It had been a great move for both of them. Frieda had quickly landed a secretarial job and within a month knew her way around LA enough to outrun the fool she’d turned on and then tuned out at a club three weeks after she’d arrived. It was no surprise to Hope that Frieda brought the drama with her. It was her middle name and, Hope guessed, just the way she liked it.
“So, is it good, girl? Fine as his ass is, he better be able to f—”
“We didn’t do it yet,” Hope interrupted. “How many times do I have to tell you that we’re waiting until the wedding night?”
“Girl…tell that lie to somebody who’ll believe you. Ain’t no way you got that lying in bed with you at night and you ain’t hittin’ it. Ain’t…no…way.”
“Whatever, Frieda. Where do you want me to put these?” Hope had never seen any of Frieda’s places look this good and didn’t want to junk it up with their latest purchases.
“Put ’em anywhere, and stop trying to change the subject. You think I tell you all my business and ain’t gonna get into yours? Think again, sistah!”
Hope sighed and shook her head as she placed the bags on Frieda’s bar counter. Was last night’s good time written all over her face? “Okay, we have fooled around, a little bit.”
“That’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout, baby. Be real with a sistah. I know’d yo ass wasn’t gonna be able to leave that alone.” Frieda whooped as she plopped down on the couch. “C’mon in here, girl, and spill it…spill it!”
Knowing her cousin wouldn’t let the subject rest, Hope plopped down beside her. “Well, we haven’t had actual intercourse but we’ve, you know, checked each other out.”
“Is he big, girl? You know sometimes those pretty boys carry pistols instead of shotguns.” Frieda was all ears.
Hope paused. “He’s perfect. Not too big, not too little. He’s just right.” She hid a smile, embarrassed yet happy to be sharing her joy with someone else. “And it feels good, nice and thick. It’s been so long since I’d seen one, that at first I didn’t know whether to touch it, suck it, or frame it!”
“Don’t make me hollah!” Frieda said, delighted. “So, did you take care of boyfriend? I know he tasted good, huh?”
“Frieda!”
“Girl, please!”
“I don’t know how he tastes, and I’ll thank you not to be wondering either!”
Frieda rolled her eyes. “Girl, I’ve got enough dick to suck, fuck, and fill a semitruck. I don’t need yo’ shit.”
It was Hope’s turn to laugh. “I’ll be honest, I didn’t want to wait. I figured that since we’re engaged—and speaking for me, even married already in my heart—I was ready to do it. But Cy said we’d waited this long, a couple more months wasn’t going to kill us.”
“And you said speak for yourself, right?”
“I’m glad he said it actually, because he’s right. It will make our wedding night extra special. I know it’s going to be so good. Just from the way he kisses me and holds me; he knows all the right spots to touch. He drives me crazy!”
“Well, all I can say is you’re a better woman than I am. I would have licked that piece of caramel on the first night, within the first couple hours, feel me?”
Hope’s phone rang. She eyed the ID and opened her cell. “Hey, baby, we were just talking about you.”
“Were you saying how much you love me, and how you can’t wait to become my wife?”
“That’s exactly what I was saying, babe, that I can’t wait.” Hope winked at Frieda. “What’s up?”
“Not much. Just got home and got your note. I was at the mall when you called.”
“Out shopping, huh? Anything for me?”
“Not today, baby. I’m sorry, should have thought about you.”
Hope feigned disappointment. “Cy Taylor, nothing called out my name? Nothing had Hope Jones Taylor written all over it?”
You have no idea, he mused. “Next time, okay?”
“Okay. Any plans for dinner?”
“Just you.”
“Good, I’ll stop and get some salmon steaks when Frieda brings me home.”
“What do we need the steaks for? I said ‘just you.’”
“Ooh…you’re such a bad boy. That’s why I love you. I’ll see you soon.” Hope’s pussy tingled as she closed the phone and leaned back on the couch.
“Can you believe it?” she said to Frieda. “Can you believe I’m actually marrying that man? It still feels like a dream. All the years I prayed and believed that my prince would come, and all the nights I cried and argued with God because he didn’t. Then it was like, snap, and just like that, my life changed. I can’t even begin to describe how this feels. It’s more than amazing, really. It’s beyond words.”
Frieda got up and walked into the kitchen. “You want a wine cooler?” Hope declined but said yes to a cola. “And I’ve got some chips and dip. You hungry?”
“Yeah, bring it all in. I want to go over the wedding, get your final opinions. And don’t try to get all crazy on me. I’ve decided to keep it simple. Oh, and I’ve finally settled on the colors—different shades of blue. What do you think? Frieda!”
Frieda came around the corner loaded down with chips, dip, leftover chicken wings, cookies, soda, and a wine cooler. Hope jumped up. “Dang, you took me literally, huh? What’s all this?”
They placed the food on the coffee table and loaded up plates. “Anytime we talk about men and matrimony,” Frieda answered around a mouthful of chips, “it’s a party.”
They spent the afternoon fine-tuning Hope’s plans for the ceremony. She’d dreamed of this for so many years one would think the details would have been easy. Now that the time was actually here though, she’d changed her mind more than once, wanting everything to be perfect. She had switched color schemes three times, but felt her idea of using various shades of blue was going to look beautiful against the scenic ocean backdrop. Cy’s custom Carlo Scotti tux was a deep navy made from extrafine merino faille wool. Hope’s dress was a white halter-necked, dropped waist satin wonder accented with light blue Swarovski crystals to match Cy’s light blue silk shirt. Frieda was the maid of honor, her dress a mix of turquoise, aqua, and light blue. The best man, Simeon, Cy’s equally fine cousin, would wear a light blue suit. Hope had snagged the Musical Messengers to provide the music, a blend of jazz, R & B classics, and contemporary gospel for both the ceremony and sit-down dinner afterward, as the boat cruised around the marina. She and Cy had decided to recite traditional vows and keep the ceremony simple: a duet of “their song,” Eric Benet’s “Spend My Life With You,” a recitation of The Lord’s Prayer, and a poem Hope wrote, titled simply, “The One.” Knowing how close their pastors were and how much church meant to them, it was easy to decide that both pastors, Derrick Montgomery and King Brook, would officiate.
“Do you think his wife will come?” Frieda asked.
“I don’t know,” Hope answered. Frieda was talking about Tai Brook, first lady of Mount Zion Progressive Baptist Church, Hope’s former church in Kansas City. Hope had told Frieda about how Tai once suspected Hope of wanting her husband, King. Being a single female in a church with a fine pastor wasn’t always easy. Some had thought Hope’s exuberant praise was for the King of Mount