Archive for September, 2009

I know it’s late but here’s the continuation to the qreative writing series (1 & 2) that you guys enjoyed so much:

Calm down, girl. Get on the game face. I wasn’t going to let this mess with me. Stay focused. We’ll handle this business card situation later. I searched my racks for something to throw on. It didn’t take long. He may have gotten half my closet but he wasn’t going to take away my categorically organized system: Bitchy-Boss Boardroom, Casual-yet-Chic Hostess, Dinner with the Divas, Evening Elegance, Fitness Fab, all the way down the alphabet. I sighed, getting lost for a moment as I took in the luxurious display of designer pieces, but was snapped back to reality by the voice I dreaded hearing the most over the phone (it was much worse in person): my future mother-in-law.

I hurriedly pulled on an outfit from the Casual-yet-Chic Hostess portion of my closet and allowed the soft feel of my Dolce & Gabbana silk button-up to calm the residual anger that had spread through my body moments earlier.

I tucked “Tracey” in my breast pocket. Yeah, this outta level the playing field. I checked myself in the mirror once more and readied my face for my guest. You can do this. She’s just a woman. She’s just a woman. You’re a woman. You are both women.

“Hello,” I sang as I extended my hand to Mrs. Trentwood. “Donna. Pleasure to meet you,” I continued, with my hand still in mid-air as a still-seated Mrs. Trentwood did nothing but stare at it, then at me, then at it.

“I’m sure,” she replied coldly and turned back to the table and her son. “Darren has told me so much about you.”

Shake it off, girl. You deal with these types all the time.

“So,” I said as I joined them at the table. “How was your flight in? And the first night at your hotel? Was everything satisfactory?”

“Darling, what took you so long to come out? Were you on the phone with Terrence?,” Mrs. Trentwood asked forking a few berries into her mouth.

My façade crumbled. I stared hard and blank at Darren who had choked on the orange juice he was sipping and started chuckling at his mother’s comment.

“Excuse me?” I managed.

“Terrence, dear, Ter-rence. Did you take so long because you were talking to him? Or do you only do that in your sleep?”

Oh, this is some bullshit. This fool told his mother. He got some gotdam nerve. I can’t stand momma’s boys. Did I know he was one when I agreed to marry him?? The business card burned in my pocket. Nope, not yet girl. Not time to play that card.

“Actually, Mrs. Trentwood, I was getting dressed. And I haven’t spoken to…. Terrence… in years.”

“Ah. Only in your sleep, then. I see. Were you rushing to dress?”

And before I could answer: “Did you forget I was coming or had you spent all morning preparing this lovely spread for me?” She motioned at the gourmet-style breakfast Darren had woke up early to make. Darren eyed me with one brow up.

He had better let this live. “Oh, the latter, of course.” I shot Darren a look to make sure he knew to go along.

“I see. A sleeptalker and a liar. How very interesting.” Mrs. Trentwood turned to me folding her hands in her lap and cocked her head to the side.

The heat began to rise. Who is she to sit here judging me? Oh yeah: the mother of my fiancé. But so what? Maybe I’ll just call the whole thing off and tell them both where they can stick their judgments and homemade breakfast. I was silently working myself up. Sittin’ here in my gotdam apartment. It hasn’t made an appearance in a while but they’re about to make the Flatbush come out. Matta fact maybe I need to visit my walk-in and grab something from the Beat-a-Hoe Down section.

“With all due respect ma’am,” I started. I was about to go in. About to put my English and Law degrees to use. Verbalize some things to paint a very clear picture.

“SO,” Darren cut me off. “What do you want to do today, ma?”

I could feel the fury in my face.

“Well, I’ve always wanted to go to the top of the Empire State Building,” Mrs. Trentwood replied in a honey-soaked voice as she turned to address her pride and joy.

“Will you be coming with us, Donna? Or should you call Terrence to make sure your schedule is free?”

That’s it. This shit has gone too far. I don’t care whose mama she is or how old she is.

“Ma,” Darren said. “C’mon now…”

But I didn’t hear him. I didn’t let him finish. She was about to see exactly how perfect her little angel was. Who the bad guy really was. She was not gonna make me the demon. I pulled the folded business card out and flung it at her.

“ACTUALLY, I think I’ll call TRA-CEY. To check HIS schedule,” I yelled and gestured at Darren. “Yeah, that’s right,” I went on as a stunned Mrs. Trentwood picked up the card and looked at it. “Your little angel ain’t so perfect! I’m not the one you need to be gettin’ on!”

I was acting like an ass. I felt it. I knew it. They both looked at me in shock but I didn’t care. Darren just stared with his mouth open. He was caught. And I was done with my tantrum. My chest heaved up and down. I had worked myself up to a sweat. Neither Dolce nor Gabbana would appreciate what I was doing to their silk. The quiet in the room made me feel foolish even before he opened his mouth to speak.

“Actually…” Darren said slowly hanging and shaking his head. He let out a chuckle.

What the hell is so funny.

“Actually,” he tried again. “You don’t have to call her. She’s scheduled for next week.”

Oh this mothereffer done lost his damn mind. If he thinks I won’t start tossing all this here decorative shit in my apartment at his head, in FRONT of his mama, he’s got another thing coming.

“Come again,” I said calmy yet through my teeth and in place of the other words I had stored in my arsenal just for this very moment.

He stared at me. “I said. She’s. scheduled. for. next. week.” He took his time enunciating each syllable.

He waited. We stared. My brow was tense, my lips were about to form a snarl and I was about to launch. Mrs. Trentwood sat looking at both of us, unwilling to interject. I got the feeling she was enjoying this more than her daytime soaps.

“I’m sure you didn’t bother to look at the business name on the other side of that card. But she works for Cartier.” I got the feeling he was going to enjoy this too. Me? Not so much. “She offered me a free upgrade for your engagement ring because I hooked her up with my man. You know? Ryan? The exec at the Fortune 500 company I told you about. But then again you probably didn’t bother listening to that either.”

This time Mrs. Trentwood choked on her juice with a chuckle.

And I choked on my shame.