could wink at the older woman. She winked back at him and then started looking Dvontè up and down.
Dvontè felt sick to his stomach. “See, this is exactly why I don’t do weddings. These people are certifiable. When I went to the bathroom, this midget turned around, giggling and shit, and tried to take a leak on my shoe. He was high or sumptin’. He’s lucky I moved my foot just in time, or else my ankle would still be lodged in his pygmy ass.”
The woman behind them cleared her throat again, lodging her complaint against the language. Geren punched Dvontè on the leg. “Just calm down, Dvontè. We’re on dates, remember?”
“Hmph, some kind of date. They’re both in the wedding, and we’re sitting out here in a sea of desperate, ugly hoes.” Dvontè loosened up the band of his wristwatch and stared at the dial. “When is this thing going to start, anyway? They’re running mad late.”
“How should I know?” Geren responded, looking at his own watch and realizing five o’clock had long come and gone. “At least we’ll get to spend some time with the ladies at the reception.”
Dvontè fidgeted with his necktie. He hated wearing them. When he went to clubs, he didn’t have to deal with them, and his office was casual and laid-back.
“All I know is that I expect, no I demand, some ass after all of this.”
“Watch your mouth, man,” Geren hissed at him.
Dvontè lowered his voice a few notches before continuing. “I’m banging the hell out of Janessa till sunrise. I can tell you that much right now.”
“There you go assuming again. You always think sistahs are going to be down on the first date.”
“That’s because they always are.” Dvontè wanted to school Geren, tell him the after-wedding sex had already been discussed and confirmed between him and Janessa, but he knew Geren wouldn’t approve. “When you’re smooth like me, you can get it whenever and however you want it.”
“Whatever, man,” Geren said, having heard enough. He stood up and started inching his way out of the pew. “I’m about to run to the restroom before they march down the aisle.”
“Watch out for pygmies in there smokin’ crack,” Dvontè whispered after him. “You might get squirted.”
Once Geren was gone, Dvontè surveyed the church and noticed a bunch of tore-up-from-the-floor-up women eyeing him. He pulled his suit jacket tighter around him and crossed his arms. He had never felt so violated.
• • •
Tempest was propped on top of the vanity in the crowded ladies’ lounge, staring at the lead paint peeling off the ceiling of the old church. For the past hour, she had listened to Marquita wail over her impending marriage to a runt. She could only imagine what Geren must have been thinking. It was bad enough she had to wear the hoochie dress, but she hadn’t warned Geren that there would be midgets running all around. Actually, she thought she would leave that part as a surprise, but now the thrill was over.
“Look, Marquita,” Tempest said, getting down off the vanity and pushing her way through the circle of women surrounding the bride-to-be. “Far be it from me to cop an attitude up in here, but are you going to do this thing or not?”
“Heck, yeah, she’s doing it,” one of Janessa and Marquita’s aunts yelled out. Aunt Blanche was the oldest sister of both Janessa and Marquita’s mother. She had driven all the way up from her farm in North Carolina and it was obvious she wasn’t even having the drama. “I spent all yesterday morning slaughtering hogs and cleaning more than two hundred pounds of chitterlings. Not to mention driving up here in the heat with those things in my trunk. There is going to be a wedding here today, or else.”
Janessa looked up at Tempest from her position beside Marquita on the single tattered sofa in the lounge. She had her arm around Marquita, trying to console her, but the chitterlings comment made her want to run to a stall and vomit. Tempest rolled her eyes at her, and Janessa knew she was going to get it good once they were alone.
“Ya’ll move back some and let the chile breathe,” Grandma Porter demanded, pushing them all away from Marquita. “What seems to be the problem, baby? You can tell Grandma anything.”
Tempest couldn’t help but notice the wide grin on Grandma Porter’s face. Not only that, but her whole body seemed relaxed. Obviously, the dildo had been put to good use after they cleared out from the bachelorette party.
“It’s just that—that—that—” Marquita stuttered with tear-drenched eyes.