Read Online Cheaters by Eric Jerome Dickey - Free Book Online Page A

after year.”
    Another slice of silence before Tammy chuckled uncomfortably, “We’ve had too much of this sin juice. And whatever them Colombians are putting in these herbs ain’t no joke. This mess’ll make you loco like a mofo.”
    I cut off Tammy’s political and peaceful move, said, “Karen, since you’re giving it out, can you take some criticism?”
    Her red-rimmed eyes turned on me, her tone grim. “What?”
    I said, “Why don’t you go back to school? Get your degree from Riverside Community College, then transfer to Cal State.”
    Tammy shifted, touched my arm gently. “Chanté, let’s change the subject. I don’t like it when y’all get hostile like this.”
    Karen waved Tammy’s puppy-dog expression away, and I saw an inferno behind Karen’s dark brown eyes. “It’s all right, Tammy. So, Chanté, my friend, what’s the bottom line?”
    I cleared my throat. “All I’m saying is, if a brother stepped to you and said the exact same thing, didn’t know where he was going with his life and didn’t know how he was going to get there, be honest, would you get serious about him?”
    “I do not even like this conversation,” Karen snapped.
    Of course she wouldn’t like
this
conversation. She’s been engaged three times, married zero. Her unused wedding dress is still hanging up in her itty-bitty no-bedroom apartment. That chiffon and silk memory is taking up most of the hallway space. That damn thing is suffocating to look at.
    I said, “I’m not trying to hurt your feelings, Karen—”
    She interrupted, “I answered your questions, answer mine.”
    “What question?”
    “How many men have been down in your basement?”
    Tammy said, “Don’t be crass, Karen.”
    I didn’t answer.
    Karen hissed, went into the bathroom, closed the door.
    Shame was in my peepers when I looked at Tammy.
    She whispered, “What you just did was fucked up.”
    “I was just trying to have a conversation. We’re supposed to be friends, so we’re supposed to look out for each other.”
    Tammy said, “Do me a favor.”
    “What?”
    “Give me a thirty-day notice before you start to chastise me. I want to make sure I have Johnny Cochran present.”
    Tammy went on defending Karen, reminded me that she was all alone in this world. A couple of months after she was born, Karen’s daddy was killed in a pool hall fight over fifty cents. That was back in St. Louis. She has five brothers and sisters, but none of them talk, and she doesn’t know where any of them are. She came from that kind of family. When Karen was in elementary school, her momma ran off with some man and sent her out here to Rialto to live with a great-aunt. Her aunt had a stroke when Karen was seventeen and died less than a month later. She ended up in a group home until she turned eighteen.
    “All things considered, she’s doing fine.”
    “But she could do better.”
    “One way or another, we could all do better.”
    I don’t know anything about Tammy’s family, but I do know that she has a dream beyond standing behind somebody’s cash register and wearing a name tag for the next forty years.
    Nope, I wouldn’t go off on Tammy. She’s too cool. Too real. Second, she understands me from the inside and doesn’t judge me from the outside. And I don’t mind loaning her money. She’s trying hard in Hollywood. I’m proud of her. She landed a major part in a CBS sitcom, but the comic who was the star was killed in a car crash right before they started taping.
    Karen came out of the bathroom and went into the kitchen, took a cube of ice out of my refrigerator, wrapped it in a paper towel, made a noise like she was meditating, massaged her eyes and forehead. We made eye contact. Stared at each other. She tossed the ice in the sink, came over to me, hugged me, kissed the side of my face, then sat back down and grabbed a slice of pizza.
    I spoke just above a whisper. “Sorry, Karen.”
    She nodded. No matter how much evil stuff Karen has